“Do not think,” retorted the Malee, “that I’ll make a fool of myself because I’m only a Malee, and believe what you’ve got to say, because you’re a great Rajah. Rajah or no Rajah is all one to me. If you mean what you say, if you care for my daughter and wish to be married to her, come and be married; but I’ll have none of your new-fangled forms and court ceremonies hard to be understood; let the girl be married by her father’s hearth and under her father’s roof, and let us invite to the wedding our old friends and acquaintance whom we’ve known all our lives, and before we ever thought of you.”
The Rajah was not angry, but amused, and rather pleased than otherwise at the old man’s frankness, and he consented to all that was desired.
The village beauty, Guzra Bai, was therefore married with as much pomp as they could muster, but in village fashion, to the great Rajah, who took her home with him, followed by the tears and blessings of her parents and playmates.
The twelve kings’ daughters were by no means pleased at this addition to the number of the Ranees; and they agreed amongst themselves that it would be highly derogatory to their dignity to permit Guzra Bai to associate with them, and that the Rajah, their husband, had offered them an unpardonable insult in marrying a Malee’s daughter, which was to be revenged upon her the very first opportunity.
Having made this league, they tormented poor Guzra Bai so much that to save her from their persecutions, the Rajah built her a little house of her own, where she lived very, very happily for a short time.
At last one day he had occasion to go and visit a distant part of his dominions, but fearing his high-born wives might ill-use Guzra Bai in his absence, at parting he gave her a little golden bell,[43] saying, “If while I am away you are in any trouble, or any one should be unkind to you, ring this little bell, and wherever I am I shall instantly hear it, and will return to your aid.”
No sooner had the Rajah gone, than Guzra Bai thought she would try the power of the bell. So she rang it. The Rajah instantly appeared. “What do you want?” he said. “Oh, nothing,” she replied. “I was foolish. I could hardly believe what you told me could be true, and thought I would try.” “Now you will believe, I hope,” he said, and went away. A second time she rang the bell. Again the Rajah returned. “Oh, pardon me, husband,” she said; “it was wrong of me not to trust you, but I hardly thought you could return again from so far.” “Never mind,” he said, “only do not try the experiment again.” And again he went away. A third time she rang the golden bell. “Why do you ring again, Guzra Bai?” asked the Rajah sternly, as for a third time he returned. “I don’t know, indeed; indeed I beg your pardon,” she said; “but I know not why, I felt so frightened.” “Have any of the Ranees been unkind to you?” he asked. “No, none,” she answered; “in fact, I have seen none of them.” “You are a silly child,” said he, stroking her hair. “Affairs of the state call me away. You must try and keep a good heart till my return;” and for the fourth time he disappeared.
A little while after this, wonderful to relate, Guzra Bai had a hundred and one children!—a hundred boys and one girl. When the Ranees heard this, they said to each other, “Guzra Bai, the Malee’s daughter, will rank higher than us; she will have great power and influence as mother to the heir to the Raj;[44] let us kill these children, and tell our husband that she is a sorceress; then will he love her no longer, and his old affection for us will return.” So these twelve wicked Ranees all went over to Guzra Bai’s house. When Guzra Bai saw them coming, she feared they meant to do her some harm, so she seized her little golden bell, and rang, and rang, and rang—but no Rajah came. She had called him back so often that he did not believe she really needed his help. And thus the poor woman was left to the mercy of her implacable enemies.
Now the nurse who had charge of the hundred and one babies was an old servant of the twelve Ranees, and moreover a very wicked woman, able and willing to do whatever her twelve wicked old mistresses ordered. So when they said to her, “Can you kill these children?” she answered, “Nothing is easier; I will throw them out upon the dust-heap behind the palace, where the rats and hawks and vultures will have left none of them remaining by to-morrow morning.” “So be it,” said the Ranees. Then the nurse took the hundred and one little innocent children—the hundred little boys and the one little girl—and threw them behind the palace on the dust-heap, close to some large rat-holes; and after that, she and the twelve Ranees placed a very large stone in each of the babies’ cradles, and said to Guzra Bai, “Oh, you evil witch in disguise, do not hope any longer to impose by your arts on the Rajah’s credulity. See, your children have all turned into stones. See these, your pretty babies!”—and with that they tumbled the hundred and one stones down in a great heap on the floor. Then Guzra Bai began to cry, for she knew it was not true; but what could one poor woman do against thirteen? At the Rajah’s return the twelve Ranees accused Guzra Bai of being a witch, and the nurse testified that the hundred and one children she had charge of had turned into stones, and the Rajah believed them rather than Guzra Bai, and he ordered her to be imprisoned for life.
Meanwhile a Bandicote[45] had heard the pitiful cries of the children, and taking pity on them, dragged them all, one by one, into her hole, out of the way of kites and vultures. She then assembled all the Bandicotes from far and near, and told them what she had done, begging them to assist in finding food for the children. Then every day a hundred and one Bandicotes would come, each bringing a little bit of food in his mouth, and give it to one of the children; and so day by day they grew stronger and stronger, until they were able to run about, and then they used to play of a morning at the mouth of the Bandicote’s hole, running in there to sleep every night. But one fine day who should come by but the wicked old nurse! Fortunately, all the boys were in the hole, and the little girl, who was playing outside, on seeing her ran in there too, but not before the nurse had seen her. She immediately went to the twelve Ranees and related this, saying, “I cannot help thinking some of the children may still be living in those rat-holes. You had better send and have them dug out and killed.” “We dare not do that,” answered they, “for fear of causing suspicion; but we will order some laborers to dig up that ground and make it into a field, and that will effectually smother any of the children who may still be alive.” This plan was approved and forthwith carried into execution; but the good Bandicote, who happened that day to be out on a foraging expedition in the palace, heard all about it there, and immediately running home, took all the children from her hole to a large well some distance off, where she hid them in the hollows behind the steps leading down to the well, laying one child under each step.