“Then let us,” he said, “send for all those people in the direction of whose houses he went away. Maybe they have detained him among them to this day. It is but a chance, but we can hope for nothing more certain.”
So the Panch-Phul Ranee and her son sent down orders to the conjurors’ village that every one of the whole band should come up to the palace that afternoon—not a soul was to stay behind. And the dancers were to dance and the conjurors to play all their tricks for the amusement of the palace inmates.
The people came. The nautch girls began to dance—running, jumping and flying here, there and everywhere, some up, some down, some round and round. The conjurors conjured and all began in different ways to amuse the company. Among the rest was one wild, ragged-looking man, whose business was to beat the drum. No sooner did the Panch-Phul Ranee set eyes on him than she said to her son, “Boy, that is your father!” “What, mother!” he said, “that wretched-looking man who is beating the drum?” “The same,” she answered.
The Prince said to his servants, “Fetch that man here.” And the Rajah came toward them, so changed that not even his own mother knew him—no one recognized him but his wife. For eighteen years he had been among the nautch people; his hair was rough, his beard untrimmed, his face thin and worn, sunburnt and wrinkled; he wore a nose-ring and heavy ear-rings, such as the nautch people have; and his dress was a rough, common cumlee.[73] All traces of his former self seemed to have disappeared. They asked him if he did not remember he had been a Rajah once, and about his journey to Panch-Phul Ranee’s country. But he said, No, he remembered nothing but how to beat the drum—Rub-a-dub! tat-tat! tom-tum! tom-tum! He thought he must have beaten it all his life.
Then the young Prince gave orders that all the nautch people should be put into jail until it could be discovered what part they had taken in reducing his father to so pitiable a state. And sending for the wisest doctors in the kingdom, he said to them, “Do your best and restore the health of this Rajah, who has to all appearance lost both memory and reason; and discover, if possible, what has caused these misfortunes to befall him.” The doctors said, “He has certainly had some potent charm given to him, which has destroyed both his memory and reason, but we will do our best to counteract its influence.”
And so they did. And their treatment succeeded so well that, after a time, the Rajah entirely recovered his former senses. And they took such good care of him that in a little while he regained his health and strength also, and looked almost as well as ever.
He then found to his surprise that he, Panch-Phul Ranee, and their son, had all this time been living in his father’s kingdom. His father was so delighted to see him again that he was no longer unkind to him, but treated him as a dearly beloved, long-lost son. His mother also was overjoyed at his return, and they said to him, “Since you have been restored to us again, why should you wander any more? Your wife and son are here; do you also remain here, and live among us for the rest of your days.” But he replied, “I have another wife—the Carpenter’s daughter—who first was kind to me in my adopted country. I also have there nine hundred and ninety-eight talking wooden parrots, which I greatly prize. Let me first go and fetch them.”
They said, “Very well; go quickly and then return.” So he mounted the two wooden parrots which had brought him from the Panch-Phul Ranee’s country (and which had for eighteen years lived in the jungle close to the palace), and returned to the land where his first wife lived, and fetched her and the nine hundred and ninety-eight remaining wooden parrots to his father’s kingdom. Then his father said to him, “Don’t have any quarreling with your half-brother after I am dead” (for his half-brother was son of the old Rajah’s favorite wife). “I love you both dearly, and will give each of you half of my kingdom.” So he divided the kingdom into two halves, and gave the one half to the Panch-Phul Ranee’s husband, who was the son of his first wife, and the other half to the eldest son of his second but favorite wife.
A short time after this arrangement was made, Panch-Phul Ranee said to her husband, “I wish to see my father and mother again before I die; let me go and see them.” He answered, “You shall go, and I and our son will also go.” So he called four of the wooden parrots—two to carry himself and the Ranee, and two to carry their son. Each pair of parrots crossed their wings; the young Prince sat upon the two wings of one pair, and on the wings of the other pair sat his father and mother. Then they all rose up in the air, and the parrots carried them (as they had before carried the Rajah alone), up, up, up, on, on, on, over the Red Sea, and across the seven seas, until they reached the Panch-Phul Ranee’s country.
Panch-Phul Ranee’s father saw them come flying through the air as quickly as shooting stars, and much wondering who they were, he sent out many of his nobles and chief officers to inquire.