At the door of one of the first houses to which he came stood a woman, to whom the Jackal said, “Mahi, here is butter—beautiful fresh butter! won’t you buy some fresh butter?” She answered, “Are you sure it is quite fresh? Let me see it.” But he replied, “It is perfectly fresh; but if you open the chattee now, it will be all spoilt by the time you want it. If you like to buy it, you may take it; if not, I will sell it to some one else.” The woman did want some fresh butter, and the chattee the Jackal carried on his head was carefully fastened up, as if what it contained was of the best; and she knew if she opened it, it might spoil before her husband returned home; besides, she thought, if the Jackal had intended to deceive her, he would have been more pressing in asking her to buy it. So she said, “Very well, give me the chattee; here is money for you. You are sure it is the best butter?” “It is the best of its kind,” answered the Jackal; “only be sure you put it in some cool place, and don’t open it till it is wanted.” And taking the money, he ran away.
A short time afterward the woman discovered how she had been cheated, and was very angry; but the Jackal was by that time far away, out of reach of punishment.
When his money was spent, the Jackal felt puzzled as to how to get a living, since no one would give him food and he could buy none. Fortunately for him, just then one of the bullocks belonging to the village died. The Jackal found it lying dead by the road-side, and he began to eat it, and ate, and ate so much that at last he had got too far into the animal’s body to be seen by passers-by. Now the weather was hot and dry. Whilst the Jackal was in it, the bullock’s skin crinkled up so tightly with the heat that it became too hard for him to bite through, and so he could not get out again.
The Mahars[76] of the village all came out to bury the dead bullock. The Jackal, who was inside it, feared that if they caught him they would kill him, and that if they did not discover him, he would be buried alive; so on their approach he called out, “People, people, take care how you touch me, for I am a great saint.” The poor people were very much frightened when they heard the dead bullock talking, and thought that some mighty spirit must indeed possess it.[77] “Who are you, sir, and what do you want?” they cried. “I,” answered the Jackal, “am a very holy saint. I am also the god of your village, and I am very angry with you because you never worship me nor bring me offerings.” “O my Lord,” they cried, “what offerings will please you? Tell us only, and we will bring you whatever you like.” “Good,” he replied. “Then you must fetch here plenty of rice, plenty of flowers and a nice fat chicken; place them as an offering beside me, and pour a great deal of water over them, as you do at your most solemn feasts, and I will forgive you your sins.” The Mahars did as they were commanded. They placed some rice and flowers, and the best chicken they could procure, beside the bullock, and poured water over it and the offering. Then, no sooner did the dry, hard bullock’s skin get wetted than it split in many places, and to the surprise of all his worshipers, the Jackal jumped out, seized the chicken in his mouth, and ran away with it through the midst of them into the jungle. The Mahars ran after him over hedges and ditches for many, many miles, but he got away in spite of them all.
On, on he ran—on, on, for a very long way—until at last he came to a place where a little kid lived under a little sicakai[78] tree. All her relations and friends were away, and when she saw him coming she thought to herself, “Unless I frighten this Jackal, he will eat me.” So she ran as hard as she could up against the sicakai tree, which made all the branches shake and the leaves go rustle, rustle, rustle. And when the Jackal heard the rustling noise he got frightened, and thought it was all the little kid’s friends coming to help her. And she called out to him, “Run away, Jackal, run away. Thousands and thousands of Jackals have run away at that sound—run away for your life.” And the Jackal was so frightened that he ran away. So, he who had deceived so many was outwitted by a simple little kid!
After this the Jackal found his way back to his own village, where the Barber lived, and there for some time he used to prowl round the houses every night and live upon any bones he could find. The villagers did not like his coming, but did not know how to catch him, until one night his old friend the Barber (who had never forgiven him for stealing the fruit from the garden) caught him in a great net, having before made many unsuccessful attempts to do so. “Aha!” cried the Barber, “I’ve got you at last, my friend. You did not escape death from the cucumber-knife for nothing! you won’t get away this time. Here, wife! wife! see what a prize I’ve got.” The Barber’s wife came running to the door, and the Barber gave her the Jackal (after he had tied all his four legs firmly together with a strong rope), and said to her, “Take this animal into the house, and be sure you don’t let him escape, while I go and get a knife to kill him with.”
The Barber’s wife did as she was bid, and taking the Jackal into the house, laid him down on the floor. But no sooner had the Barber gone than the Jackal said to her, “Ah, good woman, your husband will return directly and put me to death. For the love of heaven, loosen the rope round my feet before he comes, for one minute only, and let me drink a little water from that puddle by the door, for my throat is parched with thirst.” “No, no, friend Jackal,” answered the Barber’s wife. “I know well enough what you’ll do. No sooner shall I have untied your feet than you will run away, and when my husband returns and finds you are gone, he will beat me.”
“Indeed, indeed, I will not run away,” he replied. “Ah, kind mother, have pity on me, only for one little moment.” Then the Barber’s wife thought, “Well, it is hard not to grant the poor beast’s last request; he will not live long enough to have many more pleasures.” So she untied the Jackal’s legs and held him by a rope, that he might drink from the puddle. But quick as possible, he gave a jump and a twist and a pull, and, jerking the rope out of her hand, escaped once more into the jungle.
For some time he roamed up and down, living on what he could get in this village or that, until he had wandered very far away from the country where the Barber lived. At last one day, by chance, he passed a certain cottage, in which there dwelt a very poor Brahmin, who had seven daughters.
As the Jackal passed by, the Brahmin was saying to himself, “Oh dear me! what can I do for my seven daughters? I shall have to support them all my life, for they are much too poor ever to get married. If a dog or a jackal were to offer to take one off my hands, he should have her.” Next day the Jackal called on the Brahmin, and said to him, “You said yesterday, if a jackal or a dog were to offer to marry one of your daughters, you would let him have her; will you, therefore accept me as a son-in-law?”