Tale V.
When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his journey, without hesitation or loss of time he once more betook himself to the cool grove, and summoned the Siddhî-kür to come with him, threatening to hew down the mango-tree.
But as he bore him along, bound in his bag of many colours, in which was place to stow away an hundred, the Siddhî-kür spoke thus, saying, “Tell thou now a tale to beguile the weariness of the way.” But the Well-and-wise-walking Khan answered him nothing. Then said the Siddhî-kür again, “If thou wilt not tell a tale, at least give the token that I may know thou willest I should tell one.”
So the Khan nodded his head backwards and the Siddhî-kür told this tale, saying,—
How the Serpent-gods were propitiated.
Long ages ago there reigned over a flourishing province, a Khan named Kun-snang[1]. He had a son named “Sunshine” by his first wife who afterwards died. He also had a second son named “Moonshine,” by his second wife. Now the second wife thought within herself, “If Sunshine is allowed to live, there is no chance of Moonshine ever coming to the throne. Some means must be found of putting Sunshine out of the way.”
With this object in view she threw herself down upon her couch and tossed to and fro as though in an agony of pain. All the night through also instead of sleeping, she tossed about and writhed with pain. Then the Khan spake to her, saying, “My beautiful one! what is it that pains thee, and with what manner of ailment art thou stricken?” And she made answer,—
“Even when I was at home I suffered oftwhiles after the same manner, but now is it much more violent; all remedies have I exhausted previous times, there remains only one when the pain is of this degree, and that means is not available.”
“Say not that it is not available,” answered the Khan, “for all means are available to me. Speak but what it is that is required, and whatever it be shall be done, even to the renouncing of my kingdom. For there is nothing that I would not give in exchange for thy life.”
But for a long time she made as though she would not tell him, then finally yielding to his repeated inquiries, she said, “If there were given me the heart of a Prince, stewed in sesame-oil[2], I should recover: it matters not whether the heart of Sunshine or of Moonshine, but that Moonshine being my own son, his heart would not pass through my throat. This means, O Khan, is manifestly not available, for how should it be done to take the life of Prince Sunshine? Therefore say no more, and let me die.”