“Nay, you deceive me not like an infant of days,” answered the minister’s son. “How shall we find water? Have we not laboured over the journey these three days, and found none; neither shall we find it now? Why should we add to this death of thirst the pangs of useless fatigue also?”
But the king’s son said again, “Nay, but of a certainty we shall now find it.”
And when he asked, “How knowest thou this of a certainty?” he replied, “I heard yon crow cry as he passed, ‘Go forward five hundred paces in a southerly direction, and you will come to a source of pure, bright fresh water.’”
The king’s son spoke with so much certainty that he had not strength to resist him; and so they went on five hundred paces farther in a southerly direction, and then they indeed came upon a pure, bright spring of water, where they sat down, and drank, and refreshed themselves.
As they sat there, the minister’s son was moved with jealousy, for, thought he within himself, in every art this prince has exceeded me, and when we return to our own country, all shall see how superior he is to me in every kind of attainment. Then he said aloud to the king’s son,—
“If we keep along this road, which leads over the level plain, where we can be seen ever so far off, may be robbers will see us, and, coming upon us, will slay us. Shall we not rather take the path which leads over the mountain, where the trees will hide us, and pass the night under cover of the wood?” And this he said in order to lead the prince into the forest, that he might slay him there unperceived. But the prince, who had no evil suspicion, willingly agreed to his words, and they took the path of the mountain. When they had well entered the thick wood, the minister’s son fell upon the prince from behind, and slew him. The prince in dying said nothing but the one word, “Abaraschika[2].”
As soon as he had well hidden the body, the minister’s son continued on his way.
As he came near the city, the King went out to greet him, accompanied by all his ministers, and followed by much people; but when he found that his son was not there, he fell into great anxiety, and eagerly inquired after him. “Thy son,” answered the minister’s son, “died on the journey.”
At these words, the King burst into an agony of grief, crying, “Alas, my son! mine only son! Without thee, what shall all my royal power and state, what shall all my hundred cities, profit me?” Amid these bitter cries he made his way back to the palace. As he dwelt on his grief, the thought came to him, “Shall not my son when dying at least have left some word expressive of his last thoughts and wishes?” Then he sent and inquired this thing of his companion, to which, the minister’s son made answer, “Thy son was overtaken with a quick and sudden malady, and as he breathed out his life, he had only time to utter the single word, Abaraschika.”
Hearing this the King was fully persuaded the word must have some deep and hidden meaning; but as he was unable to think it out, he summoned all the seers, soothsayers, magicians, and astrologers[3] of his kingdom, and inquired of them what this same word Abaraschika could mean. There was not, however, one of them all that could help him to the meaning. Then said the King, “The last word that my son uttered, even mine only son, this is dear to me. There is no doubt that it is a word in which by all the arts that he had studied and acquired he knew how to express much, though he had not time to utter many words. Ye, therefore, who are also learned in cunning arts ought to be able to tell the interpretation of the same, but if not, then of what use are ye? It were better that ye were dead from off the face of the earth. Wherefore, I give you the space of seven days to search in all your writings and to exercise all your arts, and if at the end of seven days ye are none of you able to tell me the interpretation, then shall I deliver you over to death.”