At p. 114, the lives of Rākshasas were in a number of birds; they died when these were killed.
In a tale of the interior of W. Africa in Contes Soudanais (C. Monteil), p. 154, the life of a King was in a little box inside a small goat-skin, which was in a little pot placed inside a large pot. When the King was told this he died.
Doubtless this strange notion of a life safeguarded by being hidden away, is of early date, and may be due originally to the early magical idea prevalent in Egypt, Assyria, and India, that a person might be killed from any distance by piercing the heart of a figurine formed to represent him. This action is mentioned in the Commentary on the Atharva Veda (Bloomfield’s translation, p. 359); and in the Rigveda, i, 29, 7 (Griffith’s translation), prayer is made to Indra for the destruction of “him who in secret injures us.”
In the Jātaka story No. 208 (vol. ii, p. 111), a monkey escaped from a crocodile that was going to kill it in order to get its heart, by telling it that monkeys kept their hearts hanging on trees.
In the Mahā Bhārata, Vana Parva, 135, 52, a Ṛishi caused buffaloes to shatter a mountain, and thereby killed a child whose life was dependent on its existence, if not supposed to be actually in it.
The recovery of the three giants from the house of the Rākshasī is evidently based on the story of Wijaya, the first King of Ceylon, and Kuwēnī, a female Yakkha or aboriginal Princess, who, taking the form of a devotee, had captured his followers one by one, and imprisoned them.
The story is given in the Mahāvansa, chapter vii, as follows:—“All these persons not returning, Wijaya becoming alarmed, equipping himself with the five weapons of war, proceeded after them; and examining the delightful pond [to which they had gone to bathe], he could perceive footsteps leading down only into the tank; and he there saw the devotee. It occurred to him: ‘My retinue must surely have been seized by her.’ ‘Woman, hast thou seen my attendants?’ said he. ‘Prince,’ she replied, ‘what need hast thou of attendants? Do drink and bathe ere thou departest.’ Saying to himself, ‘Even my lineage, this Yakkhinī is acquainted with it,’ proclaiming his title, and quickly seizing his bow, he rushed at her. Securing the Yakkhinī by the throat with a ‘nārācana’ ring, with his left hand seizing her by the hair, and raising his sword with his right hand, he exclaimed, ‘Slave! restore me my followers, or I will put thee to death.’ The Yakkhinī, terrified, implored that her life might be spared. ‘Lord! spare my life; on thee I will confer this sovereignty; unto thee I will render the favours of my sex, and every other service according to thy desire.’ In order that she might not prove herself treacherous, he made the Yakkhinī take an oath. While he was in the act of saying, ‘Instantly produce my followers,’ she brought them forth” (Mahāvansa, i, p. 32).
The idea of the thorn which was driven into the head of the Rākshasa, is borrowed from magical practice. In the case of a figurine made for the destruction or injury of a person, pins or nails or thorns were run into various parts of the body, one being inserted in the crown of the head. In a variant of the story numbered 73 in this work, a female Yakā was kept in subjection by means of an iron nail that was driven into the crown of the head.
In Indian Fairy Tales (Stokes), p. 12, a pin was fixed in the head of a woman who had been transformed into a bird. When it was drawn out she resumed her human form.
In The Illustrated Guide to the South Indian Railway, 1900, p. 232, it is stated regarding the great stone Bull, 12 feet high, at the Tanjore temple, that “it was popularly supposed by the natives that this bull was growing, and as they feared it might become too large for the mandapam [stone canopy] erected over it a nail was driven into the back of its head, and since this was done the size of the monolith has remained stationary.”