5. The Jewelled Arrow 6. The Beetle and the Silken Thread 7. A Crow and His Three Friends 8. A Clever Thief 9. The Hermit's Daughter

 

STORY V

 

The Jewelled Arrow.

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

In the city of Vardhamana in India there lived a powerful king named

Vira-Bhuja, who, as was the custom in his native land, had many wives,

each of whom had several sons. Of all his wives this king loved best

the one named Guna-Vara, and of all his sons her youngest-born, called

Sringa-Bhuja, was his favourite. Guna-Vara was not only very beautiful

but very good. She was so patient that nothing could make her angry,

so unselfish that she always thought of others before herself, and

so wise that she was able to understand how others were feeling,

however different their natures were from her own.

 

Sringa-Bhuja, the son of Guna-Vara, resembled his mother in her beauty

and her unselfishness; he was also very strong and very clever, whilst

his brothers were quite unlike him. They wanted to have everything

their own way, and they were very jealous indeed of their father's

love for him. They were always trying to do him harm, and though they

often quarrelled amongst themselves, they would band together to try

and hurt him.

 

It was very much the same with the king's wives. They hated Guna-Vara,

because their husband loved her more than he did them, and they

constantly came to him with stories they had made up of the wicked

things she had done. Amongst other things they told the king that

Guna-Vara did not really love him but cared more for some one else

than she did for him. The most bitter of all against her was the

wife called Ayasolekha, who was cunning enough to know what sort of

tale the king was likely to believe. The very fact that Vira-Bhuja

loved Guna-Vara so deeply made him more ready to think that perhaps

after all she did not return his affection, and he longed to find

out the truth. So he in his turn made up a story, thinking by its

means to find out how she felt for him. He therefore went one day

to her private apartments, and having sent all her attendants away,

he told her he had some very sad news for her which he had heard from

his chief astrologer. Astrologers, you know, are wise men, who are

supposed to be able to read the secrets of the stars, and learn from

them things which are hidden from ordinary human beings. Guna-Vara

therefore did not doubt that what her husband was about to tell her

was true, and she listened eagerly, her heart beating very fast in

her fear that some trouble was coming to those she loved.

 

Great indeed was her sorrow and surprise, when Vira-Bhuja went on

to say that the astrologer had told him that a terrible misfortune

threatened him and his kingdom and the only way to prevent it was to

shut Guna-Vara up in prison for the rest of her life. The poor queen

could hardly believe that she had heard rightly. She knew she had

done no wrong, and could not understand how putting her in prison

could help anybody. She was quite sure that her husband loved her,

and no words could have expressed her pain at the thought of being

sent away from him and her dear son. Yet she made no resistance,

not even asking Vira-Bhuja to let her see Sringa-Bhuja again. She

just bowed her beautiful head and said: "Be it unto me as my Lord

wills. If he wishes my death, I am ready to lay down my life."

 

This submission made the king feel even more unhappy than before. He

longed to take his wife in his arms and tell her he would never let

her go; and perhaps if she had looked at him then, he would have

seen all her love for him in her eyes, but she remained perfectly

still with bowed head, waiting to hear what her fate was to be. Then

the thought entered Vira-Bhuja's mind: "She is afraid to look at me:

what Ayasolekha said was true."

 

1. Can true love suspect the loved one of evil?

 

2. Is true love ever jealous?

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

So the king summoned his guards and ordered them to take his wife

to a strong prison and leave her there. She went with them without

making any resistance, only turning once to look lovingly at her

husband as she was led away. Vira-Bhuja returned to his own palace and

had not been there very long when he got a message from Ayasolekha,

begging him to give her an interview, for she had something of very

great importance to tell him. The king consented at once, thinking

to himself, "perhaps she has found out that what she told me about

my dear Guna-Vara is not true."

 

Great then was his disappointment when the wicked woman told him she

had discovered a plot against his life. The son of Guna-Vara and some

of the chief men of the kingdom, she said, had agreed together to kill

him, so that Sringa-Bhuja might reign in his stead. She and some of

the other wives had overheard conversations between them, and were

terrified lest their beloved Lord should be hurt. The young prince,

she declared, had had some trouble in persuading the nobles to help

him, but he had succeeded at last.

 

Vira-Bhuja simply could not believe this story, for he trusted his

son as much as he loved him; and he sent the mischief maker away,

telling her not to dare to enter his presence again. For all that

he could not get the matter out of his head. He had Sringa-Bhuja

carefully watched; and as nothing against him was found out, he

was beginning to feel more easy in his mind, and even to think of

going to see Guna-Vara in her prison to ask her to confide in him,

when something happened which led him to fear that after all his

dear son was not true to him. This was what made him uneasy. He had

a wonderful arrow, set with precious jewels, which had been given to

him by a magician, and had the power of hitting without fail whatever

it was aimed at from however great a distance. The very day he had

meant to visit his ill-treated wife, he missed this arrow from the

place in which he kept it concealed. This distressed him very much;

and after seeking it in vain, he summoned all those who were employed

in the palace to his presence, and asked if any of them knew anything

about the arrow. He promised that he would forgive any one who helped

him to get it back, even if it were the thief himself; but added that,

if it was not found in three days, he would have all the servants

beaten until the one who had stolen it confessed.

 

3. Do you think this was the best way to find out who had taken

the arrow?

 

4. How would you have set about learning the truth if you had been

the king?

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

 

Now the fact of the matter was that Ayasolekha, who had told the

wicked story about Guna-Vara, knew where the king kept the arrow,

had taken it to her private rooms, and had sent for her own sons

and those of the other wives, all of whom hated Sringa-Bhuja, to

tell them of a plot to get their brother into disgrace, "You know,"

she said to them, "how much better your father loves Sringa-Bhuja

than he does any of you; and that, when be dies, he will leave the

kingdom and all his money to him. Now I will help you to prevent this

by getting rid of Sringa-Bhuja.

 

"You must have a great shooting match, in which your brother will

be delighted to take part, for he is very proud of his skill with

the bow and arrow. On the day of the match, I will send for him and

give him the jewelled arrow belonging to your father to shoot with,

telling him the king had said I might lend it to him. Your father

will then think he stole it and order him to be killed."

 

The brothers were all delighted at what they thought a very clever

scheme, and did just what Ayasolekha advised. When the day came,

great crowds assembled to see the shooting at a large target set up

near the palace. The king himself and all his court were watching the

scene from the walls, and it was difficult for the guards to keep the

course clear. The brothers, beginning at the eldest, all pretended to

try and hit the target; but none of them really wished to succeed,

because they thought that, when Sringa-Bhuja's turn came, as their

father's youngest son, he would win the match with the jewelled

arrow. Then the king would order him to be brought before him, and

he would be condemned to death or imprisonment for life.

 

Now, as very often happens, something no one in the least expected

upset the carefully planned plot. Just as Sringa-Bhuja was about to

shoot at the target, a big crane flew on to the ground between him and

it, so that it was impossible for him to take proper aim. The brothers,

seeing the bird and anxious to shoot it for themselves, all began to

clamour that they should be allowed to shoot again. Nobody made any

objection, and Sringa-Bhuja stood aside, with the jewelled arrow in

the bow, waiting to see what they would do, but feeling sure that

he would be the one to kill the bird. Brother after brother tried,

but the great creature still remained untouched, when a travelling

mendicant stepped forward and cried aloud:

 

"That is no bird, but an evil magician who has taken that form

to deceive you all. If he is not killed before he takes his own

form again, he will bring misery and ruin upon this town and the

surrounding country."

 

You know perhaps that mendicants or beggars in India are often holy

men whose advice even kings are glad to listen to; so that, when

everyone heard what this beggar said, there was great excitement and

terror. For many were the stories told of the misfortunes Rakshas or

evil magicians had brought on other cities. The brothers all wanted

to try their luck once more, but the beggar checked them, saying:

 

"No, no. Where is your youngest brother Sringa-Bhuja? He alone

will be able to save your homes, your wives and your children,

from destruction,"

 

Then Sringa-Bhuja came forward; and as the sun flashed upon the jewels

in the stolen arrow, revealing to the watching king that it was his

own beloved son who had taken it, the young prince let it fly straight

for the bird. It wounded but did not kill the crane, which flew off

with the arrow sticking in its breast, the blood dripping from it in

its flight, which became gradually slower and slower. At the sight

of the bird going off with the precious jewelled arrow, the king was

filled with rage, and sent orders that Sringa-Bhuja should be fetched

to his presence immediately. But before the messengers reached him,

he had started in pursuit of the bird, guided by the blood-drops on

the ground.

 

5. Did the brothers show wisdom in the plot they laid against their

brother?

 

6. What do you think from this story, so far as you have read it,

were the chief qualities of Sringa-Bhuja?

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

 

As Sringa-Bhuja sped along after the crane, the beggar made some

strange signs in the air with the staff he used to help him along;

and such clouds of dust arose that no one could see in which direction

the young prince had gone. The brothers and Ayasolekha were very much

dismayed at the way things had turned out, and greatly feared that

the king's anger would vent itself on them, now that Sringa-Bhuja

had disappeared. Vira-Bhuja did send for them, and asked them many

questions; but they all kept the secret of how Sringa-Bhuja had got the

arrow, and promised to do all they could to help to get it back. Again

the king thought he would go and see the mother of his dear youngest

son; but again something held him back, and poor Guna-Vara was left

alone, no one ever going near her except the gaoler who took her

her daily food. After trying everything possible to find out where

Sringa-Bhuja had gone, the king began to show special favour to

another of his sons; and as the months passed by, it seemed as if

the young prince and the jewelled arrow were both forgotten.

 

Meanwhile Sringa-Bhuja travelled on and on in the track of the drops

of blood, till he came to the outskirts of a fine forest, through

which many beaten paths led to a very great city. He sat down to

rest at the foot of a wide-spreading tree, and was gazing up at the

towers and pinnacles of the town, rising far upwards towards the sky,

when he had a feeling that he was no longer alone. He was right:

for, coming slowly along one of the paths, was a lovely young girl,

singing softly to herself in a beautiful voice. Her eyes were like

those of a young doe, and her features were perfect in their form

and expression, reminding Sringa-Bhuja of his mother, whom he was

beginning to fear he would never see again.

 

When the young girl was quite close to him, he startled her by saying,

"Can you tell me what is the name of this city?"

 

"Of course, I can," she replied, "for I live in it. It is called

Dhuma-Pura, and it belongs to my father: he is a great magician

named Agni-Sikha, who loves not strangers. Now tell me who you are

and whence you come?"

 

Then Sringa-Bhuja told the maiden all about himself, and why he was

wandering so far from home. The girl, whose name was Rupa-Sikha,

listened very attentively; and when he came to the shooting of the

crane, and how he had followed the bleeding bird in the hope of

getting back his father's jewelled arrow, she began to tremble.

 

"Alas, alas!" she said. "The bird you shot was my father, who can

take any form he chooses. He returned home but yesterday, and I drew

the arrow from his wound and dressed the hurt myself. He gave me the

jewelled arrow to keep, and I will never part with it. As for you,

the sooner you depart the better; for my father never forgives, and

he is so powerful that you would have no chance of escape if he knew

you were here."

 

Hearing this, Sringa-Bhuja became very sad, not because he was

afraid of Agni-Sikha, but because he knew that he already loved the

fair maiden who stood beside him, and was resolved to make her his

wife. She too felt drawn towards him and did not like to think of

his going away. Besides this, she had much to fear from her father,

who was as cruel as he was mighty, and had caused the death already

of many lovers who had wished to marry her. She had never cared for

any of them, and had been content to live without a husband, spending

her life in wandering about near her home and winning the love of all

who lived near her, even that of the wild creatures of the forest,

who would none of them dream of hurting her. Often and often she stood

between the wrath of her father and those he wished to injure; for,

wicked as he was, he loved her and wanted her to be happy,

 

7. Do you think that a really wicked man is able to love any one truly?

 

8. What would have been the best thing for Sringa-Bhuja to do, when

he found out who the bird he had shot really was?

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

 

Rupa-Sikha did not take long to decide what was best for her to

do. She said to the prince, "I will give you back your golden arrow,

and you must make all possible haste out of our country before my

father discovers you are here."

 

"No! no! no! a thousand times no!" cried the prince. "Now I have once

seen you, I can never, never leave you. Can you not learn to love

me and be my wife?" Then he fell prostrate at her feet, and looked

up into her face so lovingly that she could not resist him. She

bent down towards him, and the next moment they were clasped in

each other's arms, quite forgetting all the dangers that threatened

them. Rupa-Sikha was the first to remember her father, and drawing

herself away from her lover, she said to him:

 

"Listen to me, and I will tell you what we must do. My father is a

magician, it is true, but I am his daughter, and I inherit some of

his powers. If only you will promise to do exactly as I tell you,

I think I may be able to save you, and perhaps even become your

wife. I am the youngest of a large family and my father's favourite. I

will go and tell him that a great and mighty prince, hearing of his

wonderful gifts, has come to our land to ask for an interview with

him. Then I will tell him that I have seen you, fallen in love with

you, and want to marry you. He will be flattered to think his fame

has spread so far, and will want to see you, even if he refuses to

let me be your wife. I will lead you to his presence and leave you

with him alone. If you really love me, you will find the way to win

his consent; but you must keep out of his sight till I have prepared

the way for you. Come with me now, and I will show you a hiding-place."

 

Rupa-Sikha then led the prince far away into the depths of the forest,

and showed him a large tree, the wide-spreading branches of which

touched the ground, completely hiding the trunk, in which there

was an opening large enough for a man to pass through. Steps cut

in the inside of the trunk led down to a wide space underground;

and there the magician's daughter told her lover to wait for her

return. "Before I go," she said, "I will tell you my own password,

which will save you from death if you should be discovered. It is

LOTUS FLOWER; and everyone to whom you say it, will know that you

are under my protection."

 

When Rupa-Sikha reached the palace she found her father in a very bad

humour, because she had not been to ask how the wound in his breast

was getting on. She did her best to make up for her neglect; and when

she had dressed the wound very carefully, she prepared a dainty meal

for her father with her own hands, waiting upon him herself whilst

he ate it. All this pleased him, and he was in quite an amiable mood

when she said to him:

 

"Now I must tell you that I too have had an adventure. As I was

gathering herbs in the forest, I met a man I had never seen before,

a tall handsome young fellow looking like a prince, who told me he

was seeking the palace of a great and wonderful magician, of whose

marvellous deeds he had heard. Who could that magician have been but

you, my father?" She added, "I told him I was your daughter, and he

entreated me to ask you to grant him an interview."

 

Agni-Sikha listened to all this without answering a word. He was

pleased at this fresh proof that his fame had spread far and wide;

but he guessed at once that Rupa-Sikha had not told him the whole

truth. He waited for her to go on, and as she said no more, he suddenly

turned angrily upon her and in a loud voice asked her:

 

"And what did my daughter answer?"

 

Then Rupa-Sikha knew that her secret had been discovered. And rising

to her full height, she answered proudly, "I told him I would seek

you and ask you to receive him. And now I will tell you, my father,

that I have seen the only man I will ever marry; and if you forbid

me to do so, I will take my own life, for I cannot live without him."

 

"Send for the man immediately," cried the magician, "and you shall

hear my answer when he appears before me."

 

"I cannot send," replied Rupa-Sikha, "for none knows where I have

left him; nor will I fetch him till you promise that no evil shall

befall him."

 

At first Agni-Sikha laughed aloud and declared that he would do no such

thing. But his daughter was as obstinate as he was; and finding that

he could not get his own way unless he yielded to her, he said crossly:

 

"He shall keep his fine head on his shoulders, and leave the palace

alive; but that is all I will say."

 

"But that is not enough," said Rupa-Sikha. "Say after me, Not a hair

of his head shall be harmed, and I will treat him as an honoured guest,

or your eyes will never rest on him."

 

At last the magician promised, thinking to himself that he would find

some way of disposing of Sringa-Bhuja, if he did not fancy him for

a son-in-law. The words she wanted to hear were hardly out of her

father's mouth before Rupa-Sikha sped away, as if on the wings of

the wind, full of hope that all would be well. She found her lover

anxiously awaiting her, and quickly explained how matters stood. "You

had better say nothing about me to my father at first," she said;

"but only talk about him and all you have heard of him. If only you

could get him to like you and want to keep you with him, it would

help us very much. Then you could pretend that you must go back to

your own land; and rather than allow you to do so, he will be anxious

for us to be married and to live here with him."

 

9. Do you think the advice Rupa-Sikha gave to Sringa-Bhuja was good?

 

10. Can you suggest anything else she might have done?

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

 

Sringa-Bhuja loved Rupa-Sikha so much that he was ready to obey her

in whatever she asked. So he at once went with her to the palace. On

every side he saw signs of the strength and power of the magician. Each

gate was guarded by tall soldiers in shining armour, who saluted

Rupa-Sikha but scowled fiercely at him. He knew full well that, if

he had tried to pass alone, they would have prevented him from doing

so. At last the two came to the great hall, where the magician was

walking backwards and forwards, working himself into a rage at being

kept waiting. Directly he looked at the prince, he knew him for the

man who had shot the jewelled arrow at him when he had taken the form

of a crane, and he determined that he would be revenged. He was too

cunning to let Sringa-Bhuja guess that he knew him, and pretended to

be very glad to see him. He even went so far as to say that he had

long wished to find a prince worthy to wed his youngest and favourite

daughter. "You," he added, "seem to me the very man, young, handsome

and--to judge from the richness of your dress and jewels--able to

give my beloved one all she needs."

 

The prince could hardly believe his ears, and Rupa-Sikha also was

very much surprised. She guessed however that her father had some evil

purpose in what he said, and looked earnestly at Sringa-Bhuja in the

hope of making him understand. But the prince was so overjoyed at the

thought that she was to be his wife that he noticed nothing. So when

Agni-Sikha added, "I only make one condition: you must promise that

you will never disobey my commands, but do whatever I tell you without

a moment's hesitation," Sringa-Bhuja, without waiting to think, said

at once, "Only give me your daughter and I will serve you in any way

you wish."

 

"That's settled then!" cried the magician, and he clapped his hands

together. In a moment a number of attendants appeared, and their master

ordered them to lead the prince to the best apartments in the palace,

to prepare a bath for him, and do everything he asked them.

 

11. What great mistake did the prince make when he gave this promise?

 

12. What answer should he have made?

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

 

As Sringa-Bhuja followed the servants, Rupa-Sikha managed to whisper

to him, "Beware! await a message from me!" When he had bathed and was

arraying himself in fresh garments provided by his host, waited on,

hand and foot, by servants who treated him with the greatest respect,

a messenger arrived, bearing a sealed letter which he reverently

handed to the prince. Sringa-Bhuja guessed at once from whom it came;

and anxious to read it alone, he hastily finished his toilette and

dismissed the attendants.

 

"My beloved," said the letter--which was, of course, from

Rupa-Sikha--"My father is plotting against you; and very foolish were

you to promise you would obey him in all things. I have ten sisters

all exactly like me, all wearing dresses and necklaces which are exact

copies of each other, so that few can tell me from the others, Soon

you will be sent for to the great Hall and we shall all be together

there. My father will bid you choose your bride from amongst us; and if

you make a mistake all will be over for us. But I will wear my necklace

on my head instead of round my neck, and thus will you know your own

true love. And remember, my dearest, to obey no future command without

hearing from me, for I alone am able to outwit my terrible father,"

 

Everything happened exactly as Rupa-Sikha described. The prince

was sent for by Agni-Sikha, who, as soon as he appeared, gave him a

garland of flowers and told him to place it round the neck of the

maiden who was his promised bride. Without a moment's hesitation

Sringa-Bhuja picked out the right sister; and the magician, though

inwardly enraged, pretended to be so delighted at this proof of a

lover's clear-sightedness that he cried:

 

"You are the son-in-law for me! The wedding shall take place

to-morrow!"

 

13. Can you understand how it was that the magician did not notice

the trick Rupa-Sikha had played upon him?

 

14. What fault blinds people to the truth more than any other?

 

 

CHAPTER VIII

 

 

When Sringa-Bhuja heard what Agni-Sikha said, he was full of joy;

but Rupa-Sikha knew well that her father did not mean a word of

it. She waited quietly beside her lover, till the magician bade all

the sisters but herself leave the hall. Then the magician, with a

very wicked look on his face, said:

 

"Before the ceremony there is just one little thing you must do for me,

dear son-in-law that is to be. Go outside the town, and near the most

westerly tower you will find a team of oxen and a plough awaiting

you. Close to them is a pile of three hundred bushels of sesame

seed. This you must sow this very day, or instead of a bridegroom

you will be a dead man to-morrow."

 

Great was the dismay of Sringa-Bhuja when he heard this. But Rupa-Sikha

whispered to him, "Fear not, for I will help you." Sadly the prince

left the palace alone, to seek the field outside the city; the guards,

who knew he was the accepted lover of their favourite mistress,

letting him pass unhindered. There, sure enough, near the western

tower were the oxen, the plough and a great pile of seed. Never before

had poor Sringa-Bhuja had to work for himself, but his great love for

Rupa-Sikha made him determine to do his best. So he was about to begin

to guide the oxen across the field, when, behold, all was suddenly

changed. Instead of an unploughed tract of land, covered with weeds,

was a field with rows and rows of regular furrows. The piles of seed

were gone, and flocks of birds were gathering in the hope of securing

some of it as it lay in the furrows.

 

As Sringa-Bhuja was staring in amazement at this beautiful scene,

he saw Rupa-Sikha, looking more lovely than ever, coming towards

him. "Not in vain," she said to him, "am I my father's daughter. I

too know how to compel even nature to do my will; but the danger is

not over yet. Go quickly back to the palace, and tell Agni-Sikha that

his wishes are fulfilled."

 

15. Can the laws of nature ever really be broken?

 

16. What is the only way in which man can conquer nature?

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX

 

 

The magician was very angry indeed when he heard that the field was

ploughed and the seed sown. He knew at once that some magic had

been at work, and suspected that Rupa-Sikha was the cause of his

disappointment. Without a moment's hesitation he said to the prince:

"No sooner were you gone than I decided not to have that seed sown. Go

back at once, and pile it up where it was before."

 

This time Sringa-Bhuja felt no fear or hesitation, for he was sure

of the power and will to help him of his promised bride. So back he

went to the field, and there he found the whole vast space covered

with millions and millions of ants, busily collecting the seed and

piling it up against the wall of the town. Again Rupa-Sikha came

to cheer him, and again she warned him that their trials were not

yet over. She feared, she said, that her father might prove stronger

than herself; for he had many allies at neighbouring courts ready to

help him in his evil purposes. "Whatever else he orders you to do,

you must see me before you leave the palace. I will send my faithful

messenger to appoint a meeting in some secret place."

 

Agni-Sikha was not much surprised when the prince told him that his

last order had been obeyed, and thought to himself, "I must get this

tiresome fellow out of my domain, where that too clever child of mine

will not be able to help him." "Well," he said, "I suppose the wedding

must take place to-morrow after all, for I am a man of my word. We

must now set about inviting the guests. You shall have the pleasure

of doing this yourself: then my friends will know beforehand what a

handsome young son-in-law I shall have. The first person to summon

to the wedding is my brother Dhuma Sikha, who has taken up his abode

in a deserted temple a few miles from here. You must ride at once to

that temple, rein up your steed opposite it, and cry, 'Dhuma Sikha,

your brother Agni-Sikha has sent me hither to invite you to witness

my marriage with his daughter Rupa-Sikha to-morrow. Come without

delay!' Your message given, ride back to me; and I will tell you what

farther tasks you must perform before the happy morrow dawns."

 

When Sringa-Bhuja left the palace, he knew not where to seek a horse

to bear him on this new errand. But as he was nearing the gateway by

which he had gone forth to sow the field with seed, a handsome boy

approached him and said, "If my lord will follow me, I will tell him

what to do." Somehow the voice sounded familiar; and when the guards

were left far enough behind to be out of hearing, the boy looked up

at Sringa-Bhuja with a smile that revealed Rupa-Sikha herself. "Come

with me," she said; and taking his hand, she led him to a tree beneath

which stood a noble horse, richly caparisoned, which pawed the ground

and whinnied to its mistress, as she drew near.

 

"You must ride this horse," said Rupa-Sikha, "who will obey you if

you but whisper in his ear; and you must take earth, water, wood and

fire with you, which I will give you. You must go straight to the

temple, and when you have called out your message, turn without a

moment's delay, and ride for your life as swiftly as your steed will

go, looking behind you all the time. No guidance will be necessary;

for Marut--that is my horse's name--knows well what he has to do."

 

Then Rupa-Sikha gave Sringa-Bhuja a bowl of earth, a jar of water,

a bundle of thorns and a brazier full of burning charcoal, hanging

them by strong thongs upon the front of his saddle so that he could

reach them easily. "My father," she told him, "has given my uncle

instructions to kill you, and he will follow you upon his swift

Arab steed. When you hear him behind you, fling earth in his path;

if that does not stop him, pour out some of the water; and if he

still perseveres, scatter the burning charcoal before him."

 

17. Can you discover any hidden meaning in the use of earth, water,

thorns and fire, to stop the course of the wicked magician?

 

18. Do you think the prince loved Rupa-Sikha better than he loved

himself?

 

 

 

CHAPTER X

 

 

Away went the prince after he had received these instructions; and

very soon he found himself opposite the temple, with the images of

three of the gods worshipped in India to prove that it had been a

sanctuary before the magician took up his abode in it. Directly

Sringa-Bhuja shouted out his message to Dhuma-Sikha, the wicked

dweller in the temple came rushing forth from the gateway, mounted

on a huge horse, which seemed to be belching forth flames from its

nostrils as it bounded along. For one terrible moment Sringa-Bhuja

feared that he was lost; but Marut, putting forth all his strength,

kept a little in advance of the enemy, giving the prince time to

scatter earth behind him. Immediately a great mountain rose up,

barring the road, and Sringa-Bhuja felt that he was saved. He was

mistaken: for, as he looked back, he saw Dhuma-Sikha coming over

the top of the mountain. The next moment the magician was close

upon him. So he emptied his bowl of water: and, behold, a huge river

with great waves hid pursuer and pursued from each other. Even this

did not stop the mighty Arab horse, which swam rapidly across, the

rider loudly shouting out orders to the prince to stop. When the

prince heard the hoofs striking on the dry ground behind him again,

he threw out the thorns, and a dense wood sprouted up as if by magic,

which for a few moments gave fresh hope of safety to Sringa-Bhuja;

for it seemed as if even the powerful magician would be unable to get

through it. He did succeed however; but his clothes were nearly torn

off his back, and his horse was bleeding from many wounds made by

the cruel thorns. Sringa-Bhuja too was getting weary, and remembered

that he had only one more chance of checking his relentless enemy. He

could almost feel the breath of the panting steed as it drew near;

and with a loud cry to his beloved Rupa-Sikha, he threw the burning

charcoal on the road. In an instant the grass by the wayside, the

trees overshadowing it, and the magic wood which had sprung from the

thorns, were alight, burning so fiercely that no living thing could

approach them safely. The wicked magician was beaten at last, and

was soon himself fleeing away, as fast as he could, with the flames

following after him as if they were eager to consume him.

 

Whether his enemy ever got back to his temple, Sringa-Bhuja never

knew. Exhausted with all he had been through, the young prince was

taken back to the palace by the faithful Marut, and there he found

his dear Rupa-Sikha awaiting him. She told him that her father had

promised her that, if the prince came back, he would oppose her

marriage no longer. "For," he said, "if he can escape your uncle,

he must be more than mortal, and worthy even of my daughter." "He

does not in the least expect to see you again," added Rupa-Sikha;

"and even if he allows us to marry, he will never cease to hate you;

for I am quite sure he knows that you shot the jewelled arrow at him

when he was in the form of a crane. If I ever am your wife, he will

try to punish you through me. But have no fear: I shall know how

to manage him. Fresh powers have been lately given to me by another

uncle whose magic is stronger than that of any of my other relations."

 

When Sringa-Bhuja had bathed and rested, he robed himself once

more in the garments he had worn the day he first saw Rupa-Sikha;

and together the lovers went to the great hall to seek an interview

with Agni-Sikha. The magician, who had made quite sure that he had

now got rid of the unwelcome suitor for his daughter's hand, could

not contain his rage, at seeing him walk in with her as if the two

were already wedded.

 

He stamped about, pouring out abuse, until he had quite exhausted

himself, the lovers looking on quietly without speaking. At last,

coming close to them, Agni-Sikha shouted, in a loud harsh voice:

"So you have not obeyed my orders. You have not bid my brother to the

wedding. Your life is forfeit, and you will die to-morrow instead of

marrying Rupa-Sikha. Describe the temple in which Dhuma Sikha lives

and the appearance of its owner."

 

Then Sringa-Bhuja gave such an exact account of the temple, naming

the gods whose images still adorned it, and of the terrible man

riding the noble steed who had pursued him, that the magician was

convinced against his will; and knowing that he must keep his word to

Rupa-Sikha, he gave his consent for the preparations for the marriage

on the morrow to begin.

 

19. What is your opinion of the character of Agni-Sikha?

 

20. Do you think he was at all justified in the way in which he

treated his daughter and Sringa-Bhuja?

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI

 

 

The marriage was celebrated the next day with very great pomp; and

a beautiful suite of rooms was given to the bride and bridegroom,

who could not in spite of this feel safe or happy, because they knew

full well that Agni-Sikha hated them. The prince soon began to feel

home-sick and anxious to introduce his beautiful wife to his own

people. He remembered that he had left his dear mother in prison,

and reproached himself for having forgotten her for so long. So he

said to Rupa-Sikha:

 

"Let us go, beloved, to my native city, Vardhamana. My heart yearns

after my dear ones there, and I would fain introduce you to them."

 

"My lord," replied Rupa-Sikha, "I will go with you whither you will,

were it even to the ends of the earth. But we must not let my father

guess we mean to go; for he would forbid us to leave the country and

set spies to watch our every movement. We will steal away secretly,

riding together on my faithful Marut and taking with us only what we

can carry." "And my jewelled arrow," said the prince, "that I may give

it back to my father and explain to him how I lost it. Then shall I

be restored to his favour, and maybe he will forgive my mother also."

 

"Have no fear," answered Rupa-Sikha: "all will surely go well with

us. Forget not that new powers have been given to me, which will save

us from my father and aid me to rescue my dear one's mother from her

evil fate."

 

Before the dawn broke on the next day, the two set forth unattended,

Marut seeming to take pride in his double burden and bearing them along

so swiftly that they had all but reached the bounds of the country

under the dominion of Agni-Sikha as the sun rose. Just as they thought

they were safe from pursuit, they heard a loud rushing noise behind;

and looking round, they saw the father of the bride close upon them on

his Arab steed, with sword uplifted in his hand to strike. "Fear not,"

whispered Rupa-Sikha to her husband. "I will show you now what I can

do." And waving her arms to and fro, as she muttered some strange

words, she changed herself into an old woman and Sringa-Bhuja into

an old man, whilst Marut became a great pile of wood by the road-side.

 

When the angry father reached the spot, the bride and bridegroom were

busily gathering sticks to add to the pile, seemingly too absorbed

in their work to take any notice of the angry magician, who shouted

out to them:

 

"Have you seen a man and a woman pass along this way?"

 

The old woman straightened herself, and peering, up into his face,

said:

 

"No; we are too busy over our work to notice anything else."

 

"And what, pray, are you doing in my wood?" asked Agni-Sikha.

 

"We are helping to collect the fuel for the pyre of the great

magician Agni-Sikha." answered Rupa-Sikha. "Do you not know that he

died yesterday?"

 

The Hindus of India do not bury but burn the dead; so that it was quite

a natural thing for the people of the land over which the magician

ruled to collect the materials for the pyre or heap of wood on which

his body would be laid to be burnt. What surprised Agni-Sikha, and

in fact nearly took his breath away, was to be quietly told that he

was dead. He began to think that he was dreaming, and said to himself,

"I cannot really be dead without knowing it, so I must be asleep." And

he quietly turned his horse round and rode slowly home again. This was

just what his daughter wanted; and as soon as he was out of sight,

she turned herself, her husband and Marut, into their natural forms

again, laughing merrily, as she did so, at the thought of the ease

with which she had got rid of her father.

 

21. Do you think it was clever of Rupa-Sikha to make up this story?

 

22. Do you think it is better to believe all that you are told or to

be more ready to doubt when anything you hear seems to be unusual?

 

 

CHAPTER XII

 

 

Once more the bride and bridegroom set forth on their way, and once

more they soon heard Agni-Sikha coming after them. For when he got

back to his palace, and the servants hastened out to take his horse, he

guessed that a trick had been played on him. He did not even dismount,

but just turned his horse's head round and galloped back again. "If

ever," he thought to himself, "I catch those two young people, I'll

make them wish they had obeyed me. Yes, they shall suffer for it. I

am not going to stand being defied like this."

 

This time Rupa-Sikha contented herself with making her husband and

Marut invisible, whilst she changed herself into a letter-carrier,

hurrying along the road as if not a moment was to be lost. She took no

notice of her father, till he reined up his steed and shouted to her:

 

"Have you seen a man and woman on horseback pass by?"

 

"No, indeed," she said: "I have a very important letter to deliver,

and could think of nothing but making all the haste possible."

 

"And what is this important letter about?" asked Agni-Sikha. "Can

you tell me that?"

 

"Oh, yes, I can tell you that," she said. "But where can you have been,

not to have heard the terrible news about the ruler of this land?"

 

"You can't tell me anything I don't know about him," answered the

magician, "for he is my greatest friend."

 

"Then you know that he is dying from a wound he got in a battle with

his enemies only yesterday. I am to take this letter to his brother

Dhuma-Sikha, bidding him come to see him before the end."

 

Again Agni-Sikha wondered if he were dreaming, or if he were under

some strange spell and did not really know who he was? Being able,

as he was, to cast spells on other people, he was ready to fancy the

same thing had befallen him. He said nothing when he heard that he was

wounded, and was about to turn back again when Rupa-Sikha said to him:

 

"As you are on horseback and can get to Dhuma-Sikha's temple quicker

than I can, will you carry the message of his brother's approaching

death to him for me, and bid him make all possible haste if he would

see him alive?"

 

This was altogether too much for the magician, who became sure that

there was something very wrong about him. He knew he was not wounded or

dying, but he thought he must be ill of fever, fancying he heard what

he did not. He stared fixedly at his daughter, and she stared up at

him, half-afraid he might find out who she was, but he never guessed.

 

"Do your own errands," he said at last; and slashing his poor innocent

horse with his whip, he wheeled round and dashed home again as fast as

he could. Again his servants ran out to receive him, and he gloomily

dismounted, telling them to send his chief councillor to him in his

private apartments. Shut up with him, he poured out all his troubles,

and the councillor advised him to see his physician without any delay,

for he felt sure that these strange fancies were caused by illness.

 

The doctor, when he came, was very much puzzled, but he looked as

wise as he could, ordered perfect rest and all manner of disagreeable

medicines. He was very much surprised at the change he noticed in his

patient, who, instead of angrily declaring that there was nothing the

matter with him, was evidently in a great fright about his health. He

shut himself up for many days, and it was a long time before he got

over the shock he had received, and then it was too late for him to

be revenged or the lovers.

 

23. Can you explain what casting a spell means?

 

24. Can you give an instance of a spell being cast on any one you

have heard of?

 

 

CHAPTER XIII

 

 

Having really got rid of Agni-Sikha, Rupa-Sikha and her husband

were very soon out of his reach and in the country belonging to

Sringa-Bhuja's father, who had bitterly mourned the loss of his

favourite son. When the news was brought to him that two strangers,

a handsome young man and a beautiful woman, who appeared to be husband

and wife, had entered his capital, he hastened forth to meet them,

hoping that perhaps they could give him news of Sringa-Bhuja. What

was his joy when he recognised his dear son, holding the jewelled

arrow, which had led him into such trouble, in his right hand, as he

guided Marat with his left! The king flung himself from his horse,

and Sringa-Bhuja, giving the reins to Rupa-Sikha, also dismounted. The

next moment he was in his father's arms, everything forgotten and

forgiven in the happy reunion.

 

Great was the rejoicing over Sringa-Bhuja's return and hearty was the

welcome given to his beautiful bride, who quickly won all hearts but

those of the wicked wives and sons who had tried to harm her husband

and his mother. They feared the anger of the king, when he found out

how they had deceived him, and they were right to fear. Sringa-Bhuja's

very first act was to plead for his mother to be set free. He would

not tell any of his adventures, he said, till she could hear them

too; and the king, full of remorse for the way he had treated her,

went with him to the prison in which she had been shut up all this

time. What was poor Guna-Vara's joy, when the two entered the place in

which she had shed so many tears! She could not at first believe her

eyes or ears, but soon she realised that her sufferings were indeed

over. She could not be quite happy till her beloved husband said

he knew she had never loved any one but him. She had been accused

falsely, she said, and she wanted the woman who had told a lie about

her to be made to own the truth.

 

This was done in the presence of the whole court, and when judgment had

been passed upon Ayasolekha, the brothers of Sringa-Bhuja were also

brought before their father, who charged them with having deceived

him. They too were condemned, and all the culprits would have been

taken to prison and shut up for the rest of their lives, if those they

had injured had not pleaded for their forgiveness. Guna-Vara and her

son prostrated themselves at the foot of the throne, and would not

rise till they had won pardon for their enemies. Ayasolekha and the

brothers were allowed to go free; but Sringa-Bhuja, though he was the

youngest of all the princes, was proclaimed heir to the crown after his

father's death. His brothers, however, never ceased to hate him; and

when he came to the throne, they gave him a great deal of trouble. He

had many years of happiness with his wife and parents before that,

and never regretted the mistake about the jewelled arrow; since but

for it he would, he knew, never have seen his beloved Rupa-Sikha.

 

25. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

 

26. Do yon think it was good for those who had told lies about

Guna-Vara and her son to be forgiven so easily?

 

27. Can you give any instances of good coming out of evil and of evil

coming out of what seemed good?

 

28. Do you think Rupa-Sikha deserved all the happiness that came

to her?

 

 

 

STORY VI

 

The Beetle and the Silken Thread. [2]

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

The strange adventures related in the story of the Beetle and the

Silken Thread took place in the town of Allahabad, "the City of God,"

so called because it is situated near the point of meeting of the two

sacred rivers of India, the Ganges, which the Hindus lovingly call

Mother Ganga because they believe its waters can wash away their sins,

and the Jumna, which they consider scarcely less holy.

 

The ruler of Allahabad was a very selfish and hot-tempered Raja named

Surya Pratap, signifying "Powerful as the Sun," who expected everybody

to obey him without a moment's delay, and was ready to punish in

a very cruel manner those who hesitated to do so. He would never

listen to a word of explanation, or own that he had been mistaken,

even when he knew full well that he was in the wrong. He had a mantri,

that is to say, a chief vizier or officer, whom he greatly trusted,

and really seemed to be fond of, for he liked to have him always near

him. The vizier was called Dhairya-Sila, or "the Patient One," because

he never lost his temper, no matter what provocation he received. He

had a beautiful house, much money and many jewels, carriages to drive

about in, noble horses to ride and many servants to wait upon him,

all given to him by his master. But what he loved best of all was

his faithful wife, Buddhi-Mati, or "the Sensible One," whom he had

chosen for himself, and who would have died for him.

 

Many of the Raja's subjects were jealous of Dhairya-Sila, and

constantly brought accusations against him, of none of which his master

took any notice, except to punish those who tried to set him against

his favourite. It really seemed as if nothing would ever bring harm to

Dhairya-Sila; but he often told his wife that such good fortune was not

likely to last, and that she must be prepared for a change before long.

 

It turned out that he was right. For one day Surya Pratap ordered

him to do what he considered would be a shameful deed. He refused;

telling his master that he was wrong to think of such a thing, and

entreating him to give up his purpose. "All your life long," he said,

"you will wish you had listened to me; for your conscience will never

let you rest!"

 

On hearing these brave words, Surya Pratap flew into a terrible rage,

summoned his guards, and ordered them to take Dhairya-Sila outside the

city to a very lofty tower, and leave him at the top of it, without

shelter from the sun and with nothing to eat or drink. The guards were

at first afraid to touch the vizier, remembering how others had been

punished for only speaking against him. Seeing their unwillingness,

the Raja got more and more angry; but Dhairya-Sila himself kept quite

calm, and said to the soldiers:

 

"I go with you gladly. It is for the master to command and for me

to obey."

 

1. What is the best way to learn to keep calm in an emergency?

 

2. Why does too much power have a bad influence on those who have it?

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

The guards were relieved to find they need not drag the vizier away;

for they admired his courage and felt sure that the Raja would soon

find he could not get on without him. It might go hardly with them if

he suffered harm at their hands. So they only closed in about him;

and holding himself very upright, Dhairya-Sila walked to the tower

as if he were quite glad to go. In his heart however he knew full

well that it would need all his skill to escape with his life.

 

When her husband did not come home at night, Buddhi-Mati was very

much distressed. She guessed at once that something had gone wrong,

and set forth to try and find out what had happened. This was easy

enough; for as she crept along, with her veil closely held about her

lest she should be recognised, she passed groups of people discussing

the terrible fate that had befallen the favourite. She decided that

she must wait until midnight, when the streets would be deserted and

she could reach the tower unnoticed. It was almost dark when she got

there, but in the dim light of the stars she made out the form of him

she loved better than herself, leaning over the edge of the railing

at the top.

 

"Is my dear lord still alive?" she whispered, "and is there anything

I can do to help him?"

 

"You can do everything that is needed to help me," answered

Dhairya-Sila quietly, "if you only obey every direction I give you. Do

not for one moment suppose that I am in despair. I am more powerful

even now than my master, who has but shown his weakness by attempting

to harm me. Now listen to me. Come to-morrow night at this very hour,

bringing with you the following things: first, a beetle; secondly,

sixty yards of the finest silk thread, as thin as a spider's web;

thirdly, sixty yards of cotton thread, as thin as you can get it,

but very strong; fourthly, sixty yards of good stout twine; fifthly,

sixty yards of rope, strong enough to carry my weight; and last,

but certainly not least, one drop of the purest bees' honey."

 

3. Do you think the vizier thought of all these things before or

after he was taken to the tower?

 

4. What special quality did he display in the way in which he faced

his position on the tower?

 

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

 

Buddhi-Mati listened very attentively to these strange instructions,

and began to ask questions about them. "Why do you want the beetle? Why

do you want the honey?" and so on. But her husband checked her. "I have

no strength to waste in explanations," he said. "Go home in peace,

sleep well, and dream of me." So the anxious wife went meekly away;

and early the next day she set to work to obey the orders she had

received. She had some trouble in obtaining fine enough silk, so

very, very thin it had to be, like a spider's web; but the cotton,

twine and rope were easily bought; and to her surprise she was not

asked what she wanted them for. It took her a good while to choose

the beetle. For though she had a vague kind of idea that the silk,

the cotton, twine, and rope, were to help her husband get down from

the tower, she could not imagine what share the beetle and the honey

were to take. In the end she chose a very handsome, strong-looking,

brilliantly coloured fellow who lived in the garden of her home and

whom she knew to be fond of honey.

 

5. Can you guess how the beetle and the honey were to help in saving

Dhairya-Sila?

 

6. Do you think it would have been better if the vizier had told his

wife how all the things he asked for were to be used?

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

 

All the time Buddhi-Mati was at work for her husband, she was thinking

of him and looking forward to the happy day of his return home. She

had such faith in him that she did not for a moment doubt that he

would escape; but she was anxious about the future, feeling sure

that the Raja would never forgive Dhairya-Sila for being wiser than

himself. Exactly at the time fixed the faithful wife appeared at the

foot of the tower, with all the things she had been told to bring

with her.

 

"Is all well with my lord?" she whispered, as she gazed up through

the darkness. "I have the silken thread as fine as gossamer, the

cotton thread, the twine, the rope, the beetle and the honey."

 

"Yes," answered Dhairya-Sila, "all is still well with me. I have

slept well, feeling confident that my dear one would bring all that

is needed for my safety; but I dread the great heat of another day,

and we must lose no time in getting away from this terrible tower. Now

attend most carefully to all I bid you do; and remember not to speak

loud, or the sentries posted within hearing will take alarm and drive

you away. First of all, tie the end of the silken thread round the

middle of the beetle, leaving all its legs quite free. Then rub the

drop of honey on its nose, and put the little creature on the wall,

with its nose turned upwards towards me. It will smell the honey, but

will not guess that it carries it itself, and it will crawl upwards in

the hope of getting to the hive from which that honey came. Keep the

rest of the silk firmly held, and gradually unwind it as the beetle

climbs up. Mind you do not let it slip, for my very life depends on

that slight link with you."

 

7. Which do you think had the harder task to perform--the husband at

the top of the tower or the wife at the foot of it?

 

8. Do you think the beetle was likely to imagine it was on the way

to a hive of bees when it began to creep up the tower?

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

 

Buddhi-Mati, though her hands shook and her heart beat fast as

she realized all that depended on her, kept the silk from becoming

entangled; and when it was nearly all unwound, she heard her husband's

voice saying to her: "Now tie the cotton thread to the end of the

silk that you hold, and let it gradually unwind." She obeyed, fully

understanding now what all these preparations were for.

 

When the little messenger of life reached the top of the tower,

Dhairya-Sila took it up in his hand and very gently unfastened the

silken thread from its body. Then he placed the beetle carefully in

a fold of his turban, and began to pull the silken thread up--very,

very slowly, for if it had broken, his wonderful scheme would have

come to an end. Presently he had the cotton thread in his fingers,

and he broke off the silk, wound it up, and placed it too in his

turban. It had done its duty well, and he would not throw it away.

 

"Half the work is done now," he whispered to his faithful wife. "You

have all but saved me now. Take the twine and tie it to the end of

the cotton thread."

 

Very happily Buddhi-Mati obeyed once more; and soon the cotton thread

and twine were also laid aside, and the strong rope tied to the last

was being quickly dragged up by the clever vizier, who knew that all

fear of death from sunstroke or hunger was over. When he had all the

rope on the tower, he fastened one end of it to the iron railing which

ran round the platform on which he stood, and very quickly slid down

to the bottom, where his wife was waiting for him, trembling with joy.

 

9. Do you see anything very improbable in the account of what the

beetle did?

 

10. If the beetle had not gone straight up the tower, what do you

think would have happened?

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

 

After embracing his wife and thanking her for saving him, the vizier

said to her: "Before we return home, let us give thanks to the great

God who helped me in my need by putting into my head the device

by which I escaped." The happy pair then prostrated themselves

on the ground, and in fervent words of gratitude expressed their

sense of what the God they worshipped had done for them. "And now,"

said Dhairya-Sila, "the next thing we have to do is to take the dear

little beetle which was the instrument of my rescue back to the place

it came from." And taking off his turban, he showed his wife the tiny

creature lying in the soft folds.

 

Buddhi-Mati led her husband to the garden where she had found the

beetle, and Dhairya-Sila laid it tenderly on the ground, fetched some

food for it, such as he knew it loved, and there left it to take up

its old way of life. The rest of the day he spent quietly in his own

home with his wife, keeping out of sight of his servants, lest they

should report his return to his master. "You must never breathe a

word to any one of how I escaped," Dhairya-Sila said, and his wife

promised that she never would.

 

11. When the vizier got this promise, what did he forget which could

betray how he got down from the tower, if any one went to look at it?

 

12. Do you think there was any need for the vizier to tell his wife

to keep his secret?

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

 

All this time the Raja was feeling very unhappy, for he thought he

had himself caused the death of the one man he could trust. He was too

proud to let anybody know that he missed Dhairya-Sila, and was longing

to send for him from the tower before it was too late. What then was

his relief and surprise when a message was brought to him that the

vizier was at the door of the palace and begged for an interview.

 

"Bring him in at once," cried Surya Pratap. And the next moment

Dhairya-Sila stood before his master, his hands folded on his breast

and his head bent in token of his submission. The attendants looked

on, eager to know how he had got down from the tower, some of them

anything but glad to see him back. The Raja took care not to show

how delighted he was to see him, and pretending to be angry, he said:

 

"How dare you come into my presence, and which of my subjects has

ventured to help you to escape the death on the tower you so richly

deserved?"

 

"None of your subjects, great and just and glorious ruler," replied

Dhairya-Sila, "but the God who created us both, making you my

master and me your humble servant. It was that God," he went on,

"who saved me, knowing that I was indeed guiltless of any crime

against you. I had not been long on the tower when help came to me

in the form of a great and noble eagle, which appeared above me,

hovering with outspread wings, as if about to swoop down upon me and

tear me limb from limb. I trembled greatly, but I need have had no

fear; for instead of harming me, the bird suddenly lifted me up in

its talons and, flying rapidly through the air, landed me upon the

balcony of my home and disappeared. Great indeed was the joy of my

wife at my rescue from what seemed to be certain death; but I tore

myself away from her embraces, to come and tell my lord how heaven

had interfered to prove my innocence."

 

Fully believing that a miracle had taken place, Surya Pratap asked

no more questions, but at once restored Dhairya-Sila to his old

place as vizier, taking care not again to ill-treat the man he now

believed to be under the special care of God. Though he certainly did

not deserve it, the vizier prospered greatly all the rest of his life

and as time went on he became the real ruler of the kingdom, for the

Raja depended on his advice in everything. He grew richer and richer,

but he was never really happy again, remembering the lie he had told to

the master to whom he owed so much. Buddhi-Mati could never understand

why he made up the story about the eagle, and constantly urged him to

tell the truth. She thought it was really far more wonderful that a

little beetle should have been the means of rescuing him, than that

a strong bird should have done so; and she wanted everyone to know

what a very clever husband she had. She kept her promise never to tell

anyone what really happened, but the secret came out for all that. By

the time it was known, however, Dhairya-Sila was so powerful that no

one could harm him, and when he died his son took his place as vizier,

 

13. What lessons can be learnt from this story?

 

14. What do you think was Dhairya-Sila's motive for telling the Raja

the lie about the eagle?

 

15. What did Surya Pratap's ready belief in the story show?

 

16. How do you think the secret the husband and wife kept so well

was discovered?

 

 

 

STORY VII

 

A Crow and His Three Friends

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

In the branches of a great tree, in a forest in India, lived a

wise old crow in a very comfortable, well-built nest. His wife was

dead, and all his children were getting their own living; so he had

nothing to do but to look after himself. He led a very easy existence,

but took a great interest in the affairs of his neighbours. One day,

popping his head over the edge of his home, he saw a fierce-looking man

stalking along, carrying a stick in one hand and a net in the other.

 

"That fellow is up to some mischief, I'll be bound," thought the crow:

"I will keep my eye on him." The man stopped under the tree, spread

the net on the ground; and taking a bag of rice out of his pocket,

he scattered the grains amongst the meshes of the net. Then he hid

himself behind the trunk of the tree from which the crow was watching,

evidently intending to stop there and see what would happen. The

crow felt pretty gore that the stranger had designs against birds,

and that the stick had something to do with the matter. He was quite

right; and it was not long before just what he expected came to pass.

 

A flock of pigeons, led by a specially fine bird who had been chosen

king because of his size and the beauty of his plumage, came flying

rapidly along, and noticed the white rice, but did not see the net,

because it was very much the same colour as the ground. Down swooped

the king, and down swept all the other pigeons, eager to enjoy a good

meal without any trouble to themselves. Alas, their joy was short

lived! They were all caught in the net and began struggling to escape,

beating the air with their wings and uttering loud cries of distress.

 

The crow and the man behind the tree kept very quiet, watching them;

the man with his stick ready to beat the poor helpless birds to

death, the crow watching out of mere curiosity. Now a very strange

and wonderful thing came to pass. The king of the pigeons, who had

his wits about him, said to the imprisoned birds:

 

"Take the net up in your beaks, all of you spread out your wings at

once, and fly straight up into the air as quickly as possible."

 

1. What special qualities did the king display when he gave these

orders to his subjects?

 

2. Can you think of any other advice the king might have given?

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

In a moment all the pigeons, who were accustomed to obey their leader,

did as they were bid; each little bird seized a separate thread of the

net in his beak and up, up, up, they all flew, looking very beautiful

with the sunlight gleaming on their white wings. Very soon they were

out of sight; and the man, who thought he had hit upon a very clever

plan, came forth from his hiding-place, very much surprised at what

had happened. He stood gazing up after his vanished net for a little

time, and then went away muttering to himself, whilst the wise old

crow laughed at him.

 

When the pigeons had flown some distance, and were beginning to

get exhausted, for the net was heavy and they were quite unused to

carrying loads, the king bade them rest awhile in a clearing of the

forest; and as they all lay on the ground panting for breath, with

the cruel net still hampering them, he said:

 

"What we must do now is to take this horrible net to my old friend

Hiranya the mouse, who will, I am quite sure, nibble through the

strings for me and set us all free. He lives, as you all know, near

the tree where the net was spread, deep underground; but there are

many passages leading to his home, and we shall easily find one of

the openings. Once there, we will all lift up our voices, and call to

him at once, when he will be sure to hear us." So the weary pigeons

took up their burden once more, and sped back whence they had come,

greatly to the surprise of the crow, who wondered at their coming

back to the very place where misfortune had overtaken them. He very

soon learnt the reason, and got so excited watching what was going

on, that he hopped out of his nest and perched upon a branch where

he could see better. Presently a great clamour arose, one word being

repeated again and again: "Hiranya! Hiranya! Hiranya."

 

"Why, that's the name of the mouse who lives down below there!" thought

the crow. "Now, what good can he do? I know, I know," he added, as

he remembered the sharp teeth of Hiranya. "That king of the pigeons

is a sensible fellow. I must make friends with him."

 

Very soon, as the pigeons lay fluttering and struggling outside one

of the entrances to Hiranya's retreat, the mouse came out. He didn't

even need to be told what was wanted, but at once began to nibble

the string, first setting free the king, and then all the rest of

the birds. "A friend in need is a friend indeed," cried the king;

"a thousand thousand thanks!" And away he flew up into the beautiful

free air of heaven, followed by the happy pigeons, none of them ever

likely to forget the adventure or to pick up food from the ground

without a good look at it first.

 

3. What was the chief virtue displayed by the mouse on this occasion?

 

4. Do you think it is easier to obey than to command?

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

 

The mouse did not at once return to his hole when the birds were gone,

but went for a little stroll, which brought him to the ground still

strewn with rice, which he began to eat with great relish. "It's an

ill wind," he said to himself, "which brings nobody any good. There's

many a good meal for my whole family here."

 

Presently he was joined by the old crow, who had flown down from his

perch unnoticed by Hiranya, and now addressed him in his croaky voice:

 

"Hiranya," he said, "for that I know is your name, I am called

Laghupatin and I would gladly have you for a friend. I have seen all

that you did for the pigeons, and have come to the conclusion that you

are a mouse of great wisdom, ready to help those who are in trouble,

without any thought of yourself."

 

"You are quite wrong," squeaked Hiranya. "I am not so silly as you make

out. I have no wish to be your friend. If you were hungry, you wouldn't

hesitate to gobble me up. I don't care for that sort of affection."

 

With that Hiranya whisked away to his hole, pausing at the entrance,

when he knew the crow could not get at him, to cry, "You be off to

your nest and leave me alone!"

 

The feelings of the crow were very much hurt at this speech, the

more that he knew full well it was not exactly love for the mouse,

which had led him to make his offer, but self-interest: for who could

tell what difficulties he himself might some day be in, out of which

the mouse might help him? Instead of obeying Hiranya, and going back

to his nest, he hopped to the mouse's hole, and putting his head on

one side in what he thought was a very taking manner, he said:

 

"Pray do not misjudge me so. Never would I harm you! Even if I did not

wish to have you for a friend, I should not dream of gobbling you up,

as you say, however hungry I might be. Surely you are aware that I am

a strict vegetarian, and never eat the flesh of other creatures. At

least give me a trial. Let us share a meal together, and talk the

matter over."

 

5. Can a friendship be a true one if the motive for it is

self-interest?

 

6. Would it have been wise or foolish for the mouse to agree to be

friends with the crow?

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

 

Hiranya, on hearing the last remark of Laghupatin, hesitated, and

in the end he agreed that he would have supper with the crow that

very evening. "There is plenty of rice here," he said, "which we

can eat on the spot. It would be impossible for you to get into my

hole, and I am certainly not disposed to visit you in your nest." So

the two at once began their meal, and before it was over they had

become good friends. Not a day passed without a meeting, and when

all the rice was eaten up, each of the two would bring something to

the feast. This had gone on for some little time, when the crow,

who was fond of adventure and change, said one day to the mouse:

"Don't you think we might go somewhere else for a time? I am rather

tired of this bit of the forest, every inch of which we both know

well. I've got another great friend who lives beside a fine river

a few miles away, a tortoise named Mandharaka; a thoroughly good,

trustworthy fellow he is, though rather slow and cautious in his

ways. I should like to introduce you to him. There are quantities of

food suitable for us both where he lives, for it is a very fruitful

land. What do you say to coming with me to pay him a visit?"

 

"How in the world should I get there?" answered Hiranya. "It's all

very well for you, who can fly. I can't walk for miles and miles. For

all that I too am sick of this place and would like a change."

 

"Oh, there's no difficulty about that," replied Laghupatin. "I will

carry you in my beak, and you will get there without any fatigue at

all." To this Hiranya consented, and very early one morning the two

friends started off together.

 

7. Is love of change a good or a bad thing?

 

8. What did Hiranya's readiness to let Laghupatin carry him show?

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

 

After flying along for several hours, the crow began to feel very

tired. He was seized too with a great desire to hear his own voice

again. So he flew to the ground, laid his little companion gently down,

and gave vent to a number of hoarse cries, which quite frightened

Hiranya, who timidly asked him what was the matter.

 

"Nothing whatever," answered Laghupatin, "except that you are

not quite so light as I thought you were, and that I need a rest;

besides which, I am hungry and I expect you are. We had better stop

here for the night, and start again early to-morrow morning." Hiranya

readily agreed to this, and after a good meal, which was easily found,

the two settled down to sleep, the crow perched in a tree, the mouse

hidden amongst its roots. Very early the next day they were off again,

and soon arrived at the river, where they were warmly welcomed by

the tortoise. The three had a long talk together, and agreed never

to part again. The tortoise, who had lived a great deal longer than

either the mouse or the crow, was a very pleasant companion; and even

Laghupatin, who was very fond of talking himself, liked to listen to

his stories of long ago.

 

"I wonder," said the tortoise, whose name was Mandharaka, to the mouse,

"that you are not afraid to travel about as you have done, with your

soft little body unprotected by any armour. Look how different it

is for me; it is almost impossible for any of the wild creatures who

live near this river to hurt me, and they know it full well. See how

thick and strong my armour is. The claws even of a tiger, a wild cat

or an eagle, could not penetrate it. I am very much afraid, my little

friend, that you will be gobbled up some fine day, and Laghupatin

and I will seek for you in vain."

 

"Of course," said the mouse, "I know the truth of what you say;

but I can very easily hide from danger--much more easily than you or

Laghupatin. A tuft of moss or a few dead leaves are shelter enough

for me, but big fellows like you and the crow can be quite easily

seen. Nobody saw me when the pigeons were all caught except Laghupatin;

and I would have kept out of his sight if I had not known that he

did not care to eat mice."

 

In spite of the fears of Mandharaka, the mouse and the crow lived

as his guests for a long time without any accident; and one day they

were suddenly joined by a new companion, a creature as unlike any one

of the three friends as could possibly be imagined. This was a very

beautiful deer, who came bounding out of the forest, all eager to

escape from the hunters, by whom he had been pursued, but too weary

to reach the river, across which he had hoped to be able to swim to

safety. Just as he reached the three friends, he fell to the ground,

almost crushing the mouse, who darted away in the nick of time. Strange

to say, the hunters did not follow the deer; and it was evident that

they had not noticed the way he had gone.

 

The tortoise, the crow and the mouse were all very sorry for the deer,

and, as was always the case, the crow was the first to speak. "Whatever

has happened to you?" he asked. And the deer made answer:

 

"I thought my last hour had come this time, for the hunters were

close upon me; and even now I do not feel safe."

 

"I'll fly up and take a look 'round," said Laghupatin; and off he

went to explore, coming back soon, to say he had seen the hunters

disappearing a long distance off, going in quite another direction

from the river. Gradually the deer was reassured, and lay still where

he had fallen; whilst the three friends chatted away to him, telling

him of their adventures. "What you had better do," said the tortoise,

"is to join us. When you have had a good meal, and a drink from the

river, you will feel a different creature. My old friend Laghupatin

will be the one to keep watch for us all, and warn us of any danger

approaching; I will give you the benefit of my long experience;

and little Hiranya, though he is not likely to be of any use to you,

will certainly never do you any harm."

 

9. Is it a good thing to make friends easily?

 

10. What was the bond of union between the crow, the mouse, the

tortoise and the deer?

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

 

The deer was so touched by the kind way in which he had been received,

that he agreed to stop with the three friends; and for some weeks

after his arrival all went well. Each member of the party went his own

way during the day-time, but all four met together in the evening,

and took it in turns to tell their adventures. The crow always had

the most to say, and was very useful to the deer in warning him of

the presence of hunters in the forest. One beautiful moonlight night

the deer did not come back as usual, and the other three became very

anxious about him. The crow flew up to the highest tree near and

eagerly sought for some sign of his lost friend, of whom he had grown

very fond. Presently he noticed a dark mass by the river-side, just

where the deer used to go down to drink every evening. "That must be

he," thought the crow; and very soon he was hovering above the deer,

who had been caught in a net and was struggling in vain to get free.

 

The poor deer was very glad indeed to see the crow, and cried to

him in a piteous voice: "Be quick, be quick, and help me, before the

terrible hunters find me and kill me."

 

"I can do nothing for you myself," said the crow, "but I know who

can. Remember who saved the pigeons!" And away he flew to fetch

little Hiranya, who with the tortoise was anxiously awaiting his

return. Very soon Laghupatin was back by the river-side with the

little mouse in his beak; and it did not take long for Hiranya, who

had been despised by the deer and the tortoise as a feeble little

thing, to nibble through the cords and save the life of the animal

a hundred times as big as himself.

 

How happy the deer was when the cruel cords were loosed and he could

stretch out his limbs again! He bounded up, but took great care not

to crush the mouse, who had done him such a service. "Never, never,

never," he said, "shall I forget what you have done for me. Ask

anything in my power, and I will do it."

 

"I want nothing," said Hixanya, "except the joyful thought of having

saved you."

 

By this time the tortoise had crept to the river-bank, and he too was

glad that the deer had been saved. He praised the mouse, and declared

that he would never again look down upon him. Then the four started

to go back to their usual haunt in the forest; the deer, the crow,

and the mouse soon arriving there quite safely, whilst the tortoise,

who could only get along very slowly, lagged behind. Now came the

time for him to find out that armour was not the only thing needed

to save him from danger. He had not got very far from the riverbank

before the cruel hunter who had set the net to catch the deer, came

to see if he had succeeded. Great was his rage when he found the net

lying on the ground, but not exactly where he had left it. He guessed

at once that some animal had been caught in it and escaped after a

long struggle. He looked carefully about and noticed that the cords

had been bitten through here and there. So he suspected just what

had happened, and began to search about for any creature who could

have done the mischief.

 

There was not a sign of the mouse, but the slow-moving tortoise was

soon discovered, and pouncing down upon him, the hunter rolled him up

in another net he had with him, and carried him off, "It's not much of

a prize," said the hunter to himself, "but better than nothing. I'll

have my revenge on the wretched creature anyhow, as I have lost the

prey I sought."

 

11. Which of the four friends concerned in this adventure do you

admire most?

 

12. What was the chief mistake made by the tortoise?

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

 

When the tortoise in his turn did not come home, the deer, the crow

and the mouse were very much concerned. They talked the matter over

together and decided that, however great the risk to themselves, they

must go back and see what had become of their friend. This time the

mouse travelled in one of the eats of the deer, from which he peeped

forth with his bright eyes, hoping to see the tortoise toiling along

in his usual solemn manner; whilst the crow, also on the watch, flew

along beside them. Great was the surprise and terror of all three when,

as they came out of the forest, they saw the hunter striding along

towards them, with the tortoise in the net under his arm. Once more the

little mouse showed his wisdom. Without a moment's hesitation he said

to the deer: "Throw yourself on the ground and pretend to be dead;

and you," he added to the crow, "perch on his head and bend over as

if you were going to peck out his eyes."

 

Without any idea what Hiranya meant by these strange orders,

but remembering how he had helped in other dangers, the two did as

they were told; the poor deer feeling anything but happy lying still

where his enemy was sure to see him, and thereby proving what a noble

creature he was. The hunter did, see him very soon, and thinking to

himself, "After all I shall get that deer," he let the tortoise fall,

and came striding along as fast as he could.

 

Up jumped the deer without waiting to see what became of the tortoise,

and sped away like the wind. The hunter rushed after him, and the

two were soon out of sight. The tortoise, whose armour had saved

him from being hurt by his fall, was indeed pleased when he saw

little Hiranya running towards him. "Be quick, be quick!" he cried,

"and set me free." Very soon the sharp teeth of the mouse had bitten

through the meshes of the net, and before the hunter came back, after

trying in vain to catch the deer, the tortoise was safely swimming

across the river, leaving the net upon the ground, whilst the crow

and the mouse were back in the shelter of the forest.

 

"There's some magic at work here," said the hunter when, expecting

to find the tortoise where he had left him, he discovered that his

prisoner had escaped. "The stupid beast could not have got out alone,"

he added, as he picked up the net and walked off with it. "But he

wasn't worth keeping anyhow."

 

That evening the four friends met once more, and talked over all they

had gone through together. The deer and the tortoise were full of

gratitude to the mouse, and could not say enough in his praise, but

the crow was rather sulky, and remarked: "If it had not been for me,

neither of you would ever have seen Hiranya. He was my friend before

he was yours."

 

"You are right," said the tortoise, "and you must also remember that it

was my armour which saved me from being killed in that terrible fall."

 

"Your armour would not have been of much use to you, if the hunter had

been allowed to carry you to his home," said the deer. "In my opinion

you and I both owe our lives entirely to Hiranya. He is small and

weak, it is true, but he has better brains than any of the rest of us,

and I for one admire him with all my heart. I am glad I trusted him

and obeyed him, when he ordered me to pretend to be dead, for I had

not the least idea how that could help the tortoise."

 

"Have it your own way," croaked the crow, "but I keep my own opinion

all the same. But for me you would never have known my dear little

Hiranya."

 

In spite of this little dispute the four friends were soon as happy

together as before the adventure of the tortoise. They once more

agreed never to part and lived happily together for many years,

as they had done ever since they first met.

 

13. What were the chief differences in the characters of the four

friends?

 

14. Are those who are alike or unlike in character more likely to

remain friends?

 

15. How would you describe a true friend?

 

16. What fault is more likely than any other to lead to loss of

friendship?

 

 

 

STORY VIII

 

A Clever Thief.

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

A certain man, named Hari-Sarman, who lived in a little village

in India, where there were no rich people and everyone had to work

hard to get his daily bread, got very weary of the life he had to

lead. He had a wife whose name was Vidya, and a large family; and

even if he had been very industrious it would have been difficult for

him to get enough food for them all. Unfortunately he was not a bit

industrious, but very lazy, and so was his wife. Neither of them made

any attempt to teach their boys and girls to earn their own living;

and if the other poor people in the village had not helped them,

they would have starved. Hari-Sarman used to send his children out

in different directions to beg or steal, whilst he and Vidya stayed

at home doing nothing.

 

One day he said to his wife: "Let us leave this stupid place, and

go to some big city where we can pick up a living of some kind. I

will pretend to be a wise man, able to find out secrets; and you

can say that you know all about children, having had so many of

your own." Vidya gladly agreed to this, and the whole party set out,

carrying the few possessions they had with them. In course of time they

came to a big town, and Hari-Sarman went boldly to the chief house in

it, leaving his wife and children outside. He asked to see the master,

and was taken into his presence. This master was a very rich merchant,

owning large estates in the country; but he cannot have been very

clever, for he was at once quite taken in by the story Hari-Sarman

told him. He said that he would find work for him and his wife, and

that the children could be sent to a farm he had, in the country,

where they could be made very useful.

 

Overjoyed at this, Hari-Sarman hastened out to tell his wife the good

news; and the two were at once received into the grand residence,

in which a small room was given to them for their own, whilst the

children were taken away to the farm, fall of eager delight at the

change from the wretched life they had been leading.

 

1. Would it have been better for Hari-Sarman and Vidya if their

neighbours had not helped them?

 

2. Do you think Hari-Sarman was the only person to blame for his

poverty?

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

Soon after the arrival of the husband and wife at the merchant's

house, a very important event took place, namely, the marriage of

the eldest daughter. Great were the preparations beforehand, in which

Vidya took her full share, helping in the kitchen to make all manner

of delicious dishes, and living in great luxury herself. For there

was no stint in the wealthy home; even the humblest servants were

well cared for. Vidya was happier than she had ever been before, now

that she had plenty to do and plenty of good food. She became in fact

quite a different creature, and began to wish she had been a better

mother to her children. "When the wedding is over," she thought,

"I will go and see how they are getting on." On the other hand she

forgot all about her husband and scarcely ever saw him.

 

It was all very different with Hari-Sarman himself. He had no

special duties to perform and nobody seemed to want him. If he went

into the kitchen, the busy servants ordered him to get out of their

way; and he was not made welcome by the owner of the house or his

guests. The merchant too forgot all about him, and he felt very

lonely and miserable. He had been thinking to himself how much he

would enjoy all the delicious food he would get after the wedding;

and now he began to grumble: "I'm starving in the midst of plenty,

that's what I am. Something will have to be done to change this

horrible state of things."

 

Whilst the preparations for the wedding were going on, Vidya never

came near her husband, and he lay awake a long time thinking,

"What in the world can I do to make the master send for me?" All of

a sudden an idea came into his head. "I'll steal something valuable,

and hide it away; and when everyone is being asked about the loss,

the merchant will remember the man who can reveal secrets. Now what

can I take that is sure to be missed? I know, I know!" And springing

out of bed, he hastily dressed himself and crept out of the house.

 

3. What would you have done if you had been Hari-Sarman?

 

4. Do you think Vidya ever had any real love for her husband?

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

 

This was what Hari-Sarman decided to do. The merchant had a great many

very beautiful horses, which lived in splendid stables and were taken

the greatest possible care of. Amongst them was a lovely little Arab

mare, the special favourite of the bride, who often went to pet it and

give it sugar. "I'll steal that mare and hide it away in the forest,"

said the wicked man to himself. "Then, when every one is hunting for

her, the master will remember the man who can reveal secrets and send

for me. Ah! Ah! What a clever fellow I am! Ah the stablemen and grooms

are feasting, I know; for I saw them myself when I tried to get hold

of my wife. I can climb through a window that is always left open." It

turned out that he was right. He met no one on his way to the stables,

which ware quite deserted. He got in easily, opened, the door from

inside, and led out the little mare, which made no resistance; she

had always been so kindly treated that she was not a bit afraid. He

took the beautiful creature far into the depths of the forest, tied

her up there, and got safely back to his own room without being seen.

 

Early the next morning the merchant's daughter, attended by her

maidens, went to see her dear little mare, taking with her an extra

supply of sugar. What was her distress when she found the stall

empty! She guessed at once that a thief had got in during the night,

and hurried home to tell her father, who was very, very angry with the

stablemen who had deserted their posts, and declared they should all be

flogged for it. "But the first thing to do is to get the mare back,"

he said; and he ordered messengers to be sent in every direction,

promising a big reward to anyone who brought news of the mare.

 

Vidya of course heard all there was to hear, and at once suspected

that Hari-Sarman had had something to do with the matter. "I expect he

has hidden the mare," she thought to herself, "and means to get the

reward for finding it." So she asked to see the master of the house,

and when leave was granted to her she said to him:

 

"Why do you not send for my husband, the man who can reveal secrets,

because of the wonderful power that has been given him of seeing

what is hidden from others? Many a time has he surprised me by what

he has been able to do."

 

5. Do you think Vidya had any wish to help Hari-Sarman for his

own sake?

 

6. Is there anything you think she should have done before seeing

the master?

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

 

On hearing what Vidya said, the merchant at once told her to go

and fetch her husband. But to her surprise Hari-Sarman refused to

go back with her. "You can tell the master what you like," he said,

angrily. "You all forgot me entirely yesterday; and now you want me

to help you, you suddenly remember my existence. I am not going to

be at your beck and call or anyone else's."

 

Vidya entreated him to listen to reason, but it was no good. She had

to go back and tell the merchant that he would not come. Instead of

being made angry by this, however, the master surprised her by saying:

"Your husband is right. I have treated him badly. Go and tell him I

apologise, and will reward him well, if only he will come and help me."

 

Back again went Vidya and this time she was more successful. But though

Hari-Sarman said he would go back with her, he was very sulky and

would not answer any of her questions. She could not understand him,

and wished she had not left him to himself for so long. He behaved

very strangely too when the master, who received him very kindly,

asked him if he could tell him where the mare was. "I know," he said,

"what a wise and clever man you are."

 

"It didn't seem much like it yesterday," grumbled Hari-Sarman. "Nobody

took any notice of me then, but now you want something of me, you

find out that I am wise and clever. I am just the same person, that

I was yesterday."

 

"I know, I know," said the merchant, "and I apologise for my neglect;

but when a man's daughter is going to be married, it's no wonder some

one gets neglected."

 

7. Do yon think Hari-Sarman was wise to treat his wife and the merchant

as he did?

 

8. If the mare had been found whilst Hari-Sarman was talking to the

master, what effect do you think the discovery would have had upon

them both?

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

 

Hari-Sarman now thought it was time to take a different tone. So he

put his hand in his pocket, and brought out a map he had got ready

whilst waiting to be sent for, as he had felt sure he would be. He

spread it out before the merchant, and pointed to a dark spot in

the midst of many lines crossing each other in a bewildering manner,

which he explained were pathways through the forest. "Under a tree,

where that dark spot is, you will find the mare," he said.

 

Overjoyed at the good news, the merchant at once sent a trusted servant

to test the truth; and when the mare was brought back, nothing seemed

too good for the man who had led to her recovery. At the wedding

festivities Hari-Sarman was treated as an honoured guest, and no

longer had he any need to complain of not having food enough. His

wife of course thought he would forgive her now for having neglected

him. But not a bit of it: he still sulked with her, and she could

never feel quite sure what the truth was about the mare.

 

All went well with Hari-Sarman for a long time. But presently something

happened which seemed likely to get him into very great trouble. A

quantity of gold and many valuable jewels disappeared in the palace of

the king of the country; and when the thief could not be discovered,

some one told the king the story of the stolen mare, and how a man

called Hari-Sarman, living in the house of a rich merchant in the

chief city, had found her when everyone else had failed.

 

"Fetch that man here at once," ordered the king, and very soon

Hari-Sarman was brought before him. "I hear you are so wise, you can

reveal all secrets," said the king. "Now tell me immediately who has

stolen the gold and jewels and where they are to be found."

 

Poor Hari-Sarman did not know what to say or do. "Give me till

to-morrow," he replied in a faltering voice; "I must have a little

time to think."

 

"I will not give you a single hour," answered the king. For seeing

the man before him was frightened, he began to suspect he was a

deceiver. "If you do not at once tell me where the gold and jewels are,

I will have you flogged until you find your tongue."

 

Hearing this, Hari-Sarman, though more terrified than ever, saw

that his only chance of gaining time to make up some story was to

get the king to believe in him. So he drew himself up and answered:

"The wisest magicians need to employ means to find out the truth. Give

me twenty-four hours, and I will name the thieves."

 

"You are not much of a magician if you cannot find out such a simple

thing as I ask of you," said the king. And turning to the guards,

he ordered them to take Hari-Sarman to prison, and shut him up there

without food or drink till he came to his senses. The man was dragged

away, and very soon he found himself alone in a dark and gloomy room

from which he saw no hope of escape.

 

He was in despair and walked up and down, trying in vain to think of

some way of escape. "I shall die here of starvation, unless my wife

finds some means of setting me free," he said. "I wish I had treated

her better instead of being so sulky with her." He tried the bars

of the window, but they were very strong: he could not hope to move

them. And he beat against the door, but no notice was taken of that.

 

9. What lesson does the trouble Hari-Sarman was in teach?

 

10. Do you think it would have been better for him to tell the king

he could not reveal secrets?

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

 

When it got quite dark in the prison, Hari-Sarman began to talk to

himself aloud. "Oh," he said, "I wish I had bitten my tongue out

before I told that lie about the mare. It is all my foolish tongue

which has got me into this trouble. Tongue! Tongue!" he went on,

"it is all your fault."

 

Now a very strange thing happened. The money and jewels had been

stolen by a man, who had been told where they were by a young servant

girl in the palace whose name was Jihva, which is the Sanskrit word

for tongue; and this girl was in a great fright when she heard that a

revealer of secrets had been taken before the king. "He will tell of

my share in the matter," she thought, "and I shall get into trouble,"

It so happened that the guard at the prison door was fond of her,

as well as the thief who had stolen the money and jewels. So when

all was quiet in the palace, Jihva slipped away to see if she could

get that guard to let her see the prisoner. "If I promise to give him

part of the money," she thought, "he will undertake not to betray me."

 

The guard was glad enough when Jihva came to talk to him, and he

let her listen at the key-hole to what Hari-Sarman was saying. Just

imagine her astonishment when she heard him repeating her name again

and again. "Jihva! Jihva! Thou," he cried, "art the cause of this

suffering. Why didst thou behave in such a foolish manner, just for

the sake of the good things of this life? Never can I forgive thee,

Jihva, thou wicked, wicked one!"

 

"Oh! oh!" cried Jihva in an agony of terror, "he knows the truth;

he knows that I helped the thief." And she entreated the guard to

let her into the prison that she might plead with Hari-Sarman. not to

tell the king what she had done. The man hesitated at first, but in

the end she persuaded him to consent by promising him a large reward.

 

When the key grated in the lock, Hari-Sarman stopped talking aloud,

wondering whether what he had been saying had been overheard by the

guard, and half hoping that his wife had got leave to come and see

him. As the door opened and he saw a woman coming in by the light

of a lantern held up by the guard, he cried, "Vidya my beloved!" But

he soon realized that it was a stranger. He was indeed surprised and

relieved, when Jihva suddenly threw herself at his feet and, clinging

to his knees, began to weep and moan "Oh, most holy man," she cried

between her sobs, "who knowest the very secrets of the heart, I have

come to confess that it was indeed I, Jihva, your humble servant,

who aided the thief to take the jewels and the gold and to hide them

beneath the big pomegranate tree behind the palace."

 

"Rise," replied Hari-Sarman, overjoyed at hearing this. "You have told

me nothing that I did not know, for no secret is hidden from me. What

reward will you give me if I save you from the wrath of the king?"

 

"I will give you all the money I have," said Jihva; "and that is not

a little."

 

"That also I knew," said Hari-Sarman. "For you have good wages, and

many a time you have stolen money that did not belong to you. Go now

and fetch it all, and have no fear that I will betray you."

 

11. What mistakes do you think Jihva made in what she said to

Hari-Sarman?

 

12. What would have been the best thing for her to do when she thought

she was found out?

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

 

Without waiting a moment Jihva hurried away to fetch the money; but

when she got back with it, the man on guard, who had heard everything

that had passed between her and Hari-Sarman, would not let her in to

the prison again till she gave him ten gold pieces. Thinking that

Hari-Sarman really knew exactly how much money she had, Jihva was

afraid he would be angry when he missed some of it; and again she let

out the truth, which he might never have guessed. For she began at

once to say, "I brought all I had, but the man at the door has taken

ten pieces." This did vex Hari-Sarman very much, and he told her he

would let the king know what she had done, unless she fetched the thief

who had taken the money and jewels. "I cannot do that," said Jihva,

"for he is very far away. He lives with his brother, Indra Datta, in

the forest beyond the river, more than a day's journey from here." "I

did but try you," said the clever Hari-Sarman, who now knew who the

thief was; "for I can see him where he is at this moment. Now go home

and wait there till I send for you."

 

But Jihva, who loved the thief and did not want him to be punished,

refused to go until Hari-Sarman promised that he would not tell the

king who the man was or where he lived. "I would rather," she said,

"bear all the punishment than that he should suffer." Even Hari-Sarman

was touched at this, and fearing that if he kept Jihva longer, she

would be found in the prison by messengers from the king, he promised

that no harm should come to her or the thief, and let her go.

 

Very soon after this, messengers came to take Hari-Sarman once more

before the king; who received him very coldly and began at once to

threaten him with a terrible punishment, if he did not say who the

thief was, and where the gold and jewels were. Even now Hari-Sarman

pretended to be unwilling to speak. But when he saw that the king would

put up with no more delay, he said, "I will lead you to the spot where

the treasure is buried, but the name of the thief, though I know it,

I will never betray." The king, who did not really care much who

the thief was, so long as he got back his money, lost not a moment,

but ordered his attendants to get spades and follow him. Very soon

Hari-Sarman brought them to the pomegranate tree. And there, sure

enough, deep down in the ground, was all that had been lost.

 

Nothing was now too good for Hari-Sarman: the king was greatly

delighted, and heaped riches and honours upon him. But some of the

wise men at the court suspected that he was really a deceiver, and

set about trying to find out all they could about him. They sent

for the man who had been on guard at the prison, and asked him many

questions. He did not dare tell the truth, for he knew he would be

terribly punished if he let out that Jihva had been allowed to see

his prisoner; but he hesitated so much that the wise men knew he

was not speaking the truth. One of them, whom the king loved, and

trusted very much, whose name was Deva-Jnanin, said to his master:

"I do not like to see that man, about whom we really know nothing,

treated as he is. He might easily have found out where the treasure

was hidden without any special power. Will you not test him in some

other way in my presence and that of your chief advisers?"

 

The king, who was always ready to listen to reason, agreed to this;

and after a long consultation with Deva-Jnanin, he decided on a very

clever puzzle with which to try Hari-Sarman. A live frog was put into

a pitcher; the lid was shut down, and the man who pretended to know

everything was brought into the great reception room, where all the

wise men of the court were gathered together round the throne, on

which sat the king in his royal robes. Deva-Jnanin had been chosen

by his master to speak for him; and coming forward, he pointed to

the small pitcher on the ground, and said: "Great as are the honours

already bestowed on you, they shall be increased if you can say at

once what is in that pitcher."

 

13. What kind of man do you think the king was from his behaviour

to Hari-Sarman?

 

14. Was it wise or foolish of Hari-Sarman to remain in the city after

his very narrow escape?

 

 

CHAPTER VIII

 

 

Hari-Sarman thought whan he looked at the pitcher: "Alas, alas, it

is all over with me now! Never can I find out what is in it. Would

that I had left this town with the money I had from Jihva before it

was too late!" Then he began to mutter to himself, as it was always

his habit to do when he was in trouble. It so happened that, when

he was a little boy, his father used to call him frog, and now his

thoughts went back to the time when he was a happy innocent child,

and he said aloud: "Oh, frog, what trouble has come to you! That

pitcher will be the death of you!"

 

Even Deva-Jnanin was astonished when he heard that; and so were all

the other wise men. The king was delighted to find that after all he

had made no mistake; and all the people who had been allowed to come

in to see the trial were greatly excited. Shouting for joy the king

called Hari-Sarman to come to the foot of the throne, and told him he

would never, never doubt him again. He should have yet more money, a

beautiful house in the country as well as the one he already had in the

town, and his children should be brought from the farm to live with him

and their mother, who should have lovely dresses and ornaments to wear.

 

Nobody was more surprised than Hari-Sarman himself. He guessed, of

course, that there was a frog in the pitcher. And when the king had

ended his speech, he said: "One thing I ask in addition to all that

has been given me, that I may keep the pitcher in memory of this day,

when my truth has been proved once more beyond a doubt."

 

His request was, of course, granted; and he went off with the pitcher

under his arm, full of rejoicing over his narrow escape. At the same

time he was also full of fear for the future. He knew only too well

that it had only been by a lucky chance that he had used the word

Jihva in his first danger and Frog in the second. He was not likely

to get off a third time; and he made up his mind that he would skip

away some dark night soon, with all the money and jewels he could

carry, and be seen no more where such strange adventures had befallen

him. He did not even tell his wife what he meant to do, but pretended

to have forgiven her entirely for the way she had neglected him when

he was poor, and to be glad that their children were to be restored

to them. Before they came from the farm their father had disappeared,

and nobody ever found out what had become of him; but the king let

his family keep what had been given to him, and to the end believed

he really had been what he had pretended to be. Only Deva-Jnanin had

his doubts; but he kept them to himself, for he thought, "Now the

man is gone, it really does not matter who or what he was."

 

15. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

 

16. What do you think it was that made Hari-Sarman think of his

boyhood when he was in trouble?

 

17. Do you think he took the pitcher and frog with him when he left

the city?

 

18. Do you think there was anything good in the character of

Hari-Sarman?

 

 

 

STORY IX

 

The Hermit's Daughter.

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

Near a town in India called Ikshumati, on a beautiful wide river,

with trees belonging to a great forest near its banks, there dwelt

a holy man named Mana Kanaka, who spent a great part of his life

praying to God. He had lost his wife when his only child, a lovely

girl called Kadali-Garbha, was only a few months old. Kadali-Garbha

was a very happy girl, with many friends in the woods round her home,

not children like herself, but wild creatures, who knew she would

not do them any harm. They loved her and she loved them. The birds

were so tame that they would eat out of her hand, and the deer used

to follow her about in the hope of getting the bread she carried in

her pocket for them. Her father taught her all she knew, and that was

a great deal; for she could read quite learned books in the ancient

language of her native land. Better even than what she found out in

those books was what Mana Kanaka told her about the loving God of all

gods who rules the world and all that live in it. Kadali-Garbha also

learnt a great deal through her friendship with wild animals. She knew

where the birds built their nests, where the baby deer were born,

where the squirrels hid their nuts, and what food all the dwellers

in the forest liked best. She helped her father to work in their

garden in which all their own food was grown; and she loved to cook

the fruit and vegetables for Mana Kanaka and herself. Her clothes

were made of the bark of the trees in the forest, which she herself

wove into thin soft material suitable for wearing in a hot climate.

 

1. What do you think it was which made the animals trust Kadali-Garbha?

 

2. Could you have been happy in the forest with no other children to

play with?

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

Kadali-Garbha never even thought about other children, because she had

not been used to having them with her. She was just as happy as the

day was long, and never wished for any change. But when she was about

sixteen something happened which quite altered her whole life. One

day her father had gone into the forest to cut wood, and had left

her alone. She had finished tidying the house, and got everything

ready for the midday meal, and was sitting at the door of her home,

reading to herself, with birds fluttering about her head and a pet

doe lying beside her, when she heard the noise of a horse's feet

approaching. She looked up, and there on the other side of the fence

was a very handsome young man seated on a great black horse, which he

had reined up when he caught sight of her. He looked at her without

speaking, and she looked back at him with her big black eyes full

of surprise at his sudden appearance. She made a beautiful picture,

with the green creepers covering the hut behind her, and the doe,

which had started up in fear of the horse, pressing against her.

 

The man was the king of the country, whose name was Dridha-Varman. He

had been hunting and had got separated from his attendants. He was very

much surprised to find anyone living in the very depths of the forest,

and was going to ask the young girl who she was, when Kadali-Garbha

saw her father coming along the path leading to his home. Jumping up,

she ran to meet him, glad that he had come; for she had never before

seen a young man and was as shy as any of the wild creatures of the

woods. Now that Mana Kanaka was with her, she got over her fright,

and felt quite safe, clinging to his arm as he and the king talked

together.

 

3. Can you describe just how Kadali-Garbha felt when she saw the king?

 

4. Do you think it would have been a good or a bad thing for her to

live all the rest of her life in the forest?

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

 

Mana Kanaka knew at once that the man on the horse was the king; and

a great fear entered his heart when he saw how Dridha-Varman looked

at his beloved only child.

 

"Who are you, and who is that lovely girl?" asked the king. And Mana

Kanaka answered, "I am only a humble woodcutter; and this is my only

child, whose mother has long been dead."

 

"Her mother must have been a very lovely woman, if her daughter is like

her," said the king. "Never before have I seen such perfect beauty."

 

"Her mother," replied Mana Kanaka, "was indeed what you say; and her

soul was as beautiful as the body in which it dwelt all too short

a time."

 

"I would have your daughter for my wife," said the king; "and if you

will give her to me, she shall have no wish ungratified. She shall have

servants to wait on her and other young girls to be her companions;

beautiful clothes to wear, the best of food to eat, horses and

carriages as many as she will, and no work to do with her own hands."

 

5. If you had been Kadali-Garbha, what would you have said when you

heard all these promises?

 

6. Of all the things the king said she should have, which would you

have liked best?

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

 

What Kadali-Garbha did was to cling closely to her father, hiding

her face on his arm and whispering, "I will not leave you: do not

send me away from you, dear father."

 

Mana Kanaka stroked her hair, and said in a gentle voice:

 

"But, dear child, your father is old, and must leave you soon. It is

a great honour for his little girl to be chosen by the king for his

bride. Do not be afraid, but look at him and see how handsome he is

and how kind he looks."

 

Then Kadali-Garbha looked at the king, who smiled at her and looked

so charming that her fear began to leave her. She still clung to

her father, but no longer hid her face; and Mana Kanaka begged

Kadali-Garbha to let him send her away, so that he might talk with

the king alone about the wish he had expressed to marry her. The king

consented to this, and Kadali-Garbha gladly ran away. But when she

reached the door of her home, she looked back, and knew in her heart

that she already loved the king and did not want him to go away.

 

It did not take long for the matter of the marriage to be settled. For

Mana Kanaka, sad though he was to lose his dear only child, was glad

that she should be a queen, and have some one to take care of her when

he was gone. After this first visit to the little house in the forest

the king came every day to see Kadali-Garbha, bringing all kinds of

presents for her. She learnt to love him so much that she became as

eager as he was for the wedding to be soon. When the day was fixed,

the king sent several ladies of his court to dress the bride in

clothes more beautiful that she had ever dreamt of; and in them she

looked more lovely even than the first day her lover had seen her.

 

Now amongst these ladies was a very wise woman who could see what

was going to happen; and she knew that there would be troubles for

the young queen in the palace, because many would be jealous of her

happiness. She was very much taken with the beautiful innocent girl,

and wanted to help her so much that she managed to get her alone

for a few minutes, when she said to her: "I want you to promise me

something. It is to take this packet of mustard seeds, hide it in the

bosom of your dress, and when you ride to the palace with your husband,

strew the seed along the path as you go. You know how quickly mustard

grows. Well, it will spring up soon; and if you want to come home

again, you can easily find the way by following the green shoots. Alas,

I fear they will not have time to wither before you need their help!"

 

Kadali-Garbha laughed when the wise woman talked about trouble coming

to her. She was so happy, she could not believe she would want to

come home again so soon. "My father can come to me when I want him,"

she said. "I need only tell my dear husband to send for him." But

for all that she took the packet of seeds and hid it in her dress.

 

7. Would you have done as the wise woman told you if you had been

the bride?

 

8. Ought Kadali-Garbha to have told the king about the mustard seed?

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

 

After the wedding was over, the king mounted his beautiful horse,

and bending down, took his young wife up before him. Holding her

close to him with his right arm, he held the reins in his left hand;

and away they went, soon leaving all the attendants far behind them,

the queen scattering the mustard seed as she had promised to do. When

they arrived at the palace there were great rejoicings, and everybody

seemed charmed with the queen, who was full of eager interest in all

that she saw.

 

For several weeks there was nobody in the wide world so happy and

light-hearted as the bride. The king spent many hours a day with her,

and was never tired of listening to all she had to tell him about

her life in the forest with her father. Every day he gave her some

fresh proof of his love, and he never refused to do anything she

asked him to do. But presently a change came. Amongst the ladies

of the court there was a beautiful woman, who had hoped to be queen

herself, and hated Kadali-Garbha so much that she made up her mind

to get her into disgrace with the king. She asked first one powerful

person and then another to help her; but everybody loved the queen,

and the wicked woman began to be afraid that those she had told about

her wish to harm her would warn the king. So she sought about for some

one who did not know Kadali-Garbha, and suddenly remembered a wise

woman named Asoka-Mala, who lived in a cave not far from the town,

to whom many people used to go for advice in their difficulties. She

went to this woman one night, and told her a long story in which there

was not one word of truth. The young queen, she said, did not really

love the king; and with the help of her father, who was a magician,

she meant to poison him. How could this terrible thing be prevented,

she asked; and she promised that if only Asoka-Mala would help to

save Dridha-Varman, she would give her a great deal of money.

 

Asoka-Mala guessed at once that the story was not true, and that it

was only because the woman was jealous of the beautiful young queen

that she wished to hurt her. But she loved money very much. Instead

therefore of at once refusing to have anything to do with the matter,

she said: "Bring me fifty gold pieces now, and promise me another

fifty when the queen is sent away from the palace, and I will tell

you what to do."

 

The wicked woman promised all this at once. The very next night she

brought the first fifty pieces of gold to the cave, and Asoka-Mala

told her that she must get the barber, who saw the king alone every

day, to tell him he had found out a secret about the queen. "You must

tell the barber all you have already told me. But be very careful to

give some proof of your story. For if you do not do so, you will only

have wasted the fifty gold pieces you have already given to me; and,

more than that, you will be terribly punished for trying to hurt the

queen, whom everybody loves."

 

9. Do you think this plot against Kadali-Garbha was likely to succeed?

 

10. Can you think of any way in which the wise woman might have helped

the queen and also have gained a reward for herself?

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

 

The wicked woman went back to the palace, thinking all the way to

herself, "How can I get a proof of what is not true?" At last an

idea came into her head. She knew that the queen loved to wander

in the forest, and that she was not afraid of the wild creatures,

but seemed to understand their language. She would tell the barber

that Kadali-Garbha was a witch and knew the secrets of the woods;

that she had been seen gathering wild herbs, some of them poisonous,

and had been heard muttering strange words to herself as she did so.

 

Early the next morning the cruel woman went to see the barber, and

promised him a reward if he would tell the king what she had found

out about his wife. "He won't believe you at first," she said; "but

you must go on telling him till he does. You are clever, enough,"

she added, "to make up something he will believe if what I have

thought of is no good."

 

The barber, who had served the king for many years, would not at first

agree to help to make him unhappy. But he too liked money very much,

and in the end he promised to see what he could do if he was well

paid for it. He was, as the wicked woman had said, clever enough;

and he knew from long experience just how to talk to his master. He

began by asking the king if he had heard of the lovely woman who was

sometimes seen by the woodmen wandering about alone in the forest,

with wild creatures following her. Remembering how he had first seen

Kadali-Garbha, Dridha-Varman at once guessed that she was the lovely

woman. But he did not tell the barber so; for he was so proud of his

dear wife's beauty that he liked to hear her praised, and wanted the

man to go on talking about her. He just said: "What is she like? Is

she tall or short, fair or dark?" The barber answered the questions

readily. Then he went on to say that it was easy to see that the lady

was as clever as she was beautiful; for she knew not only all about

animals but also about plants. "Every day," he said, "she gathers

quantities of herbs, and I have been told she makes healing medicines

of them. Some even go so far as to say she also makes poisons. But,

for my part, I do not believe that; she is too beautiful to be wicked."

 

The king listened, and a tiny little doubt crept into his mind about

his wife. She had never told him about the herbs she gathered, although

she often chattered about her friends in the forest. Perhaps after

all it was not Kadali-Garbha the barber was talking about. He would

ask her if she knew anything about making medicines from herbs. He did

so when they were alone together, and she said at once, "Oh, yes! My

father taught me. But I have never made any since I was married."

 

"Are you sure?" asked the king; and she answered laughing, "Of course,

I am: how could I be anything but sure? I have no need to think of

medicine-making, now I am the queen."

 

Dridha-Varman said no more at the time. But he was troubled; and

when the barber came again, he began at once to ask about the woman

who had been seen in the woods. The wicked man was delighted, and

made up a long story. He said one of the waiting women had told him

of what she had seen. The woman, he said, had followed the lady home

one day, and that home was not far from the palace. She had seen her

bending over a fire above which hung a great sauce-pan full of water,

into which she flung some of the herbs she had gathered, singing as

she did so, in a strange language.

 

"Could it possibly be," thought the king, "that Kadali-Garbha had

deceived him? Was she perhaps a witch after all?" He remembered that he

really did not know who she was, or who her father was. He had loved

her directly he saw her, just because she was so beautiful. What was

he to do now? He was quite sure, from the description the barber had

given of the woman in the forest, that she was his wife. He would

watch her himself in future, and say nothing to her that would make

her think he was doing so.

 

11. What should the king have done when he heard the barber's story?

 

12. Can you really love anybody truly whom you do not trust?

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

 

Although the king said nothing to his wife about what the barber had

told him, he could not treat her exactly as he did before he heard it,

and she very soon began to wonder what she had done to vex him. The

first thing she noticed was that one of the ladies of the court always

followed her when she went into the forest. She did not like this;

because she so dearly loved to be alone with the wild creatures,

and they did not come to her when any one else was near. She told

the lady to go away, and she pretended to do so; but she only kept

a little further off. And though the queen could no longer see her,

she knew she was there, and so did the birds and the deer. This went

on for a little time; and then Kadali-Garbha asked her husband to

tell every one that she was not to be disturbed when she went to see

her friends in the forest.

 

"I am afraid," said the king, "that some harm will come to you. There

are wild beasts in the depths of the wood who might hurt you. And

what should I do if any harm came to my dear one?"

 

Kadali-Garbha was grieved when Dridha-Varman said this, for she knew

it was not true; and she looked at him so sadly that he felt ashamed

of having doubted her. All would perhaps have been well even now,

if he had told her of the story he had heard about her, because then

she could have proved that it was not true. But he did not do that;

he only said, "I cannot let you be alone so far from home. Why not

be content with the lovely gardens all round the palace? If you still

wish to go to the woods, I will send one of the game-keepers with you

instead of the lady who has been watching you. Then he can protect

you if any harmful creature should approach."

 

"If my lord does not wish me to be alone in the forest," answered the

queen, "I will be content with the gardens. For no birds or animals

would come near me if one of their enemies were with me. But," she

added, as her eyes filled with tears, "will not my lord tell me why

he no longer trusts his wife, who loves him with all her heart?"

 

The king was very much touched by what Kadali-Garbha said, but still

could not make up his mind to tell her the truth. So he only embraced

her fondly, and said she was a good little wife to be so ready to

obey him. The queen went away very sadly, wondering to herself what

she could do to prove to her dear lord that she loved him as much as

ever. She took care never to go outside the palace gardens, but she

longed very much for her old freedom, and began to grow pale and thin.

 

The wicked woman who had tried to do her harm was very much

disappointed that she had only succeeded in making her unhappy; so

she went again to Asoka-Mala, and promised her more money if only she

would think of some plan to get the king to send his wife away. The

wise woman considered a long time, and then she said: "You must use

the barber again. He goes from house to house, and he must tell the

king that the beautiful woman, who used to roam about in the forest

collecting herbs, has been seen there again in the dead of the night,

when she could be sure no one would find out what she was doing."

 

Now it so happened that Kadali-Garbha was often unable to sleep because

of her grief that the king did not love her so much as he used to

do. One night she got so tired of lying awake that she got up very

quietly, so as not to disturb her husband, and putting on her sari,

she went out into the gardens, hoping that the fresh air might help

her to sleep. Presently the king too woke up, and finding that his

wife was no longer beside him, he became very uneasy, and was about to

go and seek her, when she came back. He asked her where she had been;

and she told him exactly what had happened, but she did not explain

why she could not sleep.

 

13. What mistake did the queen make in her treatment of the king?

 

14. Do you think it is more hurtful to yourself and to others to talk

too much or too little?

 

 

CHAPTER VIII

 

 

When the barber was shaving the king the next morning, he told him he

had heard that people were saying the beautiful woman had been seen

again one night, gathering herbs and muttering to herself. "They talk,

my lord," said the man, "of your own name having been on her lips;

and those who love and honour you are anxious for your safety. Maybe

the woman is indeed a witch, who for some reason of her own will try

to poison you."

 

Now Dridha-Varman remembered that Kadali-Garbha had left him the

night before, "and perhaps," he thought, "at other times when I was

asleep." He could scarcely wait until the barber had finished shaving

him, so eager was he to find out the truth. He hurried to his wife's

private room, but she was not there; and her ladies told him she had

not been seen by them that day. This troubled him terribly, and he

roused the whole palace to seek her. Messengers were soon hurrying

to and fro, but not a trace of her could be found. Dridha-Varman

was now quite sure that the woman the barber had talked about was

Kadali-Garbha, the wife he had so loved and trusted. "Perhaps," he

thought, "she has left poison in my food, and has gone away so as

not to see me die." He would neither eat nor drink, and he ordered

all the ladies whose duty it was to wait on the queen to be locked

up till she was found. Amongst them was the wicked woman who had done

all the mischief because of her jealousy of the beautiful young queen,

and very much she wished she had never tried to harm her.

 

15. Where do you suppose the queen had gone?

 

16. What mistake did the king make when he heard the queen was missing?

 

 

CHAPTER IX

 

 

In her trouble about the loss of the king's love Kadali-Garbha longed

for her father, for she felt sure he would be able to help her. So

she determined to go to him. With the aid of the wise woman who

had given her the packet of mustard seed, and who had been her best

friend at court, she disguised herself as a messenger, and, mounted

on a strong little pony, she sped along the path marked out by the

young shoots of mustard, reaching her old home in the forest before

the night fell. Great indeed was the joy of Mana Kanaka at the sight

of his beloved child, and very soon she had poured out all her sorrow

to him. The hermit was at first very much enraged with his son-in-law

for the way in which he had treated Kadali-Garbha, and declared that

he would use all the powers he had to punish him. "Never," he said,

"shall he see your dear face again; but I will go to him and call

down on him all manner of misfortunes. You know not, dear child,

I have never wished you to know, that I am a magician and can make

the very beasts of the field and the winds of heaven obey me. I know

full well who has made this mischief between you and your husband,

and I will see that punishment overtakes them."

 

"No, no, father," cried Kadali-Garbha; "I will not have any harm done

to my dear one, for I love him with all my heart. All I ask of you

is to prove to him that I am innocent of whatever fault he thinks I

have committed, and to make him love and trust me again."

 

It was hard work to persuade Mana Kanaka to promise not to harm the

king, but in the end he yielded. Together the father and daughter

rode back to the palace, and together they were brought before

Dridha-Varman, who, in spite of the anger he had felt against his

wife, was overjoyed to see her. When he looked at her clinging to Mana

Kanaka's arm, as she had done the first time they met, all his old

love returned, and he would have taken her in his arms and told her so

before the whole court, if she had not drawn back. It was Mana Kanaka

who was the first to speak. Drawing himself up to his full height,

and pointing to the king, he charged him with having broken his vow

to love and protect his wife. "You have listened to lying tongues,"

he said, "and I will tell you to whom those tongues belong, that

justice may be done to them."

 

Once more Kadali-Garbha interfered. "No, father," she said; "let

their names be forgotten: only prove to my lord that I am his loving

faithful wife, and I will be content."

 

"I need no proof," cried Dridha-Varman; "but lest others should follow

their evil example, I will have vengeance on the slanderers. Name them,

and their doom shall be indeed a terrible one."

 

Then Mana Kanaka told the king the whole sad story; and when it was

ended the wicked woman who had first thought of injuring the queen,

and the barber who had helped her, were sent for to hear their doom,

which was---to be shut up for the rest of their lives in prison. This

was changed to two years only, because Kadali-Garbha was generous

enough to plead for them. As for the third person in the plot, the

old witch of the cave, not a word was said about her by anybody. Mana

Kanaka knew well enough what her share in the matter had been; but

magicians and witches are careful not to make enemies of each other,

and so he held his peace.

 

Dridha-Varman was so grateful to his father-in-law for bringing his

wife back to him, that he wanted him to stop at court, and said he

would give him a very high position there. But Mana Kanaka refused

every reward, declaring that he loved his little home in the forest

better than the grand rooms he might have had in the palace. "All I

wish for," he said, "is my dear child's happiness. I hope you will

never again listen to stories against your wife. If you do, you may

be very sure that I shall hear of it; and next time I know that you

have been unkind to her I will punish you as you deserve."

 

The king was obliged to let Mana Kanaka go, but after this he took

Kadali-Garbha to see her father in the forest very often. Later, when

the queen had some children of her own, their greatest treat was to

go to the little home, in the depths of the wood. They too learnt to

love animals, and had a great many pets, but none of those pets were

kept in cages.

 

17. What is the chief lesson to be learnt from this story?

 

18. Which of all the people in this tale do you like best?

 

19. What do you think is the greatest power in all the world?

 

20. If you had been Kadali-Garbha would you have forgiven those who

tried to do you harm?