Khasi: The Tiger and the Monkeys

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

(tiger, photo by T. Hisgett)

The Tiger and the Monkeys

At the beginning of time, the animals were free and living wild and unruly lives, but there were so many disputes and quarrels that they convened a council to choose a king to reign over them. With one accord they nominated the tiger to be king, not for any special wisdom or merit which he possessed but because of his great strength by which he would be able to subdue the turbulent beasts.

Although he possessed greater strength than any of his kindred, the tiger was more ignorant of the ways and habits of his subjects than any of the animals. He was so self-absorbed that he never troubled himself to study the ways of others, and this caused him to act very foolishly at times and to make himself ridiculous, for the animals were tempted to take advantage of his great ignorance and to play tricks upon him whenever they thought they could do so undetected. This tale relates how the monkeys played a cunning trick on their king which caused mortal enmity to spring up between him and them for ever.

~ ~ ~

One hot day, the tiger walked abroad to take an airing, but, the sun being so hot, he turned aside to shelter under some leafy trees and there he fell asleep. Presently he awoke, and on awaking, he heard coming from overhead very melodious singing to which he listened enraptured. 

It was the little insect, Shalymmen, chirping on a leaf, but she was so small the tiger could not see her, and, being so ignorant, he had no idea whose voice it was. He peered to the branches right and left trying to discover the singer, but he only saw a company of monkeys at play in the trees, so he began to question them who it was that was singing above him.

Now the monkeys and all the jungle animals were perfectly familiar with the singing of Shalymmen and recognised the voice from afar. They thought it very contemptible in the king to be more ignorant than themselves, and one audacious young monkey, in a spirit of mischief, answered that the singer was their youngest sister.

The other monkeys were perturbed when they heard their brother giving such an impudent answer, thinking that the tiger would be offended and would punish them with his great strength. They were preparing to run away when, to their amazement, they heard the tiger replying to their rash young brother in a gentle voice and with most affable manners and saying to him, “You are my brother-in-law. Your sister has the most beautiful voice in the jungle; I will make her my wife.”

If the predicament of the monkeys was bad at the beginning, it was doubly so now, for they felt that, things having taken such an unexpected turn, it would be impossible to conceal from the knowledge of the tiger their brother’s offence. They determined, however, not to desert the young culprit and, if possible,  to try and rescue him, so they approached the tiger, and with much seeming courtesy and honour, they put forward the excuse that their sister was very young and not yet of marriageable age. 

This excuse made no impression on the king, for he said: “So much the better. As she is young, I can mould her to my own ways and bring her up according to my own views, which would not be so easy if she were fully matured.”

To which the monkeys replied, “Our sister is not amenable to instruction. She is indolent and fond of her own will.”

The tiger, however, was so lovesick that no argument had weight with him. He thought the brothers were severe in their judgement and expressed his conviction that she could not be as slothful as they said, for she was forgoing her midday repose for the sake of making music to cheer the animals. He ordered them to come down from the trees and to lead their sister to him.

After this the monkeys feared to argue further, so they pretended to agree to his commands, but they craved a boon from him and asked for a little time to make preparations, as it would not be becoming for one of such a high degree to join himself with a poor family like theirs without their showing him adequate honour such as was due to his rank. This request the tiger granted, and it was arranged between them that he was to come and claim his bride at the time of the full moon, a week from that day, and so the tiger departed with evident goodwill.

As soon as they found themselves alone the monkeys began to think out some plans by which they could  meet the situation and escape exposure. They decided to call together a council of the whole tribe of monkeys, for they well foresaw that the whole tribe would be in peril if the tiger found out what they had done. 

(Hokenakal monkeys in India)

So the monkeys came to hold a council, and in that council it was decided that they must continue to keep up the duplicity begun, and in order to hoodwink the tiger still further they planned to make a clay image after the fashion of a woman and to present her to the tiger as his bride. So they made preparations for a great feast, but they did not invite anybody except their own tribe to attend.

During the succeeding days the monkeys busied themselves collecting clay and moulding it into an image, which they propped against a tree. They were unable to make the head of one piece with the body, so they moulded the head separately, and when it was finished they placed it loosely on the body of the image. They then proceeded to dress the image in all the finery they could procure, and they carefully covered the head and face with a veil so as to hide it from the eyes of the bridegroom.

The night of the full moon arrived, and all the monkey family were assembled at the appointed place, where with much clatter and seeming joy they awaited the arrival of the tiger, though they were really very anxious about the consequences. Everything was in readiness, and the place laid out with many kinds of food, so as to lead the tiger to think that they were sincere in their welcome.

He came early, very gorgeously arrayed, and carrying over his shoulder a net full of betel nut and pan leaves, and was received with loud acclamation by his  prospective relatives. But the tiger hardly deigned to give them a greeting, so impatient was he to meet his bride, and he demanded to be taken to her immediately. The monkeys led him with great ceremony to the clay image, but their hearts were beating fast with fear lest he should discover their fraud.

When they reached the image they said, “This is our sister. Take her and may she be worthy of the great honour you have conferred upon her.” Thereupon they retired to a safe distance.

When the tiger saw how finely dressed she was and how modestly she had veiled herself, he felt a little timid, for she was so much finer than the little grey monkey he had been picturing to himself. He came up to her and said deferentially, as he slung the net of betel nut round her neck: “You are the chief person at this feast; take the pan and the betel nut and divide them among the company according to custom.”

The bride, however, remained motionless and mute, seeing which the tiger asked the monkeys in a displeased voice, “Why doth not your sister answer me nor obey my commands?”

“She is very young,” they replied. “Perhaps she has fallen asleep while waiting for you; pull the string of the net and she will awaken.”

Upon this the tiger gave the string a sharp tug, and the loose head of the image rolled on to the floor, whereupon the monkeys, uttering the most piercing shrieks, pounced upon the tiger in a mob, declaring that he had killed their sister and that he had only made a pretence of marrying her in order to get hold of her to kill her. 

A fierce and bloody fight ensued  in which the tiger was nearly killed, and ever since then the tiger has feared the monkeys, and they are the only animals in the jungle that dare challenge him to fight. He never discovered their duplicity, but he learned one very effective lesson, for he has never committed the indiscretion of proposing marriage with an unknown bride since that unfortunate affair with the monkeys, while the monkeys are rejoicing in the cunning by which they saved their brother and their tribe from punishment.

Next: The Legend of the Iei Tree

(1500 words)

Khasi:The Legend of the Iei Tree

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

The Legend of the Iei Tree

Some eight or ten miles to the west of the town of Shillong is seen a prominent hill range, a place much renowned in Khasi folk-lore. It is known as the Mountain of the Iei Tree and is a very romantic spot even in the present day, although divested of its former reputed glory. Its slopes are studded with thriving villages and cultivated fields and at its foot the river Umiam (the Wailing River) curves its dolorous way to the plains, at times leaping wildly over rugged precipices, scattering its spray in the sunshine, at other times lying almost motionless in the bosom of a valley, reflecting the beauty of myriad trees in its clear depths.

According to tradition, this hill, and the land around it, was the most fertile land in the world; broad acres lay under cultivation and its forests yielded the largest and most valuable timber. It was also famous for the grandeur of its scenery; fairies and nymphs were said to have their haunts in its green glades, birds of lovely hues lived there and made their nests amid flowers of sweetest scent; there happy maidens loved to roam, and there young lovers met and plighted their troth. Such was the Mountain of the Iei Tree in the days of the Ancients.

On the summit of the mountain there grew a tree of fabulous dimensions — the Iei Tree — which dwarfed even the largest trees in forests. It was of a species unique, such as mankind had never known; its thick outspreading branches were so clustered with leaves that the light of the sun could not penetrate through and the earth beneath its shadow became barren and unfruitful.

The fame of the tree spread abroad and people from many lands came to see it, but there were none who dared to cut a twig or to scratch its bark, as it was commonly believed that the tree was the abode of some unknown and powerful god, to offend whom would bring destruction.

The Iei Tree continued to grow through many ages, and year by year its malevolent shadow spread further and further, and the area of the barren land increased season by season until at last it became a serious menace to the world, and the very existence of mankind was at stake. People could no longer live on the slopes of the mountain, cultivation became impossible for many miles around, and the one-time prosperous families had to wander abroad as homeless fugitives, fleeing from the ever-pursuing, ever-threatening shadow. The pathways and pleasant nooks whence of old had echoed the merry voices and laughter of children were now become the lurking-places of dragons and the prowling-grounds of savage beasts whither no man ventured to roam.

A Durbar of all mankind was summoned to consider the situation and to devise some plan to save the world from its impending doom. After long and solemn deliberations, it was resolved to mobilise a party of the bravest and most skilled wood-cutters to go into the mountain to hew down the Iei Tree so as to admit the sunlight once more to the earth. In the course of time the wood-cutters came and entered the mountain, defying all danger and risking the possible wrath of the unknown god whom they believed to haunt the tree.

When they reached the Iei Tree, they plied their axes with skill and toiled vigorously till night came on, but the wood was so hard and so tough they only succeeded in cutting a little below the bark that day. They consoled themselves, however, by reflecting that so far there had appeared no signs of anger from the unknown god forasmuch as no misfortunes had befallen them, so they retired to rest, sanguine that by perseverance their gigantic task would in time be accomplished.

Next morning they returned early to their work, but, to their consternation, they saw that the incisions made by them the day before at the cost of so much labour were obliterated, leaving the trunk of the tree as solid and unscathed as before. Many of the wood-cutters were so superstitious that they feared to approach the tree again for they were now confirmed in their fear that the place was enchanted, but when their more stoical comrades reminded them of the great peril in which mankind stood, they plucked up courage and for another day they toiled laboriously, only to find their work obliterated next morning.

As no personal harm had befallen any of them, the wood-cutters determined to continue their attack, but no matter how patiently they worked during the day, the tree would be healed up in the night. They grew more and more mystified and discouraged, and the strain of living in that weird region was becoming intolerable. At last, they decided to return to their fellow-men, preferring to endure the foreseen doom of the shadowed world rather than face the unknown and mysterious terrors of the land of the Iei Tree.

As they sat, gloomy and disconsolate, brooding on their defeat, a little grey bird — Ka Phreit, the Khasi wren — came, chirruping and twittering, close to the wood-cutters, and she began to talk to them, urging them to keep up their courage, as she had come to help them. Now, in spite of their spiritless condition, the woodsmen could not help laughing to hear Ka Phreit — the smallest of all the birds — so impudently offering to help them — the picked wood-cutters of the world — to cut down a tree. But when the wren saw them laughing, she chirruped and twittered still louder, and drew still nearer, and with great excitement she said, “No doubt you are great and wise, for you have been chosen for a great task. You are unable to perform it, yet when I come to offer assistance, you laugh at me. It is true that I am the smallest of all the birds, but that has not hindered me from learning the secrets of this forest, which you must also learn before you can cut down the Iei Tree.”

On hearing the sage words of the wren, the woodmen felt ashamed for having laughed at her, seeing that she meant nothing but goodwill towards them, so they got up and saluted her, and begged her pardon, and asked her to teach them the secret of the forest.

Thus mollified, Ka Phreit informed them that the tree was not healed by any supernatural agency as they had supposed, but that it was U Khla, the big tiger, who came every night to lick the tree and to heal it for he did not want it to be cut down as its shadow made it possible for him to prowl for prey in safety.

This news cheered the wood-cutters’ hearts, and they lost no time in beginning another attack on the Iei Tree, and when night fell, instead of carrying their axes home as before, they planted them in the tree edge outward.

When the tiger came to lick the tree that night (all unconscious that the wren had disclosed the secret to the men), the sharp blades cut his tongue, and he fled in terror, bleeding and howling, and never more returned to hinder the work of the wood-cutters, who, now that they were able to carry on their task undisturbed, succeeded in time in cutting down the Iei Tree.

Thus Ka Phreit, the smallest of all the birds, helped mankind to bring back sunshine and prosperity to the world.

Next: Hunting the Stag Lapalang

(1300 words)

Khasi: How the Cat came to live with Man

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Cat Came to Live with Man

In olden times, Ka Miaw, the cat, lived in the jungle with her brother the tiger, who was king of the jungle. She was very proud of her high pedigree and anxious to display the family greatness, and to live luxuriously according to the manner of families of high degree, but the tiger, although he was very famous abroad, was not at all mindful of the well-being and condition of his family, and allowed them to be often in want. He himself, by his skill and great prowess, obtained the most delicate morsels for his own consumption, but as it involved trouble to bring booty home for his household, he preferred to leave what he did not want himself to rot on the roadside or to be eaten by any chance scavenger. Therefore, the royal larder was often very bare and empty.

Thus the cat was reduced to great privations, but so jealous was she for the honour and good name of her house that, to hide her poverty from her friends and neighbours, she used to sneak out at night-time, when nobody could see her, in order to catch mice and frogs and other common vermin for food.

Once she ventured to speak to her brother on the matter, asking him what glory there was in being king  if his family were obliged to work and to fare like common folks. The tiger was so angered that she never dared to approach the subject again, and she continued to live her hard life and to shield the family honour.

One day the tiger was unwell, and a number of his neighbours came to enquire after his health. Desiring to entertain them with tobacco, according to custom, he shouted to his sister to light the hookah and to serve it round to the company. Now, even in the most ordinary household, it is very contrary to good breeding to order the daughter of the house to serve the hookah, and Ka Miaw felt the disgrace keenly, and, hoping to excuse herself, she answered that there was no fire left by which to light the hookah. This answer displeased the tiger greatly, for he felt that his authority was being flouted before his friends. He ordered his sister angrily to go to the dwelling of mankind to fetch a firebrand with which to light the hookah, and, fearing to be punished if she disobeyed, the cat ran off as she was bidden and came to the dwelling of mankind.

Some little children were playing in the village, and when they saw Ka Miaw, they began to speak gently to her and to stroke her fur. This was so pleasant to her feelings after the harsh treatment from her brother that she forgot all about the firebrand and stayed to play with the children, purring to show her pleasure.

Meanwhile the tiger and his friends sat waiting impatiently for the hookah that never came. It was considered a great privilege to draw a whiff from the royal hookah, but, seeing that the cat delayed her return, the visitors took their departure and showed a little sullenness at not receiving any mark of hospitality in their king’s house.

The tiger’s anger against his sister was very violent, and, regardless of his ill-health, he went out in search of her. Ka Miaw heard him coming and knew from his growl that he was angry; she suddenly remembered her forgotten errand, and, hastily snatching a firebrand from the hearth, she started for home.

Her brother met her on the way and began to abuse her, threatening to beat her, upon which she threw down the firebrand at his feet in her fright and ran back to the abode of mankind, where she has remained ever since, supporting herself as of old by catching frogs and mice, and purring to the touch of little children.

Next: How the Tiger got his Strength

(700 words)

Khasi: How the Tiger got his Strength

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Tiger got his Strength

After the animals were created, they were sent to live in the jungle, but they were so foolish that they got into one another’s way and interfered one with another and caused much inconvenience in the world. In order to produce better order, the Bleis (gods) called together a Durbar to decide on the different qualities with which it would be well to endow the animals so as to make them intelligent and able to live in harmony with one another. After this, mankind and all the animals were summoned to the presence of the Bleis, and each one was given such intelligence and sense as seemed best to suit his might and disposition: the man received beauty and wisdom, and to the tiger were given craftiness and the power to walk silently.

When the man returned to his kindred, and his mother beheld him, her heart was lifted with pride, for she knew that the Bleis had given to him the best of their gifts and that henceforth all the animals would be inferior to him in beauty and intelligence. Realising with regret that he had not received physical strength equal to the beauty of his person, and that consequently his life would be always in danger, she told her son to go back to the Bleis to ask for the gift of strength.

The man went back to the Bleis according to the command of his mother, but it was so late when he arrived that the Bleis were about to retire. Seeing that he was comelier than any of the animals and possessed more wisdom, which made him worthy of the gift of strength, they told him to come on the morrow and they would bestow upon him the desired gift. The man was dismissed till the following day, but he went away happy in his mind, knowing that the Bleis would not go back on their word.

Now it happened that the tiger was roaming about in that vicinity, and by reason of his silent tread, he managed to come unobserved near enough to hear the Bleis and the man talking about the gift of strength. He determined to forestall the man on the morrow and to obtain the gift of strength for himself; soon he slunk away lest it should be discovered that he had been listening.

Early on the following morning, before the Bleis had come forth from their retirement, the tiger went to their abode and sent in a messenger to say that he had come according to their command to obtain the gift of strength, upon which the Bleis endowed him with strength twelve times greater than what he had before possessed, thinking that they were bestowing it upon the man.

The tiger felt himself growing strong, and as soon as he left the abode of the Bleis, he leaped forward twelve strides, and twelve strides upward, and so strong was he that it was unto him but as one short stride. Then he knew that he had truly forestalled the man, and had obtained the gift of strength, and could overcome men in battle.

Later in the day, in accordance with the command he had received, the man set out for the abode of the Bleis, but on the way the tiger met him and challenged him to fight, and began to leap and bound upwards and forwards to show how strong he was, and said that he had received the “twelve strengths” and no one would be able to withstand him. He was just about to spring when the man evaded him, and ran away towards the abode of the Bleis.

When he came there and presented himself before them, they asked him angrily, “Why dost thou come again to trouble us? We have already given thee the gift of strength.” Then the man knew that the tiger’s boast was true, and he told the Bleis of his encounter with the tiger on the way, and of his boast that he had obtained the gift of strength. They were greatly annoyed that deception had been practised on them, but there is no decree by which to recall a gift when once it has been bestowed by the Bleis.

They looked upon the man with pity and said that one so beautiful and full of wisdom should not be left defenceless at the mercy of the inferior animals. So they gave unto him a bow and an arrow and told him, “When the tiger attacks thee with his strength, shoot — and the arrow will pierce his body and kill him. Behold, we have given to thee the gift of skill to make and to use weapons of warfare whereby thou wilt be able to combat the lower animals.”

Thus the tiger received strength, and man received the gift of skill. The mother of mankind, when she saw it, told her sons to abstain from using their weapons against one another, but to turn them against the animals only, according to the decree of the Bleis.

Next: Why the Goat lives with Mankind

(800 words)

Khasi: Why the Goat lives with Mankind

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

Why the Goat lives with Mankind

In early times, the goat lived in the jungle, leading a free and independent life, like all the other animals. The following story gives an account of her flight from the animals to make her dwelling with Man.

One fine spring day, when the young leaves were sprouting on the forest trees, Ka Blang, the goat, went out in search of food. Her appetite was sharpened by the delicious smell of the spring, which filled the air and the forest, so, not being satisfied with grass, she began to pluck the green leaves from a bush. While she was busy plucking and eating, she was startled to hear the deep growl of the tiger close beside her.

The tiger asked her angrily, “What art thou doing there?”

Ka Blang was so upset by this sudden interruption, and in such fear of the big and ferocious beast, that she began to tremble from head to foot, so that even her beard shook violently, and she hardly knew what she was doing or saying.

In her fright she quavered: “I am eating khla” (a tiger), instead of saying, “I am eating sla” (leaves).

The tiger took this answer for insolence and became very angry. He was preparing to spring upon her when he caught sight of her shaking beard, which appeared to him like the tuft of hair on a warrior’s lance when it is lifted against an enemy. He thought that Ka Blang must be some powerful and savage beast able to attack him, and he ran away from her in terror.

Now Ka Blang, having an ungrateful heart, instead of being thankful for her deliverance, grew discontented with her lot and began to grumble because she had not been endowed with the strength attributed to her by the tiger, and she went about bewailing her inferiority.

One day, in her wanderings, she climbed to the top of an overhanging cliff, and there she lay down to chew the cud, and, as usual, to dwell on her grievances. It happened that the tiger was again prowling in the same vicinity, but when he saw the goat approaching he fled in fear and hid himself under the very cliff on to which she had climbed. There he lay very still for fear of betraying his presence to the goat, for he was still under the delusion that she was a formidable and mighty animal.

Ka Blang, all unconscious of his presence, began to grumble aloud, saying: “I am the poorest and the weakest of all the beasts, without any means of defence or strength to withstand an attack. I have neither tusks nor claws to make an enemy fear me. It is true that the tiger once ran away from me because he mistook my beard for a sign of strength, but if he had only known the truth, he would have killed me on the instant, for even a small dog could kill me if he clutched me by the throat.”

The tiger, beneath the rock, was listening to every word, and, as he listened, his wrath was greatly kindled to find that he had disgraced himself by running away from such a contemptible creature, and he determined now to avenge himself for that humiliation. He crept stealthily from his hiding-place, and, ere she was aware of his approach, Ka Blang was clutched by the throat and killed.

In order to restore his prestige, the tiger proclaimed far and wide how he had captured and killed the goat, and after that, other tigers and savage beasts began to hunt the goats, and there followed such a general slaughter of goats that they were nearly exterminated.

Driven to great extremity, the few remaining goats held a tribal council to consider how to save themselves from the onslaughts of the tigers, but, finding themselves powerless to offer any resistance, they determined to apply to mankind for protection.

When they came to him, Man said that he could not come to the jungle to defend them, but they must come and live in his village if they wished to be protected by him. So the goats ran away from the jungle forever and came to live with mankind.

Next: How the Ox came to be the Servant of Man

(700 words)

Panchatantra: The Ungrateful Man

This wonderful story also appears in the Buddhist jataka tradition, and thus it made its way to Tibet also, as you can read here: The Ingratitude of Man.

[Notes by LKG]

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This story is part of the Panchatantra unit. Story source: The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder (1925).

(tiger, by debbiedc)

The Ungrateful Man

In a certain town lived a Brahman whose name was Sacrifice. Every day his wife, chafing under their poverty, would say to him: "Come, Brahman! Lazybones! Stony-Heart! Don't you see your babies starving, while you hang about, mooning? Go somewhere, no matter where, find some way, any way, to get food, and come back in a hurry."

At last the Brahman, weary of this refrain, undertook a long journey and in a few days entered a great forest. While wandering hungry in this forest, he began to hunt for water. And in a certain spot he came upon a well, overgrown with grass. When he looked in, he discovered a tiger, a monkey, a snake, and a man at the bottom. They also saw him.

Then the tiger thought: "Here comes a man," and he cried: "O noble soul, there is great virtue in saving life. Think of that, and pull me out, so that I may live in the company of beloved friends, wife, sons, and relatives."

"Why," said the Brahman, "the very sound of your name brings a shiver to every living thing. I cannot deny that I fear you."

But the tiger resumed:

To Brahman-slayer, impotent,
To drunkard, him on treason bent,
To sinner through prevarication,
The holy grant an expiation:
While for ingratitude alone
No expiation will atone.

And he continued: "I bind myself by a triple oath that no danger threatens you from me. Have pity and pull me out."

Then the Brahman thought it through to this conclusion: "If disaster befalls in the saving of life, it is a disaster that spells salvation." So he pulled the tiger out.

Next the monkey said: "Holy sir, pull me out too." And the Brahman pulled him out too.

Then the snake said: "Brahman, pull me out too."

But the Brahman answered: "One shudders at the mere sound of your name; how much more at touching you!"

"But," said the snake, "we are not free agents. We bite only under orders. I bind myself by a triple oath that you need have no fear of me."

After listening to this, the Brahman pulled him out too. Then the animals said: "The man down there is a shrine of every sin. Beware. Do not pull him out. Do not trust him."

Furthermore, the tiger said: "Do you see this mountain with many peaks? My cave is in a wooded ravine on the north slope. You must do me the favour of paying me a visit there someday, so that I may make return for your kindness. I should not like to drag the debt into the next life." With these words he started for his cave.

Then the monkey said: "My home is quite near the cave, beside the waterfall. Please pay me a visit there." With this he departed.

Then the snake said: "In any emergency, remember me." And he went his way.

Then the man in the well shouted time and again: "Brahman! Pull me out too!"

At last the Brahman's pity was awakened, and he pulled him out, thinking: "He is a man, like me."

And the man said: "I am a goldsmith and live in Baroch. If you have any gold to be worked into shape, you must bring it to me." With this he started for home.

Then the Brahman continued his wanderings but found nothing whatever. As he started for home, he recalled the monkey's invitation. So he paid a visit, found the monkey at home, and received fruits sweet as nectar, which put new life into him.

Furthermore, the monkey said: "If you ever have use for fruit, pray come here at any time."

"You have done a friend's full duty," said the Brahman. "But please introduce me to the tiger." So the monkey led the way and introduced him to the tiger.

Now the tiger recognized him and, by way of returning his kindness, bestowed on him a necklace and other ornaments of wrought gold, saying: "A certain prince whose horse ran away with him came here alone, and when he was within range of a spring, I killed him. All this I took from his person and stored carefully for you. Pray accept it and go where you will."

So the Brahman took it, then recalled the goldsmith and visited him, thinking: "He will do me the favour of getting it sold."

Now the goldsmith welcomed him with respectful hospitality, offering water for the feet, an honourable gift, a seat, hard food and soft, drink, and other things, and then said: "Command me, sir. What may I do for you?"

And the Brahman said: "I have brought you gold. Please sell it."

"Show me the gold," said the goldsmith, and the other did so.

Now the goldsmith thought when he saw it: "I worked this gold for the prince."

And having made sure of the fact, he said: "Please stay right here while I show it to somebody." With this he went to court and showed it to the king.

On seeing it, the king asked: "Where did you get this?"

And the goldsmith replied: "In my house is a Brahman. He brought it."

Thereupon the king reflected: "Without question, that villain killed my son. I will show him what that costs." And he issued orders to the police: "Have this Brahman scum fettered, and impale him tomorrow morning."

When the Brahman was fettered, he remembered the snake, who appeared at once and said: "What can I do to serve you?"

"Free me from these fetters," said the Brahman.

And the snake replied: "I will bite the king's dear queen. Then, in spite of the charms employed by any great conjurer and the antidotes of other physicians, I will keep her poisoned. Only by the touch of your hand will the poison be neutralized. Then you will go free."

Having made this promise, the snake bit the queen, whereupon shouts of despair arose in the palace, and the entire city was filled with dismay. Then they summoned dealers in antidotes, conjurers, scientists, druggists, and foreigners, all of whom treated the case with such resources as they had, but none could neutralize the poison.

Finally, a proclamation was made with beat of drum, upon hearing which the Brahman said: "I will cure her."

The moment he spoke, they freed him from his fetters, took him to the king, and introduced him. And the king said: "Cure her, sir."

So he went to the queen and cured her by the mere touch of his hand. When the king saw her restored to life, he paid the Brahman honour and reverence, then respectfully asked him: "Reveal the truth, sir. How did you come by this gold?"

And the Brahman began at the beginning and related the whole adventure accurately.

As soon as the king comprehended the facts, he arrested the goldsmith, while he gave the Brahman a thousand villages and appointed him privy counsellor.

The Brahman summoned his family, was surrounded by friends and relatives, took delight in eating and other natural functions, acquired massive merit by the performance of numerous sacrifices, concentrated authority by heedful attention to all phases of royal duty, and lived happily.

Next: The Plover Who Fought the Ocean

(1200 words)

Santal: The Tiger’s Bride

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

The Tiger’s Bride

One day a woman went to cut thatching grass, and she cut such a quantity that, when she tied it up, the bundle was too big for her to lift on to her head. So, she stood and called for some one to help her, but no one was within hearing and no one came. She called and called, and at last began to promise that she would give her daughter in marriage to anyone who would help her.

After she had called out this a few times, a tiger suddenly appeared and asked what she wanted; she explained her difficulty and the tiger undertook to lift the load on to her head if she would really give him her daughter in marriage. She promised and, with the help of the tiger, took up the bundle and went home.

Two or three days after, the tiger presented himself at her house and was duly married to the daughter. After the wedding the couple started for the tiger’s home; all the way the unhappy bride wept and sang: “How far off is our home, big head?”

“You can just see the mouth of the cave,” answered the tiger, and in a short time they came to a large cave.

Then the tiger told her to set to work and cook a feast while he went off and invited his friends to come and share it. But the bride when left alone caught a cat and killed it and hung it over the fire, so that its blood dropped slowly into the pan and made a fizzling noise, as if cooking were going on, and then she ran off to her mother’s house and climbed a tree which grew near it and began to sing:

“You married me to a ti-ti-tiger:
You threw me to a bear:
Take back the necklace you gave me,
Take back the bracelet and the diamonds and the coral.”

Meanwhile the tiger returned with his friends and sat down outside the cave and told his wife to be quick with the cooking of the cakes for he heard the hissing over the fire and thought that she was cooking.

At last, as she did not come out, he got tired of waiting and went in to fetch her; then he saw that she had disappeared and had to go and tell his friends.

They were very angry at being cheated out of a feast, and fell upon the tiger and beat him till he ran away and was seen no more, but his bride was left to flit from tree to tree singing:

“You married me to a ti-ti-tiger:
You threw me to a bear:
Take back the necklace you gave me,
Take back the bracelet and the diamonds and the coral.”

Next: The Killing of the Tiger

(500 words)

Santal: The Killing of the Tiger

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

The Killing of the Tiger

They say that there was a time when all living things had a common speech and animals and men could understand each other, and in those days there was a man-eating tiger which infested a jungle through which a highroad ran; it preyed on people passing along the road till no one ventured to travel, and, as the country was so unsafe, the people went in a body to the Raja and told him of the ravages of the tiger and asked him to send a force of soldiers to hunt and shoot it.

So the Raja called together all his soldiers and promised to give half his kingdom to any one of them who would kill the tiger, but not one of them was brave enough to make the attempt; they said that their business was to fight men, and not tigers and leopards. Then the Raja extended his offer to all his subjects, and the petitioners went home to consult about it, and the news was published that the Raja would give half his kingdom to the slayer of the tiger.

Now there was a poor man who was a very brave shikari of big game, and cunning into the bargain, and he offered to go and kill the tiger. They questioned him carefully, and when they saw that he was in earnest, they took him to the Raja to hear from the Raja’s lips what his reward should be, and the Raja promised him half his kingdom and wrote a bond to that effect, for he thought that the tiger would surely kill the man.

Then the shikari said that he would start the next morning and return the next day, either with the dead tiger or with bits of its ears and claws to show that he had killed it. The Raja told the people to watch carefully and see that the shikari did not cheat by taking the claws and ears of a tiger with him.

The next morning, the shikari started off, and all he took with him was a looking-glass and three pictures of a tiger drawn on three pieces of paper and a hatchet; he went to the road which the tiger frequented and climbed a banyan tree and spent the night in it.

The tiger did not pass by at all that night, but in the morning it appeared and called out, “Who is up in the tree?”

The shikari said, “It is I.”

“Come down quickly,” said the tiger; “I have been looking for you.”

“Wait a minute,” answered the shikari; “I have been looking for you also.”

“What for?” said the tiger.

“Tell me first why you are looking for me,” said the man.

“To eat you,” answered the tiger.

Then the man said, “Well, I have been hunting for you to catch you and take you away. I have caught three or four like you, and if you don’t believe me, let me get down and I will show you.”

The tiger got into a fright and said: “Come down and show me.”

So the shikari climbed down and uncovered his looking glass and told the tiger to look, and he reflected in the glass the pictures of the tigers which he had brought and said, “Now I am going to catch you and put you in here also.”

The tiger asked why he was to be caught, and the shikari said that it was because he had made the road unsafe by killing travellers; then the tiger begged and prayed to be let off and promised that he would never kill any travellers again.

At last the shikari said that he would let him go if he would allow him to cut off his claws and the tips of his ears and the tip of his tongue as a pledge of his good faith.

The tiger said, “Well, you may cut off one claw from each foot and the very tip of my ears and tongue.” So the shikari cut them off with his hatchet and, after again warning the tiger, went back home, and then presented himself with all his friends before the Raja, and the Raja gave him the promised reward.

But the tiger’s tongue festered and, after roaring with pain for a whole day, it died.

Next: The Raja's Dream

(700 words)

Santal: The Tiger Cub and the Calf

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

The Tiger Cub and the Calf

A Tigress and a Cow used to graze in a dense jungle, and they were both with young. They became great friends and agreed that they would marry their children to each other.

In the course of time, the tigress gave birth to a she-cub and the cow to a bull-calf. They kept the young ones in the same place and used to go and graze together, and then return at the same time to suckle their young. On their way back they used to drink at a certain river, the tigress up the stream and the cow lower down.

One day it happened that the cow got first to the river and drank at the upper drinking place, and the tigress drank lower down. And the froth from the cow’s mouth floated down the stream, and the tigress tasted it and found it nice, and this made her think that the flesh of the cow must also be good, so she resolved to eat the cow one day.

The cow saw what was in the mind of the tigress, and she left some of her milk in a bowl, and said to her calf: “The tigress has resolved to eat me; watch this milk, and when you see it turn red like blood, you will know that I have been killed;” then she went off to graze with the tigress.

The two youngsters always used to play together very happily, but that day the calf would not play but kept going to look at the bowl of milk, and the tigress cub asked the reason. The calf told her what his mother had said; then the tigress cub said that if this happened, she would never suck from her mother again, and it would be better for them both to run away.

So the two kept going to look at the bowl of milk, and about midday they saw that it had changed to blood, and they both began to weep.

Shortly after, the tigress came back, and flies were clustered round her mouth because of the blood on it. The tigress told her daughter to come and suck, but she said that she would wait till the cow came, and then she and the calf could have their meal together as usual; at this, the tigress frowned terribly, and the cub was frightened, so she said, “Very well, mother, I will suck, but first go and wash your mouth; why are the flies clustered round it?”

So the tigress went off, but she did not wash; she only ate some more of the cow. While she was away, the calf and the cub ran off to another jungle, and when the tigress came back, she searched for them with horrid roarings and could not find them, and if she had found them, she would have killed them.

Next: The Jackal and the Chickens

(500 words)

Santal: The Tigers and the Cat

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

The Tigers and the Cat

In former days, tigers and cats were friends and used to hunt together and share the game they caught, and they did not eat the game raw, but used to cook it as men do.

One day some tigers and a cat had killed a deer, and they had no fire with which to cook it; then the tigers said to the cat, “You are small; go and beg a light from yonder village.” But the cat said that he was afraid to go; however, they urged him, saying, “You have a thin tail and plump feet; you can bring it in a trice.”

So, as they all insisted on his going, he at last consented and said, “Well, I will go, but don’t expect me to be very quick; if I get a good opportunity for fetching the fire, I will come back soon.”

They said, “All right, go and run off with a small fire-brand, and we will meet you outside the village.”

So the cat went off and, coming to a house, went inside to pull a firebrand from the hearth. On the fire some milk was boiling, and the cat thought, “This smells very nice; I will have a taste of it,” and he found it so nice that he made up his mind to drink it all before he took away the fire-brand.

But in order to lap the milk, he had to put his feet on the fireplace, and it was so hot that he burnt his feet and had to get down; so then he sat down and waited till the fire went out and the hearth grew cool, and then he lapped up the milk and ran off with a piece of smouldering wood.

Meanwhile, the tigers had got tired of waiting and had eaten the deer raw, and they were very angry at being made to eat raw flesh and swore that they would eat the cat too. When they saw the cat bringing the fire, they ran to meet him and abused him and cried out, “You have made us eat raw flesh; we will eat you too, dung and all.”

On hearing this threat, the cat ran back to the village in fear of his life, and the tigers followed in pursuit, but when they got near the village, the village dogs all ran out barking, and the tigers were frightened and turned back, and the cat was saved.

From that day tigers and leopards have eaten raw flesh, and cats bury their excrement because of what the tigers had said.

Every day the tigers went to the village in search of the cat, but when the dogs barked they slunk away for the tigers were very frightened at the sight of the dogs’ curly tails; they thought that the tails were nooses and that they would be strangled by them.

One day one of the tigers met a jackal and called to him, “Nephew, listen to me; a cat made us eat raw flesh and has escaped into this village and I want to catch it, but the dogs come barking at me. I don’t mind that, but I am very frightened of their nooses. Now, you are very like a dog; cannot you go and tell them not to use their nooses?”

The jackal answered, “Uncle, you are quite mistaken; what you see are their tails, not nooses; they will not strangle you with them.”

So the tiger took courage and, the next day, went to the village to hunt for the cat, but he could not find it. And when the dogs barked, he got angry and caught and killed one of them, and from that time tigers and leopards eat dogs.

Next: The Elephant and the Ants

(600 words)

Santal: A Fox and His Wife

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

A Fox and His Wife

Once upon a time, there were a fox and his wife who lived in a hole with their five little ones. Every evening the two foxes used to make their way to a bazar to feed on the scraps thrown away by the bazar people, and every night on their way home the following conversation passed between them.

The fox would say to his wife, “Come tell me how much wit you have,” and she would answer him by, “Only so much as would fill a small vegetable basket.”

Then she in her turn would ask, “And how much wit have you?”

“As much as would load twelve buffaloes.”

One night as they were on their way home as usual, the two suddenly found themselves face to face with a tiger, who greeted them by saying, “At last, my friends, I have got you.”

At this, the fox, for all his wit, could not utter a word but crouched down and shook with fright. Mrs. Fox, however, was not at all inclined to give way to despair. She saluted the tiger and said, “Ah, uncle, do not eat us up just now; I and my husband have a dispute and we want you to settle it for us.”

The tiger was mollified by being addressed by so respectful a name as uncle and answered in a gentler voice, “Well, my niece, tell me what is the point, and I will decide it for you.”

“It is this,” went on Mrs. Fox; “we have five children, and we wish to divide them between us, but we cannot decide how to do so. I say that I will take three and leave him two, while he wants to take three and leave me two. We came out to look for some man to settle the dispute but have not met one, and now providentially you have appeared before us like a god; no doubt you will be able to make the division for us.”

The tiger reflected that if he managed things well, he would be able to eat not only the two foxes but their young ones as well, so he graciously agreed to make the division.

The foxes then invited him to come back with them to the hole in which they lived, and when they reached it, Mr. Fox bolted into it saying that he was going to bring out the children. As, however, he did not come out again, Mrs. Fox said that it was clear that he could not manage the children by himself, and she would go and help, and thereupon proceeded to back into the hole, keeping her face turned towards the tiger.

Seeing her disappearing, the tiger thought to seize her, but as she kept her eyes on him, he could only say, “Hullo, what is the matter? Why are you going in backwards?”

“Oh, uncle,” replied Mrs. Fox, “how could I turn my back on so great a personage as you?” and with that she disappeared.

Presently the tiger heard the two foxes calling out from inside, “Goodbye, uncle, you can go away now; we have arranged how to divide the children ourselves.”

Then he saw how he had been fooled and flew into a terrible rage and tried to squeeze his way into the hole, but it was much too small and at last he had to go away baffled, and so the foxes were saved by Mrs. Fox’s wit.

Next: The Jackal and the Crocodiles

(600 words)

Santal: The Hyena Outwitted

This story is part of the Santal Folklore unit. Story source: Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas (1909).

The Hyaena Outwitted

Once upon a time, there was a great tiger who lived in a forest, and all the other animals that lived in the forest treated him as their Raja, down to the very birds. They all felt safe under his protection because he was so much feared that no men dared hunt in that forest.

One day it happened that this Raja tiger killed a man and made such a enormous meal on the flesh that he got very bad indigestion. The pain grew worse and worse till he felt sure that his last hour was come.

In his agony, he sent for a hyaena and offered to make him his dewan, if only he would call all the other animals of the forest to come and pay a farewell visit to their lord. The hyaena readily agreed but thought it would be better to send another messenger while he stayed by the tiger to see that all the animals duly presented themselves. Just then a crow flew overhead, so they called him and deputed him to summon all the animals.

The crow flew off and in a short time all the animals assembled before the tiger and paid their respects to him and expressed wishes for his speedy recovery — all except the jackals. They had been summoned along with the others, but somehow they paid no attention and only remembered about it in the afternoon.

Then they were very frightened as to what would be the consequence of their remissness, but one chief jackal stood up and told them not to fear, as he would contrive a way of getting the better of the hyaena. There was nothing else to be done, so they had to put what trust they could in their chief and follow him to the Tiger.

On his way, the chief jackal picked up a few roots and took them with him. When they reached the place where the suffering monarch lay, the hyaena at once began to abuse them for being late, and the Tiger also angrily asked why they had not come before; then the chief jackal began humbly, “O Maharaja, we were duly summoned; your messenger is not to blame, but we reflected that it was useless merely to go and look at you when you were so ill. That could do you no good; so we bestirred ourselves to try and find some medicine that would cure you. We have searched the length and breadth of the jungle and have found all that is necessary, except one thing and that we have failed to find.”

“Tell me what it is,” said the hyaena, “and I will at once despatch all these animals to look for it and it will surely be found.”

“Yes,” echoed the tiger, “what is it?”

“Maharaja,” said the jackal, “when you take these medicines, you must lie down on the fresh skin of a hyaena which has been flayed alive, but the only hyaena we can find in the forest is your dewan.”

“The world can well bear the loss of one hyaena,” said the Tiger; “take him and skin him.”

At these words, all the animals set upon the hyaena and flayed him alive, and the tiger lay down on the skin and took the medicines brought by the jackal, and as he was not seriously ill, his pain soon began to pass away.

“That is a lesson to the hyaena not to scold us and get us into trouble,” said the jackal, as he went home.

Next: The Crow and the Egret

(600 words)

Laos: A Child of The Woods

This story is part of the Laos unit. Story source: Laos Folk-Lore by Katherine Neville Fleeson, with photographs by W.A. Briggs (1899).

(Luang Prabang Range)

A Child of The Woods

Deep in the forest of the North there is a large village of jungle people, and among them is one old woman who is held in reverence by all. The stranger who asks why she is honored as a princess is thus answered by her:

Verily, I have much boon, for I am but a child of nature. When I was a young maiden, it fell upon a day that my heart grew hot with anger. For many days the anger grew until it filled my whole heart, also were my eyes so red that I could see but dimly, and no longer could I live in the village or among my own people, for I hated all men and I felt that the beasts of the forest were more to me than my kindred.

Therefore, I fled from the face of man into the jungle where no human foot had ever gone. All day I journeyed, running as though my feet would never weary and feeling no pangs of hunger. When the darkness closed about me, I was not afraid, but lay down under the shelter of a tree and, for a time, slept peacefully, as peacefully as though in my own home.

At length, I was awakened by the breath of an animal and, in the clear light of the moon, I saw a large tiger before me. It smelled of my face, my hands and my feet, then seated itself by my head and watched me through the night, and I lay there unafraid. In the early morning, the tiger departed and I continued my journey. Quieter was my heart. Still, I disliked my own people but had no fear of the beasts or the reptiles of the forest.

During the day I ate of the fruit which grew wild in abundance, and at night I slept ’neath a tree, protected and guarded by fierce, wild beasts which molested not my sleep. For many days I wandered thus, and the nights were secure, for the wild beasts watched over and protected me.

“Thus my heart grew cool in my bosom, and I no longer hated my people and, after one moon had gone, I found myself near a village. The people wondered to see me approach from the jungle, dreaded as being the jungle of the man-eating tiger. When I related my story, the people were filled with wonder and brought rich gifts to me. For a year and a day I abode there, and no more the wild beasts molested their cattle.

But my heart yearned to see the face of my kindred again, so, laden with silver, gold and rich garments and seated in the howdah of an elephant, the people escorted me to my own village, and here have I abode in content these one hundred years.

Next: The Enchanted Mountain

(500 words)

Laos: To Aid a Beast

You can find a similar story in the Tibet unit for this class: The Ingratitude of Man.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Laos unit. Story source: Laos Folk-Lore by Katherine Neville Fleeson, with photographs by W.A. Briggs (1899).

“To Aid Beast is Merit; 
To Aid Man is but Vanity”

A hunter, walking through a jungle, saw a man in a pit unable to escape. The man called to him, “If thou wilt aid me to escape from this snare, always will I remember thy grace and merit.”

The hunter drew him out of the pit, and the man said, “I am goldsmith to the head chow and dwell by the city’s gate. Shouldst thou ever want any benefit, come to me, and gladly will I aid thee.”

As the hunter travelled, he met a tiger caught in a snare set for an elephant, and the tiger cried, “If thy heart prompts thee to set me free, thy aid will ever be remembered by me.”

He helped the tiger from the snare, and it said, “If ever thou needest aid, call and I will come to thee.”

(tiger)

Then again the hunter went on his way, and came to a place where a snake had fallen into a well and could not get out, and the snake cried, “If thou wilt aid me, I can aid thee also in the time soon to come,” and he assisted the snake.

“When the time comes that thou needest me, think of me, and I will come to thee with haste,” said the snake.

Now, it had happened that on the day that the hunter had rescued the tiger it had killed the chow’s child, but of this the hunter knew nothing.

And it came to pass that three days after, the hunter desiring to test the words of the tiger, went to the forest. Upon calling it, the tiger came to him immediately and brought with him a long golden chain, which he gave to the hunter.

The hunter took the chain home and, wishing to sell it, sought the goldsmith whom he had befriended. But the goldsmith, seeing it, said, “You are the man who has killed the chow’s child.” And he had his men bind the hunter with strong cords and took him to the chow in the hope of gaining the reward offered to any who might find him who had killed the child.

The chow put the hunter in chains and commanded he die on the morrow. The hunter begged for seven days’ respite, and it was granted him. In the night he thought of the snake he had helped, and immediately the snake came, bringing with him a medicine to cure blindness. While the household of the chow slept, the snake entered and cast of its venom in the eyes of the chow’s wife, and she was blind.

Throughout all the province the chow sought for some one to restore the eyes of his afflicted wife, but no one was found.

It happened on a day that word came to the chow’s ears that the hunter he had in chains for the death of his child was a man of wisdom and knew the merit of all the herbs of the field; therefore he sent for him.

When the hunter came into the presence of the chow unto where the wife sat, he put the medicine which the snake had brought him into the eyes of the princess, and sight, even like unto that of a young maiden, was restored unto her.

Then the chow desired to reward the hunter, and the hunter told him how he had come into possession of the golden chain, of the medicine which the serpent had given him because he had aided it in its time of trouble, and of the goldsmith, who had not only forgotten benefits received, but had accused him so he might gain a reward.

And when the chow learned the truth, he had the ungrateful goldsmith put to death, but to the hunter did he give half of his province, for had he not restored the sight of the princess?

Next: The Justice of In Ta Pome

(700 words)

China: The Three Evils

This story is part of the Chinese Fairy Tales unit. Story source: The Chinese Fairy Book, ed. by R. Wilhelm and translated by Frederick H. Martens (1921).

The Three Evils

ONCE upon a time, in the old days, there lived a young man by the name of Dschou Tschu. He was of more than ordinary strength, and no one could withstand him. He was also wild and undisciplined, and wherever he was, quarrels and brawls arose. Yet the village elders never ventured to punish him seriously.

He wore a high hat on his head, adorned with two pheasants’ wings. His garments were woven of embroidered silk, and at his side hung the Dragonspring sword. He was given to play and to drinking, and his hand was inclined to take that which belonged to others. Whoever offended him had reason to dread the consequences, and he always mixed into disputes in which others were engaged. Thus he kept it up for years and was a pest throughout the neighborhood.

Then a new mandarin came to that district.

(Chinese mandarin)

When he had arrived, he first went quietly about the country and listened to the people’s complaints. And they told him that there were three great evils in that district.

Then he clothed himself in coarse garments and wept before Dschou Tschu’s door. Dschou Tschu was just coming from the tavern, where he had been drinking. He was slapping his sword and singing in a loud voice.

When he reached his house he asked: “Who is weeping here so pitifully?”

And the mandarin replied: “I am weeping because of the people’s distress.”

 Then Dschou Tschu saw him and broke out into loud laughter.

“You are mistaken, my friend,” said he. “Revolt is seething round about us like boiling water in a kettle. But here, in our little corner of the land, all is quiet and peaceful. The harvest has been abundant, corn is plentiful, and all go happily about their work. When you talk to me about distress, I have to think of the man who groans without being sick. And who are you, tell me that, who instead of grieving for yourself, are grieving for others? And what are you doing before my door?”

“I am the new mandarin,” replied the other. “Since I left my litter I have been looking about in the neighborhood. I find the people are honest and simple in their way of life, and everyone has sufficient to wear and to eat. This is all just as you state. Yet, strange to say, when the elders come together, they always sigh and complain. And if they are asked why, they answer: ‘There are three great evils in our district!’ I have come to ask you to do away with two of them; as to the third, perhaps I had better remain silent. And this is the reason I weep before your door.”

“Well, what are these evils?” answered Dschou Tschu. “Speak freely, and tell me openly all that you know!”

“The first evil,” said the mandarin, “is the evil dragon at the long bridge, who causes the water to rise so that man and beast are drowned in the river. The second evil is the tiger with the white forehead, who dwells in the hills. And the third evil, Dschou Tschu—is yourself!”

Then the blush of shame mounted to the man’s cheek, and he bowed and said: “You have come here from afar to be the mandarin of this district, and yet you feel such sympathy for the people? I was born in this place, and yet I have only made our elders grieve. What sort of a creature must I be? I beg that you will return home again. I will see to it that matters improve!”

Then he ran without stopping to the hills and hunted the tiger out of his cave. The latter leaped into the air, so that the whole forest was shaken as though by a storm. Then he came rushing up, roaring, and stretching out his claws savagely to seize his enemy. Dschou Tschu stepped back a pace, and the tiger lit on the ground directly in front of him. Then he thrust the tiger’s neck to the ground with his left hand and beat him without stopping with his right until he lay dead on the earth. Dschou Tschu loaded the tiger on his back and went home.

Then he went to the long bridge. He undressed, took his sword in his hand, and thus dived into the water. No sooner had he disappeared than there was a boiling and hissing, and the waves began to foam and billow. It sounded like the mad beating of thousands of hoofs. After a time, a stream of blood shot up from the depths, and the water of the river turned red. Then Dschou Tschu, holding the dragon in his hand, rose out of the waves.

He went to the mandarin and reported, with a bow: “I have cut off the dragon’s head and have also done away with the tiger. Thus I have happily accomplished your command. And now I shall wander away so that you may be rid of the third evil as well. Lord, watch over my country, and tell the elders that they need sorrow no more!”

When he had said this he enlisted as a soldier. In combat against the robbers, he gained a great reputation and once, when the latter were pressing him hard, and he saw that he could not save himself, he bowed to the East and said: “The day has come at last when I can atone for my sin with my life!” Then he offered his neck to the sword and died.

Next: How the River God’s Wedding Was Broken Off

(1000 words)

Indian Fairy Tales: The Tiger, The Brahman, and the Jackal

This story is part of the Indian Fairy Tales unit. Story source: Indian Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs with illustrations by John D. Batten (1912).

The Tiger, The Brahman, and the Jackal

LIBRIVOX AUDIO: The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal

ONCE upon a time, a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by.

"Let me out of this cage, oh pious one!" cried the tiger.

"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman mildly, "you would probably eat me if I did."

"Not at all!" swore the tiger with many oaths; "on the contrary, I should be for ever grateful, and serve you as a slave!"

Now when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious Brahman's heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. Out popped the tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried, "What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after being cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry!"

In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to question as to the justice of the tiger's action.

So the Brahman first asked a papal-tree what it thought of the matter, but the papal-tree replied coldly, "What have you to complain about? Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who passes by, and don't they in return tear down my branches to feed their cattle? Don't whimper — be a man!"

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a buffalo turning a well-wheel, but he fared no better from it, for it answered, "You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Whilst I gave milk, they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!"

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion.

"My dear sir," said the road, "how foolish you are to expect anything else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!"

On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a jackal, who called out, "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish out of water!"

The Brahman told him all that had occurred. "How very confusing!" said the jackal, when the recital was ended; "would you mind telling me over again, for everything has got so mixed up?"

The Brahman told it all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand. "It's very odd," said he, sadly, "but it all seems to go in at one ear and out at the other! I will go to the place where it all happened, and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment."

So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the Brahman,and sharpening his teeth and claws. "You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast; "but now let us begin our dinner."

"Our dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked together with fright. "What a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"

"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."

The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again, not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the jackal, wringing its paws. "Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the tiger came walking by—"

"Pooh!" interrupted the tiger, "what a fool you are! I was in the cage."

"Of course! " cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; "yes! I was in the cage — no I wasn't — dear! dear! where are my wits? Let me see — the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by — no, that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your dinner, for I shall never understand!"

"Yes, you shall!" returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's stupidity; "I'll make you understand! Look here — I am the tiger — "

"Yes, my lord! "

"And that is the Brahman — "

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the cage — "

"Yes, my lord!"

"And I was in the cage — do you understand?"

"Yes — no  — please, my lord — "

"Well? " cried the tiger impatiently.

"Please, my lord! — how did you get in?"

"How! — Why, in the usual way, of course!"

"Oh, dear me! — my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"

At this the tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried, "This way! Now do you understand how it was?"

"Perfectly! " grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they were!"

Next: Harisarman

(800 words)

Indian Fairy Tales: The Prince and the Fakir

This story is part of the Indian Fairy Tales unit. Story source: Indian Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs with illustrations by John D. Batten (1912).

The Prince and the Fakir

LIBRIVOX AUDIO: The Prince and the Fakir

THERE was once upon a time a King who had no children. Now this King went and laid him down to rest at a place where four roads met, so that every one who passed had to step over him.

At last a Fakir came along, and he said to the King, "Man, why are you lying here?"

He replied, "Fakir, a thousand men have come and passed by; you pass on too."

But the Fakir said, "Who are you, man?"

The King replied, "I am a King, Fakir. Of goods and gold I have no lack, but I have lived long and have no children. So I have come here, and have laid me down at the cross-roads. My sins and offences have been very many, so I have come and am lying here that men may pass over me, and perchance my sins may be forgiven me, and God may he merciful, and I may have a son."

The Fakir answered him, " O King! If you have children, what will you give me?"

"Whatever you ask, Fakir," answered the King.

The Fakir said, "Of goods and gold I have no lack, but I will say a prayer for you, and you will have two sons; one of those sons will be mine." Then he took out two sweetmeats and handed them to the King, and said, "King! take these two sweetmeats and give them to your wives; give them to the wives you love best."

The King took the sweetmeats and put them in his bosom. Then the Fakir said, "King! in a year I will return, and of the two sons who will be born to you one is mine and one yours."

The King said, "Well, I agree."

Then the Fakir went on his way, and the King came home and gave one sweetmeat to each of his two wives. After some time two sons were born to the King. Then what did the King do but place those two sons in an underground room, which he had built in the earth!

Some time passed, and one day the Fakir appeared, and said, "King! Bring me that son of yours!"

What did the King do but bring two slave-girls' sons and present them to the Fakir! While the Fakir was sitting there the King's sons were sitting down below in their cellar eating their food.

Just then a hungry ant had carried away a grain of rice from their food, and was going along with it to her children. Another stronger ant came up and attacked her in order to get this grain of rice.

The first ant said, "O ant, why do you drag this away from me? I have long been lame in my feet, and I have got just one grain, and am carrying it to my children. The King's sons are sitting in the cellar eating their food; you go and fetch a grain from there; why should you take mine from me?"

On this the second ant let go and did not rob the first, but went off to where the King's sons were eating their food.

On hearing this the Fakir said, "King! These are not your sons; go and bring those children who are eating their food in the cellar."

Then the King went and brought his own sons. The Fakir chose the eldest son and took him away, and set off with him on his journey. When he got home he told the King's son to go out to gather fuel. So the King's son went out to gather cow-dung, and when be had collected some he brought it in.

Then the Fakir looked at the King's son and put on a great pot, and said, "Come round here, my pupil."

But the King's son said, "Master first, and pupil after." The Fakir told him to come once, he told him twice, he told him three times, and each time the King's son answered, "Master first, and pupil after."

Then the Fakir made a dash at the King's son, thinking to catch him and throw him into the caldron. There were about a hundred gallons of oil in this caldron, and the fire was burning beneath it. Then the King's son, lifting the Fakir, gave him a jerk and threw him into the caldron, and he was burnt, and became roast meat.

He then saw a key of the Fakir's lying there; he took this key and opened the door of the Fakir's house. Now many men were locked up in this house; two horses were standing there in a hut of the Fakir's; two greyhounds were tied up there; two simurgs were imprisoned, and two tigers also stood there.

So the King's son let all the creatures go, and took them out of the house, and they all returned thanks to God. Next he let out all the men who were in prison. He took away with him the two horses, and he took away the two tigers, and he took away the two hounds, and he took away the two simurgs, and with them be set out for another country.

As he went along the road he saw above him a bald man, grazing a herd of calves, and this bald man called out to him, "Fellow! can you fight at all?"

The King's son replied, "When I was little I could fight a bit, and now, if any one wants to fight, I am not so unmanly as to turn my back. Come, I will fight you."

The bald man said, "If I throw you, you shall be my slave; and if you throw me, I will be your slave." So they got ready and began to fight, and the King's son threw him.

On this the King's son said, "I will leave my beasts here my simurgs, tigers, and dogs, and horses; they will all stay here while I go to the city to see the sights. I appoint the tiger as guard over my property. And you are my slave; you, too, must stay here with my belongings."

So the King's son started off to the city to see the sights, and arrived at a pool. He saw that it was a pleasant pool, and thought he would stop and bathe there, and therewith he began to strip off his clothes.

Now the King's daughter, who was sitting on the roof of the palace, saw his royal marks, and she said, "This man is a king; when I marry, I will marry him and no other." So she said to her father, "My father; I wish to marry."

"Good," said her father.

Then the King made a proclamation: "Let all men, great and small, attend to-day in the hall of audience, for the King's daughter will to-day take a husband."

All the men of the land assembled, and the traveller Prince also came, dressed in the Fakir's clothes, saying to himself, "I must see this ceremony to-day." He went in and sat down.

The King's daughter came out and sat in the balcony, and cast her glance round all the assembly. She noticed that the traveller Prince was sitting in the assembly in Fakir's attire.

The Princess said to her handmaiden, "Take this dish of henna, go to that traveller dressed like a Fakir, and sprinkle scent on him from the dish."

The handmaiden obeyed the Princess's order, went to him, and sprinkled the scent over him.

Then the people said, "The slave-girl has made a mistake."

But she replied, "The slave-girl has made no mistake; 'tis her mistress has made the mistake."

On this the King married his daughter to the Fakir, who was really no Fakir, but a Prince.

What fate had decreed came to pass in that country, and they were married. But the King of that city became very sad in his heart, because when so many chiefs and nobles were sitting there his daughter had chosen none of them, but had chosen that Fakir, but he kept these thoughts concealed in his heart.

One day the traveller Prince said, "Let all the King's sons-in-law come out with me to-day to hunt."

People said, "What is this Fakir that he should go a-hunting?"

However, they all set out for the hunt, and fixed their meeting-place at a certain pool.

The newly-married Prince went to his tigers, and told his tigers and hounds to kill and bring in a great number of gazelles and hog-deer and markhor. Instantly they killed and brought in a great number. Then taking with him these spoils of the chase, the Prince came to the pool settled on as a meeting-place. The other Princes, sons-in-law of the King of that city, also assembled there, but they had brought in no game, and the new Prince bad brought a great deal. Thence they returned home to the town, and went to the King, their father-in-law, to present their game.

Now that King had no son. Then the new Prince told him that in fact he, too, was a Prince.

At this the King, his father-in-law, was greatly delighted and took him by the hand and embraced him. He seated him by himself, saying, "O Prince, I return thanks that you have come here and become my son-in-law; I am very happy at this, and I make over my kingdom to you."

Next: Why the Fish Laughed

(1500 words)