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Tales Of The Punjab

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And he played so wonderfully, and sang with such piercing sweetness,
that King Indra said, 'What shall I give you as a reward? Name what
you please, and it shall be yours.'

Then Sir Buzz said, 'I only ask the rose that is in your Majesty's
lap.'

'I had rather you asked more, or less,' replied King Indra; 'it is but
a rose, yet it fell from heaven; nevertheless it is yours.'

So saying, he threw the rose towards the musician, and lo! the petals
fell in a shower on the ground. Sir Buzz went down on his knees and
instantly gathered them up; but one petal escaping, changed into a
mouse. Whereupon Sir Buzz, with the speed of lightning, turned into a
cat, which caught and gobbled up the mouse.

Now all this time the Princess Blossom and the soldier's son,
shivering and shaking, were awaiting the issue of the combat in the
vampire's hut; when suddenly, with a _bing! boom!_ Sir Buzz
arrived victorious, shook his head, and said, 'You two had better go
home, for you are not fit to take care of yourselves.'

Then he gathered together all the jewels and gold in one hand, placed
the Princess and the soldier's son in the other, and whizzed away
home, to where the poor mother--who all this time had been living on
the two shillings--was delighted to see them.

Then with a louder _boom! bing! boom!_ than usual, Sir Buzz,
without even waiting for thanks, whizzed out of sight, and was never
seen or heard of again.

But the soldier's son and the Princess Blossom lived happily ever
after.




THE RAT'S WEDDING


Once upon a time a fat sleek Rat was caught in a shower of rain, and
being far from shelter he set to work and soon dug a nice hole in the
ground, in which he sat as dry as a bone while the raindrops splashed
outside, making little puddles on the road.

Now in the course of his digging he came upon a fine bit of root,
quite dry and fit for fuel, which he set aside carefully--for the Rat
is an economical creature--in order to take it home with him. So when
the shower was over, he set off with the dry root in his mouth. As he
went along, daintily picking his way through the puddles, he saw a
poor man vainly trying to light a fire, while a little circle of
children stood by, and cried piteously.

'Goodness gracious!' exclaimed the Rat, who was both soft-hearted and
curious, 'what a dreadful noise to make! What _is_ the matter?'

'The bairns are hungry,' answered the man; 'they are crying for their
breakfast, but the sticks are damp, the fire won't burn, and so I
can't bake the cakes.'

'If that is all your trouble, perhaps I can help you,' said the
good-natured Rat; 'you are welcome to this dry root, and I'll warrant
it will soon make a fine blaze.'

The poor man, with a thousand thanks, took the dry root, and in his
turn presented the Rat with a morsel of dough, as a reward for his
kindness and generosity.

'What a remarkably lucky fellow I am!' thought the Rat, as he trotted
off gaily with his prize, 'and clever too! Fancy making a bargain
like that--food enough to last me five days in return for a rotten
old stick! _Wah! wah! wah!_ what it is to have brains!'

Going along, hugging his good fortune in this way, he came presently
to a potter's yard, where the potter, leaving his wheel to spin round
by itself, was trying to pacify his three little children, who were
screaming and crying as if they would burst.

'My gracious!' cried the Rat, stopping his ears, 'what a noise!--do
tell me what it is all about.'

'I suppose they are hungry,' replied the potter ruefully; 'their
mother has gone to get flour in the bazaar, for there is none in the
house. In the meantime I can neither work nor rest because of them.'

'Is that all!' answered the officious Rat; 'then I can help you. Take
this dough, cook it quickly, and stop their mouths with food.'

The potter overwhelmed the Rat with thanks for his obliging kindness,
and choosing out a nice well-burnt pipkin, insisted on his accepting
it as a remembrance.

The Rat was delighted at the exchange, and though the pipkin was just
a trifle awkward for him to manage, he succeeded after infinite
trouble in balancing it on his head, and went away gingerly,
_tink-a-tink_, _tink-a-tink,_ down the road, with his tail
over his arm for fear he should trip on it. And all the time he kept
saying to himself, 'What a lucky fellow I am! and clever too! Such a
hand at a bargain!'

By and by he came to where some neatherds were herding their cattle.
One of them was milking a buffalo, and having no pail he used his
shoes instead.

'Oh fie! oh fie!' cried the cleanly Rat, quite shocked at the sight.
'What a nasty dirty trick!--why don't you use a pail?'

'For the best of all reasons--we haven't got one!' growled the
neatherd, who did not see why the Rat should put his finger in the
pie.

'If that is all,' replied the dainty Rat, 'oblige me by using this
pipkin, for I cannot bear dirt!'

The neatherd, nothing loath, took the pipkin, and milked away until it
was brimming over; then turning to the Rat, who stood looking on,
said, 'Here, little fellow, you may have a drink, in payment.'

But if the Rat was good-natured he was also shrewd. 'No, no, my
friend,' said he, 'that will not do! As if I could drink the worth of
my pipkin at a draught! My dear sir, _I couldn't hold it!_
Besides, I never make a bad bargain, so I expect you at least to give
me the buffalo that gave the milk.'

'Nonsense!' cried the neatherd; 'a buffalo for a pipkin! Who ever
heard of such a price? And what on earth could _you_ do with a
buffalo when you got it? Why, the pipkin was about as much as you
could manage.'

At this the Rat drew himself up with dignity, for he did not like
allusions to his size.

'That is my affair, not yours,' he retorted; 'your business is to hand
over the buffalo.'

So just for the fun of the thing, and to amuse themselves at the Rat's
expense, the neatherds loosed the buffalo's halter and began to tie it
to the little animal's tail.

'No! no!' he called, in a great hurry; 'if the beast pulled, the skin
of my tail would come off, and then where should I be? Tie it round
my neck, if you please.'

So with much laughter the neatherds tied the halter round the Rat's
neck, and he, after a polite leave-taking, set off gaily towards home
with his prize; that is to say, he set off with the _rope_, for
no sooner did he come to the end of the tether than he was brought up
with a round turn; the buffalo, nose down grazing away, would not
budge until it had finished its tuft of grass, and then seeing another
in a different direction marched off towards it, while the Rat, to
avoid being dragged, had to trot humbly behind, willy-nilly.

He was too proud to confess the truth, of course, and, nodding his
head knowingly to the neatherds, said, 'Ta-ta, good people! I am
going home this way. It may be a little longer, but it's much
shadier.'

And when the neatherds roared with laughter he took no notice, but
trotted on, looking as dignified as possible.

'After all,' he reasoned to himself, 'when one keeps a buffalo one has
to look after its grazing. A beast must get a good bellyful of grass
if it is to give any milk, and I have plenty of time at my disposal.'

So all day long he trotted about after the buffalo, making believe;
but by evening he was dead tired, and felt truly thankful when the
great big beast, having eaten enough, lay down under a tree to chew
the cud.

Just then a bridal party came by. The bridegroom and his friends had
evidently gone on to the next village, leaving the bride's palanquin
to follow; so the palanquin bearers, being lazy fellows and seeing a
nice shady tree, put down their burden, and began to cook some food.

'What detestable meanness!' grumbled one;' a grand wedding, and
nothing but plain rice pottage to eat! Not a scrap of meat in it,
neither sweet nor salt! It would serve the skinflints right if we
upset the bride into a ditch!'

'Dear me!' cried the Rat at once, seeing a way out of his difficulty,
'that _is_ a shame! I sympathise with your feelings so entirely
that if you will allow me I'll give you my buffalo. You can kill it,
and cook it.'

'_Your_ buffalo!' returned the discontented bearers, 'what
rubbish! Whoever heard of a rat owning a buffalo?'

'Not often, I admit,' replied the Rat with conscious pride; 'but look
for yourselves. Can you not see that I am leading the beast by a
string?'

'Oh, never mind the string!' cried a great big hungry bearer; 'master
or no master, I mean to have meat to my dinner!'

Whereupon they killed the buffalo, and, cooking its flesh, ate their
dinner with relish; then, offering the remains to the Rat, said
carelessly, 'Here, little Rat-skin, that is for you!'

'Now look here!' cried the Rat hotly; 'I'll have none of your pottage,
nor your sauce either. You don't suppose I am going to give my best
buffalo, that gave quarts and quarts of milk--the buffalo I have been
feeding all day--for a wee bit of rice? No!--I got a loaf for a bit
of stick; I got a pipkin for a little loaf; I got a buffalo for a
pipkin; and now I'll have the bride for my buffalo--the bride, and
nothing else!'

By this time the servants, having satisfied their hunger, began to
reflect on what they had done, and becoming alarmed at the
consequences, arrived at the conclusion it would be wisest to make
their escape whilst they could. So, leaving the bride in her
palanquin, they took to their heels in various directions.

The Rat, being as it were left in possession, advanced to the
palanquin, and drawing aside the curtain, with the sweetest of voices
and best of bows begged the bride to descend. She hardly knew whether
to laugh or to cry, but as any company, even a Rat's, was better than
being quite alone in the wilderness, she did as she was bidden, and
followed the lead of her guide, who set off as fast as he could for
his hole.

As he trotted along beside the lovely young bride, who, by her rich
dress and glittering jewels, seemed to be some king's daughter, he
kept saying to himself, 'How clever I am! What bargains I do make, to
be sure!'

When they arrived at his hole, the Rat stepped forward with the
greatest politeness, and said, 'Welcome, madam, to my humble abode!
Pray step in, or if you will allow me, and as the passage is somewhat
dark, I will show you the way.'

[Illustration: The rat at the palanquin]

Whereupon he ran in first, but after a time, finding the bride did not
follow, he put his nose out again, saying testily, 'Well, madam, why
don't you follow? Don't you know it's rude to keep your husband
waiting?'

'My good sir,' laughed the handsome young bride, 'I can't squeeze into
that little hole!'

The Rat coughed; then after a moment's thought he replied, 'There is
some truth in your remark--you _are_ overgrown, and I suppose I
shall have to build you a thatch somewhere. For to-night you can rest
under that wild plum-tree.'

'But I am so hungry!' said the bride ruefully.

'Dear, dear! everybody seems hungry to-day!' returned the Rat
pettishly; 'however, that's easily settled--I'll fetch you some supper
in a trice.'

So he ran into his hole, returning immediately with an ear of millet
and a dry pea.

'There!' said he, triumphantly, 'isn't that a fine meal?'

'I can't eat that!' whimpered the bride; 'it isn't a mouthful; and I
want rice pottage, and cakes, and sweet eggs, and sugar-drops. I
shall die if I don't get them!'

'Oh dear me!' cried the Rat in a rage, 'what a nuisance a bride is, to
be sure! Why don't you eat the wild plums?'

'I can't live on wild plums!' retorted the weeping bride; 'nobody
could; besides, they are only half ripe, and I can't reach them.'

'Rubbish!' cried the Rat; 'ripe or unripe, they must do you for
to-night, and to-morrow you can gather a basketful, sell them in the
city, and buy sugar-drops and sweet eggs to your heart's content!'

So the next morning the Rat climbed up into the plum-tree, and nibbled
away at the stalks till the fruit fell down into the bride's veil.
Then, unripe as they were, she carried them into the city, calling out
through the streets--

'Green plums I sell! green plums I sell!
Princess am I, Rat's bride as well!'

As she passed by the palace, her mother the Queen heard her voice,
and, running out, recognised her daughter. Great were the rejoicings,
for every one thought the poor bride had been eaten by wild beasts.
In the midst of the feasting and merriment, the Rat, who had followed
the Princess at a distance, and had become alarmed at her long
absence, arrived at the door, against which he beat with a big knobby
stick, calling out fiercely, 'Give me my wife! give me my wife! She
is mine by fair bargain. I gave a stick and I got a loaf; I gave a
loaf and I got a pipkin; I gave a pipkin and I got a buffalo; I gave a
buffalo and I got a bride. Give me my wife! give me my wife!'

'La! son-in-law! what a fuss you do make!' said the wily old Queen,
through the door, 'and all about nothing! Who wants to run away with
your wife? On the contrary, we are proud to see you, and I only keep
you waiting at the door till we can spread the carpets, and receive
you in style.'

Hearing this, the Rat was mollified, and waited patiently outside
whilst the cunning old Queen prepared for his reception, which she did
by cutting a hole in the very middle of a stool, putting a red-hot
stone underneath, covering it over with a stew-pan-lid, and then
spreading a beautiful embroidered cloth over all.

Then she went to the door, and receiving the Rat with the greatest
respect, led him to the stool, praying him to be seated.

'Dear! dear! how clever I am! What bargains I do make, to be sure!'
said he to himself as he climbed on to the stool. 'Here I am,
son-in-law to a real live Queen! What will the neighbours say?'

At first he sat down on the edge of the stool, but even there it was
warm, and after a while he began to fidget, saying, 'Dear me,
mother-in-law! how hot your house is! Everything I touch seems
burning!'

'You are out of the wind there, my son,' replied the cunning old
Queen; 'sit more in the middle of the stool, and then you will feel
the breeze and get cooler.'

But he didn't! for the stewpan-lid by this time had become so hot,
that the Rat fairly frizzled when he sat down on it; and it was not
until he had left all his tail, half his hair, and a large piece of
his skin behind him, that he managed to escape, howling with pain, and
vowing that never, never, never again would he make a bargain!




THE FAITHFUL PRINCE


Long ago there lived a King who had an only son, by name Prince
Bahrâmgor, who was as splendid as the noonday sun, and as beautiful as
the midnight moon. Now one day the Prince went a-hunting, and he
hunted to the north, but found no game; he hunted to the south, yet no
quarry arose; he hunted to the east, and still found nothing. Then he
turned towards the setting sun, when suddenly from a thicket flashed a
golden deer. Burnished gold were its hoofs and horns, rich gold its
body. Dazzled by the wonderful sight, the astonished Prince bade his
retainers form a circle round the beautiful strange creature, and so
gradually enclose and secure it.

'Remember,' said the Prince, 'I hold him towards whom the deer may run
to be responsible for its escape, or capture.'

Closer and closer drew the glittering circle of horsemen, while in the
centre stood the golden deer, until, with marvellous speed, it fled
straight towards the Prince, But he was swifter still, and caught it
by the golden horns. Then the creature found human voice, and cried,
'Let me go, oh! Prince Bahrâmgor and I will give you countless
treasures!'

But the Prince laughed, saying, 'Not so! I have gold and jewels
galore, but never a golden deer.'

'Let me go,' pleaded the deer, 'and I will give you more than
treasures!'

'And what may that be?' asked the Prince, still laughing.

'I will give you a ride on my back such as never mortal man rode
before,' replied the deer.

'Done!' cried the gay Prince, vaulting lightly to the deer's back; and
immediately, like a bird from a thicket, the strange glittering
creature rose through the air till it was lost to sight. For seven
days and seven nights it carried the Prince over all the world, so
that he could see everything like a picture passing below, and on the
evening of the seventh day it touched the earth once more, and
instantly vanished. Prince Bahrâmgor rubbed his eyes in bewilderment,
for he had never been in such a strange country before. Everything
seemed new and unfamiliar. He wandered about for some time looking
for the trace of a house or a footprint, when suddenly from the ground
at his feet popped a wee old man.

'How did you come here? and what are you looking for, my son?' quoth
he politely.

So Prince Bahrâmgor told him how he had ridden thither on a golden
deer, which had disappeared, and how he was now quite lost and
bewildered in this strange country.

'Do not be alarmed, my son,' returned the wee old man; 'it is true you
are in Demonsland, but no one shall hurt you, for I am the demon
Jasdrûl whose life you saved when I was on the earth in the shape of a
golden deer.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl took Prince Bahrâmgor to his house, and treated
him right royally, giving him a hundred keys, and saying, 'These are
the keys of my palaces and gardens. Amuse yourself by looking at
them, and mayhap somewhere you may find a treasure worth having.'

So every day Prince Bahrâmgor opened a new garden, and examined a new
palace, and in one he found rooms full of gold, and in another jewels,
and in a third rich stuffs, in fact everything the heart could desire,
until he came to the hundredth palace, and that he found was a mere
hovel, full of all poisonous things, herbs, stones, snakes, and
insects. But the garden in which it stood was by far the most
magnificent of all. It was seven miles this way, and seven miles
that, full of tall trees and bright flowers, lakes, streams,
fountains, and summer-houses. Gay butterflies flitted about, and
birds sang in it all day and all night. The Prince, enchanted,
wandered seven miles this way, and seven miles that, until he was so
tired that he lay down to rest in a marble summer-house, where he
found a golden bed, all spread with silken shawls. Now while he
slept, the Fairy Princess Shâhpasand, who was taking the air,
fairy-fashion, in the shape of a pigeon, happened to fly over the
garden, and catching sight of the beautiful, splendid, handsome young
Prince, she sank to earth in sheer astonishment at beholding such a
lovely sight, and, resuming her natural shape--as fairies always do
when they touch the ground--she stooped over the young man and gave
him a kiss.

He woke up in a hurry, and what was his astonishment on seeing the
most beautiful Princess in the world kneeling gracefully beside him!

'Dearest Prince!' cried the maiden, clasping her hands,'I have been
looking for you everywhere!'

Now the very same thing befell Prince Bahrâmgor that had happened to
the Princess Shâhpasand--that is to say, no sooner did he set eyes on
her than he fell desperately in love, and so, of course, they agreed
to get married without any delay. Nevertheless, the Prince thought it
best first to consult his host, the demon Jasdrûl, seeing how powerful
he was in Demonsland. To the young man's delight, the demon not only
gave his consent, but appeared greatly pleased, rubbing his hands and
saying, 'Now you will remain with me and be so happy that you will
never think of returning to your own country any more.'

So Prince Bahrâmgor and the Fairy Princess Shâhpasand were married,
and lived ever so happily, for ever so long a time.

At last the thought of the home he had left came back to the Prince,
and he began to think longingly of his father the King, his mother the
Queen, and of his favourite horse and hound. Then from thinking of
them he fell to speaking of them to the Princess, his wife, and then
from speaking he took to sighing and sighing and refusing his dinner,
until he became quite pale and thin. Now the demon Jasdrûl used to
sit every night in a little echoing room below the Prince and
Princess's chamber, and listen to what they said, so as to be sure
they were happy; and when he heard the Prince talking of his far-away
home on the earth, he sighed too, for he was a kindhearted demon, and
loved his handsome young Prince.

At last he asked Prince Bahrâmgor what was the cause of his growing so
pale and sighing so often--for so amiable was the young man that he
would rather have died of grief than have committed the rudeness of
telling his host he was longing to get away; but when he was asked he
said piteously, 'Oh, good demon! let me go home and see my father the
King, my mother the Queen, my horse and my hound, for I am very
weary. Let me and my Princess go, or assuredly I shall die!'

At first the demon refused, but at last he took pity on the Prince,
and said, 'Be it so; nevertheless you will soon repent and long to be
back in Demonsland; for the world has changed since you left it, and
you will have trouble. Take this hair with you, and when you need
help, burn it, then I will come immediately to your assistance.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl said a regretful goodbye, and, Hey presto!--
Prince Bahrâmgor found himself standing outside his native city, with
his beautiful bride beside him.

But, alas! as the good-natured demon had foretold, everything was
changed. His father and mother were both dead, a usurper sat on the
throne, and had put a price on Bahrâmgor's head should he ever return
from his mysterious journey. Luckily no one recognised the young
Prince (so much had he changed during his residence in Demonsland)
save his old huntsman, who, though overjoyed to see his master once
more, said it was as much as his life was worth to give the Prince
shelter; still, being a faithful servant, he agreed to let the young
couple live in the garret of his house.

'My old mother, who is blind,' he said, 'will never see you coming and
going; and as you used to be fond of sport, you can help me to hunt,
as I used to help you.'

So the splendid Prince Bahrâmgor and his lovely Princess hid in the
garret of the huntsman's house, and no one knew they were there. Now
one fine day, when the Prince had gone out to hunt, as servant to the
huntsman, Princess Shâhpasand took the opportunity of washing her
beautiful golden hair, which hung round her ivory neck and down to her
pretty ankles like a shower of sunshine, and when she had washed it
she combed it, and set the window ajar so that the breeze might blow
in and dry her hair.

Just at this moment the Chief Constable of the town happened to pass
by, and hearing the window open, looked up and saw the lovely
Shâhpasand, with her glittering golden hair. He was so overcome at
the sight that he fell right off his horse into the gutter. His
servants, thinking he had a fit, picked him up and carried him back to
his house, where he never ceased raving about a beautiful fairy with
golden hair in the huntsman's garret. This set everybody wondering
whether he had been bewitched, and the story meeting the King's ear,
he sent down some soldiers to make inquiries at the huntsman's house.

'No one lives here!' said the huntsman's cross old mother, 'no
beautiful lady, nor ugly one either, nor any person at all, save me
and my son. However, go to the garret and look for yourselves.'

Hearing these words of the old woman, Princess Shâhpasand bolted the
door, and, seizing a knife, cut a hole in the wooden roof. Then,
taking the form of a pigeon, she flew out, so that when the soldiers
burst open the door they found no one in the garret.

The poor Princess was greatly distressed at having to leave her
beautiful young Prince in this hurried way, and as she flew past the
blind old crone she whispered in her ear, 'I go to my father's house
in the Emerald Mountain.'

In the evening when Prince Bahrâmgor returned from hunting, great was
his grief at finding the garret empty! Nor could the blind old crone
tell him much of what had occurred; still, when he heard of the
mysterious voice which whispered, 'I go to my father's house in the
Emerald Mountain,' he was at first somewhat comforted. Afterwards,
when he reflected that he had not the remotest idea where the Emerald
Mountain was to be found, he fell into a very sad state, and casting
himself on the ground he sobbed and sighed; he refused his dinner, and
never ceased crying, 'Oh, my dearest Princess! my dearest Princess!'

At last he remembered the magic hair, and taking it from its
hiding-place threw it into the fire. It had scarcely begun to burn
when, Hey presto!--the demon Jasdrûl appeared, and asked him what he
wanted.

'Show me the way to the Emerald Mountain,' cried the Prince.

Then the kind-hearted demon shook his head sorrowfully, saying, 'You
would never reach it alive, my son. Be guided by me,--forget all that
has passed, and begin a new life.'

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