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Tales Of The Punjab

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'I have but one life,' answered the faithful Prince, 'and that is gone
if I lose my dearest Princess! As I must die, let me die seeking
her.'

Then the demon Jasdrûl was touched by the constancy of the splendid
young Prince, and promised to aid him as far as possible. So he
carried the young man back to Demonsland, and giving him a magic wand,
bade him travel over the country until he came to the demon Nanâk
Chand's house.

'You will meet with many dangers by the way,' said his old friend,
'but keep the magic wand in your hand day and night, and nothing will
harm you. That is all I can do for you, but Nanâk Chand, who is my
elder brother, can help you farther on your way.'

So Prince Bahrâmgor travelled through Demonsland, and because he held
the magic wand in his hand day and night, no harm came to him. At
last he arrived at the demon Nanâk Chand's house, just as the demon
had awakened from sleep, which, according to the habit of demons, had
lasted for twelve years. Naturally he was desperately hungry, and on
catching sight of the Prince, thought what a dainty morsel he would be
for breakfast; nevertheless, though his mouth watered, the demon
restrained his appetite when he saw the wand, and asked the Prince
politely what he wanted. But when the demon Nanâk Chand had heard the
whole story, he shook his head, saying, 'You will never reach the
Emerald Mountain, my son. Be guided by me,--forget all that has
passed, and begin a new life.'

Then the splendid young Prince answered as before, 'I have but one
life, and that is gone if I lose my dearest Princess! If I must die,
let me die seeking her.'

This answer touched the demon Nanâk Chand, and he gave the faithful
Prince a box of powdered antimony, and bade him travel on through
Demonsland till he came to the house of the great demon Safed. 'For,'
said he, 'Safed is my eldest brother, and if anybody can do what you
want, he will. If you are in need, rub the powder on your eyes, and
whatever you wish near will be near, but whatever you wish far will be
far.'

So the constant Prince travelled on through all the dangers and
difficulties of Demonsland, till he reached the demon Safed's house,
to whom he told his story, showing the powder and the magic wand,
which had brought him so far in safety.

But the great demon Safed shook his head, saying, 'You will never
reach the Emerald Mountain alive, my son. Be guided by me,--forget
all that has passed, and begin a new life.'

Still the faithful Prince gave the same answer, 'I have but one life,
and that is gone if I lose my dearest Princess! If I must die, let me
die seeking her.'

Then the great demon nodded his head approvingly, and said, 'You are a
brave lad, and I must do my best for you. Take this _yech_-cap:
whenever you put it on you will become invisible. Journey to the
north, and after a while in the far distance you will see the Emerald
Mountain. Then put the powder on your eyes and wish the mountain
near, for it is an enchanted hill, and the farther you climb the
higher it grows. On the summit lies the Emerald City: enter it by
means of your invisible cap, and find the Princess--if you can.'

So the Prince journeyed joyfully to the north, until in the far far
distance he saw the glittering Emerald Mountain. Then he rubbed the
powder on his eyes, and behold! what he desired was near, and the
Emerald City lay before him, looking as if it had been cut out of a
single jewel. But the Prince thought of nothing save his dearest
Princess, and wandered up and down the gleaming city protected by his
invisible cap. Still he could not find her. The fact was, the
Princess Shâhpasand's father had locked her up inside seven prisons,
for fear she should fly away again, for he doated on her, and was in
terror lest she should escape back to earth and her handsome young
Prince, of whom she never ceased talking.

'If your husband comes to you, well and good,' said the old man, 'but
you shall never go back to him.'

So the poor Princess wept all day long inside her seven prisons, for
how could mortal man ever reach the Emerald Mountain?

Now the Prince, whilst roaming disconsolately about the city, noticed
a servant woman who every day at a certain hour entered a certain door
with a tray of sweet dishes on her head. Being curious, he took
advantage of his invisible cap, and when she opened the door he
slipped in behind her. Nothing was to be seen but a large door,
which, after shutting and locking the outer one, the servant opened.
Again Prince Bahrâmgor slipped in behind her, and again saw nothing
but a huge door. And so on he went through all the seven doors, till
he came to the seventh prison, and there sat the beautiful Princess
Shâhpasand, weeping salt tears. At the sight of her he could scarcely
refrain from flinging himself at her feet, but remembering that he was
invisible, he waited till the servant after putting down the tray
retired, locking all the seven prisons one by one. Then he sat down
by the Princess and began to eat out of the same dish with her.

She, poor thing, had not the appetite of a sparrow, and scarcely ate
anything, so when she saw the contents of the dish disappearing, she
thought she must be dreaming. But when the whole had vanished, she
became convinced some one was in the room with her, and cried out
faintly, 'Who eats in the same dish with me?'

Then Prince Bahrâmgor lifted the _yech_-cap from his forehead, so
that he was no longer quite invisible, but showed like a figure seen
in early dawn. At this the Princess wept bitterly, calling him by
name, thinking she had seen his ghost, but as he lifted the
_yech_-cap more and more, and, growing from a shadow to real
flesh and blood, clasped her in his arms, her tears changed to radiant
smiles.

Great was the astonishment of the servant next day when she found the
handsome young Prince seated beside his dearest Princess. She ran to
tell the King, who, on hearing the whole story from his daughter's
lips, was very much pleased at the courage and constancy of Prince
Bahrâmgor, and ordered Princess Shâhpasand to be released at once;
'For,' he said, 'now her husband has found his way to her, my daughter
will not want to go to him.'

Then he appointed the Prince to be his heir, and the faithful Prince
Bahrâmgor and his beautiful bride lived happily ever afterwards in the
Emerald kingdom.




THE BEAR'S BAD BARGAIN


[Illustration: The woodman in front of his hut]

Once upon a time, a very old woodman lived with his very old wife in a
tiny hut close to the orchard of a rich man,--so close that the
boughs of a pear-tree hung right over the cottage yard. Now it was
agreed between the rich man and the woodman, that if any of the fruit
fell into the yard, the old couple were to be allowed to eat it; so
you may imagine with what hungry eyes they watched the pears ripening,
and prayed for a storm of wind, or a flock of flying foxes, or
anything which would cause the fruit to fall. But nothing came, and
the old wife, who was a grumbling, scolding old thing, declared they
would infallibly become beggars. So she took to giving her husband
nothing but dry bread to eat, and insisted on his working harder than
ever, till the poor old soul got quite thin; and all because the pears
would not fall down! At last, the woodman turned round and declared
he would not work any more unless his wife gave him _khichrî_ to
his dinner; so with a very bad grace the old woman took some rice and
pulse, some butter and spices, and began to cook a savoury
_khichrî_. What an appetising smell it had, to be sure! The
woodman was for gobbling it up as soon as ever it was ready. 'No,
no,' cried the greedy old wife, 'not till you have brought me in
another load of wood; and mind it is a good one. You must work for
your dinner.'

So the old man set off to the forest and began to hack and to hew with
such a will that he soon had quite a large bundle, and with every
faggot he cut he seemed to smell the savoury _khichrî_ and think
of the feast that was coming.

Just then a bear came swinging by, with its great black nose tilted in
the air, and its little keen eyes peering about; for bears, though
good enough fellows on the whole, are just dreadfully inquisitive.

'Peace be with you, friend!' said the bear, 'and what may you be going
to do with that remarkably large bundle of wood?'

'It is for my wife,' returned the woodman. 'The fact is,' he added
confidentially, smacking his lips, 'she has made _such_ a
_khichrî_ for dinner! and if I bring in a good bundle of wood she
is pretty sure to give me a plentiful portion. Oh, my dear fellow,
you should just smell that _khichrî_!'

At this the bear's mouth began to water, for, like all bears, he was a
dreadful glutton.

[Illustration: The woodman talking to the bear]

'Do you think your wife would give me some too, if I brought her a
bundle of wood?' he asked anxiously.

'Perhaps; if it was a very big load,' answered the woodman craftily.

'Would--would four hundredweight be enough?' asked the bear.

'I'm afraid not,' returned the woodman, shaking his head; 'you see
_khichrî>_ is an expensive dish to make,--there is rice in it,
and plenty of butter, and pulse, and---'

'Would--would eight hundredweight do?'

'Say half a ton, and it's a bargain!' quoth the woodman.

'Half a ton is a large quantity!' sighed the bear.

'There is saffron in the _khichrî_,' remarked the woodman
casually.

The bear licked his lips, and his little eyes twinkled with greed and
delight.

'Well, it's a bargain! Go home sharp and tell your wife to keep the
_khichrî_ hot; I'll be with you in a trice.'

Away went the woodman in great glee to tell his wife how the bear had
agreed to bring half a ton of wood in return for a share of the
_khichrî_.

Now the wife could not help allowing that her husband had made a good
bargain, but being by nature a grumbler, she was determined not to be
pleased, so she began to scold the old man for not having settled
exactly the share the bear was to have; 'For,' said she, 'he will
gobble up the potful before we have finished our first helping.'

On this the woodman became quite pale. 'In that case,' he said, 'we
had better begin now, and have a fair start.' So without more ado
they squatted down on the floor, with the brass pot full of
_khichrî_ between them, and began to eat as fast as they could.

'Remember to leave some for the bear, wife,' said the woodman,
speaking with his mouth crammed full.

'Certainly, certainly,' she replied, helping herself to another
handful.

'My dear,' cried the old woman in her turn, with her mouth so full
that she could hardly speak, 'remember the poor bear!'

'Certainly, certainly, my love!' returned the old man, taking another
mouthful.

So it went on, till there was not a single grain left in the pot.

'What's to be done now?' said the woodman; 'it is all your fault,
wife, for eating so much.'

'My fault!' retorted his wife scornfully, 'why, you ate twice as much
as I did!'

'No, I didn't!'

'Yes, you did!--men always eat more than women.'

'No, they don't!'

'Yes, they do!'

'Well, it's no use quarrelling about it now,' said the woodman,' the
_khichrî_'s gone, and the bear will be furious.'

'That wouldn't matter much if we could get the wood,' said the greedy
old woman. 'I'll tell you what we must do,--we must lock up
everything there is to eat in the house, leave the _khichrî_ pot
by the fire, and hide in the garret. When the bear comes he will
think we have gone out and left his dinner for him. Then he will
throw down his bundle and come in. Of course he will rampage a little
when he finds the pot is empty, but he can't do much mischief, and I
don't think he will take the trouble of carrying the wood away.'

So they made haste to lock up all the food and hide themselves in the
garret.

Meanwhile the bear had been toiling and moiling away at his bundle of
wood, which took him much longer to collect than he expected; however,
at last he arrived quite exhausted at the woodcutter's cottage.
Seeing the brass _khichrî_ pot by the fire, he threw down his
load and went in. And then--mercy! wasn't he angry when he found
nothing in it--not even a grain of rice, nor a tiny wee bit of pulse,
but only a smell that was so uncommonly nice that he actually cried
with rage and disappointment. He flew into the most dreadful temper,
but though he turned the house topsy-turvy, he could not find a morsel
of food. Finally, he declared he would take the wood away again, but,
as the crafty old woman had imagined, when he came to the task, he did
not care, even for the sake of revenge, to carry so heavy a burden.

'I won't go away empty-handed,' said he to himself, seizing the
_khichrî_ pot; 'if I can't get the taste I'll have the smell!'

Now, as he left the cottage, he caught sight of the beautiful golden
pears hanging over into the yard. His mouth began to water at once,
for he was desperately hungry, and the pears were the first of the
season; in a trice he was on the wall, up the tree, and, gathering the
biggest and ripest one he could find, was just putting it into his
mouth, when a thought struck him.

'If I take these pears home I shall be able to sell them for ever so
much to the other bears, and then with the money I shall be able to
buy some _khichrî_. Ha, ha! I shall have the best of the
bargain after all!'

So saying, he began to gather the ripe pears as fast as he could and
put them into the _khichrî_ pot, but whenever he came to an
unripe one he would shake his head and say, 'No one would buy that,
yet it is a pity to waste it' So he would pop it into his mouth and
eat it, making wry faces if it was very sour.

Now all this time the woodman's wife had been watching the bear
through a crevice, and holding her breath for fear of discovery; but,
at last, what with being asthmatic, and having a cold in her head, she
could hold it no longer, and just as the _khichrî_ pot was quite
full of golden ripe pears, out she came with the most tremendous
sneeze you ever heard--'_A-h-chc-u!_'

The bear, thinking some one had fired a gun at him, dropped the
_khichrî_ pot into the cottage yard, and fled into the forest as
fast as his legs would carry him.

So the woodman and his wife got the _khichrî_, the wood, and the
coveted pears, but the poor bear got nothing but a very bad
stomach-ache from eating unripe fruit.




PRINCE LIONHEART AND HIS THREE FRIENDS


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who would have been as
happy as the day was long had it not been for this one circumstance,
--they had no children.

At last an old _fakîr_, or devotee, coming to the palace, asked
to see the Queen, and giving her some barleycorns, told her to eat
them and cease weeping, for in nine months she would have a beautiful
little son. The Queen ate the barleycorns, and sure enough after nine
months she bore the most charming, lovely, splendid Prince that ever
was seen, who was called Lionheart, because he was so brave and so
strong.

Now when he grew up to man's estate, Prince Lionheart grew restless
also, and was for ever begging his father the King to allow him to
travel in the wide world and seek adventures. Then the King would
shake his head, saying _only_ sons were too precious to be turned
adrift; but at last, seeing the young Prince could think of nothing
else, he gave his consent, and Prince Lionheart set off on his
travels, taking no one with him but his three companions, the
Knifegrinder, the Blacksmith, and the Carpenter.

Now when these four valiant young men had gone a short distance, they
came upon a magnificent city, lying deserted and desolate in the
wilderness. Passing through it they saw tall houses, broad bazaars,
shops still full of goods, everything pointing to a large and wealthy
population; but neither in street nor house was a human being to be
seen. This astonished them very much, until the Knifegrinder,
clapping his hand to his forehead, said, 'I remember! This must be
the city I have heard about, where a demon lives who will let no one
dwell in peace. We had best be off!'

'Not a bit of it!' cried Prince Lionheart. 'At any rate not until
I've had my dinner, for I am just desperately hungry!'

So they went to the shops, and bought all they required, laying the
proper price for each thing on the counters just as if the shopkeepers
had been there. Then going to the palace, which stood in the middle
of the town, Prince Lionheart bade the Knifegrinder prepare the
dinner, while he and his other companions took a further look at the
city.

No sooner had they set off, than the Knifegrinder, going to the
kitchen, began to cook the food. It sent up a savoury smell, and the
Knifegrinder was just thinking how nice it would taste, when he saw a
little figure beside him, clad in armour, with sword and lance, riding
on a gaily-caparisoned mouse.

'Give me my dinner!' cried the mannikin, angrily shaking his lance.

'_Your_ dinner! Come, that is a joke!' quoth the Knifegrinder,
laughing.

'Give it me at once!' cried the little warrior in a louder voice, 'or
I'll hang you to the nearest _pîpal_ tree!'

'Wah! whipper-snapper!' replied the valiant Knifegrinder, 'come a
little nearer, and let me squash you between finger and thumb!'

At these words the mannikin suddenly shot up into a terribly tall
demon, whereupon the Knifegrinder's courage disappeared, and, falling
on his knees, he begged for mercy. But his piteous cries were of no
use, for in a trice he was hung to the topmost branch of the
_pîpal_ tree.

'I'll teach 'em to cook in my kitchen!' growled the demon, as he
gobbled up all the cakes and savoury stew. When he had finished every
morsel he disappeared.

Now the Knifegrinder wriggled so desperately that the _pîpal_
branch broke, and he came crashing through the tree to the ground,
without much hurt beyond a great fright and a few bruises. However,
he was so dreadfully alarmed that he rushed into the sleeping-room,
and rolling himself up in his quilt, shook from head to foot as if he
had the ague.

By and by in came Prince Lionheart and his companions, all three as
hungry as hunters, crying, 'Well, jolly Knifegrinder! where's the
dinner?'

Whereupon he groaned out from under his quilt, 'Don't be angry, for
it's nobody's fault; only just as it was ready I got a fit of ague,
and as I lay shivering and shaking a dog came in and walked off with
everything.'

He was afraid that if he told the truth his companions would think him
a coward for not fighting the demon.

'What a pity!' cried the Prince, 'but we must just cook some more.
Here! you Blacksmith! do you prepare the dinner, while the Carpenter
and I have another look at the city.'

Now, no sooner had the Blacksmith begun to sniff the savoury smell,
and think how nice the cakes and stew would taste, than the little
warrior appeared to him also. And he was quite as brave at first as
the Knifegrinder had been, and afterwards he too fell on his knees and
prayed for mercy. In fact everything happened to him as it had
happened to the Knifegrinder, and when he fell from the tree he too
fled into the sleeping-room, and rolling himself in his quilt began to
shiver and shake; so that when Prince Lionheart and the Carpenter came
back, hungry as hunters, there was no dinner.

Then the Carpenter stayed behind to cook, but he fared no better than
the two others, so that when hungry Prince Lionheart returned there
were three sick men, shivering and shaking under their quilts, and no
dinner. Whereupon the Prince set to work to cook his food himself.

No sooner had it begun to give off a savoury smell than the tiny
mouse-warrior appeared, very fierce and valiant.

'Upon my word, you are really a very pretty little fellow!' said the
Prince in a patronising way; 'and what may you want?'

'Give me my dinner!' shrieked the mannikin.

'It is not _your_ dinner, my dear sir, it is _my_ dinner!'
quoth the Prince; 'but to avoid disputes let's fight it out.'

Upon this the mouse-warrior began to stretch and grow till he became a
terribly tall demon. But instead of falling on his knees and begging
for mercy, the Prince only burst into a fit of laughter, and said, 'My
good sir! there is a medium in all things! Just now you were
ridiculously small, at present you are absurdly big; but, as you seem
to be able to alter your size without much trouble, suppose for once
in a way you show some spirit, and become just my size, neither less
nor more; then we can settle whose dinner it really is.'

The demon could not withstand the Prince's reasoning, so he shrank to
an ordinary size, and setting to work with a will, began to tilt at
the Prince in fine style. But valiant Lionheart never yielded an
inch, and finally, after a terrific battle, slew the demon with his
sharp sword.

Then guessing at the truth he roused his three sick friends, saying
with a smile, 'O ye valiant ones! arise, for I have killed the ague!'

And they got up sheepishly, and fell to praising their leader for his
incomparable valour.

After this, Prince Lionheart sent messages to all the inhabitants of
the town who had been driven away by the wicked demon, telling them
they could return and dwell in safety, on condition of their taking
the Knifegrinder as their king, and giving him their richest and most
beautiful maiden as a bride.

This they did with great joy, but when the wedding was over, and
Prince Lionheart prepared to set out once more on his adventures, the
Knifegrinder threw himself before his master, begging to be allowed to
accompany him. Prince Lionheart, however, refused the request,
bidding him remain to govern his kingdom, and at the same time gave
him a barley plant, bidding him tend it very carefully; since so long
as it flourished he might be assured his master was alive and well.
If, on the contrary, it drooped, then he might know that misfortune
was at hand, and set off to help if he chose.

So the Knifegrinder king remained behind with his bride and his barley
plant, but Prince Lionheart, the Blacksmith, and the Carpenter set
forth on their travels.

By and by they came to another desolate city, lying deserted in the
wilderness, and as before they wandered through it, wondering at the
tall palaces, the empty streets, and the vacant shops where never a
human being was to be seen, until the Blacksmith, suddenly
recollecting, said, 'I remember now! This must be the city where the
dreadful ghost lives which kills every one. We had best be off!'

'After we have had our dinners!' quoth hungry Lionheart.

So having bought all they required from a vacant shop, putting the
proper price of everything on the counter, since there was no
shopkeeper, they repaired to the palace, where the Blacksmith was
installed as cook, whilst the others looked through the town.

No sooner had the dinner begun to give off an appetising smell than
the ghost appeared in the form of an old woman, awful and forbidding,
with black wrinkled skin, and feet turned backwards.

At this sight the valiant Blacksmith never stopped to parley, but fled
into another room and bolted the door. Whereupon the ghost ate up the
dinner in no time, and disappeared; so that when Prince Lionheart and
the Carpenter returned, as hungry as hunters, there was no dinner to
be found, and no Blacksmith.

Then the Prince bade the Carpenter do the cooking while he went abroad
to see the town. But the Carpenter fared no better, for the ghost
appeared to him also, so that he fled and locked himself up in another
room.

'This is really too bad!' quoth Prince Lionheart, when he returned to
find no dinner, no Blacksmith, no Carpenter. So he began to cook the
food himself, and ho sooner had it given out a savoury smell than the
ghost arrived; this time, however, seeing so handsome a young man
before her she would not assume her own hag-like shape, but appeared
instead as a beautiful young woman.

However, the Prince was not in the least bit deceived, for he looked
down at her feet, and when he saw they were set on hind side before,
he knew at once what she was; so drawing his sharp strong sword, he
said, 'I must trouble you to take your own shape again, as I don't
like killing beautiful young women!'

At this the ghost shrieked with rage, and changed into her own
loathsome form once more; but at the same moment Prince Lionheart gave
one stroke of his sword, and the horrible, awful thing lay dead at his
feet.

Then the Blacksmith and the Carpenter crept out of their
hiding-places, and the Prince sent messages to all the townsfolk,
bidding them come back and dwell in peace, on condition of their
making the Blacksmith king, and giving him to wife the prettiest, the
richest, and the best-born maiden in the city.

To this they consented with one accord, and after the wedding was
over, Prince Lionheart and the Carpenter set forth once more on their
travels. The Blacksmith king was loath to let them go without him,
but his master gave him also a barley plant, saying, 'Water and tend
it carefully; for so long as it flourishes you may rest assured I am
well and happy; but if it droops, know that I am in trouble, and come
to help me.'

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