"And where are you going?" asked the poor man, at length.
"Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!"
replied the farmer. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to
go?"
"Perhaps I can," said the poor man, smiling, "for
I
am Ram! What
do you want of me?"
Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave
him a conch shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way,
saying, "Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the
conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of
that money-lender, for even magic is not proof against their wiles!"
The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the money-lender
noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, "Some good
fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head
so jauntily." Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and
congratulated him on his good fortune, in such cunning words,
pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the farmer
found himself telling the whole story—all except the secret of blowing
the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the farmer was not quite such
a fool as to tell that.
Nevertheless, the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or
by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he
waited for a favourable opportunity and stole the conch.
But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every
conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job.
However, being determined to succeed he went back to the farmer, and
said, coolly, "Look here; I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you
haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. Business is at a
stand-still unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back
your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one
condition, which is this,—whatever you get from it, I am to get
double."
"Never!" cried the farmer; "that would be the old business all over
again!"
"Not at all!" replied the wily money-lender; "you will have your share!
Now, don't be a dog in the manger, for if
you
get all you want,
what can it matter to you if
I
am rich or poor?"
At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit
to a money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time,
no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender
gained double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the
farmer's mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of
anything.
At last, there came a very dry season,—so dry that the farmer's crops
withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a
well to water them, and lo! there was the well,
but the money-lender
had two!
—two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any farmer
to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at
last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it
loudly, and cried out, "Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!" And so
he, was, in a twinkling, but the money-lender of course was blind of
both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells, he fell
into one, and was drowned.
Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a money-
lender—but only by losing one of his eyes.
In a country were seven daughters of poor parents, who used to come
daily to play under the shady trees in the King's garden with the
gardener's daughter; and daily she used to say to them, "When I am
married I shall have a son. Such a beautiful boy as he will be has
never been seen. He will have a moon on his forehead and a star on his
chin." Then her playfellows used to laugh at her and mock her.
But one day the King heard her telling them about the beautiful boy she
would have when she was married, and he said to himself he should like
very much to have such a son; the more so that though he had already
four Queens he had no child. He went, therefore, to the gardener and
told him he wished to marry his daughter. This delighted the gardener
and his wife, who thought it would indeed be grand for their daughter
to become a princess. So they said "Yes" to the King, and invited all
their friends to the wedding. The King invited all his, and he gave the
gardener as much money as he wanted. Then the wedding was held with
great feasting and rejoicing.
A year later the day drew near on which the gardener's daughter was to
have her son; and the King's four other Queens came constantly to see
her. One day they said to her, "The King hunts every day; and the time
is soon coming when you will have your child. Suppose you fell ill
whilst he was out hunting and could therefore know nothing of your
illness, what would you do then?"
When the King came home that evening, the gardener's daughter said to
him, "Every day you go out hunting. Should I ever be in trouble or sick
while you are away, how could I send for you?" The King gave her a
kettle-drum which he placed near the door for her, and he said to her,
"Whenever you want me, beat this kettle-drum. No matter how far away I
may be, I shall hear it, and will come at once to you."
Next morning when the King had gone out to hunt, his four other Queens
came to see the gardener's daughter. She told them all about her
kettle-drum. "Oh," they said, "do drum on it just to see if the King
really will come to you."
"No, I will not," she said; "for why should I call him from his hunting
when I do not want him?"
"Don't mind interrupting his hunting," they answered. "Do try if he
really will come to you when you beat your kettle-drum." So at last,
just to please them, she beat it, and the King stood before her.
"Why have you called me?" he said. "See, I have left my hunting to come
to you."
"I want nothing," she answered; "I only wished to know if you really
would come to me when I beat my drum."
"Very well," answered the King; "but do not call me again unless you
really need me." Then he returned to his hunting.
The next day, when the King had gone out hunting as usual, the four
Queens again came to see the gardener's daughter. They begged and
begged her to beat her drum once more, "just to see if the King will
really come to see you this time." At first she refused, but at last
she consented. So she beat her drum, and the King came to her. But when
he found she was neither ill nor in trouble, he was angry, and said to
her, "Twice I have left my hunting and lost my game to come to you when
you did not need me. Now you may call me as much as you like, but I
will not come to you," and then he went away in a rage.
The third day the gardener's daughter fell ill, and she beat and beat
her kettle-drum; but the King never came. He heard her kettle-drum, but
he thought, "She does not really want me; she is only trying to see if
I will go to her."
Meanwhile the four other Queens came to her, and they said, "Here it is
the custom before a child is born to bind its mother's eyes with a
handkerchief that she may not see it just at first. So let us bind your
eyes." She answered, "Very well, bind my eyes." The four wives then
tied a handkerchief over them.
Soon after, the gardener's daughter had a beautiful little son, with a
moon on his forehead and a star on his chin, and before the poor mother
had seen him, the four wicked Queens took the boy to the nurse and said
to her, "Now you must not let this child make the least sound for fear
his mother should hear him; and in the night you must either kill him,
or else take him away, so that his mother may never see him. If you
obey our orders, we will give you a great many rupees." All this they
did out of spite. The nurse took the little child and put him into a
box, and the four Queens went back to the gardener's daughter.
First they put a stone into her boy's little bed, and then they took
the handkerchief off her eyes and showed it her, saying, "Look! this is
your son!" The poor girl cried bitterly, and thought, "What will the
King say when he finds no child?" But she could do nothing.
When the King came home; he was furious at hearing his youngest wife,
the gardener's daughter, had given him a stone instead of the beautiful
little son she had promised him. He made her one of the palace
servants, and never spoke to her.
In the middle of the night the nurse took the box in which was the
beautiful little prince, and went out to a broad plain in the jungle.
There she dug a hole, made the fastenings of the box sure, and put the
box into the hole, although the child in it was still alive. The King's
dog, whose name was Shankar, had followed her to see what she did with
the box. As soon as she had gone back to the four Queens (who gave her
a great many rupees), the dog went to the hole in which she had put the
box, took the box out, and opened it. When he saw the beautiful little
boy, he was very much delighted and said, "If it pleases Khuda that
this child should live, I will not hurt him; I will not eat him, but I
will swallow him whole and hide him in my stomach." This he did.
After six months had passed, the dog went by night to the jungle, and
thought, "I wonder whether the boy is alive or dead." Then he brought
the child out of his stomach and rejoiced over his beauty. The boy was
now six months old. When Shankar had caressed and loved him, he
swallowed him again for another six months. At the end of that time he
went once more by night to the broad jungle-plain. There he brought up
the child out of his stomach (the child was now a year old), and
caressed and petted him a great deal, and was made very happy by his
great beauty.
But this time the dog's keeper had followed and watched the dog; and he
saw all that Shankar did, and the beautiful little child, so he ran to
the four Queens and said to them, "Inside the King's dog there is a
child! the loveliest child! He has a moon on his forehead and a star on
his chin. Such a child has never been seen!" At this the four wives
were very much frightened, and as soon as the King came home from
hunting they said to him, "While you were away your dog came to our
rooms, and tore our clothes and knocked about all our things. We are
afraid he will kill us." "Do not be afraid," said the King. "Eat your
dinner and be happy. I will have the dog shot to-morrow morning."
Then he ordered his servants to shoot the dog at dawn, but the dog
heard him, and said to himself, "What shall I do? The King intends to
kill me. I don't care about that, but what will become of the child if
I am killed? He will die. But I will see if I cannot save him."
So when it was night, the dog ran to the King's cow, who was called
Suri, and said to her, "Suri, I want to give you something, for the
King has ordered me to be shot to-morrow. Will you take great care of
whatever I give you?"
"Let me see what it is," said Suri, "I will take care of it if I can."
Then they both went together to the wide plain, and there the dog
brought up the boy. Suri was enchanted with him. "I never saw such a
beautiful child in this country," she said. "See, he has a moon on his
forehead and a star on his chin. I will take the greatest care of him."
So saying she swallowed the little prince. The dog made her a great
many salaams, and said, "To-morrow I shall die;" and the cow then went
back to her stable.
Next morning at dawn the dog was taken to the jungle and shot.
The child now lived in Suri's stomach; and when one whole year had
passed, and he was two years old, the cow went out to the plain, and
said to herself, "I do not know whether the child is alive or dead. But
I have never hurt it, so I will see." Then she brought up the boy; and
he played about, and Suri was delighted; she loved him and caressed
him, and talked to him. Then she swallowed him, and returned to her
stable.
At the end of another year she went again to the plain and brought up
the child. He played and ran about for an hour to her great delight,
and she talked to him and caressed him. His great beauty made her very
happy. Then she swallowed him once more and returned to her stable. The
child was now three years old.
But this time the cowherd had followed Suri, and had seen the wonderful
child and all she did to it. So he ran and told the four Queens, "The
King's cow has a beautiful boy inside her. He has a moon on his
forehead and a star on his chin. Such a child has never been seen
before!"
At this the Queens were terrified. They tore their clothes and their
hair and cried. When the King came home at evening, he asked them why
they were so agitated. "Oh," they said, "your cow came and tried to
kill us; but we ran away. She tore our hair and our clothes." "Never
mind," said the King. "Eat your dinner and be happy. The cow shall be
killed to-morrow morning."
Now Suri heard the King give this order to the servants, so she said to
herself, "What shall I do to save the child?" When it was midnight, she
went to the King's horse called Katar, who was very wicked, and quite
untameable. No one had ever been able to ride him; indeed no one could
go near him with safety, he was so savage. Suri said to this horse,
"Katar, will you take care of something that I want to give you,
because the King has ordered me to be killed to-morrow?"
"Good," said Katar; "show me what it is." Then Suri brought up the
child, and the horse was delighted with him. "Yes," he said, "I will
take the greatest care of him. Till now no one has been able to ride
me, but this child shall ride me." Then he swallowed the boy, and when
he had done so, the cow made him many salaams, saying, "It is for this
boy's sake that I am to die." The next morning she was taken to the
jungle and there killed.