"Oh, brother! who could have done this thing? Who is there that
entertains enmity against you?"
"The Princess Gulizar. Listen. The next time you go to see her, I
entreat you to take some snow with you; and just before seeing the
princess put a little of it into both your eyes. It will provoke tears,
and Gulizar will ask you why you are crying. Tell her that you weep for
the loss of your friend, who died suddenly this morning. Look! take,
too, this wine and this shovel, and when you have feigned intense grief
at the death of your friend, bid the princess to drink a little of the
wine. It is strong, and will immediately send her into a deep sleep.
Then, while she is asleep, heat the shovel and mark her back with it.
Remember to bring back the shovel again, and also to take her pearl
necklace. This done, return. Now fear not to execute these
instructions, because on the fulfilment of them depends your fortune
and happiness. I will arrange that your marriage with the princess
shall be accepted by the king, her father, and all the court."
The prince promised that he would do everything as the vizier's son had
advised him; and he kept his promise.
The following night, on the return of the prince from his visit to
Gulizar, he and the vizier's son, taking the horses and bags of muhrs,
went to a graveyard about a mile or so distant. It was arranged that
the vizier's son should act the part of a fakir and the prince the part
of the fakir's disciple and servant.
In the morning, when Gulizar had returned to her senses, she felt a
smarting pain in her back, and noticed that her pearl necklace was
gone. She went at once and informed the king of the loss of her
necklace, but said nothing to him about the pain in her back.
The king was very angry when he heard of the theft, and caused
proclamation concerning it to be made throughout all the city and
surrounding country.
"It is well," said the vizier's son, when he heard of this
proclamation. "Fear not, my brother, but go and take this necklace, and
try to sell it in the bazaar."
The prince took it to a goldsmith and asked him to buy it.
"How much do you want for it?" asked the man.
"Fifty thousand rupees," the prince replied.
"All right," said the man; "wait here while I go and fetch the money."
The prince waited and waited, till at last the goldsmith returned, and
with him the kotwal, who at once took the prince into custody on the
charge of stealing the princess's necklace.
"How did you get the necklace?" the kotwal asked.
"A fakir, whose servant I am, gave it to me to sell in the bazaar," the
prince replied. "Permit me, and I will show you where he is."
The prince directed the kotwal and the policeman to the place where he
had left the vizier's son, and there they found the fakir with his eyes
shut and engaged in prayer. Presently, when he had finished his
devotions, the kotwal asked him to explain how he had obtained
possession of the princess's necklace.
"Call the king hither," he replied, "and then I will tell his Majesty
face to face."
On this some men went to the king and told him what the fakir had said.
His Majesty came, and seeing the fakir so solemn and earnest in his
devotions, he was afraid to rouse his anger, lest peradventure the
displeasure of Heaven should descend on him, and so he placed his hands
together in the attitude of a supplicant, and asked, "How did you get
my daughter's necklace?"
"Last night," replied the fakir, "we were sitting here by this tomb
worshipping Khuda, when a ghoul, dressed as a princess, came and
exhumed a body that had been buried a few days ago, and began to eat
it. On seeing this I was filled with anger, and beat her back with a
shovel, which lay on the fire at the time. While running away from me
her necklace got loose and dropped. You wonder at these words, but they
are not difficult to prove. Examine your daughter, and you will find
the marks of the burn on her back. Go, and if it is as I say, send the
princess to me, and I will punish her."
The king went back to the palace, and at once ordered the princess's
back to be examined.
"It is so," said the maid-servant; "the burn is there."
"Then let the girl be slain immediately," the king shouted.
"No, no, your Majesty," they replied. "Let us send her to the fakir who
discovered this thing, that he may do whatever he wishes with her."
The king agreed, and so the princess was taken to the graveyard.
"Let her be shut up in a cage, and be kept near the grave whence she
took out the corpse," said the fakir.
This was done, and in a little while the fakir and his disciple and the
princess were left alone in the graveyard. Night had not long cast its
dark mantle over the scene when the fakir and his disciple threw off
their disguise, and taking their horses and luggage, appeared before
the cage. They released the princess, rubbed some ointment over the
scars on her back, and then sat her upon one of their horses behind the
prince. Away they rode fast and far, and by the morning were able to
rest and talk over their plans in safety. The vizier's son showed the
princess some of the poisoned pilaw that she had sent him, and asked
whether she had repented of her ingratitude. The princess wept, and
acknowledged that he was her greatest helper and friend.
A letter was sent to the chief vizier telling him of all that had
happened to the prince and the vizier's son since they had left their
country. When the vizier read the letter he went and informed the king.
The king caused a reply to be sent to the two exiles, in which he
ordered them not to return, but to send a letter to Gulizar's father,
and inform him of everything. Accordingly they did this; the prince
wrote the letter at the vizier's son's dictation.
On reading the letter Gulizar's father was much enraged with his
viziers and other officials for not discovering the presence in his
country of these illustrious visitors, as he was especially anxious to
ingratiate himself in the favour of the prince and the vizier's son. He
ordered the execution of some of the viziers on a certain date.
"Come," he wrote back to the vizier's son, "and stay at the palace. And
if the prince desires it, I will arrange for his marriage with Gulizar
as soon as possible."
The prince and the vizier's son most gladly accepted the invitation,
and received a right noble welcome from the king. The marriage soon
took place, and then after a few weeks the king gave them presents of
horses and elephants, and jewels and rich cloths, and bade them start
for their own land; for he was sure that the king would now receive
them. The night before they left the viziers and others, whom the king
intended to have executed as soon as his visitors had left, came and
besought the vizier's son to plead for them, and promised that they
each would give him a daughter in marriage. He agreed to do so, and
succeeded in obtaining their pardon.
Then the prince, with his beautiful bride Gulizar, and the vizier's
son, attended by a troop of soldiers, and a large number of camels and
horses bearing very much treasure, left for their own land. In the
midst of the way they passed the tower of the robbers, and with the
help of the soldiers they razed it to the ground, slew all its inmates,
and seized the treasure which they had been amassing there for several
years.
At length they reached their own country, and when the king saw his
son's beautiful wife and his magnificent retinue he was at once
reconciled, and ordered him to enter the city and take up his abode
there.
Henceforth all was sunshine on the path of the prince. He became a
great favourite, and in due time succeeded to the throne, and ruled the
country for many, many years in peace and happiness.
One day Sun, Moon, and Wind went out to dine with their uncle and aunts
Thunder and Lightning. Their mother (one of the most distant Stars you
see far up in the sky) waited alone for her children's return.
Now both Sun and Wind were greedy and selfish. They enjoyed the great
feast that had been prepared for them, without a thought of saving any
of it to take home to their mother—but the gentle Moon did not forget
her. Of every dainty dish that was brought round, she placed a small
portion under one of her beautiful long finger-nails, that Star might
also have a share in the treat.
On their return, their mother, who had kept watch for them all night
long with her little bright eye, said, "Well, children, what have you
brought home for me?" Then Sun (who was eldest) said, "I have brought
nothing home for you. I went out to enjoy myself with my friends—not
to fetch a dinner for my mother!" And Wind said, "Neither have I
brought anything home for you, mother. You could hardly expect me to
bring a collection of good things for you, when I merely went out for
my own pleasure." But Moon said, "Mother, fetch a plate, see what I
have brought you." And shaking her hands she showered down such a
choice dinner as never was seen before.
Then Star turned to Sun and spoke thus, "Because you went out to amuse
yourself with your friends, and feasted and enjoyed yourself, without
any thought of your mother at home—you shall be cursed. Henceforth,
your rays shall ever be hot and scorching, and shall burn all that they
touch. And men shall hate you, and cover their heads when you appear."
(And that is why the Sun is so hot to this day.)
Then she turned to Wind and said, "You also who forgot your mother in
the midst of your selfish pleasures—hear your doom. You shall always
blow in the hot dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living
things. And men shall detest and avoid you from this very time."
(And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is still so disagreeable.)
But to Moon she said, "Daughter, because you remembered your mother,
and kept for her a share in your own enjoyment, from henceforth you
shall be ever cool, and calm, and bright. No noxious glare shall
accompany your pure rays, and men shall always call you 'blessed."'
(And that is why the moon's light is so soft, and cool, and beautiful
even to this day.)
A very wealthy old man, imagining that he was on the point of death,
sent for his sons and divided his property among them. However, he did
not die for several years afterwards; and miserable years many of them
were. Besides the weariness of old age, the old fellow had to bear with
much abuse and cruelty from his sons. Wretched, selfish ingrates!
Previously they vied with one another in trying to please their father,
hoping thus to receive more money, but now they had received their
patrimony, they cared not how soon he left them—nay, the sooner the
better, because he was only a needless trouble and expense. And they
let the poor old man know what they felt.
One day he met a friend and related to him all his troubles. The friend
sympathised very much with him, and promised to think over the matter,
and call in a little while and tell him what to do. He did so; in a
few days he visited the old man and put down four bags full of stones
and gravel before him.
"Look here, friend," said he. "Your sons will get to know of my coming
here to-day, and will inquire about it. You must pretend that I came to
discharge a long-standing debt with you, and that you are several
thousands of rupees richer than you thought you were. Keep these bags
in your own hands, and on no account let your sons get to them as long
as you are alive. You will soon find them change their conduct towards
you. Salaam. I will come again soon to see how you are getting on."
When the young men got to hear of this further increase of wealth they
began to be more attentive and pleasing to their father than ever
before. And thus they continued to the day of the old man's demise,
when the bags were greedily opened, and found to contain only stones
and gravel!
Once upon a time the Bodhisatta was a Pigeon, and lived in a nest-
basket which a rich man's cook had hung up in the kitchen, in order to
earn merit by it. A greedy Crow, flying near, saw all sorts of delicate
food lying about in the kitchen, and fell a-hungering after it. "How in
the world can I get some?" thought he? At last he hit upon a plan.
When the Pigeon went to search for food, behind him, following,
following, came the Crow.
"What do you want, Mr. Crow? You and I don't feed alike."
"Ah, but I like you and your ways! Let me be your chum, and let us feed
together."
The Pigeon agreed, and they went on in company. The Crow pretended to
feed along with the Pigeon, but ever and anon he would turn back, peck
to bits some heap of cow-dung, and eat a fat worm. When he had got a
bellyful of them, up he flies, as pert as you like:
"Hullo, Mr. Pigeon, what a time you take over your meal! One ought to
draw the line somewhere. Let's be going home before it is too late."
And so they did.
The cook saw that his Pigeon had brought a friend, and hung up another
basket for him.
A few days afterwards there was a great purchase of fish which came to
the rich man's kitchen. How the Crow longed for some! So there he lay,
from early morn, groaning and making a great noise. Says the Pigeon to
the Crow:
"Come, Sir Crow, and get your breakfast!"'
"Oh dear! oh dear! I have such a fit of indigestion!" says he.
"Nonsense! Crows never have indigestion," said the Pigeon. "If you eat
a lamp-wick, that stays in your stomach a little while; but anything
else is digested in a trice, as soon as you eat it. Now do what I tell
you; don't behave in this way just for seeing a little fish."
"Why do you say that, master? I have indigestion."
"Well, be careful," said the Pigeon, and flew away.