Now Balna's son was a bright, clever boy, so he said, "Do not fear,
dear mother; the first thing to do is to discover how far the
Magician's power extends, in order that we may be able to liberate my
father and uncles, whom he has imprisoned in the form of rocks and
trees. You have spoken to him angrily for twelve long years; now rather
speak kindly. Tell him you have given up all hopes of again seeing the
husband you have so long mourned, and say you are willing to marry him.
Then endeavour to find out what his power consists in, and whether he
is immortal, or can be put to death."
Balna determined to take her son's advice; and the next day sent for
Punchkin, and spoke to him as had been suggested.
The Magician, greatly delighted, begged her to allow the wedding to
take place as soon as possible.
But she told him that before she married him he must allow her a little
more time, in which she might make his acquaintance, and that, after
being enemies so long, their friendship could but strengthen by
degrees. "And do tell me," she said, "are you quite immortal? Can death
never touch you? And are you too great an enchanter ever to feel human
suffering?"
"Why do you ask?" said he.
"Because," she replied, "if I am to be your wife, I would fain know all
about you, in order, if any calamity threatens you, to overcome, or if
possible to avert it."
"It is true," he added, "that I am not as others. Far, far away,
hundreds of thousands of miles from this, there lies a desolate country
covered with thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a circle of
palm trees, and in the centre of the circle stand six chattees full of
water, piled one above another: below the sixth chattee is a small cage
which contains a little green parrot; on the life of the parrot depends
my life; and if the parrot is killed I must die. It is, however," he
added, "impossible that the parrot should sustain any injury, both on
account of the inaccessibility of the country, and because, by my
appointment, many thousand genii surround the palm trees, and kill all
who approach the place."
Balna told her son what Punchkin had said; but at the same time
implored him to give up all idea of getting the parrot.
The Prince, however, replied, "Mother, unless I can get hold of that
parrot, you, and my father, and uncles, cannot be liberated: be not
afraid, I will shortly return. Do you, meantime, keep the Magician in
good humour—still putting off your marriage with him on various
pretexts; and before he finds out the cause of delay, I will be here."
So saying, he went away.
Many, many weary miles did he travel, till at last he came to a thick
jungle; and, being very tired, sat down under a tree and fell asleep.
He was awakened by a soft rustling sound, and looking about him, saw a
large serpent which was making its way to an eagle's nest built in the
tree under which he lay, and in the nest were two young eagles. The
Prince seeing the danger of the young birds, drew his sword, and killed
the serpent; at the same moment a rushing sound was heard in the air,
and the two old eagles, who had been out hunting for food for their
young ones, returned. They quickly saw the dead serpent and the young
Prince standing over it; and the old mother eagle said to him, "Dear
boy, for many years all our young ones have been devoured by that cruel
serpent; you have now saved the lives of our children; whenever you are
in need, therefore, send to us and we will help you; and as for these
little eagles, take them, and let them be your servants."
At this the Prince was very glad, and the two eaglets crossed their
wings, on which he mounted; and they carried him far, far away over the
thick jungles, until he came to the place where grew the circle of palm
trees, in the midst of which stood the six chattees full of water. It
was the middle of the day, and the heat was very great. All round the
trees were the genii fast asleep; nevertheless, there were such
countless thousands of them, that it would have been quite impossible
for any one to walk through their ranks to the place; down swooped the
strong-winged eaglets—down jumped the Prince; in an instant he had
overthrown the six chattees full of water, and seized the little green
parrot, which he rolled up in his cloak; while, as he mounted again
into the air, all the genii below awoke, and finding their treasure
gone, set up a wild and melancholy howl.
Away, away flew the little eagles, till they came to their home in the
great tree; then the Prince said to the old eagles, "Take back your
little ones; they have done me good service; if ever again I stand in
need of help, I will not fail to come to you." He then continued his
journey on foot till he arrived once more at the Magician's palace,
where he sat down at the door and began playing with the parrot.
Punchkin saw him, and came to him quickly, and said, "My boy, where did
you get that parrot? Give it to me, I pray you."
But the Prince answered, "Oh no, I cannot give away my parrot, it is a
great pet of mine; I have had it many years."
Then the Magician said, "If it is an old favourite, I can understand
your not caring to give it away; but come what will you sell it for?"
"Sir," replied the Prince, "I will not sell my parrot."
Then Punchkin got frightened, and said, "Anything, anything; name what
price you will, and it shall be yours." The Prince answered, "Let the
seven Raja's sons whom you turned into rocks and trees be instantly
liberated."
"It is done as you desire," said the Magician, "only give me my
parrot." And with that, by a stroke of his wand, Balna's husband and
his brothers resumed their natural shapes. "Now, give me my parrot,"
repeated Punchkin.
"Not so fast, my master," rejoined the Prince; "I must first beg that
you will restore to life all whom you have thus imprisoned."
The Magician immediately waved his wand again; and, whilst he cried, in
an imploring voice, "Give me my parrot!" the whole garden became
suddenly alive: where rocks, and stones, and trees had been before,
stood Rajas, and Punts, and Sirdars, and mighty men on prancing horses,
and jewelled pages, and troops of armed attendants.
"Give me my parrot!" cried Punchkin. Then the boy took hold of the
parrot, and tore off one of its wings; and as he did so the Magician's
right arm fell off.
Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot!"
The Prince pulled off the parrot's second wing, and the Magician's left
arm tumbled off.
"Give me my parrot!" cried he, and fell on his knees. The Prince pulled
off the parrot's right leg, the Magician's right leg fell off: the
Prince pulled off the parrot's left leg, down fell the Magician's left.
Nothing remained of him save the limbless body and the head; but still
he rolled his eyes, and cried, "Give me my parrot!" "Take your parrot,
then," cried the boy, and with that he wrung the bird's neck, and threw
it at the Magician; and, as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted round,
and, with a fearful groan, he died!
Then they let Balna out of the tower; and she, her son, and the seven
Princes went to their own country, and lived very happily ever
afterwards. And as to the rest of the world, every one went to his own
house.
There lived in a certain place a Brahman, whose name was
Svabhavak
ri
pa
n
a, which means "a born miser." He had collected
a quantity of rice by begging, and after having dined off it, he filled a
pot with what was left over. He hung the pot on a peg on the wall,
placed his couch beneath, and looking intently at it all the night, he
thought, "Ah, that pot is indeed brimful of rice. Now, if there should be
a famine, I should certainly make a hundred rupees by it. With this I
shall buy a couple of goats. They will have young ones every six months,
and thus I shall have a whole herd of goats. Then, with the goats, I
shall buy cows. As soon as they have calved, I shall sell the calves.
Then, with the calves, I shall buy buffaloes; with the buffaloes, mares.
When the mares have foaled, I shall have plenty of horses; and when
I sell them, plenty of gold. With that gold I shall get a house with four
wings. And then a Brahman will come to my house, and will give me his
beautiful daughter, with a large dowry. She will have a son, and I shall
call him Somasarman. When he is old enough to be danced on his
father's knee, I shall sit with a book at the back of the stable, and while
I am reading, the boy will see me, jump from his mother's lap, and run
towards me to be danced on my knee. He will come too near the
horse's hoof, and, full of anger, I shall call to my wife, 'Take the baby;
take him!' But she, distracted by some domestic work, does not hear me.
Then I get up, and give her such a kick with my foot." While he thought
this, he gave a kick with his foot, and broke the pot. All the rice fell
over him, and made him quite white. Therefore, I say, "He who makes
foolish plans for the future will be white all over, like the father of
Somasarman."
Once upon a time there lived seven brothers and a sister. The brothers
were married, but their wives did not do the cooking for the family. It
was done by their sister, who stopped at home to cook. The wives for
this reason bore their sister-in-law much ill-will, and at length they
combined together to oust her from the office of cook and general
provider, so that one of themselves might obtain it. They said, "She
does not go out to the fields to work, but remains quietly at home, and
yet she has not the meals ready at the proper time." They then called
upon their Bonga, and vowing vows unto him they secured his good-will
and assistance; then they said to the Bonga, "At midday, when our
sister-in-law goes to bring water, cause it thus to happen, that on
seeing her pitcher, the water shall vanish, and again slowly re-appear.
In this way she will be delayed. Let the water not flow into her
pitcher, and you may keep the maiden as your own."
At noon when she went to bring water, it suddenly dried up before her,
and she began to weep. Then after a while the water began slowly to
rise. When it reached her ankles she tried to fill her pitcher, but it
would not go under the water. Being frightened she began to wail and
cry to her brother:
"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my ankles,
Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."
The water continued to rise until it reached her knee, when she began
to wail again:
"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my knee,
Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."
The water continued to rise, and when it reached her waist, she cried
again:
"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my waist,
Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."
The water still rose, and when it reached her neck she kept on crying:
"Oh! my brother, the water reaches to my neck,
Still, Oh! my brother, the pitcher will not dip."
At length the water became so deep that she felt herself drowning, then
she cried aloud:
"Oh! my brother, the water measures a man's height,
Oh! my brother, the pitcher begins to fill."
The pitcher filled with water, and along with it she sank and was
drowned. The Bonga then transformed her into a Bonga like himself, and
carried her off.
After a time she re-appeared as a bamboo growing on the embankment of
the tank in which she had been drowned. When the bamboo had grown to an
immense size, a Jogi, who was in the habit of passing that way, seeing
it, said to himself, "This will make a splendid fiddle." So one day he
brought an axe to cut it down; but when he was about to begin, the
bamboo called out, "Do not cut at the root, cut higher up." When he
lifted his axe to cut high up the stem, the bamboo cried out, "Do not
cut near the top, cut at the root." When the Jogi again prepared
himself to cut at the root as requested, the bamboo said, "Do not cut
at the root, cut higher up;" and when he was about to cut higher up, it
again called out to him, "Do not cut high up, cut at the root." The
Jogi by this time felt sure that a Bonga was trying to frighten him, so
becoming angry he cut down the bamboo at the root, and taking it away
made a fiddle out of it. The instrument had a superior tone and
delighted all who heard it. The Jogi carried it with him when he went
a-begging, and through the influence of its sweet music he returned
home every evening with a full wallet.
He now and then visited, when on his rounds, the house of the Bonga
girl's brothers, and the strains of the fiddle affected them greatly.
Some of them were moved even to tears, for the fiddle seemed to wail as
one in bitter anguish. The elder brother wished to purchase it, and
offered to support the Jogi for a whole year if he would consent to
part with his wonderful instrument. The Jogi, however, knew its value,
and refused to sell it.
It so happened that the Jogi some time after went to the house of a
village chief, and after playing a tune or two on his fiddle asked for
something to eat. They offered to buy his fiddle and promised a high
price for it, but he refused to sell it, as his fiddle brought to him
his means of livelihood. When they saw that he was not to be prevailed
upon, they gave him food and a plentiful supply of liquor. Of the
latter he drank so freely that he presently became intoxicated. While
he was in this condition, they took away his fiddle, and substituted
their own old one for it. When the Jogi recovered, he missed his
instrument, and suspecting that it had been stolen asked them to return
it to him. They denied having taken it, so he had to depart, leaving
his fiddle behind him. The chief's son, being a musician, used to play
on the Jogi's fiddle, and in his hands the music it gave forth
delighted the ears of all who heard it.
When all the household were absent at their labours in the fields, the
Bonga girl used to come out of the bamboo fiddle, and prepared the
family meal. Having eaten her own share, she placed that of the chief's
son under his bed, and covering it up to keep off the dust, re-entered
the fiddle. This happening every day, the other members of the
household thought that some girl friend of theirs was in this manner
showing her interest in the young man, so they did not trouble
themselves to find out how it came about. The young chief, however, was
determined to watch, and see which of his girl friends was so attentive
to his comfort. He said in his own mind, "I will catch her to-day, and
give her a sound beating; she is causing me to be ashamed before the
others." So saying, he hid himself in a corner in a pile of firewood.
In a short time the girl came out of the bamboo fiddle, and began to
dress her hair. Having completed her toilet, she cooked the meal of
rice as usual, and having eaten some herself, she placed the young
man's portion under his bed, as before, and was about to enter the
fiddle again, when he, running out from his hiding-place, caught her in
his arms. The Bonga girl exclaimed, "Fie! Fie! you may be a Dom, or you
may be a Hadi of some other caste with whom I cannot marry." He said,
"No. But from to-day, you and I are one." So they began lovingly to
hold converse with each other. When the others returned home in the
evening, they saw that she was both a human being and a Bonga, and they
rejoiced exceedingly.