The King's Son and The Wazir's Daughter

In a country there was a great king who had a wazir. One day he
thought he should like to play at cards with this wazir, and he told
him to go and get some for him, and then play a game with him. So the
wazir brought the cards, and he and the king sat down to play. Now
neither the king nor the wazir had any children; and as they were
playing, the king said, "Wazir, if I have a son and you have a
daughter, or if I have a daughter and you have a son, let us marry our
children to each other." To this the wazir agreed. A year after the
king had a son; and when the boy was two years old, the wazir had a
daughter. Some years passed, and the king's son was twelve years old,
and the wazir's daughter ten. Then the king said to the wazir, "Do you
remember how one day, when we were playing at cards, we agreed to
marry our children to each other?" "I remember," said the wazir. "Let
us marry them now," said the king. So they held the wedding feast; but
the wazir's little daughter remained in her father's house because she
was still so young.

As the king's son grew older he became very wicked, and took to
gambling and drinking till his father and mother died of grief. After
their death he went on in the same way, gambling and drinking, until
he had no money left, and had to leave the palace, and live anywhere
he could in the town, wandering from house to house in a fakir's
dress, begging his bread, and sleeping wherever he found a spot on
which to lie down.

Meanwhile the wazir's daughter was living alone, for her husband had
never come to fetch her as he should have done when she was old
enough. Her father and mother were dead too. She had given half of the
money they left her to the poor, and she lived on the other half. She
spent her days in praying to God, and in reading in a holy book; and
though she was so young, she was very wise and good.

One day, as the prince was roaming about in his fakir's rags, not
knowing where to find food or shelter, he remembered his wife, and
thought he would go and see her. She ordered her servants to give him
good food, a bath, and good clothes; "for," she said, "we were married
when we were children, though he never fetched me to his palace." The
servants did as she bade them. The prince bathed and dressed, and ate
food, and he wished to stay with his wife. But she said, "No; before
you stay with me you must see four sights. Go out in the jungle and
walk for a whole week. Then you will come to a plain where you will
see them." So the next day he set out for the plain, and reached it in
one week.

There he saw a large tank. At one corner of the tank he saw a man and
a woman who had good clothes, good food, good beds, and servants to
wait on them, and seemed very happy. At the second corner he saw a
wretchedly poor man and his wife, who did nothing but cry and sob
because they had no food to eat, no water to drink, no bed to lie on,
no one to take care of them. At the third corner he saw two little
fishes that were always going up and down in the air. They would shoot
down close to the water, but they could not go into it or stay in it;
then they would make a salaam to God, and would shoot up again into
the air, but before they got very high, they had to drop down again.
At the fourth corner he saw a huge demon who was heating sand in an
enormous iron pot, under which he kept up a big fire.

The prince returned to his wife, and told her all he had seen. "Do you
know who the happy man and woman are?" she said. "No," he answered.
"They are my father and mother," she said. "When they were alive, I
was good to them, and since their death I gave half their money to the
poor; and on the other half I have lived quietly, and tried to be
good. So God is pleased with them, and makes them happy." "Is that
true?" said her husband. "Quite true," she said. "And the miserable
man and woman who did nothing but cry, do you know who they are?"
"No," said the prince. "They are your father and mother. When they
were alive, you gambled and drank; and they died of grief. Then you
went on gambling and drinking till you had spent all their money. So
now God is angry with them, and will not make them happy." "Is that
true?" said the prince. "Quite true," she said. "And the fishes you
saw were the two little children we should have had if you had taken
me to your home as your wife. Now they cannot be born, for they can
find no bodies in which to be born; so God has ordered them to rise
and sink in the air in these fishes' forms." "Is that true?" asked the
prince. "Quite true," she answered. "And by God's order the demon you
saw is heating that sand in the big iron pot for you, because you are
such a wicked man."

The moment she had told all this to her husband, she died. But he did
not get any better. He gambled and drank all her money away, and lived
a wretched life, wandering about like a fakir till his death.

Raja Harichand's Punishment

There was once a great Raja, Raja Harichand, who every morning before
he bathed and breakfasted used to give away one hundred pounds weight
of gold to the fakirs, his poor ryots, and other poor people. This he
did in the name of God, "For," he said, "God loves me and gives me
everything that I have; so daily I will give him this gold."

Now God heard what a good man Raja Harichand was, and how much the
Raja loved him, and he thought he would go and see for himself if all
that was said of the Raja were true. He therefore went as a fakir to
Raja Harichand's palace and stood at his gate. The Raja had already
given away his hundred pounds' weight of gold, and gone into his
palace and bathed and breakfasted; so when his servants came to tell
him that another fakir stood at his gate, the Raja said, "Bid him come
to-morrow, for I have bathed, and have eaten my breakfast, and
therefore cannot attend to him now." The servants returned to the
fakir, and told him, "The Raja says you must come to-morrow, for he
cannot see you now, as he has bathed and breakfasted." God went away,
and the next day he again came, after all the fakirs and poor people
had received their gold and the Raja had gone into his palace. So the
Raja told his servants, "Bid the fakir come to-morrow. He has again
come too late for me to see him now."

On the third day God was once more too late, for the Raja had gone
into his palace. The Raja was vexed with him for being a third time
too late, and said to his servants, "What sort of a fakir is this that
he always comes too late? Go and ask him what he wants." So the
servants went to the fakir and said, "Raja Harichand says, 'What do
you want from him?'" "I want no rupees," answered God, "nor anything
else; but I want him to give me his wife." The servants told this to
the Raja, and it made him very angry. He went to his wife, the Rani
Bahan, and said to her, "There is a fakir at the gate who asks me to
give you to him! As if I should ever do such a thing! Fancy my giving
him my wife!"

The Rani was very wise and clever, for she had a book, which she read
continually, called the kop shastra; and this book told her
everything. So she knew that the fakir at the gate was no fakir, but
God himself. (In old days about two people in a thousand, though not
more, could read this book; now-a-days hardly any one can read it, for
it is far too difficult.) So the Rani said to the Raja, "Go to this
fakir, and say to him, 'You shall have my wife.' You need not really
give me to him; only give me to him in your thoughts." "I will do no
such thing," said the Raja in a rage; and in spite of all her
entreaties, he would not say to the fakir, "I will give you my wife."
He ordered his servants to beat the fakir, and send him away; and so
they did.

God returned to his place, and called to him two angels. "Take the
form of men," he said to them, "and go to Raja Harichand. Say to him,
'God has sent us to you. He says, Which will you have--a twelve years'
famine throughout your land during which no rain will fall? or a great
rain for twelve hours?'"

The angels came to the Raja and said as God had bidden them. The Raja
thought for a long while which he should choose. "If a great rain
pours down for twelve hours," he said to himself, "my whole country
will be washed away. But I have a great quantity of gold. I have
enough to send to other countries and buy food for myself and my ryots
during the twelve years' famine." So he said to the angels, "I will
choose the famine." Then the angels came into his palace; and the
moment they entered it, all the Raja's servants that were in the
palace, and all his cows, horses, elephants, and other animals became
stone. So did every single thing in the palace, excepting his gold and
silver, and these turned to charcoal. The Raja and Rani did not become
stone.

The angels said to them, "For three weeks you will not be able to eat
anything; you will not be able to eat any food you may find or may
have given you. But you will not die, you will live." Then the angels
went away.

The Raja was very sad when he looked round his palace and saw
everything in it, and all the people in it, stone, and saw all his
gold and silver turned to charcoal. He said to his wife, "I cannot
stay here. I must go to some other country. I was a great Raja; how
can I ask my ryots to give me food? We will dress ourselves like
fakirs, and go to another country."

They put on fakirs' clothes and went out of their palace. They
wandered in the jungle till they saw a plum-tree covered with fruit.
"Do gather some of those plums for me," said the Rani, who was very
hungry. The Raja went to the tree and put out his hand to gather the
plums; but when he did this, they at once all left the tree and went a
little way up into the air. When he drew back his hand, the plums
returned to the tree. The Raja tried three times to gather the plums,
but never could do so.

He and the Rani then went on till they came to a plain in another
country, where was a large tank in which men were fishing. The Rani
said to her husband, "Go and ask those men to give us a little of
their fish, for I am very hungry." The Raja went to the men and said,
"I am a fakir, and have no pice. Will you give me some of your fish,
for I have not eaten for four days and am hungry?" The men gave him
some fish, and he and his wife carried it to a tank on another plain.
The Rani cleaned and prepared the fish for cooking, and said to her
husband, "I have nothing in which to cook this fish. Go up to the town
(there was a town close by) and ask some one to give you an earthen
pot with a lid, and some salt."

The Raja went up to the town, and some one in the bazar gave him the
earthen pot, and a grain merchant put a little salt into it. Then he
returned to the Rani, and they made a fire under a tree, put the fish
into the pot, and set the pot on the fire. "I have not bathed for some
days," said the Raja. "I will go and bathe while you cook the fish,
and when I come back we will eat it." So he went to bathe, and the
Rani sat watching the fish. Presently she thought, "If I leave the lid
on the pot, the fish will dry up and burn." Then she took off the lid,
and the fish instantly jumped out of the pot into the tank and swam
away. This made the Rani sad; but she sat there quiet and silent. When
the Raja had bathed, he returned to his wife, and said, "Now we will
eat our fish." The Rani answered, "I had not eaten for four days, and
was very hungry, so I ate all the fish." "Never mind," said the Raja,
"it does not matter."

They wandered on, and the next day came to another jungle where they
saw two pigeons. The Raja took some grass and sticks, and made a bow
and arrow. He shot the pigeons with these, and the Rani plucked and
cleaned them. Her husband and she made a little fire, put the pigeons
in their pot, and set them on it. There was a tank near. "Now I will
go and bathe," said the Rani; "I have not bathed for some days. When I
come back, we will eat the pigeons." So she went to bathe, and the
Raja sat down to watch the pigeons. Presently he thought, "If I leave
the pot shut, the birds will dry up and burn." So he took off the lid,
and instantly away flew the pigeons out of the pot. He guessed at once
what the fish had done yesterday, and sat still and silent till the
Rani came back. "I have eaten the pigeons in the same way that you ate
the fish yesterday," he said to her. The Rani understood what had
happened, and saw the Raja knew how the fish had escaped.

So they wandered on; and as they went the Rani remembered an oil
merchant, called Ganga Teli, a friend of theirs, and a great man, just
like a Raja. "Let us go to Ganga Teli, if we can walk as far as his
house," she said. "He will be good to us." He lived a long way off.
When they got to him, Ganga Teli knew them at once. "What has
happened?" he said. "You were a great Raja; why are you and the Rani
so poor and dressed like fakirs?" "It is God's will," they answered.
Ganga Teli did not think it worth while to notice them much now they
were poor; so, though he did not send them away, he gave them a
wretched room to live in, a wretched bed to lie on, and such bad food
to eat that, hungry as they were, they could not touch it. "When we
were rich," they said to each other, "and came to stay with Ganga
Teli, he received us like friends; he gave us beautiful rooms to live
in, beautiful beds to lie on, and delicious food to eat. We cannot
stay here."

So they went away very sorrowful, and wandered for a whole week, and
all the time they had no food, till they came to another country whose
Raja, Raja Bhoj, was one of their friends. Raja Bhoj received them
very kindly. "What has brought you to this state? How is it you are so
poor?" he said. "What has happened to you?" "It is God's will," they
answered. Raja Bhoj gave them a beautiful room to live in, and told
his servants to cook for them the very nicest dinner they could. This
the servants did, and they brought the dinner into Raja Harichand's
room, and set it before him and left him. Then he and the Rani put
some of the food on their plates; but before they could eat anything,
the food both in the dishes and on their plates became full of
maggots. So they could not eat it. They felt greatly humbled. However,
they said nothing, but worshipped God; and they buried all the food in
a hole they dug in the floor of their room.

Now the daughter of Raja Bhoj had left her gold necklace hanging on
the wall of the room in which were Raja Harichand and the Rani Bahan.
At night when Raja Harichand was asleep, the Rani saw a crack come in
the wall and the necklace go of itself into the crack; then the wall
joined together as before. She at once woke her husband, and told him
what she had seen. "We had better go away quickly," she said. "The
necklace will not be found to-morrow, and Raja Bhoj will think we are
thieves. It will be useless breaking the wall open to find it." The
Raja got up at once, and they set out again. Raja Bhoj, when the
necklace was not found, thought Raja Harichand and the Rani Bahan had
stolen it.

They wandered on till they came to a country belonging to another
friend, called Raja Nal, but they were ashamed to go to his palace.
The three weeks were now nearly over, only two more days were left. So
the Rani said, "In two days we shall be able to eat. Go into the
jungle and cut grass, and sell it in the bazar. We shall thus get a
few pice and be able to buy a little food." The Raja went out to the
jungle, but he had to break and pull up the grass with his hands. He
worked half the day, and then sold the grass in the bazar for a few
pice. They were able to buy food, and worshipped God and cooked it;
and as the three weeks were now over they were allowed to eat it.

They stayed in Raja Nal's country, and lived in a little house they
hired in the bazar. Raja Harichand went out every day to the jungle
for grass, which he pulled up or broke off with his hands, and then
sold in the bazar for a few pice. The Rani saved a pice or two
whenever she could, and at the end of two years they were rich enough
to buy a hook such as grass-cutters use. The Raja could now cut more
grass, and soon the Rani was able to buy some pretty-coloured silks in
the bazar.

Her husband went daily to cut grass, and she sat at home making
head-collars with the silks for horses. Four years after they had
bought the hook, she had four of these head-collars ready, and she
took them up to Raja Nal's palace to sell. It was the first time she
had gone there, for she and her husband were ashamed to see Raja Nal.
Their fakirs' dresses had become rags, and they had only been able to
get wretched common clothes in their place, for they were miserably
poor.

"What beautiful head-collars these are!" said Raja Nal's coachmen and
grooms; and they took them to show to their Raja. As soon as he saw
them he said, "Where did you get these head-collars? Who is it that
wishes to sell them?" for he knew that only one woman could make such
head-collars, and that woman was the Rani Bahan. "A very poor woman
brought them here just now," they answered. "Bring her to me," said
Raja Nal. So the servants brought him Rani Bahan, and when she saw the
Raja she burst into tears. "What has brought you to this state? Why
are you so poor?" said Raja Nal. "It is God's will," she answered.
"Where is your husband?" he asked. "He is cutting grass in the
jungle," she said. Raja Nal called his servants and said, "Go into the
jungle, and there you will see a man cutting grass. Bring him to me."
When Raja Harichand saw Raja Nal's servants coming to him, he was very
much frightened; but the servants took him and brought him to the
palace. As soon as Raja Nal saw his old friend, he seized his hands,
and burst out crying. "Raja," he said, "what has brought you to this
state?" "It is God's will," said Raja Harichand.

Raja Nal was very good to them. He gave them a palace to live in, and
servants to wait on them; beautiful clothes to wear, and good food to
eat. He went with them to the palace to see that everything was as it
should be for them. "To-day," he said to the Rani, "I shall dine with
your husband, and you must give me a dinner cooked just as you used to
cook one for me when I went to see you in your own country." "Good, I
will give it you," said the Rani; but she was quite frightened, for
she thought, "The Raja is so kind, and everything is so comfortable
for us, that I am sure something dreadful will happen." However, she
prepared the dinner, and told the servants how to cook it and serve
it; but first she worshipped God, and entreated him to have mercy on
her and her husband. The dinner was very good, and nothing evil
happened to any one. They lived in the palace Raja Nal gave them for
four and a half years.

Meanwhile the farmers in Raja Harichand's country had all these years
gone on ploughing and turning up the land, although not a drop of rain
had fallen all that time, and the earth was hard and dry. Now just
when the Raja and Rani had lived in Raja Nal's palace for four and a
half years Mahadeo was walking through Raja Harichand's country. He
saw the farmers digging up the ground, and said, "What is the good of
your digging and turning up the ground? Not a drop of rain is going to
fall." "No," said the farmers, "but if we did not go on ploughing and
digging, we should forget how to do our work." They did not know they
were talking to Mahadeo, for he looked like a man. "That is true,"
said Mahadeo, and he thought, "The farmers speak the truth; and if I
go on neglecting to blow on my horn, I shall forget how to blow on it
at all." So he took his deer's horn, which was just like those some
yogis use, and blew on it. Now when Raja Harichand had chosen the
twelve years' famine, God had said, "Rain shall not fall on Raja
Harichand's country till Mahadeo blows his horn in it." Mahadeo had
quite forgotten this decree; so he blew on his horn, although only ten
and a half years' famine had gone by. The moment he blew, down came
the rain, and the whole country at once became as it had been before
the famine began; and moreover, the moment it rained, everything in
Raja Harichand's palace became what it was before the angels entered
it. All the men and women came to life again; so did all the animals;
and the gold and silver were no longer charcoal, but once more gold
and silver. God was not angry with Mahadeo for forgetting that he said
the famine should last for twelve years, and that the rain should fall
when Mahadeo blew on his horn in Raja Harichand's country. "If it
pleased Mahadeo to blow on his horn," said God, "it does not matter
that eighteen months of famine were still to last." As soon as they
heard the rain had fallen, all the ryots who had gone to other
countries on account of the famine returned to Raja Harichand's
country.

Among the Raja's servants was the kotwal, and very anxious he was,
when he came to life again, to find the Raja and Rani; only he did not
know how to do so, and wondered where he had best seek for them.

Meanwhile the Rani Bahan had a dream that God sent her, in which an
angel said to her, "It is good that you and your husband should return
to your country." She told this dream to her husband; and Raja Nal
gave them horses, elephants, and camels, that they might travel like
Rajas to their home, and he went with them. They found everything in
order in their own palace and all through their country, and after
this lived very happily in it. But the Rani said to Raja Harichand,
"If you had only done what I told you, and said you would give me to
the fakir, all this misery would not have come on us."

Later they went to stay again with Raja Bhoj, and slept in the same
room as they had had when they came to him poor and wretched. In the
night they saw the wall open, and the necklace came out of the crack
and hung itself up as before, and the wall closed again. The next day
they showed the necklace to Raja Bhoj, saying, "It was on account of
this necklace that we ran away from you the last time we were here,"
and they told him all that had happened to it.

As for Ganga Teli, they never went near him again.

The Clever Wife

In a country there was a merchant who traded in all kinds of
merchandise, and used to make journeys from country to country in his
boat to buy and sell his goods. He one day said to his wife, "I cannot
stay at home any more, for I must go on a year's journey to carry on
my business." And he added, laughing, "When I return I expect to find
you have built me a grand well; and also, as you are such a clever
wife, to see a little son." Then he got into his boat and went away.

When he was gone his wife set to work, and she spun four hanks of
beautiful thread with her own hands. Then she dressed herself in her
prettiest clothes, and put on her finest jewels. "I am going to the
bazar," she said to her ayahs, "to sell this thread." "That is not
right," said one of the ayahs. "You must not sell your thread
yourself, but let me sell it for you. What will your husband say if he
hears you have been selling thread in the bazar?" "I will sell my
thread myself," answered the merchant's wife. "You could never sell it
for me."

So off she set to the bazar, and every one in it said, "What a
beautiful woman that is!" At last the kotwal saw her, and came to her
at once.

"What beautiful thread!" he said. "Is it for sale?" "Yes," she said.
"How much a hank?" said the kotwal. "Fifty rupees," she answered.
"Fifty rupees! Who will ever give you fifty rupees for it?" "I will
not sell it for less," said the woman. "I shall get fifty rupees for
it." "Well," said the kotwal, "I will give you the fifty rupees. Can I
dine with you at your house?" "Yes," she answered, "to-night at ten
o'clock." Then he took the thread and gave her fifty rupees.

Then she went away to another bazar, and there the king's wazir saw
her trying to sell her thread. "What lovely thread! Is it for sale?"
he said. "Yes, at one hundred rupees the hank," she answered. "Well, I
will give you one hundred rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?"
said the wazir. "Yes," she answered, "to-night at eleven o'clock."
"Good," said the wazir; "here are the hundred rupees." And he took the
thread and went away.

The merchant's wife now went to a third bazar, and there the king's
kazi saw her. "Is that beautiful thread for sale?" he asked. "Yes,"
she answered, "for one hundred and fifty rupees." "I will give you the
hundred and fifty rupees. Can I dine with you at your house?" "Yes,"
she said, "to-night at twelve o'clock." "I will come," said the kazi.
"Here are one hundred and fifty rupees." So she took the rupees and
gave him the thread.

She set off with the fourth hank to the fourth bazar, and in this
bazar was the king's palace. The king saw her, and asked if the thread
was for sale. "Yes," she said, "for five hundred rupees." "Give me the
thread," said the king; "here are your five hundred rupees. Can I dine
with you at your house?" "Yes," she said, "to-night at two o'clock."

Then she went home and sent one of her servants to the bazar to buy
her four large chests; and she told her other servants that they were
to get ready four very good dinners for her. Each dinner was to be
served in a different room; and one was to be ready at ten o'clock
that night, one at eleven, one at twelve, and one at two in the
morning. The servant brought her four large chests, and she had them
placed in four different rooms.

At ten o'clock the kotwal arrived. The merchant's wife greeted him
graciously, and they sat down and dined. After dinner she said to him,
"Can you play at cards?" "Yes," he answered. She brought some cards,
and they sat and played till the clock struck eleven, when the
doorkeeper came in to say, "The wazir is here, and wishes to see you."
The kotwal was in a dreadful fright. "Do hide me somewhere," he said
to her. "I have no place where you can hide in this room," she
answered; "but in another room I have a big chest. I will shut you up
in that if you like, and when the wazir is gone, I will let you out of
it." So she took him into the next room, and he got into one of the
four big chests, and she shut down the lid and locked it.

Then she bade the doorkeeper bring in the wazir, and they dined
together. After dinner she said, "Can you play at cards?" "Yes," said
the wazir. She took out the cards, and they played till twelve
o'clock, when the doorkeeper came to say the kazi had come to see her.
"Oh, hide me! hide me!" cried the wazir in a great fright. "If you
come to another room," she said, "I will hide you in a big chest I
have. I can let you out when he is gone." So she locked the wazir up
in the second chest.

She and the kazi now dined. Then she said, "Can you play at cards?"
"Yes," said the kazi. So they sat playing at cards till two o'clock,
when the doorkeeper said the king had come to see her. "Oh, what shall
I do?" said the kazi, terribly frightened. "Do hide me. Do not let me
be seen by the king." "You can hide in a big chest I have in another
room, if you like," she answered, "till he is gone." And she locked up
the kazi in her third chest.

The king now came in, and they dined. "Will you play a little game at
cards?" she asked. "Yes," said the king. So they played till three
o'clock, when the doorkeeper came running in (just as she had told him
to do) to say, "My master's boat has arrived, and he is coming up to
the house. He will be here directly." "Now what shall I do?" said the
king, who was as frightened as the others had been. "Here is your
husband. He must not see me. You must hide me somewhere." "I have no
place to hide you in," she said, "but a big chest. You can get into
that if you like, and I will let you out to-morrow morning." So she
shut the lid of the fourth chest down on the king and locked him up.
Then she went to bed, and to sleep, and slept till morning.

The next day, after she had bathed and dressed, and eaten her
breakfast, and done all her household work, she said to her servants,
"I want four coolies." So the servants went for the coolies; and when
they came she showed them the four chests, and said, "Each of you must
take one of these chests on your head and come with me." Then they set
out with her, each carrying a chest.

Meanwhile the kotwal's son, the wazir's son, the kazi's son, and the
king's son, had been roaming about looking everywhere for their
fathers, and asking every one if they had seen them, but no one knew
anything about them.

The merchant's wife went first to the kotwal's house, and there she
saw the kotwal's son. She had the kotwal's chest set down on the
ground before his door. "Will you buy this chest?" she said to his
son. "What is in it?" he asked. "A most precious thing," she answered.
"How much do you want for it?" said his son. "One thousand rupees,"
she said; "and when you open the chest, you will see the contents are
worth two thousand. But you must not open it till you are in your
father's house." "Well," said the kotwal's son, "here are a thousand
rupees." The woman and the other three chests went on their way, while
he took his into the house. "What a heavy chest!" he said. "What can
be inside?" Then he lifted the lid. "Why, there's my father!" he
cried. "Father, how came you to be in this chest?" The kotwal was very
much ashamed of himself. "I never thought she was the woman to play me
such a trick," he said; and then he had to tell his son the whole
story.

The merchant's wife next stopped at the wazir's house, and there she
saw the wazir's son. The wazir's chest was put down before his door,
and she said to his son, "Will you buy this chest?" "What is inside of
it?" he asked. "A most precious thing," she answered. "Will you buy
it?" "How much do you want for it?" asked the son. "Only two thousand
rupees, and it is worth three thousand." So the wazir's son bought his
father, without knowing it, for two thousand rupees. "You must not
open the chest till you are in the house," said the merchant's wife.
The wazir's son opened the chest in the house at once, wondering what
could be in it; and the wazir's wife stood by all the time. When they
saw the wazir himself, looking very much ashamed, they were greatly
astonished. "How came you there?" they cried. "Where have you been?"
said his wife. "Oh," said the wazir, "I never thought she was a woman
to treat me like this;" and he, too, had to tell all his story.

Now the merchant's wife stopped at the kazi's door, and there stood
the kazi's son. "Will you buy this chest?" she said to him, and had
the kazi's chest put on the ground. "What is in it?" said the kazi's
son. "Silver and gold," she answered. "You shall have it for three
thousand rupees. The contents are worth four." "Well, I will take it,"
said the son. "Don't open it till you are in your house," she said,
and took her three thousand rupees and went away. Great was the
excitement when the kazi stepped out of the chest. "Oh!" he groaned,
"I never thought she could behave like this to me."

The merchant's wife now went to the palace, and set the king's chest
down at the palace gates. There she saw the king's son. "Will you buy
this chest?" she said. "What is in it?" asked the prince. "Diamonds,
pearls, and all kinds of precious stones," said the merchant's wife.
"You shall have the chest for five thousand rupees, but its contents
are worth a great deal more." "Well," said the king's son, "here are
your five thousand rupees; give me the chest." "Don't open it out
here," she said. "Take it into the palace and open it there." And away
she went home.

The king's son opened the chest, and there was his father. "What's all
this?" cried the prince. "How came _you_ to be in the chest?" The king
was very much ashamed, and did not tell much about his adventure; but
when he was sitting in his court-house, he had the merchant's wife
brought to him, and gave her a quantity of rupees, saying, "You are a
wise and clever woman."

Now the kotwal knew the wazir had gone to see the merchant's wife; and
the wazir knew the kazi had gone; and the kazi, that the king had
gone; but this was all that any of them knew.

The merchant's wife had now plenty of rupees, so she had a most
beautiful well built and roofed over. Then she locked the door of the
well, and told the servants no one was to drink any of its water, or
bathe in it, till her husband came home: he was to be the first to
drink its water, and bathe in the well.

Then she sent her ayah to the bazar to buy her clothes and ornaments
such as cowherd's wives and daughter's wear; and when the ayah had
brought her these, she packed them up in a box. Then she dressed
herself in men's clothes, so that no one could tell she was a woman,
and ordered a horse to be got ready for her. "I am going to eat the
air of another country for a little while," she said. "You must all
take great care of the house while I am away." The servants did not
like her going away at all; they were afraid her husband might return
during her absence, and that he would be angry with them for having
let her go. "Don't be afraid," she said. "There is nothing to be
frightened about. I shall come back all right."

So she set out, taking the key of the well, the box with the clothes
her ayah had bought for her in the bazar, and plenty of rupees. She
also took two of her servants. She travelled a long, long way, asking
everywhere for her husband's boat. At last at the end of a month she
came to where it was. Here she hired a little house, and dressed
herself like a cowherd's daughter. Then she got some very good milk,
and went down to the banks of the river to sell it. Everybody said,
"Do look what a beautiful woman that is selling milk!" She sold her
milk very quickly, it was so good. This she did for several days, till
her husband, the merchant, saw her. He thought her so beautiful, that
he asked her to bring him some milk to his boat. So every day for a
little while she sold him milk. One day he said to her, "Will you
marry me?" "How can I marry you?" she said. "You are a merchant, and I
am a cowherd's daughter. Soon you will be leaving this country, and
will travel to another in your boat; you will want me to go with you.
Then I shall have to leave my father and mother, and who will take
care of them?" "Let us be married," said the merchant. "I am going to
stay here for three months. When I go, you shall return to your father
and mother, and later I will come back to you." To this she agreed,
and they were married, and she went to live in the boat. At the end
of three months, the merchant said to her, "My business here is done,
and I must go to another country. Would you like to go home to your
father and mother while I am away?" "Yes," she said. "Here are some
rupees for you to live on in my absence," he said. "I do not want any
rupees," said his wife. "I only want you to give me two things: your
old cap, and your picture." These he gave her, and then he went to his
boat, and she went back to her own home.

Some time afterwards she had a little son. The servants were greatly
frightened, for they thought their master would not be pleased when he
came home; and he was not pleased when he did come two months later.
He was so cross that he would not look at the baby-boy, and he would
hardly look at his beautiful well.

One night he lay awake thinking, and he thought he would kill his wife
and her little son. But the next day she came to him: "Tell me the
truth," she said; "you are angry with me? Don't be angry, for I want
to show you a picture I like very much--the picture of my boy's
father." Then she showed him his own picture, and the old cap he had
given her on board his boat; and she told him how she had been the
cowherd's daughter; and also how she had gained the money to build his
well. "You see," she said, "I have done all you bade me. Here is your
well, and here is your son." Then the merchant was very happy. He
kissed and loved his little son, and thought his well was beautiful;
and he said to his wife, "What a clever woman you are!"

Panwpatti Rani

In a country a big fair was held, to which came a great many people
and Rajas from all the countries round. Among them was a Raja who
brought his daughter with him. Opposite their tent another tent was
pitched, in which lived a Raja's son. He was very beautiful; so was
the little Rani, the other Raja's daughter.

Now, the Raja's son and the Raja's daughter did not even know each
other's names, but they looked at each other a great deal, and each
thought the other very beautiful. "How lovely the Raja's daughter is!"
thought the prince. "How beautiful the Raja's son is!" thought the
princess.

They lived opposite each other for a whole month, and all that time
they never spoke to each other nor did they speak of each other to any
one. But they thought of each other a great deal.

When the month was over, the little Rani's father said he would go
back to his own country. The Raja's son sat in his tent and watched
the servants getting ready the little Rani's palanquin. As soon as the
princess herself was dressed and ready for the journey, she came out
of her tent, and took a rose in her hand. She first put the rose to
her teeth; then she stuck it behind her ear; and lastly, she laid it
at her feet. All this time the Raja's son sat in his tent and looked
at her. Then she got into her palanquin and was carried away.

The Raja's son was now very sad. "How lovely the princess is!" he
thought. "And I do not know her name, or her father's name, or the
name of her country. So how can I ever find her? I shall never see her
again." He was very sorrowful, and determined he would go home to his
country. When he got home he laid himself down on his bed, and night
and day he lay there. He would not eat, or drink, or bathe, or change
his clothes. This made his father and mother very unhappy. They went
to him often, and asked him, "What is the matter with you? Are you
ill?" "I want nothing," he would answer. "I don't want any doctor, or
any medicine." Not one word did he say to them, or to any one else,
about the lovely little Rani.

The son of the Raja's kotwal[6] was the prince's great friend. The two
had always gone to school together, and had there read in the same
book; they had always bathed, eaten, and played together. So when the
prince had been at home for two days, and yet had not been to school
or seen his friend, the kotwal's son grew very anxious. "Why does the
prince not come to school?" he said to himself. "He has been here for
two days, and yet I have not seen him. I will go and find out if
anything is the matter. Perhaps he is ill."

He went, therefore, to see the prince, who was lying very miserable on
his bed. "Why do you not come to school? Are you ill?" asked his
friend. "Oh, it is nothing," said the prince. "Tell me what is the
matter," said the kotwal's son; but the Raja's son would not answer.
"Have you told any one what is the matter with you?" said the kotwal's
son. "No," answered the prince. "Then tell me," said his friend; "tell
me the truth: what is it that troubles you?"

"Well," said the prince, "at the fair there was a Raja who had a most
beautiful daughter. They lived in a tent opposite mine, and I used to
see her every day. She is so beautiful! But I do not know her name, or
her father's name, or her country's name; so how can I ever find her?"
"I will take you to her," said his friend; "only get up and bathe, and
eat." "How can you take me to her?" said the prince. "You do not even
know where she is; so how can you take me to her?" "Did she never
speak to you?" said the kotwal's son. "Never," said the prince. "But
when she was going away, just before she got into her palanquin, she
took a rose in her hand; and first she put this rose to her teeth;
then she stuck it behind her ear; and then she laid it at her feet."
"Now I know all about her," said his friend. "When she put the rose to
her teeth, she meant to tell you her father's name was Raja Dant [Raja
Tooth]; when she put it behind her ear she meant you to know her
country's name was Karnatak [on the ear]; and when she laid the rose
at her feet, she meant that her name was Panwpatti [Foot-leaf]. Get
up; bathe and dress, eat and drink, and we will go and find her."

The prince got up directly, and told his father and mother he was
going for a few days to eat the air of another country. At first they
forbad his going; but then they reflected that he had been very ill,
and that perhaps the air of another country might make him well; so at
last they consented. The prince and his friend had two horses saddled
and bridled, and set off together.

At the end of a month they arrived in a country where they asked (as
they had asked in every other country through which they had ridden),
"What is the name of this country?" "Karnatak" [the Carnatic]. "What
is your Raja's name?" "Raja Dant." Then the two friends were glad.
They stopped at an old woman's house, and said to her, "Let us stay
with you for a few days. We are men from another country and do not
know where to go in this place." The old woman said, "You may stay
with me if you like. I live all alone, and there is plenty of room for
you."

After two or three days the kotwal's son said to the old woman, "Has
your Raja a daughter?" "Yes," she answered; "he has a daughter; her
name is Panwpatti Rani." "Can you go to see her?" asked the kotwal's
son. "Yes," she said, "I can go to see her. I was her nurse, and she
drank my milk. It is the Raja who gives me my house, and my food, and
clothes--everything that I have." "Then go and see her," said the
kotwal's son, "and tell her that the prince whom she called to her at
the fair has come."

The old woman went up to the palace, and saw the princess. After they
had talked together for some time, she said to the little Rani, "The
prince you called to you at the fair is come." "Good," she said; "tell
him to come to see me to-night at twelve o'clock. He is not to come in
through the door, but through the window." (This she said because she
did not want her father to know that the prince had come, until she
had made up her mind whether she would marry him.)

The old woman went home and told the kotwal's son what the Princess
Panwpatti said. That night the prince went to see her, and every night
for three or four nights he went to talk with her for an hour. Then
she told her mother she wished to be married, and her mother told her
father. Her father asked whom she wished to marry, and she said, "The
Raja's son who lives in my nurse's house." Her father said she might
marry him if she liked; so the wedding was held. The kotwal's son went
to the wedding, and then returned to the old woman's house; but the
prince lived in the Raja's palace.

Here he stayed for a month, and all that time he never saw his friend.
At last he began to fret for him, and was very unhappy. "What makes
you so sad?" said Panwpatti Rani. "I am sad because I have not seen
my friend for a whole month," answered her husband. "I must go and see
him." "Yes, go and see him," said his wife. The Raja's son went to the
old woman's house, and there he stayed a week, for he was so glad to
see the kotwal's son. Then he returned to his wife. Now she thought he
would only have been away a day, and was very angry at his having
stayed so long from her. "How could you leave me for a whole week?"
she said to him. "I had not seen my friend for a month," he answered.
Panwpatti Rani did not let her husband see how angry she was; but in
her heart she thought, "I am sure he loves his friend best."

The prince remained with her for a month. Then he said, "I must go and
see my friend." This made her very angry indeed. However, she said,
"Good; go and see your friend, and I will make you some delicious
sweetmeats to take him from me." She set to work, and made the most
tempting sweetmeats she could; only in each she put a strong poison.
Then she wrapped them in a beautiful handkerchief, and her husband
took them to the kotwal's son. "My Rani has made you these herself,"
he said to his friend, "and she sends you a great many salaams." The
Raja's son knew nothing of the poison.

The kotwal's son put the sweetmeats on one side, and said, "Let us
talk, and I will eat them by and by." So they sat and talked for a
long time. Then the kotwal's son said, "Your Rani herself made these
sweetmeats for me?" "Yes," said the Raja's son. His friend was very
wise, and he thought, "Panwpatti Rani does not like me. Of that I am
sure." So he took some of the sweetmeats, and broke them into bits and
threw them to the crows. The crows came flying down, and all the crows
who ate the sweetmeats died instantly. Then the kotwal's son threw a
sweetmeat to a dog that was passing. The dog devoured it and fell
dead. This put the Raja's son into great rage. "I will never see my
Rani again!" he exclaimed. "What a wicked woman she is to try and
poison my friend--my friend whom I love so dearly; but for whom I
should never have married her!" He would not go back to his wife, and
stayed in the old woman's house. The kotwal's son often told him he
ought to return to his wife, but the prince would not do so. "No," he
said, "she is a wicked woman. You never did her any evil or hurt; yet
she has tried to poison you. I will never see her again."

When a month had passed, the kotwal's son said to the prince, "You
really must go back to Panwpatti Rani; she is your wife, and you must
go to her, and take her away to your own country." Still the Raja's
son declared he would never see her again. "If you would like to see
something that will please you," said his friend, "go back to your
wife for one day; and to-night 'when she is asleep' you must take off
all her jewels, and tie them up in a handkerchief, and bring them to
me. But before you leave her you must wound her in the leg with this
trident." So saying, he gave him a small iron trident.

The prince went back to the palace. His wife was very angry with him,
though she did not show her anger. At night 'when she was fast asleep'
he took off all her jewels and tied them in a handkerchief, and he
gave her a thrust in the leg with his trident. Then he went quickly
back to his friend. The princess awoke and found herself badly hurt
and alone; and she saw that her jewels were all gone. In the morning
she told her father and mother that her jewels had been stolen; but
she said nothing about the wound in her leg. The king called his
servants, and told them a thief had come in the night and stolen his
daughter's jewels, and he sent them to look for the thief and seize
him.

That morning the kotwal's son got up and dressed himself like a yogi.
He made the prince put on common clothes such as every one wears, so
that he could not be recognized, and sent him to the bazar to sell his
wife's jewels. He told him, too, all he was to say. The pretended yogi
went to the river and sat down by it, and the Raja's son went through
the bazar and tried to sell the jewels. The Raja's servants seized him
immediately. "You thief!" they said to him, "what made you steal our
Raja's daughter's jewels?" "I know nothing about the jewels," said the
prince. "I am no thief; I did not steal them. The holy man, who is my
teacher, gave them to me to sell in the bazar for him. If you want to
know anything more about them, you must ask him." "Where is this holy
man?" said the servants. "He is sitting by the river," said the Raja's
son. "Let us go to him. I will show you where he is."

They all went down to the river, and there sat the yogi. "What is all
this?" said the servants to him. "Are you a yogi, and yet a thief? Why
did you steal the little Rani's jewels?" "Are those the little Rani's
jewels?" said the yogi. "I did not steal them; I did not know to whom
they belonged. Listen, and I will tell you. Last night at twelve
o'clock I was sitting by this river when a woman came down to it--a
woman I did not know. She took a dead body out of the river, and began
to eat it. This made me so angry, that I took all her jewels from her,
and she ran away. I ran after her and wounded her in the leg with my
trident. I don't know if she were your Raja's daughter, or who she
was; but whoever she may be, she has the mark of the trident's teeth
in her leg."

The servants took the jewels up to the palace, and told the Raja all
the yogi had said. The Raja asked his wife whether the Princess
Panwpatti had any hurt in her leg, and told her all the yogi's story.
The Rani went to see her daughter, and found her lying on her bed and
unable to get up from the pain she was in, and when she looked at her
leg she saw the wound. She returned to the Raja and said to him, "Our
daughter has the mark of the trident's teeth in her leg."

The Raja got very angry, and called his servants and said to them,
"Bring a palanquin, and take my daughter at once to the jungle, and
there leave her. She is a wicked woman, who goes to the river at night
to eat dead people. I will not have her in my house any more. Cast her
out in the jungle." The servants did as they were bid, and left
Panwpatti Rani, crying and sobbing in the jungle, partly from the pain
in her leg, and partly because she did not know where to go, and had
no food or water.

Meanwhile her husband and the kotwal's son heard of her being sent
into the jungle, so they returned to the old woman's house and put on
their own clothes. Then they went to the jungle to find her. She was
still crying, and her husband asked her why she cried. She told him,
and he said, "Why did you try to poison my friend? You were very
wicked to do so." "Yes," said the kotwal's son; "Why did you try to
kill me? I have never done you any wrong or hurt you. It was I who
told your husband what you meant by putting the rose to your teeth,
behind your ear, and at your feet. Without me he would never have
found you, never have married you." Then she knew at once who had
brought all this trouble to her, and she was very sorry she had tried
to kill her husband's friend.

They all three now went home to her husband's country; and his father
and mother were very glad indeed that their son had married a Raja's
daughter, and the Raja gave the kotwal's son a very grand present.

The young Raja and his wife lived with his father and mother, and were
always very happy together.

The Bed

In a country there was a grain merchant's son, whose father and mother
loved him so dearly that they did not let him do anything but play and
amuse himself while they worked for him. They never taught him any
trade, or anything at all; for they never reflected that they might
die, and that then he would have to work for himself. When he was old
enough to be married, they found a wife for him, and married him to
her. Then they all lived happily together for some years till the
father and mother both died.

Their son and his wife lived for a while on the pice his father and
mother had left him. But the wife grew sadder and sadder every day,
for the pice grew fewer and fewer. She thought, "What shall we do when
they are all gone? My husband knows no trade, and can do no work." One
day when she was looking very sorrowful, her husband asked her, "What
is the matter? Why are you so unhappy?" "We have hardly any pice
left," she answered, "and what shall we do when we have eaten the few
we have? You know no trade, and can do no work." "Never mind," said
her husband, "I can do some work."

So one day when there were hardly any pice left, he took an axe, and
said to his wife, "I am going out to-day to work. Give me my dinner to
take with me, and I will eat it out of doors." She gave him some
food, wondering what work he had; but she did not ask him.

He went to a jungle, where he stayed all day, and where he ate his
dinner. All day long he wandered from tree to tree, saying to each,
"May I cut you down?" But not a tree in the jungle gave him any
answer: so he cut none down, and went home in the evening. His wife
did not ask where he had been, or what he had done, and he said
nothing to her.

The next day he again asked her for food to take with him to eat out
of doors, "for," he said, "I am going to work all day." She did not
like to ask him any questions, but gave him the food. And he took his
axe, and went out to a jungle which was on a different side to the one
he had been to yesterday. In this jungle also he went to every tree,
and said to it, "May I cut you down?" No tree answered him; so he ate
his dinner and came home.

The next day he went to a third jungle on the third side. There, too,
he asked each tree, "May I cut you down?" But none gave him any
answer. He came home therefore very sorrowful.

On the fourth day he went to a jungle on the fourth side. All day long
he went from tree to tree, asking each, "May I cut you down?" None
answered. At last, towards evening, he went and stood under a
mango-tree. "May I cut you down?" he said to it. "Yes, cut me down,"
answered the tree. God loved the merchant's son and wished him to grow
a great man, so he ordered the mango-tree to let itself be cut down.

Now the grain merchant's son was happy, for he was quite sure he could
make a bed, if he only had some wood; so he hewed down the mango-tree,
put it on his head, and carried it home. His wife saw him coming, and
said to herself, "He is bringing home a tree! What can he be going to
do with a tree?"

Next morning he took the tree into one of the rooms of his house. He
told his wife to put food and water to last him for a week in this
room, and to make a fire in it. Then he went up to the room, and said
to her, "You are not to come in here for a whole week. You are not to
come near me till I call you." Then he went into the room and shut the
door. The whole week long his wife wondered what he could be doing all
alone in that room. "I cannot see into it," she said to herself, "and
I dare not open the door. I wonder what he is about."

By the end of the week the grain merchant's son had carved a most
beautiful bed out of the mango-tree. Such a beautiful bed had never
been seen. Then he called his wife, and when she came he told her to
open the door, and when she opened it he said, "See what a beautiful
bed I have made." "Did _you_ make that bed?" she said. "Oh, what a
beautiful bed it is! I never saw such a lovely bed!"

He rested that day, and on the day following he took the bed to the
king's palace, and sat down with it before the palace gate. The king's
servants all came to look at the bed. "What a bed it is!" they said.
"Did any one ever see such a bed! It is a beautiful bed. Is it yours?"
they asked the merchant's son. "Is it for sale? Who made it? Did you
make it?" But he said, "I will not answer any of your questions. I
will not speak to any of you. I will only speak to the king." So the
servants went to the king and said to him, "There is a man at your
gate with a most beautiful bed. But he will not speak to any of us,
and says he will only speak to you." "Very good," said the king;
"bring him to me."

When the grain merchant's son came before the king with his bed, the
king asked him, "Is your bed for sale?" "Yes," he said. "What a
beautiful bed it is!" said the king. "Who made it?" "I did," he said.
"I made it myself." "How much do you want for it?" said the king.
"One thousand rupees," answered the merchant's son. "That is a great
deal for the bed," said the king. "I will not take less," said the
merchant's son. "Good," said the king, "I will give you the thousand
rupees." So he took the bed, and the merchant's son said to him, "The
first night you pass on it, do not go to sleep. Take care to keep
awake, and you will hear and see something." Then he took the rupees
home to his wife, who was frightened when she saw them. "Are those
your rupees?" she said. "Where did you find such a quantity of
rupees?" "The king gave them to me for my bed," he said. "I am not a
thief; I did not steal them." Then she was happy.

That night the king lay down on his bed, and at ten o'clock he heard
one of the bed's legs say to the other legs, "Listen, you three. I am
going out to see the king's country. Do you all stand firm while I am
away, and take care not to let the king fall." "Good," the three legs
answered; "go and eat the air, and we will all stand fast, so that the
king does not fall while you are away."

Then the king saw the leg leave the bed, and go out of his room door.
The leg went out to a great plain, and there it saw two snakes
quarrelling together. One snake said, "I will bite the king." The
other said, "I will bite him." The first said, "No, you won't; I will
climb on to his bed and bite him." "That you will never do," said the
second. "You cannot climb on to his bed; but I will get into his shoe,
and then when he puts it on to-morrow morning, I will bite his foot."

The bed-leg came back and told the other legs what it had seen and
heard. "If the king will shake his shoe before he puts it on to-morrow
morning," it said, "he will see a snake drop out of it." The king
heard all that was said.

"Now," said the second bed-leg, "I will go out and eat the air of the
king's country. Do you all stand firm while I am away." "Go," the
others answered; "we will take care the king does not fall." The
second bed-leg then went out, and went to another plain on which stood
a very old palace belonging to the king, and the wind told it the
palace was so ruinous that it would fall and kill the king the first
time he went into it: the king had never once had it repaired. So it
came back and told the three other legs all about the palace and what
the wind had said. "If I were the king," said the second bed-leg, "I
would have that palace pulled down. It is quite ready to fall; and the
first time the king goes into it, it will fall on him and kill him."
The king lay, and listened to everything. As it happened, he had
forgotten all about his old palace, and had not gone near it for a
long time.

Then the third bed-leg said, "Now I will go out and see all the fun I
can. Stand firm, you three, while I am away." He went to a
jungle-plain on which lived a yogi. Now there was a sarai[5] not far
off in which lived a woman, the wife of a sepoy, whose husband had
gone a year ago to another country, leaving her in the sarai. She was
so fond of the yogi, that she used to come and talk to him every
night. That very day her husband came back to her, and therefore it
was later than usual when she got to the yogi; so he was very vexed
with her. "How late you are to-night," he said. "It is not my fault,"
she answered. "My husband came home to-day after having been away a
year, and he kept me." "Which of us do you love best?" asked the yogi;
"your husband or me?" "I love you best," said the woman. "Then," said
the yogi, "go home and cut off your husband's head, and bring it here
for me to see." The sepoy's wife went straight to the sarai, cut off
her husband's head, and brought it to the yogi. "What a wicked woman
you are to do such a thing at my bidding!" he said. "Go away at once.
You are a wicked woman, and I do not want to see you." She took the
head home, set it again on the body and began to cry. All the people
in the sarai came to see what was the matter. "Thieves have been
here," she said, "and have killed my husband, and cut off his head,"
and then she cried again. The third bed-leg now went back to the
palace, and told the others all it had seen and heard. The king lay
still and listened.

The fourth bed-leg next went out to see all it could, and it came to a
plain on which were seven thieves, who had just been into the king's
palace, and had carried off his daughter on her bed fast asleep; and
there she lay still sleeping. They had, too, been into the king's
treasury and had taken all his rupees. The fourth bed-leg came quickly
back to the palace, and said to the other three legs, "Now, if the
king were wise he would get up instantly and go to the plain. For some
thieves are there with his daughter and all his rupees which they have
just stolen out of his palace. If he only made haste and went at once,
he would get them again."

The king got up that minute, and called his servants and some sepoys,
and set off to the plain. He shook his shoe before he put it on, and
out tumbled the snake (the other had quietly gone into the jungle, and
not come to the palace); so he saw that the first bed-leg had spoken
the truth.

When he reached the plain he found his daughter and his rupees, and
brought them back to his palace. The princess slept all the time, and
did not know what had happened to her. The king saw the fourth leg had
told the truth. The thieves he could not catch, for they all ran away
when they saw him coming with his sepoys.

The king sent men to the old palace to pull it down. They found it
was just going to fall, and would have fallen on any one who had
entered it, and crushed him. So the second bed-leg had told the truth.

When the king was sitting in his court-house he heard how during the
night thieves had gone into the sarai and killed a sepoy there and cut
off his head. Then he sent for the sepoy's wife, and asked her who had
killed her husband. "Thieves," she said. The king was very angry, for
he was sure the third bed-leg had told the truth as the other three
legs had done. So he ordered the man to be buried; and bade his
servants make a great wooden pile on the plain, and take the woman and
burn her on it. They were not to leave her as long as she was alive,
but to wait till she was dead.

He next sent for the grain merchant's son, and said to him, "Had it
not been for your bed, I should this morning have been bitten by a
snake; and, perhaps, killed by my old palace falling on me, as I did
not know it was ready to fall, and so might have gone into it. My
daughter would certainly have been stolen from me; and a wicked woman
been still alive. So now, to-morrow, bring as many carts as you like,
and I will give you as a present as many rupees as you can take away
on them in half a day."

Early the next morning the merchant's son brought his cart and took
away on them as many rupees as he could in half a day. His wife was
delighted when she saw the money, and said, "My husband only worked
for one week, and yet he earned all these rupees!" And they lived
always happily.