The Story of Dumalawi

Dumalawi, the son of Aponitolau and Aponibolinayen, survives his father’s attempts to destroy him and uses magical power to create a community in a desolate field. He marries Dapilisan, a beautiful maiden from his newly formed village. After a grand ceremony and overcoming challenges for the marriage price, Dumalawi reconciles with his mother but chooses to remain with his wife in his created town.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Family Dynamics: The tale explores the complex relationship between Dumalawi and his father, who attempts to destroy him, and his eventual reconciliation with his mother.

Trials and Tribulations: Dumalawi faces and overcomes challenges, including surviving his father’s attempts on his life and creating a new community.

Magic and Enchantment: The story features the use of magical powers, such as Dumalawi’s ability to create people from betel-nuts.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

Aponitolau and Aponibolinayen had a son whose name was Dumalawi. When the son had become a young man, his father one day was very angry with him, and tried to think of some way in which to destroy him. The next morning he said to Dumalawi:

“Son, sharpen your knife, and we will go to the forest to cut some bamboo.”

So Dumalawi sharpened his knife and went with his father to the place where the bamboo grew, and they cut many sticks and sharpened them like spears at the end.

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Dumalawi wondered why they made them thus, but when they had finished, Aponitolau said:

“Now, Son, you throw them at me, so that we can see which is the braver.”

“No, Father,” answered Dumalawi. “You throw first, if you want to kill me.”

So Aponitolau threw the bamboo sticks one by one at his son, but he could not hit him. Then it was the son’s turn to throw, but he said:

“No, I cannot. You are my father, and I do not want to kill you.”

So they went home. But Dumalawi was very sorrowful, for he knew now that his father wanted to destroy him. When his mother called him to dinner he could not eat.

Although he had been unsuccessful in his first attempt, Aponitolau did not give up the idea of getting rid of his son, and the next day he said:

“Come, Dumalawi, we will go to our little house in the field and repair it, so that it will be a protection when the rainy season sets in.”

The father and son went together to the field, and when they reached the little house, Aponitolau, pointing to a certain spot in the ground, said:

“Dig there, and you will find a jar of basi which I buried when I was a boy. It will be very good to drink now.”

Dumalawi dug up the jar and they tasted the wine, and it was so pleasing to them that they drank three cocoanut shells full, and Dumalawi became drunk. While his son lay asleep on the ground, Aponitolau decided that this was a good time to destroy him, so he used his magical power and there arose a great storm which picked up Dumalawi in his sleep and carried him far away. And the father went home alone.

Now when Dumalawi awoke, he was in the middle of a field so wide that whichever way he looked, he could not see the end. There were neither trees nor houses in the field and no living thing except himself. And he felt a great loneliness.

By and by he used his magical power, and many betel-nuts grew in the field, and when they bore fruit it was covered with gold,

“This is good,” said Dumalawi, “for I will scatter these betel-nuts and they shall become people, who will be my neighbors.”

So in the middle of the night he cut the gold-covered betel-nuts into many small pieces which he scattered in all directions. And in the early morning, when he awoke, he heard many people talking around the house, and many roosters crowed. Then Dumalawi knew that he had companions, and upon going out he walked about where the people were warming themselves by fires in their yards, and he visited them all.

In one yard was a beautiful maiden, Dapilisan, and after Dumalawi had talked with her and her parents, he went on to the other yards, but she was ever in his thoughts. As soon as he had visited all the people, he returned to the house of Dapilisan and asked her parents if he might marry her. They were unwilling at first, for they feared that the parents of Dumalawi might not like it; but after he had explained that his father and mother did not want him, they gave their consent, and Dapilisan became his bride.

Soon after the marriage they decided to perform a ceremony for the spirits. So Dapilisan sent for the betel-nuts which were covered with gold, and when they were brought to her, she said:

“You betel-nuts that are covered with gold, come here and oil yourselves and go and invite all the people in the world to come to our ceremony.”

So the betel-nuts oiled themselves and went to invite the people in the different towns.

Soon after this Aponibolinayen, the mother of Dumalawi, sat alone in her house, still mourning the loss of her son, when suddenly she was seized with a desire to chew betel-nut.

“What ails me?” she said to herself; “why do I want to chew? I had not intended to eat anything while Dumalawi was away.”

So saying, she took down her basket that hung on the wall, and saw in it a betel-nut covered with gold, and when she was about to cut it, it said:

“Do not cut me, for I have come to invite you to the ceremony which Dumalawi and his wife are to make.”

Aponibolinayen was very happy, for she knew now that her son still lived, and she told all the people to wash their hair and prepare to go to the rite. So they washed their clothes and their hair and started for the home of Dumalawi; and Aponitolau, the father of the boy, followed, but he looked like a crazy man. When the people reached the river near the town, Dumalawi sent alligators to take them across, but when Aponitolau got on the alligator’s back it dived, and he was thrown back upon the bank of the river. All the others were carried safely over, and Aponitolau, who was left on the bank alone, shouted as if crazy until Dumalawi sent another alligator to carry him across.

Then Dumalawi had food brought and Dapilisan passed basi in a little jar that looked like a fist, and though each guest drank a cupful of the sweet wine the little jar was still a third full. After they had eaten and drunk, Aponibolinayen spoke, and, telling all the people that she was glad to have Dapilisan for a daughter-in-law, added:

“Now we are going to pay the marriage price according to our custom. We shall fill the spirit house nine times with different kinds of jars.”

Then she called, “You spirits who live in different springs, get the jars which Dumalawi must pay as a marriage price for Dapilisan,”

The spirits did as they were commanded, and when they brought the jars and had filled the spirit house nine times, Aponibolinayen said to the parents of Dapilisan:

“I think that now we have paid the price for your daughter.”

But Dalonagan, the mother of Dapilisan, was not satisfied, and said:

“No, there is still more to pay.”

“Very well,” replied Aponibolinayen. “Tell us what it is and we will pay it.”

Then Dalonagan called a pet spider and said:

“You big spider, go all around the town, and as you go spin a thread on which Aponibolinayen must string golden beads.” So the spider spun the thread and Aponibolinayen again called to the spirits of the springs, and they brought golden beads which they strung on the thread. Then Dalonagan hung on the thread, and when it did not break she declared that the debt was all paid.

After this the people feasted and made merry, and when at last they departed for home Dumalawi refused to go with his parents, but remained with his wife in the town he had created.

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The Story of Gaygayoma Who Lives Up Above

Aponitolau, a mortal, plants sugarcane, which grows magically fast. The celestial maiden Gaygayoma, daughter of the moon and a star, desires the cane and descends to earth. She compels Aponitolau to the sky, where they marry and have a son, Takyayen. Torn between two worlds, Aponitolau frequently travels between the sky and earth, balancing his celestial and earthly families, highlighting themes of love, loyalty, and sacrifice.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: The union between Aponitolau, a mortal, and Gaygayoma, a celestial being, represents a romantic connection that defies the natural order and societal expectations.

Family Dynamics: Aponitolau’s dual life, balancing his celestial wife and son with his earthly family, explores the complexities and challenges within familial relationships.

Journey to the Otherworld: Aponitolau’s travels between the earth and the celestial realm symbolize a venture into realms beyond human experience.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day, while Aponitolau sat weaving a basket under his house, he began to feel very hungry and longed for something sweet to chew. Then he remembered that his field was still unplanted. He called to his wife who was in the room above, and said: “Come, Aponibolinayen, let us go to the field and plant some sugar-cane.”

So Aponibolinayen came down out of the house with a bamboo tube, and while she went to the spring to fill it with water, Aponitolau made some cuttings, and they went together to the field, which was some distance from the house.

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Aponitolau loosened the earth with his long stick and set out the cuttings he had brought, while his wife sprinkled them with water from the bamboo tube. And when they had filled the field, they returned home, happy to think of the splendid cane they should have.

After seven days Aponitolau went back to the field to see if the plants had lived, and he found that the leaves were already long and pointed. This delighted him, and while he stood looking at it he grew impatient and determined to use his magical power so that the cane would grow very fast. In five days he again visited the field and found that the stalks were tall and ready to chew. He hurried home to tell Aponibolinayen how fast their plants had grown, and she was proud of her powerful husband.

Now about this time Gaygayoma, who was the daughter of Bagbagak, a big star, and Sinag, the moon, looked down from her home in the sky, and when she saw the tall sugar-cane growing below, she was seized with a desire to chew it. She called to her father, Bagbagak, and said:

“Oh, Father, please send the stars down to the earth to get some of the sugar-cane that I see, for I must have it to chew.”

So Bagbagak sent the stars down, and when they reached the bamboo fence that was around the field they sprang over it, and each broke a stalk of the cane and pulled some beans which Aponibolinayen had planted, and the stems of these beans were of gold. Gaygayoma was delighted with the things that the stars brought her. She cooked the beans with the golden stems and spent long hours chewing the sweet cane. When all that the stars brought was gone, however, she grew restless and called to her father, the big star:

“Come, Father, and go with me to the place where the sugar-cane grows, for I want to see it now.”

Bagbagak called many stars to accompany him, and they all followed Gaygayoma down to the place where the sugar-cane grew. Some sat on the bamboo fence, while others went to the middle of the field, and all ate as much as they wished.

The day following this, Aponitolau said to his wife:

“Aponibolinayen, I am going to the field to see if the bamboo fence is strong, for the carabao will try to get in to eat our sugar-cane.”

So he set out, and when he reached the field and began looking along the fence to see if it was strong, he kept finding the stalks that the stars had chewed, and he knew that someone had been there. He went into the middle of the field, and there on the ground was a piece of gold, and he said to himself:

“How strange this is! I believe some beautiful girl must have chewed my cane. I will watch tonight, and maybe she will return for more.”

As darkness came on he had no thought of returning home, but he made his meal of the sugar-cane, and then hid in the tall grass near the field to wait. By and by dazzling lights blinded his eyes, and when he could see again he was startled to find many stars falling from the sky, and soon he heard someone breaking the cane. Suddenly a star so large that it looked like a flame of fire fell into the field, and then a beautiful object near the fence took off her dress which looked like a star, and she appeared like the half of the rainbow.

Never had Aponitolau seen such sights; and for a while he lay shaking with fear.

“What shall I do?” he said to himself. “If I do not frighten these companions of the beautiful girl, they may eat me.”

With a great effort he jumped up and frightened the stars till they all flew up, and when the pretty girl came looking for her dress she found Aponitolau sitting on it. “You must forgive us,” she said, “for your sugar-cane is very sweet, and we wanted some to chew.”

“You are welcome to the sugar-cane,” answered Aponitolau. “But now we must tell our names according to our custom, for it is bad for us to talk until we know each other’s names.”

Then he gave her some betel-nut and they chewed together, and he said:

“Now it is our custom to tell our names.”

“Yes,” said she; “but you tell first”

“My name is Aponitolau and I am the husband of Aponibolinayen.”

“I am Gaygayoma, the daughter of Bagbagak and Sinag up in the air,” said the girl. “And now, Aponitolau, even though you have a wife, I am going to take you up to the sky, for I wish to marry you. If you are not willing to go, I shall call my companion stars to eat you.”

Aponitolau shook with fear, for he knew now that the woman was a spirit; and as he dared not refuse, he promised to go with her. Soon after that the stars dropped a basket that Gaygayoma had ordered them to make, and Aponitolau stepped in with the lovely star and was drawn quickly through the air up to the sky. They were met on their arrival by a giant star whom Gaygayoma introduced as her father, and he told Aponitolau that he had acted wisely in coming, for had he objected, the other stars would have eaten him.

After Aponitolau had lived with the stars for some time, Gaygayoma asked him to prick between her last two fingers, and as he did so a beautiful baby boy popped out. They named him Takyayen, and he grew very fast and was strong.

All this time Aponitolau had never forgotten Aponibolinayen who, he knew, was searching for him on the earth, but he had been afraid to mention her to the stars. When the boy was three months old, however, he ventured to tell Gaygayoma of his wish to return to the earth.

At first she would not listen to him, but he pleaded so hard that at last she consented to let him go for one moon . If he did not return at the end of that time, she said, she would send the stars to eat him. Then she called for the basket again, and they were lowered to the earth. There Aponitolau got out, but Gaygayoma and the baby returned to the sky.

Aponibolinayen was filled with joy at the sight of her husband once more, for she had believed him dead, and she was very thin from not eating while he was away. Never did she tire of listening to his stories of his life among the stars, and so happy was she to have him again that when the time came for him to leave she refused to let him go.

That night many stars came to the house. Some stood in the windows, while others stayed outside by the walls; and they were so bright that the house appeared to be on fire.

Aponitolau was greatly frightened, and he cried out to his wife:

“You have done wrong to keep me when I should have gone. I feared that the stars would eat me if I did not obey their command, and now they have come. Hide me, or they will get me.”

But before Aponibolinayen could answer, Bagbagak himself called out:

“Do not hide from us, Aponitolau, for we know that you are in the corner of the house. Come out or we shall eat you.”

Trembling with fear, Aponitolau appeared, and when the stars asked him if he was willing to go with them he dared not refuse.

Now Gaygayoma had grown very fond of Aponitolau, and she had commanded the stars not to harm him if he was willing to return to her. So when he gave his consent, they put him in the basket and flew away with him, leaving Aponibolinayen very sad and lonely. After that Aponitolau made many trips to the earth, but at Gaygayoma’s command he always returned to the sky to spend part of the time with her.

One day when Takyayen was a little boy, Aponitolau took him down to the earth to see his half-brother, Kanag. The world was full of wonders to the boy from the sky, and he wanted to stay there always. But after some time while he and Kanag were playing out in the yard, big drops of water began to fall on them. Kanag ran to his mother and cried:

“Oh, Mother, it is raining, and the sun is shining brightly!”

But Aponitolau, looking out, said, “No, they are the tears of Gaygayoma, for she sees her son down below, and she weeps for him.”

Then he took Takyayen back to his mother in the sky, and she was happy again.

After that Takyayen was always glad when he was allowed to visit the earth, but each time when his mother’s tears began to fall, he returned to her. When he was old enough, Aponitolau selected a wife for him, and after that Takyayen always lived on the earth, but Gaygayoma stayed in the sky.

Gawigawen of Adasen

Aponibolinayen, plagued by longing for oranges from Gawigawen’s unreachable land, sets her husband, Aponitolau, on a perilous quest. Despite warnings, he is killed retrieving the fruit. Their son, Kanag, grows up to avenge his father, bravely confronting Gawigawen and his magic. Using cleverness and courage, Kanag defeats the giant, revives his father, and returns victorious, reuniting the family in joy and celebration.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Quest: Aponitolau embarks on a perilous journey to Adasen to obtain the coveted oranges for his wife, Aponibolinayen.

Love and Betrayal: Aponibolinayen’s longing for the oranges and her initial reluctance to reveal her true desire to Aponitolau highlight complexities in their relationship.

Supernatural Beings: The narrative features Gawigawen, a formidable giant with mystical abilities, and other elements of magic and transformation.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

Aponibolinayen was sick with a headache, and she lay on a mat alone in her house. Suddenly she remembered some fruit that she had heard of but had never seen, and she said to herself, “Oh, I wish I had some of the oranges of Gawigawen of Adasen.”

Now Aponibolinayen did not realize that she had spoken aloud, but Aponitolau, her husband, lying in the spirit house outside, heard her talking and asked what it was she said. Fearing to tell him the truth lest he should risk his life in trying to get the oranges for her, she said: “I wish I had some biw” (a fruit).

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Aponitolau at once got up, and, taking a sack, went out to find some of the fruit for his wife. When he returned with the sack full, she said:

“Put it on the bamboo hanger above the fire, and when my head is better I will eat it.”

So Aponitolau put the fruit on the hanger and returned to the spirit house, but when Aponibolinayen tried to eat, the fruit made her sick and she threw it away.

“What is the matter?” called Aponitolau as he heard her drop the fruit.

“I merely dropped one,” she replied, and returned to her mat.

After a while Aponibolinayen again said:

“Oh, I wish I had some of the oranges of Gawigawen of Adasen,” and Aponitolau, who heard her from the spirit house, inquired:

“What is that you say?”

“I wish I had some fish eggs,” answered his wife; for she did not want him to know the truth.

Then Aponitolau took his net and went to the river, determined to please his wife if possible. When he had caught a nice fish he opened it with his knife and took out the eggs. Then he spat on the place he had cut, and it was healed and the fish swam away.

Pleased that he was able to gratify his wife’s wishes, he hastened home with the eggs; and while his wife was roasting them over the fire, he returned to the spirit house. She tried to eat, but the eggs did not taste good to her, and she threw them down under the house to the dogs.

“What is the matter?” called Aponitolau. “Why are the dogs barking?”

“I dropped some of the eggs,” replied his wife, and she went back to her mat.

By and by she again said:

“I wish I had some of the oranges of Gawigawen of Adasen.”

But when her husband asked what she wished, she replied:

“I want a deer’s liver to eat”

So Aponitolau took his dogs to the mountains, where they hunted until they caught a deer, and when he had cut out its liver he spat on the wound, and it was healed so that the deer ran away.

But Aponibolinayen could not eat the liver any more than she could the fruit or the fish eggs; and when Aponitolau heard the dogs barking, he knew that she had thrown it away. Then he grew suspicious and, changing himself into a centipede, hid in a crack in the floor. And when his wife again wished for some of the oranges, he overheard her.

“Why did you not tell me the truth, Aponibolinayen?” he asked.

“Because,” she replied, “no one Who has gone to Adasen has ever come back, and I did not want you to risk your life.”

Nevertheless Aponitolau determined to go for the oranges, and he commanded his wife to bring him rice straw. After he had burned it he put the ashes in the water with which he washed his hair. Then she brought cocoanut oil and rubbed his hair, and fetched a dark clout, a fancy belt, and a head-band, and she baked cakes for him to take on the journey. Aponitolau cut a vine which he planted by the stove, and told his wife that if the leaves wilted she would know that he was dead. Then he took his spear and head-ax and started on the long journey.

When Aponitolau arrived at the well of a giantess, all the betel-nut trees bowed. Then the giantess shouted and all the world trembled. “How strange,” thought Aponitolau, “that all the world shakes when that woman shouts.” But he continued on his way without stopping.

As he passed the place of the old woman, Alokotan, she sent out her little dog and it bit his leg.

“Do not proceed,” said the old woman, “for ill luck awaits you. If you go on, you will never return to your home.”

But Aponitolau paid no attention to the old woman, and by and by he came to the home of the lightning.

“Where are you going?” asked the lightning.

“I am going to get some oranges of Gawigawen of Adasen,” replied Aponitolau.

“Go stand on that high rock that I may see what your sign is,” commanded the lightning.

So he stood on the high rock, but when the lightning flashed Aponitolau dodged.

“Do not go,” said the lightning, “for you have a bad sign, and you will never come back.”

Still Aponitolau did not heed.

Soon he arrived at the place of Silit (loud thunder), who also asked him:

“Where are you going, Aponitolau?”

“I am going to get oranges of Gawigawen of Adasen,” he replied.

Then the thunder commanded:

“Stand on that high stone so that I can see if you have a good sign.”

He stood on the high stone, and when the thunder made a loud noise he jumped. Whereupon Silit also advised him not to go on.

In spite of all the warnings, Aponitolau continued his journey, and upon coming to the ocean he used magical power, so that when he stepped on his head-ax it sailed away, carrying him far across the sea to the other side. Then after a short walk he came to a spring where women were dipping water, and he asked what spring it was.

“This is the spring of Gawigawen of Adasen,” replied the women. “And who are you that you dare come here?”

Without replying he went on toward the town, but he found that he could not go inside, for it was surrounded by a bank which reached almost to the sky.

While he stood with bowed head pondering what he should do, the chief of the spiders came up and asked why he was so sorrowful.

“I am sad,” answered Aponitolau, “because I cannot climb up this bank.”

Then the spider went to the top and spun a thread, and upon this Aponitolau climbed up into town.

Now Gawigawen was asleep in his spirit house, and when he awoke and saw Aponitolau sitting near, he was surprised and ran toward his house to get his spear and head-ax, but Aponitolau called to him, saying:

“Good morning, Cousin Gawigawen. Do not be angry; I only came to buy some of your oranges for my wife.”

Then Gawigawen took him to the house and brought a whole carabao for him to eat, and he said:

“If you cannot eat all the carabao, you cannot have the oranges for your wife.”

Aponitolau grew very sorrowful, for he knew that he could not eat all the meat, but just at that moment the chief of the ants and flies came to him and inquired what was the trouble. As soon as he was told, the chief called all the ants and flies and they ate the whole carabao. Aponitolau, greatly relieved, went then to Gawigawen and said:

“I have finished eating the food which you gave me.”

Gawigawen was greatly surprised at this, and, leading the way to the place where the oranges grew, he told Aponitolau to climb the tree and get all he wanted.

As he was about to ascend the tree Aponitolau noticed that the branches were sharp knives, so he went as carefully as he could. Nevertheless, when he had secured two oranges, he stepped on one of the knives and was cut. He quickly fastened the fruit to his spear, and immediately it flew away straight to his town and into his house.

Aponibolinayen was just going down the bamboo ladder out of the house, and hearing something drop on the floor she went back to look and found the oranges from Adasen. She eagerly ate the fruit, rejoicing that her husband had been able to reach the place where they grew. Then she thought to look at the vine, whose leaves were wilted, and she knew that her husband was dead.

Soon after this a son was born to Aponibolinayen, and she called his name Kanag. He grew rapidly, becoming a strong lad, and he was the bravest of all his companions. One day while Kanag was playing out in the yard, he spun his top and it struck the garbage pot of an old woman, who became very angry and cried:

“If you were a brave boy, you would get your father whom Gawigawen killed.”

Kanag ran to the house crying, and asked his mother what the old woman meant, for he had never heard the story of his father’s death. As soon as he learned what had happened, the boy determined to search for his father, and, try as she would, his mother could not dissuade him.

As he was departing through the gate of the town with his spear and head-ax, Kanag struck his shield and it sounded like a thousand warriors.

“How brave that boy is!” said the surprised people. “He is braver even than his father.”

When he reached the spring of the giantess, he again struck his shield and shouted so that the whole world trembled. Then the giantess said:

“I believe that someone is going to fight, and he will have success.”

As soon as Kanag reached the place where the old woman, Alokotan, lived, she sent her dog after him, but with one blow of his head-ax he cut off the dog’s head. Then Alokotan asked where he was going, and when he had told her, she said:

“Your father is dead, but I believe that you will find him, for you have a good sign.”

He hurried on and arrived at the place where lightning was, and it asked:

“Where are you going, little boy?”

“I am going to Adasen to get my father,” answered Kanag.

“Go stand on that high rock that I may see what your sign is,” said the lightning.

So he stood on the high rock, and when the bright flash came he did not move, and the lightning bade him hasten on, as he had a good sign.

The thunder, which saw him passing, also called to ask where he was going, and it commanded him to stand on the high rock. And when the thunder made a loud noise Kanag did not move, and it bade him go on, as his sign was good.

The women of Adasen were at the spring of Gawigawen dipping water, when suddenly they were startled by a great noise. They rose up, expecting to see a thousand warriors coming near; but though they looked all around they could see nothing but a young boy striking a shield.

“Good morning, women who are dipping water,” said Kanag. “Tell Gawigawen that he must prepare, for I am coming to fight him.”

So all the women ran up to the town and told Gawigawen that a strange boy was at the spring and he had come to fight.

“Go and tell him,” said Gawigawen, “that if it is true that he is brave, he will come into the town, if he can.”

When Kanag reached the high bank outside the town, he jumped like a flitting bird up the bank into the town and went straight to the spirit house of Gawigawen. He noticed that the roofs of both the dwelling and the spirit houses were of hair, and that around the town were many heads, and he pondered:

“This is why my father did not return. Gawigawen is a brave man, but I will kill him.”

As soon as Gawigawen saw him in the yard he said:

“How brave you are, little boy; why did you come here?”

“I came to get my father,” answered Kanag; “for you kept him when he came to get oranges for my mother. If you do not give him to me, I will kill you.”

Gawigawen laughed at this brave speech and said:

“Why, one of my fingers will fight you. You shall never go back to your town, but you shall stay here and be like your father.”

“We shall see,” said Kanag. “Bring your arms and let us fight here in the yard.”

Gawigawen was beside himself with rage at this bold speech, and he brought his spear and his head-ax which was as big as half the sky. Kanag would not throw first, for he wanted to prove himself brave, so Gawigawen took aim and threw his head-ax at the boy. Now Kanag used magical power, so that he became an ant and was not hit by the weapon. Gawigawen laughed loudly when he looked around and could not see the boy, for he thought that he had been killed. Soon, however, Kanag reappeared, standing on the head-ax, and Gawigawen, more furious than ever, threw his spear. Again Kanag disappeared, and Gawigawen was filled with surprise.

Then it was Kanag’s turn and his spear went directly through the body of the giant. He ran quickly and cut off five of the heads, but the sixth he spared until Gawigawen should have shown him his father.

As they went about the town together, Kanag found that the skin of his father had been used for a drum-head. His hair decorated the house, and his head was at the gate of the town, while his body was put beneath the house. After he had gathered all the parts of the body together, Kanag used magical power, and his father came to life.

“Who are you?” asked Aponitolau; “how long have I slept?”

“I am your son,” said Kanag. “You were not asleep but dead, and here is Gawigawen who kept you. Take my head-ax and cut off his remaining head.”

So Aponitolau took the head-ax, but when he struck Gawigawen it did not injure him.

“What is the matter, Father?” asked Kanag; and taking the weapon he cut off the sixth head of Gawigawen.

Then Kanag and his father used magic so that the spears and head-axes flew about, killing all the people in the town, and the heads and valuable things went to their home.

When Aponibolinayen saw all these come into her house, she ran to look at the vine by the stove, and it was green and looked like a jungle. Then she knew that her son was alive, and she was happy. And when the father and son returned, all the relatives came to their house for a great feast, and all were so happy that the whole world smiled.

Aponibolinayen

Aponibolinayen, famed for her beauty, attracts the powerful Gawigawen, who secures her hand with lavish gifts. However, a jealous rumor leads her to flee, only to find a new husband, Kadayadawan, across an ocean. A grand ceremony reunites all parties, sparking conflict between her husbands. Peace is restored when Kadayadawan compensates Gawigawen, and they receive a golden house as a blessing.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Love and Betrayal: Aponibolinayen’s relationships with Gawigawen and later Kadayadawan highlight romantic bonds tested by jealousy and misunderstandings.

Family Dynamics: The interactions between Aponibolinayen, her brother Aponibalagen, and her suitors reflect complex familial relationships and societal expectations.

Moral Lessons: The narrative imparts lessons on the consequences of jealousy, the importance of communication, and the value of reconciliation.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

The most beautiful girl in all the world was Aponibolinayen of Nalpangan. Many young men had come to her brother, Aponibalagen, to ask for her hand in marriage, but he had refused them all, for he awaited one who possessed great power. Then it happened that the fame of her beauty spread over all the world till it reached even to Adasen; and in that place there lived a man of great power named Gawigawen.

Now Gawigawen, who was a handsome man, had sought among all the pretty girls but never, until he heard of the great beauty of Aponibolinayen, had he found one whom he wished to wed.

► Continue reading…

Then he determined that she should be his wife; and he begged his mother to help him win her. So Dinawagen, the mother of Gawigawen, took her hat which looked like a sunbeam and set out at once for Nalpangan; and when she arrived there she was greeted by Ebang, the mother of the lovely maiden, who presently began to prepare food for them.

She put the pot over the fire, and when the water boiled she broke up a stick and threw the pieces into the pot, and immediately they became fish. Then she brought basi in a large jar, and Dinawagen, counting the notches in the rim, perceived that the jar had been handed down through nine generations. They ate and drank together, and after they had finished the meal, Dinawagen told Aponibalagen of her son’s wishes, and asked if he was willing that his sister should marry Gawigawen. Aponibalagen, who had heard of the power of the suitor, at once gave his consent. And Dinawagen departed for home, leaving a gold cup as an engagement present.

Gawigawen was watching at the door of his house for his mother’s return, and when she told him of her success, he was so happy that he asked all the people in the town to go with him the next day to Nalpangan to arrange the amount he must pay for his bride.

Now the people of Nalpangan wanted a great price for this girl who was so beautiful, and the men of the two towns debated for a long time before they could come to an agreement. Finally, however, it was decided that Gawigawen should fill the spirit house eighteen times with valuable things; and when he had done this, they were all satisfied and went to the yard where they danced and beat on the copper gongs. All the pretty girls danced their best, and one who wore big jars about her neck made more noise than the others as she danced, and the jars sang “Kitol, kitol, kanitol; inka, inka, inkatol.”

But when Aponibolinayen, the bride of Gawigawen, came down out of the house to dance, the sunshine vanished, so beautiful was she; and as she moved about, the river came up into the town, and striped fish bit at her heels.

For three months the people remained here feasting and dancing, and then early one morning they took Aponibolinayen to her new home in Adasen. The trail that led from one town to the other had become very beautiful in the meantime: the grass and trees glistened with bright lights, and the waters of the tiny streams dazzled the eyes with their brightness as Aponibolinayen waded across. When they reached the spring of Gawigawen, they found that it, too, was more beautiful than ever before. Each grain of sand had become a bead, and the place where the women set their jars when they came to dip water had become a big dish.

Then said Aponibalagen to his people, “Go tell Gawigawen to bring an old man, for I want to make a spring for Aponibolinayen.”

So an old man was brought and Aponibalagen cut off his head and put it in the ground, and sparkling water bubbled up. The body he made into a tree to shade his sister when she came to dip water, and the drops of blood as they touched the ground were changed into valuable beads. Even the path from the spring to the house was covered with big plates, and everything was made beautiful for Aponibolinayen.

Now during all this time Aponibolinayen had kept her face covered so that she had never seen her husband, for although he was a handsome man, one of the pretty girls who was jealous of the bride had told her that he had three noses, and she was afraid to look at him.

After her people had all returned to their homes, she grew very unhappy, and when her mother-in-law commanded her to cook she had to feel her way around, for she would not uncover her face. Finally she became so sad that she determined to run away. One night when all were asleep, she used magical power and changed herself into oil. Then she slid through the bamboo floor and made her escape without anyone seeing her.

On and on she went until she came to the middle of the jungle, and then she met a wild rooster who asked her where she was going.

“I am running away from my husband,” replied Aponibolinayen, “for he has three noses and I do not want to live with him.”

“Oh,” said the rooster, “some crazy person must have told you that. Do not believe it. Gawigawen is a handsome man, for I have often seen him when he comes here to snare chickens.”

But Aponibolinayen paid no heed to the rooster, and she went on until she reached a big tree where perched a monkey, and he also asked where she was going.

“I am running away from my husband,” answered the girl, “for he has three noses and I do not want to live with him.”

“Oh, do not believe that,” said the monkey. “Someone who told you that must have wanted to marry him herself, for he is a handsome man.”

Still Aponibolinayen went on until she came to the ocean, and then, as she could go no farther, she sat down to rest. As she sat there pondering what she should do, a carabao came along, and thinking that she would ride a while she climbed up on its back. No sooner had she done so than the animal plunged into the water and swam with her until they reached the other side of the great ocean.

There they came to a large orange tree, and the carabao told her to eat some of the luscious fruit while he fed on the grass nearby. As soon as he had left her, however, he ran straight to his master, Kadayadawan, and told him of the beautiful girl.

Kadayadawan was very much interested and quickly combed his hair and oiled it, put on his striped coat and belt, and went with the carabao to the orange tree. Aponibolinayen, looking down from her place in the tree, was surprised to see a man coming with her friend, the carabao, but as they drew near, she began talking with him, and soon they became acquainted. Before long, Kadayadawan had persuaded the girl to become his wife, and he took her to his home. From that time every night his house looked as if it was on fire, because of the beauty of his bride.

After they had been married for some time, Kadayadawan and Aponibolinayen decided to make a ceremony for the spirits, so they called the magic betel-nuts and oiled them and said to them,

“Go to all the towns and invite our relatives to come to the ceremony which we shall make. If they do not want to come, then grow on their knees until they are willing to attend.”

So the betel-nuts started in different directions and one went to Aponibalagen in Nalpangan and said,

“Kadayadawan is making a ceremony for the spirits, and I have come to summon you to attend.”

“We cannot go,” said Aponibalagen, “for we are searching for my sister who is lost”

“You must come,” replied the betel-nut, “or I shall grow on your knee,”

“Grow on my pig,” answered Aponibalagen; so the betel-nut went on to the pig’s back and grew into a tall tree, and it became so heavy that the pig could not carry it, but squealed all the time.

Then Aponibalagen, seeing that he must obey, said to the betel-nut,

“Get off my pig, and we will go.”

The betel-nut got off the pig’s back, and the people started for the ceremony. When they reached the river, Gawigawen was there waiting to cross, for the magic nuts had forced him to go also. Then Kadayadawan, seeing them, sent more betel-nuts to the river, and the people were carried across by the nuts.

As soon as they reached the town the dancing began, and while Gawigawen was dancing with Aponibolinayen he seized her and put her in his belt. Kadayadawan, who saw this, was so angry that he threw his spear and killed Gawigawen. Then Aponibolinayen escaped and ran into the house, and her husband brought his victim back to life, and asked him why he had seized the wife of his host. Gawigawen explained that she was his wife who had been lost, and the people were very much surprised, for they had not recognized her at first.

Then all the people discussed what should be done to bring peace between the two men, and it was finally decided that Kadayadawan must pay both Aponibalagen and Gawigawen the price that was first demanded for the beautiful girl.

After this was done all were happy; and the guardian spirit of Kadayadawan gave them a golden house in which to live.

Aponibolinayen and the Sun

Aponibolinayen, while gathering greens, is carried to the sky by a magical vine and encounters Ini-init, the Sun. After a series of mystical events and a hidden romance, they marry. Aponibolinayen returns to earth with a magical child and conceals her husband’s identity. Ultimately, Ini-init is revealed as a transformed stone, reuniting families and celebrating unity through grand ceremonies and joy.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: A magical vine transports Aponibolinayen to the sky, initiating her encounter with the divine.

Love and Betrayal: Aponibolinayen and Ini-init develop a hidden romantic relationship, leading to marriage and the birth of a magical child.

Sacred Objects: The story references enchanted items, like the vine that ascends to the sky and the golden betel-nut trees surrounding the celestial spring.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day Aponibolinayen and her sister-in-law went out to gather greens. They walked to the woods to the place where the siksiklat grew, for the tender leaves of this vine are very good to eat. Suddenly while searching about in the underbrush, Aponibolinayen cried out with joy, for she had found the vine, and she started to pick the leaves. Pull as hard as she would, however, the leaves did not come loose, and all at once the vine wound itself around her body and began carrying her upward. Far up through the air she went until she reached the sky, and there the vine set her down under a tree.

► Continue reading…

Aponibolinayen was so surprised to find herself in the sky that for some time she just sat and looked around, and then, hearing a rooster crow, she arose to see if she could find it. Not far from where she had sat was a beautiful spring surrounded by tall betel-nut trees whose tops were pure gold. Rare beads were the sands of the spring, and the place where the women set their jars when they came to dip water was a large golden plate. As Aponibolinayen stood admiring the beauties of this spring, she beheld a small house nearby, and she was filled with fear lest the owner should find her there. She looked about for some means of escape and finally climbed to the top of a betel-nut tree and hid.

Now the owner of this house was Ini-init, the Sun, but he was never at home in the daylight, for it was his duty to shine in the sky and give light to all the world. At the close of the day when the Big Star took his place in the sky to shine through the night, Ini-init returned to his house, but early the next morning he was always off again.

From her place in the top of the betel-nut tree, Aponibolinayen saw the Sun when he came home at evening time, and again the next morning she saw him leave. When she was sure that he was out of sight she climbed down and entered his dwelling, for she was very hungry. She cooked rice, and into a pot of boiling water she dropped a stick which immediately became fish, so that she had all she wished to eat. When she was no longer hungry, she lay down on the bed to sleep.

Now late in the afternoon Ini-init returned from his work and went to fish in the river near his house, and he caught a big fish. While he sat on the bank cleaning his catch, he happened to look up toward his house and was startled to see that it appeared to be on fire. He hurried home, but when he reached the house he saw that it was not burning at all, and he entered. On his bed he beheld what looked like a flame of fire, but upon going closer he found that it was a beautiful woman fast asleep.

Ini-init stood for some time wondering what he should do, and then he decided to cook some food and invite this lovely creature to eat with him. He put rice over the fire to boil and cut into pieces the fish he had caught. The noise of this awakened Aponibolinayen, and she slipped out of the house and back to the top of the betel-nut tree. The Sun did not see her leave, and when the food was prepared he called her, but the bed was empty and he had to eat alone. That night Ini-init could not sleep well, for all the time he wondered who the beautiful woman could be. The next morning, however, he rose as usual and set forth to shine in the sky, for that was his work.

That day Aponibolinayen stole again to the house of the Sun and cooked food, and when she returned to the betel-nut tree she left rice and fish ready for the Sun when he came home. Late in the afternoon Ini-init went into his home, and when he found pots of hot rice and fish over the fire he was greatly troubled. After he had eaten he walked a long time in the fresh air. “Perhaps it is done by the lovely woman who looks like a flame of fire,” he said. “If she comes again I will try to catch her.”

The next day the Sun shone in the sky as before, and when the afternoon grew late he called to the Big Star to hurry to take his place, for he was impatient to reach home. As he drew near the house he saw that it again looked as if it was on fire. He crept quietly up the ladder, and when he had reached the top he sprang in and shut the door behind him.

Aponibolinayen, who was cooking rice over the fire, was surprised and angry that she had been caught; but the Sun gave her betel-nut which was covered with gold, and they chewed together and told each other their names. Then Aponibolinayen took up the rice and fish, and as they ate they talked together and became acquainted.

After some time Aponibolinayen and the Sun were married, and every morning the Sun went to shine in the sky, and upon his return at night he found his supper ready for him. He began to be troubled, however, to know where the food came from, for though he brought home a fine fish every night, Aponibolinayen always refused to cook it.

One night he watched her prepare their meal, and he saw that, instead of using the nice fish he had brought, she only dropped a stick into the pot of boiling water.

“Why do you try to cook a stick?” asked Ini-init in surprise.

“So that we can have fish to eat,” answered his wife.

“If you cook that stick for a month, it will not be soft,” said Ini-init. “Take this fish that I caught in the net, for it will be good.”

But Aponibolinayen only laughed at him, and when they were ready to eat she took the cover off the pot and there was plenty of nice soft fish. The next night and the next, Aponibolinayen cooked the stick, and Ini-init became greatly troubled for he saw that though the stick always supplied them with fish, it never grew smaller.

Finally he asked Aponibolinayen again why it was that she cooked the stick instead of the fish he brought, and she said:

“Do you not know of the woman on earth who has magical power and can change things?”

“Yes,” answered the Sun, “and now I know that you have great power.”

“Well, then,” said his wife, “do not ask again why I cook the stick.”

And they ate their supper of rice and the fish which the stick made.

One night not long after this Aponibolinayen told her husband that she wanted to go with him the next day when he made light in the sky.

“Oh, no, you cannot,” said the Sun, “for it is very hot up there, and you cannot stand the heat.”

“We will take many blankets and pillows,” said the woman, “and when the heat becomes very great, I will hide under them.”

Again and again Ini-init begged her not to go, but as often she insisted on accompanying him, and early in the morning they set out, carrying with them many blankets and pillows.

First, they went to the East, and as soon as they arrived the Sun began to shine, and Aponibolinayen was with him. They traveled toward the West, but when morning had passed into noontime and they had reached the middle of the sky Aponibolinayen was so hot that she melted and became oil. Then Ini-init put her into a bottle and wrapped her in the blankets and pillows and dropped her down to earth.

Now one of the women of Aponibolinayen’s town was at the spring dipping water when she heard something fall near her. Turning to look, she beheld a bundle of beautiful blankets and pillows which she began to unroll, and inside she found the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Frightened at her discovery, the woman ran as fast as she could to the town, where she called the people together and told them to come at once to the spring. They all hastened to the spot and there they found Aponibolinayen for whom they had been searching everywhere.

“Where have you been?” asked her father; “we have searched all over the world and we could not find you.’

“I have come from Pindayan,” answered Aponibolinayen. “Enemies of our people kept me there till I made my escape while they were asleep at night”

All were filled with joy that the lost one had returned, and they decided that at the next moon they would perform a ceremony for the spirits and invite all the relatives who were mourning for Aponibolinayen.

So they began to prepare for the ceremony, and while they were pounding rice, Aponibolinayen asked her mother to prick her little finger where it itched, and as she did so a beautiful baby boy popped out. The people were very much surprised at this, and they noticed that every time he was bathed the baby grew very fast so that, in a short time, he was able to walk. Then they were anxious to know who was the husband of Aponibolinayen, but she would not tell them, and they decided to invite everyone in the world to the ceremony that they might not overlook him.

They sent for the betel-nuts that were covered with gold, and when they had oiled them they commanded them to go to all the towns and compel the people to come to the ceremony.

“If anyone refuses to come, grow on his knee,” said the people, and the betel-nuts departed to do as they were bidden.

As the guests began to arrive, the people watched carefully for one who might be the husband of Aponibolinayen, but none appeared and they were greatly troubled. Finally they went to the old woman, Alokotan, who was able to talk with the spirits, and begged her to find what town had not been visited by the betel-nuts which had been sent to invite the people. After she had consulted the spirits the old woman said:

“You have invited all the people except Ini-init who lives up above. Now you must send a betel-nut to summon him. It may be that he is the husband of Aponibolinayen, for the siksiklat vine carried her up when she went to gather greens.”

So a betel-nut was called and bidden to summon Ini-init.

The betel-nut went up to the Sun, who was in his house, and said:

“Good morning, Sun. I have come to summon you to a ceremony which the father and mother of Aponibolinayen are making for the spirits. If you do not want to go, I will grow on your head.”

“Grow on my head,” said the Sun. “I do not wish to go.”

So the betel-nut jumped upon his head and grew until it became so tall that the Sun was not able to carry it, and he was in great pain.

“Oh, grow on my pig,” begged the Sun. So the betel-nut jumped upon the pig’s head and grew, but it was so heavy that the pig could not carry it and squealed all the time. At last the Sun saw that he would have to obey the summons, and he said to the betel-nut:

“Get off my pig and I will go.”

So Ini-init came to the ceremony, and as soon as Aponibolinayen and the baby saw him, they were very happy and ran to meet him. Then the people knew that this was the husband of Aponibolinayen, and they waited eagerly for him to come up to them. As he drew near, however, they saw that he did not walk, for he was round; and then they perceived that he was not a man but a large stone. All her relatives were very angry to find that Aponibolinayen had married a stone; and they compelled her to take off her beads and her good clothes, for, they said, she must now dress in old clothes and go again to live with the stone.

So Aponibolinayen put on the rags that they brought her and at once set out with the stone for his home. No sooner had they arrived there, however, than he became a handsome man, and they were very happy.

“In one moon,” said the Sun, “we will make a ceremony for the spirits, and I will pay your father and mother the marriage price for you.”

This pleased Aponibolinayen very much, and they used magic so that they had many neighbors who came to pound rice for them and to build a large spirit house.

Then they sent oiled betel-nuts to summon their relatives to the ceremony. The father of Aponibolinayen did not want to go, but the betel-nut threatened to grow on his knee if he did not. So he commanded all the people in the town to wash their hair and their clothes, and when all was ready they set out.

When they reached the town they were greatly surprised to find that the stone had become a man, and they chewed the magic betel-nuts to see who he might be. It was discovered that he was the son of a couple in Aponibolinayen’s own town, and the people all rejoiced that this couple had found the son whom they had thought lost. They named him Aponitolau, and his parents paid the marriage price for his wife–the spirit house nine times full of valuable jars.

After that all danced and made merry for one moon, and when the people departed for their homes Ini-init and his wife went with them to live on the earth.

The King’s Son and the Wazír’s Daughter

A king and his wazír pledged to marry their future children. Years later, the prince, having become wicked, lost everything to gambling and drinking, while the wazír’s daughter lived piously. When they reunited, she revealed divine lessons through visions symbolizing their past actions. Despite her wisdom, the prince failed to reform, leading to her death and his continued downfall, ending his life in misery and regret.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The initial agreement between the king and the wazír to marry their future children sets a destined path for the prince and the wazír’s daughter.

Divine Punishment: The prince’s misfortunes can be seen as retribution for his immoral behavior.

Love and Betrayal: The relationship between the prince and the wazír’s daughter is strained by his actions, leading to a sense of betrayal and eventual tragedy.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, March 8th, 1879

In a country there was a great king who had a wazír. One day he thought he should like to play at cards with this wazír, and he told him to go and get some for him, and then play a game with him. So the wazír brought the cards, and he and the king sat down to play. Now neither the king nor the wazír had any children; and as they were playing, the king said, “Wazír, 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 wazír agreed. A year after the king had a son; and when the boy was two years old, the wazír had a daughter.

► Continue reading…

Some years passed, and the king’s son was twelve years old, and the wazír’s daughter ten. Then the king said to the wazír, “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 wazír. “Let us marry them now,” said the king. So they held the wedding feast; but the wazír’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 fakír’s dress, begging his bread, and sleeping wherever he found a spot on which to lie down.

Meanwhile the wazír’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 fakír’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 fakír till his death.

Rájá Harichand’s Punishment

Rájá Harichand, a generous ruler, faced divine trials after refusing to symbolically offer his wife to a disguised God. Choosing a 12-year famine over catastrophic rain, his land endured hardship, and he experienced profound poverty alongside his wife. Their perseverance and faith eventually led to restoration when the famine ended prematurely. This tale emphasizes humility, sacrifice, and the consequences of disregarding spiritual wisdom.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Sacrifice: Rájá Harichand’s initial daily offerings of gold to the poor demonstrate his commitment to giving. However, when faced with the symbolic request to offer his wife, he hesitates, highlighting the complexities and limits of personal sacrifice.

Prophecy and Fate: The Rájá is confronted with a divine ultimatum: choose between a twelve-year famine or a catastrophic twelve-hour deluge. His decision to endure the famine sets the course for his and his kingdom’s destiny, emphasizing themes of predestined trials and the consequences of choices.

Moral Lessons: The tale imparts lessons on humility, the importance of heeding spiritual wisdom, and the repercussions of pride. Rájá Harichand’s journey from generosity to hardship and eventual restoration serves as a moral exemplar of the virtues of humility and the perils of disregarding divine counsel.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, March 4th, 1879

There was once a great Rájá, Rájá Harichand, who every morning before he bathed and breakfasted used to give away one hundred pounds weight of gold to the fakírs, 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 Rájá Harichand was, and how much the Rájá loved him, and he thought he would go and see for himself if all that was said of the Rájá were true.

► Continue reading…

He therefore went as a fakír to Rájá Harichand’s palace and stood at his gate. The Rájá 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 fakír stood at his gate, the Rájá 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 fakír, and told him, “The Rájá 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 fakírs and poor people had received their gold and the Rájá had gone into his palace. So the Rájá told his servants, “Bid the fakír 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 Rájá had gone into his palace. The Rájá was vexed with him for being a third time too late, and said to his servants, “What sort of a fakír is this that he always comes too late? Go and ask him what he wants.” So the servants went to the fakír and said, “Rájá 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 Rájá, and it made him very angry. He went to his wife, the Rání Báhan, and said to her, “There is a fakír 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 Rání was very wise and clever, for she had a book, which she read continually, called the kop shástra; and this book told her everything. So she knew that the fakír at the gate was no fakír, 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 Rání said to the Rájá, “Go to this fakír, 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 Rájá in a rage; and in spite of all her entreaties, he would not say to the fakír, “I will give you my wife.” He ordered his servants to beat the fakír, 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 Rájá 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 Rájá and said as God had bidden them. The Rájá 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 Rájá’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 Rájá and Rání 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 Rájá 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 Rájá; how can I ask my ryots to give me food? We will dress ourselves like fakírs, and go to another country.”

They put on fakírs’ 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 Rání, who was very hungry. The Rájá 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 Rájá tried three times to gather the plums, but never could do so.

He and the Rání then went on till they came to a plain in another country, where was a large tank in which men were fishing. The Rání said to her husband, “Go and ask those men to give us a little of their fish, for I am very hungry.” The Rájá went to the men and said, “I am a fakír, 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 Rání 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 Rájá 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 Rání, 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 Rájá. “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 Rání 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 Rání sad; but she sat there quiet and silent. When the Rájá had bathed, he returned to his wife, and said, “Now we will eat our fish.” The Rání answered, “I had not eaten for four days, and was very hungry, so I ate all the fish.” “Never mind,” said the Rájá, “it does not matter.”

They wandered on, and the next day came to another jungle where they saw two pigeons. The Rájá took some grass and sticks, and made a bow and arrow. He shot the pigeons with these, and the Rání 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 Rání; “I have not bathed for some days. When I come back, we will eat the pigeons.” So she went to bathe, and the Rájá 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 Rání came back. “I have eaten the pigeons in the same way that you ate the fish yesterday,” he said to her. The Rání understood what had happened, and saw the Rájá knew how the fish had escaped.

So they wandered on; and as they went the Rání remembered an oil merchant, called Gangá Télí, a friend of theirs, and a great man, just like a Rájá. “Let us go to Gangá Télí, 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, Gangá Télí knew them at once. “What has happened?” he said. “You were a great Rájá; why are you and the Rání so poor and dressed like fakírs?” “It is God’s will,” they answered. Gangá Télí 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 Gangá Télí, 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 Rájá, Rájá Bhoj, was one of their friends. Rájá 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. Rájá 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 Rájá Harichand’s room, and set it before him and left him. Then he and the Rání 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 Rájá Bhoj had left her gold necklace hanging on the wall of the room in which were Rájá Harichand and the Rání Báhan. At night when Rájá Harichand was asleep, the Rání 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 Rájá Bhoj will think we are thieves. It will be useless breaking the wall open to find it.” The Rájá got up at once, and they set out again. Rájá Bhoj, when the necklace was not found, thought Rájá Harichand and the Rání Báhan had stolen it.

They wandered on till they came to a country belonging to another friend, called Rájá 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 Rání 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 Rájá 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 Rájá Nal’s country, and lived in a little house they hired in the bazar. Rájá 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 Rání 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 Rájá could now cut more grass, and soon the Rání 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 Rájá Nal’s palace to sell. It was the first time she had gone there, for she and her husband were ashamed to see Rájá Nal. Their fakírs’ 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 Rájá Nal’s coachmen and grooms; and they took them to show to their Rájá. 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 Rání Báhan. “A very poor woman brought them here just now,” they answered. “Bring her to me,” said Rájá Nal. So the servants brought him Rání Báhan, and when she saw the Rájá she burst into tears. “What has brought you to this state? Why are you so poor?” said Rájá Nal. “It is God’s will,” she answered. “Where is your husband?” he asked. “He is cutting grass in the jungle,” she said. Rájá Nal called his servants and said, “Go into the jungle, and there you will see a man cutting grass. Bring him to me.” When Rájá Harichand saw Rájá 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 Rájá Nal saw his old friend, he seized his hands, and burst out crying. “Rájá,” he said, “what has brought you to this state?” “It is God’s will,” said Rájá Harichand.

Rájá 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 Rání, “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 Rání; but she was quite frightened, for she thought, “The Rájá 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 Rájá Nal gave them for four and a half years.

Meanwhile the farmers in Rájá 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 Rájá and Rání had lived in Rájá Nal’s palace for four and a half years Mahádeo was walking through Rájá 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 Mahádeo, for he looked like a man. “That is true,” said Mahádeo, 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 yogís use, and blew on it. Now when Rájá Harichand had chosen the twelve years’ famine, God had said, “Rain shall not fall on Rájá Harichand’s country till Mahádeo blows his horn in it.” Mahádeo 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 Rájá 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 Mahádeo for forgetting that he said the famine should last for twelve years, and that the rain should fall when Mahádeo blew on his horn in Rájá Harichand’s country. “If it pleased Mahádeo 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 Rájá Harichand’s country.

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

Meanwhile the Rání Báhan 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 Rájá Nal gave them horses, elephants, and camels, that they might travel like Rájás 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 Rání said to Rájá Harichand, “If you had only done what I told you, and said you would give me to the fakír, all this misery would not have come on us.”

Later they went to stay again with Rájá 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 Rájá 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 Gangá Télí, they never went near him again.

The Clever Wife

A merchant’s wife, tasked with building a well and having a son during his year-long absence, outsmarts four prominent men through a clever ruse to raise funds. Disguising herself as a milkmaid, she later marries her unknowing husband and has a son. When the merchant returns, she reveals her ingenuity, earning his admiration and restoring harmony.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The wife employs clever ruses to achieve her goals.

Trials and Tribulations: She faces and overcomes challenges during her husband’s absence.

Transformation: The wife’s actions lead to a change in her circumstances and perceptions.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, Calcutta, March 3rd, 1879

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.

► Continue reading…

“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 kotwál 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 kotwál. “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 kotwál, “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 wazír 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 wazír. “Yes,” she answered, “to-night at eleven o’clock.” “Good,” said the wazír; “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 kází 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 kází. “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 kotwál 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 wazír is here, and wishes to see you.” The kotwál 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 wazír 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 wazír, and they dined together. After dinner she said, “Can you play at cards?” “Yes,” said the wazír. She took out the cards, and they played till twelve o’clock, when the doorkeeper came to say the kází had come to see her. “Oh, hide me! hide me!” cried the wazír 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 wazír up in the second chest.

She and the kází now dined. Then she said, “Can you play at cards?” “Yes,” said the kází. 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 kází, 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 kází 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 kotwál’s son, the wazír’s son, the kází’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 kotwál’s house, and there she saw the kotwál’s son. She had the kotwál’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 kotwál’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 kotwál 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 wazír’s house, and there she saw the wazír’s son. The wazír’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 wazír’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 wazír’s son opened the chest in the house at once, wondering what could be in it; and the wazír’s wife stood by all the time. When they saw the wazír 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 wazír, “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 kází’s door, and there stood the kází’s son. “Will you buy this chest?” she said to him, and had the kází’s chest put on the ground. “What is in it?” said the kází’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 kází 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 kotwál knew the wazír had gone to see the merchant’s wife; and the wazír knew the kází had gone; and the kází, 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!”

Pánwpattí Rání

At a grand fair, a prince and princess silently admired each other, though they never exchanged words. When the princess left, the prince fell into despair until his loyal friend helped him find her. They married, but misunderstandings and jealousy led to betrayal. Eventually, reconciliation followed, and the prince and princess returned home to live happily, with the friend rewarded for his unwavering loyalty.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Love and Betrayal: The prince and princess fall in love, but their relationship faces challenges due to misunderstandings and jealousy.

Trials and Tribulations: The couple endures various hardships, including separation and emotional turmoil, before achieving happiness.

Family Dynamics: Despite the betrayals and misunderstandings, the prince and princess eventually reconcile and live happily together.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, February, 1879

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

Now, the Rájá’s son and the Rájá’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 Rájá’s daughter is!” thought the prince. “How beautiful the Rájá’s son is!” thought the princess.

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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 Rání’s father said he would go back to his own country. The Rájá’s son sat in his tent and watched the servants getting ready the little Rání’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 Rájá’s son sat in his tent and looked at her. Then she got into her palanquin and was carried away.

The Rájá’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 Rání.

The son of the Rájá’s kotwál [the chief police officer in a town] 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 kotwál’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 kotwál’s son; but the Rájá’s son would not answer. “Have you told any one what is the matter with you?” said the kotwál’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 Rájá 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 kotwál’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 Rájá Dánt [Rájá Tooth]; when she put it behind her ear she meant you to know her country’s name was Karnátak [on the ear]; and when she laid the rose at her feet, she meant that her name was Pánwpattí [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?” “Karnátak” [the Carnatic]. “What is your Rájá’s name?” “Rájá Dánt.” 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 kotwál’s son said to the old woman, “Has your Rájá a daughter?” “Yes,” she answered; “he has a daughter; her name is Pánwpattí Rání.” “Can you go to see her?” asked the kotwál’s son. “Yes,” she said, “I can go to see her. I was her nurse, and she drank my milk. It is the Rájá who gives me my house, and my food, and clothes–everything that I have.” “Then go and see her,” said the kotwál’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 Rání, “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 kotwál’s son what the Princess Pánwpattí 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 Rájá’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 kotwál’s son went to the wedding, and then returned to the old woman’s house; but the prince lived in the Rájá’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 Pánwpattí Rání. “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 Rájá’s son went to the old woman’s house, and there he stayed a week, for he was so glad to see the kotwál’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. Pánwpattí Rání 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 kotwál’s son. “My Rání has made you these herself,” he said to his friend, “and she sends you a great many salaams.” The Rájá’s son knew nothing of the poison.

The kotwál’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 kotwál’s son said, “Your Rání herself made these sweetmeats for me?” “Yes,” said the Rájá’s son. His friend was very wise, and he thought, “Pánwpattí Rání 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 kotwál’s son threw a sweetmeat to a dog that was passing. The dog devoured it and fell dead. This put the Rájá’s son into great rage. “I will never see my Rání 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 kotwál’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 kotwál’s son said to the prince, “You really must go back to Pánwpattí Rání; she is your wife, and you must go to her, and take her away to your own country.” Still the Rájá’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 kotwál’s son got up and dressed himself like a yogí. 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 yogí went to the river and sat down by it, and the Rájá’s son went through the bazar and tried to sell the jewels. The Rájá’s servants seized him immediately. “You thief!” they said to him, “what made you steal our Rájá’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 Rájá’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 yogí. “What is all this?” said the servants to him. “Are you a yogí, and yet a thief? Why did you steal the little Rání’s jewels?” “Are those the little Rání’s jewels?” said the yogí. “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 Rájá’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 Rájá all the yogí had said. The Rájá asked his wife whether the Princess Pánwpattí had any hurt in her leg, and told her all the yogí’s story. The Rání 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 Rájá and said to him, “Our daughter has the mark of the trident’s teeth in her leg.”

The Rájá 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 Pánwpattí Rání, 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 kotwál’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 kotwál’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 Rájá’s daughter, and the Rájá gave the kotwál’s son a very grand present.

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

The Bed

A grain merchant’s pampered son learned no trade, relying on his parents’ wealth. After their death, he carved a magnificent bed from a mango tree. Selling it to a king for 1,000 rupees, he warned the king of its mysterious abilities. The bed revealed dangers, saving the king’s life and fortune. Grateful, the king rewarded the son generously, ensuring his and his wife’s lifelong happiness.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: The mango tree’s response to the son’s request, influenced by divine will, sets the narrative in motion.

Sacred Objects: The bed, crafted from the mango tree, possesses mystical properties that reveal dangers to the king.

Cunning and Deception: The bed’s revelations expose hidden threats, showcasing the theme of uncovering deceit.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, February 23rd, 1879

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.

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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 yogí. Now there was a sarai [that is, a resting-place for travellers, composed of a number of small houses in a walled enclosure] 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 yogí, 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 yogí; 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 yogí; “your husband or me?” “I love you best,” said the woman. “Then,” said the yogí, “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 yogí. “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.