Chapter III: Part 3

That night the widow devised a plan. Sitting beside her son as he lay, restless and tossing on his bed, she said:

“Daibang, my child, hearken to me that you may live and not die. I have a plan whereby you may keep your promise to the Khan and yet rid your soul of its heavy secret. Take courage! hasten and get strong, then go forth alone into a far desert place. There find a hole in the ground, or a crevice in a rock, and when you have put your lips down close, speak out the whole matter that is weighing upon your heart. So shall you keep your promise and yet find relief for your soul and live.”

This advice seemed good to Daibang, and so encouraged was he by the hope of ridding himself of his secret that he straightway began to mend. In a short time he had recovered strength enough to start forth and carry out the suggestion of his mother. He traveled many miles from home and came at length to a desert place full of rocks and sand, far from every sign of human dwelling. And in the middle of this waste land he found a deep, dark hole. Kneeling upon the ground, Daibang put his lips close to this hole and whispered all his secret. Three times he told it, and then he arose, feeling light-hearted again and well in body and mind.

Now it happened that in this hole lived a marmot, very old and clever, and he heard and understood Daibang’s words, and knew it was the great Khan’s secret he was telling. Being an idle, gossipy fellow, he repeated it all to his friend Echo, and as Echo always repeated everything he heard, whether secret or otherwise, he soon told the wind and the wind bore the Khan’s secret far and wide over the land, and back at last into the palace garden, where the Khan himself was sitting. When the monarch heard the wind whispering about his secret, he was filled with rage.

“Truly,” he said to himself, “the whole world must be talking about my secret if even the wind bandies it about! I did wrong to spare the life of that fellow Daibang, and to-morrow before sunrise he shall die!”

So it came about that Daibang was arrested that very day and dragged to the palace by rough soldiers. He was thrust at once into the private council room and there found himself alone with the angry Khan.

“Did I not say that no man on earth could keep a secret faithfully?” he cried sternly to the lad. “And you, though I loved and believed in you, have betrayed your trust, for the very wind that plays in my garden is whispering of that which none but you could tell! Speak, now, if you have aught to say in self-defense, for to-morrow, at daybreak, you shall die!”

Daibang had been frightened and confused by the rough handling of the soldiers, but now, hearing of what he was accused and knowing that he had done no wrong, he took courage and told the Khan honestly and without restraint all that he had done.

“Indeed, Sire,” said he at the end, “no human being knows your secret even now, and it was only to save my life and because of the prayers of my mother that I spoke it into a hole in a desert place.”

The Khan was touched by this story, his anger vanished, and he felt again the love in his heart for this faithful lad which he had felt first when he had eaten of his mother’s cakes. They talked a long time together, and the end of it all was that Daibang was made the Khan’s Chief Councilor, and he and his mother lived thereafter in high state and luxury at the royal palace.

You may be sure Daibang and his clever mother were not long in devising a way of hiding the Khan’s secret so that he could go abroad among his people like other kings. And never again was a young man chosen to cut the Khan’s hair and afterwards be put to death! That service Daibang kept for himself and remained the Lord High Royal Barber to the end of his days.

“But what was the Khan’s secret?” demanded the Prince, when the Siddhi-kur had finished his tale.

“Oh, that,” said the Siddhi-kur, “was very simple; haven’t you guessed it yet? The Khan had ears that were large and pointed like the ears of an ass, and he was frightfully ashamed of them. But the widow made him a tall velvet cap with lappets that came down over them, and after that he felt perfectly comfortable about himself. Of course such caps became the style in the kingdom, and I believe they are worn in the East, in court circles, this very day!

“But I have tarried long enough! My heart yearns again for my mango tree in the cool grove beside the garden of ghost children. Farewell, O Prince! Since you have again broken silence on the homeward way, you have no longer any power to hold me!”

The shame and remorse of the Prince at having failed again were pitiful to see, but knowing that tears and self-accusation were of no avail, he turned around and set off at a smart pace after the disappearing form of the Siddhi-kur.

“I have a story in mind,” said the Siddhi-kur, as he journeyed once more in the magic sack on the back of the Prince toward the cave of the master, Nagarguna, “a very ancient story of a king’s son as faithful and wise as yourself, my friend. Come now, would you like me to tell it?”

The Prince nodded his head, resolving within himself that on no account whatever would he open his lips this time to comment on the story. So the Siddhi-kur began at once.

TALE FIVE

THE PRINCE WITH THE GOLDEN MOUTH

Many, many years ago, there dwelt in a far country a Khan who was great and good and dearly loved by his people. Yet no one in all his kingdom loved or admired him so much as did his faithful wife and young son. Truly there never was a happier, more affectionate family. The three shared their joys and sorrows, their cares, their pleasures and their secrets, and indeed one was scarcely ever seen without the other two. Now the Khan and his family and the whole kingdom had in common one great sorrow; the country was watered by a clear, broad stream, and unless this flowed, full and strong, all the year, the land dried up, there was a great famine, and the people died of hunger and thirst. At the source of this river lived two serpent-gods, hideous monsters, and as evil as they were ugly, and every year these frightful creatures demanded a young man or maiden whom they might devour. Unless this desire was speedily fulfilled, they stopped the water at the head of the stream, it dried up and the people began to suffer and then die.

Many and many a time had the Khan and his counselors talked of the matter the whole night through, scheming, planning, wondering how they might save the young people of the land from this dreadful fate, but all to no avail. If the serpents did not get their yearly gift of precious human blood, the death of hundreds of men, women and children was the result. And so it seemed better for one young man or maid to die each year than that so many should perish.

The time had now come for this terrible sacrifice, and throughout the length and breadth of the land there was sorrow and anxiety. Fathers and mothers could scarce sleep for thinking that it might be the turn of their son or daughter to go to the head of the river and be cast into the cave of the monster serpents. Nowhere was there more unhappiness than in the family of the Khan, for he grieved for each lad or lass as if each were his own child. Seeing the care and sorrow in his father’s face, the Khan’s son, whose name, by the way, was Schalu, thought long and earnestly.

“Surely,” he kept repeating to himself, “there must be some way in which I can help my father and free my country from this great curse!” But no matter how hard he thought, no way presented itself to his mind. The fateful time drew ever nearer, and finally the very next day was the dreaded one on which the serpent-gods would send a messenger, demanding by name some girl or boy in the kingdom.

That night Schalu could not sleep for thinking of the tragedy of the morrow. “Suppose I were the one,” he thought. “Of course they would not really dare to ask for the Khan’s son—but just suppose—” and then he pictured to himself the sorrow of his father and mother and his own horror at such a death. “And we are no different, really, from the others,” he said to himself. “The fathers and mothers among our subjects must suffer as keenly as their king and queen would, and as for the boys and girls—they are really just like me.” All at once Schalu sat up in bed and stared into the darkness; a great idea had entered his mind.

“I will go to these terrible serpent monsters myself!” he breathed excitedly. “I will offer myself to them—I, a Khan’s son—if they will give up their frightful practice hereafter!” There was little sleep for Schalu after he had made up his mind to this deed; all night long he lay wide awake, planning how he would plead and argue with the serpents for the lives of his people, and getting up his courage to meet his fate and die bravely, as befitted a prince.

Very early in the morning, before the sun was up, he arose, dressed himself and slipped quietly from the palace. He had not gone far before he was startled by hearing a step behind him, and turning around he saw Saran, a faithful friend, following him. Now Saran was a boy of his own age who had been brought up at the palace with him, as his servant and companion, and he and the Prince loved each other as brothers.

“O my master and friend!” said Saran, running up to Schalu. “Forgive me for having followed you! I have seen your trouble and anxiety these many days, and when you started forth alone this morning, my heart misgave me that some ill might befall you.”

At first the Prince was much annoyed that he should have been discovered, but as he looked at Saran, he suddenly felt relieved to have a friend near, and he opened his heart and told all his plan of self-sacrifice. He feared Saran would entreat him to give it up and go home, but his friend listened in silence to the end and then said:

“Schalu, your heart is noble, as a prince’s should be! I cannot urge you to give up a deed so truly glorious. Only I beg you—and I will not be denied—let me go with you and sacrifice myself also, for life without you would be worse than death, and mayhap if two of us give our lives, the serpents will be the more willing to leave our people in peace hereafter.”

The Prince tried to dissuade his friend but, seeing it was of no use, he soon stopped, and the two lads continued on their way together toward the head of the stream.

As they approached the cave where the serpents dwelt, they went slowly and softly, for they were minded, if possible, to get a good look at the monsters before they allowed themselves to be seen. Creeping up among the bushes by the side of the river they soon came to an opening through which they could peer, and there, seated on the bank, they saw the two horrible creatures. One was a long, thick, dragon-like being covered with scales of tarnished gold; the other was smaller and apparently younger, and the scales on its back were as green as emeralds. They had neither seen nor heard the two lads, and in a moment the golden one began to speak.

“It is strange, Brother,” said he, “that these people are so ignorant and so faithful.”

“They cannot very well help themselves, can they?” said the smaller, green one. “They know that if they fail in this sacrifice, we will dry up their stream, and then they will all perish.”

“True,” replied the other, “but after all, it would be so easy to kill us, you know, if they only knew how.”

“But have they not sent armed soldiers against us in times past?” said the green serpent, drawing himself up proudly; “and have we not routed them all and slain them?”

“Of course swords could not hurt us,” said the golden one contemptuously, “but if they only knew enough to come out against us with thick, oak staves! One well-aimed blow on the head from such a weapon would finish us. But, luckily, they don’t know that!”

“And are far too stupid ever to guess it, so we are perfectly safe,” added the green one.

“And then,” chuckled the big golden monster, writhing the folds of his long body comfortably about him. “To think what a man would gain by killing us! My head, cooked and eaten, would not only make a delicious meal, but it would give the eater power to pour forth gold from his mouth whenever he wanted to!”

“And if any one ate my head,” said the green one, also chuckling, “emeralds would come from his mouth whenever he so desired. Lucky the stupid mortals will never know!”

Schalu and his friend had heard enough. Trembling with excitement, they crept away from their hiding place, out of sound and sight of the serpents, and then fell to hugging each other for very joy of their discovery. They lost no time in making for themselves huge oak staves, and armed with these, they walked back to where the serpents still sat lazily talking together on the bank of the stream. With a shout, they leaped from the bushes upon the unsuspecting monsters and attacked them. The fight was short and sharp. The great creatures turned upon the two boys viciously and lunged at them with their hard, metallic heads, but the lads dodged skilfully and brought down blow after blow upon their enemies until at last they lay motionless and quite dead.

“Now,” said Prince Schalu, leaning on his staff and breathing hard, “we must build a fire and cook ourselves a meal, and if the serpent-gods spoke the truth, we shall then be rich for the rest of our lives.”

With their knives they cut off the heads of their dreaded enemies and, having built a fire of twigs, they cooked them well and then ate them. Schalu ate the golden head and declared it delicious, while Saran said that he had never tasted anything quite so good as the emerald-green head.

“Let us see,” said the Prince, when they had finished, “how well the charm works. I wish that my mouth would pour forth gold!” Scarcely had he finished speaking before a rain of bright gold coins fell from his lips, and the boys gathered them up in big handfuls and stowed them away in their pockets.

“Now let me try!” said Saran. “I wish that my mouth would pour forth emeralds!” Immediately emeralds pattered to the ground in great profusion.

“What fun!” said Saran, gathering them up. “Now let us hasten back to the palace and show your royal father all that we have accomplished!”

“No, don’t let us go home yet,” said the Prince. “One adventure is but a stepping-stone to another, and I am minded to travel a bit and see what fortune we may meet by the way. With this marvellous gift of gold and emeralds, we should surely come by some strange and interesting experiences.”

To this plan Saran readily agreed; the two set forth with merry hearts and, finding an unfamiliar road, followed it, they knew not whither. All day long they traveled, meeting many wayfarers, but finding nothing in the shape of an adventure. In the late afternoon they reached a palm grove whence came shouts and cries and signs of great commotion. Hurrying toward the scene of disturbance, they beheld half a dozen lusty boys fighting most brutally.

“Here, young fellows!” cried the Prince, “stop that at once and tell us what you are fighting about!” But the boys paid no heed to him at all.

“Stop!” cried Schalu again, shouting to make himself heard above the din. “Stop, and I will show you a marvel the like of which you have never seen!”

Hearing this, the boys ceased fighting on the instant, and all turned and stared at Schalu and Saran.

“Marvel, did you say?” exclaimed the leader scornfully. “You can’t show us a marvel greater than the one we have got right here!”

“Have you something wonderful, too?” asked the Prince. “Well, then, let us make a bargain; if my marvel is greater than yours, you shall give me yours, and if yours is greater than mine, I will give you each as much gold as two hands can carry.”

“Hurrah!” cried the boys, delighted. “Let us do it!” They all gathered around in a circle, while their leader picked up from the ground a torn and battered cap. “This,” said he, “is what we were fighting about, for each of us wants it for himself. This is a magic cap, and whoever puts it on remains invisible until he takes it off again. Show us a marvel equal to that, if you can!”

Softly uttering a wish for gold, the Prince opened his mouth and immediately a great rain of coins tumbled to the ground. The boys fell upon them greedily, shouting, snatching and fighting.

“Come,” said Schalu to his friend, “these boys are not worthy of owning such a treasure as the cap, and besides, my marvel is greater than theirs, so I am entitled to it.”

He caught up the ragged cap, put it on his head and grasped Saran’s hand. Straightway they both became invisible, and so passed through the midst of the fighting boys unnoticed and continued on their way.

“This is a prize well worth having!” said the Prince, after they had walked awhile and, taking the cap off, he hid it carefully in his bosom. “Now I wonder what our next adventure will be.”

They had not gone far before they came to a cross-roads where there was a great cloud of dust and, hearing shouts and angry words, they hastened to see what it all meant. In the midst of the dust were half a dozen ugly dwarfs, fighting furiously, screaming and cursing each other.

“You try your hand at this!” said Schalu to his friend. “This shall be your adventure.” So Saran stamped upon the ground and called out “Stop!” in a loud voice, but the dwarfs paid no attention to him at all. “Stop, I say!” he repeated louder than before. “I have a great marvel to show you!” At the word “marvel” the fighters ceased at once and stood staring at the two friends.

“Marvel, did you say?” exclaimed the leader. “Pooh! I don’t care how wonderful it is, it can’t be as great as ours!”

“What is yours?” said Saran. “If it is as interesting as mine, you shall each have as many emeralds as your two hands can carry.” At that all the dwarfs began to laugh scornfully.

“Show him! Show him!” they cried to their leader, “and then we will rob him of all his emeralds if, in truth, he has any.”

The leader turned and picked up a pair of old, shabby-looking boots. “These,” he said, “are magic, and if anybody puts even one of them on and makes a wish to be in any place under the sun, he will find himself there in the twinkling of an eye.”

“That is indeed wonderful!” said Saran, “and here is your pay, but, in sooth, you deserve neither boots nor emeralds!” Then, to the great astonishment of the little men, Saran, uttering a wish for emeralds, opened his mouth and poured them forth, a great stream of glorious green gems. With a shout the dwarfs snatched them up, pushing and tearing them from each other.

“Quick!” said Saran to the Prince. “Put on your cap and take my hand, so that they will not see us! We can make better use of the magic boots than these wicked dwarfs can.” So they each hastily slipped on a boot and, being invisible because of the magic cap, passed out from among the dwarfs before they had stopped fighting over the jewels.

“And now,” said Saran, “while we have on the boots, let us test their power by wishing to be somewhere.”

“Very well,” said Schalu, “I wish that we may be taken at once to a country that needs a king!”

Immediately the two friends felt themselves picked up and whizzed through the air with such speed that they could see nothing and feel nothing but the wind rushing by their ears. Then they were put down gently upon the ground and found themselves in a strange country.

Soon they saw a great procession of men, women and children advancing toward them, and at their head walked an old man with snowy beard and hair and clad in long white garments. The people came straight up to the Prince and Saran, and there halted, while the old man addressed them in eager, trembling tones.

“You are strangers,” said he, “and we are seeking strangers; I pray you, can you show us some magic sign whereby we may know that you are not as other mortals are?”

“Indeed,” said Prince Schalu, “we are no different from other men, but by great good fortune we have this day become possessed of several wonders.”

“Show us! Show us!” cried the crowd in great excitement.

“This,” continued Schalu, drawing the battered magic cap from his pocket, “has the power of making its wearer invisible.” He put it on, and the people cried out in wonder and anxiety, “Where are they? Where are they? They are gone! Find them! They are truly the ones!”

“No, we are still here,” said the Prince, removing the cap. “But why does it matter so much to you? And why are you so anxious to see our marvels?”

“Show us more! Show us more!” the crowd shouted, and the old man in white tried vainly to quiet them, for he was as much excited as they.

“These boots,” Schalu went on, pointing to the magic ones, “are also very wonderful, for they will bear us wheresoever we wish to be in the twinkling of an eye. It was by their means that we came here.”

“Don’t try them! We’ll believe you!” cried somebody, as if fearful of losing them, and the crowd surged eagerly forward again.

“And finally,” said Schalu, smiling at them and thoroughly enjoying their wonder, “my friend and I have a little trick which may interest you.” Opening their mouths, the two began to pour forth gold and emeralds and toss them in great handfuls among the crowd.

If they were excited before, the people now went mad with surprise and joy, and while they were grasping at the precious things, the old, white-haired man approached Schalu and said:

“O marvellous stranger, know that I am a magician, and by my art I learned that this land which has been without a king for many a long day would find a just, wise and righteous ruler in a wonder-working stranger whom we should meet traveling along this road to-day. Accept, then, our kingdom; come and rule over our people, and we will honor you as our Khan and your companion as Grand Vizier to the end of our days!”

The crowd had by this time grown silent, listening, and at the end of the speech they set up a shout that echoed to the very clouds. Seizing Schalu and Saran in their arms, they bore them with laughter and singing to the palace, where Schalu was crowned with all pomp and ceremony, and Saran was made his chief adviser. And so the two friends lived worthily and happily till the end of their days.

The tale being finished, the Siddhi-kur was silent.

“But what of the poor father and mother?” exclaimed the Prince impatiently. “Surely Schalu was a faithless son if he left his parents to die of grief for him!”

“Dear me, no! He didn’t do that!” said the Siddhi-kur, smiling. “He was no sooner made king than he journeyed back to visit his royal father and mother, and I leave you to imagine their joy and the happiness of the whole land when it became known that the prince and his faithful friend had not only returned in safety, but had delivered them from the curse of the serpent-gods and had won, besides, such glory and riches.

“But I fear me!” continued the Siddhi-kur, playfully poking the Khan’s son in the ribs, “that you will never attain glory and riches, unless you remember the words of Nagarguna and keep silent on your homeward way! Farewell—I am off to my mango tree, and it is good indeed to be free again!”

The Prince could scarcely keep back his tears of anger and vexation as he watched the Siddhi-kur skipping gayly off to the north.

“I will fetch you yet!” he cried, but the magic creature only turned and smiled at him indulgently.

“I would give it up, if I were you,” said he; “but if you really are determined to get me again, I’ve a nice story to tell you on the way back,—‘The Strange Adventure of Schalu’s Wife.’” With that he ran on and disappeared in the distance.

TALE SIX

THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF SCHALU’S WIFE

For several years Schalu reigned over his new-found kingdom, quietly, wisely and well, ably advised and assisted by his faithful friend, Saran. His people loved him, and there was happiness and prosperity throughout the land. One day a group of men stood without the council chamber and begged an audience with the Khan. Schalu graciously admitted them and asked what it was they desired.

“Sire,” said they, “we are come from the people to ask you a boon, not so much for ourselves as for your Majesty. These many years you have been with us, and yet you have not taken unto yourself a wife, and we wish mightily that you would wed some princess and so fill your home with happiness, and perchance give us a son to love and look to as our future ruler.”

This saying pleased the Khan, and he inquired about all the princesses in near-by kingdoms, declaring that he would set about at once choosing a royal wife. After that he spent many days visiting other countries and meeting princesses and great ladies from far and near; but not one of these lovely maidens entirely pleased him or made him feel that she alone out of all the world was the one for him. This damsel had a voice too sharp; that one’s temper was too quick; the other seemed cold and indifferent,—and so it was. Day after day the people expected tidings of a royal marriage, and day after day, with keen disappointment, they watched the Khan ride back to his palace alone and dejected.

At last, when Schalu was returning after another fruitless journey into a far land to visit a lady of great renown, he happened to pass a small house on the outskirts of his kingdom. And standing in the doorway was the most beautiful damsel his eyes had ever looked on. She was tall and slim, with long, black hair reaching almost to her ankles. Her eyes were big and black as midnight, and her lips were red. Moreover, there was a soft magic in her face, a something so lovely that the Khan stood spellbound, gazing at her in silence for a long time. Then, all at once, he realized that this cottage girl, in her simple work-a-day frock, was the one woman in all the world that he wanted for his wife. No more looking about for princesses and grand ladies! He had found what he longed for, and he would make this damsel his queen.

The matter was soon settled, for was not the Khan’s word law in the land? A great marriage feast was held in the palace, holidays were proclaimed throughout the land and there were revelry and mad rejoicing among all the people. If there were any to murmur against the lowliness of the new queen, their voices were quickly drowned by shouts of approval from those who had been fortunate enough to look at the beautiful face of the bride, and when the days of festivity were over, everybody settled down in peace and contentment, feeling that their Khan was at last to have a happy home life.

But it was far otherwise. Though Schalu loved his queen with all his heart, though he showered riches and treasures upon her, and though he racked his brain to find amusements and pleasures to make her happy, she only looked upon him coldly and strangely and grew ever paler, quieter and apparently more sorrowful every day. In vain the Khan besought her to tell him what he could do to please her and to win her love; in vain he tried to find out whether she had any secret cause of woe,—he could do nothing. And day by day he became more disappointed and unhappy. It grieved the courtiers and the people to see this, but above all it grieved Saran, his faithful friend, until at last he could stand it no longer and, going to Schalu, he said:

“My dear Master, my heart is nigh dead within me to see you, the best of men and of monarchs, so sorrowful. I pray you, let me advise you! It seems to me, Sire, that the queen must bear some hidden grief in her heart, else she would surely give you her love. Perhaps, if we could discover what her trouble is, we could cure it and make her the loving wife you so desire.”

“Saran, my friend,” said the Khan wearily, “have I not tried every means in my power to win the queen’s love and confidence—and all to no avail?”

“Then let me try,” said Saran eagerly, “for my heart tells me I shall succeed even where my royal master has failed.”

“Very well,” said Schalu, but he spoke without hope or interest.

From that moment, wearing the “invisible” cap, Saran watched the queen day and night, unknown to her. He neglected food and sleep that he might follow her continually, but she gave no hint at any time, by word, look or deed, of any hidden cause of sorrow. Saran was about to give up in despair when, one evening, he noticed a peculiar restlessness in the lady. She looked often at the sky, moved uneasily about the palace and seemed in an absent, dreamy state of mind. At last she retired to her own rooms, soon to emerge dressed in a long black mantle and hood which hid her face almost completely. Silently, and with many an uneasy look behind her, she made her way to a small, seldom used, back gate in the palace garden and thence out into the highroad. Once there, she vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and Saran, looking frantically in all directions, could find no trace of her. He dashed back into the palace, seized the magic boots from their hiding-place, tugged them on and muttered his wish:

“Take me wherever the queen is!”

For a moment the wind sang in his ears and the stars sped by him; then he found himself on earth again and walking in a beautiful, strange garden. Never had he smelled such fragrance or seen such profusion of flowers as these that were dimly visible in the moonlight! Paths led in many directions between rows of gorgeous bloom, and down one of them he could make out the faint outline of the queen in her long, black robe. He went on quickly and silently. She approached a palace which stood at the end of the garden, entered through a small gate, and hurried along a short, narrow passageway into an open court. Saran followed, still wearing the magic cap, and soon found himself in a brilliantly lighted room, rich beyond words and filled with a soft, smoky incense which rose in clouds from a brazier standing in a corner. So interested was he in looking about him that he quite forgot the queen for a moment and was astonished to see her step forth into the light, clad, not in her long, dark robe, but in flame-colored silk, embroidered with gold and precious stones. She approached the brazier and waved her arms slowly over it, muttering strange words in a hard, monotonous voice. Scarcely had she ceased speaking and dropped her hands to her side when in through the window flew a bird of gorgeous plumage. It darted three times through the smoke of the incense and then disappeared in a flash of light, and in its place appeared a tall, handsome man, dressed in rich garments like a prince. He looked angrily at the queen, who still stood gazing at the brazier, nor did she even glance at him as he said:

“Have you done as I bade you?”

She shook her head.

“What?” said he, stamping his foot. “After all my careful teaching, does the Khan still keep his natural form and the power of pouring gold from his mouth? Have I not given you fame and wealth and taught you magic only upon condition that you would destroy your husband?”

The unhappy queen covered her face with her hands. “I cannot do it!” she whispered. “Transform the Khan into a dog and take from him all his magic powers! I cannot, cannot do it!”

“And why not, pray?” asked the strange man with a mocking laugh. “You do not love the Khan! I have, by my magic, made that impossible.”

Saran, watching and listening from a near corner, let slip an exclamation of wonder. “So that is it!” he thought. “She is kept from loving her husband by wicked magic!”

Both the queen and the stranger started at the sound, but on looking around, could see nothing, for Saran, of course, still wore his “invisible” cap.

“Enough of this!” cried the man at length, after he had waited in vain for the queen to answer his question. “To-morrow I will take matters into my own hands. In the form of a snake I will seek the Khan and cast a spell upon him. Thereafter he will be completely in my power.”

The queen turned toward him imploringly, but like a flash he had changed himself into a bird again and was gone through the open window.

Slowly and sorrowfully the queen turned away from the glowing brazier, caught up her black robe and put it over her shoulders. As Saran followed her out to the beautiful garden, he could hear her softly crying, and his heart grew big with pity for her and anger at the strange man whom he now knew to be a wicked demon.

The next day Saran ordered a great fire to be built in the council hall, and he bade Schalu and his queen sit before it. While they were so doing, into the hall crept a great ugly serpent, green and slimy and loathsome to look on. He raised his head high and fastened his evil eyes upon Schalu, and the Khan became white and motionless and looked like one dead. The snake swayed to and fro, muttering strange words, but before his spell was ended, Saran had fallen upon him and was beating his head with a huge staff. Then the serpent turned and attacked Saran, and mightily they fought together at the edge of the great fire. Sometimes Saran would nigh fall into the flames, and sometimes the wicked demon, and great was the noise of their cries and shouting. At last the great serpent made a sudden, unexpected turn, glided under Saran’s arm and plunged at Schalu. In one breathless moment he would have reached him, but with a cry the queen jumped forward, cast her arms around the snake’s hideous green neck and flung him from her into the fire. A great smoke arose, and with a scream an ugly demon leaped from the midst of the flames and flew out through the window, leaving his snake form behind him, smoldering in the ashes!

“My!” exclaimed the Prince, standing still in excitement. “How thrilling! And did Schalu recover from his spell, and did the brave queen love him after that?”

“Yes, indeed!” said the Siddhi-kur with a little laugh. “The wicked demon lost all his power over the queen after that and never troubled her or her husband again. And she proved to be a most loving and dutiful wife, and they all lived happily together for the rest of their days.”

“Saran should have had a lovely wife, too,” said the Prince thoughtfully, beginning to move on again.

“Wait a bit, my friend,” said the Siddhi-kur, “you may add to the story as you wish, by yourself, as you journey onward! As for me, I am off for the cool grove beside the garden of ghost children, for you have broken silence again on your way home, and I am free once more!”

With a shout of joy he leaped from the magic sack and dashed off toward the north, where his mango tree stood awaiting him.

The Prince sighed wearily. “Oh, how stupid I am!” said he. “But I will get the Siddhi-kur even yet, and carry him to my master, Nagarguna, if I have to spend the rest of my life in doing it!”

And so it came about that in a few days the Khan’s son was again journeying back toward the cave of Nagarguna bearing upon his back the Siddhi-kur.

“Friend,” said that creature of magic, at length. “I have just bethought me of a marvellous tale which I am minded to tell you. You may listen or not, as you wish; for me, at least, it will make the way and the hours seem shorter. The name of this story is ‘The Fortunes of Shrikantha.’”

TALE SEVEN

THE FORTUNES OF SHRIKANTHA

There was once a lad, the son of a Brahman, who was neither very poor nor very rich, very good nor very bad, very wise nor very foolish, but who had the kindest heart in all the world. His name was Shrikantha, and he lived long ago in India. When he was old enough to do as he liked, he sold all that he had and bought three pieces of cloth goods, very fine and handsome, and with these he was minded to trade and make his fortune. He bade his parents good-by and started forth to journey to a near-by city where he thought he might trade to the best advantage.

He had not gone far before he came upon a band of cruel boys who were tormenting a little mouse.

“Stop!” said Shrikantha, in anger. “The mouse is suffering and will die! Have you no pity in your hearts?” But the boys only laughed at him and continued their wicked play. So, seeing that words were useless, Shrikantha bargained with them, and they finally agreed to set the mouse free in return for one of his three handsome pieces of cloth. After he had seen the little creature scamper safely away, Shrikantha sighed and continued his journey, the poorer by one third of his possessions, but with a satisfied heart.

A little farther on, what should he see but another group of boys ill treating an ape and laughing to see the poor thing suffer. Shrikantha tried to hurry by without noticing it, but he could not endure to see pain and do nothing to relieve it, so in a moment he stopped and tried by reasoning with the boys to make them cease their cruelty. As in the first case, he found his words were all in vain, and only by giving up his second piece of goods could he buy relief and freedom for the ape. And now he felt poor indeed, having nothing left in the world save one handsome bit of cloth.

“Never mind,” said he to himself reassuringly, “even with this, if I bargain shrewdly, I may trade and make my fortune. At any rate, the look of gratitude that poor ape gave me was worth much more than a paltry piece of merchandise.” So he went on with a light step and a merry heart, but, to his dismay, he soon heard again a cry of pain and saw yet another group of boys gathered around a young bear and cruelly abusing it.

“Alas!” thought Shrikantha. “This time I must harden my heart and pass by, for well I know words will do no good, and I cannot give away my last possession!” He quickened his step and tried to think of something else as he hurried by, but at that moment the poor little bear cried out so piteously that he could not endure it. Turning about, he hastened to where the unkind lads were standing and spoke long and earnestly with them. But, as it had been in the two other cases, so it was now; Shrikantha argued in vain and finally had to offer his last treasure that the bear might go free. Then he started forth again empty-handed.

“I might as well go back to my father,” he thought, “yet not so—he will but chide me for foolish kindness of heart! I will continue on my way, for surely Dame Fortune will repay me for what I have lost in so good a cause!” Fortune, however, was minded to do otherwise.

Now the road to the city led Shrikantha directly by the palace of the Khan, and just as he was passing the great gate, he heard shouts and confusion within and immediately a man dashed out.

“Run! Run for your life!” he cried, as he rushed past, and Shrikantha, without stopping to think, did as he was told.

He heard the roar of many voices and the running steps of many feet behind him, and so he ran faster than ever. On and on he sped, but his pursuers slowly gained on him until he could hear their cries and curses, and even feel the panting breath of the foremost ones.

“Stop, thief!” they cried. “Stop the wicked thief! He has stolen the Khan’s jewels!”

Hearing this, Shrikantha grew more alarmed and, instead of stopping at once to reason with the men that it was not he who had stolen the jewels, but doubtless the man ahead of him, he foolishly ran on faster than ever. At last his breath gave out completely, his knees seemed to break beneath him and he fell, panting and sobbing, to the ground. In a moment his pursuers were upon him and were binding him with a tight cord, kicking and abusing him between their gasping breaths. In vain did he try now to explain himself; he was too breathless to complete a single sentence, and they were too angry and too sure of their prey to listen. He was taken at once to the Khan’s court, and though of course no jewels were found on him, and though he pleaded his innocence with tears and prayers, he was condemned to die a horrible death. On the morrow, two strong, cruel men threw him into a great wooden chest, sealed the lid of it tight and cast it into the river.

Poor Shrikantha felt the lapping of the water against his air-tight box and gave himself up as one already killed by cruel fate. But Fate thought otherwise!

In a short time the great chest, bumping along with the current of the river, caught against some rocks on an island and there stuck fast. And who should be on that very spot but the little mouse whom Shrikantha had saved from the abuse of the cruel boys. Seeing the big, ungainly box come a-shore on her island, the mouse investigated the matter and soon discovered that her friend and rescuer was shut up within.

“Have courage!” she squeaked to him, through the cracks of the chest, and immediately she began to gnaw at a corner of it. When she had eaten out a hole in the wood large enough to admit some air to Shrikantha, who was already almost suffocated, she hurried off to find the ape and the bear. They soon returned with her, declaring they were only too glad to help. Together they dragged the chest a-shore, broke it open and set Shrikantha free. Then, for many days the three faithful creatures supplied the lad with nuts and fruits so that he suffered not at all for lack of food and drink.

One day the mouse came to Shrikantha, bearing in her mouth a small, blue stone.

“Take this, Master,” said she, laying it in his hand. “It is a talisman, my dearest possession, and I give it to you in gratitude for what you did once upon a time for me. Take it and breathe a wish upon it, and you shall have your heart’s desire.”

Shrikantha looked at the little blue stone in wonder and, thinking that he would merely test its power, wished himself away from the island. No sooner thought than the island vanished beneath him, and he found himself in a meadow on the mainland. He was surprised and delighted beyond words, and he looked at the blue stone again and wished eagerly for a palace set in the midst of a beautiful park, with rare trees, birds and flowers about it and every luxury and comfort within. He closed his eyes and, opening them again in a moment, beheld a lovely garden where the meadow had been, a gorgeous palace in the distance, and all exactly as he had wished to have it, only more beautiful and wonderful than he had dared to think. With the greatest joy he walked about his park and into his palace, finding there room after room richly furnished, servants bowing before him at every turn and costly possessions strewn about in profusion. Truly, he thought to himself, a Khan might now envy him his wealth!

“But I must have my faithful friends here to enjoy all this good fortune with me!” said he to himself at length. So he wished for the mouse, the ape and the bear, and instantly they stood before him.

And now Shrikantha lived in luxury and happiness for some time, and it seemed as if he might continue to live so until the end of his days. But Fate planned otherwise. There came to the palace one day a caravan of wicked, thieving merchants, and the chief among them made friends with Shrikantha and in an evil moment persuaded him to tell the secret of his good fortune.

“Alas!” said the merchant, when Shrikantha had told him all and shown him the precious blue talisman. “How lucky some men are, how unlucky others! Here are you, scarcely more than a lad; you have never worked or traded or done anything whereby a man earns wealth, and yet you are loaded with every blessing, while I, who have toiled hard and honestly my whole life through, have nothing—nothing in all the world but a handful of cheap goods which I must bargain hard to trade off for the bare necessities of my miserable existence!” And with that he sighed so wretchedly that Shrikantha’s tender heart melted within him.

“If only—” said the wicked merchant, “but I must not suggest such a thing!”

“Suggest what?” asked Shrikantha, full of sympathy.

“If only,” continued the other, “if only in the kindness of your heart, you would lend me your talisman for one moment, I could wish myself a comfortable little home, and peace and quiet for the rest of my days! You would be none the poorer; indeed, you would be richer for the prayers and blessings of a happy man!”

It was such a simple way in which to help the poor fellow that Shrikantha did not hesitate an instant, but put the magic blue stone trustingly into his hands. With a scornful laugh, the wicked merchant shouted his wish aloud:

“I want all the possessions Shrikantha has, and I desire him to return to the place and state in which he was when this talisman was given to him!”

In a flash, Shrikantha found himself again on the island in the river, with not a sign of all his former wealth and glory about him. He sat down on the ground and beat his forehead with his hands.

“What a miserable fool I have been!” said he to himself, over and over again.

“Yes, you have been foolish, Master!” said a squeaky little voice in his ear, “but truly in kindness have you been so.” Looking around, Shrikantha saw his friend, the little mouse.

“Of what avail is it that my heart is kind, if by that very kindness I lose everything I have in the world?” said he with a sigh, refusing to be comforted.

“You have not lost everything,” corrected the mouse, “you still have three faithful friends who were won to you forever by that same kind heart of yours.”

And without another word the little creature disappeared, leaving Shrikantha still lamenting on the ground.

It were too long a tale to tell how the three animal friends met and planned together, how they went at night to the palace of the wicked merchant, crept to his room, and how the ape and the bear waited breathlessly outside while the mouse climbed through the keyhole and stole the talisman from the breast of the sleeping man. They had little trouble in passing the many guards, who were on the lookout for men, not animals, to steal their master’s treasure. When they reached the river, however, in sight of Shrikantha himself, a sorry adventure befell them. The bear was the only one of the three who could swim, and so, in order to cross the water, the ape got upon the bear’s back, put the mouse upon his shoulder and the talisman in his mouth. Thus, with this precious, heavy load on his back, the bear started bravely on his long swim across to the island. In the very middle of the stream, a fish passed within a few feet of his nose, and he, foolish creature, made a dive for it. The ape lost his balance and cried out in fright, letting the blue talisman slip from his mouth into the water. Down it sank into the muddy depths, and the three friends, in dismay, watched it disappear.

“Alack-a-day!” wailed the little mouse. “We have spent all our time and labor for nothing, and our poor friend on the island will surely die of hunger and despair! What shall we do? Whatever shall we do?”

The bear turned and swam back to the mainland, and there the three sat down disconsolately on the shore.

“What a fool you were to jump at that fish!” said the ape to the bear crossly.

“What a fool you were not to keep your mouth shut, when you had such a treasure inside it!” growled the bear.

“Now don’t waste time blaming each other!” counselled the mouse. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was; the talisman is gone, and we must get it again; that is the thing to think about.”

“Get it again!” the bear was crosser than ever. “I’d like to know how that can be done! It has gone to the bottom of the river, thanks to the carelessness of the ape, and we can never recover it. Let us go to our homes; we have done enough for the man already to more than pay for his kindness to us.”

“Yes, let us go home,” agreed the ape. “There is no use trying to do anything if the bear has to chase every fish he meets, regardless of the importance of his mission. And we have done enough for the man as it is.”

“Don’t, don’t talk like that!” cried the little mouse. “You both know as well as I that we can never repay the man’s kindness to us! Come, let us plan! There must be a way!” She walked up and down the shore, thinking. “I have it!” she cried at last.

“What?” said both the others, interested in spite of themselves.

“You watch me and do just as I tell you,” said she, and began crying in a loud voice and running to and fro upon the river bank.