The White Elephant, and Other Tales From India

THE BEAR’S BAD BARGAIN

Once upon a time there lived an old woodman and his wife in a tiny little hut near the edge of the forest. Now, a very rich man had his orchard near their home—so close, in fact, that the boughs of a big pear-tree hung right over their yard. The rich man was a generous neighbor, and he agreed to give the poor man and his wife the fruit that fell into their garden. So the old woodman and his wife watched with hungry eyes as the pears ripened in the sunshine.

“How I wish that a wind-storm would come and let those pears drop on our side of the fence,” said the old woman.

“Yes,” agreed the old man; “I wish that I dared to shake the tree a little and make some of the fruit fall this way, but our neighbor might see it, and then he would be angry and not give us any of them.”

Every day, the old woman grumbled more and more, because the pears did not drop on their side of the fence.

“I declare, we shall be beggars,” she groaned; and she insisted that her husband work harder and harder each day, while she would give him nothing to eat but a dry crust of bread.

The poor man grew thinner and thinner while he waited for the pears to ripen and fall into their yard; and every day he worked harder and harder, but he could not please his grumbling old wife. At last he turned around on her and, in great anger, said, “Wife, I will not do any more work unless you make some khichri for my dinner.”

“Khichri!” shrieked the wife; “khichri! Indeed I will not. Do you not know that khichri takes rice and pulse and butter and spices? Do you think that I am going to use all we have in the house on one meal for you?”

“Yes,” said the old man, “that is why I demand khichri. You have starved me quite long enough and now I will have the best dish you can make me.”

The cross old woman took the things out of the closet and began to cook a savory khichri. It smelt so good that the old man could hardly wait for it.

“Let me have a taste?” he begged.

“No, no,” scolded his wife, “you cannot have even a taste of it until you have brought me in another load of wood, and mind that it is a big one. You will have to work for your khichri.”

The old woodman took his axe and went out to the forest and began to hew and hack the trees with all his strength and soon he had a large load of wood.

Chop! chop! chop! At every blow of his axe he would think of the savory khichri he would soon enjoy.

Suddenly a big black bear came lumbering along through the forest with his long black nose tilted in the air and his little keen eyes peering all about him, for bears are always curious.

“Grr-rr-Grr-rr! Good-day to you, my friend,” growled the bear. “And may I ask what you are doing with that large bundle of wood?”

“I cut it for my wife,” answered the woodman. “You see, she would not cook me any dinner unless I brought her the wood. Today she has made me khichri for dinner and I know that when she sees this large load of wood, she will give me a generous portion. Oh, just smell that khichri; it is delicious!”

This made the bear very hungry and so he growled, “Do you think that your wife would give me some khichri, if I brought her some wood?”

“Maybe she might, if you brought her a very large load,” answered the man.

After a long discussion, the bear agreed to bring in half a cord of wood, if the man would save him some of the khichri.

“Half a cord is a very large load of wood,” grumbled the bear.

“But there is saffron and rice and pulse and butter in the khichri. It is a very expensive dish,” said the woodman.

The bear licked his chops at this and his bright little eyes gleamed with greed.

“It is a bargain,” he cried. “I will bring you half a cord of wood, so go home and tell your wife to keep the khichri hot, for I shall be with you soon.”

The woodman went home and told his wife about his bargain with the bear. “Half a cord of wood is good pay for a share of our dinner,” said the man.

Now the wife knew that her husband had made a good bargain with the bear, but she always found fault and grumbled about everything, so she began to scold the old man.

“You should have made a better bargain with the bear. Bears are always greedy,” she stormed. “You know that he will gobble up all the khichri, before we have had a mouthful.”

When the woodman heard this he grew quite pale. “Don’t you think that we had better begin now and have a fair start before the bear comes?” he asked.

So they squatted down upon the floor mat with the big brass pot of khichri placed between and began to eat and eat as fast as they could.

“Yum-mm, Yum-mm, YUMM, this khichri is good!” mumbled the man as he crammed his mouth full. “But we must remember to leave some for the bear, wife!”

“Yes, certainly, certainly!” replied the woman, helping herself to more. “We must leave some for that poor hungry bear!”

But they went right on eating and eating until there was not a single mouthful left in the pot.

“What shall we do now, when the bear comes?” cried the woodman. “It is all your fault, wife, for suggesting that the bear would eat it all.”

“My fault! my fault, indeed!” shrieked the wife. “You suggested that we begin to eat before the bear came in, and you ate twice as much as I did!”

“No, I did not!”

“Yes, you did so, and you know it!”

“Well, there is no good in quarrelling about it now,” said the woodman. “The bear will be here in a few moments and he will be furious when he finds the khichri all gone. He is very large and very hungry and he may eat us when he finds that we have gone back on our word.”

“Nonsense!” said the woman. “What a coward you are! All you think about is saving yourself! I do not care whether he is angry or not. I want to get that wood from him.”

“He will never give it to you, when he finds no dinner,” said the man. “Of course not, you stupid,” scolded the woman, “but I have thought of a plan. We must lock up everything in the house and leave the khichri pot by the fire, to look as though we were keeping it hot for him and then we must hide in the garret. When the bear comes and does not see us, he will think that we have gone out and left his dinner for him; then he will throw down his wood and come in. When he finds that the pot is empty, he will rampage about a little, but he cannot do very much damage. He will never bother to carry all that wood away again, for bears are as lazy as they are greedy.”

Now all this time the bear had been working hard in the forest and it took him much longer than he had expected to gather all that wood. However, at last he dragged half a cord of wood to the house of the old woodman. Seeing the brass khichri pot standing by the fire, he threw down his pile of wood and went at once for his dinner. And then when he saw that there was not even a grain of rice left in the pot, Me-oh-my! wasn’t he angry? He growled and he roared and he poked his head ’way down into the pot and licked the sides of it. But not even a tiny bit of pulse could he taste, though all the time he could smell how savory that khichri had been.

He sat on the floor and cried in his rage and disappointment, “Grr-rr! Grr! Grr-rr-rr! That is a fine way to keep a promise! Well, since you have eaten all the khichri, I will find something else to eat!” Then he upset everything in the house, but no food could he find.

“Grr! Grr-rr! Grr-rr!” growled the bear. “I will take all of this wood back to the forest again. They broke their bargain with me and they shall not have one of my sticks to burn.”

But just as the old woman had expected he was much too lazy to carry the heavy load back to the forest, even for revenge.

“I will not go away empty-handed,” he growled. “If they would not save me a taste, I can at least get the smell!” And he carried the brass pot away with him.

Now, as the bear left the cottage, he saw the beautiful golden pears hanging from the tree. These were the first pears of the season, and they looked very good to him. So he climbed up into the tree and began to eat the biggest, ripest pear that he could find. My! but it was good! The bear was so hungry, after his hard work in the forest, that he licked his chops and smacked his lips as he munched the pear. And then he thought of a plan.

“I shall take these pears home with me and sell them to the other bears in the forest and with the money I can buy all the khichri that I can eat! Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the bear. “I shall have the best of the bargain after all! I will fool that old woodman and his wife, and they will not have even so much as a taste of one.”

Then the bear began to gather the ripe pears as fast as he could and put them into the big brass pot, but whenever he came to an unripe pear he would shake his head and say, “No one will buy this green one, yet it is a shame to waste it.” So he would pop the green pear into his own mouth and gobble it up, though he made wry faces as he ate.

Now all this time, the woodman and his wife had been hiding in the garret and the woodman’s wife was peeking through a little crevice watching the bear. When she saw how furious he was, she held her breath for fear he would discover them. When he climbed the tree and was eating the pears, she was angry at losing their share of the fruit, but she was too terrified to call out. At last from the excitement and the dust in her hiding place, she could hold in no longer, and just when the bear had filled the pot with ripe golden pears, out she came with a most tremendous sneeze: “A-h Che-u! Che-uu-uu!”

The bear was startled by this sound—so much like the explosion of a gun—and off he lumbered into the forest, dropping the khichri pot in the yard as he ran.

Now, as the pot had dropped into their yard, the woodman and his wife got all the pears, as well as the khichri they had eaten, and half a cord of wood, while the poor bear got nothing but a very bad stomachache from eating unripe fruit. So that was the end of the bear’s bad bargain.

THE MAN WHO RODE A TIGER

Once upon a time, in a terrible thunderstorm, a big Tiger crept for shelter close to the wall of an old woman’s hut. Now, this old woman was very poor. Her hut was a tumbledown old place, and the rain leaked through the holes in her roof.

“Drip-drip-drip,” fell the rain, and the poor old woman tried to drag her furniture away from the holes in the roof.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she moaned. “What an awful storm! I’m sure I would not be nearly as afraid of a big tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, as I am of this perpetual dripping—dripping.” And she dragged her bed across the room to get it away from the dripping water.

The Tiger, crouching against the house, heard every word. “This perpetual dripping that frightens her more than a tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, must be very terrible,” he said. “What can this perpetual dripping be?”

And, then, as he heard her dragging the things about in the house, he said, “My, what a horrible noise! Surely that noise must be perpetual dripping.”

Now, at this moment, a Chattee-maker (potter) came down the road. The night was very cold. His donkey had strayed away, and the poor old man was so bewildered that he could not find the donkey. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and the man saw a large beast lying by the wall of the old woman’s hut.

Mistaking the beast for his donkey, the Chattee-maker rushed at the Tiger, seized it by the ear and commenced beating and abusing it with all his might.

“You wretched old donkey, you, to run away and leave me to look for you in this frightful storm! Get up and carry me home, or I’ll break every bone in your lazy old body!” He kicked the poor beast and pounded him.

The Tiger did not know what to make of it. He was very much frightened. “This must be ‘Perpetual Dripping,’” he said to himself. “No wonder the old woman said she was more afraid of it than of a tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, for it gives so many hard blows.”

As soon as the poor Tiger got up, the Chattee-maker climbed on his back and forced the Tiger to carry him home. All the way he kicked and beat the Tiger, thinking it was his donkey. When he got home, the Chattee-maker tied the Tiger securely to the hitching-post in front of the house, and went in to bed.

Next morning, when the Chattee-maker’s wife got up and looked out of her window, she beheld a great Tiger tied up in front of the house. The Tiger looked as frightened and as meek as a lamb.

“Husband! Husband!” she called, loudly. “Wake up! Wake up! Do you know what animal you brought home, last night?”

“Why, yes—my donkey, to be sure,” he answered. “The donkey ran away from me, but I caught him just the same, and made him bring me home.”

“Come and see for yourself,” said his wife.

Here was the great Tiger tied to the post.

“Where is my donkey, then?” asked the man. “I rode him home, last night, and tied him to the post, myself.”

“No, you must have ridden on that Tiger,” said his wife.

Soon the news spread all over the village that the Chattee-maker had captured a great Tiger and had ridden home on his back, and that he had tied him to his hitching-post and trained him to be as meek as a lamb.

The report was even carried to the Rajah of the country, and he came, with his lords and attendants, to see this astonishing sight.

Now the Tiger was a very large one and had long been the terror of the whole country, and the Rajah was so pleased to have this terrible Tiger captured that he conferred all possible honor on the valiant Chattee-maker.

“You are a very brave man, my friend,” said the Rajah. “I will give you a new house and lands. You shall be a lord in my court and you shall be commander of a thousand horsemen.”

So the Chattee-maker gave up making pots and clay earthenware and he and his wife lived in the beautiful house given him by the Rajah, and they wore gorgeous raiment. And the Chattee-maker did, indeed, look like a lord of the court.

Wherever he went, people pointed him out and said, “There is the brave man who captured a hungry tiger and rode on his back.”

Now, not long after this, a Rajah from a neighboring country sent word that he was bringing a mighty army to wage war. When the people heard this, they were terrified; all the generals came to the Rajah and said, “We are not prepared for war! Who will be the Chief Commander?”

Then some of the people said, “You have just given the Chattee-maker command over a thousand horsemen. He is a brave and fearless man. Why do you not put him in command of your army?”

“That is a very good idea,” answered the Rajah. “I will make him Commander-in-Chief.”

So he sent for the valiant Chattee-maker. Said he, “My generals are afraid to take command for they say we are not prepared for war, but I know that you are brave and fearless, and into your hands I will place all the power in my kingdom. You must put our enemies to flight.”

“It shall be as you command,” said the Chattee-maker. “But before I lead the whole army, let me go out alone and find out something about the strength of the enemy, and examine their position.”

The Rajah consented to this and the Chattee-maker went home to his wife. “Oh, wife, wife, what shall I do?” he asked, in fright. “They have made me their Commander-in-Chief! It is a very hard place for me to fill. I shall have to ride at the head of my troops, and you know that I was never on a horse in my life. So I have asked the Rajah to let me go out alone first. We shall get a very quiet pony and I shall ride out before anyone sees me.”

But, early the next day, before the Chattee-maker had time to start, the Rajah sent to him a very spirited horse, all saddled and bridled, and requested that the Chattee-maker ride that horse out to meet the enemy.

The poor Chattee-maker was terrified, for the horse was a powerful animal that pranced about, champing his bit and rolling his eyes, and the Chattee-maker was sure that, if he ever mounted upon that horse, he would soon fall off. But he did not dare to refuse the horse sent by the Rajah. So he bowed politely to the messengers and said, “Tell the Rajah I am deeply grateful for his gift.”

But, when the messengers were gone, he said to his wife, “Oh, oh, what am I to do? How can I ever ride on this terrible horse?”

“Now, do not be so frightened,” said his wife. “I will tie you on the back of the big horse and, if you start at night, no one will see that you are tied on.”

That night his wife held the horse while her husband jumped and jumped, trying to get up into the saddle. At last, after many trials, he succeeded in getting on. He was so frightened that he called loudly to his wife, “Oh, wife, wife, hurry, hurry!”

So she wound him all about with strong ropes and tied his feet firmly in the stirrups, and she put one rope around his neck and shoulders and around his waist, and fastened them to the saddle.

“Wife, wife,” he screamed. “You forgot to tie my hands.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “It is better for you to have your hands free. Hold on by the mane!”

So he caught the horse’s mane as firmly as he could, and away and away went the horse, carrying the poor frightened Chattee-maker. Faster and faster, over hedges and rivers and ditches and plains, he galloped, and galloped, until they came in sight of the enemy’s camp.

When the poor old Chattee-maker saw the horse carrying him towards the enemy, he was more frightened than ever.

He made one last effort to save himself and, as the horse darted under a young banyan tree, he stretched out his hand and seized the tree with all his might, hoping that his ropes would break and the tree would pull him down from the horse. But the banyan tree was in very loose soil and the horse was plunging at such terrific speed that, when the Chattee-maker caught hold, up came the tree by the roots, and the Chattee-maker rode on, waving the banyan tree over his head and shrieking and screaming in his fright.

Now the soldiers of the enemy had heard that an army was coming out against them and when they saw the Chattee-maker they were sure he was the leader of a vanguard.

“Look! Look!” they cried in terror. “Here comes a man of gigantic stature, riding on a mighty horse! He rides at full speed over rocks and ditches and tears up the trees in his rage!”

And running to the Rajah, they cried out in fright, “Here comes the whole force of the enemy! Men of gigantic stature, mounted on mighty horses. As they gallop along, they tear up trees in their rage and brandish them about as war-clubs. We can fight men, but we cannot fight monsters!”

Now, the Chattee-maker was coming nearer and nearer and shrieking louder and louder in his terror, as he waved the tree wildly about his head and the horse plunged on.

So others rushed to the Rajah and said, “It is true! It is true! See, they are coming! Look, look! Let us fly for our lives!”

Then the whole panic-stricken crowd fled from their camp, for no one wanted to meet such an enemy. But, first, they made the Rajah write a note, begging for peace.

Soon after the enemy had fled from the camp, the horse carrying the Chattee-maker came galloping into it. As he reached the camp, the ropes broke and the Chattee-maker tumbled to the ground and the horse, worn out from his long run, stood still.

The Chattee-maker looked all about and was greatly surprised to find the whole camp deserted. In the tent of the Rajah he found the letter, and took it back home with him. He was afraid to mount the horse again, so he walked all the long journey back, leading his tired horse.

He did not get home until late that night, but his wife saw him coming, and ran out to meet him.

“Why, what is the matter, my good man?” she asked.

“Oh, wife! wife!” he groaned, “I am so weary! Every bone in my body aches. I have ridden all over the world since last night and I have had to walk all the way back today, and I am so tired and hungry. When I came to the camp of the enemy, no one was there, but I found this letter.” Then he told his wife the whole story of his wild ride.

“We must send a messenger to the Rajah with this letter and tell him that you will come in the morning and report for yourself,” she said. “We must send the horse, also, for I know that you never want to ride him again.”

So his good wife sent the horse and the letter to the Rajah, with the message that her husband would surely come, in the early morning.

And the next day, when the people saw the Chattee-maker walking to the royal palace, they said, “Why, this man is as modest as he is brave. He went out all alone, and put our enemy to flight, and now he walks simply to the door of the Rajah as though he had no pride.”

The Rajah came to the palace door to greet the Chattee-maker and, when the Chattee-maker bowed down before the Rajah, the Rajah lifted him to his feet and gave him every honor.

“You have saved our lives and shall be set over all the kingdom,” said the Rajah. “You shall be next to me in authority, for you are as modest and as humble as you are brave.”

So the Chattee-maker was rewarded for all that he had done by having twice as much rank and wealth given him.

But the Chattee-maker never would ride on a horse. He had his own beautiful coach in which to ride and he was often carried about on a litter so that no one ever knew that he was not a bold and brave rider. Had he not ridden on a tiger and had he not routed an army by rushing at them and pulling up trees to frighten them away? Yes, indeed, the people were all very proud of the valiant Chattee-maker, and he lived very happily, all the rest of his life.

Volland Fairy Stories

AMERICAN INDIAN FAIRY TALES

by W. J. Larned

illustrated by John Rae

DEENIE FOLKS and FRIENDS of THEIRS

by Jo McMahon

illustrated by John Gee

FAIRY TALES from FRANCE

by W. J. Larned

illustrated by John Rae

THE LADDER of RICKETY RUNGS

by J. C. O’Donnell

illustrated by Janet Laura Scott

LITTLE PEACHLING

by Georgene Faulkner

illustrated by Frederick Richardson

REYNARD THE FOX and OTHER FABLES

by W. J. Larned

illustrated by John Rae

Transcriber’s Notes

• Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
• Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
• In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)