The Kherohuri Raja had five sons, and he made up his mind that he would only marry them to five sisters. So he sent out Brahmans and Jugis to search the world to find a Raja with five unmarried daughters. And at the same time the Chandmuni Raja had five marriagable daughters, and he made up his mind that he would marry them to five brothers; he did not care what their rank in life was, but he was determined to find a family of five brothers to marry his daughters. And he also told all the Brahmans and Jugis who wandered about begging, to look out for a family of five unmarried brothers.
One day it chanced that the emissaries of the Kherohuri Raja and those of the Chandmuni Raja met at a river; both parties were resting after taking their midday meal and as they smoked they fell into conversation, and soon found that their meeting was most fortunate; each party had found the Tery thing they wanted, so they all set off to the palace of the Kherohuri Raja in order that the Chandmuni Raja’s messengers might see the young men.
The Kherohuri Raja ordered them to be hospitably entertained and food to be set before them; they however refused to eat anything till they had seen the five bridegrooms. The five young men were then introduced and as they appeared to be sound in wind and limb and in all respects satisfactory, there was no further obstacle to the entertainment. The next day the Kherohuri Raja sent out officials to visit and inspect the daughters of the Chandmuni Raja, and as their report was satisfactory, nothing remained but to fix the day for the wedding.
When the time came for the bridegrooms and their retinue to set off to the country of the Chandmuni Raja, they and their servants and followers all started, so that no one was left at home but their mother. After they had gone a little way the eldest prince stopped them and said that they could not leave their mother all alone, what would she do supposing some sudden danger arose? The others agreed that this was so, but the difficulty was to decide who should stay; not one of the other brothers would consent to do so. So at last the eldest brother said that he would stay, and he gave them his shield and sword and told them to perform his marriage for him by putting the vermilion on the bride’s forehead with his sword.
When they reached the home of the Chandmuni Raja they proceeded at once to perform the vermilion ceremony, beginning with the eldest daughter; but when the sword was produced and she was told that she must go through the ceremony with the sword, as her bridegroom had not come, she began to cry and make a great to-do. Nothing would induce her to consent. “Why was her husband the only one who had not come in person? he must be blind or lame or married;” this resistance put all the others into a difficulty, for the younger sisters could not be married before the elder. At last after much talking her father and mother persuaded the eldest daughter to go through the ceremony; the women put vermilion on the sword and with the sword the mark was made on the bride’s forehead; and then the younger sisters were married and after a grand feast the whole party set out for the palace of the Kherohuri Raja.
On the way they were benighted in the midst of a great jungle twelve kos wide, and the palki bearers declined to go any further in the dark, so they had all to camp where they were. In the middle of the night, suddenly sixteen hundred Rakhases descended on them and swallowed up the whole cavalcade, elephants and horses and palkis and men. In this danger the eldest princess who had been married to the sword prayed to Chando saying “O Chando! I have never yet set eyes on my husband; he is not with me here. I pray thee carry my palki in safety up into the sky.” And Chando heard her prayer and lifted her palki up into the air and preserved her, but all those who were left on the ground were swallowed up by the Rakhases; when the day dawned not one was to be seen.
As the princess from mid air gazed on this melancholy spectacle, a parrot came flying over and she called to it and begged it to take a letter for her to her husband in the palace of the Kherohuri Raja. The parrot obeyed her behest, and when the eldest prince read the letter and learned what had happened, he made a hasty meal and saddled his horse and was ready to start; but as it was nearly evening he thought it better to wait till the next day.
Very early the following morning he set out and when his bride saw him come riding along she prayed to Chando that if it were really her husband the palki might descend to the ground; it immediately sank, and the bride and bridegroom met; then she told him all that had happened and gave him the shield and sword that he had sent to represent him at the marriage; with these in his hands he waited and when at nightfall the Rakhases returned, the Prince slew everyone of them with his sword; and as he killed them the Rakhases vomited up the elephants, horses and men that they had eaten. Then his wife told the prince to dip a cloth in water and wring it out over the dead and as the water fell on them they all became alive again, elephants, horses and men.
But his brothers far from being grateful to him for having restored them to life, took counsel together saying. “Now that he has delivered us from this danger, he will think that he has a claim on us and will treat us as his servants; let us cut open his stomach and then the Rakhas will eat him.” So they turned on him, cut open his stomach, and went their ways. Then the wounded prince told the palki-bearers to carry his bride back to her father’s house.
When they appeared before the Chandmuni Raja, he upbraided them for not having brought the prince too, to try if he could not have been healed. Meanwhile the prince lay in the jungle groaning for a whole day and night; then Chando and his wife heard his cries and came down and told him to push in his entrails and when he had done so, they gave him a slap on his stomach and he became whole again. Then as he was afraid to return to his home where his brothers were, he went begging to his father-in-law’s house; as he came to it, his wife said to her sister-in-law that the beggar seemed to be like her husband, so she went to him and they recognised each other and he was taken in and well treated and lived there many years. In the end he was seized with a desire to go and see his old mother, and, his wife consenting to go with him, they set off to his father’s home; when his brothers saw him come, they were filled with fear and made him Raja over them and they became his servants and he lived in prosperity for the rest of his life.
Once upon a time there was a youth who used to herd buffaloes; and as he watched his animals graze he noticed that exactly at noon every day a she-dog used to make its way to a ravine, in which there were some pools of water. This made him curious and he wondered to whom it belonged and what it did in the ravine; so he decided to watch, and one day when the dog came he hid himself and saw that when it got to the water, it shed its dog skin and out stepped a beautiful maiden, and began to bathe; and when she had finished bathing she put on the skin and became a dog again, and went off to the village; the herdboy followed her and watched into what house she entered, and he enquired to whom the house belonged. Having found out all about it, he went back to his work.
That year the herdboy’s father and mother decided that it was time for him to marry and began to look about for a wife for him; but he announced that he had made up his mind to have a dog for his wife and he would never marry a human girl.
Everyone laughed at him for such an extraordinary idea, but he could not be moved; so at last they concluded that he must really have the soul of a dog in him, and that it was best to let him have his own way. So his father and mother asked him whether there was any particular dog he would like to have for his bride, and then he gave the name of the man into whose house he had tracked the dog that he had seen going to the ravine. The master of the dog laughed at the idea that anyone should wish to marry her, and gladly accepted a bride’s price for her; so a day was fixed for the wedding and the booth built for the ceremony and the bridegroom’s party went to the bride’s house and the marriage took place in due form and the bride was escorted to her husband’s house.
Every night when her husband was asleep, the bride used to come out of the dog’s skin and go out of the house; and when her husband found out this, he one night only pretended to go to sleep and lay watching her, and when she was about to leave the room he jumped up and caught hold of her and seizing the dog skin, threw it into the fire, where it was burnt to ashes, so his bride remained a woman, but she was of more than human beauty. This soon became known in the village and everyone congratulated the herdboy on his wisdom in marrying a dog.
Now the herdboy had a friend named Jitu and when Jitu saw what a prize his friend had got, he thought that he could not do better than marry a dog himself. His relations made no objection and a bride was selected and the marriage took place, but when they were putting vermilion on the bride’s forehead she began to growl; but in spite of her growling they dragged her to the bridegroom’s house, and forcibly anointed her with oil and turmeric; but when the bride’s party set off home, the dog broke loose and ran after them; then everyone shouted to Jitu to run after his bride and bring her back, but she only growled and bit at him, so that he had at last to give it up. Then everyone laughed at him so much that he was too ashamed to speak, and two or three days later he hanged himself.
Once upon a time there were a Raja and a rich merchant, and they each had one son. The two boys went to the same school and in the course of time became great friends; they were always together out of school hours; the merchant’s son would take his meals at the Raja’s palace or the Raja’s son would eat with his friend at the merchant’s house. One day the two youths began a discussion as to whether wealth or wisdom were the more powerful: the Raja’s son said that wealth was most important, while the merchant’s son declared for wisdom; the discussion waxed hot and neither would yield his opinion. At last the merchant’s son declared; “It is of no use for us to argue like this, let us put it to the test: let us both go to some far country and take service with some master for a year, and try whether wealth or wisdom is the more successful.” The Prince agreed to this plan and they fixed a day for starting.
Then they both went home and collected what money they could lay hands on and, when the time arrived, started off early one morning. After they had travelled some distance the Prince began to think of how his parents must be searching for him, for he had said nothing about his going away; but the merchant’s son comforted him by saying that he had left word of their intentions at his home, and his relations would tell the Raja; so they continued on their way, and after a time they came to a certain country where the merchant’s son proposed that they should look for employment. But now that it had come to the point, the prince did not like the idea of becoming a servant and he said that he would live on the money which he had brought with him, and which would last for a year or two. “You may do as you like” answered his friend “but for my part I must look for work.” So he went to a village and found employment as a teacher in a school; his pupils gave him his food and also some small wages, so that he had enough to live on, without spending any of the money he had brought with him.
Meanwhile the Raja’s son hired a house in the village and began to lead a riotous life; in a very short time He had wasted all his money on his evil companions and was reduced to absolute starvation; for when his money came to an end, all his so-called friends deserted him. Thin and wretched, he went to the merchant’s son and asked him either to take him back to his father’s home or to find him work. His friend agreed to find him some employment, and after a little enquiry heard of a farmer who wanted a servant to take a bullock out to graze and to fill a trough with water once a day. The prince thought that he could easily manage that amount of work, so he went to the farmer and engaged himself as his servant.
The terms of service were these:—If the prince threw up his work one of his little fingers was to be cut off, but if the farmer dismissed him while he was working well then the farmer was to lose a little finger; and if the prince grazed the bullock and filled the trough with water regularly, he was to get as much cooked rice as would cover a plantain leaf, but if he did not do the work he was to get only what would go on a tamarind leaf. The prince readily agreed to these terms, for he thought that the work would not take him more than an hour or two. But unhappily for him, things did not turn out as he expected. On the first morning he took the bullock out to graze, but the animal would not eat; whenever it saw any other cattle passing, it would gallop off to join them, and when the prince had run after it and brought it back, nothing would make it graze quietly; it kept running away in one direction or another with the prince in pursuit. So at last he had to bring it home and shut it up in the cow-shed and even that he found difficult.
Then they set him to filling the trough, and he found that he could not do that either, for the trough had a hole in the bottom and had been set over the mouth of an old well; and as fast as the prince poured the water in, it ran away, but he was too stupid to see what was the matter and went on pouring till he was quite tired out; so as he had not completed the tasks set him, he only got a tamarind leaf full of rice for his supper; this went on every day and the prince began to starve, but he was afraid to run away and tell his troubles to the merchant’s son, lest he should have his little finger cut off.
But the merchant’s son had not forgotten his friend and began to wonder why the Prince kept away from him. So one day he went to pay him a visit and was horrified to find him looking so ill and starved; when he heard how the prince was only getting a tamarind leaf full of rice every day, because he could not perform the task set him, he offered to change places with the Prince and sent him off to teach in the school while he himself stayed with the farmer. The next morning the merchant’s son took the bullock out to graze and he also found that the animal would not graze quietly but spent its time in chasing the other cattle, so at noon he brought it home and set to work to fill the trough; he soon found the hole in the bottom through which the water escaped and stopped it up with a lump of clay and then he easily filled the trough to the brim. Then in the afternoon he took the bullock out again to graze and when he brought it back at sunset he was given a plantain leaf full of rice; this meant more food than he could possibly eat in a day.
He was determined that the bullock should not give him any more trouble, so the next morning when he took it out to graze, he took with him a thick rope and tethered the animal to a tree; this saved him all the trouble of running after it, but it was clear that it would not get enough to eat in that way, so he made up his mind to get rid of it altogether, and when he took it out in the afternoon, he took with him a small axe and drove the bullock to a place where a herd of cattle were grazing and then knocked it on the head with the axe and threw the body into a ravine near by. Then he hid the axe and ran off to his master and told him that the bullock had started fighting with another animal in the herd and had been pushed over the edge of the ravine and killed by the fall. The farmer went out to see for himself and when he found the dead body lying in the ravine he could not but believe the story, and had no fault to find with his cunning servant.
A few days later, as the rice crop was ripe, the farmer told the merchant’s son to go to the fields to reap the rice. “How shall I reap it?” asked he. “With a sickle,” replied the farmer. “Then it will be the the sickle and not I, that reaps it” “As you like,” said the farmer, “you go along with the sickle, no doubt it knows all about it;” so they got him a sickle and he went off to the fields. When he got there, he noticed how bright the sickle looked, and when he touched it, he found it quite hot from being carried in the sun. “Dear, dear,” said he, “I cannot let this sickle reap the rice: it is so hot that it must have very bad fever; I will let it rest in the shade until it gets better,” so he laid it down in a shady spot and began to stroll about. Presently up came the farmer, and was very angry to find no work going on. “Did I send you out to stroll about, or to start cutting the rice?” roared he. “To cut the rice,” answered the merchant’s son, “but the sickle has fallen ill with high fever and is resting in the shade; come and feel how hot it is.” “You are nothing but an idiot,” answered the farmer. “You are no good here; go back home and start a fire in the big house and boil some water by the time I get back.” The merchant’s son was only on the lookout for an excuse to annoy the farmer and the words used by the farmer were ambiguous; so he went straight back to the farm and set the biggest house on fire. The farmer saw the conflagration and came rushing home and asked the merchant’s son what on earth he meant by doing such mischief. “I am only doing exactly what you told me; nothing would induce me to disobey any order of yours, my worthy master.” The farmer had nothing more to say; his words would bear the construction put upon them by the merchant’s son, and he was afraid to dismiss him lest he should have to lose his little finger; so he made up his mind to get rid of this inconvenient servant in another way, and the next day he called him and told him that he must send word to his father-in-law of the unfortunate burning of the house, and the merchant’s son must carry the letter.
The latter accordingly set off with the letter, but on the road he thought that it would be just as well to see what the letter was really about; so he opened it and found that it contained a request from the farmer to his father-in-law to kill the bearer of the letter immediately on his arrival. The merchant’s son at once tore this up and wrote another letter in the farmer’s name: saying that the bearer of the letter was a most excellent servant and he wished him to marry into the family; but that as he himself had no daughters he hoped that his father-in-law would give him one of his daughters to wife. Armed with this he proceeded on his journey. The father-in-law was rather surprised at the contents of the letter and asked the merchant’s son if he knew what it was about; he protested complete ignorance: the farmer had told him nothing, and as he was only a poor cowherd, of course he could not read. This set suspicion at rest; the wedding was at once arranged and duly took place, and the merchant’s son settled down to live with his wife’s family.
After a time the farmer got news of what had happened, and when he saw how the merchant’s son had always been sharp enough to get the better of him, he began to fear that in the end he would be made to cut off his finger; so he sought safety in flight. He ran away from his house and home and was never heard of more.
When news of this came to the ears of the merchant’s son, he set out to visit his old friend the Prince and found him still teaching in the little village school. “What do you think now,” he asked him, “is wisdom or money the better. By my cleverness, I got the better of that farmer; he had to give me more rice than I could eat. I killed his bullock, I set fire to his house, and I got a wife without expending a pice on my marriage; while you—you have spent all the money you brought with you from home, and have met with nothing but starvation and trouble; what good has your money done you?” The Prince had not a word to answer.
Two or three days later the Prince proposed that they should go back to their parents; his friend agreed but said that he must first inform his wife’s relations, so they went back to the village where the merchant’s son had married, and while they were staying there the Prince caught sight of a Raja’s daughter and fell violently in love with her.
Learning of the Prince’s state of mind the merchant’s son undertook to arrange the match; so he sent his wife to the Raja’s daughter with orders to talk of nothing but the virtues and graces of the Prince who was staying at their house. Her words had their due effect and the Raja’s daughter became so well disposed towards the Prince, that when one day she met him, she also fell violently in love with him and felt that she could not be happy unless she became his wife. So the wedding duly took place, and then the Prince and the merchant’s son with their respective wives returned to their fathers’ houses.
Once upon a time a young man of the Goala caste was going to his wedding; he was riding along in a palki, with all his friends, to the bride’s house and as he was passing by a pool of water he heard a voice saying, “Stop you happy bridegroom; you are happy, going to fetch your bride; spare a thought for my misfortune and stay and pull me out of this quagmire.” Looking out he saw a cow stuck fast in the mud at the edge of the pool, but he had no pity for it and harshly refused to go to its help, for fear lest he should make his clothes muddy.
Then the cow cursed the Goala, saying, “Because you have refused to help me in my extremity, this curse shall light on you, directly you touch your bride you shall turn into a donkey.” At these words the Goala was filled with fear and telling the bearers to put down the palki he alighted and ran and pulled the cow out of the mud; this done, he begged her to withdraw the curse, but the cow declared that this was impossible, what she had said was bound to come to pass. At these words the Goala began to lament and threw himself at the feet of the cow, beseeching her; at length the cow relented, and promised that though the curse could not be withdrawn it should be mitigated and it would be possible for his wife to restore him to human shape. So the Goala had to take what comfort he could from this and returning to the palki he told his friends what had passed. Much downcast the procession continued its way, wondering what would be the upshot of this adventure.
Arrived at the bride’s house, they proceeded to celebrate the wedding; but as the Goala touched the bride with his finger to apply the vermilion mark to her forehead, he suddenly became a donkey. The company were filled with dismay and the bride’s parents declared that they would never let their daughter go away with such a husband, but the bride herself spoke up and said that as Thakur for some reason had given her such a husband she would cleave to him, and nothing that her relations said could shake her purpose; so when the bridal party set out homewards, she went with them to her husband’s house. But there everyone laughed at her so much for having married a donkey that she made up her mind to run away to another country; so one day she packed up some provisions for the journey and set out, driving the donkey before her.
She journeyed on and on till one day she happened to come to a tank with a large well near it; she turned the donkey loose to graze on the banks of the tank and sat down by the well to eat some of the food which she had with her. In the fields below the tank were some twenty ploughmen in the service of the Raja of that country, driving their ploughs; and when it got past noon these men began to grumble, because; no one had brought them their dinner; as it got later and later they became more and more violent, and vowed that when anyone did come they would give him a good beating for his laziness. At last one of the maid-servants of the Raja was seen coming along, carrying their food in a basket on her head and with her child running by her side. The sight pacified the ploughmen and the maid-servant hastened to set down the basket near them and then went off to the well to draw some water for them.
Just as she was ready to let down the water-pot, a wedding procession passed along the road with drums and music, making a fine show. The maid could not keep her eyes off this, but at the same time did not wish to keep the ploughmen waiting any longer; so, with her eyes on the procession, she tied the well-rope, as she thought round the neck of the water-pot, but really, without knowing it, she tied the rope round the neck of her own little child and proceeded to lower him into the well. When she pulled up the rope she found that she had strangled her own child.
She was of course much distressed at this, but she was even more afraid of what might be done to her and at once hit on a device to save herself from the charge of murder. Taking the dead child in her arms she ran to the ploughmen and scattered all the food she had brought about the ground; then with the child still in her arms, she ran to the Raja and complained to him that his ploughmen had assaulted her, because she was late in taking them their dinner, had knocked the basket of food all about the ground and had beaten her child to death; she added that a strange woman was grazing a donkey near the place and must have seen all that passed.
The Raja at once sent a Sipahi to fetch the ploughmen and when they came before him he asked them what had happened, and bade them swear before Sing bonga whether they were guilty of the murder. The ploughmen solemnly swore to speak the truth, and then told the Raja exactly what had happened, how the woman had killed her child by mistake and then falsely charged them with the murder. Then the Raja asked them whether they had any witnesses, and they said that there was no one of their own village present at the time, but that a strange woman was grazing an ass on the banks of the tank, who must have seen all that happened. Then the Raja sent two sipahis to fetch the woman, telling them to treat her well and bring her along gently. So the sipahis went to the woman and told her that the Raja wanted her on very important business; she made no demur and went to fetch her donkey. The sipahis advised her to leave it behind to graze, but she said that wherever she went the donkey must go and drove it along with her.
When she appeared before the Raja he explained to her what had happened, and how the maid-servant told one story about the death of the child and the ploughmen another, and he charged her to speak the truth as to what she had seen. The Goala’s bride answered that she was ready to take an oath and to swear by her donkey: if she spoke the truth the donkey would turn into a man, and if she lied it would retain its shape. “If you take that oath,” said the Raja, “the case shall be decided accordingly.” Then the Goala’s wife began to tell all that she had seen and how the ploughmen were angry because their dinner was late, and how the maid-servant had gone to the well to draw water and had strangled her child by mistake and had then knocked over the basket and charged the ploughmen with the murder. “If I have lied may Chando punish me and if I have spoken the truth may this ass become a man;” so saying she laid her hand on the back of the animal and it at once resumed its human shape.
This was sufficient to convince the Raja, who turned to the maid-servant and reproached her with trying to ruin the ploughmen by her false charge. She had no answer to make but took up the dead body of the child and went out without a word.
Thus the Goala was restored to his original shape, but he and his faithful wife did not return to their own relations; they took service with a farmer of that country and after a time they saved money and took some land and lived prosperously and well. From that time men of the Goala caste have always been very careful to treat cattle well.
Once upon a time a man was setting out in his best clothes to attend a village meeting. As he was passing at the back of the house his maid-servant happened to throw a basket of cowdung on the manure heap and some of it accidentally splashed his clothes. He thought that he would be laughed at if he went to the meeting in dirty clothes so he went back to change them; and he put the dirty cloth he took off in an earthen pot and covered the mouth with leaves and hung it to the roof of the room in which he and his wife slept.
Two or three days later his wife began to question him as to what was in the pot hanging from the roof. At first he refused to tell her; but every time she set eyes on it she renewed her questioning; for a time he refused to gratify her curiosity, saying that no woman could keep a secret, but she protested that she would tell no one; her husband’s secrets were her own; at last he pretended that his patience was worn out and having made her promise never to tell a soul, he said “I have killed a man, and to prevent the murder being traced I cut off his head and hid it in that pot; mind you do not say a word or my life will be forfeit.”
For a time nothing more was said, but one day husband and wife had a quarrel; high words and blows passed between them and at last the woman ran out of the house, crying: “You have struck me, I shall let it be known that you are a murderer.” She went to the village headman and told him what was hidden in the pot; the villagers assembled and bound the supposed murderer with ropes and took him to the police. The police officer came and took down the pot and found in it nothing but a stained cloth. So he fined the headman for troubling him with false information and went away. Then the man addressed his fellow-villagers in these words “Listen to me: never tell a secret to a woman and be careful in your conversation with them; they are sure to let out a secret and one day will turn your accusers.”
From that time we have learnt the lesson that anything which you tell to a woman will become known.
Once upon a time there were two brothers; the elder was named Bhagrai and was married, but the younger, named Kora, was still a bachelor. One day Bhagrai’s wife asked her husband when he intended to look out for a wife for Kora, for people would think it very mean of them if they did not provide for his marriage. But to his wife’s astonishment Bhagrai flatly refused to have anything to do with the matter. He said that Kora must find a wife for himself. His wife protested that that was impossible as Kora had no money of his own, but Bhagrai would not listen to her and refused even to give Kora his share in the family property.
Bhagrai’s cruel conduct was very distressing to his wife; and one day as she was sitting picking the lice out of Kora’s head, she began to cry and Kora felt her tears dropping on to his back; he turned round and asked his sister-in-law why she was crying. She said that she could not tell him, as it would only make him unhappy, but he would not be put off and said that she had no right to have any secrets from him and at last she told him that Bhagrai had said that he must arrange his own marriage without any help from them. At this cruel news Kora began to cry too and falling on his sister-in-law’s neck he wept bitterly. Then he went and fetched his clothes and bow and arrows and flute and what other little property he had, and told his sister-in-law that he must go out into the world and seek his fortune, for he would never get a wife by staying at home. So she tied up some dried rice for him to eat by the way and let him go.
Kora set out and had not travelled far, before he fell in with an old man who was travelling in the same direction as himself and they agreed to continue their way together. After walking some miles, Kora said “I have a proposal to make: let us take it in turns to carry each other: then we shall neither of us get tired and shall do the journey comfortably.” The old man refused to have anything to do with such an extraordinary arrangement: so on they went and by and bye came to a tank which seemed a good place to rest and eat some food by. The old man sat down at the steps leading down to the water, but Kora went and sat on the bank where it was covered with rough grass. Presently he called out “Friend, I do not like the look of this tank: to whom does it belong?” The old man told him the name of the owner, “Then why has he put no post in the middle of it?” This question amazed his companion for there was the usual post sticking up in the middle of the tank in front of them: he began to think that he had fallen in with a lunatic: however he said nothing and they went on together: and presently they passed a large herd of cow-buffaloes: looking at them Kora said “Whose are these: why have they no horns?” “But they have got horns: what on earth do you mean by saying that they have not?” replied his companion, Kora however persisted “No, there is not a horn among them.” The old man began to lose his temper but they went on and presently passed by a herd of cows, most of them with bells tied round their necks. No sooner did Kora catch sight of them than he began again “Whose can these cows be? Why have they not got bells on?” “Look at the bells,” said the old man “cannot you use your eyes?” “No,” said Kora, “I cannot see a bell among them.” The old man did not think it worth while to argue with him and at evening they reached the village where he lived: and Kora asked to be allowed to stay with him for the night. So they went to his house and sat down on a string bed in the cow-shed while the women folk brought them out water to wash their feet. After sitting awhile, Kora suddenly said “Father, why did you not put up a king post when you were making this cow-shed?” Now at that very moment he was leaning against the king post and the old man was too puzzled and angry at his idiotic question to say anything: so he got up and went into the house to tell his wife to put some extra rice into the pot for their visitor. His wife and daughter at once began asking him who their guest was: he said that he knew nothing about him except that he was an absolute idiot. “What is the matter with him,” asked the daughter: “he looks quite sensible”: then her father began to tell her all the extraordinary things that Kora had said: how he had proposed that they should carry each other in turn: and had declared that there was no post in the middle of the tank: and that the buffaloes had no horns and the cows no bells: and that there was no king post to the cow house. His daughter listened attentively and then said “I think it is you, father, who have been stupid and not our guest: I understand quite well what he meant. I suppose that when he proposed that you should carry each other, you had not been doing much talking as you went along?” “That is so,” said her father, “we had not spoken for a long time:” “Then all he meant was that you should chat as you went along and so make the way seem shorter: and as to the tank, were there any trees on its banks?” “No, they were quite bare.” “Then that is what he meant when he talked about the post: he meant that the tank should have had trees planted round it: and as to the buffaloes and cows, there was doubtless no bull with either herd.” “I certainly did not notice one,” said her father. “Then that is what he was talking about: I think that it was very stupid of you not to understand him.” “Then what does he mean by the king post in the cow house” asked the old man. “He meant that there was no cross beam from wall to wall,” “Then you don’t think him a fool at all?” “No, he seems to me very sensible.” “Then perhaps you would like to have him for your husband?” “That is for you and my mother to decide.”
So the old man went off to his wife and asked her what she thought about the match and they both agreed that it would be very suitable: the girl understood Kora’s riddles so well that they seemed made for each other. So the next morning when Kora proposed to start off on his journey again, the old man asked whether he would care to stay with them and marry his daughter. Kora was delighted to find a wife so soon, and readily agreed to work for five years in his father-in-law’s house to win his bride: so a day was fixed for the betrothal ceremony, and thus Kora succeeded in arranging his own marriage.
Once upon a time three brothers lived together: the youngest of them was named Kora and he was the laziest man alive: he was never willing to do any work but at meal times he was always first on the spot. His laziness began to drag the family down in the world, for they could not afford to feed a man who did no work. His two elder brothers were always scolding him but he would not mend his ways: however the scolding annoyed him and one day he ran away from home.
He had become so poor that he had nothing on but a loin cloth: it was the middle of winter and when the evening drew on he began to shiver with cold: so he was very glad when he came to a village to see a group of herdboys sitting round a fire in the village street, roasting field rats. He went up to them and sat down by the fire to warm himself. The herd boys gave him some of the rats to eat and when they had finished their feast went off to their homes to sleep. It was nice and warm by the fire and Kora was too lazy to go round the village looking for some one who would take him in for the night: so he made up his mind to go to sleep by the fire. He curled himself up beside it and was about to take off his waist cloth to spread over himself as a sheet when he found a bit of thread which he had tied up in one of the corners of the cloth. “Why!” thought he “cloth is made of thread: so this thread must be cloth! I will use it as a sheet.” So he tied one end of the thread round his big toe and wound the other end round his ears and stretching himself out at full length soon fell asleep.
During the night the fire died down and a village dog which was on the prowl came and coiled itself up on the warm ashes and also went to sleep alongside Kora.
Now the headman of that village was a well-to-do man with much land under cultivation and a number of servants, and as it was the time when the paddy was being threshed he got up very early in the morning to start the work betimes. As he walked up the village street he came on the man and dog lying fast asleep side by side. He roused up Kora and asked him who he was and whether he did not find it very cold, lying out in the open. “No” answered Kora, “I don’t find it cold: this is my dog and he has eaten up all my cold: he will eat up the cold of a lakh of people.” The headman at once thought that a dog that could do this would be a very useful animal to possess: he had to spend a lot of money in providing clothes for his farm labourers and yet they all suffered from the cold, while if he could get hold of the dog he and all his household would be permanently warm: so he asked Kora what price he set on the dog. Kora said that he would sell it for fifty lakhs of rupees and no less: he would not bargain about the matter: the headman might take it or leave it as he liked. The headman agreed to the terms and taking Kora to his house paid him over the money. Kora made no delay in setting off homewards and when he arrived the first thing he did was to tell his brothers to find him a wife as he had now enough money to pay all the expenses of his marriage. When his brothers found that the lazy one of the family had come home with such a fortune they gave him a very different reception from what they used to before, and set to work to arrange his marriage and the three brothers all lived happily ever after.
Meanwhile the headman who had bought the dog sent for his labourers and told them of his luck in finding such a valuable animal. He bade them tie it up at the door of the hut on the threshing floor in which they slept: and in the morning to lead it round with them as they drove the oxen that trod out the grain, and then they would none of them feel cold. That night the labourers put the matter to the test but although the dog was tied up by the door the men in the hut shivered all night long as usual. Then in the morning they one after the other tried leading the dog as they drove the oxen round the threshing floor but it did not make them any warmer, so they soon got tired and tied the dog up again. Presently their master came along and asked what they had done with the dog and was told that the animal would not eat up the cold at all. The headman would not believe that he had been duped and began to lead the dog round to try for himself. Only too soon he had to admit that it made no difference. So, in a rage he caught up a stick and beat the poor dog to death. Thus he lost his money and got well laughed at by all the village for his folly.
Once upon a time there was a man named Kora who was so lazy that his brothers turned him out of the house and he had to go out into the world to seek his fortune. At first he tried to get some other young man of the village to keep him company on his travels but they all refused to have anything to do with such a lazy fellow, so he had to set out alone. However, he was resolved to have a companion of some sort, so when he came to a place where a crab had been burrowing he set to work and dug it out of the ground and took it along with him, tied up in his cloth.
He travelled on for days and weeks until he came to a country which was being devastated by a Rakhas who preyed on human beings, and the Raja of the country had proclaimed that any one who could kill the Rakhas should have one of his sisters in marriage and a large grant of land. Kora however knew nothing of all this and that evening he camped for the night under a tree on the outskirts of a village. Presently the villagers came out and begged him to come and spend the night in one of their houses, as it was impossible for a man to sleep safely in the open by himself. “Do not trouble about me,” said Kora, “I am not alone: I have a companion and we two shall be quite safe together.” The villagers saw no one with him and could not understand what he was talking about, but as he would not listen to them they had to leave him to his fate.
Night came on and as usual Kora untied the crab from his cloth and soon fell asleep. About midnight the Rakhas came prowling along and seeing Kora sleeping alone made towards him. But the crab rushed at the Rakhas and climbing up his body seized his neck with its claws and slit the windpipe. Down fell the Rakhas and lay kicking on the ground. The noise awoke Kora, who seized a big stone and dashed out the brains of the Rakhas. He then cut off the tips of the ears and tongue and claws and wrapped them up in his cloth and lay down to sleep again with the crab in his bosom.
At dawn the chowkidar of the village, who was a Dome, came on his rounds and found the Rakhas lying dead. He thought that it would be easy for him to obtain the credit of having killed it: so he cut off one of the legs and hurrying home told his wife and children to clear out of the house at once: he had nothing more to do with them, as he was going to marry the Raja’s sister and become a great landowner. Then he rushed out into the village, shouting out that he had killed the Rakhas. The villagers all went to see the dead body and found it lying near the tree under which they had left Kora to spend the night. They were not quite convinced that the Dome’s story was true and asked Kora who had really killed the Rakhas. He declined to answer but asked that he and the Dome might both be taken to the Raja, and then proof would be forthcoming as to who was really entitled to the Reward.
So the villagers took up the dead body and carried it off to the Raja, taking Kora and the Dome with them. The Raja asked what proof there was as to who had killed the Rakhas: and first the Dome produced the leg which he had cut off; but Kora unrolled his cloth and showed the ears and tongue and claws of the Rakhas. It was at once seen that the leg which the Dome had brought wanted the claws, so his fraud was clearly proved and he was driven from the assembly with derision and had to go and humbly make his peace with the wife whom he had turned out of his house. But the nuptials of Kora and the Raja’s sister took place at once and they were given a fine palace to live in and a large tract of country for their own.
Kora never allowed himself to be separated from his faithful crab and this led to his life being saved a second time. A few nights after he was married, Kora was lying asleep with the crab upon his breast, when two snakes began to issue from the nostrils of his bride: their purpose was to kill Kora but when they saw the watchful crab they drew in their heads again. A few minutes later they again looked out: then the crab went and hid under the chin of the Princess and when the snakes put out their heads far enough it seized both of them with its claws: the snakes wriggled and struggled until they came entirely out of the nose of the princess and were dragged to the floor where the crab strangled them. In the morning Kora awoke and saw what the crab had done: he asked what he could do to show his gratitude to his faithful friend, and the crab asked to be set free in some pond which never dried up and that Kora would rescue it if any one ever succeeded in catching it. So Kora chose a tank and set the crab free and every day he used to go and bathe in that tank and the crab used to come and meet him.
After living in luxury for a time Kora went with a grand procession of horses and elephants to visit his industrious brothers who had turned him out of their home for laziness, and he showed them that he had chosen the better part, for they would never be able to keep horses and elephants for all their industry: so he invited them to come and live with him on his estate and when they had reaped that year’s crops they went with him.