Now let us turn to the Hindu legend which I came across in a Sind magazine. It ran as follows:—

Once upon a time Brahmanabad, now a heap of ruins, was the glory of all Sind. It stood on an oasis in the desert; and to guard its people from sudden raids by desert tribes, one of its kings had built round it a great wall. Beneath the wall flowed the river Indus, on whose waters the merchant ships of Brahmanabad carried the city’s commerce up and down Sind. Inside the walls were rich houses, countless gardens, and a mighty tower, that served as a landmark for miles around. About a mile and a half from Brahmanabad was the royal suburb of Dalor in [39]which stood the king’s palace and the quarters of his guards. Some five miles from Brahmanabad stood the suburb of Depur. Therein lived the ministers with their public offices and their record-rooms and storehouses. Along the banks of the river was a collection of huts, wherein lived a wild gipsy tribe known as Madu. They lived by selling milk and ghi to the rich burghers of Brahmanabad.

The reigning King Amrai was beloved by his people and when his queen died, he would not give her place to another. He devoted his life to the upbringing of their only son, prince Dalu Rai. Unhappily so evil was the lad’s nature, that the more care the king spent on him the worse he grew. He gathered round him a band of bad companions and all day and every day the royal palace resounded with the cries of the prince’s victims. At last the king out of all patience, shut up his son in the tall tower which looked over the country round Brahmanabad. But the fickle mob at once turned round. “What a cruel father!” they cried. “Fancy treating thus the heir to the throne!” King Amrai consulted his ministers and they advised him to free his son, but at the same time to put in charge of him some wise and virtuous old man, who by example and precept would show him the error of his ways. King Amrai thought their advice good and freeing the prince, appointed a wise old man to look after him and to teach him. Although the king said nothing to Dalu Rai, the latter guessed, when an aged pandit called on him, that he was in some way to be over him. He instantly resolved to treat the old man in such a way that neither he nor any other old man in the kingdom would accept the post again. He pretended to listen with the greatest attention to all the old man’s words and seemed so eager to do what was right, that the sage thought the prince the most charming of pupils. After [40]some hours of talk, the prince made his master dine with him. During the meal the old man talked as one inspired; and as he talked, the prince’s servants filled his glass over and over again with drugged wine. Before the meal was over the poor old pandit was fast asleep. The prince had him put to bed and as he lay asleep, the prince’s barber shaved off the sage’s moustaches and stuck in their place crow’s feathers. Next morning when the old man awoke, he passed his hand over his face and found the horrible thing that had been done to him. He rose, fled from the prince’s house and threw himself at King Amrai’s feet and told him of the prince’s cruel trick. The king soothed the old man as best he could; but he was so affected, that he never shewed himself in the Darbar Hall again.

The prince was thus free to act as he pleased. One evening he and his good for nothing companions went out a-hawking. Game was scarce and their hawks caught nothing. At last they reached a well near a Madu hamlet not far from the town. Vexed at their ill luck, they loosed their hawks at some tame pigeons that belonged to the villagers and happened to be circling near the well. All the pigeons but one took shelter in their dovecotes. One pigeon flew into the air followed by the prince’s hawk. For some time the two birds soared in the air, one unable to rise above the other. At last the hawk’s strong wings bore it above the pigeon and it made its swoop. The frightened pigeon dropped like a stone to the ground at the feet of a Madu maiden of 16, who was filling her jar at the well. The girl picked up the pigeon and stroking its feathers put it in her bosom. The hawk robbed of its prey, flew back to perch on the wrist of the prince’s huntsman. The prince rode up to the girl and with an evil smile on his lips, told her that she might keep the pigeon. He would not hunt it now that it had taken [41]shelter in her bosom. The girl turned on him scornfully and said “A fine hunter you are to hawk a tame pigeon!” The prince pretended to be sorry for what he had done and then asked the girl to give him a drink of water from her jar. But the Madu maiden disliking his looks and tone, told him to get one of his servants to fetch water for him. But the prince pressed her, pleading that their horses were restive. Reluctantly the girl went close to him to give him a cup of water. Suddenly he caught her by the waist and swung her in front of him. A moment later he and his companions were riding as fast as they could to the prince’s palace. Some Madu men ran after them but in vain. The prince carried off the girl and the men with him said in jest “The prince’s hawk lost its prey, but the prince had better luck!” As the party neared the palace, they passed an aged Brahman, who, hearing the cries of the struggling girl, begged the prince to free her. But Dalu Rai only snarled at him to mind his own business. The Brahman, who was a mighty anchorite, flew into a passion and cursed him. “As a punishment for your cruelty,” he cried, “you will never live to be old. Your city will be destroyed and you will perish with it so suddenly, that you will not have time to give even a handful of grain in charity!”

The prince paid little heed to the anchorite’s curse, but bore his prey inside the palace. There he found everyone excited as the princess had just borne her lord a son. But the prince pushed past his servants and took the Madu girl to a distant part of the palace and there tried to win her consent. But she scornfully rejected his promises of rich clothes and fine jewels. At last when he had lost all patience and was about to offer her violence, he heard a knock at his door. It was a messenger who brought the news that King Amrai was dead. [42]At the same time he told the prince that Banbho, one of his associates wished to speak to him most urgently. The prince was unwilling to leave the Madu girl, but he could not refuse so grave a message, especially as Banbho was not only the wickedest but by far the wisest of his evil companions. The prince went out, locked the door behind him, and took Banbho into another room. The news Banbho brought was of the gravest. “The news I bring, my Prince,” he said slowly, “is as bad as it can be. Unless you act at once this palace of yours is certain to become your prison. The late king was angry with you, as you know, and before he died, he had engraved as his will on a brass plate that you were never to sit on the throne. In your stead the ministers were to put your son if you had one, and if not, your distant cousin. Now that a son has been born to the princess, think what a handle your enemies will have against you! They will put you in prison and make your infant son king of Brahmanabad. You must act at once!” Banbho’s plan was simple. It was to proclaim the prince as king in Brahmanabad and then to gallop with every available man to Depur where the ministers had assembled to carry out the late king’s wishes. Banbho taking some men with him, first rode through the streets of Brahmanabad, shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj!” The crowd at once caught up the cry and were soon shouting “Victory to Dalu Rai Maharaj” through every lane and byway in the city. This done, Banbho returned to the prince’s palace and he and the prince and his companions and all the guards whom they could muster, set off together at headlong speed for Depur. While Banbho was thus rousing his master to action, the prime-minister and the commander-in-chief and the principal nobles of Brahmanabad were seated together in one of the council rooms of Depur. The prime-minister, respected above all for his age and wisdom and [43]for his faithful service of the late king, put before his colleagues the brass plate of King Amrai and proposed that they should take instant steps to seize the person of Dalu Rai and put his newly born son on the throne. Several of the nobles objected strongly. For all their respect for the late king and their dislike of Dalu Rai, they disliked still more the coronation of a newly born infant with all the dangers of a long regency. While they were in high debate, the commander-in-chief heard a noise in the courtyard and guessing its cause, said with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders: “I am afraid we are too late, gentlemen. The prince has come in person to settle the succession.” Dalu Rai and Banbho followed by their troopers rushed up the stairs and Banbho knocking at the door, demanded entrance in the king’s name. Receiving no answer, he caught up a heavy pickaxe and with a single blow broke open the lock. The door flew open and the prince and his men rushed in. Many of the nobles at once joined him. But the chief minister and a few others remained seated. As the prince stepped forward, the prime-minister gave him the brass plate on which was engraved his father’s will. The prince read it and glowing with rage “from his topknot to his toenails,” rushed at the old man. Both sides drew their swords. A fight ensued, but it was soon over. The prime-minister and the commander-in-chief lay dead on the ground and the rest surrendered.

Dalu Rai would at once have gone back to the Madu maiden; but Banbho who “had a crow’s wisdom” prevailed on him to spend the day and the following night on the late king’s funeral ceremonies. All day long and all that night Dalu Rai’s thoughts were far away with his unhappy captive. Next morning Banbho pressed him to hold a Darbar and win over the state officers and townspeople by concessions and gifts. But Dalu Rai [44]could restrain himself no longer. “You spoiler of pleasure!” he cried angrily to Banbho, “I am not going to hold a Darbar! Tell my officers that I am too stricken with sorrow to hold one.” With these words King Dalu Rai left Banbho to manage as best he could, and rode off with all speed to the conquest of the Madu maiden. Unluckily for him, he had carelessly left behind him his dagger when summoned by Banbho. The Madu girl had picked it up and when the wicked king would have caught her in his arms she pointed the dagger at him and threatened to stab him if he came near her. As he stood uncertain what to do, he heard cries outside his palace “Maharaja! Maharaja!” Dalu Rai went to the verandah and looking down saw his courtyard full of frightened people. “Maharaja, save us!” they cried. “Brahmanabad will be destroyed.” Dalu Rai looked towards the horizon and saw a huge mass of sand like a tidal wave advancing on Brahmanabad. The sky was as black as pitch. The sun was hidden and the Indus had left its course and seemed to be fleeing before the sandstorm. As he gazed at the fearful scene, a voice cried: “To-day Brahmanabad shall perish because of its ruler’s wickedness!” The king remembered the anchorite’s curse and would have ridden away leaving his city and his people to their fate. But as he walked to the door a youth with drawn sword barred his way. “Who are you?” asked the king. “I am your death,” was the grim answer. The king had no other wish but to flee from the doomed town; but the youth would not let him pass. At last the king drew his sword and the two men fought. The youth was skilled in swordmanship but even so he was no match for Dalu Rai, who was a master of the art. In a few minutes the king drove his sword through the youth’s heart and bending over him dragged him into the Madu maiden’s room. As he did so, the girl drove her dagger into his [45]back. “Why did you strike me?” asked the dying king. “Was the youth your kinsman?” “He was my betrothed,” said the girl with white lips and blazing eyes. The king fainted and life left him. The girl took some wood from the hearth where a fire was burning and lit the drapery in the room. In a few minutes it was blazing. The fire spread to the rest of the palace and it was soon a burning mass. At the same time the sand reached the walls of Brahmanabad. The burghers sought flight in all directions, but flight was useless. The sandwave caught them and stifled them, until at last there was not a living soul left in Brahmanabad.

The curse of the anchorite had been fulfilled to the letter.