"In the palace there were horses and mules, and costly furniture in abundance. The father and mother were seated on rich pillows of silk, and gave their daughter welcome, saying, 'Thou art still well and happy. That thou hast returned home before we depart from this life is of a surety very good.'

"After various inquiries had been made on both sides, relative to what had transpired during the separation of the parties, the old parents said, 'Let us make these things known unto the Chan and his ministers.'

"So the Chan and his ministers were loaded with presents, and three nights afterwards they were welcomed with meat and drink of the best.

But the Chan said, 'Ye have spoken falsely, the wife of the Chan had no parents.' Now the Chan departed with his retinue, and his wife said, 'I will stop one more night with my parents, and then I will return unto you.'

"On the following morning the wife of the Chan found herself on a hard bed, without pillows or coverlets. 'What is this?' exclaimed she; 'was I not this night with my father and mother--and did I not retire to sleep on a bed of silk?'

"And when she rose up she beheld the ruined hut of her parents. Her father and mother were dead, and their bones mouldered; their heads lay upon a stone. Weeping loudly, she said unto herself, 'I will now look after the paG.o.da.' But she saw nothing but the ruins of the paG.o.da and of the Burchan. 'A G.o.dly providence,' exclaimed she, 'has resuscitated my parents. Now since the Chan and the ministers will be pacified, I will return home again.'

"On her arrival in the kingdom of her husband, the ministers and the people came forth to meet her, and walked around her. 'This wife of the Chan,' cried they, 'is descended from n.o.ble parents, has borne n.o.ble sons, and is herself welcome, pleasant, and charming.' Thus speaking, they accompanied the wife of the Chan to the palace."

"Her merits must have been great." Thus spake the Son of the Chan.

"Ruler of Destiny, thou hast spoken words! Ssarwala missdood jakzang!" Thus spake Ssidi, and burst from the sack through the air.

Thus Ssidi's eleventh relation treats of the Maiden Ssuwarandari.

THE TWO CATS.

In former days there was an old woman, who lived in a hut more confined than the minds of the ignorant, and more dark than the tombs of misers. Her companion was a cat, from the mirror of whose imagination the appearance of bread had never been reflected, nor had she from friends or strangers ever heard its name. It was enough that she now and then scented a mouse, or observed the print of its feet on the floor; when, blessed by favouring stars or benignant fortune, one fell into her claws--

"She became like a beggar who discovers a treasure of gold; Her cheeks glowed with rapture, and past grief was consumed by present joy."

This feast would last for a week or more; and while enjoying it she was wont to exclaim--

"Am I, O G.o.d, when I contemplate this, in a dream or awake?

Am I to experience such prosperity after such adversity?"

But as the dwelling of the old woman was in general the mansion of famine to this cat, she was always complaining, and forming extravagant and fanciful schemes. One day, when reduced to extreme weakness, she, with much exertion, reached the top of the hut; when there she observed a cat stalking on the wall of a neighbour's house, which, like a fierce tiger, advanced with measured steps, and was so loaded with flesh that she could hardly raise her feet. The old woman's friend was amazed to see one of her own species so fat and sleek, and broke out into the following exclamation:--

"Your stately strides have brought you here at last; pray tell me from whence you come?

From whence have you arrived with so lovely an appearance?

You look as if from the banquet of the Khan of Khatai.

Where have you acquired such a comeliness? and how came you by that glorious strength?"

The other answered, "I am the Sultan's crumb-eater. Each morning, when they spread the convivial table, I attend at the palace, and there exhibit my address and courage. From among the rich meats and wheat-cakes I cull a few choice morsels; I then retire and pa.s.s my time till next day in delightful indolence."

The old dame's cat requested to know what rich meat was, and what taste wheat-cakes had? "As for me," she added, in a melancholy tone, "during my life I have neither eaten nor seen anything but the old woman's gruel and the flesh of mice." The other, smiling, said, "This accounts for the difficulty I find in distinguishing you from a spider. Your shape and stature is such as must make the whole generation of cats blush; and we must ever feel ashamed while you carry so miserable an appearance abroad.

You certainly have the ears and tail of a cat, But in other respects you are a complete spider.

Were you to see the Sultan's palace, and to smell his delicious viands, most undoubtedly those withered bones would be restored; you would receive new life; you would come from behind the curtain of invisibility into the plane of observation--

When the perfume of his beloved pa.s.ses over the tomb of a lover, Is it wonderful that his putrid bones should be re-animated?"

The old woman's cat addressed the other in the most supplicating manner: "O my sister!" she exclaimed, "have I not the sacred claims of a neighbour upon you? are we not linked in the ties of kindred? What prevents your giving a proof of friendship, by taking me with you when next you visit the palace? Perhaps from your favour plenty may flow to me, and from your patronage I may attain dignity and honour.

Withdraw not from the friendship of the honourable; Abandon not the support of the elect."

The heart of the Sultan's crumb-eater was melted by this pathetic address; she promised her new friend should accompany her on the next visit to the palace. The latter, overjoyed, went down immediately from the terrace, and communicated every particular to the old woman, who addressed her with the following counsel:--

"Be not deceived, my dearest friend, with the worldly language you have listened to; abandon not your corner of content, for the cup of the covetous is only to be filled by the dust of the grave, and the eye of cupidity and hope can only be closed by the needle of mortality and the thread of fate.

It is content that makes men rich; Mark this, ye avaricious, who traverse the world: He neither knows nor pays adoration to his G.o.d Who is dissatisfied with his condition and fortune."

But the expected feast had taken such possession of poor puss's imagination, that the medicinal counsel of the old woman was thrown away.

"The good advice of all the world is like wind in a cage, Or water in a sieve, when bestowed on the headstrong."

To conclude: next day, accompanied by her companion, the half-starved cat hobbled to the Sultan's palace. Before this unfortunate wretch came, as it is decreed that the covetous shall be disappointed, an extraordinary event had occurred, and, owing to her evil destiny, the water of disappointment was poured on the flame of her immature ambition. The case was this: a whole legion of cats had the day before surrounded the feast, and made so much noise that they disturbed the guests; and in consequence the Sultan had ordered that some archers armed with bows from Tartary should, on this day, be concealed, and that whatever cat advanced into the field of valour, covered with the shield of audacity, should, on eating the first morsel, be overtaken with their arrows. The old dame's puss was not aware of this order. The moment the flavour of the viands reached her, she flew like an eagle to the place of her prey.

Scarcely had the weight of a mouthful been placed in the scale to balance her hunger, when a heart-dividing arrow pierced her breast.

A stream of blood rushed from the wound.

She fled, in dread of death, after having exclaimed, "Should I escape from this terrific archer, I will be satisfied with my mouse and the miserable hut of my old mistress.

My soul rejects the honey if accompanied by the sting.

Content, with the most frugal fare, is preferable."

LEGEND OF DHURRUMNATH.

During the reign of a mighty rajah named Guddeh Sing, a celebrated, and as it is now supposed, deified priest, or hutteet, called Dhurrumnath, came, and in all the characteristic humility of his sect established a primitive and temporary resting-place within a few miles of the rajah's residence at Runn, near Mandavie. He was accompanied by his adopted son, Ghurreeb Nath.

From this spot Dhurrumnath despatched his son to seek for charitable contributions from the inhabitants of the town. To this end Ghurreeb Nath made several visits; but being unsuccessful, and at the same time unwilling that his father should know of the want of liberality in the city, he at each visit purchased food out of some limited funds of his own. At length, his little h.o.a.rd failing, on the sixth day he was obliged to confess the deceit he had practised.

Dhurrumnath, on being acquainted with this, became extremely vexed, and vowed that from that day all the rajah's putteen cities should become desolate and ruined. The tradition goes on to state that in due time these cities were destroyed; Dhurrumnath, accompanied by his son, left the neighbourhood, and proceeded to Denodur. Finding it a desirable place, he determined on performing Tupseeah, or penance, for twelve years, and chose the form of standing on his head.

On commencing to carry out this determination, he dismissed his son, who established his Doonee in the jungles, about twenty miles to the north-west of Bhooj. After Dhurrumnath had remained Tupseeah for twelve years, he was visited by all the angels from heaven, who besought him to rise; to which he replied, that if he did so, the portion of the country on which his sight would first rest would become barren: if villages, they would disappear; if woods or fields, they would equally be destroyed. The angels then told him to turn his head to the north-east, where flowed the sea. Upon this he resumed his natural position, and, turning his head in the direction he was told, opened his eyes, when immediately the sea disappeared, the stately ships became wrecks, and their crews were destroyed, leaving nothing behind but a barren, unbroken desert, known as the Runn.

Dhurrumnath, too pure to remain on the earth, partook of an immediate and glorious immortality, being at once absorbed into the spiritual nature of the creating, the finishing, the indivisible, all-pervading Brum.

This self-imposed penance of Dhurrumnath has shed a halo of sanct.i.ty around the hill of Denodur, and was doubtless the occasion of its having been selected as a fitting site for a Jogie establishment, the members of which, it is probable, were originally the attendants on a small temple that had been erected, and which still remains, on the highest point of the hill, on the spot where the holy Dhurrumnath is said to have performed his painful Tupseeah.

THE TRAVELLER'S ADVENTURE.

It is related that a man, mounted upon a camel, in the course of travelling arrived at a place where others from the same caravan had lighted a fire before proceeding on their journey. The fan-like wind, breathing on the embers, had produced a flame; and the sparks, flying over the jungle, the dry wood had become ignited, and the whole plain glowed like a bed of tulips.