Ruskin Bond Children's Omnibus Volume 2

by Ruskin Bond

  Kusa raised her gently from the ground.

  ‘Do you really wish to return to me?’ he asked. ‘Look at me, Pabhavati. I am still as ugly as when you ran away from me.’ Pabhavati gazed at him steadfastly, and instead of the loathing which Kusa had seen in her eyes before, he now saw only wonder and tenderness.

  ‘You have changed!’ she cried. ‘You are no longer ugly!’

  ‘No,’ said Kusa. ‘I haven’t changed. It is you who has changed.’

  N A VILLAGE in South India there lived a very rich landlord who owned several villages and many fields; but he was such a great miser that he found it difficult to find tenants who would willingly work on his land, and those who did, gave him a lot of trouble. As a result, he left all his fields unfilled, and even his tanks and water channels dried up. This made him poorer day by day. But he made no effort to obtain the goodwill of his tenants.

  One day, a holy man paid him a visit. The landlord poured out his tale of woe.

  ‘These miserable tenants won’t do a thing for me,’ he complained. ‘All my lands are going to waste.’

  ‘My dear good landlord,’ said the holy man. ‘I think I can help you, if you will repeat a mantra—a few magic words—which I will teach you. If you repeat it for three months, day and night, a wonderful demon will appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. He will willingly be your servant and take upon himself all the work that has been left undone by your wretched tenants. The demon will obey all your orders. You will find him equal to a hundred servants!’

  The miserly landlord immediately fell at the feet of the holy man and begged for instruction. The sage gave him the magic words and then went his way. The landlord, greatly pleased, repeated the mantra day and night, for three months, till, on the first day of the fourth month, a magnificent young demon stood before him.

  ‘What can I do for you, master?’ he said. ‘I am at your command.’

  The landlord was taken aback by the sight of the huge monster who stood before him, and by the sound of his terrible voice, but he summoned up enough courage to say, ‘You can work for me provided—er—you don’t expect any salary.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the demon, ‘but I have one condition. You must give me enough work to keep me busy all the time. If I have nothing to do, I shall kill you and eat you. Juicy landlords are my favourite dish.’

  The landlord, certain that there was enough work to keep several demons busy for ever, agreed to these terms. He took the demon to a large tank which had been dry for years, and said: ‘You must deepen this tank until it is as deep as the height of two palm trees.’

  ‘As you say, master,’ said the demon, and set to work.

  The landlord went home, feeling sure that the job would take several weeks. His wife gave him a good dinner, and he was just sitting down in his courtyard to enjoy the evening breeze when the demon arrived, casually remarking that the tank was ready.

  ‘The tank ready!’ exclaimed the astonished landlord. ‘Why, I thought it would take you several weeks! How shall I keep him busy?’ he asked, turning to his wife for aid. ‘If he goes on at this rate, he’ll soon have an excuse for killing and eating me!’

  ‘You must not lose heart, my husband,’ said the landlord’s wife. ‘Get all the work you can out of the demon. You’ll never find such a good worker again. And when you have no more work for him, let me know—I’ll find something to keep him busy.’

  The landlord went out to inspect the tank and found that it had been completed to perfection. Then he set the demon to plough all his farm lands, which extended over a number of villages. This was done in two days. He next asked the demon to dig up all the waste land. This was done in less than a day.

  ‘I’m getting hungry,’ said the demon. ‘Come on, master, give me more work, quickly!’

  The landlord felt helpless. ‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘my wife says she has a little job for you. Do go and see what it is she wants done. When you have finished, you can come and eat me, because I just can’t see how I can keep you busy much longer!’

  The landlord’s wife, who had been listening to them, now came out of the house, holding in her hands a long hair which she had just pulled out of her head.

  ‘Well, my good demon,’ she said. ‘I have a very light job for you. I’m sure you will do it in a twinkling. Take this hair, and when you have made it perfectly straight, bring it back to me.’

  The demon laughed uproariously, but took the hair and went away with it.

  All night he sat in a peepul tree, trying to straighten the hair. He kept rolling it against his thighs and then lifting it up to see if it had become straight. But no, it would still bend! By morning the demon was feeling very tired.

  Then he remembered that goldsmiths, when straightening metal wires, would heat them over a fire. So he made a fire and placed the hair over it, and in the twinkling of an eye it frizzled and burnt up.

  The demon was horrified. He dared not return to the landlord’s wife. Not only had he failed to straighten the hair, but he had lost it too. Feeling that he had disgraced himself, he ran away to another part of the land.

  So the landlord was rid of his demon. But he had learnt a lesson. He decided that it was better to have tenants working for him than demons, even if it meant paying for their services.

  NCE UPON a time there lived a king, who was a great and powerful monarch. One day he was very sad, and as he sat in his council hall surrounded by his ministers, the chief minister, who was a good and wise man, asked him, ‘Defender of the World! Why is your spirit sad today? Your Majesty ought not to allow grief to trouble your mind.’

  The king would not tell him his grief. On the contrary, he resented his good minister’s concern for him. ‘It is all very well for you to talk,’ he said. ‘But if you had reason to be sad, I am sure you would find it impossible to practise what you have just suggested.’ And the king decided to put his chief minister to the test, and told him to wait at the royal palace after the council was dismissed.

  The minister accordingly made his way to the royal apartments and awaited further orders. The king took out a ruby of great price from a beautiful ivory casket and, placing it in the minister’s hand, told him to look after it with great care.

  When the minister got home, he found his wife reclining on cushions, chewing scented paan. He gave her the ruby to keep. She dropped it in a partition of her cash box and thought no more about it.

  No sooner had the wily king delivered the ruby to his minister than he employed female spies to follow him up and mark where he kept the jewel. After a few days he bribed the steward of the minister’s household to steal it for him. The king was sitting on the balcony of his palace overlooking the river when the jewel was brought to him. Taking it from the hands of the steward, he deliberately threw it into the river.

  The next morning, after dismissing his court, he asked the chief minister, ‘Where is the ruby which I gave you to keep the other day?’ The minister replied, ‘I have got it, Defender of the World.’

  ‘Well then,’ said the king, ‘go and fetch it, for I want it right now.’

  Imagine the poor minister’s amazement when, on going home, he understood that the ruby was nowhere to be found. He hurried back to the king and reported the loss. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘if you will allow me a few days grace, I hope to find it and bring it back to you.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the king, laughing to himself. ‘I give you three days in which to find the ruby. If, at the end of that time, you fail to find it, your life and the lives of all who are dear to you will be forfeit. And your house will be razed to the ground and ploughed up by donkeys!’

  The minister left the palace with a heavy heart. He searched everywhere for the lost jewel, but because of its mysterious disappearance, he did not have much hope of finding it.

  I have no one, he thought, to whom I can leave my riches and possessions. My wife is the only soul on earth who is dear to me, and it seems we
must both die after three days. What could be better than for us to enjoy ourselves during this period? We’ll make the most of the time that’s left to us.

  In this mood he reached home and told his wife about the king’s decision.

  ‘Let us spend our wealth liberally and freely,’ he said, ‘for soon we must die.’

  His wife sighed deeply and only said, ‘As you wish. Fate has dealt us a cruel blow. Let us take it with dignity and good cheer.’

  That day saw the commencement of a period of great revelry in the chief minister’s house. Musicians of all kinds were engaged, and the halls were filled with guests, who came wondering what great luck had come the way of the chief minister. Rich food was served, and night and day the sound of music and laughter filled the house.

  In addition, large quantities of food were prepared and given to the poor. No one who came to the house was allowed to leave empty-handed. Tradesmen, when they brought their customary presents of fresh fruit, were rewarded with gold coins, and went away rejoicing.

  In a village near by, there lived a poor flower seller and a fisherwoman—the two women were neighbours and close friends. The flower seller happened to be visiting the bazaar, where she heard of the grand doings at the minister’s house. So she hurried there with a present of vegetables and garlands, and received a gold coin. Then she walked across to her friend’s house and advised her to take a present of fish to the minister, who would reward her in the same manner.

  The fisherwoman was very poor. Her husband used to go fishing daily, but he seldom was able to catch large fish; those that he caught were so small that they rarely fetched more than a few pice in the bazaar. So the fisherwoman said to herself: ‘Those miserable fish that my husband brings home are hardly worth presenting to the minister—he’ll only feel insulted,’ and she thought no more about it.

  But the following morning, as good luck would have it, her husband caught a large Rohu, the most delicious of Indian fresh-water fish. Delighted at his good fortune, he took it home to show his wife, who immediately placed the fish in a basket, covered it with a clean cloth, and hurried to the minister’s house. The minister was really pleased to see such a fine large Rohu fish, and instead of giving her one gold coin, he gave her two. The fisherwoman was overjoyed. She ran home with her prize, which was enough to keep herself and her husband in comfort for many a month.

  This happened on the third and last day of the minister’s life; the next day he and his wife were to be executed. Being very fond of fish curry, he said to his wife, ‘Let’s have one of your delightful fish curries for lunch today. We will never be able to enjoy it again. Now here’s a fine Rohu. Let’s take it to the kitchen and have it cleaned.’

  He and his wife sat together to see the fish cut. The cook took out his kitchen knife and set to work.

  As the cook thrust his knife into the fish’s belly, out dropped the ruby which had been thrown into the river.

  The minister and his wife were overcome with astonishment and joy. They washed the ruby in perfumed water, and then the minister hastened to restore it to the king.

  The king was equally amazed to see the ruby which he had thrown into the river. He at once demanded an explanation for its recovery. The minister told him how he had decided to spend all his riches, and how he had received the present of a fish which, when it was cut, gave up the lost ruby.

  The king then acknowledged the part he had played in the loss of the ruby. ‘But I see that you took your own advice to me,’ he said. ‘Endure sorrow cheerfully!’ He bestowed high honours on his minister, and commended his wisdom and understanding before all his courtiers and ministers.

  And so the minister’s evil fortune was changed to good.

  ‘And may the Eternal Dispenser of all Good thus deal with his servants’.

  ONG AGO, in the days of the ancient Pandya kings of South India, a father and his two sons lived in a village near Madura. The father was an astrologer, but he had never become famous, and so was very poor. The elder son was called Chellan; the younger Gangan. When the time came for the father to put off his earthly body, he gave his few fields to Chellan, and a palm leaf with some words scratched on it to Gangan.

  These were the words that Gangan read:

  ‘From birth, poverty;

  For ten years, captivity;

  On the seashore, death.

  For a little while happiness shall follow.’

  ‘This must be my fortune,’ said Gangan to himself, ‘and it doesn’t seem to be much of a fortune. I must have done something terrible in a former birth. But I will go as a pilgrim to Papanasam and do penance. If I can expiate my sin, I may have better luck.’

  His only possession was a water jar of hammered copper, which had belonged to his grandfather. He coiled a rope round the jar, in case he needed to draw water from a well. Then he put a little rice into a bundle, said farewell to his brother, and set out.

  As he journeyed, he had to pass through a great forest. Soon he had eaten all his food and drunk all the water in his jar. In the heat of the day he became very thirsty.

  At last he came to an old, disused well. As he looked down into it, he could see that a winding stairway had once gone round it down to the water’s edge, and that there had been four landing places at different heights down this stairway, so that those who wanted to fetch water might descend the stairway to the level of the water and fill their water pots with ease, regardless of whether the well was full, or three-quarters full, or half full or only one-quarter full.

  Now the well was nearly empty. The stairway had fallen away. Gangan could not go down to fill his water jar so he uncoiled his rope, tied his jar to it and slowly let it down. To his amazement, as it was going down past the first landing place, a huge striped paw shot out and caught it, and a growling voice called out: ‘Oh Lord of Charity, have mercy! The stair is fallen. I die unless you save me! Fear me not. Though King of Tigers, I will not harm you.’

  Gangan was terrified at hearing a tiger speak, but his kindness overcame his fear, and with a great effort, he pulled the beast up.

  The Tiger King—for it was indeed the Lord of All Tigers—bowed his head before Gangan, and reverently paced around him thrice from right to left as worshippers do round a shrine.

  ‘Three days ago,’ said the Tiger King, ‘a goldsmith passed by, and I followed him. In terror he jumped down this well and fell on the fourth landing place below. He is there still. When I leaped after him I fell on the first landing place. On the third landing is a rat who jumped in when a great snake chased him. And on the second landing, above the rat, is the snake who followed him. They will all clamour for you to draw them up.

  ‘Free the snake, by all means. He will be grateful and will not harm you. Free the rat, if you will. But do not free the goldsmith, for he cannot be trusted. Should you free him, you will surely repent of your kindness. He will do you an injury for his own profit. But remember that I will help you whenever you need me.’

  Then the Tiger King bounded away into the forest.

  Gangan had forgotten his thirst while he stood before the Tiger King. Now he felt it more than before, and again let down his water jar.

  As it passed the second landing place on the ruined staircase, a huge snake darted out and twisted itself round the rope. ‘Oh, Incarnation of Mercy, save me!’ it hissed. ‘Unless you help me, I must die here, for I cannot climb the sides of the well. Help me, and I will always serve you!’

  Gangan’s heart was again touched, and he drew up the snake. It glided round him as if he were a holy being. ‘I am the Serpent King,’ it said. ‘I was chasing a rat. It jumped into the well and fell on the third landing below. I followed, but fell on the second landing. Then the goldsmith leaped in and fell on the fourth landing place, while the tiger fell on the top landing. You saved the Tiger King. You have saved me. You may save the rat, if you wish. But do not free the goldsmith. He is not to be trusted. He will harm you if you help him. But I will not forget you
, and will come to your aid if you call upon me.’

  Then the King of Snakes disappeared into the long grass of the forest.

  Gangan let down his jar once more, eager to quench his thirst. But as the jar passed the third landing, the rat leaped into it.

  ‘After the Tiger King, what is a rat?’ said Gangan to himself, and pulled the jar up.

  Like the tiger and the snake, the rat did reverence, and offered his services if ever they were needed. And like the tiger and the snake, he warned Gangan against the goldsmith. Then the Rat King—for he was none other—ran off into a hole among the roots of a banyan tree.

  By this time, Gangan’s thirst was becoming unbearable. He almost flung the water jar down the well. But again the rope was seized, and Gangan heard the goldsmith beg piteously to be hauled up.

  ‘Unless I pull him out of the well, I shall never get any water,’ groaned Gangan. ‘And after all, why not help the unfortunate man?’ So with a great struggle—for he was a very fat goldsmith—Gangan got him out of the well and on to the grass beside him.

  The goldsmith had much to say. But before listening to him, Gangan let his jar down into the well a fifth time. And then he drank till he was satisfied.

  ‘Friend and deliverer!’ cried the goldsmith. ‘Don’t believe what those beasts have said about me! I live in the holy city of Tenkasi, only a day’s journey north of Papanasam. Come and visit me whenever you are there. I will show you that I am not an ungrateful man.’ And he took leave of Gangan and went his way.

  ‘From birth, poverty.’

  Gangan resumed his pilgrimage, begging his way to Papanasam. There he stayed many weeks, performing all the ceremonies which pilgrims should perform, bathing at the waterfall, and watching the Brahmin priests feeding the fishes in the sacred stream. He visited other shrines, going as far as Cape Comorin, the southernmost tip of India, where he bathed in the sea. Then he came back through the jungles of Travancore.