by Ruskin Bond
He had started on his pilgrimage with his copper water jar and nothing more. After months of wanderings, it was still the only thing he owned. The first prophecy on the palm leaf had already come true: ‘From birth, poverty.’
During his wanderings Gangan had never once thought of the Tiger King and the others, but as he walked wearily along in his rags, he saw a ruined well by the roadside, and it reminded him of his wonderful adventure. And just to see if the Tiger King was genuine, he called out: ‘Oh King of Tigers, let me see you!’
No sooner had he spoken than the Tiger King leaped out of the bushes, carrying in his mouth a glittering golden helmet, embedded with precious stones.
It was the helmet of King Pandya, the monarch of the land.
The king had been waylaid and killed by robbers, for the sake of the jewelled helmet; but they in turn had fallen prey to the tiger, who had walked away with the helmet.
Gangan, of course, knew nothing about all this, and when the Tiger King laid the helmet at his feet, he stood stupefied at its splendour and his own good luck.
After the Tiger King had left him, Gangan thought of the goldsmith. ‘He will take the jewels out of the helmet, and I will sell some of them. Others I will take home.’ So he wrapped the helmet in a rag and made his way to Tenkasi.
In the Tenkasi bazaar he soon found the goldsmith’s shop. When they had talked a while, Gangan uncovered the golden helmet. The goldsmith—who knew its worth far better than Gangan—gloated over it, and at once agreed to take out the jewels and sell a few so that Gangan might have some money to spend.
‘Now let me examine this helmet at leisure,’ said the goldsmith. ‘You go to the shrines, worship, and come back. I will then tell you what your treasure is worth.’
Gangan went off to worship at the famous shrines of Tenkasi. And as soon as he had gone, the goldsmith went off to the local magistrate.
‘Did not the herald of King Pandya’s son come here only yesterday and announce that he would give half his kingdom to anyone who discovered his father’s murderer?’ he asked. ‘Well, I have found the killer. He has brought the king’s jewelled helmet to me this very day.’
The magistrate called his guards, and they all hurried to the goldsmith’s shop and reached it just as Gangan returned from his tour of the temples.
‘Here is the helmet!’ exclaimed the goldsmith to the magistrate. ‘And here is the villain who murdered the king to get it!’
The guards seized poor Gangan and marched him off to Madura, the capital of the Pandya kingdom, and brought him before the murdered king’s son. When Gangan tried to explain about the Tiger King, the goldsmith called him a liar, and the new king had him thrown into the death cell, a deep, well-like pit, dug into the ground in a courtyard of the palace. The only entrance to it was a hole in the pavement of the courtyard. Here Gangan was left to die of hunger and thirst.
At first Gangan lay helpless where he had fallen. Then, looking around him, he found himself on a heap of bones, the bones of those who before him had died in the dungeon; and he was watched by an army of rats who were waiting to gnaw his dead body. He remembered how the Tiger King had warned him against the goldsmith, and had promised help if ever it was needed.
‘I need help now,’ groaned Gangan, and shouted for the Tiger King, the Snake King, and the Rat King.
For some time nothing happened. Then all the rats in the dungeon suddenly left him and began burrowing in a corner between some of the stones in the wall. Presently Gangan saw that the hole was quite large, and that many other rats were coming and going, working at the same tunnel. And then the Rat King himself came through the little passage, and he was followed by the Snake King, while a great roar from outside told Gangan that the Tiger King was there.
‘We cannot get you out of this place,’ said the Snake King. ‘The walls are too strong. But the armies of the Rat King will bring rice cakes from the palace kitchens, and sweets from the shops in the bazaars, and rags soaked in water. They will not let you die. And from this day on the tigers and the snakes will slay tenfold, and the rats will destroy grain and cloth as never before. Before long the people will begin to complain. Then, when you hear anyone passing in front of your cell, shout: ‘These disasters are the results of your ruler’s injustice! But I can save you from them!’ At first they will pay no attention. But after some time they will take you out, and at your word we will stop the sacking and the slaughter. And then they will honour you.’
‘For ten years, captivity.’
For ten years the tigers killed. The serpents struck. The rats destroyed. And at last the people wailed, ‘The gods are plaguing us.’
All the while Gangan cried out to those who came near his cell, declaring that he could save them; they thought he was a madman. So ten years passed, and the second prophecy on the palm leaf was fulfilled.
At last, the Snake King made his way into the palace and bit the king’s only daughter. She was dead in a few minutes.
The king called for all the snake-charmers and offered half his kingdom to any one of them who would restore his daughter to life. None of them was able to do so. Then the king’s servants remembered the cries of Gangan and remarked that there was a madman in the dungeons who kept insisting that he could bring an end to all their troubles. The king at once ordered the dungeon to be opened. Ladders were let down. Men descended and found Gangan, looking more like a ghost than a man. His hair had grown so long that none could see his face. The king did not remember him, but Gangan soon reminded the king of how he had condemned him without enquiry, on the word of the goldsmith.
The king grovelled in the dust before Gangan, begged forgiveness, and entreated him to restore the dead princess to life.
‘Bring me the body of the princess,’ said Gangan.
Then he called on the Tiger King and the Snake King to come and give life to the princess. As soon as they entered the royal chamber, the princess was restored to life.
Glad as they were to see the princess alive, the king and his courtiers were filled with fear at the sight of the Tiger King and the Snake King. But the tiger and the snake hurt no one, and at a second prayer from Gangan, they brought life to all those they had slain.
And when Gangan made a third petition, the Tiger, the Snake and the Rat Kings ordered their subjects to stop pillaging the Pandya kingdom, so long as the king did no further injustice.
‘Let us find that treacherous goldsmith and put him in the dungeon,’ said the Tiger King.
But Gangan wanted no vengeance. That very day he set out for his village to see his brother, Chellan, once more. But when he left the Pandya king’s capital, he took the wrong road. After much wandering, he found himself on the seashore.
Now it happened that his brother was also making a journey in those parts, and it was their fate that they should meet by the sea. When Gangan saw his brother, his gladness was so sudden and so great that he fell down dead.
And so the third prophecy was fulfilled:
‘On the seashore, death.’
Chellan, as he came along the shore road, had seen a half-ruined shrine of Pillaiyar, the elephant-headed god of good luck. Chellan was a very devout servant of Pillaiyar, and, the day being a festival day, he felt it was his duty to worship the god. But it was also his duty to perform the funeral rites for his brother.
The seashore was lonely. There was no one to help him. It would take hours to collect fuel and driftwood enough for a funeral pyre. For a while Chellan did not know what to do. But at last he took up the body and carried it to Pillaiyar’s temple.
Then he addressed the god. ‘This is my brother’s body,’ he said. ‘I am unclean because I have touched it. I must go and bathe in the sea. Then I will come and worship you, and afterwards I will burn my brother’s body. Meanwhile, I leave it in your care.’
Chellan left, and the god told his attendant Ganas (goblins) to watch over the body. These Ganas are inclined to be mischievous, and when the god wasn’t looking,
they gobbled up the body of Gangan.
When Chellan came back from bathing, he reverently worshipped Pillaiyar. He then looked for his brother’s body. It was not to be found. Anxiously he demanded it of the god. Pillaiyar called on his goblins to produce it. Terrified, they confessed to what they had done.
Chellan reproached the god for the misdeeds of his attendants. And Pillaiyar felt so much pity for him that by his divine power he restored dead Gangan’s body to Chellan, and brought Gangan to life again.
The two brothers then returned to King Pandya’s capital, where Gangan married the princess and became king when her father died.
And so the fourth prophecy was fulfilled:
‘For a little while happiness shall follow.’
But there are wise men who say that the lines of the prophecy were wrongly read and understood, and that the whole should run:
‘From birth, poverty;
For ten years, captivity;
On the seashore, death for a little while;
Happiness shall follow.’
It is the last two lines that are different. And this must be the correct version, because when happiness came to Gangan it was not ‘for a little while.’ When the goddess of good fortune did arrive, she stayed in his palace for many, many years.
LONG TIME ago, there was a king who had seven sons—all of them brave, handsome and clever. The old king loved them equally, and the princes dressed alike and received the same amounts of pocket money. When they grew up they were given separate palaces, but the palaces were built and furnished alike, and if you had seen one palace you had seen the others.
When the princes were old enough to marry, the king sent his ambassadors all over the country to search out seven brides of equal beauty and talent. The ambassadors travelled everywhere and saw many princesses but could not find seven equally suitable brides. They returned to the king and reported their failure.
The king now became so despondent and gloomy that his chief minister decided that something had to be done to solve his master’s problem.
‘Do not be so downcast, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Surely it is impossible to find seven brides as accomplished as your seven sons. Let us trust chance, and then perhaps we shall find the ideal brides.’
The minister had thought out a scheme, and when the princes agreed to it, they were taken to the highest tower of the fort, which overlooked the entire city as well as the surrounding countryside. Seven bows and seven arrows were placed before them, and they were told to shoot in any direction they liked. Each prince had agreed to marry the girl upon whose house the arrow fell, be she daughter of prince or peasant.
The seven princes took up their bows and shot their arrows in different directions, and all the arrows except that of the youngest prince fell on the houses of well-known and highly respected families. But the arrow shot by the youngest brother went beyond the city and out of sight.
Servants ran in all directions looking for the arrow and, after a long search, found it embedded in the trunk of a great banyan tree, in which sat a monkey.
Great was the dismay and consternation of the king when he discovered that his youngest son’s arrow had made such an unfortunate descent. The king and his courtiers and his minister held a hurried conference. They decided that the youngest prince should be given another chance with his arrow. But to everyone’s surprise, the prince refused a second chance.
‘No,’ he said. ‘My brothers have found beautiful and good brides, and that is their good fortune. But do not ask me to break the pledge I took before shooting my arrow. I know I cannot marry this monkey. But I will not marry anyone else! Instead I shall take the monkey home and keep her as a pet.’
The six lucky princes were married with great pomp. The city was ablaze with lights and fireworks, and there was music and dancing in the streets. People decorated their houses with the leaves of mango and banana trees. There was great rejoicing everywhere, except in the palace of the youngest prince. He had placed a diamond collar about the neck of his monkey and seated her on a chair cushioned with velvet. They both looked rather melancholy.
‘Poor monkey,’ said the prince. ‘You are as lonely as I am on this day of rejoicing. But I shall make your stay here a happy one! Are you hungry?’ And he placed a bowl of grapes before her, and persuaded her to eat a few. He began talking to the monkey and spending all his time with her. Some called him foolish, or obstinate; others said he wasn’t quite right in the head.
The king was worried and discussed the situation with his minister and his other sons in a bid to find some way of bringing the prince to his senses and marrying him into a noble family. But he refused to listen to their advice and entreaties.
As the months passed, the prince grew even more attached to his monkey, and could be seen walking with her in the gardens of his palace.
Then one day the king called a meeting of all seven princes and said, ‘My sons, I have seen you all settled happily in life. Even you, my youngest, appear to be happy with your strange companion. The happiness of a father consists in the happiness of his sons and daughters. Therefore, I wish to visit my daughters-in-law and give them presents.’
The eldest son immediately invited his father to dine at his palace, and the others did the same. The king accepted all their invitations, including that of the youngest prince. The receptions were very grand, and the king presented his daughters-in-law with precious jewels and costly dresses. Eventually it was the turn of the youngest son to entertain the king.
The youngest prince was very troubled. How could he invite his father to a house in which he lived with a monkey? He knew his monkey was more gentle and affectionate than some of the greatest ladies in the land; and he was determined not to hide her away as though she were someone to be ashamed of.
Walking beside his pet in the palace gardens, he said, ‘What shall I do now, my friend? I wish you had a tongue with which to comfort me. All my brothers have shown their homes and wives to my father. They will ridicule me when I present you to him.’
The monkey had always been a silent and sympathetic listener when the prince spoke to her. Now he noticed that she was gesturing to him with her hands. Bending over her, he saw that she held a piece of broken pottery in her hand. The prince took the shard from her and saw that something was written on it. These were the words he read:
‘Do not worry, sweet prince, but go to the place where you found me, and throw this piece of pottery into the hollow trunk of the banyan tree, and wait for a reply.’
The prince did as he was told. Going to the ancient banyan tree, he threw the shard of pottery into the hollow, and then stood back to see if anything would happen.
He did not have to wait long.
A beautiful fairy dressed in green stepped out of the hollow and asked the prince to follow her. She told him that the queen of the fairies wished to see him in person.
The prince climbed the tree, entered the hollow, and after groping about in the dark was suddenly led into a spacious and wonderful garden, at the end of which stood a beautiful palace. Between an avenue of trees flowed a crystal-clear stream, and on the bed of the stream, instead of pebbles, there were rubies and diamonds and sapphires. Even the light which lit up this new world was warmer and less harsh than the light of the world outside. The prince was led past a fountain of silver water, up steps of gold, and in through the mother-of-pearl doors of the palace. But the splendour of the room into which he was led seemed to fade before the exquisite beauty of the fairy princess who stood before him.
‘Yes, prince, I know your message,’ said the princess. ‘Do not be anxious, but go home and prepare to receive your father the king and your royal guests tomorrow evening. My servants will see to everything.’
Next morning, when the prince awoke in his palace, an amazing sight met his eyes. The palace grounds teemed with life. The gardens were full of pomegranate trees, laden with fruit, and under the trees were gaily decorated stalls serving sweets, scen
ted water and cooling sherbets. Children were playing on the lawns, and men and women were dancing or listening to music.
The prince was bewildered by what he saw, and he was even more amazed when he entered his banquet hall and found it full of activity. Tables groaned under the weight of delicious pillaus, curries and biryanis. Great chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bunches of roses filled the room with their perfume.
A servant came running to announce that the king and his courtiers were arriving. The prince hurried out to meet them. After dinner was served, everyone insisted on seeing the companion the prince had chosen for himself. They thought the monkey would make excellent entertainment after such a magnificent feast.
The prince could not refuse this request, and passed gloomily through his rooms in search of his monkey. He feared the ridicule that would follow. This, he knew, was his father’s way of trying to cure him of his obstinacy.
He opened the door of his room and was almost blinded by a blaze of light. There, on a throne in the middle of the room, sat the fairy princess.
‘Come, prince,’ she said. ‘I have sent away the monkey and I am here to offer you my hand.’
On hearing that his pet had gone, the prince burst into tears. ‘What have you done?’ he cried. ‘It was cruel of you to take away my monkey. Your beauty will not compensate me for the loss of my companion.’
‘If my beauty does not move you,’ said the princess with a smile, ‘let gratitude help you take my hand. See what pains I have taken to prepare this feast for your father and brothers. As my husband, you shall have all the riches and pleasures of the world at your command.’
The prince was indignant. ‘I did not ask these things of you—nor do I know what plot has been afoot to deprive me of my monkey. Restore her to me, and I will be your slave!’
Then the fairy princess came down from her throne, and taking the prince by the hand, spoke to him with great love and respect.
‘You see in me your friend and companion,’ she said. ‘Yes, it was I who took the form of a monkey to test your faith and sincerity. See, my monkey’s skin lies there in the corner.’