The King Who Was Fried

Once upon a time, a very long time ago indeed, there lived a King who

had made a vow never to eat bread or break his fast until he had given

away a hundredweight of gold in charity.

So, every day, before King Karan--for that was his name--had his

breakfast, the palace servants would come out with baskets and baskets

of gold pieces to scatter amongst the crowds of poor folk, who, you

may be sure, never forgot to be there to receive the alms.

How they used to hustle and bustle and struggle and scramble! Then,

when the last golden piece had been fought for, King Karan would sit

down to his breakfast, and enjoy it as a man who has kept his word

should do.

Now, when people saw the King lavishing his gold in this fashion, they

naturally thought that sooner or later the royal treasuries must give

out, the gold come to an end, and the King--who was evidently a man of

his word--die of starvation. But, though months and years passed by,

every day, just a quarter of an hour before breakfast-time, the

servants came out of the palace with baskets and baskets of gold; and

as the crowds dispersed they could see the King sitting down to his

breakfast in the royal banqueting hall, as jolly, and fat, and hungry,

as could be.

Now, of course, there was some secret in all this, and this secret I

shall now tell you. King Karan had made a compact with a holy and

very hungry old _faqîr_ who lived at the top of the hill; and the

compact was this: on condition of King Karan allowing himself to be

fried and eaten for breakfast every day, the _faqîr_ gave him a

hundredweight of pure gold.

Of course, had the _faqîr_ been an ordinary sort of person, the

compact would not have lasted long, for once King Karan had been fried

and eaten, there would have been an end of the matter. But the

_faqîr_ was a very remarkable _faqîr_ indeed, and when he

had eaten the King, and picked the bones quite quite clean, he just

put them together, said a charm or two, and, hey presto! there was

King Karan as fat and jolly as ever, ready for the next morning's

breakfast. In fact, the _faqîr_ made _no bones at all_ over

the affair, which, it must be confessed, was very convenient both for

the breakfast and the breakfast eater. Nevertheless, it was of course

not pleasant to be popped alive every morning into a great frying-pan

of boiling oil; and for my part I think King Karan earned his

hundredweight of gold handsomely. But after a time he got accustomed

to the process, and would go up quite cheerfully to the holy and

hungry one's house, where the biggest frying-pan was spitting and

sputtering over the sacred fire. Then he would just pass the time of

day to the _faqîr_ to make sure he was punctual, and step

gracefully into his hot oil bath. My goodness! how he sizzled and

fizzled! When he was crisp and brown, the _faqîr_ ate him,

picked the bones, set them together, sang a charm, and finished the

business by bringing out his dirty, old ragged coat, which he shook

and shook, while the bright golden pieces came tumbling out of the

pockets on to the floor.

So that was the way King Karan got his gold, and if you think it very

extraordinary, so do I!

Now, in the great Mansarobar Lake, where, as of course you know, all

the wild swans live when they leave us, and feed upon seed pearls,

there was a great famine. Pearls were so scarce that one pair of

swans determined to go out into the world and seek for food. So they

flew into King Bikramâjît's garden, at Ujjayin. Now, when the

gardener saw the beautiful birds, he was delighted, and, hoping to

induce them to stay, he threw them grain to eat. But they would not

touch it, nor any other food he offered them; so he went to his

master, and told him there were a pair of swans in the garden who

refused to eat anything.

Then King Bikramâjît went out, and asked them in birds' language (for,

as every one knows, Bikramâjît understood both beasts and birds) why

it was that they ate nothing.

'We don't eat grain!' said they, 'nor fruit, nor anything but fresh

unpierced pearls!'

Whereupon King Bikramâjît, being very kind-hearted, sent for a basket

of pearls; and every day, when he came into the garden, he fed the

swans with his own hand.

But one day, when he was feeding them as usual, one of the pearls

happened to be pierced. The dainty swans found it out at once, and

coming to the conclusion that King Bikramâjît's supply of pearls was

running short, they made up their minds to go farther afield. So,

despite his entreaties, they spread their broad white wings, and flew

up into the blue sky, their outstretched necks pointing straight

towards home on the great Mansarobar Lake. Yet they were not

ungrateful, for as they flew they sang the praises of Bikramâjît.

Now, King Karan was watching his servants bring out the baskets of

gold, when the wild swans came flying over his head; and when he heard

them singing, 'Glory to Bikramâjît! Glory to Bikramâjît!' he said to

himself, 'Who is this whom even the birds praise? I let myself be

fried and eaten every day in order that I may be able to give away a

hundredweight of gold in charity, yet no swan sings _my_ song!'

So, being jealous, he sent for a bird-catcher, who snared the poor

swans with lime, and put them in a cage.

Then Karan hung the cage in the palace, and ordered his servants to

bring every kind of birds' food; but the proud swans only curved their

white necks in scorn, saying, 'Glory to Bikramâjît!--he gave us pearls

to eat!'

Then King Karan, determined not to be outdone, sent for pearls; but

still the scornful swans would not touch anything.

'Why will ye not eat?' quoth King Karan wrathfully; 'am I not as

generous as Bikramâjît?'

Then the swan's wife answered, and said, 'Kings do not imprison the

innocent. Kings do not war against women. If Bikramâjît were here,

he would at any rate let me go!'

So Karan, not to be outdone in generosity, let the swan's wife go, and

she spread her broad white wings and flew southwards to Bikramâjît,

and told him how her husband lay a prisoner at the court of King

Karan.

Of course Bikramâjît, who was, as every one knows, the most generous

of kings, determined to* release the poor captive; and bidding the

swan fly back and rejoin her mate, he put on the garb of a servant,

and taking the name of Bikrû, journeyed northwards till he came to

King Karan's kingdom. Then he took service with the King, and helped

every day to carry out the baskets of golden pieces. He soon saw

there was some secret in King Karan's endless wealth, and never rested

until he had found it out. So, one day, hidden close by, he saw King

Karan enter the _faqîr's_ house and pop into the boiling oil. He

saw him frizzle and sizzle, he saw him come out crisp and brown, he

saw the hungry and holy _faqîr_ pick the bones, and, finally, he

saw King Karan, fat and jolly as ever, go down the mountain side with

his hundredweight of gold!

Then Bikrû knew what to do! So the very next day he rose very early,

and taking a carving-knife, he slashed himself all over. Next he took

some pepper and salt, spices, pounded pomegranate seeds, and

pea-flour; these he mixed together into a beautiful curry-stuff, and

rubbed himself all over with it--right into the cuts in spite of the

smarting. When he thought he was quite ready for cooking, he just

went up the hill to the _faqîr_'s house, and popped into the

frying-pan. The _faqîr_ was still asleep, but he soon awoke with

the sizzling and the fizzling, and said to himself, 'Dear me! how

uncommonly nice the King smells this morning!'

Indeed, so appetising was the smell, that he could hardly wait until

the King was crisp and brown, but then----oh, my goodness! how he

gobbled him up!

You see, he had been eating plain fried so long that a devilled king

was quite a change. He picked the bones ever so clean, and it is my

belief would have eaten them too, if he had not been afraid of killing

the goose that laid the golden eggs.

Then, when it was all over, he put the King together again, and said,

with tears in his eyes, 'What a breakfast that was, to be sure! Tell

me how you managed to taste so nice, and I'll give you anything you

ask.'

Whereupon Bikrû told him the way it was done, and promised to devil

himself every morning, if he might have the old coat in return.

'For,' said he, 'it is not pleasant to be fried! and I don't see why I

should in addition have the trouble of carrying a hundredweight of

gold to the palace every day. Now, if _I_ keep the coat, I can

shake it down there.'

To this the _faqîr_ agreed, and off went Bikrû with the coat.

Meanwhile, King Karan came toiling up the hill, and was surprised,

when he entered the _faqîr_'s house, to find the fire out, the

frying-pan put away, and the _faqîr_ himself as holy as ever, but

not in the least hungry.

'Why, what is the matter?' faltered the King.

'Who are you?' asked the _faqîr_, who, to begin with, was

somewhat short-sighted, and in addition felt drowsy after his heavy

meal.

'Who! Why, I'm King Karan, come to be fried! Don't you want your

breakfast?'

'I've had my breakfast!' sighed the _faqîr_ regretfully. 'You

tasted very nice when you were devilled, I can assure you!'

'I never was devilled in my life!' shouted the King; 'you must have

eaten somebody else!'

'That's just what I was saying to myself!' returned the _faqîr_

sleepily; 'I thought--it couldn't--be only--the spices--that--

'--Snore, snore, snore!

'Look here!' cried King Karan, in a rage, shaking the

_faqîr_,'you must eat me too!'

'Couldn't!' nodded the holy but satisfied _faqîr_, 'really--not

another morsel--no, thanks!'

'Then give me my gold!' shrieked King Karan; 'you're bound to do that,

for I'm ready to fulfil my part of the contract!'

'Sorry I can't oblige, but the devil--I mean the other person--went

off with the coat!' nodded the _faqîr_.

Hearing this, King Karan returned home in despair and ordered the

royal treasurer to send him gold; so that day he ate his breakfast in

peace.

And the next day also, by ransacking all the private treasuries, a

hundredweight of gold was forthcoming; so King Karan ate his breakfast

as usual, though his heart was gloomy.

But the third day, the royal treasurer arrived with empty hands, and,

casting himself on the ground, exclaimed, 'May it please your majesty!

there is not any more gold in your majesty's domains!'

Then King Karan went solemnly to bed, without any breakfast, and the

crowd, after waiting for hours expecting to see the palace doors open

and the servants come out with the baskets of gold, melted away,

saying it was a great shame to deceive poor folk in that way!

By dinner-time poor King Karan was visibly thinner; but he was a man

of his word, and though the wily Bikrû came and tried to persuade him

to eat, by saying he could not possibly be blamed, he shook his head,

and turned his face to the wall.

Then Bikrû, or Bikramâjît, took the _faqîr's_ old coat, and

shaking it before the King, said, 'Take the money, my friend; and what

is more, if you will set the wild swans you have in that cage at

liberty, I will give you the coat into the bargain!'

So King Karan set the wild swans at liberty, and as the pair of them

flew away to the great Mansarobar Lake, they sang as they went, 'Glory

to Bikramâjît! the generous Bikramâjît!'

Then King Karan hung his head, and said to himself, 'The swans' song

is true!--Bikramâjît is more generous than I; for if I was fried for

the sake of a hundredweight of gold and my breakfast, he was devilled

in order to set a bird at liberty!'