The Story of a Hiraman

There was a fowler who had a wife. The fowler's wife said to her

husband one day, "My dear, I'll tell you the reason why we are always

in want. It is because you sell every bird you catch by your rods,

whereas if we sometimes eat some of the birds you catch, we are sure

to have better luck. I propose therefore that whatever bird or birds

you bag to-day we do not sell, but dress and eat." The fowler agreed

to his wife's proposal, and went out a-bird-catching. He went about

from wood to wood with his limed rods, accompanied by his wife, but in

vain. Somehow or other they did not succeed in catching any bird till

near sundown. But just as they were returning homewards they caught

a beautiful hiraman. The fowler's wife, taking the bird in her hand

and feeling it all over, said, "What a small bird this is! how much

meat can it have? There is no use in killing it." The hiraman said,

"Mother, do not kill me, but take me to the king, and you will

get a large sum of money by selling me." The fowler and his wife

were greatly taken aback on hearing the bird speak, and they asked

the bird what price they should set upon it. The hiraman answered,

"Leave that to me; take me to the king and offer me for sale; and when

the king asks my price, say, 'The bird will tell its own price,' and

then I'll mention a large sum." The fowler accordingly went the next

day to the king's palace, and offered the bird for sale. The king,

delighted with the beauty of the bird, asked the fowler what he would

take for it. The fowler said, "O great king, the bird will tell its

own price." "What! can the bird speak?" asked the king. "Yes, my lord;

be pleased to ask the bird its price," replied the fowler. The king,

half in jest and half in seriousness, said, "Well, hiraman, what is

your price?" The hiraman answered, "Please your majesty, my price is

ten thousand rupees. Do not think that the price is too high. Count

out the money for the fowler, for I'll be of the greatest service to

your majesty." "What service can you be of to me, hiraman?" asked

the king. "Your majesty will see that in due time," replied the

hiraman. The king, surprised beyond measure at hearing the hiraman

talk, and talk so sensibly, took the bird, and ordered his treasurer

to tell down the sum of ten thousand rupees to the fowler.

The king had six queens, but he was so taken up with the bird that

he almost forgot that they lived; at any rate, his days and nights

were spent in the company, not of the queens, but of the bird. The

hiraman not only replied intelligently to every question the king

put, but it recited to him the names of the three hundred and thirty

millions of the gods of the Hindu pantheon, the hearing of which is

always regarded as an act of piety. The queens felt that they were

neglected by the king, became jealous of the bird, and determined to

kill it. It was long before they got an opportunity, as the bird was

the king's inseparable companion. One day the king went out a-hunting,

and he was to be away from the palace for two days. The six queens

determined to avail themselves of the opportunity and put an end to

the life of the bird. They said to one another, "Let us go and ask

the bird which of us is the ugliest in his estimation, and she whom

he pronounces the ugliest shall strangle the bird." Thus resolved,

they all went into the room where the bird was; but before the queens

could put any questions the bird so sweetly and so piously recited

the names of the gods and goddesses, that the hearts of them all

were melted into tenderness, and they came away without accomplishing

their purpose. The following day, however, their evil genius returned,

and they called themselves a thousand fools for having been diverted

from their purpose. They therefore determined to steel their hearts

against all pity, and to kill the bird without delay. They all went

into the room, and said to the bird, "O hiraman, you are a very wise

bird, we hear, and your judgments are all right; will you please tell

us which of us is the handsomest and which the ugliest?" The bird,

knowing the evil design of the queens, said to them, "How can I

answer your questions remaining in this cage? In order to pronounce

a correct judgment I must look minutely on every limb of you all,

both in front and behind. If you wish to know my opinion you must

set me free." The women were at first afraid of setting the bird

free lest it should fly away; but on second thoughts they set it

free after shutting all the doors and windows of the room. The bird,

on examining the room, saw that it had a water-passage through which

it was possible to escape. When the question was repeated several

times by the queens, the bird said, "The beauty of not one of you

can be compared to the beauty of the little toe of the lady that

lives beyond the seven oceans and the thirteen rivers." The queens,

on hearing their beauty spoken of in such slighting terms, became

exceedingly furious, and rushed towards the bird to tear it in pieces;

but before they could get at it, it escaped through the water-passage,

and took shelter in a wood-cutter's hut which was hard by.

The next day the king returned home from hunting, and not finding

the hiraman on its perch became mad with grief. He asked the queens,

and they told him that they knew nothing about it. The king wept day

and night for the bird, as he loved it much. His ministers became

afraid lest his reason should give way, for he used every hour of

the day to weep, saying, "O my hiraman! O my hiraman! where art thou

gone?" Proclamation was made by beat of drum throughout the kingdom

to the effect that if any person could produce before the king his pet

hiraman he would be rewarded with ten thousand rupees. The wood-cutter,

rejoiced at the idea of becoming independent for life, produced the

precious bird and obtained the reward. The king, on hearing from

the parrot that the queens had attempted to kill it, became mad with

rage. He ordered them to be driven away from the palace and put in

a desert place without food. The king's order was obeyed, and it was

rumoured after a few days that the poor queens were all devoured by

wild beasts.

After some time the king said to the parrot, "Hiraman, you said to

the queens that the beauty of none of them could be compared to the

beauty of even the little toe of the lady who lives on the other side

of the seven oceans and thirteen rivers. Do you know of any means by

which I can get at that lady?"

Hiraman. Of course I do. I can take your majesty to the door of

the palace in which that lady of peerless beauty lives; and if your

majesty will abide by my counsel, I will undertake to put that lady

into your arms.

King. I will do whatever you tell me. What do you wish me to do?

Hiraman. What is required is a pakshiraj. [36] If you can procure a

horse of that species, you can ride upon it, and in no time we shall

cross the seven oceans and thirteen rivers, and stand at the door of

the lady's palace.

King. I have, as you know, a large stud of horses; we can now go and

see if there are any pakshirajes amongst them.

The king and the hiraman went to the royal stables and examined all

the horses. The hiraman passed by all the fine-looking horses and

those of high mettle, and alighted upon a wretched-looking lean pony,

and said, "Here is the horse I want. It is a horse of the genuine

pakshiraj breed, but it must be fed full six months with the finest

grain before it can answer our purpose." The king accordingly put

that pony in a stable by itself and himself saw every day that it

was fed with the finest grain that could be got in the kingdom. The

pony rapidly improved in appearance, and at the end of six months the

hiraman pronounced it fit for service. The parrot then told the king

to order the royal silversmith to make some khais [37] of silver. A

large quantity of silver khais was made in a short time. When about

to start on their aerial journey the hiraman said to the king,

"I have one request to make. Please whip the horse only once at

starting. If you whip him more than once, we shall not be able to

reach the palace, but stick mid-way. And when we return homewards

after capturing the lady, you are also to whip the horse only once;

if you whip him more than once, we shall come only half the way and

remain there." The king then got upon the pakshiraj with the hiraman

and the silver khais and gently whipped the animal once. The horse

shot through the air with the speed of lightning, passed over many

countries, kingdoms, and empires, crossed the oceans and thirteen

rivers, and alighted in the evening at the gate of a beautiful palace.

Now, near the palace-gate there stood a lofty tree. The hiraman told

the king to put the horse in the stable hard by, and then to climb

into the tree and remain there concealed. The hiraman took the silver

khais, and with its beak began dropping khai after khai from the foot

of the tree, all through the corridors and passages, up to the door

of the bedchamber of the lady of peerless beauty. After doing this,

the hiraman perched upon the tree where the king was concealed. Some

hours after midnight, the maid-servant of the lady, who slept in

the same room with her, wishing to come out, opened the door and

noticed the silver khais lying there. She took up a few of them,

and not knowing what they were, showed them to her lady. The lady,

admiring the little silver bullets, and wondering how they could have

got there, came out of her room and began picking them up. She saw a

regular stream of them apparently issuing from near the door of her

room, and proceeding she knew not how far. She went on picking up

in a basket the bright, shining khais all through the corridors and

passages, till she came to the foot of the tree. No sooner did the

lady of peerless beauty come to the foot of the tree than the king,

agreeably to instructions previously given to him by the hiraman,

alighted from the tree and caught hold of the lady. In a moment

she was put upon the horse along with himself. At that moment the

hiraman sat upon the shoulder of the king, the king gently whipped

the horse once, and they all were whirled through the air with the

speed of lightning. The king, wishing to reach home soon with the

precious prize, and forgetful of the instructions of the hiraman,

whipped the horse again; on which the horse at once alighted on

the outskirts of what seemed a dense forest. "What have you done,

O king?" shouted out the hiraman. "Did I not tell you not to whip

the horse more than once? You have whipped him twice, and we are

done for. We may meet with our death here." But the thing was done,

and it could not be helped. The pakshiraj became powerless; and the

party could not proceed homewards. They dismounted; but they could not

see anywhere the habitations of men. They ate some fruits and roots,

and slept that night there upon the ground.

Next morning it so chanced that the king of that country came to that

forest to hunt. As he was pursuing a stag, whom he had pierced with an

arrow, he came across the king and the lady of peerless beauty. Struck

with the matchless beauty of the lady, he wished to seize her. He

whistled, and in a moment his attendants flocked around him. The lady

was made a captive, and her lover, who had brought her from her house

on the other side of the seven oceans and thirteen rivers, was not

put to death, but his eyes were put out, and he was left alone in the

forest--alone, and yet not alone, for the good hiraman was with him.

The lady of peerless beauty was taken into the king's palace,

as well as the pony of her lover. The lady said to the king that

he must not come near her for six months, in consequence of a vow

which she had taken, and which would be completed in that period of

time. She mentioned six months, as that period would be necessary for

recruiting the constitution of the pakshiraj. As the lady professed to

engage every day in religious ceremonies, in consequence of her vow,

a separate house was assigned to her, where she took the pakshiraj and

fed him with the choicest grain. But everything would be fruitless

if the lady did not meet the hiraman. But how is she to get a sight

of that bird? She adopted the following expedient. She ordered her

servants to scatter on the roof of her house heaps of paddy, grain,

and all sorts of pulse for the refreshment of birds. The consequence

was, that thousands of the feathery race came to the roof to partake

of the abundant feast. The lady was every day on the look out for

her hiraman. The hiraman, meanwhile, was in great distress in the

forest. He had to take care not only of himself, but of the now

blinded king. He plucked some ripe fruits in the forest, and gave

them to the king to eat, and he ate of them himself. This was the

manner of hiraman's life. The other birds of the forest spoke thus

to the parrot--"O hiraman, you have a miserable life of it in this

forest. Why don't you come with us to an abundant feast provided for us

by a pious lady, who scatters many maunds of pulse on the roof of her

house for the benefit of our race? We go there early in the morning

and return in the evening, eating our fill along with thousands of

other birds." The hiraman resolved to accompany them next morning,

shrewdly suspecting more in the lady's charity to birds than the

other birds thought there was in it. The hiraman saw the lady,

and had a long chat with her about the health of the blinded king,

the means of curing his blindness, and about her escape. The plan

adopted was as follows: The pony would be ready for aerial flight in

a short time--for a great part of the six months had already elapsed;

and the king's blindness could be cured if the hiraman could procure

from the chicks of the bihangama and bihangami birds, who had their

nest on the tree at the gate of the lady's palace beyond the seven

oceans and thirteen rivers, a quantity of their ordure, fresh and hot,

and apply it to the eyeballs of the blinded king. The following morning

the hiraman started on his errand of mercy, remained at night on the

tree at the gate of the palace beyond the seven oceans and thirteen

rivers, and early the next morning waited below the nest of the

birds with a leaf on his beak, into which dropped the ordure of the

chicks. That moment the hiraman flew across the oceans and rivers,

came to the forest, and applied the precious balm to the sightless

sockets of the king. The king opened his eyes and saw. In a few days

the pakshiraj was in proper trim. The lady escaped to the forest

and took the king up; and the lady, king, and hiraman all reached

the king's capital safe and sound. The king and the lady were united

together in wedlock. They lived many years together happily, and begat

sons and daughters; and the beautiful hiraman was always with them

reciting the names of the three hundred and thirty millions of gods.

Here my story endeth,

The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.

1 “Hiraman (from harit, green, and mani, a gem), the name of a beautiful species of parrot, a native of the Molucca Islands (Psittacus sinensis).”—Carey’s Dictionary of the Bengalee Language, vol. ii. part iii. p. 1537.

2 Winged horse, literally, the king of birds.

3 Khai is fried paddy.