The Story of Prince Sobur

Once upon a time there lived a certain merchant who had seven

daughters. One day the merchant put to his daughters the question:

"By whose fortune do you get your living?" The eldest daughter

answered--"Papa, I get my living by your fortune." The same answer

was given by the second daughter, the third, the fourth, the fifth,

and the sixth; but his youngest daughter said--"I get my living by my

own fortune." The merchant got very angry with the youngest daughter,

and said to her--"As you are so ungrateful as to say that you get

your living by your own fortune, let me see how you fare alone. This

very day you shall leave my house without a pice in your pocket." He

forthwith called his palki-bearers, and ordered them to take away the

girl and leave her in the midst of a forest. The girl begged hard to

be allowed to take with her her work-box containing her needles and

threads. She was allowed to do so. She then got into the palki, which

the bearers lifted on their shoulders. The bearers had not gone many

hundred yards to the tune of "Hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon!" when

an old woman bawled out to them and bid them stop. On coming up to

the palki, she said, "Where are you taking away my daughter?" for she

was the nurse of the merchant's youngest child. The bearers replied,

"The merchant has ordered us to take her away and leave her in the

midst of a forest; and we are going to do his bidding." "I must go with

her," said the old woman. "How will you be able to keep pace with us,

as we must needs run?" said the bearers. "Anyhow I must go where my

daughter goes," rejoined the old woman. The upshot was that, at the

entreaty of the merchant's youngest daughter, the old woman was put

inside the palki along with her. In the afternoon the palki-bearers

reached a dense forest. They went far into it; and towards sunset

they put down the girl and the old woman at the foot of a large tree,

and retraced their steps homewards.

The case of the merchant's youngest daughter was truly pitiable. She

was scarcely fourteen years old; she had been bred in the lap of

luxury; and she was now here at sundown in the heart of what seemed

an interminable forest, with not a penny in her pocket, and with no

other protection than what could be given her by an old, decrepit,

imbecile woman. The very trees of the forest looked upon her with

pity. The gigantic tree, at whose foot she was mingling her tears

with those of the old woman, said to her (for trees could speak in

those days)--"Unhappy girl! I much pity you. In a short time the wild

beasts of the forest will come out of their lairs and roam about for

their prey; and they are sure to devour you and your companion. But

I can help you; I will make an opening for you in my trunk. When you

see the opening go into it; I will then close it up; and you will

remain safe inside; nor can the wild beasts touch you." In a moment

the trunk of the tree was split into two. The merchant's daughter

and the old woman went inside the hollow, on which the tree resumed

its natural shape. When the shades of night darkened the forest the

wild beasts came out of their lairs. The fierce tiger was there; the

wild bear was there; the hard-skinned rhinoceros was there; the bushy

bear was there; the musty elephant was there; and the horned buffalo

was there. They all growled round about the tree, for they got the

scent of human blood. The merchant's daughter and the old woman heard

from within the tree the growl of the beasts. The beasts came dashing

against the tree; they broke its branches; they pierced its trunk with

their horns; they scratched its bark with their claws: but in vain. The

merchant's daughter and her old nurse were safe within. Towards dawn

the wild beasts went away. After sunrise the good tree said to her two

inmates, "Unhappy women, the wild beasts have gone into their lairs

after greatly tormenting me. The sun is up; you can now come out." So

saying the tree split itself into two, and the merchant's daughter

and the old woman came out. They saw the extent of the mischief done

by the wild beasts to the tree. Many of its branches had been broken

down; in many places the trunk had been pierced; and in other places

the bark had been stripped off. The merchant's daughter said to the

tree, "Good mother, you are truly good to give us shelter at such

a fearful cost. You must be in great pain from the torture to which

the wild beasts subjected you last night." So saying she went to the

tank which was near the tree, and bringing thence a quantity of mud,

she besmeared the trunk with it, especially those parts which had

been pierced and scratched. After she had done this, the tree said,

"Thank you, my good girl, I am now greatly relieved of my pain. I am,

however, concerned not so much about myself as about you both. You

must be hungry, not having eaten the whole of yesterday. And what can I

give you? I have no fruit of my own to give you. Give to the old woman

whatever money you have, and let her go into the city hard by and

buy some food." They said they had no money. On searching, however,

in the work-box she found five cowries. [19] The tree then told the

old woman to go with the cowries to the city and buy some khai. [20]

The old woman went to the city, which was not far, and said to one

confectioner, "Please give me five cowries' worth of khai." The

confectioner laughed at her and said, "Be off, you old hag, do you

think khai can be had for five cowries?" She tried another shop,

and the shopkeeper, thinking the woman to be in great distress,

compassionately gave her a large quantity of khai for the five cowries.

When the old woman returned with the khai, the tree said to the

merchant's daughter, "Each of you eat a little of the khai, lay by

more than half, and strew the rest on the embankments of the tank all

round." They did as they were bidden, though they did not understand

the reason why they were told to scatter the khai on the sides of the

tank. They spent the day in bewailing their fate, and at night they

were housed inside the trunk of the tree as on the previous night. The

wild beasts came as before, further mutilated the tree, and tortured

it as in the preceding night. But during the night a scene was being

enacted on the embankments of the tank of which the two women saw the

outcome only on the following morning. Hundreds of peacocks of gorgeous

plumes came to the embankments to eat the khai which had been strewed

on them; and as they strove with each other for the tempting food

many of their plumes fell off their bodies. Early in the morning the

tree told the two women to gather the plumes together, out of which

the merchant's daughter made a beautiful fan. This fan was taken into

the city to the palace, where the son of the king admired it greatly

and paid for it a large sum of money. As each morning a quantity of

plumes was collected, every day one fan was made and sold. So that

in a short time the two women got rich. The tree then advised them

to employ men in building a house for them to live in. Accordingly

bricks were burnt, trees were cut down for beams and rafters, bricks

were reduced to powder, lime was manufactured, and in a few months

a stately, palace-like house was built for the merchant's daughter

and her old nurse. It was thought advisable to lay out the adjoining

grounds as a garden, and to dig a tank for supplying them with water.

In the meantime the merchant himself with his wife and six daughters

had been frowned upon by the goddess of wealth. By a sudden stroke of

misfortune he lost all his money, his house and property were sold,

and he, his wife, and six daughters, were turned adrift penniless into

the world. It so happened that they lived in a village not far from the

place where the two strange women had built a palace and were digging

a tank. As the once rich merchant was now supporting his family by

the pittance which he obtained every day for his manual labour, he

bethought himself of employing himself as a day labourer in digging

the tank of the strange lady on the skirts of the forest. His wife

said she would also go to dig the tank with him. So one day while

the strange lady was amusing herself from the window of her palace

with looking at the labourers digging her tank, to her utter surprise

she saw her father and mother coming towards the palace, apparently

to engage themselves as day labourers. Tears ran down her cheeks as

she looked at them, for they were clothed in rags. She immediately

sent servants to bring them inside the house. The poor man and woman

were frightened beyond measure. They saw that the tank was all ready;

and as it was customary in those days to offer a human sacrifice when

the digging was over, they thought that they were called inside in

order to be sacrificed. Their fears increased when they were told to

throw away their rags and to put on fine clothes which were given to

them. The strange lady of the palace, however, soon dispelled their

fears; for she told them that she was their daughter, fell on their

necks and wept. The rich daughter related her adventures, and the

father felt she was right when she said that she lived upon her own

fortune and not on that of her father. She gave her father a large

fortune, which enabled him to go to the city in which he formerly

lived, and to set himself up again as a merchant.

The merchant now bethought himself of going in his ship to distant

countries for purposes of trade. All was ready. He got on board,

ready to start, but, strange to say, the ship would not move. The

merchant was at a loss what to make of this. At last the idea occurred

to him that he had asked each of his six daughters, who were living

with him, what thing she wished he should bring for her; but he had

not asked that question of his seventh daughter who had made him

rich. He therefore immediately despatched a messenger to his youngest

daughter, asking her what she wished her father to bring for her on

his return from his mercantile travels. When the messenger arrived

she was engaged in her devotions, and hearing that a messenger had

arrived from her father she said to him "Sobur," meaning "wait." The

messenger understood that she wanted her father to bring for her

something called Sobur. He returned to the merchant and told him that

she wanted him to bring for her Sobur. The ship now moved of itself,

and the merchant started on his travels. He visited many ports,

and by selling his goods obtained immense profit. The things his

six daughters wanted him to bring for them he easily got, but Sobur,

the thing which he understood his youngest daughter wished to have,

he could get nowhere. He asked at every port whether Sobur could be

had there, but the merchants all told him that they had never heard

of such an article of commerce. At the last port he went through the

streets bawling out--"Wanted Sobur! wanted Sobur!" The cry attracted

the notice of the son of the king of that country whose name was

Sobur. The prince, hearing from the merchant that his daughter wanted

Sobur, said that he had the article in question, and bringing out a

small box of wood containing a magical fan with a looking-glass in

it, said--"This is Sobur which your daughter wishes to have." The

merchant having obtained the long-wished-for Sobur weighed anchor,

and sailed for his native land. On his arrival he sent to his youngest

daughter the said wonderful box. The daughter, thinking it to be a

common wooden box, laid it aside. Some days after when she was at

leisure she bethought herself of opening the box which her father

had sent her. When she opened it she saw in it a beautiful fan,

and in it a looking-glass. As she shook the fan, in a moment the

Prince Sobur stood before her, and said--"You called me, here I

am. What's your wish?" The merchant's daughter, astonished at the

sudden appearance of a prince of such exquisite beauty, asked who he

was, and how he had made his appearance there. The prince told her

of the circumstances under which he gave the box to her father, and

informed her of the secret that whenever the fan would be shaken he

would make his appearance. The prince lived for a day or two in the

house of the merchant's daughter, who entertained him hospitably. The

upshot was, that they fell in love with each other, and vowed to

each other to be husband and wife. The prince returned to his royal

father and told him that he had selected a wife for himself. The

day for the wedding was fixed. The merchant and his six daughters

were invited. The nuptial knot was tied. But there was death in the

marriage-bed. The six daughters of the merchant, envying the happy

lot of their youngest sister, had determined to put an end to the

life of her newly-wedded husband. They broke several bottles, reduced

the broken pieces into fine powder, and scattered it profusely on the

bed. The prince, suspecting no danger, laid himself down in the bed;

but he had scarcely been there two minutes when he felt acute pain

through his whole system, for the fine bottle-powder had gone through

every pore of his body. As the prince became restless through pain,

and was shrieking aloud, his attendants hastily took him away to his

own country.

The king and queen, the parents of Prince Sobur, consulted all the

physicians and surgeons of the kingdom; but in vain. The young prince

was day and night screaming with pain, and no one could ascertain

the disease, far less give him relief. The grief of the merchant's

daughter may be imagined. The marriage knot had been scarcely tied

when her husband was attacked, as she thought, by a terrible disease

and carried away many hundreds of miles off. Though she had never seen

her husband's country she determined to go there and nurse him. She

put on the garb of a Sannyasi, and with a dagger in her hand set

out on her journey. Of tender years, and unaccustomed to make long

journeys on foot, she soon got weary and sat under a tree to rest. On

the top of the tree was the nest of the divine bird Bihangama and

his mate Bihangami. They were not in their nest at the time, but two

of their young ones were in it. Suddenly the young ones on the top

of the tree gave a scream which roused the half-drowsy merchant's

daughter whom we shall now call the young Sannyasi. He saw near

him a huge serpent raising its hood and about to climb into the

tree. In a moment he cut the serpent into two, on which the young

birds left off screaming. Shortly after the Bihangama and Bihangami

came sailing through the air; and the latter said to the former--"I

suppose our offspring as usual have been devoured by our great enemy

the serpent. Ah me! I do not hear the cries of my young ones." On

nearing the nest, however, they were agreeably surprised to find

their offspring alive. The young ones told their dams how the young

Sannyasi under the tree had destroyed the serpent. And sure enough

the snake was lying there cut into two.

The Bihangami then said to her mate--"The young Sannyasi has saved

our offspring from death, I wish we could do him some service in

return." The Bihangama replied, "We shall presently do her service,

for the person under the tree is not a man but a woman. She got married

only last night to Prince Sobur, who, a few hours after, when jumping

into his bed, had every pore of his body pierced with fine particles

of ground bottles which had been spread over his bed by his envious

sisters-in-law. He is still suffering pain in his native land, and,

indeed, is at the point of death. And his heroic bride taking the garb

of a Sannyasi is going to nurse him." "But," asked the Bihangami, "is

there no cure for the prince?" "Yes, there is," replied the Bihangama:

"if our dung which is lying on the ground round about, and which is

hardened, be reduced to powder, and applied by means of a brush to

the body of the prince after bathing him seven times with seven jars

of water and seven jars of milk, Prince Sobur will undoubtedly get

well." "But," asked the Bihangami, "how can the poor daughter of the

merchant walk such a distance? It must take her many days, by which

time the poor prince will have died." "I can," replied the Bihangama,

"take the young lady on my back, and put her in the capital of Prince

Sobur, and bring her back, provided she does not take any presents

there." The merchant's daughter, in the garb of a Sannyasi, heard

this conversation between the two birds, and begged the Bihangama

to take her on his back. To this the bird readily consented. Before

mounting on her aerial car she gathered a quantity of birds' dung

and reduced it to fine powder. Armed with this potent drug she got

up on the back of the kind bird, and sailing through the air with the

rapidity of lightning, soon reached the capital of Prince Sobur. The

young Sannyasi went up to the gate of the palace, and sent word to

the king that he was acquainted with potent drugs and would cure the

prince in a few hours. The king, who had tried all the best doctors

in the kingdom without success, looked upon the Sannyasi as a mere

pretender, but on the advice of his councillors agreed to give him

a trial. The Sannyasi ordered seven jars of water and seven jars of

milk to be brought to him. He poured the contents of all the jars on

the body of the prince. He then applied, by means of a feather, the

dung-powder he had already prepared to every pore of the prince's

body. Thereafter seven jars of water and seven jars of milk were

again six times poured upon him. When the prince's body was wiped,

he felt perfectly well. The king ordered that the richest treasures

he had should be presented to the wonderful doctor; but the Sannyasi

refused to take any. He only wanted a ring from the prince's finger to

preserve as a memorial. The ring was readily given him. The merchant's

daughter hastened to the sea-shore where the Bihangama was awaiting

her. In a moment they reached the tree of the divine birds. Hence

the young bride walked to her house on the skirts of the forest. The

following day she shook the magical fan, and forthwith Prince Sobur

appeared before her. When the lady showed him the ring, he learnt with

infinite surprise that his own wife was the doctor that cured him. The

prince took away his bride to his palace in his far-off kingdom,

forgave his sisters-in-law, lived happily for scores of years, and

was blessed with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Thus my story endeth,

The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.

[19] Shells used as money, one hundred and sixty of which could have been got a few years ago for one pice.

[20] Fried paddy.