'Moti'

'MOTI'

ONCE upon a time there was a youth called Moti, who was very big and

strong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine. So clumsy was he

that he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk

or curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing,

upsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him:

'Here, Moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years;

take them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can.'

Then Moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over

his shoulder singing gaily to himself as he walked along.

In one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when

he came to a certain city where he entered the travellers' 'serai' or

inn to pass the night. Now a serai, you must know, is generally just a

large square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the

inside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps a

few rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too

proud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses. Moti, of

course, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and he

wasn't rich and he wasn't proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the

innkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home,

and in five minutes was fast asleep.

In the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he had been disturbed,

and putting his hand under his pillow found to his horror that his bag

of money had been stolen. He jumped up quietly and began to prowl around

to see whether anyone seemed to be awake, but, though he managed to

arouse a few men and beasts by falling over them, he walked in the

shadow of the archways round the whole serai without coming across a

likely thief. He was just about to give it up when he overhead two men

whispering, and one laughed softly, and, peering behind a pillar, he saw

two Afghan horse-dealers counting out his bag of money! Then Moti went

back to bed!

In the morning Moti followed the two Afghans outside the city to the

horsemarket in which their horses were offered for sale. Choosing the

best-looking horse amongst them he went up to it and said:

'Is this horse for sale? may I try it?' and, the merchants assenting, he

scrambled up on its back, dug in his heels, and off they flew. Now Moti

had never been on a horse in his life, and had so much ado to hold on

with both hands as well as with both legs that the animal went just

where it liked, and very soon broke into a break-neck gallop and made

straight back to the serai where it had spent the last few nights.

'This will do very well,' thought Moti as they whirled in at the

entrance. As soon as the horse had arrived at its stable it stopped of

its own accord and Moti immediately rolled off; but he jumped up at

once, tied the beast up, and called for some breakfast. Presently the

Afghans appeared, out of breath and furious, and claimed the horse.

'What do you mean?' cried Moti, with his mouth full of rice, 'it's my

horse; I paid you fifty pieces of silver for it--quite a bargain, I'm

sure!'

'Nonsense! it is our horse,' answered one of the Afghans, beginning to

untie the bridle.

'Leave off,' shouted Moti, seizing his staff; 'if you don't let my

horse alone I'll crack your skulls! you thieves! I know you! Last

night you took my money, so to-day I took your horse; that's fair

enough!'

Now the Afghans began to look a little uncomfortable, but Moti seemed so

determined to keep the horse that they resolved to appeal to the law, so

they went off, and laid a complaint before the king that Moti had stolen

one of their horses and would not give it up nor pay for it.

Presently a soldier came to summon Moti to the king; and, when he

arrived and made his obeisance, the king began to question him as to why

he had galloped off with the horse in this fashion. But Moti declared

that he had got the animal in exchange for fifty pieces of silver,

whilst the horse merchants vowed that the money they had on them was

what they had received for the sale of other horses; and in one way and

another the dispute got so confusing that the king (who really thought

that Moti had stolen the horse) said at last, 'Well, I tell you what I

will do. I will lock something into this box before me, and if he

guesses what it is, the horse is his, and if he doesn't, then it is

yours.'

To this Moti agreed, and the king arose and went out alone by a little

door at the back of the Court, and presently came back clasping

something closely wrapped up in a cloth under his robe, slipped it into

the little box, locked the box, and set it up where all might see.

'Now,' said the king to Moti, 'guess!'

It happened that when the king had opened the door behind him, Moti

noticed that there was a garden outside: without waiting for the king's

return he began to think what could be got out of the garden small

enough to be shut in the box. 'Is it likely to be a fruit or a flower?

No, not a flower this time, for he clasped it too tight. Then it must be

a fruit or a stone. Yet not a stone, because he wouldn't wrap a dirty

stone in his nice clean cloth. Then it is a fruit! And a fruit without

much scent, or else he would be afraid that I might smell it. Now what

fruit without much scent is in season just now? When I know that I shall

have guessed the riddle!'

As has been said before, Moti was a country lad, and was accustomed to

work in his father's garden. He knew all the common fruits, so he

thought he ought to be able to guess right, but so as not to let it seem

too easy, he gazed up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, and

looked down at the floor with an air of wisdom and his fingers pressed

against his forehead, and then he said, slowly, with his eyes on the

king,--

'It is freshly plucked! it is round and it is red! it is a pomegranate!'

Now the king knew nothing about fruits except that they were good to

eat; and, as for seasons, he asked for whatever fruit he wanted whenever

he wanted it, and saw that he got it; so to him Moti's guess was like a

miracle, and clear proof not only of his wisdom but of his innocence,

for it was a pomegranate that he had put into the box. Of course when

the king marvelled and praised Moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too;

and, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and

entered the king's service.

Very soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came

back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had

strayed. Nothing remained of him but a broken halter cord, and no one

knew what had become of him. After inquiring of everyone who was likely

to know, Moti seized the cord and his big staff and sallied out to look

for him. Away and away he tramped out of the city and into the

neighbouring forest, tracking hoof-marks in the mud. Presently it grew

late, but still Moti wandered on until suddenly in the gathering

darkness he came right upon a tiger who was contentedly eating his

horse.

'You thief!' shrieked Moti, and ran up, and, just as the tiger, in

astonishment, dropped a bone--whack! came Moti's staff on his head with

such good will that the beast was half stunned and could hardly breathe

or see. Then Moti continued to shower upon him blows and abuse until the

poor tiger could hardly stand, whereupon his tormentor tied the end of

the broken halter round his neck and dragged him back to the serai.

'If you had my horse,' he said, 'I will at least have you, that's fair

enough!' And he tied him up securely by the head and heels, much as he

used to tie the horse; then, the night being far gone, he flung himself

beside him and slept soundly.

You cannot imagine anything like the fright of the people in the serai,

when they woke up and found a tiger--very battered but still a

tiger--securely tethered amongst themselves and their beasts! Men

gathered in groups talking and exclaiming, and finding fault with the

innkeeper for allowing such a dangerous beast into the serai, and all

the while the innkeeper was just as troubled as the rest, and none dared

go near the place where the tiger stood blinking miserably on everyone,

and where Moti lay stretched out snoring like thunder.

At last news reached the king that Moti had exchanged his horse for a

live tiger; and the monarch himself came down, half disbelieving the

tale, to see if it were really true. Someone at last awaked Moti with

the news that his royal master was come; and he arose yawning, and was

soon delightedly explaining and showing off his new possession. The

king, however, did not share his pleasure at all, but called up a

soldier to shoot the tiger, much to the relief of all the inmates of the

serai except Moti. If the king, however, was before convinced that Moti

was one of the wisest of men, he was now still more convinced that he

was the bravest, and he increased his pay a hundredfold, so that our

hero thought that he was the luckiest of men.

[Illustration: SOME-ONE AT LAST AWAKED MOTI]

A week or two after this incident the king sent for Moti, who on arrival

found his master in despair. A neighbouring monarch, he explained, who

had many more soldiers than he, had declared war against him, and he was

at his wits' end, for he had neither money to buy him off nor soldiers

enough to fight him--what was he to do?

'If that is all, don't you trouble,' said Moti. 'Turn out your men, and

I'll go with them, and we'll soon bring this robber to reason.'

The king began to revive at these hopeful words, and took Moti off to

his stable where he bade him choose for himself any horse he liked.

There were plenty of fine horses in the stalls, but to the king's

astonishment Moti chose a poor little rat of a pony that was used to

carry grass and water for the rest of the stable.

'But why do you choose that beast?' said the king.

'Well, you see, your majesty,' replied Moti, 'there are so many chances

that I may fall off, and if I choose one of your fine big horses I shall

have so far to fall that I shall probably break my leg or my arm, if not

my neck, but if I fall off this little beast I can't hurt myself much.'

A very comical sight was Moti when he rode out to the war. The only

weapon he carried was his staff, and to help him to keep his balance on

horseback he had tied to each of his ankles a big stone that nearly

touched the ground as he sat astride the little pony. The rest of the

king's cavalry were not very numerous, but they pranced along in armour

on fine horses. Behind them came a great rabble of men on foot armed

with all sorts of weapons, and last of all was the king with his

attendants, very nervous and ill at ease. So the army started.

They had not very far to go, but Moti's little pony, weighted with a

heavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry, and

would have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very

anxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give Moti

plenty of time. The young man jogged along more and more slowly for some

time, until at last, getting impatient at the slowness of the pony, he

gave him such a tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony

completely lost his temper and bolted. First one stone became untied and

rolled away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst Moti

nearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its ragged

mane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life. Then fortunately

the other rock broke away from his other leg and rolled thunderously

down a neighbouring ravine. Meanwhile the advanced cavalry had barely

time to draw to one side when Moti came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty

threats to his pony:

'You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring your

neck! I'll break every bone in your body!' The cavalry thought that this

dreadful language was meant for the enemy, and were filled with

admiration of his courage. Many of their horses too were quite upset by

this whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few

minutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole

troop were following on Moti's heels.

Far in advance, Moti continued his wild career. Presently in his course

he came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or twelve feet high,

big and bushy, but quite green and soft. Hoping to escape from the back

of his fiery steed Moti grasped one in passing, but its roots gave way,

and he dashed on, with the whole plant looking like a young tree

flourishing in his grip.

The enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their king

with them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the front came a

desperate rider at a furious gallop.

'Sire!' he cried, 'save yourself! the enemy are coming!'

'What do you mean?' said the king.

'Oh, sire!' panted the messenger, 'fly at once, there is no time to

lose. Foremost of the enemy rides a mad giant at a furious gallop. He

flourishes a tree for a club and is wild with anger, for as he goes he

cries, "You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring

your neck! I'll break every bone in your body!" Others ride behind, and

you will do well to retire before this whirlwind of destruction comes

upon you.'

Just then out of a cloud of dust in the distance the king saw Moti

approaching at a hard gallop, looking indeed like a giant compared with

the little beast he rode, whirling his castor-oil plant, which in the

distance might have been an oak tree, and the sound of his revilings and

shoutings came down upon the breeze! Behind him the dust cloud moved to

the sound of the thunder of hoofs, whilst here and there flashed the

glitter of steel. The sight and the sound struck terror into the king,

and, turning his horse, he fled at top speed, thinking that a regiment

of yelling giants was upon him; and all his force followed him as fast

as they might go. One fat officer alone could not keep up on foot with

that mad rush, and as Moti came galloping up he flung himself on the

ground in abject fear. This was too much for Moti's excited pony, who

shied so suddenly that Moti went flying over his head like a sky rocket,

and alighted right on the top of his fat foe.

Quickly regaining his feet Moti began to swing his plant round his head

and to shout:

'Where are your men? Bring them up and I'll kill them. My regiments!

Come on, the whole lot of you! Where's your king? Bring him to me. Here

are all my fine fellows coming up and we'll each pull up a tree by the

roots and lay you all flat and your houses and towns and everything

else! Come on!'

But the poor fat officer could do nothing but squat on his knees with

his hands together, gasping. At last, when he got his breath, Moti sent

him off to bring his king, and to tell him that if he was reasonable his

life should be spared. Off the poor man went, and by the time the troops

of Moti's side had come up and arranged themselves to look as

formidable as possible, he returned with his king. The latter was very

humble and apologetic, and promised never to make war any more, to pay a

large sum of money, and altogether do whatever his conqueror wished.

So the armies on both sides went rejoicing home, and this was really the

making of the fortune of clumsy Moti, who lived long and contrived

always to be looked up to as a fountain of wisdom, valour, and

discretion by all except his relations, who could never understand what

he had done to be considered so much wiser than anyone else.

A Pushto Story.