The Green Knight

THE GREEN KNIGHT

There lived once a king and queen who had an only daughter, a charming

and beautiful girl, dearer to them than anything else in the world.

When the princess was twelve years old the queen fell sick, and

nothing that could be done for her was of any use. All the doctors in

the kingdom did their best to cure her, but in spite of their efforts

she grew worse and worse. As she was about to die, she sent for the

king and said to him:

'Promise me that whatever our daughter asks, you will do, no matter

whether you wish to or not.'

The king at first hesitated, but as she added:

'Unless you promise this I cannot die in peace,' he at length did as

she desired, and gave the promise, after which she became quite happy

and died.

It happened that near the king's palace lived a noble lady, whose

little girl was of about the same age as the princess, and the two

children were always together. After the queen's death the princess

begged that this lady should come to live with her in the palace. The

king was not quite pleased with this arrangement, for he distrusted

the lady; but the princess wished so much for it that he did not like

to refuse.

'I am lonely, father,' she said, 'and all the beautiful presents you

give me cannot make up to me for the loss of my mother. If this lady

comes to live here I shall almost feel as if the queen had come back

to me.'

So a magnificent suite of rooms was prepared and set aside for the

new-comers, and the little princess was wild with joy at the thought

of having her friends so near her. The lady and her daughter arrived,

and for a long time all went well. They were very kind to the

motherless princess, and she almost began to forget how dull she had

been before they came. Then, one day, as she and the other girl were

playing together in the gardens of the palace, the lady came to them,

dressed for a journey, and kissed the princess tenderly, saying:

'Farewell, my child; my daughter and I must leave you and go far

away.'

The poor princess began to cry bitterly. 'Oh! you must not leave me!'

she sobbed. 'What shall I do without you? Please, oh! please stay.'

The lady shook her head.

'It almost breaks my heart to go, dear child,' she said, 'but, alas!

it must be.'

'Is there nothing that can keep you here?' asked the princess.

'Only one thing,' answered the lady, 'and as that is impossible, we

will not speak of it.'

'Nothing is impossible,' persisted the princess. 'Tell me what it is,

and it shall be done.'

So at last her friend told her.

'If the king, your father, would make me his queen I would stay,' she

said; 'but that he would never do.'

'Oh, yes! that is easy enough!' cried the princess, delighted to

think that, after all, they need not be parted. And she ran off to

find her father, and beg him to marry the lady at once. He had done

everything she asked, and she was quite certain he would do it.

'What is it, my daughter?' he asked, when he saw her. 'You have been

crying--are you not happy?'

'Father,' she said, 'I have come to ask you to marry the

countess'--(for that was the lady's real title)--'if you do not she

will leave us, and then I shall be as lonely as before. You have never

refused me what I have asked before, do not refuse me now.'

The king turned quite pale when he heard this. He did not like the

countess, and so, of course, he did not wish to marry her; besides, he

still loved his dead wife.

'No, that I cannot do, my child,' he said at last.

At these words the princess began to cry once more, and the tears ran

down her cheeks so fast, and she sobbed so bitterly, that her father

felt quite miserable too. He remembered the promise he had given

always to do what his daughter asked him and in the end he gave way,

and promised to marry the countess. The princess at once was all

smiles, and ran away to tell the good news.

Soon after, the wedding was celebrated with great festivities, and the

countess became queen; but, in spite of all the joy and merriment that

filled the palace, the king looked pale and sad, for he was certain

that ill would come of the marriage. Sure enough, in a very short time

the queen's manner towards the princess began to change. She was

jealous of her because she, instead of her own daughter, was heir to

the throne, and very soon she could no longer hide her thoughts.

Instead of speaking kindly and lovingly as before, her words became

rough and cruel, and once or twice she even slapped the princess's

face.

The king was very unhappy at seeing his dearly loved daughter suffer,

and at last she became so wretched that he could no longer bear it.

Calling her to him one day he said:

'My daughter, you are no longer merry as you should be, and I fear

that it is the fault of your step-mother. It will be better for you to

live with her no longer; therefore I have built you a castle on the

island in the lake, and that is to be your home in future. There you

can do just as you like, and your step-mother will never enter it.'

The princess was delighted to hear this, and still more pleased when

she saw the castle, which was full of beautiful things, and had a

great number of windows looking out on the lovely blue water. There

was a boat in which she might row herself about, and a garden where

she could walk whenever she wished without fear of meeting the unkind

queen; and the king promised to visit her every day.

For a long time she dwelt in peace, and grew more and more beautiful

every day. Everyone who saw her said 'The princess is the loveliest

lady in the land.' And this was told to the queen, who hated her

step-daughter still more because her own daughter was ugly and stupid.

One day it was announced that a great meeting of knights and nobles

was to be held in a neighbouring kingdom distant about two days'

journey. There were to be all kinds of festivities, and a tournament

was to be fought and a banquet held, in honour of the coming of age of

the prince of the country.

The princess's father was amongst those invited, but before he set out

he went to take leave of his daughter. Although she had such a

beautiful home, and was no longer scolded by the queen, the poor

princess was dreadfully lonely, and she told her father that it would

be better if she were dead. He did his best to comfort her and

promised that he would soon return. Was there anything he could do to

help her?

'Yes,' she said. 'You may greet the Green Knight from me.'

Now the king wondered a little at these words, for he had never heard

of the Green Knight; but there was no time to ask questions, therefore

he gave the promise, and rode off on his journey. When he came to the

palace where the festivities were to take place, the first thing he

did was to ask:

'Can anyone tell me where I may find the Green Knight?'

No, they were very sorry; but none had ever heard of such a person

either--certainly he was not to be found there. At this the king grew

troubled, and not even the banquet or the tournament could make him

feel happier. He inquired of everyone he saw, 'Do you know the Green

Knight?' but the only answer he got was:

'No, your majesty, we have never heard of him.'

At length he began to believe that the princess was mistaken, and that

there was no such person; and he started on his homeward journey

sorrowfully enough, for this was the first time for many months that

the princess had asked him to do anything for her and he could not do

it. He thought so much about it that he did not notice the direction

his horse was taking, and presently he found himself in the midst of a

dense forest where he had never been before. He rode on and on,

looking for the path, but as the sun began to set he realised that he

was lost. At last, to his delight, he saw a man driving some pigs, and

riding up to him, he said:

'I have lost my way. Can you tell me where I am?'

'You are in the Green Knight's forest,' answered the man, 'and these

are his pigs.'

At that the king's heart grew light. 'Where does the Green Knight

live?' he asked.

'It is a very long way from here,' said the swineherd; 'but I will

show you the path.' So he went a little farther with the king and put

him on the right road, and the king bade him farewell.

Presently he came to a second forest, and there he met another

swineherd driving pigs.

'Whose beasts are those, my man?' he asked.

'They are the Green Knight's,' said the man.

'And where does he live?' inquired the king.

'Oh, not far from here,' was the reply.

Then the king rode on, and about midday he reached a beautiful castle

standing in the midst of the loveliest garden you can possibly

imagine, where fountains played in marble basins, and peacocks walked

on the smooth lawns. On the edge of a marble basin sat a young and

handsome man, who was dressed from head to foot in a suit of green

armour, and was feeding the goldfish which swam in the clear water.

'This must be the Green Knight,' thought the king; and going up to the

young man he said courteously:

'I have come, sir, to give you my daughter's greeting. But I have

wandered far, and lost my way in your forest.'

The knight looked at him for a moment as though puzzled.

'I have never met either you or your daughter,' he said at last; 'but

you are very welcome all the same.' And he waved his hand towards the

castle. However, the king took no notice, and told him that his

daughter had sent a message to the Green Knight, and as he was the

only Green Knight in the kingdom this message must be for him.

'You must pass the night with me here,' said the knight; and as the

sun was already set, the king was thankful to accept the invitation.

They sat down in the castle hall to a magnificent banquet, and

although he had travelled much and visited many monarchs in their

palaces, the king had never fared better than at the table of the

Green Knight, whilst his host himself was so clever and agreeable,

that he was delighted, and thought 'what a charming son-in-law this

knight would make!'

Next morning, when he was about to set forth on his journey home, the

Green Knight put into his hand a jewelled casket, saying:

'Will your highness graciously condescend to carry this gift to the

princess, your daughter? It contains my portrait, that when I come she

may know me; for I feel certain that she is the lady I have seen night

after night in a dream, and I must win her for my bride.'

The king gave the knight his blessing, and promised to take the gift

to his daughter. With that he set off, and ere long reached his own

country.

The princess was awaiting him anxiously when he arrived, and ran to

his arms in her joy at seeing her dear father again.

'And did you see the Green Knight?' she asked.

'Yes,' answered the king, drawing out the casket the knight had sent,

'and he begged me to give you this that you may know him when he

arrives and not mistake him for somebody else.'

When the princess saw the portrait she was delighted, and exclaimed:

'It is indeed the man whom I have seen in my dreams! Now I shall be

happy, for he and no other shall be my husband.'

Very soon after the Green Knight arrived, and he looked so handsome in

his green armour, with a long green plume in his helmet, that the

princess fell still more in love with him than before, and when he saw

her, and recognised her as the lady whom he had so often dreamt of, he

immediately asked her to be his bride. The princess looked down and

smiled as she answered him:

'We must keep the secret from my step-mother until the wedding-day,'

said she, 'for otherwise she will find a way to do us some evil.'

'As you please,' replied the prince; 'but I must visit you daily, for

I can live no longer without you! I will come early in the morning and

not leave until it is dark; thus the queen will not see me row across

the lake.'

For a long time, the Green Knight visited the princess every day, and

spent many hours wandering with her through the beautiful gardens

where they knew the queen could not see them. But secrets, as you

know, are dangerous things, and at last, one morning, a girl who was

in service at the palace happened to be walking by the lake early in

the morning and beheld a wonderfully handsome young man, in a

beautiful suit of green satin, come down to the edge of the lake. Not

guessing that he was watched, he got into a little boat that lay

moored to the bank, rowed himself over to the island where the

princess's castle stood. The girl went home wondering who the knight

could be; and as she was brushing the queen's hair, she said to her:

'Does your majesty know that the princess has a suitor?'

[Illustration: THE POISONED NAIL]

'Nonsense!' replied the queen crossly. But she was dreadfully vexed at

the mere idea, as her own daughter was still unmarried, and was likely

to remain so, because she was so ill-tempered and stupid that no one

wanted her.

'It is true,' persisted the girl. 'He is dressed all in green, and is

very handsome. I saw him myself, though he did not see me, and he got

into a boat and rowed over to the island, and the princess was waiting

for him at the castle door.'

'I must find out what this means,' thought the queen. But she bade her

maid of honour cease chattering and mind her own business.

Early next morning the queen got up and went down to the shore of the

lake, where she hid herself behind a tree. Sure enough there came a

handsome knight dressed in green, just as the maid of honour had said,

and he got into a boat and rowed over to the island where the princess

awaited him. The angry queen remained by the lake all day, but it was

not until the evening that the knight returned, and leaping on shore,

he tied the boat to its moorings and went away through the forest.

   *       *       *       *       *

'I have caught my step-daughter nicely,' thought the queen. 'But she

shall not be married before my own sweet girl. I must find a way to

put a stop to this.'

Accordingly she took a poisoned nail and stuck it in the handle of the

oar in such a way that the knight would be sure to scratch his hand

when he picked up the oar. Then she went home laughing, very much

pleased with her cleverness.

The next day the Green Knight went to visit the princess as usual; but

directly he took up the oars to row over to the island he felt a sharp

scratch on his hand.

'Oof!' he said, dropping the oars from pain, 'what can have scratched

so?' But, look as he might, only a tiny mark was to be seen.

'Well, it's strange how a nail could have come here since yesterday,'

he thought. 'Still, it is not very serious, though it hurts a good

deal.' And, indeed, it seemed such a little thing that he did not

mention it to the princess. However, when he reached home in the

evening, he felt so ill he was obliged to go to bed, with no one to

attend on him except his old nurse. But of this, of course, the

princess knew nothing; and the poor girl, fearing lest some evil

should have befallen him, or some other maiden more beautiful than she

should have stolen his heart from her, grew almost sick with waiting.

Lonely, indeed, she was, for her father, who would have helped her,

was travelling in a foreign country, and she knew not how to obtain

news of her lover.

   *       *       *       *       *

In this manner time passed away, and one day, as she sat by the open

window crying and feeling very sad, a little bird came and perched on

the branch of a tree that stood just underneath. It began to sing, and

so beautifully that the princess was obliged to stop crying and listen

to it, and very soon she found out that the bird was trying to attract

her attention.

'Tu-whit, tu-whit! your lover is sick!' it sang.

'Alas!' cried the princess. 'What can I do?'

'Tu-whit, tu-whit! you must go to your father's palace!'

'And what shall I do there?' she asked.

'Tu-whit! there you will find a snake with nine young ones.'

'Ugh!' answered the princess with a shiver, for she did not like

snakes. But the little bird paid no heed.

'Put them in a basket and go to the Green Knight's palace,' said she.

'And what am I to do with them when I get there?' she cried, blushing

all over, though there was no one to see her but the bird.

'Dress yourself as a kitchen-maid and ask for a place. Tu-whit! Then

you must make soup out of the snakes. Give it three times to the

knight and he will be cured. Tu-whit!'

'But what has made him ill?' asked the princess. The bird, however,

had flown away, and there was nothing for it but to go to her father's

palace and look for the snakes. When she came there she found the

mother snake with the nine little snakes all curled up so that you

could hardly tell their heads from their tails. The princess did not

like having to touch them, but when the old snake had wriggled out of

the nest to bask a little in the sun, she picked up the young ones and

put them in a basket as the bird had told her, and ran off to find the

Green Knight's castle. All day she walked along, sometimes stopping to

pick the wild berries, or to gather a nosegay; but though she rested

now and then, she would not lie down to sleep before she reached the

castle. At last she came in sight of it, and just then she met a girl

driving a flock of geese.

'Good-day!' said the princess; 'can you tell me if this is the castle

of the Green Knight?'

'Yes, that it is,' answered the goose girl, 'for I am driving his

geese. But the Green Knight is very ill, and they say that unless he

can be cured within three days he will surely die.'

At this news the princess grew as white as death. The ground seemed to

spin round, and she closed her hand tight on a bush that was standing

beside her. By-and-by, with a great effort, she recovered herself and

said to the goose girl:

'Would you like to have a fine silk dress to wear?'

The goose girl's eyes glistened.

'Yes, that I would!' answered she.

'Then take off your dress and give it to me, and I will give you

mine,' said the princess.

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS CHANGES CLOTHES WITH THE GOOSE-GIRL]

The girl could scarcely believe her ears, but the princess was

already unfastening her beautiful silk dress, and taking off her silk

stockings and pretty red shoes; and the goose girl lost no time in

slipping out of her rough linen skirt and tunic. Then the princess put

on the other's rags and let down her hair, and went to the kitchen to

ask for a place.

'Do you want a kitchen-maid?' she said.

'Yes, we do,' answered the cook, who was too busy to ask the new-comer

many questions.

The following day, after a good night's rest, the princess set about

her new duties. The other servants were speaking of their master, and

saying to each other how ill he was, and that unless he could be cured

within three days he would surely die.

The princess thought of the snakes, and the bird's advice, and lifting

her head from the pots and pans she was scouring, she said: 'I know

how to make a soup that has such a wonderful power that whoever tastes

it is sure to be cured, whatever his illness may be. As the doctors

cannot cure your master shall I try?'

At first they all laughed at her.

'What! a scullion cure the knight when the best physicians in the

kingdom have failed?'

But at last, just because all the physicians had failed, they

decided that it would do no harm to try; and she ran off joyfully to

fetch her basket of snakes and make them into broth. When this was

ready she carried some to the knight's room and entered it boldly,

pushing aside all the learned doctors who stood beside his bed. The

poor knight was too ill to know her, besides, she was so ragged and

dirty that he would not have been likely to do so had he been well;

but when he had taken the soup he was so much better that he was able

to sit up.

The next day he had some more, and then he was able to dress himself.

'That is certainly wonderful soup!' said the cook.

The third day, after he had eaten his soup, the knight was quite well

again.

'Who are you?' he asked the girl; 'was it you who made this soup that

has cured me?'

'Yes,' answered the princess.

'Choose, then, whatever you wish as a reward,' said the knight, 'and

you shall have it.'

'I would be your bride!' said the princess.

The knight frowned in surprise at such boldness, and shook his head.

'That is the one thing I cannot grant,' he said, 'for I am pledged to

marry the most beautiful princess in the world. Choose again.'

Then the princess ran away and washed herself and mended her rags, and

when she returned the Green Knight recognised her at once.

You can think what a joyful meeting that was!

   *       *       *       *       *

Soon after, they were married with great splendour. All the knights

and princes in the kingdom were summoned to the wedding, and the

princess wore a dress that shone like the sun, so that no one had ever

beheld a more gorgeous sight. The princess's father, of course, was

present, but the wicked queen and her daughter were driven out of the

country, and as nobody has seen them since, very likely they were

eaten by wild beasts in the forest. But the bride and bridegroom were

so happy that they forgot all about them, and they lived with the old

king till he died, when they succeeded him.

(From "Eventyr fra Jylland," _samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang

Kristensen_. Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)

THE FIVE WISE WORDS OF THE GURU[4]

Once there lived a handsome young man named Ram Singh, who, though a

favourite with everyone, was unhappy because he had a scold for a

step-mother. All day long she went on talking, until the youth was

driven so distracted that he determined to go away somewhere and seek

his fortune. No sooner had he decided to leave his home than he made

his plans, and the very next morning he started off with a few clothes

in a wallet, and a little money in his pocket.

But there was one person in the village to whom he wished to say

good-bye, and that was a wise old guru, or teacher, who had taught him

much. So he turned his face first of all towards his master's hut, and

before the sun was well up was knocking at his door. The old man

received his pupil affectionately; but he was wise in reading faces,

and saw at once that the youth was in trouble.

'My son,' said he, 'what is the matter?'

'Nothing, father,' replied the young man, 'but I have determined to go

into the world and seek my fortune.'

'Be advised,' returned the guru, 'and remain in your father's house;

it is better to have half a loaf at home than to seek a whole one in

distant countries.'

But Ram Singh was in no mood to heed such advice, and very soon the

old man ceased to press him.

'Well,' said he at last, 'if your mind is made up I suppose you must

have your way. But listen carefully, and remember five parting

counsels which I will give you; and if you keep these no evil shall

befall you. First--always obey without question the orders of him

whose service you enter; second--never speak harshly or unkindly to

anyone; third--never lie; fourth--never try to appear the equal of

those above you in station; and fifth--wherever you go, if you meet

those who read or teach from the holy books, stay and listen, if but

for a few minutes, that you may be strengthened in the path of duty.'

Then Ram Singh started out upon his journey, promising to bear in mind

the old man's words.

After some days he came to a great city. He had spent all the money

which he had at starting, and therefore resolved to look for work

however humble it might be. Catching sight of a prosperous-looking

merchant standing in front of a shop full of grain of all kinds, Ram

Singh went up to him and asked whether he could give him anything to

do. The merchant gazed at him so long that the young man began to lose

heart, but at length he answered:

'Yes, of course; there is a place waiting for you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ram Singh.

'Why,' replied the other, 'yesterday our rajah's chief wazir dismissed

his body servant and is wanting another. Now you are just the sort of

person that he needs, for you are young and tall, and handsome; I

advise you to apply there.'

Thanking the merchant for this advice, the young man set out at once

for the wazir's house, and soon managed, thanks to his good looks and

appearance, to be engaged as the great man's servant.

One day, soon after this, the rajah of the place started on a journey

and the chief wazir accompanied him. With them was an army of servants

and attendants, soldiers, muleteers, camel-drivers, merchants with

grain and stores for man and beast, singers to make entertainment by

the way and musicians to accompany them, besides elephants, camels,

horses, mules, ponies, donkeys, goats, and carts and wagons of every

kind and description, so that it seemed more like a large town on the

march than anything else.

Thus they travelled for several days, till they entered a country that

was like a sea of sand, where the swirling dust floated in clouds, and

men and beasts were half choked by it. Towards the close of that day

they came to a village, and when the headmen hurried out to salute the

rajah and to pay him their respects, they began, with very long and

serious faces, to explain that, whilst they and all that they had were

of course at the disposal of the rajah, the coming of so large a

company had nevertheless put them into a dreadful difficulty because

they had never a well nor spring of water in their country; and they

had no water to give drink to such an army of men and beasts!

Great fear fell upon the host at the words of the headmen, but the

rajah merely told the wazir that he must get water somehow, and that

settled the matter so far as he was concerned. The wazir sent off in

haste for all the oldest men in the place, and began to question them

as to whether there were no wells near by.

They all looked helplessly at each other, and said nothing; but at

length one old grey-beard replied:

'Truly, Sir Wazir, there is, within a mile or two of this village, a

well which some former king made hundreds of years ago. It is, they

say, great and inexhaustible, covered in by heavy stone-work and with

a flight of steps leading down to the water in the very bowels of the

earth; but no man ever goes near it because it is haunted by evil

spirits, and it is known that whoso disappears down the well shall

never be seen again.'

The wazir stroked his beard and considered a moment. Then he turned to

Ram Singh who stood behind his chair.

'There is a proverb,' said he, 'that no man can be trusted until he

has been tried. Go you and get the rajah and his people water from

this well.'

Then there flashed into Ram Singh's mind the first counsel of the old

guru--'_Always obey without question the orders of him whose service

you enter._' So he replied at once that he was ready, and left to

prepare for his adventure. Two great brazen vessels he fastened to a

mule, two lesser ones he bound upon his shoulders, and thus provided

he set out, with the old villager for his guide. In a short time they

came to a spot where some big trees towered above the barren country,

whilst under their shadow lay the dome of an ancient building. This

the guide pointed out as the well, but excused himself from going

further as he was an old man and tired, and it was already nearly

sunset, so that he must be returning home. So Ram Singh bade him

farewell, and went on alone with the mule.

[Illustration: 'WHAT THINK YOU, O MORTAL, OF MY FAIR AND LOVELY

  WIFE?']

Arrived at the trees, Ram Singh tied up his beast, lifted the vessels

from his shoulder, and having found the opening of the well, descended

by a flight of steps which led down into the darkness. The steps were

broad white slabs of alabaster which gleamed in the shadows as he went

lower and lower. All was very silent. Even the sound of his bare feet

upon the pavements seemed to wake an echo in that lonely place, and

when one of the vessels which he carried slipped and fell upon the

steps it clanged so loudly that he jumped at the noise. Still he went

on, until at last he reached a wide pool of sweet water, and there he

washed his jars with care before he filled them, and began to remount

the steps with the lighter vessels, as the big ones were so heavy he

could only take up one at a time. Suddenly, something moved above him,

and looking up he saw a great giant standing on the stairway! In one

hand he held clasped to his heart a dreadful looking mass of bones, in

the other was a lamp which cast long shadows about the walls, and

made him seem even more terrible than he really was.

'What think you, O mortal,' said the giant, 'of my fair and lovely

wife?' And he held the light towards the bones in his arms and looked

lovingly at them.

Now I must tell you that this poor giant had had a very beautiful

wife, whom he had loved dearly; but, when she died, her husband

refused to believe in her death, and always carried her about long

after she had become nothing but bones. Ram Singh of course did not

know of this, but there came to his mind the second wise saying of the

guru, which forbade him to speak harshly or inconsiderately to others;

so he replied:

'Truly, sir, I am sure you could find nowhere such another.'

'Ah, what eyes you have!' cried the delighted giant, 'you at least can

see! I do not know how often I have slain those who insulted her by

saying she was but dried bones! You are a fine young man, and I will

help you.'

So saying, he laid down the bones with great tenderness, and snatching

up the huge brass vessels, carried them up again, and replaced them

with such ease that it was all done by the time that Ram Singh had

reached the open air with the smaller ones.

'Now,' said the giant, 'you have pleased me, and you may ask of me one

favour, and whatever you wish I will do it for you. Perhaps you would

like me to show you where lies buried the treasure of dead kings?' he

added eagerly.

But Ram Singh shook his head at the mention of buried wealth.

'The favour that I would ask,' said he, 'is that you will leave off

haunting this well, so that men may go in and out and obtain water.'

Perhaps the giant expected some favour more difficult to grant, for

his face brightened, and he promised to depart at once; and as Ram

Singh went off through the gathering darkness with his precious

burden of water, he beheld the giant striding away with the bones of

his dead wife in his arms.

Great was the wonder and rejoicing in the camp when Ram Singh returned

with the water. He never said anything, however, about his adventure

with the giant, but merely told the rajah that there was nothing to

prevent the well being used; and used it was, and nobody ever saw any

more of the giant.

The rajah was so pleased with the bearing of Ram Singh that he ordered

the wazir to give the young man to him in exchange for one of his own

servants. So Ram Singh became the rajah's attendant; and as the days

went by the king became more and more delighted with the youth

because, mindful of the old guru's third counsel, he was always honest

and spoke the truth. He grew in favour rapidly, until at last the

rajah made him his treasurer, and thus he reached a high place in the

court and had wealth and power in his hands. Unluckily the rajah had a

brother who was a very bad man; and this brother thought that if he

could win the young treasurer over to himself he might by this means

manage to steal little by little any of the king's treasure which he

needed. Then, with plenty of money, he could bribe the soldiers and

some of the rajah's counsellors, head a rebellion, dethrone and kill

his brother, and reign himself instead. He was too wary, of course, to

tell Ram Singh of all these wicked plans; but he began by flattering

him whenever he saw him, and at last offered him his daughter in

marriage. But Ram Singh remembered the fourth counsel of the old

guru--never to try to appear the equal of those above him in

station--therefore he respectfully declined the great honour of

marrying a princess. Of course the prince, baffled at the very

beginning of his enterprise, was furious, and determined to work Ram

Singh's ruin, and entering the rajah's presence he told him a story

about Ram Singh having spoken insulting words of his sovereign and of

his daughter. What it was all about nobody knew, and, as it was not

true, the wicked prince did not know either; but the rajah grew very

angry and red in the face as he listened, and declared that until the

treasurer's head was cut off neither he nor the princess nor his

brother would eat or drink.

'But,' added he, 'I do not wish any one to know that this was done by

my desire, and anyone who mentions the subject will be severely

punished.' And with this the prince was forced to be content.

Then the rajah sent for an officer of his guard, and told him to take

some soldiers and ride at once to a tower which was situated just

outside the town, and if anyone should come to inquire when the

building was going to be finished, or should ask any other questions

about it, the officer must chop his head off, and bring it to him. As

for the body, that could be buried on the spot. The old officer

thought these instructions rather odd, but it was no business of his,

so he saluted, and went off to do his master's bidding.

Early in the morning the rajah, who had not slept all night, sent for

Ram Singh, and bade him go to the new hunting-tower, and ask the

people there how it was getting on and when it was going to be

finished, and to hurry back with the answer! Away went Ram Singh upon

his errand, but, on the road, as he was passing a little temple on the

outskirts of the city, he heard someone inside reading aloud; and,

remembering the guru's fifth counsel, he just stepped inside and sat

down to listen for a minute. He did not mean to stay longer, but

became so deeply interested in the wisdom of the teacher, that he sat,

and sat, and sat, while the sun rose higher and higher.

In the meantime, the wicked prince, who dared not disobey the rajah's

command, was feeling very hungry; and as for the princess, she was

quietly crying in a corner waiting for the news of Ram Singh's death,

so that she might eat her breakfast.

Hours passed, and stare as he might from the window no messenger could

be seen.

At last the prince could bear it no longer, and hastily disguising

himself so that no one should recognise him, he jumped on a horse and

galloped out to the hunting-tower, where the rajah had told him that

the execution was to take place. But, when he got there, there was no

execution going on. There were only some men engaged in building, and

a number of soldiers idly watching them. He forgot that he had

disguised himself and that no one would know him, so, riding up, he

cried out:

'Now then, you men, why are you idling about here instead of finishing

what you came to do? When is it to be done?'

At his words the soldiers looked at the commanding officer, who was

standing a little apart from the rest. Unperceived by the prince he

made a slight sign, a sword flashed in the sun, and off flew a head on

the ground beneath!

As part of the prince's disguise had been a thick beard, the men did

not recognise the dead man as the rajah's brother; but they wrapped

the head in a cloth, and buried the body as their commander bade them.

When this was ended, the officer took the cloth, and rode off in the

direction of the palace.

Meanwhile the rajah came home from his council, and to his great

surprise found neither head nor brother awaiting him; as time passed

on, he became uneasy, and thought that he had better go himself and

see what the matter was. So ordering his horse he rode off alone.

It happened that, just as the rajah came near to the temple where Ram

Singh still sat, the young treasurer, hearing the sound of a horse's

hoofs, looked over his shoulder and saw that the rider was the rajah

himself! Feeling much ashamed of himself for having forgotten his

errand, he jumped up and hurried out to meet his master, who reined up

his horse, and seemed very surprised (as indeed he was) to see him.

At that moment there arrived the officer of the guard carrying his

parcel. He saluted the rajah gravely, and, dismounting, laid the

bundle in the road and began to undo the wrappings, whilst the rajah

watched him with wonder and interest. When the last string was undone,

and the head of his brother was displayed to his view, the rajah

sprang from his horse and caught the soldier by the arm. As soon as he

could speak he questioned the man as to what had occurred, and little

by little a dark suspicion darted through him. Then, briefly telling

the soldier that he had done well, the rajah drew Ram Singh to one

side, and in a few minutes learned from him how, in attending to the

guru's counsel, he had delayed to do the king's message.

In the end the rajah found from some papers the proofs of his dead

brother's treachery; and Ram Singh established his innocence and

integrity. He continued to serve the rajah for many years with

unswerving fidelity; and married a maiden of his own rank in life,

with whom he lived happily; dying at last honoured and loved by all

men. Sons were born to him; and, in time, to them also he taught the

five wise sayings of the old guru.

(A Punjâbi story.)

FOOTNOTE:

[4] A Hindu religious teacher or saint; in this case a Sikh.