THE POMEGRANATE KING

THE POMEGRANATE KING

To notes T HERE was once a Mahárájá, called the Anárbásá,

or Pomegranate King; and a Mahárání called the

Gulíanár, or Pomegranate-flower. The Mahárání

died leaving two children: a little girl of four or five years

old, and a little boy of three. The Mahárájá was very

sorry when she died, for he loved her dearly. He was

exceedingly fond of his two children, and got for them two

servants: a man to cook their dinner, and an ayah to take

care of them. He also had them taught to read and write.

Soon after his wife’s death the neighbouring Rájá’s

daughter’s husband died, and she said if any other Rájá

would marry her, she would be quite willing to marry him,

and she also said she would like very much to marry the

Pomegranate Rájá. So her father went to see the Pomegranate

Rájá, and told him that his daughter wished to

marry him. “Oh,” said the Pomegranate Rájá, “I do not

want to marry again, for if I do, the woman I marry will be

sure to be unkind to my two children. She will not take

care of them. She will not pet them and comfort them

when they are unhappy.” “Oh,” said the other Rájá,

“my daughter will be very good to them, I assure you.”

“Very well,” said the Mahárájá, “I will marry her.” So

they were married.

For two or three months everything went on well, but

then the new Rání, who was called the Sunkásí Mahárání,

began to beat the poor children, and to scold their servants. [ Pg 8] One day she gave the boy such a hard blow on his cheek

that it swelled. When the Mahárájá came out of his office

to get his tiffin, he saw the boy’s swollen face, and, calling

the two servants, he said, “Who did this? how did my

boy get hurt?” They said, “The Rání gave him such a

hard blow on his cheek that it swelled, and she gets very

angry with us if we say anything about her ill-treatment of

the children, or how she scolds us.” The Mahárájá was

exceedingly angry with his wife for this, and said to her,

“I never beat my children. Why should you beat them?

If you beat them I will send you away.” And he went off

to his office in a great rage. The Rání was very angry.

So she told the little girl to go with the ayah to the bazar.

The ayah and the little girl set off, never suspecting any

evil. As soon as they had gone, the Rání took the little

boy and told him she would kill him. The boy went down

on his knees and begged her to spare his life. But she

said, “No; your father is always quarrelling with me, beating

me, and scolding me, all through your fault.” The

boy begged and prayed again, saying he would never be

naughty any more. The Rání shook her head, and taking

a large knife she cut off his head. She then cut him up

and made him into a curry. She then buried his head,

and his nails, and his feet in the ground, and she covered

them well with earth, and stamped the ground well down so

that no one should notice it had been disturbed. When

the Pomegranate Rájá came home to his dinner, she put

the curry and some rice on the table before him; but the

Rájá, seeing his boy was not there, would not eat. He

went and looked everywhere for his son, crying very much,

and the little girl cried very much too, for she loved her

brother dearly. After they had hunted for him for some

time, the little boy appeared. His father embraced him.

“Where have you been?” said he. “I cannot eat my

dinner without you.” The little boy said, “Oh, I was in [ Pg 9] the jungle playing with other boys.” They then sat down

to dinner, and the curry changed into a kid curry. The

Rání was greatly astonished when she saw the boy. She

said to herself, “I cut his head off; I cut him into little

pieces, and I made him into a curry, and yet he is alive!”

She then went into the garden to see if his head, and nails,

and feet were in the hole where she had buried them.

But they were not there; it was quite empty. She then

called a sepoy, and said to him, “If you will take two children

into the jungle and kill them, I will give you as much

money as you like.” “All right,” said the sepoy. She

then brought the children, and told him to take them to

the jungle. So he took them away to the jungle, but he

had not the heart to kill them, for they were exceedingly

beautiful, and he left them in the jungle near their dead

mother’s grave. Then he returned to the Rání, saying he

had done as she wished, and she gave him as much money

as he wanted.

The poor Pomegranate Rájá was very unhappy when he

saw his children were not in the palace, and that they could

not be found. He asked his Rání where they were, but

she said she did not know; they had gone out to play and

had never returned. From the day he lost his children the

Pomegranate Rájá became melancholy. He did not love

the Rání any more; he hated her.

Meanwhile the children lived in a little house built close

to their mother’s grave. God had given her life again that

she might take care of them. But they did not know she

was their mother; they thought she was another woman

sent to take care of them. God sent also a man to teach

them. Somehow or other the Rání Sunkásí heard they

were still alive in the jungle. She did not know how she

could kill them. So at last she pretended she was very ill,

and she said to the Rájá, “The doctor says that in the

jungle there are two children, and he says if you will have [ Pg 10] them killed, and will bring their livers for me to stand on

when I bathe, then I shall get well.” The Rájá sent a

second sepoy to kill the children, and this man killed them

and brought their livers to the Rání. She stood on them

while bathing, and then said she was quite well. She then

threw the livers into the garden, and during the night a

tree grew up there with two large beautiful flowers on it.

Next morning the Rání looked out and said, “I will gather

those flowers to-day.” Every day she said she would

gather them, and every day she forgot. At last one day

she said, “Every day I forget to gather those flowers, but

to-day I really will do so,” and she sent her servant to

pluck them. So he went out, and, just as he was going to

gather them, the flowers flew up just out of his reach.

Then the Rání went down, and when she was going to pick

them they flew up so high that they could not be seen.

Every day she tried to gather them, and every day they

went high up, and came back again to the tree as soon as

she had gone. Then the flowers disappeared and two

large fruits came in their stead. The Rání looked out of

her window: “Oh, what delicious fruits! I’ll eat them all

myself. I won’t give a bit to anybody, and I’ll eat them

by myself quite quietly.” She went down to the garden,

but they flew high up into the sky, and then they came

down again. So this went on, day after day, until she got

so cross she ordered the tree to be cut down. But it was

of no use. The tree was cut down, but the fruits flew high

up into the sky, and in the night the tree grew up again

and the fruits came back again to it. And so this went on

for many days. Every day she cut down the tree, and every

night it grew up again, but she could never get the fruits.

At last she became very angry, and had the tree hewn into

tiny bits and all the bits thrown away, but still the tree

grew again in the night, and in the morning the fruits were

hanging on it. So she went to the Rájá and told him that [ Pg 11] in the garden was a tree with two fruits, and every time

she tried to get them, the fruits went up into the air. She

had had the tree cut down ever so many times, and it

always grew up again in the night and the fruits returned

to it. “Why cannot you leave the tree alone?” said the

Rájá. “But I should like to see if what you say is true.”

So the Rájá and the Rání went down to the garden, and

the Rání tried to get the fruits, but she could not, for they

went right up into the air.

That evening the Rájá went alone to the garden to gather

the fruits, and the fruits of themselves fell into his hand.

He took them into his room, and putting them on a little

table close to his bed, he lay down to sleep. As soon as

he was in bed a little voice inside one of the fruits said,

“Brother;” and a little voice in the other fruit said,

“Sister, speak more gently. To-morrow the Rájá will

break open the fruits, and if the Rání finds us she will kill

us. Three times has God made us alive again, but if we

die a fourth time he will bring us to life no more.” The

Rájá listened and said, “I will break them open in a little

while.” Then he went to sleep, and after a little he woke

and said, “A little while longer,” and went to sleep again.

Several times he woke up and said, “I will break the

fruits open in a little while,” and went to sleep. At last he

took a knife and began cutting the fruits open very fast,

and the little boy cried, “Gently, gently, father; you hurt

us!” So then the Rájá cut more gently, and he stopped

to ask, “Are you hurt?” and they said, “No.” And then

he cut again and asked, “Are you hurt?” and they said,

“No.” And a third time he asked, “Are you hurt?” and

they answered, “No.” Then the fruits broke open and

his two children jumped out. They rushed into their

father’s arms, and he clasped them tight, and they cried

softly, that the Rání might not hear.

He shut his room up close, and fed and dressed his [ Pg 12] children, and then went out of the room, locking the door

behind him. He had a little wooden house built that could

easily catch fire, and as soon as it was ready he went to the

Rání and said, “Will you go into a little house I have

made ready for you while your room is getting repaired?”

“All right,” said the Rání; so she went into the little

house, and that night a man set it on fire, and the Rání

and everything in it was burnt up. Then the Pomegranate

Rájá took her bones, put them into a tin box, and sent

them as a present to her mother. “Oh,” said the mother,

“my daughter has married the Pomegranate Mahárájá,

and so she sends me some delicious food.” When she

opened the box, to her horror she found only bones!

Then she wrote to the Mahárájá, “Of what use are bones?”

The Mahárájá wrote back, “They are your bones; they

belong to you, for they are your daughter’s bones. She

ill-treated and killed my children, and so I had her burnt.”

The Pomegranate Rájá and his children lived very happily

for some time, and their dead mother, the Gulíanár Rání,

having a wish to see her husband and her children, prayed

to God to let her go and visit them. God said she could

go, but not in her human shape, so he changed her into a

beautiful bird, and put a pin in her head, and said, “As

soon as the pin is pulled out you will become a woman again.”

She flew to the palace where the Mahárájá lived, and there

were great trees about the palace. On one of these she

perched at night. The doorkeeper was lying near it. She

called out, “Doorkeeper! doorkeeper!” and he answered,

“What is it? Who is it?” And she asked, “Is the Rájá

well?” and the doorkeeper said, “Yes.” “Are the children

well?” and he said, “Yes.” “And all the servants, and

camels, and horses?” “Yes.” “Are you well?” “Yes.”

“Have you had plenty of food?” “Yes.” “What a great

donkey your Mahárájá is!” And then she began to cry very

much, and pearls fell from her eyes as she cried. Then she [ Pg 13] began to laugh very much, and great big rubies fell from

her beak as she laughed. The next morning the doorkeeper

got up and felt about, and said, “What is all this?”

meaning the pearls and the rubies, for he did not know what

they were. “I will keep them.” So he picked them all up

and put them into a corner of his house. Every night the

bird came and asked after the Mahárájá and the children

and the servants, and left a great many pearls and rubies

behind her. At last the doorkeeper had a whole heap of

pearls and rubies.

One day a Fakír came and begged, and as the doorkeeper

had no pice, or flour, or rice to give, he gave him a handful

of pearls and rubies. “Well,” said the Fakír to himself,

“I am sure these are pearls and rubies.” So he tied them

up in his cloth. Then he went to the Rájá to beg, and

the Rájá gave him a handful of rice. “What!” said the

Fakír, “the great Mahárájá only gives me a handful of rice

when his doorkeeper gives me pearls and rubies!” and

he turned to walk away. But the Mahárájá stopped him.

“What did you say?” said he, “that my doorkeeper gave

you pearls and rubies?” “Yes,” said the Fakír, “your doorkeeper

gave me pearls and rubies.” So the Mahárájá went

to the doorkeeper’s house, and when he saw all the pearls

and rubies that were there, he thought the man had stolen

them from his treasury. The Mahárájá had not as many

pearls and rubies as his doorkeeper had. Then turning to

the doorkeeper he asked him to tell him truly where and how

he had got them. “Yes, I will,” said the doorkeeper.

“Every night a beautiful bird comes and asks after you,

after your children, after all your elephants, horses, and

servants; and then it cries, and when it cries pearls drop

from its eyes; and then it laughs, and rubies fall from its

beak. If you come to-night I dare say you will see it.”

“All right,” said the Pomegranate Rájá.

So that night the Mahárájá pulled his bed out under the [ Pg 14] tree on which the bird always perched. At night the bird

came and called out, “Doorkeeper! doorkeeper!” and the

doorkeeper answered, “Yes, lord.” And the bird said, “Is

your Mahárájá well?” “Yes.” “Are the children well?”

“Yes.” “And all his servants, horses, and camels and

elephants—are they well?” “Yes.” “Are you well?”

“Yes.” “Have you had plenty of food?” “Yes.”

“What a fool your Mahárájá is!” And then she cried, and

the pearls came tumbling down on the Mahárájá’s eyes, and

the Mahárájá opened one eye and saw what a beautiful

bird it was. And then it laughed, and rubies fell from its

beak on to the Mahárájá.

Next morning the Mahárájá said he would give any one

who would catch the bird as much money as he wanted. So

he called a fisherman, and asked him to bring his net and

catch the bird when it came that night. The fisherman said

he would for one thousand rupees. That night the fisherman,

the Mahárájá, and the doorkeeper, all waited under

the tree. Soon the bird came, and asked after the Mahárájá,

after his children, and all his servants and elephants, and

camels and horses, and then after the doorkeeper, and then

it called the Mahárájá a fool. Then it cried, and then it

laughed, and just as it laughed the fisherman threw the net

over the bird and caught it. Then they shut it up in an

iron cage, and the next morning the Mahárájá took it out

and stroked it, and said, “What a sweet little bird! what a

lovely little bird!” And the Mahárájá felt something like a

pin in its head, and he gave a pull, and out came the pin,

and then his own dear wife, the Pomegranate-flower Rání,

stood before him. The Rájá was exceedingly glad, and so

were his two children. And there were great rejoicings,

and they lived happily ever after.

Told by Dunkní at Simla, 26th July, 1876.

[ Pg 15]