Tales of the Sun Part 12

XV.

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL.

Corresponding to this English proverb, there is one in Tamil--Ahambha vam alai alikk.u.m--"Self-pride brings destruction;" and the following story is related by the common folk to ill.u.s.trate it.

In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went about together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield, and were returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near their village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had never heard, and while they were still in the middle of it, the robbers stood before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered them to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them, and so, though they were many more in number, they had to submit themselves to the robbers, who took away everything from them, even the very clothes they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth (langoti), a span in breadth and a cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men, and plundered all their property, now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their chief essential, the langoti, and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them to dance.

There was, among the ten merchants, one who was very intelligent. He pondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which the three robbers had seated themselves on the gra.s.s. At the same time he observed that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in the a.s.surance of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now commencing to dance. So he took the lead in the dance, and, as a song is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:--

Namanum puli per, Talanum tiru per: Savana talanai Tiruvanan suttinan, Savana talan midi Ta tai tom tadingana.

"We are puli men, They are tiru men: If one sa man, Surrounds tiru men.

Sa man remains.

Ta, tai, tom, tadingana."

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice, before he and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had understood his meaning, which, however, even to the best educated, unless trained to the technical expressions of trade, would have remained a riddle.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a purchaser, they use an enigmatic form of language.

"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask another.

"Puli rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant unless he be acquainted with trade technicalities. [79] By the rules of this secret language tiru means "three," puli means "ten," and savana (or shortly sa) means "one." So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders that they were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.

The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly seated chewing betel and tambak (tobacco). Meanwhile the song was sung a third time. Ta tai tom had left the lips of the singer; and, before tadingana was out of them, the traders separated into parties of three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the leader himself, for to him the other nine left the conclusion--tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth, six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached their village, they often amused their friends and relatives by relating their adventure. [80]

XVI.

GOOD WILL GROW OUT OF GOOD.

In a certain town there reigned a king named Patnipriya, [81] to whose court, a poor old Brahmin, named Papabhiru, [82] came every morning, with a yellow lime in his hand, and presenting it to the king, p.r.o.nounced a benediction in Tamil:--

Nanmai vidaittal, nanmai vilaiyum: Timai vidaittal, timai vijaiyum: Nanmaiyum timaiyum pinvara ka.n.a.lam.

"If good is sown, then good will grow: If bad is sown, then bad will grow: Thus good or bad the end will show."

The king respected as much the n.o.ble benediction of the Brahman as he did his grey hairs.

In this way the presentation of the fruit continued daily, though the Brahmin had nothing to request from the king, but simply wished to pay his respects. On observing that he had no ulterior motives, but was merely actuated by rajasevana, or duty to his king, the king's admiration for his old morning visitor increased the more.

After presenting the fruit the Brahmin waited upon his sovereign till his puja [83] was over, and then went home where his wife kept ready for him all the requisites for his own puja. Papabhiru then partook of what dinner his wife had prepared for him. Sometimes, however, a Brahmin neighbour sent him an invitation to dinner, which he at once accepted. For his father, before he breathed his last, had called him to his bedside, and, p.r.o.nouncing his last benediction, had thus advised him in Tamil:--

Kalai sottai tallade, Kannil Kandadai sollade, Rajanukku payandu nada."

"Morning meal do thou never spurn, Nor say thou what thine eyes discern, But serve thy king for fame to earn."

Thus it was that Papabhiru began his visits to the king, nor did he ever reject an invitation to dinner, though it might come at a very inconvenient time.

Now on a certain ekadasi [84] morning, Papabhiru went to the king to pay his respects as usual, with the lime and the benediction, but found that he had gone to his puja and so followed him there. On seeing the Brahmin, the king's face glowed with pleasure, and he said:--

"My most revered G.o.d on earth, [85] I thought that some ill must have befallen you, when I missed you in the council-hall this morning; but praised be Paramesvara for having sent you to me, though it is a little late. I never do my puja without placing my scimitar by the side of the G.o.d, but last night I left it in my queen's room. It is under the pillow of the couch on which I usually sleep. Until you came I could find no suitable person to fetch it for me, and so I have waited for you. Would you kindly take the trouble to fetch it for me?"

The poor Brahmin was only too glad of the opportunity thus presented to him of serving his king, and so he ran to the harem and into the room where the king usually slept. The queen was a very wicked woman and always having secret meetings with courtiers of her husband, so when Papabhiru returned he surprised the queen and one of her lovers walking in the garden, he went through, however, to the king's room, and lifting up the king's pillow felt for the scimitar, and went away. True however, to his father's words, "Nor say thou what thine eyes discern," he never opened his lips and went his way with a heavy heart.

The queen and her wicked suitor were greatly alarmed.

"That rogue of an old Brahmin has seen us and may report to the king at the first opportunity," faltered the minister.

But the queen, as bold in words as in sin, said; "I will have him murdered before the sun rises. Wait you here. I shall inform the king of what is to be done and report the result to you, and then you may go home."

So saying, she went and stood before her royal husband who was at his wors.h.i.+p. Patnipriya rose up and asked her the reason of her sudden appearance.

Said she, "Your Majesty seems to think the whole world as innocent as yourself. That wretched old Brahmin, though his hair is as white as milk, has not forgotten his younger days, he asked me to run away with him. If you do not order his death before to-morrow morning, I shall kill myself."

The king was much vexed with what he heard, and all the regard he had for the Brahmin disappeared at once. He called two of his executioners and spoke to them thus before his wife:--

"Take to the east gate of the town a large iron caldron, and keep it boiling to the brim with gingely oil. [86] A certain person shall come to you in the morning and ask you, 'Is it all done?' Without observing who he is, tie his hands and feet and throw him into the boiling oil. When he has been boiled to death, put out the fire and empty out the oil."

The executioners received the order and went away to perform their terrible duty. The queen, too, glad at heart at having thus successfully arranged for the murder of the Brahmin, reported the fact to the minister, but said nothing about the special question to be put by the victim. The minister, much pleased, went to his palace and waited for news of the Brahmin's death.

When his puja was over the king sent for Papabhiru, and the poor Brahmin, never having before been sent for at such a time, made his appearance with a beating heart. When he arrived the king, in order to arouse no suspicion in his mind, said gently to him:--

"My dear Brahmin, to-morrow morning, when you go to make your ablutions, pa.s.s by the east gate. There you will see two persons seated by the side of a large caldron. Ask them, 'Is it all done?' And whatever reply they give you, come and communicate to me."

Thus spoke the king, firmly believing that Papabhiru would never return to him; while the Brahmin, glad to be able to serve the king a second time next morning, went home and slept soundly. Early in the morning, even a ghatika before his usual time, he got up, and, placing on his head a bag containing dry clothes, proceeded to the river for his morning bath. He took the road to the eastern gate as he had been ordered, but had not walked far when a friend invited him to a dvadasi [87] breakfast.

"My poor old mother did not taste even a drop of water the whole of the ekadasi, (yesterday). Rice and hot water for a bath are ready. Pour a little of the water over your head, [88] p.r.o.nounce one gayatri [89]

and taste a handful of rice. Whatever may be the urgency of your business, oblige me for my poor mother's sake."