by Bali Rai
‘It pains me deeply,’ Abdul lied, ‘to think that my emperor has been disrespected so. He could not have been a true friend …’
Akbar did not hear Abdul, however; such was his sorrow. ‘Was there no one …?’ he asked again.
A guard coughed. ‘Er … Your Majesty?’
‘Who said that?’ Abdul demanded. ‘Silence!’
‘No, no,’ Akbar said. ‘Let him speak.’
The young guard stepped forward. ‘I saw one man, Your Majesty,’ he revealed. ‘He was the last to appear. I think it was Birbal but I cannot be sure.’
‘Why mention him?’ asked Abdul. ‘If you are not sure?’
The guard waited nervously for the emperor to grant him permission.
‘Go on …’ said Akbar.
‘Well, the man was caked in filth,’ he said. ‘But on his way out, he winked at me …’
Akbar’s grin was wide and dazzling. ‘He winked at you?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty …’
‘Birbal!’ Akbar exclaimed.
‘B … but … I saw this man!’ said Abdul. ‘He looked nothing like Birbal!’
Akbar ignored Abdul. ‘Go and fetch him at once – wherever he is!’ he ordered his guards.
When they returned hours later, the wretched man had not changed. His face and body were plastered in dried mud, and his dhoti was just as filthy. Above his head, he still carried the charpoy. Akbar, amused at his friend’s charade, demanded to know why he should be given the reward.
‘I walked here in the sun,’ the man replied. ‘But still this charpoy gave me shade …’
Abdul Qadir stood open-mouthed, his face red.
‘My dear Birbal!’ Akbar replied. ‘Wash off that mud and you may collect your reward. It is good to have you back, dear friend …’
Birbal put down his charpoy and wiped the mud from his eyes. Noting how Abdul Qadir squirmed, he smiled.
‘It is good to be back, Your Majesty,’ he said.
Birbal’s Khichri
One exceptionally cold winter morning, Emperor Akbar and his chief advisor, Birbal, took a stroll through the palace gardens. Laid out in ornate patterns, and planted with expert skill, the gardens pleased Akbar even in the depths of such a bitter season. Beyond the gardens, past a wall that in summer was thick with climbing vines and roses, lay a beautiful lake surrounded on three sides by a forest of evergreen trees. Around the bark path several oil lamps stood, ready to light the way in darkness.
As they walked, Birbal wondered about the greed of men.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘do you think there is anything a man would not do for money?’
Akbar, used to such questions from his loyal friend, took a moment before replying. He crouched and put his hand into the water. It was icy and bit to the bone. Hastily withdrawing his fingers, he smiled.
‘I should imagine there are some things,’ he said. ‘Who would spend all night in this freezing lake, for example?’
Birbal liked a challenge, and thought he had heard one.
‘I shall find such a man,’ he told Akbar.
‘Pah!’ scoffed the emperor. ‘If you find anyone so willing, I shall reward that person with a thousand gold coins!’
Birbal set about his task immediately. Wrapped in a thick blanket to ward off the chill, he left the palace to begin his search. From one village to the next, Birbal sought someone willing to take on the emperor’s challenge, but to no avail. Then, after two fruitless days, and all but resigned to failure, he chanced upon a desperately poor wretch. Dressed in nothing but a ragged and rough sheet, barefoot and half starved, the poor man jumped at such a chance.
‘My wife and children have no food,’ he told Birbal. ‘They will surely starve if I do not find some money. I will do it!’
‘But what of the danger?’
The poor man shook his head, his hair knotty with dirt. ‘I must do what I can,’ he replied. ‘For the sake of my family.’
Birbal agreed and led him back to Akbar’s palace. When the poor man saw the lake, a feeling of terror overtook him.
‘If you wish to walk away,’ Birbal told him, ‘you may do so.’
The poor man, mindful of his family’s desperation, declined.
‘Is this the fellow?’ Akbar exclaimed, as he reached the lake.
‘Your Majesty!’ the pauper gasped, falling to his knees at once.
‘Do you agree to enter this trial voluntarily?’ Akbar asked the man.
‘Yes, Your Majesty, I do.’
‘Then let good fortune smile on you.’
They watched the man enter the lake, and after posting a guard to keep watch on him, Akbar and Birbal left.
The next morning, the guard brought the wet and shivering wretch to Akbar.
‘Did you spend the entire night as you said?’ Akbar asked, astonished that the man had not succumbed.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
The guard confirmed his story, as Abdul Qadir stepped forward. This man, jealous of Birbal’s growing influence, saw an opportunity to gain favour with Akbar at Birbal’s expense.
‘What sorcery is this?’ Abdul asked. ‘How could anyone survive a night in the lake, Your Majesty? I fear subterfuge …’
Akbar held the man’s gaze once more.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Did you use anything to help you win your challenge?’
The poor man shook his head.
‘I did as you asked,’ he repeated. ‘I concentrated on the closest oil lamp to keep my mind from the cold.’
‘You see?’ said Abdul. ‘Lies!’
‘Aha!’ cried Akbar. ‘Then it is true! You kept warm by the oil lamp and have failed your challenge!’
‘But Your Majesty …’
‘Enough!’ Akbar told him, much to the delight of the wily Abdul. ‘There shall be no reward. Away with you!’
Distraught and bewildered, the poor man trudged wearily from court, and sought out Birbal.
‘I did as you asked,’ the man told Birbal. ‘I have been cheated.’
Birbal told him to return to his family. ‘You shall have your reward very soon,’ he promised. ‘I give you my word.’
Two days passed and Birbal was not seen at court. On the third day, a perplexed Akbar sent a messenger to find his absent friend. The messenger returned to tell Akbar that Birbal was at home, waiting for his khichri to cook. Once it was done, Birbal would return to court. Confused, but by now used to Birbal’s eccentricities, Akbar waited. And waited and waited …
After many hours, Akbar decided to visit Birbal himself. The wily and envious Abdul Qadir accompanied him, alongside several attendants. Akbar found his friend sitting cross-legged, watching over a small fire of twigs. Suspended high above was a bowl filled with rice. Akbar was amused.
‘Your rice is too far away from the fire, friend,’ he said. ‘It will never cook like that!’
He burst into laughter, and Abdul followed suit. When Birbal failed to react, Akbar grew confused.
‘Birbal,’ he said, ‘how can it possibly cook with the flame so distant?’
Birbal shrugged.
‘As a man in a lake might be warmed by the light of a lamp?’ he asked.
‘You cannot speak to His Majesty in that manner!’ Abdul cried. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘I’m merely a man who wishes to tell the truth,’ Birbal said. ‘It does not matter to whom I tell it. Truth is truth.’
Amid gasps from his attendants, Akbar realized at once his mistake.
‘My dear Birbal,’ he said. ‘Yet again, you have taught me a lesson. Where is the poor man I have wronged so dreadfully? I shall give him his reward at once!’
Birbal stood and doused the flames with a pitcher of water. ‘Come, Your Majesty,’ he replied. ‘I shall lead you.’
Akbar, waving away Abdul’s energetic protests, took Birbal by the arm. ‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘you have led me since the day we met. I pray that you never stop leading me.’
Birbal eyed Abdul and grinne
d. ‘I will not stop, dear friend,’ he replied. ‘Unless I am stopped by someone else, of course …’
The Story of Laila and Ajeet
Young Prince Ajeet loved to hunt. Each day he would saddle his horse, grab his bow and arrows and ride through the vast forest on the edge of his father’s kingdom. He was tall and handsome, and very brave, but his mother, the rani, still worried about him. For beyond the forest lay great danger.
‘You must never go east,’ she warned him, each and every day.
‘But, Mother,’ the Prince would reply. ‘The forest is so big that I could ride for days and never find the edge.’
Yet his mother couldn’t stop worrying. To the east lived the most beautiful girl in all creation, Princess Laila. Her father was a wicked man, who ruled his kingdom with fear. Many young men wanted to marry Princess Laila, but none had succeeded. Whenever they approached her father, the wicked king would set them impossible tasks. And when they failed, he would execute them. The rani worried that Ajeet, if he ever saw Princess Laila, would fall madly in love with her.
‘He will not go east,’ Ajeet’s father, the rajah, reassured her. ‘He would never disobey you.’
But still the rani fretted. She knew that once dazzled by Princess Laila’s beauty no man could forget her.
Prince Ajeet obeyed his mother for a long time, but one day his curiosity overcame him.
‘I wonder what mystery lies to the east?’ he said, as he trekked down an overgrown path in search of deer.
‘You must not go there!’ his steward warned. ‘Remember your mother’s warnings, sire!’
‘Nonsense!’ Ajeet replied. ‘I have killed tigers and bears. What could possibly be more dangerous?’
Later, when his steward was busy, Ajeet gathered up his reins and sped away. He rode all day, and into the night, before finding shelter under a giant peepal tree. Tired and hungry, he ate some fruit, and then lay down to sleep.
In the morning squawking parrots awakened him. Eager to see them, he pushed his way through the dense undergrowth, emerging in a clearing. The birds were fantastically rich and vibrant, their feathers coloured scarlet or emerald, or the brightest of blues. The prince took his bow and an arrow, and aimed for the nearest, missing wildly. The birds flew off in an instant, all except for the largest, which stood on a branch and glared at him.
‘How dare you shoot at me!’ it said. ‘I am the Parrot King, and I belong to the Princess Laila. When she hears of this, you will be sorry!’
The prince was shocked. ‘But how can you speak?’ he asked.
‘I have always spoken,’ the Parrot King replied.
‘And this Princess Laila, who is she?’
The Parrot King laughed. ‘I could tell you,’ he said, ‘but then you would die …’
‘But why would I die?’ asked Ajeet.
The Parrot King sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I will explain, but remember that I warned you.’
‘Go on …’
‘Princess Laila is the most beautiful girl in the world,’ the Parrot King said. ‘She is more radiant than the sun, more luminous than the moon. She is kind and generous, and her love knows no bounds.’
Ajeet wondered if such a girl could really exist.
‘She does not sound dangerous to me,’ he replied.
‘Not her,’ said the Parrot King, ‘it is her father, the wicked rajah, who is dangerous. Many young men have wanted to marry her. For each, the rajah has set an impossible task, and no man has ever succeeded. Each one has died.’
‘But I can do anything!’ Prince Ajeet boasted. ‘I am young and strong, and I fear nothing.’
‘My dear fellow,’ the Parrot King replied, ‘go home to your parents and forget Princess Laila. No good can come of it.’
When the Parrot King fell silent, the prince hung his head in sorrow and rode home. When he arrived, he took to his room, refusing to eat or speak for five days. His poor mother sat by his side, praying that her son would soon recover. On the sixth day, the prince finally spoke, and told his parents what the Parrot King had said.
‘I must find this princess,’ he insisted. ‘I cannot sleep or eat because I dream of her.’
‘No, my son!’ the rani cried. ‘I cannot lose you to such madness. You’ve never even seen this girl.’
‘That’s why I must go,’ the prince replied. ‘I must meet her. And I shall win her hand and marry her too.’
‘You cannot!’ said the rajah. ‘I forbid you from leaving!’
The prince shook his head. ‘I love and honour you both,’ he said. ‘But I have made my decision.’
The rajah sighed and nodded. Then he gave Ajeet his strongest and swiftest horse to take with him. When he was ready to leave, his parents walked with him to the palace gates.
‘Take these rupees with you,’ the rajah said. ‘You may need money on your journey.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘Dear son,’ said the rani. ‘Is there nothing I can say to stop you?’
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ the prince replied. ‘I must go.’
The rani sobbed, taking a handkerchief and wrapping inside it some sweetmeats.
‘Take these, my son,’ she said to him. ‘Eat them if you grow hungry and never forget my love for you.’
Saddened but determined, the young prince set off towards the east. He rode and rode, crossing the great forest, past the parrots, into a new land. There he waded through a river and climbed a hill, before descending into a jungle. He found shade under some mighty coral trees next to which sat a stone tank. It was full of fresh, clean water, so he bathed himself and watered his horse, before resting.
Taking the handkerchief from his tunic, he took out a sweetmeat and savoured its rosewater scent. He was about to eat it when he noticed an ant stuck to the sugary surface. Dropping it, he picked a new piece, but this one was crawling with more ants.
‘No!’ he cried.
Every piece of sweetmeat was infested with ants. He watched as they crawled around, and calmed down.
‘These ants are just doing what comes naturally,’ he said aloud. ‘Let them eat, for they must be hungry too.’
He felt something crawl along his legs and up his torso. It was a large black ant. Holding out his hand, he let the ant crawl on to his palm.
‘Excuse me,’ said the ant. ‘I heard what you said and I wanted to thank you.’
‘But how can you speak?’ Ajeet asked.
‘I am the Ant Queen,’ the little insect replied. ‘I have always spoken. You have been very kind. Most people would have killed my workers. But you showed them great kindness.’
‘It is no matter,’ the prince said.
‘I am in your debt,’ the Ant Queen replied, ‘if you ever need my help, just ask for me. I can appear anywhere.’
Ajeet thanked the Ant Queen, and was told of a nearby mango tree. He found it and ate until he was full. In the morning, the Ant Queen reappeared and bade the prince farewell.
Ajeet rode on for two days until he came to a deep valley. There he discovered a magnificent tiger with a thick thorn in its foot. Its roars echoed through the trees, scaring anything that heard them. Ajeet hid his horse and then drew his sword. As he approached, the tiger shook its huge head.
‘Please,’ it said, ‘put your weapon down. I won’t harm you.’
‘But you are a tiger,’ said the prince. ‘You will eat me.’
‘I am in terrible pain,’ the tiger replied. ‘I cannot walk. If the hunters find me, I will surely be killed. Please help me, I beg you!’
The prince sheathed his sword and edged closer still. The thorn had gone deep into the tiger’s paw.
‘Do you promise not to eat me?’ the prince asked.
‘Of course!’ the tiger promised. ‘On the lives of my cubs, I swear!’
The prince took a little knife from his pocket and started a small fire. Once ready, he heated the blade and told the tiger to hold very still.
‘This will hurt,’ he
explained, ‘but the thorn will be gone.’
‘I am ready,’ the tiger replied. ‘Please, just hurry.’
Carefully, the prince cut out the thorn. The tiger’s roar was so loud that far away, his wife heard and came rushing to help.
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ the tiger said. ‘But please hide before my wife arrives.’
‘Why?’ asked the prince.
‘If she sees you, she will attack you,’ the tiger replied. ‘Let me explain your kindness to her.’
The prince climbed high into the nearest tree, reaching safety just as the tiger’s wife appeared.
‘What human did this to you?’ his wife bellowed. ‘Show me, and I will tear out its heart!’
‘No, no!’ said the tiger. ‘I stepped on a giant thorn and was in agony until a young man saved me.’
The tiger’s wife stopped pacing and sat down. ‘A human saved you?’ she asked in utter astonishment.
‘Yes, dear,’ her husband replied. ‘He is hiding in the tree above you, scared that you might kill him.’
The tiger’s wife looked up and saw Ajeet. ‘Do not fear me, young man,’ she said. ‘Come down, so I can thank you.’
Slowly and uncertainly, the prince descended. Wary of being attacked, he held his ground. But when the tiger’s wife saw him, she nuzzled her head against his legs.
‘How can I ever thank you?’ she asked. ‘If my husband had died, I would have been left all alone with my cubs.’
Ajeet shook his head.
‘I could not let your husband suffer,’ he said. ‘I love to hunt, but not like this. It would have been dishonourable.’
‘Then we can be friends …’ the tiger’s wife replied.
Ajeet stayed with the tigers for three days, making ointments for the husband’s paw, and playing with the cubs. When it came time to move on, the tigers thanked him again.
‘If ever you are in trouble, think of me, and I will come to you,’ said the tiger. ‘I am forever in your debt.’
The prince rode on, over the hills, and into another jungle. As he searched for a place to rest, he spied a gang of fakirs, or holy men, arguing. In front of them lay a bed, a bag, a stick and rope, and a stone bowl. Curious, Ajeet hid and watched the men quarrel.
