Tales from India

by Bali Rai

  ‘They are mine, I tell you!’ said one of the men.

  ‘No, no!’ said the next. ‘These magical possessions have always been mine!’

  The third pulled a knife and began to threaten the others. ‘Get away, you vile hounds!’ he yelled.

  The fourth tackled the third, and both men, already filthy, fell into a muddy puddle. Still they tussled and argued, until finally they grew tired.

  Intrigued, Ajeet stepped from the shadows. ‘Do not argue,’ he said to the fakirs. ‘Holy men should not be so greedy.’

  The four holy men stopped arguing and gathered together. Unknown to Ajeet, they were actually bandits. And they loved nothing more than new victims.

  ‘Look at his fine clothes,’ whispered the first.

  ‘And that mighty sword,’ said the second.

  ‘We’ll take everything he has,’ said the third.

  ‘Yes, but his magnificent horse will be mine alone!’ added the fourth.

  Then the first bowed. ‘I am so terribly ashamed,’ he lied. ‘My apologies, young man.’

  Ajeet smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘We can find a better way to end your argument.’

  The first fakir grinned. ‘You are very wise,’ he said. ‘But you look tired and hungry. Won’t you stay with us and take dinner?’

  Ajeet, charmed by the offer, accepted at once.

  ‘Fetch the bowl!’ the first fakir demanded.

  ‘But we cannot …’ began the second, only for the third to interrupt.

  ‘What will he do?’ the third fakir whispered. ‘Tonight we will slay him. So what if he discovers the magic bowl?’

  When Ajeet asked what they’d said, the first fakir shrugged.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he lied. ‘We were just discussing the bowl’s magical powers …’

  ‘Magic?’ the prince replied. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the first fakir. ‘But you must not tell a soul!’

  Ajeet nodded. ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I would never break your trust.’

  The first fakir took the bowl. He asked for plates of coconut rice and curried goat, spiced okra and pineapple chutney. For dessert, he demanded rice pudding and mangoes. And to Ajeet’s astonishment, everything suddenly appeared.

  ‘Amazing!’ said the prince. ‘You are very fortunate to have these gifts.’

  ‘More fortunate than the dead rajah who last owned them!’ whispered the fourth fakir to the third. Both men broke into guffaws before a withering look from the first fakir ended their fun.

  They ate heartily, and Ajeet told them his story. In return, the fakirs invented tales of their own generosity and bravery. Soon Ajeet was shown to a hammock, strung between two branches of a peepal tree. It was outside the fakirs’ camp, but Ajeet was very grateful. He was tired and longed for sleep.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the first fakir. ‘This hammock is very relaxing. If you need us, just call out.’

  Ajeet found sleep impossible. He tossed and turned, and could not relax. Finally, he went to fetch some water. The moon was high but partially hidden behind a cloud, so he trod carefully, anxious not to wake his hosts. But when he reached the camp’s edge, he gasped in horror and hid.

  The four men sat in a circle, with their knives drawn. They had slain Ajeet’s mighty horse and roasted it on their fire. Their mouths were greasy with its flesh and Ajeet overheard their plan to kill him too. Then they began to argue again.

  ‘The magic bed is mine!’ said the first fakir. ‘I’m tired of walking for days on end. The bed will take me anywhere I want to go!’

  ‘Have it!’ said the second, who was larger than the rest. ‘I only want the stone bowl. My belly rumbles with hunger.’

  ‘The charmed bag is mine,’ the third declared. ‘I can ask it for riches, and live like a king!’

  ‘What about me?’ the fourth fakir asked. ‘The stick and the rope might attack anyone I ask, but so what? I want the magic bag!’

  They continued their quarrel, revealing their secrets to Ajeet, who quickly devised a cunning plan. He ran to the hammock for his bow and arrows. On his return, the fakirs were holding their knives, ready to fight each other.

  ‘Wait!’ the prince cried, stepping out from behind a bush.

  ‘Stand back, young man!’ said the first fakir. ‘You are our guest. We don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Not until we are ready to hurt you ourselves!’ whispered the second.

  ‘SSSSHHHHH!’ the rest replied, but this time Ajeet heard clearly.

  Pretending he hadn’t heard, however, the prince continued, ‘But you don’t have to fight,’ he said. ‘My father was a wise man and taught me many things. I can settle your argument.’

  The first fakir looked intrigued. ‘Pray, do tell,’ he said, showing blackened teeth and rotting gums. ‘We would be entirely grateful …’

  ‘Until you meet your end, that is,’ whispered the third fakir.

  ‘Silence!’ growled the first.

  Ajeet smiled.

  ‘I will set a simple task for each magical possession,’ he said. ‘And whoever wins the task, gets that item.’

  When he saw the confusion on their faces, Ajeet realized how truly brainless they were. Perfect, he thought. ‘Each item will have its own arrow,’ he continued, as though explaining to children. ‘The bed, the bag, the stone bowl, and the stick and rope together. I will fire one arrow at a time, into the trees. The four of you will run to retrieve it. Whoever returns with an arrow, will receive the item to which it belongs. Is that clear?’

  The fakirs nodded eagerly.

  ‘So,’ said Ajeet. ‘Bring the items here at once, and we’ll begin.’

  Once the magical objects were assembled, the prince drew his first arrow.

  ‘This one is for the bed,’ he said, firing it into the trees.

  The fakirs set off at once. They were not gone long before the first returned with the arrow. ‘Aha!’ he cried. ‘The bed is mine!’

  Ajeet fired the second arrow, this time for the bag. Once again the men ran off, and this time the second fakir was victorious.

  ‘No need for quarrels,’ he said. ‘The bag belongs to me!’

  The third arrow, for the stone bowl, flew off at speed. This time, the fakirs were gone a while. The portly fakir returned first. ‘Those hounds ran the wrong way!’ he gleefully said. ‘Here is your arrow. The stone bowl is mine!’

  Once all the men were back, Ajeet smiled. ‘Now for the final race.’

  The prince drew his string until the bow was almost at breaking point. He aimed further and higher than before, and in a completely new direction. When he let go, the arrow sailed and sailed, and soared and soared, covering a great distance. The fakirs, tired after the first three races, set off less swiftly than before.

  Ajeet chuckled, before gathering the magical items together on the bed and climbing aboard. ‘Magic bed, take me to Princess Laila’s kingdom at once!’ he ordered.

  The bed rose high above the trees and carried the prince away with astonishing speed. Down below, the bogus fakirs returned to find their treasures gone. They howled and wept, and cursed their own greed and stupidity.

  When the bed landed, Ajeet gathered together the smaller treasures in his bag. Then, strapping the bed to his back, he searched for a resting place. Soon he came across a rice farmer.

  ‘Where am I, kind sir?’ he enquired.

  ‘This is Princess Laila’s kingdom,’ said the farmer. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘To win her hand,’ Ajeet replied.

  ‘You are a fool,’ the farmer said. ‘Leave this place at once, or you will regret it!’

  The prince thanked the man but walked on. At the outskirts of a splendid city, he found a deserted house. It was draughty and dusty, but perfect for his needs. Ajeet put down his treasures and fell fast asleep.

  He awoke to darkness. Searching the place, he found a lamp, which he lit. He took the magic bowl and asked it for chicken, rice and water. The food ap
peared instantly, and he ate and drank until he was full. Then, eager to find Princess Laila, Ajeet went out to explore the city. His route took him towards the royal palace, but he saw few people. The streets and lanes were empty, save for a few guards. Sensing that he might be in danger, Ajeet hid in the shadows, directly below the palace roof.

  Suddenly, he heard someone walking on the tiles above. He peered up and gasped. He saw a girl so beautiful that his heart jumped. She was extraordinary; her hair was long and jet black, and shimmered in the moonlight, her sandalwood-tinted skin was smooth and glowing with health, and her eyes were like emerald stars shining in the heavens. She wore a scarlet silk robe, and across her head she’d placed a band of diamonds and pearls. Ajeet fought back the urge to call her name, but he knew who she was immediately – Princess Laila!

  The following evening, Ajeet returned and watched Princess Laila again. If anything, she seemed even lovelier and Ajeet had to turn away. Princess Laila began to sing a soft, sad song about a caged bird. Her voice was like an angel’s and brought a tear to Ajeet’s eye. She sang of being a prisoner, and of finding her true love, and the prince fell hopelessly in love. Waiting until she left, he raced back to the magic bed.

  ‘Take me to Princess Laila’s room,’ he urged, grabbing the stone bowl.

  Soon he was watching his princess sleep. He took the bowl, and whispered to it. ‘Rose-water halva and tangerine curd,’ he said. ‘Ripe and juicy mangoes, and sweet rice flavoured with coconut cream and cinnamon.’

  He said a prayer and left the feast as a gift. Late the next morning, the princess awoke to a mountain of delicious desserts. Stunned and delighted, she began to eat. When her handmaiden arrived, she asked about the food.

  ‘I thought you had sent them for me,’ Princess Laila replied.

  ‘Not I, dear princess,’ said the servant.

  ‘Then perhaps my mother wanted to surprise me,’ Laila said. ‘Won’t you stay and have some too?’

  The next day, as the princess slept late, Ajeet reappeared in her bedchamber, holding the magic bag.

  ‘Make me a shawl as breathtaking and perfect as my love,’ he said.

  And from the bag he produced a garment woven of rare golden spider silk, embroidered with flowers and jewels, and sprinkled with stardust. Ajeet placed it on her bed and left. When the princess awoke and spied the shawl, she squealed in delight.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ asked her mother, the rani.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the princess replied. ‘Perhaps a gift from the gods …’

  ‘You are blessed, sweet child,’ said the rani. ‘Such a treasure, indeed!’

  Yet although she loved the shawl, the princess had more than enough clothes. She summoned her handmaiden and gave it to her.

  ‘Keep this for your wedding day,’ she said. ‘Your husband will gasp in awe!’

  ‘But, princess, this belongs to you,’ the servant protested.

  ‘It is yours,’ Princess Laila said, smiling warmly. ‘I insist, dear friend!’

  On the third night, Ajeet asked his magic bag for a beautiful ring. When it appeared, he took one of Laila’s delicate hands and placed the ring slowly and carefully. But he was not cautious enough, and the princess awoke with a fright.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘And why are you in my room?’

  ‘Please don’t fear me, princess,’ said Ajeet. ‘I heard about you from the Parrot King. I am Prince Ajeet.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I left my kingdom to find you,’ he continued. ‘I wish to win your heart and your hand in marriage.’

  Princess Laila broke into a smile. ‘You have been leaving me gifts,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, my princess,’ said Ajeet. ‘To delight you, as you delight me with your radiance.’

  ‘Such lovely words,’ the princess replied. ‘But many men have said such things. Let me test you …’

  ‘Anything, dear princess,’ said Ajeet.

  ‘Tell me,’ she asked. ‘Who is more beautiful, your mother or me?’

  The prince was puzzled but answered anyway. ‘You are truly beautiful,’ Ajeet began. ‘But my mother gave me life, and her hands cared for me. Even if she was an ogre, I would love her regardless.’

  Laila’s smile grew wider.

  ‘My mother’s beauty does not matter,’ the prince said. ‘And nor does yours. True beauty lies underneath the skin …’

  The princess clapped her hands together and laughed.

  ‘Come back tomorrow, so we can talk some more,’ she said. ‘But do not let my father catch you. He will kill you, if he finds out.’

  And so, each day for a month, Ajeet and Laila met secretly and their love grew strong. But without her father’s consent, Laila would never be able to marry Ajeet. Then one morning, she made a confession to her mother. ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘I have a great secret.’

  The rani was puzzled. ‘Secret?’ she asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A handsome and noble prince has asked for my hand.’

  ‘Then send him away!’ cried the rani. ‘Your father will kill him!’

  ‘But we are in love,’ Princess Laila replied, before revealing their secret meetings.

  The rani, who longed for her daughter to find true love, broke down and wept. ‘Then we must be brave,’ she said. ‘We must face your father and pray that Ajeet can succeed.’

  The rajah exploded with fury when he heard the news. ‘I do not care!’ he said. ‘This prince must pass my test or die …’

  ‘Please, Father!’ Laila begged. ‘I cannot lose him.’

  ‘That is your problem,’ the rajah replied. ‘Guards, find him at once!’

  When Ajeet was arrested and dragged to court, he bowed his head and offered respectful greetings. The rajah grunted.

  ‘Keep your greetings,’ he snapped. ‘You have dishonoured me and you will pay the price!’

  ‘But, Father!’

  ‘Silence!’ the rajah bellowed. ‘You are mine to give, child! Only I will decide your fate.’

  Turning to Ajeet, the rajah sneered. ‘I will devise a test for you,’ he said. ‘Pass it, and you can have my daughter. Fail, however, and you will die.’

  ‘If that is your command,’ Ajeet replied. ‘I won’t fail.’

  The rajah’s attendants gasped at Ajeet’s boast, and the rani grew faint. Princess Laila began to sob, and prayed that Ajeet would succeed.

  ‘At sunrise, I will give you fifty kilos of mustard seed,’ the rajah declared. ‘And before the sun sets tomorrow, you must crush each one to draw out its oil.’

  ‘I accept,’ said Ajeet.

  ‘No!’ cried the princess. ‘It is impossible. Father …!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ the rajah hissed.

  Princess Laila sobbed and turned to her mother. ‘No matter what happens, I won’t stay in this wretched place!’ she declared.

  ‘Nor I!’ said the rani.

  At dawn, the rajah’s men brought fifty kilos of mustard seed to the old house on a horse-drawn wagon. Dumping the seed, and clay pots for the oil, they withdrew with heads bowed. They, like all the people of the kingdom, hated to see their beloved princess so unhappy. Once the men were gone, Prince Ajeet smiled. Overnight, he’d formed a plan. Now he called out to the Ant Queen.

  Within minutes, an army of ants crawled from every crack and crevice. There were millions of them, and the Ant Queen was at their head.

  ‘My dear friend!’ said the Ant Queen. ‘You called so we came. What can we do?’

  The prince explained his task and the Ant Queen nodded. ‘No problem at all!’ she declared. ‘You take a nap. My workers will have this finished in plenty of time.’

  And sure enough, before mid-afternoon, every last seed had been crushed and the oil collected. Ajeet thanked the Ant Queen and said goodbye. As quickly as they’d arrived, the queen’s ant army vanished. When sunset came, the rajah arrived with his men. He was stunned to see the impossible task completed.

  ‘Now I will marry m
y princess,’ said Ajeet.

  But the rajah grew angry and shook his head. He ordered his men to draw their swords.

  ‘I cannot allow it!’ he said to Ajeet. ‘You have cheated – I’m sure of it!’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Another test or you die!’ the rajah spat in rage.

  ‘As you wish, Your Majesty,’ Ajeet replied, as he was dragged back to the palace.

  The princess wept when she saw her prince, and begged him to run.

  ‘No!’ Ajeet replied in defiance. ‘He will not cheat us!’

  The rajah smirked and then issued a new challenge. ‘In my prison, I have two demons,’ he told the prince. ‘To marry my daughter, you must fight them and live.’

  ‘I will,’ said Ajeet.

  Next morning, he was taken deep underground, to a dungeon so putrid that his stomach turned. Behind a locked door were the wicked rajah’s demons.

  ‘My demons await,’ said the rajah. ‘I shall return this evening. If you live, you shall have my daughter.’

  ‘Do you swear on your honour?’ Ajeet asked.

  ‘Of course!’ the rajah replied. ‘Here, take these keys and enter, if you dare …’

  The rajah chuckled, took his men and left, but Prince Ajeet did not panic. Once again, he had come up with a scheme. He sat down and called out to his friend, the tiger. Some hours later, the tiger appeared with his family. His cubs had grown strong and fierce, but became as playful as kittens on seeing Ajeet.

  ‘Prince Ajeet,’ said the tiger’s wife. ‘How can we help?’

  Ajeet explained his problem and the tigers grinned.

  ‘Demons?’ roared the tiger’s wife. ‘They are no bother! You play with our children and we’ll do the rest!’

  When Ajeet unlocked the door, he heard snarls from the cell. His legs trembled slightly, but the tigers gave one ferocious roar and calmed his fears. They leapt into the cell and pounced on the monsters, tearing them to shreds in moments. Once done, they returned to their children.

  ‘Lunch is served,’ the mother said to her cubs. As her children ran in, she turned to Ajeet. ‘Is there anything else – anything more difficult?’

  ‘No, my magnificent friends,’ Ajeet replied. ‘Your debt to me is repaid.’

  ‘Pah!’ said the mother. ‘That was nothing. We are still your servants.’