by Bali Rai
‘They must die!’ said one.
‘Long live the saint!’ cried another.
Birbal removed the grimy turban he was wearing and shed his pauper’s clothes to show the finery beneath.
‘It is Birbal!’ said the first devotee.
‘Yes,’ Birbal replied. ‘And it is my duty to take these liars to the court of the emperor. Now, let us pass in safety or I shall call for the royal guards …’
The men stood aside and let Birbal and his party leave.
‘They will pay for their crimes,’ Birbal added, winking at the distraught uncle. ‘But at the emperor’s hand – not yours!’
The men nodded but their expressions grew yet more callous.
‘Do not come back, lying scoundrels!’ one warned. ‘Next time Birbal will not be able to save you …’
At court, having left the couple and their niece in his chambers, Birbal sought out Akbar.
‘What is it, old friend?’ asked Akbar upon seeing Birbal’s pained expression.
‘The famous saint, Your Majesty,’ replied Birbal. ‘I fear I was correct in my warnings.’
‘How so?’ Akbar asked.
Birbal told him of all he had witnessed, and led him to the poor girl he’d rescued. Upon seeing the emperor, the girl’s uncle and aunt fell to their knees.
‘Do not punish us!’ they implored. ‘We did not know the girl would make such wicked allegations!’
The girl showed no emotion, save for anger.
‘I did not lie!’ she insisted. ‘It was that man and his gang who murdered my parents. If my mother had not hidden me in the water buffalo pen, I would have died too!’
Akbar took in the child’s wild expression, her matted hair and her bare and filthy feet, and his heart cracked a little.
‘But she is only young,’ he said to her uncle and aunt. ‘Why would she lie?’
The uncle looked up, trembling. ‘I do not know, Your Majesty,’ he stammered. ‘She says so many things …’
‘That man is a saint,’ the aunt added. ‘How could he be a murderer? I feel so ashamed …’
But the girl did not change her story. All day, and again the next morning, she insisted her words were true. Birbal and Akbar, after consulting privately, agreed that there was only one solution.
‘Take her to the women’s quarters,’ Akbar ordered his guards. ‘I want this poor child cleaned and fed at once!’
The girl struggled as the guards led her away, but could not match their strength.
‘And you two may use these chambers for your own needs,’ Akbar told the uncle and aunt. ‘I shall send for the saint and in a few hours we will know the truth …’
The saint arrived with three of his devotees leading him. Birbal noted at once his change of clothes, from silken finery into dour and drab sackcloth. Gone were the golden earrings, the marigold, jasmine and rose garlands, and the cleanliness. Instead, his face, feet and hands were now covered in grime and mud. He walked with a stick, tapping it this way and that. Every so often, his followers corrected his path before he bumped into someone or something. Birbal even noticed a slight limp on the saint’s left side.
Akbar sat on his throne, the girl and her family standing with guards to his right. Birbal stood at his left, chewing on a handful of pistachios and salted almonds.
‘Saint,’ said Akbar. ‘I thank you for gracing my court with your presence.’
The blind saint fell to his knees but faced away from Akbar. Birbal smirked and ate some more nuts.
‘It is I who have the honour,’ said the saint, his tone meek. ‘Oh, great Akbar, let me kiss your feet and offer thanks for your existence …’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Akbar. ‘Let us get to the matter at hand.’
‘Such a woeful mistake, Your Majesty,’ the saint replied, as one of his followers turned him to face the emperor. ‘I will not hold it against the poor child. She is clearly lost, her wits gone …’
‘Nevertheless,’ Akbar continued. ‘A grave accusation has been made. Murder is strictly forbidden in my realm, and the punishment for such wickedness is death.’
Birbal stepped forward. ‘As is the penalty for malicious and false accusations,’ he added.
The girl’s uncle gasped and her aunt let out a shriek. The girl did not react, however, her gaze firmly set on the saint.
‘But there is no need for such things,’ the saint said. ‘I am happy to forgive this poor child her trespasses …’
Birbal shook his head. ‘The law cannot be bargained with, nor must it be diluted,’ he said. ‘So I have devised a simple solution. We will hear the child’s allegation, and then we will hear the saint’s rebuttal. Once done, the court will decide who tells the truth. Does this strike you as fair, holy man?’
The saint nodded.
‘Unless,’ he said, ‘there is a mistake, of course.’
‘A mistake?’
‘It is but her word against mine,’ the blind man added. ‘There is no proof.’
Before Birbal could reply, the girl shouted her reply. ‘You murdered my parents!’ she said. ‘I don’t need proof. I saw you kill them with my own eyes. As God is my witness, I –’
‘ENOUGH!’ roared Akbar.
The girl stopped at once and bowed her head. Birbal approached and took her hand. ‘Come with me, child,’ he said softly. Then, leaning close, he whispered, ‘Do not be fearful. I believe every word you say.’
He took the girl as close to the saint as was safe, and then asked for a sword. The nearest guard offered his weapon, which Birbal took in his right hand. At once, another group of soldiers surrounded the saint’s followers.
‘So,’ said Birbal, ‘the child will speak first, and then the saint.’
With his left hand, Birbal took a handful of pistachios from his pocket and held them out for the saint.
‘Would you like a salted almond?’ he asked the blind man.
The saint’s hand hovered a moment but then he shook his head. ‘No, thank you,’ he replied. ‘I do not like salted almonds …’
Birbal nodded and turned back to the girl, pocketing the nuts. ‘Go on, my child …’
The girl cleared her throat and began to tell her tale.
‘I was in bed,’ she said, ‘when my mother began to scream that bandits had arrived on our farm. She grabbed me and ran to the water buffalo pen. There she hid me amongst the straw and dung and begged me to remain quiet. I sobbed and sobbed but it was no use. My mother turned and went to help my father, but it was already too late. This man took his sword and –’
Birbal held up his hand.
‘How did he hold the sword, child?’ he asked, to the bewilderment of everyone at court.
‘I –’ began the girl, but Birbal hushed her once again.
He held the sword with two hands and hefted it above his head. Then he turned to face the saint, whose breathing grew louder and faster.
‘How did he bring it down, child?’ Birbal asked again. ‘Was it like this …?’
To horrified gasps, Birbal brought the sword downwards, its murderous arc ending right between the saint’s eyes. But the saint saw it too, and threw himself aside, just before the blade struck home. The gasps grew louder, before turning into shouts and jeers. The blind saint could see.
‘GUARDS!!!!’ said Akbar. ‘Arrest this murderer and his gang!’
Later, once the girl and her family had left and the bandit awaited his sentence in jail, Akbar asked Birbal how he had been so sure.
‘What if the saint had been blind?’ he asked. ‘You would have killed him.’
‘Yes,’ said Birbal, ‘and I would now be sitting in his place, awaiting my fate …’
‘Were you not scared of being wrong?’ asked Akbar.
‘No,’ said Birbal. ‘Not when the girl was so adamant. She is only a child, Your Majesty. Why would she have remained so true to her story, even in your presence?’
‘I see,’ said Akbar.
‘Besides,’ Birbal added. �
��It’s amazing what one can learn from a handful of nuts …’
The Charmed Ring
One day, a rich merchant decided to teach his son a lesson. The boy, Navin, lived a comfortable life and wanted for nothing, but his father worried that Navin might grow up to become lazy.
‘You must go and seek your own fortune,’ he said.
‘What have I done wrong, Father?’ Navin asked.
‘Nothing, boy,’ the merchant replied. ‘But you have always been given everything. Now, you must earn your way in life.’
‘Very well,’ said a hurt and confused Navin.
‘I will give you three hundred rupees so you don’t starve,’ said his father. ‘But do not return until your fortune is made.’
Navin packed a few possessions, said his goodbyes and left.
On the road, he came across two goat herders quarrelling over a dog.
‘Look at it,’ said the first. ‘It is useless!’
The mutt was thin and its coat threadbare, but Navin felt sorry for it. All it needed was food.
‘We might as well throw it into a well,’ said the second goat herder.
‘No!’ Navin yelled. ‘Please don’t kill him.’
The goat herders turned to Navin. ‘Mind your own business, boy,’ said the first.
‘I’ll buy him!’ said Navin.
‘Buy him?’ asked the second, before smirking. ‘Do you have one hundred rupees, boy?’
Navin nodded.
‘Here,’ he said, taking the money from his tunic.
The herders pocketed the money greedily. As Navin led the dog away, one of them chuckled.
‘What a foolish young man!’ he said.
In the next town, Navin came across a woman trying to drown her cat.
‘What are you doing?’ Navin asked.
‘Mind your own business, boy!’ the woman replied. ‘This wretched thing is worthless!’
The poor creature was even more flea-bitten and skinny than the dog. But Navin did not care. ‘Spare it,’ he said. ‘I will buy it from you.’
The woman let go, looking confused. The cat scampered away and hid in a rose bush.
‘You want to buy that mangy thing?’
‘Yes,’ said Navin. ‘I’ll give you one hundred rupees.’
The shocked woman hastily agreed, grinning as Navin took the cat in his arms and left, the dog at his heels.
‘What a senseless idiot,’ she said, counting her money with glee.
Soon, Navin found yet another poor creature in need. The snake was long and thick, with ebony scales, and had been trapped by some villagers. They argued over the best way to kill it. Navin took pity at once, and threw himself across the trap.
‘Take one hundred rupees for it!’ he said. ‘But, I beg you, don’t kill this noble soul.’
The villagers were delighted to take the money. As Navin turned to go, with the snake over his shoulder, and the cat and dog at his feet, an old woman smiled. She watched the gleeful villagers taunting the boy and cursed them.
‘One day,’ she said, ‘that boy will be blessed for his kindness.’
When evening fell, Navin found a cave for shelter. Penniless, and without food, he sat down and wept. ‘I am a fool!’ he lamented. ‘What will I do now?’
In the morning, with no other choice, he returned to his father’s house.
‘You brainless wretch!’ his father bellowed when he heard Navin’s story.
‘But, Father, I –’
‘Go and sleep in the stables!’ his father ordered. ‘You shame your family! You will never enter my house again!’
So Navin lived in the stables, sleeping on a grass bed with the cattle. His new companions slept with him, the cat by his feet, the dog by his head, and the snake draped across him. They grew very fond of their master, and followed Navin wherever he went.
One night, as the others slept, the snake whispered to Navin.
‘Master,’ it said. ‘I wasn’t always a serpent.’
‘What do you mean?’ Navin asked.
‘I am the son of a great rajah,’ the snake replied. ‘My father’s name is Indrasha, and my kingdom is far away.’
‘But how did you become a snake?’
‘I was cursed by a wicked magician,’ the snake replied.
‘Where is your kingdom?’ Navin asked.
‘Do you know the great mountain?’ asked the snake.
‘Yes,’ said Navin. ‘Across the jungle, to the west.’
‘That’s it,’ the snake replied. ‘There is a sacred spring at the foot of the mountain. My father’s country can be found by diving into that spring.’
‘Very well,’ said Navin. ‘I will take you back to your family.’
‘Thank you, kind master,’ the snake hissed.
Navin shook his head.
‘Don’t thank me, friend,’ he said. ‘You are a creature of this earth, just like me. I am happy to help you.’
The snake wrapped itself round Navin and the two friends fell fast asleep.
At dawn, Navin jumped to his feet. ‘Let’s go quickly!’ he said to the snake. ‘Your father must miss you terribly.’
The snake was pleased. ‘My father has many treasures,’ he said. ‘When we get back, I will ask him to give you some.’
‘No, no,’ Navin replied. ‘I don’t want rewards.’
‘I know,’ said the snake. ‘That’s why you deserve them!’
‘But …’
‘No,’ said the snake. ‘Your kindness to me cannot go unrewarded.’
Navin and his companions set off at once, travelling for many days, through forests and fields, and into the dense jungle at the foot of the mountain. When they arrived they were tired and hungry, but eager to find the snake’s kingdom. But, at the sacred spring, the cat and the dog grew suddenly glum.
‘Dear master,’ the dog whined. ‘We cannot swim very well. How will we come with you?’
‘Yes,’ said the cat. ‘We cannot bear to lose you.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Navin replied. ‘I will be back soon. I won’t abandon you.’
And, with that, the boy and the snake dived into the water.
Indrasha, the rajah, soon learnt of his son’s return. But the snake refused to go to the palace until Navin was given his reward. When Indrasha came to find his son, the snake bowed its head.
‘Dear Father,’ he said. ‘This boy saved my life. I am in his debt forever.’
‘My son!’ said Indrasha through tears of joy. ‘Ask for anything, and I will give it. Without you, my son, riches mean nothing!’
‘I ask for your ring, your pot and the spoon you stir the pot with.’
Indrasha nodded. ‘Of course!’ he declared. ‘And I will give gold too!’
‘Please, Your Majesty,’ said Navin. ‘I do not need anything.’
Indrasha hugged Navin to his chest.
‘Nonsense!’ he said. ‘I am your servant forever. I can never repay your kindness in full.’
Navin agreed.
‘But no gold,’ he said. ‘I am happy to take the ring, the pot and the spoon.’
‘Fair enough,’ the rajah replied. ‘Please stay with us for a while.’
However, Navin refused. ‘I will return one day,’ he said. ‘For now, I have two other friends to help.’
Navin and the snake returned to the sacred spring.
‘I wish I could give you much more,’ said the snake, as they said their farewells.
‘You have given me more than enough,’ Navin replied. ‘Goodbye, brother, until we meet again.’
‘The ring, the pot and the spoon are enchanted,’ the snake revealed. ‘They will make your life wonderful, my friend.’
As they embraced, the snake whispered instructions in Navin’s ear. And then Navin dived into the cool, clear water.
On the other side, his friends jumped for joy when Navin emerged.
‘Master!’ they shouted. ‘You have returned to us!’
‘Yes,’ said Navin.
One morning, some weeks later, they found a riverbank between a mighty river and a glorious forested mountain. There, Navin took out his rewards. The snake had whispered instructions to Navin, which he now recalled. Firstly he spoke to the ring, and asked for somewhere to live. And instantly a magnificent bungalow appeared. Amazed and delighted, the cat and the dog followed Navin inside.
In the kitchen, they found a mahogany table. Navin removed the pot from his sack and put it down. Taking the spoon, he stirred the empty pot and asked for a pile of delicious food. The table was immediately laden with fruits and nuts, spiced rice pudding and sweetmeats, tender lamb and mountains of fragrant rice.
‘Can this be real?’ the cat asked.
On their long journey, Navin had kept the pot and spoon hidden, in case they were stolen. Instead, they had survived on scraps. Now they had a rajah’s feast.
‘Tastes real,’ the dog said, after wolfing down some lamb.
‘There’s something else,’ Navin told them.
Suddenly, a beautiful girl, with golden brown hair and eyes of pale honey, appeared. She smiled warmly.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I am Gita and this is my house. Feel free to join me for dinner.’
Navin and Gita soon fell deeply in love, and eventually they were married. For seven long and wonderful years they lived blissfully by the river, their lives full of joy and laughter. Then, one morning, everything changed. Navin and his wife Gita were by the river when a sudden gust of wind blew down from the mountain. Gita was holding her favourite silk scarf, which floated away on the breeze, landing in the water. The current was strong and the violet scarf floated along for many miles, following the river into the neighbouring kingdom. There a lazy and selfish prince called Kunal found it.
Convinced the scarf was a blessing, Kunal rushed home with it. The scarf carried Gita’s scent – honey and cream and spices – and Kunal grew enchanted. He demanded to know whose scarf it was, but in vain. He locked himself in his room and sulked for days. Refusing to eat or drink, and barely sleeping, Kunal grew depressed.
‘This scarf is a sign!’ he told everyone that asked. ‘It belongs to my future wife and I will find her!’
