Long, long ago there lived on the Khasi Hills a certain widow with her only son, a lad possessed of great personal beauty, who was mentally deficient, and was known in the village as “U Bieit” (the idiot).
The mother, being very poor and having neither kith nor kin to help her, was obliged to go out to work every day to support herself and her hapless child, so he was left to his own devices, roaming at large in the village. In this way he grew up to be very troublesome to his neighbours, for he often broke into their houses to forage for something to eat and caused much damage and loss.
Like most people of weak intellect, U Bieit showed wonderful cunning in some directions, especially in the matter of procuring some good thing to eat, and the way he succeeded in duping some of his more sagacious comrades in order to obtain some dainty tit-bits of food was a matter of much amusement and merriment. But there were so many unpleasant incidents that people could not safely leave their houses, and matters at last became so serious that the widow was ordered to leave the village on his account.
She sought admission into many of the surrounding villages, but the fame of U Bieit had travelled before him and no one was willing to let them dwell in their midst. So in great distress she took him down to the plains, where there was a big river along which many boats used to sail. Here she mournfully determined to abandon him, hoping that some of the wealthy merchants who often passed that way might be attracted by his good looks and take him into their company. She gave him some rice cakes to eat when he should be hungry, and told him to be a good boy and stay by the river-side, and she would bring him more cakes next day.
The boy thoroughly appreciated the promise of more cakes, so was quite willing to be left by the river, but he felt lonely and uncomfortable in his strange surroundings after his mother had gone, and whenever a boat came in sight he ran into the thickets to hide. By and by a large boat was seen approaching with great white sails, which frightened him greatly and sent him running into a thicket with all his might. It happened that a wealthy merchant was returning from a journey, and landed to take food close to the hiding-place of U Bieit. The servants were going backward and forward into the boat while preparing their master’s food, and, fearing lest some of them might tamper with his chest of gold nuggets, he ordered them to carry it ashore, and buried it in the sands close to where he sat.
Just as he finished his repast a heavy shower came on, and the merchant hurried to the shelter of his boat; in his haste he forgot all about the chest of gold buried in the sands, and the boat sailed away without it.
All this time the idiot boy was watching the proceedings with great curiosity and a longing to share the tempting meal, but fear of the boat with white sails kept him from showing himself. However, as soon as the boat was out of sight, he came out of the thicket and began to unearth the buried chest. When he saw the gold nuggets he thought they were some kind of cakes, and, putting one in his mouth, he tried to eat it. Finding it so hard, he decided that it must have been unbaked, and his poor marred mind flew at once to his mother, who always baked food for him at home, and, taking the heavy chest on his back, he started through the forest to seek her, and his instinct, like that of a homing pigeon, brought him safely to his mother’s door.
It was quite dark when he reached the village, so that nobody saw him, but his mother was awake crying and lamenting her own hard fate which had driven her to desert her unfortunate child. As she cried she kept saying to herself that if only she possessed money she could have obtained the goodwill of her neighbours and been permitted to live with her boy in the village. She was surprised to hear sounds of shuffling at her door resembling the shuffling of her forsaken boy; she got up hurriedly to see who it was, and was relieved and joyful to find him come back to her alive.
She marvelled when she saw him carrying a heavy chest on his shoulders, and she could get but little light from his incoherent speech as to how he had obtained possession of it, but her eyes glittered with delight when she saw that it was full of gold nuggets. She allowed the lad to keep his delusion that they were cakes, and to pacify him she took some rice and made some savoury cakes for him, pretending that she was baking the strange cakes from the chest. After eating these, he went to sleep satisfied and happy.
Now the widow had been longing for gold all her life long, saying that she wanted it to provide better comforts for the son who could not look after himself, but the moment the gold came into her possession her heart was filled with greed. Not only was she not willing to part with any of the nuggets to obtain the favour of the villagers for her son, but she was planning to send him abroad again to search for more gold, regardless of the perils to which he would be exposed. She called him up before daybreak, and, giving him some rice cakes in a bag, she told him to go again to the river-side and to bring home more boxes of cakes for her to bake.
So the boy started out on his fruitless errand, but soon lost his way in the jungle; he could find the path neither to the river nor to his mother’s house, so he wandered about disconsolate and hungry in the dense woods, searching for hidden chests and unbaked cakes.
In that forest many fairies had their haunts, but they were invisible to mankind. They knew all about the idiot boy and his sad history, and a great pity welled up in their hearts when they saw how the lust for gold had so corrupted his mother’s feelings that she sent him alone and unprotected into the dangers of that great forest. They determined to try and induce him to accompany them to the land of the fairies, where he would be guarded from all harm and where willing hands would minister to all his wants.
So seven of the fairies transformed themselves into the likeness of mankind and put on strong wings like the wings of great eagles, and came to meet U Bieit in the jungle. By this time he had become exhausted with want of food, and as soon as he saw the fairies he called out eagerly to ask if they had any food, to which they replied that they had only some Hyndet bread (kpu Hyndet) which had been baked by the fairies in heaven; and when they gave him some of it, he ate it ravenously and held out his hand for more. This was just what the fairies wanted, for no human being can be taken to fairyland except of his own free will. So they said that they had no more to give in that place, but if he liked to come with them to the land of the fairies beyond the Blue Realm, he could have abundance of choice food and Hyndet cakes. He expressed his readiness to go at once, and asked them how he should get there. They told him to take hold of their wings, to cling firmly, and not to talk on the way; so he took hold of the wings of the fairies and the ascent to fairyland began.
Now as they flew upwards there were many beautiful sights which gave the fairies great delight as they passed. They saw the glories of the highest mountains, and the endless expanse of forest and waters, and the fleeting shadows of the clouds, and the brilliant colours of the rainbow, dazzling in their transient beauty. But the idiot boy saw nothing of these things; his simple mind was absorbed in the one thought—food. When they had ascended to a great height and the borders of fairyland came into view, U Bieit could no longer repress his curiosity, and, forgetting all about the caution not to speak, he asked the fairies eagerly, “Will the Hyndet cakes be big?” As soon as he uttered the words he lost his hold on the fairies’ wings and, falling to the earth with great velocity, he died.
The Khasis relate this story mainly as a warning not to impose responsible duties on persons incapable of performing them, and not to raise people into high positions which they are not fitted to fill.
Where is the country without its giant-story?
All through the ages the world has revelled in tales of the incomparable prowess and the unrivalled strength and stature of great and distinguished men whom we have learned to call giants. We trace them from the days of Samson and Goliath, past the Knights of Arthur in the “Island of the Mighty” and the great warriors of ancient Greece, down to the mythland of our nursery days, where the exploits of the famous “Jack” and his confederates filled us with wonder and awe. Our world has been a world full of mighty men to whom all the nations pay tribute, and the Khasis in their small corner are not behind the rest of the world in this respect, for they also have on record the exploits of a giant whose fate was as strange as that of any famous giant in history.
The name of the Khasi giant was U Ramhah. He lived in a dark age, and his vision was limited, but according to his lights and the requirements of his country and his generation, he performed great and wonderful feats, such as are performed by all orthodox giants all the world over. He lifted great boulders, he erected huge pillars, he uprooted large trees, he fought wild beasts, he trampled on dragons, he overcame armed hosts single-handed, he championed the cause of the defenceless, and won for himself praise and renown.
When his fame was at its height he smirched his reputation by his bad actions. After the great victory over U Thlen in the cave of Pomdoloi, he became very uplifted and proud, and considered himself entitled to the possessions of the Khasis. So instead of helping and defending his neighbours as of yore, he began to oppress and to plunder them, and came to be regarded as a notorious highwayman, to be avoided and dreaded, who committed thefts and crimes wherever he went.
At this period he is described as a very tall and powerful man whose stature reached “half way to the sky,” and he always carried a soop (a large basket of plaited bamboo) on his back, into which he put all his spoils, which were generally some articles of food or clothing. He broke into houses, looted the markets and waylaid travellers. The plundered people used to run after him, clinging to his big soop, but he used to beat them and sometimes kill them, and by reason of his great strength and long strides he always got away with his booty, leaving havoc and devastation behind him. He was so strong and so terrible that no one could check his crimes or impose any punishments.
There lived in the village of Cherra in those days a wealthy woman called Ka Bthuh, who had suffered much and often at the hands of U Ramhah, and whose anger against him burnt red-hot. She had pleaded urgently with the men of her village to rise in a body to avenge her wrongs, but they always said that it was useless. Whenever she met U Ramhah she insulted him by pointing and shaking her finger at him, saying, “You may conquer the strength of a man, but beware of the cunning of a woman.” For this saying U Ramhah hated her, for it showed that he had not been able to overawe her as everybody else had been overawed by him, and he raided her godowns more frequently than ever, not dreaming that she was scheming to defeat him.
One day Ka Bthuh made a great feast; she sent invitations to many villages far and near, for she wanted it to be as publicly known as possible in order to lure U Ramhah to attend. It was one of his rude habits to go uninvited to feasts and to gobble up all the eatables before the invited guests had been helped.
The day of Ka Bthuh’s feast came and many guests arrived, but before the rice had been distributed there was a loud cry that U Ramhah was marching towards the village. Everybody considered this very annoying, but Ka Bthuh, the hostess, pretended not to be disturbed, and told the people to let the giant eat as much as he liked first, and she would see that they were all helped later on. At this U Ramhah laughed, thinking that she was beginning to be afraid of him, and he helped himself freely to the cooked rice and curry that was at hand. He always ate large mouthfuls, but at feast times he used to put an even greater quantity of rice into his mouth, just to make an impression and a show. Ka Bthuh had anticipated all this, and she stealthily put into the rice some sharp steel blades which the giant swallowed unsuspectingly.
When he had eaten to his full content U Ramhah took his departure, and when he had gone out of earshot Ka Bthuh told the people what she had done. They marvelled much at her cunning, and they all said it was a just deed to punish one whose crimes were so numerous and so flagrant, but who escaped penalty by reason of his great strength. From that time Ka Bthuh won great praise and became famous.
U Ramhah never reached his home from that feast. The sharp blades he had swallowed cut his intestines and he died on the hill-side alone and unattended, as the wild animals die, and there was no one to regret his death.
When the members of his clan heard of his death they came in a great company to perform rites and to cremate his body, but the body was so big that it could not be cremated, and so they decided to leave it till the flesh rotted, and to come again to gather together his bones. After a long time they came to gather the bones, but it was found that there was no urn large enough to contain them, so they piled them together on the hill-side until a large urn could be made.
While the making of the large urn was in progress there arose a great storm, and a wild hurricane blew from the north, which carried away the bleached bones of U Ramhah, and scattered them all over the south borders of the Khasi Hills, where they remain to this day in the form of lime-rocks, the many winding caves and crevices of which are said to be the cavities in the marrowless bones of the giant. Thus U Ramhah, who injured and plundered the Khasis in his life-time, became the source of inestimable wealth to them after his death.
His name is heard on every hearth, used as a proverb to describe objects of abnormal size or people of abnormal strength.
In olden times Ka Miaw, the cat, lived in the jungle with her brother the tiger, who was king of the jungle. She was very proud of her high pedigree and anxious to display the family greatness, and to live luxuriously according to the manner of families of high degree; but the tiger, although he was very famous abroad, was not at all mindful of the well-being and condition of his family, and allowed them to be often in want. He himself, by his skill and great prowess, obtained the most delicate morsels for his own consumption, but as it involved trouble to bring booty home for his household, he preferred to leave what he did not want himself to rot on the roadside, or to be eaten by any chance scavenger. Therefore, the royal larder was often very bare and empty.
Thus the cat was reduced to great privations, but so jealous was she for the honour and good name of her house that, to hide her poverty from her friends and neighbours, she used to sneak out at night-time, when nobody could see her, in order to catch mice and frogs and other common vermin for food.
Once she ventured to speak to her brother on the matter, asking him what glory there was in being king if his family were obliged to work and to fare like common folks. The tiger was so angered that she never dared to approach the subject again, and she continued to live her hard life and to shield the family honour.
One day the tiger was unwell, and a number of his neighbours came to enquire after his health. Desiring to entertain them with tobacco, according to custom, he shouted to his sister to light the hookah and to serve it round to the company. Now, even in the most ordinary household, it is very contrary to good breeding to order the daughter of the house to serve the hookah, and Ka Miaw felt the disgrace keenly, and, hoping to excuse herself, she answered that there was no fire left by which to light the hookah. This answer displeased the tiger greatly, for he felt that his authority was being flouted before his friends. He ordered his sister angrily to go to the dwelling of mankind to fetch a firebrand with which to light the hookah, and, fearing to be punished if she disobeyed, the cat ran off as she was bidden and came to the dwelling of mankind.
Some little children were playing in the village, and when they saw Ka Miaw they began to speak gently to her and to stroke her fur. This was so pleasant to her feelings after the harsh treatment from her brother that she forgot all about the firebrand and stayed to play with the children, purring to show her pleasure.
Meanwhile the tiger and his friends sat waiting impatiently for the hookah that never came. It was considered a great privilege to draw a whiff from the royal hookah; but seeing that the cat delayed her return, the visitors took their departure, and showed a little sullenness at not receiving any mark of hospitality in their king’s house.
The tiger’s anger against his sister was very violent, and, regardless of his ill-health, he went out in search of her. Ka Miaw heard him coming, and knew from his growl that he was angry; she suddenly remembered her forgotten errand, and, hastily snatching a firebrand from the hearth, she started for home.
Her brother met her on the way and began to abuse her, threatening to beat her, upon which she threw down the firebrand at his feet in her fright and ran back to the abode of mankind, where she has remained ever since, supporting herself as of old by catching frogs and mice, and purring to the touch of little children.
Once a fox, whose name was U Myrsiang, lived in a cave near the residence of a Siem (Chief). This fox was a very shameless marauder, and had the impudence to conduct his raids right into the Siem’s private barn-yard, and to devour the best of his flocks, causing him much annoyance and loss.
The Siem gave his servants orders to catch U Myrsiang, but though they laid many traps and snares in his way he was so wily and so full of cunning that he managed to evade every pitfall, and to continue his raids on the Siem’s flocks.
One of the servants, more ingenious than his fellows, suggested that they should bring out the iron cage in which the Siem was wont to lock up state criminals, and try and wheedle the fox into entering it. So they brought out the iron cage and set it open near the entrance to the barn-yard, with a man on guard to watch.
By and by, U Myrsiang came walking by very cautiously, sniffing the air guardedly to try and discover if any hidden dangers lay in his path. He soon reached the cage, but it aroused no suspicion in him, for it was so large and so unlike every trap he was familiar with that he entered it without a thought of peril, and ere he was aware of his error, the man on guard had bolted the door behind him and made him a prisoner.
There was great jubilation in the Siem’s household when the capture of the fox was made known. The Siem himself was so pleased that he commanded his servants to prepare a feast on the following day as a reward for their vigilance and ingenuity. He also gave orders not to kill the fox till the next day, and that he should be brought out of the cage after the feast and executed in a public place as a warning to other thieves and robbers. So U Myrsiang was left to pine in his prison for that night.
The fox was very unhappy, as all people in confinement must be. He explored the cage from end to end but found no passage of egress. He thought out many plans of escape, but not one of them could be put into execution, and he was driven to face the doom of certain death. He whined in his misery and despair, and roamed about the cage all night.
Some time towards morning he was disturbed by the sounds of footsteps outside his cage, and, thinking that the Siem’s men had come to kill him, he lay very still, hardly venturing to breathe. To his relief the new-comer turned out to be a belated traveller, who, upon seeing a cage, sat down, leaning his weary body against the bars, while U Myrsiang kept very still, not wishing to disclose his presence until he found out something more about his unexpected companion, and hoping also to turn his coming to some good account.
The traveller was an outlaw driven away from a neighbouring state for some offence, and was in great perplexity how to procure the permission of the Siem (into whose state he had now wandered) to dwell there and be allowed to cultivate the land. Thinking that he was quite alone, he began to talk to himself, not knowing that a wily fox was listening attentively to all that he was saying.
“I am a most unfortunate individual,” said the stranger. “I have been driven away from my home and people, I have no money and no friends, and no belongings except this little polished mirror which no one is likely to buy. I am so exhausted that if they drive me out of this State again I shall die of starvation on the roadside. If I could only find a friend who could help me to win the favour of the Siem, so that I may be permitted to live here unmolested for a time, till my trouble blows over!”
U Myrsiang’s heart was beating very fast with renewed hope when he heard these words, and he tried to think of some way to delude the stranger to imagine that he was some one who had influence with the Siem, and to get the man to open the cage and let him out. So with all the cunning he was capable of, he accosted the man in his most affable and courteous manner:
“Friend and brother,” he said, “do not despair. I think I can put you in the way, not only to win the Siem’s favour, but to become a member of his family.”
The outlaw was greatly embarrassed when he discovered that some one had overheard him talking. It was such a dark night he could not see the fox, but thought that it was a fellow-man who had accosted him. Fearing to commit himself further if he talked about himself, he tried to divert the conversation away from himself, and asked his companion who he was and what he was doing alone in the cage at night.
The fox, nothing loth to monopolise the conversation, gave a most plausible account of his misfortunes, and his tale seemed so sincere and apparently true that it convinced the man on the instant.
“There is great trouble in this State,” said U Myrsiang. “The only daughter of the Siem is sick, and according to the divinations she is likely to die unless she can be wedded before sunset to-morrow, and her bridegroom must be a native of some other State. The time was too short to send envoys to any of the neighbouring States to arrange for the marriage, and as I happened to pass this way on a journey, the Siem’s men forcibly detained me, on finding that I was a foreigner, and to-morrow they will compel me to marry the Siem’s daughter, which is much against my will. If you open the door of this cage and let me out, you may become the Siem’s son-in-law by taking my place in the cage.”
“What manner of man are you,” asked the outlaw, “that you should disdain the honour of marrying the daughter of a Siem?”
“You are mistaken to think that I disdain the honour,” said the fox. “If I had been single I should have rejoiced in the privilege, but I am married already, and have a wife and family in my own village far from here, and my desire is to be released so that I may return to them.”
“In that case,” replied the man, “I think you are right to refuse, but as for me it will be a most desirable union, and I shall be only too glad to exchange places with you.”
Thereupon he opened the door of the cage and went in, while U Myrsiang slipped out, and bolted the door behind him.
The man was so pleased with his seeming good fortune that at parting he took off his polished mirror which was suspended round his neck by a silver chain, and begged his companion to accept it in remembrance of their short but strange encounter. As he was handing it to U Myrsiang, his hand came into contact with the fox’s thick fur, and he realised then that he had been duped, and had, owing to his credulity, released the most thieving rogue in the forest. Regrets were vain. He was firmly imprisoned within the cage, while he heard the laughter of U Myrsiang echoing in the distance as he hurried away to safety, taking the polished mirror with him.
The fox was well aware that it was unsafe for him to remain any longer in that locality, so, after fastening the mirror firmly round his neck, he hastened away with all speed, and did not halt till he came to a remote and secluded part of the jungle, where he stopped to take his breath and to rest.
Unknown to U Myrsiang, a big tiger was lying in wait for prey in that part of the jungle, and, upon seeing the fox, made ready to spring upon him. But the fox, hearing some noise, turned round suddenly, and by that movement the polished mirror came right in front of the tiger’s face. The tiger saw in it the reflection of his own big jaws and flaming eyes, from which he slunk away in terror, thinking that U Myrsiang was some great tiger-demon haunting the jungle in the shape of a fox, and from that time the tiger has never been known to attack the fox.
One day, when hotly pursued by hunters, the fox plunged into a deep river. As he swam across, the flood carried away his polished mirror, but the stamp of it remains to this day on his breast in the form of a patch of white fur.
After the animals were created they were sent to live in the jungle, but they were so foolish that they got into one another’s way and interfered one with another and caused much inconvenience in the world. In order to produce better order, the Bleis (gods) called together a Durbar to decide on the different qualities with which it would be well to endow the animals, so as to make them intelligent and able to live in harmony with one another. After this, mankind and all the animals were summoned to the presence of the Bleis, and each one was given such intelligence and sense as seemed best to suit his might and disposition: the man received beauty and wisdom, and to the tiger were given craftiness and the power to walk silently.
When the man returned to his kindred, and his mother beheld him, her heart was lifted with pride, for she knew that the Bleis had given to him the best of their gifts, and that henceforth all the animals would be inferior to him in beauty and intelligence. Realising with regret that he had not received physical strength equal to the beauty of his person, and that consequently his life would be always in danger, she told her son to go back to the Bleis to ask for the gift of strength.
The man went back to the Bleis according to the command of his mother, but it was so late when he arrived that the Bleis were about to retire. Seeing that he was comelier than any of the animals and possessed more wisdom, which made him worthy of the gift of strength, they told him to come on the morrow and they would bestow upon him the desired gift. The man was dismissed till the following day, but he went away happy in his mind, knowing that the Bleis would not go back on their word.
Now it happened that the tiger was roaming about in that vicinity, and by reason of his silent tread he managed to come unobserved near enough to hear the Bleis and the man talking about the gift of strength. He determined to forestall the man on the morrow, and to obtain the gift of strength for himself; soon he slunk away lest it should be discovered that he had been listening.
Early on the following morning, before the Bleis had come forth from their retirement, the tiger went to their abode and sent in a messenger to say that he had come according to their command to obtain the gift of strength, upon which the Bleis endowed him with strength twelve times greater than what he had before possessed, thinking that they were bestowing it upon the man.
The tiger felt himself growing strong, and as soon as he left the abode of the Bleis, he leaped forward twelve strides, and twelve strides upward, and so strong was he that it was unto him but as one short stride. Then he knew that he had truly forestalled the man, and had obtained the gift of strength, and could overcome men in battle.
Later in the day, in accordance with the command he had received, the man set out for the abode of the Bleis, but on the way the tiger met him and challenged him to fight, and began to leap and bound upwards and forwards to show how strong he was, and said that he had received the “twelve strengths” and no one would be able to withstand him. He was just about to spring when the man evaded him, and ran away towards the abode of the Bleis. When he came there and presented himself before them, they asked him angrily, “Why dost thou come again to trouble us? We have already given thee the gift of strength.” Then the man knew that the tiger’s boast was true, and he told the Bleis of his encounter with the tiger on the way, and of his boast that he had obtained the gift of strength. They were greatly annoyed that deception had been practised on them, but there is no decree by which to recall a gift when once it has been bestowed by the Bleis. They looked upon the man with pity, and said that one so beautiful and full of wisdom should not be left defenceless at the mercy of the inferior animals. So they gave unto him a bow and an arrow, and told him, “When the tiger attacks thee with his strength, shoot, and the arrow will pierce his body and kill him. Behold, we have given to thee the gift of skill to make and to use weapons of warfare whereby thou wilt be able to combat the lower animals.”
Thus the tiger received strength, and man received the gift of skill. The mother of mankind, when she saw it, told her sons to abstain from using their weapons against one another, but to turn them against the animals only, according to the decree of the Bleis.
In early times the goat lived in the jungle, leading a free and independent life, like all the other animals. The following story gives an account of her flight from the animals to make her dwelling with Man.
One fine spring day, when the young leaves were sprouting on the forest trees, Ka Blang, the goat, went out in search of food. Her appetite was sharpened by the delicious smell of the spring, which filled the air and the forest, so, not being satisfied with grass, she began to pluck the green leaves from a bush. While she was busy plucking and eating, she was startled to hear the deep growl of the tiger close beside her.
The tiger asked her angrily, “What art thou doing there?”
Ka Blang was so upset by this sudden interruption, and in such fear of the big and ferocious beast, that she began to tremble from head to foot, so that even her beard shook violently, and she hardly knew what she was doing or saying. In her fright she quavered:
“I am eating khla” (a tiger), instead of saying, “I am eating sla” (leaves).
The tiger took this answer for insolence and became very angry. He was preparing to spring upon her when he caught sight of her shaking beard, which appeared to him like the tuft of hair on a warrior’s lance when it is lifted against an enemy. He thought that Ka Blang must be some powerful and savage beast able to attack him, and he ran away from her in terror.
Now Ka Blang, having an ungrateful heart, instead of being thankful for her deliverance, grew discontented with her lot, and began to grumble because she had not been endowed with the strength attributed to her by the tiger, and she went about bewailing her inferiority.
One day, in her wanderings, she climbed to the top of an overhanging cliff, and there she lay down to chew the cud, and, as usual, to dwell on her grievances. It happened that the tiger was again prowling in the same vicinity, but when he saw the goat approaching he fled in fear, and hid himself under the very cliff on to which she had climbed. There he lay very still, for fear of betraying his presence to the goat, for he was still under the delusion that she was a formidable and mighty animal. Ka Blang, all unconscious of his presence, began to grumble aloud, saying:
“I am the poorest and the weakest of all the beasts, without any means of defence or strength to withstand an attack. I have neither tusks nor claws to make an enemy fear me. It is true that the tiger once ran away from me because he mistook my beard for a sign of strength; but if he had only known the truth he would have killed me on the instant, for even a small dog could kill me if he clutched me by the throat.”
The tiger, beneath the rock, was listening to every word, and, as he listened, his wrath was greatly kindled to find that he had disgraced himself by running away from such a contemptible creature, and he determined now to avenge himself for that humiliation. He crept stealthily from his hiding-place, and, ere she was aware of his approach, Ka Blang was clutched by the throat and killed.
In order to restore his prestige, the tiger proclaimed far and wide how he had captured and killed the goat, and after that other tigers and savage beasts began to hunt the goats, and there followed such a general slaughter of goats that they were nearly exterminated.
Driven to great extremity, the few remaining goats held a tribal council to consider how to save themselves from the onslaughts of the tigers, but, finding themselves powerless to offer any resistance, they determined to apply to mankind for protection. When they came to him, Man said that he could not come to the jungle to defend them, but they must come and live in his village if they wished to be protected by him. So the goats ran away from the jungle for ever, and came to live with mankind.
When mankind first came to live upon the earth, they committed many blunders, for they were ignorant and wasteful, not knowing how to shift for themselves, and having no one to teach them. The Deity who was watching their destinies saw their misfortunes and pitied them, for he saw that unless their wastefulness ceased they would perish of want when they multiplied and became numerous in the world. So the Deity called to him the ox, who was a strong and patient animal, and sent him as a messenger to mankind, to bless them, and to show them how to prosper.
The ox had to travel a long way in the heat, and was much worried by the flies that swarmed round his path and the small insects that clung to his body and sucked his blood. Then a crow alighted on his back and began to peck at the insects, upon which it loved to feed; this eased the ox greatly, and he was very pleased to see the crow, and he told her where he was going, as a messenger from the Deity to mankind.
The crow was very interested when she heard this, and questioned him minutely about the message he had been sent to deliver, and the ox told her all that he had been commanded to say to mankind—how he was to give them the blessing of the Deity and to warn them not to waste the products of the earth lest they died of want. They must learn to be thrifty and careful so that they might live to be old and wise, and they were to boil only sufficient rice for each meal, so as not to waste their food.
When the crow heard this she was much disturbed, for she saw that there would be no leavings for the crows if mankind followed these injunctions. So she said to the ox, “Will you repay my kindness to you in destroying the insects that worry you by giving a message like that to mankind to deprive me of my accustomed spoil?” She begged of him to teach mankind to cook much rice always, and to ordain many ceremonies to honour their dead ancestors by offering rice to the gods, so that the crows and the other birds might have abundance to eat. Thus, because she had eased his torments, the ox listened to her words, and when he came to mankind he delivered only part of the message of the Deity, and part of the message of the crow.
When the time came for the ox to return, a great fear overcame him as he approached the abode of the Deity, for he saw that he had greatly trespassed and that the Deity would be wrathful. In the hope of obtaining forgiveness, he at once confessed his wrong-doing, how he had been tempted by the crow, and had delivered the wrong message. This confession did not mitigate the anger of the Deity, for he arose, and, with great fury, he struck the ox such a blow on the mouth that all his upper teeth fell out, and another blow behind the ribs which made a great hollow there, and he drove the disobedient animal from his presence, to seek pasture and shelter wherever he could find them.
After this the ox came back sorrowfully to mankind, and for food and for shelter he offered to become their servant; and, because he was strong and patient, mankind allowed him to become their servant.
Ever since he was struck by the Deity the ox has had no teeth in the upper jaw, and the hollow behind his ribs remains to this day; it can never be filled up, however much grass and grain he eats, for it is the mark of the fist of the Deity.
After mankind began to multiply on the earth and had become numerous, and scattered into many regions, they lost much of their knowledge of the laws of God, and in their ignorance they committed many mistakes in their mode of worship, each one worshipping in his own way after his own fancy, without regard to what was proper and acceptable in the sight of God.
In order to restore their knowledge and to reform their mode of worship, the Great God commanded a Khasi man and a foreigner to appear before Him on a certain day, upon a certain mountain, the name of which is not known, that they might learn His laws and statutes.
So the Khasi and the foreigner went into the mountain and appeared before God. They remained with Him three days and three nights, and He revealed unto them the mode of worship.
The Great God wrote His laws in books, and at the end of the third day He gave unto each man a book of the holy law, and said unto them: “This is sufficient unto you; return unto your own people; behold, I have written all that is needful for you to know in this book. Take it, and read it, and teach it to your kindred that they may learn how to be wise and holy and happy for ever.” The two men took their books and departed as they were commanded.
Between the mountain and their homeland there lay a wide river. On their way thither they had waded through it without any difficulty, for the water was low, but on their return journey they found the river in flood and the water so deep that they had to swim across. They were sorely perplexed how to keep their sacred books safe and dry; being devoid of clothing, the men found it difficult to protect them or to cover them safely. The foreigner had long hair, and he took his book and wrapped it in his long hair, which he twisted firmly on the top of his head; but the hair of the Khasi was short, so he could not follow the example of the foreigner, and, not able to think of a better plan, he took the book between his teeth.
The foreigner swam across safely, with his book undamaged, and he went home to his kindred joyfully and taught them wisdom and the mode of worship.
The Khasi, after swimming part of the way, began to flounder, for the current was strong, and his breathing was impeded by the book in his mouth. His head went under water, and the book was reduced to a worthless pulp. He was in great trouble when he saw that the book was destroyed. He determined to return to the mountain to ask the Great God for a new book, so he swam back across the wide river and climbed again to the mountain; but when he reached the place where he had before met God, he found that He had ascended into heaven, and he had to return empty-handed.
When he reached his own country, he summoned together all his kindred and told them all that had happened. They were very sad when they heard that the book was lost, and bewildered because they had no means of enlightenment. They resolved to call a Durbar of all the Khasis to consider how they could carry on their worship in a becoming way and with some uniformity, so as to secure for themselves the three great blessings of humanity—health, wealth, and families.
Since that day the Khasis have depended for their knowledge of sacred worship on the traditions that have come down from one generation to the other from their ancestors who sat in the great Durbar after the sacred book was lost, while the foreigners learn how to worship from books.
Once there lived a very poor family, consisting of a father, mother, an only son, and his wife. They were poorer than any of their neighbours, and were never free from want; they seldom got a full meal, and sometimes they had to go without food for a whole day, while their clothes but barely covered their bodies. No matter how hard they worked, or where they went to cultivate, their crops never succeeded like the crops of their fellow-cultivators in the same locality. But they were good people, and never grumbled or blamed the gods, neither did they ask alms of any one, but continued to work season after season, contented with their poor fare and their half-empty cooking-pots.
One day an aged mendicant belonging to a foreign tribe wandered into their village, begging for food at every house and for a night’s shelter. But nobody pitied him or gave him food. Last of all, he came to the dwelling of the poor family, where, as usual, they had not enough food to satisfy their own need, yet when they saw the aged beggar standing outside in the cold, their hearts were filled with pity. They invited him to enter, and they shared their scanty meal with him. “Come,” they said, “we have but little to give you, it is true, but it is not right to leave a fellow-man outside to starve to death.” So he lodged with them that night.
It happened that the daughter-in-law was absent that night, so that the stranger saw only the parents and their son.
A Khasi Industry—Frying Fish in the Open Air.
Next morning, when he was preparing to depart, the mendicant spoke many words of peace and goodwill to the family, and blessed them solemnly, expressing his sympathy with them in their poverty and privation. “You have good hearts,” he said, “and have not hesitated to entertain a stranger, and have shared with the poor what you yourselves stood in need of. If you wish, I will show you a way by which you may grow rich and prosperous.”
They were very glad to hear this, for their long struggle with poverty was becoming harder and harder to bear, and they responded eagerly, saying, “Show us the way.”
Upon this the mendicant opened a small sack which he carried, and took from it a small live coney, which he handed tenderly to the housewife, saying, “This little animal was given to me years ago by a holy man, who told me that if I killed it and cooked its meat for my food I should grow rich. But by keeping the animal alive for many days I became so fond of it that I could not kill it. Now I am old and weak, the day of my death cannot be far off; at my death perhaps the coney may fall into the hands of unscrupulous persons, so I give it to you who are worthy. Do not keep it alive as I did, otherwise you will not be able to kill it and so will never reap the fruits of the virtue it possesses. When wealth comes to you, beware of its many temptations and continue to live virtuously as at present.”
He also warned them not to divulge the secret to any one outside the family, or to let any outsiders taste of the magic meat.
When they were alone, the family began to discuss with wonder the words spoken by the mysterious stranger about the strange animal that had been left in their possession. They determined to act on the advice of their late guest, and to kill the coney on that very day, and that the mother should stay at home from her work in the fields to cook the meat against the return of the men in the evening.
Left to herself, the housewife began to paint glowing pictures of the future, when the family would cease to be in want, and would have no need to labour for their food, but would possess abundance of luxuries, and be the envy of all their neighbours. As she abandoned herself to these idle dreams, the evil spirit of avarice entered her heart unknown to her, and changed her into a hard and pitiless woman, destroying all the generous impulses which had sustained her in all their years of poverty and made her a contented and amiable neighbour.
Some time in the afternoon the daughter-in-law returned home, and, noticing a very savoury smell coming from the cooking-pot, she asked her mother-in-law pleasantly what good luck had befallen them, that she had such a good dinner in preparation. To her surprise, instead of a kind and gentle answer such as she had always received from her mother-in-law, she was answered by a torrent of abuse and told that she was not to consider herself a member of the family, or to expect a share of the dinner, which a holy man had provided for them.
This unmerited unkindness hurt and vexed the younger woman, but, as it is not right to contradict a mother-in-law, she refrained from making any reply, and sat meekly by the fire, and in silence watched the process of cooking going on. She was very hungry, having come from a long journey, and, knowing that there was no other food in the house except that which her mother-in-law was cooking, she determined to try and obtain a little of it unobserved. When the elder woman left the house for a moment she snatched a handful of meat from the pan and ate it quickly, but her mother-in-law caught her chewing, and charged her with having eaten the meat. As she did not deny it, her mother-in-law began to beat her unmercifully, and turned her out of doors in anger.
The ill-treated woman crawled along the path by which her husband was expected to arrive, and sat on the ground, weeping, to await his coming. When he arrived he marvelled to see his wife crying on the roadside, and asked her the reason for it. She was too upset to answer him for a long time, but when at last she was able to make herself articulate, she told him all that his mother had done to her. He became very wroth, and said, “If my mother thinks more of gaining wealth than of respecting my wife, I will leave my mother’s house for ever,” and he strode away, taking only a brass lota (water vessel) for his journey.
The husband and wife wandered about in the jungle for many days, living on any wild herbs or roots that they could pick up on their way, but all those days they did not see a village or a sign of a human habitation.
One day they happened to come to a very dry and barren hill, where they could get no water, and they began to suffer from thirst. In this arid place a son was born to them, and the young mother seemed likely to die for want of water. The husband roamed in every direction, but saw no water anywhere, until he climbed to the top of a tall tree in order to survey the country, and to his joy saw in the distance a pool of clear water. He hastened down and fetched his lota, and proceeded in the direction of the pool. The jungle was so dense that he was afraid of losing his way, so in order to improvise some sort of landmark, he tore his dottie (loin-cloth) into narrow strips which he hung on the bushes as he went.
After a long time he reached the pool, where he quenched his thirst and was refreshed. Then he filled his lota to return to his languishing wife, but was tempted to take a plunge in the cool water of the pool, for he was hot and dusty from his toilsome walk. Putting his lota on the ground and laying his clothes beside it, he plunged into the water, intending to stay only a few minutes.
Now it happened that a great dragon, called U Yak Jakor, lived in the pool, and he rose to the surface upon seeing the man, dragged him down to the bottom, and devoured him.
The anxious wife, parched with thirst, waited expectantly for the return of her husband, but, seeing no sign of him, she determined to go in search of him. So, folding her babe in a cloth, which she tied on her back, she began to trace the path along which she had seen her husband going, and by the help of the strips of cloth on the bushes, she came at last to the spot where her husband’s lota and his clothes had been left.
At sight of these she was filled with misgivings, and, failing to see her husband anywhere, she began to call out his name, searching for him in all directions. There were no more strips of cloth, so she knew that he had not gone farther.
When U Yak Jakor heard the woman calling, he came up to the surface of the pool, and seeing she was a woman, and alone, he drew near, intending to force her into the water, for the dragon who was the most powerful of all the dragons inside the pool lost his strength whenever he stood on dry land, and could then do no harm to any one.
In her confusion and fear on account of her husband, the woman did not take much notice of U Yak Jakor when he came, but shouted to him to ask if he had not seen a man passing that way; to which he replied that a man had come, who had been taken to the palace of the king beneath the pool. When she heard this she knew that they had come to the pool of U Yak Jakor, and, looking more closely at the being that had approached her, she saw that he was a dragon. She knew also that U Yak Jakor had no strength on dry land, and she lifted her arm with a threatening gesture, upon which he dived into the pool.
By these tokens the woman understood that her husband had been killed by the dragon. Taking up the lota and his clothes, she hurried from the fatal spot and beyond the precincts of the dragon’s pool, and, after coming to a safe and distant part of the jungle, she threw herself down on the ground in an abandonment of grief. She cried so loud and so bitterly that her babe awoke and cried in sympathy; to her astonishment she saw that his tears turned into lumps of gold as they fell. She knew this to be a token that the blessing of the mendicant, of which her husband had spoken, had rested upon her boy by virtue of the meat she had eaten.
This knowledge cheered and comforted her greatly, for she felt less defenceless and lonely in the dreary forest. After refreshing herself with water from the lota, she set out in search of some human habitation, and after a weary search she came at last to a large village, where the Siem (Chief) of that region lived, who, seeing that she possessed much gold, permitted her to dwell there.
The boy was named U Babam Doh, because of the meat which his mother had eaten. The two lived very happily in this village, the mother leading an industrious life, for she did not wish to depend for their living on the gold gained at the expense of her son’s tears. Neither did she desire it to become known that he possessed the magic power to convert his tears into gold, so she instructed her boy never to weep in public, and on every occasion when he might be driven to cry, she told him to go into some secret place where nobody could witness the golden tears. And so anxious was she not to give him any avoidable cause of grief that she concealed from him the story of her past sufferings and his father’s tragic fate, and hid from sight the brass lota and the clothes she had found by the dragon’s pool.
U Babam Doh grew up a fine and comely boy, in whom his mother’s heart delighted; he was strong of body and quick of intellect, so that none of the village lads could compete with him, either at work or at play. Among his companions was the Heir-apparent of the State, a young lad about his own age, who, by reason of the many accomplishments of U Babam Doh, showed him great friendliness and favour, so that the widow’s son was frequently invited to the Siem’s house, and was privileged to attend many of the great State functions and Durbars. Thus he unconsciously became familiar with State questions, and gleaned much knowledge and wisdom, so that he grew up enlightened and discreet beyond many of his comrades.
One day, during the Duali (Hindu gambling festival), his friend the Heir-apparent teased him to join in the game. He had no desire to indulge in any games of luck, and he was ignorant of the rules of all such games, but he did not like to offend his friend by refusing, so he went with him to the gambling field and joined in the play.
At first the Heir-apparent, who was initiating him into the game, played for very small stakes, but, to their mutual surprise, U Babam Doh the novice won at every turn. The Heir-apparent was annoyed at the continual success of his friend, for he himself had been looked upon as the champion player at previous festivals, so, thinking to daunt the spirit of U Babam Doh, he challenged him to risk higher stakes, which, contrary to his expectation, were accepted, and again U Babam Doh won. They played on until at last the Heir-apparent had staked and lost all his possessions; he grew so reckless that in the end he staked his own right of succession to the throne, and lost.
There was great excitement and commotion when it became known that the Heir-apparent had gambled away his birthright; people left their own games, and from all parts of the field they flocked to where the two young men stood. When the Heir-apparent saw that the people were unanimous in blaming him for so recklessly throwing away what they considered his divine endowment, he tried to retrieve his character by abusing his opponent, taunting him with being ignorant of his father’s name, and calling him the unlawful son of U Yak Jakor, saying that it was by the dragon’s aid he had won all the bets on that day.
This was a cruel and terrible charge from which U Babam Doh recoiled, but as his mother had never revealed to him her history, he was helpless in face of the taunt, to which he had no answer to give. He stood mute and stunned before the crowd, who, when they saw his dismay, at once concluded that the Heir-apparent’s charges were well founded. They dragged U Babam Doh before the Durbar, and accused him of witchcraft before the Siem and his ministers.
U Babam Doh, being naturally courageous and resourceful, soon recovered himself, and having absolute confidence in the justice of his cause, he appealed to the Durbar for time to procure proofs, saying that he would give himself up to die at their hands if he failed to substantiate his claim to honour and respectability, and stating that this charge was fabricated by his opponent, who hoped to recover by perfidy what he had lost in fair game.
The Durbar were perplexed by these conflicting charges, but they were impressed by the temperate and respectful demeanour of the young stranger, in comparison with the flustered and rash conduct of the descendant of their own royal house, so they granted a number of days during which U Babam Doh must procure proofs of his innocence or die.
U Babam Doh left the place of Durbar, burning with shame and humiliation for the stigma that had been cast upon him and upon his mother, and came sadly to his house. When his mother saw his livid face she knew that some great calamity had befallen him, and pressed him to tell her about it, but the only reply he would give to all her questions was, “Give me a mat, oh my mother, give me a mat to lie upon”; whereupon she spread a mat for him on the floor, on which he threw himself down in an abandonment of grief. He wept like one that could never be consoled, and as he wept his tears turned into gold, till the mat on which he lay was covered with lumps of gold, such as could not be counted for their number.
Although the mother saw this inexhaustible wealth at her feet she could feel no pleasure in it, owing to her anxiety for her son, who seemed likely to die of grief. After a time she succeeded in calming him, and gradually she drew forth from him the tale of the attack made upon their honour by the Heir-apparent. She began to upbraid herself bitterly for withholding from him their history, and hastily she went to fetch her husband’s clothes and the brass lota which she had concealed for so many years, and, bringing them to her son, she told him all that had happened to her and to his father, from the day on which the foreign mendicant visited their hut to the time of their coming to their present abode.
U Babam Doh listened with wonder and pity for the mother who had so bravely borne so many sorrows, concealing all her woes in order to spare him all unnecessary pangs. When the mother finished her tale U Babam Doh stood up and shook himself, and, taking his bow and his quiver, he said, “I must go and kill U Yak Jakor, and so avenge my father’s death, and vindicate my mother’s honour.”
The mother’s heart was heavy when she saw him depart, but she knew that the day had arrived for him to fulfil his duty to his father’s memory, so she made no attempt to detain him, but gave him minute directions about the locality, and the path leading to the dragon’s haunts.
After a long journey U Babam Doh arrived at the pool, on the shores of which he found a large wooden chest, which he rightly guessed had belonged to some unfortunate traveller who had fallen a victim to the dragon. Upon opening the chest he found it full of fine clothes and precious stones, such as are worn only by great princes; these he took and made into a bundle to bring home.
Remembering his mother’s instructions not to venture into the pool, he did not leave the dry land, although he was hot and tired and longed to bathe in order to refresh himself. He began to call out with a loud voice as if hallooing to some lost companions, and this immediately attracted to the surface U Yak Jakor, who, after waiting a while to see if the man would not come to bathe in the pool, came ashore, thinking to lure his prey into the water. But U Babam Doh was on his guard, and did not stir from his place, and when the dragon came within reach he attacked him suddenly and captured him alive. He then bound him with rattan and confined him in the wooden chest.
Fortified by his success, and rejoicing in his victory, U Babam Doh took the chest on his shoulders and brought the dragon home alive. Being wishful to enhance the sensation, when the day came for him to make his revelations public in the Durbar, he did not inform his mother that he had U Yak Jakor confined in the wooden chest, and when she questioned him about the contents of the chest he was silent, promising to let her see it some day. In the meantime he forbade her to open it, on pain of offending him, but he showed her the bundle of silken clothes.
The news soon spread through the village that U Babam Doh had come back, and when the people saw him walking with lifted head and steadfast look, the rumour got abroad that he had been successful in his quest for proofs. This rumour caused the Heir-apparent to tremble for his own safety, and hoping to baulk U Babam Doh once more, he persuaded the Siem to postpone the date of the Durbar time after time. Thus U Yak Jakor remained for many days undiscovered, confined in the chest.
Now U Babam Don’s mother, being a woman, was burning with curiosity to know the secret of that wooden chest which her son had brought home and around which there appeared so much mystery. One day, when her son was absent, she determined to peep into it to see what was hidden there. U Yak Jakor had overheard all that the mother and son had said to one another, and he knew that the woman was not aware of his identity. As soon as he heard her approaching the chest he quickly transformed himself into the likeness of her dead husband, though he was powerless to break the rattan.
The woman was startled beyond speech when she saw (as she thought) her husband alive and almost unchanged, whom she had mourned as dead for so many long years. When she could control her joy she requested him to come out, to partake of food and betel nut, but he replied that although he had by the help of their son escaped from the dragon’s stronghold, he was under certain vows which would have to be fulfilled before he could come out, for if he left the chest before the fulfilment of his vow he would fall again into the power of the dragon.
The mother began to find fault with her son for having concealed the fact of her husband’s rescue from her, but the dragon said that if the son had disclosed the fact to anybody before the fulfilment of the vows it would have committed him into U Yak Jakor’s hands. She must beware of letting U Babam Doh know that she had discovered the secret, or both her son and her husband would be lost to her for ever, while by judicious help she might bring about his release.
Upon hearing this the woman implored him to show her in what way she could assist, and so quicken his release. The wily dragon hoped in this way to bring about the death of U Babam Doh, so he replied that his vow involved drinking a seer of tigress’ milk, and that he who obtained the milk must not know for whom or for what purpose it was obtained.
This was sad news for the woman, for it seemed to her quite impossible to procure tigress’ milk on any condition. She was even less likely to find any one willing to risk his life to get it, without knowing for whom and for what purpose, and she wept bitterly. After a time she called to mind the many exploits of her son as a hunter, and she conceived a sudden plan by which she hoped to obtain tigress’ milk.
By and by she heard the footsteps of her son outside, and she hurriedly closed the lid of the chest, and lay on the ground, and feigned sickness, writhing as if in great agony. U Babam Doh was much concerned when he saw his mother, and bent over her with great solicitude. He tried many remedies, but she seemed to grow worse and worse, and he cried out in sorrow, saying, “Tell me, my mother, what remedy will cure you, and I will get it or die.”
“It is written in my nusip (book of fate) that I shall die of this sickness, unless I drink a seer of tigress’ milk,” said the mother.
“I will obtain for you some tigress’ milk,” said the youth, “or die”; and, taking his bow and quiver and his father’s lota, he went into the forest, asking some neighbours to come and sit with his mother during his absence.
When he had been gone some time his mother said she felt better, and requested the neighbours to return to their homes, as she wished to sleep; but as soon as they were out of earshot she got up and prepared a savoury meal for him whom she thought her husband.
U Babam Doh, eager to see his mother healed, walked without halting till he came to a dense and uninhabited part of the forest which he thought might be the haunt of wild beasts, but he could see no trail of tigers. He was about to return home after a fruitless hunt, as he feared to be absent too long from his mother, when he heard loud moans from behind a near thicket. He immediately directed his steps towards the sound, prepared to render what assistance he could to whoever was suffering. To his surprise he found some young tiger cubs, one of whom had swallowed a bone, which had stuck in his throat, and was choking him. U Babam Doh quickly made a pair of pincers from a piece of bamboo, and soon had the bone removed. The cubs were very thankful for the recovery of their brother, and showed their gratitude by purring and licking U Babam Doh’s hand, while the cub from whose throat the bone was extracted crouched at his feet, declaring that he would be his attendant for ever.
U Babam Doh took up his lota and his bow and prepared to depart, but the cubs entreated him to stay until their mother returned, so as to get her permission for the young tiger to follow him. So U Babam Doh stayed with the cubs to await the return of the tigress.
Before long the muffled sound of her tread was heard approaching. As she drew near, she sniffed the air suspiciously, and soon detected the presence of a man in her lair. Putting herself in a fighting attitude, she began to growl loudly, saying, “Human flesh, human flesh”; but the cubs ran to meet her, and told her how a kind man had saved their brother from death. Whereupon she stopped her growling, and, like her cubs, she showed her gratitude to U Babam Doh by purring and licking his hands.
The tigress asked him many questions, for it was a rare occurrence for a man to wander so far into the jungle alone. On being told that he had come in search of tigress’ milk to save his mother’s life, she exclaimed eagerly that she knew of a way to give him what he wanted, by which she could in some measure repay him for saving her cub, and she bade him bring his lota and fill it with milk from her dugs. U Babam Doh did as she told him, and obtained abundance of tigress’ milk, with which he hastened home to his mother, accompanied by the tiger cub.
U Babam Doh found his mother, on his return, in just the same condition as when he left her; so as soon as he arrived he put the lota of milk into her hand, and said, “Drink, oh my mother. I have obtained for you some tigress’ milk, drink and live.” She made a pretence of drinking, but as soon as her son left the house she hurried to the wooden chest, and, handing in the lota, she said, “Drink, oh my husband. Our son hath obtained the tigress’ milk, drink and be free from the dragon’s power.”
U Yak Jakor was vexed to find that U Babam Doh had returned unharmed, and began to think how he could send him on another perilous venture, and he answered the woman plaintively, “To drink tigress’ milk is only a part of my vow; before I can be released from the dragon’s power I must anoint my body with fresh bear’s grease, and he who obtains it for me must not know for whom or for what purpose it is obtained.”
The woman was very troubled to hear this, for she feared to send her son into yet another danger, but, believing that there was no other way to secure her husband’s release, she again feigned sickness, and when her son asked her why the tigress’ milk had not effected a cure, she replied:
“It is written in my nusip that I must die of this sickness unless I anoint my body with fresh bear’s grease.”
“I will obtain the fresh bear’s grease for you, oh my mother, or die,” answered the youth impetuously; and once more he started to the forest, taking his bow and quiver, and his father’s lota, which he had filled with honey.
As he was starting off, the tiger cub began to follow him, but U Babam Doh commanded him to stop at home to guard the house, and went alone to the forest. After travelling far he saw the footprints of bears, whereupon he cut some green plaintain leaves and spread them on the ground and poured the honey upon them, and went to hide in the thicket. Soon a big bear came and began to eat the honey greedily, and while it was busy feasting, U Babam Doh, from behind the thicket, threw a thong round its throat and captured it alive. Upon this a fierce struggle began; but the bear, finding that the more he struggled the tighter the grip on his throat became, was soon subdued, and was led a safe, though unwilling captive by U Babam Doh out of the jungle. Thus once again the son brought to his mother the remedy which was supposed to be written in her nusip.
When he came in sight of his home, leading the bear by the thong, the tiger cub, on seeing his master, ran to meet him, with the good news that his mother had recovered and had been cooking savoury meals for a guest who was staying in the house. This news cheered U Babam Doh greatly, and, fastening the bear to a tree, he hastened to the house to greet his mother, but to his disappointment he found her ill and seemingly in as much pain as ever. Without delay he took a knife and went out to kill the bear, and, filling the lota with grease, he brought it to his mother, saying:
“Anoint yourself, oh my mother, I have obtained for you the bear’s grease; anoint yourself and live.”
He then went out to seek the tiger cub and punish him for deceiving him about his mother’s condition, but the cub declared on oath that he had spoken only the truth, and that his mother had really been entertaining a guest during her son’s absence, and seemed to have been in good health, going about her work, and cooking savoury meals.
U Babam Doh was greatly mystified; he was loth to believe his mother could be capable of any duplicity, and yet the tiger cub seemed to speak the truth. He determined not to say anything to his mother about the matter, but to keep a watch on her movements for a few days.
When her son left the house after giving her the bear’s grease, the woman rose quickly, and lifting the lid of the chest, she said:
“Anoint yourself, oh my husband. Our son hath obtained the bear’s grease; anoint yourself and be free from the dragon’s power.”
As before, the dragon was again very chagrined to find that U Babam Doh had come back alive and uninjured, so he thought of yet another plan by which he could send him into a still greater danger, and he answered the woman: “Anointing my body with bear’s grease is only a part of my vow; before I can be released from the dragon’s power I must be covered for one whole night with the undried skin of a python, and he who obtains the skin for me must not know for what purpose or for whom it is obtained.”
The woman wept bitterly when she heard of this vow, for she feared to send her son among the reptiles. U Yak Jakor, seeing her hesitation, began to coax her, and to persuade her to feign sickness once again, and she, longing to see her husband released, yielded to his coaxing. When her son came in he found her seemingly worse than he had seen her before, and once more he knelt by her side and begged of her to tell him what he could do for her that would ease her pain.
She replied, “It is written in my nusip that I must die of this sickness unless I am covered for a whole night with the undried skin of a python”; and as before U Babam Doh answered and said that he would obtain for her whatever was written in her nusip; but he did not say that he would bring a python skin.
Taking his bow and quiver, he left the house, as on former occasions, and walked in the direction of the jungle, but this time he did not proceed far. He returned home unobserved, and, climbing to the roof of the house, he quietly removed some of the thatch, which enabled him to see all that was going on inside the house, while he himself was unseen.
Very soon he saw his mother getting up, as if in her usual health, and preparing to cook a savoury meal, which, to his amazement, when it had been cooked, she took to the wooden chest where he knew the dragon to be confined. As he looked, he saw the figure of a man lying in the chest, and he knew then that U Yak Jakor had transformed himself into another likeness in order to dupe his mother. He listened, and soon he understood from their conversation that the dragon had taken the form of his own dead father, and by that means had succeeded in making his mother a tool against her own son. He now blamed himself for not having confided to his mother the secret of the chest, and determined to undeceive her without further delay.
He entered the house quickly, before his mother had time to close the lid of the chest. She stood before him flustered and confused, thinking that by her indiscretion she had irrevocably committed her husband to the power of the dragon; but when U Babam Doh informed her of the deception played upon her by U Yak Jakor she was overwhelmed with terror, to think how she had been duped into sending her brave son into such grave perils, and abetting the dragon in his evil designs on his life.
When U Yak Jakor saw that there was no further advantage to be gained by keeping the man’s form he assumed his own shape, and, thinking to prevent them from approaching near enough to harm him, he emitted the most foul stench from his scaly body. But U Babam Doh, who had borne so much, was not to be thwarted, and without any more lingering he took the chest on his shoulders and carried it to the place of Durbar. There, before the Siem and his ministers and the whole populace, he recounted the strange story of his own adventures and his parents’ history. At the end of the tale he opened the wooden chest and exhibited the great monster, who had been such a terror to travellers for many generations, and in the presence of the Durbar, amid loud cheers, he slew U Yak Jakor, and so avenged his father’s death and vindicated his mother’s honour.
The Siem and the Durbar unanimously appointed him the Heir-apparent, and when in the course of time he succeeded to the throne he proved himself a wise and much-loved ruler, who befriended the poor and the down-trodden and gave shelter to the stranger and the homeless. He always maintained that his own high estate was bestowed upon him in consequence of his family’s generosity to a lonely and unknown mendicant, whose blessing descended upon them and raised them from a state of want and poverty to the highest position in the land.