Bengal Fairy Tales. Francis Bradley Bradley-Birt
shrieks quickly brought the neighbours to her side. They also were weavers, and not a whit more sensible than the afflicted couple, and when they saw Padmalochan in that unhappy state, they could not forbear shedding tears of sympathy. The man himself was naturally of an imaginative turn of mind, and in fancy he went through all the agonies of death, omitting not even the last gasp. Then when he seemed motionless, his wife and friends supposed that the soul had taken flight, and they at once engaged themselves in making preparations for the obsequies. Bundles of wood with a very sparse quantity of ghee to be rubbed on the supposed corpse before placing it on the funeral pile, and incense to be thrown into the fire to make a sweet odour, were prepared, and the sympathetic neighbours set out for the place of cremation in a deserted locality, many miles distant from their village. They carried on their shoulders their friend's body, wrapped in a mat and tied to a bamboo, and leaving the city behind them they reached the middle of a field, when it was near midnight. There were several footpaths marked in the field, and the benighted men did not know which to take. They were at their wits' ends, and commenced arguing on the point. The disagreement took the form of a quarrel, until at last Padma, so long silent in fancied death, could no longer hold his tongue. He cried out, "Friends, I know well the way to the burning ghat; and I would gladly tell you in which direction to go, if my tongue were not tied by Yama."
Hearing him speak, his friends were greatly frightened, for they thought it was a Dano, an evil spirit that, taking possession of a corpse, speaks and acts like the man whose dead body it has entered. Hastily throwing the body down, they ran away as fast as they could, and did not look behind until they reached the inhabited quarters of the city.
In the meantime, Padma disengaged himself from his bonds, and in spite of his bruised body managed to climb up a peepul tree near by, in order to secure himself from jackals, and other dangerous wild beasts. He imagined that he really was a Dano, but still he could not but obey his human instincts. After some time sleep was about to seal his eye-lids and he had begun to doze when, as chance would have it, there came to the foot of the tree a band of house-breakers, abroad on a plundering excursion. One of Padma's legs was hanging down, and it touched the head of one of the thieves, who instantly gave it so strong a pull that it brought him down to the ground. The house-breakers, superstitious like other illiterate men, thought it must be some superhuman being who had waylaid them, and in great dread they asked him who he was. It was necessary to give them some answer, and Padma thought it best to give it in a nasal tone, for he knew that no evil spirit can talk except through his nose. In a nasal tone, therefore, he told them his whole history, particularly, of course, of his having died, and of the Dano's advent into his body. The men to whom he talked were not such block-heads as to believe him, and they realized that he was a fellow stupid enough to be made their cat's-paw in any daring enterprise. So they invited him to follow them, telling him at the same time, who and what they were. He gladly accepted the invitation and accompanied them.
The field was soon crossed, and a town showing all the signs of opulence was reached. On the side of a river near it, there was a professional drummer's cottage, through the walls of which the house-breakers made a hole big enough for a man to pass. It is according to the code in force among house-breakers that one of the perpetrators of the crime should make the first entrance, and if the coast is clear, inform his fellows of it, either by some signs from inside, or by coming out, at the same time carrying away anything within his reach. Acting according to their code, but unwilling to risk themselves, the house-breakers in question induced Padma to make the first entrance, telling him at the same time to bring away with him the most valuable things he could lay hands on, the most valuable thing probably being the heaviest thing within reach. He entered the room into which the hole led, and finding nobody there, commenced seeking something heavy, with which he might return to his companions. He found a curry-stone, one of the heaviest things in a Bengali's house, and so he took this and went out with it as if it were precious booty. The thieves laughed at his stupidity, and sent him a second time through the hole, telling him that the most valuable things in a cottage like the one before them were not only heavy, but sonorous also, meaning thereby brass or bell-metal utensils. He waited for no further instructions, and hopeful of success went back into the room, where in a corner he found something large and heavy, and to see if it gave any sound, he commenced beating it with his palm. It was a drum and it gave forth its Chatak, chatak, taktaksin sound so loud through the whole house, that the inmates were awakened. Startled, they lit their lamps, and entered the room where they beheld the novice in theft playing on the drum in great glee. Asked who he was, and why he was there in that position, he made a clean breast of everything. Some strong male members of the family opened the outer door, in order to apprehend the robbers, but none of them were to be found, for they had all decamped at the first sign of danger. The poor weaver looked blank, and the men were disposed to let him off. They offered to take him home, but he did not consent, for fear that, as he was a Dano, his presence would bring pollution to his house, and misfortune on her who remained there, the dear wife to whom he was still devoted. He therefore volunteered to go about with them as a drummer, so that by entertaining the gods and goddesses with his performances, he might be rewarded with a life more blessed and happier than that of a Dano. The men acceded to his request, but what happened to him in the future Bhabaghuray has not yet told us, and until he does we must remain in ignorance.
III BUDHIBANTA, THE BOY WEAVER
IN a certain village in rural Bengal there lived a young weaver, Budhibanta by name. He had a mother to whom he was very obedient. The power of judging for himself was not to be found in him, and he did everything his mother told him to do. He was married, but his wife was too young to leave her father's house, and live in her husband's. It was necessary, however, that husband and wife should sometimes meet, and so one day our hero's mother wished him to visit his better half. But how the weak and foolish boy would behave in society was a source of anxiety to his mother. She at length thought that it would be best to send her son with a friend, as his protector and guide, after giving him some good advice, and accordingly, on the most auspicious day named by the village astrologer, Budhi left home with his friend and the parting instructions of his mother, which were to bow deeply to any grave-looking lady of his father-in-law's house, for there were several ladies there who were worthy of his respect; to put as much food into his mouth as could be taken up with only five fingers, that is, to eat as little food as possible, for to appear greedy in one's father-in-law's house was an inexcusable indecency; and to take the shortest and the most direct path when returning home alone, for his friend might not find it convenient to wait during the whole time he might be detained by his mother-in-law.
With these words of advice stored in his mind, and his friend Juggo accompanying him, he reached his destination, and was at once taken into an inner apartment, where he beheld, though at a distance, his veiled wife, who appeared anxious to avoid him, according to the immemorial custom of her country that no girl wife should show her face to her lord before marriage. Running towards her, he bowed low to her, touching her feet with his forehead. This made every one in the house titter, but unconscious of his stupidity, he went in, squaring his chest and bearing himself proudly.
Sometime afterwards, a dish containing fruits and sweets was laid before him, and he could without difficulty put each of these into his mouth, agreeably to his mother's advice. But when the noon-day meal was served, being naturally voracious, he invoked the most fearful curses on his mother's head, on account of the restraint her commands enjoined upon him.
The day passed without anything noteworthy happening, and at night, when the last meal was served, he was in the same predicament as at dinner, or even in a greater, for the dish before him was then khichuri, a mixture of boiled rice and pulse, seasoned with ghee and spices. The greater portion of the food was liquid, and poor Budhi was at a loss to discover how to quiet the cravings of hunger. But his mother's command was his law, and with great regret he was forced to leave most of the dish uneaten. Finally the whole house retired for the night. Budhi, of course, was in the same room with