a hundred miles’ space farther along thou shalt come to a garden of flowers having a grove of trees and a fountain in the midst; here lie the bodies of the child-dead. At thy approach they shall rise up and running together surround thee. But thou cry out to them, ‘Ye child-dead, rira phad!’ and, strewing thine offering of barley-corns, again pass on thy way without fear.
Out of the midst of these the Siddhî-kür will rise and will run away from before thee till he reaches his mango-tree, climbing up to the summit thereof. Then thou swing on high the axe which I will give thee, even the axe White Moon14, and make as though thou wouldst hew down the tree in very truth. Rather than let thee hew the mango-tree he will come down. Then seize him and bind him in this sack of many colours, in which is place for to stow away an hundred, enclose the mouth thereof tight with this cord, twisted of an hundred threads of different colours, make thy meal off this cake which never grows less, place the sack upon thy shoulder, and bring him hither to me. Only beware that by the way thou open not thy lips to speak!
“And now, hitherto hast thou been called the Khan’s son, but now, since thou hast found thy way even to the cave ‘Giver of Rest,’ thou shalt be called no more the Khan’s son, but ‘the Well-and-wise-walking Khan.’ Go now thy way.”
When the Master, Nâgârg′una, had given him this new name, he further provided him with all the provisions for the undertaking which he had promised him, and, pointing out the way, dismissed him in peace.
When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan had overcome all the alarms and difficulties of the way, and come in sight of the Siddhî-kür, he set out swiftly to pursue him; but the Siddhî-kür was swifter than he, and, reaching the mango-tree, clambered up to the summit. Then said the Well-and-wise-walking Khan, “Behold, I come in the name of the great Master and Teacher, Nâgârg′una. My axe is the axe ‘White Moon,’ my provision for the journey is the cake which never diminishes, my prison is the sack of many colours, in which is place to stow away an hundred, my cord is the cord twisted of an hundred threads of different colours, I myself am called the Well-and-wise-walking Khan; I command thee, therefore, Siddhî-kür, that thou come down hither to me, otherwise with my axe ‘White Moon’ will I fell the mango-tree.”
At these words the Siddhî-kür cried, in answer, “Fell not the mango-tree. Rather will I come down to thee.” With that he came down, and the Khan, taking him, put him in his sack of many colours, in which was place to stow away an hundred, then he made the mouth fast with the cord twisted of an hundred threads of various colours, made his meal off his cake which never diminished, and proceeded on his way to take him to the great Master and Teacher, Nâgârg′una.
As they journeyed on thus day after day, and had grown weary, thus spoke the Siddhî-kür, “Long is the journey, and both of us are weary, tell thou now a story to enliven it.”
But, remembering the words of Nâgârg′una, “Beware thou open not thy lips to speak,” he answered him never a word.
Then said the Siddhî-kür again, “If thou wilt not tell a story to lighten the journey, at least listen to one from me, and to this thou canst give assent without opening thy lips, if only thou nod thy head backwards towards me. At this sign I will tell a tale.” So the Well-and-wise-walking Khan nodded his head backwards towards the Siddhî-kür, and the Siddhî-kür told this tale:—
Tale I.
The Woman Who Sought Her Husband in the Palace of Erlik Khan.
Long ages ago there reigned a young Khan whose father had died early and left him in possession of the kingdom. He was a youth comely to look upon, and dazzling in the glory of his might. To him had been given for his chief wife the daughter of a Khan of the South. But the young Khan loved not this wife. At a mile’s distance from his palace there lived in her father’s house a well-grown, beautiful maiden, of whom he had made his second wife; as she was not a Khan’s daughter he feared to take her home to his palace, lest he should displease his mother, but he came often to visit her, and as they loved each other very much, she asked no more.
One night, when the moon was brightly shining, some one knocked at the window, the maiden knew it was the Khan’s manner of knocking, so she opened to him—but with trembling, for he had never been wont to come at that hour; yet by the light of the moonbeam she saw that it was indeed himself, only instead of his usual garments, he was habited in shining apparel, which she could hardly look upon for its brightness, and he, himself, too, looked more exceeding beautiful than usual. When he had partaken of her rice-brandy and cakes, he rose and stood upon the doorstep, saying, “Come, sweet wife, come out together with me;” and when she had gone a little way with him, he said, “Come, sweet wife, come a little farther with me.” And when she had gone a little farther with him, he said again, “Come, sweet wife, come yet a little farther.” So she went yet a little farther till they had reached nearly to the gates of the palace, and from within the courts of the palace there came a noise of shouting and playing on instruments. Then inquired she, “To what end is this shouting and this music?” And he replied, “It is the noise of the sacrifice for the rites of the burial of the Khan1.” “And why do they celebrate the rites of the burial of the Khan?” she asked, now beginning to fear in earnest. “Because I am dead, sweet wife, and am even now on my way to the deva’s kingdom. But thou listen to me, and do according to my word, and all shall be well for thee and for our son. Behold, even now, within the palace, my mother and my chief wife strive together concerning a jewel which is lost. But I have purposely hid the jewel under a god’s image in the apartment. Thou, therefore, pass the night in this elephant-stable of the palace hard by, and there shall our son be born; and in the morning, the elephant-tamers finding thee shall bring thee to my mother and my chief wife. But thou, take the jewel and give it to the chief wife and send her away to her own people. Then shall my mother have joy in thee alone and in the child, and you two together shall direct the Government till he be come to man’s estate.” Thus spoke the Khan.
While he spoke these words, the wife was so stricken with fear and grief that she fell to the ground senseless, nor knew that he bore her into the elephant-stable, and went up to the deva’s kingdom.
In the night their son was born; and in the morning, the elephant-tamers coming in, said, “Here is a woman and a babe lying in the elephant-stable; this must not be, who knows but that it might bring evil to the elephants2?” so they raised her up, with her infant, and took her to the Khan’s mother. Then she told the Khan’s mother all that had befallen her, and as the jewel was found in the place the Khan had told her, it was taken for proof of her truth. Accordingly, the jewel was given to the chief wife, and she was dismissed to her own people; and as the Khan had left no other child, the boy born in the elephant-stable was declared heir, and his mother and the Khan’s mother directed the Government together till he should come to man’s estate.
Thus the lowly maiden was established in the palace as the Khan had promised. Moreover, every month, on the fifteenth of the month, the Khan came in the night to visit her, disappearing again with the morning light. When she told this to the Khan’s mother, she would not believe her, because he was invisible to all eyes but hers. And when she protested that she spoke only words of truth, the Khan’s mother said, “If it be very truth, then obtain of him that his mother may see him also.”
On the fifteenth of the month, when he came again, she said therefore to him, “That thou shouldst come thus to see me every month, on the fifteenth
