Indian Tales of The Great Ones

Front matter

NAILA

INDIAN TALES OF THE GREAT ONES

Among Men, Women, and Bird-people

The Eagle Brothers

INDIAN TALES

OF THE GREAT ONES

The Eagle Brothers

There were once two great brother-eagles—Jattayu and Sanpati. And Jattayu was King of all the Eagle Tribes; and among the birds of the air there was none more powerful than Jattayu.

The brothers lived together on a crag of the mountains called the Home of Snow, which stretch across the north-east boundary of India.

They lived there because there was no higher spot in all the world that could be found for their home. And day after day Jattayu ranged the air, marshalling his bird-armies, or settling disputes, or swooping down on the things which he sought for food—for all the bird-people belonged to Jattayu, and owed him allegiance even with their lives, if so he should desire.

And Jattayu was strong and took what he willed, without making excuse.

And Jattayu was feared, even though there were those among the bird-people who could tell how Jattayu could be gentle to the weak.

And of these was his brother Sanpati.

When Jattayu ranged the air, he was a king; but when he flew back on strong outspread wing to his home in the snow mountains, he was only the big brother of Little-Eagle Sanpati.

And together as children they shared the day's meal, and together

The Eagle Brothers

as children they talked of the wonders of the heavens. And always and always in their talk Little-Eagle Sanpati noticed one yearning in the big brother whom he loved and admired.

"I want to get to the sun. Oh, as near as I can!" said Big-Brother Jattayu.

And day after day Little-Eagle Sanpati kept wondering how this could be managed.

And his love for Jattayu was so great that it found a way.

"If one should fly between him and the sun to protect him," he said, "it could be done."

So, one day he made the little-eagle heart of him very brave, and made Jattayu believe that he too was wanting to see the sun; but that he was afraid of falling back upon the earth in terror, when he got near the sun's brilliance. So he begged Jattayu to fly just under him to protect him.

And Jattayu consented; and they circled, Little-Eagle Sanpati and Big-Brother Jattayu, higher and higher, till they got so near to the sun that even Jattayu had had enough, and turned to fly back to the safe quiet nest in the white earth mountains, taking Little-Eagle Sanpati with him.

"It is wonderful," he kept saying, "that I got so near, and yet was not struck or burnt by the Sun-God and the fierceness of his rays. It is a tale of wonder for all the bird-people to hear. Well was it, Little-Eagle Sanpati, that I was there when you fell on my back in terror."

And in Little-Eagle Sanpati's heart was a great gladness that Jattayu had had his desire. Nor did Jattayu, nor anyone in all the bird-world, know the reason why Little-Eagle Sanpati from that day forward remained the home-stay eagle who could not fly.

It was because in protecting Big-Brother Jattayu whom he loved, from the rays of the sun, poor Little-Eagle Sanpati's wings had all been scorched away.

The Throne of Justice

The Throne of Justice

Long before time as we count it, there lived in India a great and just King whose name was Vikramaditya. When he died, his beautiful palace and city of marble fell into ruins: and people remembered nothing but his name, and that he was great and good, and wise and gentle.

One day, some boys who were minding cows led them near a green mound among the ruins: and while the cows cropped the grass, the boys played.

And one of them invented this game.

"I shall be the Judge," he said, "and you shall bring your quarrels to me. I will do justice."

So he sat on the mound; and the boys ran away and whispered, and made a tale of wrong, and brought it to the boy on the mound, who did justice.

But the odd thing was, that the "justice" was such wisdom, that even through their play, the boys felt that something wonderful had happened to their playfellow.

"He is a real Judge, not a play Judge," was what they said.

And they told their parents; and soon all the village got into the habit of coming to the boy on the mound to settle disputes. And everyone was always sure that his judgment was right.

Now there lived close to the ruined city, a King great and powerful: and to his ears also came the story of the boy doing justice on the green mound. And the King laughed and said, "Why, he is sitting on the seat of Vikramaditya; that is why he is wise."

Then the King began to wish the throne for himself. And he sent men with pickaxes and shovels, who dug away the boy's green mound. Deeper and deeper they went, till they came to a throne of black marble, resting on the backs of twenty-four beautiful carved eagles of marble. And the throne was taken to the palace of the King, and a great day of rejoicing was proclaimed, when the King would mount the throne.

On the great day the King came in state, with his mace bearers, and the men who called his titles, and the men who carried the State jewels, and the men who fanned him with great fans made of the green-blue eyes of a peacock's tail.

But when the King would have mounted the throne, one of the carven eagles which bore the throne on its

One of the carven eagles came alive

back, came alive and spoke to the King.

"Stop!" he said. "Have you never wanted for yourself the kingdom of another?"

And the King had to own that he had.

"Then fast and pray for three days," said the eagle, "and come back again."

And the eagle flew away.

And after three days the King returned; but the second eagle stopped him.

"Have you never", he said, "done harm to another, to rob him of his riches?"

And the King said, "Yes—often."

"Then fast and pray for three days," said the eagle, "and come again."

And so each time that the King returned to mount the throne, an eagle spoke and showed some evil of his life, and the King went away sorrowful to his three days' fasting.

And last of all there was only one eagle left; and the King came walking slowly: "This time I must sit on the throne," was his thought.

But "Stop!" said likewise this eagle also, "unless you can tell me that your heart is as pure as the heart of a child."

And the King looked within, and found his heart not as the heart of a child.

"I am not worthy," said the King.

But he knew that the last eagle had solved the mystery of the green mound of grass. The throne of Vikramaditya, where the shepherd boy did justice, was denied to him, the great and mighty King.

For he who would be perfectly just, must have the heart of a little child.

Samyukta, or The Story of the Own-choosing

Samyukta, or The Story of the Own-choosing.

Samyukta, daughter of the King of Kanauj, was the most beautiful Princess in all India. And Prithi Raja, the King of Delhi, wanted to marry her.

He knew that it would not be easy, because her father was his enemy. However, always and always he liked best to do what was not easy to do. So he meant to try.

First he sought out her old nurse, who lived not far from the palace. Touching her feet with his forehead, as is the way of saluting mother-people, he asked her advice. The old woman loved Prithi Raja very dearly, and found a way of helping him.

"Give me", she said, "that picture which the great painter at Delhi has made of you, on ivory, in green and gold: and the rest I will tell you when I come again from my journey."

And the nurse who loved Prithi Raja, went a long way till she came to the gates of the palace of Kanauj. She asked to see the Queen. Now it happened that at that moment, the Queen wanted a new waiting-woman for the Princess. So she took the nurse, and gave her to the household of the Princess.

Samyukta, the Princess, was indeed beautiful. Good was she also, and of a true heart. And as the old woman brushed her hair, or sat out with her on the roof-balcony on the still, hot nights when the Princess was sleepless, she told her tales of Prithi Raja, King of Delhi, and of his great love for Samyukta.

And she showed Samyukta his picture painted on ivory in green and gold. And as the Princess looked on his face, her heart went out to meet the heart of the King who loved her.

And presently the King of Kanauj said: "It is time for the Swayamvara"—that is the choosing of her husband by a Princess-Lady. And he sent his heralds to all parts of India, to call the princes of India to the great choosing.

But to his enemy, Prithi Raja, the King of Delhi, he sent no message. Nevertheless the King of Delhi came to the choosing, he and his friend, disguised as minstrels.

And the palace courtyard was gay and ready for the choosing. Garlands of roses and jasmine hung from the pillars, and garlands of yellow mari

Lightly she held the garland

. The King and Queen sat on golden thrones on a marble balcony: and down below were the thrones of the princes who sought the hand of Samyukta.

Each prince had his men-at-arms and his heralds; and all were dressed in jewels and cloth of gold. And the musicians sat in a watch-tower at the gate: and all who came and went, and all that happened, they saw best of all. And with the musicians sat Prithi Raja, the great prince.

And now the bugles sounded: and Samyukta came from the inner court-yard. She wore a sari that flowed about her like golden water, and the golden anklets on her feet and the golden bracelets on her arms tinkled music. Her eyes were on the ground as she walked, and lightly she held the garland of fresh jasmine flowers, which she would place on the neck of him whom she chose to be her husband.

As she reached the outer courtyard, she raised her eyes, and then she saw a wooden figure of Prithi Raja standing in the place of the King's door-keeper. And she knew that her father had done this thing to hurt Prithi Raja, the true knight of her heart.

From that moment her choice was made. Proudly she walked past one prince after another. Proudly and patiently she heard the long tale of his greatness sounded by the heralds: and silently and proudly she passed on.

There was but one prince left, he who sat near the door-keeper. What would she do? The King and Queen leaned out of their marble balcony, and all the great crowd watched breathless.

But the last prince also did Samyukta reject, and turning to the wooden image of Prithi Raja, who had had no invitation to the Great-Choosing, she placed on its neck the garland, kept for her true knight alone.

Then was there a clash of steel, as the King and all the princes rose in wrath. Surely for this insult Samyukta would now be bound in chains and sent to the deepest dungeon of the palace.

But quicker than wrath was love. Prithi Raja the Minstrel, mounted on Prithi Raja the King's swiftest charger, was at her side, and stooping lifted her to his saddle, and rode away swiftly to the gates of Delhi.

And this was in the days long ago, when men were knights and fought for their ladies, and did with their own hand the thing which was not easy to do.

The Man who made himself an Archer

The Man who made himself an Archer

There was a Master-Archer whose name was Drona: and it was he who taught all the princes of India to shoot, so that none could conquer them.

Now he was jealous for the honour of the princes. And there came to him one named Ekalavya, the king of a caste that was not the soldier-caste, who said: "Teach me to shoot."

But Drona made answer: "You are not of the knightly caste. I cannot teach you." For he was afraid that the low-caste man might become the equal of the high-born princes.

Then Ekalavya went away very sadly to the forest, and built a shrine to Drona, the Master-Archer. And he thought about him, and fasted and prayed night and day for skill in shooting: and night and day he practised ceaselessly, shooting arrows into the distance—shooting and shooting. And he forgot the riches of his palace and all the pleasures of the world, in reaching out to his great desire.

One day Drona and the high-born princes were out shooting in the forest, and they had with them a dog. And the dog strayed from the princes and lost his way, barking in the darkness for his masters, not far from the shrine of Ekalavya.

And Ekalavya heard, and shot an arrow in the direction of the sound; and the arrow went straight into the dog's mouth.

And the dog ran howling to his masters. And they were very angry; for said they, "Someone who can shoot has sent this arrow into the dog's

Ekalavya at the shrine

mouth." And they made the dog show them the way to the shrine, and there was Ekalavya shooting ceaselessly.

"Who are you," said the princes, "who have skill in shooting even as ourselves?"

"I am Ekalavya," said he, "a pupil of the great Master-Archer Drona."

So the princes went and told Drona, and he came back with them to the shrine in the forest.

"How say you," said Drona, "that you are my pupil?"

"Because I have taught myself to shoot, thinking only of you and your great skill in shooting."

Then said Drona, "If you are my pupil, give me the fee due to a Master."

"Most gladly," said Ekalavya, a great joy in his face. "Ask what you will. I have nothing I would not give with all my heart."

"Is that true?" said Drona. "Well then, I ask the thumb of your right hand."

And Ekalavya, allowing no look of sadness to spoil his gift, cut off his thumb, without a word, and laid it at the feet of the Master-Archer. But Drona spurned it, and walked away.

Then Ekalavya turned again to his shooting. But he found that, with the loss of his thumb, his skill had gone for ever.

So were the great ones left without a rival.

But in Heaven the Gods said, "Ekalavya is truly of the knightly caste: and men knew it not."

The Blue Bird and the Archer

The Blue Bird and the Archer

One day Drona, the Master-Archer, made trial of the skill of the princes his pupils. He had them all out before him together.

"Take your bows and arrows," said he, "and be ready to shoot, when I tell you, at the blue bird in yonder tree."

Prince Yudhisthira, being the eldest, was called first.

"Be ready to shoot," said Drona. "But tell me first what you see. Do you see the bird?"

"Yes," said Yudhisthira.

"What else do you see? Myself, your brothers, or the tree?"

"I see yourself, my brothers, the tree, and the bird."

Three times Drona asked this question, and three times was he thus answered. Then very sorrowfully he turned from Yudhisthira. Not by him was the bird to be shot.

Prince after prince, he questioned on this wise; and all alike made answer: "I see you, my brothers, the tree, and the bird."

And now there was but one prince left, Arjun, the master's favourite pupil.

"Tell me, Arjun, with bow bent, what do you see?"

"I see a bird."

"Do you not see myself, your brothers, the tree?"

"I see the bird alone," said Arjun, "not you, nor the tree, nor my brothers."

"Of what colour is the bird?"

"I see only a bird's head."

"Then shoot," said Drona joyfully; and even as he expected, as soon as the arrow sped from the bow, the bird was headless.

Draupadi and the Great Game

Draupadi and the Great Game

When Arjun grew to be a man, one of his first battles was against a King called Drupada. He and his four brothers, the Pandavas as they were called, put their soldiers in a ring round King Drupada's fortress, and let no one pass out or go in.

In a week all the King's servants were dead: and the brothers marched into the palace and took all that they wanted of gold and emeralds, of horses and chariots. The lady Draupadi also, the King's daughter, became theirs by the rules of war.

And Draupadi lived happily with her mother-in-law and the princes.

And all went well, till an enemy of the brothers, jealous of their happiness and their power, tempted Yudhisthira, the eldest of the five. He challenged him to a game of chance in which he put down all he possessed, to lose or win. And Yudhisthira lost. He lost his palace, his chariots and horses, and his whole kingdom. He lost his brothers and himself, and last of all he lost Draupadi also.

Draupadi was the most beautiful of women, and Yudhisthira's enemy was glad indeed when she was brought captive before him. But he was also afraid; for there was something so free in the spirit of Draupadi, that he knew it would not be well with the man who made her a slave.

So, thinking it were wiser to be content with the kingdom and let Draupadi go—

"Ask," he said, "a boon, and it shall be granted."

"I ask then," said Draupadi, "for the freedom of Yudhisthira."

"Granted," said the enemy, for he did not dare break his word. But he marvelled that she did not ask for herself; so, "Ask again" he said.

"Ask", he said, "a boon, and it shall be granted"

"And for the freedom of his brothers with their weapons and chariots of war."

"It is granted: but I give you a third boon. Will you not ask for your own freedom?"

"By no means," said Draupadi. "The Pandavas, armed and free, can conquer the world. It is they who will rescue me. They need owe nothing to a boon; nor, with the Pandavas free, need I either, any longer."

The Self-Blinding

The Self-Blinding

Everyone knows the name of Dhritarashtra, the uncle of the five great soldier-men, the Pandavas.

Dhritarashtra was blind; and Dhritarashtra was alone in his blindness.

And when Gandhari, his bride, saw the hurt of his loneliness—"Let me in to him behind his bars of darkness," she said to the gods.

And she bound her eyes tightly; and day and night were alike to her for ever. But Dhritarashtra was no more lonely in his night of sightlessness.

The Story of the Maiden-Knight

The Story of the Maiden-Knight

Drupada, the King of the Panchalas, had prayed for a son, that he might destroy his enemy the Master-Archer.

But his wife was childless. Then as he still prayed and prayed, Shiva appeared to him and told him that he should have a son who should first be a daughter.

And in due time a daughter was born to him. But the Queen said, "She is a son;" and so great was her faith that she prevailed on the King to proclaim the child a son, and to perform the son- ceremonies.

And the child was called Shikhandi. And she grew strong and beautiful: but was seen of none save her parents and her faithful nurse.

All too soon it was time for her to be married. And again by the advice of the Queen, they sought for her the most beautiful princess in all India. "We must believe the word of the gods," said the Queen.

But at last the secret was known, and the King whose daughter was sought in marriage was very angry. "I have", he said, "been insulted;" and he prepared to make war on the Panchalas.

And Shikhandi's father felt that he had done wrong, and had been deceitful: and he was afraid.

But Shikhandi's mother said, "We only relied on the word of the gods. Be unafraid as I am unafraid: and prepare to defend the kingdom. She shall be a son."

And Shikhandi, sad at heart that she was the cause of all this trouble, wandered forth to lose herself. "If I am not here any longer, the King and my father will make peace," was what she said in her heart.

And, wandering, she came to a great forest, and to a great house the doors of which were open. And the house smelt of smoke and incense, and yet no one was there: and it seemed to have a host, and yet was hostless.

And Shikhandi sat down in the house, and brooded, heeding not time nor self, in her great desire to save her people.

And to her presently came the kind Yakshas, whose the palace was, and he asked her what she wished.

"Make me a man," said she, "a perfect man. My father is about to be destroyed: and if I were a man this would not happen. Make me, oh, Yakshas! a man: and let me keep

She came to a great house

that manhood till my father is saved."

And the Yakshas was moved with pity: and gave her his manhood and his mighty form, till she should fulfil her object. So she went forth a warrior, in the form of Sthuna, the Yakshas.

And the King of Wealth, coming that way, found Sthuna the woman sitting alone in the palace: and between laughter and disgust—"You shall remain a woman," he said. But later he was sorry, and he added—"Till Shikhandi's death."

So was fulfilled the promise of Shiva—"She shall be first a daughter: and then a son, Shikhandi, Maiden-Knight."

And the mother of Shikhandi was full of a great gladness, that she had believed the word of the gods.

The Way of Friendship

The Way of Friendship

Simple is the way of friendship.

Make a fire of two sticks, or twenty, or two hundred—any number will do: and if you walk round the fire sun-wise, with that one whom you would have for a friend, the gods themselves will not take back the gift.

And this was the lesson which Drona tried to teach King Drupada. Drona was the Master-Archer as we know, and Drupada was King of the Panchalas. Now Drupada was not worthy of friendship, for he did not believe that two sticks would do for the lighting of the Fire of Friendship.

"They must be two hundred," said Drupada, "and of the most costly wood."

And Drona was sad: for he was a poor man, and two sticks gathered in a wood were all that he could bring to the lighting.

"And you will bring one of the two," he had said to Drupada; "for all that matters is that we should bring the same."

But Drupada shook his head.

And Drona journeyed to a far country, and for many years the River of Time flowed between him and the man whom he wanted for friend.

And at last they were once again on the same bank of the river. And Drona's pupils, Arjun and his brother princes, took Drupada captive and brought him to Drona.

And Drona said: "I will teach Drupada the way of friendship. Since my two sticks, to one of which he is welcome, will not do for the lighting of the fire, he shall give me half his two hundred sticks of the costliest wood."

And of all Drupada's riches—treasure of gold and emeralds and diamonds and pearls, strings of camels and horses

Drona and the Fire of Friendship

and elephants, chariots of war and houses and slaves—he made two equal parts; and one part he gave to Drupada and one part he kept for himself, that he might begin the teaching of the way of friendship to the man who was not worthy to learn the way.

Sibi Rana and the Grey Dove

Sibi Rana and the Grey Dove

Long and long ago there lived a King called Sibi Rana. He was known to all the world as a man who protected the weak, but who yet did not withhold that which might belong to the strong.

So nearly perfect was he that the gods asked the greatest God to test his goodness.

And this was the way of the testing.

One day as the King sat in his great Hall of Justice, there came in at the window a poor frightened grey dove, nearly spent with flight, and flew straight against the heart of the King. Looking up, the King saw an eagle in pursuit, and without a moment's hesitation he opened his white robes to shelter the dove.

The eagle turned its piercing eye

Sibi Rana and the Dove

upon the King. "So this, then, is your justice," he said. "You rob me of my food."

"Nay," said the King, "on the contrary, food equal in weight to the bird shall be given to you."

"Whatever food I desire?"

"Yes, whatever you desire."

"But if I desire your own flesh?"

"My flesh shall be given," said the King.

"Then I wish the weight of the bird to be taken from your right side, and in the presence of the Queen and your small son," demanded the eagle.

"Beseech the Queen to come hither," said the King, "with my son."

And to the horror of all the Court, the scales were brought; and in the presence of the Queen they prepared to slice off the weight of the bird from the King's right side.

The King sat steadfast: but alas! the bird seemed to grow heavier, with each fresh gift of the King's flesh.

And the eagle watched from the foot of the throne: and the eagle laughed aloud.

Then from the left eye of the King fell a single tear.

"Stay," said the eagle, "I want no unwilling sacrifice."

"Nay, but," said the King, "willing enough is this. My left eye but weeps because to the right side of the King alone is it given to protect the weak and defenceless."

Upon which, says the old story, the miracle happened. For even the eagle saw the beauty of giving: and he flew away hungry to his mountains, and neither was the King really hurt, nor the dove without a home.

The Crow and the Bell of Justice

The Crow and the Bell of Justice

This story is told of one Anangapal, who ruled in Delhi, and who loved justice.

He caused two great lions of stone to be placed near his palace gates, where all could see them. A bell hung from the bar between the lions. Whoever struck that bell claimed justice, and got justice of Anangapal the King.

One day a crow swung in the breeze on the tongue of the bell, and the cry for justice clanged forth, reaching the ear of the King.

"Who strikes the bell?" he asked.

"My lord, it is a crow."

"Let justice be done," said Anangapal.

"What asks the crow?"

But no one could tell. So the King himself read the message.

"The crow strikes my bell, between the mouths of my stone lions. See you not? The crow came as is its habit, to pick morsels of food out of the mouth of the lion. And the lions were not lions. I deceived the crow. Let a sheep be killed: and place some meat in the lions' mouths, that the crow may find its meal."

So did even the least of his subjects get justice and bounty at the hands of Anangapal the Just.

Raziya, Queen of Delhi

Raziya, Queen of Delhi

Raziya was the daughter of Altamish, one of the Moghul slave-kings of Delhi who lived in the thirteenth century. She is the only woman besides our own Queen Victoria who has ruled Delhi.

Altamish had sons also; but when he was dying he said: "You will find no one better fitted to rule the kingdom than my daughter Raziya."

And after his nobles had suffered for some time the cruelty and injustice of Raziya's half-brother, they began to see that the King was right.

And Raziya herself helped them.

The King had given order that anyone who had a petition to make should appear at the great Mosque in Delhi, on a Friday morning, wearing a coloured garment, and his petition would be heard forthwith.

Now, on a Friday morning when all the men worshippers, in their beautiful white garments, had assembled at the Mosque for the weekly prayer, Raziya made herself brave to go among them dressed in a veil of the Prophet's green—a figure whom none could miss.

And the people remembered the custom of the good King who had denied a hearing to no one; and they said: "The King's daughter is herself to-day a beggar." So they listened, making it easy for Raziya to speak.

And Raziya said: "My brother has killed his brother, and now he would slay me."

And all the people, as one man, vowed to help her. And Raziya was put upon the throne of Delhi.

Raziya and the Peasant

And Raziya ruled as few men have ruled in Delhi. She loved justice and mercy, and she gave both to her people. She led them to battle, pitching her own tent in the place of greatest danger: she was generous and wise, and entirely forgetful of her woman's self. All this her people knew of her; and all this historians have said of her.