Bundar Bahadur Poon

Bundar Bahadu Poon was a great nuisance to his seven uncles. He was always getting into mischief-taking their tools, playing house in their best clothes, drinking their rice wine. Even Bundar’s mother complained about her son’s behavior; but because she was his mother, she loved him and fed him well.

Bundar’s father had been killed on the trail by a falling rock, so Bundar lived with his mother and his seven uncles and aunts on the old family farm. In many ways Bundar was much like other village boys. He laughed at silly jokes and teased the village girls. But in one way he was very different. Bundar Bahadur Poon was a monkey.

One day Bundar’s uncles decided to go hunting.

“I want to go hunting, too!” shouted Bundar when he heard the news.

“No!” complained the uncles in one voice. “You will scare all the game away. Now run along and play with your friends.”

Bundar disappeared as if to do their bidding, but when the uncles left the courtyard he came out from his hiding place and followed at a safe distance behind them.

“For once our monkey nephew would have been useful,” laughed the eldest brother. “If he were here now, we could send him into the trees to get some good mangoes. These on the ground are spoiled.

“Here I am!” shouted Bundar. “I will pick some good mangoes for you.”

He was already in the trees throwing down the fruit before the uncles could scold him for his disobedience. Soon he began tossing the green mangoes to his uncles and keeping the ripe ones for himself.

“Oh, what a rogue you are!” shouted the uncles, throwing the green fruit at him. “Go home where you belong and do not follow us anymore.”

Bundar leaped through the trees as fast as he could to escape the hail of green mangaoes. “Ama, Ama, Ama,” he cried, to make his uncles think he was running home. But when the uncles were out of sight, he turned around and followed them again.

As it grew dark, rain started to fall. Again the hunters wished they had allowed their monkey nephew to come with them.

“He could have climbed high into a tree and searched the darkness for a light, so we would know where to look for shelter,” said the youngest uncle.

“Here I am!” shouted Bundar once more, and before the uncles could recover from their surprise, Bundar was running through the trees pointing to a light across the valley.

The uncles followed Bundar’s directions back and forth along the winding, slippery trail until at last they reached the door of a low stone house covered with thick wooden shingles.

“Ho!” the eldest uncle called out. “Is anybody home?”

No one answered.

The eldest uncle shouted louder this time. “Ey, Ama! Can you give us shelter for the night?”

Suddenly the door opened, and there on the porch stood a beautiful woman.

“What do you want?” she asked in a very deep voice.

The uncles looked at each other is distress. From the tone of the woman’s voice they knew she was not a beautiful woman at all. She was a monster in disguise.

They whispered together for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Most of them wanted to run, but it was too late for that. It was raining heavy hard now and had become so dark they could only vaguely see the person in front of them. Finally, the eldest spoke again.

“We were out hunting and could not return to our home before dark, so we are looking for a place to spend the night.”

“You may stay here,” replied the monster woman, “if you are prepared to marry my daughters.”

The uncles were afraid of this woman but when they looked back they were wore afraid of the forest, bhoots and prates and other evil spirits lurked by the trail and captured people who walked after dark. So they agreed to marry the monster’s daughters in return for a night’s lodging.

As soon as their hostess had brought mats for Bundar and his seven uncles, so they could sit beside the fire, she turned to her daughters and said:

“The Brahman pried will be called in the morning for the wedding ceremony, so give our guests the best food and wine we have in the house and let them smoke as much as they wish.”

While the men were drying their clothes and eating the meal prepared for them, the monster woman went into the back room to make the beds. This wicked creature did not intend that the uncles should marry her daughters at all. She wanted to eat them for supper. She fixed seven beds on one side of the room, for the uncles, and seven beds on the other side, for her daughters-covering the uncles’ beds with red blankets and her daughter’s beds with white blankets, so she wouldn’t get them mixed up. Bundar’s bed was in a basket put in the corner.

While everyone was settling for the night, the monster went to bed herself, and pretended to sleep. Soon the only noise in the house was the deep breathing of the people asleep. The monster was just about to get up to eat the seven brothers, when she remembered Bundar Bahadur Poon.

“Oh, Sister’s Son,” she whispered. “Are you asleep?”

“Yes,” came the reply.

“You are not, or you could not say ‘yes’,” said the monster in huff. “What do you want.”

“I’m thirsty,” answered the monkey. “I want some milk to drink.”

The monster was so eager for Bundar to go to sleep that she got up and warmed some milk for him. When he finished drinking it, he lay back in his basket and covered himself with his blankets.

In a few minutes the monster whispered again. “Oh, Sister’s Son, are you asleep now?”

“No,” was the reply.

“Why not? What do you want this time?”

“I am hungry.”

“Hungry!” repeated the monster in an angry voice. “My daughters fed you chicken and rice, with wine and spiced eggs. What more do you want?”

“My uncles ate it all,” whined Bundar. “I wand some rice pudding.”

The monster was very annoyed, but she didn’t want to waken the others by arguing with the monkey, so she rose from her bed and made Bundar some rice pudding. After he had eaten it, he crawled under the covers and pretended once more to sleep.

When she was quite sure he would not answer, the monster whispered: “Are you asleep now, Sister’s Son?”

“No. I can’t go to sleep,” was the answer.

“WHY NOT?” growled the monster.

“Because I have no popcorn. I always have to have popcorn before I go to sleep.”

The monster was getting very hungry, herself. She looked longingly at the seven uncles and pictured the wonderful feast she would have if she could ever satisfy this stubborn monkey. She got up and cooked Bundar some popcorn. Climbing back into her bed again, she was so tired from all her extra work that she dozed off. Her heavy snoring rattled the brass rice spoon on the shelf.

As soon as Bundar heard her snoring, he jumped up and scampered about the room as fast as he could, putting the white blankets on his sleeping uncles and covering the monster’s seven daughters with the red ones. After he had changed all the blankets he hopped back into bed and lay very still.

Suddenly the monster woman sat up with a start. She leaped out of bed and peering into Bundar’s basket.

“Are you asleep at last, Sister’s Son?” she whispered.

This time she received no answer.

“Oh quickly!” she said to herself. “I must eat before everyone wakes up.” She grabbed her kukari from the wall, ran to the beds covered with red blankets, ad fell to gobbling up her daughters. “Such delicious hunters,” she keep thinking with every bite. “So juicy and tender!” she was so stuffed when she finished eating her last daughter, she dropped into bed. This time she slept soundly.

Bundar jumped down from his basket and awakened his uncles. When they heard what had happened, they ran out into the jungle and hid in a large oak tree.

In the morning, when the monster woke up and discovered her terrible mistake, she shrieked with rage. She rushed out of the house in a frenzy and started hacking at the forest wherever her kukari chanced to fall. A jaybird, calling to warn all the jungle creatures to stay in their nests, only made the monster more angry. She looked up to throw a stone at him, and there she saw the frightened uncles, clinging to the branches of the oak tree.

“Ha!” she screamed. “I have found you already. Now I will make you pay for your evil trick!” She lunged at the tree and started to chop it own. Huge chips flew every where. With each blow of her big kukari, the uncles were almost thrown from their perch. Suddenly, without warning, the weight of the seven men broke the tree and it fell with a great crash to the ground. The surprised monster, who had no been able to jump out of the way, was killed instantly.

The uncles cried aloud in their joy. They climbed out of the tree and ran as fast as they could back to the monster’s house. There they loaded themselves with presents for their wives- all the silver jewelry and fine clothes that had belonged to the wicked monster and her seven daughters. Bundar, who took only an old drum, danced and sang at the head of the procession all the way home.

The seven aunts were delighted with their gifts, but Bundar’s mother was very disappointed.

“See, Bundar Bahadur Poon, what my brothers have brought their wives,” she said sadly. “And you have brought me only an old drum.”

“Don’t be unhappy with me, Ama” replied Bundar. “Hand me the maana measure from the storage basket.”

“What have you brought that can me measured?” she asked in pique.

“You will see,” said Bundar patiently.

He gave the drum a blow on the head with his kukari, and to the mother’s amazement goldent coins spilled out all over the floor.

“Oh, Bundar!” cried the mother, hugging her son with joy. “What she we do with all this money?”

“Tomorrow I will go with my uncles to the bazaar to buy rice. Would you like to eat rice the rest of you life, Ama, instead of corn?”

“Oh, yes, good son! Let us plant lots of rice,” answered the mother. “I am so tired of corn.”

The next morning, when Bundar’s uncles were ready to go to the bazaar to buy rice, Bundar said he wanted to go with them. But they had forgotten that he had saved them from being eaten by the wicked monster. All they remembered was the nuisance he made of himself when they wanted some good mangoes.

“Oh, no!” the eldest uncle replied. “You might tell the shopkeeper we have lots of jewels. Then he would charge us more money for the rice. Go away; go and play with your drum.”

Bundar went back into the house, pretending to do as he was told. But when his uncles were out of sight, he followed them to the bazaar. After they had purchased their rice seed and started home, he went into the same shop; but instead of buying rice he bought a handful of gourd seeds. When his mother saw what he had done she let out a sob.

“Oh, Bundar,” she moaned. “Just when I think you are being very clever, you do something very stupid. Now, when your uncles and aunts are eating rice, what will we be eating? We cannot eat gourds!”

“Don’t worry,Ama,” said Bundar reassuringly. “We will have rice to eat, also. Just be patient.”

The day before the uncles rice was to be harvested Bundar went to the rice fields and caught a big rat.

“Rat,” Bundar announced, holding him at arm’s length, “I am going to kill you!”

“Oh please do not kill me,” pleaded the rat. “I will do anything you wish.”

“Very well. I will give you a chance to save your life. If you will harvest all my uncles’ rice and store it in my gourds by tomorrow morning. I will not kill you.”

“Of course! That is easy,” answered the rat. “Let me go and I will show you how fast it can be done.”

Bundar opened his hands and the grateful rat leaped down and disappeared into the rice paddy. That night he called all of this relatives together and told them what they had to do to save his life. The next morning every grain of rice from the uncles’ fieds was harvested and stored in the Bundar’s gourds.

When bundar showed his mother the gourds, she started in disbelief. Her son had not plowed. He had not planted. He had even been spared the tedious job of harvesting the crop. All he had done to fill their storage bins with rice as to sprinkle a few gourd seeds on the stony ground. She never dreamed her son could be so clever.

As for the uncles, they had learned their lesson will. Never again did they go anywhere without their nephew Bundar Bahadur Poon.

And Bundar’s mother never again complained of having a mischievous monkey for a son.

Glossary :

Ama- Mother

Ba – Father

Bahadur – Brave; often used as a second name for boys

Bazaar – A cluster of small shops

Kukari – Gorkhali knife

Bhoot – An evil spirit

Prate – Am evil spirit

The Perfect Husband

About two days walk from the village of Gorkha, there lived in a den on the side of a mountain a very brave tiger, his wife, and three baby cubs. Nearby, in a drab hideaway, lived a very cowardly fox.

The fox noticed that all the animals of the forest admired the courage and daring of the tiger. “Why,” he thought to himself, “should everyone admire him and not admire me? I will make them think I am just as brave as the tiger.”

From that day on, the fox boasted of his exploits to anyone who would give him an audience, and many of his listeners began to believe him. The only he failed to convince was at all was the tigress.

“Oh, listen to him,” said the tigress one day when she heard him bragging to a cluster of monkeys. “What nonsense! All my husband has to do is to look at him and he runs away.”

The monkeys chattered and laughed but the fox was not pleased. “It is time,” he said to himself, “to teach that haughty tigress a lesson.”

The next morning he waited patiently behind a tree until he saw the father tiger leave to go hunting. Then he walked up to the den and shouted to the tigress.

“Oh, Elder Brother’s Wife! Where is Elder Brother?”

“He has gone hunting,” came the reply.

“Well, that’s lucky for him,” said the fox, “because if he had been here I would have kicked him for killing my chickens,”

None of the animals of the forest ever dared talk about the tiger this way. The tigress was surprised but she said nothing. The fox finally went away.

The next morning, after the tiger had gone hunting, again the fox returned and called out to the tigress in the same manner.

“Oh, Elder Brother’s Wife! Where is Elder Brother?”

“He has gone hunting,” she answered.

“Well, he is lucky,” shouted the fox. “If he had been here I would have pushed him over the cliff for stealing my rabbits.”

The tigress did not answer the fox, but when her husband came home that night she told him how the fox had come in the mornings and accused him of stealing his rabbits and killing his chickens.

“He said he would kick you or push you off the cliff,”

“Tell him I gave gone hunting and we will see how brave he is.”

The next morning, after the fox saw the tiger leave the den, he went up to the door and shouted to the tigress.

“Oh, Elder Brother’s Wife! Where is Elder Brother?”

“You just missed him,” answered the tigress. “He has already gone hunting.”

“What a coward!” shouted the fox in a voice that could be heard all over the forest. “Doesn’t he ever catch anything to eat that lasts more than a day? Why, if could see him now I would…”

The tiger, listening nearby, had heard enough. He sprang out of his hiding place, roaring with anger. The fox was terrified! He fled through the trees, dashing this way and that, trying desperately to think of an idea that would saw him from the jaws of the angry tiger. Suddenly he saw a hollow log beside the trail. He bolted into it, hoping the tiger would run by. But he tiger, seeing the end of the fox’s tail disappearing into the log, rushed in after him.

The tiger was running so fast he did not notice that the log was only big enough to let a fox through at the other end. About halfway in, he could go no farther. The more he struggled to get out, the worse things became-until he finally could not move at all. There in the middle of the log he stuck, while the fox squeezed through to freedom.

The fox hovered about warily until he was sure the tiger would never come out again. Then he ran back to the tigress to tell her what had happened.

“You should have seen me!” he boasted, kicking his heels and snapping his teeth. “Your husband was so frightened that he flung himself into the river. I tried to save him but be drowned.”

The tigress, at first, did not even see to be interested; she thought the fox was boasting as usual. But after many days had passed, and her husband did not return, she began to believe to the fox’s story. At last she said to her cubs:

“It is difficult for me to get food and to keep house at same time. I will marry the brave fox so we will have a good hunter in the family.”

The fox, who had been waiting for just such an opportunity, was delighted. He married the tigress and they settled down to housekeeping in the tiger’s den.

The following day the wife sent her new husband into the jungle to find some food. But he was more interested in sleeping than hunting, so he found a lovely glade of oak trees and lay down for a long nap. When he awoke, at sunset he was hungry. Quickly and quietly he stole into a farmer’s courtyard and caught a big fat chicken, but instead of taking it home to share with the tigress and her cubs, he sat down in a safe place in the forest and ate it all up. When he arrived back at the den empty-handed, the tigress was very upset.

“What do you expect us to do?” she complained. “the children are hungry and there is nothing for them to eat!”

“I roamed over the jungle all day,” whined the fox. “But nothing I found was good enough to feed my family. I wanted to bring home a surprise.”

“I like surprises,” retorted the tigress. “But I would have preferred something to eat. However,” she added, pleased that her husband thought she and her cubs were worthy of something special, “tomorrow I will go with you and we will get something good for all of us.”

The next morning the tigress left the cubs in the den and went out with her husband to get some food. The two had not been gone along, before they found some cattle grazing in a small valley that funneled into a narrow draw.

“You go up above them” whispered the tigress, “and chase them down the valley. I will hide at the foot of the draw and catch the fat bull as he comes by.”

The fox climbed above the cattle as his wife suggested. Then he ran down upon them and tried to chase them through the draw. Most of the animals were frightened and fled. But the fat bull did not like being chased. He stood very still, pretending to eat until the fox almost upon him. Then he ducked his horns between his legs and quickly swung his head upwards. The blow caught the fox between the ribs and lifted him into the air. He fell with a terrible thud and lay sprawled out on the ground as if he were dead. When he woke up he knew he had been lying in the hot sun for a long time.

“What on earth have you been doing?” asked the tigress when at last she saw him coming towards her. “Where is the big fat full?”

“I hunted all over but I could not find the animal you described,” replied the fox. “The sun was so hot I lay down for a minute, and I must have fallen asleep.”

The tigress was in no mood for excuses, but she did not want to start an argument with her new so she obligingly offered a compromise.

“I will find the big fat bull,” she suggested, “if you will stay here and catch him as he comes by.”

The fox thought this would be easy and he was glad to agree. He lay down and waited in the cool shade of the cliff, whisking the flies with his tail, while his wife went off to round up the cattle.

He had almost fallen asleep when he heard the cattle coming. The rumble of their hoofs echoed through the canyon and clouds of dust billowed up from the valley floor. This so frightened the fox he ran up onto a high ledge and let the bawling herd thunder past beneath him. When the dust settled he noticed an old bullock, that had been trampled to death by the others, lying in the bottom of the draw.

“What luck!” he said to himself. He picked up a big stick and ran down to stand beside the bullock, just as his wife came hurrying around the bend.

“This big fellow would not give up!” panted the fox, heaving his chest up and down as if the struggle had exhausted him.

The tigress looked once at the old bullock and began to complain. “But this is not the one I told you to get. This is just a tough old bullock. Why didn’t you catch the tender young bull?”

“My dear,” answered the fox in his most condescending manner, “it is obvious that you do not know meat the way I do. This animal you calla ‘tough old bullock’ is the best for eating. He is all meat. The fat young bull you wanted me to get would have been all fat. Fat without any mat tastes horrible!”

He made such a face the tigress thought that perhaps he knew what he was talking about.

“Well, at least he his big,” she admitted. “Now comes the work of carrying him home”

“Are you telling me I have to carry this bullock?” inquired the fox. “Ha! I am a man. A man should not have to carry anything if he has a wife along, but I want to be helpful so I will offer to carry the lungs.”

The tigress said nothing. With one sweep of her paws pulled the lungs out of the carcass and handed them to her husband. Then, like a dutiful wife, she picked up the rest of the bullock, flung it over her shoulder, and started home.

As the two traveled together through the forest, they came to a deep ravine that had washed away the trail during the summer rains. Someone had felled a huge tree and had wrestled it into place to make a bridge. The tigress stepped up onto the trunk of the tree and walked along it with ease, skillfully balancing her heavy load. But the fox was afraid to fall off. He scurried this way and that, trying to find enough courage to start across. When the tigress reached the other side, she dropped to the trail and turned around to see why the fox was not following.

“What’s the matter?” she called back. “Are you afraid you will fall off?”

“Of course not,” came the injured reply. “I just wanted to see if this would make a good pounding pole for hulling rice.”

The tigress had not expected for an answer. “Imagine having a husband who thinks about pounding poles for rice while he is out hunting,” she mused as she walked ahead.

When the tigress had disappeared, the fox dashed down into the ravine and up the other side to join her.

A little farther along, they came to a larger boulder that had fallen across the trail. The tigress skimmed over it easily and walked on. Suddenly she realized that her husband was not coming behind her. She turned around and saw him leaping and clawing at the top of the rock, his head bobbling into view with every jump.

“Are you having trouble?” she shouted. “Is it too high for you?”

“Don’t be silly?” answered the indignant fox. “I am just testing this rock to see if it will make a good grindstone.”

“My other husband never noticed these things,” thought the happy tigress to herself as she turned again to the trail.

The fox waited to be sure she would not see him. Then he ran around the rock as fast as he could and dashed after her.

At a bend in the trail they came to a place where there had been a small landslide. There was no way to cross without jumping. This posed no problem for the tigress. She leaped across without any trouble. But the fox was afraid of falling into the river.

“Aren’t you coming?” called the tigress when she failed to hear her husband’s footsteps behind her. But his time there was no answer. When the tigress turned around, the fox was nowhere in sight. She ran back to the landslide and there he was, far below, swinging in a vice.

“Oh dear! You fell!” she exclaimed.

“No, I did not fall,” the fox assured her, “ I wanted to see if this would make a good rope to tie our buffalo.”

The tigress grinned down at him, unable to conceal her pleasure. She had never known a man to be so interested in pounding poles and grindstones and ropes, before he actually needed them.

“Shall I help you climb up?” she asked with an air of affection.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” answered the fox. He must not appear to need his wife’s assistance. “You run along and I will catch up with you when I get this vine measured properly.”

As soon as the tigress had gone beyond hearing distance, the fox began to struggle to get back to the trail. He pulled and tugged and scratched his way upward, tearing the lungs to shreds on the thorns that stood in his way.

When he finally caught up with the tigress, she noticed he had only a little piece of lungs left.

“What happened to the rest of the lungs?” she asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Well, my dear,” began the fox, “I met many of my friends along the way. I had to give them something as a token of my respect, so I gave each one a piece of the lungs.”

“You don’t have that many friends!” jeered the tigress.

“How do you know how many friends I have?” retorted the fox. “I have many more than you do.”

“Well, you don’t!” said the tigress emphatically.

“All right, if you have so many friends, call them,” challenged the fox. “Let me see how many there are.”

The tigress, now offended, dropped the old bullock she had. She threw back her head and started to roar. Soon she was roaring so loudly that she could be heard in every village in the valley. And the more she roared the more she frightened everyone, until at last the only answered to her roars was the whisper of the wind in the high branches.

When the tigress was hoarse from roaring, the fox said: “Now I will show you how may friends I have.” He sauntered out to a point overlooking the valley and began to bark. As soon as the other foxes in the jungle heard him, they began to bark too. The jackals and the village dogs began to bark. Soon the whole valley seemed to be filled with barking animals.

The tigress was amazed. She couldn’t believe it. But what more did she need to convince her that the fox had friends in every village in the district of Gorkha? She looked at her husband with new respect. Had he not been very brave in his fight with the tiger? Was he not clever at picking out good meat? And did he not always try to find better tools to make housekeeping easier? Now he had also shown her he was famous. She picked up the old bullock and headed once more toward home. “In fact,” she muttered to herself as she trotted along, “for a husband he is just about perfect.”

When the fox and his wife arrived at the den, the three little cubs greeted them eagerly, and they all sat down for a long feast on the old bullock.

Walking two days distance from the village of Gorkha, any traveler will find, even today, the little family living happy together. If the traveler stops briefly, he will observe the fox still trying to prove himself the perfect husband for a tigress.

The Jackal and the Bear

Once upon a time a jackal and a bear met on a ferris wheel at a village mela. The two had a jolly time together. They pushed each other on the giant swing. They drank and gambled and laughed and joked all night. By the following morning they had become such good friends they decide to become “meets.” To make this vow of friendship binding, they exchanged rupees and began to call each other “Meetju.”

When it came time to part, the jackal said: “Meetju, we are like real brothers now. We must not separate. Let us live together under one roof and try our hand at farming.”

The bear thought this was a good idea, so the two set out together in search of a suitable home. Some distance above the village, in the jungle where people gathered wood, they found a shepherd’s hut which had been deserted for a long time. After covering the roof with a new bamboo mat to keep the hut dry, they bought a bull with the money they had won at gambling and began to clear the land.

Now the bear was a good-natured fellow who worked hard, but he was very stupid. The jackal, on the other hand, was very clever but he did not like to work at all. By the time they had finished hilling their first crop of corn together, the jackal was sure he did not like sharing the life of a farmer with a bear.

The next morning the jackal said: “Meetju, I will work in the fields now and you go out to graze the bull. In this way we will take turns and the work won’t seem so dull.”

The bear liked this arrangement. Every morning he would get up early and chew some parched corn and drink some beer for breakfast. Then he would climb up into the thickest part of the jungle to graze the bull. He watched the bull carefully all day long, so it would not get lost or eaten by tigers. Meanwhile, the jackal would lie in the shade all day while the corn grew.

When it was time to harvest the corn, the jackal said: “Meetju, you have worked hard and long at grazing the bull. He looks very strong. Now I will take my turn with the grazing and you can work at home in the fields.”

The bear was always agreeable after a compliment, so he stayed home to harvest the corn while the jackal took the bull to graze.

The bear worked steadily all day long. The jackal was less diligent. He found it too much effort to go into the thickest part of the jungle where the grazing was good. The climb was difficult, and he had to follow the bull all the time to see that he did not get lost or eaten by a tiger. To make things easier for himself, he took the bull down the mountain to graze in the open fields. It did not matter to him there was very little grass. The important thing was to be able to lie on the wall in the shade near the berry patch and watch the bull, without having to get up and chase him. Late in the evening, when he was sure it was too dark to help the bear harvest the corn, the jackal took the bull home.

After several weeks of this kind of treatment the bull grew very thin. And although the bear was a dull fellow, he wasn’t blind.

“Meetju,” he said one evening, “why our bull getting so thin?”

The jackal was ready with an answer.

“We are not all blessed with the same gifts. Meetju, I will never be the fine herder you are,” he replied with a sigh. “Wherever I have taken the bull, others have been before me-so he has had very little to eat. But today I made a great discovery! I found a place where the grass grows as high as the bull’s knees. Tomorrow I will take him there and he can feast until he can eat no more.”

The bear was happy to be recognized as the better herdsman so he said nothing more.

The next morning when the jackal went out to untie the bull he noticed that all the corn would be harvested by nightfall. This was the day he had been waiting for. He drove the bull up to the jungle but he did not take him to the tall grass as he had promised. Instead, he took him up to a high, barren cliff where there was no grass at all. When the bull put his head down to chew on a small fern growing out of a rock, the jackal gave him a shove and sent him rolling over the cliff. Then he ran down the mountain as fast as he could, dragged the animal into a deep ravine where no one could see him, ad sat down to his feast.

All morning the jackal ate the bull. When he had stuffed himself as much as he could, he gathered everything that was left and carried it back up the mountain to a cave in the side of the cliff. He carefully placed the meat at the back of the cave and filled the entrance with stones until there was only a small hole left, just big enough for him to enter. Then he put the bull’s tail in the hole, with the end showing from the outside. When everything was arranged just as he wished, he lay down to rest. He did not move again until he was sure the bear had finished harvesting the corn.

“Well, Meetju,” the bear said when he saw the jackal coming down the trail all alone, “where is the bull?”

“Oh, Meetju,” whined the jackal in return. “Today I have had a terrible time. The bull got stuck in a cave and try as I would, I could not get him out. I am weak, Meetju, but you are very strong. Tomorrow, if you will go up there with me, I am sure you can get him out.”

The bear, softened with flattery, could not refuse his friend’s request.

The next morning the jackal took the bear to the cave. When they reached the entrance the jackal said: “Meetju, you are too big to go inside that hole. I will go in and push the bull from inside, while you stay out here and pull from the outside. But don’t pull until I tell you I am ready. Whey I say, ‘Meetju, here he comes,’ you grab the tail with both hands and pull as hard as you can.”

The bear agreed to this plan and the jackal went inside the hole. He picked up his end of the tail and prepared for the pull that was to come. When he had braced himself properly, he shouted: “Meetju, here he comes!”

The bear grabbed the tail with both hands, put his feet against the sides of the cave, and pulled with all his might. When the Jackal felt all of he bear’s weight pulling against him, he let go, and the bear went tumbling over the cliff toward the river.

The jackal brushed his hands together and smiled to himself. He was delighted to think his plans had worked to successfully. The corn was all harvested, the bull did not need herding nay more, and the bear would no longer be around to eat anything or complain if things did to go his way. “Now,” thought the trickster, “I am free to do just as I please.”

He ran down to the hut to get a basket and a kukari so he could cut up any meat that was left over and carry it home. He put some cornmeal in the basket to make his lunch complete and headed back up the mountain.

To his great surprise, there in front of the whole was the bear, sitting with his arms around his legs in a very humble manner.

“Oh, Meetju,” moaned the bear as the jackal approached. “What happened to the bull?”

“You pulled much too hard,” was the quick reply. “you just don’t know your own strength. The bull fell into the river and drowned. He made a terrible splash!”

“Dear, dear,” muttered the bear. “We will never see him again. I almost lost my life too!” Then he added, looking up at the jackal: “Why have you brought the kukari and the pack basket?”

“I decided to come up to the forest to cut some wood. I knew you would fell very sick after your fall and would not want to work. I was going to tell you to go home and rest.”

This news helped to cheer up the bear. It was nice to have such a thoughtful brother, he said to himself. Then he saw the cornmeal.

“But Meetju, why did you bring the cornmeal?”

“I thought you would be very hungry after such a fall, so I brought some food.”

The bear smiled. He looked very happy.

“Oh, I have the best Meetju in the world,” he cried, jumping up and hugging the jackal.

The jackal started to laugh. The bear, who thought perhaps he should be laughing, started to laugh too. Soon they were both rolling on the ground with laughter. When the brothers were too exhausted to laugh any more, they sat down on a rock together and ate the cornmeal. Then they went off to the forest to cut wood.

It is said they are still calling each other Meetju, although one cannot be sure. A stupid, hard-working bear is hardly the match for a cleaver, lazy jackal.

Glossary

Kukari – The famous Gurkha knife, used by most hill people for all their cutting needs

Meetju – A respectful manner of addressing one’s meet.

Meet – A friend from a different caste who is made an honorary member of the family

Rupee – A Nepalese coin

Why The Flea Hops

Once, during the reign of a great king, there lived in a little blacksmith’s hut, a fat louse and a very small flea. The louse stayed hidden in the smith’s shirt most of the time. The flea lived in the sari of the blacksmith’s wife. Whenever these two came out to talk to one another, their conversation ended in a quarrel.

“Why are we always quarreling like this?” asked the flea one day. “We like the same things to eat. We are practically brothers. Why don’t we exchange rupees and become ‘meets’? Then maybe we would treat each other as real brothers should.”

“I would like that,” said the louse, who always enjoyed company. “Then you can come to live with me in the blacksmith’s shirt and we can see one another more often.”

So the louse and the flea exchanged rupees and began calling each other “Meetju.” That night the two brothers hid together in the blacksmith’s shirt.

The next morning the master of the house hung his shirt on the wall and went out to the forge to begin his day’s work. The two brothers, who had been discussing their favorite foods, began to long for some tasty rice pudding.

“But how can we make rice pudding without any rice or milk?” asked the practical louse.

“I will show you how,” said the flea. “Come with me.”

The flea took the louse up the mountain trail until they came to an open pasture where animals were tethered to graze. There, inside a grass shed, was a shepherd milking one of the buffaloes.

“I will get inside the shepherd’s shirt,” said the flea, “and bite him as hard as I can. While he is trying to catch me, you can grab some milk and run off with it.”

The plan succeeded and the two brothers were soon walking toward home with a jug full of milk.

“Now I will show you where we can get our rice,” said the scheming flea. He turned down another trail that led to the house of a Brahman. There in the courtyard was the Brahman’s wife, winnowing the last of the rice she was going to cook for her husband’s supper.

“Look at her,” whispered the flea. “A Brahmani who eats rice all the time should be very sweet. While she is trying to find me in her blouse, you take some of the rice and run.”

The flea had no trouble distracting the poor Brahmani from her work. The louse quickly filled his pockets with all the rice he needed and ran toward home.

When the two meets reached their house they sat down together to cook the rice pudding. The milk bubbled and gurgled, and the rice began to swell. The louse and the flea stirred the pot often, so the milk would not stick to the bottom. They dripped some of the sweet juice into their hands between each stir and licked it eagerly. Just as they were about to take the pot from the stove the flea suggested a plan.

“Meetju,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Why don’t we have a contest. We can’t eat this pudding while it is so hot. Let us go up into the forest to cut fodder while we wail for the pot to cool. The one who brings home the biggest load will get all of the pudding.”

The louse immediately accepted the challenge. He was sure he would get the bigger load because the louse is much fatter and stronger than a skinny little flea.

The two brothers gathered up their tie ropes and kukaris and went up into the jungle to cut fodder. When the louse came to a big tree full of leaves he worked steadily to cut all the branches so he could make a big load. The flea, on the other hand, cut a few twigs here and there, all the while edging away from the louse until he was out of sight. Then the flea ran back to the hut, dropped his little load on the porch, and went inside. He blew on the coals to get some light from the fire, and sat down to eat the rice pudding. When he had finished all but a little bit, he filled the bowl with mud, carefully covered it with a thin layer of pudding, and ran up into the blacksmith’s shirt to hide.

Presently he heard the louse coming down the trail.

The louse smiled when he saw the little load of fodder the flea had brought back from the forest. He dropped his big load down beside it and went into the hut.

“Oh, Meetju,” he called out, laughing. “You have been defeated!”

No one answered.

The louse was disappointed, but he would enjoy his victory all by himself. He sat down by the fire, stirred the coals again, and picked up the bowl of rice pudding. He as so hungry he scooped up a big lump of it with his hand and tossed it all down his throat at once.

Never was such a frantic howl heard from the louse.

“Wretched Flea, you will pay for this trick!” he shouted, throwing the bowl of mud and pudding out of the door. Since that day the tiny flea has had to change his habits. He used to walk and run like many other insects. Now he stands very still until the louse is almost upon him. Then he hops.

Glossary

Brahman – Member of the highest caste; a priest and teacher

Brahmani – The wife of a Brahman

Kukari – The famous Gurkha knife, used by most hill people for all their cutting needs

Meet – A friend from a different caste who is made an honorary member of the family

Meetju – A respectful way of addressing one’s meet

Rupee – A Nepalese coin worth about 14-1/2 cents in American money

Sari – The cloth, five to six yards long, worn by women as a skirt or complete garment

Soonimaya

Once, during the reign of a great king, there lived a little girl name Soonimaya, the daughter of a hill shepherd, Mahan Singh, and his wife, Dahn Jita. The three had a very happy life together. In the summertime they wandered with their flocks over the high mountain pastures of Dhor, and in the wintertime before the snows came to close the pass, they came down to their stone house in the river valeey of Neeshee to plant corn.

When Soonimaya was ten years old her mother, Dahn Jita, fell sick and died. For days Soonimaya grieved. Mahn Singh did not know what to do to comfort her. Finally he decided to marry a widow whose husband had left her with a girl Soonimaya’s age and a boy a few years younger. “In this way,” thought Mahn Sing, “my little girl will have a sister and a mother, and I will have a wife and a son.”

After they had lived together for a while, Mahan Singh knew he would have a difficult time caring for such a large family. His little flock of goats and sheep was too small.

There was no money for clothes or peppers. One day he told his wife: “I will go into the army so I can send money home every year. Then, when you have bought enough animals and land to feed us all, I will come home to stay.”

Now the stepmother treated Soonimaya as well as she did her own children while Mahn Singh was at home, but as soon as he left for the army she began to treat Soonimaya differently. She made her stay up all night to guard the flock after working all day in the fields. She gave her husks to eat instead of good rice she cooked for her own children. But Soonimaya never complained.

One day the stepmother sent Soonimaya into the jungle to bring fodder for the animals, but she would not give her a kukari, a large hunting knife, to cut the leaves or a tumpline to carry them home. Soonimaya went into the jungle and wept. When some snakes came by and asked her why she was crying, she told then what the stepmother expected of her.

“Stop crying, Soonimaya,” said the snakes. “We will crawl up into the trees and cut some branches for you, if you will gather the leaves. Then, we have a good load, you can make us into a tumpline and we will help you carry the fodder home. Set us down gently, so we won’t get hurt, and we will slip back into the forest.”

Soonimaya gathered the leaves as fast as the snakes threw them down from the trees, and she piled them into a big bundle.

When the stepmother saw the load of fodder Soonimaya had brought home, she was very puzzled. “I will have to think of something she cannot do at al,” she thought to herself. “Then I can send her away for disobeying me, and her father will not blame me when he returns.”

Some time alter the stepmother gave Soonimaya a sieve and told her to bring some water from the spring. Soonimaya knew this would be a hopeless task, but she went to the spring with the sieve as she told. She tried and tried to make the sieve hold water. She cupper her hands under it, she lined it with leaves, she filled the holed with clay. But always, before she reached home, the sieve would be empty. Finally she sat down on a stone near the spring and wept.

Some ants came out of the ground and asked Soonimaya why she was weeping.

“My stepmother expects me to carry water in this,” she moaned, holding up the sieve so they could see it. “What shall I do?”

“Stop crying,” pleaded the ants when they heard her story. “We will help you. Each of us will sit over a hole in the sieve and you can fill it with water. When you get home would the water very slowly in your storage jar. Then tap the sieve lightly with stick and we will fall to the ground and come back to the spring.”

Soonimaya was grateful to the ants and did just as she was told. When the stepmother saw the water in the storage jar, she was surprised and annoyed. “This girl is too clever,” thought the wicked woman. “I shall have to find a more dangerous task.”

When the monsoon arrived the stepmother told Soonimaya to go into the jungle to get some tiger’s milk for her stepbrother and sister. Soonimya did not know how she could obey without being eaten by the tiger. She started into the jungle with her wooden pot, but the trail was so slippery she fell after every few steps. Finally she sat down on a big rock and wept from fear and exhaustion.

Now it happened that under the rock lived a mother tigress and her four baby kittens. The kittens heard Soonimaya crying and came out to see what as the matter. When Soonimaya told them the task her stepmother had set for her, they said:

“Do not cry so loudly, Soonimaya, our mother will wake up and eat you! Give us you taykee and we will fill it while she is asleep.”

Soonimaya sat very still while the tiger kittens disappeared into the den to collect the milk. When they returned he hugged them all and hurried home to give the milk to her brother and sister. The stepmother saw her children drinking the tiger’s milk and stared. “This girl is a witch,” she muttered to herself. “I must get rid of her.”

It was a long time before she thought of something else for Soonimaya to do. Finally she said to her, “I need a Champa flower for some medicine. Get me one.”

Soonimaya walked to the base of the mountain that rose steeply behind her village and looked for a way to climb to the high shelf where the Champa flowers grew. There was no path and she could not find footholds in the cliff. After a few hours she gave up in despair. A big vulture, seeing her distress, swept don and landed on the ground in front of her.

“Oh, Little Sister, why are you so upset?” he asked, hopping nearer.

Soonimaya told him as well as she could between sobs.

“Well now, this is a problem we can solve,” said the vulture cheerfully. “Hang on tight and I will carry you up.”

Eefore the tears had dried her cheeks, Soonimaya found herself aloft on the back of the big bird, sailing up and up, above the valley floor to the top of the mountain. Suddenly her ride came to an end and she was tossed, with a swoosh and a bump, into a bed of beautiful Champa flowers. The bird and the girl laughed with pleasure.

While they sat looking out over the valley, the vulture spied a number of his relatives circling the river to the south.

“Something is going down there,” he said to Soonimaya. “I will have to leave you for a little while, but pick all the flowers you want and I will come back to carry you home.”

The vulture swung into the air and soared out across the valley toward the river. Soonimaya watched the flight of her friend, then turned her eyes to the main road winding along far below her. She saw travelers moving up and down the narrow trail. Some of them were carrying heavy loads and some were walking behind the herd of goats. Tiny bells tinkled in the wind. One of the travelers was a soldier coming up the trail with two porters, each lowry as he sat down under a tree to rest. Suddenly she recognized him! He was her own father coming home on leave, with wonderful presents for everyone.

“Oh, Ba! Ba! “ she shouted, jumping and waving her arms to catch his attention. But Soonimaya, forgetting where she was in her excitement, slipped and fell to her death.

Word of Mahn Singh’s homecoming had already reached the village. People ran to tell him the terrible news and to take him to the foot of the cliff. When Mahn Singh reached his little girl he was overcome with sorrow. He carried her to a place near the river and buried her there. Slowly his sorrow changed to anger. “What was Soonimaya doing on such a high cliff? “ he said to himself. He went straight home to his wife and demanded an answer.

“I don’t know,” said the deceitful woman, “I told her not to go up there, but she would not obey me. Oh dear!” she sighed, “I expected something like this would happen because she did very strange things. She was never quite the same after you left, you know. Why, she even tried to carry water in a sieve!”

When the evil stepmother thought she had calmed her husband, she cooked him a fine meal of a curried chicken and long, white rive. She gave him wine of three-waters and rubbed his tired legs. But Mahn Singh, though his anger slowly left him, still felt deeply the loss of his little daughter. He stayed only a week home before he returned to the army.

A few days later, a beautiful golden pillar sprang up from the ground where Mahn Singh had buried Soonimaya. A blacksmith passing by saw it and hurried to report it to the king.

“Bring it at once!” was the order. “So I may judge its worth.”

The king stood in awe of the golden pillar. Never had anything like it been brought to the palace. He reached out to feel the gold with his hands, and instantly the pillar turned into a beautiful young girl.

The king was delighted.

“See what has come to us!” he exclaimed to his courtiers. “Is this not a fitting bride for my eldest son?”

All the people of the palace were enchanted with the girl who had sprung form the golden pillar. They knew the king had been searching everywhere for a bride for their favorite prince, and at last one had been found. Now, amidst great rejoicing, the wedding preparations began.

News of marriage went out all over the country and soon it reached the ears of Mahn Singh’s wicked wife. She was very disappointed, for she had hoped her own daughter would one day be the queen.

Months later the king announced the birth of a son to the happily married pair. Everyone in the country was invited to the naming feast. The wicked stepmother was so eager to see the princess that she was the first to arrive at the palace on the feast day. She turned pale with astonishment to find the girl sitting beside the handsome prince, holding baby in her arms, was Soonimaya.

When the stepmother returned home, she said to her daughter: “You will never guess who is the mother of the baby prince. Soonimaya!” Squatting by the fire, she added: “And to think someday she will be queen over us all.”

After a long pause, she coughed and said: “You look enough like your stepsister to be her twin. Why not go to the palace tomorrow to visit her? After you are acquainted again, you can invite her to the river for a swim. Perhaps she might have an accident and drown. Remember, the girl who is married to the eldest prince will someday be the queen.”

The daughter, who had grown as wicked as her mother, would have done anything to become the queen. She carefully packed a basket full of food and presents, and set out the next morning for the palace. When she was shown into the room where the princess was sitting, she rushed over and, covering her head with her shawl, bowed very low in a gesture of great respect. Soonimaya returned the greeting graciously and ordered tea brought for both of them.

“Sister,” said the visitor, after she had given Soonimaya the presents and talked a while. “The day is full of sunshine. Let us go to the river and bathe together.”

Soonimaya could think of no good reason to stay at home, so she strapped her little son onto her back and left the palace with her stepsister. When they reached the river, the stepsister said:

“The water is much clearer over here in this lovely big pool. I will hold baby Lakshman for you while you take your swim, and you can hold him while I take mine.”

Soonimaya did not notice that the pool was very deep. She handed Lakshman to her companion, removed her velvet blouse and golden sari, and turned to step into the river. At that moment the stepsister pushed Soonimaya. The princes lost her balance, tumbled into the pool, and sand out of sight. The girl on the bank dressed quickly in Soonimaya’s beautiful clothes, strapped the baby onto her back, and hurried up the trial to the palace.

Everyone, including the prince, thought the girl who returned from the river was Soonimaya. Only Baby Lakshman knew she was not his mother; when it was time for him to nurse he began to fret, and soon he was crying loudly.

When Soonimaya sank down into the deep pool she came to the home of two large water snakes. She bowed to each in turn, very politely. The male snake was so surprised he said:

“When we saw you coming we were planning to eat you, but since you have greeted us with such respect we will spare your life for three days.”

That night Soonimaya asked the snakes if she could go back to the palace to nurse her little son. The snakes consented to let her go if she promised to return into the river before dawn. Soonimya readily agreed and left for the palace. She circled the courtyard to avoid being seen in the moonlight, ran up the long flight of stairs to the balcony, and stole cautiously along the wall to the nursery door. In her haste she failed to notice a tailor, wrapped in a blanket lying against the balcony wall. He had not been able to go to sleep because of the baby’s crying. The tailor was startled to see a woman walk past him in the middle of the night, but he lay very still. Soonimaya unbolted the door and slipped inside. At once the baby stopped crying. “That is an unusual way for the princess to enter the palace,” the tailor thought to himself. “and why does she let the baby cry so long before she feeds him?”

When the visitor left the nursery just before dawn, in the same mysterious fashion, the tailor was even more puzzled.

The tailor worked hard all the next day, but by sundown he still had not finished his master’s vest. He set his work aside, lay down, and rolled up in his blanket. He was awakened from sleep by the cries of Baby Lakshman, and soon after, he heard the light step of feet on the stairway. He opened his eyes and saw Soonimaya, again entering the nursery.

Some time after the baby had been quieted, the princess departed in the same stealthy manner. The tailor sat up and peered through the carved grill of balcony. He watched his mistress circle the courtyard, run along the shadow of the garden wall, and hurry down the trail to the river. “Something very strange is going on,” he thought. “When the prince awakens, I will tell him all I have seen.”

As soon as the prince heard the tailor’s story he said, “We will both watch tonight. If the woman comes again, we will catch her and make her tell us what she is doing.”

That night the prince hid in a corner of the balcony and the tailor lay against the balcony wall under his blanket. Baby Lakshman began to cry, as usual, because he was now very hungry. About midnight the tailor saw the woman running up the hill toward the palace. “Here she come, Sahib-ji,” he whispered to the prince. They both watched her circle the courtyard and run forward to the palace stairs. They heard her footsteps as she climbed to the balcony. In another moment she had reached the nursery door, lifted the latch, and gone inside. Instantly the baby stopped crying. The prince ran to the door and peeked into the room. There he was Soonimaya holding little Lakshman in her arms, rocking him gently while he nursed. The prince knew at once that his son’s real mother. When Lakshman had finished nursing, Soonimaya bathed him with, sweet oil and laid him in his cradle. Then, with her tears in her eyes, she kissed him and turned to leave. But when she reached the door the prince jumped and caught her.

“Oh! Please!” she begged. “Do not detain me. The snakes in the river gave me three days’ grave to live, and they permitted me to visit Lakshman if I promised to return before dawn. Perhaps if I keep my promise they will spare my life a little longer.”

But the prince would not let her go. He took her inside the palace and made her tell him everything.

Now, it was the habit of the stepsister to rise very early in the morning and go for a walk. This morning she as up at the usual time and out walking in the garden. Just as the sun came up, the palace was aroused by a terrible scream! Everyone rushed out to see what was the matter and there, disappearing in the distance, were two large snakes, dragging a girl down the trail to the river.

“The princess!” shouted the excited cook. “Get your kukaris!”

“But there is the princess!” answered the shepherd boy, pointing to the balcony.

Great was the rejoicing when everyone discovered the real Soonimaya was standing by her husband’s side.

The stepmother was banished from the kingdom forever, and the prince and Soonimaya were able, at last, to live happily ever after the little baby name Lakshman, who never had to go hungry again.

Glossary

Ba – Father

Jungle – The Nepali word for “forest”

Kukari – The famous Gurkha knife, used by most him people for their cutting needs

Lowry – soldier

Pice – 1/100 of a rupee

Sahib-ji – Form of address to an influential person

Taykee – A wooden pot made from a log, used to carry liquids

Tumpline – A rope strap which is worn around the forehead to support a load carried on the back.

Soonimaya

Once, during the reign of a great king, there lived a little girl name Soonimaya, the daughter of a hill shepherd, Mahan Singh, and his wife, Dahn Jita. The three had a very happy life together. In the summertime they wandered with their flocks over the high mountain pastures of Dhor, and in the wintertime before the snows came to close the pass, they came down to their stone house in the river valeey of Neeshee to plant corn.

When Soonimaya was ten years old her mother, Dahn Jita, fell sick and died. For days Soonimaya grieved. Mahn Singh did not know what to do to comfort her. Finally he decided to marry a widow whose husband had left her with a girl Soonimaya’s age and a boy a few years younger. “In this way,” thought Mahn Sing, “my little girl will have a sister and a mother, and I will have a wife and a son.”

After they had lived together for a while, Mahan Singh knew he would have a difficult time caring for such a large family. His little flock of goats and sheep was too small.

There was no money for clothes or peppers. One day he told his wife: “I will go into the army so I can send money home every year. Then, when you have bought enough animals and land to feed us all, I will come home to stay.”

Now the stepmother treated Soonimaya as well as she did her own children while Mahn Singh was at home, but as soon as he left for the army she began to treat Soonimaya differently. She made her stay up all night to guard the flock after working all day in the fields. She gave her husks to eat instead of good rice she cooked for her own children. But Soonimaya never complained.

One day the stepmother sent Soonimaya into the jungle to bring fodder for the animals, but she would not give her a kukari, a large hunting knife, to cut the leaves or a tumpline to carry them home. Soonimaya went into the jungle and wept. When some snakes came by and asked her why she was crying, she told then what the stepmother expected of her.

“Stop crying, Soonimaya,” said the snakes. “We will crawl up into the trees and cut some branches for you, if you will gather the leaves. Then, we have a good load, you can make us into a tumpline and we will help you carry the fodder home. Set us down gently, so we won’t get hurt, and we will slip back into the forest.”

Soonimaya gathered the leaves as fast as the snakes threw them down from the trees, and she piled them into a big bundle.

When the stepmother saw the load of fodder Soonimaya had brought home, she was very puzzled. “I will have to think of something she cannot do at al,” she thought to herself. “Then I can send her away for disobeying me, and her father will not blame me when he returns.”

Some time alter the stepmother gave Soonimaya a sieve and told her to bring some water from the spring. Soonimaya knew this would be a hopeless task, but she went to the spring with the sieve as she told. She tried and tried to make the sieve hold water. She cupper her hands under it, she lined it with leaves, she filled the holed with clay. But always, before she reached home, the sieve would be empty. Finally she sat down on a stone near the spring and wept.

Some ants came out of the ground and asked Soonimaya why she was weeping.

“My stepmother expects me to carry water in this,” she moaned, holding up the sieve so they could see it. “What shall I do?”

“Stop crying,” pleaded the ants when they heard her story. “We will help you. Each of us will sit over a hole in the sieve and you can fill it with water. When you get home would the water very slowly in your storage jar. Then tap the sieve lightly with stick and we will fall to the ground and come back to the spring.”

Soonimaya was grateful to the ants and did just as she was told. When the stepmother saw the water in the storage jar, she was surprised and annoyed. “This girl is too clever,” thought the wicked woman. “I shall have to find a more dangerous task.”

When the monsoon arrived the stepmother told Soonimaya to go into the jungle to get some tiger’s milk for her stepbrother and sister. Soonimya did not know how she could obey without being eaten by the tiger. She started into the jungle with her wooden pot, but the trail was so slippery she fell after every few steps. Finally she sat down on a big rock and wept from fear and exhaustion.

Now it happened that under the rock lived a mother tigress and her four baby kittens. The kittens heard Soonimaya crying and came out to see what as the matter. When Soonimaya told them the task her stepmother had set for her, they said:

“Do not cry so loudly, Soonimaya, our mother will wake up and eat you! Give us you taykee and we will fill it while she is asleep.”

Soonimaya sat very still while the tiger kittens disappeared into the den to collect the milk. When they returned he hugged them all and hurried home to give the milk to her brother and sister. The stepmother saw her children drinking the tiger’s milk and stared. “This girl is a witch,” she muttered to herself. “I must get rid of her.”

It was a long time before she thought of something else for Soonimaya to do. Finally she said to her, “I need a Champa flower for some medicine. Get me one.”

Soonimaya walked to the base of the mountain that rose steeply behind her village and looked for a way to climb to the high shelf where the Champa flowers grew. There was no path and she could not find footholds in the cliff. After a few hours she gave up in despair. A big vulture, seeing her distress, swept don and landed on the ground in front of her.

“Oh, Little Sister, why are you so upset?” he asked, hopping nearer.

Soonimaya told him as well as she could between sobs.

“Well now, this is a problem we can solve,” said the vulture cheerfully. “Hang on tight and I will carry you up.”

Eefore the tears had dried her cheeks, Soonimaya found herself aloft on the back of the big bird, sailing up and up, above the valley floor to the top of the mountain. Suddenly her ride came to an end and she was tossed, with a swoosh and a bump, into a bed of beautiful Champa flowers. The bird and the girl laughed with pleasure.

While they sat looking out over the valley, the vulture spied a number of his relatives circling the river to the south.

“Something is going down there,” he said to Soonimaya. “I will have to leave you for a little while, but pick all the flowers you want and I will come back to carry you home.”

The vulture swung into the air and soared out across the valley toward the river. Soonimaya watched the flight of her friend, then turned her eyes to the main road winding along far below her. She saw travelers moving up and down the narrow trail. Some of them were carrying heavy loads and some were walking behind the herd of goats. Tiny bells tinkled in the wind. One of the travelers was a soldier coming up the trail with two porters, each lowry as he sat down under a tree to rest. Suddenly she recognized him! He was her own father coming home on leave, with wonderful presents for everyone.

“Oh, Ba! Ba! “ she shouted, jumping and waving her arms to catch his attention. But Soonimaya, forgetting where she was in her excitement, slipped and fell to her death.

Word of Mahn Singh’s homecoming had already reached the village. People ran to tell him the terrible news and to take him to the foot of the cliff. When Mahn Singh reached his little girl he was overcome with sorrow. He carried her to a place near the river and buried her there. Slowly his sorrow changed to anger. “What was Soonimaya doing on such a high cliff? “ he said to himself. He went straight home to his wife and demanded an answer.

“I don’t know,” said the deceitful woman, “I told her not to go up there, but she would not obey me. Oh dear!” she sighed, “I expected something like this would happen because she did very strange things. She was never quite the same after you left, you know. Why, she even tried to carry water in a sieve!”

When the evil stepmother thought she had calmed her husband, she cooked him a fine meal of a curried chicken and long, white rive. She gave him wine of three-waters and rubbed his tired legs. But Mahn Singh, though his anger slowly left him, still felt deeply the loss of his little daughter. He stayed only a week home before he returned to the army.

A few days later, a beautiful golden pillar sprang up from the ground where Mahn Singh had buried Soonimaya. A blacksmith passing by saw it and hurried to report it to the king.

“Bring it at once!” was the order. “So I may judge its worth.”

The king stood in awe of the golden pillar. Never had anything like it been brought to the palace. He reached out to feel the gold with his hands, and instantly the pillar turned into a beautiful young girl.

The king was delighted.

“See what has come to us!” he exclaimed to his courtiers. “Is this not a fitting bride for my eldest son?”

All the people of the palace were enchanted with the girl who had sprung form the golden pillar. They knew the king had been searching everywhere for a bride for their favorite prince, and at last one had been found. Now, amidst great rejoicing, the wedding preparations began.

News of marriage went out all over the country and soon it reached the ears of Mahn Singh’s wicked wife. She was very disappointed, for she had hoped her own daughter would one day be the queen.

Months later the king announced the birth of a son to the happily married pair. Everyone in the country was invited to the naming feast. The wicked stepmother was so eager to see the princess that she was the first to arrive at the palace on the feast day. She turned pale with astonishment to find the girl sitting beside the handsome prince, holding baby in her arms, was Soonimaya.

When the stepmother returned home, she said to her daughter: “You will never guess who is the mother of the baby prince. Soonimaya!” Squatting by the fire, she added: “And to think someday she will be queen over us all.”

After a long pause, she coughed and said: “You look enough like your stepsister to be her twin. Why not go to the palace tomorrow to visit her? After you are acquainted again, you can invite her to the river for a swim. Perhaps she might have an accident and drown. Remember, the girl who is married to the eldest prince will someday be the queen.”

The daughter, who had grown as wicked as her mother, would have done anything to become the queen. She carefully packed a basket full of food and presents, and set out the next morning for the palace. When she was shown into the room where the princess was sitting, she rushed over and, covering her head with her shawl, bowed very low in a gesture of great respect. Soonimaya returned the greeting graciously and ordered tea brought for both of them.

“Sister,” said the visitor, after she had given Soonimaya the presents and talked a while. “The day is full of sunshine. Let us go to the river and bathe together.”

Soonimaya could think of no good reason to stay at home, so she strapped her little son onto her back and left the palace with her stepsister. When they reached the river, the stepsister said:

“The water is much clearer over here in this lovely big pool. I will hold baby Lakshman for you while you take your swim, and you can hold him while I take mine.”

Soonimaya did not notice that the pool was very deep. She handed Lakshman to her companion, removed her velvet blouse and golden sari, and turned to step into the river. At that moment the stepsister pushed Soonimaya. The princes lost her balance, tumbled into the pool, and sand out of sight. The girl on the bank dressed quickly in Soonimaya’s beautiful clothes, strapped the baby onto her back, and hurried up the trial to the palace.

Everyone, including the prince, thought the girl who returned from the river was Soonimaya. Only Baby Lakshman knew she was not his mother; when it was time for him to nurse he began to fret, and soon he was crying loudly.

When Soonimaya sank down into the deep pool she came to the home of two large water snakes. She bowed to each in turn, very politely. The male snake was so surprised he said:

“When we saw you coming we were planning to eat you, but since you have greeted us with such respect we will spare your life for three days.”

That night Soonimaya asked the snakes if she could go back to the palace to nurse her little son. The snakes consented to let her go if she promised to return into the river before dawn. Soonimya readily agreed and left for the palace. She circled the courtyard to avoid being seen in the moonlight, ran up the long flight of stairs to the balcony, and stole cautiously along the wall to the nursery door. In her haste she failed to notice a tailor, wrapped in a blanket lying against the balcony wall. He had not been able to go to sleep because of the baby’s crying. The tailor was startled to see a woman walk past him in the middle of the night, but he lay very still. Soonimaya unbolted the door and slipped inside. At once the baby stopped crying. “That is an unusual way for the princess to enter the palace,” the tailor thought to himself. “and why does she let the baby cry so long before she feeds him?”

When the visitor left the nursery just before dawn, in the same mysterious fashion, the tailor was even more puzzled.

The tailor worked hard all the next day, but by sundown he still had not finished his master’s vest. He set his work aside, lay down, and rolled up in his blanket. He was awakened from sleep by the cries of Baby Lakshman, and soon after, he heard the light step of feet on the stairway. He opened his eyes and saw Soonimaya, again entering the nursery.

Some time after the baby had been quieted, the princess departed in the same stealthy manner. The tailor sat up and peered through the carved grill of balcony. He watched his mistress circle the courtyard, run along the shadow of the garden wall, and hurry down the trail to the river. “Something very strange is going on,” he thought. “When the prince awakens, I will tell him all I have seen.”

As soon as the prince heard the tailor’s story he said, “We will both watch tonight. If the woman comes again, we will catch her and make her tell us what she is doing.”

That night the prince hid in a corner of the balcony and the tailor lay against the balcony wall under his blanket. Baby Lakshman began to cry, as usual, because he was now very hungry. About midnight the tailor saw the woman running up the hill toward the palace. “Here she come, Sahib-ji,” he whispered to the prince. They both watched her circle the courtyard and run forward to the palace stairs. They heard her footsteps as she climbed to the balcony. In another moment she had reached the nursery door, lifted the latch, and gone inside. Instantly the baby stopped crying. The prince ran to the door and peeked into the room. There he was Soonimaya holding little Lakshman in her arms, rocking him gently while he nursed. The prince knew at once that his son’s real mother. When Lakshman had finished nursing, Soonimaya bathed him with, sweet oil and laid him in his cradle. Then, with her tears in her eyes, she kissed him and turned to leave. But when she reached the door the prince jumped and caught her.

“Oh! Please!” she begged. “Do not detain me. The snakes in the river gave me three days’ grave to live, and they permitted me to visit Lakshman if I promised to return before dawn. Perhaps if I keep my promise they will spare my life a little longer.”

But the prince would not let her go. He took her inside the palace and made her tell him everything.

Now, it was the habit of the stepsister to rise very early in the morning and go for a walk. This morning she as up at the usual time and out walking in the garden. Just as the sun came up, the palace was aroused by a terrible scream! Everyone rushed out to see what was the matter and there, disappearing in the distance, were two large snakes, dragging a girl down the trail to the river.

“The princess!” shouted the excited cook. “Get your kukaris!”

“But there is the princess!” answered the shepherd boy, pointing to the balcony.

Great was the rejoicing when everyone discovered the real Soonimaya was standing by her husband’s side.

The stepmother was banished from the kingdom forever, and the prince and Soonimaya were able, at last, to live happily ever after the little baby name Lakshman, who never had to go hungry again.

Glossary

Ba – Father

Jungle – The Nepali word for “forest”

Kukari – The famous Gurkha knife, used by most him people for their cutting needs

Lowry – soldier

Pice – 1/100 of a rupee

Sahib-ji – Form of address to an influential person

Taykee – A wooden pot made from a log, used to carry liquids

Tumpline – A rope strap which is worn around the forehead to support a load carried on the back.