The king Who Rides a Tiger

Part 1

Once, during the reign of a great king, there lived a Brahman priest, a landlord, and a shopkeeper, who decided that their valley of Sirdu had become too crowded to allow them to own all the land they desired.

“What shall I do for my sons?” said the landlord. “If I divide my holdings equally among them, there will not be enough for any one of them to make a living.”

“My sons will need land, too,” agreed the priest. “ For here there are already too many Brahmans to make holy work profitable.”

“The traders tell me that there is a beautiful valley farther north,” confided the shopkeeper. “It lies in the shadow of the great Fishtail peak. Let us go there together and start life a new. There will be enough land in that valley to divide among all our sons for many generations.”

So the three men packed their belongings into baskets and journeyed to the valley that lay under Fishtail peak.

On their way they met a young Magar farmer named Mana Ras who was going to the same valley. He, too, intended to clear some land and start a new farm. Now the three companions had not counted on sharing the valley with a Magar farmer. They wanted it all to themselves. But since they were no able to farm everywhere at once, they took all the land facing the south, which enjoyed the most sun, and forced Mana Ras to go across the river to the slope that faced north. This side of the valley got very little sun, but Mana Ras settled down to clear his fields, without complaint.

The fields were stony and full of roots. His crops were so sparse that his little wooden storage jar never had much corn in it. When he ate breakfast there was very little left for supper. And when he ate supper, he worried about the next morning’s breakfast.

One day, after the summer monsoon, a cobra slithered into the courtyard of the priest, to beg for asylum.

“Please, Pundit-ji(Brahman), hide me,” she pleaded. “ A mongoose is coming and I fear for my life.”

“Can you not see that I am busy with my workshop?” answered the Brahman, sitting with his book opened on his lap. “Should serving God be interrupted to serve a snake? Go over to the landlord and ask him to hide you.”

The cobra raced to the landlord’s courtyard to seek protection from the mongoose, but the zamindar(landlord) was just sitting down to the dinner.

“Tell her to wait until I have finished eating,” the landlord said to his wife.

“But I can’t wait, Zamindarni,” protested the cobra. “The mongoose will be here any minute!”

“Then tell her to go to the shopkeeper,” shouted the zamindar, who had overhead the cobra’s remark. “And come quickly with the curry. My rice is getting cold.”

The cobra turned and fled to the shopkeeper, hoping at last to find sympathy. But when the customers saw her coming they all ran from the shop.

“Do you think I would hide you in here after what you have just done to my business?” yelled the angry shopkeeper. “Go over there across the valley,” he added, waving his arm,” and get that stupid farmer to help you. He has nothing important to do.”

The trail across the valley was long and steep, but the cobra knew she would soon be caught if she wasted any more time. She whirled about and disappeared down the path toward the river.

“Oh, please,” she called out to Mana Ras as she approached him. “You must help me. The mongoose is coming. Hide me! Quickly! Please!”

“Of course, but where?” asked the surprised farmer.

“Your cummerbund,” she panted. “Let me crawl in there.”

Mana Ras unwound the long strip of ragged cloth which circled his waist, so the cobra could crawl between the folds. Then he cautiously would it around his waist again and went back to clearing his land.

The mongoose, in the meantime, was trailing the cobra from the priest’s house to the landlord’s and on to the shopkeeper’s. Now he was running up the path toward Mana Ras.

“Oh, Big Brother!” he called to Mana Ras. “Have you seen a cobra come here lately?”

“Yes, I have,” answered the farmer. “But she was in a great hurry. She was traveling that way,” and he pointed toward the Fishtail.

The mongoose raced past Mana Ras and disappeared into the jungle.

After a long while the cobra whispered: “How far do you think the mongoose is by now?”

“He must be at least three resting places away,” answered Mana Ras.

“Then I am safe,” sighed the cobra. “Unwind your cummerbund and let me out.”

When the snake dropped to the ground she turned to Mana Ras and said: “Little Brother, you were the only one in this whole valley who would save my life. The others across the river have scorned both of us, but some day they will treat you with great respect. Come now, I want to repay for your kindness.”

She led him to the top of a high mountain and there commanded him to close his eyes. When she told him to open them again, he was standing in a beautiful palace.

“This is where I live,” said the cobra. “Take home anything you wish.” But Mana Ras could only stand and stare about him.

“Would you like the gold and silver pots?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” said Mana Ras. “If I kept them in a grass hut like mine, they would surely be stolen.”

“What about the elephants or the horses?”

“They would be very nice,” Mana Ras admitted. “But I am only a poor man. It would embarrass me to ride on such fine animals”

“Choose for yourself, then,” said the cobra. “There must be something here useful to you.”

Mana Ras was silent for a moment, enchanted by all the beautiful things he had never seen before. Suddenly he spoke up.

“I would like that!” he exclaimed, pointing to a little dog sitting in the coring on a couch. “She will not eat too much and she will be a good company when I am alone at night. During the day when I go to work in the fields, she can stay home and guard the hut.”

“Very well,” said the cobra. “If that is what you want, take her home with you. You have chosen wisely.”

Mana Ras thanked the snake and left the palace, cradling the little dog in his arms.

When he got back to his hut he was very tired. He cooked a big pot of cornmeal and ate quickly, saving a handful for his little dog. But the dog was not hungry. “Perhaps she was fed just before I left the palace,” thought Mana Ras, and making a soft bed for the dog between himself and the fire, he rolled up in his blanket and went to sleep.

The next morning before going to the fields, Mana Ras tried once more to feed his dog, but again the dog would not eat.

“Maybe you are used to finer food,” said Mana Ras. “But I am sure this will taste very good to you when you are hungry.”

He left the food on the floor, bade the animal guard the hut well, and went out into the fields to hoe his corn.

In the evening, a short time before Mana Ras was to come home, the little dog, who had been guarding the hut, stretched and stood up. Suddenly there was a loud bark and the little dog changed into a beautiful girl. The girl looked about her. Then she stamped her foot on the ground three times. At once a delicious meal appeared beside the hearth-rice and mutton curry, with many sweets. The girl separated the food into two portions, ate her share, and set the rest aside for Mana Ras. When she heard him coming down the trail, she quickly turned herself back into the little dog and curled up by the fire as if she had been there all the time, sleeping.

Mana Ras stepped into the hut and closed the door.

“What is this?” he said aloud, looking in amazement at all the food beside the fire. He sat down and cautiously picked up each dish, tasting the food with the tip of his finger. When he discovered how delicious it was, he ate hungrily and almost finished everything before he remembered his little dog.

“Ah, my spoiled pet,” he began. “At last I can offer you something worthy of your attention. See how you like this!” And he put some of the rice at the animal’s feet. But the dog only raised her head, then went back to sleep.

“What a hopeless animal!” cried Mana Ras. “You will not last long in this house with such a fussy appetite. But you cannot be starving or you would eat. From now on I will let you beg for food before I waste anything more on you.”

He picked up the uneaten rice and curry and dropped it into the fire. Then he rolled up in his blanket and slept.

The next morning Mana Ras ate his usual breakfast of cornmeal, left a bowl of water for the dog, and went into the jungle near his house to clear more land.

In the evening, before it was time for him to come home, the little dog again turned into a beautiful girl. And, as on the night before, the food appeared, the girl ate her share, and she changed back into the little dog again. Mana Ras could not imagine who was preparing these feasts for him. He was determined to find out.

The next morning he went to clear land again. After cutting only a few trees, he returned to a spot near his hut, where he could hide and still see through the doorway. At the usual time in the evening the little dog stood up, stretched, and-to Mana Ras’ astonishment – changed into a beautiful girl. The girl stamped three times on the ground with her foot and produced a magnificent meal-fried chicken, rice, chutneys, and many vegetables. She divided the food into two portions and sat down on a mat by the fire to eat her share. While her back was turned, Mana RAs stole up to the door, leapt into the room, and grabbed her.

“Oh!” she said, jumping up and spilling her food on the floor. “Do not touch me! I’ve guarded your hut and fed you handsomely, and yet called me hopeless and spoiled. Why didn’t you choose the gold and silver pots or the horses and elephants? Perhaps they would have pleased you better.”

Mana Ras was sorry he had spoken so harshly. But how could he have known the dog who refused to eat was really a beautiful girl?

“You must forgive me,” pleaded Mana Ras. “I did not know I was speaking to you when I scolded my little dog for not eating. I only wanted the dog to eat, so she would not become ill.”

Mana Ras softened the girl’s heart with his arguments until she was convinced that he loved her very much. After talking together for a time, they decided to get married.

“I am just a poor farmer,” said Mana Ras sadly, turning his head toward the fire “What can I give you but a hut for a home and hard work all of your life?”

The girl stood up as though she had not heard him and stamped seven times with her foot. Slowly the little hut turned into a beautiful golden palace.

“Is there no end of surprises you have in store for me!” laughed Mana Ras in delight.

The girl gave him a bewitching glance and promptly stamped her foot again. At once the horses and elephants appeared, carrying the gold and silver pots.

Mana Ras called his new bride Indra. She was a good wife and the two were very happy living together in the golden palace.

Part 2

Not long after Indra came to live with Mana Ras, the Brahman priest across the valley decided to make a pilgrimage to the home of the god Shiva, who lived in the snows underneath the Fishtail. To do this he had to pass across the land on the side of the valley that Mana Ras had been clearing for his farm. As the priest climbed around the corner of a hill, he was amazed to see a golden palace in place of Mana Ras grass hut. This discovery so unsettled him that he forgot his pilgrimage and ran back to tell his two friends.

“Brothers!” he gasped, when he saw them talking together at the Sahu’s(shopkeeper) shop. “You will never guess what I have just seen!”

“What is it?” they both asked impatiently.

“A golden palace – a golden palace on Mana Ras’ farm, with horses and elephants in the courtyard and gold and silver pots shining through the window. And there is a beautiful girl in the courtyard, combing her hair with a golden comb!”

The shopkeeper and the landlord laughed.

“I would like to have some of that wine you have been drinking lately, Pundit-ji,” taunted the landlord. “then I could see pretty girls and golden palaces, too.”

“My dear friends,” said the priest, “as sure as I am a Brahman and have not had a drop of wine since the day I was born, Mana Ras has a golden palace! Come ad look for yourselves if you don’t believe me!”

The shopkeeper and the landlord were curious to see just how far their Brahman friend would carry his jest, so they agreed to go with him. When they came up around the corner of the hill, they say the priest had not been joking at all. Everything he had told them was true. They decided to go at once and tell the king.

The king listened to the three men very patiently, without believing a word they said. But he was curious. After he had dismissed them, he left the palace, disguised as a yogi, and headed straight for the farm of Mana Ras. When he arrived, indeed, there was the golden palace, just as the men had described it.

Indra had been sitting in the courtyard coming her hair when he saw the yogi coming. She recognized him immediately.

“This is no yogi, but the king himself, in disguise,” she thought, and ran into the kitchen. She covered her face quickly with charcoal dust and returned to the courtyard to comb her hair.

The yogi leaned on his staff and looked over the courtyard wall.

“Oh, Little Sister!” he said. “I am very thirsty. Will you fetch me a drink?”

Indra went into the kitchen and returned with a brass cup full of buttermilk.

“Oh, that was good!” said the yogi, after he had drunk it down without stopping. “But it still has not quenched my thirst. Please bring me a jug of water.”

Indra returned in a moment with the water, and handed it to the yogi. He lifted it above his lips as if to drink, but after several gulps he tossed the rest at Indra, washing the soot from her face.

“Forgive me, Little Sister,” he said. “But now I know how beautiful you really are.”

On the way back to his castle, the king began to envy Mana Ras very much. It did not seem right to him that such a peasant should have a golden castle and so beautiful a wife. As soon as he got home he sent his soldiers to bring Mana Ras to the palace.

When the farmer was brought before him, the king pointed to a large rooster in the courtyard and said: “Bring a cock here tomorrow to fight mine. If your cock wins you can have my wife, but if my cock wins I will have your wife. Now be gone with you!”

As Mana Ras walked back through the courtyard, on his way out of the palace, he looked once more at the rooster and was frightened by its size. It was the biggest rooster he had ever seen; and it was crowing so loud Mana Ras had to hold his ears. He returned to his own palace looking very troubled. When Indra called him to eat his dinner, he said:

“No, I am not hungry. I have a problem. I cannot eat anything tonight. :

“Come!” she urged. “Problems are never solved on empty stomach.”

After Mana Ras had eaten he told his wife what was troubling him.

“You must go to bed and get a good sleep,” she said. “In the morning I will give you my golden ring to take to my eldest sister, Jayti. If you show it to her she will know who you are. Then you can tell her your problem, and shell will know just what to do to help you.”

As soon as the sun was up, Mana Ras went down the trail to visit his wife’s eldest sister. She did not know who he was, nit as soon as Mana Ras showed her the golden ring, she said:

“Oh, sister’s Husband, forgive me! I did not recognize you. Come in and have something to eat.”

Mana Ras started to tell her why he had come, but she interrupted him.

“Please! You must eat first. Then we can solve all your difficulties. My younger sister would never forgive me if I let you return home without feeding you.”

After Mana Ras had eaten, Jayti brought a baby chick from the coop and told him to take the little bird to the castle to fight the king’s rooster. Mana Ras was puzzled, but he did not want to argue with his wife’s eldest sister. He left the house, muttering to himself.

“Oh, Sister-in-law, you must be mad! The big rooster will only have to step on this little thing to kill it. Then the king will claim my Indra as his wife. What have you done to me?”

When Mana Ras got home he started to complain to Indra, but she would not listen to him.

“Your king has challenged you to a contest. It is getting late. He will be very angry if you keep him waiting.”

Mana Ras hurried off to the king’s castle, holding the baby chick gently so he would not crush it.

When the king saw what Mana Ras has brought to fight his big rooster, he laughed out loud.

“Ho, everyone, gather round!” he shouted. “You are to witness a great battle, but be careful you don’t die from laughing!”

He ordered his rooster brought into the courtyard for the fight. Mana Ras put his little chick on the ground. It was trying so hard to peep it could hardly stand up. The big rooster was released and he strutted over to the baby chick, raising his feathers and clashing his spurs together. When he was close enough to kill his enemy, he scratched the ground several times and-with the eyes of every spectator on him-sat down. The king was mystified. He talked to the rooster, he scolded him, he begged him to attack the baby chick, but the big bird would not move. In a sudden fury, the king shouted:

“Take him from my sight! Cook him for supper! Maybe that will teach him to obey me.”

Then the king turned to Mana Ras and said:

“Tomorrow you must bring a goat to fight my goat. If your goat wins the battle you may have my wife, but if my goat wins I will have your wife. Now go!”

As Mana Ras turned to leave he saw the king’s goat. Such a goat he had never seen before. It was tied with a heavy chain to an iron pole; and every few minutes it would back up and ram the iron pole with all its might, shaking the whole courtyard.

That night when Indra called him to supper, Mana Ras said: “No, I cannot eat. The problem I have tonight is far greater than the one I had last night. I am not hungry.”

“Come”, she begged. “Food and a good night’s sleep will make everything look brighter. We shall solve your problem in the morning.”

When Mana Ras awoke the next day, Indra gave him her golden ring and told him to go her second sister, Mylee, for only she knew how to help him.

When Mana Ras arrived at his sister-in-law’s house, he showed her the golden ring and began to tell her his troubles.

“Come in and eat first,” said Mylee, “for my sister’s husband must not leave my house without eating. Then I will help you.”

After Mana Ras had eaten, Mylee went out to the goat pen and returned with a baby kid, just big enough to hop about.

“Oh, Sister-in-law,” moaned Mana Ras to himself as he carried the little kid home under his arm. “how can this infant ever defeat the fierce goat I saw in the king’s courtyard? You must want the king to take your sister away from me.”

When Mana Ras reached his palace Indra was waiting to speed him on his way and would not listen to his protests.

“You will be late,” she admonished, “and the king will not be pleased. Hurry!”

Mana Ras ran down the trail with the kid tucked inside his shirt. Once again at the castle he had to face the king’s ridicule.

“What is the matter with this man? Doesn’t he want to keep his beautiful wife? My goat will tear his goat to pieces.”

Mana Ras put the tiny kid down on the ground and stood back, trembling, to see what would happen. When the big goat saw the kid he lowered his head, bleated fiercely, and charged. Just as he was about to toss his opponent into the air, the kid hopped to one side and the powerful billy goat rammed into the castle wall, killing himself instantly.

The king was very angry. He had been tricked twice by this farmer. He was not going to be tricked again.

“Enough of this mischief!” shouted the king. “Tomorrow you will bring me some tiger’s mild before sundown or I will come to your house, myself, and carry you wife back here with me.”

Mana Ras returned to Indra in despair.

` “This king is determined to have you for his wife, and now he has thought of something neither you nor your sisters will be able to help me solve. I must bring him the milk of a tiger!”

“If the king asked you to make a human being, you could do that too,” replied Indra. “Now come and eat your supper. Tomorrow you will visit my little sister, Kanchi, and she will help you get the tiger’s milk.”

When Kanchi saw the golden ring, she knew at once the man who needed the tiger’s milk was her older sister’s husband.

“Come in and rest yourself,” she said. “I have just made some fresh curd and millet bread. After you have eaten, I will see what we can do about getting you some tiger’s milk.”

“But Kanchi,” protested Mana Ras, “I have no time. The king said I must return with it before sundown or he will go himself to the palace and take Indra away from me.”

“Sister’s Husband, you would be angry if Indra sent my husband from your door without feeding him. Now come and eat. You will have plenty of time to do the king’s bidding.”

When Mana Ras had finished eating, Kanchi went out into the stable and returned- much to her guest’s astonishment – leading a beautiful tigress.

“If you take the milk in a jug, Sister’s Husband, you might spill it along the way. It is better that you take tigress herself and milk her before the king.”

Kanchi tied the tigress to a post by the porch and stepped inside the house for a moment. She came out carrying a handsome saddle studded with jewels and a bridle of velvet, sewn with hundreds of tiny silver bells.

The tigress was nervous in the presence of a stranger, but as soon as Kanchi placed the saddle over the animal’s back, it became as docile as a lamb. Mana Ras thanked Kanchi for her help, climbed onto the tiger’s back, and rode off.

Indra heard her husband coming this time, and ran out to urge him on his way. But he surprised her but shouting:

“I am very late! I have business with the king and I must not keep him waiting! I will come right back.”

Mana Ras sped on to the castle. People on the trail jumped aside when they heard the bells jingling. They gazed open-mouthed at a farmer riding by on a tiger.

Te king, who was waiting impatiently for sundown, heard the bells and walked up to the gate to see who was coming.

“Someone must have a very fast horse,: he said to the gatekeeper. When he saw it was Mana Ras riding on a tiger and heading straight for the castle, he became frightened.

“Never mind!” he shouted, waving his arms to ward off the beast. “ You can keep your wife and I will keep mine!”

But Mana Ras was not to be turned away so easily. He rode up to the terrified king, sprayed his beautiful robes with milk, turned the tigress around, and galloped home.

News spread quickly of the simple farmer boy who had met the king’s challenge. Soon everyone was saying:

“We need a king who is brave and who will not make trouble for the poor. Mana Ras should wear the crown.”

So the old king was chased out of the valley and the throne was prepared for Mana Ras. Many people came to the coronation, with gifts to pay homage to their new ruler. Among them Mana Ras recognized the priest, the landlord, and the shopkeeper, all dressed in their finest clothes and bowing low before him.

Never before had there been a wiser king that Mana Ras, and never since there been a king brave enough to visit his subjects riding on a tiger.

Glossary

Bazaar – A cluster of small shops

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

Brahmani – The wife of a Brahman

Cummerbund – Long cloth wound around the waist

Kanchi – Youngest daughter

Mylee – Second daughter

Pundit-ji – Respectful form of address to a Brahman

How the Travelers Shared Their Meal

Three men, all traveling from different villages to the spring festival in Pearsing, met for the first time at a large resting place under a shady peepul tree.

The three travelers looked very different sitting together on the big chowtara under the tree; one had a long thin neck, the second had a very narrow chest, and the third had a wooden leg. Although they may have looked different, they shared a common trait which made them very much alike. They were all greedy.

There three strangers soon became acquainted and began talking about the fun they were going to have at the festival. They would win lots of money playing cards and with it they would buy many good things to eat-wine and smoked fish, sweetmeats, spiced eggs, curried chicken with fine rice, guava pickles, chillies, roasted goat…

“Oh, this talk makes me so hungry!” interrupted the man with the thin neck, hoping the others would offer him something to eat. He did not want them to know he had some popcorn in his basket; he might have to share it with them

“well, how do you think I feel?” whined the man with the narrow chest, cautiously fingering some hard-boiled eggs hidden under his vest. “I haven’t eaten since I left my village before sunrise, and I shall have nothing to eat before I get to the mela.”

The man with the wooden leg leaned against the trunk of the tree, pushing his cloth bundle of roasted soy beans behind his back as if to pillow himself more comfortably.

“Ha,” he chortled, waving his wooden leg in the air. “I may not have as much to fill up as you do, but my belly groans for food. If this chowtara were a tea stall, I would buy five glasses of rockshee, a hatful of pounded rice, and an omelet with…”

“Stop!” cried the man with the thin neck. “I can’t stand this talk any longer. Let us see if we can get a chicken form the ironsmith’s house down there in the valley. We can come back here ad cook it together.”

His two companions agreed to at once. So the man with the thin neck went down to the smith’s to bargain for a chicken, the man with the narrow chest climbed the steep hillside to fetch wood form the forest, and the man with the wooden leg went up a trail to the shepherd’s hut to borrow a cooking pot.

In a short while the three travelers returned to the chowtara and began to prepare for the feast.

The man with the thin neck built a small fire while his two companions killed the chicken and cut it up for frying. When the ghee and spices were ready, they dropped the chicken into the pot and squatted around it to watch it cook.

The smell was almost more than they could bear. Each blew long and hard on the coals to make the wood burn faster. They took turns stirring the chicken. Finally no one spoke; all leaned forward eagerly, staring down into the pot in silence. At last the man with the thin neck lost patience.

“I must see if it is done!” he cried. He grabbed the biggest part of chicken, flung it into his mouth, and tried to swallow it whole.

But the piece of chicken was much too big. Try as he would, he could not make it go down nor could he make it come up again. There it stuck in the middle of his throat, and he died.

“See!” the man with the narrow chest shouted to the companion. “He is finished! Now you and I will have a larger share of the chicken. What a luck!” He struck his chest with such a blow of delight that he fell over dead.

The man with the wooden leg jumped up and danced about gleefully. “Tuck-a-brassi!” he shouted. “Now the luck is mine. I can have all the rest of the chicken to myself.”

But as his luck would have it, he slipped on a wet leaf and fell to the ground, striking his head a mortal blow on the big flat rocks of the chowtara.

Waiting behind the peepul tree was a very patient jackal. He trotted cautiously from his hiding place, ate a delicious meal of curried chicken, licked the pot with great care, and strolled off to the mela.

Glossary

Chowtara – A trail-side sitting platform built of stone; a resting place for travelers with heavy loads

Ghee – The liquid which remains butter has been boiled and cooled

Peepul – A tree, considered by Hindus to be sacred because it is visited by the gods

Rockshee – Distilled drink made of corn, rice, or millet

Tuck-a-brassi – A Magar expression of jubilance, meaning “And what do you know!”

The Proud Father

Dil Bahadur was a very dignified Rat with a handsome moustache and a portle bearing. He lived with his family in the grain storage room of a large Rana palace.

Dil had many children but none did he love more than his eldest daughter. When his child was born, there were so many well-laced stars in her horoscope that the Brahman had difficulty finding a suitable name for her. He counted on his fingers. He consulted his long red, book. At last he chose one name which seemed to fit the baby best-Lakshmi Devi, Goddess of Good Fortune.

Lakshmi Devi was a sweet-tempered, generous creature and she grew more beautiful as the years sped by. At last it was time for her to be married.

“I cannot marry her to just any Rat,” said Dil Bahadur to his wife one day. “She is far too beautiful. In fact, I cannot marry her to a Rat at all. Not one that I know is good enough for her.”

He paused to think for a moment. Then suddenly he said: “The sun is more powerful than anything else in the world. And he is handsome, too. I shall marry her to the Sun!”

When Lakshmi Devi heard what her father had in store for her, tears came to her eyes.

“But I do not want to marry the Sun, father,” she protested gently. “I want to marry another Rat just like myself.”

Dil Bahadu was very disappointed. He thought of all the praise he would receive from everyone if he arranged such a match. It would bring great honor to the Rana family.

“Think how many girls would envy you,” he said to his daughter impatiently. “Why are you so troubled? Don’t you like the Sun?”

“Of course I do, father,” sobbed Lakshmi. “But…”

“Then the matter is settled,” he announced, looking into the mirror to smooth his moustache. “I will arrange the marriage. You may be too young to appreciate it now, but when you are older and wiser you will be very glad that I choose the Sun for your husband.”

He put on his English suit-coat, tucked his kukari into his cummberbund, picked up his walking stick, and strode off down the trail.

When Dil Bahadur approached the Sun’s palace, he found the prospective bridegroom sitting in the courtyard smoking his hooka.

“Greetings, oh Sun,” Dil said respectfully, touching his palms together and raising them to his bowed forehead. “That is a good crop of barley you have there.”

“Ah, yes indeed,” answered the Sun, looking across his yellow fields. “This has been a very good year for barley. “

He offered Dil Bahadur a rug to sit on and after exchanging a few polite remarks with his guest, he said:

“What brings you so far from home, good friend, when the crops are almost ready to harvest?”

“Oh, Sun,” began Dil Bahadur slowly. “You are the richest and most powerful in all the world!” He paused to take a sip of sweet tea that had been put before him. “Therefore, you deserve the very best for a wife. I have a daughter whose beauty far exceeds my ability to describe it. She is a goddess of delight-helpful, kind and generous. She is worthy of the best husband I can find for her. It is a great compliment to you that I come here now to offer her hand in marriage.”

The Sun’s eyes betrayed a faint smile, but Dil Bahadur only noticed that he took another puff on his hooka.

“Thank you,” he said finally. “I accept your most generous compliment. But I must not fail to point out to you that there are others more powerful than I, whom you should consider for such a worthy daughter. Do you realize that the clouds are always getting in my way?” He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What can I do against them?”

Dil Bahadur could not control a sudden gasp. It had never occurred to him that anyone was more powerful than the Sun. His moustache trembled. “What shall I do now?” he thought to himself. “I do not want to offend him by withdrawing my offer, but there is no denying it., the clouds can cover him whenever they wish. Lakshmi Devi will have to marry a Cloud.”

“If you are not the most powerful in the world, surely you are the most honorable,: said Dil, regaining his composure. “When you are ready to marry, I would be happy to give you any of my other beautiful daughters. “

His finished his tea with ease, thanked the Sun for his hospitality, and hurried off to visit the Clouds.

“Where is your headman?” he asked a young Cloud. “You must show me to him; I have important business to discuss.”

The young Cloud hastened to do as he was told, and soon Dil found himself in the courtyard of the Chief.

“Great Mukiya,” Dil began, when it was time for him to speak of his reason for coming. “You are more powerful than anyone I have ever known. Why, you can even hide the Sun! I have a charming daughter- a gem who dazzles everyone with her beauty and grace. So many have come to ask me for her hand.” He took a long, slow sip of tea, sighing loudly with contentment as he put the cup down. “But I am very particular. What would you say if I offered her to you in marriage?”

The Chief of the Clouds raised his billowy eyebrows I astonishment. He thought Dil Bahadur had come to ask him for advice.

“Why, I-I would be flattered, you can be sure,” he stuttered. “But you would never forgive me if I did not tell you there is another more powerful than a Cloud.” The Chief tried to look very sad. “He pushes all of us about whenever he wishes. We are always at his mercy!”

“Who is that?” asked Dil in surprise.

“The Wind.”

“Well,” Dil answered, “I never thought of the Wind as a proper husband for my daughter.” He stared into his empty cup. “But of course,” he said suddenly, jumping to his feet, “if you say she must marry the Wind, she must marry the Wind. I will see to it that she does! Yes, I certainly will!” He gave Cloud a brisk, soldierly salute and hurried off to see the Wind.

“Wind, my friend,” Dil said, as soon as it seemed proper, “you are the most powerful being in all the world. You command the greatest respect. I have a daughter whose gentle manner is surpassed only by her good looks. She is a beauty, rare and wonderful, and certainly worthy of someone as great as you. She we arrange a marriage?”

The Wind gave a long sigh, to keep from laughing aloud. “I would be delighted to marry you daughter,” he said finally. “At the same time I cannot deceive you. It is true that I am treated with great respect. But there is another, more powerful than I, whom I cannot bend to my will,” He lowered his head as if the thought troubled him.

“Really?” asked Dil. “Who can this be?”

“The Mountain.”

“Dear, dear. I did forget how powerful is the Mountain,” said Dil. “Yes, you are quite right. Thank you, good Wind, for reminding me.” And after swallowing his tea in great haste, he hurried of to see the Mountain.

“Honorable Mukiya,” said Dil, as soon as he was seated, “no tea, thank you. I am her on urgent business. You are so powerful. You are so strong. You are so wise. None can call himself your equal. I have a very beautiful daughter who will make the most wonderful wife in all the world. You alone, deserve such a prize. Marry her and you will rejoice forever.”

“Marry her and you will rejoice forever,” repeated the Mountain. “Well, of course I would be honored to marry your daughter, but if you want to marry her because I am the most powerful in all the world, then I shall have to admit there is someone else more…”

“Oh, no,” interrupted Dil, in a tired voice. “Who can that be?”

“A tree,” said the Mountain, happy that the Rat was not going to argue the marriage. “If the trees were not holding me so tightly, I could travel all the way to India.”

“Who would have dreamed Trees would have more power than the Mountain, moaned the bewildered Dil. “I suppose I should thank you for bringing this to my attention. I shall go to them at once.” And off he ran to visit the Trees.

“Beautiful Trees,” he said, without bothering to sit down, “you are so powerful you can hold the Mountain in place. I have been searching everywhere for a husband worthy of my lovely daughter, and the search has led me to your door. If we can arrange a marriage for Lakshmi Devi with your distinguished Mukiya, you will be forever grateful to me. Such a union would brings years of greatest joy and prosperity to all you clan.”

The Trees looked at one another in disbelief.

“Is this talk coming from a Rat?” whispered a tall Tree to his neighbor. Then he turned to Dil Bahadur and asked: “Do you know who has more power than we have? Do you know who makes our lives miserable?”

“Well, no,” said Dil Bahadur. “I can’t imagine. Who?”

“Rats! You and your relatives. If it were not for the Rates who eat our roots and destroy our bark, we would be the most powerful creatures alive. We hate Rats! And you want our Mukiya to marry your daughter?” The trees began to laugh.

Dil Bahadur crumpled with shame. He turned and fled. He ran far down the mountainside- away from the laughing Tress, through the corn fields, and down into the rice paddies. Only when he reached the water mill did he stop to rest.

Suddenly Dil Bahadur Rana began to puff up until his English suit-coat strained at the seams. He have never known he was so powerful. Why, he must be more powerful than anyone else in the whole, wide world!

He jumped up and rushed home as fast as his little legs could take him. When he finally caught his breath, he arranged a wedding for his daughter with another Rat; and Lakshmi Devi lived happily ever after, married to someone just like herself.

Glossary

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

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

Cummerbund – Long cloth wound around the waist

Hooka – A large bubble-pipe in which the smoke is filtered through water before reaching the stem

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

Mukiya – The headman of a village clan

Rana – A Magar clan, not to be confused with a family of Chhetris by the same name who once ruled Nepal.

Why the Jackal Howls

Long, long ago, when the lake left the valley of Kathmandu, there lived in a rhododendron forest a jackal and a bulbul bird. These two animals were not fond of each other but they roamed about in the same forest and they often met while searching for food.

One day the jackal said to himself, “If I become a ‘meet(friend)’ to that bulbul bird, I will have a good excuse to follow him about all day. Then when the hunting is poor and I can find nothing else to eat, I can have my little ‘brother’ for dinner.” He laughed aloud at his own cunning.

The next time the jackal saw the bulbul bird, he called out in a voice full of feigned affection:

“Oh, little bulbul, you work too hard. Come down here where it is easy to pick up the seeds that have fallen to the ground.” The he added: “It is a pity two gentlemen of such good taste do not see each other more often. We should become meets and dedicate ourselves sharing the finer things of forest together. What do you say to that, my friend?”

Now the bulbul was sure he did not want to become a “brother” to jackal. But to refuse such an offer would be an insult the jackal would never forget, and to be eaten by a jackal was not a very pleasant prospect.

“I am flattered that you should want me for a meet,” answered the bulbul, without emotion. “Of course I can do nothing but accept.”

So the jackal and the bulbul exchanged silver rupees to consummate their brotherhood and began immediately to call each other by the respectful title of “Meetju (friend)”

“Now, Meetju,” began the jackal, whose mind was never at rest when he wanted something, “our life in the forest is hard enough. We must help one another as much as we can. As long as we are meets, why don’t we build a house and live in it together as real brothers should?”

“This,” thought the bulbul, “is going too far!”

“What kind of a house would it be? I would die if I had to live in a den,” said the bulbul, giving the jackal something to think about. “And you would not certainly want to keep house in a nest! Perhaps we should compromise. You build a den to suit your needs on the ground and I will build my nest in a tree above it. In that way we can still look out for each other. “

“Good!” said the jackal, satisfied for the moment that he would always know where to find the bulbul. “You are such an intelligent fellow. But that, after all, is whay I am proud to call you Meetju!”

He tried to make his smile look very sincere, yet all the bulbul could see where the jackal’s two long rows of shiny white teeth.

The two meets finished building their living quarters by nightfall. They had planned to go hunting the next day, but when the jackal was getting out of bed, he found that the bulbul was up and ready to leave.

“Oh, Meetju,” called the jackal. “Where are you going today? I will join you when I have finished my breakfast.”

“I am going to the east side of the river,: the bulbul called back. “See you there!” And off he flew into the forest.

As soon as the jackal had eaten his cornmeal mush he went to the east side of the river to find the bulbul bird. But he could no find him anywhere. He searched until sundown without catching anything good to eat. That night he was so exhausted he settled for a supper of cold cornmeal mush and went unhappily to bed.

The next morning the bulbul again was up and ready to go to the forest long before the jackal.

“Where are you going today, Meetju?” the jackal called out after the bulbul bird.

“I am going to the west side of the river, Brother Dear,” the bulbul shouted back. “Come along when you are ready!” And he disappeared into the jungle.

The jackal hunted all day long for the bulbul on the west side of the river, but he had no more luck this time than he did the day before.

The next morning when he heard the bulbul getting ready to leave, he raised himself up form the bed and called out: “Oh, Little Brother! Where are you off to, today?”

“I think I shall go back to the east side of the river again,” answered the bulbul. “The hunting is excellent there. Why don’t you join me?” And off he flew, without waiting for an answer.

“This time I will!” shouted the jackal, lying back on his bed. Then he added to himself: “And this time the hunting will be excellent!”

But now the Jackal knew that the bulbul was deceiving him. If the bulbul said he was going to the east side of the river, he would surely be flying to the opposite side. The jackal got out of bed with great determination and went no to the east side of the river but to the west side. There he found the bulbul bird on the ground, eating berries.

Out of the bushes jumped the jackal, shouting:

“Little Brother, I will eat you now for deceiving me!”

But the nimble bird was too quick for the jackal. Up he flew, into the berry bush-the jackal’s jaw snapping the air behind him.

“Oh, Meetju, you are right!” admitted the bird quickly, to the great surprise of the angry jackal. “I have deceived you and that is the very worst thing anyone could do to his beloved meet.” His voice was full of penitence. “For punishment I deserve to be eaten, but it would make my next life easier if I give myself up rather than allow you to catch me. You will gain great favor with the Gods, yourself, if you grant me this last, small request. Open your mouth and I will fly in. But be sure to close our eyes, because I cannot bear to have you see me die this way.”

The obliging jackal sat on his haunches, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth as wide as possible. But the bulbul bird, instead of plunging to his death, picked a big cluster of sour berries from the bush, flew over the jackal’s mouth, and dropped them in. The jackal gagged on the sour berries; his body doubled up as he coughed and choked.

When the bulbul looked back and saw the success of his little trick he laughed so hard his eyes turned red, and they have been red ever since.

The jackal, who was never able to catch his Meetju, howled at his own helplessness. He can still be heard howling on a warm, dark night.