EP 336: Bickermanji The Inquisitive; The Brahmin’s Daughter (Dracott)
BICKERMANJI THE INQUISITIVE
There was a certain Rajah whose name was Bickermanji. He was very inquisitive, and always wished to know everything that was going on in his kingdom, and what his subjects were doing.
At night he disguised himself in common clothes and a blanket, and walked quietly in the streets and bazaars to spy on the people. Next day, when complaints were brought to him of the doings of this or that person, he knew all about it.
In this way he observed that a certain woman, the wife of a Bunniah, used to leave her home every night, carrying a clay pot, called a chattie, on her head and carrying some food. Arriving at the river, she floated the chattie, and sat upon it, thus getting a passage to the other side, where she visited a Fakir.
Early in the morning she returned, carrying the chattie full of water for the day’s use; and since this was a normal custom of the native women in the East, it was never suspected that she had spent nearly the whole night away from her home. Bickermanji observed all this, and wondered to himself how the matter would end.
One day the woman’s husband, who had been away in another country, came back, so she had to make his food. That being so, she could not sneak away as early as usual. When she arrived, the Fakir was upset with her late arrival, and she made excuses because her husband was home.
“What do I care about your husband?” said the Fakir. “Is he better than a holy man? Go this moment and bring me his head.”
This she did, much to the Fakir’s surprise; but, instead of being pleased at her obedience to his wishes, he was angry, and said: “If you killed your husband, you will one day kill me also.”
So he drove her from his presence, and she returned to her own home, where, taking her husband’s head upon her knee, she set up a great weeping and lamentation, which attracted all her neighbours and brought them together.
“My husband had only just returned from a journey, bringing money; and see, thieves have stolen his money, and murdered him during the night.”
Her neighbours believed this, and prepared to carry her husband to the burning ghât, for he was a Hindu. While they did this, the woman declared that she would follow, and perform the sacred rite of suttee, or being burnt upon her husband’s funeral pyre.
Although impressed by her supposed devotion to her husband, her friends wrote to Bickermanji, and begged him to stop her.
Bickermanji knew all that had really happened, and meant to show his own wisdom and the woman’s crime, also to punish her as he thought best. So he promptly forbade the suttee.
The widow then wrote to Rajah Bickermanji’s stepmother, a very clever woman, and asked her to intercede, that she might die with her husband. Then his stepmother said: “My son, allow this suttee to take place, and within eight days I will give you my reasons.”
This aroused the curiosity of his nature, and, much against his will, he consented; so the woman had her own way.
He waited impatiently for the eight days to be over, and then went to his stepmother, who ordered a dooly, and, taking a goat with her, asked him to accompany her to the nearest temple. Arriving there, she asked him to stand at the door, and left the goat outside.
“When I come to the door, if I say ‘kill,’ you are to kill the goat, but if not, stay where you are,” were the old woman’s instructions as she went to make her offering of fruit and flowers and sweets.
Soon she returned, and said: “Kill,” so Bickermanji cut off the head of the goat. “Sit upon the head, my son.”
He did as he was told, but no sooner had he done so, when the head rose up into the air with him, away through space for hundreds of miles, until he came to a wall which surrounded a space twelve miles square. In this was a garden and beautiful house; and after wandering some little time, Bickermanji found water and food, a comfortable couch to lie upon, and a hookah to smoke, but not a human being was anywhere to be seen. This puzzled him, but as he was both hungry and tired, he made a good meal, smoked his hookah, and laid down to sleep.
“If I sleep, I sleep, if I die, I die; a man can but die once.”
Now the place belonged to an Indian fairy called a purree, who used to come during the night, and stay away all day. The servants came an hour or two beforehand just to see that everything was comfortable; and when they found Bickermanji lying fast asleep, they wished to kill him, but an old woman interceded on his behalf, so they left him alone until the purree came.
Bickermanji was greatly surprised to see a strange winged being standing before him, and expected immediate death; but the Strange One spoke kindly, and begged him not to fear, but to make the place his home for as long as he liked.
Each day passed by quietly, and in the pleasures and ease of his present existence, Bickermanji soon forgot his kingdom, his wife, and his children.
Before going away one morning the purree said: “There are four rooms in this house which you must never open; I will point them out to you, but, for the rest, you may use them as you will.”
This request at once excited Bickermanji’s old spirit of curiosity; and, as soon as he found himself alone, he went quickly to the door of the first room and opened it.
Within stood a horse, which turned gladly towards him, and said: “I have not seen the light of day, or had an hour’s freedom, ever since I was given to the fairy by Rajah Sudra. If you will take me out, I will show you all the world, and even the secret place where the fairies dance.”
Bickermanji was delighted, and immediately led out the horse, which he saddled, mounted, and rode for a wonderful and delightful ride.
In the evening the fairy, or purree, again warned him against opening any of the four forbidden doors; but the very next day he opened the second one, and there found a large elephant chained up.
The elephant complained bitterly of its fate, and begged Bickermanji to pity it, and take it out, which, if he did, it would in return show him much that was wonderful in the world; so Bickermanji again had a very interesting day.
The following morning he opened the third door and found a camel inside. It too took him to all sorts of new and interesting places which were the haunts of fairy beings.
Now only one door was left, and Bickermanji was determined to open that also; and when he did, he beheld a donkey, standing inside. The donkey complained just as the other animals had done, and begged for its release; but as Bickermanji mounted it for his usual ride, he found himself back in his old kingdom.
“My back aches,” said the donkey; “leave me a while to rest, and you go, in the meantime, to the nearest bazaar for food. When you return you will find me here.”
But when Bickermanji returned there was no donkey to be seen; so he tore his hair and wept bitterly, asking all the passers-by if any of them had seen his ghuddee, or donkey.
Many of the inhabitants of the town recognised him, and said: “Our Rajah has come back, and is asking for his ghuddee,” which, in Hindustanee, means “throne” as well as “donkey.”
At last his stepmother heard of his return, and sent for him. He told her that he would give anything to be able to return to the place from which the donkey had brought him.
“Was it not I who sent you there,” she replied, “and could not I send you back again? What are you willing to do in order to return? Are you willing to slay your own son to go?”
“Yes, I would even do that.”
“Well, come with me as before to the temple, only, instead of a goat, take your son with you, and a sword. When I say ‘kill’ you must kill, but not before.”
So the three went to the temple, and the stepmother stood in the doorway and cried “Kill”; but before the Rajah could raise his sword she rushed forward and seized it.
“Stop! do not kill your son. Do you remember the suttee, and how you judged her and wished to punish her for killing her husband on account of a friend, and now you would kill your own son for the sake of pleasure! All that has happened has been done to teach you a lesson; go you to your Palace, and there reign with greater wisdom than before.”
Moral.—“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
The End
THE BRAHMIN’S DAUGHTER
A certain Brahmin’s wife had no affection for her seven stepdaughters, and persuaded their father to get rid of them. So he invited the girls to come with him on a visit to their grandmother, but on the way he slipped away quietly and left them eating plums in the jungle.
After a while they found themselves all alone, and as night fell they were very frightened, and hid themselves in the hollow of a large tree. Here a tiger found them and ate six, leaving only the youngest sister alive.
She hid in the tree for several days, and at last a Rajah found her, and asked how she had got there. Then she told him the whole story, and he felt pity for her and married her.
But she often wondered what had become of her father, and whether he was alive or dead; and when she remembered the fate of her sisters, she secretly made up her mind to get revenge on her stepmother.
Then she called a crow, and asked if it would go to her former home with a letter from her. In the letter she told her father of her sisters’ fate and of her own good fortune.
The crow carried the news to her father, and, greatly surprised, he read the contents of his daughter’s letter to his wife.
The woman was mercenary as well as cruel, and advised him to lose no time in visiting her, and bringing back all the money he could secure.
So the Brahmin went and spent eight or nine days in the Palace.
As he was preparing to return home, the girl called him, and gave him a box containing a snake, a scorpion, and a wasp; and as it was securely locked, he had no suspicion of its contents.
“Take this,” she said, “and give it with the key to my mother; let her be alone in her room when she receives it, so that she may enjoy my gifts by herself.”
Then she gave him another box full of clothes and jewels and money for himself.
After a long journey, the Brahmin arrived at his home, and said to his wife: “This box is for me, and this one for you; keep it carefully, and open it when you are alone; here is the key.” So saying he went out, shut the door, and put on the chain.
Soon the woman began to cry: “I’m bitten, I’m bitten!” but he mistook it for “I’ve eaten, I’ve eaten!” meaning that he should come and share the feast. So he replied: “I’ve had my share, you eat what is your own share.”
When he opened the door, he found her dead, so he packed up his things and returned to his daughter, and lived happily ever after.
The End
Source: Simla Village Tales, by Alice Elizabeth Dracott
Photo Credit: “Evening Funeral Pyre, Varanasi India” by AdamCohn is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
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