Sagas from the Far East; or, Kalmouk and Mongolian Traditionary Tales. Various
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I saw when he first came in that he recognized us for what we are. We have had good fortune hitherto, but it has forsaken us now; it were better we got away. I know what he will do; in a day or two, when he has cured the Khan by not letting us approach him to devour his life, he will assemble together all the men of the place with their arms, and all the women, telling them to bring each a faggot of wood for burning. When all are assembled he will say, ‘Let that he-goat be brought to me,’ so they will bind thee and take thee before him. Then will he say to thee, ‘Lay aside thine assumed form,’ and it will be impossible for thee not to obey. When he has shown thee thus in thine own shape they will all fall upon thee, and put thee to death with swords and arrows, and burn thee in the fire. And afterwards with me will he deal after the same manner. Now, therefore, to-morrow or the next day we will be beforehand with him, and will go where we shall be safe from his designs.”
When the man heard all this, he left off from following the goat, and went back with good courage, to take up his place again over against the pig’s head by the side of the Khan’s couch.
In the morning the Khan woke, refreshed with his slumber; and when they inquired how he felt, the Khan replied that the soothsayer’s power had diminished the force of the malady.
“If this be even so,” here interposed the soothsayer, “and if the Khan has confidence in the word of his servant, command now thy ministers that they call together all thy subjects—the men with their arms, and the women each with a faggot of wood for burning.” Then the Khan ordered that it should be done according to his word. When they were all assembled, the pretended soothsayer, having set up his pig’s head, commanded further that they should bring the he-goat out of the stable before him; and when they had bound him and brought him, that they should put his saddle on him. Then he sprang on to his back, and gave him three blows with all his strength, and dismounted. Then with all the power of voice he could command, he cried out to him, “Lay aside thine assumed form!”
At these words the he-goat was changed before the eyes of all present into a horrible Manggus, deformed and hideous to behold. With swords and sticks, lances and stones, the whole people fell upon him, and disabled him, and then burnt him with fire till he was dead.
Then said the soothsayer, “Now, bring hither the Khanin.” So they went and dragged down the Khanin to the place where he stood, with yelling and cries of contempt.
With one hand on the pig’s head, as if taking his authority from it, the soothsayer cried out to her, in a commanding voice—
“Resume thine own form!”
Then she too became a frightful Manggus, and they put her to death like the other.
The soothsayer now rode back to the Khan’s palace, all the people making obeisance to him as he went along—some crying, “Hail!” some strewing the way with barley, and some bringing him rich offerings. It took him nearly the space of a day to make his way through such a throng.
When at last he arrived, the Khan received him with a grateful welcome, and asked him what present he desired of him. The soothsayer answered, with his usual simplicity, “In our part of the country we have none of those pieces of wood which I see you put here into the noses of the oxen: let there be given me a quantity of them to take back with me.” The Khan then ordered there should be given him three sacks of the pieces of wood for the oxen, and seven elephants laden with meal and butter to boot.
When he arrived home, his wife came out to meet him with brandy, and when she saw the seven elephants with their loads, she extolled him highly; but when she came to learn how great was the deliverance he had rendered to the Khan, she was indignant that he had not asked for higher reward, and determined to go the next day herself to the Khan.
The next day she went accordingly, disguised, and sent in a letter of the following purport to the Khan:—
“Although I, the Pig’s head soothsayer, brought the Khan round from his malady, yet some remains of it still hang about him. It was in order to remove these that I asked for the pieces of wood for the oxen; what guerdon has been earned by this further service it is for the Khan to decide.”
Such a letter she sent in to the Khan.
“The man has spoken the truth,” said the Khan, on reading the letter. “For his reward, let him and his wife, his parents and friends, all come over hither and dwell with me.”
When they arrived, the Khan said, “When one has to show his gratitude, and dismisses him to whom he is indebted with presents, that does not make an end of the matter. That I was not put to death by the Manggus is thy doing; that the kingdom was not given over to destruction was thy doing; that the ministers were not eaten up by the Manggus was thy doing: it is meet, therefore, that we share between us the inheritance, even between us two, and reign in perfect equality.” With such words he gave him half his authority over the kingdom, and to all his family he gave rich fortunes and appointments of state. And thus his wife became Khanin; so that while he could indulge himself in the same idle life as before, she also enjoyed rest from her household and pastoral cares10.
“Though the woman despised her husband’s understanding,” exclaimed the Khan, “yet was it always his doings which brought them wealth after all!”
And as he let these words escape him, the Siddhî-kür replied, “Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips. “And with the cry, “To escape out of this world is good!” he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.
Tale V.
When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his journey, without hesitation or loss of time he once more betook himself to the cool grove, and summoned the Siddhî-kür to come with him, threatening to hew down the mango-tree.
But as he bore him along, bound in his bag of many colours, in which was place to stow away an hundred, the Siddhî-kür spoke thus, saying, “Tell thou now a tale to beguile the weariness of the way.” But the Well-and-wise-walking Khan answered him nothing. Then said the Siddhî-kür again, “If thou wilt not tell a tale, at least give the token that I may know thou willest I should tell one.”
So the Khan nodded his head backwards and the Siddhî-kür told this tale, saying—
How the Serpent-gods were propitiated.
Long ages ago there reigned over a flourishing province, a Khan named Kun-snang1. He had a son named “Sunshine” by his first wife who afterwards died. He also had a second son named “Moonshine,” by his second wife. Now the second wife thought within herself, “If Sunshine is allowed to live, there is no chance of Moonshine ever coming to the throne. Some means must be found of putting Sunshine out of the way.”
With this object in view she threw herself down upon her couch and tossed to and fro as though in an agony of pain. All the night through also instead of sleeping, she tossed about and writhed with pain. Then the Khan spake to her, saying, “My beautiful one! what is it that pains thee, and with what manner of ailment art thou stricken?” And she made answer—
“Even when I was at home I suffered oftwhiles after the same manner, but now is it much more violent; all remedies have I exhausted previous times, there remains only one when the pain is of this degree, and that means is not available.”
“Say not that it is not available,” answered the Khan, “for all means are available to me. Speak but what it is that is required, and whatever it be shall be done, even to the renouncing of my kingdom. For there is nothing that I would not give in exchange for thy life.”
But for a long time she made as though she would not tell him, then finally yielding to his repeated inquiries, she said, “If there were given