Children's Literature Part 48

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the Brahman--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the cage--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"

"Yes--no----Please, my lord--"

"Well?" cried the tiger impatiently.

"Please, my lord! How did you get in?"

"How? Why in the usual way, of course!"

"Oh, dear me! my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"

At this the tiger lost patience, and jumping into the cage, cried, "This way! Now do you understand how it was?"

"Perfectly!" grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they were!"

183

The story that follows is from Mrs. Kingscote's _Tales of the Sun_, as reprinted in Joseph Jacobs' _Indian Fairy Tales_. Mr. Jacobs explains that he "changed the Indian mercantile numerals into those of English 'back-slang,'

which make a very good parallel." As in other cases, the value of Jacobs' collection must be emphasized. If the teacher is limited to a single book for story material from the Hindoos, that book must be the one made by Joseph Jacobs. With well-chosen tales, with the slight changes here and there necessary for use with children, with just enough scholars.h.i.+p packed out of the way in the introduction and notes, the book has no rival.

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL

In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went about together. Once upon a time they had traveled far afield, and were returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near their village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had never heard, and while they were still in the middle of it the robbers stood before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered them to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them, and so, though they were many more in number, they had to submit themselves to the robbers, who took away everything from them, even the very clothes they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth a span in breadth and a cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their property now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their loin-cloth, and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them to dance.

There was among the ten merchants one who was very clever. He pondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which the three robbers had seated themselves on the gra.s.s. At the same time he observed that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in the a.s.surance of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now commencing to dance; and, as a song is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:

"We are enty men, They are erith men: If each erith man, Surround eno men Eno man remains.

_Ta, tai tom, tadingana._"

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had understood his meaning, because they had been trained in trade.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.

"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask.

"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant unless he be acquainted with trade language. By the rules of this secret language erith means "three," enty means "ten," and eno means "one." So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders that they were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.

The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly seated chewing betel and tobacco. Meanwhile the song was sung a third time. _Ta tai tom_ had left the lips of the singer; and, before _tadingana_ was out of them, the traders separated into parties of three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the leader himself--tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth, six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached their village they often amused their friends and relatives by relating their adventure.

184

In recent years several j.a.panese stories have made their way into the list of those frequently used in the lower grades. Some of these are of unusual beauty and suggestiveness.

The oriental point of view is so different from that of western children that these stories often cannot be used in their fully original form, although it would be a distinct loss if the available elements were therefore discarded. So, in this instance departing from the plan of giving only authentic copies of the tales here reprinted, the excellent retold versions of two j.a.panese stories are given as made by Teresa Peirce Williston in her _j.a.panese Fairy Tales_. (Copyrighted. Used by permission of the publishers, Rand McNally & Co.) In these simple versions the point to the story is made clear in natural fas.h.i.+on without undue moralizing.

THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA

VERSION BY TERESA PEIRCE WILLISTON

In Matsuyama there lived a man, his wife, and their little daughter.

They loved each other very much, and were very happy together. One day the man came home very sad. He had received a message from the Emperor, which said that he must take a journey to far-off Tokio.

They had no horses and in those days there were no railroads in j.a.pan.

The man knew that he must walk the whole distance. It was not the long walk that he minded, however. It was because it would take him many days from home.

Still he must obey his Emperor, so he made ready to start. His wife was very sorry that he must go, and yet a little proud, too, for no one else in the village had ever taken so long a journey.

She and the baby walked with him down to the turn in the road. There they stood and watched him through their tears, as he followed the path up through the pines on the mountain side. At last, no larger than a speck, he disappeared behind the hills. Then they went home to await his return.

For three long weeks they waited. Each day they spoke of him, and counted the days until they should see his dear face again. At last the time came. They walked down to the turn in the road to wait for his coming. Up on the mountain side some one was walking toward them. As he came nearer they could see that it was the one for whom they waited.

The good wife could scarcely believe that her husband was indeed safe home again. The baby girl laughed and clapped her hands to see the toys he brought her.

There was a tiny image of Uzume, the laughter-loving G.o.ddess. Next came a little red monkey of cotton, with a blue head. When she pressed the spring he ran to the top of the rod. Oh, how wonderful was the third gift! It was a _tombo_, or dragon fly. When she first looked at it she saw only a piece of wood shaped like a T. The cross piece was painted with different bright colors. But the queer thing, when her father twirled it between his fingers, would rise in the air, dipping and hovering like a real dragon fly.

Last, of course, there was a _ninghio_, or doll, with a sweet face, slanting eyes, and such wonderful hair. Her name was O-Hina-San.

He told of the Feast of the Dead which he had seen in Tokio. He told of the beautiful lanterns, the Lanterns of the Dead; and the pine torches burning before each house. He told of the tiny boats made of barley straw and filled with food that are set floating away on the river, bearing two tiny lanterns to guide them to the Land of the Dead.

At last her husband handed the wife a small white box. "Tell me what you see inside," he said. She opened it and took out something round and bright.

On one side were buds and flowers of frosted silver. The other side at first looked as clear and bright as a pool of water. When she moved it a little she saw in it a most beautiful woman.

"Oh, what a beautiful picture!" she cried. "It is of a woman and she seems to be smiling and talking just as I am. She has on a blue dress just like mine, too! How strange!"

Then her husband laughed and said: "That is a mirror. It is yourself you see reflected in it. All the women in Tokio have them."