KACHARI FOLK-TALES AND RHYMES. J. D. Anderson Question.— Tumi Nang ki m kaba bungnÙ khujÁ? nÂmaidang? Answer.— MangalbÁr MangalbÁr dinÁ dinÁ may Âng ishkulalai ishkulau gaichhilon. thÂngdangman. ÂmÁr ZangnÎ parikshÁr parikhÂ-nÎ din haichhile. din zÂdangman. MÁstore MÂstor ÁmÁre zangfÙrkhÔ ghar nÅ Âhibalai fainÙ-lÂgi du du bÁjit bÂzit chuti chuti dile. hÙnai. Gharat NÅ Áhi, fainÂnai, khai-dai-kari, zÂÙi lÙngÙi, Nandir tÁt Nandi-nÎ-au paribalai sÙlungnÙ lÂgi galon. thÂngnaise. Nandiye Nandi mot-kai Âng-nÙkhri beshi pare. sÙlÙng-sÎ-nÙ. Tin Tini bÁjit baziau may Âng gaichhilon. thÂngnai. TÁt Bean derh ghanta ghantÂ-se-khaise parichhon. sÙlÙngnai. SÁre Ghant chÁri bÁjit brÙi-khaise pari sulungbai thakÁr parÁ thÂnai-au mar ÂngnÎ Paramesvari Paramesvari bhanir ÂgÙi-nÎ mÁt mÂthÙ sunilon; khnÂnaise; “MaharÁnir “MahÂrÂni-nÎ dohai, dohai, Kampanir Kampani-nÎ dohai, dohai, mar ÂngnÎ garbbhabati modom-au thÂnai baiek ÂgÙi-nÎ chulit kheneau dhariba homnÙ ne pai.” manÂ.” E Be rakam baidÎ buli bungnai sunÁte khnÂnai-au may ulai Áhilon. Âng onkhÂt-bÙ-naise. Dekhon ji Nunaise Kuntiye Kunti-zang GilÁsiye GilÂsi-zang chulia-chuli-kai kheneau hom-lai-nÂnai pariyÁchhe, goglainÂnai dang, Áru ÂrÙ Paramesvariye Paramesvari zang o IlÁsiye. IlÂsi-zang. Mosai Mosai e rul dÁl rul gong-se Ánipelai lÂnÂnai GilÁsik GilÂsikhÔ erwai dile, sÅgÅ-hÙ-naise, Kuntik KhhunthikhÔ Ágar mÁri dharichhe. hom-khiÙp-naise. BÁm hÁte ÂkhsÎzang Kuntir Khunti-nÎ hÁtat ÂkhÂiau dharichhe, homdang, hon Âgd hÁtat rulir zang rul zang ÁghÁt karichhe bu dang Kunti tatkhÂnÂt Khhunti obÂnÙ pari gaichhe. gaglai-nÂngnai. TÁr BÎnÎ sheshe unau Madhu Madhu Áhichhe. fainai. Âhi FainÂnai Kuntik KhuntikhÔ chulit kheneau dhari e homnÂnai char sÙbÂ-se mÁrichhe. sÙbÂnaise. May galon; Âng thÂngnaise; gay pelay thÂngnÂnai kalon: khithÂnaise: “Apo “Brai e sab befÙr ba? anyÁy hÂm kathÁ. khorÂng. He Be ke janie sÂne-sÙÂbÙ tomÁr nangnÎ jiyar, fisÂzÙ, e be ke janie sÂne-sÙÂbÙ tomÁr nangnÎ jiyar. fisÂzÙ. TomÁr NangnÎ jiyar-hatak fisÂzÙ-fÙrkhÔ ji zi ne mÁrilÁ, buÂ-khÙise, mor ÂngnÎ bhani-hatak ÂgÙi-fÙr-khÔ kio mÂnÙ mÁrilÁ? bunai? TomÁr NangnÎ jiyar-hatak fisÂzÙ-fÙr-khÔ o bÙ mÁriba puÁ, bu-nÂngauman, mor ÂngnÎ bhanihatak ÂgÙi-fÙr-khÔ o bÙ mÁriba puÁ. bu-nÂngauman. Âru ran bhÁngi ÂrÙ nÂnglai-nai diba puÁ.” sefai-nÂngauman.” E ErÙi buli kawÁte khithÁnai-au mok Âng-khÔ bukate zerbÂ-i-au BÂngÂli-ghusÂ1 BÂngÂli-ghus marile. saunaise. He Be ghusÁ khai, sau-zÂ-nÂnai may Âng jijir-muÁ zingri-mutd khÁlon. maunaise. TenekwÂte EreaunÙ mar ÂngnÎ bapair ÂtÂr mÂt mÂthÙ sunichhon. khnÂnaise. Bapay-e ÂfÂi kaichhe: khithÂdang: “Mor ”ÂngnÎ garbha-bati modom-au thÂnai chÁwÁlik hingzausÂkhÔ ne mÁribÍ.” d bu.” Kawate KhithÂnai-au-nÙ Mosai MosÂi ahile; fainaise; mor ÂngnÎ bapaik ÂfÂkhÔ e mÁr phongse mÁrichhe. budang. BapÁye Âf bÁgari parichhe. gaglainaise. TÁr BÎnÎ pichhat unau Madhue MadhuÂ-bÙ e mÁr phongse mÁrichhe. budang. TÁr BÎnÎ pichhat unau KÁmesvar KÂmesvar bar w bÁns gedet e dal gongse lai Áhichhe. lÂbodang. Mar manat Ang sandeha hal. gÎnaise. Mor ÂngnÎ bapÁy Âf bu?ha brai mÁnu. mÂnsÙi. E Be du phong-ne mÂrate bu-nai-au-nÙ bapay ÂfÂi kÁpi maubai Áchhe. thÂdang. TenekwÁte BebaidÎ-nÙ KÁmesvare Kamesvar marichhe fongse e mÁr. budang. SÂnÙi brai burui man. PhÂre unau bÎsur gothai brai-buruÎ zÂlÂngbÂ, burui zingÂsÎnÂnai brainu khithÂnaise “Brai, zang­fÙrh zÎ dÂnai fisÂfur dang, bÎsÙr m zÂnÂnai thÂnggan?” Erui bungb braia mai hu khÂmnu lÂgi KhubernÎau thÂngnÂnai, mai sobai bÎsor ÂrÙ lai-megong lÂf megong bÎfÙr mÂnÎ-nÎ bÎgot-zului bÎnÂnai nÅ-i-au lÂbÔnÂnai sÂnsnÎ sÂnzÂt lÂmÂiau ho? thÂnÂnai, nÅ man-fai-nÂnai buruinÙ khitha­naise: “Ang gasenÙ bigot-zului lÂbobai.” PhÂre nÅ-i-au sÂn-ne-sÙ thÂnÂnai, khet khÂmnÙ lÂgi sorai fithÂ-gundui lÂnÂnai hÂ, nainÙ lÂgi thÂngnaise. PhÂre gahÂm hÂ, dÅtse nai-ui frÂbui fÂtbrÙi-thing-bÙ zur khÂnÂnai dinnanai nÅ fainaise. Unau sÂnse­ni-khÂli khodal sekhÂ, bifÙr-mÂni lÂnÂnai thÂngnÂnai hÂgr eonÂnai ÂrÙ bÎ hÂgrÂtÙrkhÔ saunÂnai hÂkhÔ mazÂng khÂmnaise. BÎnέfrai, sanz sanÂp ÂrÙ s khÙl fÂtbrÙi-thing khulumnÂnai khon brÙithing phongse phongse zaunaise. Once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman. And when they were quite old, the old woman said to her husband “How shall these our children get food when we are gone?” So the old man travelled afar to the great god Kuvera,26 the god of riches, and, taking from him seedlings of paddy, pulse, mustard, and gourds, journeyed for eight days and so reached his home. And after staying a couple of days, he set forth to cultivate, taking dry food with him. And first he marked out a piece of rich land by placing boundaries on all four sides of it, and so came home. And again he set out another day with hoe and axe, and cut and burned the jungle, and cleaned the soil, and after worshipping on each side of his field—on the east and on the west, on the north and on the south—he struck one blow with his hoe on each side. BiaunÙ h gasenÙ mannaise. PhÂre baidÎ baidÎ mai ÂrÙ fÎfÂng megon-thaigong boikhÔbÙ fÙnÂnai hÙnaise. PhÂre hÂb zapb brai nÅi-au thÂngnÂnai zirai nÂnai thÂnaise. ObÂsÙ ÂzÎbÙ dang khÂlibÙ dang sÂnse burui mai nainÙ lÂgi braikhÔ lÙgÙ homnaise. Khintu braia bungnaise “LÂm­iau dÙi gÙiÂ. Nangh dÙi gÂng-b Âng maunÎfrai hÙnÙ?” Theo­bÙ bÎ brai-nÎ khorÂng khnÂsong­lÂb embrÂbr braikhÔ homnai­khai lÂng-gnÂng-naise. PhÂre thÂn­gÙi thÂngÙi mainÎ h man-sÎ man-sÎ zÂbÂ, buruih dÙi gÂngnÂnai brainÙ khithÂbÂ, brai bung­naise “Âng nangnÙ dÙhÙi-nÙ khithÂ-dangman, nonggÂ? lÂmÂ-i au gÙia hannÂnai? Theo­bÙ ÂngnÎ khorÂng khnÂ-i-ÂlÂb fainÂnai ÂngkhÔ dukhu hÙÍÙ. EreÙi bungbÂ, burui bungnaise. DinÎ Âng dÙi man-lÂng-ÂbÂ, thoi-sÎ-gan. Nang Âng-nÙ dÙi hÙnÙ­nÂnggÔ.” PhÂre unau brai mung­bÙ upai mane zÂnÂnai, dÙi namai-nÂng-naise. NÂmaie n­maie fukurimanse nubÂ, bÎ buruinÎ megonkhÔ hÎ zang khÂnÂnai be fukuri-hÂ-lÂgi lÂngnaise. ÂrÙ brai bungnaise “Nang be fukuri khÔ naiÂlÂb dÙi lÂng.” Khintu dÙi lÂngbÂ-rÙ mÂb mÂb dÙi nÎ dau ÂrÙ hÂngsÙfr birlai-bÂ, bÎkhÔ khnÂnÂnai, bÎkhÔ nainÙ lubuinÂnai nainaise. BeaunÙ daufÙrnÎ gele­nai ÂrÙ rong zÂlainai nunÂnai bÎhÂbÙ brai zang rong zÂlainÙ mon zÂnaise. ObÂsÙ brai kh­mÂ, burui ÂgÂrÂ. PhÂre brai buruinÎ khorÂng lÂnÙ gnÂng z­naise. ObÂsÙ bÎsÙrh Âji-bÙ-thÂiÙ khÂli-bÙ-thÂiÙ gÅthÅ gÅthai zÂnaise. ZÂbÂ, bÎsÙrkhÔ fisÎnÙ hÂekhai brai bÎsÙrkhÔ buruinÎ khorÂngzang Hem-nÎ hÂzÔ-au lÂngnÂnai beaunÙ fukuri manse khÂmnÂnai baidÎ baidÎ n khÂm­nÂnai dÙiau hogÂrnÂnai dinbÙ-naise. And when all was ready, the old man planted his seedlings of various sorts, and finally went home and rested. And so, as time went by, the old woman desired vehemently to see how the crops were getting on. But the old man said “There is no water on the road, and if you grow athirst, you will get no relief.” But she persisted and prevailed, and made her husband take her along. And as they went, and were now quite close to her husband’s field, behold, the old woman began to be very thirsty. And the old man, being enraged, cried “What did I tell you? There is no water, and yet you would come.” But she, being a woman, said “If you do not give me to drink, I shall die. So, water you must procure as best you can.” So the old man, seeing no other way, went to seek for water. And after long search, seeing a tank, he bound the old woman’s eyes with a cloth and dragged her to the water’s edge and said to her “Drink if you will, but look not upon the tank.” Now the ducks and other water fowls were playing in the water, and were making a merry noise, clacking and quacking. And, the old woman, being curious, like all her sex, peeped at them. And, seeing them at their play, she too desired to be happy in her husband’s society, and, though he was very loth, prevailed with him. And so in due course there were born to them many sons and daughters. And then, in order to provide for their food, he journeyed to the Himalayas and digged a great tank, stocked with many kinds of fishes. PhÂre unau SrÎ brai sÙim fudrun mÂse lÂnanai, mÙi sess ÂrÙ khusung nÂmaibaie nÂmaibaie dÙi gÂngsÙ dangman. Ereau-nÙ SrÎ brai be fukuriau thÂng-fnÂng-naise. BeaunÙ dÙi nun­nai lÂngnÙ nÂmaibÂ, nÂfr bÎkhÔ raidaunaise. “AfÂ, nang benÍ dÙi lÂngbÂ, zangfÙrkhÔ gahÂm khÂmnÂnggan.” BeaunÙ bÎ sÙmai lÂnÂnai, dÙikhÔ lÂngbÂ, nÁfr bungnaise. “D nang zangfÙr­khÔ Loitho hÂlÂgÎ lÂng.” BeaunÙ SrÎ brai gaigainÙ lauthÎ zang dru-dru bÙ-bÙ-b khÎthÛ khÎthÛ dÙi bÙhÙi bÙnai, ÂrÙ nÂfr bÙ fai­naise. BÎbaidÎnÙ dÙis zÂnaise. ObÂsÙ unau nÂfr SrÎ brai-nÙ lao thaise ÂrÙ khumr thaise ho?aaise. Phr bÎkhÔnÙ lÂbÔnanai sÂse khurmÂ-nÎ nÅ-i-au hÂpfaib bÎnÙ zÔ mÎkhÂm ÂrÙ Ôm mÂse buthÂt­nÂnai hÙnaise. PhÂre okhÀ nai­b SrÎ brai be khumrÂ-khÔ bÎnÎ khurmÂnÙ hunaise. HÙb bi khumrÂkhÔ dÂnkhaub thÂk gaz mannÂnai ÂrÙ bÂtÎ-se khÂm zÂhÙnÙ lÂgi om buthÂtnaise. ÂrÙ om bikhau2 man-se dinnaise. ZÂkhÂng-Ùi frÂbÙi fainÙ nÂmaib om bikhaukhÔ SrÎ brainÙ hÙnaise. HÙb ÂrÙ brai laukhÔbÙ khurmÂnÙ hÙnaise. BÎ lau-au darbÎ gaz dangman. Khintu be khorÂngkhÔ brai mi-thiÂ. ÂrÙ bÎnÎ khurm­iÂ-bÙ bÎ-nÙ khithÂ-i-Â-khÙise. Unau brai nÅi-au fainaise. ÂrÙ bÎh nÅ-i-au bÎnÎ fisÂzÙ-khÔ zÂbr zÂnÂnai thÂnai nunaise. BÎ lao ÂrÙ khumrÂ-khÔ bÎnÎ khurmÂ-khÔ hÙlÂngnaikhai bÎbaidÎ zÂbr zÂnai ÂrÙ bÎnÎ khurmÂiÂ-bÙ be lao ÂrÙ khumrÂ-khÔ lÂkhmÂnaikhai zÂbr gabrÂp zÂnÂnai thÂnaise. ObÂsÙ bÎnÎ unau nÂ-fr oz zÂ-thÎ-nÂnai bÎsÙr-nÎ nÅ-i-au thÂngnÂnai gadÂn nai-hÙi-nÂnai3 khithÂnaise “Nang-sÙr zÙs mairong ÂrÙ goe zorÂse fÂthÙi zorÂse ÂrÙ dau mÂse lÂnÂnai dÙisÂ-i-au hÙnÂnai khu­lumbÂ, nang-sÙr-h zÂbr gÂgan.” BesÙr bibaidi-nÙ khÂmnÂnai zÂbr gÂnaise. BÎnÎkhai d BÅ­rÅfr dÙis dÙim fÙrkhÔ khulumÙ. Zapbai! Now, one day the god Sri, the god of good luck, came that way with his white dog, ahunting for deer and hares and tortoises. And when he came to the margin of the tank, behold he was very thirsty. But when he stooped to drink, the fishes said to him eagerly that he must grant them a boon in return for their water. To which he assented, and when he had satisfied his thirst, the fishes said “Take us to the great river, the Brahmaputra (or Lohit).” So the god Sri tied them to his staff, and drew them after him, making runnels of water. And that is how the rivers were made. And the fishes in return gave him a pumpkin and a gourd. And, taking these with him to a friend’s house, his friend regaled him with rice beer and pig’s flesh, and in the morning he gave his friend the pumpkin. But when his friend cut open the pumpkin, it contained nothing but pure silver. So he bade the god Sri stay another day, and brewed fresh beer and killed another pig, and when he was going away gave him a flitch of bacon to take with him. So the god Sri gave him also the gourd. But when he cut open the gourd, it contained nothing but pure gold. And so the god Sri journeyed to his home. And when he got there, he found that his little daughter was very ill. And that was because he had given away the presents which the fishes had made him. But the fishes took pity on him, and came to him in the guise of physicians, and told him that if he would worship and do sacrifice on the banks of rivers, then his daughter would be healed, which he did. And that is why we Kacharis worship rivers. And that is all. SÂse olsi gÅthÅ dangman. BÎ mÂlai hÂli oinÂnai mai gai zap-bÂ, obÂsÙ bÎ mÂmÂr dublÎau hÂli oi-hÙi-dang. PhÂre BÙthÙr brai olsia gÅthÅkhÔ hÂli oinai nunÂnai bÎ thÂngnÙ hÂekhai, bungnaise. “HelÙi gÅthÅ, nanglai d m hÂlÎ oidang-hÙi, bÙthÙr mobÂbÂnÙ thÂngbai. D mai gaibÂ, m z­bÂu-nÙ?” TheobÙ bÎ bÎkhÔ nai­finÂ, mosÔkhÔ bÙ dhum dhum dhÂm dhÂm4 bunÂnai, nÂtzret nÂt­flet bÂli oibai thÂiÙ. Unau brai khonle khonle sÙngnaikhai gÅthÅ brÂp-nÂnai nai-gedau-nÂnai bung­naise “Nanglai maunÎ brai lÙi? Âng khÔ hÂli oinaiau be baidÎ sÙngbai thÂiÙ? Angh m zÂdang, Âng sÙ mithÎdang.” BeaunÙ brai bungnaise “NonggÂ, lÙi ÂfÂ, Âng nangkhÔ gahÂm khorÂng-sÙ khithÂnÙ nÂmaidang!” BeaunÙ gÅthÅ bungnaise “M khorÂng dang? MÂmÂr khithÂ! Ângh hÂli oinÙ sÂn zolÂngbai!” ObÂsÙ brai bungnaise “DÅ hÂli oinÂnai m zÂnÙ? BÙthÙr thÂngbai,” hanbÂ, gÅthÅ bungnaise “BÎ bobething thÂngkhÙ? Mau thÂngkhÙ nang ÂngnÙ khithÂnanai hÙ. Âng mai gainÙ manÂbÂ, m zÂnÂnai thÂng-gan?” ObÂsÙ brai bungnaise “Nang ÂglÂnu mÂlai zang lÙgÙse hÂli oinÂnai mai gaib hÂmgauman, dÂlai bÙthÙr-khÔ sÙr nunÙ hÂgo, ÂrÙ mÂbrÙi bÎkhÔ laifin-nÙ?” BeaunÙ gÅthÅ bungnaise “Nang khithÎnÂnai hÙnÙ hÂbÂ, Âng bÎkhÔ zerÙÏbÂbÙ lÂbÔnÙ hÂgan.” HanbÂ, bÎkhÔ brai bÙlÙ hÂekhai khithÂnaise “Nang bething thÂngÙi thÂb khÅrÅ phut-thru-thru brai sÂse thokon thunÂnai dubli gezer gezer thangnai nugan. ObÂni nang bÎkhÔnÙ hom. ÂrÙ bÎ zere khithÂ-i-Ù nang bebaidÎnÙ khÂmdÙi” hannÂnai, bÙthÙr brai thÂngnaise. ObÂsÙ gÅthÅ hÂli hogÂrnÂnai nÅiau fainÂnai bÎm buruikhÔ mÂmÂr khÂm songnÙ hÙnÂnai, zÂÙi lÂngÙi bÎmÂnÙ khithÂnaise “Ai, nang gÂbun fungz­nÎ khÂm songnÂnai hÙ, ÂrÙ, mairong khothÂse bÙnnÂnai hÙ. Âng bÙthÙr braikhÔ hÙs-Ù-lÂng-nÙ. nÂnggÔ. “ManÂthÙ dinÎ Âng hÂli oinaiau brai sÂse fainÂnai mai gainainÎ BÙthÙr thangbai hann­nai khithÂnai, ÂrÙ bikhÔ hÙsÙ lÂngb mangan, ÂrÙ bÎzere khÂmnÙ thinÙ, bebaidÎ-nÙ khÂm hannÂnai khithÂlÂngnai.” ObÂsÙ buruia okh naib khÂm songnÂnai gÅth­ÅkhÔ zÂ-hÙ-Ùi lÂng-hÙ-Ùi mairong khothÂse bÙnnÂnai hÙnÂnai gÅthÅ­khÔ hogÂrnaise. GÅthÅ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi zaikhÔnÙ lÙgÙ manÙ, bÎkh-ÔnÙ sÙngÙ, bÎsÙr bungÙ: “BÙthÙr thÂngbai hannÂnai mithigÔ. BÎ mÂbrÙi ÂrÙ bobething thÂng-khÙ, bÎkhÔ zangfÙr khithÂnÙ hÂiÂ.” BeaunÙ gÅthÅ gadau-srau zÂnÂnai bobething thÂngan hannÂnai zerenÙ manÙ erenÙ dubli gezer gezer thÂbai baib gazÂnau brai sÂse nuho?naise Nuho?b bÎnÙ bÙ-thÙr zÂnÙ nÂnggÔ nungnÂnai, bÎ-khÔ bungnaise “ÂfÂ, rÅthÅ! dÅse rÅthÅ! Ang nang-ni-au manse khorÂng sÙngnÙ nÂmaidang.” TheobÙ brai khnÂsongÂlÂb thÂngÙi thÂiÙ. GÅthÅÂ-bÙ khithÙ khÎthÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi khithÂ-lÂngÙ. Gabauzang brai nai fÂfin-nanai bungnaise “M hekhong-hekhong sÙr gÅthÅlÙi maunÎ lÙi nanglai?” hannÂnai sÙngb gÅthÅ bungnaise “Âf brai, da brÂp-lÙi! ang manse dukhuau gaglÂi-nÂnai, nangnÎ khÂthiau faidang.” HanbÂ, brai “MÂmÂr khith mÂmÂr khitha Âng thÂngnÙ nÂnggÔ, Ângh nÅ gazÂn, hor-thÔ hÙi-gan;” hannaise. ObÂsÙ gÅthÅ khithÂnaise “Âf Âng nangkhÔ bÙthÙr brai baidÎ nÙiÙ. BÎnÎkhai nang ÂngkhÔ d buthÂt. MÂlai boibÙ mai gaithrÅ-bai Âng un zÂnanai daise bÙ gainÙ hÂ-e khÙise. BÎnÎkhai nang dÅse thÂng-fÂfin-b Ângha mai zagan” bungnaikhai, braia bÎnÙ khithÂ-naise “Âng d faibai, thÂng fÂ-finnÙ hÂlia, nang benÎfrai mÂmÂr thÂngnÂnai, zese hÂiÙ gathÂng-gabrÂm hÂli oinÂnai mai gaihÙithÂng.” ObÂsÙ gÅthÅ fainÂnai zerenÙ manÙ, erenÙ khothiÂ5 khinÎ-khÔ gai-brop-nÂnai dinnaise. Zapbai! The Story of the Lazy Boy. There was once a very lazy boy. And when everybody else had planted out his paddy, he was only setting forth to plough. But the old man of the season,27 seeing him, said “The season has gone; what are you ploughing for now? The paddy is all planted out, and it is late.” But the boy would not listen to him, and ploughed sturdily ahead, beating his cattle soundly as he went. And when the old man again and again questioned him, he cried “What sort of an old man is this? Can he not see that I am busy? I know very well what I am about.” But the old man said gently “Nay, my son: but it is for your good that I would speak to you.” And the boy said “Speak quickly then, and have done with it.” And the old man said “My son, the season is gone, what avails it to plough now?” And then the boy cried “Where has it gone? And when has it gone? And why has it gone? And how shall I find it?” But the old man of the season said “You should have ploughed when others did. The season has gone, and no man can bring it back.” But the boy said “I must bring it back, else, how shall I eat, and how shall I live? Do tell me where it is gone.” And as he would not let the god go, finally, losing patience, he said “You go over there, and you will find an old man with a snow-white head ploughing in a field. You get hold of him and do as he tells you.” So saying, he made his escape. Then the lad hastened home to his mother and bade her cook supper quickly, and tie him up some rice to take with him on the morrow, for he was going to bring back the departed season for ploughing. “For” said he “when I was ploughing today, an old man told me that the season was gone, and that if I went after him and pursued him I would find him, and that I must do as he would tell me.” So she rose very early in the morning, and giving him to eat and drink, set him on his way. And as he went, he asked all he met “Can you tell me where the old man of the season has gone?” But they said “Every one knows that the season is gone, but where it has gone, or why it has gone, who can say?” At last, when he was nearly in despair, he saw an old man ploughing afar off, and shouted to him “Stay a moment, father, stay; I want to ask you a question.” But the old man was busy, and went his ways. But the lad pursued him and never ceased calling after him till at last the old man, losing patience, turned upon him, and said “What pertinacious noisy lad is this, who won’t leave me alone?” But the lad said “Be not angry, my father, I am fallen into great trouble, and it behoves you to help me.” “Speak quickly, then,” said the old man. And the boy said “I take you to be the old man of the season, and I pray you not to slay me. All the others have planted out their paddy, and I have fallen behind, and have planted nothing. Therefore, unless you turn back, I cannot hope to get any harvest.” But the old man said “It is too late for me to return. Go you back, and plant your paddy as best you can.” And so the lad hastened back and planted out his seedlings in such heedless haste as became him. And that’s all! SÂnÙi brai bÙrÙih gÅthÅ sÂse dangman. Brai gÅthÅ uduibÂ-nÙ thoi-lÂng-naise. ObÂsÙ bÎm bÙ­rÙi bÎbai-nÂnai gÅthÅkhÔ bÂngai fidit-b gÅthÅ bungnaise “Ai, Âng d mosÔ gumnÙ hÂ-sÎ-gÔ. NÅ-se-au murkhi hÂpnÙ nÂmaiÙ.” BÎnÎ bÎm bungnaise “Âf fisÂtlaiÂ, nang Âng thoiÂgo mÂni dukhu zÂnÙ nÂnggÂ.” Khintu fis­tlai bÎnÎ dukhu mon hÙÂlÂb sÂse nÎ nÅiau murkhi hÂpnaise. PhÂre bÎkhÔ murkhiÂ-fr mosÔ gum-zÂp-nÙ hÙÂ. ObÂsÙ sÂse gurkhi brai bÎkhÔ onnÂnai gum zÂp-hÙ-naise. PhÂre gurkhiÂfr bÎkhÔ nunÙ hÂiÂ, ÂrÙ boibÙ bu-i-Ù. BÎnÎkhai unau bÎ thÂnÙ hÂekhai, monau dukhu khÂmnÂnai, bÙidÂkh-sÂri lÂngnaise.	An old man and an old woman had a son. But the father died while his son was yet a child, and the mother brought up her boy by begging from house to house. When he was big enough he begged his mother to let him engage himself as a cowherd. But she said “As long as I live, I must not let you undergo any trouble.” But the gallant boy would not listen, and went and took service as a cowherd. But the other cowherd boys would not let him go out herding with them, and hated him, and beat him, in spite of the help of a good old man who took him into his house, so, being unable to stay any longer for grief and vexation, he went away into foreign lands.
PhÂre thÂngÙi thÂngÙi bÎ nÂmÂ-i-au SimlÎ BÎr khÔ lÙgÙ mannaise. PhÂre bÎkhÔ bungnaise “Dau, nanglai m bÎr lÙi? SimlÎ bÎfÂng fÂngse mÂni bÂn-bÙ-dang!” ObÂnÙ bÎ bungnaise; ÂngnÙ m bÎr, lÙi, ÂdÂ? ZekhÔ bungÙ Gil Charan bÎr, bÎsÙ bÎr!” Ob gÅthÅ bungnaise, “BÎ bÎr ÂngnÙ!” BungbÂ, obÂ, “Âng nang zang thÂngfÂgan lÙi, ÂdÂ.” Erui hannÂnai, bÎ zang thÂngnaise. BebaidÎnÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi ÂrÙ Dhop BÎr khÔ lÙgÙ manbÂ, bÎkhÔ bÙ bungnaise “Dau, be lai m bÎr lÙi? Dhop bÎtÂng fÂngse mÂni hÂtsingnÙ bÂn-bÙ-gÂr-dang!” ObÂsÙ bÎ bungnaise “Ang-lai m bÎr lÙi, ÂdÂfÙr. Zi Gil Charan bÎr bÎ, sÙ!” Ob Gil Charan bungnaise, “E gÙi, bÎ lai ÂngnÙ nangg lÙi?” ErÙi hanbÂ, “O ÂdÂ, ob Âng-bÙ nang sÙr zang thÂngfÂgan,” hannÂnai bisÙr zang thÂngnaise. BebaidinÙ BÎsor BÎr, BÂndor BÎr, HÂgor BÎr, ÂrÙ O? BÎr boi zang bÎsÙr sÂrÅ bÎr zÂnaise. BebaidÎnu lÙgÙse thÂngÙi thÂngÙi sÂse. RaikhÔ burui-nÎ nÅ man-hÙi-bÂ, beaunÙ khÂm song-zÂ-nÙ lÂgi sÂse bÎr RaikhÔnÎ-au o? bainÙ thÂngnaise. ThÂngbÂ, RaikhÔ bÙrÙi mÂnsÙi nunÂnai zÂnÙ lubuinÂnai lomzÂ-thÎ-nÂnai udunÂnai thÂnaise, ÂrÙ bÎ bÎrkhÔ bungnaise “Âbo, Ângni khÂthi-au-nÙ o? dang, sukhÂngnÂnai lÂngfai!” HanbÂ, bÎ fainÂnai sukhÂngdangman. EreaunÙ khathiau thÂnai hÂkhorau zÙnÂnai khÙkhlainaise. BÎbaidi-nÙ gabÂu zÂbÂ, boibo sÂse sÂse thÂngnÂnai, beaunÙ gaglai-thrÅ-naise. ObÂsÙ Gil Charan bÎr manse khorÂng zÂbai nungnÂnai bÎau thÂngnÂnai, RaikhÔ buruikhÔ nunaise. ObÂsÙ bÎ RaikhÔ burui khÔ sÙbÂ-khrÂng ho?-naise. BeaunÙ bÙrÙi dukhu mannÂnai “Abo, nang ÂngkhÔ d buthÂt!” hanbÂ; “Ob Ângni ÂgÙifÙr khÔ dÎhonnÂnai hÙ.” Ereui bungnai-au-nÙ bÙrÙi zÂkhl gongse lÂbo­nÂnai besurkhÔ hÂkhor-nÎfrai dÎkhÂngnaise. PhÂre unau bÎ Raikho bÙrÙikhÔ bÙthÂt-naise.	And as he went his ways, he met Simli BÎr, the hero of the simul tree, and when he saw him he said “Ah! here is a hero indeed, seeing that you bear a whole silk-cotton tree on your shoulder.” But the other replied “Whom do you call a hero? I am no hero at all. If you want a real hero, look out for Gil Charan.” But the lad said “As for Gil Charan, why, I am Gil Charan.” On which Simli BÎr got leave to go with him. And as they went they met Dhop BÎr, and to him they said “You are something like a hero. Why, you are carrying a whole dhop tree all by yourself.” But the other said “My brothers, of what account am I? The man they call Gil Charan, he is a hero if you like.” Then Gil Charan said “But I am he.” On which Dhop BÎr said “Let me come with you too.” And, so saying, he too joined the party. And in like manner they were joined by other four champions, namely, Mustard, Monkey, Ocean, and Fire, six in all, besides Gil Charan. And when they had gone some way, one of them went into the house of a RÂkshashani to beg fire for cooking. But when the old wretch saw that it was a man, she desired to devour him, and to that end lay still, pretending to be ill, and said to him in a weak voice “The fire is quite close to me. Come and blow it up!” and when he came close, she gave him a kick and sent him flying into a pit; and, seeing that he did not come, another champion went on the same quest and was treated in like fashion. Then Gil Charan guessed that something out of the way had happened, and went there himself; and, perceiving that the old woman was a vampire, took her by the throat and shook her well. But she cried “Do not kill me, and I will show you where your friends are.” Then the old woman got a ladder and released the two champions from the pit. Whereupon they killed her, and went on their way rejoicing.
ArÙ bÎzang thÂngÙi thÂngÙi sÂne RaikhÔ thÂnai thauni man-hÙi-naise. Man-hÙi-bÂ, beaunÙ simlÎ-BÎr-khÔ mikhÂm song-nÙ thin-nÂnai, bÎsÙr shikÂr khÂmnÙ thÂngnaise. PhÂre bÎ khÂm songnÂnai dinnaise. Khintu Raikho sÂnÙi fainÂnai khÂmkhÔ zÂfainaise. PhÂre bÎsÙr fainÂnai, “khÂm hÙrÙ?” hannÂnai bungb “E ÂdÂfur, Âng mikhÂm songnÙ baugÂrbai lÎfÙr, manÂthu Âng gum mazÂng mÂse nunÂnai bÎkhÔ naibai thÂdangman.” Khintu Gil Charan bÎ khorÂngkho mithÎdangman. BÎnÎkhai bÎ th­nÂnai khÂm songnaise. PhÂre khÂm zÂnÙ lÂgi RaikhÔ sÂnÙi fainÂnai; “Ùi gÅthÅ! zangfÙrnÙ khÂm hÙ lÙi!” HanbÂ, bung­naise “ZangfÙrnÙ ukhÙinÂnai dang, nangsÙrnÙ mÂbrÙi hÙgan!” bungb “GÅdÅ-i-au set-b gÂkhir onkhÂtnai gÅthÅ-Â-nÙ6 zangfurkhÔ ereÙi khithÂiÙ nÂ?” bungbÂ, sÂnÙikhÔ-bÙ gÅdÅ homnÂnai Gil Charan dubli dotse nÎ gazÂn khubui-ho?-naise. ObÂsÙ bÎsÛr bÎnÎfrai bekhÔ zÂnÙ hannÂnai, brÂpnÂnai hÂrau-hurau hÙ-sÙ-lai-bÙ-naise. Ob bÎsÙr-khÔ-bÙ dÂn-thÂt-naise. BebaidÎnÙ sÂ-thÂm-nÎ-frai sÂrÅ-hÂ-lÂgi RaikhÔ bÙthÂtnÂnai, RaikhÔfurnÎ mikhÂm songnai sÂ?Å hÂnthÎ hingzau lÂbonÂnai, nÅ khÂmnÂnai zÂbai thÂnaise. Zapbai!	And presently they came to a place where Rakshashas dwelt. But, not knowing this, they left Simli BÎr to cook rice and the rest went hunting. And when the rice was ready, two Rakshashas came and gobbled it up, so when the rest returned, hungry, for food, SimlÎ BÎr said he was very sorry. He had quite forgotten to cook, being very busy watching a beautiful white butterfly. But Gil Charan at once saw that was only a pretext. So he bid the rest go, and, staying behind, himself cooked rice afresh. On which the two Rakshashas came up roaring, and said “Here, my son, hand over that rice.” “But,” said Gil Charan, undaunted, “we are hungry ourselves and have no rice to spare!” “What!” cried they “shall a scarcely weaned child speak to us like this?” and they ran at him to eat him. But he seized them by their necks and threw them a field’s length. And when they attacked him afresh, he slew them with his sword. And in like manner each of the BÎrs slew each his Rakshasha, and then each married a fair Rakshasha girl, and lived happily ever afterwards. And that’s all!

SÂse uduiau-nÙ bÎf thoizÂnai gÅthÅ dangman. PhÂre Âzi Âzi khÂli khÂli bÎ gedet zÂb sÂnse bÎmÂnÎ-au sÙngnaise “Ai, Âgl zangfÙrh ÂfÂ-i- lai m maunÂnai zÂdangman?” hanbÂ, bÎmÂi hÂm sunÂnai khithÂnaise “NamfÂi desÙ desÙ fÂlÂngÎ khÂmnÂnai zÂdangman. BÎ th­blÂ, d zangfr esebÙ dukhu zÂiÂman” hanbÂ, bÎ bungnaise. “Uh! ob bÎ hÂbÂ-khÔ Âng hÂi nÂ! Bese thÂk dang, ÂngnÙ dÎh­onnÂnai hÙ!” HanbÂ, bÎmÂi bungnaise “Âf nang bÎbaidÎ khÂmnÙ nÂnggÂ. Âng bÎÙi gÂpÙi nangnÙ zÂhÙgan. Nang mÂlainÎ dekhuau thÂngnÂnai mÂbruib thoib betb Âng mÂbrÙi thÂgan?” TheobÙ gÅthÅ Â khnÂsongÂlÂb embrÂ-br bÎmÂ-nÎ-au thÂk bÎnÂ-nai lÂnÂnai bastu bainaise, ÂrÙ nau gongse nÂmainÂnai lÂnaise, ÂrÙ gÂsenÙ zÅ zÂbÂ, mÂnsÙi sÂnÙi-sÙ homnÂnai bÎm buruikhÔ khulumnÂnai mÂlainÎ dekhu-au nau zang thÂngnaise. BebaidÎnÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi gÂmÎ dÅtse dÙi-gÂthan-au naukhÔ khÂnÂnai, gÂmÎ gÂmi bastu phÂn-hÙ-naise. BÎ gÂgai nau ne-Ù. BebaidÎnÙ thÂÙi thÂÙi beau-nÙ sÙrb brai burui sÂ-nÙi-h hÂngsÙ gufut mÂse dangman. BÎnÙ bÎsÙrnÙ dÙi laiÙi mikham songÙi hÙgrÂ-man. BÎkhÔnÙ sÂnse bÎ gÅthÅ dÙi ga­thÂnau gagainÎ hÂngsÙ-bÎgur-khÔ khÙnanai din-nÂnai ÂrÙ mazÂng sikhlÂ-s zÂnÂnai duguinai nunaise. BÎnÎfrainÙ boi hÂngsÙ-nÎ girim brai-bÙrÙi-khÔ on-sÙ-nÂnai thau ÂrÙ bÎnÎ nau-au zÎ zÎ bastu dang, ozÂinÙ bÂngai bÂngai hÙnÙ homnaise. BÎbaidÎnÙ bas­tufÙrkhÔ fÂnÙi fÂnÙi fÂn-zap-b nÅiau fainai so-nai-khai bÎ brai buruinÎ nÅ-iau thÂngnÂnai thÂk zÂbr hÙnÂnai, hÂngsÙ khÔ bÎbÂ, brai bÙrÙi “ErenÙ lÂng” hann­nai bungdangman, khintu bÎ fÂfÙ-8nÂng zÂnÙ gÎnÂnai, brai-nÎ-gnÂng bastu-khai embrÂ-br thÂk hÙnÂnai hÂngsÙkhÔ lÂbÔnaise. BÎnÎfrai nau lÂnÂnai fai-Ùi faiÙi nÅ man-fai-nÂnai, ÂzibÙ thÂiÙ khÂli-bÙ thÂiÙ bÎ hÂngsÙ mÂnsÙi zÂ-i-e nunÂnai, sÂnfrimbÙ hÂmlÂngnaise. BÎkhÔnÙ nunÂnai bÎm burui mÂlainÎau sÙngbai baib raubÙ mungbÙ khithÂnÙ hÂi Khintu biaunÙ bÙrÙi sÂse dangman. BÎnÎau sÙngbÂ, bÎ bungnaise “ÂgÙi, nang bÎkhÔnÙ mithi­khÙi nÂ? BÎ fÂlÂngi khÂmnai thÂngnai-au bÎh mÂb manse zÂdang. Nang bÎkhÔ buddÎ khÂmbÂ, mithÎnÙ hÂgan.” HanbÂ, bÎm bÙrÙi bungnaise “KhithÂ-ho?-hai, ai bÙrÙi, dhorom mangan.” HanbÂ, bÎ khithÂnaise “Nang sÂnse sÂse sikhlÂsa lÂbÔnÂnai nangnÎ gÅthÅnÎ them nainÙ thin. ArÙ them naibai thÂnai-au-nÙ gÂpthÎnÂnai sÙng-thÂng. “Nang mÂnÙ sÂnfrimbÙ hÂm-lÂng-dang?” ObÂnÙ bÎ bÎkhÔ on-khÂng-nÂnai bÎnÎ monau zÎ khorÂng dang, bÎ khithÂgan.” HanbÂ, bim bÎbai­dÎnÙ khÂmnaise. HingzausÂ-i them nainaiau-nÙ gÂpthÎnÂnai gongrai surukhÙ surukhÙ9 sÙng­naise “AdÂ-lÙi, nang-hÂ-lai m zÂdang? Nang bekhÔ khi­thÂiÂbÂ, Âng bÙ khÂm dÙi zÂiÂ,” hannaikhai gÅthÅ hÂm sunÂnai, bÎnÙ lÂse lÂse khithÂnaise “Ang fÂlÂngÎ khÂmnÙ thÂngnai-i-au d ÂngnÎ nÅ-iau zÎ hÂngsÙ gufut mÂse dang, bÎkhÔ mÂnsÙi zÂnai nudangman. Khintu bÎ d baidÎ-sÙi-Ùi-nÙ thÂbai. BÎnÎkhai Âng erebaidÎ zÂdang.” Them nai-khÂngb be gÂsenÙ khorÂng hingzausÂi bÎnÎ bÎmÂ-nÙ khith­naise. BekhÔ bÎmÂi khnÂnÂnai boi bÙrÙinÙ khith hÙi-naise lÂiÙ. Burui bÎkhÔ khnÂnÂnai buddÎ hÙnaise lÂiu: “Nang dinÎ boi hingzausÂkhÔ lÂbonÂnai khith­nÂnai hÙ, bÎ dinÎ ho?au udu-lÂng-thÎ-nÂnai thÂthang. Ho? gezerb hÂngsÙ mÂnsÙi zÂnÂnai gagainÎ modaifÙrkhÔ khulumbai thÂiÙ. BeaunÙ bÎ hÂngsÙ bÎgurkhÔ zuzai-mÙ-au sÙnÂnai hÙbÂ, obÂni mÂnsÙi-i-nÙ thÂ-sÎ-gan.” Be buddi hÙnai-baidÎnÙ bÎmÂi hingzausÂ-nÙ khithÂnaise, ÂrÙ hingzausÂi bÙ gÅthÅnÙ khi­thÂnÂnai hÙnaikhai, sÂnse gÅ­thÅ khurui gongseau khÂrezang thauzang golainÂnai dinnai, ÂrÙ songor manse dinnaise. Ho? zÂb bÎ udui-thÎ-lÂng-nÂnai thÂbÂ, hÂngsÙ ho?au sikhÂngnÂnai Âkhaiau Âthengau modom au-bÙ khepthu-bai-dang.10 TheobÙ bÎ khet-khut khÂmÂ-khuise. BÎnέkhai bÎ udu-lÂngmÂtbai nungn­nai, gagainÎ hÂngsÙ bÎgÙr khÔ lÂsehai khunÂnai dinnÂnai gÂgainÎ modai-fÙr-khÔ mon hÙnÂnai khulumbÂi thÂdangman. Ere-au-nÙ srÎ-srÎ lÂsehai sikhÂngnÂnai boi hÂngsÙ bÎgÙrkhÔ thÂpnehai zuzai-mÙ-au efopnÂnai dinnaise. Unau bigur khÂmnÂnai manÂm-khang-bÂ, bÎkhÔ manÂmnÂnai mannÂnai “ÂngkhÔ m khÂmkhÙ, m khÂmkhÙ?” hannÂnai, fÂtdrÂp-dÔ gaglainÁnai khÂnggrÂng-nÂnai thoi-hÂp-nÂnai thÂnaise. ObÂsÙ gÅthÅ mÂmÂr fainÂnai khuruinÎ thaukhÔ khÅrÅ-modom-Âtheng-Âkhai-au hÙnÂnai, songor zang sÎpbai thÂnaise, ÂrÙ bÎbaidÎnu sÎpÙi sÎpÙi thÂblÂ, gabÂu-zang hÂm sukhÂngnaise, ÂrÙ thÂng-khÂng-naise. BÎbaidÎ-nÙ mÂnsÙi zÂnÂnai, sÂnÙi-zang hÂb khÂm-lai-nÂnai zÂbr dinh lÂgi fis fisÙ zang rozo-rÙ-man zÂlai-bai thÂnai-se. Zapbai!

The Story of the Merchant’s Son.

There was a lad whose father died while he was a child. And when, by slow degrees, he came to man’s estate, he asked his mother one day how his father got a living. But she heaved a long sigh, and at last said “Your father traded in foreign countries, my dear; and if he were alive now, we would not be in such distress now.” But he said “Ah! mother, may not I work at the same trade? Give me all the money there is, and let me too go trading.” But his mother said “Nay! my son, do not say that. While I live, even if I have to beg, you shall not want. And if you die in strange lands, what is to become of me?” But her son would not hearken to her, and, begging money from her, bought merchandise, and hired a boat, and took two men with him; and, after doing obeisance to his mother, set forth into strange lands. And at last he moored his boat at the ghat of a certain village, and sent his men out to hawk his goods. But he himself stayed with the boat. And at that ghat dwelt an aged couple, who possessed a white and beautiful swan which they cherished as their own child, and fed with their own food. And one day at midday, when men were enjoying their siesta, the merchant lad saw the white swan remove her swan dress and bathe in the river, a lovely slim maiden. Whereupon he began to pay great regard to the old couple, and gave them of his store without money. But as time went by, all his goods were disposed of, and then he went to the old people and offered them a great price for their swan. Nor when they would give it to him for nothing would he accept it, seeing that it were a sin to take a wife as a gift. So, finally he made them take much money and went away home, taking his swan with him. But when he reached home, behold the swan remained a swan, and the lad was sore vexed and lost his sleep and his food, so that his mother was in fear, and asked sundry of the villagers what might be the matter.

And, finally, one of them, who was a wise woman, said to her: “Something has happened to him while he was away trading, and now you must find out what it was. And the way to do it is this: You must get a fair girl to comb his hair; and let her pretend to grieve that he is so ill, and let her cry into his hair, and to a fair maiden he will tell what he would never say to his mother.” So a girl came and combed his hair, and wept silently till the tears fell on his head, and when he asked what ailed her, said she could not bear to see him pine away. So at last he told her of the white swan, which turned before his very eyes into a lovely maiden, but that now it remained ever a white swan, though he was pining away for very love of her. So she went and told the mother, and the mother told the wise woman, who bade them get the lad to lie awake till midnight and then the swan-maiden would arise, and, assuming her maiden form, would worship her own country’s gods. And then he was to leap up suddenly and cast her swan skin on the hearth and burn it; and then of a surety she would remain a maiden. So the lad prepared a basin of oil and ashes and a yak’s tail, and did as the wise woman bade. And in the depth of night, the swan came and felt him all over with her beak. But he never stirred a whit. And then, believing him to be asleep, she stripped off her swan’s skin slowly, and prayed aloud to the gods of her own country. Then the lad got out of bed very silently, and seizing the swan’s skin thrust it in the ashes. And when she smelled the burning feathers, she cried aloud “Ah! what have you done? what have you done?” and fell senseless on the floor. But he anointed her with the oil, and fanned her with the yak’s tail, till presently her great eyes opened and he saw that she loved him. And then they lived happily ever afterwards. And that’s all!

SÂse raz ÂrÙ rÂnÎ dangman. BÎsÙr h hoÂi thoi-grÙ-naise. BÎ thoib hingzau modomau dangman. SÂnne-sÙ thÂnanai hingzaus sÂse zÂnaise. ÂrÙ bÎsÙrh hoÂs bÙ sÂse dangman. PhÂre sÂn-ne-sÙ thÂnÂnai, bÎsÙrnÎ bÎmÂi thoinaise. Thoib hingzaus nÎ bidÂi bÎkhÔ gÂkhÎr daunÂnai fidet-naise. Ph unau bÎsÙr zÂnÙ-gÙie zÂlÂngnÂnai unau gÂmi gÂmi bÎbainÂnai zÂnÂnaise. BÎbaidÎnu thÂbai-Ùi thabai-Ùi sÂse rÂz nÎ nÅ-Î-au hÂp-hÙi-naise. BeaunÙ RazÂi onnÂnai bÎsÙrkhÔ bÎnÎ nÅ-Î-au dinnai.

Be dekhu-au sikhau sÂ-snÎ dangman. BÎsÙrnÙ rÂzÂi ozainÙ dau, omÂ, mosÔ, phÂreo hÙnÂnggÔ. Be khorÂngkhÔ gÅthÅ-mÂmrÂi khnÂnÂnai, bÎsÙr-khÔ dÂnthÂtnu lÂgi razÂ-nÎ-au sÙngnaise. Khintu razÂh bikhÔ thinnÙ mon gÙiÂman. TheobÙ bÎnÎ mon zang-nÙ thin-naise. Ob gorai mÂse emfui gongse razÂnÎau bÎnÂnai lÂnÂnai, be sikhaufur-nÎ nÅiau thÂngnÂnai goraikhÔ dÂpseau khÂnÂnai dinnÂnai, bÎ emfui lÂnÂnai dor-mukhÂngÂu srÎ srÎ zombai thÂ-naise. Unau be sikhau gedetsin onkhÂrbÙb bÎkhÔ dÂn-naise. ÂrÙ boikhÔbÙ sÂse sÂse bepaidi-nÙ dÂnnaise. KhintÙ boinÙkhrÎ uduisui monau bÂngai gÎnÂnai, lÂse lÂse fainaiau bÎkhÔ gahÂmÙi dÂnnÙ manÂkhuise. BeaunÙ thoi-e-khai bÎ bÎsÙrnÎ nÅ gongseau bÎkhÔ sÙnÂnai tÂl mÂrÎnÂnai din­naise. ManÂthu Âgl bÎnÎ bÎmÂi bÎkhÔ zÎ dÂnbÂ-bÙ phongse bÙ dÂnnÙ thinlÂngdangman. BÎnÎk­hai bÎ bÎkhÔ ÂrÙ dÂnnÙ hÂiÂ-khuise. Unau be khorÂngkhÔ razÂnÎ sigÂng-au gÂsenÙ khithÂ-naise. BeaunÙ razÂi sikhaufÙrnÎ nÅkhÔ bÎsÙr sÂnekhÔ girim khÂmnaise. BeaunÙ bÎsÙr thÂnÂnai bÎdÂi binÂnau-khÔ khÎthÂnaise “ÂgÙi, nang be gÂsenÚ nÅ gongse gongse-Ùi nainÙ lubuibÂ, nainÙ hÂgo. Khintu be tÂlÂ-mÂrinai-khÔ nang d kheo.” BÎdÂi shikÂr khÂm­grÂ-man. PhÂre shikÂr khÂmnu thÂngbÂ, bÎnÂnaunu sobai zang mairang zang golainÂnai, khurui gongseau hÙlÂngnaiman. BÎ bÎk­hÔnu sÂnse mÂni bÂsÎbai thÂdang­man. Unau sÂn-ne-sÙ thÂnÂnai, bi gÂsenÙ nÅ-fÙr-khÔ kheo-e kheo-e nainaise. Khaise-au mosÔ, khaise-au gorai, khaise-au dau, bebaidÎnÙ nÅfrimbÙ bÎ nainaise, Khintu bÎ kheonu hÙ-i-e nÅkhÔ mon khÂmnÂnai naiÂlÂb thÂnÙ hÂiÂkhÙise.

“MÂnÂthÙ beaubÙ m dang Âng nunÙ nÂnggÔ;” erÙi hannÂnai bÎ kheonÂnai naibÂ, thoi-hÂng thoi-hÂng mÂnsÙi sÂse nunaise. BeaunÙ bÎ khulumbÂ, onnÂnai, bÎ zÎ khithÂiÙ, bÎkhÔnÙ lÂnÂnai, muli hÙnaise. BeaunÙ sÂn ne sÙ th­nÂnai mÂnsÙi gahÂm zÂnaise. Ph bÎbaidÎnÙ ozainÙ railainÙ ÂrÙ bÎnÙ khÂm dÙi hÙnÙ homnaise. BebaidinÙ thaie thaie bÎsÙr kho­rÀng zÂlainaise. Ph unau bÎd­khÔ buthÂtnÙ lÂgi sikhauÂ, hing­zaukhÔ buddi hÙnaise “Nang dÎnÎ zobr zÂ-thÎ-nÂnai thÂ, ÂrÙ khithÂ: ÂngnÙ mosÂ-gÂkhir zÂhÙbÂ, Âng gahÂm zÂgan.” Bibaidi-nÙ bid­nÙ khithÂnaise. Bidai khnÂnÂnai hÂgrÂ-bÂre-au mos nÂmai-lÂng-naise. BÎnÎ khÂfÂlÙi11 mos bÎm mÂse hÂthÂi-au mosÔ begeng nÂng-phthÂnÂnai thÂnai lÙgÙ man-naise. BeaunÙ mosÂkhÔ sÙmai lÂhÙnÂnai hÂthai-nÎfrai begeng-khÔ dÎhon­naise. Unau bÎ mosÂnÎ gÂkhir-nÎ khorÂng khithÂnaikhai bÎ gaigai nÎ gÂkhir ÂrÙ fis bÙ mÂse hÙnaise. BekhÔ lÂbonÂnai bin­naunÙ hÙfainaise. PhÂre okh naibÂ, sikhauÂ, bÎ hingzaukhÔ sÙng­naise. “NangnÙ mos gÂkhir hÙfai-nÙ nÂ?” BÎ khithÂnaise, gÂkhir ÂrÙ bÎnÎ fis bÙ mÂse ÂdÂi lÂbodang.” Biau bÎ ham man-naise. ÂrÙ sÂn­se fukuri manse-nÎ dÙi lÂbonÙ khithÂnai. BÎ fukuri-nÎ dÙikhÔ lÂbob mÂnsÙi thoiÙ. BeaunÙ binÂnau bidÂnÙ khithÂnaise, “Nang be fukuri-nÎ dÙi ÂngnÙ lÂbonÂnai hÙbÂ, Âng gahÂm zÂgan BebaidÎnÙ bidai gorai mÂse emfui gongse sÙim mÂse ÂrÙ mosÂ-fisÂ-khÔ bÙ lÂnÂnai thÂng­naise. ThÂngÙi thÂngÙi bongfÂng gedet fÂngse man-hÙinÂnai, be bongfÂng singau-nÙ bÎ zirainÂnai dang. EreaunÙ zibaÙ gedet mÂse bÎ bongfangau mÂnnÂnai gÂkhÙlÂng-dÂng, nunÂnai, bÎkhÔ emfui zang dÂn-so-naise. ÂrÙ dÅse thÂnÂnai, ÂrÙ mÂse zibaÛ bÎbai­dÎnÙ gÂkhÙlÂngnai-au bÎkhÔ-bÙ dÂnnaise. BÎbaidÎnÙ bÎ beaunÙ dang, obÂnÙ dau gedet mÂse be bongfÂngau bÎrbÙnÂnai fisÂ-fur-nÙ ÂdhÂr hÙbÂ, fisÂfr zÂiÂkhÙise. Ob bÎm bungnaise; “nangfÙr dinÎ mÂnÙ ÂdhÂr zÂiÂ?” Ob fisÂfr khithÂnaise “Bongfang singau thÂnai mÂnsÙikhÔ nang on-bÂ, zangfÙr ÂdhÂr zÂgan.” HanbÂ, bimÂi “ongan” hannÂnai sumai lÂnaise. FisÂfr ÂdhÂr zÂkhÂngÙi-frÂ-bÙi, bÎmÂi mÂnsÙi-khÔ sÙng-naise “NangkhÔ m nÂnggÔ?” SÙngbÂ, bÎ khithÂnaise “ÂngnÙ bÎ fukuri-ni dÙi nÂnggÔ.” Be dau fukuri-nÎ khorÂng boikhÔ-bÙ mithÎnÂnai bÎnÙ khithÂnÂnai hÙnÂnai bÎkhÔ be fukuri khÂthiau dinhÙinaise. Be fukuri khathiau-nÙ fukuri-nÎ girim khunguri12 sÂse dangman. GÂthÅ mÂmrÂi bÎnÎ nÅ-i-au hÂpnÂnai khungari zang gÂsenÙ khorÂng-bÂthr zÂlai-nÂise. Ob khunguri “Nang-nÎ khorÂng-khÔ Âng boikhÔbÙ mithÎ-bai. Nang ÂngkhÔ hÂb khÂm. Be fukuri-nÎ dÙikhÔ nang lÂng-nÙ hÂiÂ: thoigan. ÂrÙ nang-khÔ buthÂt-nÙ lÂgi-sÙ nangnÎ nang-nÂnauÂ, upai khÂmdang. Nang zÎ mÂnsÙi dÂn thÂrÂ-lÂb dindang-man; bÎ sikhÂua-nÙ be gÂsenÙ khÔrang khÂmdang.” ErÙi han-nÂnai bisÙr sÂnebÙ failainaise, ÂrÙ bÎnÎ bÎnÂnau ÂrÙ sikhaukhÔ dÂn-thÂt-nÂise. DÂnthÂt-nÂnai, bÎsÙr sÂnezang beaunÙ girim zÂnÂnai thÂnaise. Zapbai!

Brother and Sister.

A certain king died, and soon after his death his wife bare him a daughter, as she had heretofore borne him a son. And then she too died. But before she died, she bade her son “Strike hard, but once only!” And she committed her daughter to his care. And, though they lost their kingdom and were forced to beg their bread, the brother was a good brother, and took care of his sister until they came to a certain kingdom, the king of which took pity on them and kept them in his own palace.

Now, in that kingdom dwelt seven thieves, who oppressed the king, so that he was compelled to send them fowls, pigs, cattle, and pigeons every day. And when the brother heard of this, he begged the king to let him go and kill the thieves. And when the king was unwilling to let him undertake the enterprise, the brother insisted, and, borrowing a horse and a sword from the king, went to the thieves’ house, and there tied up his horse and waited with drawn sword at the door. And when the eldest thief came out, he cut him down, and so in turn he cut down each of them. But the youngest of all was suspicious and came out cautiously, so that the brother was not able to kill him at one blow. So, mindful of his mother’s saying, he shut him up in one of the thieves’ houses, and put a lock upon the door. And then he went and told all that had happened to the king; who, as a reward made the brother and sister custodians of the thieves’ houses. And so they went and stayed there, and the brother said to his sister “You can go into and examine all the houses except the one that is locked.” And the brother was a mighty hunter. But before he went out a hunting, he mixed pulse and grain, and, filling a plate with the mixture, bade his sister separate the seeds while he was away. And this occupied her a whole day. And then she went and examined all the rooms in the thieves’ houses. And in some were cattle, and in some fowls, and in some horses, and so forth. But her mind was ill at ease, because she might not examine the house that was locked. “For,” she said to herself, “if I do not see what is in that house, I cannot be happy.” So she went and saw, and there she found a man half dead with his wound; and when he besought her, she pitied him, and fetched him such medicines as he required of her. So that at the end of some days he was healed, and in course of time they two fell in love with one another. And the wicked thief began to teach the girl how she should bring about the destruction of her brother. And he bade her, when her brother returned, to pretend to be ill, and to say that nothing would cure her save a drink of tigress’ milk. And when her brother heard this, he set out in search of a she-tiger. And, as luck would have it, he found a she-tiger with a bone stuck in her teeth. So, after binding her with a vow, he extracted the bone from her teeth, and then he told her what he required. So she gave him of her milk, and also one of her whelps. And then he returned home. And at dawn the thief asked the sister “Did he bring you the tigress’s milk?” And she replied “That he did, and he brought a tiger’s whelp also.” On which the thief was much discomfited. Then he bade her ask her brother fetch some water from a certain tank, well knowing that to fetch water from that tank, was certain death. On which she said to her brother “If you can only get me water from that tank, I shall certainly be well.” So the brother took his horse and a sword, and a hound, and also the tiger’s whelp, and set out. And on the way he came to a great tree and stopped to rest in the shade; and while he was resting, a huge snake came and began climbing up the tree. And, seeing it, the brother cut the snake in two with his sword; and when a second snake came, he slew that, too. And while he was still resting, a bird came flying to the tree with food for her nestlings. But they refused to eat. And when their mother asked them why they would not eat, they said “Unless you take pity on the man who is resting under the tree, we cannot eat.” So the mother bird promised; and, having fed her nestlings, flew down to the brother and asked him what he desired. And he said that he desired water from a certain tank. But the bird knew all about the properties of the tank, and told the brother. Now, near the tank dwelt a maiden, the guardian of the tank; and he entered into her house, and told her his heart’s desire. But she said to him “You must not go near the tank, for you will die. You must marry me. And as for your sister, she has disobeyed your word, and has married the thief you nearly killed, and their desire is only to be rid of you.” So they two were married, and, going to the thief’s house, slew the thief and the wicked sister. And then they lived happily ever afterwards. And that’s all!

Brai bÙrÙi sÂnÙi dangman. BÎsÙrh zÂnÙ lÙngnÙ gÙiÂman. BÎnÎhai sen-khokh sananai, zÎ n manÙ, bÎzangnu mai slailÂnai mikhÂm zÂiÙ. BebaidÎnÙ khÂmÙi khÂmÙi sÂnse senau n mÂsebÙ nÂngÂlÂbÂ, embu bongl gaz senau thÎp nÂngÂnai thÂdang. ObÂsÙ brai dÂul gesÎpb sÂÜnÙ thÂngnÂnai, sen nai-hÙinaise, ÂrÙ sen khÔ dikhÂngnÂnai ilit mannai­khai rong zÂnÂnai, mÂmÂr bÎbÂn khÂnÂnai, nÅ-hÂ-lÂgi bÂt-zret-bÂt-thet bÂn-bÙ-naise. ÂrÙ bÙrÙi-khÔ phuzÂ-nÂnai bungnaise “BÙrÙi, bÙrÙi, m dÂbÙ uthiÂ-lÙi? SÂn-zÅbai!” HannÂnai, phÙzÂb bÙrÙi mÂmÂr sikhÂngnÂnai o? sunÂnai sÂne-zang o? sailainaise. ÂrÙ brai bungnaise “ZangfÙrh dinÎ khaphÂl gÂham! Senau n thÎp-bungnÂnai thÂdang!” ObÂsÙ bÙrÙi bungnaise “HÙrÙ, hÙrÙ! nai-nÎ, lÂbonai!” hanbÂ, brai mÂmÂr khithÎfainaise. ÂrÙ brai bÙrÙi sÂnÙizang orau gahÂmÙi nainÂnai nunaise gÂsenÙ embu­bongl gazÂ. ObÂsÙ bÙrÙi braikhÔ bungnaise “DinÎ nangh khaphÂl gahÂm zÂdang! Ga­hÂmÙÎnÙ khÂm manzÂsÎgan!” hannÂnai bungb brai senkhÔ dÅkhÅnaise, ÂrÙ buruikhÔ buthÂt­nÙ thin-bÂ, bÙrÙi gon gongse lÂnÂnai thÅ thÅ bÙ-thÂt-hÙ-lÂng-naise. EmphÂre bÙthÂt-zap-b mÂse Âtheng bainÂnai thoifrÂmn­nai bÙrÙi-nÎ khÂmflai singau thÂdangman. Unau gÂsenÙ embu-fÙr-khÔ sÂi-khÂng-nÂnai, brai bÙrÙi bÎnÎfrai uthÎb ÂrÙ khÂmflai dikhÂngbÂ, be thoifrÂm­nai embukhÔ nunÂnai, braiÂ, “BÙrÙi, mÂse embu thÂbai, bÙthÂt! bÙthÂt!” HanbÂ, embu rai-dau-naise “Âf lÙi Âng-khÔ d bÙthÂt: Âng nangnÙ hÂli oin­nai, khodÂl zaunÂnai, mai gain­nai hÙgan.” ObÂsÙ brai bung­naise: “MobÂthÙ embu-bonglaia hÂb maunÂnai hÙnai nudang-lÙi? Nang hÂb maunÂnai hÙnaia gakhÂ! ButhÂtzÂnÙ gÎnÂnai nang bekhÔnÙ khithÂdang.” BungbÂ, embu bonglÂi gahÂmÙi khulum-bai-nai-khai, ÂrÙ sumai lÂ-nai-khai, brai bÙrÙi onnÂnai bÎkhÔ buthÂrÂlÂb nÅ-i-au dinnaise. ObÂsÙ ÂjibÙ thÂiÙ kÂlibÙthÂiÛ dÙilÂng bÙthÙr sÅbÂ, embu-bonglÂi nÂngal lÂnÂnai du­bliau hÂli oinÙ thÂngnaise. ÂrÙ bÎ nÂngal-mothiau gÂ-khÙ-nÂnai hÂli oibai thÂbÂ, bÎnÎ dubli thing sÙrba raj sÂse hÂthi gÂnÂnai fainai nub embubongl raiho?naise “HelÙi, helÙi, nang maunÎ mÂnsÙi lÙi? Âng nÎ Âli-fÙr-khÔ gÂphle-gÂsi khÂmdang!” Hanb rÂzÂiÂ, “Âng khÔ bebaidÎ rainai sÙr?” HannÂnai, mÂnsÙi ho?bÂ, sÂfr singau hÂkhmÂnÂnai thÂiÙ. BÎnÎkhai mÂnsÙi nunÙ hÂekhai thÂng-phÂ-phinse. Be­baidÎnÙ khonle khonle raiÙ, khon-frimbÙ bÎkhÔ nunÙ hÂekhai rÂzai mosÔkhÔnÙ lÂnÙ thinnÂnai nÅ-hÂ-lÂgi lÂngnaise. ObÂsÙ bÎ bÙ khÎthu khÎthu thÂngnÂnai gogr nÎ nÅ sÂÏau thurui singau hÂpsÙ-nÂnai thÂnÂnai raj khÔ baidÎ baidÎ raibai thÂ-sÙnaise. RÂjÂi bÎkhÔ khnÂnÂnai, naibÂbÙ nuekhai brÂpnÂnai gogrÂkhÔnÙ sefainÙ thinnaise. Khintu bÎ bÎnÎfrai thÂngkhmÂnÂnai saur nÅ sÂ-i-au thÂnÂnÂi ÂrÙ rainaise BebaidÎnÙ gÂsenÙ nÅ sephainÙ gnÂng zÂnaikhai, rÂzÂi unau gÎnÂnai bÎkhÔ gahÂmÙi sÙngnaise, “HelÙi ÂfÂ, nanglai modai n mÂnsÙi? Âng nangkhÔ mungbÙ khÂmliÂ.” HanbÂ, bÎ bungnaise “Âng modai nunggÂ, mÂnsÙi-sÙ. ÂrÙ nang ÂngnÎ mos lÂbonai-khai Âng nÂngkhÔ raidang. ÂrÙ nang d nangnÎ phisazÙkhÔ Âng zang hÂb khÂmnÂnai hÙgan hannÂnai sumai lÂi gÔ mÂni, Âng nangkhÔ bebaidÎnÙ nue zÂnÂnai raibai thÂgan.” HanbÂ, rÂzai sumai lÂnÂngnaise. ObÂnia bÎ nÅnÎfrai onkhÂtnaise. OnkhÂtb rÂzÂi sumai lÂnaikhai, ÂrÙ mÂb modai-fÙr zÂnÙ hÂgÔ nungnÂnai, hÂb khÂmnÂnai hÙnaise, ÂrÙ dolÂ, hÂthi, gorai gÂ-khÙ-hÙ-lainÂnai nÅhÂlÂgi ho?b ÂrÙ brai bÙrÙinÎ nÅ khÂthÎ man-fai-ba, brai bÙrÙia gÎnÂnai, nÅ-nÎfrai khÂtlÂngdang-man. BÎkhÔ embu-bongla fisÂt­lÂi nunÂnai “GÎnÙ nÂngg” hannÂnai, mÂnsÙi ho?nÂnai lÂbo-finnaise. ObÂsÙ brai bÙrÙi fisÂtl ÂrÙ bÎhÂmzÙ boibÙ zÅ zÂnÂnai rong zÂ-lainÂnai mÂnsÙi fÙrkhÔ khÂm-dÙi zÂhÙnai lÙng­hÙnaise. BebaidÎnÙ thÂÙi dang, sÂnse bÎhÂmzÙ embu-bonglÂ-khÔ nainÙ bÂnÂnai embu-bongla-khÔ duguinÙ thinnaise. Embu bong­lai bungnaise “Âng udui-nÎ-frai dÙi-au-nÙ thÂiÙ. D dÙgÙib Ângh m zÂnÙ?” ObÂsÙ hing­zau bungnaise “Nang dui gusu-au thÂnai-khÔ Âng mithέdang. Khintu nangnÎ bÎkhong-nÎ gÂdi-mÂl nunÂnai-sÙ Âng nangkhÔ thukuinÙ nÂmaidang,” hanba, embu bonglÂi mÂnthi zÂnaise. ZÂb dÙi glopglop phÛ­dung-nÂnai hoÂkhÔ lingho?naise. “MÂmÂr faidÙ! Âng thukuinÙ nÂnggo.” BÎ mÂmÂr fainÂnai, sÙngbÂ; “Nang Âgl dÙiau bÂt-sÙm grÙ. Âng unau bÎkhong hÙnÂnai hÙgan,” hanbÂ, bÎ bÎau bÂt-sÙm-nÂnai khÂng-grÂng-nÂnai thoinÂnai thÂnaise. Zapbai!

The Story of the Toad.13

There was an aged couple, who were very poor. But they had a fish trap, which they set at night; and the fish they caught they exchanged for rice. And one night it happened that no fish got into the trap, but only toads, so that the trap was brimfull. And at early dawn, when the cock crowed, the old man came, and finding the trap very heavy was rejoiced, and hoisting it on to his back waddled away. And when he got home he woke up his wife, crying “Old woman, old woman, not up yet? The day has dawned.” So the old woman jumped up, and blew up the fire, and the old couple squatted over it, warming themselves. And the old man said “We are in luck to-day! The trap is brimfull.” Then the old woman said “Let’s see, let’s see.” So the old man tumbled out the contents of the trap, and, behold, they were all toads. So the old woman said “We are in luck to-day! We shall have lots to eat to-day!” And the old man bid her kill the toads without further words. And the old woman, taking her stick, ran about after the toads and slew them one by one. But one alone, half dead with fear, crawled under the old woman’s stool. But the rest she skinned and cleaned. Then, removing the stool, the old man saw the survivor, and said to the old woman “There is one left; kill that, too!” But the toad called out “Ah! father, do not kill me. I will plough for you, and hoe for you, and plant out paddy for you!” But the old man replied “How shall a toad do all these things? Your ploughing and hoeing would be a bitter business! You only want to get off being killed.” But he pleaded so sore, and begged so hard, that they took pity on him and let him stay in their house. And so the days went by till the rainy season came round, and the toad went off to plough in the field. And as he was sitting on the handle of the plough urging on his cattle, a king came by that way riding on his elephant, and the toad called out to him “What fellow is that? You are knocking down all the balks of my field!” To which the king replied “Who dares speak to me thus,” and sent men to fetch him. But he hid behind a clod, so that they could not find him. And when he continued to abuse them without their finding him, the king bade them take away the plough cattle to his house. And the toad, followed secretly behind, and, hiding himself in the thatch of the cowshed, began to abuse the king afresh. And the king searched for him in vain; and at last ordered the cowshed to be pulled down and the cattle to be put elsewhere. And the toad went and hid there, too, and abused the king again. Finally, the king was frightened and called to him: “Oh! father, are you god or mortal? And what harm have I done you?” And he said “I am mortal of a sooth. And I abuse you because you have carried off my cattle. And if you do not give me your daughter in marriage, I shall remain invisible and abuse you daily.” So the king swore that the toad should have his daughter, and the toad came forth. And the king, for his oath’s sake, and lest the toad should be in some sort a god, gave him his daughter, and sent him home with a sedan-chair and elephants and horses. And when he got near his home, the old man and old woman ran clean away. But the toad, their adopted son, seeing their terror, bade them not be afraid, and sent men after them to fetch them. And then they sat down with their son-in-law and daughter-in-law and feasted the men who had come with them. And one day the girl, finding her husband very loathsome to look upon, told him to take a bath. “But,” said her husband, “what is the good of my taking a bath? I am a frog and always bathing.” But his wife replied “I know very well that you live in cold water. But I want to get rid of those nasty protuberances on your back, and want to bathe you.” So, finally, her husband agreed. So she heated some water to boiling, and called out “Come quick, I must bathe you!” And when the toad came, and asked what he was to do, she said “You jump straight in, and I will bathe you afterwards.” So he jumped in, and, turning over on his back, died. And that’s all!

BÎsÙr sÂne zang ÂglÂnÎfrai fisikhÎ man. ÂrÙ bÎsÙr bong­fÂng fÂngseau ozainÙ lÙgÙse th­naiman. PhÂre sÂnse mÙikhÔ sel mÂse nunÂnai bÎkhÔ gufÛng ÂrÙ zÂnÙ lÂgi gahÂm nunÂnai sel rai­daunaise “HelÙi khurmÂ! Nang beau m nÂmaidang? Âng nang khÔ nunÂnai on-sÙdang ÂrÙ nangh khusi dangbÂ, Âng nang­zang khurm khÂmgan.” BeaunÙ mÙi bungnaise: “Nangzang Ângzang mÂbrÙi khurm zÂnÙ hÂgÔ? Nang Ângni hothru. Nang ÂngkhÔ manbÂ, nang Âng­khÔ zÂgÔ. Âng nangnÎ bÎdot.” Be khorang khnÂnÂnai sel monau dukhu mannÂnai bung­naise “Nang zÎ khorÂng khith­dang, gÂsenÙ nunggÔ. ÂrÙ bÎnέkhÂi Ângh raubÔ gÙiliÂ, thoithro-bai. BÎnikhai Âng d monau gunέnÂnai gokhainÎ14 haran lÂbai. ÂrÙ nang boidÎ raunÎbÙ mungbÙ kh­me, omÂzang khurm khÂmnÙ mon zÂdang. Nang ÂngkhÔ beau mungbÙ d bung.” Be khorÂng-au-nÙ mÙi mÂnthÎ zÂnaise. Ob bÎsÙr sÂne zang bongfÂng guriau thÂng-lai-naise. BeaunÙ daukhÂ-dandÂ-Î- sel-khÔ nunÂnai, bÎkhÔ ÂgÂr-nÙ lÂgi mÙinÙ zÂbrÂnÙ gahÂm khorÂng khithÂdangman. Khintu be khorÂng-khÔ mÙi khnÂ-song-hiÂ-khai, daukh dandÂi sÂkhthar manse khithÂnaise: “SÂne fisikhÎ dangman-nÙ. BÎsÙr sÂne zang khorÂng khÂlainaise zÎ “ZangfÙr zebÙ dukhuau gÂrlainÙ nÂnggÂ.” PhÂre sÂnse bÎsÙr maub thÂng­naiau hÂgr gezer gezer thÂng­dangman. BeaunÙ lÂm gezerau mÂfur mÂse lÙgÙ man-naise. Ph bÎsÙr sÂnÙi nÎ gezerau sÂse bong­fÂng gÂkhÙnÙ hÂgoman, sÂse hai­Âman. Zebl mÂfur hÙ-sÙ-bÙ-dang, sÂse khÂtnÂnai bongfÂngau gÂkhÙhÙinaise. SÂse mungbÔ upai mane zÂnÂnai hÂiau khug­lupnÂnai, hÂng lÂiab thÂnaise. Unau mÂfur fainÂnai bikhÔ manÂm-su-nÂnai hÂng gÙie nun­nai, gÂrlÂngnaise. Ph bong­fÂngnÎ mÂnsÙi sÙngnaise “HelÙi sikhÎ, nangkhÔ mÂfur manÂm-su-nÂnai m khithÂnai?” BeaunÙ bÎ bungnaise “BebaidÎ mÂnsÙi-zang nang khurm d khÂm,” erÙi hannÂnai bungnai.” Daukh dand bungnaise “BesÙr sÂnÙi-nÎ baidi nang-hÂ-bÙ zÂnÙ hÂgÔ. TheobÙ mÙi bÎnÎ khorÂng khÔ lÂiÂkhÙise. PhÂre Âzi-bÙ-dang kÂli-bÙ-dang sÂnse sel phÂn nunÂnai mÙikhÔ bÎ thauni-h lÂgi bÎkhÔ phÂnau khÙkhlainaise. PhÂre bÎ phÂn-nÎ deoling-khÔ o?-sonÙ thinbÂ-bÙ, otnÙ man hannÂnai o?soÂkhÙise. Unau daukhÂi bÎsÙrnÎ khorÂngkhÔ mithÎnÂnai nÂmai-lÂng-nÂnai mÙikhÔ phÂnau nÂngnÂnai thÂnai nunaise. NubÂ, bÎkhÔ gahÂm khÂmnÙ lÂge upai khÂmnaise. PhÂre, okh naise naise zÂdang­man, ereaunÙ bÎ bungnaise “SikhÎ nung uduikhÔ dukhrÂng hÙnÂnai hÂng laiÂlÂb thÂ. ÂrÙ Âng gÂp-bÂ, nang khÂt. Be upai-au goÂbÂ, ÂrÙ gÙiliÂ-se.” BÎ khitha­nai-baidi-nÙ mÙi khÂmnÂnai dang. Ereau-nÙ phÂn-nÎ girimai fainÂnai mÙi-khÔ thoinai mon khÂmnÂnai, zongkhÔ hÂiau thun­nai dinnÂnai phÂnnÎ deoling khÔ kheonÂnai fahÂm-dang-man. Ereau-nÙ daukhÂiÅ gÂpnÂnai hÙbÂ, mÙi sikhÂngnÂnai dophong khÂtbÂ, mÂnsÙi zongkhÔ lÂn­nai, khubui ho?-naise: khintu mÙinÎ modomau nÂngÂlÂb selnÎ modomau nÂng-hÙi-naise. Beau­nÙ sel thoinaise. Zapbai!

The Story of the Doe and the Raven.

The doe and the raven were great friends, and lived together in the shade of the same tree. And one day a jackal, seeing the doe, and finding her to be fat and good to eat, said to her “Oh friend, what are you doing there? I am charmed to see you, and, if you permit, would like to swear eternal friendship.” But the doe said “How can there be friendship between the likes of us? we are sworn foes. If you get hold of me, you will eat me. I am your food.” But the jackal, on hearing this, pretended to be mightily grieved, and said “What you observe is true enough, and that is just why all my family are dead and I alone am left. And, considering these things, I, for my part, am turned Hindu, eat no flesh, and have vowed friendship to all animals. So you need be in no fear of me.” To which the doe attached implicit credence, and so they two walked together under the trees. But the raven came up and said all he could to induce the doe to abandon the fellowship of the jackal. But, as he could not prevail with her, he told her the following story: “Once upon a time there were two friends. And they vowed that if ever they fell into danger, they should on no account leave one another. And one day they were going through the jungle together, when they met a bear. Now, one of them could climb trees, and the other could not. And when the bear pursued them, the one scrambled up into the first tree he met. But the other, not knowing what else to do, lay on the ground, and, pretending to be dead, held his breath. And the bear, coming and sniffing at him, and finding him apparently dead, left him. Then his friend, shouting to him from the tree, said “What was it that the bear whispered to you?” And he replied “The bear said to me ‘never make friends with men like that fellow in the tree.’” “And so,” said the raven, “will it be with you and your friend the jackal.” For all that, the doe refused to listen, and after some days the jackal, when walking out with the doe, spied a snare, and thrust her into it. And when she bade him bite the cords and loose her, he reminded her of his vows and of the fact that the cords were of hide. Then the raven, after long searching, came up and found the doe in the toils, and set to work to devise a remedy. And when the day was dawning he said to the doe “You swell out your belly, and hold your breath, and when I give the word, run for your life.” Presently, the owner of the snare came up, spear in hand, and, seeing his quarry seemingly dead, loosed her bonds. Upon which the raven cawed loudly, and the doe, jumping up, ran for her life. But the hunter, seizing his spear, threw it after her. And the spear missed the doe, and pierced the wicked jackal, who died. And that’s all!

SÂse brai dangman. BÎ sÂn-se hÂgrÂiau thÂthÎ dÂn-nÙ thÂngbÂ, mosa mÂse sÙgÙmnai khnÂnaise. ÂrÙ obÂnÙ bÎnÎ khÂthÎ nÎ frai dau mÂse bÎr-lÂng-bÂ, brai gÎkhrong­nÂnai bung-nÂise “Âng nangkhÔ manbÂ, khugubÂn phurungauman.” BÎ be khorÂng-khÔ-nÙ bungÙi thÂdang, mos khnÂnÂnai “Be brai m khithÂdang? Ang bekhÔ mithinÙ nÂngbai, ÂrÙ bekhÔ Âng zÂ-liÂ-bÙ. ErÙi nungnÂnai brai­khÔ mÂthÙ15 hÙnaise “HelÙi brai, nanglai mÂthÙ16 khithÂdang?” TheobÙ brai khnÂsongÂlÂb bÎ khorÂngkhÔnÙ bungÙ ÂrÙ thÂthi dÂnÙ. ObÂsÙ mosÂi khÂthÎ-Åse-au fainÂnai, brai-khÔ bungnaise “Nang m khorÂng bungdang, ÂngnÙ khithÂiÂb Âng nangkhÔ zÂgan.” EreÙi hanb brai gÎn­nai “Nang gabun ÂngnÎ nÅiau thÂng. Oba Âng nang-nÙ khith­gan.” HanbÂ, bÎ thÂngnaise. Okha naibÂ, mosÂi sÙngÙi sÙngÙi brai-nÎ nÅiau phungaunÙ okhar fainaise. PhÂre brai nunÂnai “ApÂ, nang mau-nÙ thÂngnu lÙi” hanb “Âng buro­bu thÂngÂ. Nang-nÎ-au-sÙ mÎa-nÎ khorÂng sÙlÙngnÙ faidang. Oba­sÙ brai bungnÂise “Âng nang hÂt-sing-b be khorÂng-khÔ khi­thÂnu hÂiÂ. ÂrÙ mÂ-ne-sÙ lai-bau.” EreÙi bungbÂ, bÎ thÂng­nÂnai mÂne mÂthÂm bÎzang lÂbo­naise. ObÂsÙ brai mai dÂngrÎ set-lÂi-au dÎhonnaise. DÎhonnÂnai bÎ ghai mithÎnai mosÔkhÔ uthumai khamnÂnai mosÔfÙrkhÔ khÂnÂnai mai-mÂran hÙnaise. HÙbÂ, boi uthumai zÂnai mosÂi bungnaise “AbÔ, Âng-h khÅrÅ megem-sÙ dang.” Ph brai khith­naise; “rÅ-dÅse, ÂbÔ, rÅ thÅ, dÂnÙ zÂsÎsÙ,” hannÂnai, hÙ-Ùi thÂnaise. PhÂre unau mosÂi khÅrÅ megemnÂnai gaglai-sÙ-nÂnai thÂbÂ, phÂnsÂn gnÂng lauthÎ lÂn­nai gahÂmÙi thunÂnai hÙnaise. Ob mosÂi “AbÔ! ÂngkhÔ m khÂmÙ? Âng dinÎ thoisÎgan!” HanbÂ, brai bungnaise “Nang mΠghugubÂn sÙlÙngnÙ nÂmai­dangman bebaidÎ dukhu zÂnÙ hÂiÂbÂ, Âng nangkhÔ mÂbrui fÙrÙngan?” HannÂnai, ÂrÙ thÙ-khrÂng thÙsi khÂmse. ObÂsÙ mosÂi bungnaise “Âng dukhu zÂdang, be nunggo; nangnÎ kho­rÂng khÔ Âng mithiÂkhui.” HanbÂ, brai bungnaise “BέkhÔnÙ ghughubÂn hannÂnai bungu.” ObÂnÙ mos bungnaise “Âng mithÎbai, zang-fÙrkhÔ hoga? dÙ!” Brai bungnaise “RÅ, Âru bÂngai mithÎ-zap-si-gan.” HannÂnai, ÂrÙ hunaise. Unau mosÂi brai-khÔ khulum-bai-nÙ homnaise. PhÂre mai gÂb bÎsÙr-khÔ hogÂr-ho?-naise. Hog­Âr-slÂp-nÙ manÂlÂbÂ, uthumai ÂrÙ bÎsÙrbÙ khÂtlÂngnaise. KhÂt lÂngbÂ, mengnÂnai, bÎsÛr dÂpse au boibo zÅ zÂnÂnai zirainaise. Ob­nÙ bÎsÙr boi didungkhÔ nunÂnai brainÙ hÙnÙlÂgi railainaise “Be dÎdungkhÔ hÙÂbÂ, bÎ mobÂb zang-fÙr-khÔ sinai mangan.” BungnÂnai, bÎbÙ bungÙ “nang­thÂng.” BrainÎ sinnainai mosÂi thÂng-nÂng-naise.

ObÂsÙ bÎ thÙrthÙr bÙrbÙr gÎnÂnai thÂngdang, Âru brai-nÎ nÅ man-hÙi-nÂnai, brainÙ didung-khÔ zÂsi17 hubÂ, brai bungnaise: “ManÂbai; Âng udubai. Âng onkhÂtliÂ. Inzur-goblong-thing ho?.” Han-bÂ, mosÂi lÂnzÂi zang didung-khÔ ho?naise. ObÂnÙ, brai sekh lÂnÂnai lÂnzaikhÔ dÂn-so-naise. BeaunÙ mosÂi gÂp-khrau gÂpsÎ khÂtlÂngbÂ, brai bungnaise “ÂrÙ Ângh sÂse ÂgÙi sing-sing hÙ-siÙ-lÂng-dang! Nang khÂtnÂnai mÂu-th?u gonÙ?” Be bÎbaidinÙ khÂrÙi khÂrÙi naifinn­nai raukhÔbÙ nuekhai, zirainaise, ÂrÙ khÂnkhrai gurungau dÙi nunÂnai, khÂnd lÂnzai-khÔ sunÂnai zÅnaise. PhÂre khÂnkhrai on­khÂtrÂnai lÂnzaiau khepnaise. ObÂnia mosÂi “Gom gomÂnu brainÎ bÎgÚi fai-mÂt-dang;” hannÂnai, bÎnÎfrai khÎbÙ khÎsÂt khÂt­lÂngnaise. ObÂsÙ zesenÙ khÂrÙ khÂnkhrai gaglaigan nungnÂnai, gahÂmÙi khep-sin-lÂngÙ. Bebai­dÎnÙ khÂrÙi khÂrÙi mosÂi thoi­frÂmnai zÂnaise. Unau bongfÂng-fÙr-au nÂngnÂnai ÂgÂrbÂ, obÂsÙ mosÂi gahÂm zÂnaise, ÂrÙ brai-bi-gÙi-khÔ thÂngbai nunÂnai, khÂm dÙi zÂnaise. Zapbai!

The Old Man and the Tiger.

There was once an old man, who, when he was cutting reeds for his fence in the jungle, heard a tiger growling close to him; and it happened that at that moment a bird also flew away. On which the old man, though he was in truth very frightened, called after the bird “Ah! if you had only stopped, I would have taught you the secret of the ghughu ban.” And this saying he kept on repeating, so that the tiger said to himself “What is it that the old man is saying? I must get him to tell me; and in that case I won’t even eat him.” So he called to the old man. “Look here, old man, what is that about the ghughu ban?” But the old man, answering not a word, kept on chopping his reeds. Then the tiger crept up quite close to him, and said to the old man “If you don’t tell me what you are talking about, I will eat you!” But the old man, for all his fear, only said “You come to my house tomorrow, and I will tell you.” Very early the next morning the tiger asked his way to the old man’s house, and when he got there, it being still early morning, the old man said “And what may your honour be pleased to want?” And the tiger replied “I want to know what you were talking about yesterday.” But the old man replied “I cannot possibly teach you alone. You had better go and get two or three other tigers.” And so the tiger went away and returned with two or three of his brethren. In the meanwhile the old man had spread his unthreshed paddy in the yard. And, putting his earliest acquaintance first, he tied all the tigers to the post, round which the cattle revolve when they are treading out the grain, and set them to work to tread.

But the one in the middle, who was unaccustomed to such labour, cried out in a piteous voice that his head ached, and that he was getting very giddy. But the old man said “Wait a bit, my friend; you haven’t learned yet.” And when the tiger complained again, the old man fetched his goad and pricked him sore, so that, giddy and stumbling, he had to go round and round, and when the tiger said “I shall die at this rate,” the old man replied “You wanted to learn the ghughu ban yesterday, and unless you endure this trouble, you cannot possibly learn;” and, so saying, pricked him the more cruelly. Finally, the tiger said “If so be, I must be in pain, I must be. But I don’t see what it is all about.” Then the old man replied “This is precisely what they called the ghughu ban.” Then the tiger said “I see, I see, now let us go. We have learned our lesson.” But the old man said “Wait a bit, the paddy is nearly trodden out,” and would not stop pricking the tigers for all their entreaties. And when the paddy was all threshed, the old man began untying their bonds. But before he had finished, the tigers were in such pain that they tore the rope out of his hands and ran away. When they stopped to rest, they saw the old man’s rope, and said to one another “If we do not give the old man his rope again, we shall get into further trouble.” So, after much debate, the first tiger was deputed to take it back.

So back he went, trembling with fear in every limb, and, getting close to the old man’s house, offered him his rope. But the old man said “It is night, and I am in bed. I can’t come out. Put the rope in at the window.” So the tiger put it on his tail and thrust it in at the window. But the old man had his knife ready and cut the tiger’s tail off. On which the tiger once more fled, howling with pain. But the old man shouted after him “You may run as far as you like, but my brother is after you, and will catch you.” On which the tiger ran faster than ever. At last, however, he stopped to rest near a cool pool of water, and, not seeing the old man’s brother, dipped the wounded stump of his tail into the pool for refreshment. But a crab, which dwelt in that pool, nipped the stump of his tail; and the tiger crying “The old man’s brother has caught me!” again fled through the jungle, and it was not till the crab was knocked off against the trees that he at last rested. And that’s all!

MÂse sess ÂrÙ mÙkhr zang fisikhÎ man. BÎsÙr sÂnÙi zang ozainÙ lÙgÙse thÂiÙ, lÙgÙse zÂiÙ, ÂrÙ lÙgÙse thÂbaibaiÙ. ObÂsÙ sÂnse sÂse DarrangÂrÙi mÂnsÙi goe thÂlit lÂnÂnai, ÂlÂsÎ zÂnÙ thÂng­nai nÂmau lÙgÙ mannÂnai, bÎsÙr railainaise “Be mÂnsÙi-nÎ goe thÂlit-fÙr-khÔ zÂnÙ lÂgÎ zangfÙr buddÎ manse khÂmnÙ nÂnggÔ,” hannÂnai, sessÂ-khÔ nÂmau-nÙ thÂnÙ thinnÂnai mÙkhrÂia hÂgrÂ-iaÙ hÂkhmÂnai thÂnaise. PhÂre mÂnsÙi manfaibÂ, sessakhÔ nunÂnai, bÎbÂn dinnÂnai, hÙsÙnaise. HÙsÙbÂ, mÙkhraia hÂgrÂnÎfrai mÂmÂr onkhÂtnÂnai thÂlitfÙrkhÔ lÂnÂnai bongfÂngau gÂ-khÙ-hÙi-naise. ÂrÙ “sessÂ-faigan” hannÂnai, thÂlit goe-fÙrkhÔ mÂmÂr zÂ-grÙ-naise. ÂrÙ thÂlit bigÙr bu sessÂnÙ dinnaise.

A monkey and a hare were great friends. They lived together, ate together, and walked about together. One day they saw a man from Darrang going to a feast and bearing plantains and betel-nuts, and they said to one another that they must contrive some plan to get hold of his load. So the monkey sent the hare to wait on the road, but himself hid in the jungle. And when the man came up and saw the hare sitting on the road, he put down his load, and ran after him. No sooner had he done so, than the monkey came and carried off the plantains and betel-nuts into a tree, and, for fear the hare should return, ate them all up in a great hurry, keeping only the skins of the plantains for his friend.

EmphÂre unau sessÂkhÔ mÂn­sÙi homnÙ hÂiÂkhÙise ÂrÙ unau nÅiau thÂng-phÂ-phin-naise. ObÂsÙ sessai gÂbzrÎ-Ùi gÂbzrÎ-Ùi thÂngnÂnai, fisikhÎkhÔ lÙgÙ man-hÙi-nÂnai, gur thÂlit bÎbÂ, thÂlit bigÙr bÙa hÙnaise. BÎnÎkhai sessÂi brÂpnÂnai “BekhÔ bÂngai dukhu hÙgan,” monau nungnÂnai, thÂsobÂre singau thÂhÙnaise. Unau mukhrÂi bongfÂngnÎfrai on­khÂtnÂnai: “SikhÎ lÙi! sikhÎ lÙi! hanÙi hanÙi gÂbzrÎ gÂbzrÎ thÂngbÂ, sessÂi brÂpnÂnai bungnaise “MÂthÙ sikhÎ-sikhÎ lÙi! Âng beaunÙ razÂnÎ khuser ne-fai-dang. NangnÙ ÂngkhÔ mÂnu nÂnggÔ?” ObÂsÙ mukhrÂi nu­zÂhÙinÂnai bungnaise “He sikhÎ! khuserkhÔ ÂngnÙ thÅse Ù, herÂ! Bese gathÂu Âng zÂ-nai-nÎ;” hanbÂ, sess bungnaise; “Âng nang-nÙ hÙnÙ hÂiÂ. Raz khnÂb ÂngkhÔ bugan.” TheobÙ bÎ embrÂ-brÂ-bÎnaikhai “Z lÙi zÂ, Âng nangzang hÂ-li” hannÂnai, zÂnÙ hÙnaise. PhÂre bÎ zÂnÂnai, sÂlÂiau mÂnb “SikhÎ Âng thoinaise” hannÂnai, bÂbrÂp­baibÂ, sess bungnaise “Nang gagainÙ dukhu mandang. Âng d nangkhÔ m khÂmgan?” hannÂnai, bere jÅth nÎ bÂh sing­au thÂ-hÙi-naise. MÙkhr bÙ un un gÂbzrÎnÂnai thÂngnÂnai ÂrÙ nu-zÂ-hÙi-nai-sui-lÂiÙ “SikhÎ nang m khÂmdang, her” bung­bÂ, sess khithÂnaise “Âng raz nÎ zÅth nedang” hanb “SikhÎ, ÂngnÙ bÂngai dÂmnai-nÙ hÙ, herÂ!” SessÂi bungnaise “Uh Âng hÂiÂ, herÂ; rÂz khnÂb Âng­khÔ buthÂtgÂn,” bungb bÙ, em­brÂbr “Âng lÂsui-sÙ dÂmgan, herÂ,” hannÂnai, bere bÂhÂkhÔ ÂkhÂi-phÂt-ne zang bu-zÂp-naise. ObÂnu berefr mukhÂng, megon, modom gasenÚ o? phop-b mÙ­khrÂi gÂp-khrau gÂp-sÎ bÂbrÂp-bai naise. ObÂni sessÂi bung­naise: Âng dÙ-hÙi-nÙ nang-nÙ khithÂ-dangman, theobÛ nang kho­rÂng lÂia. Âng m khÂmgan?” hannÂnai, ÂrÙ dÂpseau zÎbÔ-gowÂl-nÎ khÂthÎau thÂ-hÛi-naise. AzÙngh mÙkhr bÙ khÎthÛ khÎthÛ thÂngnÂnai bungnaise “ÂrÙ beau lai nang m khÂmdang, herÂ?” Sess bungnaise “Âng razÂ-lÙnghÂ-nÎ18 sÂmÂ-lauthÎ nedang, herÂ.” Bungb “SikhÎ, Âng-nÙ bÙ hÙ, herÂ! Âng bÂngai dÂngnai-nÎ!” BÎ “hÙ” hanbÂbÚ, embrÂ-brÂ, dangnainÂnai, beaubÙ bÎ zÎbÔ-zang o?-zÂ-naise. BÎnÎfrai sess thÂngnÂnai photobÂreau thÂ-hui-naise. MÙkhr bÙ gÂbzrÎ gÂbzri thÂngnÂnai, ÂrÙ lÙgÙ lÂ-hÙi-nÂnai sessÂ-khÔ sÚngbÂ, bi bungnaise: BekhÔnÙ razÂnÎ dol hannÂnai bungÙ. MÙkhr bung­naise: “SikhÎ, Âng bÂngai uthÎ-nai nÎ, herÂ!” bungb “Uh! Âng hÙnÙ haiÂ. Raz khnÂbÂ, Âng-khÔ m bunggan? Nang mÂb Âbr mÂnsÙi, herÂ! KhorÂng khithÂbÂ-bÙ khnÂsonggÂ,” bungbÂbÙ, mÙ­khrai “NonggÂ, herÂ, sikhÎ dÅse bu uthÎgan” hannÂnai, phÅtÅb­reau bÂt-drumbÂ, gÅdÅh lÂgi thrÙp thÂngnaise. ObÂsÙ sess khithÂnaise “Duhui thÂlit z­nÂnai bÎgur hÙnaiÂ, benÙ, her­sikhÎ, nang beaunÙ thÂ-dÙ! Âng nangkhÔ khulumbai! Âng thÂng­naise” hannÂnai, bÎ mu-khrÂ-khÔ beaunÙ gÂr-lai-naise.

But when the man found that he could not catch the hare, he gave up the chase, and went home disconsolate; and so the hare went back, searching for his friend, and shouting his name. But when he found him and demanded his share of the spoil, the monkey offered only the skins of the plantains, and the hare, in his rage, said that he would have his revenge. So, first of all, he went and sat very quietly under some kachu plants. Then the monkey climbed down from the tree and began crying “My friend! my friend!” and the hare replied “Who are you calling friend? I am watching the king’s sugarcane field. What do you want?” Then the monkey came forth and said “Ah, my friend, give me a little of the cane to suck.” But the hare said “I cannot give you any. If the Raja were to hear, he would beat me.” But as the monkey grew importunate, he said “Eat, then, if you will, and don’t blame me.” But when he ate, the acrid juice of the kachu caught his tongue, and he rolled on the ground howling. But the hare only said “It’s your own fault. I told you not to.” Then he went and sat beneath a wasps’ nest. And the monkey, moaning and complaining, followed him and asked him what he was doing there, and the hare replied that he was watching the king’s cymbals. “Let me play on them, only a little!” entreated the monkey. But the hare said “I daren’t do it. The Raja would kill me.” “I will only play very gently,” said the monkey, and, prevailing by means of his importunity, clapped his hands on the wasps’ nest and broke it, and straightway the wasps stung his mouth and face and body all over, so that he rolled on the ground crying out in agony. But the hare only said “I told you not to, and you would not listen, what could I do?” And then he went away to where a gowal snake lay. And again the monkey followed him, and asked what he was doing there. And the hare said that he was watching the king’s sceptre. “Ah! let me brandish it, do,” said the monkey, and for all the hare’s warnings would seize the sceptre. Whereby he got bitten, and was in greater pain than ever. Then the rabbit went away and sat down on a marsh, and the monkey followed him once more, crying as he went, and when he again questioned his friend, the hare said: “This is what they call the king’s litter.” “Let me sit on it for a moment,” said the monkey. “I can’t do it,” said the hare, “what would the king say? I think you are a fool, my friend. I tell you not to do things and you will persist.” But the monkey did not listen to him and jumped on to the marsh and stuck miserably in the mud. And then the hare said “Now, my friend, you give me plantain skins to eat, do you? You can stay where you are. I wish you good-day. I am off.” And, so saying, he left the monkey and went his ways.

ObÂsÙ unÂÙ bÎthÎng gÂnd mÂse fainai nubÂ, bÎkhÔ mukhrai dikhÂng-nÙ thing-dangman. GÂndÂi bungnaise “Âng-h ukhui-sÙ-dang ÂrÙ dÙi-gÂng-sÙi-dang: Âng nangkhÔ dikhÂngnÙ hÂiÂ,” hannÂnai, bÎ thÂngnaise.

And first of all a rhinoceros came. But when the monkey begged for help, he said that he was hungry and thirsty, and really could not stop; he was very sorry; and, so saying, he too went away.

BÎnÎ unau ÂrÙ moesÙ mÂse fai­nai-au bÎkhÔ bÙ khithÂdangman BÎbÙ khnÂsongÂlÂb blot thÂng­naise. BoinÙkhrÎ khÎ-zap-au mos mÂse ukhui-sÙ-nÂnai bÎthÎng thÂngdangman. MÙkhr nunÂnai bungnaise “He ÂfÂ, nang Âng­khÔ be dukhu nÎ frai dikhÂngÂbÂ, ÂrÙ raubÔ dikhÂngliÂ.” HannÂnai gahÂmÙi khulumnÙ homnaise. TheobÚ bÎ “Âng nangkhÔ dikhÂngnÂnai m mangan?” hannÂnai, khozo-ne-sÙ19 thÂngbÂ, mukhrÂi bungnaise “ÂfÂ, nang ÂngkhÔ be photobÂre-nÎ-frai di­khÂngnÂnai hÂbrÙfÙrkhÔ sÙ-srÂ-nÂnai ÂngkhÔ nang zÂ!” hanbÂ, bÎ ukhui-sÛ-nai-khai, be khorÂng-au khnÂ-song-nÂnai, bÎkhÔ bung­naise “Âng nangkhÔ zÂnÛ mon gÚiÂ, manÂthÙ, bebaidÎ dukhuau gaglainaikhÔ dikhÂngbÂ, Ângh gahÂm zÂgan. TheobÙ nang gai­gainÙ zÂsinÂnai hÙnai-i-au, Âng zÂnÙ hÂgo,” hannÂnai, bÎnÎ lÂn­zai-khÔ pholau ho?bÂ, mÙkhrÂi bÎnÎ lÂnzÂiau hombÂ, dikhÂng-bÙ-naise, mÙ-khr khÎthÂnaise “Âf nang ÂngkhÔ dÂni modom-fÙr-khÔ gahÂmui susrÂ, emphÂre rÂnb zÂ,” hannÂnai sÂndungau dÅse zÅbai thÂdangman. Ereaunu mosÂ-i phÂtsething naineau, bÎ bongfÂngau fÂt-drÂp gÂ-khÙ-naise. Mos bekhÔ nunÂnai, brÂp-nÂnai, bongfÂng guriaunÙ sÂnne sÂnthÂm nebai thÂnaise. BebaidÎ thÂnÂnai, unau khug sÎnÂnai, hÂthai hÂzÎzÎ khÂmnÂnai, thoithÎ-nÂnai, thÂnaise, ÂrÙ thÂmfaifr khugÂ-i-au brÛng-brÛng han-lai-nÙ homnaise. BeaunÙ mu­khrÂi ose ose thoi-mÂtbai nung­nÂnai bongfÂng bÎzÔ nÎ frai lÂse lÂse onkhÂtbÙnÂnai Âgl lÂse-i-hai lÂnzai khugau sÙ-nai-grÙ-bÂ-bÙ mos mungbÔ khÂmÂkhuise. ÂrÙ unau Âtheng thÂngse sÙnÂnai hÙnai, beaubÙ mungbÔ khÂmÂkhÙise. ObÂsÙ mÙkhr bungnaise “Nang ÂngnÎ ÂthengfÙrkhÔ khrem-khrem o?nÂnai zÂgauman, lanzai-khÔ khrem khrem o?nÂnai zÂgauman,” hannÂnai, rong zÂnÂnai: “DÂni ÂngnÎ khÅrokhÔ-nÙ zÂ,” hann­nai, khugau sÙnÂnai hÙbÂ, obÂnÙ mosÂi khrem o?-khrep-naise. Thoibai! Zapbai!

And when a buffalo presently came, the monkey addressed him, but he, too, had other business, and went away. Last of all there came a tiger, who was extremely hungry, and to him the monkey said, “My father, if you do not help me out of this scrape, I have no help left,” and with such and such like words the monkey entreated him. But the tiger said “What good will it do me if I help you?” and was going away, when the monkey cried out “Father, father, take me out of the dreadful marsh, and then, if you like, clean me and eat me.” And the tiger was so hungry that he said: “It is not so much that I want to eat you, but if I rescue one fallen into such calamity, it will be well with me hereafter. However, as you yourself have offered yourself to be eaten, I see no harm.” So saying, he stretched out his tail into the marsh, and the monkey, grasping it, was drawn out. Then the monkey said: “Let me get dry in the sun, and when I am a bit cleaner, you can eat me.” And so saying he sat him down in the sun and waited. But presently the tiger looked another way, and the monkey slipped up a tall tree. But the tiger, being in a great rage, waited two or three days at the foot of the tree. But, as the monkey would not descend, he lay at the tree’s root as one dead, and opened his mouth with his teeth grinning, and the flies came and buzzed in his mouth, so that at last the monkey thought that of a verity he was dead. So finally he crawled down, and slowly inserted his tail in the tiger’s mouth. But the tiger never stirred. Then he felt one of the tiger’s great paws. But the tiger never stirred. Then the monkey said “Ah, you would scrunch my bones to make your bread, would you?” and danced about gaily, and cried “See if you can eat my head now,” and, so saying, he put his head in the tiger’s jaws. And then the jaws closed with a scrunch, and that was the end of the monkey. And that’s all!

Besur sÂne zang fisikhÎ man. SÂnse lÂmÂiau thÂbÂ, sÂse mÂnsÙi gur thÂli mairang bÂnnÂnai l­bonai nÙnaise. BÎkhÔ nunÂnai mÙkhrai fisikhÎnÙ khithÂnai-sÙi: “HelÙi sikhÎ, nang beaunÙ zÅbai thÂ. Be fainai mÂnsÙia bÎbÂn dinnÂnai nangthÂngkhÔ hÙsÙbÂ, nangthÂng khÂt.” ErÙi hannÂnai khusungkhÔ bÎ lÂmÂ-au-nÙ dinnÂnai mÙkhrÂi hÂgr singau hÂpnÂnai Ânda zÂnÂnai hÂkhm­nÂnai thÂnaisui ob be mÂn­sÙi khÂthi zÂbÂ, khusungkhÔ nunÂnai, bÎbÂn dinÂnai, hÚsÚnaise. ObÂnÚ mÙkhrÂi hÂgr nÎ frai onkhÂtnÂnai be thÂli ÂrÙ gur khÔ lÂngnÂnai bongfÂngau gÂkhÙhÙi­naise. Unau be mÂnsÙi khu­sung-khÔ manekhai, gaigainÎ nÅ-i-au thÂng-fÂ-fin-naise. BenÎ unau, khusung hÂgrÂ-nÎ-frai onkhÂtnÂnai fisÎkhÔ nÂmainÂnai man-nÂnai, thÂlit ÂrÙ gur bÎnaise. Khintu mÙkhrÂi thÂlit zÂnÂnai bigur gazÂ, gur zÂnÂnai, thinkli gaz khusungnÙ hÙnaise. Beau­nÙ khusung brÂp-naikhai, bÎkhÔ bongfÂngau dikhÂng-lÂng-naise. “Nang Âng-khÔ gur ÂrÙ thÂlit zÂnai nudang-man. Beau m dang, nang gagainÙ nai.” BebaidÎ bungnÂnai mÙkhrÂi bongfÂng-nÎ-frai onkhatnÂnai thÂngnaise PhÂre khusung beaunÙ thÂnÂnai onkhÂtnÙ haiÂkhÙise. Be bong­fÂngnÎ sing-thing baidÎ baidÎ om thÂngdangman. Khintu raubÔ bÎkhÔ on-Â-khÙise. Unau, gÂnd brai mÂse be thing thÂngb bÎ bÎkhÔ khulumnÂnai bungnaise “ÂfÂ, nang ÂngkhÔ onb Âng nangnÎ bÎkhung sÂÏau bÂt-drÙm-nÙ nÂmÂiÙ.” BeaunÙ gÂndai bÎkhÔ onnÂnai thinnaise. Thin-bÂ, bÎ bÂt-drÙm-naise. ObÂnÙ gÂndÂ-h zÂnzi bai-naise! Ob­niÂ, bÎkhÔ khusung hÂgr zang khupnÂnai dinnÂnai, razÂnÎ nÅau thÂngnÂnai raz zÅnai khÂmflai sing-au thÂ-hÙi-naise. Ph zebl mel khun khun zÂdangman, ob khusung khÎphÎnÂise. Raz bÎkhÔ khnÂnÂnai “SÙr khÎphέdang? KhÎthÙ dÂn!” BeaunÙ boibÔ “Âng khÎphÎÂkhÙi” hann­nai bungnaise. ÂrÙ bebaidÎnÙ khonnesÙi khÎphÎni-au, sÂse mÂn­sÙi bÎkhÔ raz nÎ khÂmflai singau nuho?naise. NunÂnai razÂni sigÂngau bung-naise “ÂfÂ, nang­thÂng Âng-khÔ dÂn lÂgi-bÙ, Âng manse khorÂng khithÂnÙ nÂmÂiÙ. NangthÂngnÎ khÂmflai singau-nÙ mÂb mÂse dang. Âng mithÎgo bÎnÙ khÎphÎdang.” PhÂre razÂi nainÂnai, bÎkhÔ nunÂnai, khÎthÙ dÂnnÙ thinnaise. ObÂni khu­sung bungnaise “Âf nang ÂngnÎ khÎthÛ d dÂn! Âng nangthÂng-nÙ gÂnd mÂse hÙgan.” BeaunÙ razÂi brÂpn­nai, bÎbÎnai-baidi-nÙ mÂnsÙi zÂbr bÎ zang hÙnÂnai ho?naise. BÎ thÂngnÂnai, gÂndÂ-khÔ boi bong­fang guriau khithÎ-hui-naise. MÂnsÙifur gÂndÂkhÔ lÂbonÂnai, razÂnÎ singau hÙbÂ, raz hontoh zÂnÂnai bÎnÙ gorai mÂse hÙnaise.

A tortoise and a monkey were great friends, and as they were on the road one day, a man passed laden with plantains. And the monkey, seeing him, said “You go and wait on the road, and when the man pursues you, run away. And so the man put down his load (the monkey having hid in the jungle), and ran after the tortoise. Then the monkey came out of the jungle and took the plantains and molasses that the man bare, and climbed with them into a tree. Then the man, not being able to catch the tortoise, returned, and, not getting his things, went home. Then the tortoise returned and asked his friend for his share of the plantains and molasses. And the monkey offered him for molasses potsherds, and for plantains their skins only; and, when the tortoise insisted, the monkey got angry and hoisted his friend into the tree, saying “See for yourself, if any plantains or molasses be left.” And so he went away and left him. And he could not get down, and one by one various animals came under the tree, but could not help him. And last of these came a very aged rhinoceros, and the tortoise begged leave to jump down on his back. And to this the rhinoceros consented, and so the tortoise leapt down, with such force that he broke the old rhinoceros’ back. Then he covered up the corpse with leaves, and going to the king’s court, sat him down under the king’s throne; and, when the royal council was assembled, the tortoise sneezed loudly, “Who dared to sneeze?” said the king. “Cut off his nose!” But they all with one accord declared that they had not sneezed, and, after he had sneezed once or twice again, some one saw the tortoise under the king’s throne. So he said respectfully “If your Majesty wishes, you can kill me, but I have something to say: There is some living thing under your Majesty’s throne. Without doubt, it was that which sneezed.” On which the king, looking under his throne, saw the tortoise, and ordered them to cut off his nose. But the tortoise said “Do not cut off my nose, and in return I will give your Majesty a rhinoceros.” And at first the king was angry, but for his entreating gave him men with him to fetch his rhinoceros, and when the men returned with the body of the rhinoceros, the king was very pleased, and gave the tortoise a horse.

Be gorÂiau uthÎnÂnai khÂtbaibÂ, mÙkhrÂi nunÂnai sÙng-bÂ, bÎ bungnaise “Be goraikhÔ ÂngnÙ razÂi hunai.” ObÂnÙ bÎ sÙng­naise “MÂbrÙi razÂi nangnÙ hÙnai?” BeaunÙ bÎ khithÂnaise, “Nang ÂngkhÔ zÎ bangfÂng sÂiau gÂr-bu-dangman; Âng beaunÙ thÂnÂnai, lÂmÂkhÂnd mÂse-nÎ sÂiau bongfÂng-nÎ-frai bÂt-drÛm­bÂ, bÎ thoinaise. Unau Âng bÎnÎ sÂiau zÂbr zigÂp hung-nÂnai hÙsinnÂnai bÎkhÔ dinnÂnai razÂnÎ sigÂng-au gÂnd nÎ khorÂng khithÂnaise. BeaunÙ razÂi ÂngnÙ hontoh zÂnÂnai, be gorai­khÔ hÙdang.” BeaunÙ mÙkhrÂi bÎ khithÂnai baidÎ khamnaise. RÂjÂi bÎkhÔ nunÂnai brÂpnÂnai khÎthÛ dÂnnaise. Zapbai!

And as he was riding off, he met the monkey and told him that the king had given him the horse. And when the monkey asked him why, he said that he had jumped on to a common lizard from the tree, on which the monkey had left him and had killed it. And that then he had covered it up with leaves and told the king it was a rhinoceros. And the king was pleased and gave him a horse. So the monkey killed a lizard, and went and told the king it was a rhinoceros, and got his nose cut off for his pains. And that’s all!

SÂse BÂmun dangman, ÂrÙ bέb sÂkor sÂse dangman. SÂn-se sÂne zang BÂmun nÎ bÎhau-bikhunzÙ-nÎ nÅiau thÂng-nÙ-lÂgi thÂlit gur gÂkhir sorai lÂnanai sÂkhor-khÔ bÂn hÙnÂnai, bÎkhÔ khithÂnaise “Nang be thÂlit-fÙr­khÔ d zÂ. ZÂb Ângh khÎthÙ fÂtse bÙ megon dang.” ErÙi hannÂnai thÂngÙi thÂnaise. PhÂre unau boi sÂkhorh mikhÂm ukhui-bÂ, thÂlit-khÔ lÂnÂnai, thaise thaise bÎnÙ un-phÂt-si khithÎnÂnai, be­baidÎnÙ boibo-khÔ-bÙ zÂ-thro-lÂng-naise. PhÂre unau bÎsur dÂpseau zirai-hÙiba, BÂmun bÎbÂnkhÔ nueÂkhÂi, sÂkhor-nÎ sigÂng-au sÙngnaise “BibÂn m zÂkhÙ?” Ob sÂkhor bung­naise, Âng dÙkhÙi-nÙ nangnÙ khithÎnÂnai bÎ thÂlit-fÙrkhÔ zÂbai. ÂrÙ d nang mÂnÙ sÙng-dang?” BebaidÎnÙ BÂmun bolo20 hÂe­khai srÎ srÎ thÂnaise. PhÂre besÙr beaunÙ khÂm song-zÂ-nÙ-lÂgi zothon khÂmnaise, ÂrÙ beaunÙ n khÂwai mÂ-ne-sÙ mandangman. BÎnÎ sÂkhornÙ mÂse bÙa hÙnÂnai, gÂsenÙ BÂmun lÂnaise. PhÂre zebl khÂm man-naise, sÂne-bÙ zÂnÙ lÂgi zodangman. EreaunÙ sÂkhor sÙngnaise “BÂmun gohain, n khÂwÂi mÂse bÙ daugÂiÙ, n dÙlÙ dÙlÙ daugÂiÙ?” BeaunÙ BÂmun bungnaise “DÙlÙ dÙlÙ daugÂiÙ.” Ob bÎ bÎnÎ n mÂsekhÔ bÎnÎ khÂm-au khubui-ho?-detnaise “ManÂthÙ be hÂtsing daugÂnÙ hÂiÂ, nang-ni zang dÙlÙse zÂthang.” BeaubÙ gaigai-nÎ khorÂng-zÂng-nÙ zenn­nai bÎkhÔ mungb bung-nÙ hÂi khÙise. Unau khÂmkhÔ sÂkhor hÂtsing manzÂnaise.

There was once a Brahmin who had a servant. And one day when they were going to the house of the Brahmin’s mother-in-law, the Brahmin gave his servant a bunch of plantains and other things to carry, and said to him “Now, mind you don’t eat those plantains, for I can see just as well behind as I can in front.” And, so saying, he marched ahead. And presently the servant, getting hungry, plucked one of the plantains from the bunch, and, holding it out to his master’s back, ate it. And this he did again and again till all the plantains were gone. And when the Brahmin presently asked what had become of the load, the servant said “You told me you could see behind as well as in front. So I showed you each plantain before I ate it. And you never said anything.”

So the Brahmin went his ways speechless. Presently they stopped to cook their midday meal, and they had got with them a few khawai fish. But the Brahmin gave only one to his servant, and kept the rest himself. And when he was about to eat, the servant asked innocently: “Oh! Brahmin, do khawai fish swim about singly or in shoals?” To which the Brahmin said: “Why, in shoals, of course.” So the servant said “Then my fish had better go with yours.” And, so saying, he threw his fish on the Brahmin’s mess, which was defiled. So the Brahmin got no dinner, and the servant ate the whole.

PhÂre bÎnifrai thÂngÙi thÂngÙi simli bÎfÂng dÙlÙse nunÂnai, BÂmun-khÔ sÙngnaise “BÂmun gohain! be nunai bongfÂng-fr m bongfÂng?” Bamun khi­thÂnaise “sirmolu.” SÂkhor bungnaise: “Sirmolu nunggÂ. BÎkhÔ hirmolu hanÙ.” Ph obÂsÙ phong-b phong-b sÔnÙ lÂgi khorÂng khÂlainaise. PhÂre gur­khi dÙlÙse lÙgÙ mannÂnai, bÎsÙrkhÔ sungbÂ, “himulu” hannÂnai bÎsÙr bungnaise. ObÂnÙ sÙngÂ-hoÂ-lÂb BÂmunkhÔ phong-b sÔnaise.

A little later they came across a number of simul trees. Seeing them, the servant asked his master “And what do they call these trees, master?” And the Brahmin (being an educated man) said “These are sirmolu.” But the servant said “Not so, not so! These are himulu,” and offered to bet five blows that it was so. And, meeting some cowherd boys, he asked them what the trees were. And when they said “himulu” he gave the Brahmin five blows without further question.

ÂrÙ bebaidi thÂngÙi thÂngÙi burm dÙlÙse nunÂnai sÂkhor BÂmunkhÔ sÙngnaise “BÂmÙn gohain, boi gÂngsÙ zÂbai thÂnai zanthu-fÙr m bungÔ?” BÂmun khithÂnaise “BÎfur sÂg.” S­khor bungnaise “NunggÂ, bÎfÙr sÂgoli.” BeaubÙ bÎbaidinÙ BÂmun phongb sÔ-zÂ-naise. ÂrÙ bÎnÎfrai thÂngnÂnai dau-bÅ dÙlÙse nunÂnai sÙngnaise” “BÂmun gohain, befÙr m dau?” BÂmun bungnaise “Nang bÎfÙrkhÔ mithiÂ? BÎfurkhÔ bog hanÙ.” BÎ bungnaise “M bog hanÙ? NunggÂ. BÎkhÔ boguli hanÙ.” BeaubÙ bebaidinÙ BÂmun phongb sÔzÂnaise. Unau bÎ manse slok hannaise:

Next they met a drove of goats. “And what may these be, Brahmin, these animals that are grazing?” And the Brahmin said “These be called chÂg.” But the servant cried “Not so, not so! These are chÂgali.” And the result, as before, was that the Brahmin was worsted and got five blows.

And next they came across a flock of paddy-birds, which the Brahmin called “Bog,” but the servant “Boguli.” And again he was worsted and got his five blows. On which he consoled himself by reciting an Assamese saying, to the effect that it is ill arguing with a fool:

Ph bÎnÎfrai thÂngnÂnai bihai-bikhunzÙ nÎ nÅ khÂthÎ manbÂ, sÂkhorkhÔ thin-ho?-grÙ-nÂnai khithÂnaise “Nang thÂngnÀnai mÂmÂr khÂm songnÙ thin; ma­nÂthÙ Ângh mikhÂm ukhui-sÙ-dang.” PhÂre bÎbaidÎ-nÙ bÎ thÂngnÂnai, BÂmun-nÎ bikhunzÙ-nÙ hÂngsÙ bÛthÂtnÂnai sobai khÂre zang mikhÂm songnÂnai dinnÙ khithÂnaise, ÂrÙ bungnaise “NangnÎ nangzÂ-mÂdÙi megong-au gabÂp nunggÂb zÂiÂ.” ObÂsÙ bÎ songnÂnai dinnaise. PhÂre unau bizÂmÂdÙi so-fai-bÂnÙ, mÂmÂrÙi khÂm khutnÂnai hunaise. BizÂmÂdÙi ukhui-sÙ-nai-khai, khÂm megong mungbo bÂsiÂlÂb zÂnÙ gnÂng zÂnaise.

And when they were now come near the Brahmin’s mother-in-law’s house, and the Brahmin was become very hungry, he sent his servant on ahead to beg them to get supper ready. So the servant went on ahead and bade the Brahmin’s mother-in-law cook a duck and put lots of plantain ashes, which the KachÁris use for salt, well knowing that his master disliked its acrid taste. So the duck was cooked with plenty of alkali.

And when the Brahmin arrived, his meal was set before him, and he was so hungry that he had to eat it whether he liked its savour or no.

ObÂsÙ unau bebaidÎnÙ baidÎ baidÎ lÂzi mannai zÂnaikhai, BÂmun bidÂnÙlÂgi sitti gÂngse lit-nÂnai sakhornÎ ÂkhÂi-au hÙ­nÂnai nÅ-i-au ho?naise. LÂm sÅse thÂngbÂ, beaunÙ litnÙ-grang sÂse mÂnsÙi lÙgÙ mannÂnai, bÎnÙ sitti khithÎnaise. “Beau m litdang, Âng-nÙ khithÂ.” ObÂsÙ, mÂnsÙi sitti-khÔ nainÂnai, “NangkhÔ dÂnnÙ lÂgi BÂmun nÎ bidÂ-khÔ thindang” erui bungbÂ, bÎ sittÎ-khÔ phisÎnÂnai bungnaise “Af nang ÂngnÙ gubun sitti gÂngse litnÂnai hÙ.” ÂrÙ be sitti-au erehai lit: “ÂdÂ, nangnÎ fisÂ-hingzau zang be sÂkhor man-hÙi-bÂ-nÙ hÂb khÂmnÂnai hÙ. Âng benifrai thÂngnÂnai bÎsÙr-nÎ hÂb nunÙ nÂnggÂ.” BebaidinÙ be sitti-khÔ lÂngnÂnai BÂmun-nÎ bidÂnÙ hÙnaise. KhintÙ bÎ sitti-khÔ nunÂnai, monau dukhu man­sÙ-naise. TheobÙ, bigÙi-nÎ khorÂng gÂrnÙ hÂekhai, fisÂzÙ zang mÂmÂr hÂb khÂmnÂnai hÙnÂngnaise.

And so in various ways the Brahmin was put to shame by his servant. So he wrote a long letter to his brother, and, putting it in his servant’s hand, bade him deliver it. But he went a little way, until he met a man who could read and write, and he bade him tell him what was written in the letter. And the man read him the letter, which was to the effect that the brother was to kill the servant. On this, the servant tore up the letter and bade his friend write another one, saying “Dear brother, on receipt of this letter marry my servant to my niece without delay. I shall not be able to come to the wedding.”

Taking this letter, the servant went to his master’s brother, who was much vexed, but dared not disobey. Accordingly, though reluctantly, he married the servant to his daughter.

PhÂre sÂnse thÂnÂnai bÎ fain­nai bid khÔ sÙngb gÂsenÙ khorÂng khnÂnÂnai, bÎ sÂkhor khÔ dÂnnÙlÂgi srÎ srÎ upai khÂmnaise. Be upaikhÔ sakhornÎ hingzau mithÎnÂnai, bekhÔ onnÂnai bÎnÙ khithÂnaise. KhithÂbÂ, hingzau zang ho?au udunÎau mosÔfis mÂse khÂ-khrop-nÂnai futhunÂnai din­naise. PhÂre BÂmun fisÂzÙ zang udubai thÂdang mon khÂmnÂnai, srÎ srÎ thÂngnÂnai mosÔfisÂ-khÔ dÂnnaise. PhÂre sÂn-sÔ-b mos­fisÂkhÔ dÂnfnÂng-nai nunÂnai m­mÂrÙi bizÂmadui sÂkhorkhÔ gÂr­hÙinÙ lÂgi thinnaise. Khintu biz­mÂdui bÎsÙrnÎ bÂriÂu lÂngnÂnai, lÂnzÂi dÎhonnÂnai, fopnÂnai din­naise. Unau BÂmun mos bÙthÂtnai-nÎ nungge srÎ srÎ uddhÂr zÂnu lÂgi gaminÎ mÂnsÙifÙrkhÔ lingnÂnai phozÙ hÙdangman. PhÂre mÂnsuifÙr zÂnu zobÂ, sÂkhor bÂriau thÂngnÂnai mosÔ lÂnzai-khÔ bunÂnai bungnaise “Bamun mosobÙ bÙthÂrÂ-khÙi phozÙ-bÙ hÙ khÙi, hÙi-sÙ!” BebaidÎ bungbai-thÂbÂ, phozÙnÎ mansÙifr khnÂnÂnai, phozÙ zÂi­khÙise. BebaidÎnÙ bÎsÙr uddhÂr manÂkhÙise. ZapbÂi!

And, when the master came to see if his servant had been disposed of, and heard what had happened, he set about to kill him. But his niece got to know of the matter and told her husband, who got a calf, and, binding it hand and foot, put it by her in her bed. And in the night the Brahmin came, and thinking the calf was his niece’s husband sleeping by her side, killed it. And when he found out his mistake in the morning, and learned that he was guilty of cow-killing, he bade his niece’s husband go and bury the calf in all haste. And the servant dragged the calf into the garden and buried it with its tail sticking out of the ground. Meanwhile, the Brahmin set to work to get himself purged of the offence of cow-killing, and summoned the villagers to a feast without telling them why. And when they were all seated, the servant ran out into the garden and hauling at the calf’s tail, called out “The Brahmin didn’t kill a cow, Oh, no! and

SÂse brai bÙrÙi dangman. Bi-sÙr-h sÂse gÅthÅ dangman. BÎ sÂnse brai-bÙrÙi-ni-au mosÔ bainu lÂgi thÂk bÎnaise. Khintu brai bÙrÙi gÅthÅkhÔ Âzl nunÀnai thÂk hÙÂman. GÅthÅ embrÂ-br bÎnai-khai thÂk zakhai-brÙi hÙnaise. PhÂre gÅthÅ mosÔ bainÙ lÂgi thÂngÙi thÂngÙi man­thÂm ÂlÎ-nÎ khÂthi-au gahÂm mosÔ mÂse nunÂnai, be ÂlÎ-au thÂk dinnÂnai mosÔkhÔ khÂnÂnai lÂbo­naise. ThÂngÙi thÂngÙi bÎh khÎnÙ on-khÂtnÂnai mosÔkhÔ hÂgra daise-au khÂnanai dinnÂnai khÎhÙib moso bething khÂtlÂng­naise, PhÂre be khÎnainÎfrai fainÂnai mosÔkhÔ nuekhai hÂgr hÂgr nÂmaibainaise.

There was once an aged couple, who had a foolish son, who one day begged them to give him money to buy an ox with. And, owing to his persistence, though they knew him to be simple, they gave him sixteen rupees and let him go. And, as he went, he found a fine ox grazing where three roads meet; and, putting his rupees down on the road, he bound the ox and drove it away. Presently, he stopped to rest, and while he was dozing, his ox ran away. So he began searching all through the jungle for the missing animal.

ÂrÙ bÎ mÙi zonthr mÂse nun­nai, bÎkhÔnÙ bÎnÎ mosÔ hannÂnai, hÙsÙbaie hÙsÙbaie unau mÙi hÂgr zethap-au gong nÂngnÂnai thÂpthÂnÂnai thÂnaise. ObÂsÙ bÎ mÙikhÔ gÅdÅiau dÎdungzang khÂnÂnai nÅ h lÂgi didung zorai zorai nÅ manfai-naise. BeaunÙ bÎm bifÂi sÙngnaise “Nang mosÔ bainÙ thÂngnaia, hÙ­rÙ?” ObÂsÙ bÎ bungnaise “Be dÎdungkhÔ bÙbÂnÙ, zangfÙr mosÔ mangan.” ErÙ hannÂnai sÂthÂm zang dÎdungau homnÂnai bÙ­naise. BÙÎ bÙÎ mÙi nÅ man-fai-bÂ, boibÙ gÎ-khrongnaise. PhÂre bÎm bÎfÂi mÙi-khÔ buthÂtnÂnai mai salai-nÙ lÂgi gÂmÎnÎmÂnsÙinÙ bÂngan hÙnaise.

At last he found a fine stag, and thinking that to be his ox, chased it through the forest till by chance its horns got caught in a thicket. So he tied a rope round its horns, and to that tied another rope, and so on till he got home. And when his old mother asked him if he had bought his ox “Havn’t I, just,” said he, “just help me to pull and see!” On this, the three of them pulled at the rope, hand over hand, and presently the stag made his appearance kicking and struggling, at which they were mightily afraid. However, they killed the stag, and gave of its flesh to the neighbours to eat.

BeaunÙ gÅthÅ ÂbrÂi ai ÂfÂi mosÔ buthÂtnai zÂbai hannÂnai mÂlainÎ gÂme gÂme khithÂbainaise. Khintu bÎkhÔ Âbr nunÂnai man­sÙifr bÎnÎ khorÂng khÔ fathiÂ-khÙise.

On which the simpleton went about and told the villagers that they had eaten of cow’s flesh. But, fortunately, knowing he was a simpleton, no one believed a word he said.

BÎnÎ unau, ÂjÎ-bÙ thÂiÙ kÂli-bÙ-thÂiÙ, ÂbrÂi bÂngai detbÙnÂnai gÂgainÎ hingzau namainÙ lÂgi ÂrÚ brai bÙrÙi-nÎ-au thÂk bÎnaise. BeaubÙ hÙ gÂrÂ, thÂk zokhai-brÙi brainÎfrai lÂnÂnai hingzau ÂnmainÂnai thÂngnaise. ThÂngÙi thÂngÙi gÂmÎ mÂnsÙi-nÎ dÙi gathÂn-au zombai thÂnaise. PhÂre unau sÂse mazÂng hingzaus dÙi lÂngnÙ fainai nunÂnai, dÙi gÂthan-au bi lÂngnai hingzausÂkhÔ homnÂnai lÂbonaise.

Another time, when the simpleton was grown a bit bigger, he again begged money of his parents: this time that he might get him a wife. And since he would not take a refusal, he got his sixteen rupees and set out afresh in search of a wife. Finally, he went and sat at a place where the village women drew water. And when a pretty maiden came down with her vessel on her hip to draw water, he seized her and carried her off.

PhÂre fai-Ùi fai-Ùi nÂmÂ-i-au mengnÂnai bongfÂng fÂngse nÎ singau zirainaise, ÂrÙ mosÔ halw mÂse lÂnÂnai mÂnsÙi sÂse bÙ beaunÙ ziraidangman. BÎbaidÎ bÎsÙr ziraib thÂb homnai lÂng-zÂ-nai hingzausÂi zingÂsi-nÂnai gÂbÙi gÂbÙi megon-dÙi hÂ-hÂlÂgi bÙhi-lÂng-naise. BÎkhÔ nunÂnai mosÔ lÂnai mÂnsÙia ÂbrÂ-nÙ khithÂnaise “Nang be hingzau-sÂ-khÔ mau mannai? ÂrÙ nang bÎkhÔ nainÂnai lÂbodang, na nai­lab lÂbodang?” Ob ÂbrÂi bungnaise “Ang bÎkhÔ mazÂng nunÂnai bÎsurnÎ dÙi-gathÂn-nÎ-frai thÂk zokhai-brui dinnÂnai lÂbo­dang.” ObÂnÚ bÎ buddi grÂng bungnaise “Nang khÂn dang: be hingzaus mazÂng-bÂ-bÙ, bÎnÎ megon thaine- betnai. Nang nuakhÙi nÙ? HonÙi, dÙi so so bÙhÎlÂngdang. BÎbaidi hingzausÂkhÔ nang m khÂmnÙ?” Be khorÂng khnÂnÂnai ÂbrÂi bÎnÎ mosÔ zang slainÙ nÂmainaise. Khintu bÎ mÂnsÙi misainÙ hÙnÙ nÂmÂiÂ. TheobÙ embrÂbr bÎnaikhai: “lÂ, le, lÂ!” hannÂnai, mosÔzang mÂnsÙisang slainÂnai, gÂgai gÂgai monau gahÂm mannÂnai azang sÂse azang sÂse mÂmÂr thÂnglainaise. Be­baidÎnÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi ÂbrÂi bongfÂng fÂngse singau burm lÂnai mÂnsÙi sÂse zÅbai thÂnai nunÂnai, bÎbÙ beau-nÙ zÅnaise. BebaidÎ zÅbai thÂbÂ, moso hÂ-sudangman. PhÂre bÎ burm lÂnai mÂnsÙi bungnaise “Be mosÔ nÎ udui goblongbai, ÂrÙ sÂn sese thÂb be thoisigan. BeaubÙ bÎ ÂbrÂi gom nungnÂnai, mosÔkhÔ bÎnÎ burmÂzang slainaise. BebaidÎ thÂngÙi, ÂrÙ sÂse thÂlit lÂnai mÂnsÙi bebaidÎ-nÙ bongfang singau zÅnai mÂnsÙi lÙgÙ man­nÂnai, ÂbrÂi bÚ zÅdangman. Khintu burmÂi gÂngsu ukhuin­nai bÂbrÂp bainaiau bÎ zÅnu sukhu man-e-khai, burm khÔ bubÂ, burm b b hannaise. ObÂnu; “Ese mengnaiu Âng nangkhÔ mÂbrui bÂgan?” hannÂnai, brÂp­nÂnai, gÂrnu lubuibÂ, be thÂlit lÂnai mÂnsÙiÂ, thÂlit khÔ ÂbrÂnÙ hÙnÂnai bÎ burm khÔ lÂngnaise. BÎbaidÎ nÙ bÎsÙr bÎnÎfrai thÂng­lainaise. EreaunÙ sÂse mÂnsÙi bÎnÎ sigÂng-thing ÂsÎ khrep-khrep21 dÂmnÂnai faidang. ObÂsu kh­thiau lÙgÙ manb ÂbrÂi bung­naise “Âng burm mÂse mÂnÎ hÙnÂnai be thÂlit-khÔ, lÂbo­dang. TheobÙ ÂngnÎau thÂlit bÎÙ?” ErÙi hannÂnai “nang thÂlit zÂnÙ lubuidang-b nang-nÎ bidyÂkhÔ ÂngnÙ hÙ;” hannÂnai, bÎ biaunÙ hurÂsemÂni sÙlÙngnÂnai, zenthe-nÙi hÂnÂnai, thÂlit-khÔ bÎnÙ hÙnÂnai ÂsÎ khrep khrep dÂmn­nai thÂngnaise. ThÂngÙi thÂn­gui, mai gezer dÂpseau khÎnÙ onkhÂtnÂnai khÎnaiau bÎnÎ bidyÂkhÔ baugÂrnaise. ÂrÙ be mai gezeraunÙ gamÂbai hannÂnai, maikhÔ them nainaibaidÎ nainaise. BeaunÙ mainÎ girimai mai hÂbai thÂdangman, nunÂnai, bÎkhÔ sÙngnaise “Nangh beau m gamÂdang? ÂngnÎ mai-fÙr hÂm zÂthrobai!” Âbr bung­naise “Angh thÂk zokhai-brÙi nÎ bidy manse beaunÙ gamÂbai. Nang bÙ Âng zang namai-phÂ-bÂ, Âng nangkhÔ gahÂm mangan,” hannaikhai, bÎ bÙ nÂmaiÙi nÂmaiÙi, manekhai brÂpnÂnai: “nang nÎ khorÂng misÂ,” hann­nai, Âsi dÂmbÂ: “ÂfÂ, d Âng manbÂi;” hannÂnai ÂbrÂi khÂt­lÂngnaise.

And when he got tired, he stopped to rest under a tree. And it happened that a man driving a plough ox was also resting there, and the maiden sat there crying her very eyes out for grief at having been carried off. So the man with the ox asked the simpleton “Where did you get that girl? Did you have a look at her before you took her, or didn’t you?” To which the simpleton replied “She seemed a pretty girl, so I put down sixteen rupees at the bathing place and carried her off.” On which the wise man said: “You must be blind. The girl’s pretty enough, but don’t you see that both her eyes are burst. You clearly don’t see straight. Just see how the water is flowing from both her eyes.” On hearing this, the simpleton offered to exchange the girl for the ox. But the other pretended to be unwilling, till, after much persistence on the part of the simpleton, he cried: “There, take it, take it!” So the exchange was effected, and each went on his way mightily satisfied.

And, as the simpleton went his ways, he found a man seated under a tree having a goat with him. So he too stayed to rest. And when they stopped to rest, the ox lay down to rest. On this, the man with the goat said: “That ox is not a good bargain. It will die in a day or two.” And the simpleton, believing this, exchanged the ox for the goat. And when he set forth again, he met a man carrying a big bunch of plantains. So the two sat down. And as the goat was restless and gave him no peace, the simpleton began beating it, so that it cried Ba! ba! (now Ba in the KachÁri speech means “carry”). So he said “Do you suppose a tired man like me is going to carry you?” And he was so angry that in disgust he exchanged the goat for the bunch of plantains; and went on. And as he went, he met a man cracking his fingers, and, thinking he did it in scorn of his plantains, explained at what price he had got them.

However, he offered to give him the plantains if he would teach him the art of cracking his fingers. So the two stayed there a long time till the simpleton had more or less acquired the art he coveted. Then as he went on, he suddenly forgot what he had learned. And because he forgot it in a paddy field, he thought he must have lost it in the paddy, and began examining the ears of paddy as a woman searches another woman’s hair for lice. And when the owner of the field came up and asked what he was about, he said: “I have lost a thing which cost me sixteen rupees. Come and help me to look.” So the two looked together, and when, after much search, they found nothing, the other man, in pure vexation, cracked his fingers. On which the simpleton, crying “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” went dancing away.

ÂrÙ bebaidÎ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi fukuri manse manhÙib beaubÙ bÎ khÎnÂnai bÎnÎ bidy khÔ baugÂr­naise. PhÂre bÎ nÂmaie nÂmaie manÂkhÙi. EreaunÙ sÂse mÂnsÙi lÙgÙ mannÂnai sÙngnaise: “Nangh beau ma gamÂdang?” hanbÂ; “ÂfÂ, Ângh beau gahÂm basthu manse gamÂbai, nangbÙ namaibÂ, Âng gahÂm mangÔ;” bungnai-au bÎbÙ bÎzang namaifÂnaise, ÂrÙ unau nÂmaiÙi nÂmaiÙi hÂbru zang musunlÂ-musunlÎ zÂnÂnai, theobÙ mane­khai, bÎ mÂnsÙi brÂpnÂnai Âsi dÂmnaise. Ob bÎ “o ÂfÂ, dÂsÙ Âng bekhÔ manbai!” hannÂnai, rong zÂnÂnai, nÅ-hÂ-lÂgi khrep-khrep dÂmnÂnai nÅ manhÚinaise. BikhÔ nunÂnai brai bÙrÙi minÎ-sÙ-naise. Agla bÎkhÔ sinai man­khÙiman, unau sÙngnÂnai mithÎnaise. “ÂrÙ thÂkÂfur m khÂm-khÙ?” hanbÂ, bungnaise “Âng hingzau sÂse lÂbodangman, Beh megon thaine bÙ betnai. BÎnÎkhai ÂrÙ mosÔ slainaise, Bih bÙ udui goblong zÂnai, ÂrÙ burm mÂse zang bÎkhÔ slainaise. BÎbÙ ÂngkhÔ bÂnÙ thinnaikhai brÂp­nÂnai, thÂlit slainaise. ThÂlit khÔ nunÂnai, sÂse mÂnsÙi bÎnai­khai, be mÂnsÙinÎfrai be bidy khÔ sÙlÙngnÂnai thÂlit hÙnani lÂbodang. ÂrÙ Âng m khÂmnÙ nÂnggÒ?” Zapbai!

Presently, he stopped by a tank, and again forgot his new acquisition. So he plunged into the mud to look for it. And a man came up and asked what he was searching for? To which he replied “My friend, my friend! I have lost something very valuable. Do come and help me to look.” On which, the two searched until they were covered with mud; and when they found nothing, the new-comer cracked his fingers in vexation, and the simpleton, crying “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” went gaily cracking his fingers all the way home. And when his father and mother saw him, they smiled at his state, and till they spoke to him did not know who he was. And then they asked him what he had done with his money. “Oh!” said he, “first of all I bought a lovely maiden, and, because her eyes were bad, I exchanged her for an ox; and because there was something wrong with the ox, I got a goat in exchange; and because the goat wanted me to carry him, I got angry and changed him for plantains. And the plantains I gave to a man who taught me to crack my fingers, and what else would you have me do?” And that’s all!

SÙrb Âbr sÂsnÎ dangman. BÎsÙr sÂn se dÂpseau onkhÂtlÂng-nai-au nÂmÂ-au-nÙ dÙi-slÙng bÂngai mannÂnai bÎkhÔnÙ mÂbrÙi bÂtgan hannÂnai khorÂng zÂlai-naise. BeaunÙ bÎd geder bung­naise “BoibÙ zÂnzÎ khÂphrÂ-nÂnai bÂtnÙ nÂngbai;” hannÂnai, boinÙkhri bÎ Âgl zÂnÂnai, bÎnÎ khithÎau sÂse hom-hÙ-naise. BebaidÎ-nÙ bÎnÎ zÂnziau bÎ, bÎnÎ zÂnziau bÎ homlainÂnai dÙislungau sÂnsrilainaise. BeaunÙ Âtheng-mani zerbÂ-mÂni sÂnsrinai-au thoi onkhÂtlainaise. PhÂre bebaidÎnÙ zenthen Ùi bÂtkhÂngnÂnai bÎd geder sÂse-se lÂngkhÂtbai nung­nÂnai sÂn-naise. SÂnÂnai sÂrÅ bÙ mannaise. ÂrÙ unau bÎnÎ godÂi sÂnnaise. BÎ bÙ sÂ-rÅ bÙ mannaikhai, sÂfrimbÙ khonse khonse sÂnnÂnai sÂ?Å bÙ man­nai. BÎnÎkhai boibÙ sÂse lÂng­khÂtbai hannÂnai zingÂsÎ-nÂnai khorÂng zÂzlaibai thÂdangman. EreaunÙ bething BÂmun sÂse thÂngnÂnai besÙrkhÔ nunÂnai sÙngnaise: “Gotho-fÙr nung-sÙrh m zÂdang?” BÎsÙr bung­naise “ÂfÂ, zangfÙr bÎd bÎfong sÂsnÎ man. D be dÙis bÂt-naiau zangfÙrh sÂse lÂngkhÂtbai. BÎnÎkhai beaunÙ zangfÙr zingÂsi-lai-bai thÂdang,” hannaikhai BÂmun srÎ srÎ sÂnnÂnai sÂsnÎ khÔbÙ nudang. BÎnÎkhai bÎ “BesÙr Âbr zÂnÙ nÂnggÔ” nungnÂnai, besÙrkho khithÂnaise, “GÅthÅfÙr, nangsÙr ÂngnÎ nÅi-au bÙibÂ, Âng nangsÙrnÎ mÂnsÙikhÔ dÎhonnÂnai hÙnÙ hÂgan,” han­naikhai, bÎsur mÂnthÎ zÂnaise. Unau BÂmun goe khÂndisnÎ khaunÂnai bÎd gedernÎ ÂkhÂiau hÙnÂnai “Be goe-Â-khÂndi bese dang, nang sÂn.” HanbÂ, bÎ sÂnnanai khÂndÎ snÎ mannÂise. BeaunÙ Bamun bungnaise: “NangsÙr be goekhÔ rÂnlainÂnai zÂ,” hanbÂ, rÂnnai-au gÂgai gÂgai grup-gaglai-naise. BeaunÙ bÎsur rong zÂnÂnai BÂmun-nÎ nÅiau bÙinÒ-lÂgi BÂmun zang thÂng-fÂ-naise.

There were, once upon a time, seven simpletons. And once they were going down the road, and meeting a puddle, were in great distress as to how they should cross it. And the eldest said “I will go first, and you all follow, holding one another’s loin cloths.” So they held one another’s cloths and crawled through the puddle on their hands and knees, getting very muddy and dirty in doing so. But when they had fairly got across, the elder set to work to count; and, as he failed to count himself, behold, there was one missing. Then the next brother counted; and, as he, too, found one missing, they each in turn counted. And so it became clear that one was lost; and there they stood debating this deplorable business. Just then a wily Brahmin came up, and asked what was the matter. And they told him that they had been seven, but that in crossing the puddle, one of them had been lost. On which, the Brahmin, quickly counting them, found that they were still seven, and, judging them to be simpletons, said to them “My sons, if you will come to my house and work for me, I will find you the missing man.” To which with one accord they agreed.

Then the Brahmin split a betelnut into seven pieces and put them into the hand of the eldest. “Now count them,” said he, “and tell me how many there be.” And he counted and found that there were seven. “Now take each man a piece,” said the Brahmin, and, behold, to each piece there was a man. So in great joy and peace of mind they went to the Brahmin’s house to work.

PhÂre bebaidÎnÙ sÂnnesÙ th­nÂnai sÂnse bÎsÙrkhÔ bÂriau megong dÂngnÙ lÂgi thin-nÂise. Âru BÂmun-h sÂse fisÂtl dang­man. BÎkhÔbu bÎsÙrzang hÙnÂnai khithÂnaise, “ÂngnÎ fis­tlÂ-i bÙ nangsÙr zang megong dÂng-thang, ÂrÙ un zÂ-lÂng-b bÎkhÔ thutlun-thutlÂn lÂngfÂ.” ErÙi bungb bÎsÙr bÂriau thÂng­nÂnai megong dÂnghÙidang. PhÂre unau BÂmun-nÎ fisÂtlÂi un zÂlÂng-naise. BeaunÙ bÎkhÔ nunÂnai bÎsÙr railainaise “DÙhÙi bÎf khithÂ-dangman “gÅthÅ un zÂlÂngb bÎkhÔ thutlun thutlÂn lÂng,” hannÂnai, dÂ-nÎ-au zang­fÙr m khÂmgan?” BeaunÙ bÎd geder “BebaidÎnÙ khÂmnÙ nÂnggÔ,” hannÂnai, sÂfrimbu bÎ khonse, bÎ khonse, megong dÂng­nai sekhÂr zang thunÂnai hÙnÂnai. Bamun-nÎ gÅthÅkhÔ bÙthÂtnÂnai dinnaise. PhÂre unau megong dÂngkhÂngnÂnai nÅiau faib Bamun sÙngnaiau khithÂnaise “nang khithÂnaibaidi zangfÙr bÎkhÔ sekhÂr zang thunai-au bÎ thoinÂnai thÂbai.” PhÂre Bamu­n srÎ srÎ thÂnaise.

And then, one day, he sent the seven simpletons out into the garden to weed the vegetables, and with them he sent his only son, saying “If the lad is lazy and falls behind, shove him along and make him work.”

So they all went into the garden and began cutting the weeds with their knives; and presently the boy fell into the rear. On which they said “There is that Brahmin boy fallen behind. Did not his father say that we were to push him along? What is to be done now? But the elder brother said, “Do? Why, do as we were told.” On which each of them hit him with his weeding knife, so that presently he died. And when the weeding was quite finished, they went and told the Brahmin, saying “You told us to shove him along, and as we had our knives in our hands, we hurt him so that he died.” But the Brahmin was speechless, for they had but done as they were told.

ÂrÙ sÂnse hÂli oinÙ thinnÂnai bungnaise “NangsÙr gÂbun simli sÂ-i-au hÂli oinÙ thÂngnÙ nÂnggan.” PhÂre unau bÎsÙr fungzÂni sikhÂngnÂnai nÂngal mosÔ fÂg lÂnanai simlifÂng guriau thÂngnÂnai, simli sÂ-i-au khaise gÂkhÙnaise, ÂrÚ khaise hÂ-i-au thÂnÂnai mosÔkhÔ fÂg zang kh­nÂnai hÙbÂ, sÂ-i-au thÂnaifr bÙ-khÙ-lÂng-naise. BeaunÙ dÎdung zÅ-i zÅ-i hÂli snÎ mosÔ22 gÂsenÙ thoi-thrÅ-naise. UnÅu nÅ-i-au fainÂnai bÎsÙr BÂmunnÙ khith­naise “ZangfÙr simlÎ sÂ-i-au mosÔ dÎ-khÂng-nÙ hÂekai hÂli oinÙ hÂiakhuise.” Bamun “mosÔfr m zÂkhÙ?” HanbÂ, “thoi-thrÂ-bai,” khithÂnaise. BÂmun unau mung-bÔ upai mane zÂnÂnai ÂrÙ mosÔ bainÂnai bÎsÙrkhÔ hÂli oi-hÙ-naise.

Another day he told them to go and plough. “Take your ploughs up above the great simul tree,” he said. So they rose in the early morning, and, taking ploughs, cattle and ropes, went to the great simul tree. And some stayed below and bound the ploughs and cattle with the ropes, and others climbed the tree and hauled. But the ropes broke and the cattle were killed and the ploughs were smashed. And then they went and told the Brahmin that they had tried to plough above the simul tree and had failed. “And what of the cattle?” said he, “Oh! they fell down and were killed,” they replied. So, in despair, he bought other cattle and sent them out to plough afresh.

PhÂre mai mannai-au mai h­nÂnai unau BÂmun dÂngri khaie khaie hÙnÂnai bÎsÙrkhÔ rÙgÂnÙ thinnaise. BeaunÙ bÎsÙr mai­khÔ mau dinnÙ hannÂnai sÙng­bÂ, BÂmun bungnaise “BÙrÙi zerÙi din-nÙ thin-Ù, beau-nÙ din,” hanbÂ, bÎsÙr thÂngnÂnai, bÙrÙi-khÔ sÙng-hÙi-naise. BÙrÙi nÅ-nÎ hÂbÂfÙr khÂmnai-i-au monau brÂpnÂnai thÂdangman. BeaunÙ bÎ bungnaise “Mai din-nÙ thaÙni manÂbÂ, ÂngnÎ khoro-au-nÙ dinfai!” hanbÂ, bÎsÙr boibo mai bibÂn zang bÙrÙi-khÔ hÙ-sin-thrÅ-naise. BÎbaidÎ-nÙ gÂsenÙ mai rÙgÂnÂnai bÎnÎ sÂiau dinnaise.

PhÂre manÂb BÂmun dublÎ nÎ frai fainÂnai bÙrÙi khÔ nÂmaib bÎsÙr khithÂnaise “ÂngnÎ khÅrÅ-au-nÙ mai din han-nai-khai zang­fur mai zang hu-sin-nÂnai din­dang.” BiaubÙ brai mungbÔ upai mane zÂnanai, bÙrÙi khÔ fopnÙ lÂgi bÎsurnÙ ho?naise. PhÂre bÎsÙr bÙrÙi-khÔ khÂnÂnai o sing sing bageding-baged bÂn-lÂng-nai-au bÙrÙi o thÂnai-au nÂngnÂnai siri-lÂngnaise.

And when the harvest was ripe, they reaped the paddy, and, tying it in sheaves, brought it home and asked where they were to put it. And the Brahmin said “Put it where my old woman tells you to put it.” So they went and asked the Brahmin’s wife. But she was very busy, and only cried “Oh, bother you and your paddy! Put it on my head!” On this, they all took their sheaves, and heaped them on the old woman, so that she died. And when the Brahmin came from his work and asked for his old woman, they said they had buried her in the paddy, as she told them to. On which, being at his wit’s end, he bade them go and bury her. On this, they tied the corpse on a bamboo sledge and bumped it along through the bamboo-clump, so that it got knocked off by the way.

And when they came to some fallow land, they dug a grave, and then began looking about for the corpse. Now there was an old woman hard by herding cattle. “Cunning old wretch!” said they, “she is afraid of being buried, and is pretending to be somebody else.” So they got hold of her, and, in spite of her struggles, buried her.

PhÂre besÙr bÂkor-bÂreau23 thÂngnÂnai bÎbÂnkhÔ dinnÂnai hÂkhor zaunÂnai bÙrÙikhÔ fopnÙ lÂgi naibÂ, manekhai, bÙrÙi-khÔ nÂmaibainaise. SÙrb bÙrÙi sÂse khÂthi-au-nÙ mai nebai thÂdang­man. BÎkhÔnÙ nunÂnai bÎsÙr railainaise “BÂmun bÙrÙi bud­digrang fop-zÂnÙ gÎnÂnai, beaunÙ mai nebai thÂ-thÎ-dang,” hannÂnai bÎkhÔ homnÂnai lÂngnÂnai fopn­nai dinnÂnai fainaise. BÎnÎ unau BÂmun monau bÎsÙrkhÔ gÎnÂnai bÙthÂtnÙ lÂgi mon khÂmnÂnai bÎsÙrnÙ khithÂnaise “GÅthÅfÙr, dinÎ zangfÙr simlifÂng gederkhÔ dÂn-hÙi-nÙ nÂnggÔ,” hannÂnai, ru lÂnÂnai simlÎfÂng ni guriau thÂnglainaise. ThÂng-nÂnai ru zang bongfÂng khÔ sÅÙi sÅÙi bong­fÂng gaglai-sÎ gaglai-sÎ zÂbÂ, BÂmun bÎsurkhÔ bungnaise “BongfÂng gaglai-sÎ-sÙ gau-gan, nang-sÙr boibÙ hom-thÂnu nÂnggÔ.” KhithÂnÂnai BÂmun saunÂnai hÙnaise. Unau bong­fÂng gaglai-sin-nÂnai sÂsnÎ Âbr thoinaise. Zapbai!

And the Brahmin, in fear of what they might do next, began to contrive means to get rid of them. So he said “Today, my sons, we will go and cut down the great simul tree.” So they took their axes and, going to the simul tree, began hewing with a will, and when the tree was tottering to its fall, the Brahmin said to them “If the tree falls down, it will be broken. Run under it and catch it!” And when they did so, the Brahmin gave the last strokes, and the tree fell on the seven simpletons and killed them. And that’s all!

SÂnÙi khÂn khuz zang phisi­khÎ man. PhÂre bÎsÙr sÂnse railainaise “Zang-fÙr mÂlÂi-nÎ gÂmiau bÎbaib zang-nÎ gÂmÎ-nÎ-khrÎ bÂngsin mangan.” Hanlain­nai khuzai khÂnÂkhÔ lauthiau homnÂnai, bÙlÂngnaise. ThÂngÙi thÂngÙi nÂm gezerau dÎdung sorÛi manse gÂ-fnÂng-nÂnai phisikhÎ-nÛ khithÂnaise “SikhÎ, be lai mÂ, herÂ? MÂb galÂu zibÔ baidi gÂfnÂngdang.” KhuzÂi bungnaise “Be hÂthÎ khÂnai dÎdung sorÛi.” HanbÂ, khanÂiÂ, “Ob bekhÔ lÂ, herÂ, sikhΔ; hannÂnai bungnaise, Khintu bÎ lÂÊ-khai “ÂngnÙ dÎkhÂngnÂnÛi hu;” hannÂnai, khÂnaia didung-khÔ lÂnaise.

There sprang up a friendship between a blind man and a hunchback. And one day they said to one another “We shall get more if we beg in some other village than our own.” The hunchback made the blind man hold his stick, and so dragged him along. And as they went, the blind man trod upon an old elephant rope which lay upon the road, and said to his friend “Ah! friend, what is this thing like a long snake which I am treading upon?” The hunchback said “Why, it is only an old elephant-rope.” But the blind man said “Take it, my friend, take it.” But, as the hunchback refused, the blind man bid his friend hand it to him, and so they went their ways thence.

PhÂre bÎnÎfrai thÂngÙi dÛis manse man-hÛi-nÎ-au bÂtlangb khÛsÛng mÂse khÂnÂi gÂfnÂng-naise, ÂrÙ bungnaise “SikhÎ, ne ne! Âng mÂb mÂse gÂfnÂng­dang.” HanbÂ, khuzÂi “Onthai-frÂ-khÔ-nÙ mÂthÙ bungbai thÂiÙ, herÂ, sikhÎ, nang-lÂi?” KhÂnÂi bungnaise “NonggÂ, nonggÂ, sikhÎ, nang gÙgrÙmnai.” Hanb bÎ gÙgrÙmnÂnai khusum-khÔ mannÂnai, khÂnÂ-nÙ khithÂbÂ, bungnaise “O sikhÎ, ob bekhÔ l herÂ: zangfurnÙ bekhÔ nÂng­gan.” Khuzai “Ilit ilit lÂiÂ, her” han-nai-khai, khÂnÂi bÎkhÔ-bÙ gagai-nÙ lÂnaise. BÎnέfrai bibaidÎ-nÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi dÂpse-au dol dÂmnai khnÂnÂnai khÂnai khuzÂnÎau sÙngnaise “SikhÎ bÎ dolÂ-lai sÙr thÙ? Mau thÙ dÂmdang, herÂ?” Hanb khuzai khithÂnaise; BeaunÙ sÙrb gurkhi gÅthÅfÙr dÂm­dang” hanbÂ, khÂnÂi bÎkhÔ lÂnÙ lÂgi thin-naise.

And presently they came to a river; and as they were wading across it, the blind man trod upon a tortoise and told his friend that he had trod upon something living; but the hunchback said it was only a stone, and asked what was the use of standing there talking. But the blind man begged him to feel and see. And when the hunchback announced that it was a tortoise, the blind man begged his friend to take that, too; and on the hunchback declaring that it was too heavy, he finally carried it himself.

Then they went their ways and came to a meadow, and heard a drum being beaten. And the blind man asked what that was, and where the drumming was going on. On which the hunchback said it was only cowherds drumming. On which the blind man was for sending the hunchback to fetch the drum.

KhintÙ bÎ, “Âng mÂbrÙi lÂbogan? BÎsÙr-khÔ Âng bÙlÙ hÂi zÂgan, manÂthÙ bÎsur gabÂng dang,” hanbÂ, khÂnÂi manse buddhi khÂmnÂnai phisikhÎ-nÙ khithanaise “SikhÎ, nang hÂgr sing sing thÂng-khmÂ-nanai, bÎsÙr nÎ khÂthÎ manbÂ, mos baidÎ sÙgÙmnÂnai hÙ! ObÂnÙ bÎsÙr gÎnanai khÂtgan,” hanbÂ, bÎbai­dÎnÙ khuzÂi khÂmnai-au, gÅthÅ-fr gÎnanai dol khÔ zrÂpzrup gÂr-lÂng-bÂ, khuzÂi dol khÔ lÂbona­nai khÂnÂnÙ ho?-hÙ-naise. ObasÙ bÎnÎfrai sÂnÙi zang hÂgr gezer gezer thÂngÙi thÂngÙi nÅ nunanai, khuzÂi bungnaise “SikhÎ, d sÂn hÂpbai, man faibai, DÂlai ÂrÙ mÂu thÂng-bÂu-nÙ? Beau-nÙ nÅ danga. ZangfÙr beau-nÙ thÂ-dÙ-nÎ,” hanbÂ, khÂnÂi bung­naise “Hagra gezernÎ nÅkhÔ Âng gabÂng gahÂm man-srÂiÂ, herÂ, sikhÎ,” hannÂnai m m nÅ dang gahÂmÙi nainÙ thinb khuzÂi khithÂnaise “NÅi gÂng-ne gÂng-thÂm. BÂndÂr bÙ gong-se dang,” hanb khÂnÂi “BÎ bÂndÂrau-nÙ thÂgan,” hannÂnai, phisikhÎ-nÙ khithÂbÂ, bÂndÂr-sing-hÀ bÙlÂngnaise, ÂrÙ dor-fur-khÔ gahÂmÙi khÂ-fthÂ-nÙ thinnÂnai, beaunÙ thÂnaise. Unau beau thÂnai RÂikhÔ-fr fainÂnai, bungnÂise—

But the hunchback said “How shall I fetch it? They will be too strong for me, for they are many.” Then the blind man devised a plan, and bade the hunchback crawl through the jungle and roar like a tiger. Which the hunchback did; and the cowherd boys, on hearing his roaring, ran away headlong and left the drum, which the hunchback gave, as before, to the blind man to carry.

Then the friends went through the forest, until they came to some houses. On which the hunchback said “My friend, the sun has set, and evening has come. How much further are we to go? Here are houses, let’s stop here.” But the blind man said he did not think very well of houses in the jungle, and sent his friend to have a good look at them.

Presently the hunchback returned and said “There are two or three houses and a granary.” On this, the blind man decided that they would stay in the granary, and so was dragged into the granary, where they carefully fastened the doors and prepared to stay for the night. And while they were there, Rakshashas came and said—

hannÂnai, nÅ gong frÙm-bÙ namÂi-giding-bai-bÂ, khÂnÂi rai-dau-ho?-naise “Âng beaunÙ dÂng.” HanbÂ, raikho bungnaise “Nang lai sÙr?” KhÂn bÙ bung­naise “Nang lai sÙr?” Raikho khithÂnaise “Âng RaikhÔ!” Kh­nai bungnaise “Âng ZÂkhÔ! BebaÎdÎnÙ be-sÙr brÂp-lai-naise UnÂu khÂnÂi bung-naise “BrÂp-nÙ bÙ nÂnggÂ, munÙ bÙ nÂngg NangkhÔ bÙ Âng nu­khÙi, ÂngkhÔ bÙ nang nu­khÙi. BÎnÎkhai manse buddi khÂmbÂ, zangh gahÂm zÂgan,” hannÂnai khÂnÂi raikhÔnÎ khenai bÎhot-bÂ, Raikho gaigainÎ khÙ-mÙn daise phunÂnai khithÎho?-naise. ObÂsÙ khÂnÂi bungnaise “DÂni ÂngnÎ khenai-khÔ nai.” HannÂnai, hÂthÎ dÎdung khÔ dέhonnÂnai hÙnaise. BÎkhÔ nun­nai Raikho gÎkhrongbÂ, khÂnÂi ÂrÙ them bÎ-ho?-naise Raikho bÙ gaigainÎ them khÔ khithÎ-ho?-bÂ, bÎ khusung khÔ khithÎho?-naise. ObÂsÙ Raikho be ZÂkhoÂ-nÙ nunggÔ nungnÂnai, gÎ-sin-bai. KhanÂi ÂrÙ bÎnÎ udui dÂmnÙ thinnÂnai, dÂmbÂ, bungnÂise, “DindÙ dindÙ hÂmbai, Âng khnÂbai. DÂni ÂngnÎ khÔ khnÂsong!” hannÂnai, dol khÔ dÙm dÙm dÂmnÂnai hÙbÂ, Rai­khofr gÎnanai, khÂt-thro-lÂng-naise.

And while they were gliding round the house, the blind man shouted loudly “Here am I!” “Who are you?” said the Rakshashas. “Who are you?” shouted the blind man. “I am a Rakshasha,” said one of them. “And I am a Zakshasha!”28 said the blind man. Whereupon they all got very angry. Then the blind man said “You need not get angry and you need not get noisy. I can’t see you and you can’t see me. Let us make an expedient by which you can be satisfied.” So saying, the blind man bade the Rakshasha show him a lock of his hair. On this a Rakshasha tore out a bunch of hair and showed it to him. On which the blind man said “Now see mine!” And so saying, thrust out of a chink the elephant rope. And on seeing it, the Rakshasha became very afraid. Then the blind man demanded to see a flea (from his body). And when the Rakshasha had shown him one, the blind man put forth his tortoise. Then the Rakshasha thought “This must indeed be a Zakshasha,” and was greatly afraid. Then the blind man bade him beat his breast. And, on his doing so, cried “Well done, well done! I have heard you. Now hear me!” and straightway began to beat his drum “rub-a-dub-dub.” On which the Rakshashas were greatly frightened and ran right away.

Unao, khÂnÂi phisikhÎkhÔ bungnaise “SikhÎ m m gahÂm bastÙ dang, bifurkhÔ kh ÂrÙ nang bÂse, ÂngnÙ bÙ bÂse hÙ, ÂrÙ mÂmÂr thÂngdÙ-nÎ thÙ” hann­nai bÎsÙr bÎnÎfrai mÂmÂr failainaise. ÂrÙ dÂpse gazÂn thÂni-au thÂng­nÂnai khuzÂi be bastufarkhÔ rÂnnÙ nÂmainÂnai rÂnnaise, RÂn-khÂngb khÂnÂ-khÔ bungnaise “SikhÎ nangthÂng bobekhÔ lÂiu lÂ,” Hanb bÎ dÂngnainanÂnai khuz thing-nÎ bhÂgÙ-khÔ bÂngsin man-dÂng-nÂnai, rÂnnÂi hÂm khÙise hannÂnai, golaigothai khÂmnaise. PhÂre khuzÂi “Nang-thÂng-lai nuÂ-lab mÂbrÙi mithÎnai, herÂ? Khonle khonle rÂnnÙ gnÂng khÂm-hÙiÙ!” HannÂnai ÂrÙ rÂn-phÂphinbÂ, obÂbÙ bÂng­sin man-dÂng-nÂnai, ÂrÙ “HamÂ-khÙise, hamÂ-khÙise,” hannÂnai golai-gothai khÂmnaise. BÎbaidÎ nÙ khonbrÙi khon-b khÂmb khuzÂi brÂpnÂnai, ÂkhÂiau bÂli lÂnÂnai “Nanglai gom khÂn n mis khÂn lÙi?” hannÂnai gahÂmÙinÙ megonau bÂlizang hÙnÂnai hÙnaise. ÂrÙ obÂnÙ bÎ nunai zÂnaise. ÂrÙ bÎ bÙ brÂpnÂnai; “nunglai” m sÂb dÂng lÙi, nunÙ hÂma hannÂnai godo-au zo-sin-nÂnai lÂnÂnai, khuz bikhung-au gomÂgom sobai thÂb bÎbÙ gahÂm zÂnaise. Unau sÂnÙi zang gahÂm zÂ-lai-nÂise, ÂrÙ bastÙ-fÙr-khÔ gahÂmÙi rÂn­lainÂnai, nÅ-i-au thÂng-lai-naise. Zapbai!

Then the blind man said to his friend “Take any good things that there are, and tie them up. You take some and give me some, and let us go;” and, so saying, they went away together. And when they were come to a far place, the hunchback began dividing the spoil. And, when that was done, he bade his friend take which share he would. But the blind man groped about and found that the share nearest to the hunchback was the biggest. So the hunchback said “How did you, without seeing, find that out? Now I have got to divide it all over again!” So he made a fresh division.

And the same thing happened again, and the blind man turned everything topsy-turvy. And, when this had occurred four or five times, the hunchback became angry, and taking sand in his hand rubbed it into the blind man’s eyes, saying “Now we shall see if you are really blind or not;” whereby the blind man recovered his sight. But he, too, was angry and said “What a hideous thing you are, and hateful to look upon.” And he jumped on the hunchback’s back and belaboured his hump till he made him straight and well. And when the two were hale and well, they divided their spoil fairly and went home happily. And that’s all!

Brai bÙrÙi dangman. Brai hÂgr gezerau dubli dotse lÂnanai hÂb maubai thÂdangman. PhÂre sÂnse shikÂri sÂse hÂgrÂiau mÙi gaunÂnai thoi-frÂm-nÂnai khÂrÙi khÂrÙi brainÎ dubli gezer thing thÂngdangman. BeaunÙ brai nunÂnai bÎkhÔ khudÂl zang khÅrÅ-au-nÙ denÂnai mÙikhÔ bÙthÂtnaise. ButhÂtnÂnai hÂgr singau hakhmÂnÂnai dinnaise. EmphÂre unau mÙi gaunai giri­maia khÎthÙ khÎthÙ thoi sirÎlÂng­nai naie naie nÂmai-lÂngÙi-lÂngÙi brainÎ dubliaunÙ sin gamÂnaise. ObÂsÙ braikhÔ sÙngnaise: “HelÙi brai! Nang bething mÙi mÂse fainai nunÂi nÂ?” Brai bung­naise “Ângh dublÎ-nÎ shimÂi khÙlÂthing boinÎfrai sÂthing boinÎfrai” hannÂnai bungb bÎ bung­naise “Nongg nonggÂ! Âng mÙinÎ khorÂng-sÙ nang-nÎ-au sÙngdang,” Brai khithÂnaise “ZÂnun! be dubliau mai zÂiÙ n zÂi Âng khÎthÂnÙ hÂiÂ.” “Nang­ga-lÙi, brai, bÎ khorÂng-khÔ Âng sÙngÂkhui.” Brai bung­naise “D sÂnzÔfÛbai, Ângh mikhÂm ukhui-sÙ-dang. Âng thÂng-nÙ-sÙi;” hannÂnai, nÅiau khÂtlÂngnaise. ObÂsÙ unau brai mikhÂm dÙi zÂkhÂngnÂnai bÙrÙi-khÔ bungnaise; BÙrÙi, Âng-nÙ gÂbun phungau-nÙ mikhÂm song­nÂnai hÙ. Ang mÙi mÂse buthÂt­nÂnai zangnÎ dubliau dinbÙdang. BÎkhÔ mÂmÂr gadÂnÙ nÂnggÔ.” ObÂsÙ okh naibÂ, bÙrÙi mÂmÂr khÂm dÙi brainÙ hÙnÂnai bÎkhÔ hogÂrnaise. BÎ dubliau thÂngn­nai mÙikhÔ gadÂnÂnai rÂnnaise. Agl gaigai-nÎ bhÂgÙ khÂmnaise. “PhÂnse mÙkhÂng sunai-nÎ, phÂnse thÂnkhu zÂnai-nÎ, phÂnse dubliau mosÔ hÙlÂngnai-nÎ, phÂnse hÂli oinai-nÎ.” BebaidÎnÙ huÂfÙrh zese hÂb dang, gÂsenÙ bhÂgÙ khÂm-thrÅ-naise. D unau bÙrÙi-nÎ bhÂgÙ khÂmdang “PhÂnse mukhÂng sunai-nÎ, phÂnse thÂnkÙ zÂnai-nÎ, phÂnse khundung lÙnainÎ, phanse khun pheretnai-nÎ, phÂnse hÎ dÂnai-nÎ, phÂnse khÂm songnai-nÎ, phÂnse dÙi lainai-nÎ.” BibaidÎnÙ bÎnÎ bÙ zese hÂb dang, esenÙ bhÂgÙ khÂmnÂnai sÂn-naise. SÂnnÂnai bÙrÙi nÎ bhÂgÙ bÂngsin man­naise. ObÂsÙ brai brÂp-nÂnai. “ÂngsÙ bÙrÙinÎkhrÎ hÂb bÂngai bÙ mau-Ù nÂ? hannÂ-nai, golaigothai khÂmnÂnai, ÂrÙ rÂn-phÂphin-naise. DÂni Âgl bÙrÙi­nÙ bhÂgÙ khÂmgru-nai, ÂrÙ unau bÎnÎ bhÂgÙ khÂm-nai. DÂbÎh bÂngsin zÂnaise. TheobÙ brai bÎau mon phati khÙise. BÎbaidέnÙ bÎ golai-gothai khÂmÙi khÂmÙi rÂnbÂbÙ hamÂn zÂiÂ. BÎbaidÎnÙ sÂnse mÂni zÂnaikhai, bÙrÙiÂ; “BrÂiÂ-lai m khÂm-khÙ?” hannÂnai, dhinkÎ thor manse lÂnanai, dublÎau thÂngnÂnai, brai-khÔ-nuhÙi-dang, gaigainÙ bidot zang nÂnglaib thÂdang. BÎdot-frÂ-bÙ khonle khonle dÂng-phlebai thÂ-naikhai, gebletheble zÂlÂng­bai. ObÂsÙ bÙrÙi dhinkÎ thor zang srÎ srÎ khÎthÛ-au khubui-ho?-bÂ, brai mÂb imfu ho?bai hann­nai, bÎdot-khÔ gÂrnÂnai nÅh khÂtlÂng-naise. EmphÂre, bÙrÙi bÎdot khÔ hÎ zang ban-nÂnai b­nÂnai nÅ-au lÂbonÂnai, songnÂnai, brai-zang zÂ-lai-bÂ, brai sÙngnaise “BÙrÙi, belai mÂ-nÎ bÎdot?” hanbÂ, bÙrÙi khithÂnaise “Âng daus fis mÂse buthÂtnÂnai, nangh man lÂng-nai-khai, bekhÔnÙ song-dop-nÂnai dindang. NangnÎ bÎ mÙi-bÎdot-khÔ nebai thÂbÂ, zangfur d khÂm man-zÂ-gla-gauman.” Zapbai!

There was an old man and his wife. One day, when the old man was clearing jungle, a half-dead deer that had been shot by a huntsman, came limping that way and crossed the old man’s field. On which the old man killed it by hitting it on the head with his hoe, and hid it away in the jungle. Presently, the man who shot the deer made his appearance, having tracked its blood as far as the old man’s field. “Here, old man!” said he, “have you seen a wounded deer pass this way?” The old man replied “The boundaries of my field? Well, the east boundary is here and the west over there!” But the other said “Not so, not so, I am asking about a wounded deer.” To which the old man replied “I know what you mean; but whether it will be a good crop or not, how shall I say?” “Not so, not so,” said the other; that isn’t what I want to know.” But the old man said “I cannot stop any longer. The dark is falling, and I am hungry for my supper. I’m off.” So saying, he went away home, and when he had had his supper, he said to his old woman “You must give me my breakfast early tomorrow, for I have killed a deer, and I must go early and cut it up.” So the old woman gave him his breakfast very early and sent him about his business. And he went to his field, and, having chopped up the carcase began dividing the pieces. And first he put apart his own share, “One piece for washing my face in the morning; one piece for chewing tobacco; one piece for driving the cattle afield; one piece for ploughing”; and so on, for all his daily avocations. Then he made out his old woman’s share: “One piece for washing her face in the morning; one piece for chewing tobacco; one piece for spinning cotton; one piece for fretting cotton; one piece for weaving cloth; one piece for cooking rice; one piece for drawing water;” and so on, with all her occupations. But, on counting up, he found that the old woman’s share was much the biggest. On which he cried angrily that it was not to be believed that a woman’s share could be bigger than his, and, mixing up all the pieces of flesh on the ground, he began a fresh division. This time he set apart the old woman’s share first, and his own afterwards. This time his share became the largest. But still he was not satisfied, and, mixing all the gobbets up again, he divided them again and again, but never got them equal. Meanwhile, the day had slipped by and evening was come. So the old woman, taking the pestle of the dhenki, went to look for her husband, and there she found him in the midst of the lumps of flesh, which had become covered with dust and dirt through much mixing. Then the old woman let fly the dhenki stump at his back. On which he cried that a snake had bitten him and ran home, on which the old woman tied up the meat in a cloth and carried it to her house, and cooked some hastily for supper. And when her husband asked where the meat came from, she said that he had been such a long time in coming, that she had killed a chicken and cooked it for him. “And if you had stopped dividing that deer’s flesh, we should never have got any supper at all,” said she. And that’s all!

SÂne brai bÙrÙi dangman. BÎsurh nÅ-Â-bÙ gongne man. PhÂre sikhau sÂbrÙi be brai bÙrÙi nÎ nÅi-au mÂb mÂbÎ khaunÙ lÂgi fainai. Faib brai bÙrÙi boi si­khaurÙrkhÔ khÙikhÂ25 khÂmnÙ lÂgi buddi manse khÂmnÂnai dinnai. Zerehai gÔbar-khÎ ÂrÙ zÙzai ÂrÙ gÂzri-dÙi hÂsong-se bÎfÙrkhÔ thopl zunÂnai dhinki sÂli nÎ mÂroliau khÂ-sai-nÂnai dinnaise. PhÂre unau manÂbl sikhau-fr fainÂnai brai bÙrÙÎnÎ nÅ injurau mÂnsÙi srÎ mandang na man­khÙi bannÂnai khnÂsongbÂ, brai bÙrÙi bÎsÙrnÎ khorÂng khnÂnÂnai, brai bÙrÙikhÔ bungnaise “BÙrÙi, nang zangnÎ sorai ÂrÙ gur-gÂkhir mau dinkhÙ?” BeaunÙ bÙrÙi bungnaise “HÂm srÂ-bai de, brai! BÎfÙrkhÔ dhinki-sÂli-aÙ-nÙ khÂ-sai-nÂnai dinnai zÂbai.” Be khorÂng-khÔ sikhau-fr khnÂnÂnai dhinkÎ-sÂliau thÂngnÂnai, bÎkhÔ man-hÙi-nÂnai bÂri-nÎ-frai thÂlit-lai lÂbÔnÂnai rÂnnÂnai zÂnÙlÂgi zÅnaise. ObÂnÙ bÎsÙr mÂb manÂmnai mannÂnai sÙng-lai-naise “BÎbÙ bÂngÙ m manÂmdang? BÎbÙ bÂngÙ m manÂmdang?” PhÂre sÂse boikhÔ ÂkhÂiau lÂnÂnai manÂm-sÙ-naise. ObÂnia mithÎnÙ hÂna­nai, boibÔ minÎlaibÂ, brai sikhÂngnÂnai thokon-thor lÂna­nai hÙ-sÙ-bÙ-bÂ, bÎsÙr khÁtlÂng­naise.

ÂrÙ sÂnse brai bÙrÙi boi sikhau-fÙrkhÔ fainai khnÂnÂnai brai bÙrÙi-khÔ sÙngnaise; “ZangfÙr-h songkhrÙi thopl mau dinkhÙ?” ObÂsu bÙrÙi bungnaise “DÂsÙ gahÂm zÂbai, brai! SongkhrÙi thoplai zang udunai nÅ-nÎ khÙlÂ-fÂt-sÎ inzurau senÂnai dindang! Sikhaufr maub lÂng-nÙ hÂgÔ.” BÎsÙr railainai-fÙr-khÔ sikhau-fr khn­nÂnai inzÙr dÂn-sÎ-nÂnai Âkhai sÙnÂnai songkhrÙi-thoplÂ-khÔ dÂng-grÙm-baib brai khÂthrÙi-lÂngÔ lÂnÂnai thÂngnÂnai ÂkhÂi dÂn-hÙi-naise. Ob bÎ “Âng man khÙise” hannÂnai thÂngbÂ, ÂrÙ sÂse sikhau bÎbaidÎnÙ dÂng-grÙm-bÂ, bÎkhÔ-bÙ ÂsÎ-au dÂn-fnÂng-naise. PhÂre bebaidÎ-nÙ sÂse sikhau-nÎ khÙm dÂnnai, ÂrÙ sÂse-nÎ gonthong dÂn-fnÂng-naise.

There was an aged couple who lived in a pair of houses. And four thieves used to prowl round their houses, seeking to steal. And the old man set to work to contrive devices to disappoint them. And first he filled a joint of bamboo with cowdung and dirty water and rice-chaff, and hung it up in the rafters of the dhenki-shed. And when at nightfall the thieves began prowling round and listening to hear if the inmates were asleep, the old people overheard them, and the old man said to his wife “Old woman, old woman; where have you hung up the molasses and milk and chira?” And the old woman replied “A nice business! I have been and gone and hung them up in the dhenki-shed, where the thieves can get at them.” And the thieves, hearing this, slipped off to the shed, and, getting the bamboo-joint, gathered plantain leaves for plates, and divided the spoil and sat down to eat. And one of them, smelling at the stuff, said to the others “Smells rather strong, doesn’t it?” Then one of them took his mess in his hand and smelled it, and, seeing what had happened, they all burst out laughing. Then the old man came out with his big stick, and the four thieves ran away. Another day, the old man, hearing the thieves prowling about, said to his wife “Where have you hung the packet of salt?” And the old woman replied “A fine affair! I have hung it up on south wall of our sleeping-house, where the thieves can easily get it.” And so one of the thieves thrust his hand in, and began feeling about for the bundle, on which the old man took his knife and cut his hand. But he only said “I can’t find it,” and went away.

PhÂre unau bÎsÙr gÂrai gahÂm man-nu lÂgi dÙi nÂmai-bai-nai-e-aÙ sethlau-nÙ thÂlit khÂrÙi sÂmnai megongdÙ-au dÙi mann­nai Âkhai hÙ-sÙm-naise. BeaunÙ bÂngsin Âlunai manbÂbÙ, lÙgÙ-nÎ mÂnsÙifÙr-nÙ khithÂiÂlÂb “GahÂm manbai,” hannÂnai bungnaise. BebaidÎnÙ sÂbrÙi-hÂ-bÙ zÂbÂ, brÂplainaise. ObÂnÙ brai nÅ-nÎ frai onkhÂtnÂnai thokon lÂnanai bÎsÙrkhÔ hu-ho?-naise.

On which the other three felt about, and one got his finger cut, and another his ear, and the fourth his nose. Then they looked about in the yard for something to ease the pain, and the first, finding a cooking pot in which acrid plantain ashes had been steeped, plunged his hand in, and, getting more pain than before, only said “Ah! that’s good.” On which the others followed his example. And, while they were hopping about in pain, the old man came out and took his stick, and drove them away.

BÎnÎfrai ÂrÙ sÂnse brai-bÙrÙi-nÎ bÂriau thÂlit bÎfong dangman, ÂrÙ bÎnÎ khÂthiau phÂnlÙ bÎfong fÂngse dangman. BeaunÙ bere-thinklÎ bÂh lÂdang. PhÂre ho?au be sikhau sÂbrÙi brai bÙrÙinÎ nÅiau faibÂ, brai bÙrÙi-khÔ sÙngnaise “BÙrÙi, nang zang-fÙr-nÎ thÂkÂ-thinkhlÎ-khÔ mau fopnÂnai dinkhu?” hanb bÙrÙi khithÂnaise “DinÎbÙ gahÂm zÂbai, de, brai! zangnÎ thÂka-thinkli thÂlit-guriau fop­nÂnai dinnai-au-nÙ thÂbai. BÎnÎ khÂthi-au-nÙ fÂnlÙ-fÎfÂng-bÙ fÂngse dang. D sikhaufr manÙ-khÎ-mÂ-sÙ!” BekhÔ si­khau fr khnÂnÂnai, be thÂlit guri-h thÂngnÂnai nÂmai-lai-hÙi-b bere-bÂhÂ-khÔ man-naise. Phare bÎkhÔ besÙr dikhÂngnÂnai lÂbobÂ, bÂhÂi gÙbrÙnÂnai berefr sikhau-fÙr-khÔ o?bÂ, besÙr “AiÂ! aiÂ!” hannÂnai, khÂtnaise, ÂrÙ brai thokon lÂnÂnai hÙsÙnaise.

Another day, the old people found a wasps’ nest on a chili plant under a plantain tree. And when the thieves came, the old man said to his wife “Old woman, old woman, where have you put the lota with our money in it?” And the old woman answered “To-day’s luck is the worst of all. I have left the lota under the plantain tree in the garden, by the chili bush, and no doubt the thieves will get it.” Hearing this, the thieves went and disturbed the wasps’ nest, and the wasps flew out and stung them. And when they cried in pain and ran away, the old man ran after them with his stick and beat them soundly.

BÎnÎfrai ÂrÙ sÂnse brai thÂthÎ dÂnnÙ lÂgi sekhÂr lÂnÂnai hÂgrÂiau thÂngbÂ, boi sikhau sÂbrÙi-khÔ thaigrit guruiau udulÂngb thÂnai nunÂnai thai­grit bong-fÂngau uthÎnÂnai thÂri gnÂng thaigrit thaibrÙi khÂnÂnai lÂbÔ-nÂnai be sikhau sÂbrÙi nÎ kheneau thaise thaise khÂ-khmÂ-naise. PhÂre unau “Sikhau! sikhau!” hannÂnai brai gÂpzrÎ-khÂu-b bÎsÙr srÎ mannÂnai sik­hÂngnÂnai khÂtlÂngnaise. KhÂtbÂ, zesenu khÂrÙ, esenÙ thaigrit fithÂi bikhungau dup dup bulÂngnaise. BÎsÙr braia khÎthÙ khÎthÙ fainÂnai zang-fÙr khÔ sodang nungnÂnai khÂre-thÂng-naise. PhÂre unau gazÂn thÂngnÂnai zirai-hÙi-bÂ, thaigrit khÔ nunÂnai gÂrnaise.

Again, another day, when the old man went out to cut reeds for his fence, he found the four thieves asleep under an O tree (the fruit of which is hard and heavy), and the old man, climbing quietly into the tree, cut four of the fruits, with the stalks attached, and tied them to the thieves’ hair. Then he suddenly cried out “Thief! thief!” And the more they ran, the more the heavy fruit bumped on their backs, so that they thought the old man was running after them and beating them. And they ran a very long way before they discovered their mistake, and unloosed the fruit from their hair.

BÎnÎfrai ÂrÙ sÂnse brai mai duliau thÂnÂnai bÙrÙikhÔ fÙrÙng­naise “BÙrÙi, nang ho?au sikhau faib gaigainÙ sÙngnÂnai, gaigainÙ khith de, ereÙi hann­nai “Brai, brai hÙn! nang thurse khurui mau dindang?” “DhinkhÎ-sÂliaunu maiduli-au bÎfÙr khÔ dinnai zÂbai. D sikhau faibÂ, man-lÂng-sÎ-gan dÂ! M khÂmkhÙ!”

Be khorÂng-khÔ sikhau khn­nÂnai, mÂmÂr dhinkhi saliau thÂngnÂnai naihÙib be dulikhÔ dikhÂngnÂnai “O! beaunÙ thorse khurui-fÙr dang le! Ilit mÂthÙ!” ObÂsÙ bÎsÙr khÂnÂnai bÂnnÂnai lÂng-lÂi-naise.

And, again, the old man climbed into the mat receptacle in which the paddy was stored; but, before doing so, he instructed his wife to imitate his voice and ask where the brass plates and cups had been put; and to answer in her own voice that they had been put into the paddy receptacle in the dhenki-shed. And when the thieves heard all this, they hurried to the dhenki-shed, and, lifting up the paddy receptacle, said with one accord: “My! isn’t it heavy?” And so they tied it to poles and carried it away on their shoulders.

PhÂre unau thÂngÙi thÂngÙi dÙis gathau manse man-hÙi-naise. BeaunÙ bÂtb braia; “SέhÂng sihÂng zÂbai, um, um, di­khÂng!” hanb bÎsÙr “Mauh sÙr raidang lÙi.” Khaise bungnaise, “Be duliau rainai baidÎ khnÂ-i-Ù.” ÂrÙ sÂse “Beau mungbÔ gÙiÂ; nangsÙr erenÙsÙ khnÂdang!” ObÂsÙ thÂngÙi thÂngÙi zÂbr gathau mannÂnai, brai sÎ-sam-b khithÂnaise “Phutu-khoÂ, golÂm-bundÎ-fur! MÂnÙ gahÂmÙi dikhÂngÂlÙi? NangsÙr kÂn nÂ? nunÙ hÂÏÂ-khÙi?” Ereau bung­b sikhau-fr bikhÔ dÙi-au gÂrn­nai khÂt-lÂng-naise. Zapbai!

Presently, they came to a deep river, and as they were wading across, the old man cried “Look here! I am getting wet, carry it higher.” On which they said to one another “Surely, some one spoke?” But, thinking it was a mistake, they went on, and came to deeper water. On this the old man called out again “Stupid brutes! Sons of slaves! Can’t you see your way? I am getting wet through.” And the thieves were frightened, and, dropping the old man in the water, ran clean away. That’s all!

1 A “Bengali ghus” is said to be a blow inflicted with the fist, the thumbnail protruding between the first and second finger so as to give a scratch!?

2 = a “side” of pork.?

3 “gadÂn rai-hÙi-nÂnai” = observing omens.?

4 Onomatopoeic.?

5 Assamese.?

6 A child from whose mouth milk oozes if you squeeze its throat.?

7 The KachÁri version of the “Swan-maiden.”?

8 Assamese “pÁp.”?

9 Snuffling.?

10 “Felt with its beak.”?

11 Assamese “kapÁl.”?

12 “Kumari,” the attendant nymph of the pool.?

13 The KachÁri version of “Beauty and the Beast.”?

14 Goshain.?

15 The Assamese “mat.”?

16 “mÂ-thÙ,” interrogative.?

17 ???????

18 Assamese ???? ?????

19 About two paces.?

20 Assamese ??.?

21 It was not true of him that “dÍgiti crepantis signa novit.” The coincidence of sound is curious.?

22 Seven “plough” of cattle.?

23 Assamese ????????

24 This exactly corresponds to our own “Fee faw fum; I smell the blood of an Englishman!” and the Bengali “AÙ maÙ khaÙ, mÁnsher gandha paÙ!”?

25 Query—Assamese “hingsha.”?

26 The hideous Kuvera, god of wealth. He was a white man with three legs and eight teeth. Apparently, the same as the Hindu Pluto; and lord of the shades as well as of wealth.?

27 I.e., the season personified.?

28 A burlesque word from “zÂnÙ” = to eat.?