In a somewhat out-of-the-way village in the PunjÂb there dwelt for many years an old Fakir who was renowned for his wonderful self-denial and abstemious habits. He was not one, you know, who assumed their garb merely, but he preached to others of truth and morality, and his character bore out all he taught. He did not wander about, but took up his residence in this village, and so, being always there, he came to be well known, and was often visited by many people from distant parts.

One day another Fakir of the same branch and order as himself, and who was journeying north, came and claimed friendship with him, and finding him in a special place where he usually spent his day, sat down near to him, and talked of the things that concerned them both.

It being near night-fall the old Fakir asked his brother of the same faith to come as his guest for the night, and to pursue his journey on the morrow. So they trudged together until they arrived at his hut; but when the wife saw the guest, and knew that he was going to stay the night, she grew much displeased with her husband, and very abusive. It was in vain for the old Fakir to say that his friend was a traveller, and of his own avocation; the wife refused to be appeased. The guest finding himself in an awkward position, asked his host whether he had not better go on his journey at once, or find a refuge somewhere else in the village for the night, for it gave him great pain to listen to the angry words of a woman.

“Oh, no!” said the host, “I know she is very ill-tempered and cross, and frequently gets put out, but I have a great respect for her all the same, and I must tell you the reason.

“Do you not know that I am widely known as a good man? and in consequence of this, and of the advice I give, I am visited by people far and near, and they all flatter and praise me to the skies. Sometimes I have thought to myself that if this were to continue, I should be in danger of being proud and puffed up, and so be ruined not only here, but hereafter. Now this wife of mine, when she fans herself into a passion, does me real good, and I become quite subdued; and the more turbulent she becomes the more I control myself and am quiet. So you see there is a balance established between us, and the effect on me is that it softens my nature, and I am made more and more what we Fakirs aim to be; so what I lose in one way, I gain in another and a better way.”

The guest remained the night, and went away the next day deeply impressed with the wisdom of his friend and brother.

EXPLANATORY NOTES.

“Fakir.”—Much has been previously said under this heading, but it is well to give here a few of the sayings of the noted Fakir known by the name generally of “Baba Farid,” whose shrine is still to be seen in the town of “Pak Pattan” in the Montgomery district, not far from Multan. He was one of the “Chisti class” and a Shiah, belonging to a tribe of Arab descent. The Shiahs differ from the Sunnis in the belief that Ali ought to have succeeded the Prophet, instead of Abubakr, Omar, and Osman.

The shrine is an extensive one, but in order to enter it, it is necessary to pass in by a small doorway about four feet high and two feet broad, closed by a door made of sandal wood, to which three locks are attached, and the key of each is in the custody of a responsible person. On festival days, however, which happen once a year, the locks by some magic power fall off of themselves into a cloth held to catch them.

The devout worshippers enter by the door, and pay each one rupee for the privilege, and as it is calculated that over 100,000 visit the shrine each year, the gain to some one class must be enormous. So infatuated do the devotees become, that it is commonly believed by them that the parrots cry out “Farid! Farid!” as they fly over the shrine.

There are piles of stones near “Ajmere,” arranged in a line, and the story is that a string of camels carrying bags of sugar were going into the city, and “Baba Farid” meeting them enquired of the drivers what the camels were burdened with. The drivers turned upon him with a sneer and said, “Stones! Stones!” “Is it so?” replied Farid, “then let it be stones!” and lo, and behold, when they came to unload their beasts they found that the sugar had been really turned into stones, and emptying all their bags, they left the stones by the road-side, which are to be seen to this day.

Several verses, or quatrains, have been ascribed to Baba Farid, and here are two or three:

Again, when seeing a woman grinding at a mill (one well known):

And further, thinking on the mill, Farida added:

Again, and this shall be the last:

Crooke says of Baba Farid, that he was called also, Shakkarganj, or Fountain of Sweets. Shakkar being the Persian for sugar; but more probably from the Arabic word “Shookur,” thanksgiving. He was a disciple of Qutub-ud-din, who lived near Delhi, who again sat at the feet of Imam-ud-din of Ajmere, also a great name to swear by. Baba Farid is said to have had the “Hidden hand” (dast-i-ghaib), a sort of magic bag which gave him anything he wished.

Every devotee who contrives to get through the door of his mausoleum is assured of a free entrance into Paradise, and the crowds are immense.

Pak Pattan was called the “Ferry of the Pure One,” and the latter days of Farid-ud-Din were spent at Adjudhan, a very ancient city in the PunjÂb. This Fakir was instrumental in the conversion of the whole of the Southern PunjÂb to the faith of Islam.

Note.—The self-inflicted penances of both Hindu and Mahomedan Fakirs are well known, but perhaps the “Measurement Affliction,” or “Kusht,” from the Persian word “Kusht,” meaning “killing,” will be new to some. It consists in making an approach to the shrine from a considerable distance, and measuring that distance by so many lengths of the body, foot after head, until the shrine is reached. But few can go through this extreme torture in the sun, and then only with the assistance of relatives and friends, who supply sherbet and drinks to the devotee, and keep his body cool with fans.

Note.—In relation to this Folk-tale, it is said in the district:

There are three things that are bad: