There was a weaver who was unmarried, and all that he could earn in a day, in exchange for the cloth he wove, only amounted to two pounds of either rice or other grain.

One day he cooked some kitcherie,1 and, placing it in a plate, left it to get cool, and went out to sell his cloth.

While he was away a jackal came and ate up the kitcherie; and on his return he found the jackal, so he tied it up and beat it severely.

Then he cooked some bread, which he ate, and again beat the jackal.

The poor creature thought: “Now my life will go, if this man keeps on beating me in this way.”

When the man next went out to dispose of his cloth, the jackal, tied up by itself, felt very lonely, especially as it could hear its companions howling in the jungles; so it began to howl too, and, hearing it, one of its friends came to see where it was, and finding it, said: “Brother, what are you doing here?”

The poor jackal, bruised all over and swollen with the beating it had received, replied: “Friend, a man has caught me, and takes the greatest care of me; see how fat I have grown with eating all the hulwa-poories2 he gives me. If you will release me, I will tie you here, and you will get a share of the good things.”

So the two exchanged places, and the first jackal ran back gladly into the jungles.

On the return of the weaver he, as usual, began to beat the poor creature, who then spoke, and said: “Why are you beating me?”

The weaver, surprised, replied: “I have never heard this jackal speak before!”

“That one has gone, and he tied me here in his place, and told me I should get all sorts of good things to eat; but if you will release me, I will arrange a marriage with a King’s daughter for you.”

“What!” said the man, “I am only a poor weaver, and can you really get me married to a King’s daughter?”

“Yes,” returned the jackal.

So the weaver released it, and turning itself into a Brahmin, it crossed the river and presented itself at the court of a certain Rajah, to whom it said: “O King, I have found a rich weaver-caste Rajah, who wishes your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The Rajah, much pleased, consented, and the Brahmin, on getting outside the Palace, once more turned into a jackal, and returned to the weaver.

“Follow me,” said he, “and I will take you to the King’s daughter.”

So the weaver took up his blanket, which was all he possessed.

On their way they met a Dhobie, or washerman, carrying his bundle of clothes. The jackal gave him a gold mohur, and told him to spread all the clean clothes he possessed upon the trees around.

Further on they met a cotton-beater, or man who, in the East, beats cotton and prepares it to make up into pillows and quilts; to him they also gave a gold mohur, and asked in return for several large balls of cotton.

These they carried on a large plate to the river; and the jackal, leaving the weaver, returned as a Brahmin to the Rajah, who had seen the Dhobie’s clothes in the distance, and thought they were tents pitched by his daughter’s future husband.

The jackal had told the weaver to watch, and, as soon as he saw him enter the Palace, he was to take large lumps of cotton and throw them one by one into the river, so that they might be seen floating down the stream.

“The Bridegroom,” explained the Brahmin, “has met with a terrible accident; all his possessions and his followers are lost in the river, and only he and I remain, dressed in the clothes in which we stand.”

Then the Rajah ordered his musicians and followers to come out, and go with horses in great pomp to bring the weaver, who was forthwith married to the Princess.

After the marriage the Brahmin said: “This son-in-law of yours has lost all he had; what is the use of his returning to his country? Let him stay here with you.”

To this the Rajah, who loved his daughter, gladly consented, and gave them a fine house and grounds.

Now the weaver, who was not accustomed to good society, or to living with those above his station in life, made a salaam, or obeisance, such as a poor man is wont to do, to his wife every morning, and she began to suspect that he had deceived her, and was not a real Rajah. So she asked him one day to tell her the whole truth about himself, and he did so.

“Well,” said she, “you have owned it to me, but do not let my father or mother know; for now that I am married to you, things cannot be altered, and it is better that they should remain in ignorance; but whatever my father may ask you to do, promise me that you will do it, always answering ‘Yes, I will,’ to anything he may suggest.”

To this the weaver agreed; and shortly afterwards the Rajah called him and enquired if he was willing to help him, and, as promised, the man replied, “Yes, I will.” Then he went to his wife and told her, and she commended him.

Next day the King told him that two brothers, by name “Darya” and “Barjo,” threatened to fight and take his kingdom from him, and he desired his son-in-law to go to the stables and select a horse on which to ride on the morrow to battle.

In the stables was a horse that was standing on three legs. “This,” thought the weaver, “will just suit me, for it seems lame and has only three legs to go on, and making this an excuse, I’ll keep behind all the rest, and out of danger.”

Now this horse3 used to eat a quarter of a pound of opium daily, and could fly through the air, so that when the Rajah heard of the selection he was very delighted, and said to himself: “What a clever man this is, that he is able to discover which is the best horse!”

The day following he had the horse brought round, and mounted it in fear and trembling, having himself securely tied on lest he should fall off, while, to weight himself equally, he fastened a small millstone on either side.

As soon as the groom released the horse, it flew up into the air, then down again, and then up through the branches of trees, which broke off and clung to the weaver’s arms and body, so that he presented a strange spectacle. He was terrified, and kept on crying out: “O Darya! Barjo! for your sakes have I come to my death.”

The two Princes, Darya and Barjo, seeing this strange horse flying through the air, and hearing their names coming from a queer object all covered with branches of trees, were very much alarmed, and said: “If more come like this, we shall indeed be lost; one is enough for us.”

So they wrote to the King, and said: “We have seen your warrior; stay in your country, and we will stay in ours: we cannot fight.”

And they sent him a peace-offering.