TonotesONCE there was a RÁjÁ called HÁmÁnsÁ RÁjÁ. He had a son, named Gursan RÁjÁ, who married KhelÁparÍ RÁnÍ, the daughter of GulÁbsÁ RÁjÁ. After the wedding Gursan RÁjÁ brought her home to his father’s house.

One day Gursan RÁjÁ came home from hunting, very very tired and thirsty. It was about twelve or one o’clock in the day. He asked KhelÁparÍ RÁnÍ to fetch him some water, and while she went for it he fell asleep. When she came back she found him still sleeping, and because he was so tired he slept all the afternoon and all night, and never woke till the next morning. His wife stood by him all the time holding the water in a brass cup. When he woke and found she had stood there all the afternoon and all night he was very sorry, and asked God to forgive him, and to give his wife whatever she wished for, no matter what it might be. So KhelÁparÍ wished that whatever happened in any country, she might know of it at once of herself without any one telling her, no matter how far away the country might be.

One day KhelÁparÍ RÁnÍ went to draw water from the tank, and by the tank sat an old man, the fakÍr Shekh FarÍd. He said to the RÁnÍ, “Give me a little water to drink.” “I will,” she said, “only drink it quickly, for my father’s house is on fire, and I am going to put it out.” “How far off is your father’s country?” asked Shekh FarÍd. “About twenty miles,” answered KhelÁparÍ. “Then how can you know his house is on fire!” said Shekh FarÍd; “I have been a fakÍr for twelve years, and for twelve years neither ate nor drank, and yet I do not know what happens twenty miles away.” “But I know,” she answered. “Leave your water-jar here,” he said, “and go and see if the house really is on fire, and I will not drink till you return to me.”

So off went KhelÁparÍ RÁnÍ to her father’s country, and when she got there his house was burning, and she stayed till the fire was put out, and then returned to the tank where she left the fakÍr. “Is it true,” he asked, “that your father’s house was on fire?” “Quite true,” she answered. The fakÍr wondered. “How could she know it when the fire was twenty miles off?” he said to himself, and he determined to go to GulÁbsÁ RÁjÁ’s country to see if the RÁnÍ had told him the truth.

He went by a roundabout road, as he did not know the way, so it took him three or four days to get there. When he did, he asked some villagers if there had been a fire at their RÁjÁ’s house. “Yes, a few days ago there was,” they answered. So the fakÍr, still more astonished, decided he would go back to HÁmÁnsÁ RÁjÁ’s palace and ask KhelÁparÍ RÁnÍ how it came to pass that she was wiser than Shekh FarÍd.

As he was returning, he met a bullock-cart laden with bags of sugar, and he asked the driver what the bags contained. The driver was put out because his bullocks would not go on quickly, and he was tired with beating and goading them, so he said crossly, “It’s ashes.” “Good,” said Shekh FarÍd, “let it be ashes.” When the cartman got to the bazar, and went to make over the sugar to the merchant who had sent him for it, he found all his bags full of ashes, nothing but ashes. He was in a great state of mind, for a good deal of money had been paid for the sugar, and he was a poor man. So he went back to Shekh FarÍd and fell down at his feet, saying, “I am a poor, poor man. My sugar is turned to ashes. Do make the ashes sugar again.” “Good,” said the fakÍr; “go home, and you will find sugar, and next time you are asked what you have in your cart, tell the truth and not lies.” The cartman went home, and when he saw his sugar was sugar once more, and no longer ashes, he was very, very glad.

One of his brother-villagers thought, “How pleasant it would be to become a fakÍr and do such things myself! I will go to this fakÍr and learn from him to be a fakÍr too.” So he went after Shekh FarÍd and found him walking along the road, and he followed him. Now Shekh FarÍd knew at once what this man wanted, so as they passed a heap of clay bricks, he said, “O God, let it be thy pleasure to give me power to turn these clay bricks into gold.” Instantly they became gold, and Shekh FarÍd walked on; but the villager took up two of the bricks and put one under each arm, and then followed the fakÍr. Suddenly Shekh FarÍd turned round, and said to him, “You have two clay bricks under your arms.” The man looked, saw it was true, and threw them away. Then Shekh FarÍd said to him, “You steal bricks, and yet wish to be a fakÍr?” The man was ashamed, and went back to his village.

Shekh FarÍd continued his journey and got to HÁmÁnsÁ RÁjÁ’s country; but when he got there he found KhelÁparÍ had gone to another country for a little while, so he never saw her, nor found out how it was that she knew what happened twenty miles off.

In a jungle in HÁmÁnsÁ RÁjÁ’s country he met a man, called FakÍr-achand, and his wife, who were very poor. They were going to bury their only son, and were crying bitterly. Shekh FarÍd asked them, “Would you like your son to be alive again?” “Yes,” they said. “Will you give him to me, and I will bring him to life, and then he shall return to you?” said Shekh FarÍd. “Yes,” they answered, and gave him their dead son, and went to their home.

The fakÍr carried the dead boy, who was called MohandÁs, a little further on, and then laid him on the ground, and struck him with a long thin bamboo wand he carried in his hand. The boy stood up. Shekh FarÍd asked him, “Would you like to go home to your father and mother, or to stay with me?” “To stay with you,” said MohandÁs. (Had he wished to go home, the fakÍr would have been very angry.) “Then,” said Shekh FarÍd, “I will call your mother here.” He did so, and when she came, he said to her, “See, here is your son alive. Will you give him to me for twelve years?” The woman said, “Yes,” and went home. The fakÍr gave her and her husband a quantity of rupees and built them a beautiful house. Then he and MohandÁs set out on their travels, and wandered about the jungles for one whole year, till they came to a country full of large splendid gardens belonging to a very rich RÁjÁ, called DumkÁs RÁjÁ.

This RÁjÁ had a beautiful daughter, ChampÁkÁlÍ RÁnÍ. She had lovely golden hair, golden eyebrows, golden eyelashes, blue eyes, and her skin was transparent. In DumkÁs RÁjÁ’s country they had never seen a fakÍr, so when Shekh FarÍd and MohandÁs arrived, the RÁjÁ sent to them, and asked Shekh FarÍd to come to talk to him. “No,” said the fakÍr, “I will not go to the RÁjÁ: if the RÁjÁ wants me, he must come to me.”

DumkÁs RÁjÁ was very angry when his messengers returned with this answer, and he ordered Shekh FarÍd to leave his country immediately; but the fakÍr said he would not go until he had married his adopted son, MohandÁs, to ChampÁkÁlÍ RÁnÍ. The people all laughed at him for saying this, and declared such a marriage would never take place. However, the fakÍr and MohandÁs walked about and saw the town, and looked at everything, and everybody stared at them. Then they went to live on the border of DumkÁs RÁjÁ’s country, and lived there for some time.

One day Shekh FarÍd bought MohandÁs a beautiful horse and fine clothes such as RÁjÁs wear, and told the boy to ride about the fields and high roads. He also told him not to speak to any one unless they spoke to him. MohandÁs promised to do as he was bid. As he was riding along, he met the Princess ChampÁkÁlÍ, who was also riding. She asked him who he was. “A RÁjÁ’s son,” he said. “What RÁjÁ?” asked ChampÁkÁlÍ. “Never mind what RÁjÁ,” said MohandÁs. The princess then went home, and so did MohandÁs; but every day after this they met and talked together, and the princess fell very much in love with MohandÁs.

At last she said to her father, “I wish to marry a young man who rides about on the border-land every day, and is very handsome.” The RÁjÁ consented, for it was time his daughter was married, and now no RÁjÁ from another country would come to marry her, as the demons who guarded the princess swallowed all her suitors at one gulp, and had already swallowed many RÁjÁs who had come on this errand.

Shekh FarÍd said to MohandÁs, “Now go up to the palace, and claim the princess for your wife.” “If I do,” said MohandÁs, “the demons will swallow me.” “I will not let them swallow you,” said Shekh FarÍd. So MohandÁs consented and set off for the palace, Shekh FarÍd following him. When MohandÁs came to the demons, they were going to swallow him; but the fakÍr, who had his sword in his hand, killed them all, and as he did so, the RÁjÁs and princes who had come as suitors to the Princess ChampÁkÁlÍ, and had therefore been swallowed by the demons, all came jumping out of the demons’ stomachs and ran off in all directions as hard as they could, from fear not knowing where they went.

MohandÁs was greatly frightened at all this; but Shekh FarÍd explained everything to him, so he went on to the palace, and the fakÍr went too. There MohandÁs asked DumkÁs RÁjÁ to give him his daughter as his wife, and the RÁjÁ consented. So he was married to ChampÁkÁlÍ RÁnÍ, and her father gave them a great many elephants, and horses, and camels, and a great deal of money and many jewels. And MohandÁs and his wife set off with the fakÍr to his father FakÍr-achand’s house, and they took all the elephants, camels, horses, money and jewels with them. On the way MohandÁs told ChampÁkÁlÍ RÁnÍ that he was not a great RÁjÁ’s son, but the son of poor people. ChampÁkÁlÍ’s heart was very sad at this; however, she was not angry, only sorry.

When they reached HÁmÁnsÁ RÁjÁ’s country, and had come to FakÍr-achand’s house, the fakÍr said to MohandÁs’s mother, “See, you lent me one child, and I have brought you back two children. Does this please you?” “Indeed it does please me,” she answered; “I am very happy.”

They built a beautiful palace and all lived in it together. The mother begged Shekh FarÍd to stay with them, saying, “Only stay with us; I will give you a bungalow, and you shall have everything you want.” But Shekh FarÍd said, “I am a fakÍr, and so cannot stay with you, as I may never stay in one place, and must, instead, wander from country to country and from jungle to jungle.” So he said good-bye to them and went on his wanderings, and never returned to them.

MohandÁs, his wife, and his father and mother, all lived happily together.

Told by DunknÍ.