A Man Who Said No « Result #1 on Mar 14, 2009, 4:32am »
A friend of mine noticed a man staggering about in the Times Square subway station. A well-dressed Wall Street type, his coat was unbuttoned, a briefcase dangled from his hand and he'd obviously had one too many.
¡¡¡¡Asked if he was all right, the man gave a slurred but affirmative response. However, my friend simply could not see someone brave the rough maw of a New York subway without trying to help. He followed the chap, and again asked, "Are you sure you're all right? What subway are you looking for? Do you need help getting home?"
¡¡¡¡At last, the object of his attentions snarled, in a low voice, "Leave me alone! I'm an undercover cop!"
Letters On The Skin « Result #2 on Mar 14, 2009, 4:32am »
Three women at the doctors office. The first one goes in to see the doctor. When the doctor goes to examine her he notices a big Y on her chest. The doctor asks, " Why do you have a big Y on your chest?"
She replys, " Well, my boyfriend went to Yale and when we make love he likes to wear his college sweater."
The doctor nods and continues on with the next patient. When he examines her he notices a big H on her chest.
Agian, the doctor asks, " How did you get a big H on your chest?" The woman replys " My husband went to Harvard and when we make love he likes to wear his college sweater."
The doctors just nods his head and continues on with the last patient. As he examines her he notices once again that this woman also has a letter on her chest. A large M.
He says, " Dont tell me, your boyfriend went to Michigan?"
" NO" replys the patient " But my girlfriend went to Wisconsin"
A poor woman had only one son. She worked hard cleaning houses and grinding grain for the well-to-do families in town. They gave her some grain in return and she lived on it. But she could never afford to buy nice clothes or toys for her son. Once, when she was going to the market with some grain to sell, she asked her son, "What can I get you from the market?" He promptly replied, "A drum, Mother, get me a drum." The mother knew she would never have enough money to buy a drum for her son. She went to the market, sold the grain, and bought some gram flour and some salt. She felt sad that she was coming home empty-handed. So when she saw a nice piece of wood on the road, she picked it up and brought it home to her son. The son didn't know what to do with it.
Yet he carried it with him when he went out to play. An old woman was lighting her woodstove with some cow-dung patties. The fire was not catching and there was smoke all around and it made the old woman's eyes water. The boy stopped and asked why she was crying. She said that she couldn't light her fire and cook. The boy said, "I have a nice piece of wood and you can start your fire with it." The old woman was very pleased, lit the fire, made some bread, and gave a piece to the boy.
He took the bread and walked on till he came upon a potter's wife. Her child was crying and flailing his arms. The boy stopped and asked her why the child was crying. The potter's wife said the child was hungry and she had nothing in the house to give him. The boy gave the bread in his hand to the hungry child, who ate it eagerly and stopped crying. The potter's wife was grateful to the boy and gave him a pot.
When he walked on, he came to the river, where he saw a washerman and his wife quarreling. The boy stopped and asked the man why he was scolding and beating his wife. The washerman said, "This woman broke the only pot we had. Now I've nothing to boil my clothes in before I wash them." The boy said, "Here, don't quarrel, take this pot and use it." The washerman was very happy to get a large pot. He gave the boy a coat in return.
The boy walked on. He soon came to a bridge, where he saw a man shivering in the cold without so much as a shirt on him. He asked the man what had happened to his shirt, and the man said, "I was coming to the city on this horse. Robbers attacked me and took everything, even my shirt." The boy said, "Don't worry. You can have this coat." The man took the coat and said, "You're very kind, and I want to give you this horse."
The boy took the horse, and very soon he ran into a wedding party with the musicians, the bridegroom, and his family, but all of them were sitting under a tree with long faces. The boy stopped and asked why they looked so depressed. The bridegroom's father said, "We're all set to go in a wedding procession. But we need a horse for the bridegroom. The man who was supposed to bring it hasn't arrived. The bridegroom can't arrive on foot. It's getting late, and we'll miss the auspicious hour for the wedding." So the boy offered them his horse, and they were delighted. When the bridegroom asked him what he could do in return, the boy said, "You can give me something: that drum your musician is carrying." The bridegroom had no trouble persuading the drummer to give the drum to the boy. The drummer knew he could easily buy another with the money he was going to get.
The boy now rushed home to his mother, beating his new drum, and told her how he got it, beginning with a piece of wood from the roadside.
The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal « Result #4 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:31am »
Once upon a time, a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he failed.
By chance a poor Brahman came by. "Let me out of this cage, oh pious one!" cried the tiger.
"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman mildly, "you would probably eat me if I did."
"Not at all!" swore the tiger with many oaths; "on the contrary, I should be for ever grateful, and serve you as a slave!"
Now when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious Brahman's heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. Out popped the tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried, "What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after being cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry!"
In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to question as to the justice of the tiger's action.
So the Brahman first asked a pipal tree what it thought of the matter, but the pipal tree replied coldly, "What have you to complain about? Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who passes by, and don't they in return tear down my branches to feed their cattle? Don't whimper--be a man!"
Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a buffalo turning a well-wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it answered, "You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Whilst I gave milk they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry they yoke me here, and give me refuse as fodder!"
The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion.
"My dear sir," said the road, "how foolish you are to expect anything else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!"
On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a jackal, who called out, "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish out of water!"
The Brahman told him all that had occurred. "How very confusing!" said the jackal, when the recital was ended; "would you mind telling me over again, for everything has got so mixed up?"
The Brahman told it all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.
"It's very odd," said he, sadly, "but it all seems to go in at one ear and out at the other! I will go to the place where it all happened, and then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment."
So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.
"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let us begin our dinner."
"Our dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked together with fright; "what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"
"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."
The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again, not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.
"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the jackal, wringing its paws. "Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the tiger came walking by--"
"Pooh!" interrupted the tiger, "what a fool you are! I was in the cage."
"Of course!" cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; "yes! I was in the cage--no I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my wits? Let me see--the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by--no, that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your dinner, for I shall never understand!"
"Yes, you shall!" returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's stupidity; "I'll make you understand! Look here--I am the tiger--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And that is the Brahman--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And that is the cage--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"
"Yes--no--Please, my lord--"
"Well?" cried the tiger impatiently.
"Please, my lord!--how did you get in?"
"How!--why in the usual way, of course!"
"Oh, dear me!--my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"
At this the tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried, "This way! Now do you understand how it was?"
"Perfectly!" grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they were!"
The Close Alliance « Result #5 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:31am »
One day a farmer went with his bullocks to plough his field. He had just turned the first furrow, when a tiger walked up to him and said, "Peace be with you, friend! How are you this fine morning?"
"The same to you, my lord, and I am pretty well, thank you!" returned the farmer, quaking with fear, but thinking it wisest to be polite.
"I am glad to hear it," replied the tiger cheerfully, "because Providence has sent me to eat your two bullocks. You are a God-fearing man, I know, so make haste and unyoke them."
"My friend, are you sure you are not making a mistake?" asked the farmer, whose courage had returned now that he knew it was merely a question of gobbling up bullocks, "because Providence sent me to plough this field, and, in order to plough, one must have oxen. Had you not better go and make further inquiries?"
"There is no occasion for delay, and I should be sorry to keep you waiting," returned the tiger. "If you'll unyoke the bullocks I'll be ready in a moment." With that the savage creature fell to sharpening his teeth and claws in a very significant manner.
But the farmer begged and prayed that his oxen might not be eaten, and promised that if the tiger would spare them, he would give in exchange a fine fat young milch cow, which his wife had tied up in the yard at home.
To this the tiger agreed, and, taking the oxen with him, the farmer went sadly homewards. Seeing him return so early from the fields, his wife, who was a stirring, busy woman, called out, "What! lazybones!-- back already, and my work just beginning!"
Then the farmer explained how he had met the tiger, and how to save the bullocks he had promised the milch cow in exchange. At this the wife began to cry, saying, "A likely story, indeed!--saving your stupid old bullocks at the expense of my beautiful cow! Where will the children get milk? and how can I cook my pottage and collops without butter?"
"All very fine, wife," retorted the farmer, "but how can we make bread without corn? and how can you have corn without bullocks to plough the fields? Pottage and collops are very nice, but it is better to do without milk and butter than without bread, so make haste and untie the cow."
"You great gaby!" wept the wife, "if you had an ounce of sense in your brain you'd think of some plan to get out of the scrape!"
"Think yourself!" cried the husband, in a rage.
"Very well!" returned the wife; "but if I do the thinking you must obey orders; I can't do both. Go back to the tiger, and tell him the cow wouldn't come along with you, but that your wife is bringing it."
The farmer, who was a great coward, didn't half like the idea of going back empty-handed to the tiger, but as he could think of no other plan he did as he was bid, and found the beast still sharpening his teeth and claws for very hunger; and when he heard he had to wait still longer for his dinner, he began to prowl about, and lash his tail, and curl his whiskers, in a most terrible manner, causing the poor farmer's knees to knock together with terror.
Now, when the farmer had left the house, his wife went to the stable and saddled the pony; then she put on her husband's best clothes, tied the turban very high, so as to make her look as tall as possible, bestrode the pony, and set off to the field where the tiger was.
She rode along, swaggering and blustering, till she came to where the lane turned into the field, and then she called out, as bold as brass, "Now, please the powers! I may find a tiger in this place; for I haven't tasted tiger's meat since yesterday, when, as luck would have it, I ate three for breakfast."
Hearing these words, and seeing the speaker ride boldly at him, the tiger became so alarmed that he turned tail, and bolted into the forest, going away at such a headlong pace that he nearly overturned his own jackal; for tigers always have a jackal of their own, who, as it were, waits at table and clears away the bones.
"My lord! my lord!" cried the jackal, "whither away so fast?"
"Run! run!" panted the tiger, "there's the very devil of a horseman in yonder fields, who thinks nothing of eating three tigers for breakfast!"
At this the jackal sblack personed in his sleeve. "My dear lord," said he, "the sun has dazzled your eyes! That was no horseman, but only the farmer's wife dressed up as a man!"
"Are you quite sure?" asked the tiger, pausing.
"Quite sure, my lord," repeated the jackal, "and if your lordship's eyes had not been dazzled by--ahem!--the sun, your lordship would have seen her pigtail hanging down behind."
"But you may be mistaken!" persisted the cowardly tiger, "it was the very devil of a horseman to look at!"
"Who's afraid?" replied the brave jackal. "Come! don't give up your dinner because of a woman!"
"But you may be bribed to betray me!" argued the tiger, who, like all cowards, was suspicious.
"Let us go together, then!" returned the gallant jackal.
"Nay! but you may take me there and then run away!" insisted the tiger cunningly.
"In that case, let us tie our tails together, and then I can't!" The jackal, you see, was determined not to be done out of his bones.
To this the tiger agreed, and having tied their tails together in a reef-knot, the pair set off arm-in-arm.
Now the farmer and his wife had remained in the field, laughing over the trick she had played on the tiger, when, lo and behold! what should they see but the gallant pair coming back ever so bravely, with their tails tied together.
"Run!" cried the farmer, "we are lost! we are lost!"
"Nothing of the kind, you great fool!" answered his wife coolly, "if you will only stop that noise and be quiet. I can't hear myself speak!"
Then she waited till the pair were within hail, when she called out politely, "How very kind of you, dear Mr. Jackal, to bring me such a nice fat tiger! I shan't be a moment finishing my share of him, and then you can have the bones."
At these words the tiger became wild with fright, and, quite forgetting the jackal, and that reef-knot in their tails, he bolted away full tilt, dragging the jackal behind him. Bumpety, bump, bump, over the stones!--crash, scratch, patch, through the briars!
In vain the poor jackal howled and shrieked to the tiger to stop,--the noise behind him only frightened the coward more; and away he went, helter-skelter, hurry-scurry, over hill and dale, till he was nearly dead with fatigue, and the jackal was quite dead from bumps and bruises.
Eliza and Athena « Result #6 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:31am »
"I made this myth up for my Language arts class. I hope you like it" Once there was a young girl named Eliza. She was the daughter of a king and so she never had to work. She became very lazy. She had her servants do everything for her. "I am so very thirsty, and my glass is on the table. Please get it for me." she called. Immediately a servant picked the glass up from the table next to Eliza and held it up to her lips until Eliza was no longer thirsty. The next day, Eliza was walking to dinner when her hat fell off. She called for a servant and a young man ran over, picked up the hat, dusted it off , and placed it back on Eliza's head. She continually called for her servants to do simple tasks for her. Her father noticed her laziness and decided to punish her. He set her in a room with only a loom and some yarn. No servants were allowed in the room. "You will stay in this room, not eating or drinking until you have woven a blanket for me. You have to do all of the work by yourself. Call for me when you are done". The king left Eliza all alone in her room. Eliza called for her servants, but none appeared. Then she remembered her father telling her about Athena, the goddess of wisdom and handicrafts. She called for Athena over and over until finally, she fell asleep. While she was sleeping, she had a dream. Hermes spoke to her in her dream. He said "Athena has heard your pleas for help. She is very angry with you. She will come to you and inform you of your punishment". Eliza awoke very frightened. She then saw that there was an owl on the edge of her window. The owl spoke to her. "I am Athena. You have called upon me to do your work. You must be punished for your laziness. You are a mortal of high importance, therefore you have no work to do. I am going to make you a lowly animal. You will have to work constantly just to stay alive. People will look down at you in disgust. You will be killed just because you are insignificant. All of your children and their children and so on will have the same fate". Eliza worked for the rest of her life. All of her children have the same fate. They are doomed to be ants for the rest of their lives.
How the Elephant got his trunk « Result #7 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:31am »
Once upon a time, there was a sad elephant. He was dirty and stinky, because he could not reach to wash his back. All the other animals didn¡¯t play with him because he was smelly. Elephant sat under a tree, where nobody could see him. He started to cry. His head was hanging down, crying big tears. He sat and cried for days. One day, when his tears had dried up, he went to itch his head and he felt a bump on his back. Then he noticed his nose had stretched because it had got wet with all the crying and it was now a long trunk which had hit him on his back. He went to the river and got his trunk, put it in the water and sucked the water up. Then he sprayed his back with water. All the other animals came over to him and said ¡°you are so clean and smell so lovely. Do you want to play with us?¡± The elephant was so happy and said ¡°yes.¡±
A Crow and His Three Friends « Result #8 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:31am »
In the branches of a great tree, in a forest in India, lived a wise old crow in a very comfortable, well-built nest. His wife was dead, and all his children were getting their own living; so he had nothing to do but to look after himself. He led a very easy existence, but took a great interest in the affairs of his neighbors. One day, popping his head over the edge of his home, he saw a fierce-looking man stalking along, carrying a stick in one hand and a net in the other.
"That fellow is up to some mischief, I'll be bound," thought the crow: "I will keep my eye on him." The man stopped under the tree, spread the net on the ground; and taking a bag of rice out of his pocket, he scattered the grains amongst the meshes of the net. Then he hid himself behind the trunk of the tree from which the crow was watching, evidently intending to stop there and see what would happen. The crow felt pretty gore that the stranger had designs against birds, and that the stick had something to do with the matter. He was quite right; and it was not long before just what he expected came to pass.
A flock of pigeons, led by a specially fine bird who had been chosen king because of his size and the beauty of his plumage, came flying rapidly along, and noticed the white rice, but did not see the net, because it was very much the same color as the ground. Down swooped the king, and down swept all the other pigeons, eager to enjoy a good meal without any trouble to themselves. Alas, their joy was short lived! They were all caught in the net and began struggling to escape, beating the air with their wings and uttering loud cries of distress.
The crow and the man behind the tree kept very quiet, watching them; the man with his stick ready to beat the poor helpless birds to death, the crow watching out of mere curiosity. Now a very strange and wonderful thing came to pass. The king of the pigeons, who had his wits about him, said to the imprisoned birds:
"Take the net up in your beaks, all of you spread out your wings at once, and fly straight up into the air as quickly as possible."
In a moment all the pigeons, who were accustomed to obey their leader, did as they were bid; each little bird seized a separate thread of the net in his beak and up, up, up, they all flew, looking very beautiful with the sunlight gleaming on their white wings. Very soon they were out of sight; and the man, who thought he had hit upon a very clever plan, came forth from his hiding-place, very much surprised at what had happened. He stood gazing up after his vanished net for a little time, and then went away muttering to himself, whilst the wise old crow laughed at him.
When the pigeons had flown some distance, and were beginning to get exhausted, for the net was heavy and they were quite unused to carrying loads, the king bade them rest awhile in a clearing of the forest; and as they all lay on the ground panting for breath, with the cruel net still hampering them, he said:
"What we must do now is to take this horrible net to my old friend Hiranya the mouse, who will, I am quite sure, nibble through the strings for me and set us all free. He lives, as you all know, near the tree where the net was spread, deep underground; but there are many passages leading to his home, and we shall easily find one of the openings. Once there, we will all lift up our voices, and call to him at once, when he will be sure to hear us." So the weary pigeons took up their burden once more, and sped back whence they had come, greatly to the surprise of the crow, who wondered at their coming back to the very place where misfortune had overtaken them. He very soon learnt the reason, and got so excited watching what was going on, that he hopped out of his nest and perched upon a branch where he could see better. Presently a great clamor arose, one word being repeated again and again: "Hiranya! Hiranya! Hiranya."
"Why, that's the name of the mouse who lives down below there!" thought the crow. "Now, what good can he do? I know, I know," he added, as he remembered the sharp teeth of Hiranya. "That king of the pigeons is a sensible fellow. I must make friends with him."
Very soon, as the pigeons lay fluttering and struggling outside one of the entrances to Hiranya's retreat, the mouse came out. He didn't even need to be told what was wanted, but at once began to nibble the string, first setting free the king, and then all the rest of the birds. "A friend in need is a friend indeed," cried the king; "a thousand thousand thanks!" And away he flew up into the beautiful free air of heaven, followed by the happy pigeons, none of them ever likely to forget the adventure or to pick up food from the ground without a good look at it first.
The mouse did not at once return to his hole when the birds were gone, but went for a little stroll, which brought him to the ground still strewn with rice, which he began to eat with great relish. "It's an ill wind," he said to himself, "which brings nobody any good. There's many a good meal for my whole family here."
Presently he was joined by the old crow, who had flown down from his perch unnoticed by Hiranya, and now addressed him in his croaky voice:
"Hiranya," he said, "for that I know is your name, I am called Laghupatin and I would gladly have you for a friend. I have seen all that you did for the pigeons, and have come to the conclusion that you are a mouse of great wisdom, ready to help those who are in trouble, without any thought of yourself."
"You are quite wrong," squeaked Hiranya. "I am not so silly as you make out. I have no wish to be your friend. If you were hungry, you wouldn't hesitate to gobble me up. I don't care for that sort of affection."
With that Hiranya whisked away to his hole, pausing at the entrance, when he knew the crow could not get at him, to cry, "You be off to your nest and leave me alone!"
The feelings of the crow were very much hurt at this speech, the more that he knew full well it was not exactly love for the mouse, which had led him to make his offer, but self-interest: for who could tell what difficulties he himself might some day be in, out of which the mouse might help him? Instead of obeying Hiranya, and going back to his nest, he hopped to the mouse's hole, and putting his head on one side in what he thought was a very taking manner, he said:
"Pray do not misjudge me so. Never would I harm you! Even if I did not wish to have you for a friend, I should not dream of gobbling you up, as you say, however hungry I might be. Surely you are aware that I am a strict vegetarian, and never eat the flesh of other creatures. At least give me a trial. Let us share a meal together, and talk the matter over."
Hiranya, on hearing the last remark of Laghupatin, hesitated, and in the end he agreed that he would have supper with the crow that very evening. "There is plenty of rice here," he said, "which we can eat on the spot. It would be impossible for you to get into my hole, and I am certainly not disposed to visit you in your nest." So the two at once began their meal, and before it was over they had become good friends. Not a day passed without a meeting, and when all the rice was eaten up, each of the two would bring something to the feast. This had gone on for some little time, when the crow, who was fond of adventure and change, said one day to the mouse: "Don't you think we might go somewhere else for a time? I am rather tired of this bit of the forest, every inch of which we both know well. I've got another great friend who lives beside a fine river a few miles away, a tortoise named Mandharaka; a thoroughly good, trustworthy fellow he is, though rather slow and cautious in his ways. I should like to introduce you to him. There are quantities of food suitable for us both where he lives, for it is a very fruitful land. What do you say to coming with me to pay him a visit?"
"How in the world should I get there?" answered Hiranya. "It's all very well for you, who can fly. I can't walk for miles and miles. For all that I too am sick of this place and would like a change."
"Oh, there's no difficulty about that," replied Laghupatin. "I will carry you in my beak, and you will get there without any fatigue at all." To this Hiranya consented, and very early one morning the two friends started off together.
After flying along for several hours, the crow began to feel very tired. He was seized too with a great desire to hear his own voice again. So he flew to the ground, laid his little companion gently down, and gave vent to a number of hoarse cries, which quite frightened Hiranya, who timidly asked him what was the matter.
"Nothing whatever," answered Laghupatin, "except that you are not quite so light as I thought you were, and that I need a rest; besides which, I am hungry and I expect you are. We had better stop here for the night, and start again early to-morrow morning." Hiranya readily agreed to this, and after a good meal, which was easily found, the two settled down to sleep, the crow perched in a tree, the mouse hidden amongst its roots. Very early the next day they were off again, and soon arrived at the river, where they were warmly welcomed by the tortoise. The three had a long talk together, and agreed never to part again. The tortoise, who had lived a great deal longer than either the mouse or the crow, was a very pleasant companion; and even Laghupatin, who was very fond of talking himself, liked to listen to his stories of long ago.
"I wonder," said the tortoise, whose name was Mandharaka, to the mouse, "that you are not afraid to travel about as you have done, with your soft little body unprotected by any armor. Look how different it is for me; it is almost impossible for any of the wild creatures who live near this river to hurt me, and they know it full well. See how thick and strong my armor is. The claws even of a tiger, a wild cat or an eagle, could not penetrate it. I am very much afraid, my little friend, that you will be gobbled up some fine day, and Laghupatin and I will seek for you in vain."
"Of course," said the mouse, "I know the truth of what you say; but I can very easily hide from danger--much more easily than you or Laghupatin. A tuft of moss or a few dead leaves are shelter enough for me, but big fellows like you and the crow can be quite easily seen. Nobody saw me when the pigeons were all caught except Laghupatin; and I would have kept out of his sight if I had not known that he did not care to eat mice."
In spite of the fears of Mandharaka, the mouse and the crow lived as his guests for a long time without any accident; and one day they were suddenly joined by a new companion, a creature as unlike any one of the three friends as could possibly be imagined. This was a very beautiful deer, who came bounding out of the forest, all eager to escape from the hunters, by whom he had been pursued, but too weary to reach the river, across which he had hoped to be able to swim to safety. Just as he reached the three friends, he fell to the ground, almost crushing the mouse, who darted away in the nick of time. Strange to say, the hunters did not follow the deer; and it was evident that they had not noticed the way he had gone.
The tortoise, the crow and the mouse were all very sorry for the deer, and, as was always the case, the crow was the first to speak. "Whatever has happened to you?" he asked. And the deer made answer:
"I thought my last hour had come this time, for the hunters were close upon me; and even now I do not feel safe."
"I'll fly up and take a look 'round," said Laghupatin; and off he went to explore, coming back soon, to say he had seen the hunters disappearing a long distance off, going in quite another direction from the river. Gradually the deer was reassured, and lay still where he had fallen; whilst the three friends chatted away to him, telling him of their adventures. "What you had better do," said the tortoise, "is to join us. When you have had a good meal, and a drink from the river, you will feel a different creature. My old friend Laghupatin will be the one to keep watch for us all, and warn us of any danger approaching; I will give you the benefit of my long experience; and little Hiranya, though he is not likely to be of any use to you, will certainly never do you any harm."
The deer was so touched by the kind way in which he had been received, that he agreed to stop with the three friends; and for some weeks after his arrival all went well. Each member of the party went his own way during the day-time, but all four met together in the evening, and took it in turns to tell their adventures. The crow always had the most to say, and was very useful to the deer in warning him of the presence of hunters in the forest. One beautiful moonlight night the deer did not come back as usual, and the other three became very anxious about him. The crow flew up to the highest tree near and eagerly sought for some sign of his lost friend, of whom he had grown very fond. Presently he noticed a dark mass by the river-side, just where the deer used to go down to drink every evening. "That must be he," thought the crow; and very soon he was hovering above the deer, who had been caught in a net and was struggling in vain to get free.
The Magic Pitcher « Result #9 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:30am »
Long, long ago there lived far away in India a woodcutter called Subha Datta and his family, who were all very happy together. The father went every day to the forest near his home to get supplies of wood, which he sold to his neighbours, earning by that means quite enough to give his wife and children all that they needed. Sometimes he took his three boys with him, and now and then, as a special treat, his two little girls were allowed to trot along beside him. The boys longed to be allowed to chop wood for themselves, and their father told them that as soon as they were old enough he would give each of them a little axe of his own. The girls, he said, must be content with breaking off small twigs from the branches he cut down, for he did not wish them to chop their own fingers off. This will show you what a kind father he was, and you will be very sorry for him when you hear about his troubles.
All went well with Subha Datta for a long time. Each of the boys had his own little axe at last, and each of the girls had a little pair of scissors to cut off twigs; and very proud they all were when they brought some wood home to their mother to use in the house. One day, however, their father told them they could none of them come with him, for he meant to go a very long way into the forest, to see if he could find better wood there than nearer home. Vainly the boys entreated him to take them with him. "Not to-day," he said, "you would be too tired to go all the way, and would lose yourselves coming back alone. You must help your mother to-day and play with your sisters." They had to be content, for although Hindu children are as fond of asking questions as English boys and girls, they are very obedient to their parents and do all they are told without making any fuss about it.
Of course, they expected their father would come back the day he started for the depths of the forest, although they knew he would be late. What then was their surprise when darkness came and there was no sign of him! Again and again their mother went to the door to look for him, expecting every moment to see him coming along the beaten path which led to their door. Again and again she mistook the cry of some night-bird for his voice calling to her. She was obliged at last to go to bed with a heavy heart, fearing some wild beast had killed him and that she would never see him again.
When Subha Datta started for the forest, he fully intended to come back the same evening; but as he was busy cutting down a tree, he suddenly had a feeling that he was no longer alone. He looked up, and there, quite close to him, in a little clearing where the trees had been cut down by some other woodcutter, he saw four beautiful young girls looking like fairies in their thin summer dresses and with their long hair flowing down their backs, dancing round and round, holding each other's hands. Subha Datta was so astonished at the sight that he let his axe fall, and the noise startled the dancers, who all four stood still and stared at him.
The woodcutter could not say a word, but just gazed and gazed at them, till one of them said to him: "Who are you, and what are you doing in the very depths of the forest where we have never before seen a man?"
"I am only a poor woodcutter," he replied, "come to get some wood to sell, so as to give my wife and children something to eat and some clothes to wear."
"That is a very stupid thing to do," said one of the girls. "You can't get much money that way. If you will only stop with us we will have your wife and children looked after for you much better than you can do it yourself."
Subha Datta, though he certainly did love his wife and children, was so tempted at the idea of stopping in the forest with the beautiful girls that, after hesitating a little while, he said, "Yes, I will stop with you, if you are quite sure all will be well with my dear ones."
"You need not be afraid about that," said another of the girls. "We are fairies, you see, and we can do all sorts of wonderful things. It isn't even necessary for us to go where your dear ones are. We shall just wish them everything they want, and they will get it. And the first thing to be done is to give you some food. You must work for us in return, of course."
Subha Datta at once replied, "I will do anything you wish."
"Well, begin by sweeping away all the dead leaves from the clearing, and then we will all sit down and eat together."
Subha Datta was very glad that what he was asked to do was so easy. He began by cutting a branch from a tree, and with it he swept the floor of what was to be the dining-room. Then he looked about for the food, but he could see nothing but a great big pitcher standing in the shade of a tree, the branches of which hung over the clearing. So he said to one of the fairies, "Will you show me where the food is, and exactly where you would like me to set it out?"
At these questions all the fairies began to laugh, and the sound of their laughter was like the tinkling of a number of bells.
When the fairies saw how astonished Subha Datta was at the way they laughed, it made them laugh still more, and they seized each other's hands again and whirled round and round, laughing all the time.
Poor Subha Datta, who was very tired and hungry, began to get unhappy and to wish he had gone straight home after all. He stooped down to pick up his axe, and was just about to turn away with it, when the fairies stopped their mad whirl and cried to him to stop. So he waited, and one of them said:
"We don't have to bother about fetching this and fetching that. You see that big pitcher. Well, we get all our food and everything else we want out of it. We just have to wish as we put our hands in, and there it is. It's a magic pitcher--the only one there is in the whole wide world. You get the food you would like to have first, and then we'll tell you what we want."
Subha Datta could hardly believe his ears when he heard that. Down he threw his axe, and hastened to put his hand in the pitcher, wishing for the food he was used to. He loved curried rice and milk, lentils, fruit and vegetables, and very soon he had a beautiful meal spread out for himself on the ground. Then the fairies called out, one after the other, what they wanted for food, things the woodcutter had never heard of or seen, which made him quite discontented with what he had chosen for himself.
The next few days passed away like a dream, and at first Subha Datta thought he had never been so happy in his life. The fairies often went off together leaving him alone, only coming back to the clearing when they wanted something out of the pitcher. The woodcutter got all kinds of things he fancied for himself, but presently he began to wish he had his wife and children with him to share his wonderful meals. He began to miss them terribly, and he missed his work too. It was no good cutting trees down and chopping up wood when all the food was ready cooked. Sometimes he thought he would slip off home when the fairies were away, but when he looked at the pitcher he could not bear the thought of leaving it.
Soon Subha Datta could not sleep well for thinking of the wife and children he had deserted. Suppose they were hungry when he had plenty to eat! It even came into his head that he might steal the pitcher and take it home with him when the fairies were away. But he had not after all the courage to do this; for even when the beautiful girls were not in sight, he had a feeling that they would know if he tried to go off with the pitcher, and that they would be able to punish him in some terrible way. One night he had a dream that troubled him very much. He saw his wife sitting crying bitterly in the little home he used to love, holding the youngest child on her knee whilst the other three stood beside her looking at her very, very sadly. He started up from the ground on which he lay, determined to go home at once; but at a little distance off he saw the fairies dancing in the moonlight, and somehow he felt again he could not leave them and the pitcher. The next day, however, he was so miserable that the fairies noticed it, and one of them said to him: "Whatever is the matter? We don't care to keep unhappy people here. If you can't enjoy life as we do, you had better go home."
Then Subha Datta was very much frightened lest they should really send him away; so he told them about his dream and that he was afraid his dear ones were starving for want of the money lie used to earn for them.
"Don't worry about them," was the reply: "we will let your wife know what keeps you away. We will whisper in her ear when she is asleep, and she will be so glad to think of your happiness that she will forget her own troubles."
Subha Datta was very much cheered by the sympathy of the fairies, so much so that he decided to stop with them for a little longer at least. Now and then he felt restless, but on the whole the time passed pleasantly, and the pitcher was a daily delight to him.
Meanwhile his poor wife was at her wits' end how to feed her dear children. If it had not been that the two boys were brave, plucky little chaps, she really would have been in despair. When their father did not come back and all their efforts to find him were in vain, these boys set to work to help their mother. They could not cut down trees, but they could climb them and chop off small branches with their axes; and this they did, making up bundles of f*g**ts and selling them to their neighbours. These neighbours were touched by the courage they showed, and not only paid them well for the wood but often gave them milk and rice and other little things to help them. In time they actually got used to being without Subha Datta, and the little girls nearly forgot all about him. Little did they dream of the change that was soon to come into their lives.
A month passed peacefully away in the depths of the forest, Subha Datta waiting on the fairies and becoming every day more selfish and bent on enjoying himself. Then he had another dream, in which he saw his wife and children in the old home with plenty of food, and evidently so happy without him that he felt quite determined to go and show them he was still alive. When he woke he said to the fairies, "I will not stop with you any longer. I have had a good time here, but I am tired of this life away from my own people."
The fairies saw he was really in earnest this time, so they consented to let him go; but they were kind-hearted people and felt they ought to pay him in some way for all he had done for them. They consulted together, and then one of them told him they wished to make him a present before he went away, and they would give him whatever he asked for.
Directly the woodcutter heard he could have anything he asked for, he cried, "I will have the magic pitcher."
You can just imagine what a shock this was to the fairies! You know, of course, that fairies always keep their word. If they could not persuade Subha Datta to choose something else, they would have to give him their beloved, their precious pitcher and would have to seek their food for themselves. They all tried all they could to persuade the woodcutter to choose something else. They took him to their own secret treasure-house, in an old, old tree with a hollow trunk, even the entrance to which no mortal had ever been allowed to see. They blindfolded him before they started, so that he could never reveal the way, and one of them led him by the hand, telling him where the steps going down from the tree began. When at last the bandage was taken from his eyes, he found himself in a lofty hall with an opening in the roof through which the light came. Piled up on the floor were sparkling stones worth a great deal of gold and silver money, and on the walls hung beautiful robes. Subha Datta was quite dazed with all lie saw, but he was only an ignorant woodcutter and did not realize the value of the jewels and clothes. So when the fairies, said to him, "Choose anything you like here and let us keep our pitcher," he shook his head and said: "No! no! no! The pitcher! I will have the pitcher!" One fairy after another picked up the rubies and diamonds and other precious stones and held them in the light, that the woodcutter might see how lovely they were; and when he still only shook his head, they got down the robes and tried to make him put one of them on. "No! the pitcher! the pitcher!" he said, and at last they had to give it up. They bound his eyes again and led him back to the clearing and the pitcher.
Even when they were all back again in the clearing the fairies did not quite give up hope of keeping their pitcher. This time they gave other reasons why Subha Datta should not have it. "It will break very easily," they told him, "and then it will be no good to you or any one else. But if you take some of the money, you can buy anything you like with it. If you take some of the jewels you can sell them for lots of money."
"No! no! no!" cried the woodcutter. "The pitcher! the pitcher! I will have the pitcher!"
"Very well then, take, the pitcher," they sadly answered, "and never let us see your face again!"
So Subha Datta took the pitcher, carrying it very, very carefully, lest he should drop it and break it before he got home. He did not think at all of what a cruel thing it was to take it away from the fairies, and leave them either to starve or to seek for food for themselves. The poor fairies watched him till he was out of sight, and then they began to weep and wring their hands. "He might at least have waited whilst we got some food out for a few days," one of them said. "He was too selfish to think of that," said another. "Come, let us forget all about him and go and look for some fruit."
So they all left off crying and went away hand in hand. Fairies do not want very much to eat. They can live on fruit and dew, and they never let anything make them sad for long at a time. They go out of this story now, but you need not be unhappy about them, because you may be very sure that they got no real harm from their generosity to Subha Datta in letting him take the pitcher.
You can just imagine what a surprise it was to Subha Datta's wife and children when they saw him coming along the path leading to his home. He did not bring the pitcher with him, but had hidden it in a hollow tree in the wood near his cottage, for he did not mean any one to know that he had it. He told his wife that he had lost his way in the forest, and had been afraid he would never see her or his children again, but he said nothing about the fairies. When his wife asked him how he had got food, he told her a long story about the fruits he had found, and she believed all he said, and determined to make up to him now for all she thought he had suffered. When she called the little girls to come and help her get a nice meal for their father, Subha Datta said: "Oh, don't bother about that! I've brought something back with me. I'll go and fetch it, but no one is to come with me."
Subha Datta's wife was sorely disappointed at this, because she loved her husband so much that it was a joy to her to work for him. The children too wanted, of course, to go with their father, but he ordered them to stop where they were. He seized a big basket which was fall of fuel for the fire, tumbled all the wood in it on the floor, and went off alone to the pitcher. Very soon he was back again with his basket full of all sorts of good things, the very names of which his wife and children had no idea of. "There!" he cried; "what do you think of that? Am I not a clever father to have found all that in the forest? Those are the 'fruits' I meant when I told Mother about them."
Life was now, of course, completely changed for the family in the forest. Subha Datta no longer went to cut wood to be sold, and the boys also left off doing so. Every day their father fetched food for them all, and the greatest desire of each one of the family was to find out where it came from. They never could do so, for Subha Datta managed to make them afraid to follow him when he went forth with his basket. The secret he kept from the wife to whom he used to tell everything soon began to spoil the happiness of the home. The children who had no longer anything to do quarrelled with each other. Their mother got sadder and sadder, and at last decided to tell Subha Datta that, unless he would let her know where the food came from, she would go away from him and take her little girls with her. She really did mean to do this, but something soon happened to change everything again. Of course, the neighbours in the wood, who had bought the fuel from the boys and helped them by giving them fruit and rice, heard of the return of their father and of the wonderful change in their lot. Now the whole family had plenty to eat every day, though none of them knew where it all came from. Subha Datta was very fond of showing off what he could do, and sometimes asked his old friends amongst the woodcutters to come and have a meal with him. When they arrived they would find all sorts of good things spread out on the ground and different kinds of wines in beautiful bottles.
Why the Fish Laughed « Result #10 on Mar 2, 2009, 2:30am »
As a fisherwoman passed by the palace hawking her fish, the queen appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to come near and show her what she had. At that moment a very big fish jumped about in the bottom of the basket. "Is it a male or a female?" asked the queen. "I'd like to buy a female fish." On hearing this, the fish laughed aloud.
"It's a male," replied the fisherwoman, and continued on her rounds.
The queen returned to her room in a great rage. When the king came to see her that evening, he could tell that something was wrong. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you not well?"
"I'm quite well, thank you. But I'm very much annoyed at the strange behavior of a fish. A woman showed me one today, and when I asked whether it was male or female, the fish laughed most rudely." "A fish laugh? Impossible! You must be dreaming."
"I'm not a fool. I saw it with my own eyes and heard it laugh with my own ears." "That's very strange. All right, I'll make the necessary inquiries."
The next morning, the king told his wazir (minister) what his wife had told him and ordered the wazir to investigate the matter and be ready with a satisfactory answer within six months, on pain of death.
The wazir promised to do his best, though he didn't know where to begin. For the next five months he labored tirelessly to find a reason for the laughter of the fish. He went everywhere and consulted everyone---the wise and the learned, the people skilled in magic and trickery, they were all consulted.
Nobody could explain the mystery of the laughing fish. So he returned brokenhearted to his house and began to arrange his affairs, sure now that he was going to die. He was well enough acquainted with the king's ways to know that His Majesty would not go back on his threat. Among other things, he advised his son to travel for a time, until the king's anger had cooled off somewhat.
The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off and went wherever his legs and his kismet would take him. After a few days, he fell in with an old farmer who was on his way back to his village from a journey. The young man found him pleasant and asked if he might go with him. The old farmer agreed, and they walked along together. The day was hot, and the way was long and weary.
"Don't you think it would be much more pleasant if we could carry one another sometimes?" said the young man. "What a fool this man is!" thought the old man.
A little later, they passed through a field of grain ready for the sickle and waving in the breeze, looking like a sea of gold.
"Is this eaten or not?" asked the young man. The old man didn't know what to say, and said, "I don't know."
After a little while, the two travelers came to a big village, where the young man handed his companion a pocket knife, and said, "Take this, friend, and get two horses with it. But please bring it back. It's very precious."
The old man was half amused and half angry. He pushed away the knife, muttering that his friend was either mad or trying to play the fool. The young man pretended not to notice his reply and remained silent for a long time, till they reached a city a short distance from the old farmer's village. They talked about the bazaar and went to the mosque, but nobody greeted them or invited them to come in and rest. "What a large cemetery!" exclaimed the young man.
"What does the fellow mean," thought the old farmer, "calling this city full of people a cemetery?"
On leaving the city their way led through a cemetery where some people were praying beside a grave and distributing chapatis (unleavened bread) to passers-by in the name of their beloved dead. They gave some of the bread to the two travelers also, as much as they could eat.
"What a splendid city this is!" said the young man.
"Now the man is surely crazy!" thought the old farmer. "I wonder what he'll do next. He'll be calling the land water, the water land. He'll be speaking of light when it's dark, and of darkness when it's light." But he kept his thoughts to himself.
Presently they had to wade through a stream. The water was rather deep, o the old farmer took off his shoes and pajamas and crossed over. But the young man waded through it with his shoes and pajamas on.
"Well, I've never seen such a perfect idiot, in word and deed," said the old man to himself.
Yet he liked the fellow. He seemed cultivated and aristocratic. He would certainly amuse his wife and daughter. So he invited him home for a visit.
The young man thanked him and then asked, "But let me ask, if you please, if the beam of your house is strong."
The old farmer mumbled something and went home to tell his family, laughing to himself. When he was alone with them, he said, "This young man has come with me a long way, and I've asked him to stay with us. But the fellow is such a fool that I can't make anything of what he says or does. He wants to know if the beam of this house is all right. The man must be mad!"
Now, the farmer's daughter was a very sharp and wise girl. She said to him, "This man, whoever he is, is no fool. He only wishes to know if you can afford to entertain him."
"Oh, of course," said the farmer, "I see. Well, perhaps you can help me to solve some of his other mysteries. While we were walking together, he asked whether we should not carry one another. He thought it would be a pleasanter mode of travel."
"Certainly," said the girl. "He meant that one of you should tell the other a story to pass the time."
"Oh yes. Then, when we were passing through a wheatfield, he asked me whether it was eaten or not."
"And didn't you know what he meant, Father? He simply wished to know if the owner of the field was in debt or not. If he was in debt, then the produce of the field was as good as eaten. That is, it would all go to his creditors."
"Yes, yes, of course. Then, on entering a village, he asked me to take his pocket knife and get two horses with it, and bring back the knife to him."
"Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one along the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and be careful not to lose the knife."
"I see," said the farmer. "While we were walking through the city, we did not see anyone we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of anything to eat, till we reached the cemetery. There, some people called us and thrust chapatis into our hands. So my friend called the city a cemetery and the cemetery a city."
"Look, Father, inhospitable people are worse than the dead, and a city full of them is a dead place. But in the cemetery, which is crowded. with the dead, you were greeted by kind people who gave you bread."
"True, quite true," said the astonished farmer. "But then, just now, when we were crossing the stream, he waded across without taking off even his shoes."
"I admire his wisdom," said the daughter. "I've often thought how stupid people were to get into that swiftly flowing stream and walk over those sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and they would fall and get wet from head to foot. This friend of yours is a very wise man. I would like to see him and talk to him."
"Very well, I'll go find him and bring him in."
"Tell him, Father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will come in. I'll send on ahead a present for the man, to show that we can afford a guest."
Then she called a servant and sent him to the young man with a present of a dish of porridge, twelve chapatis, and a jar of milk with the following message: "Friend, the moon is full, twelve months make a year, and the sea is overflowing with water."
On his way, the bearer of this present and message met his little son who, seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him some of the food. The foolish man gave him a lot of the porridge, a chapati, and some milk. When he saw the young man, he gave him the present and the message.
"Give your mistress my greetings," he replied. "And tell her that the moon is new, that I can find only eleven months in the year, and that the sea is by no means full."
Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant repeated them word for word to his mistress; and thus his theft was discovered, and he was punished. After a little while, the young man appeared with the old farmer. He was treated royally, as if he were the son of a great man, though the farmer knew nothing of his origins. In the course of the conversation, he told them everything---about the fish's laughter, his father's threatened execution, and his own exile--- and asked their advice about what he should do.
"The laughter of the fish," said the girl, "which seems to have been the cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the women's quarters of the palace, and the king doesn't know anything about it."
"Great! That's great!" exclaimed the wazir's son. "There's yet time for me to return and to save my father from a shameful and unjust death."
The following day he rushed back to his own country, taking with him the farmer's daughter. When he arrived, he ran to the palace and told his father what he had heard. The poor wazir, now almost dead from the expectation of death, was carried at once to the king in a palanquin. He repeated to the king what his son had said. "A man in the queen's quarters! Never!" said the king.
"But it must be so, Your Majesty," replied the wazir, "and to prove the truth of what I've just heard, I propose a test. Please call together all the female attendants in your palace and order them to jump over a large pit, specially dug for this purpose. The man will at once betray himself by the way he jumps."
The king had the pit dug and ordered all the female servants of the palace to try to jump over it. All of them tried, but only one succeeded. That one was found to be a man! Thus was the queen satisfied and the faithful old wazir saved.
Soon after that, the wazir's son married the old farmer's daughter. And it was a most happy marriage.
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