Bengal Fairy Tales/Shankha, the Garland of Shells
V
SHANKHA
THE GARLAND OF SHELLS
THERE was in a certain country a merchant with a son and a daughter. The former was in due course married to a girl in every way suitable; but the latter, being humpbacked, no one consented to be tied to her in the bonds of matrimony. In course of time the merchant died, leaving his wealth and business to his son, Shankha,[1] then a young man. The youth, however, was solely given up to amusements, and never pursued any vocation that might prove profitable. His mother often expostulated with him, but in vain. At length, having run through the fortune he had inherited, and unable to make both ends meet, he left home without the knowledge of his own people, in search of adventures. For three years he was absent, and his mother and wife fretted away. Separation from him was not the only source of their trouble. They were extremely poor. Shankha's creditors ousted them from their home, and they lived in a hut, the husking of rice for others being their chief means of subsistence.
One day a heron came to the hut and told the mother that a prince, named Mohun, was shooting birds on the side of the nearest lake, and that he could tell her where her son was. She ran to the prince, and hearing that Shankha was on the other side of the lake, ran to meet him. Shankha was in a reclining posture on the ground, with two flutes lying by him, and in spite of his mother's solicitations to go home, he ran away. But when she bewailed aloud her lot and that of his poor wife, Shakti, his heart was melted, and coming to her he said, "Mother, I will go to foreign countries on a mercantile enterprise as father did. But where am I to get ships and goods of merchandise?" The mother in reply said that she had long before buried a gem, got from the head of a snake, and the sale of that would enable him to get more than enough for his voyage. The proposal was greedily accepted by the young man, and fourteen ships, richly laden, were soon ready for departure. Religious rites proper for the occasion were performed, and after a very pathetic farewell he left his country, leaving his wife with a sword and instructions to keep it by her at night with the doors shut; and receiving from her in return a garland of shells, which, as she had learned from her tutelary goddess, would serve as a talisman.
The ships unfurled their sails at an auspicious moment, and in six months reached a harbour. Here Shankha's men anchored and made arrangements for cooking their food, while their master retired and engaged himself in the study of the Shastras. It soon became night, and he overheard the conversation of two very large birds, Bangoma and Bangami, gifted with foresight. The latter asked her mate to tell her the young merchant's fortune, and Bangoma said that though he knew it in full he would reveal only one circumstance, and that was that Shankha would soon get a godlike male child.
"What are you talking about?" said Bangami.
"The man is far away from home and there is no knowing after how long he will return, and yet you foretell the speedy birth of his son."
"There is a gigantic swan close by, called Manik," replied Bangoma, "and he, if asked, will take the man hence to his house in a few minutes; and thus he may remain with his wife for a time."
Shankha left his study and called on Manik to do him this service. The swan took him gladly on its back and in twenty minutes dropped him in front of his house. He called to his wife, who, startled at his sudden appearance, opened the door of her room and joyfully received him. Together they passed the night, and at dawn, communicating to the girl the motive and means of so sudden a return, he once more got on the back of the bird and departed. On the way Manik spoke thus to him: "Your wife will bear you a godlike child, but great afflictions are in store for her. Unlimited will be her sufferings during your absence. Leave the garland of shells with me, or you will lose it to your subsequent undoing."
Shankha would not part with it as it was very dear to him as his wife's gift, and the bird, instead of pressing him further, reached the ships, and placing him in one of those, his own ship, left him with the assurance that as soon as he should utter the name "Manik," the bearer of it would appear before him, no matter how far away he might be. The ships were launched the next morning, and prosperous gales drove them onwards.
Let us now have a peep into the house of Shankha's mother, and see what was going on there on the morning succeeding his visit to his wife. His sister, getting up early and sweeping the yard, saw shoe-marks leading up to Shakti's door, which at once produced in her the suspicion that the latter had during the previous night received a lover. Knocking at the door, and having it opened, she saw a candle burning. This confirmed her suspicions, and in very opprobrious terms she abused Shakti, and roused her mother and the whole neighbourhood with outcries that rent the air. Quickly a conclave of the dames and damsels, most of whom delighted in scandals, took place, and mercilessly Shakti's character was torn to shreds. All except the girl's mother-in-law voted that she should be turned out into the streets, but that old lady, more mercifully disposed, decided that she should be kept at home, but under severe restraint. From this time the girl's sufferings were very great. She was not allowed sufficient food, nor any clothing save tattered garments, and to crown all she regularly received daily a number of lashes from her sister-in-law. But she bore all this with patience. The tide of public opinion gradually became more favourable, the more so when she gave out the circumstances accounting for the shoe-marks and the burning candle. But the humpbacked wretch, her tormentor, persecuted her the more until one day in a fury the latter turned upon her, and kicked her out of the house. Trembling, she fled away, not knowing where to go. Her tears rolled down in torrents, and her sobs almost choked her.
Her mother-in-law too was in despair. The poor woman, heart-broken at her daughter-in-law's misfortune and the cruelties inflicted on her by her daughter, was weighed down by griefs, and always cried for the return of her son.
In the meantime Shakti plodded on her way through woods, over mountains and across rivers, and after seven months reached the skirts of a solitary desert, so tired that she could no longer move an inch forward. She fell down and remained insensible for seven days and nights till she was awakened by the footsteps of bears and tigers, kindly ministering to her. They brought her their own food, which she did not touch, but their care and their companionship rendered her some solace, and she remained with them for some time. One morning, before dawn, a wood-cutter happened to come near her, and ravished at her unusual beauty, thought her to be the goddess of the woods, and with clasped hands begged to be told if she wanted anything of him. She replied that she only wanted him to make a hut for her. The wood-cutter at once consented, and a hut in a short time was built, but when he proposed to fetch some money for her, she borrowed from him his bill-hook, and cut a branch of a sandal tree that stood by, and gave it to him with the instruction that he should sell it to the first bidder, taking whatever was offered as the price. It was arranged also that the product of the sale should be shown her. The wood-cutter went away with the branch, and for weeks frequented palaces, thronged marts and ports, in search of a buyer. But no success attended his endeavours, and so his travels continued.
In the meantime, his wife was very uneasy at his absence. One day she started with the object of tracking him, and searched the whole of the district in which she lived, ultimately reaching Shakti's hut. Struck by her splendid appearance, she bowed down in reverence. But her feelings underwent a sudden change when she discovered the marks of her husband's hands on the mud plaster on the bamboo fencing of the hut. She suspected that the girl before her was his mistress. His late absent-mindedness and hurry to leave home confirmed her suspicions, and she poured forth on her suspected rival a torrent of abuses. She noticed, too, that the girl before her was about to become a mother, and attributed it to her liaison with the wood-cutter.
Seized with jealousy, the wood-cutter's wife went to a place at some distance, where her friend, a witch, lived, her employment being that of a midwife. Her object was to commend the services of the latter to Shakti, so that she might destroy by charms the infant about to be born. They both came to the hut and saw in it a new-born babe of unrivalled beauty lying on its mother's bosom, and in the courtyard heaps of gold mohurs. Seizing these and the child, they left the spot with the greatest possible speed. The mother, who had been in a swoon, suddenly awoke, and not finding her child, ran like a maddened tigress in search of it, bewailing her lot thus, "O Bidhi, what have I done to offend thee? I never snatched away a child from its mother's bosom or a calf from the cow that suckled it. I never went so far as to separate a fruit from its tree, or to plunder a bird's nest of its offspring."
Nature sympathized with her; the earth shook, stars fell down from the firmament, and the beasts ran before her as if to help her find out the missing child. She at last reached the seashore and fell down faint, exclaiming, "O gods! for what sin have I been thus punished? Why are you so cruel? You have separated me from my husband and home, and behold now I am the most wretched of my sex! O Bidhátá-púrush,[2] why didst thou unexpectedly give me a child, and hast now robbed me of it?"
While her cries were rending the air, her husband's garland of shells suddenly fell into the sea; and the witch of a midwife, with the wood-cutter's wife, reached the palace where the queen, who had for some time been in labour and given birth to a dead child, was herself dead. The midwife on entering the room of confinement and finding how matters stood, made the wood-cutter's wife put on the Rani's sari, and ordered her to play the august lady's part by taking into her breast Shakti's baby, who was substituted for the still-born child of the king. The midwife then ran to him and announced the birth of an heir, and the whole palace resounded with the beat of drums and the blowing of trumpets. The king entered the room of confinement and feasted his eyes with the sight of the boy.
The wood-cutter's wife admirably acquitted herself as the queen. No one detected her. The babe thrived and was named Neelmanik. With his growth, grew the wealth and prosperity of his reputed father. At length, he was put into the pathsala in the palace, and his progress in learning far surpassed that of boys of the same age. His intelligence was so remarkable that the king invited him to his durbar, to take part in its discussions.
Going back over the past twelve years, we find the garland of shells fallen from Shankha's neck and carried by the waves to Manik's nest near the shore, where his mate hid it. The loss of the garland produced consequences very unfavourable for Shakti. No longer under its talismanic power, her husband quite forgot her, and pursued his business without for a moment remembering that he had left at home his spouse, as loving and beautiful as any wife could ever be. Manik, one day playing with its young ones, discovered the garland, and was very much afflicted at the thought that the loss of it entailed such sorrow and misery on Shakti. The garland, however, which was then given by the gods the power of speech, consoled the bird saying, "Neelmanik lives in such and such a place on the right bank of the Nerbudda. Take me to him, and you will be glad at the result."
The swan with its family went to the place and built a nest on a banyan tree. The wreath was with them, and in a tussle between the young ones it fell down, just as Prince Neel was riding by. Its sight attracted him, and dazzled by its beauty, he had it picked up by one of his attendants, and wore it round his neck.
We left Shakti lying faint on the seashore. The dashing of the waves roused her, and on opening her eyes she beheld the sea goddess, who embraced her and carried her to the subterranean regions. She remained there for twelve years; and knew no peace, as her heart was torn with the memory of her husband and her son. One day the goddess, taking pity on her, told her to leave her and go, with the winds to guide her, towards the north, where she would find both her loved ones. The girl, beside herself with joy, bowed to the goddess, and being taken to the land, went northwards as directed.
The reader has surely not forgotten the wood-cutter sent by Shakti to sell the piece of sandal-wood she had given him. He had gone from place to place in search of a purchaser, but had found no one willing to buy it. Twelve years passed in this way, and at length he met in a harbour a rich merchant with fourteen ships, richly laden. He accosted the latter very respectfully; asked him if he would buy the sandal-wood, and held it out for inspection. The merchant, who was none else but Shankha, took it in his hand, and what was his surprise to find in it the first letter of his wife's name, inscribed with her own hands! The letter reawakened his memory, which had so long lain dormant, and he was so worked on by the old associations it revived, as to lose all control over himself and roll on the ground, uttering words of bitter lamentation. Having recovered a little, he offered the wood-cutter anything, however precious, that he might ask, if only he would tell him from whom he had got the wood. And the wood-cutter, telling him every particular with regard to it, was taken into one of the ships, to show the way back to Shakti's hut.
Shakti in the meantime was assiduous in her search after her lost treasures. She left behind her city after city, kingdom after kingdom, till by some evil influence she could not account for, she was led back into the kingdom where the hut she had lived in stood. She reached it at night, and reposed on the embankment of a tank near the palace. At dawn the wood-cutter's wife who was personating the queen, attended by her maidservants, came to the tank for a bath, and she was surprised to see Shakti there, in the ravishing splendour of her charms. At first the pseudo-queen could not recognize her whom she saw after twelve long years; but on closer inspection she found that the form before her was that of the girl whose child she had taken away. She then thought within herself, "Ah! she whom I persecuted twelve years ago is come back, surely to take revenge. She was then in rags, but now she is dressed like a princess. I must ruin her." After this soliloquy, she bade her servants kill the lady, alleging that with her beauty she might be her successful rival if perchance the king saw her. The maid-servants laid hold of Shakti by the hair, despoiled her of her garments and ornaments, and threw her into a neighbouring cave, the mouth of which they shut with a large flagstone.
Just then the sounds of Danka[3] reverberated through the precincts of the palace, and soldiers hurried to the landing place on the bank of the river to see if any belligerent power had made its appearance. And when they found that the Danka was being beaten from ships belonging to a mere merchant, they became angry at the effrontery, and seizing the vessels, took their owner bound in chains to the court. The king ordered the confiscation of the ships with their goods, and the close captivity of the merchant, who was no other than our old acquaintance, Shankha.
The prisoner was passing through the palace gate into his prison, when he saw the heir apparent with the very garland of shells that he had lost. He told the kotál who had him in charge that the royal youth was none other than his son, and that he wore round his neck what had belonged to him alone. The kotal could not maintain his gravity at what he heard, and so loud was the derision the captive's words gave rise to, that most of the nobles in the court went there to see what was the matter. Shankha, instead of being cowed down by their presence, maintained his point; and to punish his impertinence, a thousand swords were raised over his head, whereupon he cried out, "Kill me, but with my last breath I will proclaim that that boy is my son." Nobody listened to him, and he was led into the prison.
The occurrence produced a strange effect on Prince Neel's mind. He left the court in ill humour, and for three days he was distraught. He shunned appearing in public at the court, and one day calling in his friends, the prime minister's and the kotál's sons, proposed a bath in the neighbouring tank, which was near the one in which Shakti was lying engulfed. The friends could not say "no," and with them Neel went to the bathing place. The bath having refreshed him, he proposed to wait there a little while, and the three friends sat on the very stone under which the prince's mother, unknown to him, lay. The mere touch of the stone refreshed him a great deal, but a strange feeling, the nature of which he could not determine, seized him, and he fell insensible. Shakti was conscious of the nearness of her son and she said, "Who touches the stone over me? My heart is lightened. I was robbed of my darling while asleep, something tells me that I shall soon have him in my arms again." She then cried out, and her cry caught the ear of Neel's friends, who were confounded to hear it come from underneath the stone. Again the cry was, "O my moon! now that after twelve years you are near me, let me embrace you."
Neel's companions were at a loss to solve the mystery. That a voice could be heard from under the ground, and that a stranger, a merchant, claimed their prince as his son, were puzzles to them; and having by the most assiduous attentions roused Neel, they communicated to him the strange words they had heard, and at his request removed the stone. A lady of great beauty was then visible, and something told Neel that it was his mother. He addressed his friends thus, "Brothers, while lying on the stone I dreamed that I was reposing on my mother's breast, and she whom I saw in my dream is the very lady before us. She must be my mother, and I will never leave her."
His friends tried to make him believe that he was being deluded, and led him into the palace, for the solution of the riddle by the queen. Neel fell at her feet, and asked her if she was in reality his mother, but she, with a great fear at her heart, said, "Neel, what do you say? What nonsense are you talking?"
"Mother, tell me, as if you were standing before your tutelary deity, whether you bore me in your womb, or that lady near the tank did so," Neel adjured her. The wood-cutter's wife, ostensibly the queen, roared forth—"Wretch, were you born in a hovel, and thence brought to sit on a throne? A witch has taken possession of you. Ho! who is there, get a rojha[4] so that my son may be freed from the evil influence under which he seems to be." Neel at this harangue left the woman's presence, to think out what his best course was. The rumour had got abroad that he had been claimed as her son by a witch; and this so cut him to the quick as to compel him to seek solitude, for he could not bear public criticism on a point so near his heart. One day he saw his friend, the prime minister's son, and consulted him on the difficult question. After much cogitation, the prime minister's son pointed out what seemed to be a very plausible way. He suggested that the method whereby the real mother could be found out was to try the range of the milk which the two claimants had in their breasts; and she whose milk, being propelled by pressure from a particular distance, would reach his mouth, should have her claims of maternity acknowledged by him.
Neel at first jumped at this suggestion, but afterwards doubted it, and told his friend that though what he had said would be a very good test, it was not possible. For no mother could be expected to have milk for her child after the lapse of so many years since its birth, and even if she had, no drop of it could pass over a considerable distance. At this, his friend replied that prayers to the gods can make impossibilities possible.
Neel the next morning approached the king, who was already aware of the witch's claim, which he thought foolish, and asked him to hold the proposed test before his full court. The king agreed; and the matter became public. The wood-cutter's wife heard it, and went to her friend, the midwife, for consultation, who told her not to flinch, but to eat Shingi fish, and other kinds of food that generated in the breasts a copious supply of milk. The sham queen took her friend's advice.
The next morning the court assembled, and the yard of the palace became quickly crowded. The wood-cutter's wife made a grand appearance befitting a queen; while Shakti was clad in rags. Then the prime minister's son said aloud, "O most august assembly of the best in the land! and O queen! and the lady in apparent poverty! Prince Neel has one mother to be sure, and that one must have her rights."
Shakti and the wood-cutter's wife were made to stand twelve yards off from Neel. The false mother tried the test, and taking different positions, standing, kneeling or sitting, she pressed out her milk, which did not pass even half the distance. The assembly cried out, "Stop, queen, stop. It is an impossibility that you are trying, the trial itself is absurd and foolish." Being thus addressed, the wood-cutter's wife stood aside, mortified and annoyed.
Shakti then pressed her breasts, and thirty-two times the milk flew out and touched the prince's lips. The king trembled on his throne, fearing that he should lose his son, who springing from his seat, threw himself into the close embrace of his real mother; and the musicians present played stirring notes in congratulation. The woman who had so long passed as his mother was looked upon by him with scorn, and she, in order to take her last hit at Shakti, required her to name the boy's father. On this demand, the lady became embarrassed, for on the night of her husband's last return to her, he had strictly enjoined her to keep the circumstances of Neel's birth a secret from every one but his neighbours. She cast anxious looks all round, whereupon a friend stepped in to help her. The swan, Manik, flew to the spot, and in the hearing of the king, nobles, and the mob assembled, related the history of Neel's birth, and of the garland of shells. Speechless with wonder, the king, with his attendants, ran into the prison and brought Shankha out, with apologies for having wronged him. Great honours were conferred on him, and the courtiers attended on him and did him honour. Shakti before this had been taken into the palace. She had not heard of her husband's imprisonment or release, nor of his arrival in the kingdom. So she was very disconsolate on his account. She would neither eat nor drink, but continued crying, until her son appeared before her with the joyful tidings that his father was under the same roof with her. Beside herself with delight, she urged the boy to take her to his father, and when the long-separated couple met, they fell upon each other's necks and shed hot tears of joy.
They extorted a full confession from the wood-cutter's wife, and expelled her and the wicked midwife, her accomplice, from the palace. The former returned to her house in the forest; but what became of the latter is not known. Shankha was pressed by the king to reside permanently with his family in the kingdom, and his son was nominated heir to the throne. The merchant, however, left the country for the purpose of going to his own home to see what had become of his mother and sister. He reached there in safety, but what he saw almost broke his heart. The poor mother was a street beggar, while her humpbacked daughter was in like plight. The merchant took his mother along with him to his new country, but his sister, unwilling to accompany him, was reluctantly left behind to pursue her wicked courses which we have been told soon came to a close, owing to her being captured by an alligator while taking a swim in the very lake at the side of which their mother had once reclaimed her son.
Shankha returned to his family and his friend the king, and passed his days as happily as possible. Through his influence the wood-cutter was made a police officer of rank; and Manik the swan with his mate and young ones was a highly esteemed resident of the palace.