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A BRAHMIN AND HIS WIFE
THERE once lived a poor and illiterate Brahmin who had a termagant as his wife. One day he asked the lady to make cakes for him, whereupon she said, "What an impudent fellow you are. There is neither a grain of rice nor a drop of oil in the house. O son of a cake-eater, you want to eat cakes. Get out of the house."
Thus grossly insulted the Brahmin left home, and wandered about disconsolately till at length he reached a hermitage, the owner of which, after learning his sad history, detained him and began giving him instruction. After some time the Brahmin with great difficulty mastered the Bengali alphabet, and puffed up with pride sought his own country without the leave or knowledge of the hermit. After travelling under the burning rays of the sun of the month of Bhaddur (the second half of August and the first half of September), which is the hottest time of the year, he at length, one night, reached home. Being curious to know what was going on inside he silently waited in the courtyard, whence he heard the hissing noise of the baking of cakes issuing from within. His mouth watered, and unable to wait any longer he cried out, "My dear wife, are you inside there? I am come, having acquired all the knowledge available in the world." The Brahmini came out, and said that she disbelieved him. To this he replied laughingly, "You certainly doubt the truth of what I say, or you would by this time have laid a heap of your cakes before me." The wife was thunderstruck. She was at a loss to conjecture how her husband had come to know of the preparation of cakes, and asked him to enlighten her. The request was just the one he had expected, and with gravity he rejoined that he had read astrology and could tell everything that had happened in the wide world. His wife credited what she heard, and ran to the neighbours with the glad tidings. They visited him, and found him with heaps of books beside him. His fame quickly spread all through the country.
Visitors came in crowds, some to show their palms, others to consult him about the thefts committed in their houses; and the answers he gave always satisfied them. One day a Dhobi (washerman), Moti by name, who had lost his donkey, visited him with the object of learning what had become of it. The Brahmin was in a difficulty, but by no means at the end of his wits. He told the Dhobi to wait until his morning devotions were over; and then, entering the inner apartment, went out by the back door to see if he could find the donkey grazing in one of the neighbouring fields. But he failed. He was not, however, altogether nonplussed, and coming to the Dhobi he said, "You won't find your donkey to-day. You must wait till to-morrow. My tutelary goddess, Chundi, is in a bad humour to-day, and will not favour me." Moti went away satisfied, but the Brahmin passed a very disturbed night in fear lest he should lose his credit and reputation. Towards dawn, however, he heard a noise in the courtyard, and suspecting that it was a thief he held up the light in his hand, when to his joy he beheld the lost donkey lying stretched at full length on the ground. With a trick he made the animal stand up, and tied it to a pole. The next morning the Dhobi came and took away his donkey, wondering with the whole neighbourhood at the superhuman powers of the Brahmin.
Some time after this the king's daughter lost her diamond necklace, worth a million gold mohurs. Many astrologers were consulted, but to no purpose. At length the Brahmin was sent for. He trembled with fear, and cursed the day on which he had first set himself up as an astrologer. But it could not be helped. The king's summons must be obeyed; and the Brahmin entered the court, seemingly with boldness, but internally as cowed down as a goat led to be sacrificed. He asked two days' time of the king, on the pretext of consulting the gods; and the time being granted, he returned home, not knowing how to extricate himself from the difficulty. He touched no food, took no rest, and shutting himself up in his room, fell prostrate on the ground, calling thus upon his tutelary goddess, "O Mother Juggodamba (a name of Durga), save me from death, or at best imprisonment. Is it thy intention that I shall be ruined? Juggodamba, put me into the way of finding out the princess's lost necklace." The Brahmin's stars were in the ascendant, and though we cannot say whether the goddess Juggodamba listened to his prayers or not, there was one that did so, and that was her namesake, the wife of the king's gardener, who, passing by his house, overheard his utterances. She had purloined the necklace and hid it, and she thought that he, having detected this, was demanding of her the restitution of the ornaments. In great terror she ran into his house, clasped his legs, and with tears exclaimed, "Worshipful Brahmin, I adjure you in the name of the gods to spare me. Do not inform the king of my crime, and I will ever remain your slave." Greatly surprised at what he saw, the Brahmin asked her what she meant; at which the woman said, "Father, you have discovered all. I will never commit theft again. Save me out of your pity. Prompted by avarice I stole the necklace, but I am ready to deliver it into your hands." The Brahmin now understood everything; and assuming a very kind tone, told the woman that she need not fear any injury at his hands if she would put the necklace into a harhi and deposit it in the tank close to the palace. Happy at escaping punishment she did not delay in carrying out his instructions even for a moment. Hastening home she did as he had told her.
Next day the Brahmin, elated with success, and with his forehead spotted with vermilion, saw the king; and after muttering some unintelligible jargon, told him that the necklace was lying in the tank near to the palace. The king then sent men to fetch it, but it could not be found, even after the minutest search. Who could now look at his wrathful frown without a tremor? The Brahmin was ordered to be put in chains. But he knew that the thief had not deceived him, and he stuck to his former assertion. At his importunity the tank was dragged, and an earthen pot, not a harhi, but a smaller one, was brought up, and the necklace was found inside it. The king and the Brahmin were transported with joy, and the former embraced the latter, appointing him chief scholar in his court. Presents and gifts of the most precious kind were made to him, and he passed his days in affluence. Daily he took his seat in the king's court. No one even of the greatest scholarship could venture to lift up his head in his presence, and the king and queen daily laid flowers at his feet.