to cook, and two to wait on her. The seven mothers and Sonahrí used all to sit on a beautiful, clean quilted cushion, as big as a carpet, Sonahrí Rání in the middle and the seven mothers round her, while they sewed, or wrote, and talked. Hírálál then went to the Rakshas-Rání and said, "I could not get the sárí you sent me for, so I brought you these flowers instead." When she saw the flowers she was frantic. She said, "My father, my mother, my sisters, my brothers, don't care for me, not one bit! not one scrap! I will never see their faces again—never! never! I will send some other messenger to them."
One day the Rájá's son came to Mánikbásá and said, "Would you like to see a grand sight?" Mánikbásá Rájá said, "What sight?" Hírálál said, "If you would like to see a really grand sight you must do what I tell you." "Good," answered Mánikbásá, "I will do whatever you tell me." "Well, then," said his son, "you must build a very strong iron house, and round it you must lay heaps of wood. In that house you must put your present Rání." So Mánikbásá Rájá had a very strong iron house built, round which he set walls of wood. Then he went to his Rakshas-Rání and said, "Will you go inside that iron house, and see what it is like?" "Yes, I will," answered she. The Rájá had had great venetians made for the house, and only one door. As soon as the Rakshas-Rání had gone in, he locked the door. Then Hírálál took the little bird, a cockatoo, in which was the Rakshas-Rání's soul, and showed it to the Rakshas-Rání from afar off. When she saw it she turned herself into a huge Rakshas as big as a house. She could not turn in the iron house because she was so huge. Mánikbásá was dread- fully frightened when he saw his Rání was a horrible Rakshas. Then Hírálál pulled off the bird's legs, and as the Rakshas was breaking through the iron house to seize Hírálál, he wrung the cockatoo's neck, and the Rakshas died
