KACHÁRI FOLK-TALES AND RHYMES.

An accused person’s statement in Assamese and Kachári.

Dùimâ dùisâ ni khorâng. How the rivers were made.

Sânùi brai burui man. Phâre unau bîsur gothai brai-buruî zâlângbâ, buruiâ zingâsînânai brainu khithânaise “Brai, zang­fùrhâ zî dânai fisâfur dang, bîsùr mâ zânânai thânggan?” Erui bungbâ braia mai hu khâmnu lâgi Khubernîau thângnânai, mai sobai bîsor ârù lai-megong lâfâ megong bîfùr mânî-nî bîgot-zului bînânai nå-i-au lâbônânai sânsnî sânzât lâmâiau hoṛ thânânai, nå man-fai-nânai buruinù khitha­naise: “Ang gasenù bigot-zului lâbobai.” Phâre nå-i-au sân-ne-sù thânânai, khet khâmnù lâgi sorai fithâ-gundui lânânai hâ, nainù lâgi thângnaise. Phâre gahâm hâ, dåtse nai-ui frâbui fâtbrùi-thing-bù zurâ khânânai dinnanai nå fainaise. Unau sânse­ni-khâli khodal sekhâ, bifùr-mâni lânânai thângnânai hâgrâ eonânai ârù bî hâgrâtùrkhô saunânai hâkhô mazâng khâmnaise. Bînî­frai, sanzâ sanâp ârù sâ khùlâ fâtbrùi-thing khulumnânai khonâ brùithing phongse phongse zaunaise.

Biaunù hâ gasenù mannaise. Phâre baidî baidî mai ârù fîfâng megon-thaigong boikhôbù fùnânai hùnaise. Phâre hâbâ zapbâ braiâ nåi-au thângnânai zirai nânai thânaise. Obâsù âzîbù dang khâlibù dang sânse buruiâ mai nainù lâgi braikhô lùgù homnaise. Khintu braia bungnaise “Lâmâ­iau dùi gùiâ. Nanghâ dùi gâng-bâ âng maunîfrai hùnù?” Theo­bù bî brai-nî khorâng khnâsongâ­lâbâ embrâbrâ braikhô homnai­khai lâng-gnâng-naise. Phâre thân­gùi thângùi mainî hâ man-sî man-sî zâbâ, buruihâ dùi gângnânai brainù khithâbâ, braiâ bung­naise “Âng nangnù dùhùi-nù khithâ-dangman, nonggâ? lâmâ-i au gùia hannânai? Theo­bù ângnî khorâng khnâ-i-âlâbâ fainânai ângkhô dukhu hùíù. Ereùi bungbâ, buruiâ bungnaise. Dinî âng dùi man-lâng-âbâ, thoi-sî-gan. Nang âng-nù dùi hùnù­nânggô.” Phâre unau braiâ mung­bù upai mane zânânai, dùi namai-nâng-naise. Nâmaie nâ­maie fukurimanse nubâ, bî buruinî megonkhô hî zang khânânai be fukuri-hâ-lâgi lângnaise. Ârù braiâ bungnaise “Nang be fukuri khô naiâlâbâ dùi lâng.” Khintu dùi lângbâ-rù mâbâ mâbâ dùi nî dau ârù hângsùfrâ birlai-bâ, bîkhô khnânânai, bîkhô nainù lubuinânai nainaise. Beaunù daufùrnî gele­nai ârù rong zâlainai nunânai bîhâbù brai zang rong zâlainù mon zânaise. Obâsù braiâ khâ­mâ, buruiâ âgârâ. Phâre braiâ buruinî khorâng lânù gnâng zâ­naise. Obâsù bîsùrhâ âji-bù-thâiù khâli-bù-thâiù gåthå gåthai zânaise. Zâbâ, bîsùrkhô fisînù hâekhai braiâ bîsùrkhô buruinî khorângzang Hem-nî hâzô-au lângnânai beaunù fukuri manse khâmnânai baidî baidî nâ khâm­nânai dùiau hogârnânai dinbù-naise. And when all was ready, the old man planted his seedlings of various sorts, and finally went home and rested. And so, as time went by, the old woman desired vehemently to see how the crops were getting on. But the old man said “There is no water on the road, and if you grow athirst, you will get no relief.” But she persisted and prevailed, and made her husband take her along. And as they went, and were now quite close to her husband’s field, behold, the old woman began to be very thirsty. And the old man, being enraged, cried “What did I tell you? There is no water, and yet you would come.” But she, being a woman, said “If you do not give me to drink, I shall die. So, water you must procure as best you can.” So the old man, seeing no other way, went to seek for water. And after long search, seeing a tank, he bound the old woman’s eyes with a cloth and dragged her to the water’s edge and said to her “Drink if you will, but look not upon the tank.” Now the ducks and other water fowls were playing in the water, and were making a merry noise, clacking and quacking. And, the old woman, being curious, like all her sex, peeped at them. And, seeing them at their play, she too desired to be happy in her husband’s society, and, though he was very loth, prevailed with him. And so in due course there were born to them many sons and daughters. And then, in order to provide for their food, he journeyed to the Himalayas and digged a great tank, stocked with many kinds of fishes.

Now, one day the god Sri, the god of good luck, came that way with his white dog, ahunting for deer and hares and tortoises. And when he came to the margin of the tank, behold he was very thirsty. But when he stooped to drink, the fishes said to him eagerly that he must grant them a boon in return for their water. To which he assented, and when he had satisfied his thirst, the fishes said “Take us to the great river, the Brahmaputra (or Lohit).” So the god Sri tied them to his staff, and drew them after him, making runnels of water. And that is how the rivers were made. And the fishes in return gave him a pumpkin and a gourd. And, taking these with him to a friend’s house, his friend regaled him with rice beer and pig’s flesh, and in the morning he gave his friend the pumpkin. But when his friend cut open the pumpkin, it contained nothing but pure silver. So he bade the god Sri stay another day, and brewed fresh beer and killed another pig, and when he was going away gave him a flitch of bacon to take with him. So the god Sri gave him also the gourd. But when he cut open the gourd, it contained nothing but pure gold. And so the god Sri journeyed to his home. And when he got there, he found that his little daughter was very ill. And that was because he had given away the presents which the fishes had made him. But the fishes took pity on him, and came to him in the guise of physicians, and told him that if he would worship and do sacrifice on the banks of rivers, then his daughter would be healed, which he did. And that is why we Kacharis worship rivers. And that is all.

Sâse olsiâ gåthå nê khorâng.

The Story of the Lazy Boy.

“For” said he “when I was ploughing today, an old man told me that the season was gone, and that if I went after him and pursued him I would find him, and that I must do as he would tell me.” So she rose very early in the morning, and giving him to eat and drink, set him on his way. And as he went, he asked all he met “Can you tell me where the old man of the season has gone?” But they said “Every one knows that the season is gone, but where it has gone, or why it has gone, who can say?” At last, when he was nearly in despair, he saw an old man ploughing afar off, and shouted to him “Stay a moment, father, stay; I want to ask you a question.” But the old man was busy, and went his ways. But the lad pursued him and never ceased calling after him till at last the old man, losing patience, turned upon him, and said “What pertinacious noisy lad is this, who won’t leave me alone?” But the lad said “Be not angry, my father, I am fallen into great trouble, and it behoves you to help me.” “Speak quickly, then,” said the old man. And the boy said “I take you to be the old man of the season, and I pray you not to slay me. All the others have planted out their paddy, and I have fallen behind, and have planted nothing. Therefore, unless you turn back, I cannot hope to get any harvest.” But the old man said “It is too late for me to return. Go you back, and plant your paddy as best you can.” And so the lad hastened back and planted out his seedlings in such heedless haste as became him. And that’s all!

Gåthå mâmra nî khorâng. The seven Champions.

Sânùi brai bùrùihâ gåthå sâse dangman. Braiâ gåthå uduibâ-nù thoi-lâng-naise. Obâsù bîmâ bù­rùiâ bîbai-nânai gåthåkhô bângai fidit-bâ gåthåâ bungnaise “Ai, âng dâ mosô gumnù hâ-sî-gô. Nå-se-au murkhiâ hâpnù nâmaiù.” Bînî bîmâ bungnaise “Âfâ fisâtlaiâ, nang âng thoiâgo mâni dukhu zânù nânggâ.” Khintu fisâ­tlaiâ bînî dukhu mon hùâlâbâ sâse nî nåiau murkhiâ hâpnaise. Phâre bîkhô murkhiâ-frâ mosô gum-zâp-nù hùâ. Obâsù sâse gurkhiâ braiâ bîkhô onnânai gum zâp-hù-naise. Phâre gurkhiâfrâ bîkhô nunù hâiâ, ârù boibù bu-i-ù. Bînîkhai unau bî thânù hâekhai, monau dukhu khâmnânai, bùidâkh-sâri lângnaise. An old man and an old woman had a son. But the father died while his son was yet a child, and the mother brought up her boy by begging from house to house. When he was big enough he begged his mother to let him engage himself as a cowherd. But she said “As long as I live, I must not let you undergo any trouble.” But the gallant boy would not listen, and went and took service as a cowherd. But the other cowherd boys would not let him go out herding with them, and hated him, and beat him, in spite of the help of a good old man who took him into his house, so, being unable to stay any longer for grief and vexation, he went away into foreign lands.

Phâre thângùi thângùi bî nâmâ-i-au Simlî Bîr khô lùgù mannaise. Phâre bîkhô bungnaise “Dau, nanglai mâ bîr lùi? Simlî bîfâng fângse mâni bân-bù-dang!” Obânù bî bungnaise; ângnù mâ bîr, lùi, âdâ? Zekhô bungù Gilâ Charan bîr, bîsù bîr!” Obâ gåthåâ bungnaise, “Bî bîrâ ângnù!” Bungbâ, obâ, “Âng nang zang thângfâgan lùi, âdâ.” Erui hannânai, bî zang thângnaise. Bebaidînù thângùi thângùi ârù Dhop Bîr khô lùgù manbâ, bîkhô bù bungnaise “Dau, be lai mâ bîr lùi? Dhop bîtâng fângse mâni hâtsingnù bân-bù-gâr-dang!” Obâsù bî bungnaise “Ang-lai mâ bîr lùi, âdâfùr. Zi Gilâ Charan bîr bî, sù!” Obâ Gilâ Charan bungnaise, “E gùi, bî lai ângnù nanggâ lùi?” Erùi hanbâ, “O âdâ, obâ âng-bù nang sùr zang thângfâgan,” hannânai bisùr zang thângnaise. Bebaidinù Bîsor Bîr, Bândor Bîr, Hâgor Bîr, ârù Oṭ Bîr boi zang bîsùr sârå bîr zânaise. Bebaidînu lùgùse thângùi thângùi sâse. Raikhô burui-nî nå man-hùi-bâ, beaunù khâm song-zâ-nù lâgi sâse bîr Raikhônî-au oṭ bainù thângnaise. Thângbâ, Raikhô bùrùiâ mânsùi nunânai zânù lubuinânai lomzâ-thî-nânai udunânai thânaise, ârù bî bîrkhô bungnaise “Âbo, ângni khâthi-au-nù oṭ dang, sukhângnânai lângfai!” Hanbâ, bî fainânai sukhângdangman. Ereaunù khathiau thânai hâkhorau zùnânai khùkhlainaise. Bîbaidi-nù gabâu zâbâ, boibo sâse sâse thângnânai, beaunù gaglai-thrå-naise. Obâsù Gilâ Charan bîrâ manse khorâng zâbai nungnânai bîau thângnânai, Raikhô buruikhô nunaise. Obâsù bî Raikhô burui khô sùbâ-khrâng hoṭ-naise. Beaunù bùrùiâ dukhu mannânai “Abo, nang ângkhô dâ buthât!” hanbâ; “Obâ ângni âgùifùr khô dîhonnânai hù.” Ereui bungnai-au-nù bùrùi zâkhlâ gongse lâbo­nânai besurkhô hâkhor-nîfrai dîkhângnaise. Phâre unau bî Raikho bùrùikhô bùthât-naise. And as he went his ways, he met Simli Bîr, the hero of the simul tree, and when he saw him he said “Ah! here is a hero indeed, seeing that you bear a whole silk-cotton tree on your shoulder.” But the other replied “Whom do you call a hero? I am no hero at all. If you want a real hero, look out for Gilâ Charan.” But the lad said “As for Gilâ Charan, why, I am Gilâ Charan.” On which Simli Bîr got leave to go with him. And as they went they met Dhop Bîr, and to him they said “You are something like a hero. Why, you are carrying a whole dhop tree all by yourself.” But the other said “My brothers, of what account am I? The man they call Gilâ Charan, he is a hero if you like.” Then Gilâ Charan said “But I am he.” On which Dhop Bîr said “Let me come with you too.” And, so saying, he too joined the party. And in like manner they were joined by other four champions, namely, Mustard, Monkey, Ocean, and Fire, six in all, besides Gilâ Charan. And when they had gone some way, one of them went into the house of a Râkshashani to beg fire for cooking. But when the old wretch saw that it was a man, she desired to devour him, and to that end lay still, pretending to be ill, and said to him in a weak voice “The fire is quite close to me. Come and blow it up!” and when he came close, she gave him a kick and sent him flying into a pit; and, seeing that he did not come, another champion went on the same quest and was treated in like fashion. Then Gilâ Charan guessed that something out of the way had happened, and went there himself; and, perceiving that the old woman was a vampire, took her by the throat and shook her well. But she cried “Do not kill me, and I will show you where your friends are.” Then the old woman got a ladder and released the two champions from the pit. Whereupon they killed her, and went on their way rejoicing.

And presently they came to a place where Rakshashas dwelt. But, not knowing this, they left Simli Bîr to cook rice and the rest went hunting. And when the rice was ready, two Rakshashas came and gobbled it up, so when the rest returned, hungry, for food, Simlî Bîr said he was very sorry. He had quite forgotten to cook, being very busy watching a beautiful white butterfly. But Gilâ Charan at once saw that was only a pretext. So he bid the rest go, and, staying behind, himself cooked rice afresh. On which the two Rakshashas came up roaring, and said “Here, my son, hand over that rice.” “But,” said Gilâ Charan, undaunted, “we are hungry ourselves and have no rice to spare!” “What!” cried they “shall a scarcely weaned child speak to us like this?” and they ran at him to eat him. But he seized them by their necks and threw them a field’s length. And when they attacked him afresh, he slew them with his sword. And in like manner each of the Bîrs slew each his Rakshasha, and then each married a fair Rakshasha girl, and lived happily ever afterwards. And that’s all!

Bîdâ bînânaunî khorâng.

Sâse razâ ârù rânî dangman. Bîsùr hâ hoâiâ thoi-grù-naise. Bî thoibâ hingzauâ modomau dangman. Sânne-sù thânanai hingzausâ sâse zânaise. Ârù bîsùrhâ hoâsâ bù sâse dangman. Phâre sân-ne-sù thânânai, bîsùrnî bîmâiâ thoinaise. Thoibâ hingzausâ nî bidâiâ bîkhô gâkhîr daunânai fidet-naise. Phâ unau bîsùr zânù-gùie zâlângnânai unau gâmi gâmi bîbainânai zânânaise. Bîbaidînu thâbai-ùi thabai-ùi sâse râzâ nî nå-î-au hâp-hùi-naise. Beaunù Razâiâ onnânai bîsùrkhô bînî nå-î-au dinnai.

Be dekhu-au sikhau sâ-snî dangman. Bîsùrnù râzâiâ ozainù dau, omâ, mosô, phâreo hùnânggô. Be khorângkhô gåthå-mâmrâiâ khnânânai, bîsùr-khô dânthâtnu lâgi razâ-nî-au sùngnaise. Khintu razâhâ bikhô thinnù mon gùiâman. Theobù bînî mon zang-nù thin-naise. Obâ gorai mâse emfui gongse razânîau bînânai lânânai, be sikhaufur-nî nåiau thângnânai goraikhô dâpseau khânânai dinnânai, bî emfui lânânai dor-mukhângâu srî srî zombai thâ-naise. Unau be sikhau gedetsinâ onkhârbùbâ bîkhô dân-naise. Ârù boikhôbù sâse sâse bepaidi-nù dânnaise. Khintù boinùkhrî uduisuiâ monau bângai gînânai, lâse lâse fainaiau bîkhô gahâmùi dânnù manâkhuise. Beaunù thoi-e-khai bî bîsùrnî nå gongseau bîkhô sùnânai tâlâ mârînânai din­naise. Manâthu âglâ bînî bîmâiâ bîkhô zî dânbâ-bù phongse bùâ dânnù thinlângdangman. Bînîk­hai bî bîkhô ârù dânnù hâiâ-khuise. Unau be khorângkhô razânî sigâng-au gâsenù khithâ-naise. Beaunù razâiâ sikhaufùrnî nåkhô bîsùr sânekhô girimâ khâmnaise. Beaunù bîsùr thânânai bîdâiâ binânau-khô khîthânaise “Âgùi, nang be gâsenú nå gongse gongse-ùi nainù lubuibâ, nainù hâgo. Khintu be tâlâ-mârinai-khô nang dâ kheo.” Bîdâiâ shikâr khâm­grâ-man. Phâre shikâr khâmnu thângbâ, bînânaunu sobai zang mairang zang golainânai, khurui gongseau hùlângnaiman. Bî bîk­hônu sânse mâni bâsîbai thâdang­man. Unau sân-ne-sù thânânai, bi gâsenù nå-fùr-khô kheo-e kheo-e nainaise. Khaise-au mosô, khaise-au gorai, khaise-au dau, bebaidînù nåfrimbù bî nainaise, Khintu bî kheonu hù-i-e nåkhô mon khâmnânai naiâlâbâ thânù hâiâkhùise.

Brother and Sister.

A certain king died, and soon after his death his wife bare him a daughter, as she had heretofore borne him a son. And then she too died. But before she died, she bade her son “Strike hard, but once only!” And she committed her daughter to his care. And, though they lost their kingdom and were forced to beg their bread, the brother was a good brother, and took care of his sister until they came to a certain kingdom, the king of which took pity on them and kept them in his own palace.

Now, in that kingdom dwelt seven thieves, who oppressed the king, so that he was compelled to send them fowls, pigs, cattle, and pigeons every day. And when the brother heard of this, he begged the king to let him go and kill the thieves. And when the king was unwilling to let him undertake the enterprise, the brother insisted, and, borrowing a horse and a sword from the king, went to the thieves’ house, and there tied up his horse and waited with drawn sword at the door. And when the eldest thief came out, he cut him down, and so in turn he cut down each of them. But the youngest of all was suspicious and came out cautiously, so that the brother was not able to kill him at one blow. So, mindful of his mother’s saying, he shut him up in one of the thieves’ houses, and put a lock upon the door. And then he went and told all that had happened to the king; who, as a reward made the brother and sister custodians of the thieves’ houses. And so they went and stayed there, and the brother said to his sister “You can go into and examine all the houses except the one that is locked.” And the brother was a mighty hunter. But before he went out a hunting, he mixed pulse and grain, and, filling a plate with the mixture, bade his sister separate the seeds while he was away. And this occupied her a whole day. And then she went and examined all the rooms in the thieves’ houses. And in some were cattle, and in some fowls, and in some horses, and so forth. But her mind was ill at ease, because she might not examine the house that was locked. “For,” she said to herself, “if I do not see what is in that house, I cannot be happy.” So she went and saw, and there she found a man half dead with his wound; and when he besought her, she pitied him, and fetched him such medicines as he required of her. So that at the end of some days he was healed, and in course of time they two fell in love with one another. And the wicked thief began to teach the girl how she should bring about the destruction of her brother. And he bade her, when her brother returned, to pretend to be ill, and to say that nothing would cure her save a drink of tigress’ milk. And when her brother heard this, he set out in search of a she-tiger. And, as luck would have it, he found a she-tiger with a bone stuck in her teeth. So, after binding her with a vow, he extracted the bone from her teeth, and then he told her what he required. So she gave him of her milk, and also one of her whelps. And then he returned home. And at dawn the thief asked the sister “Did he bring you the tigress’s milk?” And she replied “That he did, and he brought a tiger’s whelp also.” On which the thief was much discomfited. Then he bade her ask her brother fetch some water from a certain tank, well knowing that to fetch water from that tank, was certain death. On which she said to her brother “If you can only get me water from that tank, I shall certainly be well.” So the brother took his horse and a sword, and a hound, and also the tiger’s whelp, and set out. And on the way he came to a great tree and stopped to rest in the shade; and while he was resting, a huge snake came and began climbing up the tree. And, seeing it, the brother cut the snake in two with his sword; and when a second snake came, he slew that, too. And while he was still resting, a bird came flying to the tree with food for her nestlings. But they refused to eat. And when their mother asked them why they would not eat, they said “Unless you take pity on the man who is resting under the tree, we cannot eat.” So the mother bird promised; and, having fed her nestlings, flew down to the brother and asked him what he desired. And he said that he desired water from a certain tank. But the bird knew all about the properties of the tank, and told the brother. Now, near the tank dwelt a maiden, the guardian of the tank; and he entered into her house, and told her his heart’s desire. But she said to him “You must not go near the tank, for you will die. You must marry me. And as for your sister, she has disobeyed your word, and has married the thief you nearly killed, and their desire is only to be rid of you.” So they two were married, and, going to the thief’s house, slew the thief and the wicked sister. And then they lived happily ever afterwards. And that’s all!

Mùi ârù daukhâ dandâ nî khorâng.

The Story of the Doe and the Raven.

The doe and the raven were great friends, and lived together in the shade of the same tree. And one day a jackal, seeing the doe, and finding her to be fat and good to eat, said to her “Oh friend, what are you doing there? I am charmed to see you, and, if you permit, would like to swear eternal friendship.” But the doe said “How can there be friendship between the likes of us? we are sworn foes. If you get hold of me, you will eat me. I am your food.” But the jackal, on hearing this, pretended to be mightily grieved, and said “What you observe is true enough, and that is just why all my family are dead and I alone am left. And, considering these things, I, for my part, am turned Hindu, eat no flesh, and have vowed friendship to all animals. So you need be in no fear of me.” To which the doe attached implicit credence, and so they two walked together under the trees. But the raven came up and said all he could to induce the doe to abandon the fellowship of the jackal. But, as he could not prevail with her, he told her the following story: “Once upon a time there were two friends. And they vowed that if ever they fell into danger, they should on no account leave one another. And one day they were going through the jungle together, when they met a bear. Now, one of them could climb trees, and the other could not. And when the bear pursued them, the one scrambled up into the first tree he met. But the other, not knowing what else to do, lay on the ground, and, pretending to be dead, held his breath. And the bear, coming and sniffing at him, and finding him apparently dead, left him. Then his friend, shouting to him from the tree, said “What was it that the bear whispered to you?” And he replied “The bear said to me ‘never make friends with men like that fellow in the tree.’” “And so,” said the raven, “will it be with you and your friend the jackal.” For all that, the doe refused to listen, and after some days the jackal, when walking out with the doe, spied a snare, and thrust her into it. And when she bade him bite the cords and loose her, he reminded her of his vows and of the fact that the cords were of hide. Then the raven, after long searching, came up and found the doe in the toils, and set to work to devise a remedy. And when the day was dawning he said to the doe “You swell out your belly, and hold your breath, and when I give the word, run for your life.” Presently, the owner of the snare came up, spear in hand, and, seeing his quarry seemingly dead, loosed her bonds. Upon which the raven cawed loudly, and the doe, jumping up, ran for her life. But the hunter, seizing his spear, threw it after her. And the spear missed the doe, and pierced the wicked jackal, who died. And that’s all!

Brai sáse ni khorâng.

The Old Man and the Tiger.

There was once an old man, who, when he was cutting reeds for his fence in the jungle, heard a tiger growling close to him; and it happened that at that moment a bird also flew away. On which the old man, though he was in truth very frightened, called after the bird “Ah! if you had only stopped, I would have taught you the secret of the ghughu ban.” And this saying he kept on repeating, so that the tiger said to himself “What is it that the old man is saying? I must get him to tell me; and in that case I won’t even eat him.” So he called to the old man. “Look here, old man, what is that about the ghughu ban?” But the old man, answering not a word, kept on chopping his reeds. Then the tiger crept up quite close to him, and said to the old man “If you don’t tell me what you are talking about, I will eat you!” But the old man, for all his fear, only said “You come to my house tomorrow, and I will tell you.” Very early the next morning the tiger asked his way to the old man’s house, and when he got there, it being still early morning, the old man said “And what may your honour be pleased to want?” And the tiger replied “I want to know what you were talking about yesterday.” But the old man replied “I cannot possibly teach you alone. You had better go and get two or three other tigers.” And so the tiger went away and returned with two or three of his brethren. In the meanwhile the old man had spread his unthreshed paddy in the yard. And, putting his earliest acquaintance first, he tied all the tigers to the post, round which the cattle revolve when they are treading out the grain, and set them to work to tread.

But the one in the middle, who was unaccustomed to such labour, cried out in a piteous voice that his head ached, and that he was getting very giddy. But the old man said “Wait a bit, my friend; you haven’t learned yet.” And when the tiger complained again, the old man fetched his goad and pricked him sore, so that, giddy and stumbling, he had to go round and round, and when the tiger said “I shall die at this rate,” the old man replied “You wanted to learn the ghughu ban yesterday, and unless you endure this trouble, you cannot possibly learn;” and, so saying, pricked him the more cruelly. Finally, the tiger said “If so be, I must be in pain, I must be. But I don’t see what it is all about.” Then the old man replied “This is precisely what they called the ghughu ban.” Then the tiger said “I see, I see, now let us go. We have learned our lesson.” But the old man said “Wait a bit, the paddy is nearly trodden out,” and would not stop pricking the tigers for all their entreaties. And when the paddy was all threshed, the old man began untying their bonds. But before he had finished, the tigers were in such pain that they tore the rope out of his hands and ran away. When they stopped to rest, they saw the old man’s rope, and said to one another “If we do not give the old man his rope again, we shall get into further trouble.” So, after much debate, the first tiger was deputed to take it back.

So back he went, trembling with fear in every limb, and, getting close to the old man’s house, offered him his rope. But the old man said “It is night, and I am in bed. I can’t come out. Put the rope in at the window.” So the tiger put it on his tail and thrust it in at the window. But the old man had his knife ready and cut the tiger’s tail off. On which the tiger once more fled, howling with pain. But the old man shouted after him “You may run as far as you like, but my brother is after you, and will catch you.” On which the tiger ran faster than ever. At last, however, he stopped to rest near a cool pool of water, and, not seeing the old man’s brother, dipped the wounded stump of his tail into the pool for refreshment. But a crab, which dwelt in that pool, nipped the stump of his tail; and the tiger crying “The old man’s brother has caught me!” again fled through the jungle, and it was not till the crab was knocked off against the trees that he at last rested. And that’s all!

Mùkhrâ ârù Sessâ nî Khorâng. The Tale of the Monkey and the Hare.

Mâse sessâ ârù mùkhrâ zang fisikhî man. Bîsùr sânùi zang ozainù lùgùse thâiù, lùgùse zâiù, ârù lùgùse thâbaibaiù. Obâsù sânse sâse Darrangârùi mânsùi goe thâlit lânânai, âlâsî zânù thâng­nai nâmau lùgù mannânai, bîsùr railainaise “Be mânsùi-nî goe thâlit-fùr-khô zânù lâgî zangfùr buddî manse khâmnù nânggô,” hannânai, sessâ-khô nâmau-nù thânù thinnânai mùkhrâia hâgrâ-iaù hâkhmânai thânaise. Phâre mânsùiâ manfaibâ, sessakhô nunânai, bîbân dinnânai, hùsùnaise. Hùsùbâ, mùkhraia hâgrânîfrai mâmâr onkhâtnânai thâlitfùrkhô lânânai bongfângau gâ-khù-hùi-naise. Ârù “sessâ-faigan” hannânai, thâlit goe-fùrkhô mâmâr zâ-grù-naise. Ârù thâlit bigùr buâ sessânù dinnaise. A monkey and a hare were great friends. They lived together, ate together, and walked about together. One day they saw a man from Darrang going to a feast and bearing plantains and betel-nuts, and they said to one another that they must contrive some plan to get hold of his load. So the monkey sent the hare to wait on the road, but himself hid in the jungle. And when the man came up and saw the hare sitting on the road, he put down his load, and ran after him. No sooner had he done so, than the monkey came and carried off the plantains and betel-nuts into a tree, and, for fear the hare should return, ate them all up in a great hurry, keeping only the skins of the plantains for his friend.

But when the man found that he could not catch the hare, he gave up the chase, and went home disconsolate; and so the hare went back, searching for his friend, and shouting his name. But when he found him and demanded his share of the spoil, the monkey offered only the skins of the plantains, and the hare, in his rage, said that he would have his revenge. So, first of all, he went and sat very quietly under some kachu plants. Then the monkey climbed down from the tree and began crying “My friend! my friend!” and the hare replied “Who are you calling friend? I am watching the king’s sugarcane field. What do you want?” Then the monkey came forth and said “Ah, my friend, give me a little of the cane to suck.” But the hare said “I cannot give you any. If the Raja were to hear, he would beat me.” But as the monkey grew importunate, he said “Eat, then, if you will, and don’t blame me.” But when he ate, the acrid juice of the kachu caught his tongue, and he rolled on the ground howling. But the hare only said “It’s your own fault. I told you not to.” Then he went and sat beneath a wasps’ nest. And the monkey, moaning and complaining, followed him and asked him what he was doing there, and the hare replied that he was watching the king’s cymbals. “Let me play on them, only a little!” entreated the monkey. But the hare said “I daren’t do it. The Raja would kill me.” “I will only play very gently,” said the monkey, and, prevailing by means of his importunity, clapped his hands on the wasps’ nest and broke it, and straightway the wasps stung his mouth and face and body all over, so that he rolled on the ground crying out in agony. But the hare only said “I told you not to, and you would not listen, what could I do?” And then he went away to where a gowal snake lay. And again the monkey followed him, and asked what he was doing there. And the hare said that he was watching the king’s sceptre. “Ah! let me brandish it, do,” said the monkey, and for all the hare’s warnings would seize the sceptre. Whereby he got bitten, and was in greater pain than ever. Then the rabbit went away and sat down on a marsh, and the monkey followed him once more, crying as he went, and when he again questioned his friend, the hare said: “This is what they call the king’s litter.” “Let me sit on it for a moment,” said the monkey. “I can’t do it,” said the hare, “what would the king say? I think you are a fool, my friend. I tell you not to do things and you will persist.” But the monkey did not listen to him and jumped on to the marsh and stuck miserably in the mud. And then the hare said “Now, my friend, you give me plantain skins to eat, do you? You can stay where you are. I wish you good-day. I am off.” And, so saying, he left the monkey and went his ways.

Obâsù unâù bîthîng gândâ mâse fainai nubâ, bîkhô mukhraiâ dikhâng-nù thing-dangman. Gândâiâ bungnaise “Âng-hâ ukhui-sù-dang ârù dùi-gâng-sùi-dang: âng nangkhô dikhângnù hâiâ,” hannânai, bî thângnaise. And first of all a rhinoceros came. But when the monkey begged for help, he said that he was hungry and thirsty, and really could not stop; he was very sorry; and, so saying, he too went away.

And when a buffalo presently came, the monkey addressed him, but he, too, had other business, and went away. Last of all there came a tiger, who was extremely hungry, and to him the monkey said, “My father, if you do not help me out of this scrape, I have no help left,” and with such and such like words the monkey entreated him. But the tiger said “What good will it do me if I help you?” and was going away, when the monkey cried out “Father, father, take me out of the dreadful marsh, and then, if you like, clean me and eat me.” And the tiger was so hungry that he said: “It is not so much that I want to eat you, but if I rescue one fallen into such calamity, it will be well with me hereafter. However, as you yourself have offered yourself to be eaten, I see no harm.” So saying, he stretched out his tail into the marsh, and the monkey, grasping it, was drawn out. Then the monkey said: “Let me get dry in the sun, and when I am a bit cleaner, you can eat me.” And so saying he sat him down in the sun and waited. But presently the tiger looked another way, and the monkey slipped up a tall tree. But the tiger, being in a great rage, waited two or three days at the foot of the tree. But, as the monkey would not descend, he lay at the tree’s root as one dead, and opened his mouth with his teeth grinning, and the flies came and buzzed in his mouth, so that at last the monkey thought that of a verity he was dead. So finally he crawled down, and slowly inserted his tail in the tiger’s mouth. But the tiger never stirred. Then he felt one of the tiger’s great paws. But the tiger never stirred. Then the monkey said “Ah, you would scrunch my bones to make your bread, would you?” and danced about gaily, and cried “See if you can eat my head now,” and, so saying, he put his head in the tiger’s jaws. And then the jaws closed with a scrunch, and that was the end of the monkey. And that’s all!

Khusung ârù Mùkhrâ. The Tortoise and Monkey.

Besur sâne zang fisikhî man. Sânse lâmâiau thâbâ, sâse mânsùi gur thâli mairang bânnânai lâ­bonai nùnaise. Bîkhô nunânai mùkhraiâ fisikhînù khithânai-sùi: “Helùi sikhî, nang beaunù zåbai thâ. Be fainai mânsùia bîbân dinnânai nangthângkhô hùsùbâ, nangthâng khât.” Erùi hannânai khusungkhô bî lâmâ-au-nù dinnânai mùkhrâiâ hâgrâ singau hâpnânai ânda zânânai hâkhmâ­nânai thânaisui obâ be mân­sùiâ khâthi zâbâ, khusungkhô nunânai, bîbân dinânai, húsúnaise. Obânú mùkhrâiâ hâgrâ nî frai onkhâtnânai be thâli ârù gur khô lângnânai bongfângau gâkhùhùi­naise. Unau be mânsùiâ khu­sung-khô manekhai, gaigainî nå-i-au thâng-fâ-fin-naise. Benî unau, khusungâ hâgrâ-nî-frai onkhâtnânai fisîkhô nâmainânai man-nânai, thâlit ârù gur bînaise. Khintu mùkhrâiâ thâlit zânânai bigur gazâ, gur zânânai, thinkli gazâ khusungnù hùnaise. Beau­nù khusungâ brâp-naikhai, bîkhô bongfângau dikhâng-lâng-naise. “Nang âng-khô gur ârù thâlit zânai nudang-man. Beau mâ dang, nang gagainù nai.” Bebaidî bungnânai mùkhrâiâ bongfâng-nî-frai onkhatnânai thângnaise Phâre khusungâ beaunù thânânai onkhâtnù haiâkhùise. Be bong­fângnî sing-thing baidî baidî omâ thângdangman. Khintu raubô bîkhô on-â-khùise. Unau, gândâ brai mâse be thing thângbâ bî bîkhô khulumnânai bungnaise “Âfâ, nang ângkhô onbâ âng nangnî bîkhung sâïau bât-drùm-nù nâmâiù.” Beaunù gândaiâ bîkhô onnânai thinnaise. Thin-bâ, bî bât-drùm-naise. Obânù gândâ-hâ zânzi bai-naise! Obâ­niâ, bîkhô khusungâ hâgrâ zang khupnânai dinnânai, razânî nåau thângnânai razâ zånai khâmflai sing-au thâ-hùi-naise. Phâ zeblâ mel khun khun zâdangman, obâ khusungâ khîphînâise. Razâ bîkhô khnânânai “Sùr khîphî­dang? Khîthù dân!” Beaunù boibô “Âng khîphîâkhùi” hannâ­nai bungnaise. Ârù bebaidînù khonnesùi khîphîni-au, sâse mân­sùiâ bîkhô razâ nî khâmflai singau nuhoṭnaise. Nunânai razâni sigângau bung-naise “Âfâ, nang­thâng âng-khô dân lâgi-bù, âng manse khorâng khithânù nâmâiù. Nangthângnî khâmflai singau-nù mâbâ mâse dang. Âng mithîgo bînù khîphîdang.” Phâre razâiâ nainânai, bîkhô nunânai, khîthù dânnù thinnaise. Obâniâ khu­sungâ bungnaise “Âfâ nang ângnî khîthû dâ dân! Âng nangthâng-nù gândâ mâse hùgan.” Beaunù razâiâ brâpnâ­nai, bîbînai-baidi-nù mânsùi zâbrâ bî zang hùnânai hoṭnaise. Bî thângnânai, gândâ-khô boi bong­fang guriau khithî-hui-naise. Mânsùifur gândâkhô lâbonânai, razânî singau hùbâ, razâ hontoh zânânai bînù gorai mâse hùnaise. A tortoise and a monkey were great friends, and as they were on the road one day, a man passed laden with plantains. And the monkey, seeing him, said “You go and wait on the road, and when the man pursues you, run away. And so the man put down his load (the monkey having hid in the jungle), and ran after the tortoise. Then the monkey came out of the jungle and took the plantains and molasses that the man bare, and climbed with them into a tree. Then the man, not being able to catch the tortoise, returned, and, not getting his things, went home. Then the tortoise returned and asked his friend for his share of the plantains and molasses. And the monkey offered him for molasses potsherds, and for plantains their skins only; and, when the tortoise insisted, the monkey got angry and hoisted his friend into the tree, saying “See for yourself, if any plantains or molasses be left.” And so he went away and left him. And he could not get down, and one by one various animals came under the tree, but could not help him. And last of these came a very aged rhinoceros, and the tortoise begged leave to jump down on his back. And to this the rhinoceros consented, and so the tortoise leapt down, with such force that he broke the old rhinoceros’ back. Then he covered up the corpse with leaves, and going to the king’s court, sat him down under the king’s throne; and, when the royal council was assembled, the tortoise sneezed loudly, “Who dared to sneeze?” said the king. “Cut off his nose!” But they all with one accord declared that they had not sneezed, and, after he had sneezed once or twice again, some one saw the tortoise under the king’s throne. So he said respectfully “If your Majesty wishes, you can kill me, but I have something to say: There is some living thing under your Majesty’s throne. Without doubt, it was that which sneezed.” On which the king, looking under his throne, saw the tortoise, and ordered them to cut off his nose. But the tortoise said “Do not cut off my nose, and in return I will give your Majesty a rhinoceros.” And at first the king was angry, but for his entreating gave him men with him to fetch his rhinoceros, and when the men returned with the body of the rhinoceros, the king was very pleased, and gave the tortoise a horse.

Be gorâiau uthînânai khâtbaibâ, mùkhrâiâ nunânai sùng-bâ, bî bungnaise “Be goraikhô ângnù razâiâ hunai.” Obânù bî sùng­naise “Mâbrùi razâiâ nangnù hùnai?” Beaunù bî khithânaise, “Nang ângkhô zî bangfâng sâiau gâr-bu-dangman; âng beaunù thânânai, lâmâkhândâ mâse-nî sâiau bongfâng-nî-frai bât-drûm­bâ, bî thoinaise. Unau âng bînî sâiau zâbrâ zigâp hung-nânai hùsinnânai bîkhô dinnânai razânî sigâng-au gândâ nî khorâng khithânaise. Beaunù razâiâ ângnù hontoh zânânai, be gorai­khô hùdang.” Beaunù mùkhrâiâ bî khithânai baidî khamnaise. Râjâiâ bîkhô nunânai brâpnânai khîthû dânnaise. Zapbai! And as he was riding off, he met the monkey and told him that the king had given him the horse. And when the monkey asked him why, he said that he had jumped on to a common lizard from the tree, on which the monkey had left him and had killed it. And that then he had covered it up with leaves and told the king it was a rhinoceros. And the king was pleased and gave him a horse. So the monkey killed a lizard, and went and told the king it was a rhinoceros, and got his nose cut off for his pains. And that’s all!

Bâmun deâru bînî sâkor nî khorâng. The Brahmin and his Servant.

There was once a Brahmin who had a servant. And one day when they were going to the house of the Brahmin’s mother-in-law, the Brahmin gave his servant a bunch of plantains and other things to carry, and said to him “Now, mind you don’t eat those plantains, for I can see just as well behind as I can in front.” And, so saying, he marched ahead. And presently the servant, getting hungry, plucked one of the plantains from the bunch, and, holding it out to his master’s back, ate it. And this he did again and again till all the plantains were gone. And when the Brahmin presently asked what had become of the load, the servant said “You told me you could see behind as well as in front. So I showed you each plantain before I ate it. And you never said anything.”

So the Brahmin went his ways speechless. Presently they stopped to cook their midday meal, and they had got with them a few khawai fish. But the Brahmin gave only one to his servant, and kept the rest himself. And when he was about to eat, the servant asked innocently: “Oh! Brahmin, do khawai fish swim about singly or in shoals?” To which the Brahmin said: “Why, in shoals, of course.” So the servant said “Then my fish had better go with yours.” And, so saying, he threw his fish on the Brahmin’s mess, which was defiled. So the Brahmin got no dinner, and the servant ate the whole.

Phâre bînifrai thângùi thângùi simli bîfâng dùlùse nunânai, Bâmun-khô sùngnaise “Bâmun gohain! be nunai bongfâng-frâ mâ bongfâng?” Bamunâ khi­thânaise “sirmolu.” Sâkhorâ bungnaise: “Sirmolu nunggâ. Bîkhô hirmolu hanù.” Phâ obâsù phong-bâ phong-bâ sônù lâgi khorâng khâlainaise. Phâre gur­khiâ dùlùse lùgù mannânai, bîsùrkhô sungbâ, “himulu” hannânai bîsùr bungnaise. Obânù sùngâ-hoâ-lâbâ Bâmunkhô phong-bâ sônaise. A little later they came across a number of simul trees. Seeing them, the servant asked his master “And what do they call these trees, master?” And the Brahmin (being an educated man) said “These are sirmolu.” But the servant said “Not so, not so! These are himulu,” and offered to bet five blows that it was so. And, meeting some cowherd boys, he asked them what the trees were. And when they said “himulu” he gave the Brahmin five blows without further question.

Ârù bebaidi thângùi thângùi burmâ dùlùse nunânai sâkhorâ Bâmunkhô sùngnaise “Bâmùn gohain, boi gângsù zâbai thânai zanthu-fùr mâ bungô?” Bâmunâ khithânaise “Bîfur sâg.” Sâ­khorâ bungnaise “Nunggâ, bîfùr sâgoli.” Beaubù bîbaidinù Bâmunâ phongbâ sô-zâ-naise. Ârù bînîfrai thângnânai dau-bå dùlùse nunânai sùngnaise” “Bâmun gohain, befùr mâ dau?” Bâmunâ bungnaise “Nang bîfùrkhô mithiâ? Bîfurkhô bog hanù.” Bî bungnaise “Mâ bog hanù? Nunggâ. Bîkhô boguli hanù.” Beaubù bebaidinù Bâmunâ phongbâ sôzânaise. Unau bî manse slok hannaise: Next they met a drove of goats. “And what may these be, Brahmin, these animals that are grazing?” And the Brahmin said “These be called châg.” But the servant cried “Not so, not so! These are châgali.” And the result, as before, was that the Brahmin was worsted and got five blows. And next they came across a flock of paddy-birds, which the Brahmin called “Bog,” but the servant “Boguli.” And again he was worsted and got his five blows. On which he consoled himself by reciting an Assamese saying, to the effect that it is ill arguing with a fool:

“Sâg sirmolu bog ba-káran Tinî pânch panra kîl sudâ akâran.” “Sâg sirmolu bog ba-káran Tinî pânch panra kîl sudâ akâran.”

Phâ bînîfrai thângnânai bihai-bikhunzù nî nå khâthî manbâ, sâkhorkhô thin-hoṭ-grù-nânai khithânaise “Nang thângnànai mâmâr khâm songnù thin; ma­nâthù ânghâ mikhâm ukhui-sù-dang.” Phâre bîbaidî-nù bî thângnânai, Bâmun-nî bikhunzù-nù hângsù bûthâtnânai sobai khâre zang mikhâm songnânai dinnù khithânaise, ârù bungnaise “Nangnî nangzâ-mâdùiâ megong-au gabâp nunggâbâ zâiâ.” Obâsù bî songnânai dinnaise. Phâre unau bizâmâdùiâ so-fai-bânù, mâmârùi khâm khutnânai hunaise. Bizâmâdùiâ ukhui-sù-nai-khai, khâm megong mungbo bâsiâlâbâ zânù gnâng zânaise. And when they were now come near the Brahmin’s mother-in-law’s house, and the Brahmin was become very hungry, he sent his servant on ahead to beg them to get supper ready. So the servant went on ahead and bade the Brahmin’s mother-in-law cook a duck and put lots of plantain ashes, which the Kacháris use for salt, well knowing that his master disliked its acrid taste. So the duck was cooked with plenty of alkali. And when the Brahmin arrived, his meal was set before him, and he was so hungry that he had to eat it whether he liked its savour or no.

Obâsù unau bebaidînù baidî baidî lâzi mannai zânaikhai, Bâmunâ bidânùlâgi sitti gângse lit-nânai sakhornî âkhâi-au hù­nânai nå-i-au hoṭnaise. Lâmâ såse thângbâ, beaunù litnù-grang sâse mânsùi lùgù mannânai, bînù sitti khithînaise. “Beau mâ litdang, âng-nù khithâ.” Obâsù, mânsùiâ sitti-khô nainânai, “Nangkhô dânnù lâgi Bâmun nî bidâ-khô thindang” erui bungbâ, bî sittî-khô phisînânai bungnaise “Afâ nang ângnù gubun sitti gângse litnânai hù.” Ârù be sitti-au erehai lit: “âdâ, nangnî fisâ-hingzau zang be sâkhorâ man-hùi-bâ-nù hâbâ khâmnânai hù. Âng benifrai thângnânai bîsùr-nî hâbâ nunù nânggâ.” Bebaidinù be sitti-khô lângnânai Bâmun-nî bidânù hùnaise. Khintù bî sitti-khô nunânai, monau dukhu man­sù-naise. Theobù, bigùi-nî khorâng gârnù hâekhai, fisâzù zang mâmâr hâbâ khâmnânai hùnângnaise. And so in various ways the Brahmin was put to shame by his servant. So he wrote a long letter to his brother, and, putting it in his servant’s hand, bade him deliver it. But he went a little way, until he met a man who could read and write, and he bade him tell him what was written in the letter. And the man read him the letter, which was to the effect that the brother was to kill the servant. On this, the servant tore up the letter and bade his friend write another one, saying “Dear brother, on receipt of this letter marry my servant to my niece without delay. I shall not be able to come to the wedding.” Taking this letter, the servant went to his master’s brother, who was much vexed, but dared not disobey. Accordingly, though reluctantly, he married the servant to his daughter.

Phâre sânse thânânai bî fainâ­nai bidâ khô sùngbâ gâsenù khorâng khnânânai, bî sâkhor khô dânnùlâgi srî srî upai khâmnaise. Be upaikhô sakhornî hingzauâ mithînânai, bekhô onnânai bînù khithânaise. Khithâbâ, hingzau zang hoṛau udunîau mosôfisâ mâse khâ-khrop-nânai futhunânai din­naise. Phâre Bâmunâ fisâzù zang udubai thâdang mon khâmnânai, srî srî thângnânai mosôfisâ-khô dânnaise. Phâre sân-sô-bâ mosâ­fisâkhô dânfnâng-nai nunânai mâ­mârùi bizâmadui sâkhorkhô gâr­hùinù lâgi thinnaise. Khintu bizâ­mâduiâ bîsùrnî bâriâu lângnânai, lânzâi dîhonnânai, fopnânai din­naise. Unau Bâmunâ mosâ bùthâtnai-nî nungge srî srî uddhâr zânu lâgi gaminî mânsùifùrkhô lingnânai phozù hùdangman. Phâre mânsuifùr zânu zobâ, sâkhorâ bâriau thângnânai mosô lânzai-khô bunânai bungnaise “Bamunâ mosobù bùthârâ-khùi phozù-bù hùâ khùi, hùi-sù!” Bebaidî bungbai-thâbâ, phozùnî mansùifrâ khnânânai, phozù zâiâ­khùise. Bebaidînù bîsùr uddhâr manâkhùise. Zapbâi! And, when the master came to see if his servant had been disposed of, and heard what had happened, he set about to kill him. But his niece got to know of the matter and told her husband, who got a calf, and, binding it hand and foot, put it by her in her bed. And in the night the Brahmin came, and thinking the calf was his niece’s husband sleeping by her side, killed it. And when he found out his mistake in the morning, and learned that he was guilty of cow-killing, he bade his niece’s husband go and bury the calf in all haste. And the servant dragged the calf into the garden and buried it with its tail sticking out of the ground. Meanwhile, the Brahmin set to work to get himself purged of the offence of cow-killing, and summoned the villagers to a feast without telling them why. And when they were all seated, the servant ran out into the garden and hauling at the calf’s tail, called out “The Brahmin didn’t kill a cow, Oh, no! and

Âbrâ nî khorâng. The Story of the Simpleton.

Sâse brai bùrùi dangman. Bi-sùr-hâ sâse gåthå dangman. Bî sânse brai-bùrùi-ni-au mosô bainu lâgi thâkâ bînaise. Khintu brai bùrùi gåthåkhô âzlâ nunànai thâkâ hùâman. Gåthåâ embrâ-brâ bînai-khai thâkâ zakhai-brùi hùnaise. Phâre gåthåâ mosô bainù lâgi thângùi thângùi man­thâm âlî-nî khâthi-au gahâm mosô mâse nunânai, be âlî-au thâkâ dinnânai mosôkhô khânânai lâbo­naise. Thângùi thângùi bîhâ khînù on-khâtnânai mosôkhô hâgra daise-au khânanai dinnânai khîhùibâ mosoâ bething khâtlâng­naise, Phâre be khînainîfrai fainânai mosôkhô nuekhai hâgrâ hâgrâ nâmaibainaise. There was once an aged couple, who had a foolish son, who one day begged them to give him money to buy an ox with. And, owing to his persistence, though they knew him to be simple, they gave him sixteen rupees and let him go. And, as he went, he found a fine ox grazing where three roads meet; and, putting his rupees down on the road, he bound the ox and drove it away. Presently, he stopped to rest, and while he was dozing, his ox ran away. So he began searching all through the jungle for the missing animal.

Ârù bî mùi zonthrâ mâse nunâ­nai, bîkhônù bînî mosô hannânai, hùsùbaie hùsùbaie unau mùiâ hâgrâ zethap-au gongâ nângnânai thâpthânânai thânaise. Obâsù bî mùikhô gådåiau dîdungzang khânânai nå hâ lâgi didung zorai zorai nå manfai-naise. Beaunù bîmâ bifâiâ sùngnaise “Nang mosô bainù thângnaia, hù­rù?” Obâsù bî bungnaise “Be dîdungkhô bùbânù, zangfùr mosô mangan.” Erù hannânai sâthâm zang dîdungau homnânai bù­naise. Bùî bùî mùiâ nå man-fai-bâ, boibù gî-khrongnaise. Phâre bîmâ bîfâiâ mùi-khô buthâtnânai mai salai-nù lâgi gâmînîmânsùinù bângan hùnaise. At last he found a fine stag, and thinking that to be his ox, chased it through the forest till by chance its horns got caught in a thicket. So he tied a rope round its horns, and to that tied another rope, and so on till he got home. And when his old mother asked him if he had bought his ox “Havn’t I, just,” said he, “just help me to pull and see!” On this, the three of them pulled at the rope, hand over hand, and presently the stag made his appearance kicking and struggling, at which they were mightily afraid. However, they killed the stag, and gave of its flesh to the neighbours to eat.

Beaunù gåthå âbrâiâ ai âfâiâ mosô buthâtnai zâbai hannânai mâlainî gâme gâme khithâbainaise. Khintu bîkhô âbrâ nunânai man­sùifrâ bînî khorâng khô fathiâ-khùise. On which the simpleton went about and told the villagers that they had eaten of cow’s flesh. But, fortunately, knowing he was a simpleton, no one believed a word he said.

Bînî unau, âjî-bù thâiù kâli-bù-thâiù, âbrâiâ bângai detbùnânai gâgainî hingzau namainù lâgi ârú brai bùrùi-nî-au thâkâ bînaise. Beaubù hùâ gârâ, thâkâ zokhai-brùi brainîfrai lânânai hingzau ânmainânai thângnaise. Thângùi thângùi gâmî mânsùi-nî dùi gathân-au zombai thânaise. Phâre unau sâse mazâng hingzausâ dùi lângnù fainai nunânai, dùi gâthan-au bi lângnai hingzausâkhô homnânai lâbonaise. Another time, when the simpleton was grown a bit bigger, he again begged money of his parents: this time that he might get him a wife. And since he would not take a refusal, he got his sixteen rupees and set out afresh in search of a wife. Finally, he went and sat at a place where the village women drew water. And when a pretty maiden came down with her vessel on her hip to draw water, he seized her and carried her off.

And when he got tired, he stopped to rest under a tree. And it happened that a man driving a plough ox was also resting there, and the maiden sat there crying her very eyes out for grief at having been carried off. So the man with the ox asked the simpleton “Where did you get that girl? Did you have a look at her before you took her, or didn’t you?” To which the simpleton replied “She seemed a pretty girl, so I put down sixteen rupees at the bathing place and carried her off.” On which the wise man said: “You must be blind. The girl’s pretty enough, but don’t you see that both her eyes are burst. You clearly don’t see straight. Just see how the water is flowing from both her eyes.” On hearing this, the simpleton offered to exchange the girl for the ox. But the other pretended to be unwilling, till, after much persistence on the part of the simpleton, he cried: “There, take it, take it!” So the exchange was effected, and each went on his way mightily satisfied.

And, as the simpleton went his ways, he found a man seated under a tree having a goat with him. So he too stayed to rest. And when they stopped to rest, the ox lay down to rest. On this, the man with the goat said: “That ox is not a good bargain. It will die in a day or two.” And the simpleton, believing this, exchanged the ox for the goat. And when he set forth again, he met a man carrying a big bunch of plantains. So the two sat down. And as the goat was restless and gave him no peace, the simpleton began beating it, so that it cried Ba! ba! (now Ba in the Kachári speech means “carry”). So he said “Do you suppose a tired man like me is going to carry you?” And he was so angry that in disgust he exchanged the goat for the bunch of plantains; and went on. And as he went, he met a man cracking his fingers, and, thinking he did it in scorn of his plantains, explained at what price he had got them.

However, he offered to give him the plantains if he would teach him the art of cracking his fingers. So the two stayed there a long time till the simpleton had more or less acquired the art he coveted. Then as he went on, he suddenly forgot what he had learned. And because he forgot it in a paddy field, he thought he must have lost it in the paddy, and began examining the ears of paddy as a woman searches another woman’s hair for lice. And when the owner of the field came up and asked what he was about, he said: “I have lost a thing which cost me sixteen rupees. Come and help me to look.” So the two looked together, and when, after much search, they found nothing, the other man, in pure vexation, cracked his fingers. On which the simpleton, crying “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” went dancing away.

Ârù bebaidî thângùi thângùi fukuri manse manhùibâ beaubù bî khînânai bînî bidyâ khô baugâr­naise. Phâre bî nâmaie nâmaie manâkhùi. Ereaunù sâse mânsùi lùgù mannânai sùngnaise: “Nanghâ beau ma gamâdang?” hanbâ; “Âfâ, ânghâ beau gahâm basthu manse gamâbai, nangbù namaibâ, âng gahâm mangô;” bungnai-au bîbù bîzang namaifânaise, ârù unau nâmaiùi nâmaiùi hâbru zang musunlâ-musunlî zânânai, theobù mane­khai, bî mânsùiâ brâpnânai âsi dâmnaise. Obâ bî “o âfâ, dâsù âng bekhô manbai!” hannânai, rong zânânai, nå-hâ-lâgi khrep-khrep dâmnânai nå manhúinaise. Bikhô nunânai brai bùrùiâ minî-sù-naise. Agla bîkhô sinai manâ­khùiman, unau sùngnânai mithînaise. “Ârù thâkâfurâ mâ khâm-khù?” hanbâ, bungnaise “Âng hingzau sâse lâbodangman, Behâ megon thaine bù betnai. Bînîkhai ârù mosô slainaise, Bihâ bù udui goblong zânai, ârù burmâ mâse zang bîkhô slainaise. Bîbù ângkhô bânù thinnaikhai brâp­nânai, thâlit slainaise. Thâlit khô nunânai, sâse mânsùiâ bînai­khai, be mânsùinîfrai be bidyâ khô sùlùngnânai thâlit hùnani lâbodang. Ârù âng mâ khâmnù nânggò?” Zapbai! Presently, he stopped by a tank, and again forgot his new acquisition. So he plunged into the mud to look for it. And a man came up and asked what he was searching for? To which he replied “My friend, my friend! I have lost something very valuable. Do come and help me to look.” On which, the two searched until they were covered with mud; and when they found nothing, the new-comer cracked his fingers in vexation, and the simpleton, crying “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” went gaily cracking his fingers all the way home. And when his father and mother saw him, they smiled at his state, and till they spoke to him did not know who he was. And then they asked him what he had done with his money. “Oh!” said he, “first of all I bought a lovely maiden, and, because her eyes were bad, I exchanged her for an ox; and because there was something wrong with the ox, I got a goat in exchange; and because the goat wanted me to carry him, I got angry and changed him for plantains. And the plantains I gave to a man who taught me to crack my fingers, and what else would you have me do?” And that’s all!

Sâ-snî âbrâ nî khorâng. The Story of the Seven Simpletons.

Sùrbâ âbrâ sâsnî dangman. Bîsùr sân se dâpseau onkhâtlâng-nai-au nâmâ-au-nù dùi-slùng bângai mannânai bîkhônù mâbrùi bâtgan hannânai khorâng zâlai-naise. Beaunù bîdâ gederâ bung­naise “Boibù zânzî khâphrâ-nânai bâtnù nângbai;” hannânai, boinùkhri bî âglâ zânânai, bînî khithîau sâse hom-hù-naise. Bebaidî-nù bînî zânziau bî, bînî zânziau bî homlainânai dùislungau sânsrilainaise. Beaunù âtheng-mani zerbâ-mâni sânsrinai-au thoi onkhâtlainaise. Phâre bebaidînù zenthen ùi bâtkhângnânai bîdâ gederâ sâse-se lângkhâtbai nung­nânai sân-naise. Sânânai sârå bùâ mannaise. Ârù unau bînî godâiâ sânnaise. Bî bù sâ-rå bùâ mannaikhai, sâfrimbù khonse khonse sânnânai sâṛå bùâ man­nai. Bînîkhai boibù sâse lâng­khâtbai hannânai zingâsî-nânai khorâng zâzlaibai thâdangman. Ereaunù bething Bâmun sâse thângnânai besùrkhô nunânai sùngnaise: “Gotho-fùr nung-sùrhâ mâ zâdang?” Bîsùr bung­naise “Âfâ, zangfùr bîdâ bîfong sâsnî man. Dâ be dùisâ bât-naiau zangfùrhâ sâse lângkhâtbai. Bînîkhai beaunù zangfùr zingâsi-lai-bai thâdang,” hannaikhai Bâmunâ srî srî sânnânai sâsnî khôbù nudang. Bînîkhai bî “Besùr âbrâ zânù nânggô” nungnânai, besùrkho khithânaise, “Gåthåfùr, nangsùr ângnî nåi-au bùibâ, âng nangsùrnî mânsùikhô dîhonnânai hùnù hâgan,” han­naikhai, bîsur mânthî zânaise. Unau Bâmun goe khândisnî khaunânai bîdâ gedernî âkhâiau hùnânai “Be goe-â-khândi bese dang, nang sân.” Hanbâ, bî sânnanai khândî snî mannâise. Beaunù Bamunâ bungnaise: “Nangsùr be goekhô rânlainânai zâ,” hanbâ, rânnai-au gâgai gâgai grup-gaglai-naise. Beaunù bîsur rong zânânai Bâmun-nî nåiau bùinò-lâgi Bâmun zang thâng-fâ-naise. There were, once upon a time, seven simpletons. And once they were going down the road, and meeting a puddle, were in great distress as to how they should cross it. And the eldest said “I will go first, and you all follow, holding one another’s loin cloths.” So they held one another’s cloths and crawled through the puddle on their hands and knees, getting very muddy and dirty in doing so. But when they had fairly got across, the elder set to work to count; and, as he failed to count himself, behold, there was one missing. Then the next brother counted; and, as he, too, found one missing, they each in turn counted. And so it became clear that one was lost; and there they stood debating this deplorable business. Just then a wily Brahmin came up, and asked what was the matter. And they told him that they had been seven, but that in crossing the puddle, one of them had been lost. On which, the Brahmin, quickly counting them, found that they were still seven, and, judging them to be simpletons, said to them “My sons, if you will come to my house and work for me, I will find you the missing man.” To which with one accord they agreed. Then the Brahmin split a betelnut into seven pieces and put them into the hand of the eldest. “Now count them,” said he, “and tell me how many there be.” And he counted and found that there were seven. “Now take each man a piece,” said the Brahmin, and, behold, to each piece there was a man. So in great joy and peace of mind they went to the Brahmin’s house to work.

Phâre bebaidînù sânnesù thâ­nânai sânse bîsùrkhô bâriau megong dângnù lâgi thin-nâise. Âru Bâmun-hâ sâse fisâtlâ dang­man. Bîkhôbu bîsùrzang hùnânai khithânaise, “ângnî fisâ­tlâ-iâ bù nangsùr zang megong dâng-thang, ârù un zâ-lâng-bâ bîkhô thutlun-thutlân lângfâ.” Erùi bungbâ bîsùr bâriau thâng­nânai megong dânghùidang. Phâre unau Bâmun-nî fisâtlâiâ un zâlâng-naise. Beaunù bîkhô nunânai bîsùr railainaise “Dùhùi bîfâ khithâ-dangman “gåthå un zâlângbâ bîkhô thutlun thutlân lâng,” hannânai, dâ-nî-au zang­fùr mâ khâmgan?” Beaunù bîdâ gederâ “Bebaidînù khâmnù nânggô,” hannânai, sâfrimbu bî khonse, bî khonse, megong dâng­nai sekhâr zang thunânai hùnânai. Bamun-nî gåthåkhô bùthâtnânai dinnaise. Phâre unau megong dângkhângnânai nåiau faibâ Bamunâ sùngnaiau khithânaise “nang khithânaibaidi zangfùr bîkhô sekhâr zang thunai-au bî thoinânai thâbai.” Phâre Bamu­nâ srî srî thânaise. And then, one day, he sent the seven simpletons out into the garden to weed the vegetables, and with them he sent his only son, saying “If the lad is lazy and falls behind, shove him along and make him work.” So they all went into the garden and began cutting the weeds with their knives; and presently the boy fell into the rear. On which they said “There is that Brahmin boy fallen behind. Did not his father say that we were to push him along? What is to be done now? But the elder brother said, “Do? Why, do as we were told.” On which each of them hit him with his weeding knife, so that presently he died. And when the weeding was quite finished, they went and told the Brahmin, saying “You told us to shove him along, and as we had our knives in our hands, we hurt him so that he died.” But the Brahmin was speechless, for they had but done as they were told.

Another day he told them to go and plough. “Take your ploughs up above the great simul tree,” he said. So they rose in the early morning, and, taking ploughs, cattle and ropes, went to the great simul tree. And some stayed below and bound the ploughs and cattle with the ropes, and others climbed the tree and hauled. But the ropes broke and the cattle were killed and the ploughs were smashed. And then they went and told the Brahmin that they had tried to plough above the simul tree and had failed. “And what of the cattle?” said he, “Oh! they fell down and were killed,” they replied. So, in despair, he bought other cattle and sent them out to plough afresh.

Phâre mai mannai-au mai hâ­nânai unau Bâmunâ dângri khaie khaie hùnânai bîsùrkhô rùgânù thinnaise. Beaunù bîsùr mai­khô mau dinnù hannânai sùng­bâ, Bâmunâ bungnaise “Bùrùiâ zerùi din-nù thin-ù, beau-nù din,” hanbâ, bîsùr thângnânai, bùrùi-khô sùng-hùi-naise. Bùrùiâ nå-nî hâbâfùr khâmnai-i-au monau brâpnânai thâdangman. Beaunù bî bungnaise “Mai din-nù thaùni manâbâ, ângnî khoro-au-nù dinfai!” hanbâ, bîsùr boibo mai bibân zang bùrùi-khô hù-sin-thrå-naise. Bîbaidî-nù gâsenù mai rùgânânai bînî sâiau dinnaise. Phâre manâbâ Bâmun dublî nî frai fainânai bùrùi khô nâmaibâ bîsùr khithânaise “Ângnî khårå-au-nù mai din han-nai-khai zang­fur mai zang hu-sin-nânai din­dang.” Biaubù braiâ mungbô upai mane zânanai, bùrùi khô fopnù lâgi bîsurnù hoṭnaise. Phâre bîsùr bùrùi-khô khânânai oâ sing sing bageding-bagedâ bân-lâng-nai-au bùrùiâ oâ thânai-au nângnânai siri-lângnaise. And when the harvest was ripe, they reaped the paddy, and, tying it in sheaves, brought it home and asked where they were to put it. And the Brahmin said “Put it where my old woman tells you to put it.” So they went and asked the Brahmin’s wife. But she was very busy, and only cried “Oh, bother you and your paddy! Put it on my head!” On this, they all took their sheaves, and heaped them on the old woman, so that she died. And when the Brahmin came from his work and asked for his old woman, they said they had buried her in the paddy, as she told them to. On which, being at his wit’s end, he bade them go and bury her. On this, they tied the corpse on a bamboo sledge and bumped it along through the bamboo-clump, so that it got knocked off by the way. And when they came to some fallow land, they dug a grave, and then began looking about for the corpse. Now there was an old woman hard by herding cattle. “Cunning old wretch!” said they, “she is afraid of being buried, and is pretending to be somebody else.” So they got hold of her, and, in spite of her struggles, buried her.

And the Brahmin, in fear of what they might do next, began to contrive means to get rid of them. So he said “Today, my sons, we will go and cut down the great simul tree.” So they took their axes and, going to the simul tree, began hewing with a will, and when the tree was tottering to its fall, the Brahmin said to them “If the tree falls down, it will be broken. Run under it and catch it!” And when they did so, the Brahmin gave the last strokes, and the tree fell on the seven simpletons and killed them. And that’s all!

Khânâ khuzâ nî khorâng. The Story of the Blind Man and the Hunchback.

Sânùi khânâ khuzâ zang phisi­khî man. Phâre bîsùr sânse railainaise “Zang-fùr mâlâi-nî gâmiau bîbaibâ zang-nî gâmî-nî-khrî bângsin mangan.” Hanlainâ­nai khuzaiâ khânâkhô lauthiau homnânai, bùlângnaise. Thângùi thângùi nâmâ gezerau dîdung sorûi manse gâ-fnâng-nânai phisikhî-nû khithânaise “Sikhî, be lai mâ, herâ? Mâbâ galâu zibô baidi gâfnângdang.” Khuzâiâ bungnaise “Be hâthî khânai dîdung sorûi.” Hanbâ, khanâiâ, “Obâ bekhô lâ, herâ, sikhî”; hannânai bungnaise, Khintu bî lâê-khai “Ângnù dîkhângnânûi hu;” hannânai, khânaia didung-khô lânaise. There sprang up a friendship between a blind man and a hunchback. And one day they said to one another “We shall get more if we beg in some other village than our own.” The hunchback made the blind man hold his stick, and so dragged him along. And as they went, the blind man trod upon an old elephant rope which lay upon the road, and said to his friend “Ah! friend, what is this thing like a long snake which I am treading upon?” The hunchback said “Why, it is only an old elephant-rope.” But the blind man said “Take it, my friend, take it.” But, as the hunchback refused, the blind man bid his friend hand it to him, and so they went their ways thence.

Phâre bînîfrai thângùi dûisâ manse man-hûi-nî-au bâtlangbâ khûsûng mâse khânâiâ gâfnâng-naise, ârù bungnaise “Sikhî, ne ne! Âng mâbâ mâse gâfnâng­dang.” Hanbâ, khuzâiâ “Onthai-frâ-khô-nù mâthù bungbai thâiù, herâ, sikhî, nang-lâi?” Khânâiâ bungnaise “Nonggâ, nonggâ, sikhî, nang gùgrùmnai.” Hanbâ bî gùgrùmnânai khusum-khô mannânai, khânâ-nù khithâbâ, bungnaise “O sikhî, obâ bekhô lâ herâ: zangfurnù bekhô nâng­gan.” Khuzaiâ “Ilit ilit lâiâ, herâ” han-nai-khai, khânâiâ bîkhô-bù gagai-nù lânaise. Bînî­frai bibaidî-nù thângùi thângùi dâpse-au dol dâmnai khnânânai khânaiâ khuzânîau sùngnaise “Sikhî bî dolâ-lai sùr thù? Mau thù dâmdang, herâ?” Hanbâ khuzaiâ khithânaise; Beaunù sùrbâ gurkhiâ gåthåfùr dâm­dang” hanbâ, khânâiâ bîkhô lânù lâgi thin-naise. And presently they came to a river; and as they were wading across it, the blind man trod upon a tortoise and told his friend that he had trod upon something living; but the hunchback said it was only a stone, and asked what was the use of standing there talking. But the blind man begged him to feel and see. And when the hunchback announced that it was a tortoise, the blind man begged his friend to take that, too; and on the hunchback declaring that it was too heavy, he finally carried it himself. Then they went their ways and came to a meadow, and heard a drum being beaten. And the blind man asked what that was, and where the drumming was going on. On which the hunchback said it was only cowherds drumming. On which the blind man was for sending the hunchback to fetch the drum.

Khintù bî, “âng mâbrùi lâbogan? Bîsùr-khô âng bùlù hâiâ zâgan, manâthù bîsur gabâng dang,” hanbâ, khânâiâ manse buddhi khâmnânai phisikhî-nù khithanaise “Sikhî, nang hâgrâ sing sing thâng-khmâ-nanai, bîsùr nî khâthî manbâ, mosâ baidî sùgùmnânai hù! Obânù bîsùr gînanai khâtgan,” hanbâ, bîbai­dînù khuzâiâ khâmnai-au, gåthå-frâ gînanai dol khô zrâpzrup gâr-lâng-bâ, khuzâiâ dol khô lâbona­nai khânânù hoṛ-hù-naise. Obasù bînîfrai sânùi zang hâgrâ gezer gezer thângùi thângùi nå nunanai, khuzâiâ bungnaise “Sikhî, dâ sân hâpbai, manâ faibai, Dâlai ârù mâu thâng-bâu-nù? Beau-nù nå danga. Zangfùr beau-nù thâ-dù-nî,” hanbâ, khânâiâ bung­naise “Hagra gezernî nåkhô âng gabâng gahâm man-srâiâ, herâ, sikhî,” hannânai mâ mâ nå dang gahâmùi nainù thinbâ khuzâiâ khithânaise “Nåiâ gâng-ne gâng-thâm. Bândâr bù gong-se dang,” hanbâ khânâiâ “Bî bândârau-nù thâgan,” hannânai, phisikhî-nù khithâbâ, bândâr-sing-hà bùlângnaise, ârù dor-fur-khô gahâmùi khâ-fthâ-nù thinnânai, beaunù thânaise. Unau beau thânai Râikhô-frâ fainânai, bungnâise— But the hunchback said “How shall I fetch it? They will be too strong for me, for they are many.” Then the blind man devised a plan, and bade the hunchback crawl through the jungle and roar like a tiger. Which the hunchback did; and the cowherd boys, on hearing his roaring, ran away headlong and left the drum, which the hunchback gave, as before, to the blind man to carry. Then the friends went through the forest, until they came to some houses. On which the hunchback said “My friend, the sun has set, and evening has come. How much further are we to go? Here are houses, let’s stop here.” But the blind man said he did not think very well of houses in the jungle, and sent his friend to have a good look at them. Presently the hunchback returned and said “There are two or three houses and a granary.” On this, the blind man decided that they would stay in the granary, and so was dragged into the granary, where they carefully fastened the doors and prepared to stay for the night. And while they were there, Rakshashas came and said—

“Zùsâ zùsâ manâmdang;

“Fine rice, fine rice, I can smell;

“And better things to eat as well.”

hannânai, nå gong frùm-bù namâi-giding-bai-bâ, khânâiâ rai-dau-hoṭ-naise “Âng beaunù dâng.” Hanbâ, raikhoâ bungnaise “Nang lai sùr?” Khânâ bù bung­naise “Nang lai sùr?” Raikho khithânaise “Âng Raikhô!” Khâ­naiâ bungnaise “Âng Zâkhô! Bebaîdînù be-sùr brâp-lai-naise Unâu khânâiâ bung-naise “Brâp-nù bù nânggâ, munù bù nânggâ Nangkhô bù âng nuâ­khùi, ângkhô bù nang nuâ­khùi. Bînîkhai manse buddi khâmbâ, zanghâ gahâm zâgan,” hannânai khânâiâ raikhônî khenai bîhot-bâ, Raikhoâ gaigainî khù-mùn daise phunânai khithîhoṭ-naise. Obâsù khânâiâ bungnaise “Dâniâ ângnî khenai-khô nai.” Hannânai, hâthî dîdung khô dî­honnânai hùnaise. Bîkhô nunâ­nai Raikhoâ gîkhrongbâ, khânâiâ ârù themâ bî-hoṭ-naise Raikhoâ bù gaigainî themâ khô khithî-hoṭ-bâ, bî khusung khô khithîhoṭ-naise. Obâsù Raikhoâ be Zâkhoâ-nù nunggô nungnânai, gî-sin-bai. Khanâiâ ârù bînî udui dâmnù thinnânai, dâmbâ, bungnâise, “Dindù dindù hâmbai, âng khnâbai. Dâniâ ângnî khô khnâsong!” hannânai, dol khô dùm dùm dâmnânai hùbâ, Rai­khofrâ gînanai, khât-thro-lâng-naise.

Unao, khânâiâ phisikhîkhô bungnaise “Sikhî mâ mâ gahâm bastù dang, bifurkhô khâ ârù nang bâse, ângnù bù bâse hù, ârù mâmâr thângdù-nî thù” hannâ­nai bîsùr bînîfrai mâmâr failainaise. Ârù dâpse gazân thâni-au thâng­nânai khuzâiâ be bastufarkhô rânnù nâmainânai rânnaise, Rân-khângbâ khânâ-khô bungnaise “Sikhî nangthâng bobekhô lâiu lâ,” Hanbâ bî dângnainanânai khuzâ thing-nî bhâgù-khô bângsin man-dâng-nânai, rânnâiâ hâmâ khùise hannânai, golaigothai khâmnaise. Phâre khuzâiâ “Nang-thâng-lai nuâ-labâ mâbrùi mithînai, herâ? Khonle khonle rânnù gnâng khâm-hùiù!” Hannânai ârù rân-phâphinbâ, obâbù bâng­sin man-dâng-nânai, ârù “Hamâ-khùise, hamâ-khùise,” hannânai golai-gothai khâmnaise. Bîbaidî nù khonbrùi khon-bâ khâmbâ khuzâiâ brâpnânai, âkhâiau bâli lânânai “Nanglai gomâ khânâ nâ misâ khânâ lùi?” hannânai gahâmùinù megonau bâlizang hùnânai hùnaise. Ârù obânù bî nunai zânaise. Ârù bî bù brâpnânai; “nunglai” mâ sâbâ dângâ lùi, nunù hâma hannânai godo-au zo-sin-nânai lânânai, khuzâ bikhung-au gomâgom sobai thâbâ bîbù gahâm zânaise. Unau sânùi zang gahâm zâ-lai-nâise, ârù bastù-fùr-khô gahâmùi rân­lainânai, nå-i-au thâng-lai-naise. Zapbai! Then the blind man said to his friend “Take any good things that there are, and tie them up. You take some and give me some, and let us go;” and, so saying, they went away together. And when they were come to a far place, the hunchback began dividing the spoil. And, when that was done, he bade his friend take which share he would. But the blind man groped about and found that the share nearest to the hunchback was the biggest. So the hunchback said “How did you, without seeing, find that out? Now I have got to divide it all over again!” So he made a fresh division. And the same thing happened again, and the blind man turned everything topsy-turvy. And, when this had occurred four or five times, the hunchback became angry, and taking sand in his hand rubbed it into the blind man’s eyes, saying “Now we shall see if you are really blind or not;” whereby the blind man recovered his sight. But he, too, was angry and said “What a hideous thing you are, and hateful to look upon.” And he jumped on the hunchback’s back and belaboured his hump till he made him straight and well. And when the two were hale and well, they divided their spoil fairly and went home happily. And that’s all!

Sâse âbrâ brai nî khorâng. The Story of a silly old man.

Brai bùrùi dangman. Braiâ hâgrâ gezerau dubli dotse lânanai hâbâ maubai thâdangman. Phâre sânse shikâri sâse hâgrâiau mùi gaunânai thoi-frâm-nânai khârùi khârùi brainî dubli gezer thing thângdangman. Beaunù braiâ nunânai bîkhô khudâl zang khårå-au-nù denânai mùikhô bùthâtnaise. Buthâtnânai hâgrâ singau hakhmânânai dinnaise. Emphâre unau mùi gaunai giri­maia khîthù khîthù thoi sirîlâng­nai naie naie nâmai-lângùi-lângùi brainî dubliaunù sin gamânaise. Obâsù braikhô sùngnaise: “Helùi brai! Nang bething mùi mâse fainai nunâi nâ?” Braiâ bung­naise “Ânghâ dublî-nî shimâiâ khùlâthing boinîfrai sâthing boinîfrai” hannânai bungbâ bî bung­naise “Nonggâ nonggâ! âng mùinî khorâng-sù nang-nî-au sùngdang,” Braiâ khithânaise “Zânun! be dubliau mai zâiù nâ zâiâ âng khîthânù hâiâ.” “Nang­ga-lùi, brai, bî khorâng-khô âng sùngâkhui.” Brai bung­naise “Dâ sânzôfûbai, ânghâ mikhâm ukhui-sù-dang. Âng thâng-nù-sùi;” hannânai, nåiau khâtlângnaise. Obâsù unau braiâ mikhâm dùi zâkhângnânai bùrùi-khô bungnaise; Bùrùi, âng-nù gâbun phungau-nù mikhâm song­nânai hù. Ang mùi mâse buthât­nânai zangnî dubliau dinbùdang. Bîkhô mâmâr gadânù nânggô.” Obâsù okhâ naibâ, bùrùi mâmâr khâm dùi brainù hùnânai bîkhô hogârnaise. Bî dubliau thângnâ­nai mùikhô gadânânai rânnaise. Aglâ gaigai-nî bhâgù khâmnaise. “Phânse mùkhâng sunai-nî, phânse thânkhu zânai-nî, phânse dubliau mosô hùlângnai-nî, phânse hâli oinai-nî.” Bebaidînù huâfùrhâ zese hâbâ dang, gâsenù bhâgù khâm-thrå-naise. Dâ unau bùrùi-nî bhâgù khâmdang “Phânse mukhâng sunai-nî, phânse thânkù zânai-nî, phânse khundung lùnainî, phanse khun pheretnai-nî, phânse hî dânai-nî, phânse khâm songnai-nî, phânse dùi lainai-nî.” Bibaidînù bînî bù zese hâbâ dang, esenù bhâgù khâmnânai sân-naise. Sânnânai bùrùi nî bhâgùâ bângsin man­naise. Obâsù braiâ brâp-nânai. “Ângsù bùrùinîkhrî hâbâ bângai bùâ mau-ù nâ? hannâ-nai, golaigothai khâmnânai, ârù rân-phâphin-naise. Dâniâ âglâ bùrùi­nù bhâgù khâmgru-nai, ârù unau bînî bhâgù khâm-nai. Dâbîhâ bângsin zânaise. Theobù braiâ bîau mon phatiâ khùise. Bîbaidî­nù bî golai-gothai khâmùi khâmùi rânbâbù hamân zâiâ. Bîbaidînù sânse mâni zânaikhai, bùrùiâ; “Brâiâ-lai mâ khâm-khù?” hannânai, dhinkî thorâ manse lânanai, dublîau thângnânai, brai-khô-nuhùi-dang, gaigainù bidot zang nânglaibâ thâdang. Bîdot-frâ-bù khonle khonle dâng-phlebai thâ-naikhai, gebletheble zâlâng­bai. Obâsù bùrùiâ dhinkî thorâ zang srî srî khîthû-au khubui-hoṭ-bâ, braiâ mâbâ imfu hoṭbai hannâ­nai, bîdot-khô gârnânai nåhâ khâtlâng-naise. Emphâre, bùrùiâ bîdot khô hî zang ban-nânai bâ­nânai nå-au lâbonânai, songnânai, brai-zang zâ-lai-bâ, braiâ sùngnaise “Bùrùi, belai mâ-nî bîdot?” hanbâ, bùrùiâ khithânaise “Âng dausâ fisâ mâse buthâtnânai, nanghâ manâ lâng-nai-khai, bekhônù song-dop-nânai dindang. Nangnî bî mùi-bîdot-khô nebai thâbâ, zangfur dâ khâm man-zâ-gla-gauman.” Zapbai! There was an old man and his wife. One day, when the old man was clearing jungle, a half-dead deer that had been shot by a huntsman, came limping that way and crossed the old man’s field. On which the old man killed it by hitting it on the head with his hoe, and hid it away in the jungle. Presently, the man who shot the deer made his appearance, having tracked its blood as far as the old man’s field. “Here, old man!” said he, “have you seen a wounded deer pass this way?” The old man replied “The boundaries of my field? Well, the east boundary is here and the west over there!” But the other said “Not so, not so, I am asking about a wounded deer.” To which the old man replied “I know what you mean; but whether it will be a good crop or not, how shall I say?” “Not so, not so,” said the other; that isn’t what I want to know.” But the old man said “I cannot stop any longer. The dark is falling, and I am hungry for my supper. I’m off.” So saying, he went away home, and when he had had his supper, he said to his old woman “You must give me my breakfast early tomorrow, for I have killed a deer, and I must go early and cut it up.” So the old woman gave him his breakfast very early and sent him about his business. And he went to his field, and, having chopped up the carcase began dividing the pieces. And first he put apart his own share, “One piece for washing my face in the morning; one piece for chewing tobacco; one piece for driving the cattle afield; one piece for ploughing”; and so on, for all his daily avocations. Then he made out his old woman’s share: “One piece for washing her face in the morning; one piece for chewing tobacco; one piece for spinning cotton; one piece for fretting cotton; one piece for weaving cloth; one piece for cooking rice; one piece for drawing water;” and so on, with all her occupations. But, on counting up, he found that the old woman’s share was much the biggest. On which he cried angrily that it was not to be believed that a woman’s share could be bigger than his, and, mixing up all the pieces of flesh on the ground, he began a fresh division. This time he set apart the old woman’s share first, and his own afterwards. This time his share became the largest. But still he was not satisfied, and, mixing all the gobbets up again, he divided them again and again, but never got them equal. Meanwhile, the day had slipped by and evening was come. So the old woman, taking the pestle of the dhenki, went to look for her husband, and there she found him in the midst of the lumps of flesh, which had become covered with dust and dirt through much mixing. Then the old woman let fly the dhenki stump at his back. On which he cried that a snake had bitten him and ran home, on which the old woman tied up the meat in a cloth and carried it to her house, and cooked some hastily for supper. And when her husband asked where the meat came from, she said that he had been such a long time in coming, that she had killed a chicken and cooked it for him. “And if you had stopped dividing that deer’s flesh, we should never have got any supper at all,” said she. And that’s all!

Brai bùrùini khorâng. The Story of the four Thieves.

Ârù sânse brai bùrùiâ boi sikhau-fùrkhô fainai khnânânai brai bùrùi-khô sùngnaise; “Zangfùr-hâ songkhrùi thoplâ mau dinkhù?” Obâsu bùrùiâ bungnaise “Dâsù gahâm zâbai, brai! Songkhrùi thoplaiâ zang udunai nå-nî khùlâ-fât-sî inzurau senânai dindang! Sikhaufrâ maubâ lâng-nù hâgô.” Bîsùr railainai-fùr-khô sikhau-frâ khnâ­nânai inzùr dân-sî-nânai âkhai sùnânai songkhrùi-thoplâ-khô dâng-grùm-baibâ braiâ khâthrùi-lângô lânânai thângnânai âkhâi dân-hùi-naise. Obâ bî “Âng manâ khùise” hannânai thângbâ, ârù sâse sikhauâ bîbaidînù dâng-grùm-bâ, bîkhô-bù âsî-au dân-fnâng-naise. Phâre bebaidî-nù sâse sikhau-nî khùmâ dânnai, ârù sâse-nî gonthong dân-fnâng-naise.

There was an aged couple who lived in a pair of houses. And four thieves used to prowl round their houses, seeking to steal. And the old man set to work to contrive devices to disappoint them. And first he filled a joint of bamboo with cowdung and dirty water and rice-chaff, and hung it up in the rafters of the dhenki-shed. And when at nightfall the thieves began prowling round and listening to hear if the inmates were asleep, the old people overheard them, and the old man said to his wife “Old woman, old woman; where have you hung up the molasses and milk and chira?” And the old woman replied “A nice business! I have been and gone and hung them up in the dhenki-shed, where the thieves can get at them.” And the thieves, hearing this, slipped off to the shed, and, getting the bamboo-joint, gathered plantain leaves for plates, and divided the spoil and sat down to eat. And one of them, smelling at the stuff, said to the others “Smells rather strong, doesn’t it?” Then one of them took his mess in his hand and smelled it, and, seeing what had happened, they all burst out laughing. Then the old man came out with his big stick, and the four thieves ran away. Another day, the old man, hearing the thieves prowling about, said to his wife “Where have you hung the packet of salt?” And the old woman replied “A fine affair! I have hung it up on south wall of our sleeping-house, where the thieves can easily get it.” And so one of the thieves thrust his hand in, and began feeling about for the bundle, on which the old man took his knife and cut his hand. But he only said “I can’t find it,” and went away.

Phâre unau bîsùr gârai gahâm man-nu lâgi dùi nâmai-bai-nai-e-aù sethlau-nù thâlit khârùi sâmnai megongdù-au dùi mannâ­nai âkhai hù-sùm-naise. Beaunù bângsin âlunai manbâbù, lùgù-nî mânsùifùr-nù khithâiâlâbâ “Gahâm manbai,” hannânai bungnaise. Bebaidînù sâbrùi-hâ-bù zâbâ, brâplainaise. Obânù braiâ nå-nî frai onkhâtnânai thokon lânanai bîsùrkhô hu-hoṭ-naise. On which the other three felt about, and one got his finger cut, and another his ear, and the fourth his nose. Then they looked about in the yard for something to ease the pain, and the first, finding a cooking pot in which acrid plantain ashes had been steeped, plunged his hand in, and, getting more pain than before, only said “Ah! that’s good.” On which the others followed his example. And, while they were hopping about in pain, the old man came out and took his stick, and drove them away.

Bînîfrai ârù sânse brai-bùrùi-nî bâriau thâlit bîfong dangman, ârù bînî khâthiau phânlù bîfong fângse dangman. Beaunù bere-thinklî bâhâ lâdang. Phâre hoṛau be sikhau sâbrùiâ brai bùrùinî nåiau faibâ, braiâ bùrùi-khô sùngnaise “Bùrùi, nang zang-fùr-nî thâkâ-thinkhlî-khô mau fopnânai dinkhu?” hanbâ bùrùiâ khithânaise “Dinîbù gahâm zâbai, de, brai! zangnî thâka-thinkliâ thâlit-guriau fop­nânai dinnai-au-nù thâbai. Bînî khâthi-au-nù fânlù-fîfâng-bù fângse dang. Dâ sikhaufrâ manù-khî-mâ-sù!” Bekhô si­khau frâ khnânânai, be thâlit guri-hâ thângnânai nâmai-lai-hùi-bâ bere-bâhâ-khô man-naise. Phare bîkhô besùr dikhângnânai lâbobâ, bâhâiâ gùbrùnânai berefrâ sikhau-fùr-khô oṭbâ, besùr “Aiâ! aiâ!” hannânai, khâtnaise, ârù braiâ thokon lânânai hùsùnaise. Another day, the old people found a wasps’ nest on a chili plant under a plantain tree. And when the thieves came, the old man said to his wife “Old woman, old woman, where have you put the lota with our money in it?” And the old woman answered “To-day’s luck is the worst of all. I have left the lota under the plantain tree in the garden, by the chili bush, and no doubt the thieves will get it.” Hearing this, the thieves went and disturbed the wasps’ nest, and the wasps flew out and stung them. And when they cried in pain and ran away, the old man ran after them with his stick and beat them soundly.

Bînîfrai ârù sânse braiâ thâthî dânnù lâgi sekhâr lânânai hâgrâiau thângbâ, boi sikhau sâbrùi-khô thaigrit guruiau udulângbâ thânai nunânai thai­grit bong-fângau uthînânai thâri gnâng thaigrit thaibrùi khânânai lâbô-nânai be sikhau sâbrùi nî kheneau thaise thaise khâ-khmâ-naise. Phâre unau “Sikhau! sikhau!” hannânai braiâ gâpzrî-khâu-bâ bîsùr srî mannânai sik­hângnânai khâtlângnaise. Khâtbâ, zesenu khârù, esenù thaigrit fithâiâ bikhungau dup dup bulângnaise. Bîsùr braia khîthù khîthù fainânai zang-fùr khô sodang nungnânai khâre-thâng-naise. Phâre unau gazân thângnânai zirai-hùi-bâ, thaigrit khô nunânai gârnaise. Again, another day, when the old man went out to cut reeds for his fence, he found the four thieves asleep under an O tree (the fruit of which is hard and heavy), and the old man, climbing quietly into the tree, cut four of the fruits, with the stalks attached, and tied them to the thieves’ hair. Then he suddenly cried out “Thief! thief!” And the more they ran, the more the heavy fruit bumped on their backs, so that they thought the old man was running after them and beating them. And they ran a very long way before they discovered their mistake, and unloosed the fruit from their hair.

Bînîfrai ârù sânse braiâ mai duliau thânânai bùrùikhô fùrùng­naise “Bùrùi, nang hoṛau sikhau faibâ gaigainù sùngnânai, gaigainù khithâ de, ereùi hannâ­nai “Brai, brai hùn! nang thurse khurui mau dindang?” “Dhinkhî-sâliaunu maiduli-au bîfùr khô dinnai zâbai. Dâ sikhau faibâ, man-lâng-sî-gan dâ! Mâ khâmkhù!” Be khorâng-khô sikhau khnâ­nânai, mâmâr dhinkhi saliau thângnânai naihùibâ be dulikhô dikhângnânai “O! beaunù thorse khurui-fùr dang le! Ilit mâthù!” Obâsù bîsùr khânânai bânnânai lâng-lâi-naise. And, again, the old man climbed into the mat receptacle in which the paddy was stored; but, before doing so, he instructed his wife to imitate his voice and ask where the brass plates and cups had been put; and to answer in her own voice that they had been put into the paddy receptacle in the dhenki-shed. And when the thieves heard all this, they hurried to the dhenki-shed, and, lifting up the paddy receptacle, said with one accord: “My! isn’t it heavy?” And so they tied it to poles and carried it away on their shoulders.

Phâre unau thângùi thângùi dùisâ gathau manse man-hùi-naise. Beaunù bâtbâ braia; “Sî­hâng sihâng zâbai, um, um, di­khâng!” hanbâ bîsùr “Mauhâ sùr raidang lùi.” Khaise bungnaise, “Be duliau rainai baidî khnâ-i-ù.” Ârù sâseâ “Beau mungbô gùiâ; nangsùr erenùsù khnâdang!” Obâsù thângùi thângùi zâbrâ gathau mannânai, braiâ sî-sam-bâ khithânaise “Phutu-khoâ, golâm-bundî-fur! Mânù gahâmùi dikhângâlùi? Nangsùr kânâ nâ? nunù hâïâ-khùi?” Ereau bung­bâ sikhau-frâ bikhô dùi-au gârnâ­nai khât-lâng-naise. Zapbai! Presently, they came to a deep river, and as they were wading across, the old man cried “Look here! I am getting wet, carry it higher.” On which they said to one another “Surely, some one spoke?” But, thinking it was a mistake, they went on, and came to deeper water. On this the old man called out again “Stupid brutes! Sons of slaves! Can’t you see your way? I am getting wet through.” And the thieves were frightened, and, dropping the old man in the water, ran clean away. That’s all!