Bengal Fairy Tales/The Seven Brothers who were turned into Champa Trees
II
THE SEVEN BROTHERS WHO WERE TURNED INTO CHAMPA TREES
THERE was once a king who had seven queens, the eldest of whom was a living example of pride and insolence, while the youngest was noted for her uncommonly kind and gentle nature. The latter was the idol of her husband, whose chief aim was to make her happy. He was not, however, unkind to his other wives. They obtained from him everything they desired, and passed their lives in royal grandeur. But there was one thing that cast a gloom over the palaces. The king was childless, and the thought that if he died without an heir all his dominions and wealth would pass into the hands of a stranger greatly troubled him and his people.
In course of time, when all hope of an heir had been abandoned, the youngest queen showed signs that she would soon become a mother, and the king's joy was so great that he distributed rich presents to all who approached him. His attachment to the fortunate queen, and his impatience to know the fact of her delivery as soon as possible, became so great that he tied her wrist to his by a long chain, for the double purpose of always having her movements within his knowledge, and of being apprised without the least delay of the happy event, no matter what the distance between him and her might be.
When the time drew near, the youngest queen withdrew to her apartments accompanied by the elder queens, who voluntarily offered to attend her. Seven sons, exquisitely handsome, and a daughter, the incarnation of the moon on earth, were born; and their mother expressed her wish to see them, saying, "O sisters, kindly let me feast my eyes with the sight of the babes to whom I have given birth." To this the other queens, with scornful gestures, replied, "Wretch, we admire your impudence; you want to see the fruit of your labour. See, you have brought forth young mice and frogs." Hearing this the youngest queen fainted away, and taking advantage of this, her rivals put her eight children into as many earthen pots, and buried them under the heap of ashes thrown away from the kitchen. They then shook the chain that had been intended by the king to signal the birth of his child, and in he rushed with a countenance beaming with unspeakable joy. But what was his disappointment to learn from the elder queens that the wife of whom he had made so much had given birth only to mice and frogs. He was beside himself with rage, and had the unhappy mother turned out of the palace. She was reduced to the greatest possible distress, and maintained herself by working as a ghootah-kurani (a woman who collects cow-dung cakes for fuel), while her rivals passed their time in gay festivity.
But a deep calamity seemed to have befallen the whole kingdom. The king always looked morose and grief-stricken, and his subjects heart-broken. A dark cloud enveloped the palace. Birds forgot to sing and flowers to bloom. The gardener, one morning, came to the king and said that there were no flowers in the garden to be offered by his royal master to the gods in his daily worship; but that there were eight trees, seven Champa and one Parul, bearing each a single flower, and growing on a heap of ashes near the kitchen. The king ordered the flowers to be fetched, and the gardener went on his errand. But as soon as he approached the trees, the parul (an Indian flower of red colour) said, "Ho, Champas, my seven brothers, are you awake?" "Yes, we are," came the answer; "what do you want of us?" "The king's gardener is here," replied the Parul; "shall he have flowers for his master's devotion?" "No," said the Champas, "not before the king comes to us." Saying this, they climbed higher up their trees out of reach. The gardener was struck dumb with surprise, and reported the matter to the king, who instantly, with his courtiers, went to the spot, and was about to pluck the flowers, when the Parul called to her brothers in the same way as before, and asked if they would place themselves at the disposal of the king. The Champas answered in the negative, and said, "Let the eldest queen come, and then we will see what can be done." After this, they got a little higher up their trees. The eldest queen came, and the former scene was re-enacted, ending in a summons to the other five queens in succession; and by the time the last of them had arrived the flowers were seen in the sky, like so many stars. Then with a loud voice they cried, "Let the discarded queen, the one who lives by making and selling cow-dung cakes, come to us, and we will place ourselves at her disposal." On this a grand palanquin, fit only for kings and queens, was sent to her hut, and she was carried to the appointed place. With her whole person smeared with cow-dung, of which she had been making cakes, she reached the trees, and anon the Champas got down from the skies to where the Parul was, and out of the eight flowers sprang seven prince-like boys and a girl of uncommon beauty. They fell upon their knees before the discarded queen, calling her by the sweet name of mother, and told the king their sad story.
Every one was struck speechless. Tears flowed in torrents from the eyes of the king, and the other queens trembled with fear. They were at once buried alive, standing, with thorns placed below their feet and above their heads.
The king then entered the palace with his now honoured queen and her children, and from that time bliss and peace pervaded the whole kingdom.