Folk Tales from Tibet (1906)/The Story of the Lama's Servant

STORY No. XVIII.

THE STORY OF THE LAMA'S SERVANT.

There was once an old Lama who lived in a small house at the very top of a hill in a lonely part of Tibet. He was a very holy man and spent his time entirely in religious contemplation, and the only person whom he allowed about his house was a certain young man of low birth, who acted as his Servant and used to cook his meals and perform other household duties. This man was a great character in his way. He was an amusing fellow and very fond of his joke, but was quite unreliable and incapable of performing any regular work.

Now the old Lama's diet, in accordance with the tenets of his religion, was a very small one, and he refrained entirely from taking the life of any living creature. So his food consisted chiefly of barley-flour, butter, and so on, and he abstained from meat of any kind. This mode of life, however, was not at all pleasing to the Servant, Rin-dzin, who had a healthy appetite and greatly missed his daily dish of meat, and he was constantly trying to persuade the Lama to allow him to kill a sheep or a goat in order that he might have a satisfactory meal. This, however, the Lama always sternly refused to do, and forbade his Servant on any account to destroy the life of a living being.

One day the Servant noticed a fine fat sheep, which, having become separated from the rest of the flock, was wandering about near the Lama's house. So he pursued it and caught it, and carrying it into the ground floor of the house, he went up into the room above, and letting down a rope through a hole in the floor he hitched a slip-knot at the other end of the rope round the sheep's neck. Having made these arrangements he went into the next room, where the Lama, as usual, was sitting alone wrapt in religious contemplation, deaf to all mundane affairs.

"Oh! Lama," said the Servant, addressing the old man, "I have come to tell you that I have just found a sheep belonging to our neighbours, who live in the valley below, wandering about near the house; so, for fear he should be eaten by wolves, I have caught him and tied him up in a room below. But he is a very violent sheep and is struggling desperately to escape. Will you be so kind as to hold the rope for a short time while I go and inform the owner where his sheep is?"

The old Lama, who never refused a reasonable request, at once proceeded to do as he was asked, and, rising from his seat, he followed the Servant into the next room.

"Pray hold this rope," said the Servant, handing the Lama the loose end of the rope to which the sheep was secured, "and if the sheep begins to struggle, pull it as hard as you can to prevent him from escaping."

The Lama accordingly took hold of the rope, and the Servant went down into the lower storey as if he intended to leave the house. Instead of doing so, however, he went into the room where the sheep was tied and began to poke the animal with a sharp stick, and the sheep began to struggle violently, trying to escape from its tormentor. The more the sheep struggled below the more the Lama pulled above, and at last, when the tug-of-war had lasted for some minutes, the sheep was strangled by the slip-knot round its neck.

After the lapse of an hour or two the Servant returned to the Lama in the upper room and informed him that the sheep had died a natural death while he had been away seeking for its owner, and, in the circumstances, he supposed that they might as well cut it up and cook it for food. The unsuspecting old Lama agreed to this, and for several days the Servant was able to eat his fill of excellent mutton.

It chanced, however, that the shepherd boy who was in charge of the sheep had come to the Lama's house looking for the one which was lost, and peeping in through the window had seen all that had happened. He told the story to his parents, who were very angry, and came to complain to the Lama of the conduct of his Servant. The old Lama was very much incensed at the treachery and wickedness of his attendant, and dismissed him on the spot, telling him to go away and never come back again. So Master Rin-dzin, with his few belongings on his back, marched off into the world to try and make his fortune.

He was a good deal cast down at first, but being naturally a volatile, light-hearted fellow he soon recovered his spirits and marched along the road singing blithely, and keeping a sharp look-out for anything that might turn up. He had not proceeded very far when he fell in with another young man going in the same direction as himself, and the two, joining company, fell into conversation. Rin-dzin soon related to his young friend all his recent adventures, and informed him that he was anxious to make a little money.

"Very good, brother," replied the Stranger, "I am the very man to help you, for you must know I am a thief by profession, and I am always on the lookout for what fortune may bring me. So we will join company, and it will indeed be bad luck if we cannot succeed in hitting upon something profitable before many days have passed."

So they went along together and towards evening they came upon a large house standing in a fertile valley. The Thief went forward alone to make enquiries, and he soon returned to Rin-dzin with the information he had gathered. The servants of the house had told him that the owner had died the day before, and was now awaiting burial in his own room. His only relation was his daughter, who was heiress to the whole of the property, and she was now mourning for her father all alone in the big house. Further, the Thief had learned that the old man had once had a son, who had run away from home many years before and had never been heard of again.

"Now," said he to Rin-dzin, "I have a plan to propose to you. Do you climb in through the window into the room where the old man's body lies awaiting burial, and conceal yourself somewhere. As soon as you are ready I will go to the young lady of the house and inform her that I am her brother, who has returned home after many years' wandering. She will probably disbelieve my story, and I will propose that we should consult the corpse of her father on the matter. When we come into the room where the corpse lies I will address it, and ask whether I am not the long-lost son, whereupon you must reply that I am. On this evidence I shall secure at least one-half of the property, which, of course, I shall share with you. But be careful on no account to leave the room before morning, otherwise you are sure to be detected by the dogs which roam about the house by night."

Rin-dzin agreed to this proposition, and climbed in by the window into the dead man's room, and, concealing himself near the corpse, he awaited the arrival of his friend. Meanwhile the Thief went boldly up to the front door and gave a loud knock; and being admitted by the servants, he went straight to the chamber of the young lady of the house.

"Who are you?" said she; "and what do you want?"

"Oh! sister," he replied, "I am your long-lost brother; do you not recognise me?"

"No," said she, "it would be impossible for me to recognise you, as I was only a little child when you ran away. No one but my father could know you and he, alas! died yesterday."

"That is very sad," replied the Thief, "for indeed it will be difficult for me to prove the truth of my story. Let us, however, go into the room where my father's corpse is lying, and ask it whether or no I am his long-lost son."

The girl agreed to this, and the two went together into the chamber where the old man's corpse was sitting trussed-up for burial, in accordance with the Tibetan custom.

"Are you there, father," said the Thief, as he entered the darkened room; and Rin-dzin, in a sepulchral voice replied, "Ah."

"I have come to ask you," went on the Thief, "whether or no I am your long-lost son."

"You are," replied Rin-dzin.

And on hearing this the Thief at once retired, followed by the young girl, who was now completely convinced of his identity.

"Now, sister," said the Thief, addressing her when they were alone together, "you see that my story is true, but, unfortunately, I am unable to stay here as I am called away this very night on urgent business. I will therefore make over to you the house and the whole of the landed property, and all I ask from you as my share of the estate is a bag of gold, as big as I can carry with me."

The girl accepted these conditions, and handed over to the Thief a heavy bag of gold. He then bade her farewell and started off with his booty as fast as he could, leaving Rin-dzin behind him in the same room as the corpse.

Early next morning Rin-dzin climbed down from the window, and coming round to the front of the house he asked the lady where her brother was.

"Oh!" said she, "I gave him a big bag of gold last night, and he at once started off with it as fast as he could."

When Rin-dzin heard this he was very angry indeed at the Thief's treachery, and was determined to follow and punish him. So, borrowing a horse from the lady of the house, he galloped off down the road as fast as he could. About mid-day, as he was galloping along, he saw the Thief some distance ahead, sitting under the shade of a tree resting; for not knowing that Rin-dzin had a horse, he did not consider it necessary to go very fast.

When Rin-dzin caught sight of the Thief, he first thought that he would at once go up to him and demand his share of the gold, but on second thoughts he remembered that while he himself was unarmed, the thief possessed both a sword and a musket, so that if it came to a quarrel between them he would probably get the worst of it. So, leaning down over his horse's neck, he pretended not to see the Thief, and galloped past him down the road, as if in mad pursuit. As soon as he was out of sight of the place where the Thief was sitting he pulled his horse up to a wall, and taking a new boot out of the bundle on his back, he dropped it in the middle of the road, and then pursued his way for some little distance further, when he took the fellow boot out of his bundle and dropped it also in the middle of the road. Having done this he turned aside from the roadway and concealed himself and his horse in a thicket near by.

As soon as Rin-dzin had galloped out of sight, the Thief congratulated himself at not having been seen, took up his bag of gold and continued his journey. After walking some little way, he came upon a new boot lying in the centre of the road.

"Ah!" thought he, "that foolish fellow has dropped one of his boots in his haste. But one boot isn't worth picking up; it is of no use at all. What a pity it is he did not drop them both."

So leaving the boot where it lay, he resumed his journey. The sun was now very hot, and the Thief, carrying his heavy bag of gold, was getting pretty tired, and by the time he reached the place where the other boot was lying he was nearly worn out.

"Hallo," said he to himself, when he caught sight of second boot, "here is the other boot. This is really too good a chance to be lost; I must certainly go back at once and pick up the first boot, and then I shall have a pair of new boots for nothing. But I can't carry this heavy bag of gold all the way back with me."

So thinking, he concealed the bag of gold under a tuft of grass by the roadside, and started off to retrace his steps to pick up the first boot. No sooner was he out of sight than Rin-dzin emerged from his hiding-place, and picking up the bag of gold, strapped it to his saddle and rode on his way.