my soul3!” And when she heard that, she wept sore, and besought him, saying, “Is there no means of restoration? Behold there is nothing that I could not endure to recover thy soul.” And the man answered, “There is one only remedy. The gods and dæmons will come to-night to fetch me, because my soul is gone from me; but I can keep them in perpetual contest for seven days and seven nights. Thou, meantime, take this stick, and with it hew and hew on at the mother-o’-pearl door without stopping or resting day or night. By the close of the seventh night thou shalt have hewn through the door, and I shall be free from the gods and dæmons; but, bear in mind, that if thou cease from hewing for one single instant, or if weariness overtake thee for one moment, then the gods and dæmons will carry me away with them—away from thee.” Thus he spoke. Then the woman went and fetched little motes of the feather-grass, and fixed her eyelids open with them, that she might not be overtaken by slumber; and with the stick that her husband had given her she set to work, when night fell, to hew and hew on at the mother-o’-pearl door. Thus she hewed on and on, nor wearied, seven days and seven nights: only the seventh night, the motes of grass having fallen out of one of her eyes so that she could not keep the lid from closing once, in that instant the gods and dæmons prevailed against her husband, and carried him off.
Inconsolable, she set forth to wander after him, crying, “Ah! my beloved husband. My husband of the bird form!” Notwithstanding that she had not slept or left off toiling for seven days and seven nights, she set out, without stopping to take rest, searching for him every where in earth and heaven4.
At last, as she continued walking and crying out, she heard his voice answering her from the top of a mountain. And when she had toiled up to the top of the mountain, crying aloud after him, she heard him answer her from the bottom of a stream. When she came down again to the banks of the stream, still calling loudly upon him, there she found him by a sacred Obö, raised to the gods by the wayside5. He sat there with a great bundle of old boots upon his back, as many as he could carry.
When they had met, he said to her, “This meeting with thee once more rejoices my heart. The gods and dæmons have made me their water-carrier; and in toiling up and down from the river to their mountain6 so many times, I have worn out all these pairs of boots.”
But she answered, “Tell me, O beloved, what can I do to deliver thee from this bondage?”
And he answered, “There is only this remedy, O faithful one. Even that thou return now home, and build another cage like to the one that was burned, and that having built it, thou woo my soul back into it. Which when thou hast done, I myself must come back thither, nor can gods or dæmons withhold me.”
So she went back home, and built a cage like to the one that was burned, and wooed the soul of her husband back into it; and thus was her husband delivered from the power of the gods and dæmons, and came back to her to live with her always.
“In truth that was a glorious woman for a wife!” exclaimed the Khan.
“Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips,” replied the Siddhî-kür. And with the cry, “To escape out of this world is good!” he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.
Thus far of the Adventures of the Well-and-wise-walking Khan the seventh chapter, of how it befell the White Bird and his Wife.
Tale VIII.
When the Well-and-wise-walking Khan found that he had again missed the end and object of his labour, he proceeded yet again as heretofore to the cool grove, and having taken captive the Siddhî-kür bore him along to present to the Master and Teacher Nâgârg′una. But by the way the Siddhî-kür asked him to tell a tale, and when he would not speak, craved of him the token that he willed he should tell one; which, when he had given, he told this tale, saying—
How Ânanda the Wood-carver and Ânanda the Painter strove against each other.
Long ages ago there lived in a kingdom which was called Kun-smon1, a Khan named Kun-snang2. When this Khan departed this life his son named Chamut Ssakiktschi3 succeeded to the throne.
In the same kingdom lived a painter named Ânanda4, and a wood-carver also named Ânanda. These men were friends of each other apparently, but jealousy reigned in their hearts.
One day, now, it befell that Ânanda the painter, whom to distinguish from the other, we will call by his Tibetian name of Kun-dgah instead of by his Sanskrit name of Ânanda, appeared before the Khan, and spoke in this wise: “O Khan, thy father, born anew into the kingdom of the gods, called me thither unto him, and straightway hearing his behest, I obeyed it.” As he spoke he handed to “All-protecting” the Khan, a forged strip of writing which was conceived after this manner:—
“To my son Chotolo5 Ssakiktschi!
“When I last parted from thee, I took my flight out of the lower life, and was born again into the kingdom of the gods6. Here I have my abode in plenitude, yea, superabundance of all that I require. Only one thing is wanting. In order to complete a temple I am building, I find not one to adorn it cunning in his art like unto Ânanda our wood-carver. Wherefore, I charge thee, son Chotolo-Ssakiktschi, call unto thee Ânanda the wood-carver, and send him up hither to me. The way and means of his coming shall be explained unto thee by Kun-dgah the painter.”
Such was the letter that Kun-dgah the painter, with crafty art, delivered to Kun-tschong7, the Khan. Which when the Khan had read he said to him—“That the Khan, my father, is in truth born anew into the gods’ kingdom is very good.”
And forthwith he sent for Ânanda the wood-carver, and spoke thus to him: “My father, the Khan, is new born into the gods’ kingdom, and is there building a temple. For this purpose he has need of a wood-carver; but can find none cunning in his art like unto thee. Now, therefore, he has written unto me to send thee straightway above unto him.” With these words he handed the strip of writing into his hands.
But the Wood-carver when he had read it thought within himself, “This is indeed contrary to all rule and precedent. Do I not scent here some craft of Kun-dgah the painter? Nevertheless, shall I not find a means to provide against his mischievous intent?” Then he raised his voice, and spoke thus aloud to the Khan:—
“Tell me, O Khan, how shall I a poor Wood-carver attain to the gods’ kingdom?”
“In this,” replied the Khan, “shall the Painter instruct thee.”
And while the Wood-carver said within himself, “Have I not smelt thee out, thou crafty one?” the Khan sent and fetched the Painter into his presence. Then having commanded him to declare the way and manner of the journey into the gods’ kingdom, the Painter answered in this wise—
“When thou hast collected all the materials and instruments appertaining to thy calling, and hast gathered them at thy feet, thou shalt order a pile of beams of wood well steeped in spirit distilled from sesame grain to be heaped around thee. Then to the accompaniment of every solemn-sounding instrument kindle the pile, and rise to the gods’ kingdom borne on obedient clouds of smoke as on a swift charger.”
The Wood-carver durst not refuse the behest of the Khan; but obtained an interval of seven days in order to collect the materials and instruments of his calling, but also to consider and find out a means of avenging the astuteness of the Painter. Then he went home, and told his wife all that had befallen him.
His wife, without hesitating, proposed to him a means of evading while seeming to fulfil the decree. In a field belonging to him at a short distance from his house, she caused a large flat stone to be placed, on which the sacrifice was to be consummated. But under it by night she had an underground passage made, communicating with the house.
When the eighth day had arrived the Khan