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  Early the next morning the jubraja took Thoibi home, and the king in his delight had a fine house built for Khamba, and looked for a lucky day for the marriage, preparing everything that was required—slaves, horses and cattle. On the appointed day the king and all the principal officers of Moirang went to the house of jubraja to be present at the wedding, and Khamba with his father’s friends Thonglel and Chouba, and his brother-in-law Phairoichamba, all of them wearing their ornaments, gold bracelets and necklaces, came there too. And Thoibi came wearing a red hanek embroidered with flowers, and her dancing dress which was covered with bosses of gold and silver, jewels, and glass, so that it shone brightly; she wore golden bracelets and a golden necklace and her chain of gold and coral fell down to her waist. The necklace on her bosom lighted up the place; around her breast was fastened a beautiful jacket, and she wore a transparent scarf all bright with bosses of gold. Her appearance was like running water, and the hair on her head was like fresh flowers. When Thoibi came forth to her wedding, her arms were like lotuses, her legs were as beautiful as the inside of the stalk of a plantain tree and were like an elephant’s tusks, her feet were arched as if she wore clogs, her colour was like turmeric, and her complexion like a champaka flower; she came forth like the full moon. All the people who had come to the marriage, when they saw Thoibi and Khamba, said they were beautiful like children of the gods, and never tired of looking at them. When the marriage was over, the king and the jubraja conducted them to their own house, with all the presents they had collected, and they saluted the king and the jubraja, who blessed them and returned to the palace.

  After this Khamba gave his sister Khamnu in marriage to Phairoichamba, and conducted her to her husband’s house, and gave her many slaves; and Thoibi gave her servant Senu in marriage, and gave her many slaves; and Thoibi and Khamba lived happily together in Moirang.

  ‘The Story of Khamba and Thoibi’, a Manipuri folk tale translated by G. H. Damant, The Indian Antiquary, Vol. VI. 1877.

  The Artist’s Stratagem, or The Princess Who Was Resolved Never to Marry

  Putlibai D. H. Wadia

  Once upon a time there lived a great Raja, who had an only daughter. She was very beautiful and highly accomplished, and numbered amongst her other favourite pursuits that of hunting. She frequently went long distances on hunting excursions with a number of attendants, and penetrated the deepest recesses of the forest in search of sport.

  One day, as she was galloping after a fine buck, she all of a sudden found herself in a dense forest, and saw that she had ridden considerably ahead of her followers. So she waited for a time and then climbed up a tree to try if she should see some signs of them in the far distance or find some way out of the forest; but on gaining the topmost branch she was appalled to see a great fire in the distance, evidently a part of the forest in flames.

  The poor princess was, as it were, nailed to the spot at this awe inspiring sight, and stood there watching for hours the fork-tongued monster wrapping trees and shrubs, as well as the haunts and homes of numberless birds and beasts in his fiery embrace, and destroying everything that came in its way. She could see whole herds of deer and cattle running about in a mad frenzy at their inability to find their way out of what seemed to them to be certain death, and birds of strange and varied plumage, suffocated by the thick smoke and unable to fly in the heavy atmosphere, charged with flying embers from the great fires around, uttering piercing screams of anguish before yielding to their inevitable doom.

  In the midst of all this scene of woe the good princess was deeply moved to see a pair of wild geese straining every nerve to save their young ones from the clutches of the fire. Their difficulty was enhanced by the facts that the poor little creatures had as yet no wings, and were therefore totally unable to take care of themselves, and that it was beyond the old birds’ strength to carry them in their beaks, as they tried hard to do, away from the closely pressing flames. So they flew about distractedly here and there, not knowing what to do, till the fire came too near to leave them any hopes of saving either themselves or their young ones. Just, however, as the flames were about to catch the nest, the old male bird, not wishing to sacrifice his own life, since he was unable to save those of his family, made a last desperate attempt, and with one effort found himself safe out of the reach of danger; while at the self-same moment the poor mother goose, as if resenting his selfish conduct, threw herself like a canopy over her unfortunate brood, and, with a wild scream of anguish, suffered herself to be burnt in the flames that just then closed over her and her innocent offspring.

  The princess, who had watched all this with growing interest, was deeply touched at the sight. ‘Ah,’ said she to herself, ‘how selfish and false these males are! I am sure they are the same all the world over, whether they be birds, beasts or men! I shall therefore neither have anything to do with them, nor trust them; nay, I shall continue single all my life rather than marry one of them.’

  Hardly had the princess formed this rather rash resolve when she perceived her attendants coming towards her. They had come there to look for her, and when she got down and joined them they were highly delighted, for they had given her up for lost.

  But from this day forth our heroine wore a grave look, shunned the society of all her male friends, and declared to her parents her firm determination never to enter the bonds of matrimony. This caused the old people great grief, and they implored her to tell them what had made her form so unwise a resolve. But the princess remained silent and would give them no explanation, so at last everybody came to believe that the king’s daughter was not for marriage, and the number of suitors for her hand consequently fell off.

  One day it happened that a great and renowned artist paid a visit to the great Raja’s court, and by His Majesty’s command executed some very rare paintings for the royal palace, and when the time came for his departure he begged of the beautiful Princess to give him a few sittings, to which she agreed after great hesitation, and allowed him to draw upon canvas a faithful likeness of her fairy face and figure. In a few days the picture was finished, but the artist, instead of handing it over to the princess, quietly went out of the city with it.

  Now, the artist knew of an old Raja, who was a great connoisseur of paintings, so he went straight up to him with the Princess’s portrait and sold it to him for a large sum of money. The picture was duly hung up in the great hall of audience, where it soon became the cynosure of all eyes and the topic of universal admiration, and all who looked upon it were struck with the enchanting beauty of the fair subject, and wondered very much who the original could be.

  A few days after this it happened that the king’s only son and the heir to his throne, who was away hunting when the picture was purchased, returned to the capital, and as he saw the picture fell head over heels in love with the lovely image on the canvas, without even taking the trouble of inquiring who the original was. He gave up all enjoyment, shunned all pleasure, and moped away in silence in a corner of the palace, to the great grief of his aged father, who, when he learned the cause of his son’s sorrow felt very anxious about his health and sent messengers in search of the artist, with a view to finding out who was the subject of his picture. But all search proved fruitless, for the artist had long left the country and gone away, nobody knew where.

  This vexed the young prince still more, and told so very badly upon his health and his temper that he grew highly capricious and headstrong, and regarded everyone with the greatest disfavour. One day the prime minister, an old and trusted servant of the State, happened to arouse him by mistake from a reverie into which he had fallen, and he lost his temper to such an extent as to sentence the poor old man to death there and then. Now, in the old Raja’s palace the young prince’s word being law, the old man saw nothing for it but to submit to his doom. As he was, however, being led away to execution the old Raja heard of it, and summoning his son into his presence, prevailed upon him to grant the old man a remission of his sentence fo
r a few days, so that during that period he might make over charge of his public and private duties to other hands. To this the prince, after some difficulty, consented, and the old prime minister was allowed to go home to his family for the time.

  He was resolved not to distress his family by telling them of the doom that awaited him, but they soon suspected from his pale and careworn look that something was wrong with him. They dared not question him, however, for some time, till his youngest daughter, who was a great favourite, at last put together all her courage, and, by her winning and persuasive ways, succeeded in learning from him the cause of his sorrow.

  Now this young lady was very clever and full of resource, so she soon found a way of getting her father out of the difficulty. She went in person to the young prince, and, having succeeded in getting an audience, begged very hard of him to spare her old father’s life till such time as she herself could go abroad and make an effort to find out who the original of that wonderful painting was, and in what part of the world she lived.

  This pleased the prince very much, for in the scheme which the young lady unfolded to him he saw some prospect of realizing what was to him at the best a dream. He therefore readily withdrew his terrible mandate, and the good old prime minister was once more welcomed by the Raja, who gladly restored him to his former high position.

  Soon after this the prime minister’s daughter began to prepare for her journey. At first she set to work and drew a faithful copy of the great artist’s picture, and then, dressing herself in male attire, set out on her travels as an artist bound to some distant country. She had an arduous task before her no doubt, for she hardly knew which way to go and where to inquire about the princess, but filial affection lent her courage, and she firmly resolved either to find out the princess or perish in the attempt.

  So she travelled on and on for many months, and showed the picture wherever she halted, and to all she met, in the hope that it would be identified, but all to no purpose. At last, after more than a year’s weary wandering, she arrived at a very distant and, to her, a very strange country, and there, to her great joy, everyone who saw the picture pronounced it to be a true and speaking likeness of the daughter of the Raja of the country: ‘She,’ they said, ‘who is determined never to marry.’

  ‘Never to marry!’ said the fair artist in surprise. ‘And what has made her form such a strange resolve?’

  ‘Nobody can tell,’ was the reply, ‘even her parents do not know it.’

  This news somewhat damped the ardour of the prime minister’s daughter, for it was quite an unforeseen exigency and she was at a loss to know how her mission could be successful with one who was thus determined never to enter the bonds of matrimony.

  Nevertheless, she took heart, and, hiring a house in close proximity to the Raja’s palace, opened her studio there. Each day she sat there near a window which commanded a view of the palace, and worked away with her paints and brushes, till at last the Raja’s attention was drawn towards her. So one day the Raja summoned her into his presence, and, after closely examining all her pictures and other works of art, extolled them highly and honoured her with a commission to execute some paintings for a palace which he was then building for the special use of his favourite and only daughter. The fair artist willingly obeyed the king’s command, having in the meanwhile seen the princess several times with her own eyes, and made sure that she was no other than the original of the picture which had driven her prince well-nigh out of his senses. Accordingly, when the palace was ready, she went there and set to work painting the most artistic and lovely designs she could imagine on the walls, under the arches, and in every suitable place. The Raja and all the nobles and even the ladies of the court paid occasional visits to the palace, and they all, with one voice, admired both the workmanship of the artist and his choice of subjects. Each picture seemed to be a study in itself, and each had a history of its own which the artist related in a most interesting and winning manner. This latter fact drew a number of other female visitors to the palace, amongst whom were the ladies in immediate attendance on the princess, and these the artist thought were the persons most likely to know and tell her the reason why the princess shunned the society of men, and why she was determined never to enter into wedlock.

  So she soon set to work and won them over to her with her persuasive arts and delightful ways, and succeeded in learning from one of them, to whom the princess had confided her secret, the true story of her adventure in the forest and her consequent determination.

  This was all the artist desired, and directly afterwards she drew on one of the walls of the drawing-room a picture just the reverse of what the princess had seen in the forest—a picture representing the infidelity of the female and the devotion of the male. For the geese she substituted a pair of antelopes, while in place of the princess she made to stand a very handsome young prince, so young, so brave, and so handsome, as to win the heart of any woman.

  When this picture was ready our artist persuaded all the lady friends of the princess to request her to come and have a look at it, and at last one day, to her great joy, the princess honoured her with a visit, and going from picture to picture highly admired the artist’s skill. When, however, she at last came to the picture of the antelopes and the prince she seemed greatly surprised and stood for a while lost in thought. Then, turning to the artist, she said:

  ‘What is the history of this picture, my good friend?’

  ‘O fair princess,’ replied the disguised daughter of the prime minister, ‘this picture represents an adventure the prince of our country had some time ago in a forest—perhaps it might not interest you much, madam, though it concerns us, loyal subjects of his father, very nearly, as this very episode in our prince’s life has brought a change over his whole existence, for since that time he has shunned all thoughts of marriage, as he believes that the fair sex are all false and faithless and that it is of no use to trust them. This determination of his son and heir causes our good old Raja great grief, and has thrown a gloom over his whole court.’

  ‘How strange!’ cried the princess, interrupting the artist. ‘Can males then be faithful and females false? I, for one, always believed it was the males who were false and faithless everywhere on earth; but now I see that there are two sides even to this question. I have as yet observed but one instance, and have since then been labouring under a false impression, but I shall not judge men so harshly hereafter.’

  ‘Oh, I am so glad to hear you say so, good princess,’ cried the artist in delight; ‘how I wish our good prince too would see his mistake as you do yours.’

  ‘Some one should point it out to him, I think,’ said the princess, ‘and perhaps, like me, he too might change his mind. As I have benefited by an episode in his life so he might profit by one in mine, and therefore you are at full liberty to relate my case to him and see what effect it has on him.’

  ‘Surely I shall, with the greatest pleasure, when I get home,’ replied the artist, her little heart fluttering with joy at this unexpected success in her undertaking.

  Now, from this day it became known throughout the Raja’s dominions that the fair princess had conquered her aversion to matrimony, and was once more open to offers of marriage, and there was again a crowd of eager aspirants to her hand. But the princess studiously discarded all their attentions, and seemed to derive no pleasure from their company. Her chief delight was in looking at the pictures the artist had painted in the new palace, and talking to her solely about the young prince, in whom she felt greatly interested.

  The fair artist, thereupon, to secure the interests of her Raja’s son, fanned the flame by telling the princess strange and vividly-coloured stories of his manliness, valour and virtues, till at last she inspired her with such a love for him that one day, being unable to contain herself, the princess expressed an earnest desire to see him. This was the very thing the clever young lady desired, and she readily promised to go back to her country and do all in her powe
r to bring her prince to the feet of the fair princess by telling him her story and thereby creating in him a desire to see her.