This is TMI Z49.11.2. Thief breaks foot climbing wall to rob. There is, however, a lot of mixing-and-matching of motifs here. This story is very similar to The Saint, His Disciple, and the Fallen Wall, and also see How They Killed the Great-Bellied Tambi.
KING HABACHANDRA
AND HIS PRIME MINISTER GABACHANDRA
In days of yore, there reigned a mighty monarch whose name was Habachandra, who had a Prime Minister called Gabachandra. The name Habachandra literally means ‘the moon among fools,' or a first-rate fool; and Gabachandra literally signifies the same thing. These two appellations were very deservedly applied to the King and his Prime Minister, as Habachandra was indeed a shallow-brained simpleton, and Gabachandra an addle-headed ass! The proverb, "like master like man," was fully illustrated in the union of these two worthies. Whenever the King asked the Prime Minister for his advice in any difficult question, Gabachandra always gave it in such a stupid manner that no one having a spark of common sense could act upon it, except his royal master Habachandra.
This half-witted King often committed such egregious acts of folly, counselled by his muddle-headed minister, that he was always the laughing-stock of all persons in the country. The vagaries of the monarch and his minister, indeed, knew no bounds; and they often inflicted such wrongs on the heads of their innocent subjects that it would make one's blood boil to record them. There was no justice at all to be got in King Habachandra's court. The proverb "one doth the blame, another bears the shame" was amply demonstrated here. It was generally the case in the court of Habachandra that the guilty often escaped while the innocent suffered. In King Habachandra's capital there was no distinction between right and wrong, between good and evil. Almost all things were sold there indiscriminately for one and the same price.
One day it happened that a very reverend recluse, attended by one of his disciples, came to visit the capital of this King. He was a man of somewhat slender make, while his follower was rather inclined to plumpness. The recluse was very much pleased with the prosperous appearance of the city, and he intended to rest there for some time. Having selected a shady spot under a big banyan tree, in accordance with the invariable custom of religious mendicants in India, the Sannyasi [recluse] desired his disciple to buy from the Bazar a pice-worth of misri, or sugarcandy, and a pice-worth of muri, or parched rice: the former was intended for the recluse, the latter for the disciple.
The Sishya [disciple] on receiving the commands of his Gurudeb [spiritual guide] forthwith went to the Bazar and came back, after a little while, to his preceptor with a quantity of sugarcandy only. At this the recluse asked his disciple why he had not brought the parched rice he had been commanded to buy. The disciple thereupon joyously replied, "O Gurudeb! This is a very strange cit ! Almost all things are sold here for the same price: a pice would purchase as large a quantity of misri as that of muri! This being the case, I have bought a pice-worth of misri for your reverence, and also a pice-worth of the same for my humble self, instead of the nasty muri which is always apt to make one ill. Oh! I wish I could live hiere to the end of my days to enjoy all the good things of this blessed place!"
On hearing this, the wise recluse looked aghast and said, "My son, let us leave this strange land at once. No sensible man can safely remain in a place where muri and misri are sold for the same price. You know the great difference which exists between these two things in other districts. Misri is a highly delicious and expensive article of food, whereas muri is insipid and cheap. It is clear, therefore, that there cannot be any justice in a country where this distinction is not observed. There is a very wise saying which enjoins on all prudent persons to depart from a place where sandalwood and common fuel, camphor and cottonwool, the cuckoo and the crow, the elephant and the ass, gold and glass, muri and misri, are held in equal esteem. I therefore bid you quit this place at once that your life may not be endangered by tarrying here."
The deluded disciple declined to go, being well pleased with the apparent prosperity of the capital of King Habachandra. As he was rather fond of good cheer, he could not forego the unusual temptation of getting so many delicious and high-priced articles of food almost for nothing. He determined to pass the remainder of his days in that strange and unique city which seemed a perfect paradise to him, so that he might fill his capacious stomach with the choicest delicacies that were there to be had for merely a nominal price. Again and again the far-seeing Sannyasi pressed his purblind pupil to quit the city and to follow him, but in vain. The Sishya would much rather desert his respected Gurudeb; but to depart from that city of ideal happiness — a land literally flowing with milk and honey — was to him an impossibility. The recluse was very much disgusted at this disobedience of his disciple, and he left the place leaving the self-willed Sishya to his fate. But being a kind man, he advised his faithless follower, before leaving, to remember him, should he be in trouble.
Some time after this, it so happened that a burglar, while in the act of breaking open a house by effecting a sindh, or breach, in the mud-wall of a room, was crushed to death by the fallen fragments of the wall he had bored. It will not be out of place here to describe the manner in which burglaries are generally committed in Bengal. The burglar uses a small sharp-edged iron instrument, called the Sindh-kati, for the purpose of making a small hole in the wall of a house through which to effect an entrance. The opening is just large enough to admit a man, who, however, would have to squeeze himself through, crawling on all fours. The burglar does not enter through this breach all at once for fear of being caught and severely beaten by the wakeful householders. By way of feeler, he, first of all, introduces through this opening a small well-blackened earthen cooking-pot, or handi, resembling a man's head, at the end of a long stick. If the inmates of the room are awake and on the alert, they would naturally, being in the dark, take the blackened earthen pot for the head of a burglar and would smash it with latti, or stout club. The wily thief would thus find out if the people in the room are awake, and would by this means escape the chance of getting his head smashed, and he would instantly take to his heels to avoid being seized. If the handi escapes smashing, the burglar thereby concludes that the inmates of the room are all fast asleep, and he then introduces his legs through the opening, to make assurance doubly sure. If his lower extremities are not caught hold of, neither broken nor cut, the cautious burglar gradually proceeds to insert his head into the sindh, and thus gains admittance into the room, while his accomplices remain outside to keep watch. A door is opened with great caution, and the unwelcome nocturnal visitors of the house carry off everything portable on which they can lay their hands. It is generally believed that the burglars anoint their eyes with an oily preparation which enables them, like cats, to see in the dark. They also use, so says Rumour, a certain charm called the Nidili [a soporific spell] by virtue of which the inmates of the room entered into by the burglars are charmed into a sound sleep. But, whether any charm is used or not, it is a curious fact that the occupants of a room broken into by burglars are generally found to have been fast asleep on the night of the burglary.
And now to resume the thread of our narrative. When the police of King Habachandra's capital found in the morning the dead body of the unfortunate burglar, with the well-known sindh-kati in his hand, lying under the debris of the mud-wall, it told its own tale. The accident was at once reported to the King who thereupon ordered the immediate arrest of the innocent householder.
Accordingly, the owner of the house was duly brought before His Majesty who sat upon a high throne of burnished gold, with his worthy Prime Minister by his side on a seat of polished silver lower than that of his royal master. King Habachandra, on seeing the prisoner, demanded of him, in a very grave tone, why he had built a house-wall so unsafe that it had given way and killed an honest burglar engaged in his lawful vocation of boring his way into the room for the purpose of committing a little harmless theft.
The astounded householder very humbly answered, "Dharmavatar! (incarnation of justice) I am not to blame for this sad accident. The fault does not lie with me, but with the workman who built the wall for me. I paid him for his labour, and I did not desire him to make the wall unsafe for burglars."
Upon this the wise King Habachandra exclaimed, "Oh! I see. You ought not to be punished for the unfortunate death of the poor burglar; you may depart in safety. But you must point out the guilty builder to the Kotowal (prefect of police)."
The householder hastily left the court of King Habachandra thanking his stars for having so easily escaped the justice of this Indian Daniel!
A few minutes after, the unhappy builder, who had built the mud-wall in question, was brought in. His Majesty very angrily asked him why he should not be held responsible for the death of the burglar who had perished solely through his fault, inasmuch as the wall built by him had given way and had crushed the unfortunate burglar while engaged in his lawful occupation of boring through it.
The workman trembled in fear and replied, "May it please your Majesty, the fault is not mine. I merely laid the clods of earth one upon the other in building the wall, and I tried my best to make it as solid and as firm as I could. But the labourer who tempered the clay did not do his work properly; the clods remained porous, and so they did not firmly stick together and form a solid mass."
The King thereupon exclaimed, "Oh! I understand it now. You should not suffer for the fault of another; so you may depart, after pointing out the guilty labourer to the police."
The builder respectfully bowed and left the Presence. The Kotowal, after a short time, brought in the labourer to the Durbar, or court, of the sapient monarch. King Habachandra, in a rage, asked the labourer why he should not be punished for the death of the burglar who had perished through his negligence in not properly tempering the clay with which the mud-wall had been built.
The poor labourer was lost in wonder at this accusation; but he very humbly replied, "My most gracious Sovereign, I did not at all neglect my duty. I laboured hard to temper the clay properly; but the kalsis [earthen jars] in which I fetched water for the purpose of tempering the hard earth had not been well baked by the potter and some portion of the liquid leaked out in transit. The potter who supplied the kalsis is the man to blame and not I."
On this the King exclaimed, " Oh yes! I now perceive how the matter stands. You are not the guilty person, so I will let you off. But you must show this potter to the Kotowal who shall bring him at orice before me."
The labourer made his humble obeisance at the feet of the mighty monarch, and forthwith followed the Chief of police to point out the hapless potter. A little while after, the Kotowal brought the poor potter into the King's presence.
The King, in great wrath, asked him why he should not suffer capital punishment for the death of the burglar who had perished solely through his fault.
The poor potter shook from head to foot in fear. He was at a loss to make out why the death of a burglar should be laid to his charge. He therefore humbly replied, "Sire, Your Majesty is the incarnation of justice. Your Majesty's judgment is always unerring. I therefore must suffer the extreme punishment ordered by Your Majesty. But may I be permitted to inquire how I have merited this punishment for the death of a burglar?"
King Habaechandra replied, "Oh knave of a potter! Know you not that the kalsis manufactured by you were not well baked, and so the water leaked out of them, so much so that the labourer could not properly moisten the hard earth in tempering the clay for the mud-wall of a house. A poor burglar, in attempting to bore a hole through it, was crushed to death under the debris of the treacherous wall. Had you baked the kalsis well, this mishap would not have happened at all."
"My most magnanimous Sovereign," rejoined the potter, "if such is the case, then be pleased not to lay the death of the burglar at the door of your humble servant who always carries on his craft as honestly as is possible. The fault, my most gracious Liege, lies with a certain dealer who sold me the fuel with which my earthen pots were baked. Had that man supplied me with a better quality of fuel, my kalsis would have been properly baked, and the unfortunate occurrence would never have happened."
The King, on hearing the specious plea of the potter, ordered the immediate arrest of the guilty man who had sold bad fuel to the manufacturer of earthenware. The potter was allowed to go his way unharmed; but His Majesty commanded him to point out to the police that roguish seller of fuel, owing to whose knavery the poor burglar had so sadly succumbed under the fallen wall.
It was not long before the wretched fuel-seller — the source of all the mischief —was dragged before the King, who, boiling with rage, demanded of the man why he should not be at once put to death to atone for the unfortunate end of the innocent burglar. The poor fuel-seller became quite thunderstruck, as he knew not how he deserved to die for the death of a burglar; he, therefore, very submissively requested to be enlightened on the point.
King Habachandra, thereupon, thundered forth, "Wretch! Know you not that you are the root of all this evil? You supplied the potter with bad fuel, in consequence of which his kalsis were not well baked and they leaked very much; for this reason, the clay with which the mud-wall of a house had been built could not be properly tempered; and the poor burglar— a subject of mine — in making a sindh in the wall, met with a woful end owing to your wicked fraud; you therefore must suffer the consequences."
The miserable fuel-seller trembled like a plantain leaf in a breeze, and uttered some excuses in his defence, to which His Majesty turned a deaf ear. It was the King's firm conviction that the burglar had perished solely through the roguery of this rascally fuel-seller! King Habachandra, therefore, said with impressive solemnity, "Wretched man! Had you supplied the potter with a better quality of fuel, the life of the poor burglar would not have been so sadly sacrificed. I won't listen to your lame excuses. Justice must be meted out impartially. I therefore sentence you to suffer death by impalement this very day. — Jallhad [public executioner], take the prisoner away and do your duty promptly."
The poor fellow was forthwith removed from the King's presence and conducted to the Daksbin-mashan. This was in ancient times a place for public execution, usually located at the southern extremity of a city. The south side of a city is preferred as a place of execution because the Hindoos believe that the abode of Yama, the great Destroyer, is situated in the south. A barbarous contrivance was generally used by the ancient kings of India in executing criminals. A long iron rod, sharp-pointed on the top, called the Sul, was fixed upright in the earth. The sharp end pointed towards the sky, a few feet above the ground. The doomed man was made to sit astride on the point of the Sul, and the weight of his body slowly transfixed him lengthwise on the sharp iron lance, the point of which ultimately came out of the victim's head. This inhuman mode of execution caused excruciating agony to the victim who died by inches, and it also struck terror into the hearts of the spectators. The dead body was allowed to remain and rot on the dreadful Sul.
Such being the mode of inflicting capital punishment on criminals in those days, the poor fuel-seller, sentenced to be executed by the royal command of King Habachandra, in order to expiate the death of the burglar, was dragged to the Dakshin-mashana, or the place of execution, and was duly placed upon» the point of the iron Sul. Now, the half-famished seller of fuel was very thin, and his body was as light as a feather, so that the point of the Sul failed to pierce through him, to the great amusement of all the spectators assembled there to witness the sorrowful scene. When the grim officers of Death, engaged in the execution of the innocent fuel-seller, saw their victim sitting lightly on the point of the life-killing Sul, without suffering any serious injury, they became astonished and ashamed. The Jallhad jumped from the block, amidst the jeers of the assembled multitude, and quickly ran to report the matter to His Majesty.
King Habachandra was in a mighty fix at this untoward circumstance, and knew not what to do. He was, consequently, obliged to seek counsel of his all-wise Prime Minister, Gabachandra. That worthy Brihaspati [counsellor of the gods] also felt some difficulty in quickly arriving at a solution of this vexatious problem. At last, however, the Prime Minister hit upon an expedient and thus addressed his royal master, "Maharaj! [great king] It is a very simple matter indeed. Justice must not be deprived of its dues. If that rascally light-bodied fuel-seller will not die on the point of the Sul, let a heavy fat fellow be put upon it in his stead."
The King was highly delighted at this very easy solution of a puzzling problem! He thanked his wise minister for his rare intelligence! Habachandra then ordered the executioner to find out a corpulent man, and to put him upon the point of the Sul, in place of the thin miserable fuel-seller whose obstinate determination to live was most strange!
The Jallhad hurried away to carry out the King's command, and he was not long in securing a fat victim for the Sul. The disobedient disciple of the recluse, whom he had deserted, had tarried in the peerless city of king Habachandra to enjoy all the good things so easily obtainable there. He had been at the outset somewhat inclined to plumpness, and had become stouter by feeding on rich food to his heart's content. As he chanced to pass by the place of execution, his bulky body soon attracted the notice of the executioners who at once pounced upon him as a fit victim for the iron Sul. The poor thin fuel-seller was instantly taken down and allowed to depart in peace. Preparations were then set in progress for placing upon the Sul the portly person of the unhappy disciple, to his great dismay.
The news of the strange substitution of a fat man for a thin one spread rapidly throughout the length and breadth of the land; and everybody wondered at the vagaries of the King and his Prime Minister. The doomed disciple was forcibly dragged nearer the dreadful instrument. He now found, when too late, that he had acted very foolishly in staying in a place where sugar-candy and parched rice were sold for the same price. He began to curse his fatal folly, and bitterly remembered his Gurudeb's injunction not to remain for a single moment in that country.
It so chanced that the reverend recluse — the religious preceptor of the doomed man — was at that very time coming to that strange city to see how it had fared with his disobedient disciple. On reaching the capital of King Habachandra, the kind-hearted recluse was greatly distressed to hear of the fatal predicament into which his faithless follower had fallen, and he forthwith went to his rescue. The executioners were just then engaged in lifting their bulky victim to the Sul, when the recluse came running up and cried out, "Hold! hold, my sons; let go that sinful slave of society, who deserves not death on the point of this sacred Sul. I'll allow no one, except my humble self, to die on this wonderful instrument."
So saying the saintly Sannyasi held fast to the iron rod, to the astonishment of all. Vexed at this conduct of one whom they could in no way insult or disobey, for fear of incurring a deadly curse, the executioners again ran back to their royal master and reported the strange circumstance to him.
King Habachandra hastened at once to the place of execution, and his pet Prime Minister, Gabachandra, followed him. The King then very reverentially requested the recluse to explain the reason of his volunteering to die for another — a thing which to him seemed so very strange.
The Sannyasi solemnly said, "Sire, may the Almighty Father Bhagaban [God] pour His choicest blessings on thy head and preserve thee from vice and misery! Now let me die on the point of this sacred Sul which at once transports the man who is fortunate enough to die on it to the seventh heaven, however sinful he may be. This iron Sul was forged at a very auspicious moment, called the Mahendrakshana, and in consequence thereof it has been impregnated with the extraordinary virtue of transporting its victim to the highest heaven. Knowing this fact from my long meditation on the Supreme Being, through a certain process called the Yoga, I have hastened hither to avail myself of this rare opportunity. I, therefore, earnestly pray that Your Majesty will be gracious enough to grant me this boon."
At this point, Gabachandra, the pet Prime Minister of the King, put in, "My most indulgent master, be pleased to confer on your old servant a favour which he humbly seeks at Your Majesty's hands. Permit your poor Prime Minister to pass on to the highest heaven on the point of this sacred Sul. I have served Your Majesty faithfully all my life and have grown gray in am your service. I now, therefore, beg to be rewarded with this boon."
King Habachandra, hearing the prayer of the Prime Minister, reflected for a while and then said, "No, my worthy Minister, I cannot accede to your prayer. The temptation of so easy a translation to the seventh heaven is too great to resist. I am, therefore, resolved to place myself upon the point of this sacred Sul, and to go at once to the highest heaven to enjoy ethereal bliss."
So saying, the addle-headed over-credulous King, Habachandra, caused himself to be placed upon the sharp point of the heaven-transporting Sul, and went directly to that place whence no traveller ever returns! The recluse then left the capital of King Habachandra with his disciple who now understood full well the justice of his Gurudeb's observation that it is dangerous to stay in a place where muri and misri are sold for the same price.
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