# Bengal Fairy Tales/Lakshmi's Gift

XIII
LAKSHMI'S GIFT
IN a certain village in Bengal there lived a poor Brahmin widow and her son, without any ostensible means of subsistence. The young Brahmin was only a boy, and not old enough to obtain work. Fasting became habitual to both mother and son, begging being a profession that fails in course of time. One day, the Brahmini, no longer able to bear the pangs of hunger and the sight of her son's sad face, left home to drown herself in an adjacent river. When she had gone about half the distance, a dog asleep on the side of the road rose up at the sound of her steps, and shook a cowrie from its head in front of her. Out of curiosity, she took it up and proceeded on her sad journey. But she was not destined to put an end to her life, for a fierce tiger suddenly appeared in front of her, and frightened her so that she stepped backwards. He could, if he had liked, have made a meal of her, but he did not seem intent on so doing. He acted rather as a father frightening away his child from running into danger, and the more the Brahmini moved backwards towards her house, the closer was she followed by her new friend, until she quite forgot her intention of drowning herself and reached her own home again, trembling in every limb.
The tiger was indeed her friend, for he was no other than Nandi, whom Annapurna had borrowed of her husband, and sent to befriend the poor woman by first saving her life, ​and then supplying her and her son with food enough for the day. The tiger's mission then took him to the bazaar, whence he got all the necessary articles of consumption, and, lest his entrance into the Brahmini's house should throw her again into terror, he considerately cast them over the wall into the courtyard.
As it was late in the day, neither the Brahmini nor her son ate any substantial food before sunset. They waited for the evening to set in, and then an excellent meal was prepared such as they had never before had. They ate heartily, and after conversing on the momentous topics of the day, they sought their beds. The mother, when about to lie down, found the shell of the cowrie tied in one corner of her sarhi, and after showing it to her son, and telling him how she had obtained it, placed it under her pillow. Sleep then seized their eyelids, and the night passed in sweet oblivion of their troubles.
Next morning, the Brahmini, on leaving her bed and removing the pillow, found the cowrie changed into a mánik. Surprised and delighted, she took it up, and going to the richest jeweller in the city close to her house, pawned the gem for one-tenth of its value, and returned home with all possible speed. She communicated the good news to her son, who fell into an ecstasy on seeing the immense sum of money heaped on the floor. They could now afford to fare sumptuously, and after breakfast they commenced talking of their changed condition and prospects, when suddenly an old woman approached them and told them they were wanted by an old Brahmin living a little way from their house, and that it would be to their advantage if they went to see him. The mother and her son followed the woman, and were taken into a very rich mansion, grandly furnished, and with many servants in attendance. The mother was introduced to the old Brahmin, who showed her all the apartments, and told ​her that the house with everything in it was her property. She looked amazed and confounded, and was about to break forth into exclamations of joy and gratitude, when the old Brahmin, and the woman who called on her, suddenly became invisible. On the place where they had stood were two pillars of light, and two distinct voices were heard one after the other. The first was the voice of the woman, speaking thus, "My daughter, unable to bear the sight of your woes, I, Lakshmi, sent one of my servants in the shape of a dog with the cowrie, which was in reality a mánik, and as the money you got on pawning it must be securely kept, I have with my husband, Náráyan, had this place built for you by Vishvakarma, our architect. Live here with your son, in wealth, luxury and peace. All I ask of you in return is to worship me yourself and persuade others to do so too."
Náráyan said, "You, good woman, are the favourite of my wife. I shall ever remain with you, though invisible. Remove your wealth here and with the money which you will find now in the east room redeem the mánik, and keep it always with you."
The god and goddess having taken their departure, the Brahmini did as she had been told by Náráyan. What a contrast there was between her present and her former position! She who but the day before was a famished beggar was now the mistress of a place filled with treasure and servants waiting to do her bidding. After the lapse of a few years, she secured a wife for her son, not from among princesses or daughters of the rich, since these high-born ladies, she thought, would be too haughty and overbearing to suit her. She selected her daughter-in-law from amongst the middle classes, and the choice for a time seemed wise and the marriage promised to prove a happy one.
The girl's head, however, was soon turned by the wealth in the house. She became very luxurious and prodigal, and her mother-in-law at last was forced to protest against her extravagance, saying, "O Bouma, do not act like this, for my ​house and everything I possess have been obtained from a cowrie." On being spoken to in these strange terms, she asked her husband what his mother's remark meant, and he frankly acknowledged that his mother's having obtained the cowrie from a dog had been the foundation of their fortune. The wretched daughter-in-law, to turn the tables upon her mother-in-law, when the latter asked her again next morning to be more considerate, replied, "Ah, Thakrun, I know at what cost you have got all these fine possessions. Your wealth is the result of your friendship with a dog."
Cut to the heart and thunderstruck, the mother-in-law sought her room, and knowing that the revelation had been made by her son, and resolving to remain no longer with him or his wife, she instantly left home in disgust, leaving everything behind her, including the mánik. She walked on at random, passing city after city, town after town, village after village, until at mid-day, under the scorching rays of the summer sun, she reached the foot of a banyan tree, which afforded a refreshing shelter to wayfarers. For some time she sat under the shadow of it, but by the time she was ready to resume her journey, she had become very thirsty. Her throat seemed parched, and to slake her thirst she approached a neighbouring rill. To her amazement, just as she took a little water in her hands and raised it to her lips, the mánik she had left behind dropped down from between her clasped palms and a voice came from overhead saying, "Daughter, I will not leave you at any time. Go to the nearest king rich enough to buy the gem, and spend the proceeds on good works."
As the words ceased the Brahmini saw rising from the ground a mansion as large and magnificent as the one she had left, with numerous servants waiting to minister to her wants. A rich repast was ready prepared, but she could not fully enjoy it, owing to the heaviness of her mind caused ​by the thought of her separation from her son. The next day she sold the mánik, as Náráyan had directed, for the Being who had spoken to her was no other than the god himself. She then proceeded to worship Lakshmi. Afterwards, she devoted herself to works of charity. She built innumerable houses near her own mansion, and had them filled with suitable people invited from every quarter. The king became her friend, and on his suggestion she did numberless acts of public usefulness, such as the establishment of schools, hospitals, houses for the poor, great marts for trade, and other things of the same kind. The excavation of large tanks was one of her favourite projects, to carry out which she had to employ a great army of labourers, whom she paid daily in cowries.
Leaving her to use her wealth in this laudable manner, let us for a moment direct the reader's attention to what was going on in the house she had left. For some time after his mother's departure, her son, with his wife, lived as comfortably as before. But their happiness was of short duration. The house soon began to look gloomy and deserted, their money seemed to evaporate, and the servants, one by one, left the house. Finally a gang of incendiaries set fire to it one night, and plundered it wholesale. On the following morning the Brahmini's son, having no means of subsistence, took his wife to his father-in-law's and left her there while he went in search of work. But what work could he do? Ignorant of letters, he could aspire to no work except manual labour and that of the meanest kind. But even here the stars seemed to be against him, for everywhere he applied, he was rudely driven away. At length, emaciated and in great misery, he chanced on the place where his mother lived, and hired himself as a day labourer, not knowing in whose service he was employed.
The mother who had expected the ruin of her son, and like the father in the parable of the prodigal son, anxiously looked forward to his return to her, used every morning personally to watch strangers who sought service at the tanks from one of the ​windows of the palace, and one morning she was delighted to see that her son was among the applicants. She at once called in the overseer, and ordered him to keep an eye on all the newcomers, not letting him know that her son was among them. The work went on as usual, until it was time for the workers to bathe and eat. Meals and also dwelling huts were prepared at the cost of the estate, and when the young Brahmin was going to the hut pointed out to him as his own, his mother sent a maidservant to lead him into the inner apartments of the mansion. The order was obeyed, and the man being brought in, a servant was ordered to wash the stranger's feet, anoint his body, supply him with a bath, and dress him in new clothes. This procedure produced great terror in the object of these attentions. He had heard it said that if sufficient water did not soon come up when a tank was being dug, human sacrifices were sometimes offered to Barún. His mind was thus filled with apprehension that he was intended as the victim for sacrifice. To crown his uneasiness he was led before the mistress of the mansion and made to sit down before a sumptuous meal, which he imagined must be the immediate precursor of his death. He could hardly take a mouthful without watering it with his tears; until at last his mother, no longer able to witness her son's distress, ran up to him and, making herself known to him, embraced him with great joy. The son clasped his mother's feet, and begged her pardon, which, however, had already been tacitly granted. The Brahmini then enquired after her daughter-in-law, and learning that she was living with her father in wretched circumstances, she sent for her. She came, a changed woman indeed, and always afterwards remained submissive. Thus the favourite of Lakshmi passed her days in uninterrupted happiness, till it was time for her to be taken into the joys of Baikuntha dhám, the heavenly abode of Lakshmi and Náráyan.
* ↑ Shiva's favourite.
* ↑ The goddess who provides men with food.
* ↑ A mánik is a fabulous gem of immense value supposed to lie in the head of a snake. It is reputed to be worth the wealth of seven kings put together.
* ↑ Daughter-in-law.
* ↑ An epithet applied to all women as a term of respect, especially to one's mother-in-law.
* ↑ The god of water.