The Curse of the Undead - Selected Vampire Books and Legends. Richard Francis Burton

one of which was distributed to Brahmans and Parohitas.[84] Of the remaining moiety, having made two parts, he gave one as alms to pilgrims, to Bairagis or Vishnu’s mendicants, and to Sanyasis or worshippers of Shiva, whose bodies, smeared with ashes, were hardly covered with a narrow cotton cloth and a rope about their loins, and whose heads of artificial hair, clotted like a rope, besieged his gate. With the remaining fourth, having caused food to be prepared, he regaled the poor, while he himself and his family ate what was left. Every evening, arming himself with sword and buckler, he took up his position as guard at the royal bedside, and walked round it all night sword in hand. If the king chanced to wake and asked who was present, Birbal immediately gave reply that “Birbal is here; whatever command you give, that he will obey.” And oftentimes Rupsen gave him unusual commands, for it is said, “To try thy servant, bid him do things in season and out of season: if he obey thee willingly, know him to be useful; if he reply, dismiss him at once. Thus is a servant tried, even as a wife by the poverty of her husband, and brethren and friends by asking their aid.”

      In such manner, through desire of money, Birbal remained on guard all night; and whether eating, drinking, sleeping, sitting, going or wandering about, during the twenty-four hours, he held his master in watchful remembrance. This, indeed, is the custom; if a man sell another the latter is sold, but a servant by doing service sells himself, and when a man has become dependent, how can he be happy? Certain it is that however intelligent, clever, or learned a man may be, yet, while he is in his master’s presence, he remains silent as a dumb man, and struck with dread. Only while he is away from his lord can he be at ease. Hence, learned men say that to do service aright is harder than any religious study.

      On one occasion it is related that there happened to be heard at night-time the wailing of a woman in a neighbouring cemetery. The king on hearing it called out, “Who is in waiting?”

      “I am here,” replied Birbal; “what command is there?”

      “Go,” spoke the king, “to the place whence proceeds this sound of woman’s wail, and having inquired the cause of her grief, return quickly.”

      On receiving this order the Rajput went to obey it; and the king, unseen by him, and attired in a black dress, followed for the purpose of observing his courage.

      Presently Birbal arrived at the cemetery. And what sees he there? A beautiful woman of a light yellow colour, loaded with jewels from head to foot, holding a horn in her right and a necklace in her left hand. Sometimes she danced, sometimes she jumped, and sometimes she ran about. There was not a tear in her eye, but beating her head and making lamentable cries, she kept dashing herself on the ground.

      Seeing her condition, and not recognizing the goddess born of sea foam, and whom all the host of heaven loved,[85] Birbal inquired, “Why art thou thus beating thyself and crying out? Who art thou? And what grief is upon thee?”

      “I am the Royal-Luck,” she replied.

      “For what reason,” asked Birbal, “art thou weeping?”

      The goddess then began to relate her position to the Rajput. She said, with tears, “In the king’s palace Shudra (or low caste acts) are done, and hence misfortune will certainly fall upon it, and I shall forsake it. After a month has passed, the king, having endured excessive affliction, will die. In grief for this, I weep. I have brought much happiness to the king’s house, and hence I am full of regret that this my prediction cannot in any way prove untrue.”

      “Is there,” asked Birbal, “any remedy for this trouble, so that the king may be preserved and live a hundred years?”

      “Yes,” said the goddess, “there is. About eight miles to the east thou wilt find a temple dedicated to my terrible sister Devi. Offer to her thy son’s head, cut off with thine own hand, and the reign of thy king shall endure for an age.” So saying Raj-Lakshmi disappeared.

      Birbal answered not a word, but with hurried steps he turned towards his home. The king, still in black so as not to be seen, followed him closely, and observed and listened to everything he did.

      The Rajput went straight to his wife, awakened her, and related to her everything that had happened. The wise have said, “she alone deserves the name of wife who always receives her husband with affectionate and submissive words.” When she heard the circumstances, she at once aroused her son, and her daughter also awoke. Then Birbal told them all that they must follow him to the temple of Devi in the wood.

      On the way the Rajput said to his wife, “If thou wilt give up thy son willingly, I will sacrifice him for our master’s sake to Devi the Destroyer.”

      She replied, “Father and mother, son and daughter, brother and relative, have I now none. You are everything to me. It is written in the scripture that a wife is not made pure by gifts to priests, nor by performing religious rites; her virtue consists in waiting upon her husband, in obeying him and in loving him—yea! though he be lame, maimed in the hands, dumb, deaf, blind, one eyed, leprous, or humpbacked. It is a true saying that ‘a son under one’s authority, a body free from sickness, a desire to acquire knowledge, an intelligent friend, and an obedient wife; whoever holds these five will find them bestowers of happiness and dispellers of affliction. An unwilling servant, a parsimonious king, an insincere friend, and a wife not under control; such things are disturbers of ease and givers of trouble.’ ”

      Then the good wife turned to her son and said “Child by the gift of thy head, the king’s life may be spared, and the kingdom remain unshaken.”

      “Mother,” replied that excellent youth, “in my opinion we should hasten this matter. Firstly, I must obey your command; secondly, I must promote the interests of my master; thirdly, if this body be of any use to a goddess, nothing better can be done with it in this world.”

      (“Excuse me, Raja Vikram,” said the Baital, interrupting himself, “if I repeat these fair discourses at full length; it is interesting to hear a young person, whose throat is about to be cut, talk so like a doctor of laws.”)

      Then the youth thus addressed his sire: “Father, whoever can be of use to his master, the life of that man in this world has been lived to good purpose, and by reason of his usefulness he will be rewarded in other worlds.”

      His sister, however, exclaimed, “If a mother should give poison to her daughter, and a father sell his son, and a king seize the entire property of his subjects, where then could one look for protection?” But they heeded her not, and continued talking as they journeyed towards the temple of Devi—the king all the while secretly following them.

      Presently they reached the temple, a single room, surrounded by a spacious paved area; in front was an immense building capable of seating hundreds of people. Before the image there were pools of blood, where victims had lately been slaughtered. In the sanctum was Devi, a large black figure with ten arms. With a spear in one of her right hands she pierced the giant Mahisha; and with one of her left hands she held the tail of a serpent, and the hair of the giant, whose breast the serpent was biting. Her other arms were all raised above her head, and were filled with different instruments of war; against her right leg leaned a lion.

      Then Birbal joined his hands in prayer, and with Hindu mildness thus addressed the awful goddess: “O mother, let the king’s life be prolonged for a thousand years by the sacrifice of my son. O Devi, mother! destroy, destroy his enemies! Kill! kill! Reduce them to ashes! Drive them away! Devour them! devour them! Cut them in two! Drink! drink their blood! Destroy them root and branch! With thy thunderbolt, spear, scymitar, discus, or rope, annihilate them! Spheng! Spheng!”

      The Rajput, having caused his son to kneel before the goddess, struck him so violent a blow that his head rolled upon the ground. He then threw the sword down, when his daughter, frantic with grief, snatched it up and struck her neck with such force that her head, separated from her body, fell. In her turn the mother, unable to survive the loss of her children, seized the weapon and succeeded in decapitating herself. Birbal, beholding all this slaughter, thus reflected: “My children are dead why, now, should I remain in servitude, and upon whom shall I bestow the gold I receive from the king?” He then gave himself so deep a wound in the neck, that his head also separated from