[Reader-list] Folktales: Shabrang-Prince-Thief

[Pawan Durani]

Shabrang-Prince-Thief

Once, long ago, the King of Kashmir went a-hunting in the jungle. As
the sun hung low in the western sky, he gave chase to a magnificent
stag and was carried farther and farther away from his capital.

In the hour of sunset, he found himself in a lovely garden. Strolling
about among the exquisitely laid-out flower beds was a beauteous
maiden, alone and unattended. "A princess, surely", thought the King,
"but how proud and arrogant she looks." She, on her part, did not as
much as throw a glance in his direction. Stung to the quick, the King
muttered just above a whisper, "I would that some prince took you for
his bride and then abandoned you in this very garden "

The Princess (for she was, in truth, one) tossed her head in disdain,"
I would that someone marry you and bear you a son who will wed your
own daughter:" she retorted with a pout, as she walked away.

That was, of course, more than the King could bear. But he had been
deeply smitten by the maiden's charms. "Come what may, I must marry
her," he thought as he rode back to his palace. Next morning, " He
summoned his Vizier and the royal go-between. He bid them go
post-haste to the Princess's father, who ruled the neighbouring
kingdom and negotiate for her hand in marriage. That ruler, as one
might, imagine, was flattered by the suit of no less a personage than
the King of Kashmir. And it wasn't long before the messenger came back
to announce the success of their mission.

A week later, the King of Kashmir rode out at the head of a glittering
cavalcade to fetch his bride. People stared in wide-eyed wonder as he
passed by. When he rode back with the proud Princess, the citizens
again lined up all along the way. How they cheered their beauteous new
Queen.

There was plenty of rejoicing all over the land, music and revelry,
feasting and alms-giving. They were happy - everyone, save the bride.
Yes, she, poor thing, was installed in the harem, and that was the
last she saw of her royal husband. She languished in those cold,
inhospitable apartments. The King would not visit her at all. "For
what nameless, hideous sin am I being thus punished?" the Princess
wept, wringing her hands. Then, in a flash, she recalled that first
encounter in her garden. The King's vexation and his muttered oath.
But she was as patient and clever as she was proud. '"That was a very
foolish episode altogether,' she said to herself. "But if the King
sticks to his threat, I must not, indeed, forget my own retort."

After two months of this existence, she sought the King's permission
and left on a "visit to her parents," as she put it. Did that not
please the King's foolish vanity? "Ha, ha, ha," he exulted. "There,
that will teach her to tilt her nose at strangers." Little did it
strike him that he was being very cruel. All because of a moment's
annoyance. Of the maiden's sharp rejoinder - "Why waste time on so
idle a fancy?" he thought aloud.

For many month's, the Princess took abode with her parents. Then, as
if on a sudden impulse, she left on a secret journey.

To the King of Kashmir, camping in a distant part of his country, they
brought word one evening, that a veiled woman sought audience with
him. She was, by all signs, possessed of great wealth and beauty, they
declared, but she would not say who she was. The King's curiosity was
stirred. He called on this mysterious lady himself, and was admitted
into her apartments. How she captivated his heart, one cannot tell,
but the king soon became a slave to her slightest whim.

For a month they lived in this manner - the disguised Princess (for
she was none other) and the infatuated King, who hardly guessed he had
been ensnared by the very woman he had discarded. When one morning she
protested she must return to her own country, they exchanged rings as
a token of everlasting love.

Back under her parents' roof, the Princess bore a son as lovely as you
could ever desire. Her parents, who had learnt of her clever stratagem
to win her husband's favours, rejoiced in their grandson. They named
him Shabrang.

Little Prince Shabrang grew up into a charming young boy as smart as
he was handsome. He excelled his companions both at his studies and on
the playground.

But his mother had other plans for him. Nothing would satisfy her but
that he should become the most cunning thief in all the country. So
she summoned all those skilled in thieving to instruct her son. To
little Shabrang it was all fun; what did the innocent lad know of
right and wrong? Soon he became light of finger, nimble and stealthy
of movement and dextrous beyond all compare. He would steal the very
morsel from your mouth with the same ease that he would snatch away
the jewels on one's person. Guess at the perfection he had attained.

For his final test, his mother led him out to the foot of a steep crag
and pointed to an eagle's eyrie. "Look, my child," she said," there on
top is the mother eagle brooding on her egg. Fetch me the egg if you
can, without disturbing the bird."

No sooner had she spoken than Shabrang snipped himself to the waist.
Hand on hand, he crept up the sheer face of the rock. Not a breath of
sound. Silent as a shadow, he gained the top. The bird still gazed
into the lonely spaces of the blue sky. Poised for a fraction of a
second on the summit, Shabrang sketched out deft fingers. Then, he was
slipping down inch by inch in the same death-like silence.

As he held out the prize to his mother, she folded him in her arms
with pride. Tears rolled down her eyes. "My child, you are heir to the
throne of Kashmir," she said, speaking to him for the first time on
the subject. "Go forth and seek employment under your father. Serve
him with skill and utter diligence, and win his heart. Not for one
moment let him guess your parentage. When he offers his daughter to
you in marriage, say you can do naught without your mother's blessing.
Send for me then."

So Prince Shabrang journeyed far to his father's kingdom. To find
employment in the royal household was easy enough -the lad had
engaging looks and a pleasing wit. It was but a short step to catch
the King's eye. The rest was simple. Day by day he rose higher in his
master's favour. The King would have none other for his personal
attendant.

Prince Shabrang, however, led a double life. The urge to practise the
skill he had been taught was strong upon him. In the darkness of the
night, while the city slept, he stole out on noiseless feet. How easy
it seemed to him to steal from the mansions of the rich! There was no
lack that he could not pick, and no treasure, howsoever jealously
guarded, that he could not snatch away. As for the guards who paced
the city's streets, he just snapped his fingers at them!

So, in time, the tale of Shabrang's depredations got known. Of course,
none guessed who the culprit was. They only knew he was cleverer than
any they had known in the past, and most elusive. To the King's court
came people bemoaning their losses, and crying out aloud for
protection. "We shall be robbed of everything we possess, great Sire!"
they wailed, "unless the guards redouble their vigil and catch the
villain."

What could the perplexed King do? He sent for the chief of the city
police, and ordered him, on pain of dismissal, to apprehend the rogue.

It was midnight and pitch dark as the Police Chief wandered about the
city's maze of lanes and alleys. He whistled softly to himself and
twirled his moustache.

No thief would get past him! No hiding-place but he peered into it, no
suspicious loiterer but he pounced upon him.

"Ha, who is this?" He exclaimed under his breath as a shadow flitted
past, and he gave chase. When he dragged the struggling figure into
the light of a street-lamp, he saw it was only a young maiden. "What,
pray, are you doing at this ghostly hour?" he demanded in his most
ferocious tone, to hide his chagrin. Shivering, the girl brought out,
"The thief you have been looking for is somewhere about. I heard his
stealthy footsteps. He may be here in a moment ....0-o-oh! I am
afraid."

"Calm yourself, silly !" the chief admonished her. "Let me think.... I
shall lay a trap for the scoundrel."

There was a soft interruption from the girl. "If you will pardon me
...I suggest you disguise yourself Why, we might exchange our
garments.' She clapped her hands with delight. "Yes and stand beside
the well yonder and pretend to be drawing water. Now, dome you agree
that's an excellent plan"

The Police Chief fell in with the scheme readily. The girl is smart,
he thought. Wrapped in her pheran, he walked to the well. But poor,
innocent man, what did he know of its crude mechanism? When he tugged
violently at the rope, he was thrown off his balance. Next moment he
was dangling at the end of the rope, just above the water's edge,
inside the shaft of the well. Who was there now to pay heed to his
cries for help? From somewhere above his head he heard the maiden's
mocking laughter. "They will pull you out at dawn, my friend. Now I
may go about in safety!" That, as you must have guessed already, was
our hero, Shabrang.

Were the honest citizens thrown into panic and confusion? The Police
Chief dangling at the end of a rope, to be the laughing stock of every
ragamuffin in town. The thief slipping through the fingers of the
guards! "Preposterous!" they shouted with one accord. So, in the
palace yard, the people raised another big clamour!

The King was at his wits' end. Nothing could now satisfy him save the
Vizier's undertaking the mission himself.

The Vizier, of course, did not relish the task of patrolling the
city's twisting alleyways by night. But carry out the King's
injunction he must. His horse ambled along leisurely. Its hooves beat
out a plaintive tune on the ancient cobblestones. Suddenly the Vizier
espied, by the flickering light of a lantern, an old, wrinkled woman
grinding maize by the roadside. "What keeps you up so late in the
night granny?" he enquired. And on an idle impulse, added, "Have you
by, any chance seen our champion rogue whereabouts?"

"I wouldn't say No, I wouldn't say Yes," the old dame answered in a
shrill voice. "There are funny sounds I have been hearing for some
time. Well, he may be close by, for all I know.'

It was the same ruse all over again. The "old woman" had quickly
persuaded the thoughtless Vizier to wear her rags and to sit at the
grinding stone. Shabrang (again it was the Prince-Thief in disguise)
was soon riding away into the night on the Vizier's horse!

There was a hullabaloo in the city next morning. Hundreds of people
tumbled out into the streets crying that their hoarded treasures had
been stolen. The Vizier had been discovered in an old woman's rags
grinding maize by the roadside. What a disgrace!

The King was beside himself with mortification. He stormed a good
deal, while his courtiers listened with heads bowed in shame. "You are
a set of idle, scatter-brained good-for-nothings! This thief has every
one of us tied in knots. Listen, if the thief proclaims himself, we
will give him our daughter in marriage and straightaway bestow half of
our kingdom upon him. He is a better man than all of you put together,
I am sure."

In the silence that followed, Shabrang stepped forth, looking like a
young god. "Is that a pledge, Sire?" he enquired. The King stared at
the impudent youngster. "Yes, indeed," he said and stared the harder.
What was so familiar about the lad's features? His thoughts chased
round and round this teasing question.

"I am the thief you are looking for, Sire;" Shabrang announced amidst
pin-drop silence." If you must have proof, I'll restore to its
rightful owner every single thing that has been stolen in the city.
Choose the hour, my lord, and it shall be done!"

The King's eyes softened. He had taken a great fancy to this handsome
boy. And this confession of a surpassing skill inclined his heart
towards the youngster even more strongly.

But Shabrang would not marry the princess until his mother had been
sent for. "I can do naught without my mothers counsel, Sire,' he
protested.

When Shabrang's mother appeared before the King of Kashmir she handed
him the ring he had given her as a love token. "Shabrang is your son,
my lord," said she. "How can he ever marry his own sister?"

The King nodded his head, but he hardly understood. And Prince,
Shabrang's mother, with gentle raillery, recalled the long-forgotten
episode-the tale of an encounter in a garden, an idle oath and the
angry retort that it had called forth.

There were tears in the King's eyes as he embraced his queen - tears
at the same time of happiness and penitence. As for Prince Shabrang,
he was proclaimed heir to the throne of Kashmir amidst a round of
festivities seldom before equalled in splendour.

Source:

Tales of Kashmir

by Somnath Dhar