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Main > Indian folktales > Fairy tale "Good Will Grow Out of Good"

Good Will Grow Out of Good

A certain person shall come to you in the morning and ask you, ‘Is it all done?’ Without observing who he is, tie his hands and feet and throw him into the boiling oil. When he has been boiled to death, put out the fire and empty out the oil.”

The executioners received the order and went away to perform their terrible duty. The queen, too, glad at heart at having thus successfully arranged for the murder of the Brâhmiṇ, reported the fact to the minister, but said nothing about the special question to be put by the victim. The minister, much pleased, went to his palace and waited for news of the Brâhmiṇ’s death.

When his pûjâ was over the king sent for Pâpabhîru, and the poor Brâhmiṇ, never having before been sent for at such a time, made his appearance with a beating heart. When he arrived the king, in order to arouse no suspicion in his mind, said gently to him:—

“My dear Brâhmiṇ, to-morrow morning, when you go to make your ablutions, pass by the east gate. There you will see two persons seated by the side of a large caldron. Ask them, ‘Is it all done?’ And whatever reply they give you, come and communicate to me.”

Thus spoke the king, firmly believing that Pâpabhîru would never return to him; while the Brâhmiṇ, glad to be able to serve the king a second time next morning, went home and slept soundly. Early in the morning, even a ghaṭikâ before his usual time, he got up, and, placing on his head a bag containing dry clothes, proceeded to the river for his morning bath. He took the road to the eastern gate as he had been ordered, but had not walked far when a friend invited him to a dvâdaśi breakfast.

“My poor old mother did not taste even a drop of water the whole of the êkâdaśi, (yesterday). Rice and hot water for a bath are ready. Pour a little of the water over your head(a small vessel), pronounce one gâyatrî(a sacred hymn) and taste a handful of rice. Whatever may be the urgency of your business, oblige me for my poor mother’s sake.”

Thus spoke his friend, and Pâpabhîru, out of regard to his father’s order never to spurn a morning meal, ran in haste into his friend’s house to oblige him; the king’s order all the while sitting heavily on his mind.

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