The Mouse

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Title:     The Mouse
Author: Anonymous [More Titles by Anonymous]

There was a mouse who wanted something to eat; so he went to a garden, where many kinds of grain, and fruit, and cabbages, and other vegetables were growing. All round the garden the people to whom it belonged had planted a hedge of thorns, that nothing might get in. The mouse scrambled through the hedge, but great thorns pierced his tail, and he began to cry. He came out of the garden again through the hedge, and on his way home he met a barber.

"You must take out these thorns," said he to the barber.

"I cannot," said the barber, "without cutting off your tail with my razor."

"Never mind cutting off my tail," said the mouse.

The barber cut off the mouse's tail. But the mouse was in a rage. He seized the razor and ran away with it. At this the poor barber was very unhappy and began to cry, for he had no pice wherewith to buy another.

The mouse ran on and on until at last he came to another country, in which there were no knives or sickles to cut the grass with. There the mouse saw a man pulling the grass out of the ground with his hands.

"You will cut your hands," said the mouse.

"There are no knives here," said the man, "so I must pull up the grass in this way."

"You must take my razor then," said the mouse.

"Suppose your razor should break? I could not buy you another," said the man.

"Never mind if it does break," said the mouse, "I give it to you as a present."

So the man took the razor and began cutting the grass, and as he was cutting, the razor broke.

"Oh, why have you broken my razor?" exclaimed the mouse.

"Did not I tell you it would break?" answered the man.

The mouse snatched up the man's blanket and ran off with it. The grass-cutter began to cry. "What shall I do?" said he. "The mouse has carried away my blanket, and I have not money wherewith to buy another." And he went home very sad.

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on until he arrived at another country, where he saw a grain merchant chopping up sugar-canes; only as he had no blanket or cloth to lay the canes on, he chopped them up on the ground, and so they got dirty.

"Why do you chop up your canes on the ground?" said the mouse; "they all get dirty."

"What can I do?" answered the man. "I have no pice wherewith to buy a blanket to chop them on."

"Then why don't you take mine?" said the mouse.

"If I took yours it would get cut, and I have no money to buy you another," said the grain merchant.

"Never mind; I don't want another," said the mouse.

So the man took the blanket, and of course he cut it. When he had finished chopping up his sugar-canes, he gave it back to the mouse.

When the mouse saw the blanket was full of holes, he was very angry indeed with the man, and seizing all the sugar-canes he ran away with them as fast as he could. The grain merchant began to cry. "What shall I do?" said he; "I have no more sugar-canes." And he went home very sorrowful.

Then the mouse ran on and on till he came to another country, where he stopped at a sweetmeat-seller's shop. Now in this country there was no salt and no sugar. And the sweetmeat-seller made his sweetmeats of flour and ghee without either sugar or salt, so that they were very nasty.

"Will you give me some sweetmeats for a pice?" said the mouse to the sweetmeat-seller. "Yes," answered the man, and he gave one. The mouse began to eat it and thought it very nasty indeed.

"Why, there is no sugar in it!" exclaimed the mouse.

"No," said the man; "we have no sugar in this country. The few sugar-canes we have are so dear, that poor people like myself cannot buy them."

"Then take my sugar-canes," cried the mouse.

"No," said the man. "Where should I find the money to pay you for them? They would be all used in making sweetmeats."

"Take them," said the mouse; "I give them to you."

The sweetmeat-seller took them and began making sweetmeats of all kinds, so that he used all the sugar-canes.

"Why have you used all my sugar-canes?" cried the mouse.

"Did not I tell you I should do so?" said the man.

"You are a thief!" cried the mouse, and he knocked down the sweetmeat-seller, seized all his sweetmeats, and ran off with them.

"What shall I do now?" cried the sweetmeat-seller. "I have no money to buy flour and ghee to make more sweetmeats with; and if I quarrel with the mouse, he will doubtless kill me."

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on till he reached a country, the Rájá of which had a great many cows--hundreds of cows. The mouse stopped at the pasture-ground of these cows. Now, the cowherds were so poor they could not buy bread every day, and sometimes they ate bread which was twelve days old. When the mouse arrived, the cowherds were eating their bread, and it was very stale and mouldy.

"Why do you eat that stale bread?" said the mouse.

"Because we have no money to buy any other with," answered the cowherds.

"Look at all these sweetmeats," said the mouse. "Take them and eat them instead of that stale bread."

"But if we eat them, we must pay you for them, and where shall we get the money?" said the cowherds.

"Oh, never mind the money," said the mouse.

So the cowherds took the sweetmeats and ate them all up. At this the mouse was furious. He stuck a pole into the ground, and ran and fetched ropes, and tied the cowherds hand and foot to the pole. Then he took all the cows and ran off with them.

He ran on and on till he got to a country where there were no fowls, no cows, no buffaloes, no meat of any kind; and the people in it did not even know what milk and meat were. The day the mouse arrived was the day the Rájá's daughter was to be married, and a great many people were assembled together. The Rájá's cooks were cooking, but they had neither meat nor ghee.

"Why are all these people assembled together?" said the mouse.

"To-day is our Rájá's daughter's wedding-day, and we are cooking the dinner," answered the cooks.

"But you have no meat," said the mouse.

"No," said the cooks. "There is no meat of any kind in our country."

"Take my cows," said the mouse.

"No," said the cooks; "our Rájá could not pay for them; he is too poor." (He was only a petty Rájá.)

"It does not matter," said the mouse. "I don't want money."

So the cooks took the cows and the sheep and killed them, and dressed their flesh in different ways; made pilaus and curries; they roasted some and boiled some, and gave it to the people to eat. In this way they made an end of all the cows.

"Why have you made an end of all my cows?" cried the mouse.

"Did not we tell you we should make use of them all?" said the cooks.

"Give me my cows," said the mouse.

"We can't. The people have eaten them all up," said the cooks.

The mouse was in a great rage. He ran off to the bridegroom, who was walking near the kitchen, saying to himself, "Now I will go and fetch my bride."

"Give me the money for my cows," cried the mouse to him. "Your people have eaten them all up, and your cooks won't pay me, so you must."

"What have I to do with your cows?" said the bridegroom. "I won't pay you for them."

"Then if you won't pay me, your wife's father must," said the mouse.

"Oh, he is too poor to pay for your cows," said the bridegroom, "and I won't."

"Then if I am not paid, I will take away your bride," said the mouse; and he ran off and carried away the bride.

The Rájá was very angry at this; but the mouse ran on and on with his wife (so he called the Rájá's daughter) till he came to another country.

Now, on the day he arrived in it there were going to be grand sights and fun to please its Rájá. Some jugglers and rope-dancers were going to perform.

"Take my wife and let her walk on the rope; she is young, and your wives are old," said the mouse to the rope-dancers.

"No," they answered, "for she does not know how to walk on a rope and carry at the same time a wooden plate on her head. She would fall and break her neck."

"But you must take my wife," said the mouse. "She won't fall; she is young, and your wives are old. You really must take her."

So the rope-dancers took her, much against their will, and when she began to walk on the rope with the wooden plate on her head, she fell and died.

"Oh, why have you killed my wife?" cried the mouse.

"Did we not tell you she would fall and kill herself?" answered the rope-dancers.

The mouse seized all the jugglers' and rope-dancers' wives, and the things they used in dancing and juggling, and ran off with them. Then the rope-dancers and jugglers began to cry, and said, "What shall we do? Our wives and our property are all gone!"

Meanwhile the mouse ran on and on until he came to another country, where he got a house to live in. And he ate a great deal, and grew so fat that he could not get through the door of his house.

"Send for a carpenter," said he to the rope-dancers' and jugglers' wives, "and tell him to cut off some of my flesh. Then I shall be able to get into my house."

The women sent for a carpenter, and when he came the mouse said to him, "cut off some of my flesh, then I shall be able to go into my house."

"If I do," said the carpenter, "you will die."

"No, I shan't die," said the mouse. "Do as I bid you."

So the carpenter took his knife, and cut off some of the mouse's flesh.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried the mouse; "how it does hurt! What can I do to make it stop paining me?"

"You must go to a certain place, where a particular kind of grain grows, and rub the grain on your wounds. Then they will get quite well," said the carpenter.

So the mouse ran off to the place to which the carpenter had told him to go, and rubbed his wounds with the grain. This gave him such pain that he fell down and died.

The rope-dancers' and jugglers' wives went home to their husbands with all the things the mouse had carried away, and they all lived happily ever after.

Told by Karím.

 

NOTES.

FAIRY TALE TRANSLATED BY MAIVE STOKES.

WITH NOTES BY MARY STOKES

THE MOUSE.

1. Unluckily, when Karím was with us, I neglected to write down the name of the grain that kills the mouse, and all the wonderful things he told us of the properties of this grain. His explanations were a kind of note given after he had finished the story.

2. The only parallel I can find to this story is one in Bleek's Hottentot Fables and Tales, p. 90, called "The unreasonable child to whom the dog gave its deserts; or a receipt for putting any one to sleep," in which the child indulges in the uncalled for generosity and unreasonable rage of the mouse.

 

GLOSSARY.

Bél, a fruit; Ægle marmelos.

Bulbul, a kind of nightingale.

Chaprásí, a messenger wearing a badge (chaprás).

Cooly (Tamil kúli), a labourer in the fields; also a porter.

Dál, a kind of pulse; Phaseolus aureus, according to Wilson; Paspalum frumentaceum, according to Forbes.

Dom (the d is lingual), a low-caste Hindú.

Fakír, a Muhammadan religious mendicant.

Ghee (ghí), butter boiled and then set to cool.

Kází, a Muhammadan Judge.

Kotwál, the chief police officer in a town.

Líchí, a fruit; Scytalia litchi, Roxb.

Mahárájá (properly Maháráj), literally great king.

Mahárání, literally great queen.

Mainá, a kind of starling.

Maund (man), a measure of weight, about 87 lb.

Mohur (muhar), a gold coin worth 16 rupees.

Nautch (nátya), a union of song, dance, and instrumental music.

Pálkí, a palanquin.

Pice (paisa), a small copper coin.

Pilau, a dish made of either chicken or mutton, and rice.

Rájá, a king.

Rakshas, a kind of demon that eats men and beasts.

Rání, a queen.

Rohú, a kind of big fish.

Rupee (rúpíya), a silver coin, now worth about twenty pence.

Ryot (ràíyat), a cultivator.

Sarai, a walled enclosure containing small houses for the use of travellers.

Sárí, a long piece of stuff which Hindú women wind round the body as a petticoat, passing one end over the head.

Sepoy (sipáhí), a soldier.

Wazír, prime minister.

Yogí, a Hindú religious mendicant.

[The end]
Anonymous's short story: Mouse

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