Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 09 (15 page)

One day, when Koane had slept later than usual, his father and
mother went to their work before him, and there was only Thakane
to be seen busy making the bread for supper.

'Thakane,' he said, 'I am thirsty. Give me a drink from the tree
Koumongoe, which has the best milk in the world.'

'Oh, Koane,' cried his sister, 'you know that we are forbidden to
touch that tree. What would father say when he came home? For
he would be sure to know.'

'Nonsense,' replied Koane, 'there is so much milk in Koumongoe
that he will never miss a little. If you won't give it to me, I
sha'n't take the cattle out. They will just have to stay all day
in the hut, and you know that they will starve.' And he turned
from her in a rage, and sat down in the corner.

After a while Thakane said to him: 'It is getting hot, had you
better drive out the cattle now?'

But Koane only answered sulkily: 'I told you I am not going to
drive them out at all. If I have to do without milk, they shall
do without grass.'

Thakane did not know what to do. She was afraid to disobey her
parents, who would most likely beat her, yet the beasts would be
sure to suffer if they were kept in, and she would perhaps be
beaten for that too. So at last she took an axe and a tiny
earthen bowl, she cut a very small hole in the side of Koumongoe,
and out gushed enough milk to fill the bowl.

'Here is the milk you wanted,' said she, going up to Koane, who
was still sulking in his corner.

'What is the use of that?' grumbled Koane; 'why, there is not
enough to drown a fly. Go and get me three times as much!'

Trembling with fright, Thakane returned to the tree, and struck
it a sharp blow with the axe. In an instant there poured forth
such a stream of milk that it ran like a river into the hut.

'Koane! Koane!' cried she, 'come and help me to plug up the hole.
There will be no milk left for our father and mother.' But Koane
could not stop it any more than Thakane, and soon the milk was
flowing through the hut downhill towards their parents in the
fields below.

The man saw a white stream a long way off, and guessed what had
happened.

'Wife, wife,' he called loudly to the woman, who was working at a
little distance: 'Do you see Koumongoe running fast down the
hill? That is some mischief of the children's, I am sure. I
must go home and find out what is the matter.' And they both
threw down their hoes and hurried to the side of Koumongoe.

Kneeling on the grass, the man and his wife made a cup of their
hands and drank the milk from it. And no sooner had they done
this, than Koumongoe flowed back again up the hill, and entered
the hut.

'Thakane,' said the parents, severely, when they reached home
panting from the heat of the sun, 'what have you been doing? Why
did Koumongoe come to us in the fields instead of staying in the
garden?'

'It was Koane's fault,' answered Thakane. 'He would not take the
cattle to feed until he drank some of the milk from Koumongoe.
So, as I did not know what else to do, I gave it to him.'

The father listened to Thakane's words, but made no answer.
Instead, he went outside and brought in two sheepskins, which he
stained red and sent for a blacksmith to forge some iron rings.
The rings were then passed over Thakane's arms and legs and neck,
and the skins fastened on her before and behind. When all was
ready, the man sent for his servants and said:

'I am going to get rid of Thakane.'

'Get rid of your only daughter?' they answered, in surprise.
'But why?'

'Because she has eaten what she ought not to have eaten. She has
touched the sacred tree which belongs to her mother and me
alone.' And, turning his back, he called to Thakane to follow
him, and they went down the road which led to the dwelling of an
ogre.

They were passing along some fields where the corn was ripening,
when a rabbit suddenly sprang out at their feet, and standing on
its hind legs, it sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her,' replied the man, 'she is old enough to
give you an answer.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts;
For without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows:
Without Koumongoe they would starve in the hut;
That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of my father.

And when the rabbit heard that, he cried: 'Wretched man! it is
you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

But the father paid no heed to what the rabbit said, and only
walked on the faster, bidding Thakane to keep close behind him.
By-and-by they met with a troop of great deer, called elands, and
they stopped when they saw Thakane and sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her, replied the man, 'she is old enough to
give you an answer.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts;
For without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows:
Without Koumongoe they would starve in the hut;
That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of my father.

And the elands all cried: 'Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre
should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

By this time it was nearly dark, and the father said they could
travel no further that night, and must go to sleep where they
were. Thakane was thankful indeed when she heard this, for she
was very tired, and found the two skins fastened round her almost
too heavy to carry. So, in spite of her dread of the ogre, she
slept till dawn, when her father woke her, and told her roughly
that he was ready to continue their journey.

Crossing the plain, the girl and her father passed a herd of
gazelles feeding. They lifted their heads, wondering who was out
so early, and when they caught sight of Thakane, they sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

'You had better ask her, replied the man, 'she is old enough to
answer for herself.'

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoe to Koane, Koumongoe to the keeper of beasts;
For without Koumongoe they could not go to the meadows:
Without Koumongoe they would starve in the hut;
That was why I gave him the Koumongoe of my father.

And the gazelles all cried: 'Wretched man! it is you whom the
ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.'

At last they arrived at the village where the ogre lived, and
they went straight to his hut. He was nowhere to be seen, but in
his place was his son Masilo, who was not an ogre at all, but a
very polite young man. He ordered his servants to bring a pile
of skins for Thakane to sit on, but told her father he must sit
on the ground. Then, catching sight of the girl's face, which
she had kept down, he was struck by its beauty, and put the same
question that the rabbit, and the elands, and the gazelles had
done.

Thakane answered him as before, and he instantly commanded that
she should be taken to the hut of his mother, and placed under
her care, while the man should be led to his father. Directly
the ogre saw him he bade the servant throw him into the great pot
which always stood ready on the fire, and in five minutes he was
done to a turn. After that the servant returned to Masilo and
related all that had happened.

Now Masilo had fallen in loved with Thakane the moment he saw
her. At first he did not know what to make of this strange
feeling, for all his life he had hated women, and had refused
several brides whom his parents had chosen for him. However,
they were so anxious that he should marry, that they willingly
accepted Thakane as their daughter-in-law, though she did bring
any marriage portion with her.

After some time a baby was born to her, and Thakane thought it
was the most beautiful baby that ever was seen. But when her
mother-in-law saw it was a girl, she wrung her hands and wept,
saying:

'O miserable mother! Miserable child! Alas for you! why were you
not a boy!'

Thakane, in great surprise, asked the meaning of her distress;
and the old woman told her that it was the custom in that country
that all the girls who were born should be given to the ogre to
eat.

Then Thakane clasped the baby tightly in her arms, and cried:

'But it is not the customer in MY country! There, when children
die, they are buried in the earth. No one shall take my baby
from me.'

That night, when everyone in the hut was asleep, Thakane rose,
and carrying her baby on her back, went down to a place where the
river spread itself out into a large lake, with tall willows all
round the bank. Here, hidden from everyone, she sat down on a
stone and began to think what she should do to save her child.

Suddenly she heard a rustling among the willows, and an old woman
appeared before her.

'What are you crying for, my dear?' said she.

And Thakane answered: 'I was crying for my baby—I cannot hide
her for ever, and if the ogre sees her, he will eat her; and I
would rather she was drowned than that.'

'What you say is true,' replied the old woman. 'Give me your
child, and let me take care of it. And if you will fix a day to
meet me here I will bring the baby.'

Then Thakane dried her eyes, and gladly accepted the old woman's
offer. When she got home she told her husband she had thrown it
in the river, and as he had watched her go in that direction he
never thought of doubting what she said.

On the appointed day, Thakane slipped out when everybody was
busy, and ran down the path that led to the lake. As soon as she
got there, she crouched down among the willows, and sang softly:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father
Masilo cast out!

And in a moment the old woman appeared holding the baby in her
arms. Dilah had become so big and strong, that Thakane's heart
was filled with joy and gratitude, and she stayed as long as she
dared, playing with her baby. At last she felt she must return
to the village, lest she should be missed, and the child was
handed back to the old woman, who vanished with her into the
lake.

Children grow up very quickly when they live under water, and in
less time than anyone could suppose, Dilah had changed from a
baby to a woman. Her mother came to visit her whenever she was
able, and one day, when they were sitting talking together, they
were spied out by a man who had come to cut willows to weave into
baskets. He was so surprised to see how like the face of the
girl was to Masilo, that he left his work and returned to the
village.

'Masilo,' he said, as he entered the hut, 'I have just beheld
your wife near the river with a girl who must be your daughter,
she is so like you. We have been deceived, for we all thought
she was dead.'

When he heard this, Masilo tried to look shocked because his wife
had broken the law; but in his heart he was very glad.

'But what shall we do now?' asked he.

'Make sure for yourself that I am speaking the truth by hiding
among the bushes the first time Thakane says she is going to
bathe in the river, and waiting till the girl appears.'

For some days Thakane stayed quietly at home, and her husband
began to think that the man had been mistaken; but at last she
said to her husband: 'I am going to bathe in the river.'

'Well, you can go,' answered he. But he ran down quickly by
another path, and got there first, and hid himself in the bushes.
An instant later, Thakane arrived, and standing on the bank, she
sang:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father
Masilo cast out!

Then the old woman came out of the water, holding the girl, now
tall and slender, by the hand. And as Masilo looked, he saw that
she was indeed his daughter, and he wept for joy that she was not
lying dead in the bottom of the lake. The old woman, however,
seemed uneasy, and said to Thakane: 'I feel as if someone was
watching us. I will not leave the girl to-day, but will take her
back with me'; and sinking beneath the surface, she drew the girl
after her. After they had gone, Thakane returned to the village,
which Masilo had managed to reach before her.

All the rest of the day he sat in a corner weeping, and his
mother who came in asked: 'Why are you weeping so bitterly, my
son?'

'My head aches,' he answered; 'it aches very badly.' And his
mother passed on, and left him alone.

In the evening he said to his wife: 'I have seen my daughter, in
the place where you told me you had drowned her. Instead, she
lives at the bottom of the lake, and has now grown into a young
woman.'

'I don't know what you are talking about,' replied Thakane. 'I
buried my child under the sand on the beach.'

Then Masilo implored her to give the child back to him; but she
would not listen, and only answered: 'If I were to give her back
you would only obey the laws of your country and take her to your
father, the ogre, and she would be eaten.'

But Masilo promised that he would never let his father see her,
and that now she was a woman no one would try to hurt her; so
Thakane's heart melted, and she went down to the lake to consult
the old woman.

'What am I to do?' she asked, when, after clapping her hands, the
old woman appeared before her. 'Yesterday Masilo beheld Dilah,
and ever since he has entreated me to give him back his
daughter.'

'If I let her go he must pay me a thousand head of cattle in
exchange,' replied the old woman. And Thakane carried her answer
back to Masilo.

'Why, I would gladly give her two thousand!' cried he, 'for she
has saved my daughter.' And he bade messengers hasten to all the
neighbouring villages, and tell his people to send him at once
all the cattle he possessed. When they were all assembled he
chose a thousand of the finest bulls and cows, and drove them
down to the river, followed by a great crowd wondering what would
happen.