Diamond Cut Diamond

In a village in Hindustan there once lived a merchant who got up early, worked hard and went to bed late, and still stayed poor. Bad luck followed him everywhere, until at last he decided to go to some faraway land and try his fortune there.

Twelve years went by. His luck changed, and he grew very rich, rich enough to live in comfort for the rest of his life. Then he began to think about his home village, and he longed to spend his last years among his own people.

It was a long and weary road home, and he needed to carry his wealth safely. So he bought some splendid jewels, locked them in a little box and hid it under his clothes. The highways were full of thieves who lived by robbing travellers, so he set off dressed in rags, like a man with nothing worth stealing.

He travelled fast. A few days’ journey from his village he came to a city, and there he decided to buy some better clothes, for he felt safe from thieves now and wanted to look like the rich man he had become. Near the great gate of the city was a bazaar full of shops selling costly silks, carpets and goods from every land. One shop was finer than all the others. Its owner sat among his beautifully arranged wares, puffing on a long silver pipe. The merchant went over, greeted him politely, sat down and began to buy a few things.

The shopkeeper’s name was Beeka Mull, and he was a very sharp man. As they talked, he soon felt sure that his customer was richer than he looked and was trying to hide it. When the merchant had made his purchases, Beeka Mull offered him refreshments, and before long they were chatting like old friends. Beeka Mull asked where he was going, and when he heard the name of the village, he said, “Ah, take care on that road. It’s a terrible place for thieves.”

The merchant went pale. How bitter it would be to lose the fortune he had gathered so carefully, just as he reached the end of his journey! Surely this smooth, prosperous shopkeeper knew what he was talking about. After a while he said, “Lala-ji, would you be kind enough to lock up a small box for me for a little while? When I reach my village, I can come back with half a dozen strong men from my family to collect it.”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly,” he said. “I’m sorry, but that isn’t my business. I wouldn’t dare to take it on.”

“But I don’t know anyone else in this city,” begged the merchant, “and surely you have a safe place for your own valuables. Please, do me this great favour.”

Beeka Mull refused again, politely but firmly. The merchant felt that he had already given away the secret of his wealth, and he did not want even more people to know about it by asking someone else. So he kept on pleading until at last Beeka Mull agreed. The merchant handed over his little box of jewels, and Beeka Mull locked it in a strong chest along with other precious stones. Then, with many promises and compliments, they said goodbye.

In this bazaar the shops stood wide open, with goods spread out inside and on raised verandahs along the street. Such a long talk could not help being noticed by the other shopkeepers nearby. If only the merchant had known it, nearly every shopkeeper in that quarter was a thief, and the biggest and cleverest thief of all was Beeka Mull.

The merchant did not know this, but he could not help feeling a little uneasy about leaving his whole fortune with a stranger. So, as he strolled down the street buying a thing or two, he found ways of asking about Beeka Mull’s honesty. Every rascal he asked guessed there was a good reason for the question, and hoping for a share of the loot, praised Beeka Mull as the most honest man alive.

So the merchant stopped worrying and went on to his village with a fairly light heart. About a week later he came back to the city with half a dozen strong young nephews and friends to help him carry home his precious box. He left them in the big market square in the middle of the city, telling them he would fetch the box and meet them there, and off he went to Beeka Mull’s shop.

“Good day, Lala-ji,” he said. But the shopkeeper pretended not to see him. So he said it a second time.

“What do you want?” snapped Beeka Mull. “You’ve said good day twice. Why don’t you get to the point?”

“Don’t you remember me?” asked the merchant.

“Remember you?” growled Beeka Mull. “Why should I? I have enough to do remembering my good customers without remembering every beggar who comes whining for money.”

The merchant began to tremble. “Lala-ji!” he cried. “Surely you remember me, and the little box I left with you? You promised, so kindly, that I could come back for it, and—”

“You scoundrel!” roared Beeka Mull. “Get out of my shop! Be off, you cheeky rogue! Everyone knows I never look after other people’s treasure. I have trouble enough keeping my own!” And he started pushing the merchant out of the shop. When the poor man struggled, two men standing by came to help Beeka Mull, and they threw the merchant out into the road like a bundle dropped from a camel’s back.

Slowly the merchant got up out of the dust, bruised and battered. But he hardly felt the pain. All he could feel was the dreadful thought that he was ruined. He dragged himself a little way off, away from the fat, furious shopkeeper still standing among his tumbled silks and carpets. He sank down against a wall, put his head in his hands and gave himself up to misery.

He sat there without moving, as if he had turned to stone, while night fell all around him. At about eleven o’clock a cheerful young man named Kooshy Ram walked by with a friend and noticed the hunched figure by the wall.

“A thief, I expect,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” said his friend. “Thieves don’t sit where everyone can see them, even at night.” And they walked on and forgot about him.

But at five o’clock the next morning, when Kooshy Ram was coming home again, he was amazed to see the same miserable man still sitting exactly where he had been hours before. Something must be badly wrong with anyone who sat out in the street all night, so Kooshy Ram went over and gently shook him by the shoulder. “Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here? Are you ill?”

“Ill?” said the merchant in a hollow voice. “Yes, with an illness no medicine can cure.”

“Nonsense!” cried Kooshy Ram. “Come with me. I think I know a medicine that will cure you.” He pulled the merchant to his feet and took him home to his own lodgings. There he gave him a drink to revive him and something to eat, and then asked him to tell his story.

Meanwhile, the merchant’s friends in the market square assumed that since he had not come back, he must have gone home without them. When they grew tired of waiting, they went back to the village and left him to manage by himself.

He might have been in a sorry state if it had not been for Kooshy Ram. Kooshy Ram had been left a great fortune when he was only a boy, with nobody to teach him how to use it. He was lively, kind and clever, but he spent money like water, usually on whatever was nearest, and that was most often himself! Now, though, he had made up his mind to help the unhappy merchant, and he meant to do it. The merchant felt his hopes rising, and he told his whole story.

Kooshy Ram laughed and laughed at the idea of anyone trusting his money to Beeka Mull. “Why, he’s the biggest rogue in the city,” he said, “unless you believe what some people say about me! Well, there’s nothing to be done just now. Stay here quietly with me, and I think that before long I’ll find the medicine for your illness.” The merchant took heart and gratefully accepted.

A few days later Kooshy Ram invited some friends round and talked with them for a long time. The merchant could not hear what they said, but he heard roars of laughter, as if at some splendid joke. The laughter sounded hollow in his own heart, though, for the more he thought about it, the less he believed he would ever get his fortune back from Beeka Mull.

Soon afterwards Kooshy Ram came to him. “You remember the wall where I found you, near Beeka Mull’s shop?”

“I certainly do,” said the merchant.

“Well, this afternoon you must go and stand in that very spot and watch. When someone gives you a signal, go up to Beeka Mull, greet him politely and say, ‘Oh, Lala-ji, will you kindly let me have back that box of mine which you have on trust?’”

“What good will that do?” asked the merchant. “He won’t give it to me now any more than he did before.”

“Never mind,” said Kooshy Ram. “Do just what I tell you, say exactly those words, and leave the rest to me.”

So that afternoon, at the time he had been given, the merchant went and stood by the wall. He saw that Beeka Mull had noticed him, but neither of them paid the other any attention.

Soon a gorgeous palanquin came up the bazaar, the kind of covered chair in which great ladies are carried about. Four bearers in rich uniforms carried it, and its curtains and decorations were magnificent. Beside it walked a solemn-looking gentleman whom the merchant knew as one of Kooshy Ram’s friends, and behind him came a servant carrying a cloth-covered box on his head.

The bearers set the palanquin down at Beeka Mull’s shop. The fat shopkeeper jumped up at once and bowed low as the gentleman came forward. “May I ask who honours my humble shop with a visit?” he said. “And what can I do for the lady?”

The gentleman whispered at the curtain of the palanquin and then explained that the lady was a relative of his, who was on a journey. Her husband could not travel any farther with her, so she wished to leave a box of jewels with Beeka Mull for safekeeping. Beeka Mull bowed to the ground. It was not really his line of business, he said, but of course he would be delighted to please the lady, and he would guard the box with his life. The servant was called forward and the box was unlocked. Inside lay a heap of jewellery, and Beeka Mull’s mouth watered as he turned over the glittering gems.

The merchant had watched all this from a distance. Now, on the side of the palanquin away from the shop, he saw a hand beckoning through the curtain. Could this be the signal? The hand beckoned again, impatiently. So he stepped quietly forward, greeted Beeka Mull, who was busy admiring the wonderful jewels, and said, “Oh, Lala-ji, will you kindly let me have back that box of mine which you have on trust?”

Beeka Mull looked up as if a wasp had stung him. But quickly he thought that if this man made a fuss now, he would lose the trust of these grand new customers. So he controlled himself and said, “Dear me, yes, of course! I’d quite forgotten.” He went and fetched the little box and put it into the merchant’s trembling hands.

The merchant pulled out the key that hung on a string round his neck and opened the box. When he saw that all his treasures were there, he rushed out into the road with the box under his arm and danced like a madman, shouting and shrieking with laughter.

At that moment a messenger came running up, bowed to the gentleman beside the palanquin and said, “The lady’s husband has come back and is ready to travel with her, so there is no need to leave the jewels after all.” The gentleman quickly shut and locked the box and handed it back to the servant.

Then a great shout of laughter came from inside the palanquin, and out jumped, not a lady, but Kooshy Ram! He ran into the road to join the merchant, and danced just as wildly. Beeka Mull stood staring at them stupidly. Then, with a shrill cackle, he threw off his turban, bounced out into the road beside them, and danced and snapped his fingers until he was quite out of breath.

“Lala-ji,” said the gentleman who had pretended to be the lady’s relative, “why are you dancing? The merchant dances because he has his fortune back. Kooshy Ram dances because he is a madman and has tricked you. But why do you dance?”

“I dance,” panted Beeka Mull, glaring at him with a bloodshot eye, “because I knew thirteen ways of cheating people by pretending to trust them, and I thought there were no more. And now here is a fourteenth! That’s why I dance!”

About this tale

Andrew Lang printed this tale in The Olive Fairy Book (1907) and marked it as a Punjabi story from Major Campbell of Feroshepore. A footnote in the book explains that “Lala” is a complimentary title and “ji” a polite ending, together meaning something like “Dear Sir.”

In Lang’s text the merchant is revived with a glass of wine; here he is simply given a drink. The book also calls the shopkeeper “Beeka Ram” once in the last speech, a slip for Beeka Mull, which is the name used throughout this telling.

Read the original: Andrew Lang, The Olive Fairy Book (Project Gutenberg #27826, Diamond Cut Diamond)

Best for ages 6–8 — a lively Punjabi trickster tale in which a cheat is beaten at his own game.

A closer reading

The merchant’s first mistake is not simply trusting a stranger. He checks the shopkeeper’s reputation, but asks people who share an interest in the theft. Their agreement sounds independent while actually serving a common purpose. Beeka Mull’s initial refusals also make him look cautious and respectable, encouraging the merchant to press the request himself.

Kooshy Ram succeeds by changing the audience and the incentive. Returning the small box lets Beeka Mull perform honesty before an apparently richer customer. The merchant uses nearly the same request as before, but its setting now makes refusal costly. The final dance is unsettling: the cheat appreciates a new trick rather than expressing remorse. The fortune is recovered without proof that his character has improved.

Try this with the story

Stage the two requests for the box using the same sentence. In the first scene, identify the onlookers; in the second, add the supposed new customer. Explain why the changed audience alters Beeka Mull’s answer.

Think about it

• Why are the neighbouring shopkeepers poor independent witnesses?
• What makes returning the small box attractive during the second visit?
• Does Beeka Mull’s final dance show remorse?
• What does Kooshy Ram notice that the merchant’s companions overlook?

More stories like this

• The Barbers Clever Wife — another Punjab tale in which a clever trick beats the thieves
• Harisarman — another Indian story about cunning and trickery
• Bopoluchi the Clever Girl — another Punjabi tale in which quick wits win the day