The Jackal, the Barber and the Brahmin Who Had Seven Daughters

A barber and a jackal once became great friends. Their friendship might have lasted to this day, if only the jackal had not been so clever. The barber never felt that he was quite a match for him, and he suspected his friend of playing a great many tricks on him, though he could never prove it.

One day the jackal said to the barber, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a garden of our own, where we could grow as many cucumbers, pumpkins and melons as we liked? Why don’t we buy one?”

“Very well,” said the barber. “Here is the money. You go and buy us a garden.”

So the jackal took the barber’s money and bought a fine garden full of cucumbers, pumpkins, melons, figs and all sorts of other good fruit and vegetables. Every day he went there and ate as much as he wanted. But when the barber asked, “What is the garden like that you bought with my money?” the jackal answered, “The plants are very fine, but there’s no fruit on them yet. I’ll tell you when it’s ripe.” The barber was satisfied with that and asked no more questions for the time being.

A little later the barber asked about the garden a second time. “I see you go down there every day,” he said. “Is the fruit ripening?”

“Oh dear, no, not yet,” said the jackal. “Why, the plants are only just coming into flower.”

All this time the garden was full of fruit, and the jackal was eating as much of it as he could every single day.

Some weeks later the barber asked a third time, “Is there still no ripe fruit in our garden?”

“No,” said the jackal. “The flowers have only just dropped off, but the fruit is starting to form. In time we shall have a fine crop of melons and figs.”

Now the barber began to suspect that the jackal was cheating him, and he decided to go and see for himself. So the next day, without a word to anyone, he followed the jackal down to the garden.

As it happened, that very day the jackal had invited all his friends to a feast there. Every animal in the nearby jungle had accepted, and they came trooping in by the dozen and the hundred, having a wonderful time, running here and there and gobbling every melon, cucumber, fig and pumpkin in the place.

The barber peeped over the hedge and saw all the wild animals gathered there, with his friend the jackal playing host, chatting with one, laughing with another and eating with them all. The good man did not dare to attack them, for there were so many of them and they were strong. But he went home in a rage, muttering, “I’ll put an end to that young rascal. He won’t play any more tricks in my garden.”

He waited for his chance. When the jackal and his friends had gone, he went down to the garden and tied a long knife to the biggest cucumber that was left. Then he went home and said nothing about what he had seen.

Early the next morning the jackal thought, “I’ll just run down to the garden and see if there are any cucumbers or melons left.” So off he went, picked out the biggest cucumber and began to eat it. Quick as a flash, the long knife hidden among the cucumber leaves cut into him, slashing his muzzle, his neck and his side.

“Ah, that horrid barber!” he yelped. “He did this!” He did not dare go home. He fled at top speed deep into the jungle, and lay down on a big flat rock, thinking he was going to die.

But he did not die. For three whole days his neck and side hurt so badly that he could not move, and he felt very weak. At the end of the third day he tried to get up, but his wounds had dried so that he was stuck fast to the rock! He struggled and struggled, but he could not pull himself free.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” he moaned. “To think that I should get better from my wounds only to die such a horrible death as this! This is the punishment for being dishonest!” And he began to cry.

But the god of rain heard his weeping and took pity on the unlucky animal. He sent a kind shower of rain that soaked the stone and set the jackal free.

As soon as he was free, the jackal began to think how he could make a living, since he did not dare go back to the barber’s house. It did not take him long to think of a plan. All around him was mud from the rain. He scooped some of it into a small chattee, an earthenware pot, covered the top carefully with leaves, the way people cover jars of fresh butter, and took it to a nearby village to sell.

At the door of one of the first houses stood a woman.

“Here’s butter, lovely fresh butter!” called the jackal. “Won’t you buy some fresh butter?”

“Are you sure it’s fresh?” she said. “Let me see it.”

“It’s perfectly fresh,” said the jackal, “but if you open the pot now, it will be spoiled by the time you need it. If you want to buy it, take it. If not, I’ll sell it to someone else.”

The woman did want some fresh butter, and the pot the jackal carried on his head was wrapped up so carefully that it looked as if it held the very best. She knew that if she opened it, it might go bad before her husband came home. Besides, she thought, if the jackal meant to cheat her, he would have pushed harder to make her buy it.

“Very well,” she said. “Give me the pot. Here’s your money. You’re sure it’s the best butter?”

“It is the best of its kind,” said the jackal. “Only be sure to keep it somewhere cool, and don’t open it until you need it.” And he took the money and ran off.

Soon afterwards the woman found out how she had been tricked, and she was furious. But by then the jackal was far away, where nobody could punish him.

When his money was spent, the jackal wondered how he would live, for nobody would give him food and he had nothing to buy it with. Luckily for him, just then one of the village bullocks died. The jackal found it lying dead by the roadside and began to eat it. He ate and ate until he had gone so far inside the body that passers-by could not see him. The weather was hot and dry, and while he was inside, the bullock’s hide shrank so tight in the heat that it grew too hard for him to bite through, and he could not get out.

Soon the village workers whose job it was to carry away dead animals came out to bury the bullock. The jackal, inside it, was afraid that if they caught him they would kill him, and that if they did not find him, he would be buried alive. So as they came near, he called out, “People, people, be careful how you touch me, for I am a great saint!”

The poor people were terrified to hear a dead bullock talking, and they thought some mighty spirit must have taken hold of it. “Who are you, sir, and what do you want?” they cried.

“I am a very holy saint,” said the jackal. “I am also the god of your village, and I am very angry with you, because you never worship me or bring me offerings.”

“O Lord,” they cried, “what offerings will please you? Only tell us, and we will bring you whatever you like.”

“Good,” said the jackal. “Then fetch plenty of rice, plenty of flowers and a nice fat chicken. Lay them beside me as an offering, and pour plenty of water over them, as you do at your most solemn festivals, and I will forgive you your sins.”

The workers did as they were told. They laid rice and flowers and the best chicken they could find beside the bullock and poured water over it and over the offering. The moment the dry, hard hide was wet, it split open in many places, and to the amazement of all his worshippers, out jumped the jackal. He grabbed the chicken in his mouth and dashed through the middle of them into the jungle. They chased him over hedges and ditches for miles and miles, but he got away from them all.

On and on he ran, a very long way, until at last he came to a place where a little kid lived under a little sikakai tree, a kind of thorny acacia. All her relations and friends were away, and when she saw the jackal coming, she thought, “Unless I frighten this jackal, he will eat me.”

So she ran as hard as she could straight at the sikakai tree, which made all its branches shake and its leaves go rustle, rustle, rustle. When the jackal heard the rustling, he was frightened, for he thought it was all the little kid’s friends coming to help her. And she shouted, “Off you go, jackal, off you go! Thousands upon thousands of jackals have fled when they heard that noise. Save yourself!”

The jackal was so scared that he ran away. And so the animal who had fooled so many was outwitted by a simple little kid!

After this the jackal found his way back to his own village, where the barber lived, and for a while he prowled round the houses every night, living on any bones he could find. The villagers did not like him coming, but they did not know how to catch him. Then one night the barber, who still bore a grudge about the stolen fruit, trapped him in a big net, after trying many times without success.

“Aha!” cried the barber. “I’ve got you at last, my friend. You may have got away from the cucumber knife, but you won’t get away this time. Here, wife, wife! Look what a prize I’ve caught!”

The barber’s wife came running to the door. The barber tied all four of the jackal’s legs tightly together with a strong rope and handed him to her. “Take this animal into the house,” he said, “and make sure he doesn’t escape while I go and get a knife to finish him off.”

The barber’s wife did as she was told and laid the jackal on the floor inside. But as soon as the barber had gone, the jackal said to her, “Ah, good woman, your husband will be back in a moment to put an end to me. For heaven’s sake, loosen the rope round my feet before he comes, just for one minute, and let me drink a little water from that puddle by the door, for my throat is parched.”

“No, no, friend jackal,” said the barber’s wife. “I know very well what you’ll do. The moment I untie your feet, you’ll run away, and when my husband comes back and finds you gone, he’ll beat me.”

“Indeed, indeed, I won’t run away,” said the jackal. “Ah, kind mother, have pity on me, just for one little moment.”

The barber’s wife thought, “Well, it’s hard to refuse the poor creature’s last wish. He won’t live long enough to have many more pleasures.” So she untied the jackal’s legs and held him by a rope so that he could drink from the puddle. But in a flash he gave a jump and a twist and a tug, jerked the rope out of her hand and escaped into the jungle one more time.

For some time he wandered up and down, living on whatever he could find in one village or another, until he had roamed very far from the barber’s country. At last one day he happened to pass a cottage where a very poor Brahmin lived with his seven daughters.

As the jackal went by, the Brahmin was saying to himself, “Oh dear me! What am I to do with my seven daughters? I shall have to keep them all my life, for we are much too poor for any of them ever to marry. If a dog or a jackal offered to take one of them off my hands, he could have her.”

The next day the jackal called on the Brahmin. “Yesterday you said that if a jackal or a dog offered to marry one of your daughters, you would let him have her,” he said. “Will you accept me as your son-in-law?”

The poor Brahmin was very embarrassed. But there was no doubt he had said those words, so he felt that his honour would not let him take them back, though he had never dreamed he would find himself in such a fix. Just then all seven daughters began crying for bread, and their father had none to give them.

Seeing this, the jackal went on, “Let me marry one of your daughters, and I will take care of her. At least it will leave you one less to feed, and I will see that she never goes hungry.”

Then the Brahmin’s heart softened, and he gave the jackal his eldest daughter in marriage, and the jackal took her home to his den high up in the rocks.

Now you will say that there was never a jackal as clever as this. Quite true, for this was no ordinary jackal, or he could never have done all the things I have told you about. In fact he was a great rajah in disguise, who took the shape of a jackal for his own amusement, for he was a great magician as well as a great prince.

From the outside, the den where he took the Brahmin’s daughter looked like an ordinary hole in the rocks, but inside it was a splendid palace decorated with silver and gold, ivory and precious stones. Even his own wife did not know that he was not always a jackal. The rajah only took his human shape very early every morning, when he took off the jackal skin, washed it and brushed it and put it on again.

When he and the Brahmin’s daughter had lived happily in their home among the rocks for some time, the jackal saw his father-in-law, the old Brahmin, climbing the hill to visit him. The jackal was annoyed, for he knew the Brahmin was very poor and guessed he had probably come to beg, and so he had.

“Son-in-law,” said the Brahmin, “let me come into your cave and rest a while. I want to ask you for help, for I am very poor and in great need.”

“Don’t go into my cave,” said the jackal, for he did not want his father-in-law to see his fine palace. “It’s only a poor hole, not fit for you. But I’ll call my wife, so that you can see I haven’t eaten her, and the three of us will talk the matter over and see what we can do for you.”

So the Brahmin, his daughter and the jackal all sat down together on the hillside.

“I don’t know how to feed myself, my wife and my six daughters,” said the Brahmin. “Son-in-law jackal, can’t you help me?”

“It’s a difficult business,” said the jackal, “but I’ll do what I can.” He ran into his cave, fetched a big melon and gave it to the Brahmin. “Father-in-law,” he said, “take this melon and plant it in your garden. When it grows, sell all the fruit you find on it, and that will bring you some money.”

So the Brahmin took the melon home and planted it in his garden. By the next day it had grown into a fine plant covered with hundreds of beautiful ripe melons. The Brahmin and his wife and daughters were overjoyed, and all the neighbours were amazed. “How fast that melon plant has grown in the Brahmin’s garden!” they said.

Now a woman who lived close by happened to want some melons, and seeing how fine these were, she went straight to the Brahmin’s house and bought two or three from his wife. She took them home and cut them open, and then, marvel of marvels, what a sight met her eyes! Instead of the thick white flesh she expected, the inside of each melon was made of diamonds, rubies and emeralds, and all the seeds were huge pearls.

She locked her door at once, took all the money she had and ran back to the Brahmin’s wife. “Those melons you sold me were very good,” she said. “I like them so much that I’ll buy all the rest on your plant.” She paid her money and carried home every melon. This crafty woman told none of her friends about the treasure she had found, and the Brahmin and his family had no idea what they had lost, because they had never thought of opening any of the melons. So for all those jewels they were paid only a few pice, small copper coins, which was very hard.

The next day, when they looked out of the window, the melon plant was covered with fine ripe melons a second time, and the same woman came and bought them all. This went on for several days. There were so many melons, all so full of jewels, that the woman filled a whole room of her house with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls.

At last the wonderful melon plant began to wither, and when the woman came for melons one morning, the Brahmin’s wife had to tell her sadly, “Alas, there are no more melons on our plant.” And the woman went home very disappointed.

That day the Brahmin and his family had no money to buy food, and they were all miserable that their fine melon plant had withered. But the youngest daughter, who was a clever girl, thought, “Even if there are no melons good enough to sell, perhaps I can find one or two shrivelled ones that we could cook for dinner.” So she went out and searched carefully among the thick leaves and found two or three little withered melons. She brought them in and began to cut them up for cooking, and, more wonderful than wonderful, inside each little melon she found a handful of small emeralds, rubies, diamonds and pearls!

She called her father and mother and her five sisters. “Look what I’ve found!” she cried. “Look at these jewels and pearls! I expect all the melons we sold were just as full of them, or better. No wonder that woman was so eager to buy them all! Look, Father! Look, Mother! Look, sisters!”

They were all overjoyed to see the treasure, but the Brahmin said, “What a pity that we lost all the good of my son-in-law the jackal’s gift because we did not know what it was worth! I’ll go to that woman at once and try to make her give us back the melons she took.”

So he went to the melon buyer’s house. “Give me back the melons you took from me when I didn’t know what they were worth,” he said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“You were very deceitful,” he said. “You bought melons full of jewels from poor people who didn’t know their value, and you paid no more than the price of ordinary melons. Give me some of them back, I beg you.”

“I bought ordinary melons from your wife,” she said, “and I made them all into ordinary soup long ago. So stop talking nonsense about jewels and be off with you.” And she turned him out of the house, though all the while she had a whole roomful of the jewels she had found in the melons.

The Brahmin went home and said to his wife, “I can’t make that woman give back any of the melons. But give me the jewels our daughter has just found, and I’ll sell them to a jeweller and bring home some money.”

So he went into town, took the jewels to a jeweller and asked, “What will you give me for these?”

But the moment the jeweller saw them, he said, “How could a poor man like you come by jewels like these? You must have stolen them. You’re a thief! You stole these from my shop, and now you’ve come to sell them back to me!”

“No, no, sir! Indeed not, sir!” cried the Brahmin.

“Thief! Thief!” shouted the jeweller.

“Truly, sir, no,” said the Brahmin. “My son-in-law the jackal gave me a melon plant, and I found these jewels in one of the melons.”

“I don’t believe a word of it!” screamed the jeweller, and holding the Brahmin by the arm, he began to hit him. “Give back those jewels you stole from my shop!”

“No, I won’t!” roared the Brahmin. “Ow! Ow! Don’t hit me! I didn’t steal them!”

But the jeweller was determined to have the jewels. He kept hitting the Brahmin and called for the police, who came running to help him, and he shouted until a great crowd had gathered round his shop. Then he said to the Brahmin, “Give me the jewels you stole from me, or I’ll hand you over to the police and you’ll go to jail.” The Brahmin tried to explain about his son-in-law the jackal, but of course nobody believed him. He had to give the jewels to the jeweller to escape the police, and he ran home as fast as he could. And everyone thought the jeweller had been very kind to let him off so lightly.

The whole family was very unhappy when they heard what had happened. But his wife said, “You had better go to our son-in-law the jackal a second time and see what he can do for us.”

So the next day the Brahmin climbed the hill and called on the jackal. The jackal was not very pleased to see him coming. He went to meet him and said, “Father-in-law, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“I only came to see how you were,” said the Brahmin, “and to tell you how poor we are, and how glad we would be of any help you can give us.”

“What have you done with all the melons I gave you?” asked the jackal.

“Ah,” said the Brahmin, “that’s a sad story!” And starting at the beginning, he explained how they had sold nearly all the melons without knowing their value, and how the jeweller had taken the few jewels they had found.

The jackal laughed heartily. “I see it’s no use giving gold or jewels to unlucky people like you,” he said. “They only get you into trouble. Come, I’ll give you something more useful.” He ran into his cave and fetched a small chattee. “Take this pot,” he said. “Whenever you or any of the family are hungry, you will always find a dinner as good as this in it.” And he put his paw into the pot and pulled out curry and rice, pilau, which Frere’s footnote describes as meat cooked with almonds, raisins and spice, and all sorts of good things, enough to feed a hundred men. And the more he took out, the more was left inside.

When the Brahmin saw the pot and smelled the delicious dinner, his eyes shone with joy. He hugged the jackal and said, “Dear son-in-law, you are the only support of our house!” And he carried his new present carefully home.

After this the whole family lived very happily for some time, for they never lacked good food. Every day the Brahmin, his wife and his six daughters found a delicious dinner in the pot, and every day after they had eaten, they put it on a shelf and found it full by the next mealtime.

But nearby lived another Brahmin, a very important man who was close to the rajah of that land. Every day this man smelled the smell of a wonderful dinner, and it puzzled him a great deal. He thought it smelled even better than his own dinner, which cost him so much, yet it seemed to come from the poor Brahmin’s little cottage. So one day he decided to find out about it. He called on his neighbour and said, “Every day at about twelve o’clock I smell a delicious dinner, much better than my own, and it seems to come from your house. You must eat very well, I think, though everyone believes you are so poor.”

Then the poor Brahmin, swelling with pride, invited his rich neighbour to dine with him. He lifted the magic pot down from the shelf and took out food finer than the other man had ever tasted. And in an unlucky moment he told his friend all about the wonderful pot his son-in-law the jackal had given him, and how it was never empty.

As soon as the important man had heard all this, he went to the rajah and said, “There is a poor Brahmin in the town who owns a wonderful pot that is always full of the most delicious dinner. I would not feel I had the right to take it from him, but if Your Highness chose to take it, he could hardly complain.”

The rajah decided to see and taste for himself. “I should very much like to see this pot with my own eyes,” he said, and he went with the rich Brahmin to the poor Brahmin’s house. The poor Brahmin was delighted to be noticed by the rajah himself and gladly showed off all the wonders of the pot. But as soon as the rajah had tasted the dinner inside it, he ordered his guards to seize the pot and carry it off to the palace, in spite of the Brahmin’s tears and protests. So for the second time the Brahmin lost the benefit of his son-in-law’s gift.

When the rajah had gone, the Brahmin said to his wife, “There’s nothing for it but to go to the jackal and see whether he can help us.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll wear out his patience in the end,” said his wife. “I can’t think why you had to go talking about our pot!”

When the jackal heard the Brahmin’s story, he was very cross. “What a foolish old man you were to say anything about the pot!” he said. “But look, here is another one that may help you get the first one back. Take good care of it, for this is the last time I will help you.”

He gave the Brahmin a pot with a stout stick inside it, tied to a very strong rope. “Take this to the people who robbed you of my other gifts,” he said, “and when you open it, order the stick to beat them. It will do it so well that they will be glad to give back what you have lost. Only take care not to open the pot when you are alone, or the stick inside will punish you for being so rash.”

The Brahmin thanked his son-in-law and took the pot, but he found it hard to believe everything he had been told. So as he went home through the jungle, he lifted the lid just to peep in and see whether the stick was really there. The moment he did, out jumped the rope and out jumped the stick. The rope tied him to a tree, and the stick beat him and beat him and beat him.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” yelled the Brahmin. “What an unlucky man I am! Stop, please stop! Good stick, stop! What a very good stick this is!” But the stick would not stop, and it beat him so soundly that he could hardly crawl home.

Then the Brahmin put the rope and the stick back in the pot and sent word to his rich neighbour and the rajah: “I have a new pot, much better than the old one. Do come and see what a fine one it is.”

The rich Brahmin and the rajah thought, “This sounds good. There must be a fine dinner in this pot too, and we will take it from this foolish man just as we took the other.” So they went out to meet the Brahmin in the jungle, bringing all their followers and servants with them.

Then the Brahmin lifted the lid of his pot and said, “Beat, stick, beat! Beat every one of them!” Out jumped the stick, and out jumped the rope. The rope caught the rajah and the rich Brahmin and all their servants and tied them tightly to the trees round about, and the stick ran from one to the next, beating, beating, beating. It beat the rajah and his courtiers, it beat the rich Brahmin and his servants and it beat all their followers, while the poor Brahmin shouted with all his might, “Give me back my pot! Give me back my pot!”

The rajah and his people were terrified, for they thought they were going to be killed. “Take away your stick!” cried the rajah. “Only take away your stick, and you shall have your pot back.”

So the Brahmin put the stick and the rope back in the pot, and the rajah gave him back the pot that made dinners. And after that all the people were very much afraid of the Brahmin and treated him with great respect.

Next he took the pot with the rope and stick in it to the house of the woman who had bought the melons. The rope caught her and the stick beat her, and the Brahmin cried, “Give me back those melons! Give me back those melons!”

“Only make your stick stop beating me, and you shall have all the melons!” cried the woman. So he ordered the stick back into its pot, and she gave him the melons at once, a whole roomful of them, full of diamonds, pearls, emeralds and rubies.

The Brahmin took them home to his wife. Then he went into town and, with the help of his good stick, made the jeweller give back the little emeralds, rubies, diamonds and pearls that he had taken from him. When that was done, he went home to his family, and after that they all lived very happily.

Then one day the jackal’s wife invited her six sisters to visit her. The youngest sister was cleverer than all the others, and very early one morning she saw her brother-in-law the jackal take off his jackal skin, wash it, brush it and hang it up to dry. Without the jackal skin, he looked like the most handsome prince anyone had ever seen.

Quickly and quietly, his little sister-in-law crept up, took the jackal-skin coat, threw it on the fire and burned it. Then she woke her sister. “Sister, sister,” she said, “your husband isn’t a jackal any more! Look, that’s him standing by the door.”

So the jackal rajah’s wife ran to the door to meet her husband. And because the jackal skin was burned and he could not wear it any more, he stayed a man for the rest of his life and gave up all his jackal-like pranks. And he and his wife, with her father and mother and her sisters, lived very happily all the rest of their days.

Where this tale comes from

This tale comes from Old Deccan Days; or, Hindoo Fairy Legends Current in Southern India, Mary Frere’s collection of stories told by Anna Liberata de Souza, with an introduction and notes by Sir Bartle Frere. This retelling uses the Philadelphia edition published by J. B. Lippincott in 1870. Frere’s own footnotes explain several words kept here: a chattee is an earthenware pot, pilau is meat cooked with almonds, raisins and spice, and the sikakai is a kind of acacia.

The jackal’s wound from the barber’s hidden knife, the beatings and the jackal being stuck to the rock are told with less detail than in Frere’s version. Frere names the men who come to bury the dead bullock by their caste; here they are simply the village workers whose job it was to carry away dead animals.

Read the original: M. Frere, Old Deccan Days (Project Gutenberg #36696, The Jackal, the Barber and the Brahmin Who Had Seven Daughters)

Reading guidance: Ages 9–12 with adult preview; a long tale with a severe knife wound, threats of killing, domestic-abuse fears, repeated beatings including bystanders, and a marriage arranged without the daughter’s stated choice.

A closer reading

This long tale changes direction when the apparently ordinary jackal is revealed as a prince in disguise. His earlier frauds are therefore choices made for amusement, not simply an animal’s struggle to survive. The revelation invites readers to reconsider the garden, false butter and impersonated deity in light of the wealth he has concealed.

Containers repeatedly separate appearance from value: the butter pot contains mud, melons contain jewels, a plain pot supplies dinner, and a second pot releases violence. The youngest sister discovers the hidden value of the melons by opening what others only sell; later she discovers the person concealed by the skin. Practical observation links her two interventions.

The Brahmin’s losses involve different kinds of exploitation. A buyer conceals valuable knowledge, a jeweller uses a false accusation and violence, and a ruler simply seizes the food pot. Calling the family unlucky is the jackal’s judgment, not a sufficient explanation. The recovery also beats servants and followers whose responsibility is not established, so restitution and indiscriminate punishment should be distinguished.

Marriage is arranged as relief from poverty without the daughter’s stated choice. Burning the skin likewise decides the husband’s future without consulting him. The cheerful ending closes these questions rather than answering them; it does not make deception or coercion disappear.

Try this with the story

Make a container chart for the butter pot, melons, food pot, stick pot and jackal skin. Record what is visible, what is hidden and who knows the difference. Then compare the three losses of the Brahmin’s gifts by asking who controls information, force or authority.

Talk about it

• How does learning that the jackal is a wealthy prince change your view of his earlier tricks?
• What connects the youngest sister’s discoveries about melons and the jackal skin?
• How do the buyer, jeweller and ruler exploit the family differently?
• Does recovering property justify beating everyone accompanying the ruler?

Related stories

• Punchkin | Deccan Fairy Tale of the External Soul (12+) — another tale from M. Frere’s Old Deccan Days, retold in Jacobs’s collection
• The Barbers Clever Wife — another Indian tale with a barber at its heart
• The Wise Jackal — another Indian story about a crafty jackal