The Ruby Prince

A poor Brahman walking a dusty road saw something sparkle, picked it up—a small red stone—and, thinking it curious, took it to a shop. The shopkeeper looked honestly at its value and he told the Brahman to carry it to the king, for all the goods in his shop were not its equal.

At the palace the prime minister first refused him entry; the Brahman persisted that he bore a rarity, and at last was shown in. The snake-stone shone like a ruby, red and fiery. “What do you want for this ruby?” asked the king. “Only a pound of meal for a girdle cake—I am hungry.” “Nay, it is worth more!” The king had a lakh of rupees counted out; the Brahman went rejoicing. Then the king gave the jewel into the queen’s keeping with many orders for safety—there was not its like in the world. She locked it in a chest.

Twelve years the ruby snake-stone lay there. At last the king asked to see it to satisfy himself it was safe. The queen opened the chest—and lo! the ruby was gone, and in its place a handsome stripling. She shut the box in a hurry and thought hard. The king grew impatient and sent a servant. She had the box carried to the audience chamber, unlocked it there, and out stepped the youth to everyone’s astonishment.

“Who are you, and where is my jewel?” “I am Ruby Prince; more than that you cannot know.” Angry, the king drove him from the palace—yet, being just, first gave him a horse and arms to fight his way in the world.

On the town’s outskirts Ruby saw an old woman making bread who laughed as she mixed flour and cried as she kneaded. Why? Because her son must die that day—an ogre ate a young man daily, and it was her son’s turn. Ruby laughed at her fears and offered to kill the ogre if she would let him sleep and wake him at the hour. What good? she asked—he would only be killed, and her son would go tomorrow. Sleep if you will, but I will not wake you. Still he laughed: fight he would; since she would not wake him he would sleep at the meeting place. He rode beyond the gates, tied his horse, and slept. By and by the ogre came for dinner, heard no noise, saw no one—then Ruby woke, fought, and slew it, cutting off head and hands and setting them on the city gate before going back to sleep in the old woman’s house.

Townspeople, seeing the head and hands over the gate, thought the creature had come for revenge and ran panic-stricken to the king. The old woman laughed. Why? Because the ogre was killed, and the prince who killed it slept in her house. Amazement—yet closer look showed the remains were of a dead thing. “Show me this valiant sleeper,” said the king. He recognized the lad he had driven out, and asked his prime minister what reward such a youth should have. “Your daughter in marriage, and half your kingdom.” So Ruby Prince was married in state and given half the realm to rule.

The young bride loved him yet fretted that she knew not who he was; palace women twitted her for marrying a stranger from nowhere. Day after day she asked his race and origin; every day he answered, “Dear heart, ask anything but that—that you must not know.” Still she begged, prayed, wept, coaxed. One day by the river she whispered, “If you love me, tell me of what race you are!” His foot touched the water as he gave the same reply. She pressed again; he stood knee-deep, face sad. Once more; he was waist-deep—“Dear heart, anything but that!” “Tell me! tell me!” she cried—and lo! a jewelled snake with golden crown and ruby star reared from the water, looked at her sorrowfully, and disappeared beneath the stream.

She went home weeping, cursing her curiosity. She offered a bushel of gold to anyone who would bring news of him. A dancing-girl said that at a certain tree beyond the city, by night, wonders happened. The next night princess and dancing-girl hid behind the trunk. Light that was neither sun nor moon rose; a sweeper swept, a water-carrier sprinkled, carpet-bearers spread rugs; then a glittering procession with the Snake-king in its midst. Young men danced before him; among them was Ruby Prince, marked by the red star on his forehead, looking pale and sad. When all had performed, the light went out. Every night she watched; every day she wept, no nearer reclaiming him.

At last the dancing-girl proposed: the Snake-king loved dancing, yet only men danced before him—if a woman danced and won a boon, she might ask for the man. “Nay—I will learn of you and try myself,” said the princess. She learned so fast she surpassed her teacher; never was such graceful dancing seen. With beating heart she hid, waited through sweeper and carpets, then stepped out when Ruby hesitated at his turn to dance and performed as never before. The Snake-king was enchanted and promised any gift. “Give me the man for whom I danced!” He looked fierce, eyes glittering: she had asked what she had no right to ask—he should kill her but for his promise. “Take him, and begone!” Quick as thought she seized Ruby’s hand, dragged him beyond the circle, and fled.

After that they lived happily; and though women still taunted her, the princess held her tongue and never again asked him of what race her husband came from.

About this story

“The Ruby Prince” is from Flora Annie Steel’s Tales of the Punjab (1894). R. C. Temple notes that the prince’s name, La’ljî (“Mr Ruby”), is a common name that can also mean “beloved son,” and that the snake-stone is the mani, the jewel that Indian folklore places in a cobra’s hood.

The trouble begins with the one question the princess is told never to ask. The ogre’s killing is brief, and the snake-king’s threat at the end is kept as in the source.

Read the original: Flora Annie Steel, Tales of the Punjab, 1894 (Project Gutenberg #6145)

Reading guidance: ages 9–12 with adult selection. The tale contains an ogre’s death and severed head and hands, social pressure over ancestry, and a threat to kill the princess.

A closer reading

The princess’s questions are encouraged by palace taunts about her husband’s ancestry. The pressure comes from treating an unknown family background as shameful, even after Ruby Prince has protected the town. His repeated refusal creates a magical boundary in this tale, but it is not a general rule that spouses have no right to ask about one another’s lives.

The rescue requires the princess to learn a skill and act publicly. The dancer supplies both the information and a plan, and the princess chooses to perform it herself. Her request reverses the earlier pattern: a question once separated the couple; a carefully chosen request now reunites them. The Snake-king and Ruby Prince must remain distinct for this scene to make sense—the king grants a boon that releases the man dancing in his court.

Try this with the story

Compare the repeated river question with the request after the dance. Identify who is asked, what is sought, and what each speaker knows about the consequences. Then trace the dancing woman’s contribution from discovery to training, rather than crediting the rescue to the princess alone.

Talk about it

• Why did Ruby Prince tell his wife never to ask about his family?
• Why do you think the princess kept asking, even though she had been warned?
• How did the princess win her husband back from the snake-king, and what does that show about her?

Related stories

• The Snake Prince — another Indian tale where a wife must win back a husband taken by magic
• The Snake-Woman and King Ali Mardan — a Punjabi tale about snakes, kings and dangerous magic
• Lily and the Lion — a Grimm heroine who searches long and hard for her lost husband