The Thanksgiving of the Wazir

In Hindustan two neighbouring kings—one a Hindu rajah, one a Muslim badshah—rivalled each other in wealth and power and were no friends. To avoid endless quarrels they signed a stamped agreement: if any subject, from least to greatest, crossed the border, he might be seized and punished.

One morning the badshah and his chief wazir sat to the kingdom’s business. The king took up a pen and pared it with a sharp knife; the blade slipped and sliced off his fingertip.

“Oh—wazir! I’ve cut the tip of my finger off!”

“That is good hearing!” answered the wazir.

“Insolent one!” cried the king. “Do you take pleasure in others’ misfortunes—and in mine? Guards, take him to the court prison until I can punish him as he deserves!”

Officers dragged the luckless minister toward the narrow door that led to prison or the block. As it opened he muttered something into his great white beard the soldiers could not catch.

“What said the rascal?” shouted the angry king.

“He says he thanks your majesty,” replied one of the gaolers. The king stared at the closing door in anger and amazement. “He must be mad,” he cried, “for he is grateful not only for others’ mishaps but for his own!”

The king was fond of his old wazir. The court physician bound the finger with cool ointment and soothed the sting, yet nothing soothed the sore in the king’s heart; ministers and courtiers found him cross all day.

Early next morning he ordered his horse for a hunt. Stable and hall bustled; a score of ministers and huntsmen stood ready—but he would have none of them, glaring until they were glad to leave him. Alone he wandered field and forest, so moody that fat bucks and bright pheasants escaped unnoticed, so heedless of the path that he strayed, unseeing, into the rajah’s territory. Men stepped from a thicket on every side; nothing remained but surrender. Bound and taken to the rajah’s prison, he thought most of his wazir suffering a like fate, and wished he too could find something for which to give thanks.

That night the rajah held a special council. Brahman priests came to determine which days they considered lucky or unlucky—while other councillors offered so many conflicting plans that the rajah nearly went crazy with anger and indecision. In a corner the chief Brahman figured sums and signs; at last he rose.

“Well—what do you advise?”

“A very unlucky day! The goddess Devi is full of wrath and commands that tomorrow you chop off this badshah’s head and offer it in sacrifice.”

“Ah, well—let it be done. I leave the sentence to you.” The rajah bowed to the priests and left.

Before dawn banners waved, drummers drummed, singers chanted, priests washed, anointed themselves and performed rites, and the rajah sat nervous among hundreds of courtiers, wishing it over. At last the bound badshah was led out for the blow. The chief Brahman approached smiling, sword in hand—then noticed a rag on the finger. He dropped the sword, tore the rag off in excitement, and saw the tip missing. Red with rage, he dragged the prisoner before the wondering rajah.

“Behold! This sacrifice is useless—the fingertip is gone! A sacrifice is no sacrifice unless complete.” He wept with mortification.

Instead of wailing, the rajah sighed in relief. If it had been anyone else he might not have minded; but somehow—a king and all—it did not seem quite right to sacrifice a king. With his jewelled dagger he cut the cords and marched his guest from temple to palace.

After bathing and refreshing him, the rajah heaped gifts and escorted him with a large train to the frontier. There, amid salutes and rejoicing, they tore up the old agreement and wrote a new one promising welcome and safe conduct to any of the other’s people, least or greatest, on any errand. They embraced and parted.

That very evening the badshah sent for his imprisoned wazir. “Well, O wazir—what think you has been happening to me?”

“How can a man in prison know what happens outside?”

The king told all his adventures, then added that in gratitude for escape he would pardon freely—if the wazir explained why he gave thanks when the fingertip was cut.

“Sire, was it not lucky that you lost that scrap? Otherwise you would certainly have lost your head. A scrap of finger is surely the lesser evil.”

“Very true,” said the king, touching his head to make sure it remained—“but why give thanks also when I put you in prison?”

“I gave thanks because it is always good to give thanks. And had I known my imprisonment would keep Devi from claiming me in your place as a perfect offering, I should have given greater thanks still.”

About this story

“The Thanksgiving of the Wazir” is marked “Punjabi story” in Andrew Lang’s The Olive Fairy Book, published by Longmans, Green in 1907 with pictures by H. J. Ford. Lang’s preface thanks Major Campbell for Indian tales but does not say which ones he supplied.

A wazir is a chief minister and a badshah a Muslim king; the rajah here is a Hindu king, and the two rulers are rivals. The story turns on the priest’s demand for a physically uninjured sacrifice, so the cut finger saves the king. This is a rule within the tale, not a general account of Hindu worship. The execution is stopped; the king has already suffered his finger injury and imprisonment.

Read the original: Andrew Lang, The Olive Fairy Book, 1907 (Project Gutenberg #27826)

Reading guidance: For ages 9–12 with adult discussion of injury, wrongful imprisonment and a threatened human sacrifice that is stopped.

A closer reading

The king interprets gratitude as mockery because he hears it while in pain. Later he can connect the finger injury to his escape, while the wazir connects imprisonment to his absence from the hunt. Both explanations are retrospective: neither man knew those consequences when the injury and imprisonment occurred.

A second reversal changes more than the king’s private fortune. The rulers replace a treaty authorizing capture with one welcoming travelers. Their relief produces a concrete reform, though the rajah’s special reluctance to kill another king exposes unequal concern for ordinary prisoners. Gratitude need not mean approving an unjust imprisonment or expecting every loss to bring a benefit.

Try this with the story

Mark what the king, wazir and reader know at three moments: the cut finger, the capture and the reunion. Identify the moment when each apparent misfortune acquires a new meaning. Then compare the old and new border agreements to find who benefits beyond the two main characters.

Talk about it

• Why did the wazir say “That is good hearing!” when the king cut his finger?
• Why do you think the rajah was secretly relieved that the sacrifice could not happen?
• Can you think of a time when something that seemed unlucky turned out well? What happened?

Related stories

• The Five Wise Words of the Guru — another Punjabi tale in the same collection about trusting good advice
• A Lac of Rupees for a Piece of Advice — an Indian story where wise words turn out to be worth a fortune
• A Long-Bow Story — a comic Indian tale from The Olive Fairy Book about a tall-story contest