THE FIVE WISE WORDS OF THE GURU
Once there lived a handsome young man named Ram
Singh, who, though a favourite with everyone, was unhappy
because he had a scold for a step-mother. All
day long she went on talking, until the youth was driven
so distracted that he determined to go away somewhere
and seek his fortune. No sooner had he decided to leave
his home than he made his plans, and the very next morning
he started off with a few clothes in a wallet, and a little
money in his pocket.
But there was one person in the village to whom he
wished to say good-bye, and that was a wise old guru, or
teacher, who had taught him much. So he turned his
face first of all towards his master’s hut, and before the
sun was well up was knocking at his door. The old
man received his pupil affectionately; but he was wise
in reading faces, and saw at once that the youth was in
trouble.
‘My son,’ said he, ‘what is the matter?’
‘Nothing, father,’ replied the young man, ‘but I have
determined to go into the world and seek my fortune.’
‘Be advised,’ returned the guru, ‘and remain in your
father’s house; it is better to have half a loaf at home than
to seek a whole one in distant countries.’
But Ram Singh was in no mood to heed such advice,
and very soon the old man ceased to press him.
‘Well,’ said he at last, ‘if your mind is made up I suppose
you must have your way. But listen carefully, and
remember five parting counsels which I will give you;
and if you keep these no evil shall befall you. First—always
obey without question the orders of him whose
service you enter; second—never speak harshly or unkindly
to anyone; third—never lie; fourth—never try
to appear the equal of those above you in station; and
fifth—wherever you go, if you meet those who read
or teach from the holy books, stay and listen, if but for a
few minutes, that you may be strengthened in the path
of duty.’
Then Ram Singh started out upon his journey, promising
to bear in mind the old man’s words.
After some days he came to a great city. He had spent
all the money which he had at starting, and therefore
resolved to look for work however humble it might be.
Catching sight of a prosperous-looking merchant standing
in front of a shop full of grain of all kinds, Ram Singh
went up to him and asked whether he could give him
anything to do. The merchant gazed at him so long
that the young man began to lose heart, but at length he
answered:
‘Yes, of course; there is a place waiting for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Ram Singh.
‘Why,’ replied the other, ‘yesterday our rajah’s chief
wazir dismissed his body servant and is wanting another.
Now you are just the sort of person that he needs, for you
are young and tall, and handsome; I advise you to apply
there.’
Thanking the merchant for this advice, the young man
set out at once for the wazir’s house, and soon managed,
thanks to his good looks and appearance, to be engaged
as the great man’s servant.
One day, soon after this, the rajah of the place started
on a journey and the chief wazir accompanied him. With
them was an army of servants and attendants, soldiers,
muleteers, camel-drivers, merchants with grain and stores
for man and beast, singers to make entertainment by the way and musicians to accompany them, besides elephants,
camels, horses, mules, ponies, donkeys, goats, and
carts and wagons of every kind and description, so that it
seemed more like a large town on the march than anything
else.
Thus they travelled for several days, till they entered
a country that was like a sea of sand, where the swirling
dust floated in clouds, and men and beasts were half
choked by it. Towards the close of that day they came
to a village, and when the headmen hurried out to salute
the rajah and to pay him their respects, they began, with
very long and serious faces, to explain that, whilst they
and all that they had were of course at the disposal of
the rajah, the coming of so large a company had nevertheless
put them into a dreadful difficulty because they
had never a well nor spring of water in their country; and
they had no water to give drink to such an army of men
and beasts!
Great fear fell upon the host at the words of the headmen,
but the rajah merely told the wazir that he must
get water somehow, and that settled the matter so far as
he was concerned. The wazir sent off in haste for all
the oldest men in the place, and began to question them
as to whether there were no wells near by.
They all looked helplessly at each other, and said nothing;
but at length one old grey-beard replied:
‘Truly, Sir Wazir, there is, within a mile or two of this
village, a well which some former king made hundreds of
years ago. It is, they say, great and inexhaustible, covered
in by heavy stone-work and with a flight of steps leading
down to the water in the very bowels of the earth; but no
man ever goes near it because it is haunted by evil spirits,
and it is known that whoso disappears down the well shall
never be seen again.’
The wazir stroked his beard and considered a moment.
Then he turned to Ram Singh who stood behind his
chair.
‘There is a proverb,’ said he, ‘that no man can be trusted
until he has been tried. Go you and get the rajah and
his people water from this well.’
Then there flashed into Ram Singh’s mind the first
counsel of the old guru—‘
Always obey without question
the orders of him whose service you enter.’ So he replied
at once that he was ready, and left to prepare for his adventure.
Two great brazen vessels he fastened to a mule,
two lesser ones he bound upon his shoulders, and thus
provided he set out, with the old villager for his guide.
In a short time they came to a spot where some big trees
towered above the barren country, whilst under their
shadow lay the dome of an ancient building. This the
guide pointed out as the well, but excused himself from
going further as he was an old man and tired, and it was
already nearly sunset, so that he must be returning home.
So Ram Singh bade him farewell, and went on alone with
the mule.
Arrived at the trees, Ram Singh tied up his beast,
lifted the vessels from his shoulder, and having found
the opening of the well, descended by a flight of steps
which led down into the darkness. The steps were broad
white slabs of alabaster which gleamed in the shadows
as he went lower and lower. All was very silent. Even
the sound of his bare feet upon the pavements seemed
to wake an echo in that lonely place, and when one of
the vessels which he carried slipped and fell upon the
steps it clanged so loudly that he jumped at the noise.
Still he went on, until at last he reached a wide
pool of sweet water, and there he washed his jars with
care before he filled them, and began to remount the steps
with the lighter vessels, as the big ones were so heavy he
could only take up one at a time. Suddenly, something
moved above him, and looking up he saw a great giant
standing on the stairway! In one hand he held clasped
to his heart a dreadful looking mass of bones, in the other
was a lamp which cast long shadows about the walls,
and made him seem even more terrible than he really
was.
‘What think you, O mortal,’ said the giant, ‘of my fair
and lovely wife?’ And he held the light towards the bones
in his arms and looked lovingly at them.
Now I must tell you that this poor giant had had a
very beautiful wife, whom he had loved dearly; but, when
she died, her husband refused to believe in her death, and
always carried her about long after she had become nothing
but bones. Ram Singh of course did not know of this,
but there came to his mind the second wise saying of the
guru, which forbade him to speak harshly or inconsiderately
to others; so he replied:
‘Truly, sir, I am sure you could find nowhere such
another.’
‘Ah, what eyes you have!’ cried the delighted giant,
‘you at least can see! I do not know how often I have
slain those who insulted her by saying she was but dried
bones! You are a fine young man, and I will help you.’
So saying, he laid down the bones with great tenderness,
and snatching up the huge brass vessels, carried them up
again, and replaced them with such ease that it was all
done by the time that Ram Singh had reached the open
air with the smaller ones.
‘Now,’ said the giant, ‘you have pleased me, and you
may ask of me one favour, and whatever you wish I will
do it for you. Perhaps you would like me to show you
where lies buried the treasure of dead kings?’ he added
eagerly.
But Ram Singh shook his head at the mention of buried
wealth.
‘The favour that I would ask,’ said he, ‘is that you
will leave off haunting this well, so that men may go in
and out and obtain water.’
Perhaps the giant expected some favour more difficult to
grant, for his face brightened, and he promised to depart
at once; and as Ram Singh went off through the gathering
darkness with his precious burden of water, he beheld the
giant striding away with the bones of his dead wife in his
arms.
Great was the wonder and rejoicing in the camp when
Ram Singh returned with the water. He never said anything,
however, about his adventure with the giant, but
merely told the rajah that there was nothing to prevent
the well being used; and used it was, and nobody ever
saw any more of the giant.
The rajah was so pleased with the bearing of Ram
Singh that he ordered the wazir to give the young man
to him in exchange for one of his own servants. So Ram
Singh became the rajah’s attendant; and as the days
went by the king became more and more delighted with
the youth because, mindful of the old guru’s third counsel,
he was always honest and spoke the truth. He grew
in favour rapidly, until at last the rajah made him his
treasurer, and thus he reached a high place in the court
and had wealth and power in his hands. Unluckily
the rajah had a brother who was a very bad man; and
this brother thought that if he could win the young
treasurer over to himself he might by this means manage
to steal little by little any of the king’s treasure which
he needed. Then, with plenty of money, he could
bribe the soldiers and some of the rajah’s counsellors,
head a rebellion, dethrone and kill his brother, and reign
himself instead. He was too wary, of course, to tell
Ram Singh of all these wicked plans; but he began by
flattering him whenever he saw him, and at last offered
him his daughter in marriage. But Ram Singh remembered
the fourth counsel of the old guru—never to try
to appear the equal of those above him in station—therefore
he respectfully declined the great honour of marrying
a princess. Of course the prince, baffled at the very
beginning of his enterprise, was furious, and determined
to work Ram Singh’s ruin, and entering the rajah’s presence
he told him a story about Ram Singh having spoken
insulting words of his sovereign and of his daughter.
What it was all about nobody knew, and, as it was
not true, the wicked prince did not know either; but
the rajah grew very angry and red in the face as he
listened, and declared that until the treasurer’s head was
cut off neither he nor the princess nor his brother would
eat or drink.
‘But,’ added he, ‘I do not wish any one to know that
this was done by my desire, and anyone who mentions
the subject will be severely punished.’ And with this the
prince was forced to be content.
Then the rajah sent for an officer of his guard, and
told him to take some soldiers and ride at once to a tower
which was situated just outside the town, and if anyone
should come to inquire when the building was going to
be finished, or should ask any other questions about it,
the officer must chop his head off, and bring it to him.
As for the body, that could be buried on the spot. The
old officer thought these instructions rather odd, but it
was no business of his, so he saluted, and went off to do
his master’s bidding.
Early in the morning the rajah, who had not slept all
night, sent for Ram Singh, and bade him go to the new
hunting-tower, and ask the people there how it was getting
on and when it was going to be finished, and to hurry
back with the answer! Away went Ram Singh upon his
errand, but, on the road, as he was passing a little
temple on the outskirts of the city, he heard someone
inside reading aloud; and, remembering the guru’s fifth
counsel, he just stepped inside and sat down to listen
for a minute. He did not mean to stay longer, but became
so deeply interested in the wisdom of the teacher,
that he sat, and sat, and sat, while the sun rose higher
and higher.
In the meantime, the wicked prince, who dared not
disobey the rajah’s command, was feeling very hungry;
and as for the princess, she was quietly crying in a corner
waiting for the news of Ram Singh’s death, so that she
might eat her breakfast.
Hours passed, and stare as he might from the window
no messenger could be seen.
At last the prince could bear it no longer, and hastily
disguising himself so that no one should recognise him,
he jumped on a horse and galloped out to the hunting-tower,
where the rajah had told him that the execution
was to take place. But, when he got there, there was no
execution going on. There were only some men engaged
in building, and a number of soldiers idly watching them.
He forgot that he had disguised himself and that no one
would know him, so, riding up, he cried out:
‘Now then, you men, why are you idling about here
instead of finishing what you came to do? When is it to
be done?’
At his words the soldiers looked at the commanding
officer, who was standing a little apart from the rest.
Unperceived by the prince he made a slight sign, a sword
flashed in the sun, and off flew a head on the ground
beneath!
As part of the prince’s disguise had been a thick beard,
the men did not recognise the dead man as the rajah’s
brother; but they wrapped the head in a cloth, and buried
the body as their commander bade them. When this was
ended, the officer took the cloth, and rode off in the direction
of the palace.
Meanwhile the rajah came home from his council,
and to his great surprise found neither head nor brother
awaiting him; as time passed on, he became uneasy,
and thought that he had better go himself and see what
the matter was. So ordering his horse he rode off
alone.
It happened that, just as the rajah came near to the
temple where Ram Singh still sat, the young treasurer,
hearing the sound of a horse’s hoofs, looked over his
shoulder and saw that the rider was the rajah himself!
Feeling much ashamed of himself for having forgotten
his errand, he jumped up and hurried out to meet his
master, who reined up his horse, and seemed very surprised
(as indeed he was) to see
him. At that moment
there arrived the officer of the guard carrying his parcel.
He saluted the rajah gravely, and, dismounting, laid the
bundle in the road and began to undo the wrappings,
whilst the rajah watched him with wonder and interest.
When the last string was undone, and the head of his
brother was displayed to his view, the rajah sprang from
his horse and caught the soldier by the arm. As soon
as he could speak he questioned the man as to what had
occurred, and little by little a dark suspicion darted through
him. Then, briefly telling the soldier that he had done
well, the rajah drew Ram Singh to one side, and in a few
minutes learned from him how, in attending to the guru’s
counsel, he had delayed to do the king’s message.
In the end the rajah found from some papers the proofs
of his dead brother’s treachery; and Ram Singh established
his innocence and integrity. He continued to serve the
rajah for many years with unswerving fidelity; and married
a maiden of his own rank in life, with whom he lived happily;
dying at last honoured and loved by all men. Sons
and daughters were born to him; and, in time, to them also he taught
the five wise sayings of the old guru.
(A Punjâbi story.)
"To see men
without clothes to cover their nakedness, without blankets to lie on,
without shoes, by which their marches might be traced by the blood
from their feet, and almost as often without provisions as with them
marching through the frost and snow..." (Washington's letter to the
President of Congress, written at Valley Forge, December 23, 1777.)
