My husband was a servant in Government House--that was when Lord Clare was governor here. When I was twenty years old, my husband died of a bad fever, and left me with two children--the boy and the girl, Rosie.

I had no money to keep them with, so I said, "I'll go to service," and my mother-in-law said, "How can you go with two children, and so young, and knowing nothing?" But I said, "I can learn, and I'll go;" and a kind lady took me into her service. When I went to my first place, I hardly knew a word of English (though I knew our Calicut language, and Portuguese, and Hindostani, and Mahratti well enough), and I could not hold a needle. I was so stupid, like a Coolie-woman;[22] but my mistress was very kind to me, and I soon learnt; she did not mind the trouble of teaching me. I often think, "Where find such good Christian people in these days?" To take a poor, stupid woman and her two children into the house--for I had them both with me, Rosie and the boy. I was a sharp girl in those days; I did my mistress' work and I looked after the children too. I never left them to any one else. If she wanted me for a long time, I used to bring the children into the room and set them down on the floor, so as to have them under my own eye whilst I did her work. My mistress was very fond of Rosie, and used to teach her to work and read. After some time my mistress went home, and since then I have been in eight places.

[22] A low caste--hewers of wood and drawers of water.

My brother-in-law was valet at that time to Napier Sahib, up in Sind.

All the people and servants were very fond of that Sahib. My brother-in-law was with him for ten years; and he wanted me to go up there to get place as ayah, and said, "You quick, sharp girl, and know English very well; you easily get good place and make plenty money."

But I such a foolish woman I would not go. I write and tell him, "No, I can't come, for Sind such a long way off, and I cannot leave the children." I plenty proud then. I give up all for the children. But now what good? I know your language. What use? To blow the fire? I only a miserable woman, fit to go to cook-room and cook the dinner. So go down in the world, a poor woman (not much good to have plenty in head and empty pocket!) but if I'd been a man I might now be a Fouzdar.[23]

[23] Chief Constable.

I was at Kolapore[24] at the time of the mutiny, and we had to run away in the middle of the night; but I've told you before all about that. Then seven years ago my mother died (she was ninety when she died), and we came back to live at Poona, and my daughter was married, and I was so happy and pleased.

[24] Capital of the Kolapore State, in the Southern Mahratta country.

I gave a feast then to three hundred people, and we had music and dancing, and my son, he so proud he dancing from morning to night, and running here and there arranging everything; and on that day I said, "Throw the doors open, and any beggar, any poor person come here, give them what they like to eat, for whoever comes shall have enough, since there's no more work for me in the world." So, thinking I should be able to leave service, and give up work, I spent all the money I had left. That was not very much, for in sending my son to school I'd spent a great deal. He was such a beauty boy--tall, straight, handsome--and so clever. They used to say he looked more like my brother than my son, and he said to me, "Mammy, you've worked for us all your life; now I'm grown up, I'll get a clerk's place and work for you. You shall work no more, but live in my house." But last year he was drowned in the river. That was my great sad. Since then I couldn't lift up my head. I can't remember things now as I used to do, and all is muddled in my head, six and seven. It makes me sad sometimes to hear you laughing and talking so happy with your father and mother and all your family, when I think of my father, and mother, and brothers, and husband, and son, all dead and gone! No more happy home like that for me. What should I care to live for? I would come to England with you, for I know you would be good to me and bury me when I die, but I cannot go so far from Rosie. My one eye put out, my other eye left. I could not lose it too. If it were not for Rosie and her children I should like to travel about and see the world. There are four places I have always wished to see--Calcutta, Madras, England and Jerusalem (my poor mother always wished to see Jerusalem, too--that her great hope); but I shall not see them now. Many ladies wanted to take me to England with them, and if I had gone I should have saved plenty money, but now it is too late to think of that. Besides, it would not be much use.

What's the good of my saving money? Can I take it away with me when I die? My father and grandfather did not do so, and they had enough to live on till they died. I have enough for what I want, and I've plenty poor relations. They all come to me, asking for money, and I give it them. I thank our Saviour there are enough good Christians here to give me a slice of bread and cup of water when I can't work for it. I do not fear to come to want.

Government House, Parell, Bombay, 1866.

[Decoration]

OLD DECCAN DAYS.

I.

_PUNCHKIN._

Once upon a time there was a Rajah[25] who had seven beautiful daughters. They were all good girls; but the youngest, named Balna,[26] was more clever than the rest. The Rajah's wife died when they were quite little children, so these seven poor Princesses were left with no mother to take care of them.

[25] King.

[26] The Little One.

The Rajah's daughters took it by turns to cook their father's dinner every day,[27] whilst he was absent deliberating with his ministers on the affairs of the nation.

[27] See Notes at the end.

About this time the Purdan[28] died, leaving a widow and one daughter; and every day, every day, when the seven Princesses were preparing their father's dinner, the Purdan's widow and daughter would come and beg for a little fire from the hearth. Then Balna used to say to her sisters, "Send that woman away; send her away. Let her get the fire at her own house. What does she want with ours? If we allow her to come here, we shall suffer for it some day." But the other sisters would answer, "Be quiet, Balna; why must you always be quarreling with this poor woman? Let her take some fire if she likes." Then the Purdan's widow used to go to the hearth and take a few sticks from it; and, whilst no one was looking, she would quickly throw some mud into the midst of the dishes which were being prepared for the Rajah's dinner.

[28] Or, more correctly, _Prudhan_, Prime Minister.

Now the Rajah was very fond of his daughters. Ever since their mother's death they had cooked his dinner with their own hands, in order to avoid the danger of his being poisoned by his enemies. So, when he found the mud mixed up with his dinner, he thought it must arise from their carelessness, as it appeared improbable that any one should have put mud there on purpose; but being very kind, he did not like to reprove them for it, although this spoiling of the currie was repeated many successive days.

At last, one day, he determined to hide and watch his daughters cooking, and see how it all happened; so he went into the next room, and watched them through a hole in the wall.

There he saw his seven daughters carefully washing the rice and preparing the currie, and as each dish was completed, they put it by the fire ready to be cooked. Next he noticed the Purdan's widow come to the door, and beg for a few sticks from the fire to cook her dinner with. Balna turned to her, angrily, and said, "Why don't you keep fuel in your own house, and not come here every day and take ours?

Sisters, don't give this woman any more; let her buy it for herself."

Then the eldest sister answered, "Balna, let the poor woman take the wood and the fire; she does us no harm." But Balna replied, "If you let her come here so often, maybe she will do us some harm, and make us sorry for it, some day."

The Rajah then saw the Purdan's widow go to the place where all his dinner was nicely prepared, and, as she took the wood, she threw a little mud into each of the dishes.

At this he was very angry, and sent to have the woman seized and brought before him. But when the widow came, she told him that she had played this trick because she wanted to gain an audience with him; and she spoke so cleverly, and pleased him so well with her cunning words, that instead of punishing her, the Rajah married her, and made her his Ranee,[29] and she and her daughter came to live in the palace.

[29] Queen.

The new Ranee hated the seven poor Princesses, and wanted to get them, if possible, out of the way, in order that her daughter might have all their riches and live in the palace as Princess in their place; and instead of being grateful to them for their kindness to her, she did all she could to make them miserable. She gave them nothing but bread to eat, and very little of that, and very little water to drink; so these seven poor little Princesses, who had been accustomed to have everything comfortable about them, and good food and good clothes all their lives long, were very miserable and unhappy; and they used to go out every day and sit by their dead mother's tomb and cry; and used to say,

"Oh mother, mother, cannot you see your poor children, how unhappy we are, and how we are starved by our cruel step-mother?"

One day, whilst they were sobbing and crying, lo and behold! a beautiful pomelo tree[30] grew up out of the grave, covered with fresh ripe pomeloes, and the children satisfied their hunger by eating some of the fruit; and every day after this, instead of trying to eat the nasty dinner their step-mother provided for them, they used to go out to their mother's grave and eat the pomeloes which grew there on the beautiful tree.

[30] _Citrus dec.u.mana_--the Shaddock of the West Indies.

Then the Ranee said to her daughter, "I cannot tell how it is: every day those seven girls say they don't want any dinner, and won't eat any; and yet they never grow thin nor look ill; they look better than you do. I cannot tell how it is;" and she bade her watch the seven Princesses and see if any one gave them anything to eat.

So next day, when the Princesses went to their mother's grave, and were eating the beautiful pomeloes, the Purdan's daughter followed them and saw them gathering the fruit.

Then Balna said to her sisters, "Do you see that girl watching us? Let us drive her away or hide the pomeloes, else she will go and tell her mother all about it, and that will be very bad for us."

But the other sisters said, "Oh no, do not be unkind, Balna. The girl would never be so cruel as to tell her mother. Let us rather invite her to come and have some of the fruit;" and calling her to them, they gave her one of the pomeloes.

No sooner had she eaten it, however, than the Purdan's daughter went home and said to her mother, "I do not wonder the seven Princesses will not eat the nasty dinner you prepare for them, for by their mother's grave there grows a beautiful pomelo tree, and they go there every day and eat the pomeloes. I ate one, and it was the nicest I have ever tasted."

The cruel Ranee was much vexed at hearing this, and all next day she stayed in her room, and told the Rajah that she had a very bad headache. The Rajah at hearing this was deeply grieved, and said to his wife, "What can I do for you?" She answered, "There is only one thing that will make my headache well. By your dead wife's tomb there grows a fine pomelo tree; you must bring that here, and boil it, root and branch, and put a little of the water in which it has been boiled on my forehead, and that will cure my headache." So the Rajah sent his servants, and had the beautiful pomelo tree pulled up by the roots, and did as the Ranee desired; and when some of the water in which it had been boiled was put on her forehead, she said her headache was gone and she felt quite well.

Next day, when the seven Princesses went as usual to the grave of their mother, the pomelo tree had disappeared. Then they all began to cry very bitterly.

Now there was by the Ranee's tomb a small tank,[31] and as they were crying they saw that the tank was filled with a rich cream-like substance, which quickly hardened into a thick white cake. At seeing this all the Princesses were very glad, and they ate some of the cake, and liked it; and next day the same thing happened, and so it went on for many days. Every morning the Princesses went to their mother's grave, and found the little tank filled with the nourishing cream-like cake. Then the cruel step-mother said to her daughter: "I cannot tell how it is: I have had the pomelo tree which used to grow by the Ranee's grave destroyed, and yet the Princesses grow no thinner nor look more sad, though they never eat the dinner I give them. I cannot tell how it is!"

[31] Reservoir for water.

And her daughter said, "I will watch."

Next day, while the Princesses were eating the cream cake, who should come by but their step-mother's daughter? Balna saw her first, and said, "See, sisters, there comes that girl again. Let us sit round the edge of the tank, and not allow her to see it; for if we give her some of our cake, she will go and tell her mother, and that will be very unfortunate for us."

The other sisters, however, thought Balna unnecessarily suspicious, and instead of following her advice, they gave the Purdan's daughter some of the cake, and she went home and told her mother all about it.

The Ranee, on hearing how well the Princesses fared, was exceedingly angry, and sent her servants to pull down the dead Ranee's tomb and fill the little tank with the ruins. And not content with this, she next day pretended to be very, very ill--in fact, at the point of death; and when the Rajah was much grieved, and asked her whether it was in his power to procure her any remedy, she said to him: "Only one thing can save my life, but I know you will not do it." He replied, "Yes, whatever it is, I will do it." She then said, "To save my life, you must kill the seven daughters of your first wife, and put some of their blood on my forehead and on the palms of my hands, and their death will be my life." At these words the Rajah was very sorrowful; but because he feared to break his word, he went out with a heavy heart to find his daughters.

He found them crying by the ruins of their mother's grave.

Then, feeling he could not kill them, the Rajah spoke kindly to them, and told them to come out into the jungle with him; and there he made a fire and cooked some rice, and gave it to them. But in the afternoon, it being very hot, the seven Princesses all fell asleep, and when he saw they were fast asleep, the Rajah, their father, stole away and left them (for he feared his wife), saying to himself: "It is better my poor daughters should die here than be killed by their step-mother."