Shabrang-Prince-Thief

Once, long ago, the King of Kashmir went a-hunting in the jungle. As the sun hung low in the western sky, he gave chase to a magnificent stag and was carried farther and farther away from his capital.

In the hour of sunset, he found himself in a lovely garden. Strolling about among the exquisitely laid-out flower beds was a beauteous maiden, alone and unattended. "A princess, surely", thought the King, "but how proud and arrogant she looks." She, on her part, did not as much as throw a glance in his direction. Stung to the quick, the King muttered just above a whisper, "I would that some prince took you for his bride and then abandoned you in this very garden "

The Princess (for she was, in truth, one) tossed her head in disdain," I would that someone marry you and bear you a son who will wed your own daughter:" she retorted with a pout, as she walked away.

That was, of course, more than the King could bear. But he had been deeply smitten by the maiden's charms. "Come what may, I must marry her," he thought as he rode back to his palace. Next morning, " He summoned his Vizier and the royal go-between. He bid them go post-haste to the Princess's father, who ruled the neighbouring kingdom and negotiate for her hand in marriage. That ruler, as one might, imagine, was flattered by the suit of no less a personage than the King of Kashmir. And it wasn't long before the messenger came back to announce the success of their mission.

A week later, the King of Kashmir rode out at the head of a glittering cavalcade to fetch his bride. People stared in wide-eyed wonder as he passed by. When he rode back with the proud Princess, the citizens again lined up all along the way. How they cheered their beauteous new Queen.

There was plenty of rejoicing all over the land, music and revelry, feasting and alms-giving. They were happy - everyone, save the bride. Yes, she, poor thing, was installed in the harem, and that was the last she saw of her royal husband. She languished in those cold, inhospitable apartments. The King would not visit her at all. "For what nameless, hideous sin am I being thus punished?" the Princess wept, wringing her hands. Then, in a flash, she recalled that first encounter in her garden. The King's vexation and his muttered oath. But she was as patient and clever as she was proud. '"That was a very foolish episode altogether,' she said to herself. "But if the King sticks to his threat, I must not, indeed, forget my own retort."

After two months of this existence, she sought the King's permission and left on a "visit to her parents," as she put it. Did that not please the King's foolish vanity? "Ha, ha, ha," he exulted. "There, that will teach her to tilt her nose at strangers." Little did it strike him that he was being very cruel. All because of a moment's annoyance. Of the maiden's sharp rejoinder - "Why waste time on so idle a fancy?" he thought aloud.

For many month's, the Princess took abode with her parents. Then, as if on a sudden impulse, she left on a secret journey.

To the King of Kashmir, camping in a distant part of his country, they brought word one evening, that a veiled woman sought audience with him. She was, by all signs, possessed of great wealth and beauty, they declared, but she would not say who she was. The King's curiosity was stirred. He called on this mysterious lady himself, and was admitted into her apartments. How she captivated his heart, one cannot tell, but the king soon became a slave to her slightest whim.

For a month they lived in this manner - the disguised Princess (for she was none other) and the infatuated King, who hardly guessed he had been ensnared by the very woman he had discarded. When one morning she protested she must return to her own country, they exchanged rings as a token of everlasting love.

Back under her parents' roof, the Princess bore a son as lovely as you could ever desire. Her parents, who had learnt of her clever stratagem to win her husband's favours, rejoiced in their grandson. They named him Shabrang.

Little Prince Shabrang grew up into a charming young boy as smart as he was handsome. He excelled his companions both at his studies and on the playground.

But his mother had other plans for him. Nothing would satisfy her but that he should become the most cunning thief in all the country. So she summoned all those skilled in thieving to instruct her son. To little Shabrang it was all fun; what did the innocent lad know of right and wrong? Soon he became light of finger, nimble and stealthy of movement and dextrous beyond all compare. He would steal the very morsel from your mouth with the same ease that he would snatch away the jewels on one's person. Guess at the perfection he had attained.

For his final test, his mother led him out to the foot of a steep crag and pointed to an eagle's eyrie. "Look, my child," she said," there on top is the mother eagle brooding on her egg. Fetch me the egg if you can, without disturbing the bird."

No sooner had she spoken than Shabrang snipped himself to the waist. Hand on hand, he crept up the sheer face of the rock. Not a breath of sound. Silent as a shadow, he gained the top. The bird still gazed into the lonely spaces of the blue sky. Poised for a fraction of a second on the summit, Shabrang sketched out deft fingers. Then, he was slipping down inch by inch in the same death-like silence.

As he held out the prize to his mother, she folded him in her arms with pride. Tears rolled down her eyes. "My child, you are heir to the throne of Kashmir," she said, speaking to him for the first time on the subject. "Go forth and seek employment under your father. Serve him with skill and utter diligence, and win his heart. Not for one moment let him guess your parentage. When he offers his daughter to you in marriage, say you can do naught without your mother's blessing. Send for me then."

So Prince Shabrang journeyed far to his father's kingdom. To find employment in the royal household was easy enough -the lad had engaging looks and a pleasing wit. It was but a short step to catch the King's eye. The rest was simple. Day by day he rose higher in his master's favour. The King would have none other for his personal attendant.

Prince Shabrang, however, led a double life. The urge to practise the skill he had been taught was strong upon him. In the darkness of the night, while the city slept, he stole out on noiseless feet. How easy it seemed to him to steal from the mansions of the rich! There was no lack that he could not pick, and no treasure, howsoever jealously guarded, that he could not snatch away. As for the guards who paced the city's streets, he just snapped his fingers at them!

So, in time, the tale of Shabrang's depredations got known. Of course, none guessed who the culprit was. They only knew he was cleverer than any they had known in the past, and most elusive. To the King's court came people bemoaning their losses, and crying out aloud for protection. "We shall be robbed of everything we possess, great Sire!" they wailed, "unless the guards redouble their vigil and catch the villain."

What could the perplexed King do? He sent for the chief of the city police, and ordered him, on pain of dismissal, to apprehend the rogue.

It was midnight and pitch dark as the Police Chief wandered about the city's maze of lanes and alleys. He whistled softly to himself and twirled his moustache.

No thief would get past him! No hiding-place but he peered into it, no suspicious loiterer but he pounced upon him.

"Ha, who is this?" He exclaimed under his breath as a shadow flitted past, and he gave chase. When he dragged the struggling figure into the light of a street-lamp, he saw it was only a young maiden. "What, pray, are you doing at this ghostly hour?" he demanded in his most ferocious tone, to hide his chagrin. Shivering, the girl brought out, "The thief you have been looking for is somewhere about. I heard his stealthy footsteps. He may be here in a moment ....0-o-oh! I am afraid."

"Calm yourself, silly !" the chief admonished her. "Let me think.... I shall lay a trap for the scoundrel."

There was a soft interruption from the girl. "If you will pardon me ...I suggest you disguise yourself Why, we might exchange our garments.' She clapped her hands with delight. "Yes and stand beside the well yonder and pretend to be drawing water. Now, dome you agree that's an excellent plan"

The Police Chief fell in with the scheme readily. The girl is smart, he thought. Wrapped in her pheran, he walked to the well. But poor, innocent man, what did he know of its crude mechanism? When he
tugged violently at the rope, he was thrown off his balance. Next moment he was dangling at the end of the rope, just above the water's edge, inside the shaft of the well. Who was there now to pay heed to his cries for help? From somewhere above his head he heard the maiden's mocking laughter. "They will pull you out at dawn, my
friend. Now I may go about in safety!" That, as you must have guessed already, was our hero, Shabrang.

Were the honest citizens thrown into panic and confusion? The Police Chief dangling at the end of a rope, to be the laughing stock of every ragamuffin in town. The thief slipping through the fingers of the
guards! "Preposterous!" they shouted with one accord. So, in the palace yard, the people raised another big clamour!

The King was at his wits' end. Nothing could now satisfy him save the Vizier's undertaking the mission himself.

The Vizier, of course, did not relish the task of patrolling the city's twisting alleyways by night. But carry out the King's injunction he must. His horse ambled along leisurely. Its hooves beat out a plaintive tune on the ancient cobblestones. Suddenly the Vizier espied, by the flickering light of a lantern, an old, wrinkled woman grinding maize by the roadside. "What keeps you up so late in the night granny?" he enquired. And on an idle impulse, added, "Have you by, any chance seen our champion rogue whereabouts?"

"I wouldn't say No, I wouldn't say Yes," the old dame answered in a shrill voice. "There are funny sounds I have been hearing for some time. Well, he may be close by, for all I know.'

It was the same ruse all over again. The "old woman" had quickly persuaded the thoughtless Vizier to wear her rags and to sit at the grinding stone. Shabrang (again it was the Prince-Thief in disguise) was soon riding away into the night on the Vizier's horse!

There was a hullabaloo in the city next morning. Hundreds of people tumbled out into the streets crying that their hoarded treasures had been stolen. The Vizier had been discovered in an old woman's rags grinding maize by the roadside. What a disgrace!

The King was beside himself with mortification. He stormed a good deal, while his courtiers listened with heads bowed in shame. "You are a set of idle, scatter-brained good-for-nothings! This thief has every one of us tied in knots. Listen, if the thief proclaims himself, we will give him our daughter in marriage and straightaway bestow half of our kingdom upon him. He is a better man than all of you put together, I am sure."

In the silence that followed, Shabrang stepped forth, looking like a young god. "Is that a pledge, Sire?" he enquired. The King stared at the impudent youngster. "Yes, indeed," he said and stared the harder. What was so familiar about the lad's features? His thoughts chased round and round this teasing question.

"I am the thief you are looking for, Sire;" Shabrang announced amidst pin-drop silence." If you must have proof, I'll restore to its rightful owner every single thing that has been stolen in the city. Choose the hour, my lord, and it shall be done!"

The King's eyes softened. He had taken a great fancy to this handsome boy. And this confession of a surpassing skill inclined his heart towards the youngster even more strongly.

But Shabrang would not marry the princess until his mother had been sent for. "I can do naught without my mothers counsel, Sire,' he protested.

When Shabrang's mother appeared before the King of Kashmir she handed him the ring he had given her as a love token. "Shabrang is your son, my lord," said she. "How can he ever marry his own sister?"

The King nodded his head, but he hardly understood. And Prince, Shabrang's mother, with gentle raillery, recalled the long-forgotten episode-the tale of an encounter in a garden, an idle oath and the angry retort that it had called forth.

There were tears in the King's eyes as he embraced his queen - tears at the same time of happiness and penitence. As for Prince Shabrang, he was proclaimed heir to the throne of Kashmir amidst a round of festivities seldom before equalled in splendour.