Once upon a time, there was a king and his minister. One day, the king said to the minister, “Minister! I have no idea if the people of my kingdom are happy or in sorrow!”
The minister replied, “Your Majesty! Shall I speak in fear, or without fear?” The king said, “Speak without fear!” The minister then said, “Your Majesty, in the old days, kings would go on hunting expeditions. They would hunt during the day, and at night, they would disguise themselves to observe the joys and sorrows of their subjects. Those days and those times are long gone; the people are in various states.”
Hearing this, the king said, “Is that so? Then tomorrow, I shall go hunting.”
The king was going hunting, and the kingdom was in an uproar. Elephants were readied, horses were saddled, soldiers, ministers, and guards all prepared themselves. With his entire retinue, the king went hunting.
But for the king, it was a hunt in name only. During the day, he would hunt—perhaps an elephant or a tiger—but when night fell, the king would put on a disguise and observe the joys and sorrows of his people.
One evening, the king was passing by a commoner’s house when he overheard the three daughters of the household talking amongst themselves. The king stood by the wall and listened.
The eldest sister was saying, “Listen, if I were to marry the king’s stable hand, I could eat roasted chickpeas to my heart’s content!” Her younger sister said, “If I were to marry the king’s royal cook, I would be the first to taste all the royal delicacies!”
The youngest sister, however, said nothing. Her two sisters pressed her, “Why, little one! Why aren’t you saying anything?”
The youngest whispered, “No reason.”
But her sisters wouldn’t let it go. Finally, after thinking for a long time, the youngest sister said, “If I were to marry the king, I would become a queen!”
Hearing this, her two sisters burst out laughing, “Oh my, listen to the little one’s ambition!”
The king heard everything and walked away.
The next day, the king sent a palanquin with his guards and had the three sisters brought to the palace.
The three sisters were trembling with fear. The king reassured them, saying, “Tell me, what were each of you saying last night?”
No one said a word.
Finally, the king said, “If you do not tell the truth, the punishment will be severe.”
Then the eldest sister confessed what she had said. The middle sister confessed what she had said.
But the youngest sister still said nothing.
The king then said, “Look, I heard everything. Very well, I will grant each of you your wish.”
The very next day, the king married the eldest sister to his stable hand, the middle sister to his royal cook, and he made the youngest sister his queen.
The eldest sister went to the stable hand’s house and ate roasted chickpeas to her heart’s content. The middle sister went to the king’s kitchen and was the first to taste all the royal delicacies. And the youngest sister, now a queen, lived happily in the royal household.
Several years passed, and the time came for the queen to have a child. The king had a magnificent birthing chamber built with diamond-fringed golden canopies and a roof of white marble.
The queen said, “I haven’t seen my sisters in so long. We are three sisters from the same womb, the only family I have. If you could send for them, they could attend to me in the birthing chamber.”
How could the king refuse? He said, “Of course.”
A canopied path was laid from the royal palace to the stable hand’s house, and musicians were sent to the cook’s house. Laughing and dancing, the two sisters came to attend to their queen-sister in her birthing chamber.
“Oh my!”—when they arrived, they saw their sister’s immense wealth. The palace was dazzling with diamonds and pearls; the kingdom was prosperous. Their queen-sister was like the queen of the heavens! Seeing this, the two sisters burned with envy.
The queen, in her innocence, knew nothing of their jealousy. In the middle of the day, her two sisters roamed from room to room, searching through everything.
The queen would ask, “Dear sisters, what are you looking for?” They would reply, “Oh, nothing; we are just gathering the things needed for the birthing chamber.”
Finally, as the day waned, the two sisters went into the queen’s birthing chamber.
In the dead of night, the queen gave birth to a son. The baby was like a moonbeam in human form! The two sisters quickly found an earthen pot, placed the beautiful child inside, put salt and cotton in his mouth, and set him afloat on the river.
The king sent for news. “What is it?”
“Nothing! Not a child, a puppy!” the two sisters replied, showing him a puppy.
The king remained silent.
The following year, the queen was to have another child. Again, the two sisters went to the birthing chamber. The queen gave birth to another son. The two envious sisters once again put the child in an earthen pot with salt and cotton and set him afloat on the river.
The king inquired, “What child is it this time?”
“Nothing! Not a child—a kitten!” the two sisters said, showing him a kitten.
The king could not understand what was happening.
The year after that, the queen gave birth to a daughter. She was a beautiful, delicate baby, her face cherubic, her hands and feet like flower petals. The two envious sisters set her afloat on the river as well.
The king again sent for news. “What is it this time?”
“Nothing! Just a wooden doll,” they said, and showed the king a wooden doll.
The king, filled with sorrow, bowed his head and walked away.
The people of the kingdom began to whisper, “Oh my! What is this? The king, at an inauspicious time, married a woman of unknown origin. Not once, not twice, but three times she has given birth—to a puppy, a kitten, and a wooden doll! This unlucky queen cannot be human; she must be a witch or a demon.”
The king also thought, “It is true! What misfortune have I brought into my palace? I will not have this queen in my home any longer.”
The two envious sisters, happy and content, went back to their own homes. The people of the kingdom put the “witch queen” on a donkey, facing backward, shaved her head, poured whey over her, and banished her from the kingdom.
A Brahmin, a wise and holy man, went to the river to bathe. After finishing his rituals, while standing in the water chanting his prayers, he saw an earthen pot floating by. He heard the cry of a newborn baby coming from inside. The Brahmin anxiously retrieved the pot and found a divine-looking child inside! He quickly washed the salt and cotton from the baby’s mouth and took the infant son home.
The next year, another earthen pot floated down to the same spot. The Brahmin found another divine-looking son inside. He took that child home as well.
In the third year, yet another earthen pot came to the Brahmin’s bathing spot. This time, when he opened it, he found a divine-looking daughter! The Brahmin had no children of his own, and now he had two divine sons and a divine daughter. Overjoyed, he took the girl home.
The children, cast away by their cruel aunts, had been carried by the river to light up the Brahmin’s home. Meanwhile, in the king’s palace, not even a single lamp burned brightly.
The Brahmin lived in great happiness with the children. He had no lack of food or comfort. His fields were full of grain, his trees full of fruit, his pots full of holy water from the Ganges, and his cows gave plenty of milk. He had more money than his chests could hold.
But what of it? He had no children of his own to share it with. It seemed that at last, God had looked upon him with favor. The Brahmin’s house was now filled with the joy of these beautiful children. Forgetting to eat or bathe, the Brahmin spent all his days and nights with them. He named the two boys Arun and Barun, and the girl, he named Kironmala.
Days and nights passed. Arun, Barun, and Kironmala grew like the waxing moon and bloomed like flowers. When they laughed, the birds of the forest would come and sing. When they cried, the deer of the forest would come running. As the three siblings played and danced, it was as if a festival of moonlight had descended upon the Brahmin’s courtyard.
In time, the three siblings grew up. Kironmala kept the house so clean that not a speck of dust could be found, and she wouldn’t let a single fly sit on their beloved cow. Arun and Barun studied and learned; they would pick ripe fruits from the trees and could outrun the forest deer. Then, the three of them would gather flowers and decorate their home until it was a sight to behold.
What more could the Brahmin ask for? Kironmala would bring baskets full of flowers for his worship. The Brahmin would light incense, ring the bell, and perform his prayers with a booming voice.
This is how their days passed. Arun and Barun learned all the Brahmin’s knowledge, and Kironmala took over the running of the household.
Then one day, the Brahmin called the three children to him. Placing his hands on their heads, he said, “Arun, Barun, my dear Kiron, all this is yours now. I have no more sorrows. Leaving you all, I must now go to another kingdom. Look after everything and live well.”
The three siblings began to weep, and the Brahmin departed for the heavens.
Days passed in sorrow, and the king’s palace remained in darkness. The king said, “No! My kingdom is shrouded in sin. Come, I will go hunting again.” Once more, the drums of the hunt sounded in the palace.
The king went hunting, and on that day, the heavens seemed to break apart. In the storm, wind, and rain, the king was separated from his companions. Lost and alone in the pitch-dark, with rain pouring down, he spent the night in the hollow of a tree.
The next day, the king walked and walked, but there was no end to the path. The sun beat down, and the landscape was empty. There were no people, no water in sight. Panting, overcome with hunger and thirst, the king saw a house in the distance. He walked towards it.
Arun, Barun, and Kironmala saw him coming. What was this? A man, whose hands, feet, body, and head all shimmered! Arun and Barun were amazed; Kironmala went and stood by her brothers.
The king called out, “Is anyone there? Save me with a little water.”
The siblings ran and brought him water. After drinking, the astonished king asked, “Divine sons, divine daughter—who are you in this desolate land?”
Arun replied, “We are the children of a Brahmin.”
The king’s heart pounded. His mind was in turmoil. Could such children be born in a Brahmin’s house? But the king could say nothing. He just stared and stared, and tears fell from his eyes.
“I did not drink water; I drank milk!” the king said. “Listen, children, I am the unhappy king of this country. If you ever need anything, let me know, and I will do it for you.” Saying this, the king sighed and stood up.
Then Kironmala asked, “Brother! What does a king have?” Arun and Barun replied, “We don’t know, sister—we’ve only read in books that a king has elephants, horses, and palaces.” Kironmala said, “Where would we get elephants and horses? Let’s build a palace.” Arun and Barun said, “Alright.”
“Alright”—days and nights passed in a blur. They worked tirelessly, their sweat falling to the ground. Forgetting hunger and thirst, for twelve months and thirty-six days, as the sun and moon circled above, Arun and Barun built a palace. Arun and Barun worked, and their sister Kironmala brought them water from the river, pot after pot. In twelve months and thirty-six days, the palace was complete.
It was a palace that would make the demon architect Maya fast in envy and the divine architect Vishwakarma abandon his home. The palace of Arun, Barun, and Kironmala reached for the sun’s throne and snatched at the moon’s seat! Its white marble gleamed, its white jewels shimmered. Every doorway had silver doors, and every spire had a golden finial! Around the palace were gardens of flowers and fruits, teeming with birds. The palace was fragrant with sweet scents and filled with the music of birdsong. Gods and demons alike gazed in wonder at the home of Arun, Barun, and Kironmala.
One day, a hermit was passing by on the other side of the river. As he walked, he called out:
“In this lonely land, in this lonely forest, who are you, sister and brothers? Who has built such a palace, which has no equal?”
From the palace, Arun replied:
“The ever-new moonlight falls on its own, In the home of Arun, Barun, and Kironmala, the siblings!”
The hermit said:
“The beautiful royal palace of Arun, Barun, and Kironmala, Is a joy to see and a joy to hear of, but it could be more glorious. Such a palace would be even more enchanting, Something is wanted, something is missing, for it to be truly magnificent. In such a palace, silver trees would bear golden fruit. Pearls would fall like a waterfall. In a diamond tree, we would hear the sweet song of a golden bird. Jewel-like pebbles would be scattered on the path. Then such a palace would be the best in the three worlds, With every call of the golden bird, an ocean of happiness.”
Hearing this, Arun and Barun called to Kironmala and said:
“Where is such a silver tree? Where is such a bird? Where is that pearl-fall? Tell us, and we will bring them.”
The hermit replied:
“To the northeast, north of the east, there is a mountain of illusion, There, golden fruits grow eternally on a true diamond tree. A cool stream of pearls flows there, And a golden bird sits on the branches of the tree! The mountain of illusion is shrouded in illusion, it shoots arrows of illusion— Whoever can bring these things back is a great hero!”
Saying this, the hermit walked away.
Arun and Barun said, “Sister, we will bring all these things.”
Arun said, “Brother Barun, sister Kiron, you stay here. I will go to the mountain of illusion and bring everything back.”
Saying this, Arun gave Barun and Kironmala a sword. “If you see rust on this sword, know that I am no longer alive.” Leaving the sword, Arun departed.
Days and months passed. Every day, Barun and Kironmala would take out the sword and look at it. One day, when Barun took out the sword, his face grew pale. He called out, “Sister, brother is no longer in this world! Here, take this bow and arrow. I am going. If the arrowhead falls off, or the bowstring breaks, know that I too am gone.”
Seeing the rust on Arun’s sword, Kironmala was distraught with grief. Taking Barun’s bow and arrow, she prayed, “Oh God! Please let my brother Barun bring my brother Arun back!”
Barun traveled and traveled until he reached the land of the mountain of illusion. As soon as he arrived, music began to play from all directions, celestial nymphs danced, and voices called out from behind him, one after another:
“Prince! Prince! Look back! Look back! Listen to us!”
The moment Barun looked back, he turned to stone. “Alas! My brother has also turned to stone.”
And so he had. Who would come to rescue them? Arun and Barun remained as stone for all time.
Waking at dawn, Kironmala saw that the arrowhead had fallen off and the bowstring was broken. Arun was gone, and now Barun was gone too. Kironmala did not cry, did not wail. She did not wipe away her tears. She got up, gave her cow fodder and water, watered the plants, and then, dressing herself in the clothes of a prince, with a crown on her head and a sword in her hand, she kissed her calf and the fawn, and without a blink, Kironmala set out for the mountain of illusion.
On and on she went, rising like a fire, flying faster than the wind. Who saw her, who didn’t? Day and night, mountains and jungles, sun and rain, all were left behind. Braving storms and lightning, in thirteen nights and thirty-three days, Kironmala reached the mountain.
Immediately, she was surrounded by demons, monsters, tigers, bears, snakes, elephants, lions, buffaloes, ghosts, and ghouls.
One called, “Prince, I will swallow you!” Another called, “Prince, I will eat you!” “Hum… Hoom… Hoom!” “Hrumph… Hrumph!”
Drums beat on her back:
“Ta kata dha kata, Vhyang vhyang chyang— Cut off the prince’s leg!”
Cymbals clashed, drums and horns blared. Swords flashed. Celestial nymphs danced, calling, “Prince, prince, listen to us now!” Arrows of illusion were drawn on bows. Rain and thunder fell from above, the sound of a hundred thousand drums splitting the sky. Mountains overturned, the earth cracked open—the seven worlds trembled with thunder and lightning!
But it was all for nothing! All in vain! Kironmala was not a prince. She did not look back. Many stones beneath her feet trembled, many stones melted away. With her eyes lowered, gripping her sword tightly, Kironmala rushed forward and reached the base of the diamond tree with the golden fruit.
And at once, the golden bird on the diamond tree sang out:
“You have come? You have come? It is good. Take this water from the spring, take this flower, take me, take that arrow, take that bow, take them, take them, do not delay. Take everything, and beat the drum that is there.”
With every word the bird spoke, Kironmala took another item. Taking everything, Kironmala beat the drum.
Everything fell silent. The mountain of illusion was still. Only the call of the cuckoo, the whistle of the doyel, and the dance of the peacock could be heard.
Then the bird said, “Kironmala, sprinkle the water from the cool spring.”
Kironmala poured the water from the golden pitcher. All around, the mountain rumbled, and all the stones began to crack. Wherever a drop of water fell, all the princes who had come through the ages and been turned to stone, in the blink of an eye, stirred and sat up.
In an instant, all the stones turned into hundreds of thousands of princes. The princes joined their hands and bowed to Kironmala.
The golden bird on her head said:
“Blessed hero of seven ages!”
Arun and Barun, their eyes filled with tears, said:
“Blessed sister of our womb.” “Arun, Barun, Kironmala, You have illuminated the three worlds!”
Returning to their palace, Arun, Barun, and Kironmala gave their cow grass and water, untied her calf, bathed the fawn, cleaned the courtyard, watered the plants, and tidied up. Then, in the garden, they planted the seed of the silver tree and a branch of the diamond tree. They opened the pitcher of pearl-spring water and scattered the pearl-like fruits. They said to the golden bird, “Bird! Now, sit on the tree.”
Instantly, the diamond tree grew tall, and the silver tree spread its leaves. On the silver branches and diamond boughs, clusters of beautiful golden fruit began to sway. On a diamond branch, the golden bird sat and began to sing in a thousand tunes. All around, pearl-like fruits shimmered in clusters, and in their midst, the cool spring water, like liquid pearls, began to flow.
The bird said, “Ah!”
Arun, Barun, and Kiron, the three siblings, embraced each other.
The birds of the forest could not stay away, the deer of the forest could not stay away, so how could people? They came running and saw, “Ah! What a palace! It is as if the city of the gods has descended to Earth.”
The news reached the king. Hearing it, he said, “Is that so? The Brahmin’s children did all this!”
That night, the golden bird said, “Arun, Barun, Kironmala! Invite the king.”
The three siblings said, “What! If we invite the king, what will we feed him?” The bird said, “I will tell you.”
The next morning, Arun and Barun went and invited the king.
The golden bird said, “Kiron! Where the king will sit to eat, hang me in that room.” Kiron replied, “Alright.”
With his grand retinue, the king came to the feast. And what did he see? The king arrived and could not believe his eyes. He looked and looked and was left speechless. The things in the corners of this palace were more than his entire royal treasury contained. “Where did they get all this? Are they human? Alas!” The king laughed with joy one moment and wept with sorrow the next. Oh, if only these were his children!
The king saw the garden, he saw the spring. Seeing it all, the king’s eyes filled with tears of joy and sorrow. Covering his eyes, he said, “I can’t bear it anymore. Let’s go inside.”
Inside, there were jewels here, pearls there, emeralds here, diamonds there. The king was astounded.
Then the king went to the dining hall. Various kinds of food on plates, platters, bowls, and pots were brought before him. The room was filled with fragrant aromas.
In wonder and amazement, the king slowly came and took his seat. The astonished king slowly put his hand to a plate and—
He drew his hand back and sat up straight!
“What is this! It’s all gold coins!” “What of it?” The King: “Can this be eaten?” “Why not? Pudding, cakes, cream, sweets, delicacies—why can’t they be eaten?” The king said, “Who is saying this? Arun, Barun, Kiron! Are you also playing a joke on me? How can a person eat pudding made of gold coins, cakes of pearls, sweets of jewels? Can these be eaten?”
From above his head, someone said:
“Can a human give birth to a puppy?” “Eh?” “Your Majesty, can a human give birth to a kitten?” “Eh!” The king was startled. He saw that it was the golden bird speaking. “Your Majesty, if humans cannot eat these things, then how can a wooden doll be born from a human womb?”
The king said, “That’s right, that’s right—what have I done!?” The king rose from his seat.
The golden bird said:
“Your Majesty, do you understand now? These are your children. Your wicked sisters-in-law lied and showed you a puppy, a kitten, and a wooden doll.”
The king trembled, and, his face streaming with tears, he embraced Arun, Barun, and Kiron. “Alas! If only the poor queen were here today!”
The golden bird whispered, “Arun, Barun, Kiron! On the other side of the river, in that hut, lives your mother. She is dying of sorrow. Go and bring her here.”
The three siblings, amazed and weeping, went and brought their mother. The poor mother thought, “Ah, I have found my children in heaven!”
The golden bird sang:
“Arun, Barun, Kiron, Three treasures of the three worlds. Having lost such jewels, Life was in vain. Arun, Barun, Kironmala, Today you have ended all sorrow.”
What happened after that? A festival of joy began. The king brought his entire kingdom and established his court in the palace of Arun, Barun, and Kironmala. For seven days and seven nights, all the subjects played with jewels, pearls, diamonds, and emeralds.
Then one day, a group of royal executioners went to the houses of the stable hand and the cook, set them on fire, and buried the two wicked sisters alive under thorns.
After that, the king, the queen, Arun, Barun, and Kironmala, with their children and grandchildren, became immensely wealthy and ruled for ages and ages.