There was once a king who had seven queens. His kingdom was vast, his palace magnificent, filled with elephants and horses, jewels and gold. His court bustled with ministers, courtiers, and soldiers. But for all his wealth, the king knew no happiness. Not one of his seven queens had given him a child, and a deep sorrow lay over the entire kingdom.
One day, as the queens were bathing at the river, a holy ascetic appeared. He placed the root of a plant in the eldest queen’s hand and said:
Grind this and share it among the seven of you. You will each bear a son as beautiful as the golden moon.
Overjoyed, the queens rushed back to the palace. After drying themselves and changing, they went to the kitchens to prepare the day’s meal. The five elder queens would cook, the sixth queen would fetch water, and the youngest queen was tasked with cleaning the fish.
The eldest queen, holding the precious root, called to the fifth queen.
Sister, since you are already grinding the spices, please grind this root first so we may all have our share.
But as the fifth queen ground the root, she secretly ate a little piece. She then served the rest on a silver platter, covered by a golden bowl, and gave it to the eldest queen. The eldest queen lifted the cover, ate a large portion herself, and passed it to the second queen. The second queen ate some and passed it to the third, who did the same before giving it to the fourth. The fourth queen ate the last of what was left. When the sixth queen came from the well, all she found was a tiny bit of residue clinging to the bowl, which she scraped up and ate.
For the youngest queen, there was nothing left at all.
After finishing with the fish, the youngest queen made her way back. She met the sixth queen, who cried out:
Oh, you unfortunate girl! You haven’t eaten the magic root! Go, quickly!
The youngest queen ran to the kitchens, her heart pounding, only to find the bowl completely empty. She collapsed to the ground, sobbing. The other queens began to bicker, blaming each other for the missing share, their voices rising in a chaotic clamor.
The sixth queen came to the youngest queen’s side.
Did you truly leave nothing for her? How could you!
She scolded the others. Turning to the youngest, she said kindly:
Come, sister. Perhaps a fragment is still stuck to the grinding stone. I will wash it with water for you to drink. If God is willing, this alone will grant you a son like the golden moon.
The other queens chimed in, “Yes, yes, wash the stone for her!” but they muttered under their breath:
Drinking stone-water won’t bring a golden moon, more like a monkey-child.
Heartbroken, the youngest queen drank the milky water from the washed grinding stone.
Ten months passed. The five elder queens each gave birth to a beautiful son, every one of them as radiant as a golden moon. But just as they had jealously predicted, the sixth queen gave birth to an owl, and the youngest queen gave birth to a monkey.
Drums and festivities erupted before the rooms of the five elder queens, while the quarters of the two youngest queens were filled with weeping. The king and the entire court celebrated the five new princes, but no one even asked after the sixth and seventh queens. Soon after, the sixth queen was demoted to a servant in the royal zoo, and the youngest queen became a maid forced to gather dung for fuel. They lived their days in sorrow and hardship.
The years passed. The five princes grew up, as did the owl and the monkey. The princes were named Hira, Manik, Moti, Shankha, and Kanchan—Diamond, Ruby, Pearl, Conch, and Gold. The owl was called Bhutum, and the monkey was named Buddhu.
The five princes would ride their magnificent winged horses, flanked by guards, terrorizing the people. They were cruel and arrogant, and the citizens grew weary of their tyranny. Meanwhile, Bhutum and Buddhu would play together in the branches of a small banyan tree near their mothers’ huts.
Bhutum and Buddhu were devoted sons. Buddhu would help his mother gather her fuel, while Bhutum would help his mother feed the baby birds in the zoo. Buddhu would forage in the forest for fruits for their mothers, and Bhutum would bring them betel nuts to chew. This was how the two queens and their sons passed their days.
One day, the five princes rode their winged horses to inspect the zoo. On the way, they spotted an owl and a monkey in a banyan tree. They immediately ordered their soldiers:
Catch that owl and monkey! We shall keep them as pets.
The soldiers cast a net over the tree, and Bhutum and Buddhu were easily captured. Trapped in a cage, they were carried away to the palace. When their mothers returned from their work, they found their sons gone. They collapsed in grief, their world shattered.
Inside the palace, Bhutum and Buddhu were astonished by the grandeur. “Wow,” they thought, “If this is our home, why do we live in a hut by a banyan tree?”
They spoke to the princes in human voices.
Oh, princes, since you have brought us here, please bring our mothers as well.
The princes were amazed that the animals could talk.
Very well. Tell us where your mothers are, and we will bring them to the zoo.
The zoo servant is my mother,
said Bhutum.
The dung-gathering maid is my mother,
said Buddhu.
The princes roared with laughter.
An owl born to a human?
A monkey born to a human?
An old soldier who knew the palace history stepped forward.
Why not, my lords? We once had two queens who gave birth to an owl and a monkey. The king banished them for it. These must be their sons.
Disgusted, the princes spat, “Ugh!” They kicked the cage and ordered their men:
Get these two things out of our sight!
In that moment, Bhutum and Buddhu understood. They were not just animals. They were princes. Their mothers were not servants, but queens.
Brother, let us go to our father,
said Buddhu.
Let’s go,
Bhutum agreed.
The king was holding court when Bhutum and Buddhu arrived. Buddhu leaped into the king’s lap, and Bhutum flew up to perch on his shoulder. The entire court gasped.
Father,
chirped Buddhu.
Father,
hooted Bhutum.
The hall fell silent. Tears streamed down the king’s face. He kissed Bhutum and gathered Buddhu into his arms, holding him close. He immediately dismissed the court and left with his two sons.
At the riverbank, a commotion was underway. Five grand Mayurpankhi boats, shaped like peacocks, were being prepared. News had arrived of a mysterious princess named Kolabati, who had sailed by in a boat with a silver rudder and a diamond hull. She had issued a challenge: any prince who could travel to her distant land and retrieve a legendary Pearl-Flower would win her hand.
The five princes, blessed by their mothers, boarded their boats to begin the quest. Just then, the king arrived with Bhutum and Buddhu.
Father, what are those?
asked Buddhu.
Those are Mayurpankhi boats,
the king replied.
We want to go too! Give us a boat!
they both pleaded.
The five queens, standing nearby, shrieked with contempt.
Who is this, the servant’s brat?
The dung-gatherer’s child?
They slapped Bhutum and Buddhu, and the king stood by, powerless to speak. The queens then angrily led the king back to the palace.
Left alone, Buddhu turned to his brother.
Come, let’s go to the carpenter’s and build our own boat. We will follow the princes.
Let’s go,
Bhutum agreed.
Meanwhile, the two banished queens heard that the princes had set sail to find Princess Kolabati. Their grief deepened. They went to the river and each set a tiny boat made from a betel-nut leaf afloat, placing inside it a grain of rice and a blade of sacred durva grass as an offering. They prayed to all the gods of the earth to protect their sons.
On their way to the carpenter’s, Bhutum and Buddhu saw the two tiny leaf-boats bobbing on the water.
Brother, look! These are our boats! Let’s get in!
cried Buddhu.
As they each climbed into a boat, the tiny vessels transformed into magnificent Mayurpankhis and sped down the river, side-by-side.
The five princes soon reached the realm of the Three Ogresses. The ogresses’ guards captured the princes and their entire crew, stuffed them into sacks, and presented them to their mistresses, who promptly swallowed them whole before falling asleep.
Trapped in the dark, the princes lamented:
We will never see our parents again!
Just then, soft voices whispered from outside.
Brother! Brother!
It was Bhutum and Buddhu.
Grab my tail,
whispered Buddhu.
Grab my feathers,
hooted Bhutum.
One by one, the princes and their men grabbed hold and were pulled to safety through the ogresses’ nostrils. Once free, they followed Buddhu’s command and slew the sleeping ogresses. They scrambled back to their boats and set sail, leaving Bhutum and Buddhu behind without a word of thanks.
The princes’ boats eventually drifted into the vast, shoreless Red River, and from there, into the open sea. Lost and battered by storms for seven days and nights, their ships began to break apart. In despair, they cried out:
Oh, if only brother Buddhu were here to save us! If only brother Bhutum were here!
Instantly, their two brothers appeared, having tethered their own boats to the princes’ ships.
Steer north,
Buddhu commanded the sailors, and soon they reached a calm river lined with fruit trees, where they ate their fill and recovered their strength.
But their gratitude was short-lived.
Why are a monkey and an owl on our ships? Throw them into the water.
The princes sneered.
The sailors obeyed, casting Bhutum and Buddhu into the river and cutting their boats loose. But as the princes’ ships sailed on, they suddenly sank without a trace, taking everyone with them.
When Bhutum and Buddhu’s boats drifted to the same spot, Buddhu felt a strange unease.
Brother, something has happened here. Let’s dive in and see.
Let them be. I won’t dive for them.
Bhutum said bitterly.
Don’t say that. You wait here. I will tie this thread to my waist. Don’t pull it up until you feel a tug.
Buddhu insisted.
Buddhu dove deep into the water, following a long tunnel that led him to a magnificent, silent palace in the underworld. There, an ancient hag was sewing a small quilt. The moment she saw Buddhu, she threw the quilt at him. Instantly, thousands of soldiers appeared and threw him into a dark cell.
Inside the cell, he found his five brothers and all their men.
The next day, when a maid came with food, she found a dead monkey lying on the floor. She tossed the body out on her way back. Of course, Buddhu was only pretending. He scurried up to the highest tower of the palace, where he saw a beautiful princess with hair as dark as storm clouds speaking to a golden parrot. It was Princess Kolabati.
Oh, golden bird, my silver rudder and diamond hull were all for naught. No one came.
Tucked into her hair was the legendary Pearl-Flower. Silently, Buddhu crept up behind her and snatched it.
Princess with hair like storm clouds, what happened to your Pearl-Flower?
the parrot squawked.
Kolabati felt her hair and found the flower gone.
Do not worry, Princess Kolabati. Lift your head and behold your groom!
the parrot said.
She turned and saw the monkey. Her face fell. She had made a vow that whoever could overcome the ogresses, cross the Red River, escape the Quilt-Hag, and take her flower would become her husband. A promise was a promise. She rose and placed a garland around Buddhu’s neck.
Now tell me, to whom do you belong?
Buddhu said with a smile.
Before, I belonged to my parents. Then I belonged to myself. Now, I belong to you.
she replied.
Then release my brothers, and come with me to my home. My mother is in great sorrow; your arrival will bring her joy.
he said.
As you wish. But you cannot carry me as I am. I will hide in this small casket, and you must carry that.
she said.
As soon as the princess was inside the casket, the golden parrot struck a massive drum, the Dhol-Dogor. At once, a sprawling marketplace appeared in the palace. The princess’s casket was instantly lost among hundreds of identical caskets for sale.
Buddhu, however, was clever. He took the Dhol-Dogor himself and began to play it. A beat on the right side made the market appear; a beat on the left made it vanish. He beat it right and left, right and left, until the shopkeepers, exhausted from setting up and packing up their stalls, begged him to stop.
Please, take the princess’s casket! We give up!
Buddhu struck the drum one last time on the left, and the market vanished, leaving only the princess’s casket behind. He shouldered the drum, picked up the casket, and also grabbed a tree whose leaves were laden with fruit and the old hag’s magic quilt. Finally, with all his prizes and his freed brothers, he gave the thread a sharp tug.
Bhutum pulled them all to the surface: the five princes, their crews, their five Mayurpankhi boats, and Buddhu, laden with his magical treasures.
They set sail for home, Bhutum perched on the mast and Buddhu sitting on the roof of the cabin, occasionally opening the casket to speak with someone inside.
That night, while Bhutum and Buddhu slept, the five princes crept up on them. They stole the casket, the drum, and the quilt. Then they pushed Buddhu into the sea and shot Bhutum with an arrow, leaving them for dead. They opened the casket, and Princess Kolabati emerged.
Princess, to whom do you belong now?
they asked.
I belong to the one who owns the Dhol-Dogor,
she replied defiantly.
The princes locked her in a cabin and sailed home.
The kingdom erupted in celebration as the five princes returned with the beautiful princess. The five queens welcomed Kolabati with lamps and blessings.
Princess, to whom do you belong?
they asked.
To the owner of the Dhol-Dogor,
she answered.
Is it Prince Hira?
they asked.
No.
They named each prince in turn, but each time her answer was “No.”
Then we shall have you executed!
the queens threatened.
I am observing a month-long religious vow. After one month, you may do as you wish.
Kolabati said calmly.
Meanwhile, Bhutum and Buddhu’s mothers, so consumed by grief they had decided to end their lives in the river, heard familiar voices calling, “Mother!” It was their sons, alive and well. They ran to them, and their tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy.
The next day, a huge marketplace—the work of the Dhol-Dogor which Buddhu had magically retained—appeared outside the queens’ huts. The day after, a tree with fruit on its leaves grew there. The day after that, their huts were surrounded by a hundred thousand soldiers, a vision from the magic quilt.
News of these wonders reached the king. At the same time, Princess Kolabati announced that her vow was complete. In that instant, the king understood everything.
I see it all now. Guards! Bring the sixth and youngest queens to the palace with all the honors of the drum and music!
he declared.
As the royal drums sounded, Princess Kolabati herself went to escort the two queens back to the palace. Hearing this, the five elder queens and their five sons locked themselves in their rooms in shame and fear. The king ordered their doors sealed with earth and thorns.
That day, in a grand ceremony, Buddhu married Princess Kolabati. Bhutum was married to another princess named Hirabati.
Some time later, in the dead of night, Kolabati and Hirabati awoke to find their husbands gone. Lying on the beds where they had been were only an empty monkey skin and a pile of owl feathers. The princesses peered outside and saw two stunningly handsome princes, looking like sons of gods, patrolling the palace grounds on horseback.
Realizing the truth, the two princesses threw the monkey skin and owl feathers into a lamp flame. As the skins burned, the two princes rushed back inside.
What have you done? The ascetic’s spell allowed us to live in disguise, to travel between the heavens and the earth. Now the secret is revealed! We can never be a monkey and an owl again!
The princesses laughed with joy.
Then that is a very good thing indeed!
The next morning, the court was stunned to see two god-like princes sitting on either side of the king.
Kolabati announced:
My husband used to wear the skin of a monkey. Last night, I burned it.
Hirabati added:
And my husband used to wear the feathers of an owl. Last night, I burned them.
The people cheered. Buddhu was given the new name Budhkumar, the Prince of Wisdom, and Bhutum was named Rupkumar, the Prince of Beauty. And with his two beloved queens, his two noble sons, and their wise and beautiful wives, the king finally found his happiness and ruled in peace for the rest of his days.