Chessa was once again in the land of the mortals. This time after helping out a troubled soul, the young vulture asked for a story. Chessa lay beside the young vulture after agreeing to the demand, and began her story.
"Many years ago a cheetah and his leopardess mate. One season, they were blessed with a daughter. She was the joy and pride of both their lives, and in her they stored an endless source of happiness. There could not be found in the whole of the savannah a happier little family.
It was then a hard dry season struck, and the Cheetah father - a more proficient hunter than his leopardess mate - was spending days at a time trying to catch something for his small family to eat.
His mate wished that she could accompany him, but it was too dangerous for the mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the mate's duty to take care of the den!
"Do not be anxious, I will come back soon," said the cheetah. "While I am away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter."
"Yes. we shall be all right--but you--you must take care of yourself and delay not a day in coming back to us," said the Leopardess, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes.
The little cub was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the sorrow of parting. She ran to his side, and butted up against his leg for a parting snuggle.
"Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back."
As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping mate and smiling, eager cub, he felt as if some one were pulling him back by the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never been separated before. But he knew that he must go, for they were also hungry. With a great effort he ceased to think, and resolutely turning away he went quickly.
"Now father has gone, you and I must take care of everything till he comes back," said the Leopardess, as she made her way back to the house.
"Yes, I will be very good," said the cub, nodding her head.
It was three long days before the cheetah returned, and they could all hear their bellies grumbling. Into the den he dragged in the food they all wanted - a whole gazelle. He told of the perils of finding and catching the beast, then making sure no one snatched it from him ashe dragged it all the way back to his family.
"Here," he said to the little cub, "is a present for you. It is a prize for taking care of mother and the den so well while I was away." He pulled away one of the plump back legs, thigh and all and presented it to the cub/
"Thank you," said the cub. The family then feasted.
After the meal, the cheetah reached into the pouch he wore around his neck and presented something to the Leopardess.
"And this is for you."
The wife took the object. It was a rock - round on one side, and flat on the other. On the flat surface was shiny crystal, pure enugh one could see their own reflection. A mirror! She gazed into the shining disk, and looking up with surprise and wonder pictured on her face, she said:
"I see somebody looking at me in this round thing! What is it that you have given me "
The cheetah laughed and said:
"Why, it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their own form reflected there. There the mirror is considered a very necessary requisite for a woman to possess. According to popular tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her own heart--if she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. So you must lay great store by your mirror, and use it carefully."
The leopardess listened to all her mate told her, and was pleased at learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the precious gift--his token of remembrance while he had been away.
"If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a valuable possession, and never will I use it carelessly." Saying so, she lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of the gift, and then put it away.
The Leopardess saw that her mate was very tired, and set about making everything as comfortable as she could for him. It seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was before, so glad were they to be together again.
Time passed away in the peaceful den, and the parents saw their fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from cubhood into a beautiful adolescent. As a gem of priceless value is held in its proud owner's hand, so had they reared her with unceasing love and care: and now their pains were more than doubly rewarded. What a comfort she was to her mother as she went about the den taking her part in the denkeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she daily reminded him of her mother when he had first married her.
But, alas! in this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this family was broken up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle Leopardess was one day taken ill.
In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days went by and still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse, and the monkey doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor leopardess grew weaker day by day. The father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother's side. But in spite of all their efforts the leopardess' life was not to be saved.
One day as the daughter sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with a cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused herself and taking her daughter's paw, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes. Her breath was labored and she spoke with difficulty:
"My daughter. I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead, promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and dutiful daughter."
"Oh, mother," said the daughter as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you must not say such things. All you have to do is to make haste and get well--that will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself."
"Yes, I know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. Do not look so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state of existence that I should die in this life just at this time; knowing this, I am quite resigned to my fate. And now I have something to give you whereby to remember me when I am gone."
reaching out, she took from the bed grasses the mirror.
"When you were still a little cub your father went out hunting and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror. This I give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me--so will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart; and though I shall not be able to speak, I shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may happen to you in the future." With these words the dying leopardess handed the mirror to her daughter.
The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day.
The bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief, and they abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. They felt it to be impossible to take leave of the loved leopardess who till now had filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But this frantic burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their own hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. In spite of this the daughter's life seemed to her desolate. Her love for her dead mother did not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance, that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother's death and of all that they had loved and shared together. One day when her father was out, and she while fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could bear. She threw herself down and wept as if her heart would break. Poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice calling her pet name, or for one moment's forgetfulness of the aching void in her heart. Suddenly she sat up. Her mother's last words had rung through her memory hitherto dulled by grief.
"Oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift, that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her-- to see her. I had nearly forgotten her last words--how stupid I am; I will get the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true!"
She dried her eyes quickly, and dug the mirror from her bedgrasses and gazed into its smooth face. Behold, her mother's words were true! In the round mirror before her she saw her mother's face; but, oh, the joyful surprise! It was not her mother thin and wasted by illness, but the young and beautiful mother as she remembered her far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. It seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother telling her again to grow up a good and dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the eyes in the mirror look back into her own.
"It is certainly my mother's soul that I see. She knows how miserable I am without her and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see her she will meet me here; how grateful I ought to be!"
And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her young heart. Every morning, to gather strength for the day's duties before her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to rest, did the young daughter take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother's soul. Daily she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father.
A year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household, when, by the advice of his relations, the cheetah took another mate, and the daughter now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. It was a trying position; but her days spent in the recollection of her own beloved mother, and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be, had made the young girl docile and patient, and she was now determined to be filial and dutiful to her father's new mate, in all respects. Everything went on apparently smoothly in the family for some time under the new regime; there were no winds or waves of discord to ruffle the surface of every-day life, and the father was content.
But it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and step-mothers are proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not as her first smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months, the step-mother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and child.
Sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her step- daughter's behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his affection for his daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her the more. The woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely child than before. This did not please her at all, and she began to turn over in her mind how she could, by some means or other, drive her step-child out of the den.
She watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in the early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of which to accuse the child to her father. The step-mother herself was a little frightened too at what she had seen.
So she went at once to her mate, and wiping away some false tears she said in a sad voice:
"Please give me permission to leave you today."
The cheetah was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her request, and wondered whatever was the matter.
"Do you find it so disagreeable," he asked, "in my den, that you can stay no longer?"
"No! no! it has nothing to do with you--even in my dreams I have never thought that I wished to leave your side; but if I go on living here I am in danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned that you should allow me to go home!"
And the step-mother began to weep afresh. Her mate, distressed to see her so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard aright, said:
"Tell me what you mean! How is your life in danger here?"
"I will tell you since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as her step-mother. For some time past she has shut herself up in her room morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art, cursing me daily. It is not safe for me to stay here, such being the case; indeed, indeed, I must go away, we cannot live here any more."
The cheetah listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that by popular superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily; but where had his young daughter learned such knowledge?--the thing was impossible. Yet he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed much in her room of late and kept herself away from every one, even when visitors came to the den. Putting this fact together with his mate's alarm, he thought that there might be something to account for the strange story.
His heart was torn between doubting his mate and trusting his child, and he knew not what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter and try to find out the truth. Comforting his mate and assuring her that her fears were groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's room.
The girl had for a long time past been very unhappy. She had tried by amiability and obedience to show her goodwill and to mollify the new mate, and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. But she soon found that her efforts were in vain. The step-mother never trusted her, and seemed to misinterpret all her actions, and the poor child knew very well that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not help comparing her present unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago--so great a change in this short time! Morning and evening she wept over the remembrance. Whenever she could she went to her room, and took out the mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother's face. It was the only comfort that she had in these wretched days.
Her father found her occupied in this way. He saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her father, She was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept it as the sacred secret of her heart. So before turning to her father she slipped the mirror under the bedgrasses. Her father noting her confusion, and her act of hiding something, said in a severe manner:
"Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is that that you have hidden in your bed?"
The girl was frightened by her father's severity. Never had he spoken to her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to apprehension. She sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply.
Appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty, and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his mate had told him was true, spoke angrily:
"Then, is it really true that you are daily cursing your step-mother and praying for her death? Have you forgotten what I told you, that although she is your step-mother you must he obedient and loyal to her? What evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? You have certainly changed, my daughter! What has made you so disobedient and unfaithful?"
And the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should have to upbraid his daughter in this way.
She on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear herself somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his anger.
"Father! father! do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your obedient child. Indeed, I am. However stupid I may be, I should never be able to curse any one who belonged to you, much less pray for the death of one you love. Surely some one has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you know not what you say--or some evil spirit has taken possession of YOUR heart. As for me I do not know-- no, not so much as a dew-drop, of the evil thing of which you accuse me."
But the father remembered that she had hidden something away when he first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy him. He wished to clear up his doubts once for all.
"Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me what is that that you have hidden in your bed--show it to me at once."
Then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her bed and laid it before him.
"This," she said, "is what you saw me looking at just now."
"Why," he said in great surprise." this is the mirror that I brought as a gift to your mother many years ago! And so you have kept it all this time? Now, why do you spend so much of your time before this mirror?"
Then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. But still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in reality her own face, and not that of her mother.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I do not understand how you can meet the soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?"
"It is indeed true," said the girl: "and if you don't believe what I say, look for yourself," and she placed the mirror before her. There, looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. She pointed to the reflection seriously:
"Do you doubt me still?" she asked earnestly, looking up into his face.
With an exclamation of sudden understanding the father smiled.
"How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like your mother's as the two sides of a melon--thus you have looked at the reflection of your face at this time, thinking that you were brought face to face with your lost mother! You are truly a faithful child. It seems at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, It shows how deep has been your filialpiety, and how innocent your heart. Living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do this. I admire and respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother's story and suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. Before you I have no countenance left, and I beg you to forgive me."
And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother's treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances--bearing all her troubles with so much patience and amiability--made him compare her to the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the moats and ponds, fitting emblem of a heart which keeps itself unsullied while passing through the world.
The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had gradually entered till she could see all that went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to the bedgrasses, she bowed her head over her paws before her step-daughter.
"I am ashamed! I am ashamed!" she exclaimed in broken tones. "I did not know what a filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with a step-mother's jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you reciprocated the feeling, and thus when I saw you retire so often to your room I followed you, and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror for long intervals, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic art. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as a child that I have borne myself. I shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused you. Therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before, and give me, I beg of you, some of the filial love that you have hitherto given to your own lost mother."
Thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of the girl she had so wronged.
Such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she willingly forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment's resentment or malice towards her afterwards. The father saw by his mate's face that she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and the wronged.
From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her step-mother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness were rewarded at last."
Chessa concluded the story, and both she and the vulture parted. Chessa returned home and impulsively dig through her things until she pulled out a stone, round on one side and flat on the other, with a surface on the flat side like a mirror. Indeed, long ago it had been she who had given this to the cheetah to give to his wife. The story she had told the vulture had been one that she had set into motion. And the memory filled Chessa's heart with warmth.
