"No, I cannot," said he; "this is the way to
Kailasa," and then climbed to the very top of the tree. Seeing there was
no chance of the rogue coming down, and there being no one near to whom
he could call for help, the old miser tied his horse to a neighbouring
tree, and began to climb up the _pipal_ himself. When the rogue
observed this, he thanked all his gods most fervently, and having waited
until his enemy had climbed nearly up to him, he threw down his bundle
of booty, and then leapt nimbly from branch to branch till he reached
the ground in safety, when he mounted the miser's horse and with his
bundle rode into a thick forest, where he was not likely to be
discovered. Being thus balked the miser came down the _pipal_ tree
slowly cursing his own stupidity in having risked his horse to recover
the things which his wife had given the rogue, and returned home at
leisure. His wife, who was waiting his return, welcomed him with a
joyous countenance, and cried, "I thought as much: you have sent away
your horse to Kailasa, to be used by your old father." Vexed at his
wife's words, as he was, he replied in the affirmative, to conceal his
own folly.
Through the Tamils it is probable this story reached Ceylon, where it
exists in a slightly different form: A young girl, named Kaluhami, had
lately died, when a beggar came to the parents' house, and on being
asked by the mother where he had come from, he said that he had just
come from the other world to this world, meaning that he had only just
recovered from severe illness.
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