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He went on and on till he came to a great river in which lived a huge water-snake. When the water-snake saw him it began to weep very much, and cried out to the boy, “If you go to the Rakshas country you will be eaten up.” The lad, whose name was Hírálálbásá, said, “I cannot help it; I am the Rání’s servant, so I must do what she tells me.” “Well,” said the water-snake, “get on my back, and I will take you across this river.” So he got on the water-snake’s back, and it took him over the river. Then Hírálálbásá went on and on until he came to a house in which a Rakshas lived. A Rání lived there too that the Rakshas had carried off from her father and mother when she was a little girl. She was playing in her father the Sondarbásá Rájá’s garden, which was full of delicious fruits, which the Rakshas came to eat, and when he saw Sonahrí Rání he seized her in his mouth and ran off with her. Only she was so beautiful he could never find it in his heart to eat her, but brought her up as his own child. Her name was Sonahrí Rání, that is, the Golden Rání, because her teeth and her hair were made of gold. Now the Rakshas who had carried her off, and whom she called Papa, had a great thick stick, and when he laid this stick at her feet she could not stir, but when he laid it at her head, she could move again.

When the Rájá’s son came up, Sonahrí Rání was lying on her bed with the thick stick at her feet, and as soon as she saw the Rájá’s son she began to cry very much. “Oh, why have you come here? You will surely be killed,” she said. The Rájá’s son answered, “I cannot help that. I am the Rání’s servant, so I must do what she tells me.” “Of course,” said Sonahrí Rání; “but put this stick at my head, and then I shall be able to move.” The Rájá’s son laid the stick at her head, and she got up and gave him some food, and then asked him if he had a letter. “Yes,” he answered. “Let me see it,” said the Sonahrí Rání. So he gave her the letter, and when she had read it she cried, “Oh, this is a very wicked letter. It will bring you no good; for if the Rakshases see it, they will kill you.” “Indeed,” said Hírálálbásá. And the Sonahrí Rání tore up the letter and wrote another in which she said, “Make much of this boy. Send him home quickly, and give him a jug of rose-water to bring back with him, and see that he gets no hurt.” Then the Rájá’s son set out again for the Rakshas-Rání’s mother’s house. He had not gone very far when he met a very big Rakshas, and he cried out to him, “Uncle.” “Who is this boy,” said the Rakshas, “who calls me uncle?” And he was just going to kill him when Hírálálbásá showed his letter, and the Rakshas let him pass on. He went a little further until he met another Rakshas, bigger than the first, and the Rakshas screamed at him and was just going to fall on him and kill him, but the Rájá’s son showed the letter, and the Rakshas let him pass unhurt. When Hírálálbásá came to the Rakshas-Rání’s mother he showed her the letter, and she gave him the rose-water at once and sent him off. All the Rakshases were very good to him, and some carried him part of the way home. When he came to Sonahrí Rání’s house she was lying on her bed with the stick at her feet, and as soon as she saw Hírálálbásá she laughed and said, “Oh, you have come back again? Put this stick at my head.” “Yes,” said the Rájá’s son, “I’ve come back again, but I was dreadfully frightened very often.” Then he put the stick at her head, and she gave him some food to eat. After he had eaten it he went on again, and when he came to the river the water-snake carried him across to the other side, and he travelled to his father’s kingdom. There he went to the Rakshas-Rání and gave her the rose-water. She was very angry at seeing him, and said, “I’m sure my father and my mother, my brothers and my sisters, don’t love me one bit.”