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Some three months later her servants came to her and told her a beautiful large bél-fruit was floating on the water of the tank. Sunkásí Rání went at once with them to the tank, and when she saw the fruit she was seized with a great longing to have it. So she sent all her servants, one after the other, into the tank to fetch it; but all to no purpose, for as soon as any one of them got close to the fruit it floated away from him. Then the Rání herself went into the tank. She, however, was not a whit more able to get it: when she thought she had only to put out her hand to take it, the fruit rose up into the air, and fell into the water again as soon as she had come up out of the tank. She went to the Mahárájá and told him of this lovely bél-fruit, and then went to her room while he came down to the tank. He said, “I should like to catch the fruit: I wonder if I can do so. What a lovely fruit!” As soon as he put his hand into the water the fruit came floating towards him, and floated into it. “I think this fruit is quite ripe,” said the Mahárájá. “Quite ripe,” said the servants, and they struck it with a stone to break it open. “Oh, you hurt us! you hurt us!” cried little voices from inside the bél-fruit. “Gently, gently; don’t hurt us.” The Mahárájá and all the servants were greatly surprised, and the Mahárájá went to Sunkásí Rání, and told her all about the little voices. She at once guessed her step-children were in the fruit, so she said to the Mahárájá, “You had better take the fruit to the jungle and there break it open with a big stone, so that anything inside it may be crushed to bits.” “I will not do that,” said the Mahárájá. Then he went back to his servants and made them cut the fruit’s rind very carefully cross-ways and the fruit broke into halves: in one half sat his little son, in the other his little daughter. As soon as the halves were laid on the ground the children stepped out, and at once grew to their natural size. Their father was very angry when he saw them. “Why, I thought you were at school,” said he. “The Mahárání told me you were at school. Why are you not there? What funny (Dunkní’s own word) children you are to get into this bél-fruit! What made you like to live in a fruit?” But to all his questionings and scoldings the children said not one word. At last he sent them up to the palace, and there they stayed with him for some three months. But the Mahárání said to him, “These are not your children. Yours are at school.” “They are my children,” he answered.

All this time the Mahárání hated them more and more, and at last she went to them and said, “Now I really will kill you.” “Just as you please,” answered the children; “we don’t mind being killed. You may kill us three times, four times, as often as you like: it does not matter in the least; for God will always bring us to life again.”

At this Sunkásí Rání flew into a rage and she called her servants and said, “Kill these children, cut them into mince-meat and throw them to the crows and kites. When the crows and kites have eaten them, they cannot come to life any more.” So the servants killed the children, and chopped them up very fine and fed the crows and kites with their flesh; and now the Mahárání was very happy.

Some months later, as she was walking in her garden, she saw two beautiful flower-buds on a large bél-tree that grew in it. She showed them to the gardener, and asked if he had seen them before. “Never,” said the man. “On this tree there have never been either flowers or fruit till now.” “Gather the flowers for me,” said the Rání, “I do so wish to have them.” The gardener said to her, “Wait till the buds are fully blown and then I will gather them for you.” At the end of three or four days the Rání Sunkásí asked if the buds had grown into large flowers, and the gardener said, “Yes, to-day I will gather them for you.” He got a long, long bamboo cane, and tied a piece of wood cross-ways on one of its ends so as to make a sort of hook wherewith to catch hold of and break off the flowers. He tried and tried to get them, but all in vain. Then he made all the servants try. It was of no use, no one could make the hook touch the flowers. They always bent themselves just out of its reach. Then Sunkásí Rání tried, but with no better success. She told the Mahárájá, who said, “I will try to-morrow to gather these wonderful flowers.”