English · E. B. Cowell (ed.), R. Chalmers, W. H. D. Rouse, H. T. Francis, R. A. NeilOne day, as the chaplain approached his revenue-village, and entered by the southern gate, outside the gate he saw a wretched woman who had many sons: seven sons she had, all hale and hearty; one held pot and plate for cooking, one mat and bedding, one went on before and one followed behind, one held a finger of her, one sat on her hip and one on her shoulder. “Where,” asked the chaplain, “is the father of these lads” “Sir,” she replied, “the lads have no father at all for certain.” “Why then,” said he, “how did you get seven fine sons like that”! Disregarding the rest of the jungle, she points out a banyan tree that stood by the city gate, and quoth she, “I offered prayer, Sir, to the deity which inhabits this tree, and he answered me by giving these lads.” ‘You may go, then,” said the chaplain; and descending from his chariot, he went up to the tree and taking hold of a branch shook it, saying, “O divinity, what has the king failed to give thee? Year by year he offers thee tribute of a thousand pieces of money, and thou givest him no son. What has this beggar wife done for thee, that thou givest her seven? Thou shalt grant the king a son within seven days, or I will have thee cut down by the roots and chopt up piecemeal.” Thus upbraiding the deity of the banyan tree, he went away. Day after day for six days he did the same, and on the sixth, grasping the branch he said—“Only one night is left, tree-god; if you do not grant a son to my king, down you come”