Panchatantra: The Potter Militant

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder (1925).

The Potter Militant

[Inside Book 4. Loss Of Gains.]

There was once a potter in a certain place. One day he carelessly ran with all his might into the jagged edge of a broken pot, and tumbled. And though the jagged edge tore his forehead, he struggled to his feet, blood streaming over his body. Now as the wound was unskilfully treated, the scar cicatrized horribly.

After some time the land was afflicted with famine, and he felt the pinch of hunger. So he joined certain life-guards, went to another country, and became a life-guard.

Now the king noticed on his brow the horrible scar from the potsherd, and he thought: "Surely, this man is a great hero. He took a wound in front, on his brow." So he bestowed honours and gifts and the like, regarding him more graciously than all others. Even the princes, observing the exceptional favour shown him, cherished an extreme jealousy, yet they feared the king and said not a word.

Now one day there was a review of picked troops. While the elephants were being accoutred and the horses caparisoned and the men inspected, the king took occasion to say to the potter: "O Prince, what is your name? And what your family? In what battle was this wound printed on your brow?" 

"Your Majesty," he replied, "by birth I am a potter, and my name is Fight-Firm. This is not a sword-wound. But when I was unsteady with liquor, I was hurrying through a courtyard littered with broken pots, and tumbled over one. Later the scar from the potsherd became a horrible cicatrice."

Then the king reflected: "Good heavens! I was taken in by this potter who seemed a prince. Let a cuffing be administered."

When this had been done, the potter said: "Your Majesty, do not treat me thus, but witness my adroitness in battle."

"No, my friend," said the king, "you may be a treasure-house of all the virtues. Yet you must be gone. You may have heard the stanza:

Handsome you are, and valorous;

You have a scholar's brain:

But in your family, my boy,

No elephants are slain."

"How was that?" asked the potter. And the king told the story of

The Jackal Who Killed no Elephants.*

"Just so you, too, had best decamp before these veterans learn that you are a potter. If not, you will be hooted and killed." And the potter, hearing this, absconded.