Manthan Sashthi: Sacrificed to Varuna

This story comes from Sacred Tales of India by D. N. Neogi (page image). Like all the stories in this curious book, it begins with a religious ceremony, and then there follows a tale which is connected to that ceremony.

Notes: Varuna is the god of water. Shashthi is the goddess of childbirth. Her vahana (vehicle) is a cat! In some traditions, she is considered to be one of the Matrikas, mother-goddesses.

(the goddess Shashthi)

The Manthan Sashthi Ceremony

The Manthan Sashthi ceremony is celebraetd in the month of September on the sixth day after the new moon. Some pigmy figures roughly resembling the human form are made of pounded rice painted with a mixture of turmeric-water and vermilion. The goddess is worshipped with the customary offerings of flowers, bel-leaves, sandalwood paste, incense, rice, and blades of grass.

The Tale: Sacrificed to Varuna

A Brahman from pious motives wanted to a dig a pond. But however deep down he dug, water was not to be found. Whereupon the Brahman fretted himself to sleep and dreamt a fearful dream in which he was told htat unless he sacrificed his only grandson, who was an infant, to the water-god, Varuna, and cut his body into five pieces, burying them at the four corners and the center of the excavation, not a drop of water would appear, however deep he might cut the earth.

(the god Varuna on his makara)

The poor Brahman woke up with a shudder, and pondering on the dreadful vision, grew sadder and sadder at heart. Quite at a loss what to do, he did not at first tell his son anything, though the latter was very anxious to learn what the matter was with his father. But when at last the son was let into the secret, it cast a gloom over his face. Yet his affection for his father and his devotion to the god Varuna were strong enough to determine him to sacrifice his only son to save the one from the sin of an unaccomplished vow and to propitiate the other. So, after nightfall, he took his son in his arms to where the pond was being made and cut him with his own hands into five pieces and deposited the parts at its four corners and in the center as directed. Forthwith water rushed up from every point of the pond and quickly filled it to the brim.

Now, when a pond is dug in furtherance of a vow, it has to be consecrated by rites prescribed in the Shastras. The ceremony was fixed for the next day. The old Brahman invited his caste comrades to come and witness the consecration rites, and they came with the rising sun in expectation of a grand feast. He was fully aware of what his son had done and grief sat heavy in his heart. His daughter-in-law, however, did not suspect anything, and when desired to do the cooking for the guests, she gaily promised compliance. She was to wear a new pair of conch-shell bangles that day, and when she went to bathe in the new pond of her father-in-law, she put vermilion paint on her forehead and at the parting of her hair above, and took a quantity of rice-powder with which to polish her bangles. At the ghat, it struck her as unusual that her child had not come to her the whole morning, but the attending maid-servant stopped her anxious inquiries by saying, "Oh, has he not an aunt and a grandma to take care of him? He is with the one or the other at home."

She then saw vessels made of the leaf-stalk of the plantain tree, with sacred hay and other offerings of pujah in them floating on the water. These reminded her that it was the Manthan Sashthi pujah day. She had always been a devout worshipper of Sashthi, but, strangely enough, had forgotten her that day. She now lost not a minute more, but hastily bathing, got a few of the leaf-stalk vessels together in which she arranged offerings of flowers and bel-leaves that were at hand. She then made an image of the goddess Sashthi with the powdered rice she had brought with her and worshipped the goddess with all the devotion of an earnest heart. And when she had done, she looked behind her and saw a very old woman with her infant in her arms standing behind her.

"You are not very careful of your child, it seems," said the woman, "or you had before this known where he has been all the morning."

She then handed over the child to the mother and vanished into thin air, for she was none other than the goddess Sashthi herself!

Awestruck and filled with the deepest feelings of love and gratitude to her guardian deity, the lady returned home, her child in her arms. And it was a sight to see how the old father-in-law and the husband stood rooted to the ground, struck with amazement and joy. The old man threw himself at the feet of his daughter-in-law and cried out, "You must be more than human; tell me who you are!"

The lady fled into her room in confusion, and when everything was narrated as to how, unknown to her, her child had been sacrificed to Varuna the night before, she told them how she had regained it by favor of the goddess Sashthi.

Then there was rejoicing all over the house, and the pious old father-in-law made an image of Sashthi in gold and placed iti in his house to be worshipped by his family to the remotest descendants.

So, ye all that have listened to this sacred katha, cry victory to mother Sasthhi: ulu! ulu! ulu!

The Petrified Mansion

The story is from Bengal Fairy Tales by F. B. Bradley-Birt (1920). Page image.

Note: You will see that this story resembles the European fairy tale of "Sleeping Beauty."

~ ~ ~

Once upon a time there was a prince who set out on his travels into foreign countries, alone, without taking with him any valuables. His sword was his only companion. He crossed mountains, seas, and rivers, and at length came to a grand mansion.

Udaipur Palace, Rajasthan

He entered it, and great was his surprise to find petrified forms of men and animals in all the apartments through which he passed. Even the weapons in the armory were not exceptions. There was in one of the halls a stone statue dressed in royal splendor, surrounded by other statues gorgeously equipped.

The lonely house greatly frightened the prince, but just as he was on the point of quitting it, he happened to notice an open door. Passing through it, he reached the presence of a very beautiful damsel reposing on a khat (bed) of gold, and surrounded by lotuses of the same metal. She lay quite motionless and was apparently dead. There was not the softest breath perceptible in her.

The prince was enamored of her beauty and sat with his eyes fixed upon her.

But one day he happened to notice a stick of gold near the girl's pillow. He took it up and was turning it round and round for inspection, when it suddenly touched her forehead, and instantly she started up, fully conscious. The whole house resounded with the clamor of human tongues, the clanking of arms, the songs of birds, and the sounds of domestic animals. It was full of life and joy. Heralds made proclamations, ministers speechified in the courtroom, and the king engaged himself in the discharge of his royal duties.

The prince was struck speechless with wonder, and the princess was equally astonished. The servants entered the room and, finding a prince-like youth seated by their master's daughter, hastened to the king with the intelligence. He hurried to the spot and, seeing the prince, asked him who he was.

The prince told him, and the royal family, with all the other inmates of the palace, acclaimed him as their deliverer. They said that the touch of a silver stick had petrified them all, and that their revival was the result of his having touched the princess with the stick of gold. In recognition of the very great service he had rendered them, the prince was rewarded with the princess's hand, and great were the rejoicings on the joyous occasion.

Meanwhile, in his own home his parents mourned for the prince as the years passed and he did not return. The queen had taken to her bed, and the king had become blind with weeping. They were disconsolate and courted death as the only termination of their great grief. The whole kingdom was overcast with sadness, which was, however, ultimately removed when one day the long-lost prince appeared with his bride. Joyous acclamations rent the air, and the royal couple, being informed of the return of their dear son, hastened out to the gate and embraced him and the princess. At the touch of the stick of gold, the king regained his sight, and the queen her health, and they lived for years in the enjoyment of great happiness.

At length, leaving the throne to his son, the king with the queen retired to spend a secluded and godly life in the depths of the forest.

The Alligator and the Jackal

The story is from Old Deccan Days by Mary Frere, with illustrations by C. F. Frere (1868). Story page. (Full title: Old Deccan Days, or Hindoo Fairy Legends Current in Southern India, collected from oral tradition by Mary Frere.)

Note: You might be intrigued to see the same trick of the talking house in a story about Brer Rabbit: Hey, House! There is a lot of back-and-forth between Indian and African storytelling traditions, and you can see many of those motifs in the Brer Rabbit stories told by the slaves who were forcibly brought to America from West Africa.

The Alligator and the Jackal

A HUNGRY Jackal once went down to the river-side in search of little crabs, bits of fish, and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chanced that in this river there lived a great big Alligator, who, being also very hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal.

The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator was lying, among some tall buirushes under the clear shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw this, be poked his paw into the water to try and catch the crab, when SNAP! the old Alligator caught hold of him.

'Oh dear!' thought the Jackal to himself; 'what can I do? This great big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake.' So he called out in a cheerful voice, 'Clever Alligator, clever Alligator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope you find it very tender.'

The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought, on hearing this, 'Dear me, how tiresome! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal's paw, but there he is, calling out in a cheerful voice; I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says.' And he let the Jackal go.

The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying, 'O wise Alligator, wise Alligator! So you let me go again!' Then the Alligator was very vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far to be caught.

Next day the Jackal returned to the river-side to get his dinner, as before, but because he was very much afraid of the Alligator, he called out, 'Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud, then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now.'

The Alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped the little point of his snout above the water, thinking, 'If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and as soon as ever he does I'll gobble him up.'

But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator's nose than he called out, 'Aha, my friend, there you are! No dinner for me in this part of the river then, I think.' And so saying he ran further on, and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The Alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time and determined not to let him escape again.

So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the water-side, the Alligator hid himself close to the bank in order to catch him if he could. Now the Jackal was rather afraid of going near the river for he thought, 'Perhaps this Alligator will catch me to-day.' But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner; so, to make all as safe as he could, he cried, 'Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here, and I am so hungry, and generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!'

On hearing this the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river-bank, thought, 'I will pretend to be a little crab.' And he began to blow, 'Puff puff puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble!' and all the great big bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool, and there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the Jackal saw very well who must be there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying, 'Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you, thank you. Indeed, I would not have come here had I known you were so close.'

This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little Jackal, and he said to himself, 'I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning.'

So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal to return to the river-side, but the Jackal did not come for he had thought to himself, 'If matters go on in this way, I shall some day be caught, and eaten by the wicked old Alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs,' and he went no more near the river but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the Alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the Jackal on land; so, going under the largest of the wild fig-trees where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together and, burying himself under the great heap, waited for the Jackal to appear.

But no sooner did the Jackal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together than he thought, 'That looks very like my friend the Alligator.' And to discover if it was so or not he called out, 'The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree and roll here and there as the wind drives them, but this great heap of figs is quite still; these cannot be good figs, I will not eat any of them.'

' Ho-ho!' thought the Alligator; 'is that all? How suspicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little then, and when he sees that, he will doubtless come and eat them.'

So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll; some a mile this way, some a mile that wat, further than they had ever rolled before or than the most blustering wind could have driven them!

Seeing this the Jackal scampered away, saying, 'I am so much obliged to you, Alligator, for letting me know you are there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs.' The Alligator hearing this was so angry that he ran after the Jackal, but the latter ran very, very fast away too quickly to be caught.

Then the Alligator said to himself, 'I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach; I will show him that I can be more cunning than he fancies.' And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to the Jackal's den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept into it and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal, who was out, to return home.

But when the Jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought, 'Dear me, the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it, and here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there. So he called out, 'Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong, that you do not speak?'

Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought, 'If that is the casem I had better call out that he may fancy all is right in his house.' And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said, 'Sweet little Jackal!'

At hearing these words the Jackal felt quite frightened and thought to himself; 'So the dreadful old Alligator is there! I must try to kill him if I can for, if I do not, he will certainly catch and kill me some day.' He therefore answered, 'Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner.'

And he ran as fast as he could and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself as he thought, 'So I have deceived this tiresome little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then won't I snap him up!'

When the Jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, he set them alight and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire, and the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and burnt him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside, dancing for joy and singing, 'How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm?

Ding, dong! Ding, dong! The Alligator is dying! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!

'He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring a ting! Ding a ting! Ding, ding, dong!'

The Jackal and the Pea-Hen

Tales of the Punjab by Flora Annie Steel, with illustrations by J. Lockwood Kipling (1894). Story page.

Note: A peahen is a female peacock (pea-hen v. pea-cock).

The Jackal and the Pea-Hen

ONCE upon a time a Jackal and a Pea-hen swore eternal friendship. Every day they had their meals together, and spent hours in pleasant conversation.

Now, one day, the Pea-hen had juicy plums for dinner, and the Jackal, for his part, had as juicy a young kid; so they enjoyed themselves immensely. But when the feast was over, the Pea-hen rose gravely, and, after scratching up the ground, carefully sowed all the plum-stones in a row.

"It is my custom to do so when I eat plums," she said, with quite an aggravating air of complacent virtue; "my mother, good creature, brought me up in excellent habits, and with her dying breath bade me never be wasteful. Now these stones will grow into trees, the fruit of which, even if I do not live to see the day, will afford a meal to many a hungry peacock."

These words made the Jackal feel rather mean, so he answered loftily, "Exactly so! I always plant my bones for the same reason." And he carefully dug up a piece of ground, and sowed the bones of the kid at intervals.

After this, the pair used to come every day and look at their gardens; by and by the plum-stones [196] shot into tender green stems, but the bones made never a sign.

"Bones do take a long time germinating," remarked the Jackal, pretending to be quite at his ease; "I have known them remain unchanged in the ground for months."

"My dear sir," answered the Pea-hen, with ill-concealed irony, "I  have known them remain so for years!"

So time passed on, and every day, when they visited the garden, the self-complacent Pea-hen became more and more sarcastic, the Jackal more and more savage.

At last the plum-trees blossomed and bore fruit, and the Pea-hen sat down to a perfect feast of ripe juicy plums.

"He! he!" sniggered she to the Jackal, who, having been unsuccessful in hunting that day, stood by dinnerless, hungry, and in consequence very cross; "what a time those old bones of yours do take in coming up! But when they do, my! what a crop you'll have!"

The Jackal was bursting with rage, but she wouldn't take warning, and went on: "Poor dear! you do look hungry! There seems some chance of your starving before harvest. What a pity it is you can't eat plums in the meantime!"

"If I can't eat plums, I can eat the plum-eater!" quoth the Jackal; and with that he pounced on the Pea-hen, and gobbled her up.

Moral—It is never safe to be wiser than one's friends.

The Tricked Elephant

Tibetan Tales Derived from Indian Sources, translated by W. R. S. Ralston (1906). Internet Archive page image.

28. The Tricked Elephant

Long ago there lived a herd of elephants in a certain district. one of their number fell in love with a female elephant. But she was warmly attached to another young male elephant, to whom she said, "Should we not take to flight when he goes forth to the chase?"

"Is there any means by which we may escape?" asked the young elephant.

"I know of a means," she replied.

Then she said to the other elephant, "Let us go into the pool to bathe."

He went into the pool. Then she said, "Let us see which of us two can remain under water the longest."

As soon as he, who was liberally endowed with stupidity, had gone under water along with her, she emerged and fled away together with the young elephant. When the other elephant had remained a long time under water, he also emerged. But as the female elephant was not to be seen, he thought that he was in danger of being surpassed by her, so he determined to go under water again. When he had gone again under water, he propped himself up at the bottom with his tusks.

When, after some time, being out of breath, he lifted his head out of the water and saw that the female elephant was not there, he took to tramping about wildly in the tank, and thereby inflicted unjustifiable injury on fishes, frogs, tortoises, and many other creatures. Then a deity uttered this verse:

"What a huge lump of flesh devoid of intelligence! Because another has carried off the female, therefore he inflicts injury upon others."

(elephant in the Zambezi River)

Panchatantra: The Sensible Enemy and the Foolish Enemy

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

The Sensible Enemy and the Foolish Enemy

[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

There was once a prince who made friends with a merchant's son and the son of a man of learning. Every day the three found entertainment in various diversions, flirtations, and pastimes in public squares, parks, and gardens. Every day the prince showed his aversion to the science of archery, to equitation and elephant-riding, to driving and hunting. At last, when his father one day gave him a wigging, telling him that he showed no aptitude for kingly pursuits, he disclosed to his two friends the injury inflicted on his self-esteem.

And they rejoined: "Our fathers, too, are continually talking nonsense when we show our aversion to their business. This tribulation, however, we have not noticed for many days because of the pleasure we took in your friendship. But now that we see you also grieved with the same grief, we are grieved exceedingly." Thereupon the prince said: "It would be unmanly to remain here after being insulted. Let us depart together, all grieved with the same grief, and go somewhere else. For

The truly self-respecting man
Discovers what he is, and can,
Deserves, and dares, and understands
By travelling in foreign lands."

So much being determined, they considered where it was advisable to go. And the merchant's son said: "You know that no desire is anywhere attained without money. Let us therefore go to Climbing Mountain, where we may find precious gems and enjoy every heart's desire." The truth of this presentation they all recognized, so started for Climbing Mountain.

There, as fate decreed, each of them found a priceless, magnificent gem, whereupon they debated as follows: "How are we to guard these gems when we leave this spot by a forest trail thick with peril?"

Then the son of the man of learning said: "You know I am the son of a counsellor, and I have consequently thought out an appropriate plan, namely, that we swallow our gems and carry them in our stomachs. Thus we shall not be an object of interest to merchants, highwaymen, and other such people."

Having adopted this plan, each inserted his gem. in a mouthful of food at dinner time, and swallowed it. But while they were doing so, a fellow who was resting unperceived on the mountain slope, observed them and reflected: "Look here! I, too, have tramped Climbing Mountain for many days, searching for gems. But I had no luck. I found nothing. So I will travel with them and wherever they grow weary and go to sleep, I will cut their stomachs open and take all three gems."

With this in mind, he came down the slope and overtook them, saying: "Good masters, I cannot pierce the frightful forest alone and reach my home. Let me join your caravan and travel with you." To this they assented, for they desired the increase of friendliness, and the four continued their journey.

Now in that forest, near the trail, was a Bhil village, nestling in a rugged bit of jungle. As the travellers passed through its outskirts, an old bird in a cage began to sing - this bird belonging to a numerous aviary kept as pets in the hut of the village chief.

This chief understood the meaning that all kinds of birds express in their song. He therefore comprehended the old bird's intention, and cried with great delight to his men: "Listen to what this bird tells us. He says that there are precious gems in the possession of yonder travellers on the trail, and that we ought to stop them. Catch them, and bring them here."

When the robbers had done so, the chief stripped the travellers with his own hand, but found nothing. So he set them free to resume their journey, clad in loincloths only. But the bird sang the same story, so that the village chief had them brought back, and freed them only after a most particular and minute inspection.

Once more they started, but when the bird impatiently screamed the same song, the chief recalled them once more and questioned them, saying: "I have tested this bird time and again, and he never tells a lie. Now he says there are gems in your possession. Where are they?"

And they replied: "If there are gems in our possession, how did your most careful search fail to reveal them?"

But the chief retorted: "If this bird says the thing over and over, the gems are certainly there, in your stomachs. It is now evening. At dawn I am determined to cut your stomachs open for gems." After this scolding, he had them thrust into a dungeon.

Then the captive thief reflected: "In the morning, when their stomachs are cut open and the chief finds such splendid gems, the greedy villain will be quite certain to slash my belly too. So my death is a certainty, whatever happens. What am I to do? Well, the proverb says:

When that last hour arrives, that none,
However shrewd, may miss,
A noble spirit serves his kind,
And death itself is bliss.

It is best, then, to offer my own stomach first to the knife, saving the very men I had planned to kill. For when my stomach is cut open first of all and that villain finds nothing, grub as he may, then he will cease to suspect the existence of gems and, heartless though he be, will yet have mercy enough to renounce the cutting of the stomachs of those others. Thus, by giving them life and wealth I shall gain the glory of a generous deed in this world, and a rebirth in purity hereafter. This is, so to speak, a wise man's death, though I did not seek the opportunity." And so the night passed.

At dawn the village chief was preparing to cut open their stomachs when the thief clasped his hands and humbly entreated him. "I cannot," he said, "behold the cutting of the stomachs of these my brothers. Pray be gracious, and cut my stomach first."

To this the chief mercifully agreed, but he found no sign of a gem in the stomach, cut as he would. Thereupon he penitently cried: "Woe, woe is me! Swelling with greed at the mere interpretation of a bird's song, I have done a ghastly deed. I infer that no more gems will be found in the other stomachs than in this." The three were therefore set free uninjured, and hastening through the forest, they reached a civilized spot.

"And that is why I say:
The robber for his victims died.
Better the sensible enemy than
the foolish friend."

In this spot they sold all three gems, the merchant's son serving as their agent. The considerable capital thus obtained he laid before the prince, who, having appointed the son of the man of learning his prime minister, planned to seize the kingdom of the monarch of that country, and made the merchant's son his secretary of the treasury. He then, by offering double pay, assembled an army of picked elephants, horse, and infantry, began hostilities with a prime minister intelligent in the six expedients, killed the king in battle, seized his kingdom, and himself became king. Next he delegated all burdensome administrative functions to his two friends and consulted his ease in a life of graceful luxury.

After a time, as he dallied now and then in the ladies' apartments, he made a pet and constant companion of a monkey from the stable nearby. For it is a well-known fact that kings take naturally to parrots, partridges, pigeons, rams, monkeys, and such creatures. In course of time the monkey, regaled with a variety of dainties from the royal hand, grew to be a big fellow, and became an object of respect to the entire court. The king, indeed, felt such confidence in the monkey and such affection that he made him his personal sword-bearer.

Now the king had near his palace a pleasure-grove made charming by clumps of trees of various species. When springtime came, he perceived how delightful was this grove, since it advertised the glory of Love in the humming of swarms of bees, and was fragrant with the perfumes of crowding blossoms. He therefore entered it with his queen in a passion of love, and all his human retinue were left behind at the entrance.

After a period of delighted wandering and gazing, the king grew weary and said to the monkey: "I shall rest and sleep a moment in this arbour. You must keep careful watch to prevent anyone from disturbing me." With this he went to sleep.

Presently a bee, drawn by the fragrance of flowers, of musk, and other perfumes, hovered over him and alighted on his head. On seeing this, the monkey angrily thought: "What! Under my very eyes this wretched creature looks upon the king!" And he undertook to drive him away.

But when the bee, for all his efforts, continued to approach the king, the monkey went blind with rage, drew his sword, and fetched a blow at the bee a blow that split the king's head.

And the queen, who was sleeping beside him, started up in terror, screaming when she beheld the incomprehensible fact: "You fool! You monkey! The king trusted you. How could you do it?"

Then the monkey told what had happened, after which everybody, by common consent, scolded him and shunned him.

"So there is reason in saying that one should not make friends with a fool, inasmuch as the monkey killed the king. Indeed, that is why I say:

To foes of sense, not foolish friends,
It's wiser far to cling:
The robber for his victims died;
The monkey killed the king."

Panchatantra: The Results of Education

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

The Results of Education

[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

On a part of a mountain a hen-parrot brought two chicks into the world. These chicks were caught by a hunter when the mother had left the nest to search for food. One of them - since fate decreed it - contrived to escape, while the other was kept in a cage and taught to speak. Meanwhile, the first chick encountered a wandering holy man, who caught him, took him to his own hermitage, and gave him kindly care.
While time was passing in this manner, a certain king, whose horse ran away and separated him from his guard, came to that part of the forest where the hunters lived. The moment he perceived the king's approach, the parrot straightway began to chuckle from his cage: "Come, come, my masters! Here comes somebody riding a horse. Bind him, bind him! Kill him, kill him!" And when the king heard the parrot's words, he quickly spurred his horse in another direction.
Now when the king came to another wood far [198} away, he saw a hermitage of holy men, and in it a parrot who addressed him from a cage: "Enter, O King, and find repose. Taste our cool water and our sweet fruit. Come, hermits! Pay him honour. Give him water to wash his feet in the cool shade of this tree."
When he heard this, the king's eyes blossomed wide, and he wonderingly pondered what it might mean. And he said to the parrot: "In another part of the forest I met another parrot who looked like you, but who had a cruel disposition. 'Bind him, bind him!' he cried; 'kill him, kill him!'
" And the parrot replied to the king by giving a precise relation of the course of his life.
"And that is why I say:
Our education, good and bad,
The obvious consequences had.

Panchatantra: The Mice That Ate Iron

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

The Mice That Ate Iron

[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

In a certain town lived a merchant named Naduk, who lost his money and determined to travel abroad. For
The meanest of mankind is he
Who, having lost his money, can [193}
Inhabit lands or towns where once
He spent it like a gentleman.
And again:
The neighbour gossips blame
His poverty as shame
Who long was wont to play
Among them, proud and gay.
In his house was an iron balance-beam inherited from his ancestors, and it weighed a thousand pals. This he put in pawn with Merchant Lakshman before he departed for foreign countries.
Now after he had long travelled wherever business led him through foreign lands, he returned to his native city and said to Merchant Lakshman: "Friend Lakshman, return my deposit, the balance-beam." And Lakshman said: "Friend Naduk, your balance beam has been eaten by mice."
To this Naduk replied: "Lakshman, you are in no way to blame, if it has been eaten by mice. Such is life. Nothing in the universe has any permanence. However, I am going to the river for a bath. Please send your boy Money-God with me, to carry my bathing things."
Since Lakshman was conscience-stricken at his own theft, he said to his son Money-God: "My dear boy, let me introduce Uncle Naduk, who is going to the river to bathe. You must go with him and carry his bathing things." Ah, there is too much truth in the saying: [194}
There is no purely loving deed
Without a pinch of fear or greed
Or service of a selfish need.
And again:
Wherever there is fond attention
That does not seek a service pension,
Was there no timid apprehension?
So Lakshman's son took the bathing things and delightedly accompanied Naduk to the river. After Naduk had taken his bath, he thrust Lakshman's son Money-God into a mountain cave, blocked the entrance with a great rock, and returned to Lakshman's house. And when Lakshman said: "Friend Naduk, tell me what has become of my son Money-God who went with you," Naduk answered: "My good Lakshman, a hawk carried him off from the river-bank."
"Oh, Naduk!" cried Lakshman. "You liar! How could a hawk possibly carry off a big boy like Money-God?"
"But, Lakshman," retorted Naduk, "the mice could eat a balance-beam made of iron. Give me my balance-beam, if you want your son." Finally, they carried their dispute to the palace gate, where Lakshman cried in a piercing tone: "Help! Help! A ghastly deed! This Naduk person has carried off my son his name is Money-God."
Thereupon the magistrates said to Naduk: "Sir, restore the boy to Lakshman." But Naduk pleaded: "What am I to do? Before my eyes a hawk carried him from the river-bank."
"Come, Naduk!" said [195} they, "you are not telling the truth. How can a hawk carry off a fifteen-year-old boy?"
Then Naduk laughed outright and said: "Gentlemen, listen to my words.
Where mice eat balance-beams of iron
A thousand pals in weight,
A hawk might steal an elephant;
A boy is trifling freight."
"How was that?" they asked, and Naduk told them the story of the balance-beam. At this they laughed and caused the restoration of balance-beam and boy to the respective owners.
"And that is why I say:
Where mice eat balance-beams of iron
A thousand pals in weight,
A hawk might steal an elephant;
A boy is trifling freight."

Panchatantra: A Remedy Worse Than the Disease

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

A Remedy Worse Than the Disease

[This story is inserted into Right-Mind and Wrong-Mind.]

A flock of herons once had their nests on a fig tree in a part of a forest. In a hole in the tree lived a black snake who made a practice of eating the heron chicks before their wings sprouted.
At last one heron, in utter woe at seeing the young ones eaten by a snake, went to the shore of the pond, shed a flood of tears, and stood with downcast face.
And a crab who noticed him in this attitude, said: "Uncle, why are you so tearful today?"
"My good friend," said the heron, "what am I to do? Fate is against me. My babies and the youngsters belonging to my relatives have been eaten by a snake that lives in a hole in the fig tree. Grieved at their grief, I weep. Tell me, is there any possible device for killing him?"
On hearing this, the crab reflected: "After all, he is a natural-born enemy of my race. I will give him such advice - a kind of true lie - that other herons may also perish. For the proverb says:
Let your speech like butter be;
Steel your heart remorselessly: [189}
Stir an enemy to action
That destroys him with his faction."
And he said aloud: "Uncle, conditions being as they are, scatter bits of fish all the way from the mongoose burrow to the snake's hole. The mongoose will follow that trail and will destroy the villainous snake."
When this had been done, the mongoose followed the bits of fish, killed the villainous snake, and also ate at his leisure all the herons who made their home in the tree.
"And that is why I say:
The good and bad of given schemes
Wise thought must first reveal:
The stupid heron saw his chicks
Provide a mongoose meal."

Panchatantra: Right-Mind and Wrong-Mind*

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

Right-Mind and Wrong-Mind
[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

In a certain city lived two friends, sons of merchants, and their names were Right-Mind and [185} Wrong-Mind. These two travelled to another country far away in order to earn money. There the one named Right-Mind, as a consequence of favouring fortune, found a pot containing a thousand dinars, which had been hidden long before by a holy man. He debated the matter with Wrong-Mind, and they decided to go home, since their object was attained. So they returned together.
When they drew near their native city, Right-Mind said: "My good friend, a half of this falls to your share. Pray take it, so that, now that we are at home, we may cut a brilliant figure before our friends and those less friendly."
But Wrong-Mind, with a sneaking thought of his own advantage, said to the other: "My good friend, so long as we two hold this treasure in common, so long will our virtuous friendship suffer no interruption. Let us each take a hundred dinars, and go to our homes after burying the remainder. The decrease or increase of this treasure will serve as a test of our virtue."
Now Right-Mind, in the nobility of his nature, did not comprehend the hidden duplicity of his friend, and agreed to the proposal. Each then took a certain sum of money. They carefully hid the residue in the ground, and made their entrance into the city.
Before long, Wrong-Mind exhausted his preliminary portion because he practiced the vice of unwise expenditure and because his predetermined fate [186} offered vulnerable points. He therefore made a second division with Right-Mind, each taking a second hundred. Within a year this, too, had slipped in the same way through Wrong-Mind's fingers. As a result, his thoughts took this form: "Suppose I divide another two hundred with him, then what is the good of the remainder, a paltry four hundred, even if I steal it? I think I prefer to steal a round six hundred." After this meditation, he went alone, removed the treasure, and levelled the ground.
A mere month later, he took the initiative, going to Right-Mind and saying: "My good friend, let us divide the rest of the money equally." So he and Right-Mind visited the spot and began to dig. When the excavation failed to reveal any treasure, that impudent Wrong-Mind first of all smote his own head with the empty pot, then shouted: "What became of that good lucre? Surely, Right-Mind, you must have stolen it. Give me my half. If you don't, I will bring you into court."
"Be silent, villain!" said the other. "My name is Right-Mind. Such thefts are not in my line. You know the verse:
A man right-minded sees but trash,
Mere clods of earth, in others' cash;
A mother in his neighbour's wife;
In all that lives, his own dear life."
So together they carried their dispute to court and related the theft of the money. And when the [187} magistrates learned the facts, they decreed an ordeal for each
But Wrong-Mind said: "Come! This judgement is not proper. For the legal dictum runs:
Best evidence is written word;
Next, witnesses who saw and heard;
Then only let ordeals prevail
When witnesses completely fail.
In the present case, I have a witness, the goddess of the wood. She will reveal to you which one of us is guilty, which not guilty. And they replied: "You are quite right, sir. For there is a further saying:
To meanest witnesses, ordeals
Should never be preferred;
Of course much less, if you possess
A forest goddess' word.
Now we also feel a great interest in the case. You two must accompany us tomorrow morning to that part of the forest." With this they accepted bail from each and sent them home.
Then Wrong-Mind went home and asked his father's help. "Father dear," said he, "the dinars are in my hand. They only require one little word from you. This very night I am going to hide you out of sight in a hole in the mimosa tree that grows near the spot where I dug out the treasure before. In the morning you must be my witness in the presence of the magistrates."
"Oh, my son," said the father, "we are both lost. [188} This is no kind of a scheme. There is wisdom in the old story:
The good and bad of given schemes
Wise thought must first reveal:
The stupid heron saw his chicks
Provide a mongoose meal."
"How was that?" asked Wrong-Mind. And his father told the story of A Remedy Worse Than the Disease.

But Wrong-Mind disdained the paternal warning, and during the night he hid his father out of sight in the hole in the tree. When morning came, the scamp took a bath, put on clean garments, and followed Right-Mind and the magistrates to the mimosa tree, where he cried in piercing tones:
"Earth, heaven, and death, the feeling mind,
Sun, moon, and water, fire and wind,
Both twilights, justice, day and night
Discern man's conduct, wrong or right.
O blessèd goddess of the wood, which of us two is the thief? Speak."
Then Wrong-Mind's father spoke from his hole in the mimosa: "Gentlemen, Right-Mind took that [190} money."
And when all the king's men heard this statement, their eyes blossomed with astonishment, and they searched their minds to discover the appropriate legal penalty for stealing money, in order to visit it on Right-Mind.
Meanwhile Right-Mind heaped inflammable matter about the hole in the mimosa and set fire to it. As the mimosa burned, Wrong-Mind's father issued from the hole with a pitiful wail, his body scorched and his eyes popping out. And they all asked: "Why, sir! What does this mean?"
"It is all Wrong-Mind's doing," he replied. Whereupon the king's men hanged Wrong-Mind to a branch of the mimosa, while they commended Right-Mind and caused him satisfaction by conferring upon him the king's favour and other things.
"And that is why I say:
Right-Mind was one, and Wrong-Mind two;
I know the tale by heart:
The son in smoke made father choke
By being super-smart."

Panchatantra: The Unteachable Monkey

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

The Unteachable Monkey

[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

In a part of a forest was a troop of monkeys who found a firefly one winter evening when they were dreadfully depressed. On examining the insect, they believed it to be fire, so lifted it with care, covered it with dry grass and leaves, thrust forward their arms, sides, stomachs, and chests, scratched themselves, and enjoyed imagining that they were warm. One of the arboreal creatures in particular, being especially chilly, blew repeatedly and with concentrated attention on the firefly.
Thereupon a bird named Needle-Face, driven by hostile fate to her own destruction, flew down from her tree and said to the monkey: "My dear sir, do not put yourself to unnecessary trouble. This is not fire. This is a firefly." He, however, did not heed her warning but blew again, nor did he stop when she tried more than once to check him. To cut a long story short, when she vexed him by coming close and shouting in his ear, he seized her and dashed her on a rock, crushing face, eyes, head, and neck so that she died.
"And that is why I say:
No knife prevails against a stone;
Nor bends the unbending tree;
No good advice from Needle-Face
Helped indocility."

Panchatantra: Poor Blossom

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

Poor Blossom

[This story is inserted into The Girl Who Married a Snake.]

God Indra once had a parrot named Blossom. He enjoyed supreme beauty, loveliness, and various graces, while his intelligence was not blunted by his extensive scientific attainments.
One day he was resting on the palm of great [180} Indra's hand, his body thrilling with delight at that contact, and was reciting a variety of authoritative formulas, when he caught sight of Yama, lord of death, who had come to pay his respects at the time appointed. Seeing the god, the parrot edged away. And all the thronging immortals asked him: "Why did you move away, sir, upon beholding that personage?" "But," said the parrot, "he brings harm to all living creatures. Why not move away from him?"
Upon hearing this, they all desired to calm his fears, so said to Yama: "As a favour to us, you must please not kill this parrot."
And Yama replied: "I do not know about that. It is Time who determines these matters."
They therefore took Blossom with them, paid a visit to Time, and made the same request. To which Time replied: "It is Death who is posted in these affairs. Pray speak to him."
But when they did so, the parrot died at the mere sight of Death. And they were all distressed at seeing the occurrence, so that they said to Yama: "What does this mean?" And Yama said: "It was simply fated that he should die at the mere sight of Death." With this reply they went back to heaven.
"And that is why I say:
All fated happenings, derived
From any former state,
Must changeless stand: the very gods
Endured poor Blossom's fate."

Panchatantra: The Girl Who Married a Snake*

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

The Girl Who Married a Snake

[This story is inserted into The Monk Who Left His Body Behind.]

In Palace City lived a Brahman named Godly, whose childless wife wept bitterly when she saw the neighbours' youngsters. But one day the Brahman said: "Forget your sorrow, mother dear. See! When I was offering the sacrifice for birth of children, an invisible being said to me in the clearest words: 'Brahman, you shall have a son surpassing all mankind in beauty, character, and charm.'"
When she heard this, the wife felt her heart swell with supreme delight. "I only hope his promises come true," she said. Presently she conceived, and in course of time gave birth to a snake. When she saw him, she paid no attention to her companions, who all advised her to throw him away. Instead, she took him and bathed him, laid him with motherly tenderness in a large, clean box, and pampered him with [178} milk, fresh butter, and other good things, so that before many days had passed, he grew to maturity.
But one day the Brahman's wife was watching the marriage festival of a neighbour's son, and the tears streamed down her face as she said to her husband: "I know that you despise me, because you do nothing about a marriage festival for my boy."
"My good wife," answered he, "am I to go to the depths of the underworld and beseech Vasuki the serpent-king? Who else, you foolish woman, would give his own daughter to this snake?"
But when he had spoken, he was disturbed at seeing the utter woe in his wife's countenance. He therefore packed provisions for a long journey, and undertook foreign travel from love of his wife. In the course of some months he arrived at a spot called Kutkuta City in a distant land. There in the house of a kinsman whom he could visit with pleasure since each respected the other's character, he was hospitably received, was given a bath, food, and the like, and there he spent the night.
Now at dawn, when he paid his respects to his Brahman host and made ready to depart, the other asked him: "What was your purpose in coming hither? And where will your errand lead you?"
To this he replied: "I have come in search of a fit wife for my son."
"In that case," said his host, "I have a very beautiful daughter, and my own person is yours to command. Pray take her for your son." [179}
So the Brahman took the girl with her attendants and returned to his own place. But when the people of the country beheld her incomparable opulence of beauty, her supreme loveliness and superhuman graces, their eyes popped out with pleasure, and they said to her attendants: "How can right-thinking persons bestow such a pearl of a girl upon a snake?"
On hearing this, all her elderly relatives without exception were troubled at heart, and they said: "Let her be taken from this imp-ridden creature."
But the girl said: "No more of this mockery! Remember the text: Do once, once only, these three things:
Once spoken, stands the word of kings;
The speech of saints has no miscarriage;
A maid is given once in marriage.
And again:
All fated happenings, derived
From any former state,
Must changeless stand: the very gods
Endured poor Blossom's fate."
Whereupon they all asked in chorus: "Who was this Blossom person?"
And the girl told the story of Poor Blossom.

Furthermore, I do not wish my father reproached for double dealing on the part of [181} his daughter." When she had said this, she married the snake, with the permission of her companions, and at once began devoted attendance upon him by offering milk to drink and performing other services.
One night the serpent issued from the generous chest which had been set for him in her chamber, and entered her bed. "Who is this?" she cried. "He has the form of a man." And thinking him a strange man, she started up, trembling in every limb, unlocked the door, and was about to dart away when she heard him say: "Stay, my dear wife. I am your husband." Then, in order to convince her, he re-entered the body which he had left behind in the chest, issued from it again, and came to her.
When she beheld him flashing with lofty diadem, with earrings, bracelets, armbands, and rings, she fell at his feet, and then they sank into a glad embrace.
Now his father, the Brahman, rose betimes and discovered how matters stood. He therefore seized the serpent's skin that lay in the chest, and consumed it with fire, for he thought: "I do not want him to enter that again." And in the morning he and his wife, with the greatest possible joy, introduced to everybody as their own an extraordinarily handsome son, quite wrapped up in his love affair.

Panchatantra: The Monk Who Left His Body Behind*

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

The Monk Who Left His Body Behind
[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

In the Koshala country is a city called Unassailable. In it ruled a king named Fine-Chariot, over whose footstool rippled rays of light from the diadems of uncounted vassal princes.
One day a forest ranger came with this report: "Master, all the forest kings have become turbulent, and in their middle is the forest chief named Vindhyaka. It is the king's affair to teach him modest manners." On hearing this report, the king summoned Counsellor Strong, and despatched him with orders to chastise the forest chieftains. [175}
Now in the absence of the counsellor, a naked monk arrived in the city at the end of the hot season* He was master of the astronomical specialties, such as problems and etymologies, rising of the zodiacal signs, augury, ecliptic intersection, and the decanate; also stellar mansions divided into nine parts, twelve parts, thirty parts; the shadow of the gnomon, eclipses, and numerous other mysteries. With these the fellow in a few days won the entire population, as if he had bought and paid for them.
Finally, as the matter went from mouth to mouth, the king heard a report of its character, and had the curiosity to summon the monk to his palace. There he offered him a seat and asked: "Is it true, Professor, as they say, that you read the thoughts of others?"
"That will be demonstrated in the sequel," replied the monk, and by discourses adapted to the occasion he brought the poor king to the extreme pitch of curiosity.
One day he failed to appear at the regular hour, but the following day, on entering the palace, he announced: "O King, I bring you the best of good tidings. At dawn today I flung this body aside within my cell, assumed a body fit for the world of the gods, and, inspired with the knowledge that all the immortals thought of me with longing, I went to heaven and have just returned. While there, I was requested by the gods to inquire in their name after the king's welfare." [176}
When he heard this, the king said, his extreme curiosity begetting a feeling of amazement: "What, Professor! You go to heaven?"
"O mighty King," replied the fellow, "I go to heaven every day." This the king believed poor dullard! so that he grew negligent of all royal business and all duties toward the ladies, concentrating his attention on the monk.
While matters were in this state, Strong entered the king's presence, after settling all disturbances in the forest domain. He found the master wholly indifferent to every one of his counsellors, withdrawn in private conference with that naked monk, discussing what seemed to be some miraculous occurrence, his lotus-face a-blossom. And on learning the facts, Strong bowed low and said: "Victory, O King! May the gods give you wit!"
Thereupon the king inquired concerning the counsellor's health, and said: "Sir, do you know this professor?" To which the counsellor replied: "How could there be ignorance of one who is lord and creator of a whole school of professors? Moreover, I have heard that this professor goes to heaven. Is it a fact?"
"Everything that you have heard," answered the king, "is beyond the shadow of doubt."
Thereupon the monk said: "If this counsellor feels any curiosity, he may see for himself." With this he entered his cell, barred the door from within, and waited there.
After the lapse of a mere moment, the counsellor spoke: "O King," he said, "how soon will [177} he return?" And the king replied: "Why this impatience? You must know that he leaves his lifeless body within this cell, and returns with another, a heavenly body."
"If this is indeed the case," said Strong, "then bring a great quantity of firewood, so that I may set fire to this cell."
"For what purpose?" asked the king. And the counsellor continued: "So that, when this lifeless body has been burned, the gentleman may stand before the king in that other body which visits heaven. In this connection I will tell you the story of The Girl Who Married a Snake.

After Strong had related this parallel case to the king, he set fire to the cell that contained the naked monk. [182}
"And that is why I say:
The counsellor whose name was Strong
Attained his dearest heart's desire:
He won the favour of his king;
He burned the naked monk with fire."

Panchatantra: Smart, The Jackal

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

Smart, The Jackal

[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

In a part of a forest lived a lion named Thunder-Fang, in company with three counsellors, a wolf, a jackal, and a camel, whose names were Meat-Face, Smart, and Spike-Ear. One day he fought with a furious elephant whose sharp-pointed tusk so tore his body that he withdrew from the world.
Then, suffering from a seven-day fast, his body lean with hunger, he said to his famished advisers: "Round up some creature in the forest, so that, even in my present condition, I may provide needed nourishment for you." The moment he issued his orders, they roamed the wood, but found nothing.
Thereupon Smart reflected: "If Spike-Ear here were killed, then we should all be nourished for a few days. However, the master is kept from killing him by friendly feeling. In spite of that, my wit will put the master in a frame of mind to kill him. For, indeed,
All understanding may be won,
All things be slain, and all be done,
If mortals have sufficient wit;
For me, I make good use of it."
After these reflections, he said to Spike-Ear: "Friend Spike-Ear, the master lacks wholesome food, [165} and is starving. If the master goes, our death is also a certain thing. So I have a suggestion for your benefit and the master's. Please pay attention."
"My good fellow," said Spike-Ear, "make haste to inform me, so that I may unhesitatingly do as you say. Besides, one earns credit for a hundred good deeds by
Smart said: "My good fellow, give your own body at 100 per cent interest, so that you may receive a double body, and the master may prolong his life."
On hearing this proposal, Spike-Ear said: "If that is possible, my friend, my body shall be so devoted. Tell the master that this thing should be done. I stipulate only that the Death-God be requested to guarantee the bargain."
Having made their decision, they all went to visit the lion, and Smart said: "O King, we did not find a thing today, and the blessèd sun is already near his setting."
On hearing this, the lion fell into deep despondency. Then Smart continued: "O King, our friend Spike-Ear makes this proposal: 'If you call upon the Death-God to guarantee the bargain, and if you render it back with 100 per cent of interest, then I will give my body."
"My good fellow," answered the lion, "yours is a beautiful act. Let it be as you say."
On the basis of this pact, Spike-Ear was struck down by the lion's paw, his body was torn by the wolf and the jackal, and he died.
Then Smart reflected: "How can I get him all to [166} myself to eat?" With this thought in his mind, he noticed that the lion's body was smeared with blood, and he said: "Master, you must go to the river to bathe and worship the gods, while I stay here with Meat-Face to guard the food-supply."
On hearing this, the lion went to the river. When the lion was gone, Smart said to Meat-Face: "Friend Meat-Face, you are starving. You might eat some of this camel before the old master returns. I will make your apologies to the master."
So Meat-Face took the hint, but had only taken a taste when Smart cried: "Drop it, Meat-Face. The master is coming."
Presently the lion returned, saw that the camel was minus a heart, and wrathfully roared: "Look here! Who turned this camel into leavings? I wish to kill him, too."
Then Meat-Face peered into Smart's visage, as much as to say: "Come, now! Say something, so that he may calm down."
But Smart laughed and said: "Come, come! You ate the camel's heart all by yourself. Why do you look at me?"
And Meat-Face, hearing this, fled for his life, making for another country. But when the lion had pursued him a short distance, he turned back, thinking: "He, too, is unguipugnacious. I must not kill him."
At this moment, as fate would have it, there came that way a great camel caravan, heavily laden, making a tremendous jingling with the bells tied to the camels' necks. And when the lion heard the jingle of [167} the bells, loud even in the distance, he said to the jackal: "My good fellow, find out what this horrible noise may be."
On receiving this commission, Smart advanced a little in the forest, then darted back, and cried in great excitement: "Run, master! Run, if you can run!"
"My good fellow," said the lion, "why terrify me so? Tell me what it is."
And Smart cried: "Master, the Death-God is coming, and he is in a rage against you because you brought untimely death upon his camel, and had him guarantee the bargain. He intends to make you pay a thousand fold for his camel. He has immense pride in his camels. He also plans to make inquiries about the father and grandfathers of that one. He is coming. He is near at hand."
When the lion heard this, he, too, abandoned the dead camel and scampered for dear life. Whereupon Smart ate the camel bit by bit, so that the meat lasted a long time.
"And that is why I say:
The wise who wrongs another,
Pursuing selfish good,
Should keep his plans a secret,
As Smart did in the wood."

Panchatantra: The Lion and the Ram

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

The Lion and the Ram

[This story is inserted into The Plover Who Fought the Ocean.]

In a part of a forest was a ram, separated from his flock. In the armour of his great fleece and horns, he roamed the wood, a tough customer. Now one day a lion in that forest, who had a retinue of all kinds of animals, encountered him. At this unprecedented sight, since the wool so bristled in every direction as to conceal the body, the lion's [160} heart was troubled and invaded by fear. "Surely, he is more powerful than I am," thought he. "That is why he wanders here so fearlessly."
And the lion edged away. But on a later day the lion saw the same ram cropping grass on the forest floor, and he thought: "What! The fellow nibbles grass! His strength must be in relation to his diet."
So he made a quick spring and killed the ram.
"And that is why I say:
The poor are in peculiar need
Of being secret when they feed:
The lion killed the ram who could
Not check his appetite for food."

Panchatantra: The Shrewd Old Gander

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

The Shrewd Old Gander

[This story is inserted into The Plover Who Fought the Ocean.]

In a part of a forest was a fig tree with massive branches. In it lived a flock of wild geese. At the root of this tree appeared a creeping vine of the species called koshambi. Thereupon the old gander said: "This vine that is climbing our fig tree bodes ill to us. By means of it, someone might perhaps climb up here some day and kill us. Take it away while it is still slender and readily cut." But the geese despised his counsel and did not cut the vine, so that in course of time it wound its way up the tree.
Now one day when the geese were out foraging, a hunter climbed the fig tree by following the spiral vine, laid a snare among the nests, and went home. [158} When the geese, after food and recreation, returned at nightfall, they were caught to the last one. Whereupon the old gander said: "Well, the disaster has taken place. You are caught, having brought it on yourselves by not heeding my advice. We are all lost now."
Then the geese said to him: "Sir, the thing having come to pass, what ought we to do now?" And the old fellow replied: "If you will take my advice, play dead when that hateful hunter comes. And when the hunter, inferring that we are dead, throws the last one to the ground, we then must all rise simultaneously, flying over his head."
At early dawn the hunter arrived, and when he looked them over, everyone seemed as good as dead. He therefore freed them from the snare with perfect assurance, and threw them all to the ground, one after the other. But when they saw him preparing to descend, they all followed the shrewd plan of the old gander and flew up simultaneously.
"And that is why I say:
Take old folks' counsel (those are old
Who have experience)
The captive wild-goose flock was freed
By one old gander's sense."

Panchatantra: The Duel between Elephant and Sparrow

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

The Duel between Elephant and Sparrow

[This story is inserted into The Plover Who Fought the Ocean.]

In a dense bit of jungle lived a sparrow and his wife, who had built their nest on the branch of a tamal tree, and in course of time a family appeared.
Now one day a jungle elephant with the spring fever was distressed by the heat, and came beneath that tamal tree in search of shade. Blinded by his fever, he pulled with the tip of his trunk at the branch where the sparrows had their nest, and broke it. In the process the sparrows' eggs were crushed, though [154} the parent-birds - further life being predestined - barely escaped death.
Then the hen-sparrow lamented, desolate with grief at the death of her chicks. And presently, hearing her lamentation, a woodpecker bird, a great friend of hers, came grieved at her grief, and said: "My dear friend, why lament in vain? For the Scripture says:
For lost and dead and past
The wise have no laments:
Between the wise and fools
Is just this difference.
And again:
No life deserves lament;
Fools borrow trouble,
Add sadness to the sad,
So make it double.
And yet again:
Since kinsmen's sticky tears
Clog the departed,
Bury them decently,
Tearless, whole-hearted."
"That is good doctrine," said the hen-sparrow, "but what of it? This elephant curse - his spring fever! - killed my babies. So if you are my friend, think of some plan to kill this big elephant. If that were done, I should feel less grief at the death of my children. You know the saying:
While one brings comfort in distress,
Another jeers at pain;
By paying both as they deserve,
A man is born again." [155}
"Madam," said the woodpecker, "your remark is very true. For the proverb says:
A friend in need is a friend indeed,
Although of different caste;
The whole world is your eager friend
So long as riches last.
And again:
A friend in need is a friend indeed;
Fathers indeed are those who feed;
True comrades they, and wives indeed,
Whence trust and sweet content proceed.
"Now see what my wit can devise. But you must know that I, too, have a friend, a gnat called Lute-Buzz. I will return with her, so that this villainous beast of an elephant may be killed."
So he went with the hen-sparrow, found the gnat, and said: "Dear madam, this is my friend the hen-sparrow. She is mourning because a villainous elephant smashed her eggs. So you must lend your assistance while I work out a plan for killing him."
"My good friend," said the gnat, "there is only one possible answer. But I also have a very intimate friend, a frog named Cloud-Messenger. Let us do the right thing by calling him into consultation. For the proverb says:
A wise companion find,
Shrewd, learnèd, righteous, kind;
For plans by him designed
Are never undermined." [156}
So all three went together and told Cloud-Messenger the entire story. And the frog said: "How feeble a thing is that wretched elephant when pitted against a great throng enraged! Gnat, you must go and buzz in his fevered ear, so that he may shut his eyes in delight at hearing your music. Then the woodpecker's bill will peck out his eyes. After that I will sit on the edge of a pit and croak. And he, being thirsty, will hear me, and will approach expecting to find a body of water. When he comes to the pit, he will fall in and perish."
When they carried out the plan, the fevered elephant shut his eyes in delight at the song of the gnat, was blinded by the woodpecker, wandered thirst-smitten at noonday, followed the croak of a frog, came to a great pit, fell in, and died.
"And that is why I say:
Woodpecker and sparrow
With froggy and gnat,
Attacking en masse, laid
The elephant flat."

Panchatantra: Forethought, Ready-Wit, and Fatalist

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

Forethought, Ready-Wit, and Fatalist

[This story is inserted into The Plover Who Fought the Ocean.]

In a great lake lived three full-grown fishes, whose names were Forethought, Ready-wit, and Fatalist. Now one day the fish named Forethought overheard passers-by on the bank and fishermen saying: "There [150} are plenty of fish in this pond. Tomorrow we go fishing."
On hearing this, Forethought reflected: "This looks bad. Tomorrow or the day after they will be sure to come here. I will take Ready-wit and Fatalist and move to another lake whose waters are not troubled.' [9 So he called them and put the question. Thereupon Ready-wit said: "I have lived long in this lake and cannot move in such a hurry. If fishermen come here, then I will protect myself by some means devised for the occasion."
But poor, doomed Fatalist said: "There are sizable lakes elsewhere. Who knows whether they will come here or not? One should not abandon the lake of his birth merely because of such small gossip. And the proverb says:
Since scamp and sneak and snake
So often undertake
A plan that does not thrive,
The world wags on, alive.
Therefore I am determined not to go." And when
Forethought realized that their minds were made up, he went to another body of water.
On the next day, when he had gone, the fishermen with their boys beset the inner pool, cast a net, and caught all the fish without exception. Under these circumstances Ready-wit, while still in the water, played dead. And since they thought: "This big fellow died without help," they drew him from the net and laid [151} him on the bank, from which he wriggled back to safety in the water. But Fatalist stuck his nose into the meshes of the net, struggling until they pounded him repeatedly with clubs and so killed him.
"And that is why I say:
Forethought and Ready-wit thrive;
Fatalist can't keep alive."

Panchatantra: Shell-Neck, Slim, and Grim

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

Shell-Neck, Slim, and Grim

[This story is inserted into The Plover Who Fought the Ocean.]

In a certain lake lived a turtle named Shell-Neck. He had as friends two ganders whose names were Slim and Grim. Now in the vicissitudes of time there came [148} a twelve-year drought, which begot ideas of this nature in the two ganders: "This lake has gone dry. Let us seek another body of water. However, we must first say farewell to Shell-Neck, our dear and long-proved friend."
When they did so, the turtle said: "Why do you bid me farewell? I am a water-dweller, and here I should perish very quickly from the scant supply of water and from grief at loss of you. Therefore, if you feel any affection for me, please rescue me from the jaws of this death. Besides, as the water dries in this lake, you two suffer nothing beyond a restricted diet, while to me it means immediate death. Consider which is more serious, loss of food or loss of life."
But they replied: "We are unable to take you with us since you are a water-creature without wings." Yet the turtle continued: "There is a possible device. Bring a stick of wood." This they did, whereupon the turtle gripped the middle of the stick between his teeth, and said: "Now take firm hold with your bills, one on each side, fly up, and travel with even flight through the sky, until we discover another desirable body of water."
But they objected: "There is a hitch in this fine plan. If you happen to indulge in the smallest conversation, then you will lose your hold on the stick, will fall from a great height, and will be dashed to bits."
"Oh," said the turtle, "from this moment I take [149} a vow of silence, to last as long as we are in heaven." So they carried out the plan, but while the two ganders were painfully carrying the turtle over a neighbouring city, the people below noticed the spectacle, and there arose a confused buzz of talk as they asked: "What is this cartlike object that two birds are carrying through the atmosphere?"
Hearing this, the doomed turtle was heedless enough to ask: "What are these people chattering about?" The moment he spoke, the poor simpleton lost his grip and fell to the ground. And persons who wanted meat cut him to bits in a moment with sharp knives.
"And that is why I say:
To take advice from kindly friends
Be ever satisfied:
The stupid turtle lost his grip
Upon the stick, and died."

Panchatantra: The Plover Who Fought the Ocean*

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

The Plover Who Fought the Ocean
[This story is inserted into The Loss of Friends.]

A plover and his wife once lived by the shore of the sea, the mighty sea that swarms with fish, crocodiles, turtles, sharks, porpoises, pearl oysters, shellfish, and other teeming life. The plover was called Sprawl, and his wife's name was Constance.
In due time she became pregnant and was ready to lay her eggs. So she said to her husband: "Please find a spot where I may lay my eggs."
"Why," said he, "this home of ours, inherited from our ancestors, promises progress. Lay your eggs here."
"Oh," said [146} she, "don't mention this dreadful place. Here is the ocean near at hand. His tide might someday make a long reach and lick away my babies."
But the plover answered: "Sweetheart, he knows me, he knows Sprawl. Surely the great ocean cannot show such enmity to me. Did you never hear this?
What man is rash enough to take
The gleaming crest-jewel from a snake?
Or stirs the wrath of one so dread
His glance may strike his victim dead?
However summer heat distresses
In wild and treeless wildernesses,
Who, after all, would seek the shade
By some rogue elephant's body made?
And again:
When morning's chilly breezes blow
With whirling particles of snow,
What man with sense of value sure,
Employs for cold the water cure?
To visit Death what man desires,
So wakes the lion's sleeping fires,
Who, tired from slaying elephants,
Lies in a temporary trance?
Who dares to visit and defy
The death-god? Dares the fearless cry -
I challenge you to single strife;
If power be yours, pray take my life?
What son of man, with simple wit,
Defies the fire, and enters it -
The smokeless flame that terrifies,
Whose tongues by hundreds lick the skies?" [147}
But even as he spoke, his wife laughed outright, since she knew the full measure of his capacity, and she said: "Very fine, indeed. There is plenty more where that came from. O king of birds,
Your heavy boastings startle, shock,
And make of you a laughingstock:
One marvels if the rabbit plants
A dung-pile like the elephant's.
How can you fail to appreciate your own strength and weakness? There is a saying:
To know one's self is hard, to know
Wise effort, effort vain;
But accurate self-critics are
Secure in times of strain.
This much of effort brings success;
I have the power; I can:
So think, then act, and reap the fruit
Of your judicious plan.
And there is sound sense in this:
To take advice from kindly friends
Be ever satisfied:
The stupid turtle lost his grip
Upon the stick, and died."
"How was that?" asked Sprawl. And Constance told the story of Shell-Neck, Slim, and Grim.

And Constance continued:
Forethought and Ready-wit thrive;
Fatalist can't keep alive.
"How was that?" asked Sprawl. And she told the story of Forethought, Ready-Wit, and Fatalist.

"My dear," said the plover, "why do you think me like Fatalist?
Horses, elephants, and iron,
Water, woman, man,
Sticks and stones and clothes are built
On a different plan.
Feel no anxiety. Who can bring humiliation upon you while my arms protect you?"
So Constance laid her eggs, but the ocean, who had listened to the previous conversation, thought: "Well, well! There is sense in the saying:
Of self-conceit all creatures show
An adequate supply:
The plover lies with claws upstretched
To prop the falling sky.
I will just put his power to the test."
So the next day, when the two plovers had gone foraging, he made a long reach with his wave-hands and eagerly seized the eggs. Then when the hen-plover returned and found the nursery empty, she said to her husband: "See what has happened to poor [152} me. The ocean seized my eggs today. I told you more than once that we should move, but you were stupid as Fatalist and would not go. Now I am so sad at the loss of my children that I have decided to burn myself."
"My dear," said the plover, "wait until you witness my power, until I dry up that rascally ocean with my bill." But she replied: "My dear husband, how can you fight the ocean? Furthermore,
Gay simpletons who fight,
Not estimating right
The foe's power and their own,
Like moths in flame atone."
"My dear," said the plover, "you should not say such things.
The sun's new-risen beams
Upon the mountains fall:
Where glory is cognate,
Age matters not at all.
With this bill I shall dry up the water to the last drop, and turn the sea into dry land."
"Darling," said his wife, "with a bill that holds one drop how will you dry up the ocean, into which pour without ceasing the Ganges and the Indus, bearing the water of nine times nine hundred tributary streams? Why talk nonsense?"
But the plover said:
Success is rooted in the will;
And I possess an iron-strong bill;
Long days and nights before me lie:
Why should not ocean's flood go dry? [153}
The highest glory to attain
Asks enterprise and manly strain:
The sun must first to Libra climb
Before he routs the cloudy time.
"Well," said his wife, "if you feel that you must make war on the ocean, at least call other birds to your aid before you begin. For the proverb says:
A host where each is weak
Brings victory to pass:
The elephant is bound
By woven ropes of grass.
And again:
Woodpecker and sparrow
With froggy and gnat,
Attacking en masse, laid
The elephant flat."
"How was that?" asked Sprawl. And Constance told the story of The Duel between Elephant and Sparrow.

"Very well," said the plover. "I will assemble my friends and dry up the ocean." With this in mind, he summoned all the birds and related his grief at the rape of his chicks. And they started to beat the ocean with their wings, as a means of bringing relief to his sorrow.
But one bird said: "Our desires will not be accomplished in this manner. Let us rather fill up the ocean with clods and dust." So they all brought what clods [157} and dust they could carry in the hollow of their bills and started to fill up the ocean.
Then another bird said: "It is plain that we are not equal to a contest with mighty ocean. So I will tell you what is now timely. There is an old gander who lives beside a banyan tree, who will give us sound and practical advice. Let us go and ask him. For there is a saying:
Take old folks' counsel (those are old
Who have experience)
The captive wild-goose flock was freed
By one old gander's sense."
"How was that?" asked the birds. And the speaker told the story of The Shrewd Old Gander.

When the story had been told, all the birds visited the old gander and related their grief at the rape of the chicks. Then the old gander said: "The king of us all is Garuda. Therefore, the timely course of action is this. You must all stir the feelings of Garuda [159} by a chorus of wailing lamentation. In consequence, he will remove our sorrow." With this purpose they sought Garuda.
Now Garuda had just been summoned by bless&d Vishnu to take part in an impending battle between gods and demons. At just this moment the birds reported to their master, the king of the birds, what sorrow in the separation of loved ones had been wrought by the ocean when he seized the chicks. "O bird divine," they said, "while you gleam in royal radiance, we must live on what little is won by the labour of our bills. Because of our weak necessity of eating, the ocean has, in overbearing manner, carried away our young. Now there is a saying:
The poor are in peculiar need
Of being secret when they feed:
The lion killed the ram who could
Not check his appetite for food."
"How was that?" asked Garuda. And an old bird told the story of The Lion and the Ram.

While they were thus conferring, Vishnu's messenger returned and said: "Garuda, Lord Vishnu sends orders that you repair at once to the celestial city." On hearing this, Garuda proudly said to him: "Messenger, what will the master do with so poor a servant as I am?"
"Garuda," said the messenger, "it may be that the blessèd one has spoken to you harshly. But why should you display pride toward the blessèd one?" And Garuda replied: "The ocean, the resting-place of the blessèd one, has stolen the eggs of the plover, who is my servant. If I do not chastise him, then I am not the servant of the blessèd one. Make this report to the master."
Now when Vishnu learned from the messenger's [161} lips that Garuda was feigning anger, he thought: "Ah, he is dreadfully angry. I will therefore go in person, will address him, and bring him back with all honour. For the proverb says:
Shame no servant showing worth,
Loyalty, and noble birth;
Pet him ever like a son,
If you wish your business done.
And again:
Masters, fully satisfied,
Pay by gratifying pride;
Servants, for such honour's pay,
Gladly throw their lives away."
Having reached this conclusion, he hastened to Garuda, who, beholding his master a visitor in his own house, modestly gazed on the ground, bowed low, and said: "O blessèd one, the ocean, made insolent by his service as your resting-place, has stolen - behold! has stolen the eggs of my servant, and thus brought shame upon me. From reverence for the blessèd one, I have delayed. But if nothing is done, I myself will this day reduce him to dry land. For the proverb says:
A loyal servant dies, but shrinks
From doing deeds of such a kind
As bring contempt from common men
And lower him in his master's mind."
To this the blessèd one replied: "O son of Vinata, your speech is justified. Because
For servants' crimes the master should
Be made to suffer, say the good, [162}
So long as he does not erase
From service, cruel folk and base.
"Come, then, so that we may recover the eggs from ocean, may satisfy the plover, and then proceed to the celestial city on the gods' business."
To this Garuda agreed, and the blessèd one reproached the ocean, then fitted the fire-arrow to his bow and said: "Villain, give the plover his eggs. Else, I will reduce you to dry land."
On hearing this, the ocean, while all his train shook with fright, tremblingly took the eggs and restored them to the plover, as the blessèd one directed.
"And that is why I say:
He loses fights who fights before
His foeman's power is reckoned:
The ocean and the plover fought,
And ocean came out second."