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."

Panchatantra: The Lion and the Carpenter

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

The Lion and the Carpenter

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

In a certain city lived a carpenter named Trust-good. It was his constant habit to carry his lunch and [142} go with his wife into the forest, where he cut great anjana logs. Now in that forest lived a lion named Spotless, who had as hangers-on two carnivorous creatures, a jackal and a crow.
One day the lion was roaming the wood alone and encountered the carpenter. The carpenter for his part, on beholding that most alarming lion, whether considering himself already lost or perhaps with the ready wit to perceive that it is safer to face the powerful, advanced to meet the lion, bowed low, and said: "Come, friend, come! Today you must eat my own dinner which my wife - your brother's wife - has provided."
"My good fellow," said the lion, "being carnivorous, I do not live on rice. But in spite of that, I will have a taste, since I take a fancy to you. What kind of dainty have you got?"
When the lion had spoken, the carpenter stuffed him with all kinds of dainties - buns, muffins, chewers, and things, all flavoured with sugar, butter, grape juice, and spice. And to show his gratitude, the lion guaranteed his safety and granted unhindered passage through the forest.
Then the carpenter said: "Comrade, you must come here every day, but please come alone. You must not bring anyone else to visit me." In this manner they spent their days in friendship. And the lion, since every day he received such hospitality, such a variety of goodies, gave up the practice of hunting. [143}
Then the jackal and the crow, who lived on others' luck, went hungry, and they implored the lion.
"Master," they said, "where do you go every day? And tell us why you come back so happy."
"I don't go anywhere," said he. But when they urged the question with great deference, the lion said: "A friend of mine comes into this wood every day. His wife cooks the most delicious things, and I eat them every day, in order to show friendly feeling."
Then the jackal and the crow said: "We two will go there, will kill the carpenter, and have enough meat and blood to keep us fat for a long time." But the lion heard them and said: "Look here! I guaranteed his safety. How can I even imagine playing him such a scurvy trick? But I will get a delicious titbit from him for you also." To this they agreed. So the three started to find the carpenter. While they were still far off, the carpenter caught a glimpse of the lion and his seedy companions, and he thought: "This does not look prosperous to me." So he and his wife made haste to climb a tree. Then the lion came up and said: "My good fellow, why did you climb a tree when you saw me? Why, I am your friend, the lion. My name is Spotless. Do not be alarmed."
But the carpenter stayed where he was and said:
Your jackal does not reassure;
Your crow's sharp bill offends:
You therefore see me up a tree -
I do not like your friends.

Panchatantra: Ugly's Trust Abused

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

Ugly's Trust Abused

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

In a certain city lived a merchant named Ocean, who loaded a hundred camels with valuable doth and set out in a certain direction. Now one of his camels, [135} whose name was Ugly, was overburdened and fell limp, with every limb relaxed. Then the merchant divided the pack of cloth, loaded it on other camels, and because he found himself in a wild forest region where delay was impossible, he proceeded, leaving Ugly behind.
When the trader was gone, Ugly hobbled about and began to crop the grass. Thus in a very few days the poor fellow regained his strength.
In that forest lived a lion whose name was Haughty, who had as hangers-on a leopard, a crow, and a jackal. As they roamed the forest, they encountered the abandoned camel, and the lion said, after observing his fantastic and comical shape: "This is an exotic in our forest. Ask him what he is."
So the crow informed himself of the facts and said: "This is what goes by the name of camel in the world."
Thereupon the lion asked him: "My good friend, where did you come from?"
And the camel gave precise details of his separation from the trader, so that the lion experienced compassion and guaranteed his personal security.
In this posture of affairs, the lion fought an elephant one day, received a thrust from a tusk, and had to keep his cave. And when five or six days had passed, they all found themselves in urgent distress from the failure of food. So the lion, observing how they drooped, said to them: "I am crippled by this wound and cannot supply you with the usual food. [136} You will just have to make an effort on your own account."
And they replied: "Why should we care to thrive, while our lord and king is in this state?"
"Bravo!" said the lion. "You show the conduct and devotion of good servants. Round up some food-animal for me while I am in this condition." Then, when they made no answer, he said to them: "Come! Do not be bashful. Hunt up some creature. Even in my present condition I will convert it into food for you and myself."
So the four started to roam the woods. Since they found no food-animal, the crow and the jackal conferred together, and the jackal said: "Friend crow, why roam about? Here is Ugly, who trusts our king. Let us provide for our sustenance by killing him."
"A very good suggestion," said the crow. "But after all, the master guaranteed his personal security, and so cannot kill him."
"Quite so," said the jackal. "I will interview the master and make him think of killing Ugly. Stay right here until I go home and return with the master's answer." With this he hastened to the master. When he found the lion, he said: "Master, we have roamed the entire forest, and are now too famished to stir a foot. Besides, the king is on a diet. So, if the king commands, one might fortify one's health today by means of Ugly's flesh."
When the lion had listened to this ruthless [137} proposal, he cried out, angrily: "Shame upon you, most degraded of sinners! The moment you repeat those words, I will strike you dead. Why, I guaranteed his personal security. How can I kill him with my own paw? You have heard the saying:
The wise declare and understand
No gift of cow or food or land
To be among all gifts as grand
As safety granted on demand."
"Master," replied the jackal, "if you kill him after guaranteeing his safety, then you are indeed blameworthy. If, however, of his own accord he devotedly offers his own life to his lord and king, then no blame attaches. So you may kill him on condition that he voluntarily destines himself to slaughter. Otherwise, pray eat one or another of the rest of us. For the king is on a diet, and if food fails, he will experience a change for the worse. In that case, what value have these lives of ours, which will no longer be spent in our master's service? If anything disagreeable happens to our gracious master, then we must follow him into the fire. For the proverb says:
Save the chieftain of the clan,
Whatever the pain;
Lose him, and the clan is lost:
Hubless spokes are vain."
After listening to this, Haughty said: "Very well. Do as you will."
With this message the jackal hastened to say to [138} the others: "Well, friends, the master is very low. His life is oozing from the tip of his nose. If he goes, who will be our protector in this forest? So, since starvation is driving him toward the other world, let us go and voluntarily offer our own bodies. Thus we shall pay the debt we owe our gracious master. And the proverb says:
Servants, when disaster
Comes upon their master,
If alive and well,
Tread the road to hell."
So they all went, their eyes brimming with tears, bowed low before Haughty, and sat down. On seeing them, Haughty said: "My friends, did you catch any creature, or see any?" And the crow replied: "Master, though we roamed everywhere, we still did not catch any creature, nor see any. Master, pray eat me and support your life for a day. Thus the master will be replete, while I shall rise to heaven. For the saying goes:
A servant who, in loyal love,
Has yielded up his breath,
Adorns a lofty seat in heaven,;
Secure from age and death."
On hearing this, the jackal said: "Your body is small. If he ate you, the master would scarcely prolong his life. Besides, there is a moral objection. For the verse tells us:
Crows' flesh and such small leavings
Are things to be passed by: [139}
Why cat an evil somewhat
That does not satisfy?
"You have shown your loyalty, and have won a saintly reputation in both worlds. Now make way, while I address the master."
So the jackal bowed respectfully and said: "Master, pray use my body to support your life today, thus conferring on me the best of earth and heaven. For the proverb says:
Since servants' lives on masters hang
In forfeit for their pay,
The master perpetrates no sin
In taking them away."
Hearing this, the leopard said: "Very praiseworthy, indeed, my friend. However, your body is rather small, too. Besides, he ought not to eat you, since you belong to the same unguipugnacious family. You know the proverb:
The prudent, though with life at stake,
Avoid forbidden food
(Too small at that) - from fear to lose
Both earth's and heaven's good.
Well, you have shown yourself a loyal servant. There is truth in the stanza:
That swarms of gentlemen delight
A monarch, is not strange,
Since, first and last and times between,
Their honour does not change.
Make way, then, so that I, too, may win the master's grace."
Thereupon the leopard bowed low and said: [140} "Master, pray prolong your life for a day at the cost of my life. Grant me an everlasting home in heaven, and spread my fame afar on earth. Pray show no hesitation. For the proverb says:
A servant who, by loyal love,
Has demonstrated worth,
Attains a lasting home above,
And glory on the earth."
Hearing this, poor Ugly thought: "Well, they use the most elegant phrases. Yet the master did not kill a single one of them. So I, too, will make a speech befitting the occasion. I have no doubt that all three will contradict me."
Having come to this conclusion, he said: "very admirable, friend leopard. But you too are unguipugnacious. How, then, can the master eat you? There is proverb to fit the case:
To mere imagining of wrongs
To kinsmen done, confirms
The loss of earth and heaven. Such rogues
Turn into unclean worms.
Make way, then, so that I too, may address the master."
So poor Ugly stood in the presence, bowed low and said: "Master, these you surely may not eat. Pray prolong your life by means of my life, so that I may win the best of earth and heaven. For the proverb says:
No sacrifice and no saint
Can ever rise as high [141}
As do the simple serving-folk
Who for the master die."
Hereupon the lion gave the word, the leopard and the jackal tore his body, the crow pecked out his eyes, poor Ugly yielded up the ghost, and all the others ravenously devoured him.
And that is why I say:
All who live upon their wits,
Many learnèd, too, are mean,
Do the wrong as quick as right:
Illustration may be seen
In the well-known tale that features
Camel, crow, and other creatures."

Panchatantra: Passion and the Owl

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

Passion and the Owl

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

Within a certain forest was a broad expanse of lake. There lived a king-swan named Passion, who spent his days in a great variety of pastimes.

(swan)

One day death, fatal death, visited him in the person of an owl.

And the swan said: "This is a lonely wood. Where do you come from?"

The owl replied: "I came because I heard of your virtues. Furthermore,

"In search of virtue roaming
The wide world through,
No virtues being greater,
I come to you.

"That I must cling in friendship
To you, is sure:
The impure turns, attaining
The Ganges, pure.

And again:

"The conch was bone that Vishnu's hand
Has purified:
For contact with the righteous lends
A noble pride."

After this address, the swan gave his assent, in the words: "My excellent friend, dwell with me as you like by this broad lake in this pleasant wood." So their time was spent in friendly diversions.

But one day the owl said: "I am going to my own home, which is called Lotus Grove. If you set any value on me and feel any affection, you must not fail to pay a visit as my guest." With these words he went home.

Now as time passed, the swan reflected: "I have grown old, living in this spot, and I do not know a single other region. So now I will go to visit my dear friend, the owl. There I shall find a brand-new recreation ground and new kinds of food, both hard and soft."

After these reflections, he went to visit the owl. At first he could not find him in Lotus Grove, and when, after a minute search, he discovered him, there was the poor creature crouching in an ugly hole, for he was blind in the daytime.

But Passion called: "My dear fellow, come out! I am your dear friend the swan, come to pay you a visit."

And the owl replied: "I do not stir by day. You and I will meet when the sun has set."

So the swan waited a long time, met the owl at night, and after giving the conventional information about his health, being wearied by his journey, he went to sleep on the spot.

Now it happened that a large commercial caravan had encamped at that very lake. At dawn the leader rose and had the signal of departure given by conch. This the owl answered with a loud, harsh hoot, then dived into a hole in the river-bank. But the swan did not stir.

Now the evil omen so disturbed the leader's spirit that he gave orders to a certain archer who could aim by sound. This archer strung his powerful bow, drew an arrow as far as his ear, and killed the swan, who was resting near the owl's nest.

And that is why I say:

Harsh talk, untimely action,
False friends are worse than vain:
The swan in lilies sleeping,
Was by the arrow slain.

Panchatantra: The Blue Jackal

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

The Blue Jackal

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

(modern retelling by M. Gobhai)

There was once a jackal named Fierce-Howl, who lived in a cave near the suburbs of a city. One day he was hunting for food, his throat pinched with hunger, and wandered into the city after nightfall. There the city dogs snapped at his limbs with their sharp-pointed teeth, and terrified his heart with their dreadful barking, so that he stumbled this way and that in his efforts to escape and happened into the house of a dyer. There he tumbled into a tremendous indigo vat, and all the dogs went home.

Presently the jackal - further life being predestined - managed to crawl out of the indigo vat and escaped into the forest.

There all the thronging animals in his vicinity caught a glimpse of his body dyed with the juice of indigo, and crying out: "What is this creature enriched with that unprecedented colour?" they fled, their eyes dancing with terror, and spread the report: "Oh, oh! Here is an exotic creature that has dropped from somewhere. Nobody knows what his conduct might be, or his energy. We are going to vamoose. For the proverb says:

"Where you do not know
Conduct, stock, and pluck,
It's not wise to trust,
If you wish for luck."

Now Fierce-Howl perceived their dismay, and called to them: "Come, come, you wild things! Why do you flee in terror at sight of me? For Indra, realizing that the forest creatures have no monarch, anointed me - my name is Fierce-Howl - as your king. Rest in safety within the cage formed by my resistless paws."

On hearing this, the lions, tigers, leopards, monkeys, rabbits, gazelles, jackals, and other species of wild life bowed humbly, saying: "Master, prescribe to us our duties."

Thereupon he appointed the lion prime minister and the tiger lord of the bedchamber, while the leopard was made custodian of the king's betel, the elephant doorkeeper, and the monkey the bearer of the royal parasol. But to all the jackals, his own kindred, he administered a cuffing, and drove them away.

Thus he enjoyed the kingly glory, while lions and others killed food-animals and laid them before him. These he divided and distributed to all after the manner of kings.

While time passed in this fashion, he was sitting one day in his court when he heard the sound made by a pack of jackals howling nearby. At this his body thrilled, his eyes filled with tears of joy, he leaped to his feet, and began to howl in a piercing tone.

When the lions and others heard this, they perceived that he was a jackal and stood for a moment shamefaced and downcast, then they said: "Look! We have been deceived by this jackal. Let the fellow be killed."

And when he heard this, he endeavoured to flee, but was torn to bits by a tiger and died.

And that is why I say:

Whoever leaves his friends,
Strange folk to cherish,
Like foolish Fierce-Howl, will
Untimely perish.

Panchatantra: Leap and Creep

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

Leap and Creep

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

In the palace of a certain king stood an incomparable bed, blessèd with every cubiculary virtue. In a corner of its coverlet lived a female louse named Creep.

(louse)

Surrounded by a thriving family of sons and daughters, with the sons and daughters of sons and daughters, and with more remote descendants, she drank the king's blood as he slept. On this diet she grew plump and handsome.

While she was living there in this manner, a flea named Leap drifted in on the wind and dropped on the bed. This flea felt supreme satisfaction on examining the bed - the wonderful delicacy of its coverlet, its double pillow, its exceptional softness like that of a broad, Gangetic sand-bank, its delicious perfume.

Charmed by the sheer delight of touching it, he hopped this way and that until - fate willed it - so he chanced to meet Creep, who said to him: "Where do you come from? This is a dwelling fit for a king. Be gone, and lose no time about it."

"Madam," said he, "you should not say such things. For

"The Brahman reverences fire,
Himself the lower castes' desire;
The wife reveres her husband dear;
But all the world must guests revere.

"Now I am your guest. I have of late sampled the various blood of Brahmans, warriors, business men, and serfs, but found it acid, slimy, quite unwholesome. On the contrary, he who reposes on this bed must have a delightful vital fluid, just like nectar. It must be free from morbidity, since wind, bile, and phlegm are kept in harmony by constant and heedful use of potions prepared by physicians. It must be enriched by viands unctuous, tender, melting in the mouth; viands prepared from the flesh of the choicest creatures of land, water, and air, seasoned furthermore with sugar, pomegranate, ginger, and pepper. To me it seems an elixir of life. Therefore, with your kind permission, I plan to taste this sweet and fragrant substance, thus combining pleasure and profit."

"No," said she. "For fiery-mouthed stingers like you, it is out of the question. Leave this bed. You know the proverb:

"The fool who does not know
His own resource, his foe,
His duty, time, and place,
Who sets a reckless pace,
Will by the wayside fall,
Will reap no fruit at all."

Thereupon he fell at her feet, repeating his request. And she agreed, since courtesy was her hobby, and since, when the story of that prince of sharpers, Muladeva, was being repeated to the king while she lay on a corner of the coverlet, she had heard how Muladeva quoted this verse in answer to the question of a certain damsel:

"Whoever, angry though he be,
Has spurned a suppliant enemy,
In Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, he
Has scorned the Holy Trinity."

Recalling this, she agreed, but added: "However, you must not come to dinner at a wrong place or time."


"What is the right place and what is the right time?" he asked. "Being a newcomer, I am not au courant."

And she replied: "When the king's body is mastered by wine, fatigue, or sleep, then you may quietly bite him on the feet. This is the right place and the right time." To these conditions he gave his assent.

In spite of this arrangement, the famished bungler, when the king had just dozed off in the early evening, bit him on the back. And the poor king, as if burned by a firebrand, as if stung by a scorpion, as if touched by a torch, bounded to his feet, scratched his back, and cried to a servant: "Rascal! Somebody bit me. You must hunt through this bed until you find the insect."

Now Leap heard the king's command and in terrified haste crept into a crevice in the bed. Then the king's servants entered, and following their master's orders, brought a lamp and made a minute inspection.

As fate would have it, they came upon Creep as she crouched in the nap of the fabric, and killed her with her family.

And that is why I say:

With no stranger share your house;
Leap, the flea, killed Creep, the louse.

Panchatantra: The Ungrateful Man

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

The Ungrateful Man

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

In a certain town lived a Brahman whose name was Sacrifice. Every day his wife, chafing under their poverty, would say to him: "Come, Brahman! Lazybones! Stony-Heart! Don't you see your babies starving, while you hang about, mooning? Go somewhere, no matter where, find some way, any way, to get food, and come back in a hurry."

At last the Brahman, weary of this refrain, undertook a long journey, and in a few days entered a great forest. While wandering hungry in this forest, he began to hunt for water. And in a certain spot he came upon a well, overgrown with grass. When he looked in, he discovered a tiger, a monkey, a snake, and a man at the bottom. They also saw him.

Then the tiger thought: "Here comes a man," and he cried: "O noble soul, there is great virtue in saving life. Think of that, and pull me out, so that I may live in the company of beloved friends, wife, sons, and relatives."

"Why," said the Brahman, "the very sound of your name brings a shiver to every living thing. I cannot deny that I fear you."

But the tiger resumed:

"To Brahman-slayer, impotent,
To drunkard, him on treason bent,
To sinner through prevarication,
The holy grant an expiation:
While for ingratitude alone
No expiation will atone."

And he continued: "I bind myself by a triple oath that no danger threatens you from me. Have pity and pull me out."

Then the Brahman thought it through to this conclusion: "If disaster befalls in the saving of life, it is a disaster that spells salvation." So he pulled the tiger out.

Next the monkey said: "Holy sir, pull me out too." And the Brahman pulled him out too.

Then the snake said: "Brahman, pull me out too."

But the Brahman answered: "One shudders at the mere sound of your name, how much more at touching you!"

"But," said the snake, "we are not free agents. We bite only under orders. I bind myself by a triple oath that you need have no fear of me."

After listening to this, the Brahman pulled him out too. Then the animals said: "The man down there is a shrine of every sin. Beware. Do not pull him out. Do not trust him."

Furthermore, the tiger said: "Do you see this mountain with many peaks? My cave is in a wooded ravine on the north slope. You must do me the favour of paying me a visit there someday, so that I may make return for your kindness. I should not like to drag the debt into the next life." With these words he started for his cave.

Then the monkey said: "My home is quite near the cave, beside the waterfall. Please pay me a visit there." With this he departed.

Then the snake said: "In any emergency, remember me." And he went his way.

Then the man in the well shouted time and again: "Brahman! Pull me out too!"

At last the Brahman's pity was awakened, and he pulled him out, thinking: "He is a man, like me."

And the man said: "I am a goldsmith, and live in Baroch. If you have any gold to be worked into shape, you must bring it to me."

With this he started for home.

Then the Brahman continued his wanderings but found nothing whatever. As he started for home, he recalled the monkey's invitation. So he paid a visit, found the monkey at home, and received fruits sweet as nectar, which put new life into him. Furthermore, the monkey said: "If you ever have use for fruit, pray come here at any time."

"You have done a friend's full duty," said the Brahman. "But please introduce me to the tiger." So the monkey led the way and introduced him to the tiger.

Now the tiger recognized him and, by way of returning his kindness, bestowed on him a necklace and other ornaments of wrought gold, saying: "A certain prince whose horse ran away with him came here alone, and when he was within range of a spring, I killed him. All this I took from his person and stored carefully for you. Pray accept it and go where you will."

(gold jewelry)

So the Brahman took it, then recalled the goldsmith and visited him, thinking: "He will do me the favour of getting it sold."

Now the goldsmith welcomed him with respectful hospitality, offering water for the feet, an honourable gift, a seat, hard food and soft, drink, and other things, then said: "Command me, sir. What may I do for you?"

And the Brahman said: "I have brought you gold. Please sell it."

"Show me the gold," said the goldsmith, and the other did so.

Now the goldsmith thought when he saw it: "I worked this gold for the prince." And having made sure of the fact, he said: "Please stay right here, while I show it to somebody."

With this he went to court and showed it to the king.

On seeing it, the king asked: "Where did you get this?"

And the goldsmith replied: "In my house is a Brahman. He brought it."

Thereupon the king reflected: "Without question, that villain killed my son. I will show him what that costs." And he issued orders to the police: "Have this Brahman scum fettered, and impale him tomorrow morning."

When the Brahman was fettered, he remembered the snake, who appeared at once and said: "What can I do to serve you?"

"Free me from these fetters," said the Brahman.

And the snake replied: "I will bite the king's dear queen. Then, in spite of the charms employed by any great conjurer and the antidotes of other physicians, I will keep her poisoned. Only by the touch of your hand will the poison be neutralized. Then you will go free."

Having made this promise, the snake bit the queen, whereupon shouts of despair arose in the palace, and the entire city was filled with dismay. Then they summoned dealers in antidotes, conjurers, scientists, druggists, and foreigners, all of whom treated the case with such resources as they had, but none could neutralize the poison.

Finally, a proclamation was made with beat of drum, upon hearing which the Brahman said: "I will cure her."

The moment he spoke, they freed him from his fetters, took him to the king, and introduced him. And the king said: "Cure her, sir."

So he went to the queen and cured her by the mere touch of his hand.

When the king saw her restored to life, he paid the Brahman honour and reverence, then respectfully asked him: "Reveal the truth, sir. How did you come by this gold?"

And the Brahman began at the beginning and related the whole adventure accurately.

As soon as the king comprehended the facts, he arrested the goldsmith, while he gave the Brahman a thousand villages and appointed him privy counsellor.

But the Brahman summoned his family, was surrounded by friends and relatives, took delight in eating and other natural functions, acquired massive merit by the performance of numerous sacrifices, concentrated authority by heedful attention to all phases of royal duty, and lived happily.

And that is why I say:

What tiger, monkey, snake advised,
I did not do; and so
That dreadfully ungrateful man
Has brought me very low.