Panchatantra: The Weaver Who Loved a Princess

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

The Weaver Who Loved a Princess

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

(Vishnu on Garuda)

In the Molasses Belt is a city called Sugarcane City. In it lived two friends, a weaver and a carpenter. Since they were past masters in their respective crafts, they had earned enough money by their labours so that they kept no account of receipt and expenditure. They wore soft, gaily coloured, expensive garments, adorned themselves with flowers and betel-leaves, and diffused odours of camphor, aloes, and musk. They worked nine hours a day, after which they adorned their persons and met for recreation in such places as public squares or temples. They made the rounds of the spots where society gathered - theatres, conversaziones, birthday parties, banquets, and the like - then went home at twilight. And so the time passed.

One day there was a great festival, an occasion when the entire population, wearing the finest ornaments that each could afford, began sauntering through the temples of the gods and other public places. The weaver and the carpenter, like the rest, put on their best things, and in squares and courtyards inspected the faces of people dressed to kill. And they caught a glimpse of a princess seated at the window of a stucco palace. The vicinity of her heart was made lovely by a firm bosom with the curve of early youth. Below the slender waist was the graceful swell of the hips. Her hair was black as a raincloud, soft, glossy, with a billowy curl. A golden earring danced below an ear that seemed a hammock where Love might swing. Her face had the charm of a new-blown, tender water-lily. Like a dream she took captive the eyes of all, as she sat surrounded by girl friends.

And the weaver, ravished by lavish loveliness, since the love-god with five fierce arrows pierced his heart, concealed his feelings by a supreme effort of resolution, and tottered home, seeing nothing but the princess in the whole horizon. With long-drawn, burning sighs he tumbled on the bed (though it had not been made up), and there he lay. He perceived, he thought of nothing but her, just as he had seen her, and there he lay, reciting poetry:

"Virtues with beauty dwell:
So poets sing,
This contradiction not
Considering:

"That she, so cruel-sweet,
Far, far apart,
Tortures my body still,
Still in my heart.

"Or does this explain it?

"One heart my darling took;
One pines as if to die;
One throbs with feeling pure:
How many hearts have I?

"And yet

"If all the world from virtue draws
A blessing and a gain,
Why should all virtue in my maid,
My fawn-eyed maiden, pain?

"Each guards his home, they say;
Yet in my heart you stay,
Burning your home alway,
Sweet, heartless one!

"That these - her bosom's youthful pride,
Her curling hair, her sinuous side,
Her blood-red lip, her waist so small -
Should hurt me, is not strange at all:

"But that her cheeks so clear, so bright,
Should torture me, is far from right.
Her bosom, like an elephant's brow,
Swells, saffron-scented. How, ah, how
May I thereon my bosom lay,
When weary love is tired of play,
So, fettered in her arms, to keep
A vigil waking half, half sleep?

"If fate has willed
That I should die,
Are there no means
Save that soft eye?

"You see my love, though far apart,
Before you ever, O my heart!
Should vision cease to satisfy,
Oh, teach your magic to my eye:

"For even her presence will distress,
If bought by too great loneliness,
Since none - the merciful are blest -
Of selfishness may stand confessed.

"She stole his lustre from the moon -
The moon is dull and cold;
The lily's sheen is in her eyes -
No charge of theft will hold;

"The elephant's majesty she seized -
Nothing knows he of her art;
From me the slender maiden took,
Ah, strange! a feeling heart.

"In middle air I see my love,
On earth below, in heaven above;
In life's last hour, on her I call:
She is, like Vishnu, all-in-all.

"All mental states, the Buddha said,
Are transient; he was wrong:
My meditations on my love
Are infinitely long. 

In such lamentation, his thoughts tossing to and fro, the night dragged drearily away. On the next day at the customary hour, the carpenter, wearing an elegant costume, came as usual to the weaver's house. There he found the weaver with arms and legs sprawled over the unmade bed, heard his long-drawn, burning sighs, and noticed his pallid cheeks and trickling tears.

Finding him in this condition, he said: "My friend, my friend, why are you in such a state today?"

But the poor weaver, though questioned repeatedly, was too embarrassed to say a word. At last the carpenter grew weary and dropped into poetry:

"No friend is he whose anger
Compels a timid languor,
Nor he whom all must anxiously attend;

"But when you trust another
As if he were your mother,
He is no mere acquaintance, but a friend."

Then, after examining the weaver's heart and other members with a hand skilled in detecting symptoms, he said: "Comrade, if my diagnosis is correct, your condition is not the result of fever, but of love."

Now when his friend voluntarily introduced the subject, the weaver sat up in bed and recited a stanza of poetry:

"You find repose in sore disaster
By telling things to clear-eyed master,
To virtuous servant, gentle friend,
Or wife who loves you to the end."

Then he related his whole experience from the moment he laid eyes on the princess. And the carpenter, after some reflection, said: "The king belongs to the warrior caste, while you are a business man. Have you no reverence for the holy law?"

But the weaver replied: "The holy law allows a warrior three wives. The girl may be the daughter of a woman of my caste. That may explain my love for her. What says the king in the play?

"Surely, she may become a warrior's bride;
Else, why these longings in an honest mind?
The motions of a blameless heart decide
Of right and wrong, when reason leaves us blind."

Thereupon the carpenter, perceiving his determined purpose, said: "Comrade, what is to be done next?"

And the weaver answered: "I don't know. I told you because you are my friend." And to this he would not add a word.

At last the carpenter said: "Rise, bathe, eat. Say farewell to despondency. I will invent something such that you will enjoy with her the delights of love without loss of time."

Then the weaver, hope reviving at his friend's promise, rose and returned to seemly living. And the next day the carpenter came bringing a brand-new mechanical bird, like Garuda, the bird of Vishnu. It was made of wood, was gaily painted in many colours, and had an ingenious arrangement of plugs.

"Comrade," he said to the weaver, "when you mount the bird and insert a plug, it goes wherever you wish. And the contrivance alights at the spot where you pull out the plug. It is yours. This very night, when people are asleep, adorn your person, disguise yourself as Vishnu - my wit and skill are at your service - mount this Garuda bird, alight on the maidens' balcony of the palace, and make whatever arrangements you like with the princess. I have ascertained that the princess sleeps alone on the palace balcony."

When the carpenter had gone, the weaver spent the rest of the day in a hundred fond imaginings. He took a bath, used incense, powders, ointments, betel, scents for the breath, flowers, and so forth. He put on gay garlands and garments, rich in fragrance. He adorned himself with a diadem and other jewellery. And when the night came clear, he followed the carpenter's instructions.

Meanwhile, the princess lay in her bed alone on the palace balcony bathed in moonbeams. She gazed at the moon, her mind idly dallying with the thought of love.

All at once she spied the weaver, disguised as Vishnu and mounted on his heavenly bird. At sight of him she started from her bed, adored his feet, and humbly said: "O Lord, to what end am I honoured by this visit? Pray command me. What am I to do?"

To the princess' words the weaver, in dignified and sweetly modulated accents, made stately answer: "Yourself, dear maiden, are the occasion of this visit to earth."

"But I am merely a mortal girl," said she.

And he continued: "Nay, you have been my bride, now fallen to earth by reason of a curse. It is I who have so long protected you from contact with a man. I will now wed you by the ceremony used in heaven."

And she assented, for she thought: "It is a thing beyond my fondest aspirations." And he married her by the ceremony used in heaven.

So day followed day in the enjoyment of love's delights, each day witnessing a growth in passion.

Before dawn the weaver would mount his mechanical Garuda, would bid her farewell with the words: "I depart for Vishnu's heaven," and would always reach his house undetected.

One day the guards at the women's quarters observed indications that the princess was meeting a man, and in fear of their very lives made a report to their master. "O King," they said, "be gracious and confirm our personal security. There is a disclosure to be made."

And when the king assented, the guards reported: "O King, we have used anxious care to forbid the entrance of men. Yet indications are observed that Princess Lovely has meetings with a man. Not unto us does it fall to take measures. The king, the king alone is prime mover."

Upon this information the king pondered with troubled spirit:

"You are worried when you hear that she is born;
Picking husbands makes you anxious and forlorn;
When she marries, will her husband be a churl?
It is tough to be the father of a girl. 

"Again:

"At her birth she steals away her mother's heart;
Loving friends, when she is older, fall apart;
Even married, she is apt to bring a stain:
Having daughters is a business full of pain.

"Again:

"When a poem or daughter comes out,
The author is troubled with doubt,
With a doubt that his questions betray;

"Will she reach the right hands?
Will she please as she stands?
And what will the critics say?"

Having thus considered the matter from every point of view, he sought the queen and said: "My dear queen, pray give careful attention to what these chamberlains have to say. Who is this offender whom the death-god seeks today?"

Now when they had related the facts, the queen hastened in great perturbation to the maiden's apartments and found her daughter with lips sore from kissing and with telltale traces on her limbs. And she cried: "You wicked girl! You are a disgrace to the family! How could you throw your character away? Who is the man that comes to you? The death-god has looked upon him. Dreadful as things are, at least tell the truth."

Then the princess, with shamefaced, drooping glances, recounted the whole story of the weaver disguised as Vishnu.

Thereupon the queen, with laughing countenance and thrilling in every limb, hastened to the king and said: "O King, you are indeed fortunate. It is blessèd Vishnu who comes each night in person to our daughter's side. He has married her by the ceremony used in heaven. This very night you and I are to hide in the window niche and have sight of him. But with mortals he does not exchange words."

On hearing this, the king was glad at heart, and somehow lived through the day, which seemed a hundred years. When night came, the king and queen stood hidden in the window niche and waited, their gaze fixed on the sky.

Presently the king descried one descending from heaven, mounted on Garuda, grasping the conch-shell, discus, mace, marked with the familiar symbols. And feeling as if drenched by a shower of nectar, he said to the queen: "There is none other on earth so blest as you and I, whose child blessèd Vishnu seeks with love. All the desires nearest our hearts are granted. Now, through the power of our son-in-law, I shall reduce the whole world to subjection."

At this juncture envoys arrived to collect the yearly tribute for King Valour, monarch of the south, lord of nine million, nine hundred thousand villages. But the king, proud of his new relationship with Vishnu, did not show them the customary honour, so that they grew indignant and said: "Come, King! Pay-day is past. Why have you failed to offer the taxes due? It must be that you have recently come into possession of some unanticipated supernatural power from some source or other, that you irritate King Valour, who is a flame, a whirlwind, a venomous serpent, a death-god."

Upon this the king showed them his bare bottom. And they returned to their own country, exaggerated the matter a hundred thousand fold, and stirred the wrath of their master.

Then the southern monarch, with his troops and retainers, at the head of an army with all four service branches, marched against the king. And he angrily cried:

"This king may climb the heavenly mount,
May plunge beneath the sea;
And yet - I promise - it the wretch
Shall soon be slain by me."

So Valour reached the country by marches never interrupted, and ravaged it. And the inhabitants who survived the slaughter besieged the palace gate of the king of Sugarcane City, and taunted him. But what he heard did not cause the king the slightest anxiety.

On the following day the forces of King Valour arrived and invested Sugarcane City, whereupon hosts of counsellors and chaplains interceded with the king: "O King," they said, "a powerful enemy has arrived and invested the city. How can the king show himself so unconcerned?'"

And the king replied: "You gentlemen may be quite comfortable. I have devised a means of killing this foe. What I am about to do to his army, you, too, will learn tomorrow morning."

After this address, he bade them provide adequate defense for the walls and gates. Then he summoned Lovely and with respectful coaxing said: "Dear child, relying on your husband's power, we have begun hostilities with the enemy. This very night pray speak to blessèd Vishnu when he comes, so that in the morning he may kill this enemy of ours."

So Lovely delivered to him at night her father's message, complete in every particular. On hearing it, the weaver laughed and said: "Dear love, how little a business is this, a mere war with men! Why, in days gone by I have with the greatest ease slain mighty demons by the thousand, and they were armed with magic; there was Hiranyakashipu, and Kansa, and Madhu, and Kaitabha, to name but a few. Go, then, and say to the king: 'Dismiss anxiety. In the morning Vishnu will slay the host of your enemies with his discus."

So she went to the king and proudly told him all. Whereat he was overjoyed and commanded the doorkeeper to have proclamation made with beat of drum throughout the city, in these words: "Whatever any shall lay hands on during tomorrow's battle in the camp of Valour slain, whether coined money or grain or gold or elephant or horse or weapon or other object, that shall remain his personal possession."

This proclamation delighted the citizens, so that they gossiped together, saying: "This king of ours is a lofty soul, unalarmed even in the presence of the hostile host. He is certain to kill his rival in the morning."

Meanwhile the weaver, forgetting love's allurements, took counsel with his brooding mind: "What am I to do now? Suppose I mount the machine and fly away, then I shall never meet my pearl, my wife, again. King Valour will drag her from the palace after killing my poor father-in-law. Yet if I accept battle, I shall meet death, who puts an end to every heart's desire. But death is mine if I lose her. Why spin it out? Death, sure death, in either case. It is better, then, to die game. Besides, it is just possible that the enemy, if they see me accepting battle and mounted on Garuda, will think me the genuine Vishnu and will flee. For the proverb says:

"Let resolution guide the great,
However desperate his state,
However grim his hostile fate:

"By resolution lifted high,
With shrewd decision as ally,
He grimly sees grim trouble fly."

When the weaver had thus resolved on battle, the genuine Garuda made respectful representations to the genuine Vishnu in heaven. "O Lord," he said, "in a city on earth called Sugarcane is a weaver who, disguising himself as my Lord, has wedded a princess. As a result, a more powerful monarch of the south has marched to extirpate the king of Sugarcane City. Now the weaver today takes his resolution to befriend his father-in-law. This, then, is what I must refer to your decision. If he meets death in battle, then scandal will arise in the mortal world to the effect that blessèd Vishnu has been killed by the king of the south. Thereafter sacrificial offerings will fail, and other religious ceremonies. Then atheists will destroy the temples of the Lord, while pilgrims of the triple staff, devotees of blessèd Vishnu, will abstain from pious journeyings. Such being the condition of affairs, decision rests with my Lord."

Then blessèd Vishnu, after exhaustive meditation, spoke to Garuda: "O King of the winged, your reasoning is just. This weaver has a spark of divinity in him. Therefore he must be the slayer of yonder king. And to bring this about, you and I must befriend him. My spirit shall enter his body, you are to inspire his bird, and my discus, his discus."

"So be it," said Garuda, assenting.

Hereupon the weaver, inspired by Vishnu, gave instructions to Lovely: "Dear love, when I set out for battle, let all things be made ready that bring a benediction."

He then performed auspicious ceremonies, assumed ornaments seemly for battle, and permitted worshipful offerings of yellow pigment, black mustard, flowers, and the like. But when the friend of day-blooming water-lilies, the blessèd, thousand-beamed sun arose, adorning the bridal brow of the eastern sky, then to the victorious roll of the war-drums, the king issued from the city and drew near the field of battle, then both armies formed in exact array, then the infantry came to blows.

At this moment the weaver, mounted on Garuda, and scattering largess of gold and precious gems, flew from the palace roof toward heaven's vault, while the townspeople, thrilling with wonder, gazed and adored, then beyond the city he hovered above his army, and drew from Vishnu's conch a proud, grand burst of martial sound.

At the blare of the conch, elephants, horses, chariots, foot-soldiers, were dismayed and many garments were fouled. Some with shrill screams fled afar. Some rolled on the ground, all purposive movement paralyzed. Some stood stock still, with terrified gaze fixed unwavering on heaven.

At this point all the gods were drawn to the spot by curiosity to see the fight, and Indra said to Brahma: "Brahma, is this some imp or demon who must needs be slain? For blessèd Vishnu, mounted on Garuda, has gone forth to battle in person."

At these words Brahma pondered:

"Lord Vishnu's discus drinks in flood
The hostile demons' gushing blood,
And strikes no mortal flat:

"The jungle lion who can draw
The tusker's life with awful paw,
Disdains to crush a gnat.

"What means this marvel?"

Thus Brahma himself was astonished.

That is why I told you:

Not even Brahma sees the end
Of well-devised deceit:
The weaver, taking Vishnu's form,
Embraced the princess sweet. 

While the very gods were thus pondering with tense interest, the weaver hurled his discus at Valour. This discus, after cutting the king in twain, returned to his hand.

At the sight, all the kings without exception leaped from their vehicles, and with hands, feet, and head drooping in limp obeisance, they implored him who bore the form of Vishnu: "O Lord, An army, leaderless, is slain. Be mindful of this and spare our lives. Command us. What are we to do?"

So spoke the whole throng of kings, until he made answer who bore the form of Vishnu: "Your persons are secure henceforth. Whatever commands you receive from the local king, King Stout-Mail, you must on all occasions unhesitatingly perform."

And all the kings humbly received his instructions, saying: "Let it be as our Lord commands."

Thereupon the weaver bestowed on Stout-Mail all his rival's wealth, whether men or elephants or chariots or horses or stores of merchandise or other riches, while he himself, having attained the special majesty of those victorious, enjoyed all known delights with the princess.

And that is why I say:

The gods befriend a man who climbs
Determination's height:
So Vishnu, discus, bird sustained
The weaver in the fight.

Panchatantra: Numskull and the Rabbit

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

Numskull and the Rabbit

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

(14th-century Egyptian ms. of Kalila-wa-Dimna)

In a part of a forest was a lion drunk with pride, and his name was Numskull. He slaughtered the animals without ceasing. If he saw an animal, he could not spare him.

So all the natives of the forest - deer, boars, buffaloes, wild oxen, rabbits, and others - came together, and with woe-begone countenances, bowed heads, and knees clinging to the ground, they undertook to beseech obsequiously the king of beasts: "Have done, O King, with this merciless, meaningless slaughter of all creatures. It is hostile to happiness in the other world. For the Scripture says:

"A thousand future lives
Will pass in wretchedness
For sins a fool commits
His present life to bless.

"Again:

"What wisdom in a deed
That brings dishonour fell,
That causes loss of trust,
That paves the way to hell?

"And yet again:

"The ungrateful body, frail
And rank with filth within,
Is such that only fools
For its sake sink in sin.

"Consider these facts, and cease, we pray, to slaughter our generations. For if the master will remain at home, we will of our own motion send him each day for his daily food one animal of the forest. In this way neither the royal sustenance nor our families will be cut short. In this way let the king's duty be performed. For the proverb says:

"The king who tastes his kingdom like
Elixir, bit by bit,
Who does not overtax its life,
Will fully relish it.

"The king who madly butchers men,
Their lives as little reckoned
As lives of goats, has one square meal,
But never has a second.

"A king desiring profit, guards
His world from evil chance;
With gifts and honours waters it
As florists water plants.

"Guard subjects like a cow, nor ask
For milk each passing hour:
A vine must first be sprinkled, then
It ripens fruit and flower.

"The monarch-lamp from subjects draws
Tax-oil to keep it bright:
Has any ever noticed kings
That shone by inner light?

"A seedling is a tender thing,
And yet, if not neglected,
It comes in time to bearing fruit:
So subjects well protected.

"Their subjects form the only source
From which accrue to kings
Their gold, grain, gems, and varied drinks,
And many other things. 

"The kings who serve the common weal,
Luxuriantly sprout;
The common loss is kingly loss,
Without a shade of doubt."

After listening to this address, Numskull said: "Well, gentlemen, you are quite convincing. But if an animal does not come to me every day as I sit here, I promise you I will eat you all."

To this they assented with much relief, and fearlessly roamed the wood. Each day at noon one of them appeared as his dinner, each species taking its turn and providing an individual grown old, or religious, or grief-smitten, or fearful of the loss of son or wife.

One day a rabbit's turn came, it being rabbit-day. And when all the thronging animals had given him directions, he reflected: "How is it possible to kill this lion - curse him! Yet after all,

"In what can wisdom not prevail?
In what can resolution fail?
What cannot flattery subdue?
What cannot enterprise put through?

"I can kill even a lion."

So he went very slowly, planning to arrive tardily, and meditating with troubled spirit on a means of killing him.

Late in the day he came into the presence of the lion, whose throat was pinched by hunger in consequence of the delay, and who angrily thought as he licked his chops: "Aha! I must kill all the animals the first thing in the morning."

While he was thinking, the rabbit slowly drew near, bowed low, and stood before him.

But when the lion saw that he was tardy and too small at that for a meal, his soul flamed with wrath, and he taunted the rabbit, saying: "You reprobate! First, you are too small for a meal. Second, you are tardy. Because of this wickedness I am going to kill you, and tomorrow morning I shall extirpate every species of animal."

Then the rabbit bowed low and said with deference: "Master, the wickedness is not mine, nor the other animals. Pray hear the cause of it."

And the lion answered: "Well, tell it quick, before you are between my fangs."

"Master," said the rabbit, "all the animals recognized today that the rabbits' turn had come, and because I was quite small, they dispatched me with five other rabbits. But in mid-journey there issued from a great hole in the ground a lion who said: 'Where are you bound? Pray to your favourite god.' Then I said: 'We are travelling as the dinner of lion Numskull, our master, according to agreement.' 'Is that so?' said he. 'This forest belongs to me. So all the animals, without exception, must deal with me according to agreement. This Numskull is a sneak thief. Call him out and bring him here at once. Then whichever of us proves stronger, shall be king and shall eat all these animals.' At his command, master, I have come to you. This is the cause of my tardiness. For the rest, my master is the sole judge."

After listening to this, Numskull said: "Well, well, my good fellow, show me that sneak thief of a lion, and be quick about it. I cannot find peace of mind until I have vented on him my anger against the animals. He should have remembered the saying:

"Land and friends and gold at most
Have been won when battles cease;
If but one of these should fail,
Do not think of breaking peace.

"Where no great reward is won,
Where defeat is nearly sure,
Never stir a quarrel, but
Find it wiser to endure."

"Quite so, master," said the rabbit. "Warriors fight for their country when they are insulted. But this fellow skulks in a fortress. You know he came out of a fortress when he held us up. And an enemy in a fortress is hard to handle. As the saying goes:

"A single royal fortress adds
More military force
Than do a thousand elephants,
A hundred thousand horse.

"A single archer from a wall
A hundred foes forfends;
And so the military art
A fortress recommends.

"God Indra used the wit and skill
Of gods in days of old,
When Devil Gold-mat plagued the world,
To build a fortress-hold. 

"And he decreed that any king
Who built a fortress sound,
Should conquer foemen. This is why
Such fortresses abound."

When he heard this, Numskull said: "My good fellow, show me that thief. Even if he is hiding in a fortress, I will kill him. For the proverb says:

"The strongest man who fails to crush
At birth, disease or foe,
Will later be destroyed by that
Which he permits to grow.

"And again:

"The man who reckons well his power,
Nor pride nor vigour lacks,
May single-handed smite his foes
Like Rama-with-the-axe."

"Very true," said the rabbit. "But after all it was a mighty lion that I saw. So the master should not set out without realizing the enemy's capacity. As the saying runs:

"A warrior failing to compare
Two hosts, in mad desire
For battle, plunges like a moth
Headforemost into fire.

"And again:

"The weak who challenge mighty foes
A battle to abide,
Like elephants with broken tusks,
Return with drooping pride."

But Numskull said: "What business is it of yours? Show him to me, even in his fortress."

"Very well," said the rabbit. "Follow me, master."

And he led the way to a well, where he said to the lion: "Master, who can endure your majesty? The moment he saw you, that thief crawled clear into his hole. Come, I will show him to you."

"Be quick about it, my good fellow," said Numskull.

So the rabbit showed him the well. And the lion, being a dreadful fool, saw his own reflection in the water, and gave voice to a great roar. Then from the well issued a roar twice as loud, because of the echo.

This the lion heard, decided that his rival was very powerful, hurled himself down, and met his death. Thereupon the rabbit cheerfully carried the glad news to all the animals, received their compliments, and lived there contentedly in the forest.

And that is why I say:

Intelligence is power. But where
Could power and folly make a pair?
The rabbit played upon his pride
To fool him; and the lion died.

Panchatantra: How the Crow-Hen Killed the Black Snake*

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

How the Crow-Hen Killed the Black Snake

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

(from Directorium Humanae Vitae, 1484)

In a certain region grew a great banyan tree. In it lived a crow and his wife, occupying the nest which they had built. But a black snake crawled through the hollow trunk and ate their chicks as fast as they were born, even before baptism.

Yet for all his sorrow over this violence, the poor crow could not desert the old familiar banyan and seek another tree. For

Three cannot be induced to go -
The deer, the cowardly man, the crow:
Three go when insult makes them pant -
The lion, hero, elephant. 

At last the crow-hen fell at her husband's feet and said: "My dear lord, a great many children of mine have been eaten by that awful snake. And grief for my loved and lost haunts me until I think of moving. Let us make our home in some other tree. For

"No friend like health abounding;
And like disease, no foe;
No love like love of children;
Like hunger-pangs, no woe.

"And again:

"With fields overhanging rivers,
With wife on flirting bent,
Or in a house with serpents,
No man can be content.

"We are living in deadly peril."

At this the crow was dreadfully depressed, and he said: "We have lived in this tree a long time, my dear. We cannot desert it. For

"Where water may be sipped, and grass
Be cropped, a deer might live content;
Yet insult will not drive him from
The wood where all his life was spent.

"Moreover, by some shrewd device I will bring death upon this villainous and mighty foe."

"But," said his wife, "this is a terribly venomous snake. How will you hurt him?"

And he replied: "My dear, even if I have not the power to hurt him, still I have friends who possess learning, who have mastered the works on ethics. I will go and get from them some shrewd device of such nature that the villain curse him! will soon meet his doom."

After this indignant speech he went at once to another tree, under which lived a dear friend, a jackal. He courteously called the jackal forth, related all his sorrow, then said: "My friend, what do you consider opportune under the circumstances? The killing of our children is sheer death to my wife and me."

"My friend," said the jackal, "I have thought the matter through. You need not put yourself out. That villainous black snake is near his doom by reason of his heartless cruelty. For

"Of means to injure brutal foes
You do not need to think,
Since of themselves they fall, like trees
Upon the river's brink.

"And there is a story:

A heron ate what fish he could,
The bad, indifferent, and good;
His greed was never satisfied
Till, strangled by a crab, he died."

"How was that?" asked the crow. And the jackal told the story of The Heron That Liked Crab-Meat.*

(14th-century Egyptian ms. of Kalila-wa-Dimna)

"And that is why I say:

"A heron ate what fish he could,
The bad, indifferent, and good;
His greed was never satisfied
Till, strangled by a crab, he died."

"My friend," said the crow, "tell me how this villainous snake is to meet his doom."

And the jackal answered: "Go to some spot frequented by a great monarch. There seize a golden chain or a necklace from some wealthy man who guards it carelessly. Deposit this in such a place that when it is recovered, the snake may be killed."

So the crow and his wife straightway flew off at random, and the wife came upon a certain pond. As she looked about, she saw the women of a king's court playing in the water, and on the bank they had laid golden chains, pearl necklaces, garments, and gems. One chain of gold the crow-hen seized and started for the tree where she lived. But when the chamberlains and the eunuchs saw the theft, they picked up clubs and ran in pursuit.

Meanwhile, the crow-hen dropped the golden chain in the snake's hole and waited at a safe distance.

Now when the king's men climbed the tree, they found a hole and in it a black snake with swelling hood. So they killed him with their clubs, recovered the golden chain, and went their way.

Thereafter the crow and his wife lived in peace.

And that is why I say:

In cases where brute force would fail,
A shrewd device may still prevail:
The crow-hen used a golden chain,
And so the dreadful snake was slain.

Panchatantra: The Heron That Liked Crab-Meat

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

The Heron That Liked Crab-Meat

[This story is inserted into How the Crow-Hen Killed the Black Snake.]

(14th-century Egyptian ms. of Kalila-wa-Dimna)

There was once a heron in a certain place on the edge of a pond. Being old, he sought an easy way of catching fish on which to live. He began by lingering at the edge of his pond, pretending to be quite irresolute, not eating even the fish within his reach.

Now among the fish lived a crab. He drew near and said: "Uncle, why do you neglect today your usual meals and amusements?"

And the heron replied: "So long as I kept fat and flourishing by eating fish, I spent my time pleasantly, enjoying the taste of you. But a great disaster will soon befall you. And as I am old, this will cut short the pleasant course of my life. For this reason I feel depressed."

"Uncle," said the crab, "of what nature is the disaster?"

And the heron continued: "Today I overheard the talk of a number of fishermen as they passed near the pond. 'This is a big pond,' they were saying, 'full of fish. We will try a cast of the net tomorrow or the day after. But today we will go to the lake near the city.' This being so, you are lost, my food supply is cut off, I too am lost, and in grief at the thought, I am indifferent to food today."

Now when the water-dwellers heard the trickster's report, they all feared for their lives and implored the heron, saying: "Uncle! Father! Brother! Friend! Thinker! Since you are informed of the calamity, you also know the remedy. Pray save us from the . . . this death."

Then the heron said: "I am a bird not competent to contend with men. This, however, I can do. I can transfer you from this pond to another, a bottomless one."

By this artful speech they were so led astray that they said: "Uncle! Friend! Unselfish kinsman! Take me first! Me first! Did you never hear this?

"Stout hearts delight to pay the price
Of merciful self-sacrifice,
Count life as nothing, if it end
In gentle service to a friend."

Then the old rascal laughed in his heart, and took counsel with his mind, thus: "My shrewdness has brought these fishes into my power. They ought to be eaten very comfortably."

Having thus thought it through, he promised what the thronging fish implored, lifted some in his bill, carried them a certain distance to a slab of stone, and ate them there. Day after day he made the trip with supreme delight and satisfaction, and meeting the fish, kept their confidence by ever new inventions.

One day the crab, disturbed by the fear of death, importuned him with the words: "Uncle, pray save me, too, from the jaws of death."

And the heron reflected: "I am quite tired of this unvarying fish diet. I should like to taste him. He is different, and choice." So he picked up the crab and flew through the air.

But since he avoided all bodies of water and seemed planning to alight on the sun-scorched rock, the crab asked him: "Uncle, where is that pond without any bottom?"

And the heron laughed and said: "Do you see that broad, sun-scorched rock? All the water-dwellers have found repose there. Your turn has now come to find repose."

Then the crab looked down and saw a great rock of sacrifice, made horrible by heaps of fish-skeletons. And he thought: "Ah me!

"Friends are foes and foes are friends
As they mar or serve your ends;
Few discern where profit tends.

"Again:

"If you will, with serpents play;
Dwell with foemen who betray:
Shun your false and foolish friends,
Fickle, seeking vicious ends.

"Why, he has already eaten these fish whose skeletons are scattered in heaps. So what might be an opportune course of action for me? Yet why do I need to consider?

"Man is bidden to chastise
Even elders who devise
Devious courses, arrogant,
Of their duty ignorant.

"Again:

"Fear fearful things, while yet
No fearful thing appears;
When danger must be met,
Strike, and forget your fears.

"So, before he drops me there, I will catch his neck with all four claws."

When he did so, the heron tried to escape, but being a fool, he found no parry to the grip of the crab's nippers, and had his head cut off. Then the crab painfully made his way back to the pond, dragging the heron's neck as if it had been a lotus-stalk.

And when he came among the fish, they said: "Brother, why come back?"

Thereupon he showed the head as his credentials and said: "He enticed the water-dwellers from every quarter, deceived them with his prevarications, dropped them on a slab of rock not far away, and ate them. But I — further life being predestined — perceived that he destroyed the trustful, and I have brought back his neck. Forget your worries. All the water-dwellers shall live in peace."

And that is why I say:

A heron ate what fish he could,
The bad, indifferent, and good;
His greed was never satisfied
Till, strangled by a crab, he died.

Panchatantra: Godly and June

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

Godly and June

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

In a certain district there was a monastery in a secluded spot. In it lived a holy man named Godly, who in course of time acquired a great sum of money by selling finely woven garments, the numerous offerings of the faithful for whom he performed sacrifices. As a result, he trusted no man, and kept his treasure under his arm by night and day. For there is wisdom in the proverb:

Money causes pain in getting;
In the keeping, pain and fretting;
Pain in loss and pain in spending:
Damn the trouble never ending!

Now a rogue named June, who took other people's money from them, observed the treasure under his arm, and reflected: "How am I to take this treasure from him? In the first place, I cannot pierce the wall of the cell, which is compactly built of solid stone. And I cannot enter the door, which is too high. I will talk to him, win his confidence, and become his disciple, for he will be in my power when I have his confidence. As the proverb says:

"None lacking shrewdness flatter well;
None but a lover plays the swell;
No saints are found in judgement seats;
No clear, straightforward speaker cheats."

Having thus made up his mind, he drew near to Godly, uttered the words: "Glory to Shiva. Amen," fell flat on his face, and spoke with deference: "O holy sir! All life is vanity. Youth slips by like a mountain torrent. The days of our life are like a fire in chaff. Delights of the flesh are as the shadow of a cloud. Union with son, friend, servant, wife, is but a dream. All this I discern clearly. What shall I do that I may safely cross the sea of many lives?"

On hearing this, Godly said respectfully: "My son, blest are you, being thus indifferent to the world in early youth. What says the proverb?

"It's only saints in youth
That can be saints in truth:
Ah, who is not a saint
When ebbing passions faint?

"And again:

"First mind, then body ages
In case of holy sages:
The body ages first,
Mind never, in the worst.

"And as for your search to find a means of safely crossing the sea of many lives, just listen to this:

"A hangman with his matted hair,
Or serf, or other man, through prayer
To holy Shiva, changes caste,
Becomes pure Brahman at the last.

(Shiva with lingam)

"Six syllables, a little prayer;
A single blossom resting there
On Shiva's symbol - and on earth
No further pain, no later birth."

When he had listened to this, June clasped the holy man's feet and said deferentially: "This being so, holy sir, pray do me the favour of imposing a vow."

"My son," answered Godly, "I am ready to oblige you. But you must not enter my cell by night. For renunciation is recommended to ascetics, to you and to me as well. As the proverb puts it:

"Ascetics come to grief through greed;
And kings, who evil counsels heed;
Children through petting, wives through wine,
Through wicked sons a noble line;

"A Brahman through unstudied books,
A character through haunting crooks;
A farm is ruined through neglect;
And friendship, lacking kind respect;

"Love dies through absence; fortunes crash
Through naughtiness; and hoarded cash
Through carelessness or giving rash.

"So, after taking the vow, you must sleep in a hut of thatch at the monastery gate."

"Holy sir," said the other, "your prescription is the law of my life. I shall need it in the next world."

So, the sleeping arrangements being made, Godly graciously gave him initiation and granted discipleship. June for his part made the holy man very happy by rubbing his hands and feet, bringing writing-paper, and other services.

Still, Godly kept his treasure under his arm.

As the time passed in this manner, June reflected: "Dear me! Do what I will, he does not trust me. So shall I kill him with a knife in broad daylight? Or give him poison? Or butcher him like a beast?"

While he was reflecting thus, the son of a pupil of Godly's came from the village, bearing an invitation. And he said: "Holy sir, pray come to my house for the ceremony of the sacred thread."

And when Godly heard this, he started with June.

Now as he travelled, he came to a river, seeing which he took the treasure from under his arm, wrapped it carefully in his patched ascetic robe, worshiped the appropriate gods, and said to June: "June, I must step aside. Please keep careful watch of this robe and of the necessary until I return." With these words he moved away.

And as soon as he was out of sight, June seized the treasure and decamped.

Now Godly sat down perfectly carefree, for his disciple's countless virtues had lulled his suspicions. As he rested, he saw a herd of rams, and two of them fighting. These two would angrily draw apart and dash together, their slablike foreheads crashing so that blood flowed freely. This spectacle attracted a jackal whose soul was in the fetters of carnivorous desire, and he stood between the two, lapping up the blood.

When Godly observed this, he thought: "Well, well! This is a dull-witted jackal. If he happens to be between just when they crash, he will certainly meet death. This inference seems inescapable to me."

Now the next time, being greedy as ever to lap up the blood, the jackal did not move away, was caught between the crashing heads, and was killed.

Then Godly said: "The jackal at the ram-fight," and grieving for him, started to resume his treasure.

He returned in no haste, but when he failed to find June, he hurried through a ceremony of purification, then examined his robe. Finding the treasure gone, he fell to the ground in a swoon, murmuring: "Oh, oh! I am robbed."

In a moment he came to himself, rose again, and started to scream: "June, June! Where did you go after cheating me? Give me answer!"

With this repeated lamentation he moved slowly on, picking up his disciple's tracks and muttering: "And we, when tricked by June."

Now as he walked along, Godly spied a weaver who with his wife was on his way to a neighbouring city for liquor to drink, and he called out: "Look here, my good fellow! I come to you a guest, brought by the evening sun. I do not know a soul in the village. Let me receive the treatment due a guest. For the proverb says:

"No stranger may be turned aside
Who seeks your door at eventide;
Nay, honour him and you shall be
Transmuted into deity.

"And again:

"Some straw, a floor, and water,
With kindly words beside:
These four are never wanting
Where pious folk abide. 

"And once again:

"The sacred fires by kindly word
And Indra by the chair is stirred,
Krishna by water for the feet,
The Lord of All by things to eat."

On hearing this, the weaver said to his wife: "Go, my dear. Take this guest to the house. Treat him hospitably, giving him water for the feet, food, a bed, and so on. And stay in the house yourself. I will bring plenty of wine and meat for you."

With this he went farther.

So the wife started home with Godly, and she showed a laughing countenance, for she was a whore and had a certain swain in mind. Indeed, there is sense in the verse:

When night is dark
And dark the day,
When streets are mired
With sticky clay,
When husband lingers
Far away,
The flirt becomes
Supremely gay.

The wench cares not
A straw to miss
The covered couch,
The husband's kiss,
The pleasant bed;
In place of this
She ever seeks
A stolen bliss. 

And again:

For stranger men
The slut will see
The ruin of
Her family,
The world's reproach,
The jailer's key -
Will risk a death
She cannot flee.

Then she went home, offered Godly a rickety cot and said: "My holy sir, a woman friend has come from the village and I must speak to her. I will be back directly. Meanwhile, you may stay in our house. But please be careful."

With this she put on her best things and started to find her swain.

At this moment she ran into her husband, clasping a jug of wine. He was reeling drunk, his hair was tousled, and he stumbled at every step. She ran when she saw him, entered the house, took off her finery, and appeared as usual.

Now the weaver had seen her flee, had observed the finery, and since he had previously heard the gossip that went the rounds about her, his heart was troubled and anger overcame him. So he entered the house and said: "You wench! You whore! Where were you going?"

And she replied: "I have not been out since I left you. What is this drunken twaddle? There is sense in the proverb:

"After wine and fever, these
Selfsame symptoms come:
Shaking, falling to the ground,
Mad delirium.

"And again:

"The setting sun and drunken man
Are both a fiery red;
They sink in naked helplessness;
Their dignity is dead."

When he had taken the scolding and had noticed her change of dress, he said: "Whore! I have heard gossip about you for a long time. Today I have seen the proof. I am going to give you what you deserve."

So he beat her limp with a club, tied her firmly to a post, and fell into a drunken slumber.

At this juncture her friend, the barber's wife, learning that the weaver was asleep, came in and said: "My dear, he is waiting for you over there - you know who. Go at once."

But the weaver's wife replied: "Just see what a fix I am in. How can I go? You must return and tell my adorer that I cannot possibly meet him there at this moment."

"My dear," said the barber's wife, "do not say things like that. For a wench of spirit this is no way to behave. As the saying goes:

"Those who earn the name of blessèd
Show a camel-like persistence
When they pluck the fruit of pleasure,
Counting neither toil nor distance.

"And again:

"As the other world is doubtful
And as scandal misses truth, 
When you've hooked another's lover,
Best enjoy the fruit of youth.

"And once again:

"Fate may rob him of his manhood,
He may handsome be or ugly,
Yet a wench, whatever it cost her,
Entertains her lover snugly."

"Very fine indeed," said the weaver's wife. "But tell me how I am to go when I am tied fast. And here lies my husband - the brute!"

"My dear," said the barber's wife, "he is helpless with drink and will not wake until the sun's rays reach him. I will set you free and take your place myself. But you must hurry back when you have entertained your admirer."

This she did, and a moment later the weaver rose a little mollified, and said drunkenly: "Come, you nagger! If you will stay at home after today and stop nagging, I will set you free."

The barber's wife said nothing, fearing that her voice would betray her. Even when he repeated his offer, she made no answer.

Then he became angry and cut off her nose with a sharp knife. And he said: "Whore! Now you can stay there. I shall not be nice to you again." So he fell asleep, muttering.

Now Godly, having lost his money, was so tormented by hunger that he could not sleep and was a witness of all that the women did.

Presently the weaver's wife, after enjoying the full delight of love with her swain, came home and said to the barber's wife: "Well, are you all right? I hope that brute did not get up while I was gone."

And the barber's wife answered: "The rest of me is all right. But I've lost my nose. Set me free quick, before he wakes up. I want to go home. If not, he will do something worse next time, cut off ears and things."

So the wench freed the barber's wife, took her former position, and cried reproachfully: "Oh, you dreadful simpleton! I am a true wife, a model of faithfulness. What man is able to violate or disfigure me? Listen, ye guardian deities of the world!

"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.

"So, if I am a faithful wife, may these gods make my nose grow again as it was before. More than that, if I have had so much as a secret desire for a strange man, may they reduce me to ashes."

After this explosion, she said to him directly: "Look, you villain! By virtue of my faithfulness my nose has grown as it was before."

And when he took a torch and examined her, he found her nose as it was originally, and a great pool of blood on the floor. At this he was amazed, released her from the cords, and flattered her with a hundred wheedling endearments.

Now Godly had seen the whole business. And he was amazed and said:

"Learn science with the gods above
Or imps in nether space, 
Yet women's wit will rival it:
How keep them in their place?

"Behold the faults with woman born:
Impurity, and heartless scorn,
Untruth, and folly, reckless heat,
Excessive greediness, deceit.

"Be not enslaved by women's charm,
Nor wish them growth in power to harm:
Their slaves, of manly feeling stripped,
Are tame, pet crows whose wings are clipped.

"Honey in a woman's words,
Poison in her breast:
So, although you taste her lip,
Drub her on the chest.

"This palace filled with vice, this field where sprouts
Suspicion's crop, this whirling pool of doubts,
This town of recklessness, sin's aggregate,
This house where frauds by hundreds lie in wait,
This basketful of riddling sham and quip
Over guessing which our best and bravest trip,
This woman, this machine, this nectar-bane -
Who set it here, to make religion vain?

"A bosom hard is praised, a forehead low,
A fickle glance, a mumbling speech and slow,
Thick hips, a heart that constant tremors move,
A natural twist in hair, and twists in love.

"Their virtues are a pack of vices. Then
Let beasts adore the fawn-eyed things, not men.
For reasons good they laugh or weep;
They trust you not, your trust they keep:
These graveyard urns, oh, haunt them not!
Keep kin and conduct free from spot.

"The lion over whose awful face
Falls fierce the tousled mane,
The elephant upon whose cheeks
Streams ichor's glistening rain,
The men of wit or courage who
In books or battles gleam,
In presence of their females, all
Turn into cowards supreme.

"And once more:

"This gunja-fruit (oh, what was God about?)
Is poisonous within, and sweet without."

In these meditations the night dragged drearily for the holy man.

Meanwhile the go-between went home with her nose cut off, and reflected: "What is to be done now? How is this great deficiency to be concealed?"

The night during which she pondered thus, her husband spent in the king's palace, practicing his trade. At dawn he came home and, being eager to begin his thriving business with the townspeople, he stopped at the door and called to her: "My dear, bring me my razor-case at once. The townspeople need my services."

Hereupon an idea occurred to the noseless woman. She remained in the house, but sent him a single razor. And the barber, angry because the entire case had not been delivered, flung the razor in her direction.

This gave the wench her opportunity. Lifting her hands to heaven, she dashed from the house, screaming with all her might: "Oh, oh, oh! The ruffian! I was always a faithful wife. Look! He cut off my nose. Save me, save me!"

Hereupon the police arrived, thrashed the barber limp, tied him fast, and took him to court with his wife whose nose was gone. And the judges asked him: "Why did you do this ghastly thing to your wife?"

Then, his wits being so addled by astonishment that he could give no answer, the jurymen quoted law:

"The guilty man is terrified
By reason of his crime. His pride
Is gone, his powers of speaking fail,
His glances rove, his face is pale.

"And again:

"The sweat appears upon his brow,
He stumbles on, he knows not how,
His face is pale, and all he utters
Is much distorted; for he stutters.

"The culprit always may be found
To shake, and gaze upon the ground:
Observe the signs as best you can
And shrewdly pick the guilty man.

"While, on the other hand:

"The innocent is self-reliant;
His speech is clear, his glance defiant;
His countenance is calm and free;
His indignation makes his plea.

"The prisoner is obviously guilty. The legal penalty for assaulting a woman is death. Let him be impaled."

But Godly, seeing him led to the place of execution, went to the officers of justice and said: "Gentlemen, you make a mistake in putting this wretched barber to death. His conduct has been correct. Pray listen to these words of mine:

"The jackal at the ram-fight;
And we, when tricked by June;
The meddling friend - were playing
A self-defeating tune."

So the officers said: "How was that, holy sir?"

Then Godly related to them the three stories, complete in every detail.

And they were all astonished as they listened. They set the barber free and said:

"Slay not a woman, Brahman, child,
An invalid or hermit mild:
In case of major dereliction,
Disfigurement is the infliction.

"Now she has lost her nose through her own act. As additional punishment from the king, let her ears be cut off."

When this had been done, Godly, strengthening his spirit by the two examples, returned to his own monastery.

And that is why I say:

The jackal at the ram-fight;
And we, when tricked by June;
The meddling friend - were playing
A self-defeating tune.

Panchatantra: Merchant Strong-Tooth

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

Merchant Strong-Tooth

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

There is a city called Growing City on the earth's surface. In it lived a merchant named Strong-Tooth who directed the whole administration. So long as he handled city business and royal business, all the inhabitants were satisfied. Why spin it out? Nobody ever saw or heard of his like for cleverness. For there is much wisdom in the proverb:

Suppose he minds the king's affairs,
The common people hate him;
And if he plays the democrat,
The prince will execrate him:

So, since the struggling interests
Are wholly contradictory,
A manager is hard to find
Who gives them both the victory.

While he occupied this position, he once had a daughter married. To the wedding he invited all the townspeople and the king's entourage, paid them much honour, feasted them, and regaled them with gifts of garments and the like. And when the wedding was over, he conducted the king home with his ladies and showed him reverence.

Now the king had a house-cleaning drudge named Bull, who took a seat that did not belong to him — this in the very palace, and in the presence of the king's professor. So Strong-Tooth administered a cuffing and drove him out.

From that moment the humiliation so rankled in Bull's inner soul that he had no rest even at night. Yet he thought: "After all, why should I grow thin? It does me no good. For I cannot possibly hurt him. And there is sense in the saying:

"Indulge no angry, shameless wish
To hurt, unless you can:
The chick-pea, hopping up and down,
Will crack no frying-pan."

Now one morning, as he was sweeping near the bed where the king lay half awake, he said: "What impudence! Strong-Tooth kisses the queen."

When the king heard this, he jumped up in a hurry, crying: "Come, come, Bull! Is that thing true that you were muttering? Has the queen been kissed by Strong-Tooth?"

"O King," answered Bull, "I was awake all night because I am passionately fond of gambling. So sleep overpowered me even when I was busy with my sweeping. I do not know what I said."

But the jealous king thought: "Yes, he has free entrance to my palace. So has Strong-Tooth. Perhaps he actually saw the fellow hugging the queen. For the proverb says:

"Whatever a man desires, sees, does
In broad daylight,
Still mindful, he will say or do
Asleep at night.

"And again:

"Whatever secrets, good or ill,
Men in their bosoms keep,
Are soon betrayed when they are drunk
Or talking in their sleep. 

"In any case, what doubt can there be where a woman is concerned?

"With one she tries the gossip's art;
Her glances with a second flirt;
She holds another in her heart:
Whom does she love enough to hurt?

"And again:

"The logs will glut the hungry fire,
The rivers glut the sea's desire,
And Death with life be glutted, when
The flirt has had enough of men.

"No chance, no corner dark,
No man to woo;
Then, holy sage, you find
A woman true.

"And once again:

"The blunderhead who thinks:
'My love loves me,'
Is ever in her power;
A tame bird, he."

After all this lamentation, he withdrew his favour forthwith from Strong-Tooth. Not to make a long story of it, he forbade his entrance at court.

When Strong-Tooth saw that the monarch's favour was suddenly withdrawn, he thought: "Ah me! There is wisdom in the stanza:

"Whom does not fortune render proud?
Whom does not death lay low?
To what rout do passions not
Bring never ceasing woe? 

"What beggar can be dignified?
Whose heart no woman stings?
Who, trapped by scamps, comes safely off?
Who is beloved of kings?

"And again:

"Who ever saw or heard
A gambler's truthful word,
A neat and cleanly crow,
A woman going slow

"In love, a kindly snake,
A eunuch's pluck awake,
A drunkard's love of science,
A king in friends' alliance?

"And yet I never committed an unfriendly act against the king — or anyone else — not even in a dream, not even by mere words. So why does the king withdraw his favour from me?"

Now one day Bull, the sweeper, saw Strong-Tooth stopped at the palace gate, and he laughed aloud, saying to the doorkeepers: "Be careful, doorkeepers! This fellow Strong-Tooth's temper has been spoiled by the king's favour and he dispenses arrests and releases. If you stop him, you will get a cuffing, just like me."

And Strong-Tooth reflected on hearing this: "I see. It was Bull's doing. Well, there is sense in the proverb:

"Though foolish, base, and lacking pride,
A servant at the monarch's side
Will have his honour satisfied. 

"Though fashioned on a cowardly plan
And mean, a royal servant can
Resent affronts from any man."

After this lamentation he went home, abashed and deeply stirred. Then he summoned Bull in the evening, gave him two garments as an honourable present, and said: "My good fellow, I did not drive you out by order of the king. It was because I saw you, in the chaplain's presence, sitting where you did not belong, that I humiliated you."

Now Bull received the two garments as if they were the Kingdom of Heaven, and feeling intense satisfaction, he said: "Friend merchant, I forgive you. You will soon see the reward of the honour shown me in the king's favour and such things."

With this he departed in high glee. For there is wisdom in the saying:

A little thing will lift him high,
A little make him fall:
'Twixt balance-beam and scamp there is
No difference at all.

On the next day Bull entered the palace, and did his sweeping. And while the king lay half awake, he said: "What intelligence! When our king sits at stool, he eats a cucumber."

(cucumber)

Now the king, hearing this, rose in amazement and said: "Come, come, Bull! What twaddle is this? But I remember that you are a house-servant and do not kill you. Did you ever see me engaged in that occupation?"

"O King," said Bull, "I was awake all night because I am passionately fond of gambling. So drowsiness overcame me in the very act of doing my sweeping. I do not know what I was muttering. Pardon me, master. I was really asleep."

Then the king thought: "Why, from the day of my birth I never ate a cucumber while engaged in that occupation. And since this blockhead has talked unimaginable nonsense about me, it must be the same with Strong-Tooth. This being so, I made a mistake in taking the poor man's honours from him. Nothing of the sort is conceivable with such men. And in his absence all the king's business and city business is at loose ends."

After thus considering the matter from every point of view, he summoned Strong-Tooth, presented him with gems from his own person and with garments, and reinstated him.

And that is why I say:

Whoever is too haughty to
Pay king's retainers honour due,
Will find his feet are tottering -
So merchant Strong-Tooth with the king.

Panchatantra: The Jackal and the War-Drum

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

The Jackal and the War-Drum

[This story is told by Victor in The Loss of Friends.]

(14th-century Egyptian ms. of Kalila-wa-Dimna)

In a certain region was a jackal whose throat was pinched by hunger. While wandering in search of food, he came upon a king's battle ground in the midst of a forest. And as he lingered a moment there, he heard a great sound.

This sound troubled his heart exceedingly, so that he fell into deep dejection and said: "Ah me! Disaster is upon me. I am as good as dead already. Who made that sound? What kind of a creature?"

But on peering about, he spied a war-drum that loomed like a mountain-peak, and he thought: "Was that sound its natural voice, or was it induced from without?"

Now when the drum was struck by the tips of grasses swaying in the wind, it made the sound, but was dumb at other times.

So he recognized its helplessness, and crept quite near. Indeed, his curiosity led him to strike it himself on both heads, and he became gleeful at the thought: "Aha! After long waiting food comes even to me. For this is sure to be stuffed with meat and fat."

Having come to this conclusion, he picked a spot, gnawed a hole, and crept in. And though the leather covering was tough, still he had the luck not to break his teeth. But he was disappointed to find it pure wood and skin, and recited a stanza:

Its voice was fierce; I thought it stuffed
With fat, so crept within;
And there I did not find a thing
Except some wood and skin.
So he backed out, laughing to himself, and said:

I thought at first that it was full
Of fat; I crept within
And there I did not find a thing
Except some wood and skin."

And that is why I say that one should not be troubled by a mere sound.

Panchatantra: The Wedge-Pulling Monkey

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

The Wedge-Pulling Monkey

[This story is told by Cheek in The Loss of Friends.]

(from Directorium Humanae Vitae, 1484)

There was a city in a certain region. In a grove nearby, a merchant was having a temple built. Each day at the noon hour the foreman and workers would go to the city for lunch.

Now one day a troop of monkeys came upon the half-built temple. There lay a tremendous anjana log, which a mechanic had begun to split, a wedge of acacia-wood being thrust in at the top.

There the monkeys began their playful frolics upon tree-top, lofty roof, and woodpile. Then one of them, whose doom was near, thoughtlessly bestrode the log, thinking: "Who stuck a wedge in this queer place?" So he seized it with both hands and started to work it loose.

Now what happened when the wedge gave at the spot where his private parts entered the cleft, that, sir, you know without being told.

And that is why I say that meddling should be avoided by the intelligent.

The Forest Fire

From Twenty Jataka Tales retold by Noor Inayat Khan, with illustrations by H. W. Le Mair (1939): page.

The Forest Fire

"Be good, my little ones," said Mother Quail to seven little quails, chirping in the next. "Mother and Father will bring you worms, and insects, and grass-seeds."

But each time Mother and Father Quail returned to the next, six little quails caught the worms and insect,s but the seventh only at the grass-seeds. And so while the wings of his brothers grew strong and firm, the little one's wings did not grow at all.

One night when the little family were tucked up cozily, they were awakened by sad cries from the heart of the forest. Mother and Father Quail and the seven little quails peeped out of the next.

What were those fiery red clouds hovering over the distant trees?

The little quails began to cry, and Mother and Father held them tight within their wings.

Crackle . . . crackle . . . bzz . . . bzz . . .  roared the large red clouds.

"See, Father," exclaimed the seventh little one, "it is a fire in the woods."

The glowing flames advanced with the speed of wind through the forest, burning every bush and tree in their path. The roar came nearer and nearer, and soon the fire approached the nest. There was no time to lose and, dashing forth, Mother and Father Quail and the six little quails flew away. But the seventh little one remained alone, he had no wings to fly with.

Bzz . . . bzz . . . roared the large red clouds as they danced around the nest. But the little one was not afraid; he gazed steadily at the flames with his two small twinkling eyes, and in his soft chirping voice he spoke to them.

"I am small," he said, "and have no wings. Why do you come to this wee nest where I am left alone? Go your way, mighty flames; there is nothing here for you."

As he spoke, the aging fire slunk away and disappeared through the trees, and the forest became silent.

By and by little voices arose from the moss, and the frogs signaled that all was clear. One by one, little heads peeped out of their hiding-places. The smoke clouds had blown far away, and Queen Moon smiled once more through the trees. Little Quail also smiled in his nest as he saw the forest waking up again, and he lived there happy ever after.

The Goblin City

From Twenty Jataka Tales retold by Noor Inayat Khan, with illustrations by H. W. Le Mair (1939): page.

The Goblin Town

A great ship had been flung by the angry waves on the rocky shore of an island. Happily the crew and passengers, five hundred men in all, were no drowned. Their plight was wretched, however, but as they looked around, they were cheered by their beautiful surroundings. "Our ship has sunk, alas!" they said; "but doubtless there are endless treasures in this island."

After a while, the sound of voices came to their ears, and they saw a crowd of women approaching. Soon the women came to the place where the men were gathered, and they spoke to them.

"Wherefrom do you come, O travelers?" they asked. "has your ship been broken on the rocks? The men of this island left long ago in a ship and have never returned. Come, then, with us to our homes, O travelers! We will care for you and make you happy."

Such were the alluring words of the women, but even as they spoke, they bound the men with magic chains and, not knowing they were drawn by these chains, the men followed the women to their homes. And so they lived some time in the city and ate the rice which the women prepared for them on golden dishes.

But one night, when all the men were asleep, one of the five hundred awoke and heard strange voices.

"Whose are those voices?" he thought. "Are they not the voices of goblins?"

He silently arose from his bed and hid behind a large stone to watch. He was soon rewarded, for he saw that the women, changed into goblins, were walking through the town.

"It is a goblin-town!" the man exclaimed in horror. "I must tell my companions. We must flee from here."

No sooner were his eyes thus opened than he saw that he was bound with chains.

When morning came, he told his companions what he had seen. Some did not believe him, but the others asked, with trembling voices, "How can we escape?"

"We cannot," the man replied. "With magic chains we are bound."

As he said these words, there was a flash of light, and a white horse descended from the sky and landed before them. And they heard a gentle voice from the sea which said:

A flying horse with silver wings has answered to your call;
Mount on his back, your chains will break, and he will save you all.

And those who did not believe the story of their companion stayed with the women in the goblin-town, but the others flew away to their homes on the back of the silver horse, and they all lived happy ever after.

---

From The Giant Crab, and Other Tales from Old India by W. H. D. Rouse, with illustrations by W. Robinson (1897): text.

The Goblin City

Long, long ago, in the island of Ceylon, there was a large city full of nothing but Goblins. They were all She-Goblins, too, and if they wanted husbands, they used to get hold of travellers and force them to marry — and afterwards, when they were tired of their husbands, they gobbled them up.

One day a ship was wrecked upon the coast near the goblin city, and five hundred sailors were cast ashore. The She-Goblins came down to the seashore, and brought food and dry clothes for the sailors, and invited them to come into the city. There was nobody else there at all, but for fear that the sailors should be frightened away, the Goblins, by their magic power, made shapes of people appear all around, so that there seemed to be men ploughing in the fields, or shepherds tending their sheep, and huntsmen with hounds, and all the sights of the quiet country life. So, when the sailors looked round, and saw everything as usual, they felt quite secure; although, as you know, it was all a sham.

The end of it was, that they persuaded the sailors to marry them, telling them that their own husbands had gone to sea in a ship and had been gone these three years, so that they must be drowned and lost for ever. But really, as you know, they had served others in just the same way, and their last batch of husbands were then in prison, waiting to be eaten.

In the middle of the night, when the men were all asleep, the She-Goblins rose up, put on their hats, and hurried down to the prison; there they killed a few men, and gnawed their flesh, and ate them up, and after this orgy they went home again.

It so happened that the captain of the sailors woke up before his wife came home, and not seeing her there, he watched. By-and-by in she came; he pretended to be asleep and looked out of the tail of his eye. She was still munching and crunching, and as she munched she muttered:

Man’s meat, man’s meat,
That’s what Goblins like to eat!

She said it over and over again, then lay down, and soon she was snoring loudly.

The captain was horribly frightened to find he had married a Goblin. What was he to do? They could not fight with Goblins, and they were in the Goblins’ power. If they had a ship they might have sailed away because Goblins hate the water worse than a cat, but their ship was gone. He could think of nothing.

However, next morning, he found a chance of telling his mates what he had discovered. Some of them believed him, and some said he must have been dreaming; they were sure their wives would not do such a thing. Those who believed him agreed that they would look out for a chance of escape.

But there was a kind fairy who hated those Goblins, and she determined to save the men. So she told her flying horse to go and carry them away. And accordingly, as the men were out for a walk next day, the captain saw in the air a beautiful horse with large white and gold wings. The horse fluttered down, and hovered just above them, crying out, in a human voice: “Who wants to go home? who wants to go home? who wants to go home?”

“I do, I do!” called out the sailors.

“Climb up, then!” said the horse, dropping within reach. So one climbed up, and then another, and another, and, although the horse looked no bigger than any other horse, there was room for everybody on his back. I think that somehow, when they got up, the fairy made them shrink small, till they were no bigger than so many ants, and thus there was plenty of room for all. When all who wanted to go had got up on his back, away flew the beautiful horse and took them safely home.

As for those who remained behind, that very night the Goblins set upon them and mangled them, and munched them to mincemeat.

---

From Jataka Tales by H.T. Francis and E. J. Thomas: page.

The Goblin City

Once upon a time, there was in the island of Ceylon a goblin town called Sirisavatthu, peopled by she-goblins. When a ship is wrecked, these adorn and deck themselves, and taking rice and gruel, with trains of slaves and their children on their hip, they come up to the merchants.

In order to make them imagine that theirs is a city of human beings, they make them see here and there men ploughing and tending kine, herds of cattle, dogs, and the like. Then approaching the merchants, they invite them to partake of the gruel, rice, and other food which they bring. The merchants, all unaware, eat of what is offered. When they have eaten and drunken and are taking their rest, the goblins address them thus: "Where do you live? Where do you come from? Whither are you going, and what errand brought you here?"

"We were shipwrecked here," they reply.

"Very good, noble sirs," the others make answer; "'tis three years ago since our own husbands went on board ship; they must have perished. You are merchants too; we will be your wives. Thus they lead them astray by their women's wiles and tricks and dalliance, until they get them into the goblin city; then, if they have any others already caught, they bind these with magic chains, and cast them into the house of torment. And if they find no shipwrecked men in the place where they dwell, they scour the coast as far as the river Kalyani [Kaelani-ganga] on one side and the island of Nagadipa on the other. This is their way.

Now it happened once that five hundred shipwrecked traders were cast ashore near the city of these she-goblins. The goblins came up to them and enticed them till they brought them to their city; those whom they had caught before they bound with magic chains and cast them into the house of torment. Then the chief goblin took the chief man, and the others took the rest, till five hundred had the five hundred traders, and they made the men their husbands. Then in the night time when her man was asleep, the chief she-goblin rose up and made her way to the house of death, slew some of the men and ate them. The others did the same.

When the eldest goblin returned from eating men's flesh, her body was cold. The eldest merchant embraced her and perceived that she was a goblin. "All the five hundred of them must be goblins!" he thought to himself: "we must make our escape!"

So in the early morning, when he went to wash his face, he bespake the other merchants in these words. "These are goblins, and not human beings! As soon as other shipwrecked men can be found, they will make them their husbands, and will eat us; come — let us escape!"

Two hundred and fifty of them replied, "We cannot leave them: go ye, if ye will, but we will not flee away."

Then the chief trader with two hundred and fifty, who were ready to obey him, fled away in fear of the goblins.

Now at that time, the Bodhisatta had come into the world as a flying horse, white all over and beaked like a crow, with hair like munja grass, possessed of supernatural power, able to fly through the air. From Himalaya he flew through the air until he came to Ceylon. There he passed over the ponds and tanks of Ceylon, and ate the paddy that grew wild there. As he passed on thus, he thrice uttered human speech filled with mercy, saying, "Who wants to go home? Who wants to go home?"

The traders heard his saying and cried, "We are going home, master!" joining their hands and raising them respectfully to their foreheads.

"Then climb up on my back," said the Bodhisatta. Thereat some of them climbed up, some laid hold of his tail, and some remained standing, with a respectful salute. Then the Bodhisatta took up even those who stood still saluting him and conveyed all of them, even two hundred and fifty, to their own country and set down each in his own place; then he went back to his place of dwelling.

And the she-goblins, when other men came to that place, slew those two hundred and fifty who were left, and devoured them.

Note: Divyavadana 524, Karandavyuha 52, Beal, Rom. Leg. 332, a Tibetan version by Wenzel, JRAS 1888 503. The magical Valaha horse is one of the king's seven treasures of Empire in Jataka 479, and one of the chariot-horses of Vishnu in the Mahabharata. The magic horse, which in the Pali is a previous incarnation of Buddha, is also an episode in the tale of Supriya (Divyav. 120), and is there an incarnation of Maitreya, and in the Karandavyua of Avalokitesvara. Wenzel compares the myth of the sirens, and explains the magic horse as a myth of the moon, but Beal as the white crested waves at the change of the monsoon. It is illustrated on the bas-reliefs of the temple of Boro-Boedoer in Java (Leemans, Boro-Boudour, pl. 389, Leide, 1874), and on a railing at Mathura (Anderson, Catalogue of the Indian Museum, i. p. 189). 

---

From The Jataka (vol. 1-6), edited by E. B. Cowell: page.

No. 196. Valahassa-Jataka.

"They who will neglect," etc. — This story the Master told while staying in Jetavana, about a Brother who had become a backslider.

When the Master asked him if it was really true that he was a backslider, the Brother replied that it was true. Being questioned for the reason, he replied that his passion had been aroused by seeing a finely dressed woman. 

Then the Master thus addressed him:

"Brother, these women tempt men by their figure and voice, scents, perfumes, and touch, and by their wiles and dalliance; thus they get men into their power, and as soon as they perceive that this is done, they ruin them, character, wealth and all, by their evil ways. This gives them the name of she-goblins. 

"In former days also, a troop of she-goblins tempted a caravan of traders and got power over them, and afterwards, when they got sight of other men, they killed every one of the first, and then devoured them, crunching them in their teeth while the blood ran down over both cheeks." And then he told an old story.

~ ~ ~

Once upon a time, there was in the island of Ceylon a goblin town called Sirisavatthu, peopled by she-goblins. When a ship is wrecked, these adorn and deck themselves, and taking rice and gruel, with trains of slaves, and their children on their hip, they come up to the merchants. In order to make them imagine that theirs is a city of human beings, they make them see here and there men ploughing and tending kine, herds of cattle, dogs, and the like. Then approaching the merchants, they invite them to partake of the gruel, rice, and other food which they bring. The merchants, all unaware, eat of what is offered. When they have eaten and drunken, and are taking their rest, the goblins address them thus: "Where do you live? Where do you come from? Whither are you going, and what errand brought you here?"

"We were shipwrecked here," they reply. 

"Very good, noble sirs," the others make answer; "’tis three years ago since our own husbands went on board ship; they must have perished. You are merchants too; we will be your wives." 

Thus they lead them astray by their women's wiles and tricks and dalliance, until they get them into the goblin city; then, if they have any others already caught, they bind these with magic chains and cast them into the house of torment. And if they find no shipwrecked men in the place where they dwell, they scour the coast as far as the river Kalyani on one side and the island of Nagadipa on the other. This is their way.

Now it happened once that five hundred shipwrecked traders were cast ashore near the city of these she-goblins. The goblins came up to them and enticed them till they brought them to their city; those whom they had caught before, they bound with magic chains and cast them into the house of torment. 

Then the chief goblin took the chief man, and the others took the rest, till five hundred had the five hundred traders, and they made the men their husbands. Then in the night time, when her man was asleep, the chief she-goblin rose up and made her way to the house of death, slew some of the men, and ate them. The others did the same. 

When the eldest goblin returned from eating men's flesh, her body was cold. The eldest merchant embraced her, and perceived that she was a goblin. "All the five hundred of them must be goblins!" he thought to himself: "we must make our escape!"

So in the early morning, when he went to wash his face, he bespake the other merchants in these words. "These are goblins, and not human beings! As soon as other shipwrecked men can be found, they will make them their husbands, and will eat us; come — let us escape!"

Two hundred and fifty of them replied, "We cannot leave them: go ye, if ye will, but we will not flee away."

Then the chief trader with two hundred and fifty, who were ready to obey him, fled away in fear of the goblins.

Now at that time, the Bodhisatta had come into the world as a flying horse, white all over and beaked like a crow, with hair like munja grass, possessed of supernatural power, able to fly through the air. From Himalaya he flew through the air until he came to Ceylon. There he passed over the ponds and tanks of Ceylon, and ate the paddy that grew wild there. As he passed on thus, he thrice uttered human speech filled with mercy, saying, "Who wants to go home? Who wants to go home? 

The traders heard his saying and cried, "We are going home, master!" joining their hands, and raising them respectfully to their foreheads. 

"Then climb up on my back," said the Bodhisatta. Thereat some of them climbed up, some laid hold of his tail, and some remained standing, with a respectful salute. Then the Bodhisatta took up even those who stood still saluting him, and conveyed all of them, even two hundred and fifty, to their own country, and set down each in his own place; then he went back to his place of dwelling.

And the she-goblins, when other men came to that place, slew those two hundred and fifty who were left, and devoured them.

~ ~ ~

The Master now said, addressing the Brethren: "Brethren, even as these traders perished by falling into the hands of she-goblins but the others by obeying the behest of the wonderful horse each returned safe home again, so, even so, they who neglect the advice of the Buddhas, both Brethren and Sisters, lay Brethren and lay Sisters, come to great misery in the four hells, places where they are punished under the five fetters, and so forth. But those who abide by such advice come to the three kinds of fortunate birth, the six heavens of sense, the twenty worlds of Brahma, and reaching the state of imperishable Nirvana they attain great blessedness." 

Then, becoming perfectly enlightened, he recited the following verses:

They who will neglect the Buddha when he tells them what to do, 

As the goblins ate the merchants, likewise they shall perish too.

They who hearken to the Buddha when he tells them what to do, 

As the bird-horse saved the merchants, they shall win salvation too.

When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth — at the conclusion of the Truths the backsliding Brother entered on the Fruit of the First Path, and many others entered on the Fruit of the First, Second, Third or Fourth — "The Buddha's followers were the two hundred and fifty who followed the advice of the horse, and I was the horse myself."

Footnotes. The modern Kaelani-gaṅgā (Journ. of the Pāli Text Soc., 1888, p. 20). On one side of a pillar in a Buddhist railing at Mathura, is a flying horse with people clinging to it, perhaps intended for this scene (Anderson, Catalogue of the Indian Museum, i. p. 189). Saccharum Muñja.