The Story of Sanjivaka the Bull and Pingalaka the Lion
It has been heard that in the city of Mahilaropya, there lived a merchant called Vardhamana. He was an honest and intelligent man, and had grown very rich through his keen understanding of business and trade.
One night, as he lay in bed, he began to think, ‘I am already a very wealthy man with bags and bags of money and jewels, gold and silver. Even so, I must try to earn some more. If a man is rich, everyone wants to be his friend and even his relatives love him. A rich man can buy learning and health and even youth. But if a man is poor, then even his own family avoids him! So, instead of sitting idle, I must continue to work and add to my great wealth!’ Vardhamana sat up in bed and stared into the dark, thinking hard of all the ways in which he could make more money.
At last, after scratching his head for a long time, he came up with an idea. ‘I have seen,’ said he to himself, ‘that merchants who take their goods to distant lands sell them there for many times their cost. So I will carry goods from my own city of Mahilaropya to the faraway city of Mathura in the north. There I will sell my merchandise for a large profit. This will also give me an excuse to travel and see the world.’ Vardhamana was very pleased with his idea and even though the sun had not yet risen, he hopped out of bed and began busily planning his trip.
Over the next few days, Vardhamana gathered together the goods he thought would sell well in Mathura. When he had enough things to sell, he loaded them on to his cart and made ready for his journey.
Now, Vardhamana owned two beautiful bulls, Sanjivaka and Nandaka. The two animals had been born in Vardhamana’s house, and had been cared for and brought up as part of the family. Vardhamana loved them dearly; he did not want to leave them behind. So, deciding to take them with him to Mathura, he yoked them to the loaded cart. When all was ready, he bade goodbye to his parents and set off on his journey, joining a caravan of merchants that was going the same way.
All went well for a while. Then one day, as Vardhamana and his party were passing through a forest close to the River Yamuna, Sanjivaka floundered in a patch of soft wet mud and fell, breaking the yoke. Vardhamana was distraught. ‘I can’t leave my beloved Sanjivaka lying stuck and helpless in the mud,’ he declared, and calling a halt, he ordered his men to set up camp right there in the forest, beside the injured bull. For three days, he waited by Sanjivaka’s side, hoping that the bull would recover and stand up again. But Sanjivaka still lay where he had fallen.
The other merchants in whose company Vardhamana was travelling grew restless. Finally, one of them went up to him. ‘Seth ji,’ he said, calling him by the title by which wealthy merchants are often addressed, ‘you cannot risk your life and those of your companions for the sake of one injured animal. Who knows how many hungry lions or ferocious tigers are lurking in this forest? It is not safe to wait here any longer.’
Vardhamana realized that the man was right—he could not put the others in danger because of Sanjivaka. Sadly, he agreed to resume his journey. Leaving behind some men to look after Sanjivaka and instructing them to protect him from the forest animals, Vardhamana continued towards Mathura with the rest of his companions.
Vardhamana’s men watched over Sanjivaka for a day. Then they said to themselves, ‘This forest is frightening, and as dangerous for us as it was for the master and the others. Why should we stay here, risking our lives for an injured animal?’ And abandoning Sanjivaka, they ran off through the forest to join the others.
On the second day, they caught up with Vardhamana’s party. They knew that Vardhamana would be furious if he knew that they had left Sanjivaka at the mercy of the forest. So, to save their skins, they decided to lie. ‘O sir, Sanjivaka is dead; he died of his injuries where he lay,’ they said, putting on long, sad faces. ‘We know that you loved him very much, so we gave him a funeral and cremated him as you would have wished.’ Vardhamana, heartbroken, believed their lies, and thinking there was nothing more to be done, continued on to Mathura.
Meanwhile, Sanjivaka was far from dead. Slowly, his injuries healed, till at last, he could pull himself out of the mud. He wandered through the forest until he reached the banks of the River Yamuna. Here grew fresh, green grass, sweet and juicy, such as Sanjivaka had never eaten before in his life. Day by day, Sanjivaka regained his strength, till he became as healthy, strong and beautiful as the white bull of Lord Shiva himself. He began to live happily by the river. Sometimes, when he had nothing to do, he would amuse himself by charging the anthills by the river’s edge and loudly bellowing his victory as they toppled over, helpless before his mighty horns.
It has been said, and rightly so, that
One protected by destiny
Will live even if left to die
One abandoned by his fate
Will die even in safety great.
One day, a lion named Pingalaka, accompanied by his retinue of faithful followers, came down to the river for a drink. While still some distance away from the river, Pingalaka heard a strange and alarming sound—a roaring deep and powerful such as he had never heard before. This was only Sanjivaka the bull bellowing happily at the anthills. But Pingalaka did not know that. Too far away to see the bull, he decided that it must be a fierce monster by the water’s edge making that terrifying sound.
Pingalaka had never been so scared in his life! But he was the king of the forest after all, and, as king, he could not let the other animals see how frightened he was. At the same time, he dared not go down to the river! So, pretending to be thinking deeply on a matter of great importance, he retreated to the shade of a large banyan tree and sat down. His faithful followers arranged themselves around him in order of rank and importance.
In Pingalaka’s retinue were two jackals, called Karataka and Damanaka. Their fathers had once been ministers to the king, but these two had not been given the same office. The two jackals were friends and spent much of their time discussing ways and means to gain Pingalaka’s favour. Seeing the lion sitting still under the banyan tree, the two put their heads together and began talking.
‘Karataka,’ began Damanaka, ‘our king came down to the river for a drink. So why does he not go down to the water, and why does he sit, so still and frightened, under that tree?’
‘Damanaka,’ replied Karataka, ‘what concern is it of ours what Pingalaka does? We should not poke our nose into his affairs.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it has been said, and rightly so,’ continued Karataka,
That he who interferes unasked
Or meddles with another’s task
Meets an end that’s grim and gory
Quite devoid of grace or glory.’
‘How so?’ asked Damanaka, interested.
So Karataka told him the story of the meddlesome monkey.
The Story of the Meddlesome Monkey
Once upon a time, a rich merchant decided to build a large temple in a forest close to the town where he lived. He had many sins on his conscience and hoped that by building the temple he would please the gods so much that they would forgive his crimes. He spared no expense, using only the best wood and the finest stone and employing only the most skilled carpenters and stonemasons to build his temple. The men worked all day long without rest or pause—except every day at noon, when they would lay down their tools and go into the town for a break and a bite to eat.
One bright, sunny day, while the workers were away, a troop of monkeys chanced upon the temple site. Seeing that the place was empty and deserted, the monkeys scampered down from the trees and began playing amidst the half-built pillars and porticos of the temple. They danced and pranced and jumped about, and had a wonderful time.
One monkey, as he ran and jumped about, came upon a half-split log of wood. Now, the carpenter who had been working upon that log had driven a stout wedge into the split—he planned to come back from his lunch and continue with his work of sawing the log in half.
The monkey had never seen anythi
ng as strange as this before, and being more inquisitive and meddlesome than the others, he decided to investigate. Perching himself upon the log, he began to ease loose the carpenter’s wedge. It is difficult to say why he did this—perhaps his life upon this earth was done, for as the wedge popped out, the slit in the log snapped shut, trapping the monkey.
It is best not to dwell on the painful death he died.
‘And so you see, Damanaka, it is best not to interfere in concerns that are not our own,’ concluded Karataka. ‘After all, we get enough food to fill our bellies from the lion’s leftovers. What more do we need?’
But Damanaka disagreed. ‘It seems you live only to eat, Karataka,’ he protested. ‘That is not right, not for intelligent creatures like you and me! We need to aim for the higher things in life!’
‘Like what?’ asked Karataka, puzzled.
‘Like power and status, my friend! Like royal patronage and favour!’ cried Damanaka. ‘We need to get close to the king, and then cleverly get him to trust us and make us ministers, like our fathers were!’
Karataka shook his head—Damanaka could be such a dreamer at times. ‘Dear Damanaka,’ he said, ‘you forget, we are nobody, just two jobless hangers-on of the royal train. Yes, it’s true that our fathers used to be amongst Pingalaka’s trusted people once, but those days are over. Who will let you get near the king? And even if you manage to reach him, why will he listen to you?’
‘Oh, come on! Have a little faith in me!’ declared Damanaka. ‘Brains and quick thinking can achieve many things. See how frightened Pingalaka is? I can tell just by looking at him. All I have to do is to find out what is scaring him, and then get him to trust me by getting rid either of that thing or his fear.’
‘How are you so sure that you will win Pingalaka’s trust?’ protested Karataka, ‘He is the king after all, and a large and powerful lion to boot. You are just a jackal.’
‘Yes, just a jackal,’ said Damanaka, ‘but a clever one! Now raise no more objections, and watch me work my magic! Our days of poverty and hardship are over.’ And Damanaka stepped forward and walked confidently towards Pingalaka.
Pingalaka, who was still sitting under the banyan tree surrounded by his ministers and guards, saw the jackal coming towards him. With a regal nod of his massive head he indicated to the guards that they should let Damanaka through. ‘His father used to be one of my trusted men,’ said Pingalaka, ‘and for his father’s sake, I will listen to what he has to say.’
Damanaka greeted the king and said, ‘O king, I have something important to ask you.’
Pingalaka placed a huge and benign paw on Damanaka’s head and said, ‘As your father’s son, ask what you wish to.’
‘Sire,’ said Damanaka, bowing low, ‘the question I wish to ask concerns the king alone. It would be better if it remains a secret between you and me and is not heard by anyone else.’
At Damanaka’s words, the wolf, the hyena and the tiger moved away to give the king his privacy. The more curious and foolish animals, who did not move away, were shooed off by the royal guards. Finally, when everyone was safely out of earshot, Damanaka put his mouth close to the lion’s ear and spoke in a low voice. ‘Majesty,’ he said, ‘you had come down to the river for a drink of water to slake your thirst. Why, then, are you sitting here?’
Pingalaka, hiding his fear, said with a careless laugh, ‘No reason really, I’m sitting here . . . just . . . for no reason at all.’
Damanaka nodded wisely, as though he understood it all. Still keeping his voice low, he said, ‘King, if it is a secret matter, then let it be. Do not speak of it, even to me, for it is said and rightly so
Sometimes it is best to keep
Some matters secret, hidden deep
Even from a loving wife, a loyal son, or faithful friend
The wise even if so besought,
Will not reveal their inmost thoughts
Without careful consideration
Of what they speak
To whom they speak,
And how and where and when.’
And Damanaka drew back with a show of great respect, as though honouring the king’s secret.
Pingalaka was impressed by Damanaka’s manner. ‘This Damanaka seems to be a trustworthy sort of fellow,’ thought he to himself. ‘Maybe I will tell him of my secret fear, and lighten the load on my mind.’ And turning to the jackal, he said, ‘Damanaka, my friend, I want to leave this forest and go away to another.’
‘Why?’ asked Damanaka.
‘Can you hear that deep bellow in the distance?’
‘Yes, I can. What of it?’
‘Well,’ said Pingalaka, ‘it seems that some fearsome beast has come to live in this forest. Any creature with a voice so deep and dreadful must be very dangerous.’
‘Sire,’ answered Damanaka, ‘that bellow is only a sound. You should not be frightened of it. How do you know what or who is making that sound? Do not lose heart, O king. This forest is your kingdom, your home, which you have inherited from your forefathers. It is not right that you should leave it only for fear of a sound. There are so many different sounds in the forest, and this bellow that we hear could be anything. Stay steadfast, O king, because once
Looking at this thing I thought,
It would be full of meat and blood;
Later, looking at it closely,
It was only skin and wood.’
‘Really? How was that?’ asked Pingalaka with interest.
And Damanaka told Pingalaka the story of the jackal and the drum.
The Story of the Jackal and the Drum
Once, a jackal called Gomayu was wandering through the forest in search of food. He had not had a good meal in days, and was desperately hungry. In a remote corner of the forest, he came upon a forgotten battlefield, where once two armies had fought and died. The battlefield lay deserted now, though the ground was still strewn with the debris of war.
Gomayu looked around him with interest. Perhaps he would be able to find something to eat here. Even an old bone or two would do. All at once he heard a sound—a deep, booming rumble such as he had never heard before. Gomayu jumped and trembled with fear. ‘Hai, what sound is that?’ he cried. ‘It must be a monster who will eat me in a bite! I better get out of here as quickly as I can!’ And turning around, he made to run back into the trees. ‘But, wait a minute,’ he then said to himself, ‘why should I run away? After all, I am a reasonably clever fellow and I am sure I can work out who or what is making this sound. Maybe I don’t need to be frightened at all.’ And Gomayu turned back towards the battlefield.
He made his way carefully across the field, stepping gingerly through the broken swords and spears that were strewn all over the ground, till at last he saw what was making that deep and frightening rumble. It was a huge old battle drum, lying where it had fallen, amongst the grass and bushes. Every time a gust of wind shook the branches of a nearby tree, they tapped against the face of the drum, and the drum boomed and rumbled. Otherwise it lay still and silent.
Gomayu heaved a sigh of relief. This was no fierce beast. He went closer and tapped it with his paw. At once the drum gave out a loud rumble. ‘This thing is so round and fat, I am sure it must be stuffed full of meat and blood,’ thought the jackal. ‘Ah, I am so hungry—something to eat at last!’ And forgetting his fears of a moment ago, he fell upon the drum and began to gnaw and chew till at last he had made a hole in the drum’s side.
He peered through the hole expecting a feast, but the drum was as empty as his tummy.
The jackal shook his head in disappointment. ‘How silly of me,’ he thought. ‘How could I imagine that there would be food lying around for me to find? This is no fearsome beast, no magic larder. It is just a silly old drum!’ And laughing at his own foolishness, he turned around and ran off into the forest.
‘And that is why I say,’ concluded Damanaka, ‘that the king should not be afraid of a mere sound.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ growl
ed Pingalaka. ‘Just look at my followers—even the bravest amongst them are terrified and waiting to run away from this terrible roaring. So how can I not be afraid too?’
‘Sire,’ said Damanaka, ‘followers take their cue from their master. Your followers are afraid because you are afraid. If you show courage, so will they. Let me go and see what is making this racket before you decide to leave the forest.’
‘Do you really want to go near that awful sound?’ asked Pingalaka. ‘What if it is dangerous?’
‘O king,’ replied Damanaka, ‘a faithful subject does not hesitate in the service of his king, no matter how great the danger. So give me leave to go and investigate the source of your worry.’
Pingalaka was deeply touched by the jackal’s apparent loyalty. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘if you wish to go, then do so. May your path be safe and pleasant.’
Damanaka took his leave of the king and ran off through the trees towards the river. He had been gone barely a few seconds when Pingalaka began to worry. ‘Maybe I wasn’t very wise to confide in the jackal,’ he fretted. ‘What if he betrays me to that fierce creature? What will I do then? After all, I did not make him a minister as I did his father. What if Damanaka is angry with me and brings that fierce beast here to kill me? Maybe I should move away from under this tree, so that when he returns he cannot find me. After all, it has been said, and rightly so, that
The watchful and wary,
Though feeble and weak
May triumph over a mighty foe;
The confiding and trusting,
Though sturdy and strong
May lose to a lesser adversary.’
And Pingalaka moved away from the banyan tree to a spot a little distance away, from where he could keep a careful lookout for Damanaka’s return.
Panchatantra Page 2
