And so one morning, as the hermit sat in meditation outside his hut, Ashadhbhuti went up to him and threw himself at his feet. ‘O holy one, I greet thee in Lord Shiva’s name! This world is meaningless and human life burns out as quickly as a fire lit with twigs! Friendship, love, beauty, wealth—all these are nothing but illusion. Tell me, O holy one, what must I do to cross this ocean that we call life and reach its other shore?’
Devasharma opened his eyes. ‘You are wise beyond your years, my son!’ he cried. ‘With old age comes peace and wisdom, but that is the natural result of age. You are still young and strong—to show such understanding at your age is quite remarkable! But if you ask me what you must do to cross this sea of life, I would say, chant Lord Shiva’s name and offer flowers at his temple, and you will find salvation.’
But Ashadhbhuti clutched the hermit’s feet and cried, ‘There is no one wiser than you, and I want nothing more than to be your disciple and serve you all my life. Do not deny me this, O holy one!’
Devasharma was flattered but hesitant—after all, there was his gold to protect and really, how could he trust this young man? But Ashadhbhuti begged and begged till he could no longer refuse. ‘All right then, I will take you as my disciple,’ he said. ‘But on one condition: that you do not enter my hut after dark. You will sleep outside by the door, for it is good for your soul and mine to practise solitude.’
Ashadhbhuti agreed with alacrity, and from then on began to serve the hermit with great devotion. Soon, he had won the old man’s trust and affection.
‘It won’t be long now, I’ll find a chance to grab the old fool’s money,’ Ashadhbhuti would tell himself each day. But Devasharma was very careful, and never let the gold out of his sight.
One day, Devasharma was invited to perform a puja a little distance away. ‘Make ready for the journey and let us leave at once for we have far to go,’ he said to his disciple. When Ashadhbhuti had gathered together all the bits and pieces needed for the puja, they set off. The hermit walked ahead with his treasure tied securely around his waist; the thief followed, as a dutiful disciple should.
They walked and walked till they came to a wide river. It was a hot day and Devasharma decided to take a dip to cool down and cleanse himself before the puja. But he had a problem: he didn’t want to get into the water with his treasure—what if the current swept it away?—and he didn’t want to leave it unattended on the riverbank—what if someone came by and stole it? He thought and thought and then came up with a clever plan. Taking off his robe, he hid the treasure in its folds and placed it upon the riverbank. ‘There,’ he thought to himself, ‘no one can tell that there is gold wrapped up in my tattered old robe!’ Very pleased with himself, he called to his faithful disciple who was still some way behind. ‘I am off for a purifying dip in the river, Ashadhbhuti, and then I must answer the call of nature in those bushes there,’ he said. ‘Look after my clothes, will you? They are old and worn, but they are precious to me.’
Ashadhbhuti promised to look after his master’s old robe with care, and Devasharma, convinced that his disciple had no inkling of the money hidden within its folds, went off for his dip in the river.
The greedy thief could not believe his luck. ‘The old fool has actually given his treasure to me!’ he cried. ‘Not that I haven’t worked for it, praying and fasting and living right for so many weeks! Now no more penance and pretence for me! A thief I am, and a thief I will be!’ And tucking the bundle of coins into his belt, off he ran as far away and as fast as he could.
Meanwhile, Devasharma took a leisurely swim in the cool, clear river, and then made his way into the bushes. As he squatted in the undergrowth, he could see a field beyond the trees. In the field was a herd of sheep, and amongst that herd were two enormous rams with curling horns and curling fleece. The rams were battling each other furiously—heads lowered, they would run at each other and lock horns, break away and do the same again. Both the rams had been hurt, and blood dripped from their wounds upon the ground.
A hungry jackal stood watching the battle, and as the rams would break away from each other, he would nip in for a quick lick at the blood spattered upon the grass; as the rams came charging back again, he would hop nimbly out of their way.
Devasharma watched the greedy jackal rush in and out between the rams. ‘If that creature is not careful, he will be caught between those horns!’ he said to himself.
And sure enough, that is exactly what happened. The jackal lingered a second too long for an extra lick, and crash! He was crushed to death between the warring rams.
The hermit watched, aghast. ‘Hai! What a way to die, and all because of his own foolish doing!’ he thought. Shaking his head, he made his way back to where he had left his clothes—to find no sign of either his bundle of coins or his ‘disciple’!
‘I’ve been robbed!’ he cried, and as the full realization of what had happened hit him, he fell to the ground in a faint.
Coming to after a while, he wept and moaned and called upon all the gods, one by one, for help. But it was no use—Ashadhbhuti had vanished, and taken his treasure too.
‘Ashadhbhuti, you scoundrel! I will find you and get my treasure back, if it’s the last thing I do!’ swore the hermit in a rage. Wrapping his robe about him, he began to follow the thief’s footprints in the dust. All day long he walked, through forests and fields, but he saw no sign of him. At last, footsore and weary, Devasharma turned back towards home.
‘It’s my own fault,’ he sighed. ‘I fell for that scoundrel’s flattery and believed his false wisdom. I have got what I deserved! If I had not been so foolish, I would not have been in this mess right now! And then, it was wrong of me in the first place to hoard all that gold! I should leave such greed to the merchants whose job it is to deal in money. Truly, I brought all this upon myself. I am no better than the foolish jackal who, because of his greed, was crushed to death by those rams!’
Devasharma returned sadly to his little hut, where he lived out the rest of his days in quiet solitude.
‘And so I say,’ concluded Damanaka, ‘that sometimes we suffer through our own fault—as did the jackal and the hermit, and as we are now.’
‘But now that we are in this situation, what should we do?’ asked Karataka.
‘There is only one way out of this situation,’ declared Damanaka. ‘We need to break up the friendship between our king and the bull and separate them from each other!’
‘And how would you do that?’ asked Karataka, alarmed. ‘Sanjivaka is very clever, and Pingalaka is very quick to anger. They are also strong and powerful, while you are puny and weak. If either of them becomes aware of your plotting, they will kill you.’
‘Do not say such things, friend Karataka,’ said Damanaka. ‘They will not find out. This is where my intelligence and shrewd thinking comes into play. For it is well known that
Even the weakest can get what they want
By cleverly scheming and planning ahead
When you lack force and power
Then use deceit and deception
Like the crow that got rid of the cobra.’
‘Oh! And how did it do that?’ asked Karataka, curious.
So Damanaka related the story of the crow and the cobra.
The Story of the Crow and the Cobra
In the spreading branches of a large, old banyan, there lived a pair of crows. Every year, they would build a comfortable nest in the old tree, and the female crow would lay in it three beautiful, speckled, blue–green eggs. The crows would take turns keeping the eggs warm, but, as soon as the eggs would hatch, an evil black cobra that lived under the tree would slither up and gobble up the chicks. This happened year after year, and no matter what the crows did, no matter how much they croaked and pecked and flapped their wings, they could not stop the cruel snake from eating their chicks.
At last, the female crow could bear it no longer. ‘Let us leave this tree and fly away where this evil snake cannot follow us,’ she
begged her husband. ‘Every year he eats up our children. My heart is breaking with sorrow, and I cannot live here any more!’
‘But my dearest wife,’ protested her husband, ‘this tree is our home! We have lived here for so many years! How can we leave it and fly away? Besides, I will not be chased away from my own home by a serpent! Do not fear, I will find a way to stop him.’
‘You are only a bird,’ cried his wife, ‘while he is an evil and deadly snake! His fangs are sharp and poisonous! How will you stop him?’
‘Let us go and see our friend, the jackal,’ replied the husband. ‘He is a very clever animal, and I am sure he will be able to devise a plan to get rid of this cobra.’
The wife agreed, and together the crows flew off to see the jackal who lived in the hollow of another tree close by.
‘Friend, tell us what we should do,’ said the crows. ‘Each year the black cobra eats up our chicks. Nothing that we do stops him. Can you tell us how we may get rid of him?’
‘Hmm,’ said the jackal with a frown. ‘He is a strong and powerful enemy. We cannot kill him with brute force or bravery. What we need instead is a careful and cunning plan. For I am sure you must know that
Even after eating so many fishes,
That to count them was absurd,
The greedy heron was killed by the crab
Who saw what was coming and throttled the bird.’
‘No! How did that happen?’ asked the crows.
So the jackal related the story of the heron and the crab.
The Story of the Heron and the Crab
By a deep forest pond, there lived an aged heron. He was so old that his eyesight had dimmed and he could no longer move as fast as he once used to, with the result that he could no longer catch the fishes and other little creatures that lived in the pond. ‘At this rate, I will starve to death!’ he said to himself.
After some thought, he came up with a clever plan. He waded into the reeds and rushes that grew by the edge of the pond, and stood there sighing deeply, not bothering to catch even the fishes that swam up close to him.
A crab noticed this strange behaviour and sidled up to him. ‘Hey, Uncle Heron, why are you so sad? You haven’t even tried to catch a single fish all day! Is everything all right?’
‘Oh, my son,’ replied the heron, wiping away a tear, ‘my heart is not in hunting or catching fish any more. I sit here now, waiting for death.’
‘Why, Uncle? What is wrong?’ cried the crab, alarmed. ‘Has something dreadful happened?’
The heron shook his head. ‘No, my son, not yet, not yet . . . But something dreadful is about to happen—and soon.’ The heron wiped away another tear and continued mournfully, ‘The astrologers have read the stars and say that for twelve long years, there will be no rain. This pond—that you and I love so much—will dry up and disappear. And all my friends—you, and the little fishes that swim so merrily about—will die! And so I sigh and weep.’
The crab scuttled off and told all the other little creatures in the pond what the heron had said. ‘We’re going to die! What shall we do?’ they cried in panic, and, rushing to the heron, begged him to save them.
‘What gullible idiots! My plan is working perfectly!’ thought the heron with satisfaction. Pretending to wipe another tear, he said, ‘Not far from here, there is a lake. It is deeper and bigger than our little pond. Lotuses and lilies float upon it, and it will survive any drought. If you want, I can carry you there, one by one, upon my back.’
The little creatures believed the heron, and rushed to clamber upon his back.
‘Me! Me! Take me there first, Uncle!’ they cried, and fought with each other to go first.
The heron was delighted at the smooth success of his little scheme. ‘One by one, one by one!’ he said, and the fishes, frogs and turtles all queued up, excitedly awaiting their turn.
The wicked heron would take the eager animals, one at a time, upon his back and soar up into the sky. Once out of sight of the others, he would alight on a large and lonely rock, and there make a leisurely meal of his passenger. In this way, the heron ensured a steady supply of food for himself. He no longer had to hunt or fish or make any effort at all as the water creatures kept lining up every day to be taken to the wonderful lake.
Only the crab was unhappy. ‘Uncle,’ he said at last, ‘why have you left me out? You have flown so many fishes out, but I am still stuck here, in this tiny pond, waiting for drought and death! Please take me to our new home!’
‘I have eaten enough fish for a while, and some crab may be pleasant for a change,’ thought the heron to himself. He turned to the crab with a gentle smile. ‘My son, I have not forgotten you,’ he said. ‘Today was the day I had set aside for you. So come, climb on to my back and let’s go!’
The crab hopped on to the heron’s back, and up, up into the sky the heron flew. The crab looked down upon the world with interest—how different it looked from up here! Excited and happy to be on his way at last, he kept a sharp lookout for the lake. The heron flew and flew, and soon they had left the forest behind. But no beautiful lake covered with lotuses appeared. Instead, the crab saw, glimmering in the distance, a high white mountain. As they flew closer to the mountain, the crab realized with horror that what he had taken to be a mountain was actually a pile of bones upon a large flat rock! The crab understood at once what the heron had been up to all these days. ‘He is not our dear Uncle Heron! He is a murdering rascal, and those are the bones of all my friends that he has eaten!’ the crab thought. But he did not panic; instead, thinking hard, he came up with a plan. ‘Uncle,’ he said in his sweetest voice, ‘how far is this lake of yours? You must be tired—shall we stop and rest for a while?’
‘You stupid crab, there is no lake,’ said the heron with a sneer. ‘I will smash you upon that rock and eat you, just as I have eaten all your friends!’
But the crab, his suspicions confirmed, was ready. Just as the heron was about to kill him, he grabbed the heron’s slender neck with his claws, and hung on as firmly as he could. The heron tried to shake him off, but the crab would not let go, till at last, the heron choked to death. Dragging the heron’s head with him, the crab found his way back to the pond where the other water creatures still waited anxiously for the heron to return and fly them to safety.
‘Why are you back? And where is Uncle Heron?’ they cried as soon as they saw the crab.
The crab laughed. ‘He was no uncle of ours; he was just an old scoundrel! There is no lake, just a large rock covered with the bones of our friends!’ And he told the other animals how the heron had deceived them. ‘But we are safe from him now, for the evil bird is dead,’ he declared, and held up the heron’s head for all to see. ‘There will be no drought and no dying and we can all live in our pond happily for ever and after!’
‘So you see,’ said the jackal, concluding his tale, ‘even if the enemy seems invincible, he can be defeated, and thinking calmly and planning carefully can achieve results where direct attack or assault cannot.’
‘Friend, you have spoken wisely,’ said the crows. ‘So help us now, give us a plan to get rid of the snake.’
The jackal thought for a moment and replied, ‘Dear crows, fly to the capital city of this land. There, in their large mansions and lush gardens, live the powerful and wealthy. Go to the house of one of these rich men—he could be a merchant, or even one of the king’s ministers—and look around. Maybe someone has been careless and left a piece of jewellery lying about. Pick it up, and making sure that someone sees you, fly off with it. The rich man will send his servants after you. Lead them to your banyan tree and drop the piece of jewellery in the hole where your enemy lives. The rich man’s servants will dig into the snake’s hole to get the jewel back. They will see the snake and will, for certain, kill him. Do as I say, and you will be rid of your enemy.’
The crows thanked the jackal and flew off at once to carry out the jackal’s plan. As they flew towards the city, the female crow noticed a
large lake, and bathing in it a crowd of young women. These women were none other than the queen and her handmaidens, who had decided to come down for a swim in the lake. They had left their clothes and jewels in a pile by the shore. Upon that pile, the female crow saw a necklace of gold, glinting brightly in the sun. Immediately, she swooped down and picked up the necklace in her beak and flew off with it—making sure that the queen’s attendants had seen her.
The servants raised a loud cry, and several of them set off in pursuit of the crow. She flew steadily towards her nest, making sure that her pursuers did not lose sight of her. Reaching her nest, she let the necklace fall just by the mouth of the hole in which the cobra lived.
The servants ran up, huffing and puffing, and very angry. They saw the necklace lying on the ground, and beside it reared the cobra, its hood spread and hissing wickedly. The queen’s servants were not afraid and beat the snake to a pulp with their stout sticks. Soon, the snake lay dead. The queen’s servants picked up the chain and returned to the palace, and the crows, now rid of their fearful enemy, lived happily ever after.
‘And so I say,’ concluded Damanaka, ‘careful planning can achieve what cannot be achieved by action alone. What’s more, it is said that
One who has brains has strength
One without intelligence is powerless
The mighty lion in the forest
Was killed by a weakling rabbit.’
‘Oh! And how did that happen?’ asked Karataka.
So Damanaka told him the story of the lion and the rabbit.
The Story of the Lion and the Rabbit
Panchatantra Page 4
