Panchatantra

by Vishnu Sharma

  Madotkata was furious when he heard the jackal’s words. ‘How dare you insult me so?’ he roared. ‘I have given the camel my word, and I will not kill him. If you ever suggest such a thing again, it is you whom I will kill!’

  ‘Sire, please hear me out,’ said the jackal, undaunted. ‘If you kill the camel of your own will, then yes, you will indeed be breaking your word. But should the camel freely offer you his life, then in accepting that you will be breaking no promise. In fact, you will be doing the camel a great honour by accepting his sacrifice.’

  Madotkata, brave and noble though he was, gave in to hunger and allowed himself to be convinced by the jackal’s sly words. ‘Do what you think is best,’ he said, turning away.

  The wily jackal lost no time at all, and, running back to the crow, explained his plan to him in a whisper. Then, weeping and wailing and making sure that the camel could hear him, he cried loudly, ‘Our king lies wounded and cannot hunt any more, he is slowly starving to death. Come, dear crow, let us give our lives to him so that he may live. That is the least we can do for our king.’ The crow joined the jackal in his weeping, and the two went up to where sat the lion, Madotkata. The camel, curious, followed them.

  ‘So, have you brought me prey to kill?’ asked Madotkata.

  ‘No, sire,’ wept the crow. ‘We searched everywhere and could not find any suitable animal. So please accept my body instead—kill me and satisfy your hunger.’

  ‘Your body is too small,’ said the jackal stepping forward. ‘Eat me, instead, O sire.’

  The camel, who was watching, was deeply impressed. ‘They are both such noble animals,’ he said to himself. ‘Maybe I should offer myself too, because then I will appear noble too. Besides, I don’t think the king will kill me, because even though these two have offered to die for him, he has killed neither of them.’ Thinking thus, the camel stepped forward and said, ‘Sire, do not kill either of them. Eat me instead. Accept my sacrifice and I shall go straight to heaven.’

  The words were barely out of his mouth when the lion fell upon him and killed him. The hungry animals then feasted happily upon his flesh.

  ‘And so I say,’ concluded Sanjivaka, ‘that the small and petty-minded can always find a way to do away with those who are good and less devious.’ He looked sadly at Damanaka. ‘Friend,’ he continued, ‘your king’s advisers are also mean and petty-minded, not noble or honourable. Surrounded by such people, the king has fallen to their level and has begun thinking like them. A king with such advisers can never make his people happy. For it is said and truly so, that

  A good man in the company of evil ones

  becomes one of them

  Just as a swan surrounded by geese

  behaves like one of them.’

  ‘It seems to me that that is exactly what has happened to Pingalaka—influenced by those around him, he has turned against me. Tell me, Damanaka, what should I do?’

  ‘If I were you, my friend, I would go as far away from the king as I could,’ said Damanaka. ‘Perhaps that is what you should do—leave this forest, travel, see new places, explore strange lands. That way you will be safe from the king’s displeasure.’

  ‘Ah no,’ said Sanjivaka, shaking his head. ‘That would give me no peace or safety. A powerful enemy such as the king could find me and have me killed, no matter how far I travelled.’

  Sanjivaka pawed the ground thoughtfully, then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘I am afraid, Damanaka, that in this situation, the only option left to me is to fight the king, one-to-one. It is better that I die fighting like a hero than run away like a coward.’

  ‘No, Sanjivaka, that is not a good idea at all!’ exclaimed Damanaka. He did not want the mighty bull to fight Pingalaka—suppose the creature gored the king with his long, sharp horns and killed him? That would be a disaster! ‘Pingalaka is a very strong and powerful lion; it will not be wise to take him on,’ said Damanaka, pretending to be concerned for the bull’s safety. ‘Challenging someone whose strength you do not know will only result in humiliation for you. Have you not heard

  How the sea was defeated and disgraced

  By the tittibh bird

  Whose strength it had not gauged?’

  ‘No, how did that happen?’ asked Sanjivaka.

  So Damanaka told him the story of the tittibh bird and the sea.

  The Story of the Tittibh Bird and the Sea

  On the shores of a distant sea, there lived a pair of tittibh birds. One day, the female tittibh said to her mate, ‘Husband, I am ready to lay our eggs. Please find me a safe and sheltered spot where we can make our nest.’

  ‘Dearest, why not lay your eggs right here by the seashore?’ said the husband. ‘It is so lovely here with the gentle sea murmuring softly upon the golden sand.’

  ‘Oh no, husband!’ cried the wife, ‘don’t be deceived by this gentle sea! Don’t you remember? On full moon nights the waves are so high they touch the sky and so strong that they can drag an elephant out to sea! If we stay here, my eggs will be washed away!’

  ‘That’s nonsense, wife,’ said the male bird briskly. ‘I’ve never heard anything more absurd! The sea does not have the strength to destroy our nest! Besides, it would not dare to harm my children. Don’t be afraid of the sea, my dear, and lay your eggs here.’

  The sea heard the bird, and marvelled at what he had heard. ‘How can this tiny bird be so arrogant? He thinks he is mightier than me! He needs to be taught his place, and just for that, I will steal his eggs away! Then we will see who is stronger, this boastful bird or I.’

  Meanwhile, the tittibh birds built their nest by the shore, and in due course, the female laid her eggs. One day, both the birds were away in search of food. This was the chance the sea had been waiting for—it crept up to the nest, wave by stealthy wave, and stole the eggs away.

  When the birds returned to their nest, they found their eggs had vanished. The female bird wept and wept, and nothing her husband could say or do made her stop. ‘You would not listen to my fears,’ she cried. ‘I warned you that the shore was dangerous, that the sea would take our eggs. But you were a fool, and would not listen to advice! Truly has it been said,

  Those who pay no heed to good counsel

  Are destroyed halfway to their goal

  Like the foolish turtle who disregarded

  The advice of his well-meaning friends.’

  ‘And how did that happen, my dearest wife?’ asked the male tittibh.

  So his wife told him the story of the foolish turtle and swans.

  The Story of the Foolish Turtle and the Swans

  Once, in a little lake, there lived a turtle called Kambugriva. Her best friends were two wild swans called Sankata and Vikata. The three would meet every morning by the edge of the lake and talk of this and that. They loved to spend time in each other’s company. No one had ever seen closer friends than these three creatures.

  One year, no rain fell and the land was hit by a severe drought. The turtle’s pond began to dry up, and the clear fresh water began turning to mud. ‘You will die without water,’ cried the swans, deeply worried about their friend.

  Kambugriva was worried too, but she refused to give up hope. She was certain that there had to be a way out. ‘I have an idea,’ she said to the swans. ‘First, fly out as far as you can, and find a lake that still has water. Then come back, and bring with you a stout stick. Grasp the ends of the stick between your beaks, while I hold on to the middle with my mouth, and, in this way, fly me out of this pond to the lake.’

  ‘It’s an ingenious plan,’ said the swans, ‘and we will do as you say. But remember, you must not talk or open your mouth even a little when we fly you through the air. Do you think you could manage that?’

  The turtle was sure she could, and so the swans did as she had suggested. They found a lake full of fresh, clean water, and then, bringing a stick for the turtle to grab, off they flew with the two ends in their beaks. All went well for a while. The swans flew steadily thro
ugh the air, and the turtle hung on to the stick with her mouth.

  Soon, a town appeared below them. The townsfolk, seeing the strange sight in the sky, came running out of their homes and shops. ‘Look, look, the swans are carrying a turtle!’

  The turtle looked down at the ground and saw the crowd. ‘What’s all the noise about?’ she asked. But of course, as soon as she opened her mouth she fell—down, down, down from the sky, and crashing to the ground, she died.

  The townsfolk feasted on turtle meat that night.

  ‘This is what happens to those who ignore good advice,’ said the tittibh bird to her husband. ‘And so, do not ignore my words any more. We’ve faced disaster once, let us not repeat the same mistake again. Now let’s look ahead and plan, for it is said, and rightly so that,

  The one who anticipates disaster and plans ahead to save himself,

  The one who spots it coming close and steps aside in time—

  These are the ones who will survive to live long and happy lives.

  But the one who trusts to fate and chance

  And does not think to help himself

  Such a one will be destroyed when calamity comes.’

  ‘Oh, and how will that be? Explain it to me, dear wife,’ said the male tittibh.

  So his wife told him the story of the three fishes.

  The Story of the Three Fishes

  Once, there lived three fishes in a pond. They were called Anagatvidhata, meaning ‘far-sighted’, Pratyutpanmati, meaning ‘quick-thinking’, and Yadbhavishya, meaning ‘one who relies on luck’. The three fishes were true to their name, for Anagatvidhata always planned ahead, Pratyutpanmati was always resourceful and quick, and Yadbhavishya always depended on luck to get him out of trouble.

  One evening, some fishermen passed by the pond on their way home. ‘Look, this pond is full of fish!’ they cried. ‘Today, the day is done and our nets are full. But tomorrow at sunrise we will come here to catch all the fish!’

  When Anagatvidhata heard this, he called all the other fishes together and said, ‘You have heard for yourself what the fishermen said. We must leave this pond tonight, or we will all be dead tomorrow at dawn!’

  Pratyutpanmati said, ‘Friend, you are right. You had always said that one day this would happen, and now that disaster is upon us, let us find another pond. Though this pond is our ancestral home, we must leave it behind. It is time to move away.’

  But Yadbhavishya only laughed. ‘You can’t mean this seriously!’ he said. ‘Leave our wonderful, comfortable pond just because a few fishermen happened to pass by and said a few words? Yes, it is true we will all die—not tomorrow, not by being caught by these fishermen, but some day, of old age! We can’t just abandon our home like this! Who knows, the fishermen may never come! Besides, no matter how far we run, if we are fated to die, then die we will! So leave if you want to, my friends. But I—I will stay here!’

  So Anagatvidhata and Pratyutpanmati gathered their families and friends together and left the pond that very night. But Yadbhavishya stayed behind.

  Next morning, at sunrise, the fishermen came and cast their nets, and true to their word, caught every fish that was still in the pond. And so, Yadbhavishya and his family and friends all died in the fishermen’s nets.

  ‘And so, my husband,’ said the female tittibh bird, ‘it’s time to think ahead. Do not rely on luck; let’s move away from here instead.’

  ‘Beloved wife,’ said the husband, deeply hurt, ‘do you think I am as stupid as the fish in your story? Would I endanger our eggs and trust your happiness to chance? Wait and see—I will drink up the sea with my beak! I will create a desert where now the waves dance and sing. We shall see then who is foolish and who is weak!’

  ‘Why do you waste your energy on foolish words and empty threats?’ cried his wife. ‘The sea is deep and great and vast, and you are just a small bird. Do not fight with someone who is so much stronger than you. If you challenge the sea, you will die, just like a moth in a candle flame.’

  ‘My dearest love, that is just not true!’ protested the male tittibh. ‘I may be only a little bird, but I am brave. Courage, even in the small and weak, can defeat the strongest foe, just as the light from even a little lamp can dispel the greatest darkness.’

  ‘O foolish husband,’ cried his wife, ‘do you not know that eighteen hundred mighty rivers drain into this sea? What you propose cannot be done. Why do you persist with your senseless talk?’

  ‘Wife, my beak is strong, the day is long, and the night longer still! I will persevere, and I will drink up the sea.’

  ‘Husband, if you insist, then at least call upon the other birds to help you drink up the sea. For it is a well-known truth, husband, that,

  Weak blades of grass twisted together, form rope strong and durable

  The weak, when they work together, can become a force formidable—

  Like the sparrow and her little friends,

  Who killed the giant elephant.’

  ‘And how did they do that? Tell me the story, beloved wife,’ said the male tittibh.

  So his wife told him the story of the sparrow and the elephant.

  The Story of the Sparrow and the Elephant

  In a certain forest, amongst the leafy branches of a tamal tree, a pair of sparrows built a nest in which the female sparrow laid her eggs.

  One very hot day, an elephant came strolling through the forest, looking for a shady tree under which to shelter from the sun’s heat. Seeing the leafy shade of the tamal tree, he decided to stop under it for a while. Bored and fidgety, he swung his trunk up into the tree, and grabbing hold of a branch, pulled it down. Unfortunately, this was the branch on which the sparrows had built their nest. Though the sparrows escaped, their nest tumbled to the ground and the eggs were smashed. The elephant, thoughtless and uncaring, ambled off through the trees.

  The mother sparrow was distraught with grief. She fluttered here and she fluttered there, but there was nothing she could do about her eggs. Broken-hearted, she began to sob.

  A woodpecker in a tree close by heard her crying, and flew over to see what was wrong. He tried to console her with quiet words. ‘Dear sparrow,’ he said, ‘don’t cry so. What’s done is done. Those who have gone are gone. Tears do not help the living, nor do they bring back the dead. The wise do not mourn what cannot be mended.’

  ‘Woodpecker, what you say is true,’ said the sparrow. ‘My tears will not bring back my eggs, I know. My tears are tears of anger against that uncaring, unfeeling rogue of an elephant. It is not fair that he should just walk away, after destroying my world like this. Woodpecker, if you really want me to smile again, help me kill that elephant!’

  ‘If that will make you smile again, then, as your friend, that is what I will help you do,’ said the woodpecker. ‘But first, I will fetch my friend the fly. Her name is Vinarava, and she’s a clever little thing. She will be of great help to us.’

  So off flew the woodpecker to the fly. ‘Vinarava, will you help my friend the sparrow?’ he asked.

  ‘You are my friend, and helping any friend of yours is the same as helping you—so of course I will help your friend the sparrow,’ replied the fly. ‘But wait, let us first fetch my other friend, Meghanada the frog. He is very learned, and wily too. He can give us good advice.’

  So off they went—the fly, the woodpecker and the sparrow—to find Meghanada the frog. He listened to their tale and said, ‘Do not despair. When good friends put their heads together, no enemy stands a chance! That elephant is as good as dead already. Now, this is what we must do—in the afternoon, when the sun is at its peak, the elephant usually finds a shady tree under which to rest. At that moment, you, fly, must buzz gently in his ear till, soothed by your buzzing, he feels sleepy and closes his eyes. As soon as his eyes are shut, you, woodpecker must fly in and—one! two!—swiftly peck out his eyes. I will be standing by. The blinded elephant will cry out in pain and sooner or later he will need water. I will croak loudly. The ele
phant will assume that he is near water and I will, through my croaking, lead him to the edge of a deep pit into which he will fall. He will not be able to get out, and he will die in that pit.’

  The friends did exactly as the frog said: the fly buzzed the elephant to sleep, the woodpecker pecked out his eyes and the frog lured the blinded elephant to the edge of a deep pit in the forest. The elephant fell into the pit and died.

  ‘This is how the sparrow, with the help of her friends, killed the giant elephant,’ the female tittibh bird ended her story. ‘And so my husband,’ she said, ‘if you will persist in challenging the sea, then at least gather your friends and well-wishers together.’

  ‘Hmm, now that sounds like good advice,’ agreed her husband, and called all his friends together. The peacock, the crane, the duck, the stork and all the other birds of the world answered the tittibh bird’s call for help. When all the birds were gathered together, he said, ‘The sea has stolen our eggs! Think of a way, my friends, to avenge my loss.’

  The birds put their heads together and discussed the problem with great passion. At last one little bird said, ‘We can’t drink up the sea, my friend, not even if we work together. It is too big and powerful. We need someone who can tell us what to do. So let us go and see the old goose who lives under the banyan tree, for it is said, and truly so, that,

  The old are wise and in experience rich

  Listen to the old goose for it is he who saved

  The flock of wild geese from the bird catcher.’

  ‘Oh, and how did he do that?’ the other birds asked.

  So the little bird told them the story of the wild geese and the bird catcher.