Panchatantra

by Vishnu Sharma

  One winter, it was very cold, colder than it had ever been before, and the mountain was covered with snow. The monkeys were huddled together in a wet, miserable bunch, and no matter what they did, they could not warm themselves.

  Suddenly, the wind blew something small and bright towards them. It was a cluster of red gunj seeds, the kind that jewellers use to weigh gold. ‘Look, look, what’s that? They are as bright as sparks from a flame! They must be fire!’ they cried. And gathering up the tiny red seeds, they piled them in a little heap and began to blow upon them, in the hope of making a great big fire. But no matter how hard they blew upon the red seeds, the monkeys could not get a flame.

  A little tailorbird called Suchimukha sat upon a nearby rock watching the monkeys. What were they doing? Surely even they must know that gunj seeds don’t give fire? He watched in silence for a while, then, unable to stop himself, called out, ‘Hey monkeys, what are you doing? Are you complete fools? Can you not see that these are little seeds, not warm red coals or sparks of fire! Instead of wasting your time with these, I suggest you get out of the wind, find a nice, warm cave, and shelter there till the weather improves!’

  The monkeys ignored the bird, and continued blowing upon their pile of seeds—all except one old monkey, who said, ‘You are the fool, not we, you stupid bird! Why do you interfere with us? Our actions are no concern of yours. Fly away and leave us in peace! Have you not heard it said

  Don’t talk to a man unsuccessful at work

  Don’t talk to a gambler who has lost at dice

  Don’t talk to a man who has big problems

  For you will only get insults in return.

  ‘We have problems. Leave us alone!’

  But Suchimukha disregarded the old monkey’s words. ‘Come on, go find that cave, you will never get warm this way,’ he cried.

  ‘Be quiet, you stupid bird!’ cried all the monkeys. ‘We don’t want your opinion, we don’t want your advice! Flap your wings and go away!’

  Suchimukha would not stop. ‘Find some shelter! Find a cave! Hurry, before the snow comes again!’ he called out again.

  At last, one of the monkeys, irritated beyond endurance, grabbed the little bird in his paws, and flung him against a rock and killed him.

  Poor Suchimukha. He died for giving advice to fools.

  ‘And that is why I say, O Damanaka, that one should not try to teach a person who is incapable of learning,’ concluded Karataka. ‘By giving advice to fools, we make them angry, not happy. And also, one should not give advice to just anyone, but only to those who will appreciate it. See how that monkey destroyed the little sparrow’s home because she gave him advice!’

  ‘Oh! And how did that happen?’ asked Damanaka.

  So Karataka told him the story of the monkey and the sparrow.

  The Story of the Monkey and the Sparrow

  Once, deep in a forest stood a shami tree. In its long branches, in a little nest, lived a pair of sparrows. The birds lacked for nothing in their cosy little home. The days passed happily for them, in love and sunshine.

  When winter came, it brought bad weather and rain and cold. But the sparrows stayed warm and snug in their nest. One freezing day, when the wind was colder than usual and the rain did not stop, a monkey came looking for shelter. Wet and cold and miserable, he came and stood under the sparrows’ tree. He was so cold that his teeth chattered and would not stop.

  The sparrows peeped out of their warm nest and saw the monkey. Seeing him so miserable, the female sparrow called out, ‘What is the matter? Why do you stand here in this damp and dismal fashion? You look like a man, and have the hands and feet of a human. So why don’t you build yourself a house and stay warm and dry inside?’

  The monkey looked up at the perky bird, and saw her snug in her little nest. ‘Be quiet, you silly little bird,’ he shouted in annoyance. ‘How dare you give me advice?’ The monkey scowled angrily at the sparrow and thought, ‘This tiny bird is laughing at me! She thinks she’s very clever! But she is just a rude and annoying little creature! I’ll teach her to chirp at me like that!’ He shook his fist angrily at the sparrow and cried, ‘Don’t you worry your head over me! Why do you care what state I am in? Don’t think that I will talk to you, you silly little, rude little bird! It has been said, and rightly so,

  Confide your sorrows only to a kind and compassionate soul

  Don’t talk of them to one who does not care

  For to do the latter is like crying in the wilderness—pointless.’

  Little remains to be told: the irritated monkey climbed swiftly up the shami tree, and tore the sparrows’ nest to pieces.

  ‘And so I say,’ concluded Karataka, ‘that one should not give advice to everyone.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Just as the monkey did not listen to the sparrow, you did not listen to my advice. But that is not your fault, for you do not have the ability to understand good advice. It is I who should not have wasted my words on you. Besides, you are one of those who take pleasure in causing misery to others even if it results in trouble for themselves! Cleverness such as yours, which you use for your own selfish ends, can never lead to anything good. As in the story of Dharmabuddhi and Papabuddhi,

  Papabuddhi was too clever by half

  His father was nearly suffocated by the smoke.’

  ‘How did that happen?’ asked Damanaka.

  So Karataka told him the story of Dharmabuddhi and Papabuddhi.

  The Story of Dharmabuddhi and Papabuddhi

  Once, in a little town, there lived two young men. Dharmabuddhi was intelligent, upright and honest, while Papabuddhi was wicked and mean. Although they were so different from each other, they were friends.

  One day, Papabuddhi thought to himself, ‘I have no money, nor am I clever enough to make some on my own. But I cannot live a life of poverty forever. So I will ask Dharmabuddhi for help and persuade him to come with me to seek our fortunes. His wit and charm and intelligence will make rich men of us. Once we have earned enough, I will take his wealth as well as my own, and, becoming doubly rich, will live in comfort ever after!’

  And so Papabuddhi went up to Dharmabuddhi and said, ‘My dear friend, I am very worried. Our youth is slipping by, and we have nothing to show for our days on earth so far, no brave deeds of valour, no high adventure, not even travel in a foreign land! What memories shall we have to look back upon when we are old and grey? What stories shall we have to tell our grandchildren? It is time, my friend, to step out of our little town. After all, it has been said that a man who has not travelled to foreign lands, learnt new skills and made his fortune, has not lived.’

  Dharmabuddhi loved his friend’s suggestion. So, a few days later, the two friends said goodbye to their parents and set off to see the world. They travelled far and wide, and Dharmabuddhi’s great charm and sharp wits brought them wealth and fame. At last the friends had earned enough to last them a lifetime. ‘Perhaps it’s time we went back?’ they said, and, greatly pleased with themselves, they set off towards home.

  As they neared their little town, Papabuddhi said, ‘Dharmabuddhi, my old friend, it is not wise to carry all our hard-earned wealth at once into town. Everyone will want a share and soon there will be nothing left for us. Let us bury most of our money in a safe and secret spot outside the town and carry just a small amount of it home with us. We can always come and dig up more as and when we need it.’

  ‘As always you are right, Papabuddhi,’ agreed Dharmabuddhi. ‘Let us do as you say.’

  So the two men buried their money in an earthen pot under a shami tree in the forest, and returned home to their respective families.

  But Papabuddhi, whose mind was full of evil thoughts, was still working his wicked plot. So one night, as the rest of the town lay sleeping, he crept into the forest and dug up the earthen pot with their money. Quickly emptying the coins into a bag he had carried for this purpose, he put back the empty pot into the ground and carefully covered it up again. Then he crept back through th
e town and hid the money in his own house.

  A few days later, he went up to Dharmabuddhi and said, ‘Friend, as you know, I have a large family, and I have spent the money that we had brought with us. Let us go together to our secret spot so that I may dig up some more of my share of the money.’

  Dharmabuddhi agreed readily and accompanied Papabuddhi to the forest where they had buried their money. Together, they dug up the earthen pot, but of course, the pot was empty. ‘What is this, Papabuddhi? Where is our gold?’ asked Dharmabuddhi.

  ‘Our treasure! You have stolen our treasure, Dharmabuddhi!’ cried Papabuddhi. ‘It must be you! Who else knew of our spot? And who else would so cleverly bury the empty pot again? Return my share to me at once, you thief, or I will complain about you to the judges!’

  ‘How dare you accuse me!’ thundered Dharmabuddhi. ‘Don’t ever again speak to me like this. I am Dharmabuddhi, the righteous one! I do not steal from other men!’

  Arguing and accusing each other, the two men reached the court. The judges, unable to decide who was guilty, declared a trial by fire. ‘Let the sacred flames decide,’ they said. ‘Let both men step into the fire—the innocent man will come through unscathed, the guilty man will perish!’

  ‘Trial by fire is illegal in this case,’ protested Papabuddhi. ‘In such matters, written evidence must first be read. If that is missing, then we need eyewitness accounts to be heard. Only when witnesses cannot be found can trial by fire be pronounced! But I have a witness—he is the spirit of the shami tree under which we had buried our wealth. He has seen the thief, as have the spirits of the other trees in the forest. They will be my witnesses.’

  The judges agreed to allow the spirits of the trees as witnesses and declared that the two men should meet them the following morning in the forest.

  Papabuddhi was pleased with his own quick thinking, but though he had escaped the fire, he now needed someone to be the spirit of the shami tree! He ran to his old father for help and cried, ‘Father! I have stolen Dharmabuddhi’s money! If you help me we can keep all that gold for ourselves, otherwise we will lose all the money and our lives too!’

  The old man was as unscrupulous as his son. ‘Quick, tell me what I must do so that we can keep the money for ourselves!’ he cried.

  ‘The trunk of the shami tree is hollow,’ said Papabuddhi. ‘You must hide inside that hollow trunk, and tomorrow morning, when the judges arrive, you must shout as loudly as you can that Dharmabuddhi is the thief.’ The old man agreed to the plan and set off at once for the forest where he hid himself in the trunk of the shami tree.

  The next morning, Papabuddhi led the judges into the forest. Dharmabuddhi was there as well, as were all the men and women from the town. Gathering the judges around the tree in a circle he called upon the spirit of the shami tree. ‘Speak out, speak out, O spirit of the tree, and tell us who amongst us is the thief!’ he cried.

  His father, hiding inside the tree, replied in a deep and rumbling voice. ‘Good people, listen carefully!’ he called. ‘The missing treasure that you seek has been stolen by Dharmabuddhi!’

  The judges, amazed and astonished, began to debate and discuss the matter amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Dharmabuddhi wasted no time. He had noticed the hollow trunk of the shami tree and while the judges argued amongst themselves, he quickly gathered some dry leaves and twigs and piling them at the foot of the tree, quickly lit a fire. Within minutes, the hollow trunk was filled with smoke, and out tumbled Papabuddhi’s father, coughing and choking and gasping for breath.

  ‘Who are you? Where have you come from? Why do you choke?’ asked the startled judges all together.

  Wheezing and gasping, the old man told them the whole sorry truth. The judges shook their heads in disapproval. They ordered Papabuddhi to return all the stolen money to Dharmabuddhi and punished him severely.

  Praising Dharmabuddhi’s wit and honesty, they declared, ‘It is said and rightly so,

  A truly clever man will always,

  When presenting a solution,

  Consider the drawbacks of his plan

  Before its execution

  The silly heron in his haste did not

  The mongoose killed and ate the lot.’

  ‘How did that happen?’ asked Dharmabuddhi.

  So the judges told him the story of the heron and the mongoose.

  The Story of the Heron and the Mongoose

  Once, beside a lake in a forest, there grew a large banyan tree. In its tangled branches, a colony of herons had built their nests—large, untidy platforms of grass and twigs—where they laid their eggs and raised their chicks.

  One day, a big, black cobra came and made its home at the foot of the tree. The heron chicks were easy prey for the snake, and the snake grew fat and contented in his new home. But the herons, who had once lived in peace and security in their tree, now lived in constant dread of their chicks being stolen away and eaten.

  A heron who had lost all his children to the snake sat in tears by the lake. A crab watched him warily, and when the heron showed no signs of gobbling him up, edged closer to him and asked, ‘Uncle, what is wrong? Why are you crying?’

  ‘Ah crab,’ wept the heron, ‘the cobra who lives among the roots of our tree has eaten up all my little children. If you know how to kill that horrible snake, please tell me.’

  ‘This heron is my natural enemy,’ said the crab to himself. ‘I can never be friends with him or any of his kind. This is my chance to get rid of them all. I will pretend to give him advice, but will do so in a way that will destroy the entire heron colony. After all, it has been said

  When dealing with your enemy,

  Harden your heart till it turns to stone

  Be ruthless, show no mercy

  Yet use sweet words to fool him and lure him

  Into a situation that destroys him.’

  So, sidling up to the weeping heron, the crab suggested a plan. ‘Uncle,’ he said, ‘why don’t you lay a trail of fish between the serpent’s lair and a mongoose’s den? The mongoose will follow the trail to the snake and kill that evil creature for you. My plan is guaranteed to work, for we all know that a mongoose can make short work of even the most fierce cobra.’

  The heron liked the plan and did as the crab had advised. The plan went exactly as the crab had said it would—the mongoose followed the trail of fish to the snake’s den and killed him.

  Unfortunately for the herons, the mongoose, having discovered their nests as a result of this plan, became a regular visitor to the tree and soon ate up all their eggs and fledgling chicks, and then one by one the adult birds, till not a heron remained alive in that colony.

  This was how the clever crab, without lifting a claw, rid himself of his mortal enemies. The heron rid himself of the cobra, but invited in another danger that cost him and the others their lives.

  ‘And so,’ said the judges, ‘that is why we say that a wise man always thinks not just of a solution, but also of the consequences of any plan that he makes. The heron did not do so, and so he died.’

  ‘And neither did Papabuddhi, which is why his father was nearly suffocated by smoke,’ said Karataka to Damanaka. ‘You, Damanaka,’ continued Karataka, ‘are like Papabuddhi. You thought up a plan to achieve your own selfish ends, but did not for a moment stop to think of what harm could result from your plotting. It is because of your selfish scheming that our king and master is, even at this very moment, fighting for his life against his best and most beloved friend. You have shown me your true nature—you are wicked, selfish and cruel. Like Papabuddhi, you too cannot be trusted. From today, do not come near me, or try to be friends with me any more. If you can do what you have done to our king, then what chance do lesser mortals like I have of being safe from your evil manipulations? After all, it has been said

  Where one strange event can happen

  There another can happen as well.

  Where iron scales can be eaten up by mice

  There a hawk flying off
with a boy

  Should occasion no surprise.’

  ‘How was that?’ asked Damanaka.

  So Karataka told him the story of the iron scales and the merchant.

  The Story of the Iron Scales and the Merchant

  In a city far away, there lived a merchant called Jirnadhan. He had once been a wealthy man, but lost all his riches overnight in a bad business deal. ‘The people in this city know me as a rich man and treat me with great respect. But now that I have lost all my money, they will only make fun of me,’ he thought and resolved to travel to strange and distant lands to seek his fortune.

  Now Jirnadhan owned a pair of heavy iron scales. These had been made by his forefathers and handed down from father to son for generations. Jirnadhan did not want to lose these scales or have them stolen in his absence. So before he left, he took the iron scales to another merchant in the town and said, ‘Friend, please look after these scales for me until I return from my travels. This is the only item of value I possess. I do not want to sell them or have them stolen while I am away.’ The other merchant promised to look after the scales and keep them safe till his friend returned, and Jirnadhan, reassured, left on his travels with an easy mind.

  Months passed, and Jirnadhan, once again a wealthy man, returned home. He went at once to the merchant’s house and said, ‘Friend, I am back at last and have to take the pair of iron scales that I had left with you for safekeeping.’

  Now the other merchant wanted to keep the iron scales for himself. So putting on a sad face, he said, ‘Ah Jirnadhan, my friend, I have some sad news for you: in your absence a plague of rats attacked my home and ate up your iron scales. Nothing remains of them, not even a scrap.’