Panchatantra

by Vishnu Sharma

  ‘Ah well, it is not your fault,’ sighed Jirnadhan, philosophically. ‘Rats are beyond our control, and we must bear the damage that they do with fortitude. As the wise men say, this world is but an illusion and nothing lasts forever, not even iron scales. Anyway, I am off to the river to bathe. Could you send your son with me, to carry my things and watch them whilst I bathe?’

  The other merchant, relieved that Jirnadhan had believed his story, was eager to oblige him. He called his son at once and, introducing Jirnadhan to him as his uncle, bade him carry his things down to the river. ‘Your uncle wishes to bathe. Stay with him and look after his things for him,’ he said.

  The merchant’s son did as his father ordered, and followed Jirnadhan to the river. After his bath, Jirnadhan hid the merchant’s son in a cave by the riverbank, and, telling the boy to stay there till he returned for him, strolled back into the town.

  The merchant, seeing him return alone, came running up. ‘Where is my son?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Ah, friend, a hawk carried off your son as he waited by the water’s edge with my things,’ said Jirnadhan, shaking his head in pretended sorrow.

  ‘A hawk cannot carry off a boy!’ protested the merchant. ‘You are lying! Tell me the truth! Where is my son?’

  ‘I am telling you the truth—a hawk flew off with your son!’ insisted Jirnadhan.

  The distraught merchant pleaded, begged, threatened, but Jirnadhan stuck to his story. ‘The hawk has your son, not I,’ he said.

  Arguing and shouting, the two men reached the courts of justice. ‘This man has kidnapped my son!’ wept the merchant, falling at the judges’ feet.

  ‘Kidnapped your son? That is unforgivable!’ cried the judges. ‘Return the boy to his father at once!’ they commanded Jirnadhan.

  ‘I would do so if I could,’ said Jirnadhan with a sigh. ‘But I don’t have the child. He was carried off in front of my eyes by a fierce, sharp-taloned hawk. The hawk has the boy, not I,’ said Jirnadhan.

  The judges frowned suspiciously at his story. ‘Can a hawk really fly away with a boy? It seems hard to believe!’ they said.

  ‘No harder to believe, good sirs, than rats eating up a pair of heavy iron scales!’ declared Jirnadhan. ‘If that is believable, then what is so unbelievable about a hawk flying away with a child?’

  ‘What do you mean by that? Explain yourself! Don’t talk in riddles!’ commanded the judges.

  So Jirnadhan told the judges his story—how he had decided to go away, how he had trusted his friend, the merchant, and left his precious pair of iron scales in his safekeeping, and how, when he had returned, the merchant had not returned his scales but claimed that they had been eaten by rats. ‘And so I say—his son has been carried off by a hawk!’ declared Jirnadhan.

  ‘What an unnecessary fuss!’ cried the judges and ordered both men to end their quarrel. ‘Return his pair of iron scales to him at once,’ they ordered the merchant. ‘Bring back that poor boy from wherever you have hidden him and return him to his father immediately,’ they ordered Jirnadhan.

  The men did as the judges commanded—the merchant returned the pair of iron scales, and Jirnadhan fetched the merchant’s son and returned him to his father. But Jirnadhan had made his point: if the merchant’s impossible story was taken to be true, then his own impossible story should also be taken as true.

  ‘In other words,’ concluded Karataka, ‘if one strange or impossible event can take place, then so can another. If you could put our king in his present difficult and unpleasant situation, then you could do the same to me and to the other animals. You cannot be trusted any more!’ Karataka paced up and down unhappily. ‘You could not bear Sanjivaka’s happiness, so you plotted and schemed and brought us all to this evil pass,’ he continued bitterly. ‘It has been rightly said that the unlettered man is jealous of the learned, the poor man is jealous of the rich, and the sinner of the pious. This is the natural order of this world. You, too, have behaved according to your nature, and pulled down to your level the noble Sanjivaka. In claiming to help Pingalaka, you have in fact harmed him. It has been said

  No good comes of a fool’s friendship,

  While even the enmity of a learned man can be of great benefit—

  Thus did the foolish monkey kill the king

  And the learned thief save the four merchants.’

  ‘How did that happen?’ asked Damanaka.

  So Karataka told him the story of the king and the monkey, and the story of the thief and the four merchants.

  The Story of the King and the Monkey

  Once, a king kept a monkey as a pet. The king loved the monkey, and the monkey was devoted to the king.

  One hot and sultry afternoon, the king decided to take a nap. As he lay snoozing upon his bed, the faithful monkey sat beside him waving a fan to keep his master cool. Suddenly, a fly flew in through the open window, buzzing noisily. It flew around the king’s bed and alighted on the king’s chest.

  ‘Shoo, go away!’ the monkey waved his fan to chase the fly away. But the fly was not at all afraid and would not go away. The monkey tried again, waving his fan, waving his arms, even waving his tail and hopping up and down. But his efforts were in vain—the stubborn fly refused to budge and continued sitting upon the king’s broad and royal chest.

  At last, the monkey picked up the king’s sword, and struck the fly a mighty blow. The fly flew away unharmed—but the king, severely wounded by the monkey’s blow, died at once.

  ‘And so,’ said Karataka, ‘a king who wants to live a long and happy life, should not have foolish friends, no matter how loyal and devoted they are!’

  Karataka then continued to tell Damanaka the story of the thief and the four merchants.

  The Story of the Thief and the Four Merchants

  Once, in a certain town, there lived a brahmin. He was an educated man, wise and learned, but, due to his misdeeds in an earlier life, he had been condemned to become a thief in his present one.

  One day, as he prowled around the marketplace looking for something to steal, he saw four men, whose strange clothes and different accents marked them out as strangers from another land. They were loaded with precious goods—fine cloths and fragrant oils, glittering jewels and colourful gems—which they were selling in the marketplace for gold.

  The thief’s eyes sparkled with greed when he saw them. ‘I must make friends with them and win their trust,’ he said to himself. ‘Once I have gained their confidence, it will be easy for me to steal their gold.’

  Pleased with his plan, the thief went up to the four merchants, and, introducing himself, began to chat with them. His education and learning impressed the merchants greatly, and they enjoyed his company. But the merchants were wary, and guarded their goods and their gold with great care, so that the thief could not get his hands upon their riches.

  At last, the merchants sold all their wares, and decided to set off for home. Now, to keep their gold safe from robbers on the road, instead of carrying it in a bag upon their persons, they decided to swallow it. ‘That way no one will ever know we have this money,’ they said to each other.

  The thief watched in dismay as they swallowed the gold. Now how was he to steal it? He desperately racked his brains for a plan. At last he said, ‘Friends, in these few weeks that you have been here, you have become so dear to me that I cannot bear the thought of living here without you. Please take me with you as your assistant so I can continue to be close to you.’ He begged and pleaded and wept, till at last the four merchants agreed to take him with them.

  And so the five men set off on their journey. All went well till a few days later when they reached a village called Palipur. In this village lived a fierce, criminal tribe known as the Kirata. The men of this tribe would waylay unsuspecting travellers and rob them of their money. Their lookouts were crows trained to spot approaching strangers. Whenever the crows, perched high up on the trees or flying in the sky overhead, saw travellers approaching the town, they wo
uld start a raucous cawing. As the five men came up to Palipur, the crows began calling, ‘Rich men coming! Hurry, hurry, kill them and take their money!’

  The Kiratas came rushing out of their huts, and stopped the five travellers with loud cries. ‘We have no money,’ cried the merchants. But the Kiratas would not believe them, and grabbing hold of the men, they searched them from head to toe. But the merchants were carrying their wealth inside their stomachs, so the Kiratas found nothing, not gold nor precious stones nor coins of any kind.

  ‘The crows have never been wrong, and the crows say you are rich men, so rich men you must be!’ frowned the Kirata chief. ‘Hand over your money, and leave here with your lives. Otherwise, we will kill you and rip your stomachs open!’

  The merchants grew pale with fear. Only the thief kept his wits about him. ‘If the Kiratas kill these four men, they will find their money, and then, thinking me to be equally rich, they will kill me too; but, if they kill me first, they will find nothing, and believing the others to be equally poor, they may let them go,’ he reasoned. ‘I am to die in any case, so why not I save these merchants’ lives by offering mine? After all, it has been said

  Why are you afraid of death?

  Fear will not save you,

  For death does not spare anyone

  We are mortal, so we must die

  A hundred years later, if not today.’

  Thus thinking and reasoning with himself, the wise and learned thief stepped forward. ‘Kill me first!’ he cried.

  The Kiratas obligingly did as asked and struck off his head. They searched his body thoroughly and, of course, found nothing. ‘The man was right, he carries no wealth,’ they cried, disappointed. And believing now that the other four were also all equally poor, the Kiratas let them go.

  ‘And that is why I say,’ concluded Karataka, ‘that it is better to have a learned man for an enemy than a fool for a friend—the former may benefit you, but the latter will only cause you trouble!’

  ***

  While Karataka and Damanaka were busy arguing, Sanjivaka and Pingalaka were locked in combat. They were evenly matched. Sometimes Sanjivaka had the upper hand, and sometimes Pingalaka did. At last Pingalaka, with his sharp claws and ferocious teeth, succeeded in wounding Sanjivaka so grievously that Sanjivaka fell to the ground, dead.

  Seeing his friend lying dead before him, Pingalaka began to weep, ‘Oh, how could I have done this? I lost my mind and was led astray, and in my madness I killed my dearest friend. What bigger wrong is there in this world than betraying a friend? It is better that I had lost my kingdom—a kingdom that is lost may be recovered through war, but a friend who is dead is gone forever!’ The lion fell to the ground beside Sanjivaka’s body. ‘Ah Sanjivaka, Sanjivaka,’ he lamented. ‘I always praised you to my people. Now, when they ask me about you, what shall I say? That Sanjivaka, whom I loved so much, is dead, and that it is I who killed him? And hearing that, will anyone ever trust me again?’

  Damanaka, hearing Pingalaka’s wails of grief, ran up to him and said, ‘Sire, stop! Such grieving does not become a king. Do not mourn the death of a traitor. There is no sin in killing a person who wished to kill you, even if that person were your father, your mother, a son or a brother! A king who lets his enemy escape out of misplaced compassion does not deserve to rule. A king must change his nature according to need—he should be truthful when necessary, but lie easily if required. Sometimes he must be kind and gentle, sometimes cruel and merciless. Sometimes he must give freely and generously, sometimes withhold all favour. And then, to be truly great and to be looked upon as such, a king cannot be mild and humble. He must be loud and dominant, believing in himself and all his actions. You must not show remorse. The wise do not worry about life and death, but do what needs to be done. So let it be with you, O king.’

  Pingalaka, accepting the comfort that Damanaka’s words offered, stopped grieving over Sanjivaka’s death, and with Damanaka at his side as minister, resumed his duties as king.

  ‘And this,’ said Vishnusharma, ‘brings to an end the first part of your lessons.’

  Part 2

  The Gaining of Friends

  Vishnusharma said to the three princes, ‘I will now start the second part of your lessons, on how friends may be made and friendships gained. Clever, wise and learned people, even without wealth or money, can accomplish their aims with the help of friends, as did the crow, the mouse, the turtle and the deer. Listen now to their story.’

  The Story of the Crow, the Mouse, the Turtle and the Deer

  It has been heard that in a kingdom in the south, there lies the fair city of Mahilaropya. Not far from this city, there grows a vast and ancient banyan tree that provides food and shelter to all kinds of creatures. Birds of all kinds come to this tree to feast on its fruit, while hundreds of tiny insects make their home in its trunk. Deer take shelter from the fierce sun in its shade, monkeys play amongst its branches and honeybees sip the nectar from its flowers.

  Once, a crow called Laghupatanaka made his home upon a branch of this tree. One morning, as he flew about in search of food, he saw creeping towards the tree a foul and loathsome hunter. The man was carrying a net for snaring birds in one hand, and a stout stick in the other. With his bloodshot eyes, knotted hair and fierce frown, he was as frightening as death itself. ‘Oh! Oh! He looks like trouble!’ said Laghupatanaka to himself. ‘I am sure he intends to catch and kill the birds that live on my tree. I had better warn them at once!’

  The crow flew back to the tree as fast as he could, and gathered together all the birds that lived there. ‘An evil hunter is on his way here,’ he warned. ‘He carries a net in his hand, and poisoned grains of rice in his pocket. He will spread his net on the ground and then scatter the grains of rice to tempt you. Do not be fooled by him. Stay away from the scattered rice, treat it like poison, for it is there only to lure you into his net.’

  Laghupatanaka had barely finished speaking when the birds saw the hunter approach the tree. He did exactly as the crow had said he would—he spread his net upon the ground and, scattering grains of rice to attract the birds, he hid himself in a nearby bush and waited. But the birds that lived on the tree heeded the crow’s warning, and not a single one went near the scattered rice.

  Just then, the king of the pigeons, Chitragriva, was flying by in search of food. With him were his family, and his hundreds of followers and attendants. Chitragriva, seeing the grains of rice scattered upon the ground, was greatly tempted. ‘Stop, don’t eat that rice, it’s a trap,’ called out Laghupatanaka. But Chitragriva was hungry, and the little white grains of rice upon the ground looked too delicious to pass up! Disregarding the crow’s warning, Chitragriva and his followers fell greedily upon the rice—and found themselves entangled in the hunter’s net.

  The hunter was overjoyed. Grabbing his stick, he jumped out of hiding and began to run towards the tree. Seeing him coming, Chitragriva said to his followers, ‘Birds, do not be afraid of the hunter, and above all, do not panic. It is said and wisely so, that those who stay calm in times of trouble and keep their courage and their wits about them can overcome the greatest difficulties. So if we can somehow fly away with the hunter’s net, we can, once we are out of his reach, free ourselves from this trap. But we must work together. Alone, each one of us is too weak to escape the hunter, but together, we will become strong enough to fly away with his net. If we do not work together, we will surely die. So do not be afraid, but do as I say: wait for my word and then fly up, everyone together, carrying the net with us.’

  The pigeons did as their king commanded: upon his word they flew up, all together, the entire flock, carrying the net effortlessly with them. The hunter ran after them, cursing and shouting. ‘They have flown away with my net,’ he said, ‘but they are sure to argue and fight amongst themselves, and then they will fall to the ground.’

  Meanwhile, Laghupatanaka the crow had been watching with great interest. Curious to know what would become of the pigeo
ns, he gave up his plans to search for food and followed Chitragriva and his flock as they flew off with the net.

  Chitragriva, seeing the hunter following them, kept calm and, with encouraging words, kept the flock together. He led them over dense forests and uneven ground, where the hunter found it difficult to follow, and very soon the birds had left the hunter far behind. At last, the hunter gave up the chase and went home lamenting. ‘Not only did I lose a day’s catch,’ he wept, ‘but I have also lost my net, the only way I had to earn a living.’

  When Chitragriva saw that the hunter had turned back, he said to his flock, ‘Now that we have shaken off that wicked hunter, let us go to the city of Mahilaropya. There, in its northeast corner, lives my friend, the mouse Hiranyaka. He will free us from these bonds. After all, it is a well-known fact that in times of trouble, only a true friend will be of help; all others will turn away.’

  The pigeons followed Chitragriva’s directions, and very soon they came to the city; finding their way to the mouse’s home, they alighted outside it. Now the cautious Hiranyaka had turned his little mouse-hole into a veritable fortress. He had created innumerable secret exits and dug long winding tunnels beneath the ground, so that it was impossible for a predator to reach him or surprise him. The mouse, safe from all danger, lived in his hole in peace.

  Chitragriva stood at the entrance to the mouse-hole and called out. ‘Hiranyaka, my dearest friend, come out, come out quickly! I am in great trouble and need your help.’

  Hiranyaka, who was a very cautious mouse indeed, did not step out, but replied warily from within, ‘Who are you? Why have you come here? What kind of trouble are you in?’