Panchatantra

by Vishnu Sharma

‘Hiranyaka, I am your friend, king of the pigeons, Chitragriva. Please come out. I need your help urgently.’

  Recognizing the pigeon’s voice at last, the mouse ran joyfully out of his hole. After all, it is true that a dear friend’s company is always delightful and the heart never tires of it. But when he saw Chitragriva and the other pigeons entangled in the net, his joy changed to concern. ‘Friend, how did you get into this state?’ he asked.

  ‘You know me well, and still you ask me this!’ said Chitragriva. ‘It was my greed of course, my love for food, that got me into this mess. Now please don’t delay any more, but get us out of this fix.’

  ‘Birds can see a speck of food from several miles away, but when fate decrees otherwise, they do not see the net a few feet away!’ said Hiranyaka. ‘When I see someone as wise as you caught in a net in this manner, then I am tempted to believe that fate is greater than intelligence. When birds that soar free in the sky are caught in a net upon the ground, when fish that swim in the boundless ocean are caught on a fisherman’s hook, then who is free, what place is safe, it is impossible to say. Ultimately, death reaches us all, gathers us all up in his arms and carries us off.’ Thus lamenting the inevitability of fate, Hiranyaka began to gnaw at the net that entangled his friend.

  ‘My friend, stop!’ cried Chitragriva. ‘First, cut the bonds of my followers, and when they are free, only then free me.’

  ‘That would not be right,’ protested Hiranyaka. ‘You are the king and must be first! I will free you first and only then think of the others!’

  ‘No, do not say that, friend,’ said Chitragriva. ‘The others are under my protection. They have left their homes to follow me. Should I not show them this little consideration? Also, remember that a king’s power is derived from the trust his people place in him, and a king who respects his followers and looks after them in times of trouble wins their trust forever. And one more thing—what if you break your teeth as you gnaw through my bonds? I could not stand by and watch my people suffer while I soar free! What kind of a cruel and selfish king would that make me? So please do as I say and free my people before you free me.’

  ‘I am aware of the duties of a king, my friend,’ said Hiranyaka, ‘and I was but testing you. By putting your people before you, and looking upon them with compassion and consideration, you have shown yourself to be a good and wise king. I will do as you say and free your followers before freeing you.’ So saying, the mouse quickly gnawed through the net and in no time he had freed all the pigeons and Chitragriva as well. ‘There, you are now free to fly away wherever you wish,’ he said. ‘If you are ever in trouble again, or need my help, do not hesitate to call upon me.’ And saying goodbye to the pigeons, Hiranyaka retired once more into his mouse-hole.

  Meanwhile, perched upon a nearby tree, Laghupatanaka the crow had been watching and listening with growing astonishment and awe. ‘This Hiranyaka is a very useful fellow to know, ’ he said to himself. ‘He is intelligent and has even built a fortress for himself. And look how easily he freed the pigeons! He could be of great help to me if I were ever to find myself in a similar predicament. I must make him my friend! After all, no matter how clever and accomplished a person is, everyone needs a friend.’ And flying down to the entrance of the mouse-hole, he called out as Chitragriva had done. ‘Friend Hiranyaka, come out, come out quickly!’

  ‘Who could that be calling me now? Could it be that one of the pigeons is still entangled in the net and needs me?’ wondered the mouse. Wary as ever, he did not step out but called from within as he had done before, ‘Who are you? Identify yourself!’

  ‘I am Laghupatanaka the crow,’ answered the crow.

  ‘Please go away at once!’ cried the mouse, retreating deeper into his hole in fright.

  ‘I have come to you with a very urgent request,’ said the crow. ‘Why will you not come out and meet me?’

  ‘I have no need or desire to meet you!’ declared the mouse.

  ‘But, sir, I saw how you freed Chitragriva, the pigeon king, and his followers from that dreadful net. As a result, I have great respect and affection for you in my heart. If I am ever caught as the pigeons were, I could, by your grace, become free again like the pigeons. Therefore, I would like to be your friend. Please accept my friendship.’

  ‘How can we be friends?’ cried the mouse. ‘You are a predator, and I am your prey! Do not seek my friendship but go away from here at once! Friendship is possible and meaningful only amongst those who are equal in strength, wealth and social status. A man who seeks to be friends with someone stronger or weaker than himself soon becomes a laughing stock. So please, go away and leave me in peace.’

  ‘Friend Hiranyaka,’ said Laghupatanaka, ‘I am outside your door and here I will stay till you become my friend. I will not eat or drink till you accept my friendship, but will starve to death on your doorstep instead.’

  ‘You are my mortal enemy!’ cried the mouse. ‘How can I be your friend? After all, no matter how hot the water, it still puts out the fire!’

  ‘Hiranyaka, why are you making such illogical statements?’ protested the crow. ‘We haven’t even met each other yet, so how can you decide that I am your mortal enemy?’

  ‘There are two kinds of enmity,’ replied the mouse. ‘The first kind is the natural enmity that exists between certain creatures, while the second kind is the enmity that arises out of a quarrel or an event. You are one of my natural enemies. The enmity that arises out of circumstance may be put to rest, but the natural enmity between two creatures cannot end, not without the end of one of them.’

  ‘This natural enmity that you talk of makes no sense,’ said the crow. ‘Now listen to me, Hiranyaka. People become friends or enemies with each other because of some reason. So, since there is no cause for us to be enemies, let us be friends. It makes no sense to seek enmity rather than friendship for no reason. I promise you, Hiranyaka, that I will never harm you.’

  ‘I cannot trust you,’ replied the mouse, ‘and without trust, there is no point being friends. After all, it has been said—never trust an untrustworthy person, or even a trustworthy one beyond a point. A weak man, but a wary one, can escape even the strongest of enemies, while a strong man who trusts too much and foolishly, can be killed by the weakest of enemies.’

  Laghupatanaka could not think of a good response to the mouse’s statement. ‘This mouse is very learned and very intelligent; it is difficult to argue with him,’ he thought to himself. ‘But isn’t it because of his very intelligence that I want to be friends with him?’ After thinking a while, he said aloud, ‘Wise men say that if one walks with a stranger a few steps, or exchanges a few sentences with him, he becomes a friend. Since we have exchanged more than a few sentences, Hiranyaka, you are now my friend. And now, as my friend, listen to what I have to say: if you cannot trust me and do not want to step out of your home, then so be it. But as friends, let us talk to each other, tell each other stories and keep each other company.’

  ‘Hmm, this Laghupatanaka seems to be a reasonable sort of bird; maybe friendship with him won’t be so bad after all,’ thought Hiranyaka, and called out to the crow, ‘All right then, I will be your friend, but on one condition: you must promise never to set foot inside my fortress.’

  ‘Friend, I will do as you ask,’ promised Laghupatanaka.

  And from that day onwards, the two became friends. They would spend all their time together and bring each other gifts. The crow would bring the mouse choice pieces of meat or offerings made at sacrifices, while the mouse would gather rice and other grain for the crow. To give and receive gifts with love, to tell someone your secrets and listen to theirs in return, and to share each other’s food—these are the signs of friendship between two people, and the crow and the mouse showed them all. Over time, the mouse began to trust the crow so much that he would often sit nestled under his wings as they chatted and talked.

  One day, the crow came to the mouse with tears in his eyes, and, in a voice choking with em
otion, said, ‘Friend, I am tired of this country. I want to leave and fly away to a new land.’

  ‘Why, what has happened to make you feel this way?’ asked the mouse, startled.

  ‘The truth is,’ replied the crow, ‘that there is famine in this country. No rain has fallen for two years, and the people have nothing to eat. As a result, they do not feed us or set out food for crows any more. Instead, they have set up traps to catch us so they can kill us and eat us. I, too, was caught in one of these traps, but perhaps because I still had life remaining to me, I managed to escape and come here to you. This is the reason I want to leave this country and fly away. I cannot live here any more.’

  ‘Where do you wish to go?’ asked Hiranyaka.

  ‘In a land south of here, deep in the middle of a dense forest, there is a vast lake. In that lake lives my dear friend, the turtle Mantharaka. He will give me pieces of fish and other water creatures to eat, and there, by the side of that lake, I will live in peace. I cannot bear to continue here, helplessly watching as birds are caught and eaten in front of my eyes.’

  ‘Well, I, too, am very unhappy in this country,’ said the mouse. ‘So, if you are leaving, then I would like to go with you.’

  ‘Why, what is the reason for your unhappiness, my friend?’ asked the crow.

  ‘It is a long story. I will tell you once we reach your friend’s house,’ replied the mouse.

  ‘But I will fly through the air while you scamper on the ground,’ said the crow. ‘How will we travel together?’

  ‘If you are willing, you could carry me on your back,’ suggested the mouse. ‘There is no other way for me to get there.’

  When he heard this, the crow was delighted. ‘Then I am truly fortunate, for I will have your company the whole way!’ he exclaimed joyfully. ‘Let’s leave right away. Climb on to my back and hold tight, and I will fly you to the lake in comfort and ease.’

  The mouse clambered on to the crow’s back, and the crow flew steadily and carefully to the lake where his friend, Mantharaka the turtle, lived.

  As they approached the lake, the turtle saw the mouse on the crow’s back. ‘That is a very odd kind of crow,’ he cried in alarm, and plunged deep into the waters of the lake.

  The crow realized what had happened, and, alighting at the foot of a tall tree that grew by the water’s edge, he set the mouse down safely in a hollow in its trunk. Then, flying up to a branch that overhung the lake, he called out as loudly as he could, ‘Friend Mantharaka, come out! I am your friend, Laghupatanaka the crow. I have come to visit you after many days. So do come out and say hello!’

  The turtle recognized his friend’s voice, and came swimming up to the surface of the lake. ‘Welcome, my friend, welcome!’ he cried, overjoyed. ‘Come down and let me hold you to my bosom. Please forgive me for my rudeness. I hadn’t seen you for so long that I did not recognize you and so dived into the lake.’

  The crow flew down to the water’s edge, and the turtle, climbing out, clasped him in his arms. The two friends hugged each other affectionately. Meanwhile, the mouse climbed out of the hollow and sat quietly watching the crow and the turtle.

  ‘Friend Laghupatanaka, who is this mouse?’ asked Mantharaka. ‘You usually eat mice, so there must be a very special reason that you have brought him here upon your back.’

  ‘Mantharaka, this is my friend Hiranyaka,’ explained Laghupatanaka. ‘He is dearer to me than my own life. As for his virtues, I cannot even begin to list them, for they are so many. Today, though, he is sad and dejected and has left his home to come here with me.’

  ‘Why is he sad?’ asked Mantharaka.

  ‘I do not know. He did not tell me, but said that he would tell me once we reached your lake,’ replied Laghupatanaka. Turning to the mouse, he said, ‘Come, Hiranyaka, my dear friend, tell us your story, now that we are here at Mantharaka’s house.’

  So Hiranyaka told them his story.

  The Story of the Mouse and the Mendicant

  In a kingdom in the south (said Hiranyaka), there lies the great city of Mahilaropya. Close to the city stands a temple dedicated to Lord Shiva, and next to the temple, in a small hut, there once lived a mendicant known as Tamrachuda. Each day, Tamrachuda would go into the city for alms, and, returning, would eat only as much food as his religious vows allowed. He would put the rest of the food away in his little begging bowl, which he would hang from a peg in his hut. Every morning, he would distribute this remaining food to the workers who came to clean the temple, and their families.

  One day (continued Hiranyaka), the other mice said to me, ‘Sire, the mendicant puts away the remaining food in his bowl and hangs it up on a peg in his room only to keep that food away from us. He knows that we cannot jump so high. But nothing is impossible for you. So if you are willing, let us go to the mendicant’s hut tonight and there feast to our heart’s content.’

  I agreed immediately, and we went, the other mice and I, to the mendicant’s hut. With a single leap I reached the bowl, and threw down the food to the other mice below. After they had eaten as much as they could, I, too, ate my fill. We then returned as we had come, back to our homes. We returned the next night, and the next, and several weeks passed in this manner. The mendicant tried his best to keep the food away from me, hanging his bowl higher and higher every time. But no matter how high he hung it up, I could always reach it, and once the mendicant fell asleep, I would jump up to the bowl and we would eat our fill as before.

  Then, one day, the mendicant acquired a bamboo stick from somewhere, and to make sure I could not steal his food, he would strike his begging bowl with the stick from time to time. Afraid of getting hurt, I would wait for him to fall asleep and then sneak up to the bowl, but he would wake up and begin hitting the bowl again with his stick. I would run away and hide, waiting till he fell asleep again. My nights now passed in conflict.

  One day, Tamrachuda’s friend, an ascetic called Brihatsphik, came to visit him. Tamrachuda received him warmly, with all the respect due an honoured guest. As night fell, both men lay down next to each other on the mendicant’s mat of rushes, and began to discuss matters of philosophy and religion. Now, Tamrachuda was somewhat distracted, worrying as he was about me and the other mice eating his food. From time to time, he would break off the conversation with his friend to strike his food bowl with the bamboo stick. Preoccupied as he was with keeping us away, he had only half an ear for his friend’s conversation and gave him terse and absent-minded responses.

  At last, Brihatsphik lost his patience. ‘Tamrachuda,’ he said, ‘it has become clear to me tonight that you do not consider me to be your friend. That is why you are not paying any attention to what I am saying or talking to me with affection. I cannot stay here any more, and even though it is the middle of the night, I will leave you and find another place to shelter till dawn. After all, it has been said that we must visit the homes of only those people who greet us with warmth and affection, who ask after our well-being, and are happy to see us. We should stay only with such loving and close friends, for it is only in their homes that we can be guests without fear or formality. The host who is bored and distracted at the arrival of his guest, and who treats his visitor as disrespectfully and as casually as you are treating me—to be a guest in such a man’s home is to feel as unwanted as a bull without horns! You are a fool, Tamrachuda! Your position in charge of this temple has made you so arrogant that you have even forgotten our friendship. That is why I will now leave you and go away.’

  ‘No, no, Brihatsphik, don’t say such things! I have no friend who is closer or more important to me,’ pleaded Tamrachuda, greatly disturbed. ‘Yes, it is true that I am distracted—it is because of this wretched mouse, who eats up the alms I have left over every day, no matter how high I hang up my begging bowl, and because of whom I have nothing to give to the workers who come to clean the temple every morning. As a result, the workers have stopped coming and the temple lies unswept. I keep striking my begging bowl with this bambo
o stick, not out of disrespect for you, but to scare that mouse away—I swear there is no other cause for my lack of attention. Look, just look at that mouse! He shames even cats and monkeys in how high he jumps!’

  ‘Do you know where he has his mouse-hole?’ asked Brihatsphik.

  ‘No, not really,’ said Tamrachuda, shaking his head.

  ‘Wherever he lives, I am sure this mouse has stashed away quite a store of food, and that is why he is so fearless and full of energy. After all, it is well known that wealth makes a man more confident and more energetic,’ declared Brihatsphik. ‘Besides, there is always an explanation for everything. Believe me,

  When the brahmin’s wife tries to exchange

  Cleaned and hulled sesame seeds

  For unhulled ones

  She has some good reason for it!’

  ‘Oh, and what is her story?’ asked Tamrachuda.

  So Brihatsphik told him the story of the brahmin’s wife and the sesame seeds.

  The Story of the Brahmin’s Wife and the Sesame Seeds

  Once, during the rainy season (said Brihatsphik), I took shelter in a brahmin’s house. One day, I overheard a conversation between the brahmin and his wife:

  ‘Wife, tomorrow is an important festival, and a day when people will give alms with generosity,’ said the brahmin. ‘I will leave at dawn for the next village to ask for alms. In my absence, you too should give some food to a brahmin tomorrow. It is auspicious to do so.’

  The brahmin’s request annoyed his wife greatly. ‘How can we give food to another brahmin when we don’t have enough to eat ourselves?’ she demanded angrily. ‘A man as poor as you—are you not ashamed to make such a request of me? Ever since I have entered your house as your wife, I have had neither fine clothes nor jewellery to wear nor good food to eat. And now you ask that I give away what little we have?’

  ‘Wife, do not speak such harsh words,’ remonstrated the brahmin gently. ‘It has been said that even if you have only a single morsel of food, share half of it with someone needy. After all, who in this world has ever had as much wealth as they want? No matter how little the quantity, we must give whatever we can.