Panchatantra

by Vishnu Sharma

  ‘All right!’ agreed the hare, and the two set off in search of someone who knew the law and could settle their dispute. Curious to know what the outcome of their debate would be, I followed them.

  Now, a cat called Tikshadanta had overheard their quarrel. Hurrying ahead of them, he sat down by the bank of a river that lay in their path and which he knew they must cross. As the sparrow and the hare approached, he closed his eyes and, assuming the posture of a yogi deep in meditation, began to chant and pray loudly. ‘This world is meaningless! Life is as fleeting as a moment in time! Everything is illusion! Asceticism is the only way forward!’ he recited.

  The hare was deeply impressed by the cat’s saintly mien. ‘Oh look, Kapinjala, there seems to be an ascetic sitting by the river,’ he said, pointing. ‘He is chanting in a very learned fashion and seems to know what is written in all the books. Why don’t we ask him to settle our argument?’

  ‘He is a cat, and our natural enemy,’ cautioned Kapinjala. ‘Therefore, we must take care to speak to him only from a distance, lest our presence tempts him to break his holy vows and eat us!’

  So the two called out to the cat from a safe distance and said, ‘Reverend sir, we have a quarrel that we cannot settle. You seem wise and learned, so please help us sort out our dispute. Tell us who is right and who is wrong. And as payment for your trouble, you can eat whichever one of us you say is wrong.’

  ‘No, no, my friends, do not say that!’ protested the cat piously. ‘I will most certainly help you resolve your quarrel, but I will not eat either of you! I have taken the holy vow of non-violence and do not harm even the smallest insect on this earth. How, then, can I harm you? You have nothing to fear from me. But I have grown old and cannot hear very well. So do draw near and tell me what your quarrel is about.’

  What more remains to be told? That sly and cunning cat convinced the sparrow and the hare of his noble nature so completely that they forgot all caution and went up to him. As soon as they were close enough, the evil cat pinned one down with his paw while he tore into the other with his teeth. And that is how the hare and the sparrow were killed by the cat.

  ‘And that is why I say that a cruel, unscrupulous and selfish king will only bring his subjects grief and sorrow. All of you, by choosing this vile and cruel bird for your king, will also end up like the hare and my friend, the sparrow,’ said the crow. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, flapping his wings, ‘you asked for my opinion, and I have said what I needed to say. Now all of you must do what you feel is right.’

  ‘The crow is right,’ said the birds to each other. ‘Maybe we were a little hasty in our desire to choose a new king. Let us leave the issue for another day!’ One by one the birds flew away till only the crow was left, and the owl with the faithful bird, Krikalika, sitting upon the golden throne still waiting for his coronation.

  After a while, the owl, who was blind by day and had not seen that the other birds had flown away, called out, ‘What is the delay? Why have I not been crowned yet?’

  Krikalika replied, ‘Lord, your coronation has been stopped by this crow. The birds have all flown away, except this crow, who is still sitting here for some reason.’

  Hearing this, the owl was greatly disappointed. ‘Why did you do this?’ he asked the crow angrily. ‘How have I ever harmed you that you should stop my coronation as king of the birds? Because of your meddling, from now on, you and I will always be enemies, as will our families and followers! A wound inflicted by a sword can heal, but the wound inflicted by words cuts so deep that it can neither heal nor be forgotten!’ And so saying, the owl flew away with Krikalika to his nest.

  The crow looked after the owl in consternation. ‘I have brought the owl’s anger upon myself for no reason at all. I should not have spoken as unthinkingly as I did,’ he reflected. ‘A wise man, however strong, does not make enemies if he can help it. Nor should one speak ill of others in a gathering. Such words, even if they be true, only bring trouble upon oneself.’ Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the crow slowly flew away.

  ‘And that is the reason,’ concluded Sthirajivi, ‘for this deadly enmity between the crows and owls.’

  Meghavarna looked worried. ‘In such a situation then, what must we do?’ he asked.

  ‘Deception and trickery are our only options; nothing else will work,’ replied Sthirajivi. ‘I myself will adopt these methods and use them to destroy our enemy. After all, it was through trickery that the three sly thieves outwitted the brahmin and stole his goat!’

  ‘Oh, and how did they do that?’ asked Meghavarna.

  So Sthirajivi told him the story of the three clever thieves, the brahmin and his goat.

  The Story of the Three Clever Thieves, the Brahmin and His Goat

  In a certain town, there lived a brahmin called Mitrasharma, whose job was to keep the sacrificial fire burning in the temple. Every now and then, he would sacrifice a goat or two in honour of the gods. One overcast day in the month of Magh, he set off to a neighbouring village to look for a goat he could sacrifice. Reaching the village, he made his way to the home of a rich man who lived there, and asked him to donate a goat to the temple. The rich man, who was very devout, readily agreed, and gave him a plump goat to take back to the temple. The brahmin, satisfied, took the goat upon his shoulders and began his journey homewards.

  Mitrasharma’s path led him through a dense forest. As he trudged along happily, who should catch sight of him but three crooked thieves! The thieves were hungry, they hadn’t eaten for days, and when they saw the sleek, plump goat across the brahmin’s shoulders, their mouths began to water. ‘If we can somehow take that goat for ourselves, we could roast it and make a nice meal of it!’ said one. ‘Yes, let’s trick that brahmin into giving us his goat,’ said the others.

  The three hid themselves in the trees along the road. As Mitrasharma passed by, the first thief stepped out of the trees and called out to him, ‘O brahmin, you are a priest of the temple! Why are you carrying that filthy dog on your shoulders?’

  ‘Are you blind that you cannot see that this is a goat meant for sacrifice and not a dog?’ retorted Mitrasharma indignantly.

  ‘Please do not be annoyed,’ said the thief, apologetically. ‘If you will insist that the dog is a goat, then so be it.’

  Mitrasharma continued along the path, shaking his head at the man’s foolishness. A little later, the second thief stepped out from the trees and called out, ‘O brahmin, why are you carrying that dead calf upon your shoulders? You are a priest of the temple. Don’t you know that dead animals are unclean?’

  ‘Are you blind that you call this goat a dead calf?’ cried Mitrasharma angrily.

  ‘Don’t be annoyed, respected sir,’ said the second thief. ‘Yes, I do see a dead calf across your shoulders, but if it seems like a goat to you, then so it must be.’

  Mitrasharma gave the thief an angry glare and continued walking. As he walked farther down the path, the third thief stepped out of the trees and said, ‘Oh brahmin, why are you carrying a donkey upon your shoulders? Don’t you know that the donkey is a dirty and unclean animal? Set that filthy creature down! As a priest of the temple you should not even touch these animals, leave alone carry them on your shoulders!’

  Now Mitrasharma was really confused. Three different men had stopped him, and each had seen a different creature upon his shoulders. What was going on? ‘What if,’ he thought, ‘these men are right, and what I am carrying upon my shoulders is not a goat at all but a shape-changing ghoul that looks sometimes like a dog, or a dead calf, or a donkey?’ This thought frightened Mitrasharma so much that he dropped the goat where he stood and ran off screaming through the trees.

  The three clever thieves, chuckling at the brahmin’s terror, caught the goat, killed it and roasted it and made a hearty meal of it. And that is how the thieves tricked the brahmin.

  ‘In the same way, deception and deceit can be used to outwit an enemy and gain your ends,’ concluded Sthirajivi. ‘And now,’ h
e continued, ‘listen to my plan to outwit the owls and destroy them.’

  ‘Please tell me,’ said Meghavarna, ‘and I shall do as you say.’

  So Sthirajivi explained his plan to the king. ‘Declare me to be your enemy. Then threaten and curse me as loudly and as harshly as you can, so that the owl’s spies become convinced that you have stripped me of my office. Get some blood from somewhere, and smearing my body with it, throw me out of this banyan tree. Not too far from here lies a mountain called Rishyamuka. You must take all the other crows with you and fly away to this mountain, leaving me behind, apparently hurt and bleeding, at the foot of this tree. Build a strong fort upon the mountain and wait there with your family and followers. Meanwhile, I will make friends with the owls and do everything I can to gain their trust. I will find out all I can about their stronghold. As you know, the owls are blind by day. So I will use this weakness of theirs and, finding the right opportunity, I will kill them all. Now, do exactly as I have said. Do not hesitate, do not stop me and, above all, do not show any pity towards me.’ And so saying, Sthirajivi started a pretend quarrel with Meghavarna.

  The other crows, hearing Sthirajivi abusing and cursing Meghavarna, came rushing, ready to kill Sthirajivi. ‘No, no, stay away!’ ordered Meghavarna. ‘I will take care of this traitorous rogue myself. He has betrayed us to our enemies and I will punish him for his treachery!’ And Meghavarna attacked Sthirajivi, and pretended to peck at him with his beak. Smearing him with some blood from a dead animal that he had scavenged earlier, he pushed him off the banyan tree. Sthirajivi, playing his part, lay at the foot of the tree as though badly injured. Meanwhile, Meghavarna gathered the rest of the crows together, and flew off with them to Mount Rishyamuka.

  Now the bird Krikalika, ever faithful to the owls, and spying upon the crows on their behalf, witnessed the quarrel between Meghavarna and his minister and saw the crows flying away from their tree. She flew at once to the king of the owls, Arimardana, and said, ‘Sire, your enemy, terrified of you, has flown away somewhere with his family and all his followers.’

  The king of the owls was overjoyed to hear this. As dusk fell, he gathered his followers and set off to battle the crows. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ he urged his troops. ‘It is great good fortune when the enemy flees his own fort in fear! He makes himself vulnerable and leaves behind a trail that is easy to follow. His people grow confused, his troops disorganized, so that it becomes a simple matter to take him captive or destroy him.’

  Encouraged by the words of their king, the owls flew to the banyan tree and found that Krikalika’s report had been correct—the crows had indeed left the banyan tree. Arimardana perched himself on a branch of the tree with great satisfaction. ‘Search for the routes the crows might have taken!’ he ordered his followers. ‘We must follow them as quickly as we can and kill them before they find shelter somewhere else!’

  Meanwhile, Sthirajivi, who was still lying at the bottom of the tree, was watching and listening. ‘Now, if our enemies leave as they have come, then I would have accomplished nothing!’ he said to himself. ‘I must complete what I have begun. So maybe it is now time to make my next move and let the owls know I am here.’ Sthirajivi began cawing in a weak and feeble manner as though he was greatly injured.

  Hearing his calls, and seeing him lying apparently half-dead at the foot of the tree, the owls prepared to kill him. Sthirajivi began to weep and wail. ‘Look at me,’ he wept, ‘I am Sthirajivi, minister to Meghavarna, king of the crows. It is Meghavarna who has reduced me to this pitiable condition, and left me here to die. Tell your king that I would speak with him—I have much that I want to tell him.’

  At this, Arimardana came forward and, seeing the old crow lying there covered in blood, asked him, ‘What happened? Who reduced you to this sorry state?’

  ‘Lord, yesterday, seeing the corpses of the many crows you had killed, Meghavarna became crazy with grief and anger. He wanted to pursue you and attack you. I tried to stop him. I pointed out to him that you were much stronger, and that he would surely be defeated were he to attack you. My words angered him greatly. He accused me of being a traitor. In his fury, he turned upon me and reduced me to this state. Now I seek your protection. In return, once I have recovered from his attack and can walk and fly again, I will take you to his stronghold and help you to destroy him and all his followers.’

  Hearing Sthirajivi’s words, Arimardana decided to consult his ministers. There were five of them—venerable old owls who had served under his father and his father's father. They were called Raktaksha, Kruraksha, Diptaksha, Vakranasa and Prakarakarna. He turned first to Raktaksha. ‘Respected sir,’ he said, ‘a minister of the enemy king has fallen into our hands. What do you think we should do with him?’

  ‘Kill him,’ replied Raktaksha at once. ‘An enemy must be destroyed at the first opportunity, before he grows too strong. The crow is weak and injured just now and to kill him will be easy. And remember, he is our enemy. All friendship between our two peoples was destroyed long ago. So don’t be fooled by his show of affection. As the snake said,

  Look at the burning pyre

  Look at my scarred and injured hood

  Friendship, once broken, cannot be mended

  By a mere show of affection.’

  ‘Oh, and what did he mean by that?’ asked Arimardana.

  So Raktaksha told him the story of the brahmin and the cobra.

  The Story of the Brahmin and the Cobra

  In a certain town, there lived a poor brahmin called Haridatta. He spent all his days working on the small piece of land he owned. Though he worked very hard, his field never yielded good crops, and there was never enough for him and his family to eat.

  One hot day towards the end of summer, the brahmin, exhausted after a long day of work digging and sowing, lay down to rest in the shade of a tree that grew upon his land. As he lay there, half asleep, he saw a cobra suddenly appear atop a nearby anthill. As he watched, the snake reared up its head and spread its hood. The brahmin sat up in alarm. ‘This snake must be the god watching my land,’ he thought. ‘I have been remiss and never worshipped him in any way. He must be angry with me. That is why my hard work comes to nothing and my crops fail. From now on I will offer him puja every day!’

  Thinking thus, the brahmin ran to his neighbour’s house and asked for a saucer full of milk, which he carried back to his field. The snake was still there, poised upon the anthill as before. He placed the saucer near him and said, ‘O divine guardian of the land, I had no idea that your abode was in my field. Therefore I never placed any offerings here for you before today. Please forgive my mistake.’ The brahmin then nudged the saucer of milk closer to the snake and left.

  Next morning, when he returned to his field, he saw a gold coin glistening in the empty saucer. The same thing happened the next day and the next. In this way, the brahmin would make an offering of milk to the cobra every evening, and return the following morning to find a gold coin in the saucer.

  One day, the brahmin had to go to a neighbouring village on some work. Before he left, he took his son aside and gave him instructions to leave a saucer of milk every evening near the anthill under the tree upon their land. The son did as his father had asked. The next day, when he returned with some more milk, he saw a gold coin in the saucer. ‘The anthill must be full of gold,’ thought the son to himself. ‘What if I kill the snake and take all the gold at once? That way we won’t have to wait each day for a coin!’

  Placing his offering of milk near the anthill, the boy hid himself behind the tree and waited for the snake to emerge. As the snake came out and began to drink the milk, the boy jumped out from behind the tree and struck it a mighty blow upon its head. The snake, though badly hurt, did not die. Instead, it reared up and struck the boy with its sharp and poison-filled fangs. The boy died instantly. The boy’s relatives, finding him lying dead there, built a pyre under the tree and cremated him on the spot.

  When the brahmin returned, his relati
ves told him what had happened. Though sad and grieving at his son’s death, the brahmin nevertheless condemned what the boy had done. ‘He who does not protect a living creature that comes seeking shelter will lose that which is most precious to him—as did the golden swans upon the lake of lotuses.’

  ‘Oh, and how did that happen?’ asked his relatives.

  So the brahmin told them the story of the golden swans.

  The Story of the Golden Swans

  In a certain town there lived a king called Chitraratha who owned a beautiful lake called Padmasar. The lake was covered with lotuses, and upon it lived a flock of golden swans. Every six months the swans would each shed a golden feather, which the king would collect.

  One day, another golden bird, called Hemvarna, arrived at the lake. ‘Hey, you can’t stay here,’ protested the swans. ‘This lake belongs to the king, and only we have the right to live here. Every six months we give him a golden feather each for the privilege of living here!’ The swans continued to protest and argue, till at last the golden bird decided to appeal to the king.

  ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘the swans upon your lake say that I cannot live there, and that even you, the king, can do nothing about it for every six months they pay you a golden feather each for the lake. Please decide if they are right or I am.’

  At this the king summoned his soldiers. ‘Go at once to the lake,’ he ordered, ‘and kill each and every one of those impertinent golden swans!’ The soldiers ran to do the king’s bidding.

  An old swan at the lake saw the soldiers coming. ‘This doesn’t look good for us, my friends,’ he called to the other swans. ‘We must fly away at once, before the king’s soldiers kill us all!’