Panchatantra
Page 17
On the way, the crow turned to the king of the owls and dolefully said, ‘Sire, why do you bother with one such as me? In my weak and battered state, I am of no use to you. All I want now is to fly into a fire and end my life. Please do not stop me.’
Raktaksha, who was keeping a close eye on the crow, asked suspiciously, ‘And why do you want to do that?’
Sthirajivi looked dejected and sad. ‘I have been reduced to this state by Meghavarna because I took the side of your people. So, to revenge the wrong he has done me, I wish to be reborn as an owl.’
‘You are a sly and crafty fellow, my friend, and good at deceit,’ retorted Raktaksha, who could see right through Sthirajivi’s plan. ‘Even if you are reborn as an owl, you will still remain loyal to the crows. You will never leave your true nature behind! It is not easy to turn against your own kind. After all, the mouse-maiden turned down the sun, the clouds, the wind and the mountain—only to marry a mouse!’
‘Oh, and how did that happen?’ asked the other ministers, who had been listening to Raktaksha’s conversation with the crow.
So Raktaksha told them the story of the mouse-maiden who married a mouse.
The Story of the Mouse-maiden Who Married a Mouse
On the banks of the river Ganga where, turbulent with whirlpools and flecked with white foam, it fell from the mountains on to the plains and frightened the fishes that dwelt in it by the sound of its thundering descent, there stood a hermitage. In the hermitage dwelt several ascetics, who subsisted only on roots and fruits and the pure and sacred water of the river. For clothes they wore simple loincloths made of bark, and their bodies were thin and emaciated with prayer and penance. The chief of this hermitage was a rishi called Yagyavalkya.
One morning, as the rishi finished his sacred dip in the river, a little mouse fell into his open palm from the beak of a falcon flying overhead. He placed the tiny creature gently on a leaf, and continued his prayers. When he had finished his rituals of bathing and puja, he used the powers he had acquired from years of penance and turned the little mouse into a baby girl. Carrying the baby home with him, he handed her to his wife, and said, ‘Beloved wife, we have no children of our own. But the gods have heard our prayers and sent us this foundling child. Take her and bring her up as you would our own daughter.’
His wife was overjoyed. She took the little mouse-child into her arms, and from that moment on, looked upon her as her own child. The rishi and his wife loved the little girl dearly, and pampered and indulged her in every possible way.
The years passed and the little mouse-child grew up into a beautiful and accomplished young woman. ‘Husband,’ said the rishi’s wife to him one day, ‘can you not see that our daughter is now old enough to be married? You must find a suitable young man for her.’
‘Yes, wife, you are right,’ agreed the rishi. ‘I will find a young man worthy of her in every way—he must be well-educated and handsome, a good man from a good family, who will make our daughter happy. So I will summon the sun and, if she likes him, we will marry her to him.’
His wife thought that was a good idea. So the rishi used his yogic powers to call the sun, and the sun appeared before them in their hermitage.
‘Why have you called me, O rishi?’ asked the sun.
‘This is my daughter, whom you see before you,’ replied the rishi. ‘If she is willing, please marry her.’ Turning to his daughter, he said, ‘Daughter, here is the sun himself to be your suitor. He is the lord of the universe, and his radiance lights up the three worlds. Would it please you to have him as your husband?’
‘Dear father,’ replied the mouse-maiden, ‘his radiance blinds me and his blazing rays burn me. Find me someone better than him to be my husband.’
The rishi turned to the sun and asked, ‘O bright and radiant lord, is there anyone in this world who is better than you?’
‘Yes,’ replied the sun. ‘The cloud is better than me, because when he spreads himself across the sky, I become invisible.’
So the rishi summoned the cloud. But the mouse-maiden said, ‘Dear father, he is so dark and sombre and serious-looking! Find me someone better than him.’
The rishi turned to the cloud and asked, ‘O cloud, tell me, is there anyone in this world who is better than you?’
‘Yes,’ replied the cloud. ‘The wind is better than me. If he so desires, he can blow me away!’
So the rishi summoned the wind. But the mouse-maiden said, ‘Dear father, he is too restless for me. Find me someone better than him.’
The rishi turned to the wind and asked, ‘O wind, you who go everywhere, tell me, is there anyone in this world who is better than you?’
‘Yes,’ replied the wind. ‘The mountain is better than me. I can blow as hard as I like but I cannot move him.’
So the rishi summoned the mountain. But once again, the mouse-maiden refused. ‘Dear father, his heart is of stone,’ she said. ‘I cannot marry him. Find me someone better.’
The rishi turned to the mountain and asked, ‘O mountain, steadfast and strong, tell me, is there anyone in this world who is better than you?’
‘Yes,’ said the mountain. ‘The mouse is better than me, for he can dig right through me.’
The rishi now summoned a mouse. ‘My dearest daughter,’ he said, ‘do you like this little one?’
The mouse-maiden liked the little mouse at once. ‘Oh dear father, turn me back into a mouse so I may marry him and once again be with my own people,’ she cried.
The rishi smiled, and, using his yogic powers once more, turned the maiden back into a mouse. The two mice married each other and lived happily ever after.
‘And that is why I say,’ concluded Raktaksha, ‘it is difficult to forget one’s own kind, no matter what the circumstances.’
But the other owls disregarded Raktaksha’s words, and took Sthirajivi to their fortress cave. Sthirajivi laughed to himself as he saw the cave. ‘These silly owls!’ he thought. ‘Only one amongst them has any intelligence! If they had but listened to him, there would be no trouble looming over their heads right now!’
Arimardana paused at the entrance to the cave and declared, ‘Listen to me, owls! Sthirajivi is my well-wisher, so give him a place in the cave suitable to his station.’
This did not suit Sthirajivi at all. ‘I have reached their secret cave,’ said he to himself, ‘but if I am to destroy the owls, I must make sure I do not enter the cave. Once inside, they will be able to keep watch on me and will see my every move. I will not be able to carry out my plan.’ Thinking rapidly, he turned to the king of the owls and said, ‘Sire, you do me great honour. But I am well versed in the laws of politics and know that though I am now your friend, follower and well-wisher, I was once your enemy, and therefore it is not right for me to enter your fortress. Therefore, let me remain at the entrance to the cave, where I can still see you every day and be blessed by the dust of your royal feet.’
The king gave his permission, and Sthirajivi took up residence at the entrance to the owl cave. The owls would fly back and forth, and, every day, upon their king’s orders, would bring Sthirajivi choice bits of meat and carrion to feed upon. Soon, Sthirajivi became as strong and sleek as a peacock.
Raktaksha had been keeping an eye on Sthirajivi all this while and did not like the royal treatment the crow was receiving. ‘Sire,’ he said to the king one day, ‘these ministers of yours are all great fools, and so are you. At least, so it seems to me! As the bird said
First, I was the foolish one
Then the huntsman
Then the minister and then the king
It seems we are a bunch of fools.’
‘And how was that?’ asked the other ministers, who were, as usual, listening in.
So Raktaksha told them the story of the bird with the golden droppings.
The Story of the Bird with the Golden Droppings
In a distant and mountainous country there grew a vast tree in which lived a magical bird called Sindhuka whose d
roppings would turn to gold as soon as they hit the ground. One day, an old huntsman in search of game happened to pass by the tree, and the bird, unthinking of the consequences, let his droppings fall in front of the hunter.
The huntsman, seeing the droppings turn to gold in front of his eyes, was overcome with astonishment. ‘In all my eighty years of life, I have never seen such a wonder!’ he exclaimed, and decided then and there to catch the bird. Spreading his net upon the tree, he waited.
A little later, the bird flew back to its tree, and was caught in the huntsman’s net. The huntsman quickly untangled the bird and put it securely into a cage and hurried home with his prize. On the way he began to think. ‘This bird could prove dangerous for me,’ he said to himself. ‘What if someone found out about the golden droppings? They would surely report me to the king, and the king, wanting the bird for himself, will have me killed. So rather than risk my life, I should take the bird to the king myself.’ Making up his mind, he took the bird to the royal palace the very next morning and presented it to the king.
The king was delighted with the bird. ‘Make sure this bird is properly looked after!’ he said to his attendants. ‘Give it as much food to eat and water to drink as it wants!’
The king’s minister, who had been watching, spoke up. ‘Sire,’ said he, ‘do you really believe the hunter’s crazy story? Can a bird’s droppings ever turn to gold? There is no point in keeping this poor bird a prisoner on the basis of an old man’s foolish story! I suggest that we let the bird go!’
The king took his minister’s advice, and, opening the cage, let the bird go. The bird flew away as fast as it could, pausing only for a moment to let fall some golden droppings in front of the king, and as it flew away it sang—‘First I was the fool, then the hunter, then the minister and then the king,!’
‘In the same way, we are all fools for sparing this crow’s life,’ concluded Raktaksha. ‘I say again, kill him at once.’
But the king and the other ministers did not listen to Raktaksha, and continued to feed and pamper Sthirajivi. Raktaksha then gathered his family and loyal followers together and said, ‘I have tried my best to warn the king. But he has ignored my advice, and I am afraid that we are all in grave danger here. So the time has come to leave this place and fly away to some other safe and secure cave far away. As the jackal said
He who sees the future and acts accordingly rejoices
He who fails to see what’s coming gets into trouble
Living in these woods, old age has come upon me,
Yet never before had I known of a cave that roared at me.’
‘And how was that?’ asked Raktaksha’s family and followers.
So Raktaksha told them the story of the talking cave.
The Story of the Talking Cave
In a certain forest, there lived a lion called Kharanakhara. One day, it so happened that as he roamed the forest looking for prey, he could not find a single animal to kill and eat. He was hungry and tired, and as night fell, he took shelter in a small cave in the forest. As he sat in the cave he thought, ‘Some creature or the other is bound to come into this cave seeking shelter during the night. So perhaps it is best that I remain here and wait for my dinner to walk in to me.’ Thinking thus, the lion settled himself in the cave for the night.
Now, the cave belonged to a jackal named Dadhipuchchha, who, returning from his wanderings in the forest, saw the lion’s footprints leading into his home but not coming out. ‘I am dead! The lion must be lying in wait for me inside the cave!’ he thought in panic. ‘But how can I be certain that it is indeed so?’ He thought for a while, then going up to the entrance of the cave, called out, ‘Hey cave! Hello cave!’ He fell silent and waited for a while. Hearing no sound from within, he called again, ‘Hey cave! Have you forgotten our pact? We had agreed that whenever I return I would greet you, and you would greet me in return, and only then would I come in. Now if you don’t reply and welcome me in, I will not enter but go away to another cave.’
The lion, who had been listening in silence, said to himself, ‘It is clear that this cave greets the jackal upon his return every day. Today my presence has frightened it into silence. So let me pretend to be the cave and welcome the jackal in. He will enter the cave upon my invitation, and will instantly become my dinner.’ Taking a deep breath, the lion roared a greeting as politely as he could. His roar echoed round the cave and the confined space magnified it to such an extent that it resounded through the forest far and wide, scaring the other animals almost out of their wits.
The jackal, of course, ran for his life as swiftly as he could. And so, because he had anticipated trouble and had acted accordingly, he survived. Had he not done so, but walked blindly into the cave, he would have definitely been killed and eaten.
‘And in similar manner, I sense disaster here,’ said Raktaksha. ‘So consider what I say, and come with me. Let us leave this cave and fly away to a safer place.’
Convinced by his story, his family and loyal followers took Raktaksha’s advice and flew away with him that very night to a distant land, safe from the schemes and stratagems of Sthirajivi the crow.
Sthirajivi was very pleased to hear of Raktaksha’s departure. ‘It is now much easier for me to carry out my plan to kill the owls. I will set fire to their cave and kill them all!’ he thought in glee. ‘Raktaksha was far-sighted and wise. The rest of the owls are stupid. Their king is now surrounded by fools, and without the clever Raktaksha to warn him, he will be easily destroyed. ’
Sthirajivi now began to put his evil plan into action. Each day he would add a dry twig to his nest at the entrance of the owl cave. The foolish owls did not realize that the crow was expanding his nest only so he could collect enough twigs to set fire to their cave. When his collection of twigs had grown large enough, Sthirajivi waited for the sun to rise. As day broke and the owls retired to their cave, he flew quickly to Meghavarna, king of the crows. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I have made all arrangements to set the enemy’s cave on fire. So hurry, come with your attendants, each one bringing with him a burning twig from the forest. Throw the twigs into my nest at the entrance of the owl cave. My nest will catch fire and our enemies will burn to death in their cave.’
Meghavarna was delighted to see his old minister. ‘But tell me first, how are you and where have you been? Tell me all that has happened to you.’
‘Sire, this is no time for delay,’ said Sthirajivi sharply. ‘It is possible that even as I speak an enemy spy has seen or heard us. If the owls find out what we are up to, all our plans will come to nothing. I will tell you everything later.’
Meghavarna heeded Sthirajivi’s advice, and flew with his followers to the owl cave. Each crow carried in its beak a burning twig, which it threw on the enormous nest that Sthirajivi had built. The nest caught fire at once, and in a matter of seconds the owl cave too was engulfed in flames. The owls, blind and helpless, could not fight the fire, and they perished, every one, in the blaze.
The crows, with their enemy destroyed, returned to their old banyan tree. When everyone had settled in comfortably once more, Meghavarna turned to Sthirajivi and said, ‘Now tell us, respected sir, as you had promised, all that you did while you were away. We are all very eager to know—how did you spend your time with the enemy? Living with the enemy is like lying on the edge of a sword—one false move and you are dead. It must have been very difficult, not to say dangerous.’
‘The owl king’s ministers were a bunch of fools, which made my job easier,’ replied Sthirajivi. ‘There was only one, Raktaksha, who realized what I was planning, and so he flew away and escaped. The others did not have a grain of sense. They did not even know that someone who has left his own side and gone over to the enemy’s can never be trusted for it is most likely that he has come there as a spy. I, on the other hand, lay low and waited for my chance. As you said, it was both difficult and dangerous, but it was my duty to serve my people, and so I set my own convenience aside and took on the t
ask of lying on the sword’s edge. After all, one who is clever and cunning bides his time, even bearing the enemy on his shoulders, as did the black serpent who ate up the frogs.’
‘And how did he do that?’ asked Meghavarna.
So Sthirajivi told him the story of the serpent and the frogs.
The Story of the Serpent and the Frogs
Near a certain mountain, there lived an old snake called Mandavisha. As the days passed, it became more and more difficult for him to hunt for prey. ‘I am now too old to hunt,’ he said to himself. ‘What can I do to make sure that I have a steady supply of food without too much effort?’ He thought hard for a while, and then, coming up with a plan, slithered to a nearby pond that was full of frogs. There, stationing himself by the pond’s edge and making sure the frogs could see him, he began to weave to and fro as though deeply agitated.
A watching frog called out and asked, ‘Uncle, what’s the matter? How come you are not busy hunting us for your dinner this evening?’
‘Ah son, how can one as unfortunate as me hope for dinner?’ sighed the snake. ‘I was out just now, looking for food, when I saw a frog leaping ahead of me. I went after him, but the frog jumped into a lake where a group of brahmins were bathing. In the failing light—for the sun is setting, as you can see—I could not see where it had gone, and quite by mistake I bit a brahmin’s young son, mistaking his toe for the frog. The boy died instantly, and his father, overcome by grief, cursed me. ‘You scoundrel,’ he said, ‘you bit my son for no reason at all and killed him! You will now spend the rest of your days serving the frogs as their steed, and you will eat only what the frogs allow you to eat!’ So here I am, at your service, O frogs!’
The frog told the other frogs all that the snake had said, and the other frogs told their king, a great big frog called Jalapada. Jalapada was delighted to hear this, and, taking his ministers with him, immediately swam to the spot where the snake lay waiting. He hopped out of the pond and on to the snake’s hood, where he sat feeling most grand and important. The other frogs hopped on to the snake’s back, and soon there was such a rush and clamour to ride on the snake that the frogs who couldn’t climb on to his back hopped along after him as he began to move. The snake, keen to convince the frogs of his sincerity, gave the frog king and his retinue a long ride, twisting and curving and slithering and sliding in all kinds of fancy manoeuvres. The frog king was very pleased with his new steed.