At this, Karalamukha began to wail and weep even louder. ‘Now I have lost my house as well! It is true that misfortunes never come singly,’ he wept. ‘Oh what shall I do? Shall I fight this crocodile, or politely ask him to leave? Or should I threaten him, bribe him, or try to come to some agreement? Or—and this may be the best plan—should I ask my friend the monkey for advice?’
The crocodile called up to the monkey and said, ‘My dear friend, a huge crocodile, much bigger than me, has moved into my house. Please tell me, what should I do to get him out?’
‘How dare you ask me for advice?’ replied Raktamukha angrily. ‘You betrayed our friendship and tried to kill me because your wife wanted to eat my heart! And now you have the cheek to ask me for help? I will not waste my time with you. In any case, you are too stupid to take good advice even when you are given it, and everyone knows what happens to people who disregard wise counsel—they are quickly destroyed, as was the camel with the bell.’
‘Why, what happened to the camel?’ asked the crocodile.
So Raktamukha told him the story of the camel who had a bell around his neck.
The Story of the Camel Who Had a Bell around His Neck
In a certain town, there lived a chariot-maker called Ujjwalaka. Though he worked as hard as anyone else, he was poorer than all the other chariot-makers, carpenters and artisans in the town. ‘This poverty will never leave me,’ he thought in despair. ‘My friends all have soaring mansions, while I still live in this poor hut.’ Fed up of the daily struggle of trying to make ends meet, he decided to seek his fortune in other lands. Taking his wife aside, he said, ‘Wife, no matter what I do, I cannot seem to earn enough money in this town. So I have decided to go to the next town and see what I can do there.’ And saying goodbye to his wife and children, the chariot-maker set off on his journey.
Now, his path lay through a dense forest. As he made his way through the forest, he saw a camel sitting alone by the path. She was clearly lost, and what’s more, she was in labour. The chariot-maker took pity on her. Giving up his plan to journey to another land, he led the poor camel back to his house. Asking his wife to look after her, he returned to the forest to gather tender young leaves and branches for the camel to eat. When he had gathered enough, he returned home and spread the leaves and branches before the camel, who gratefully munched her way through them. A few hours later, the camel gave birth to a beautiful little calf.
The chariot-maker took great care of the camel and her calf. When the calf was old enough to be weaned, he began to sell the camel’s milk to the townspeople. He was soon earning more money by selling milk than he had ever earned as a chariot-maker. ‘Why should I bother with my old profession when my new one is so profitable?’ he thought. He gave up his old trade and used his savings to buy a herd of camels from Gujarat. He was now a wealthy man, and owned several camels and their calves. His favourite, though, was the first little calf whose mother he had rescued from the forest, and to distinguish him from the other young camels, he tied a tinkling bell around his neck.
The young camel loved his bell and would walk about proudly to make it jingle. Unfortunately, he grew quite conceited with it, and soon began to think himself better than the other camels. Each day the herd of camels would go into the forest to munch fresh new leaves and drink from the clear, sparkling stream that flowed through the trees. The young camel would go too, but considering himself too good for the others, he would hang back and follow at a proud distance.
The other camels would urge him to catch up. ‘It is dangerous to be alone in the forest, especially with that jingling bell around your neck—you never know what fierce beast it may attract,’ they would say. But the vain young camel would ignore them. He loved his jingling bell, and huh, he could take care of himself.
One day, a lion wandering the forest in search of prey heard the jingling of the camel’s little bell. Curious, he followed the sound and saw the herd of young camels making their way to the stream for a drink. The lion knew he could not attack a whole herd and was about to turn away when he noticed that one of them was lagging behind the rest. This was, of course, the young camel with the bell. The lion waited patiently. Soon the other camels had drunk their fill and turned towards home. The young camel with the bell, as usual, refused to go back with them. The lion waited till the other camels had gone away. Now the young camel was quite alone. The lion waited no longer but pounced upon him and killed him with a single bite to his throat.
‘And that is why I say,’ concluded Raktamukha, ‘that he who disregards good advice comes to a quick and unhappy end.’
Karalamukha heard the story and said, ‘I know I have been a bad and ungrateful friend, but we have shared many things in the past. For the sake of that old friendship, please tell me what to do. After all, how noble is your compassion if you help only those who have been good to you? Those who are truly virtuous help even those who are evil or have harmed them.’
The crocodile’s words hit home. ‘You are right,’ conceded Raktamukha. ‘Listen to me then: go home and fight the crocodile who has taken possession of your house. For if you fight him, there can only be two outcomes—you will be killed, in which case you will die fighting for a just cause, or you will get your house back. In either case, your problem will be solved and you will receive the admiration of everyone around you. As the wise have counselled, in war,
Submit to the great
Use strategy against the valiant
Placate the weak with gifts
And fight your equals as an equal—
Which the clever jackal well knew.’
‘Oh really, what did he do?’ asked the crocodile.
So Raktamukha told him the story of the clever jackal.
The Story of the Clever Jackal
In a certain forest there lived a jackal called Mahachaturaka. One day, as he wandered through the trees in search of food, he saw an elephant lying dead upon the ground. The jackal went up to the carcass, and circled it cautiously; seeing that the elephant was really and truly dead, he settled down to make a meal of the carcass. But the elephant’s hide was so thick that he could not bite through it with his weak jackal’s teeth.
As he sat there and pondered the problem, a lion came strolling by, also in search of food. The jackal ran up to the lion at once, and throwing himself before him, cried in humble tones, ‘Sire, I am your devoted servant. I have been keeping guard over this elephant carcass just for you. So please, Your Majesty, partake now of this royal feast.’
The lion, seeing the jackal so meek and humble, replied, ‘My dear fellow, you do know that I don’t eat any animal I have not killed myself. I am not in the habit of feeding off animals found lying dead in the forest. The virtuous do not give up their good habits even in times of want, so even though I am very hungry right now, I will not stoop to eat this elephant. Instead, I present this carcass to you—take it as a gift from me to you.’ And so saying, the lion went loftily on his way.
Just then, a tiger came slinking through the underbrush. ‘I got rid of one villain by pretending to be meek and humble,’ thought the jackal, ‘but now here comes another one! What shall I do with him? He is not arrogant like the lion, but he is valiant and honourable. He won’t be placated by shows of meekness or offers of gifts. So I must use strategy to get rid of him!’ The jackal then went up to the tiger and pretending to shake with fright, he said, ‘Oh Uncle, why have you come here, straight into the jaws of death? The lion who killed this elephant has gone down to the river for a drink, leaving me to guard his kill. He has ordered me to let him know the moment any tiger comes by, so he can return at once and kill him. A tiger once stole his kill from him, because of which he has vowed to rid this forest of tigers.’
The tiger trembled to hear this, and said to the jackal, ‘My dear nephew, spare me my life. Don’t tell the lion about me and let me go. I will leave this place as fast as I can!’ And so saying, the tiger ran away.
As soon as the t
iger left, along came a cheetah. ‘Hmm, this cheetah has sharp teeth, maybe I can get him to rip a hole in the elephant’s hide,’ thought the jackal. He went up to the cheetah and said, ‘Hey nephew, where have you been? I haven’t seen you around for a while. You look hungry. But you are my guest, so do come and help yourself to a bite out of this elephant carcass. The lion who killed it has left me to guard it. So I say, eat your fill of the elephant and run away before the lion returns.’
‘If that is the case, Uncle, I would rather not touch this elephant,’ said the cheetah, drawing back. ‘I don’t want the lion to kill me! I would rather skip this meal and live another day to enjoy the good things in this world. It is said, and wisely so, that we must eat only food which is worth eating, which we can digest, and which does us good in the long run. I cannot digest this elephant carcass and it will do me no good to take a bite out of it if the lion were to kill me for it!’
‘O come, come, don’t be such a coward,’ chided the jackal. ‘Eat with an easy mind. I will warn you well before the lion comes, and you can run away before he sees you.’
The cheetah allowed himself to be persuaded and going up to the carcass, began to gnaw and bite it. When the jackal saw that he had torn a hole through the elephant’s thick hide, he cried out, ‘Run, nephew, run! The lion is on his way back!’
Hearing this, the cheetah fled for his life.
The jackal looked with satisfaction at the hole the cheetah had made in the elephant’s hide. He could finally get to the juicy flesh beneath. He had just settled down to his meal when another jackal came out of the trees. Mahachaturaka looked at the intruder, and saw that he was his equal in strength and size. He reminded himself of the following lines:
Submit to the great
Use strategy against the valiant
Placate the weak with gifts
And fight your equals as an equal.
Then, summoning up his courage, he threw himself at the second jackal and, biting and snapping, tore him from limb to limb.
Finally, having got rid of all competition, the jackal sat down to enjoy his meal and lived off the elephant carcass for many long and happy days.
‘And that is why I say,’ said Raktamukha, ‘go and fight the crocodile who has taken over your house. He may be huge, but you are not little either! You are well matched in size and strength. Destroy him before he has a chance to settle in and put down roots. If he succeeds in doing that, he will destroy you. Besides, there is no happier place than home. You may decide to give up your home to the intruder, and go away to another land, but remember, in a foreign land, even your own kind are not your friends—as the dog soon found out.’
‘Oh, and how was that?’ asked the crocodile.
So Raktamukha told him the story of the dog in a foreign land.
The Story of the Dog in a Foreign Land
In a certain town, there lived a dog called Chitranga. Once, that town was hit by a severe drought. Soon there was nothing left to eat, and birds, animals and people began to die of hunger. Chitranga, thin and starving, decided to leave for another land where he hoped to find more food.
After travelling for a few days, he reached another town in a foreign kingdom. There, food was available in plenty, and the birds and animals were sleek and plump. Chitranga, prowling through the town for food, saw the open doorway of a house. He sneaked in, and finding his way to the kitchen, ate as much as his belly could hold. He would do this every day—the people who lived in that house were rather careless and never shut their door properly, nor was there ever anyone around to chase Chitranga away. Soon Chitranga, too, grew sleek and fat.
He could have been perfectly happy with this life except for the other dogs in the town. Every day, they would lie in wait for him outside the door of the house, and when Chitranga would come out, well-fed and satisfied, they would jump upon him and bite him and scratch him.
Chitranga tolerated this for a while because of the food, but then one day it became more than he could bear. ‘This is intolerable,’ he said to himself. ‘It is better to be poor and starving in my own land than a well-fed stranger in a foreign land and bear insults every day. I may be hungry in my own home, but at least I can live in peace there.’ Thinking thus, Chitranga returned to his own town.
When his friends and relatives realized that he had returned, they flocked to see him, full of eager questions. ‘How was the foreign town? Is it big, bigger than ours? Is it very beautiful? Was there a lot of food there?’ they asked.
‘Well,’ replied Chitranga, ‘There was wealth and prosperity there, and all kinds of conveniences. People left their doors open so I could sneak into their kitchens and help myself to as much food as I wanted. Everything was wonderful in that foreign land—except even my own kind were not my friends.’
The monkey, Raktamukha, stopped speaking, his story over. Karalamukha the crocodile had been listening with great attention. ‘Hmm,’ said he, thinking over the advice his friend had given. Deciding that his friend was right, and making up his mind to fight the intruder crocodile, he thanked the monkey for his help and returned home. Determined to get his house back, he fought the usurper with great courage and killed him. He got back his home and lived there in peace till the end of his days.
‘And so ends the fourth part of your lessons,’ concluded Vishnusharma.
Part 5
Unconsidered Actions
Vishnusharma said to the three princes, ‘I shall now commence the fifth part of your lessons, which deals with action undertaken without consideration. No one should do anything without first understanding what they are about to do, examining the practical aspects of their action, learning as much as they can about what is entailed and may be required, and thinking through the consequences of their deed—or they may find themselves in a situation similar to that of the foolish barber. Listen now, to the story of what happened to him.’
The Story of the Foolish Barber
It has been heard that in a kingdom in the south, there was a city called Pataliputra, in which lived a merchant called Manibhadra. He had been a rich man once, and though he had always led a virtuous and pious life, a cruel twist of fate had deprived him of all his wealth. He did not find poverty easy, and railed against the daily inconveniences and humiliations that it brought.
‘I hate being poor,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Poverty makes all other qualities useless. A man may be kind and courteous and honest, but once he has lost his money, no one respects him any more. Status, pleasure and accomplishments—all desert him the moment he loses his wealth. Poverty destroys the wisdom even of the wise, as they struggle daily with the worries of running a household. In worrying over providing food for his family, and tussling with the prices of grain and ghee, even the most intellectual men lose their intelligence. A poor man’s house is as empty as a sky without stars, as desolate as a dried-up pond and as dismal as a cremation ghat. A poor man is never given any respect, no matter how accomplished or good he may be. But a rich man—now he can get away with anything! Even his most heinous acts are forgiven. See how the sea roars or the clouds thunder, and no one complains or criticizes! A life of poverty is pointless—it is better to starve myself to death than continue to live a poor man!’
Thinking such bitter and angry thoughts, Manibhadra fell asleep, and as he slept he had a strange dream. In his dream, a naked Jain monk came up to him and said, ‘Why are you sad, Manibhadra? My name is Padmanidhi, and I am the treasure your ancestors collected and which now rightly belongs to you. Tomorrow morning, I will come to your house in this same form in which you see me now. Hit me on the head with a stout stick, and I will turn into a pile of gold coins. This pile of gold will never be exhausted, no matter how much you spend, so that you will remain a rich man till the end of your days.’
When Manibhadra woke up, he remembered his strange dream. ‘Can it be that my dream will come true?’ he wondered. Then, shaking his head, he dismissed it. ‘No, no, of course not. It cannot come true
. It was only a dream, and an improbable one at that,’ he said. ‘I worry about money all the time, and I was thinking about it just before I fell asleep. No doubt that is why I had this peculiar dream.’ Just then, there came a knock at his door. It was the barber, who had come to shave him. Manibhadra let the barber in, and was about to shut the door when who should he see walking up to his house but the very same naked monk he had seen in his dream!
The merchant was delighted to see the monk, and picking up a stout stick that stood by the door, he struck him a firm blow on the top of his head. The monk turned at once into a shower of gold coins and precious gems which fell on to the floor in a great pile. The merchant gathered up the treasure and hid it in a secret chamber of his house. Taking the barber aside, and thrusting a bag of gold coins into his hand, he said, ‘Friend, do not tell anyone what you saw just now. This must remain a secret. Do you understand?’ The barber, delighted with his bag of coins, nodded faithfully and promised to keep the merchant’s secret.
That night, when the barber returned home, he thought over what he had seen. ‘It must be that these naked monks turn into piles of gold when they are hit on the head. So I will invite some of them home tomorrow morning and hit them on the head so that I can also get a pile of gold and jewels like the merchant.’
The very next morning, the barber went to the Jain monastery, and after pretending to pray, and chanting verses in praise of the monks, he went to the chief monk to seek his blessings. After the monk had blessed him, the barber said, ‘When you go out to seek alms today, turn your steps towards my house and come and dine with me. Bring the other monks with you as well.’
The monk, annoyed, replied, ‘Do you not know that we are Jain ascetics? We live on the alms we get and do not accept invitations to dine at anyone’s home.’
Panchatantra Page 20
