There dwelt in a certain forest a hunter named Ugravira, who was lord
of the woods, and as such, had to pay a fixed sum of money to the king
of the country. It happened once that the king unexpectedly demanded
of him one thousand five hundred pons. [71] The hunter sold all his
property and realised only a thousand pons, and was perplexed how
to procure the rest of the required amount. At length he bethought
him of his dog, which was of the best kind, and was beloved by him
more than anything else in the whole world. He took his dog to an
adjacent city, where he pledged him to a merchant named Kubera for
five hundred pons, at the same time giving the merchant his bond
for the loan. Before going away, the hunter with tears in his eyes,
thus addressed the intelligent animal:--
"Mrigasimha, [i.e., lion among beasts] O my faithful friend, do not
leave thy new master until I have paid him back the money I have
borrowed of him. Obey and serve him, even as thou hast ever obeyed
and served me."
Some time after this, the merchant Kubera had to leave home and
proceed with his merchandise to foreign countries: so he called the
hunter's dog to his side, and bade him watch at his doors and prevent
the intrusion of robbers and other evil-disposed persons. The dog
indicated, both by his eyes and his tail, that he perfectly understood
his instructions. Then the merchant, having enjoined his wife to
feed the dog three times every day with rice and milk, set out on
his travels. The dog kept his watch outside the house, and for a few
days the merchant's wife fed him regularly three times a day. But this
kind treatment was not to continue. She had for her paramour a wicked
youth of the Setti caste, who, soon after the departure of Kubera,
became a constant visitor at the merchant's house. The faithful dog
instinctively surmised that his new master would not approve of such
conduct; so one night, when the youth was leaving the house, Mrigasimha
sprang upon him like an enraged lion, and seizing him by the throat,
sent the evildoer to the other world. The merchant's wife hearing
the scuffle, ran to the spot to save her lover, but found him dead.
Though extremely grieved at the loss of her paramour, she had the
presence of mind to immediately carry the body to the garden at the
back of the house, where she concealed it in a great pit, and covered
it with earth and leaves, vainly thinking that she had thus concealed
her own shame. All this was not done, however, without being observed
by the watchful dog; and, henceforward, the merchant's wife hated
him with a deadly hatred. She no longer gave him food, and the poor
creature was fain to eat such grains of rice as he found adhering to
the leaves thrown out of the house after meals, still keeping guard
at the door.
After an absence of two months the merchant returned, and the dog,
the moment he saw him, ran up to him and rolled himself on the ground
at his feet; then seizing the merchant's cloth he dragged him to the
very spot in the garden where the youth's body was hidden, and began
to scratch the ground, at the same time looking into the merchant's
face and howling dismally, from which Kubera concluded that the dog
wished him to examine the place. Accordingly he dug up the spot and
discovered the body of the youth, whom, indeed, he had suspected
of being his wife's paramour. In a great fury he rushed into the
house and commanded his wife, on pain of instant death, to relate the
particulars of this affair without concealing anything. The wretched
woman, seeing that her sin was discovered, confessed all, upon which
her husband exclaimed!--
"Disgrace of womankind! you have not a fraction of the virtue possessed
by this faithful brute, which you have, out of revenge, allowed to
starve. But why should I waste words on thee? Happy am I in having no
children by thee! Depart, and let me see thy face no more." So saying,
he thrust her out of the house. Then the merchant fed the dog with
milk, rice and sugar, after which he said to that lion of beasts
(Mrigasimha, as he was called)--
"Thou trusty friend, language fails to express my gratitude to
thee. The five hundred pons which I lent thy old master the hunter
are as nothing compared with thy services to me, by which I consider
the debt as more than paid. What must be the feelings of the hunter
without thy companionship? I now give thee leave to return to him."
The merchant took the hunter's bond, and tearing it slightly at the
top as a token that it was cancelled, he placed it in the dog's mouth
and sent him back to his former master, and he at once set off towards
the forest.
Now by this time the hunter had contrived to save up the five
hundred pons, and with the money and the interest due thereon, he
was going to the merchant to redeem his bond and reclaim his dog. To
his great surprise he met Mrigasimha on the way, and as soon as the
dog perceived him he ran up to him to receive his caresses. But the
hunter immediately concluded that the poor brute, in his eagerness to
rejoin him, had run away from the merchant, and determined to put him
to death. Accordingly he plucked a creeper, and fastening it round the
dog's neck tied him to a branch of a tree, and the faithful creature,
who was expecting nothing but kindness from his old master, was by him
most cruelly strangled. The hunter then continued his journey, and,
on reaching the merchant's house, he laid down the money before him.
"My dear friend," said Kubera, "the important service your dog
rendered me in killing my wife's paramour, has amply repaid your
debt, so I gave him permission to return to you, with your bond in
his mouth. Did you not meet him on your way? But why do you look so
horrified? What have you done to the dog?"
The hunter, to whom everything was now only too clear, threw himself
on the ground, like a huge tree cut at the root, and, after telling
Kubera how he had inconsiderately slain the faithful dog, stabbed
himself with his dagger. The merchant grieved at the death both of
the dog and the hunter, which would not have occurred had he waited
until Ugravira came to redeem his bond, snatched the weapon out of the
hunter's breast and also stabbed himself. The news of this tragedy
soon reached the forest, and the wife of the hunter, not wishing to
survive her lord, threw herself into a well and was drowned. Lastly,
even the wife of the merchant, finding that so many fatalities were
due to her own misconduct, and that she was despised by the very
children in the streets, put an end to her wretched life.
"Thus," added the Second Minister, "five lives were lost in consequence
of the hunter's rashness. Wherefore I would respectfully beseech your
Majesty to investigate the case of Bodhaditya, and to refrain from
acting merely under the influence of anger."
Having thus spoken, Bodhachandra obtained leave to retire to his
own house.