Once on a time, there came there to hunt a terrible army of Bhillas,

making a noise with cows' horns strongly blown; and the whole of

that great wood was like an army fleeing in rout, with terrified

antelopes for dust-stained banners, and the bushy tails of the

chamarí deer, agitated in fear, resembling chowries, as the host of

Pulindas rushed upon it to slay various living creatures. And after

the army of Savaras had spent the day in the hunting-grounds, in the

sport of death, they returned with the loads of flesh which they had

obtained. But a certain aged Savara, who had not obtained any flesh,

saw the tree in the evening, and being hungry, approached it, and

he quickly climbed up it, and kept dragging parrots and other birds

from their nests, killing them, and flinging them on the ground. And

when I saw him coming near, like the minister of Yama, I slowly crept

in fear underneath the wing of my father. And in the meanwhile the

ruffian came near our nest, and dragged out my father, and wringing

his neck, flung him down on the ground at the foot of the tree. And

I fell with my father, and slipping out from underneath his wing, I

slowly crept in my fear into the grass and leaves. Then the rascally

Bhilla came down, and roasted some of the parrots and ate them,

and others he carried off to his own village.

Then my fear was at an end, but I spent a night long from grief, and in

the morning, when the flaming eye [18] of the world had mounted high

in the heaven, I, being thirsty, went to the bank of a neighbouring

lake full of lotuses, tumbling frequently, clinging to the earth

with my wings, and there I saw on the sand of the lake a hermit,

named Maríchi, who had just bathed, as it were my good works in a

former state of existence. He, when he saw me, refreshed me with

drops of water flung in my face, and, putting me in the hollow of

a leaf, out of pity, carried me to his hermitage. There Pulastya,

the head of the hermitage, laughed when he saw me, and being asked

by the other hermits, why he laughed, having supernatural insight,

he said--"When I beheld this parrot, who is a parrot in consequence

of a curse, I laughed out of sorrow, but after I have said my daily

prayers, I will tell a story connected with him, which shall cause

him to remember his former birth, and the occurrences of his former

lives." After saying this, the hermit Pulastya rose up for his daily

prayer, and, after he had performed his daily prayer, being again

solicited by the hermits, the great sage told this story concerning me.

The hermit's story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and Makarandiká,

wherein it appears who the parrot was in a former birth.

There lived in the city of Ratnákara a king named Jyotishprabha,

who ruled the earth with supreme authority, as far as the sea, the

mine of jewels. There was born to him, by his queen named Harshavatí,

a son, whose birth was due to the favour of Siva propitiated by severe

asceticism. Because the queen saw in a dream the moon entering her

mouth, the king gave his son the name of Somaprabha. And the prince

gradually grew up with ambrosial qualities, furnishing a feast to

the eyes of the subjects.

And his father Jyotishprabha, seeing that he was brave, young, beloved

by the subjects, and able to bear the weight of empire, gladly anointed

him crown-prince. And he gave him as minister the virtuous Priyankara,

the son of his own minister named Prabhákara. On that occasion Mátali

descended from the heaven with a celestial horse, and coming up to

Somaprabha, said to him: "You are a Vidyádhara, a friend of Indra's,

born on earth, and he has sent you an excellent horse named Ásusravas,

the son of Uchchhaihsravas, in memory of his former friendship;

if you mount it, you will be invincible by your foes." After the

charioteer of Indra had said this, he gave Somaprabha that splendid

horse, and after receiving due honour, he flew up to heaven again.

Then Somaprabha spent that day pleasantly in feasting, and the next

day said to his father the king; "My father, the duty of a Kshatriya

is not complete without a desire for conquest, so permit me to march

out to the conquest of the regions." When his father Jyotishprabha

heard that, he was pleased, and consented, and made arrangements for

his expedition. Then Somaprabha bowed before his father, and marched

out on an auspicious day, with his forces, for the conquest of the

regions, mounted on the horse given by Indra. And by the help of his

splendid horse, he conquered the kings of every part of the world,

and being irresistible in might, he stripped them of their jewels. He

bent his bow and the necks of his enemies at the same time; the bow was

unbent again, but the heads of his enemies were never again uplifted.

Then, as he was returning in triumph, on a path which led him near the

Himálayas, he made his army encamp, and went hunting in a wood. And

as chance would have it, he saw there a Kinnara, made of a splendid

jewel, and he pursued him on his horse given by Indra, with the object

of capturing him. The Kinnara entered a cavern in the mountain, and

was lost to view, but the prince was carried far away by that horse.

And when the sun, after diffusing illumination over the quarters of

the world, had reached the western peak, where he meets the evening

twilight, the prince, being tired, managed, though with difficulty,

to return, and he beheld a great lake, and wishing to pass the night

on its shores, he dismounted from his horse. And after he had given

grass and water to the horse, and had taken fruits and water himself,

and felt rested, he suddenly heard from a certain quarter the sound

of a song. Out of curiosity he went in the direction of the sound,

and saw at no great distance a heavenly nymph, singing in front of

a linga of Siva. He said to himself in astonishment, "Who may this

lovely one be?" And she, seeing that he was of noble appearance, said

to him bashfully--"Tell me, who are you? How did you reach alone this

inaccessible place?" When he heard this, he told his story, and asked

her in turn, "Tell me, who are you and what is your business in this

wood?" When he asked this question, the heavenly maiden said--"If you

have any desire, noble sir, to hear my tale, listen, I will tell it;"

after this preface she began to speak with a gushing flood of tears.

Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Rasmimat.

There is here, on the table-land of the Himálayas, a city named

Kánchanábha, and in it there dwells a king of the Vidyádharas named

Padmakúta. Know that I am the daughter of that king by his queen

Hemaprabhá, and that my name is Manorathaprabhá, and my father loves

me more than his life. I, by the power of my science, used to visit,

with my female companions, the isles, and the principal mountains,

and the woods, and the gardens, and after amusing myself, I made a

point of returning every day at my father's meal-time, at the third

watch of the day, to my palace. Once on a time I arrived here as I

was roaming about, and I saw on the shore of the lake a hermit's son

with his companion. And being summoned by the splendour of his beauty,

as if by a female messenger, I approached him, and he welcomed me with

a wistful look. And then I sat down, and my friend, perceiving the

feelings of both, put this question to him through his companion,

"Who are you, noble sir, tell me?" And his companion said; "Not

far from here, my friend, there lives in a hermitage a hermit named

Dídhitimat. He, being subject to a strict vow of chastity, was seen

once, when he came to bathe in this lake, by the goddess Srí, who came

there at the same time. As she could not obtain him in the flesh, as he

was a strict ascetic, and yet longed for him earnestly with her mind,

she conceived a mind-born son. And she took that son to Dídhitimat,

saying to him, 'I have obtained this son by looking at you; receive

it.' And after giving the son to the hermit, Srí disappeared. And the

hermit gladly received the son, so easily obtained, and gave him the

name of Rasmimat, and gradually reared him, and after investing him

with the sacred thread, taught him out of love all the sciences. Know

that you see before you in this young hermit that very Rasmimat the

son of Srí, come here with me on a pleasure journey." When my friend

had heard this from the youth's friend, she, being questioned by him

in turn, told my name and descent as I have now told it to you.

Then I and the hermit's son became still more in love with one another

from hearing one another's descent, and while we were lingering there,

a second attendant came and said to me, "Rise up, your father, fair

one, is waiting for you in the dining-room of the palace." When I heard

that, I said--"I will return quickly," and leaving the youth there, I

went into the presence of my father out of fear. And when I came out,

having taken a very little food, the first attendant came to me and

said of her own accord: "The friend of that hermit's son came here,

my friend, and standing at the door of the court said to me in a state

of hurried excitement--'Rasmimat has sent me here now, bestowing on me

the power of travelling in the air, which he inherits from his father,

to see Manorathaprabhá: he is reduced to a terrible state by love and

cannot retain his breath a moment longer, without that mistress of

his life.'" The moment I heard this, I left my father's palace, and,

accompanied by that friend of the hermit's son, who showed me the way,

and my attendant, I came here, and when I arrived here, I saw that

that hermit's son, separated from me, had resigned, at the rising of

the moon, the nectar of his life. So I, grieved by separation from

him, was blaming my vital frame, and longing to enter the fire with

his body. But at that very moment a man, with a body like a mass of

flame, descended from the sky, and flew up to heaven with his body.

Then I was desirous to hurl myself into the fire alone, but at that

moment a voice issued from the air here; "Manorathaprabhá, do not

do this thing, for at the appointed time thou shalt be re-united

to this thy hermit's son." On hearing this, I gave up the idea of

suicide, and here I remain full of hope, waiting for him, engaged

in the worship of Siva. And as for the friend of the hermit's son,

he has disappeared somewhere.

When the Vidyádhara maiden had said this, Somaprabha said to her,

"Then, why do you remain alone, where is that female attendant of

yours?" When the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she answered: "There is

a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sinhavikrama, and he has a matchless

daughter named Makarandiká; she is a friend of mine, dear as my life,

who sympathizes with my grief, and she to-day sent her attendant to

learn tidings of me. So I sent back my own attendant to her, with her

attendant; it is for that reason that I am at present alone." As she

was saying this, she pointed out to Somaprabha her attendant descending

from heaven. And she made the attendant, after she had told her news,

strew a bed of leaves for Somaprabha, and also give grass to his horse.

Then, after passing the night, they rose up in the morning, and

saw approaching a Vidyádhara, who had descended from heaven. And

that Vidyádhara, whose name was Devajaya, after sitting down, spoke

thus to Manorathaprabhá--"Manorathaprabhá, king Sinhavikrama informs

you that your friend, his daughter Makarandiká, out of love for you,

refuses to marry until you have obtained a bridegroom. So he wishes you

to go there and admonish her, that she may be ready to marry." When

the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she prepared to go, out of regard

for her friend, and then Somaprabha said to her:--"Virtuous one, I

have a curiosity to see the Vidyádhara world: so take me there, and

let my horse remain here supplied with grass." When she heard that,

she consented, and taking her attendant with her, she flew through

the air, with Somaprabha, who was carried in the arms of Devajaya.

When she arrived there, Makarandiká welcomed her, and seeing

Somaprabha, asked, "Who is this?" And when Manorathaprabhá told

his story, the heart of Makarandiká was immediately captivated by

him. He, for his part, thought in his mind, deeming he had come upon

Good Fortune in bodily form--"Who is the fortunate man destined to

be her bridegroom?"

Then, in confidential conversation, Manorathaprabhá put the

following question to Makarandiká; "Fair one, why do you not wish

to be married?" And she, when she heard this, answered:--"How could

I desire marriage until you have accepted a bridegroom, for you are

dearer to me than life?" When Makarandiká said this in an affectionate

manner, Manorathaprabhá said--"I have chosen a bridegroom, fair one;

I am waiting here in hopes of union with him." When she said this,

Makarandiká said--"I will do as you direct." [19]

Then Manorathaprabhá, seeing the real state of her feelings, said

to her, "My friend, Somaprabha has come here as your guest, after

wandering through the world, so you must entertain him as a guest

with becoming hospitality." When Makarandiká heard this, she said:--"I

have already bestowed on him, by way of hospitality, every thing but

myself, but let him accept me, if he is willing." When she said this,

Manorathaprabhá told their love to her father, and arranged a marriage

between them. Then Somaprabha recovered his spirits, and delighted

said to her:--"I must go now to your hermitage, for possibly my army,

commanded by my minister, may come there tracking my course, and if

they do not find me, they may return, suspecting something untoward. So

I will depart, and after I have learned the tidings of the host,

I will return, and certainly marry Makarandiká on an auspicious

day." When Manorathaprabhá heard that, she consented, and took him

back to her own hermitage, making Devajaya carry him in his arms.

In the meanwhile his minister Priyankara came there with the

army, tracking his footsteps. And while Somaprabha, in delight,

was recounting his adventures to his minister, whom he met there,

a messenger came from his father, with a written message that he was

to return quickly. Then, by the advice of his minister, he went with

his army back to his own city, in order not to disobey his father's

command, and as he started, he said to Manorathaprabhá and Devajaya,

"I will return as soon as I have seen my father."

Then Devajaya went and informed Makarandiká of that, and in consequence

she became afflicted with the sorrow of separation. She took no

pleasure in the garden, nor in singing, nor in the society of her

ladies-in-waiting, nor did she listen to the amusing voices of the

parrots; she did not take food; much less did she care about adorning

herself. And though her parents earnestly admonished her, she did not

recover her spirits. And she soon left her couch of lotus-fibres,

and wandered about like an insane woman, causing distress to her

parents. And when she would not listen to their words, though they

tried to console her, her parents in their anger pronounced this

curse on her, "You shall fall for some time among the unfortunate

race of the Nishádas, with this very body of yours, without the power

of remembering your former birth." When thus cursed by her parents,

Makarandiká entered the house of a Nisháda, and became that very

moment a Nisháda maiden. And her father Sinhavikrama, the king of the

Vidyádharas, repented, and through grief for her died, and so did his

wife. Now that king of the Vidyádharas was in a former birth a rishi

who knew all the sástras, but now on account of some remnant of former

sin he has become this parrot, and his wife also has been born as a

wild sow, and this parrot, owing to the power of former austerities,

remembers what it learned in a former life.

"So I laughed, considering the marvellous results of his works. But

he shall be released, as soon as he has told this tale in the court

of a king. And Somaprabha shall obtain the parrot's daughter in his

Vidyádhara birth, Makarandiká, who has now become a Nisháda female. And

Manorathaprabhá also shall obtain the hermit's son Rasmimat, who has

now become a king; but Somaprabha, as soon as he had seen his father,

returned to her hermitage, and remains there propitiating Siva in

order to recover his beloved."

When the hermit Pulastya had said thus much, he ceased, and I

remembered my birth, and was plunged in grief and joy. Then the hermit

Maríchi, who carried me out of pity to the hermitage, took me and

reared me. And when my wings grew, I flew about hither and thither

with the flightiness natural to a bird, [20] displaying the miracle

of my learning. And falling into the hands of a Nisháda, I have in

course of time reached your court. And now my evil works have spent

their force, having been brought with me into the body of a bird.

When the learned and eloquent parrot had finished this tale in the

presence of the court, king Sumanas suddenly felt his soul filled with

astonishment, and disturbed with love. In the meanwhile Siva, being

pleased, said to Somaprabha in a dream--"Rise up, king, and go into the

presence of king Sumanas, there thou wilt find thy beloved. For the

maiden, named Makarandiká, has become, by the curse of her father,

a Nisháda maiden, named Muktálatá, and she has gone with her own

father, who has become a parrot, to the court of the king. And when

she sees thee, her curse will come to an end, and she will remember

her existence as a Vidyádhara maiden, and then a union will take place

between you, the joy of which will be increased by your recognizing

one another." Having said this to that king, Siva, who is merciful to

all his worshippers, said to Manorathaprabhá, who also was living in

his hermitage, "The hermit's son Rasmimat, whom thou didst accept as

thy bridegroom, has been born again under the name of Sumanas, so go

to him and obtain him, fair one; he will at once remember his former

birth, when he beholds thee." So Somaprabha and the Vidyádhara maiden,

being separately commanded in a dream by Siva, went immediately to the

court of that Sumanas. And there Makarandiká, on beholding Somaprabha,

immediately remembered her former birth, and being released from her

long curse, and recovering her heavenly body, she embraced him. And

Somaprabha, having, by the favour of Siva, obtained that daughter

of the Vidyádhara prince, as if she were the incarnate fortune of

heavenly enjoyment, embraced her, and considered himself to have

attained his object. And king Sumanas, having beheld Manorathaprabhá,

remembered his former birth, and entered his former body, that fell

from heaven, and became Rasmimat the son of the chief of hermits. And

once more united with his beloved, for whom he had long yearned,

he entered his own hermitage, and king Somaprabha departed with his

beloved to his own city. And the parrot too left the body of a bird,

and went to the home earned by his asceticism.

"Thus you see that the appointed union of human beings certainly

takes place in this world, though vast spaces intervene." When

Naraváhanadatta heard this wonderful, romantic, and agreeable story

from his own minister Gomukha, as he was longing for Saktiyasas,

he was much pleased.

CHAPTER LX.

Then the chief minister Gomukha, having told the story of the two

Vidyádhara maidens, said to Naraváhanadatta, "Some ordinary men even,

being kindly disposed towards the three worlds, resist with firm

resolution the disturbance of love and other passions.

Story of Súravarman who spared his guilty wife.

For the king Kuladhara once had a servant of distinguished valour,

a young man of good family, named Súravarman. And one day, as he was

returning from war, he entered his house suddenly, and found his wife

alone with his friend. And when he saw it, he restrained his wrath,

and in his self-control reflected, "What is the use of slaying this

animal who has betrayed his friend? Or of punishing this wicked

woman? Why too should I saddle my soul with a load of guilt?" After

he had thus reflected, he left them both unharmed and said to them,

"I will kill whichever of you two I see again. You must neither of

you come in my sight again. When he said this and let them depart,

they went away to some distant place, but Súravarman married another

wife, and lived there in comfort.

"Thus, prince, a man who conquers wrath will not be subject to grief;

and a man, who displays prudence, is never harmed. Even in the case

of animals prudence produces success, not valour. In proof of it,

hear this story about the lion, and the bull, and other animals."

Story of the Ox abandoned in the Forest. [21]

There was in a certain city a rich merchant's son. Once on a time, as

he was going to the city of Mathurá to trade, a draught-bull belonging

to him, named Sanjívaka, as it was dragging the yoke vigorously,

broke it, and so slipped in the path, which had become muddy by a

mountain torrent flowing into it, and fell and bruised its limbs. The

merchant's son, seeing that the bull was unable to move on account of

its bruises, and not succeeding in his attempts to raise it up from the

ground, at last in despair went off and left it there. And, as fate

would have it, the bull slowly revived, and rose up, and by eating

tender grass recovered its former condition. And it went to the bank

of the Yamuná, and by eating green grass and wandering about at will,

it became fat and strong. And it roamed about there, with full hump,

wantoning, like the bull of Siva, tearing up ant-hills with its horns,

and bellowing frequently.

Now at that time there lived in a neighbouring wood a lion named

Pingalaka, who had subdued the forest by his might; and that king

of beasts had two jackals for ministers; the name of the one was

Damanaka, and the name of the other was Karataka. That lion, going

one day to the bank of the Yamuná to drink water, heard close to

him the roar of that bull Sanjívaka. And when the lion heard the

roar of that bull, never heard before, resounding through the air,

he thought, "What animal makes this sound? Surely some great creature

dwells here, so I will depart, for if it saw me, it might slay me,

or expel me from the forest." Thereupon the lion quickly returned to

the forest without drinking water, and continued in a state of fear,

hiding his feelings from his followers.

Then the wise jackal [22] Damanaka, the minister of that king,

said secretly to Karataka the second minister, "Our master went to

drink water; so how comes it that he has so quickly returned without

drinking? We must ask him the reason." Then Karataka said--"What

business is this of ours? Have you not heard the story of the ape

that drew out the wedge?"

Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge. [23]

In a certain town, a merchant had begun to build a temple to a

divinity, and had accumulated much timber. The workmen there, after

sawing through the upper half of a plank, placed a wedge in it, and

leaving it thus suspended, went home. In the meanwhile a monkey came

there and bounded up out of mischief, and sat on the plank, the parts

of which were separated by the wedge. And he sat in the gap between

the two parts, as if in the mouth of death, and in purposeless mischief

pulled out the wedge. Then he fell with the plank, the wedge of which

had been pulled out, and was killed, having his limbs crushed by the

flying together of the separated parts.

"Thus a person is ruined by meddling with what is not his own

business. So what is the use of our penetrating the mind of the

king of beasts?" When the grave Damanaka heard Karataka say this,

he answered--"Certainly wise ministers must penetrate and observe

the peculiarities of their master's character. For who would confine

his attention to filling his belly?" When Damanaka said this, the

good Karataka said--"Prying for one's own gratification is not the

duty of a servant." Damanaka, being thus addressed, replied--"Do not

speak thus, every one desires a recompense suited to his character;

the dog is satisfied with a bone only, the lion attacks an elephant."

When Karataka heard this, he said, "And supposing under these

circumstances the master is angry, instead of being pleased, where

is your special advantage? Lords, like mountains, are exceedingly

rough, firm, uneven, difficult of access, and surrounded with noxious

creatures." Then Damanaka said, "This is true, but he who is wise,

gradually gets influence over his master by penetrating his character."

Then Karataka said--"Well, do so," and Damanaka went into the

presence of his master the lion. The lion received him kindly:

so he bowed, and sat down, and immediately said to him; "King, I

am a hereditary useful servant of yours. One useful is to be sought

after, though a stranger, but a mischievous one is to be abandoned;

a cat, being useful, is bought with money, brought from a distance,

and cherished; but a mouse, being harmful, is carefully destroyed,

though it has been nourished up in one's house. And a king, who desires

prosperity, must listen to servants who wish him well, and they must

give their lord at the right time useful counsel, even without being

asked. So, king, if you feel confidence in me, if you are not angry,

and if you do not wish to conceal your feelings from me, and if you

are not disturbed in mind by my boldness, I would ask you a certain

question." When Damanaka said this, the lion Pingalaka answered;

"You are trustworthy, you are attached to me, so speak without fear."

When Pingalaka said this, Damanaka said: "King, being thirsty, you

went to drink water; so why did you return without drinking, like one

despondent?" When the lion heard this speech of his, he reflected--"I

have been discovered by him, so why should I try to hide the truth

from this devoted servant?" Having thus reflected, he said to him,

"Listen, I must not hide anything from you. When I went to drink water,

I heard here a noise which I never heard before, and I think, it is

the terrible roar of some animal superior to myself in strength. For,

as a general rule, the might of creatures is proportionate to the

sound they utter, and it is well known that the infinitely various

animal creation has been made by God in regular gradations. And now

that he has entered here, I cannot call my body nor my wood my own;

so I must depart hence to some other forest." When the lion said this,

Damanaka answered him; "Being valiant, O king, why do you wish to

leave the wood for so slight a reason? Water breaks a bridge, secret

whispering friendship, counsel is ruined by garrulity, cowards only

are routed by a mere noise. There are many noises, such as those of

machines, which are terrible till one knows the real cause. So your

Highness must not fear this. Hear by way of illustration the story

of the jackal and the drum.

Story of the Jackal and the Drum. [24]

Long ago there lived a jackal in a certain forest district. He was

roaming about in search of food, and came upon a plot of ground

where a battle had taken place, and hearing from a certain quarter a

booming sound, he looked in that direction. There he saw a drum lying

on the ground, a thing with which he was not familiar. He thought,

"What kind of animal is this, that makes such a sound?" Then he saw

that it was motionless, and coming up and looking at it, he came to

the conclusion that it was not an animal. And he perceived that the

noise was produced by the parchment being struck by the shaft of an

arrow, which was moved by the wind. So the jackal laid aside his fear,

and he tore open the drum, and went inside, to see if he could get

anything to eat in it, but lo! it was nothing but wood and parchment.

So, king, why do creatures like you fear a mere sound? If you approve,

I will go there to investigate the matter." When Damanaka said this,

the lion answered, "Go there, by all means, if you dare;" so Damanaka

went to the bank of the Yamuná. While he was roaming slowly about

there, guided by the sound, he discovered that bull eating grass. So

he went near him, and made acquaintance with him, and came back,

and told the lion the real state of the ease. The lion Pingalaka was

delighted and said, "If you have really seen that great ox, and made

friends with him, bring him here by some artifice, that I may see what

he is like." So he sent Damanaka back to that bull. Damanaka went to

the bull and said--"Come! our master, the king of beasts is pleased

to summon you," but the bull would not consent to come, for he was

afraid. Then the jackal again returned to the forest, and induced

his master the lion to grant the bull assurance of protection. And

he went and encouraged Sanjívaka with this promise of protection,

and so brought him into the presence of the lion. And when the lion

saw him come and bow before him, he treated him with politeness, and

said--"Remain here now about my person, and entertain no fear." And the

bull consented, and gradually gained such an influence over the lion,

that he turned his back on his other dependents, and was entirely

governed by the bull.

Then Damanaka, being annoyed, said to Karataka in secret: "See! our

master has been taken possession of by Sanjívaka, and does not

trouble his head about us. He eats his flesh alone, and never gives

us a share. And the fool is now taught his duty by this bull. [25] It

was I that caused all this mischief by bringing this bull. So I will

now take steps to have him killed, and to reclaim our master from his

unbecoming infatuation." When Karataka heard this from Damanaka, he

said--"Friend, even you will not be able to do this now." Then Damanaka

said--"I shall certainly be able to accomplish it by prudence. What

can he not do whose prudence does not fail in calamity? As a proof,

hear the story of the makara [26] that killed the crane."

Story of the crane and the Makara. [27]

Of old time there dwelt a crane in a certain tank rich in fish; and

the fish in terror used to flee out of his sight. Then the crane,

not being able to catch the fish, told them a lying tale: "There has

come here a man with a net who kills fish. He will soon catch you with

a net and kill you. So act on my advice, if you repose any confidence

in me. There is in a lonely place a translucent lake, it is unknown to

the fishermen of these parts; I will take you there one by one, and

drop you into it, that you may live there." When those foolish fish

heard that, they said in their fear--"Do so, we all repose confidence

in you." Then the treacherous crane took the fish away one by one,

and, putting them down on a rock, devoured in this way many of them.

Then a certain makara dwelling in that lake, seeing him carrying

off fish, said:--"Whither are you taking the fish?" Then that crane

said to him exactly what he had said to the fish. The makara, [28]

being terrified, said--"Take me there too." The crane's intellect was

blinded with the smell of his flesh, so he took him up, and soaring

aloft carried him towards the slab of rock. But when the makara got

near the rock, he saw the fragments of the bones of the fish that the

crane had eaten, and he perceived that the crane was in the habit of

devouring those who reposed confidence in him. So no sooner was the

sagacious makara put down on the rock, than with complete presence

of mind he cut off the head of the crane. And he returned and told

the occurrence, exactly as it happened, to the other fish, and they

were delighted, and hailed him as their deliverer from death.

"Prudence indeed is power, so what has a man, devoid of prudence,

to do with power? Hear this other story of the lion and the hare."

Story of the lion and the hare. [29]

There was in a certain forest a lion, who was invincible, and sole

champion of it, and whatever creature he saw in it, he killed. Then

all the animals, deer and all, met and deliberated together, and they

made the following petition to that king of beasts--"Why by killing us

all at once do you ruin your own interests? We will send you one animal

every day for your dinner." When the lion heard this, he consented to

their proposal, and as he was in the habit of eating one animal every

day, it happened that it was one day the lot of a hare to present

himself to be eaten. The hare was sent off by the united animals, but

on the way the wise creature reflected--"He is truly brave who does

not become bewildered even in the time of calamity, so, now that Death

stares me in the face, I will devise an expedient." Thus reflecting,

the hare presented himself before the lion late. And when he arrived

after his time, the lion said to him: "Hola! how is this that you

have neglected to arrive at my dinner hour, or what worse penalty than

death can I inflict on you, scoundrel?" When the lion said this, the

hare bowed before him, and said: "It is not my fault, your Highness,

I have not been my own master to-day, for another lion detained me on

the road, and only let me go after a long interval." When the lion

heard that, he lashed his tail, and his eyes became red with anger,

and he said: "Who is that second lion? Shew him me." The hare said:

"Let your Majesty come and see him." The lion consented and followed

him. Thereupon the hare took him away to a distant well. "Here he

lives, behold him," said the hare, and when thus addressed by the hare,

the lion looked into the well, roaring all the while with anger. And

seeing his own reflexion in the clear water, and hearing the echo

of his own roar, thinking that there was a rival lion there roaring

louder than himself, [30] he threw himself in a rage into the well,

in order to kill him, and there the fool was drowned. And the hare,

having himself escaped death by his wisdom, and having delivered all

the animals from it, went and delighted them by telling his adventure.

"So you see that wisdom is the supreme power, not strength, since by

virtue of it even a hare killed a lion. So I will effect my object

by wisdom." When Damanaka said this, Karataka remained silent.

Then Damanaka went and remained in the presence of the king Pingalaka,

in a state of assumed depression. And when Pingalaka asked him the

reason, he said to him in a confidential aside: "I will tell you,

king, for if one knows anything, one ought not to conceal it. And one

should speak too without being commanded to do so, if one desires

the welfare of one's master. So hear this representation of mine,

and do not suspect me. This bull Sanjívaka intends to kill you and

gain possession of the kingdom, for in his position of minister he has

come to the conclusion that you are timid; and longing to slay you,

he is brandishing his two horns, his natural weapons, and he talks

over the animals in the forest, encouraging them with speeches of this

kind--'We will kill by some artifice this flesh-eating king of beasts,

and then you can live in security under me, who am an eater of herbs

only.' So think about this bull; as long as he is alive, there is

no security for you." When Damanaka said this, Pingalaka answered,

"What can that miserable herb-eating bull do against me? But how

can I kill a creature that has sought my protection, and to whom I

have promised immunity from injury." When Damanaka heard this, he

said--"Do not speak so. When a king makes another equal to himself,

Fortune does not proceed as favourably as before. [31] The fickle

goddess, if she places her feet at the same time upon two exalted

persons, cannot keep her footing long, she will certainly abandon

one of the two. And a king, who hates a good servant and honours a

bad servant, is to be avoided by the wise, as a wicked patient by

physicians. Where there is a speaker and a hearer of that advice,

which in the beginning is disagreeable, but in the end is useful,

there Fortune sets her foot. He, who does not hear the advice of the

good, but listens to the advice of the bad, in a short time falls

into calamity, and is afflicted. So what is the meaning of this love

of yours for the bull, O king? And what does it matter that you gave

him protection, or that he came as a suppliant, if he plots against

your life? Moreover, if this bull remains always about your person,

you will have worms produced in you by his excretions. And they will

enter your body, which is covered with the scars of wounds from the

tusks of infuriated elephants. Why should he not have chosen to kill

you by craft? If a wicked person is wise enough not to do an injury

[32] himself, it will happen by association with him, hear a story

in proof of it."

Story of the Louse and the Flea. [33]

In the bed of a certain king there long lived undiscovered a louse,

that had crept in from somewhere or other, by name Mandavisarpiní. And

suddenly a flea, named Tittibha, entered that bed, wafted there by the

wind from some place or other. And when Mandavisarpiní saw him, she

said, "Why have you invaded my home? go elsewhere." Tittibha answered,

"I wish to drink the blood of a king, a luxury which I have never

tasted before, so permit me to dwell here." Then, to please him,

the louse said to him, "If this is the case, remain. But you must

not bite the king, my friend, at unseasonable times, you must bite

him gently when he is asleep." When Tittibha heard that, he consented

and remained. But at night he bit the king hard when he was in bed,

and then the king rose up, exclaiming, "I am bitten," then the wicked

flea fled quickly, and the king's servants made a search in the bed,

and finding the louse there, killed it.

"So Mandavisarpiní perished by associating with Tittibha. Accordingly

your association with Sanjívaka will not be for your advantage;

if you do not believe in what I say, you will soon yourself see him

approach, brandishing his head, confiding in his horns, which are

sharp as lances."

By these words the feelings of Pingalaka were changed towards the bull,

and so Damanaka induced him to form in his heart the determination

that the bull must be killed. And Damanaka, having ascertained the

state of the lion's feelings, immediately went off of his own accord

to Sanjívaka, and sat in his presence with a despondent air. The

bull said to him, "Friend, why are you in this state? Are you in good

health?" The jackal answered, "What can be healthy with a servant? Who

is permanently dear to a king? What petitioner is not despised? Who

is not subject to time?" When the jackal said this, the bull again

said to him--"Why do you seem so despondent to-day, my friend, tell

me?" Then Damanaka said--"Listen, I speak out of friendship. The

lion Pingalaka has to-day become hostile to you. So unstable is

his affection that, without regard for his friendship, he wishes to

kill you and eat you, and I see that his evilly-disposed courtiers

have instigated him to do it." The simple-minded bull, supposing, on

account of the confidence he had previously reposed in the jackal,

that this speech was true, and feeling despondent, said to him:

"Alas a mean master, with mean retainers, though he be won over by

faithful service, becomes estranged; in proof of it hear this story."

Story of the Lion, the Panther, the Crow and the Jackal. [34]

There lived once in a certain forest a lion, named Madotkata,

and he had three followers, a panther, a crow, and a jackal. That

lion once saw a camel, that had escaped from a caravan, entering

his wood, a creature he was not familiar with before, of ridiculous

appearance. That king of beasts said in astonishment, "What is this

creature?" And the crow, who knew when it behoved him to speak,

[35] said, "It is a camel." Then the lion, out of curiosity, had the

camel summoned, and giving him a promise of protection, he made him

his courtier, and placed him about his person.

One day the lion was wounded in a fight with an elephant, and

being out of health, made many fasts, though surrounded by those

attendants who were in good health. Then the lion, being exhausted,

roamed about in search of food, but not finding any, secretly asked

all his courtiers, except the camel, what was to be done. They said

to him:--"Your Highness, we must give advice which is seasonable in

our present calamity. What friendship can you have with a camel, and

why do you not eat him? He is a grass-eating animal, and therefore

meant to be devoured by us flesh-eaters. And why should not one be

sacrificed to supply food to many? If your Highness should object,

on the ground that you cannot slay one to whom you have granted

protection, we will contrive a plot by which we shall induce the

camel himself to offer you his own body." When they had said this,

the crow, by the permission of the lion, after arranging the plot,

went and said to that camel: "This master of ours is overpowered with

hunger, and says nothing to us, so we intend to make him well-disposed

to us by offering him our bodies, and you had better do the same, in

order that he may be well-disposed towards you." When the crow said

this to the camel, the simple-minded camel agreed to it, and came

to the lion with the crow. Then the crow said, "King, eat me, for

I am my own master." Then the lion said, "What is the use of eating

such a small creature as you?" Thereupon the jackal said--"Eat me,"

and the lion rejected him in the same way. Then the panther said "Eat

me," and yet the lion would not eat him; and at last the camel said

"Eat me." So the lion, and the crow, and his fellows entrapped him

by these deceitful offers, and taking him at his word, killed him,

divided him into portions, and ate him.

"In the same way some treacherous person has instigated Pingalaka

against me without cause. So now destiny must decide. For it is

better to be the servant of a vulture-king with swans for courtiers,

than to serve a swan as king, if his courtiers be vultures,

much less a king of a worse character, with such courtiers. [36]

"When the dishonest Damanaka heard Sanjívaka say that, he replied,

"Everything is accomplished by resolution, listen--I will tell you

a tale to prove this."

Story of the pair of Tittibhas.

There lived a certain cock tittibha on the shore of the sea with his

hen. And the hen, being about to lay eggs, said to the cock: "Come,

let us go away from this place, for if I lay eggs here, the sea may

carry them off with its waves." When the cock-bird heard this speech

of the hen's, he said to her--"The sea cannot contend with me." On

hearing that, the hen said--"Do not talk so; what comparison is there

between you and the sea? People must follow good advice, otherwise

they will be ruined."

Story of the Tortoise and the two Swans. [37]

For there was in a certain lake a tortoise, named Kambugríva, and

he had two swans for friends, Vikata and Sankata. Once on a time

the lake was dried up by drought, and they wanted to go to another

lake; so the tortoise said to them, "Take me also to the lake you

are desirous of going to." When the two swans heard this, they said

to their friend the tortoise--"The lake to which we wish to go is a

tremendous distance off; but, if you wish to go there too, you must

do what we tell you. You must take in your teeth a stick held by us,

and while travelling through the air, you must remain perfectly silent,

otherwise you will fall and be killed." The tortoise agreed, and took

the stick in his teeth, and the two swans flew up into the air, holding

the two ends of it. And gradually the two swans, carrying the tortoise,

drew near that lake, and were seen by some men living in a town below;

and the thoughtless tortoise heard them making a chattering, while

they were discussing with one another, what the strange thing could

be that the swans were carrying. So the tortoise asked the swans what

the chattering below was about, and in so doing let go the stick from

its mouth, and falling down to the earth, was there killed by the men.

"Thus you see that a person who lets go common sense will be ruined,

like the tortoise that let go the stick." When the hen-bird said this,

the cock-bird answered her, "This is true, my dear, but hear this

story also."

Story of the three Fish.

Of old time there were three fish in a lake near a river, one was

called Anágatavidhátri, a second Pratyutpannamati and the third

Yadbhavishya, [38] and they were companions. One day they heard some

fishermen, who passed that way, saying to one another, "Surely there

must be fish in this lake. Thereupon the prudent Anágatavidhátri,

fearing to be killed by the fishermen, entered the current of the

river and went to another place. But Pratyutpannamati remained where

he was, without fear, saying to himself, "I will take the expedient

course if any danger should arise." And Yadbhavishya remained there,

saying to himself, "What must be, must be." Then those fishermen came

and threw a net into that lake. But the cunning Pratyutpannamati,

the moment he felt himself hauled up in the net, made himself rigid,

and remained as if he were dead. The fishermen, who were killing the

fish, did not kill him, thinking that he had died of himself, so he

jumped into the current of the river, and went off somewhere else, as

fast as he could. But Yadbhavishya, like a foolish fish, bounded and

wriggled in the net, so the fishermen laid hold of him and killed him.

"So I too will adopt an expedient when the time arrives; I will not

go away through fear of the sea." Having said this to his wife, the

tittibha remained where he was, in his nest; and there the sea heard

his boastful speech. Now, after some days, the hen-bird laid eggs,

and the sea carried off the eggs with his waves, out of curiosity,

saying to himself; "I should like to know what this tittibha will do

to me." And the hen-bird, weeping, said to her husband; "The very

calamity which I prophesied to you, has come upon us." Then that

resolute tittibha said to his wife, "See, what I will do to that

wicked sea!" So he called together all the birds, and mentioned the

insult he had received, and went with them and called on the lord

Garuda for protection. And the birds said to him: "Though thou art our

protector, we have been insulted by the sea as if we were unprotected,

in that it has carried away some of our eggs." Then Garuda was angry,

and appealed to Vishnu, who dried up the sea with the weapon of fire,

and made it restore the eggs. [39]

"So you must be wise in calamity and not let go resolution. But now

a battle with Pingalaka is at hand for you. When he shall erect his

tail, and arise with his four feet together, then you may know that he

is about to strike you. And you must have your head ready tossed up,

and must gore him in the stomach, and lay your enemy low, with all

his entrails torn out."

After Damanaka had said this to the bull Sanjívaka, he went to

Karataka, and told him that he had succeeded in setting the two

at variance.

Then Sanjívaka slowly approached Pingalaka, being desirous of finding

out the mind of that king of beasts by his face and gestures. And

he saw that the lion was prepared to fight, being evenly balanced

on all four legs, and having erected his tail, and the lion saw that

the bull had tossed up his head in fear. Then the lion sprang on the

bull and struck him with his claws, the bull replied with his horns,

and so their fight went on. And the virtuous Karataka, seeing it,

said to Damanaka--"Why have you brought calamity on our master to gain

your own ends? Wealth obtained by oppression of subjects, friendship

obtained by deceit, and a lady-love gained by violence, will not

remain long. But enough; whoever says much to a person who despises

good advice, incurs thereby misfortune, as Súchímukha from the ape."

Story of the Monkeys, the Firefly, and the Bird. [40]

Once on a time, there were some monkeys wandering in a troop in

a wood. In the cold weather they saw a firefly and thought it was

real fire. So they placed grass and leaves upon it, and tried to

warm themselves at it, and one of them fanned the firefly with his

breath. A bird named Súchímukha, when he saw it, said to him, "This

is not fire, this is a firefly, do not fatigue yourself." Though the

monkey heard, he did not desist, and thereupon the bird came down from

the tree, and earnestly dissuaded him, at which the ape was annoyed,

and throwing a stone at Súchímukha, crushed him.

"So one ought not to admonish him, who will not act on good advice. Why

then should I speak? you well know that you brought about this quarrel

with a mischievous object, and that which is done with evil intentions

cannot turn out well."

Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi. [41]

For instance, there were long ago in a certain village two brothers,

the sons of a merchant, Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi by name. They

left their father's house and went to another country to get wealth,

and with great difficulty acquired two thousand gold dínárs. And

with them they returned to their own city. And they buried those

dínárs at the foot of a tree, with the exception of one hundred,

which they divided between them in equal parts, and so they lived in

their father's house.

But one day Dushtabuddhi went by himself and dug up of his own accord

those dínárs, which were buried at the foot of the tree, for he was

vicious and extravagant. [42] And after one month only had passed,

he said to Dharmabuddhi: "Come, my elder brother, let us divide those

dínárs; I have expenses." When Dharmabuddhi heard that, he consented,

and went and dug with him, where he had deposited the dínárs. And when

they did not find any dínárs in the place where they had buried them,

the treacherous Dushtabuddhi said to Dharmabuddhi: "You have taken

away the dínárs, so give me my half." But Dharmabuddhi answered: "I

have not taken them, you must have taken them." So a quarrel arose,

and Dushtabuddhi hit Dharmabuddhi on the head with a stone, and

dragged him into the king's court. There they both stated their case,

and as the king's officers could not decide it, they were proceeding

to detain them both for the trial by ordeal. Then Dushtabuddhi said

to the king's officers; "The tree, at the foot of which these dínárs

were placed, will depose, as a witness, that they were taken away by

this Dharmabuddhi. And they were exceedingly astonished, but said,

"Well, we will ask it to-morrow." Then they let both Dharmabuddhi and

Dushtabuddhi go, after they had given bail, and they went separately

to their house.

But Dushtabuddhi told the whole matter to his father, and secretly

giving him money, said; "Hide in the trunk of the tree and be my

witness." His father consented, so he took him and placed him at night

in the capacious trunk of the tree, and returned home. And in the

morning those two brothers went with the king's officers, and asked

the tree, who took away those dínárs. And their father, who was hidden

in the trunk of the tree, replied in a loud clear voice: "Dharmabuddhi

took away the dínárs." When the king's officers heard this surprising

utterance, they said; "Surely Dushtabuddhi must have hidden some one

in the trunk." So they introduced smoke into the trunk of the tree,

which fumigated the father of Dushtabuddhi so, that he fell out of the

trunk on to the ground, and died. When the king's officers saw this,

they understood the whole matter, and they compelled Dushtabuddhi to

give up the dínárs to Dharmabuddhi. And so they cut off the hands

and cut out the tongue of Dushtabuddhi, and banished him, and they

honoured Dharmabuddhi as a man who deserved his name. [43]

"So you see that a deed done with an unrighteous mind is sure to

bring calamity, therefore one should do it with a righteous mind,

as the crane did to the snake."

Story of the Crane, the Snake and the Mungoose. [44]

Once on a time a snake came and ate the nestlings of a certain crane,

as fast as they were born; that grieved the crane. So, by the advice

of a crab, he went and strewed pieces of fish from the dwelling of a

mungoose as far as the hole of the snake, and the mungoose came out,

and following up the pieces of fish, eating as it went on, was led

to the hole of the snake, which it saw and entered, and killed him

and his offspring.

"So by a device one can succeed; now hear another story."

Story of the mice that ate an iron balance. [45]

Once on a time there was a merchant's son, who had spent all his

father's wealth, and had only an iron balance left to him. Now the

balance was made of a thousand palas of iron; and depositing it in

the care of a certain merchant, he went to another land. And when,

on his return, he came to that merchant to demand back his balance,

the merchant said to him: "It has been eaten by mice." He repeated,

"It is quite true, the iron, of which it was composed, was particularly

sweet, and so the mice ate it." This he said with an outward show of

sorrow, laughing in his heart. Then the merchant's son asked him to

give him some food, and he, being in a good temper, consented to give

him some. Then the merchant's son went to bathe, taking with him the

son of that merchant, who was a mere child, and whom he persuaded

to come with him by giving him a dish of ámalakas. And after he

had bathed, the wise merchant's son deposited the boy in the house

of a friend, and returned alone to the house of that merchant. And

the merchant said to him, "Where is that son of mine?" He replied,

"A kite swooped down from the air and carried him off." The merchant

in a rage said, "You have concealed my son," and so he took him

into the king's judgment-hall; and there the merchant's son made the

same statement. The officers of the court said, "This is impossible,

how could a kite carry off a boy?" But the merchant's son answered;

"In a country where a large balance of iron was eaten by mice, a

kite might carry off an elephant, much more a boy." [46] When the

officers heard that, they asked about it, out of curiosity, and made

the merchant restore the balance to the owner, and he, for his part,

restored the merchant's child.

"Thus, you see, persons of eminent ability attain their ends by

an artifice. But you, by your reckless impetuosity, have brought

our master into danger." When Damanaka heard this from Karataka,

he laughed and said--"Do not talk like this! What chance is there

of a lion's not being victorious in a fight with a bull? There is a

considerable difference between a lion, whose body is adorned with

numerous scars of wounds from the tusks of infuriated elephants,

and a tame ox, whose body has been pricked by the goad." While the

jackals were carrying on this discussion, the lion killed the bull

Sanjívaka. When he was slain, Damanaka recovered his position of

minister without a rival, and remained for a long time about the

person of the king of beasts in perfect happiness.

Naraváhanadatta much enjoyed hearing from his prime minister Gomukha

this wonderful story, which was full of statecraft, and characterized

by consummate ability.

NOTE TO CHAPTER 60. THE FABLES OF PILPAY.

Wilson in his collected works, (Vol. IV, p. 139) remarks that we

have in the Kathá Sarit Ságara an earlier representative of the

original collection of Indian fables, than even the Panchatantra, as

it agrees better with the Kalilah and Dimnah than the Panchatantra

does. The earliest Indian form of the Panchatantra appears to have

been translated into Pehlevi in the time of the king of Persia,

Khushru Naushírváns (between 531 and 572 A. D.); upon this the Arabic

translation was based. It was edited by Silvestre de Sacy under the

title, "Calila et Dimna ou Fables de Bidpai," and has been translated

into German by Wolff, and into English by Knatchbull. There are many

recensions of the Arabic translation as of the Panchatantra. (Benfey

is of opinion that originally the latter work consisted of more than

five sections.) The oldest translation of the Arabic version is the

Greek one by Symeon Seth, which was made about 1080, A. D. (Benfey,

Einleitung, p. 8, with note). The Latin translation of Possinus was

made from this. Perhaps the most important translation of all is the

Hebrew translation of Rabbi Joel. It must have been made about 1250. It

has never been edited, with the exception of a small fragment, and is

practically represented by the Latin translation of John of Capua,

made between 1263 and 1278. Benfey considers that the first German

translation was made from a MS. of this. The oldest German translation

has no date. The second appeared at Ulm in 1483. Another version,

probably not based upon any of these, is a poetical paraphrase, the

Alter Aesopus of Baldo, edited by Edéléstand du Méril in his Poésies

inédites du Moyen Age. There is a Spanish translation from the Arabic,

perhaps through an unknown Latin version, which appeared about 1251. A

portion has been published by Rodriguez De Castro. Possibly Raimond's

Latin translation was based partly on this, and partly on the Latin

translation of the Hebrew by John of Capua.

The Arabic version was translated into Persian by Nasr Allah in the

12th century. Upon it is based the Anvár-i-Suhaili of Husain Vaiz,

which was written three centuries later. It has been translated into

English by Eastwick. (Hertford 1854). (The above note is summarized

from Benfey's Einleitung). See also Rhys Davids' Buddhist Birth

Stories, Introduction, pp. xciii and xciv. He says that the Arabic

version was made from the Syriac.

CHAPTER LXI.

Then the minister Gomukha again said to Naraváhanadatta, in order

to solace him while pining for Saktiyasas; "Prince, you have heard

a tale of a wise person, now hear a tale about a fool."

Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into charcoal. [47]

A certain rich merchant had a blockhead of a son. He, once on a time,

went to the island of Katáha to trade, and among his wares there was

a great quantity of fragrant aloes-wood. And after he had sold the

rest of his wares, he could not find any one to take the aloes-wood

off his hands, for the people who live there are not acquainted with

that article of commerce. Then, seeing people buying charcoal from

the woodmen, the fool burnt his stock of aloes-wood and reduced it

to charcoal. Then he sold it for the price which charcoal usually

fetched, and returning home, boasted of his cleverness, and became

a laughing-stock to everybody.

"I have told you of the man who burnt aloes-wood, now hear the tale

of the cultivator of sesame."

Story of the man who sowed roasted seed. [48]

There was a certain villager who was a cultivator, and very nearly

an idiot. He one day roasted some sesame-seeds, and, finding them

nice to eat, he sowed a large number of roasted seeds, hoping that

similar ones would come up. When they did not come up, on account of

their having been roasted, he found that he had lost his substance,

and people laughed at him.

"I have spoken of the sesame-cultivator, now hear about the man who

threw fire into water."

Story of the fool who mixed fire and water. [49]

There was a silly man, who, one night, having to perform a sacrifice

next day, thus reflected:--"I require water and fire, for bathing,

burning incense, and other purposes; so I will put them together,

that I may quickly obtain them when I want them." Thus reflecting, he

threw the fire into the pitcher of water, and then went to bed. And

in the morning, when he came to look, the fire was extinct, and the

water was spoiled. And when he saw the water blackened with charcoal,

his face was blackened also, and the faces of the amused people were

wreathed in smiles.

"You have heard the story of the man who was famous on account of

the pitcher of fire, now hear the story of the nose-engrafter."

Story of the man who tried to improve his wife's nose.

There lived in some place or other a foolish man of bewildered

intellect. He, seeing that his wife was flat-nosed, and that his

spiritual instructor was high-nosed, [50] cut off the nose of the

latter when he was asleep: and then he went and cut off his wife's

nose, and stuck the nose of his spiritual instructor on her face,

but it would not grow there. Thus he deprived both his wife and his

spiritual guide of their noses.

"Now hear the story of the herdsman who lived in a forest."

Story of the foolish herdsman.

There lived in a forest a rich but silly herdsman. Many rogues

conspired together and made friends with him. They said to him,

"We have asked the daughter of a rich inhabitant of the town in

marriage for you, and her father has promised to give her. When he

heard that, he was pleased and gave them wealth, and after a few days

they came again and said, "Your marriage has taken place." He was very

much pleased at that, and gave them abundance of wealth. And after

some more days they said to him: "A son has been born to you." He

was in ecstasies at that, and he gave them all his wealth, like

the fool that he was, and the next day he began to lament, saying,

"I am longing to see my son." And when the herdsman began to cry,

he incurred the ridicule of the people on account of his having been

cheated by the rogues, as if he had acquired the stupidity of cattle

from having so much to do with them.

"You have heard of the herdsman; now hear the story of the

ornament-hanger."

Story of the fool and the ornaments. [51]

A certain villager, while digging up the ground, found a splendid

set of ornaments, which thieves had taken from the palace and placed

there. He immediately took them and decorated his wife with them;

he put the girdle on her head, and the necklace round her waist,

and the anklets on her wrists, and the bracelets on her ears.

When the people heard of it, they laughed, and bruited it about. So the

king came to hear of it, and took away from the villager the ornaments,

which belonged to himself, but let the villager go unharmed, because

he was as stupid as an animal.

Story of the Fool and the Cotton. [52]

I have told you, prince, of the ornament-finder, now hear the story

of the cotton-grower. A certain blockhead went to the market to

sell cotton, but no one would buy it from him on the ground that

it was not properly cleaned. In the meanwhile he saw in the bazar

a goldsmith selling gold, which he had purified by heating it, and

he saw it taken by a customer. When the stupid creature saw that,

he threw the cotton into the fire in order to purify it, and when it

was burnt up, the people laughed at him.

"You have heard, prince, this story of the cotton-grower, now hear

the story of the men who cut down the palm-trees."

Story of the Foolish Villagers who cut down the palm-trees.

Some foolish villagers were summoned by the king's officers, and

set to work to gather some dates in accordance with an order from

the king's court. [53] They, perceiving that it was very easy to

gather the dates of one date-palm that had tumbled down of itself,

cut down all the date-palms in their village. And after they had

laid them low, they gathered from them their whole crop of dates,

and then they raised them up and planted them again, but they did not

succeed in making them grow. And then, when they brought the dates,

they were not rewarded, but on the contrary punished with a fine by

the king, who had heard of the cutting down of the trees. [54]

"I have told you this joke about the dates, now I am going to tell

you about the looking for treasure."

Story of the Treasure-finder who was blinded.

A certain king took to himself a treasure-finder. And the wicked

minister of that king had both the eyes of the man, who was able to

find the places where treasure was deposited, torn out, in order that

he might not run away anywhere. The consequence was that, being blind,

he was incapacitated from seeing the indications of treasure in the

earth, whether he ran away or remained; and people, seeing that,

[55] laughed at the silly minister.

"You have heard of the searching for treasure, now hear about the

eating of salt."

Story of the Fool and the Salt.

There was once on a time an impenetrably stupid man living in

a village. [56] He was once taken home by a friend who lived in

the city, and was regaled on curry and other food, made savoury by

salt. And that blockhead asked, "What makes this food so savoury?" His

friend told him that its relish was principally due to salt. He came

to the conclusion that salt was the proper thing to eat, so he took

a handful of crushed salt and threw it into his mouth, and ate it;

the powdered salt whitened the lips and beard of the foolish fellow,

and so the people laughed at him till his face became white also.

"You have heard, prince, the story of the devourer of salt, now hear

the story of the man who had a milch-cow."

Story of the Fool and his Milch-cow. [57]

There was once on a time a certain foolish villager, and he had one

cow. And that cow gave him every day a hundred palas of milk. And once

on a time it happened that a feast was approaching. So he thought;

"I will take all the cow's milk at once on the feast-day, and so get

very much." Accordingly the fool did not milk his cow for a whole

month. And when the feast came, and he did begin to milk it, he found

its milk had failed, but to the people this was an unfailing source

of amusement.

"You have heard of the fool who had a milch-cow, now hear the story

of these other two fools."

Story of the Foolish Bald Man and the Fool who pelted him.

There was a certain bald man with a head like a copper pot. Once on

a time a young man, who, being hungry, had gathered wood-apples,

as he was coming along his path, saw him sitting at the foot of a

tree. In fun he hit him on the head with a wood-apple; the bald man

took it patiently and said nothing to him. Then he hit his head with

all the rest of the wood-apples that he had, throwing them at him one

after another, and the bald man remained silent, even though the blood

flowed. So the foolish young fellow had to go home hungry without his

wood-apples, which he had broken to pieces in his useless and childish

pastime of pelting the bald man; and the foolish bald man went home

with his head streaming with blood, saying to himself; "Why should

I not submit to being pelted with such delicious wood-apples?" And

everybody there laughed, when they saw him with his head covered with

blood, looking like the diadem with which he had been crowned king

of fools.

"Thus you see, prince, that foolish persons become the objects of

ridicule in the world, and do not succeed in their objects; but wise

persons are honoured."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard from Gomukha these elegant and amusing

anecdotes, he rose up and performed his day's duties. And when night

came on, the prince was anxious to hear some more stories, and at

his request, Gomukha told this story about wise creatures.

Story of the Crow and the King of the Pigeons, the Tortoise and the

Deer. [58]

There was in a certain forest region a great Salmali tree; and in

it there lived a crow, named Laghupátin, who had made his dwelling

there. One day, as he was in his nest, he saw below the tree a

terrible-looking man arrive with a stick, net in hand. And while the

crow looked down from the tree, he saw that the man spread out the

net on the ground, and strewed there some rice, and then hid himself.

In the meanwhile the king of the pigeons, named Chitragríva, as he was

roaming through the air, attended by hundreds of pigeons, came there,

and seeing the grains of rice scattered on the ground, he alighted

on the net out of desire for food, and got caught in the meshes with

all his attendants. When Chitragríva saw that, he said to all his

followers; "Take the net in your beaks, and fly up into the air as

fast as you can." All the terrified pigeons said,--"So be it"--and

taking the net, they flew up swiftly, and began to travel through

the air. The fowler too rose up, and with eye fixed upwards, returned

despondent. Then Chitragríva, being relieved from his fear, said to his

followers; "Let us quickly go to my friend the mouse Hiranya, he will

gnaw these meshes asunder and set us at liberty." With these words he

went on with those pigeons, who were dragging the net along with them,

and descended from the air at the entrance of a mouse's hole. And

there the king of the pigeons called the mouse, saying,--"Hiranya,

come out, I, Chitragríva, have arrived." And when the mouse heard

through the entrance, and saw that his friend had come, he came out

from that hole with a hundred openings. The mouse went up to him,

and when he had heard what had taken place, proceeded with the utmost

eagerness to gnaw asunder the meshes, that kept the pigeon-king and

his retinue prisoners. And when he had gnawed the meshes asunder,

Chitragríva took leave of him with kind words, and flew up into the

air with his companions.

And when the crow, who had followed the pigeons, saw that, he came to

the entrance of the hole, and said to the mouse who had re-entered it;

"I am Laghupátin, a crow; seeing that you tender your friends dearly,

I choose you for my friend, as you are a creature capable of delivering

from such calamities." When the mouse saw that crow from the inside

of his hole, he said, "Depart! what friendship can there be between

the eater and his prey?" Then the crow said,--"God forbid! If I were

to eat you, my hunger might be satisfied for a moment, but if I make

you my friend, my life will be always preserved by you." When the

crow had said this, and more, and had taken an oath, and so inspired

confidence in the mouse, the mouse came out, and the crow made friends

with him. The mouse brought out pieces of flesh and grains of rice,

and there they both remained eating together in great happiness.

And one day the crow said to his friend the mouse: "At a considerable

distance from this place there is a river in the middle of a forest,

and in it there lives a tortoise named Mantharaka, who is a friend of

mine; for his sake I will go to that place where flesh and other food

is easily obtained; it is difficult for me to obtain sustenance here,

and I am in continual dread of the fowler." When the crow said this

to him, the mouse answered,--"Then we will live together, take me

there also; for I too have an annoyance here, and when we get there,

I will explain the whole matter to you." When Hiranya said this,

Laghupátin took him in his beak, and flew to the bank of that forest

stream. And there he found his friend, the tortoise Mantharaka,

who welcomed him, and he and the mouse sat with him. And after they

had conversed a little, that crow told the tortoise the cause of his

coming, together with the circumstance of his having made friends

with Hiranya. Then the tortoise adopted the mouse, as his friend on

an equal footing with the crow, and asked the cause of the annoyance

which drove him from his native place. Then Hiranya gave this account

of his experiences in the hearing of the crow and the tortoise.

Story of the Mouse and the Hermit. [59]

I lived in a great hole near the city, and one night I stole a

necklace from the palace, and laid it up in my hole. And by looking

at that necklace I acquired strength, [60] and a number of mice

attached themselves to me, as being able to steal food for them. In

the meanwhile a hermit had made a cell near my hole, and he lived on

a large stock of food, which he obtained by begging. Every evening he

used to put the food, which remained over after he had eaten, in his

beggar's porringer on an inaccessible peg, meaning to eat it the next

day. [61] And, every night, when he was asleep, I entered by a hole,

and jumping up, carried it off.

Once on a time, another hermit, a friend of his, came there, and

after eating, conversed with him during the night. And I was at that

time attempting to carry off the food, so the first hermit, who was

listening, made the pot resound frequently by striking it with a

piece of split cane. And the hermit, who was his guest, said, "Why

do you interrupt our conversation to do this?" Whereupon the hermit

to whom the cell belonged, answered him, "I have got an enemy here

in the form of this mouse, who is always jumping up and carrying off

this food of mine, though it is high up. I am trying to frighten him

by moving the pot of food with a piece of cane." When he said this,

the other hermit said to him, "In truth this covetousness is the bane

of creatures, hear a story illustrative of this."

Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds. [62]

Once on a time, as I was wandering from one sacred bathing-place to

another, I reached a town, and there I entered the house of a certain

Bráhman to stay. And while I was there, the Bráhman said to his wife,

"Cook to-day, as it is the change of the moon, a dish composed of

milk, sesame, and rice, for the Bráhmans." She answered him, "How

can a pauper, like you, afford this?" Then the Bráhman said to her,

"My dear, though we should hoard, we should not direct our thoughts

to excessive hoarding--hear this tale."

Story of the greedy Jackal. [63]

In a certain forest a hunter, after he had been hunting, fixed an arrow

in a self-acting bow, [64] and after placing flesh on it, pursued

a wild boar. He pierced the wild boar with a dart, but was mortally

wounded by his tusks, and died; and a jackal beheld all this from a

distance. So he came, but though he was hungry, he would not eat any

of the abundant flesh of the hunter and the boar, wishing to hoard it

up. But he went first to eat what had been placed on the bow, and that

moment the arrow fixed in it flew up, and pierced him so that he died.

"So you must not indulge in excessive hoarding." When the Bráhman said

this, his wife consented, and placed some sesame-seeds in the sun. And

while she went into the house, a dog tasted them and defiled them,

so nobody would buy that dish of sesame-seeds and rice. [65]

"So, you see, covetousness does not give pleasure, it only causes

annoyance to those who cherish it." When the hermit, who was a visitor,

had said this, he went on to say; "If you have a spade, give it me,

in order that I may take steps to put a stop to this annoyance caused

by the mouse." Thereupon the hermit, to whom the cell belonged,

gave the visitor a spade, and I, who saw it all from my place of

concealment, entered my hole. Then the cunning hermit, who had come

to visit the other, discovering the hole by which I entered, began to

dig. And while I retired further and further in, he went on digging,

until at last he reached the necklace and the rest of my stores. And

he said to the hermit, who resided there, in my hearing, "It was by

the power of this necklace that the mouse had such strength." So they

took away all my wealth and placed the necklace on their necks, and

then the master of the cell and the visitor went to sleep with light

hearts. But when they were asleep, I came again to steal, and the

resident hermit woke up and hit me with a stick on the head. That

wounded me, but, as it chanced, did not kill me, and I returned

to my hole. But after that, I had never strength to make the bound

necessary for stealing the food. For wealth is youth to creatures,

and the want of it produces old age; owing to the want of it, spirit,

might, beauty, and enterprise fail. So all my retinue of mice, seeing

that I had become intent on feeding myself only, left me. Servants

leave a master who does not support them, bees a tree without flowers,

swans a tank without water, in spite of long association.

"So I have been long in a state of despondency, but now, having

obtained this Laghupátin for a friend, I have come here to visit you,

noble tortoise." When Hiranya had said this, the tortoise Manthara

answered--"This is a home to you; so do not be despondent, my

friend. To a virtuous man no country is foreign; a man who is content

cannot be unhappy; for the man of endurance calamity does not exist;

there is nothing impossible to the enterprising." While the tortoise

was saying this, a deer, named Chitránga, came to that wood from a

great distance, having been terrified by the hunters. When they saw

him, and observed that no hunter was pursuing him, the tortoise and

his companions made friends with him, and he recovered his strength

and spirits. And those four, the crow, the tortoise, the mouse, and

the deer, long lived there happily as friends, engaged in reciprocal

courtesies.

One day Chitránga was behind time, and Laghupátin flew to the top

of a tree to look for him, and surveyed the whole wood. And he saw

Chitránga on the bank of the river, entangled in the fatal noose, and

then he came down and told this to the mouse and the tortoise. Then

they deliberated together, and Laghupátin took up the mouse in his

beak, and carried him to Chitránga. And the mouse Hiranya comforted

the deer, who was distressed at being caught, and in a moment set

him at liberty by gnawing his bonds asunder. [66] In the meanwhile

the tortoise Manthara, who was devoted to his friends, came up the

bank near them, having travelled along the bed of the river. At that

very moment the hunter, who had set the noose, arrived from somewhere

or other, and when the deer and the others escaped, caught and made

prize of the tortoise. And he put it in a net, and went off, grieved

at having lost the deer. In the meanwhile the friends saw what had

taken place, and by the advice of the far-seeing mouse, the deer went

a considerable distance off, and fell down as if he were dead. [67]

And the crow stood upon his head, and pretended to peck his eyes. When

the hunter saw that, he imagined that he had captured the deer, as

it was dead, and he began to make for it, after putting down the

tortoise on the bank of the river. When the mouse saw him making

towards the deer, he came up, and gnawed a hole in the net which held

the tortoise, so the tortoise was set at liberty, and he plunged into

the river. And when the deer saw the hunter coming near, without the

tortoise, he got up, and ran off, and the crow, for his part, flew up

a tree. Then the hunter came back, and finding that the tortoise had

escaped by the net's having been gnawed asunder, he returned home,

lamenting that the tortoise had fled and could not be recovered.

Then the four friends came together again in high spirits, and the

gratified deer addressed the three others as follows; "I am fortunate

in having obtained you for friends, for you have to-day delivered me

from death at the risk of your lives." In such words the deer praised

the crow and the tortoise and the mouse, and they all lived together

delighting in their mutual friendship.

Thus, you see, even animals attain their ends by wisdom, and they

risk their lives sooner than abandon their friends in calamity. So

full of love is the attachment that subsists among friends; but

attachment to women is not approved because it is open to jealousy;

hear a story in proof of this.

Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of murdering a

Bhilla. [68]

There lived once on a time in a certain town a jealous husband, who

had for wife a beautiful woman, whom he loved exceedingly. But being

suspicious he never left her alone, for he feared that she might be

seduced even by men in pictures. However, one day he had to go to

another country on unavoidable business, and he took his wife with

him. And seeing that a forest inhabited by Bhillas lay in his way, he

left his wife in the house of an old Bráhman villager, and proceeded

on his journey. But, while she was there, she saw some Bhillas, who had

come that way, and she eloped with a young Bhilla whom she saw. And she

went with him to his village, [69] following her inclinations, having

escaped from her jealous husband, as a river that has broken a dam.

In the meanwhile her husband finished his business, and returned, and

asked the Bráhman villager for his wife, and the Bráhman answered him,

"I do not know where she has gone; so much only I know, that some

Bhillas came here: she must have been carried off by them. And their

village is near here, go there quickly, you will find your wife there,

without doubt." When the Bráhman told him this, he wept, and blamed his

own folly, and went to that village of Bhillas, and there he saw his

wife. When the wicked woman saw him, she approached him in fear and

said, "It is not my fault, the Bhilla brought me here by force." Her

husband, blind with love, said, "Come along, let us return home,

before any one discovers us." But she said to him, "Now is the time

when the Bhilla returns from hunting; when he returns he will certainly

pursue you and me, and kill us both. So enter this cavern at present,

and remain concealed. But at night we will kill him when he is asleep,

and leave this place in perfect safety." When the wicked woman said

this to him, he entered the cave; what room is there for discernment

in the heart of one blinded with love?

The Bhilla returned at the close of the day, and that wicked woman

shewed him her husband in the cave, whom his passion had enabled

her to decoy there. And the Bhilla, who was a strong man, and cruel,

dragged out the husband, and tied him firmly to a tree, in order that

he might next day offer him to Bhavání.

And he ate his dinner, and at night lay down to sleep by the side of

the faithless wife, before the eyes of the husband. Then that jealous

husband, who was tied to the tree, seeing him asleep, implored Bhavání

to help him in his need, praising her with hymns. She appeared and

granted him a boon, so that he escaped from his bonds, and cut off

the head of the Bhilla with his own sword. Then he woke up his wife,

and said to her: "Come, I have killed this villain," and she rose

up much grieved. And the faithless woman set out at night with her

husband, but she secretly took with her the head of the Bhilla. And

the next morning, when they reached a town, she shewed the head,

and laying hands upon her husband, cried out, "This man has killed

my husband." Then the city police took her with her husband before

the king. And the jealous husband, being questioned, told the whole

story. Then the king enquired into it, and finding that it was true,

he ordered the ears and nose of that faithless wife to be cut off,

and set her husband at liberty. And he went home freed from the demon

of love for a wicked woman.

"This, prince, is how a woman behaves when over-jealously watched,

for the jealousy of the husband teaches the wife to run after other

men. So a wise man should guard his wife without shewing jealousy. And

a man must by no means reveal a secret to a woman, if he desires

prosperity. Hear a story shewing this."

Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman.

A certain snake, [70] out of fear of Garuda, fled to earth, and taking

the form of a man, concealed himself in the house of a hetæra. And

that hetæra used to take as payment five hundred elephants; [71]

and the snake by his power gave her five hundred every day. And the

lady importuned him to tell her how he acquired so many elephants

every day, and who he was. And he, blinded with love, replied--"I am

a snake hiding here from fear of Garuda, do not tell any one." But

the hetæra privately told all this to the kuttiní.

Now Garuda, searching through the world for the snake, came there in

the form of a man, and he came to the kuttiní and said; "I wish to

remain to-day in your daughter's house, take my payment." And the

kuttiní said to him, "There is a snake living here, who gives us

five hundred elephants every day. What do we care about one day's

pay?" Then Garuda, finding out that the snake was living there,

entered as a guest that hetæra's house. And there he saw the snake

on the flat roof, and revealing himself in his real form, he swooped

down, and killed him, and ate him.

"So a wise man should not recklessly tell secrets to women." Having

said this, Gomukha told him another story of a simpleton.

Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer.

There was a bald man, with a head like a copper pot. And he,

being a fool, was ashamed because, though a rich man in the world,

he had no hair on his head. Then a rogue, who lived upon others,

came to him and said, "There is a physician who knows a drug that

will produce hair." When he heard it, he said;--"If you bring him

to me, I will give wealth to you and to that physician also." When

he said this, the rogue for a long time devoured his substance, and

brought to that simpleton a doctor who was a rogue also. And after

the doctor too had long lived at his expense, he one day removed

his head-dress designedly, and shewed him his bald head. In spite of

that, the blockhead, without considering, asked him for a drug which

would produce hair, then the physician said to him,--"Since I am bald

myself, how can I produce hair in others? It was in order to explain

this to you, that I showed you my bald head. But out on you! you do

not understand even now." With these words the physician went away.

"So you see, prince, rogues perpetually make sport of fools. You have

heard the story of the simpleton and his hair, now hear that of the

simpleton and the oil."

Story of a foolish servant.

A certain gentleman had a simpleton for a servant. His master sent

him once to fetch oil from a merchant, and he received from him the

oil in a vessel. And as he was returning, with the vessel in his hand,

a friend of his said to him,--"Take care of this oil-vessel, it leaks

at the bottom." When the blockhead heard this, he turned the vessel

upside down to look at the bottom of it, and that made all the oil

fall on the ground. When his master heard that, he turned out of his

house that fool, who was the laughing-stock of the place.

"So it is better for a simpleton to rely upon his own sense, and

not to take advice. You have heard about the simpleton and the oil,

now hear the story of the simpleton and the bones."

Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own Sráddha. [72]

There was once a foolish man, and he had an unchaste wife. Once on

a time, when her husband had gone away for some business to another

country, she placed in charge of the house a confidential servant of

hers, a truly unique maid, after giving her instructions as to what

she was to do, and went away alone to the house of her paramour,

intent on enjoying herself without being interfered with. When

the lady's husband returned, the maid, who had been well schooled

beforehand, said with a voice choked with tears: "Your wife is dead

and burnt." She then took him to the burning-ghaut, and shewed him

the bones belonging to the pyre of some other person; the fool brought

them home with tears, and after bathing at the sacred bathing-places,

and strewing her bones there, he proceeded to perform her sráddha. And

he made his wife's paramour the officiating Bráhman at the ceremony,

as the maid brought him, saying that he was an excellent Bráhman. And

every month his wife came with that Bráhman, splendidly dressed, and

ate the sweetmeats. And then the maid said to him, "See, master, by

virtue of her chastity your wife is enabled to return from the other

world, and eat with the Bráhman." And the matchless fool believed

most implicitly what she said.

"In this way people of simple dispositions are easily imposed upon

by wicked women. You have heard about the simpleton and the bones;

now hear the story of the Chandála maiden."

Story of the ambitious Chandála maiden.

There was once a simple but good-looking Chandála maiden. And she

formed in her heart the determination to win for her bridegroom a

universal monarch. Once on a time, she saw the supreme sovereign go

out to make a progress round his city, and she proceeded to follow

him, with the intention of making him her husband. At that moment a

hermit came that way; and the king, though mounted on an elephant,

bowed at his feet, and returned to his own palace. When she saw that,

she thought that the hermit was a greater man even than the king,

and abandoning him, she proceeded to follow the hermit. The hermit,

as he was going along, beheld in front of him an empty temple

of Siva, and kneeling on the ground, he worshipped Siva, and then

departed. Then the Chandála maiden thought that Siva was greater even

than the hermit, and she left the hermit, and attached herself to the

god, with the intention of marrying him. Immediately a dog entered,

and going up on to the pedestal of the idol, lifted up his leg, and

behaved after the manner of the dog tribe. Then the Chandála maiden

thought that the dog was superior even to Siva, and leaving the god,

followed the departing dog, desiring to marry him. And the dog entered

the house of a Chandála, and out of affection rolled at the feet of

a young Chandála whom it knew. When she saw that, she concluded that

the young Chandála was superior to the dog, and satisfied with her

own caste, she chose him as her husband.

"So fools, after aspiring high, fall into their proper place. And

now hear in a few words the tale of the foolish king."

Story of the miserly king.

There was a certain foolish king, who was niggardly, though he

possessed an abundant treasure, and once on a time his ministers,

who desired his prosperity, said to him: "King, charity here averts

misery in the next life. So bestow wealth in charity; life and riches

are perishable." When the king heard this, he said, "Then I will bestow

wealth, when I am dead, and see myself reduced to a state of misery

here." Then the ministers remained silent, laughing in their sleeves.

"So, you see, a fool never takes leave of his wealth, until his wealth

takes leave of him. You have heard, prince, of the foolish king,

now hear the story of the two friends, by way of an episode in these

tales of fools."

Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting

friend. [73]

There was a king in Kányakubja, named Chandrapída. And he had a servant

named Dhavalamukha. And he, whenever he came to his house, had eaten

and drunk abroad. And one day his wife asked him,--"Where do you always

eat and drink before you come home?" And Dhavalamukha answered her,

"I always eat and drink with my friends before I come home, for

I have two friends in the world. The one is called Kalyánavarman,

who obliges me with food and other gifts, and the other is Vírabáhu,

who would oblige me with the gift of his life." When his wife heard

this, she said to Dhavalamukha, "Then shew me your two friends."

Then he went with her to the house of Kalyánavarman, and Kalyánavarman

honoured him with a splendid entertainment. The next day he went

with his wife to Vírabáhu, and he was gambling at the time, so he

welcomed him and dismissed him. Then Dhavalamukha's wife, being full

of curiosity, said to him: "Kalyánavarman entertained you splendidly,

but Vírabáhu only gave you a welcome. So why do you think more

highly of Vírabáhu than of the other?" When he heard that, he said,

"Go and tell them both in succession this fabrication, that the king

has suddenly become displeased with us, and you will find out for

yourself." She agreed, and went to Kalyánavarman and told him that

falsehood, and he answered: "Lady, I am a merchant's son, what can

I do against the king?" When he gave her this answer, she went to

Vírabáhu, and told him also that the king was angry with her husband;

and the moment he heard it, he came running with his shield and his

sword. But Dhavalamukha induced him to return home, saying that the

king's ministers had pacified his resentment. And he said to his

wife: "This, my dear, is the difference between those two friends of

mine." And she was quite satisfied.

"So you see that a friend, that shews his friendship by ceremonious

entertainment only, is a different thing from a real friend; though

oil and ghee both possess the property of oiliness, [74] oil is oil,

and ghee is ghee." When Gomukha had told this story, he continued

his tales of fools for the benefit of Naraváhanadatta.

Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink.

A certain foolish traveller, tormented by thirst, having with

difficulty got through a wood, reached a river; however, he did not

drink of it, but kept looking at the water. Some one said to him:

"Why do you not drink water, though you are thirsty?" But the blockhead

answered, "How could I drink so much water as this?" The other person

ridiculed him, saying, "What! will the king punish you, if you drink

it all up?" But still the foolish man did not drink the water.

"So you see that in this world fools will not even do a part of a

task to the best of their power, if they are not able to complete

it altogether. Now you have heard about the fool and the water,

hear the story of the son-slayer."

Story of the fool who killed his son.

There was once a foolish man, who was poor and had many sons. When one

of his sons died, he killed another, saying, How could this child go

such a long journey alone? So he was banished by the people, as being

a fool and a criminal.

"Thus a fool is as void of sense and discernment as an animal. You

have heard of the son-killer, now hear the story of the fool and

his brother."

Story of the fool and his brother.

A certain stupid fellow was talking in a crowd of men. Seeing a

respectable man some way off, he said: "That man there is brother

to me, so I shall inherit his property, but I am no relation to him,

so I am not liable for his debts." When the fool said this, even the

stones laughed at him.

Thus fools shew folly, and people blinded by the thought of their

own advantage behave in a very wonderful way. So you have heard the

story of the fool and his brother, now hear the story of the man

whose father followed a strict vow of chastity."

Story of the Brahmachárin's son.

A certain fool was engaged in relating his father's good qualities

in the midst of his friends. And describing his father's superior

excellence, he said: "My father has followed a strict vow of chastity

from his youth, there is no man who can be compared with him." When his

friends heard that, they said, "How did you come into the world?" He

answered "Oh! I am a mind-born son of his;" whereupon the matchless

fool was well laughed at by the people. [75]

"Thus foolish people make self-contradictory statements with regard

to others. You have heard the story of the son of the man who observed

a strict vow of chastity. Hear now the story of the astrologer."

Story of the astrologer who killed his son.

There was a certain astrologer wanting in discernment. He left his own

country with his wife and son, because he could not earn a subsistence,

and went to another country. There he made a deceitful display of

his skill, in order to gain complimentary presents by a factitious

reputation for ability. He embraced his son before the public and shed

tears. When the people asked him why he did this, the wicked man said:

"I know the past, the present, and the future, and that enables me to

foresee that this child of mine will die in seven days from this time:

this is why I am weeping." By these words he excited the wonder of

the people, and when the seventh day arrived, he killed his son in the

morning, as he lay asleep. When the people saw that his son was dead,

they felt confidence in his skill, and honoured him with presents,

and so he acquired wealth and returned leisurely to his own country.

"Thus foolish men, through desire of wealth, go so far as to kill

their sons, in order to make a false display of prescience; the wise

should not make friends with such. Now hear the story of the foolish

man who was addicted to anger."

Story of the violent man who justified his character.

One day a man was relating to his friends, inside a house, the good

qualities of a man, who was listening outside. Then a person present

said: "It is true, my friend, that he possesses many good qualities,

but he has two faults; he is violent and irascible." While he was

saying this, the man, who was outside, overhearing him, entered

hastily, and twisted his garment round his throat, and said: "You fool,

what violence have I done, what anger have I been guilty of?" This

he said in an abusive way, inflamed with the fire of anger. Then

the others who were there laughed, and said to him, "Why should he

speak? You have been good enough to give us ocular demonstration of

your anger and your violence."

"So you see that fools do not know their own faults, though they

are patent to all men. Now hear about the foolish king who made his

daughter grow."

Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow. [76]

A certain king had a handsome daughter born to him. On account of his

great affection for her, he wished to make her grow, so he quickly

summoned physicians, and said politely to them: "Make some preparation

of salutary drugs, in order that my daughter may grow up quickly,

and be married to a good husband." When the physicians heard this,

they said, in order to get a living out of the silly king: "There

is a medicine which will do this, but it can only be procured in a

distant country, and while we are sending for it, we must shut up

your daughter in concealment, for this is the treatment laid down

for such cases." When they had said this, they placed his daughter

in concealment there for many years, saying that they were engaged in

bringing that medicine. And when she grew up to be a young woman, they

shewed her to that king, telling him that she had been made to grow by

the medicine; and he was pleased, and loaded them with heaps of wealth.

"In this way rogues by means of imposture live on foolish

sovereigns. Now hear the story of a man who shewed his cleverness by

recovering half a pana."

Story of the man who recovered half a pana from his servant. [77]

There was once on a time a man living in a town, who was vain of

his wisdom. And a certain villager, who had served him for a year,

being dissatisfied with his salary, left him and went home. And when

he had gone, the town-bred gentleman said to his wife,--"My dear,

I hope you did not give him anything before he went?" She answered,

"Half a pana." Then he spent ten panas in provisions for the journey,

and overtook that servant on the bank of a river, and recovered from

him that half pana. And when he related it as a proof of his skill

in saving money, he became a public laughing-stock.

"Thus men, whose minds are blinded with wealth, fling away much to

gain little. Now hear the story of the man who took notes of the spot."

Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the sea. [78]

A certain foolish person, while travelling by sea, let a silver vessel

fall from his hand into the water. The fool took notes of the spot,

observing the eddies and other signs in the water, and said to himself:

"I will bring it up from the bottom, when I return." He reached the

other side of the sea, and as he was re-crossing, he saw the eddies

and other signs, and thinking he recognized the spot, he plunged

into the water again and again to recover his silver vessel. When

the others asked him what his object was, he told them, and got well

laughed at and abused for his pains.

"Now hear the story of the king who wished to substitute other flesh

for what he had taken away."

Story of the king who replaced the flesh. [79]

A foolish king saw from his palace two men below. And seeing that

one of them had taken flesh from the kitchen, he had five palas

of flesh cut from his body. When the flesh had been cut away, the

man groaned and fell on the earth, and the king, seeing him, was

moved with compassion, and said to the warder: "His grief cannot be

assuaged because five palas of flesh were cut from him, so give him

more than five palas of flesh by way of compensation." The warder

said: "When a man's head is cut off, does he live even if you give

him a hundred heads?" Then he went outside and had his laugh out,

and comforted the man from whom the flesh had been cut, and handed

him over to the physicians.

"So you see, a silly king knows how to punish, but not how to shew

favour. Hear this story of the silly woman who wanted another son."

Story of the woman who wanted another son. [80]

One day a woman with only one son, desiring another, applied to a

wicked female ascetic belonging to a heretical sect. The ascetic told

her that, if she killed her young son and offered him to the divinity,

another son would certainly be born to her. When she was preparing

to carry out this advice, another and a good old woman said to her in

private: "Wicked woman, you are going to kill the son you have already,

and wish to get another. Supposing a second is not born to you,

what will you do?" So that good old woman dissuaded her from crime.

"So women, who associate with witches, fall into evil courses, but

they are restrained and saved by the advice of the old. Now, prince,

hear the story of the man who brought the ámalaka fruit."

Story of the servant who tasted the fruit. [81]

A certain householder had a stupid servant. As the householder was

fond of ámalakas, he said to his servant, "Go, and bring me some

perfectly sweet ámalakas from the garden." The foolish fellow bit

every one, to taste if it was sweet, and then brought them, and said;

"Look, master, I tasted these and found them sweet, before bringing

them." And his master, seeing that they were half eaten, sent them

away in disgust and his stupid servant too.

"Thus a foolish person ruins his master's interests and then his own,

and here by way of episode hear the story of the two brothers."

Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma.

There were two Bráhmans, brothers, in the city of Pátaliputra; the

elder was called Yajnasoma and the younger Kírtisoma. And those two

young Bráhmans had much wealth derived from their father. Kírtisoma

increased his share by business, but Yajnasoma exhausted his by

enjoying and giving. Then, being reduced to poverty, he said to his

wife; "My dear, how can I, who am reduced from riches to poverty, live

among my relations? Let us go to some foreign country." She said,--"How

can we go without money for the journey." Still her husband insisted,

so she said to him: "If you really must go, then first go and ask

your younger brother Kírtisoma for some money for the journey." So

he went and asked his younger brother for his travelling expenses,

but his younger brother's wife said to him: "How can we give even the

smallest sum to this man who has wasted his substance. For every one

who falls into poverty will sponge on us." When Kírtisoma heard this,

he no longer felt inclined to give anything to his elder brother,

though he loved him. Subjection to bad women is pernicious!

Then Yajnasoma went away silent, and told that to his wife, and set

out with her, relying upon the help of Heaven only. When they reached

the wood, it happened that, as he was going along, he was swallowed by

a monstrous serpent. And when his wife saw it, she fell on the ground

and lamented. And the serpent said with a human voice to the lady:

"Why do you lament, my good woman?" The Bráhman lady answered the

snake: "How can I help lamenting, mighty sir, when you have deprived

me in this remote spot of my only means of obtaining alms?" When the

serpent heard that, he brought out of his mouth a great vessel of gold

and gave it her, saying, "Take this as a vessel in which to receive

alms." [82] The good Bráhman lady said, "Who will give me alms in this

vessel, for I am a woman?" The serpent said: "If any one refuses to

give you alms in it, his head shall that moment burst into a hundred

pieces. What I say is true." When the virtuous Bráhman lady heard that,

she said to the serpent, "If this is so, then give me my husband in

it by way of alms." The moment the good lady said this, the serpent

brought her husband out of his mouth alive and unharmed. As soon as

the serpent had done this, he became a man of heavenly appearance,

and being pleased, he said to the joyful couple: "I am a king of the

Vidyádharas, named Kánchanavega, and by the curse of Gautama I was

reduced to the condition of a serpent. And it was appointed that my

curse should end when I conversed with a good woman." When the king of

the Vidyádharas had said this, he immediately filled the vessel with

jewels, and delighted flew up into the sky. And the couple returned

home with abundance of jewels. And there Yajnasoma lived in happiness

having obtained inexhaustible wealth.

"Providence gives to every one in accordance with his or her

character. Hear the story of the foolish man who asked for the barber."

Story of the fool who wanted a barber.

A certain inhabitant of Karnáta pleased his king by his daring

behaviour in battle. His sovereign was pleased, and promised to

give him whatever he asked for, but the spiritless warrior chose the

king's barber.

"Every man chooses what is good or bad according to the measure of

his own intellect: now hear the story of the foolish man who asked

for nothing at all."

Story of the man who asked for nothing at all.

A certain foolish man, as he was going along the road, was asked by

a carter to do something to make his cart balance evenly. He said,

"If I make it right, what will you give me?" The carter answered;

"I will give you nothing at all." Then the fool put the cart even, and

said, "Give me the nothing-at-all you promised." But the carter laughed

at him. "So you see, king, fools are for ever becoming the object of

the scorn and contempt and reproach of men, and fall into misfortune,

while the good on the other hand are thought worthy of honour."

When the prince surrounded by his ministers, had heard at night

these amusing stories from Gomukha, he was enabled to enjoy sleep,

which refreshes the whole of the three worlds.

CHAPTER LXII.

The next morning Naraváhanadatta got up, and went into the presence

of the king of Vatsa his loving father. There he found Sinhavarman,

the brother of the queen Padmávatí and the son of the king of Magadha,

who had come there from his own house. The day passed in expressions

of welcome, and friendly conversation, and after Naraváhanadatta had

had dinner, he returned home. There the wise Gomukha told this story

at night, in order to console him who was longing for the society

of Saktiyasas.

Story of the war between the crows and the owls. [83]

There was in a certain place a great and shady banyan-tree, which

seemed, with the voices of its birds, to summon travellers to

repose. There a king of the crows, named Meghavarna, had established

his home, and he had an enemy named Avamarda, king of the owls. The

king of the owls surprised the king of the crows there at night, and

after inflicting a defeat on him and killing many crows, departed. The

next morning the king of the crows, after the usual compliments,

said to his ministers Uddívin, Ádívin, Sandívin, Pradívin, [84] and

Chirajívin: "That powerful enemy, who has thus defeated us, may get

together a hundred thousand soldiers, and make another descent on

us. So let some preventive measure be devised for this case." When

Uddívin heard this, he said; "King, with a powerful enemy, one must

either retire to another country, or adopt conciliation." When Ádívin

heard this, he said, "The danger is not immediate; let us consider

the intentions of the adversary and our own power, and do the best we

can." Then Sandívin said, "King, death is preferable to submission to

the foe, or retiring to another country. We must go and fight with that

feeble enemy; a brave and enterprising king, who possesses allies,

conquers his foes." Then Pradívin said, "He is too powerful to be

conquered in battle, but we must make a truce with him, and kill him

when we get an opportunity." Then Chirajívin said, "What truce? Who

will be ambassador? There is war between the crows and the owls from

time immemorial; who will go to them? This must be accomplished by

policy; policy is said to be the very foundation of empires." When the

king of the crows heard that, he said to Chirajívin,--"You are old;

tell me if you know, what was originally the cause of the war between

the crows and the owls. You shall state your policy afterwards." When

Chirajívin heard this, he answered, "It is all due to an inconsiderate

utterance. Have you never heard the story of the donkey?"

Story of the ass in the panther's skin. [85]

A certain washerman had a thin donkey; so, in order to make it fat,

he used to cover it with the skin of a panther and let it loose to

feed in his neighbour's corn. While it was eating the corn, people

were afraid to drive it away, thinking that it was a panther. One

day a cultivator, who had a bow in his hand, saw it. He thought it

was a panther, and through fear bending down, and making himself

humpbacked, he proceeded to creep away, with his body covered with a

rug. When the donkey saw him going away in this style, he thought he

was another donkey, and being primed with corn, he uttered aloud his

own asinine bray. Then the cultivator came to the conclusion that it

was a donkey, and returning, killed with an arrow the foolish animal,

which had made an enemy with its own voice. "In the same way our feud

with the crows is due to an inconsiderate utterance."

How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the owl king. [86]

For once upon a time the birds were without a king. They all assembled

together, and bringing an umbrella and a chowrie, were proceeding

to anoint the owl king of the birds. In the meanwhile a crow,

flying in the air above, saw it, and said; "You fools, are there not

other birds, cuckoos and so on, that you must make this cruel-eyed

unpleasant-looking wicked bird king? Out on the inauspicious owl! You

must elect a heroic king whose name will ensure prosperity. Listen now,

I will tell you a tale.

Story of the elephants and the hares. [87]

There is a great lake abounding in water, called Chandrasaras. And on

its bank there lived a king of the hares, named Silímukha. Now, once on

a time, a leader of a herd of elephants, named Chaturdanta, came there

to drink water, because all the other reservoirs of water were dried

up in the drought that prevailed. Then many of the hares, who were the

subjects of that king, were trampled to death by Chaturdanta's herd,

while entering the lake. When that monarch of the herd had departed,

the hare-king Silímukha, being grieved, said to a hare named Vijaya

in the presence of the others; "Now that that lord of elephants has

tasted the water of this lake, he will come here again and again,

and utterly destroy us all, so think of some expedient in this

case. Go to him, and see if you have any artifice which will suit

the purpose or not. For you know business and expedients, and are an

ingenious orator. And in all cases in which you have been engaged

the result has been fortunate." When despatched with these words,

the hare was pleased, and went slowly on his way. And following up

the track of the herd, he overtook that elephant-king and saw him,

and being determined somehow or other to have an interview with

the mighty beast, the wise hare climbed up to the top of a rock,

and said to the elephant; "I am the ambassador of the moon, and

this is what the god says to you by my mouth; 'I dwell in a cool

lake named Chandrasaras; [88] there dwell hares whose king I am,

and I love them well, and thence I am known to men as the cool-rayed

and the hare-marked; [89] now thou hast defiled that lake and slain

those hares of mine. If thou do that again, thou shalt receive thy due

recompense from me.'" When the king of elephants heard this speech of

the crafty hare's, he said in his terror; "I will never do so again:

I must shew respect to the awful moon-god." The hare said,--"So come,

my friend, I pray, and we will shew him to you." After saying this,

the hare led the king of elephants to the lake, and shewed him the

reflection of the moon in the water. When the lord of the herd saw

that, he bowed before it timidly at a distance, oppressed with awe,

and never came there again. And Silímukha, the king of the hares,

was present, and witnessed the whole transaction, and after honouring

that hare, who went as an ambassador, he lived there in security.

When the crow had told this story, he went on to say to the birds,

"This is the right sort of king, whose name alone ensures none of his

subjects being injured. So why does this base owl, who cannot see in

the day, deserve a throne? And a base creature is never to be trusted,

hear this tale in proof of it."

Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat. [90]