THE ANWĀR-I-SUHALI.
HISTORY OF THE WORK—PREFACE—THE BEES AND THEIR HABITS—THE TWO PIGEONS—
THE BLIND MAN AND HIS WHIP—AMICABLE INSTRUCTION—THE PIGEONS AND THE
RAT—THE ANTELOPE AND THE CROW—THE ELEPHANT AND THE JACKAL—GEMS FROM
THE HITOPADEŚA.
There were two collections of early fables in Sanskṛit literature,
called the Panćatantra and the Hitopadeśa, and during the reign of the
Sassanian kings a quaint old book containing these stories was brought
to the Persian court and translated into the Pahlavī tongue. This was a
notable event in the history of Āryan literature, and since that
time[225] this rare collection of simple stories has passed through more
mutations than has the Roman Empire; it is now extant, under various
names, in more than twenty languages, the Persian version being known as
the Anwār-i-Suhali, or “The Lights of Canopus.”[226] It is recorded that
King Nūshirvan commissioned an officer of state to procure a translation
of this work, and, being obtained after years of difficulty, it was
deposited in the cabinet of the king’s most precious treasures, and was
regarded as a model of wisdom and didactic philosophy. But at the time
of the Arabian conquest, this work, with many others, was destroyed by
the vandals of the desert. More than a hundred years later the book was
discovered and translated into Arabic by Almokaffa,[227] it then passed
through the hands of several Arabic poets, and was afterward
retranslated into Persian, first into verse, by Rudāki in the tenth
century, and into prose in the twelfth century by Nasrāllah. As early as
the eleventh century the Arabic work of Almokaffa was translated into
Greek by Simeon, and then passed into the Italian. Again the Arabic text
was translated into Hebrew by Rabbi Joel, and this Hebrew version became
the principal source of the European books of fable. Before the end of
the fifteenth century, John of Capua had published a Latin version, and
a more elegant Persian rendering was made in the beginning of the
fifteenth century by Husain Va’iz. A Turkish translation had been made
early in the tenth century, but there was no Hindūstānī version until
much later. The number of translations indicated the extreme popularity
of the work in Europe, and in the sixteenth century it was read in
German, Italian, Spanish and French. The English has not so many
versions, although both Sir William Jones and Prof. Max Müller have
translated the Hitapodeśa, and Prof. Eastwick has given us a faithful
reproduction of Husain Va’iz’s work, the Anwār-i-Suhali.
The Persian version is the book which candidates for the position of
interpreter are required to read after the Gūlistān, as the great number
of words and the variety of its style make it the best book in the
language to be studied by one who wishes to make rapid progress in
Persian. In the present century Major Stewart, professor of Persian at
the East India College at Haileyburg, published a translation of the
seventh book of this work, and dedicated it to the civil and military
employés of the East India Company. The repetition of metaphor and
highly florid style of composition is often offensive to the English
reader, but these very characteristics form its greatest attraction in
the eye of Persian _litterateurs_, and many stories are delightful to
them which are wearisome or repulsive to the simpler taste of the
western student. In this fanciful work kings are represented as sitting
on thrones as stable as the firmament, while they touch the stars with
their foreheads, and have all other kings to serve them. Royalty is
always just, wise, valiant and most beneficent—ministers are invariably
gifted with intellects which are an ornament to the world, and they can
solve all problems with a single thought. Mountains rival the planets in
their height, and all gardens are fair as dreams of paradise, while the
heroes conquer animals so furious that even their appearance frightens
the constellations out of the heavens. These absurdities are so
prominent that they tempt the student to turn away in disgust, but those
who patiently peruse the book will discover many beautiful thoughts,
many striking and practical ideas, which are forcibly and often
beautifully expressed.
The preface is similar to that of many other Persian works, being
composed very largely of a eulogy upon Mohammed, and especially upon the
royal dignitary to whom the work is dedicated.
A brief extract from this literary curiosity will give the reader an
example of the fulsome praise which Persian authors thought best to
bestow upon the kings or court officials who encouraged their pursuits.
“And he is the great Amīr, the place where all excellences and high
qualities centre, through the sublimity of his spirit, ... who, without
compliment, is the star Canopus shining from the right hand of Yaman,
and a sun diffusing radiance, from the dawning place of affection and
fidelity.
Where Canopus falls thy ray, and where
Thou risest, fortune’s marks are surely there.
“With a view to the universal diffusion of what is advantageous to
mankind, and the multiplying of what is beneficial to the high and low,
he condescended to favor me with an intimation of his high will, that
this humble individual, devoid of ability, and this insignificant person
of small capital, should be bold enough to clothe the said book in a new
dress, and bestow fresh ornament upon the beauty of its tales of
esoteric meaning, which were veiled and concealed by the curtain of
obscure words and difficult expressions, by presenting on the stages of
lucid style and the chambers of becoming metaphors after a fashion that
the eye of every examiner, without a glance of penetration, may enjoy a
share of the loveliness of these beauties, of the ornamented bridal
chamber of narrative, and the heart of every wise person, without the
trouble of imagining, may obtain the fruition of union with those
delicately reared ones of the closet of the mind.”[228]
A preface of this kind is surely calculated to deter the student from
seeking further for the beauties of this peculiar work, but when
divested of the cumbersome verbiage these stories will be found both
quaint and pleasing. A few of the best of them are here given in simple
phrase:
THE BEES AND THEIR HABITS.
There stood in the garden an old tree, whose leaves had fallen, and
there was no vitality with which to replace them. The hatchet of the
peasant Time had mutilated its limbs, and the saw of the carpenter
Fortune had sharpened its teeth in making shreds of its warp and woof.
The centre of the tree had become hollow, and a busy swarm of bees had
made it their fortress. When the king heard the buzzing of the little
workers, he inquired of his sage why these little insects gathered in
the tree, and at whose command they resorted to the meadow. Then the
minister replied: “O, fortunate prince, they are a tribe doing much good
and little harm. They have a queen larger in bulk than themselves, and
have placed their heads on the line of obedience to her majesty; she is
seated upon a square throne of wax, and she has appointed to their
several offices her vizier and chamberlain, her porter and guard, her
spy and deputy. The ingenuity of her attendants is such that each one
prepares hexagonal chambers of wax, having no inequality in their
partitions, and the best geometricians would be unable to do such work
without instruments. When this work approaches completion they come
forth from their abode at the queen’s command, and a noble bee explains
to them that they must not exchange their cleanliness for grossness, nor
pollute their purity by evil associations. They therefore sit only
beside the fair lily or fragrant rose, in order to draw therefrom the
purest honey. When they come to the home the warders try them by
smelling, and if they have kept their sacred trust and avoided all
impure associations, permission is given them to re-enter the immaculate
chambers of white wax. But there are many blossoms which, though
beautiful to the eye, will poison those who touch them, and the foolish
bee who is attracted by their deceitful loveliness is also polluted by
their fatal breath; when he comes to the portals of the hive the quick
scent of the warders detect the fact if he has been polluted by evil
surroundings, and the offender is quickly punished by decapitation. If,
however, the warders should be negligent enough to allow the culprit to
enter, and the queen of this spotless palace should detect the offensive
taint, both the culprit and the careless warders will be conducted to
the place of punishment and the warders will be executed first. It is
recorded that Jamshid, ‘Emperor of the World,’ borrowed from these wise
disciplinarians the regulations respecting warders and guards, the
appointment of chamberlains and door-keepers, and also the arrangement
of thrones and regal cushions, which, in the course of time, perfected
our customs.”
Upon hearing this wonderful illustration of the effects of bad company
upon the unfortunate bee, and learning that every man carries with him a
portion of the vileness of his evil companions, the king exclaimed: “I
have been convinced to-day that the society of some persons is more
hurtful than the poison of a viper, and the association with them more
dangerous than a position which involves the peril of one’s life, and I
reason therefrom that it may be better to live in seclusion.” But the
sage replied: “Great leaders have preferred the companionship of the
good and true, but when a sincere friend is not to be found, then indeed
solitude is better than society.”
THE TWO PIGEONS.
There were two faithful pigeons who at one time consorted together in
one nest, with their loyal hearts undisturbed by treachery, and free
from misfortune. One was named Bāzindah (playful), and the other was
called Nawāzindah (caressing), while every morning and evening their
voices were mingled in the soft notes of love. But some were envious of
the happy pair, and evil counsellors attempted to “sever love, and
friend from friend divide.”
An anxious desire for travel was carefully instilled into the ambitious
heart of Bāzindah, and he said to his loving mate, “How long shall we
continue in one nest, and spend our time in one abode? I feel a desire
to wander through different parts of the world, for, in a few days of
travel, many marvelous things are seen, and many experiences are gained.
There is no honor awarded until the sword comes forth from the scabbard
upon the field of the brave; the sky is ever journeying, and it is the
highest of all things, while the earth which is ever still is always
trampled down, and kicked by all things, both high and low:
‘View the earth’s sphere and the revolving skies,
This sinks by rest, and those by motion rise;
Travel, man’s tutor is, and glory’s gate,
On travel, treasure and instruction wait,
From place to place had trees the power to move,
No saw nor ax could wrong the stately grove.’”
To this his gentle mate replied, “My beloved, when thou removest thy
heart from the society of thine own, thou dost sever the cord of unity;
thou mayest unite with new comrades, but never wilt thou find them so
loyal, as those which long years of trial have shown to be true.
Remember the precept of the wise man, and
‘Do not an old and well tried friend forego
For new allies, for this will end in woe,’
Thou mayest transgress, and what impression will my word have upon thee
then? Remember that
‘He shall his foeman’s fondest wish fulfill,
Who to well wishing friends bends not his will.’”
Bāzindah, however tore his heart away from his loving mate, and set
forth upon the wing, exulting in his liberty and freedom from her gentle
admonitions. With great curiosity, and perfect pleasure, he traveled for
a while through the blue air, and passed over the bright hills and
gardens of roses and lilies. After a time he came to a mountain, and at
its feet lay a beautiful meadow; its green surface was delightful as the
gardens of heaven, and the northern breeze swept down from the cool
hills, laden with the perfume of a thousand flowers.
“There countless roses their pavilions kept,
The grass moved wakeful, while the waters slept,
The roses painted with a thousand hues,
Their heavenly fragrance each a league diffuse.”
The setting sun was bathing the hills with its glory when the weary
pigeon reached the lovely spot, and he nestled gratefully down amidst
the green grass and fragrant flowers to spend the night in peace and
happiness; with his head tucked under his wing, he did not see that a
shadow had darkened the fair sunset; he did not see that its glory was
shaded by an angry storm-cloud. But soon the restless wind was tossing
the canopy of clouds into the high court of the air, and Bāzindah’s
heart was quaking with terror as the fiery lightnings flashed around
him, consuming the hearts of the tulips beside him; the pitiless hail
dashed the bright narcissus to the earth, while the thunderbolts seemed
to tear the very heart of the mountain.
“In pieces was the mountain’s breast, by the lightning’s arrows riven,
And earth to its foundations shook, at the fearful voice of heaven.”
Bāzindah had no shelter from the storm—no refuge from the pitiless hail
and searching wind; in vain he tried to hide beneath some friendly
branch or amidst the leaves and grass, still the cruel hail pelted him
like some remorseless foe, and the cold rain still poured upon him.
“Night! gloomy night!—Heaven’s awful voice—
What tempest shower so fierce as this?
What care the gay in banquet halls?
Our perils do not mar their bliss.”
In terror and peril, the traveler passed the night thinking of the home-
nest, and the gentle mate who would so gladly shield him from the storm
with her own pinions, and who was even now grieving her life away in
loneliness, because he came not.
But whatever feelings of penitence may have been cherished during the
perils of the night, were quickly dissipated by the beauty of the
morning light.
“From the east then drew the sun,
His golden poniard bright,
And through the earth’s dark regions
Spread a flood of yellow light.”
Bāzindah again arose upon his faithful wings, and pursued his journey;
but a royal white falcon was abroad looking for prey,—a falcon which
descends upon the head of its quarry, swifter than the rays of the sun,
and when soaring on high he reaches heaven quicker than the sight of
man.
“Attacking now, it left the thunderbolt behind,
And soared more swiftly than the chilling wind.”
For the pitiless bird had marked the pigeon for his prey, and the
victim’s heart began to flutter, while his wings, paralyzed with fear,
seemed to lose all power of motion.
“When on the dove the rapid falcon swoops,
The helpless quarry unresisting droops.”
In that moment of helpless terror, Bāzindah thought again of his
faithful mate, and quickly resolved that could he but escape this deadly
peril, he would be content at home in her downy nest. He was already
beneath the claw of the falcon, when the flashing eye of an eagle fell
upon them,—an eagle whose talons were so sharp that the sign of Aquila
was not safe in the nest of the sky, and who, when hungry, carried off
from the meadows of heaven the signs of Aries and Capricorn.
“Aries itself, through fear of him
Would gaze not on the sky,
Save that Bāhram,[229] the blood drinker
Each day stood watchful by.”
This fearful bird was on the wing searching for food, and seeing the
falcon and the pigeon, he said to himself, “Although this pigeon is only
a mouthful, nevertheless one may break one’s fast upon it,” and quickly
he dashed at the falcon:
“The feathered rivals then to fight began,
The quarry, dodging, from between them ran.”
While the fight went fiercely on, Bāzindah threw himself under a stone,
and crowded himself into a hole hardly large enough for a sparrow, and
here he passed the day and another night, quivering with terror and
distress. But the morning light again illumined the mountain peaks, for
the white-pinioned dove of the dawn began to fly from the nest of
heaven, and the black raven of night went to his rest like the Sīmūrgh,
behind the shades of the distant mountains. Bāzindah began to flutter
his weary wings, and look hungrily around him, when he gladly spied
another pigeon, with a little grain scattered before him. Rejoicing to
see one of his own species, he fluttered eagerly to the grain, but alas!
his foot was caught in a snare.
“Satan’s the net, the world’s the grain,
Our lusts the enticements are,
Our hearts, the fowl which greediness
Soon lures within the snare.”
With bitter reproaches upon the captive pigeon who had thus lured him to
destruction, he trembled and struggled, until he broke the decayed net,
and turned his tired face toward the home-nest, and flew as rapidly as
his forlorn condition would permit. Fearing to attempt again to satisfy
his hunger, he was nevertheless compelled to rest, at last, on a wall
near a field of corn. A thoughtless boy sent an arrow toward him, and
wounded he fell, but he lay so quietly that the young hunter failed to
find his game, and at last, weak and wounded, hungry and discouraged, he
fluttered by short flights homeward. Nawāzindah heard the flutter of his
wings, and flew joyously out to meet him saying:
“’Tis I whose eyes expand, my love to find—
How shall I thank thee—thou so true and kind.”
But when she had caressed him, she saw that he was weak and thin, and
she exclaimed, “Oh, beloved, where hast thou been?”
Bāzindah replied:
“Ask me not what woes, my love,—
What pangs have been my lot,
All the grief that parting brings,
I’ve tasted—ask me not.
For travel’s conflict I’ll not lust again,
With home and friends perpetual pleasures reign.
The truth of the matter is, that I have had much experience, and as long
as I live, I will not make another journey, nor go forth until compelled
from the corner of our nest.” Then the gentle wife flew out and brought
him the daintiest food she could find, and tenderly she caressed the
wounded wing with her loving bill, and no thought of reproaches entered
her grateful heart. Gently she nursed him back to health and strength,
and together they cooed and nestled in their quiet home.
THE BLIND MAN AND HIS WHIP.
A sage, who was discoursing to a king upon lessons of wisdom and
morality, gave him the following illustration of an important principle:
“Once upon a time a blind man and his friend were making a journey
together, and they halted in a wild place for the night; the morning
found them cold and little rested, for the weather had suddenly grown
severe. In searching for his whip the blind man picked up a frozen
snake, which he found smoother and more nicely polished than his whip,
and greatly pleased he mounted his horse, forgetting the faithful old
whip which he had lost. His friend, however, could see, and when he
beheld the snake in the hand of the blind man, he cried out: ‘Oh, my
friend! what thou takest for a whip is a poisonous snake, fling it away
before it makes a wound upon thy hand.’ But the blind man fancied that
his friend was jealous of his great success in finding so beautiful a
whip, and he answered: ‘Oh, friend! it is owing to my good luck, that I
have found a better one, and I am not going to be wheedled out of my
good fortune by idle tales.’ His friend continued to plead, but the man
was obstinate and conceited, as well as blind, and he became angry and
frowned upon his faithful friend, while he clung closely to what he
believed to be a beautiful thing. After a time the sun rose higher in
the heavens, and the air grew more balmy, the snake was also comforted
by the warmth of the blind man’s body, and recovering from her torpor,
she turned backward, and bit the poor fool who had, clung to her because
he fancied she was beautiful; he died of the venom given in the wound.”
Then said the sage, “I have adduced this story that thou mayst not be
deceived by appearances or fascinated with outward charms, which are as
deceitful as the beauties of a snake. Be not attracted by the softness
and delicacy of flattery and hypocrisy, for their poison is deadly and
their wound is fatal; it is far better to listen to the admonitions of a
faithful friend, even though his advice may not always be agreeable,
than to be led into the snare of the flatterer, by the poison of her
honeyed words.
‘Think not sweet sherbert from the world to drink,
Honey with poison is mingled there,
That which thou, fondly, dost sweet honey think,
Is but the deadly potion of despair.’“
AMICABLE INSTRUCTION.[230]
It is said that there lived a wise and virtuous prince, who was greatly
afflicted with the conduct of his sons. The young princes “knew no books
and were continually working in evil ways,” therefore the rāja asked
himself, “Of what use is it that a son should be born who has neither
learning nor virtue? Of what use is a blind eye except to give pain? Of
a child unborn, dead or ignorant, the two first are preferable, since
they make us unhappy but once, and the last by continual degrees. A
numerous family under such circumstances is poison, as is a young wife
to an old man.”
Considering these things, the king gave orders for a council of learned
men to be called, in order that they might study the solution of his
problem, and devise, if possible, some method by which his sons might be
taught the lessons of morality and wisdom.
Among the wise men who were thus called together, there was a great
philosopher named Vishnu-sārman[231] who understood the principles of
ethics. He declared that as these young princes were born of good family
there was still a hope of their reformation, and he offered to give them
the necessary instruction.
His proposition was gladly accepted by the anxious father, and soon the
class was called together on the roof of the palace to receive the
instruction of the sage. The teacher decided to interest his listeners,
and also to convey the lessons of morality by repeating fables.
Therefore, with many wise admonitions, and carefully pointing the moral
of each lesson, he told them the following stories:
THE PIGEONS AND THE RAT.
Near the Godāvarī river there stood a large Salmali tree, on which the
birds found their nightly rest. One morning, when the darkness had just
departed, leaving the moon—friend of the night flowers—still in his
mansion, a raven who sat in the tree saw a fowler approaching like the
genius of death, and he said to himself, “This morning an enemy appears,
and I know not what poisonous fruit is ripening.” The fowler went on,
however, fixing his net and scattering grains of rice. Soon a flock of
pigeons, led by their prince Ćitāgriva, or _painted neck_, came flying
that way. They saw the rice and were eagerly descending, when the leader
counseled caution, for he feared a snare; but led away by their
appetites, they all flew downward upon the rice, being followed, even by
the leader, who was unwilling to desert the flock. In a moment more they
were snared. But although covetousness had brought them into trouble,
the leader counseled that a wise unity of action might even yet deliver
them from it. He ordered that they should all fly together, and doing
so, they raised the net and carried it along with them. They were
followed by the fowler, who expected to see them soon fall into his
power.
In a wood near by dwelt a rat, who was a friend of Ćitāgriva’s, and to
him they directed their flight, coming down near his hole. The prisoned
birds then besought him to gnaw the strings that held them. The rat
replied that “to abandon our own is not the conduct of moralists. Let a
man for the sake of relieving his distresses preserve his wealth; by his
wealth let him preserve his wife, and by both wife and riches let him
preserve himself.” “I am but weak,” said he, “and my teeth are small,
but as long as they remain unbroken will I continue to cut thy strings.”
And gnawing diligently away, he severed their bonds and received them as
guests.
Thus the sage taught the princes that “covetousness leads to lust, to
anger, to fraud and illusion.” He taught also that the union, even of
the small and the weak, is beneficial, and also that the humble friend
who stands by us faithfully, in the hour of adversity, is of more value
than the flatterers, who are watching for our prosperity, in order that
they may absorb our gain.
THE ANTELOPE AND THE CROW.
In the country of Magādha there was a forest, in which an antelope and
crow had long dwelt in friendship. The antelope was fat, and his flesh
was greatly desired by a jackal, who sought to obtain it by gaining his
confidence. Going to him, therefore, she pleaded for his friendship,
saying, “I am friendless and alone like a dead creature, but having
gained thy friendship I shall live again, and I will ever be thy
servant,” and saying this, she slipped into his home under the branches
of a tree, where dwelt the friendly crow. Then the crow inquired of the
antelope, “Who is this comrade of thine?” And the antelope replied, “It
is a jackal who is my chosen friend.” “O my beloved,” said the crow, “it
is not right to place thy confidence with too much celerity.” But in
vain the faithful bird pleaded with the infatuated antelope, who still
listened eagerly to the flatteries of the jackal, until the aggrieved
and disgusted friend flew away to another part of the wood.
“My beloved antelope,” said the jackal one day in her softest and
sweetest tones, “at one side of the wood is a field of corn, I will take
thee there.” The antelope found the corn rich and tender, and going
there he fed freely. The owner of the corn perceived his loss as the
wily jackal had anticipated, and he spread a strong net there, wherein
the antelope was captured. The jackal crept softly near, saying to
herself, “It has befallen as I wished, and soon I shall satisfy my
appetite on his tender flesh.” As soon as the antelope perceived his
false friend he was glad, for he anticipated deliverance by the gnawing
of his bonds. The jackal examined the net, and congratulating herself
that it was strong, she said, “Oh, my beloved, I cannot do it to-day,
but to-morrow I will come and deliver thee,” and going away, a short
distance she awaited for him to die in order that she might regale
herself upon his flesh. The crow, however, in flying over the wood, saw
the condition of his imprudent friend, and hastened to his side. “This,”
said the antelope “is the consequence of rejecting friendly counsel. The
man who listens not to the words of affectionate friends, will give joy
in the moment of distress to his enemies.”
“Where is the jackal?” inquired the crow. “She is near by,” answered the
antelope, “waiting to feed upon my flesh.” “This I predicted,” said the
crow. “I escape such calamities because I place no such trust; the wise
are continually in dread of wicked associations. A pretended friend who
flatters thee should be shunned as a dish of milk with poison at its
brim. Contract no friendship with flatterers; at first they fall at your
feet in their anxiety to drink your blood; they hum strange tunes in
your ears with soft murmurs, and, having found an opening, they will
ruin you without remorse.”
The faithful crow watched until he saw the farmer approaching, then he
said to the antelope, “Feign to be dead and remain motionless until thou
hearest me make a noise, then run swiftly away.”
The owner of the corn, with his eyes flooded with joy, saw the antelope
who pretended to be dead, so he took away the snare, and was busily
engaged in taking care of his net, when the crow cried out, and the
antelope hearing the signal, bounded to his feet and ran away with great
speed. The disappointed farmer threw a club after him, and struck the
deceitful jackal, who was hidden in a bush, for thus it is written: “In
three years, in three months, in three days, the fruit of great vices
may be reaped, even in this world.”
THE BRĀHMAN AND THE ICHNEUMON.
There was a Brāhman named Modeva, who lived alone with his wife and
their infant daughter. One day the mother went away to perform her
ablutions and acts of adoration. She therefore left the child in the
father’s care. Soon after the mother left home a great rāja sent for the
Brāhman to perform a religious ceremony called the Srāddha, or offerings
to the ghosts of his ancestors. It is customary upon these occasions to
bestow rich presents upon the officiating Brāhman or priest, and this
was an opportunity that ought not to be lost. Knowing that if he did not
go promptly another would be called in his place, he committed the care
of his child to a faithful ichneumon, which he had long cherished, and
having done so, he hastened away to obey the call of the rāja. Soon
after he went away a terrible serpent crawled into the little home and
approached the child. He was attacked, however, by the faithful
ichneumon, who killed him and cut him in pieces; then seeing his master
returning the animal ran to meet him, even while his mouth and paws were
still wet with the blood of the serpent. Seeing him thus, the Brāhman
promptly decided that he had killed the child, and in his rage he slew
the ichneumon. Then going to his house he found the babe sleeping
peacefully with the mangled body of the snake beside it. Then, indeed,
he knew that, in his haste and unreasonable anger, he had slain the
faithful protector of his child. Therefore, he who knows not the first
principle, and the first cause, and who is in subjection to his wrath,
is tormented like a fool. Let not a man perform an act hastily. Want of
circumspection is a great cause of danger.
THE ELEPHANT AND THE JACKAL.
In a forest there lived an elephant in quietness and in peace, but there
were hungry jackals around him who thirsted for his blood. They
conferred among themselves, and decided to accomplish by stratagem that
which they could not hope to effect by force. Then a wily old jackal
approached the elephant, and saluting him most humbly he thus addressed
him, “Royal sir, wilt thou grant me an interview?” “Who art thou,” said
the elephant, “and why dost thou come hither?” “I am a jackal,” he
replied, “and my name is Little and Wise. I am sent into thine august
presence by the assembled inhabitants of these woods. Since this vast
forest ought not to be compelled to exist without a king, it is
therefore determined to perform the ceremony of washing thee, and thus
installing thee as the sovereign of the forest. It is said that he who
is eminent in birth, in virtue and justice—he who is perfect in words,
is fit to be the ruler of the world. Therefore, we salute thee as our
king. Now I beseech thee to come quickly, lest the fortunate time for
thine inauguration should slip away.” So saying he walked hastily away,
and the conceited elephant elated with the hope of royalty, followed the
jackal until he came into a little pool, wherein his immense weight
caused him to slowly sink in the mud at the bottom.
“Friend Jackal,” said he “what can be done for me? I have fallen into
the mire so deeply that I cannot rise out of it.” Thereupon the jackal
laughed loudly and rushed away to find those who were to feast with him
upon the flesh of the elephant.
Then said the elephant sadly, “Such is the fruit of my confidence in
your deceitful speeches. It is, indeed, true that if thou enjoyest the
company of the good, then wilt thou thyself be happy and virtuous, but
if thou fallest into the company of the wicked, then thou wilt fall
indeed.”
So saying he resigned himself to his fate, and soon became the food of
his flatterers. It is safe to contract no friendship—not even
acquaintance with the deceitful, for the hypocrite resembles a coal,
which when hot burneth the hand, and when cold blackens it.
GEMS FROM THE HITOPADEŚA.
As there are many gems in this quaint old volume of fables which are
well worthy of preservation, the best of them are here presented:
1. “Always avoid flatterers and hypocrites; their tongues claim to be
covered with honey, while their hearts are filled with poison, and a
desire to suck the blood of their victim.”
2. “The learned man may fix his thoughts on science and wealth, as if he
were never to grow old or to die; but when death seizes him by the locks
he must practice virtue.”
3. “Knowledge produces mildness of speech; mildness of speech a good
character; a good character wealth, and wealth, if virtuous actions
attend it, produces happiness.”
4. “Among all possessions, knowledge appears eminent; the wise call it
supreme riches, because it never can be lost, has no price, and can at
no time be destroyed.”
5. “Knowledge acquired by a man of low degree places him on a level with
the prince, as a small river at last attains the ocean, and his fortune
is then exalted.”
6. “The science of arms and the science of books are both causes of
celebrity, but the first is ridiculous in an old man, and the second is
in all ages respectable.”
7. “Learning dissipates many doubts, causes things otherwise invisible
to be seen, and is the eye of every one that is not absolutely blind.”
8. “Knowledge forgotten is poison, food is poison to him who cannot
digest it; a numerous family is poison to the indigent, and a young wife
is poison to an old mate.”
9. “Life, action, property, knowledge, and death, these five were formed
for all.”
10. “The potter forms what he pleases with moulded clay, so a man
accomplishes his own works.”
11. “Prosperity is acquired by exertion, and there is no fruit for him
who doth not exert himself; the fawns go not into the mouth of a
sleeping lion.”
12. “Knowledge is destroyed by associating with the base, with equals
equality is gained, and with the distinguished, distinction.”
13. “Virtues to those who know their value are virtues, but even these,
when they come in the way of the vicious, are vices; as rivers of sweet
water are excellent, but when they reach the sea are not fit to be
tasted.”
14. “He who restrains his appetite, a dutiful son, a prudent and good
wife, and he who acts considerately, give birth to no misfortune.”
15. “In perils we prove a friend; in battle a hero; in contracted
fortunes a wise man, and in calamity our kinsmen.”
16. “Thus may the character of treacherous persons be described; at
first they fall at your feet, and then drink your blood; thus the false
friends and black gnats practice alike every mode of treachery.”
17. “Make no league with an avowed enemy, or with a flatterer. Water,
though well warmed, would quench, nevertheless, the fire that warmed
it.”
18. “If the friendship of the good be interrupted their minds admit of
no long change; as when the stalks of the lotus are broken, the
filaments within them are more visibly connected.”
19. “Charity, forbearance, participation in pains and pleasures,
goodness of heart, and truth; these are the sciences of friendship.”
20. “Goodness and truth are discerned by a man’s discourse, but
cowardice and a variable mind are easily discerned by his conduct.”
21. “It is one thing to hear the words of a friend whose heart is pure
as water, and another to hear the words of a base dissembler.”
22. “A wise man walks slowly and circumspectly, and lives in one place,
nor having seen another station should he desert his former abode.”
23. “It is easy for all men to display learning in instructing others,
but it is the part of one endued with a great mind to form himself by
the rules of justice.”
24. “As those who have caught cold, take no pleasure in moonshine, or
those who have fever, in the heat of the sun, so the mind of a woman
delights not a husband where there is great disparity of years.”
25. “It is better to pull up by the roots a loose tooth, and a wicked
counsellor.”
26. “He is a friend whom favors have not purchased, and he is a man who
is not subdued by his senses.”
27. “The seed of good advice must be cherished with extreme care, it
must not be broken ever so little, if it be, it will not grow.”
28. “A hundred good words are lost upon the wicked; a hundred wise words
are lost upon a fool; a hundred good precepts are lost upon the
obstinate, and a hundred sciences upon those who never reflect.”
29. “A serpent drinking milk only increases his venom, thus a fool being
admonished is provoked, but not benefitted. A sensible man may be
admonished, but not a fool.”
30. “He who knows not his own weakness must be routed by flatterers and
enemies.”
31. “A great man becomes little, and his virtue is diminished by
associating with an unprincipled person.”
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Footnote 225:
About A.D. 570.
Footnote 226:
Canopus was a star which stood at the right in the heavens when the
observer was looking from Hirat, and consequently it lay in the
direction of Arabia, which the prophet claimed as the home of wisdom,
and therefore wisdom was represented by Canopus.
Footnote 227:
Translated by Almokaffa about A.D. 770.
Footnote 228:
See preface, Eastwick’s version, p. 10.
Footnote 229:
The planet Mars.
Footnote 230:
From Sir Wm. Jones’ revision of the Hitopadesa.
Footnote 231:
Sometimes called Pilpay.