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 Śaktiyaśas.
Story of the war between the crows and the owls.[1]
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 Meghavarṇa, 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 Uḍḍívin, Áḍívin, Saṇḍívin, Praḍívin,[2] 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 Uḍḍívin heard this, he said; “King, with a powerful enemy, one must either retire to another country, or adopt conciliation.” When Áḍívin 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 Saṇḍívin 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 Praḍívin 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.[3]
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.[4]
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.[5]
There is a great lake abounding in water, called Chandrasaras. And on its bank there lived a king of the hares, named Śilímukha. 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 Śilímukha, 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;[6] 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;[7] 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 Śilímukha, 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.[8]
Once on a time I lived in a certain tree, and below me in the same tree a bird, named Kapinjala, had made a nest and lived. One day he went away somewhere, and he did not return for many days. In the meanwhile a hare came and took possession of his nest. After some days Kapinjala returned, and an altercation arose between him and the hare, as both laid claim to the nest, exclaiming; “It is mine, not yours.” Then they both set out in search of a qualified arbitrator. And I, out of curiosity, followed them unobserved, to see what would turn up. After they had gone a little way they saw on the bank of a lake a cat, who pretended to have taken a vow of abstinence from injury to all creatures, with his eyes half-closed in meditation. They said to one another; “Why should we not ask this holy cat here to declare what is just?”—Then they approached the cat and said; “Reverend sir, hear our cause, for you are a holy ascetic.” When the cat heard that, he said to them in a low voice,—“I am weak from self-mortification, so I cannot hear at a distance, pray, come near me. For a case wrongly decided brings temporal and eternal death.” With these words the cat encouraged them to come just in front of him, and then the base creature killed at one spring both the hare and Kapinjala.
“So, you see, one cannot confide in villains whose actions are base. Accordingly you must not make this owl king, for he is a great villain.” When the crow said this to the birds, they admitted the force of it, and gave up the idea of anointing the owl king, and dispersed in all directions. And the owl said to the crow; “Remember; from this day forth you and I are enemies. Now I take my leave of you.” And he went away in a rage. But the crow, though he thought that he had spoken what was right, was for a moment despondent. Who is not grieved when he has involved himself in a dangerous quarrel by a mere speech?
“So you see that our feud with the owls arose from an inconsiderate utterance.” Having said this to the king, Chirajívin continued, “The owls are numerous and strong, and you cannot conquer them. Numbers prevail in this world, hear an instance.”
Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues.[9]
A Bráhman had bought a goat, and was returning from a village with it on his shoulder, when he was seen on the way by many rogues, who wished to deprive him of the goat. And one of them came up to him, and pretending to be in a great state of excitement, said; “Bráhman, how come you to have this dog on your shoulder? Put it down.” When the Bráhman heard that, he paid no attention to it, but went on his way. Then two more came up and said the very same thing to him. Then he began to doubt, and went along examining the goat carefully, when three other rascals came up to him and said: “How comes it that you carry a dog and a sacrificial thread at the same time? Surely you must be a hunter, not a Bráhman, and this is the dog with the help of which you kill game.” When the Bráhman heard that, he said: “Surely some demon has smitten my sight and bewildered me. Can all these men be under the influence of an optical delusion?” Thereupon the Bráhman flung down the goat, and after bathing, returned home, and the rogues took the goat and made a satisfactory meal off it.
After Chirajívin had told this tale, he said to the king of the crows: “So you see, king, numerous and powerful foes are hard to conquer. So you had better adopt, in this war with powerful foes, the following expedient, which I suggest. Pluck out some of my feathers,[10] and leave me under this tree, and go to that hill there, until I return, having accomplished my object. The king of the crows agreed, and plucked out some of his feathers, as if in anger, and placed him under the tree, and went off to the mountain with his followers: and Chirajívin remained lying flat under the tree which was his home.
Then the king of the owls, Avamarda, came there at night with his followers, and he did not see a single crow on the tree. At that moment Chirajívin uttered a feeble caw below, and the king of the owls, hearing it, came down, and saw him lying there. In his astonishment he asked him who he was, and why he was in that state. And Chirajívin answered, pretending that his voice was weak from pain; “I am Chirajívin, the minister of that king of the crows. And he wished to make an attack on you in accordance with the advice of his ministers. Then I rebuked those other ministers, and said to him, ‘If you ask me for advice, and if I am valued by you, in that case you will not make war with the powerful king of the owls. But you will endeavour to propitiate him, if you have any regard for policy.’ When the foolish king of the crows heard that, he exclaimed, ‘This fellow is a partisan of my enemies,’ and in his wrath, he and his followers pecked me, and reduced me to this state. And he flung me down under the tree, and went off somewhere or other with his followers.” When Chirajívin had said this, he sighed, and turned his face to the ground. And then the king of the owls asked his ministers what they ought to do with Chirajívin. When his minister Díptanayana heard this, he said, “Good people spare even a thief, though ordinarily he ought not to be spared, if they find that he is a benefactor.”
Story of the old merchant and his young wife.[11]
For once on a time there was a certain merchant in a certain town, who, though old, managed to marry by the help of his wealth a young girl of the merchant caste. And she was always averse to him on account of his old age, as the bee turns away from the forest-tree when the time of flowers is past.[12] And one night a thief got into his house, while the husband and wife were in bed; and, when the wife saw him, she was afraid, and turned round and embraced her husband. The merchant thought that a wonderful piece of good fortune, and while looking in all directions for the explanation, he saw the thief in a corner. The merchant said; “You have done me a benefit, so I will not have you killed by my servants.” And so he spared his life and sent him away.
“So we ought to spare the life of this Chirajívin, as he is our benefactor.” When the minister Díptanayana had said this, he remained silent. Then the king of the owls said to another minister, named Vakranása, “What ought we to do? Give me proper advice.” Then Vakranása said, “He should be spared, for he knows the secrets of our foes. This quarrel between the enemies’ king and his minister is for our advantage. Listen, and I will tell you a story which will illustrate it.”
Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa.[13]
A certain excellent Bráhman received two cows as a donation. A thief happened to see them, and began plotting how to carry them off. At that very time a Rákshasa was longing to eat that Bráhman. It happened that the thief and the Rákshasa, as they were going to his house at night to accomplish their objects, met, and telling one another their errands, went together. When the thief and the Rákshasa entered the Bráhman’s dwelling, they began to wrangle. The thief said; “I will carry off the oxen first, for if you lay hold of the Bráhman first, and he wakes up, how can I get the yoke of oxen?” The Rákshasa said; “By no means! I will first carry off the Bráhman, otherwise he will wake up with the noise of the feet of the oxen, and my labour will all be in vain.” While this was going on, the Bráhman woke up. Then he took his sword, and began to recite a charm for destroying Rákshasas, and the thief and the Rákshasa both fled.
“So the quarrel between those two, Chirajívin and the king of the crows, will be to our advantage, as the quarrel between the thief and the Rákshasa was to the advantage of the Bráhman.” When Vakranása said this, the king of the owls asked his minister Prákárakarṇa for his opinion, and he answered him; “This Chirajívin should be treated with compassion, as he is in distress, and has applied to us for protection: in old time Śivi offered his flesh for the sake of one who sought his protection.[14] When the king of the owls heard this from Prákárakarṇa, he asked the advice of his minister Krúralochana, and he gave him the same answer.
Then the king of the owls asked a minister named Raktáksha, and he, being a discreet minister, said to him; “King, these ministers have done their best to ruin you by impolitic advice. Those, who know policy, place no confidence in the acts of a hereditary enemy. It is only a fool that, though he sees the fault, is satisfied with insincere flattery.”
Story of the carpenter and his wife.[15]
For once on a time there was a carpenter, who had a wife whom he loved dearly; and the carpenter heard from his neighbours that she was in love with another man; so, wishing to test the fidelity of his wife, he said to her one day: “My dear, I am by command of the king going a long journey to-day, in order to do a job, so give me barley-meal and other things as provision for the journey.” She obeyed and gave him provisions, and he went out of the house; and then secretly came back into it, and with a pupil of his hid himself under the bed. As for the wife, she summoned her paramour. And while she was sitting with him on the bed, the wicked woman happened to touch her husband with her foot, and found out that he was there. And a moment after, her paramour, being puzzled, asked her which she loved the best, himself or her husband. When she heard this, the artful and treacherous woman said to that lover of hers; “I love my husband best, for his sake I would surrender my life. As for this unfaithfulness of mine, it is natural to women; they would even eat dirt, if they had no noses.”
When the carpenter heard this hypocritical speech of the adulteress, he came out from under the bed, and said to his pupil; “You have seen, you are my witness to this; though my wife has betaken herself to this lover, she is still so devoted to me; so I will carry her on my head.” When the silly fellow had said this, he immediately took them both up, as they sat on the bed, upon his head, with the help of his pupil, and carried them about.
“So an undiscerning blockhead, though he sees a crime committed before his eyes, is satisfied with hypocritical flattery, and makes himself ridiculous. So you must not spare Chirajívin, who is a follower of your enemy, for, if not carefully watched, he might slay your Majesty in a moment, like a disease.” When the king of the owls heard Raktáksha say this, he answered; “It was in trying to benefit us that the worthy creature was reduced to this state. So how can we do otherwise than spare his life? Besides, what harm can he do us unaided?” So the king of the owls rejected the advice of Raktáksha, and comforted that crow Chirajívin. Then Chirajívin said to the king of the owls, “What is the use to me of life, now that I am in this state? So have logs of wood brought me, in order that I may enter the fire. And I will ask the fire as a boon, that I may be born again as an owl, in order that I may wreak my vengeance upon this king of the crows.” When he said this, Raktáksha laughed and said to him; “By the favour of our master you will be well enough off: what need is there of fire? Moreover you will never become an owl, as long as you have the nature of a crow. Every creature is such as he is made by the Creator.”
Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden.[16]
For once on a time a hermit found a young mouse, which had escaped from the claws of a kite, and pitying it, made it by the might of his asceticism into a young maiden. And he brought her up in his hermitage; and, when he saw that she had grown up, wishing to give her to a powerful husband, he summoned the sun. And he said to the sun; “Marry this maiden, whom I wish to give in marriage to some mighty one.” Then the sun answered, “The cloud is more powerful than I, he obscures me in a moment.” When the hermit heard that, he dismissed the sun, and summoned the cloud, and made the same proposal to him. He replied, “The wind is more powerful than I: he drives me into any quarter of the heaven he pleases.” When the hermit got this answer, he summoned the wind and made the same proposal to him. And the wind replied, “The mountains are stronger than I, for I cannot move them.” When the great hermit heard this, he summoned the Himálaya, and made the same proposal to him. That mountain answered him; “The mice are stronger than I am, for they dig holes in me.”
Having thus got these answers in succession from those wise divinities, the great ṛishi summoned a forest mouse, and said to him, “Marry this maiden.” Thereupon the mouse said, “Shew me how she is to be got into my hole.” Then the hermit said, “It is better that she should return to her condition as a mouse.” So he made her a mouse again, and gave her to that male mouse.
“So a creature returns to what it was, at the end of a long peregrination, accordingly you, Chirajívin, will never become an owl.” When Raktáksha said this to Chirajívin, the latter reflected; “This king has not acted on the advice of this minister, who is skilled in policy. All these others are fools, so my object is gained.” While he was thus reflecting, the king of the owls took Chirajívin with him to his own fortress, confiding in his own strength, disregarding the advice of Raktáksha. And Chirajívin, being about his person, and fed with pieces of meat and other delicacies by him, soon acquired as splendid a plumage as a peacock.[17] One day, Chirajívin said to the king of the owls; “King, I will go and encourage that king of the crows and bring him back to his dwelling, in order that you may attack him this night and slay him, and that I may make[18] some return for this favour of yours. But do you all fortify your door with grass and other things, and remain in the cave where your nests are, that they may not attack you by day.” When, by saying this, Chirajívin had made the owls retire into their cave, and barricade the door and the approaches to the cave, with grass and leaves, he went back to his own king. And with him he returned, carrying a brand from a pyre, all ablaze, in his beak, and every one of the crows that followed him had a piece of wood hanging down from his beak. And the moment he arrived, he set on fire the door of the cave, in which were those owls, creatures that are blind by day, which had been barricaded with dry grass and other stuff.
And every crow, in the same way, threw down at the same time his piece of wood, and so kindled a fire and burnt the owls, king and all.[19] And the king of the crows, having destroyed his enemies with the help of Chirajívin, was highly delighted, and returned with his tribe of crows to his own banyan-tree. Then Chirajívin told the story of how he lived among his enemies, to king Meghavarṇa, the king of the crows, and said to him; “Your enemy, king, had one good minister named Raktáksha; it is because he was infatuated by confidence, and did not act on that minister’s advice, that I was allowed to remain uninjured. Because the villain did not act on his advice, thinking it was groundless, I was able to gain the confidence of the impolitic fool, and to deceive him. It was by a feigned semblance of submission that the snake entrapped and killed the frogs.”
Story of the snake and the frogs.[20]
A certain old snake, being unable to catch frogs easily on the bank of a lake, which was frequented by men, remained there motionless. And when he was there, the frogs asked him, keeping at a safe distance; “Tell us, worthy sir, why do you no longer eat frogs as of old?” When the snake was asked this question by the frogs, he answered, “While I was pursuing a frog, I one day bit a Bráhman’s son in the finger by mistake, and he died. And his father by a curse made me a bearer of frogs. So how can I eat you now? On the contrary I will carry you on my back.”
When the king of the frogs heard that, he was desirous of being carried, and putting aside fear, he came out of the water, and joyfully mounted on the back of the snake. Then the snake, having gained his good-will by carrying him about with his ministers, represented himself as exhausted, and said cunningly; “I cannot go a step further without food, so give me something to eat. How can a servant exist without subsistence?” When the frog-king, who was fond of being carried about, heard this, he said to him; “Eat a few of my followers then.” So the snake ate all the frogs in succession, as he pleased, and the king of the frogs put up with it, being blinded with pride at being carried about by the snake.
“Thus a fool is deceived by a wise man who worms himself into his confidence. And in the same way I ingratiated myself with your enemies and brought about their ruin. So a king must be skilled in policy and self-restrained; a fool is plundered by his servants and slain by his foes at will. And this goddess of prosperity, O king, is ever treacherous as gambling, fickle as a wave, intoxicating as wine. But she remains as persistently constant to a king, who is self-contained, well-advised, free from vice, and knows differences of character, as if she were tied with a rope. So you must now remain attentive to the words of the wise, and glad at the slaughter of your enemies, rule a realm free from opponents.” When the minister Chirajívin said this to the crow-king Meghavarṇa, the latter loaded him with honours, and ruled as he recommended.
When Gomukha had said this, he went on to say to the son of the king of Vatsa; “So you see, king, that even animals are able to rule prosperously by means of discretion, but the indiscreet are always ruined and become the laughing-stock of the public.”