The Talking Beasts: A Book of Fable Wisdom

by Unknown

THE FABLES OF BIDPAI

The Snake and the Sparrows

It is related that two Sparrows once made their nest in the roof of a house; and, contenting themselves with a single grain, so lived. Once on a time they had young ones, and both the mother and father used to go out in search of food for their support; and what they procured they made up into grains and dropped into their crops.

One day, the male Sparrow had gone out somewhere. When he came back he beheld the female Sparrow fluttering in the greatest distress around the nest, while she uttered piteous cries. He exclaimed, "Sweet friend! what movements are these which I behold in thee?" She replied, "How shall I not lament, since, when I returned after a moment's absence, I saw a huge Snake come and prepare to devour my offspring, though I poured forth piteous cries. It was all in vain, for the Snake said, 'Thy sigh will have no effect on my dark-mirrored scales.' I replied, 'Dread this, that I and the father of these children will gird up the waist of vengeance, and will exert ourselves to the utmost for thy destruction.' The Snake laughed on hearing me, and that cruel oppressor has devoured my young and has also taken his rest in the nest."

When the male Sparrow heard this story, his frame was wrung with anguish; and the fire of regret for the loss of his offspring fell on his soul. At that moment the master of the house was engaged in lighting his lamp; and holding in his hand a match, dipped in grease and lighted, was about to put it into the lamp-holder. The Sparrow flew and snatched the match from his hand and threw it into the nest. The master of the house, through fear that the fire would catch to the roof, and that the consequences would be most pernicious, immediately ran up on the terrace and began clearing away the nest from beneath, in order to put out the fire. The Snake beheld in front the danger of the fire, and heard above the sound of the pickaxe. It put out its head from a hole which it had near the roof, and no sooner did it do so than it received a blow of death from the pickaxe.

And the moral of this fable is, that the Snake despised its enemy, and made no account of him, until in the end that enemy pounded his head with the stone of vengeance.

The Geese and the Tortoise

It is related that in a pool whose pure water reflected every image like a clear mirror, once resided two Geese and a Tortoise, and in consequence of their being neighbours, the thread of their circumstances had been drawn out into sincere friendship, and they passed their lives contentedly.

In that water which was the source of their life and the support of their existence, however, a complete failure began to manifest itself, and a glaring alteration became evident. When the Geese perceived that state of things they withdrew their hearts from the home to which they were accustomed and determined on emigrating. Therefore with hearts full of sorrow and eyes full of tears, they approached the Tortoise, and introduced the subject of parting.

The Tortoise wept at the intelligence and piteously exclaimed, "What words are these, and how can existence be supported without sympathizing friends? And since that I have not power even to take leave, how can I endure the load of separation?"

The Geese replied: "Our hearts, too, are wounded by the sharp points of absence, but the distress of being without water is impossible to endure, and therefore of necessity we are about to forsake our friend and country."

The Tortoise rejoined: "O friends! ye know that the distress of the want of water affects me more, and that without water I cannot support myself. At this crisis the rights of ancient companionship demand that ye should take me with you, and not leave me alone in the sorrowful abode of separation."

The Geese answered: "O esteemed comrade! the pang of parting from thee is sharper than that of exile, and wherever we go, though we should pass our time in the utmost comfort, yet, deprived of seeing thee, the eye of our rejoicing would be darkened; but for us to proceed on the earth's surface and so to traverse a great and long distance is impossible, and for thee, too, to fly through the expanse of air and accompany us is impracticable; and such being the case, how can we travel together?"

The Tortoise answered: "Your sagacity will be able to devise a remedy for this matter, and what plan can develop while my spirit is broken by the thought of parting?"

The Geese replied: "O friend! during this period of our friendship we have observed in thee somewhat of hastiness and rashness; perhaps thou wilt not act upon what we say, nor keep firm to thy promise after thou hast made it."

The Tortoise rejoined; "How can it be that ye should speak with a view to my advantage, and I fail to perform a compact which is for my own good?"

Said the Geese: "The condition is that when we take thee up and fly through the air thou wilt not utter a single syllable, for any one who may happen to see us will be sure to throw in a word, and say something in reference to us directly or indirectly. Now, how many soever allusions thou mayest hear, or whatever manoeuvres thou mayest observe, thou must close the path of reply, and not loose thy tongue."

The Tortoise answered: "I am obedient to your commands, and I will positively place the seal of silence on my lips, so that I shall not be even disposed to answer any creature."

The Geese then brought a stick, and the Tortoise laid hold of the middle of it firmly with his teeth, and they, lifting the two ends of the stick, bore him up. When they got to a height in the air, they happened to pass over a village, and the inhabitants thereof having discovered them, were astonished at their proceedings, and came out to look at the sight, and raised a shout from left and right, "Look! how two geese are carrying a tortoise!"

And as in those days the like of it had never been witnessed by that people, their cries and exclamations increased every moment. The Tortoise was silent for a time, but at length the cauldron of his self-esteem began to boil, and his patience being exhausted, he exclaimed: "You who are shouting to others to look at what is plain enough to every one, hold your peace!" No sooner had he opened his lips, however, than he fell from on high, and the Geese exclaimed, "It is the part of friends to give advice and of the well-disposed to listen to it."

And the moral of this story is, that whoever listens not to the admonition of friends, with the hearing of acceptance, will have hastened his own destruction.

The Sagacious Snake

It is related that the infirmities of age had taken effect upon a Snake and through loss of strength he was unable to pursue his prey, and was bewildered in his proceedings how to obtain food. Life was impossible without food, and to hunt for it, had, through his weakness, become impracticable. Accordingly he thus reflected:

"Alas! for the strength of my youth; and now to expect its return and to hope for the recurrence of my animal vigour is a thing of the same complexion as to light a fire from water." He felt that what was passed could not be recalled, and he therefore busied himself with taking thought for the future, and said: "In lieu of the strength of youth I have a little experience which I have acquired, and a trifle of prudence. I must now base my proceedings on abstaining from injuring others and must begin to consider how I may obtain, for the remainder of my life, what may be the means of support."

He then went to the brink of a spring of water in which there were a number of frogs who had a potent King and one who was obeyed and renowned. The Snake cast himself down there in the dust of the road, like to a sufferer on whom calamity has fallen. A Frog speedily made up to him, and asked him: "I see thou art very sorrowful. What is the cause of it?" The Snake replied: "Who deserves more to grieve than I, whose maintenance was from hunting frogs? Today an event has occurred which has rendered the pursuit of them unlawful to me, and if I seriously designed to seize one, I could not." The Frog went away and told the King, who was amazed at this strange circumstance, and coming to the Snake, asked him: "What is the cause of this accident that has befallen thee and what act has brought down this upon thee?"

The Snake replied: "O King, greed plunged me into calamity, and this befell as follows: One day I attempted to seize a Frog, which fled from me and took refuge in the house of a holy man. My appetite led me to follow him into the house, which happened to be dark. The son of the holy man lay there asleep, and his great toe coming against me I fancied it was the Frog. From the ardour of my greediness I closed my teeth upon it, and the child died on the spot. The holy man discovered the fact, and from regret for his son, attacked me, and I, turning toward the open country, fled with speed, and the recluse pursued me and cursed me, and said: 'I desire of my Creator that He will make thee base and powerless, and cause thee to be the vehicle of the Frog-king. And, verily, thou shalt not have power to eat Frogs, save what their King shall bestow on thee as alms.' And now, of necessity, I have come hither that the King may ride upon me, and I have acquiesced in the will of God."

The matter pleased the King of the Frogs, and he thought that it would redound to his advantage; and he at once seated himself upon the Snake, and indulged in vainglorious airs in consequence.

Some time passed in this way. At last the Snake said: "May the life of the King be prolonged! I cannot do without food and sustenance, that I may support life thereon and fulfil this service." The King said: "The case is as thou sayest; I cannot do without my steed, and my steed cannot have strength without food." He then fixed two Frogs as his daily allowance, that he might use as his regular supply for breakfast and dinner. The Snake maintained himself on that allowance; and inasmuch as the attention he paid to the Frog-king involved a benefit to himself he did not find fault with it.

And this story is adduced to make it apparent that courtesy and humility are readier means to uproot an enemy than war and contest.

The Old Woman's Cat

In former times there lived an old woman in a state of extreme debility. She possessed a cot more narrow than the heart of the ignorant and darker than the miser's grave; and a Cat was her companion, which had never seen, even in the mirror of imagination, the face of a loaf, nor had heard from friend or stranger the name of meat. It was content if occasionally it smelt the odour of a mouse from its hole, or saw the print of the foot of one on the surface of a board, and if, on some rare occasion, by the aid of good fortune one fell into its claws, it subsisted a whole week, more or less, on that amount of food.

And, inasmuch as the house of the old woman was the famine-year of that Cat, it was always miserable and thin, and from a distance appeared like an idea.

One day, through excessive weakness, it had, with the utmost difficulty, mounted on the top of the roof; thence it beheld a Cat which walked proudly on the wall of a neighbouring house, and after the fashion of a destroying lion advanced with measured steps, and from excessive fat lifted its feet slowly. When the Cat of the old woman saw this, it was astonished and cried out, saying: "Thou, whose state is thus pleasant, whence art thou? and since it appears that thou comest from the banquet-chamber of the Khan of Khata, whence is this sleekness of thine, and from what cause this thy grandeur and strength?"

The Neighbour-Cat replied: "I am the crumb-eater of the tray of the Sultan. Every morning I attend on the court of the king, and when they spread the tray of invitation, I display boldness and daring, and in general I snatch off some morsels of fat meats, and of loaves made of the finest flour; and thus I pass my time happy and satisfied till the next day."

The Cat of the old woman inquired: "What sort of a thing may fat meat be? and what kind of relish has bread, made of fine flour? I, during my whole life, have never seen nor tasted aught save the old woman's broths, and mouse's flesh."

The Neighbour-Cat laughed, and said: "Therefore it is that one cannot distinguish thee from a spider, and this form and appearance that thou hast is a reproach to our whole race. If thou shouldst see the court of the Sultan and smell the odour of those delicious viands, thou wouldst acquire a fresh form."

The Cat of the old woman, said, most beseechingly, "O brother! thou art bound to me by neighbourship and kinship; why not this time, when thou goest, take me with thee? Perchance, by thy good fortune, I may obtain food."

The heart of the Neighbour-Cat melted at the speaker's lamentable position, and he resolved that he would not attend the feast without him. The Cat of the old woman felt new life at these tidings, and descending from the roof stated the case to his mistress. The old dame began to advise the Cat, saying: "O kind companion, be not deceived by the words of worldly people and abandon not the corner of content, for the vessel of covetousness is not filled save with the dust of the grave." But the Cat had taken into its head such a longing for the delicacies of the Sultan's table that the medicine of advice was not profitable to it.

In short, the next day, along with its neighbour, the old woman's Cat, with tottering steps conveyed itself to court, but before it could arrive there ill-fortune had poured the water of disappointment on the fire of its wish, and the reason was as follows:

The day before, the cats had made a general onslaught on the table, and raised an uproar beyond bounds, and annoyed, to the last degree, the guests and their host. Wherefore, on this day, the Sultan had commanded that a band of archers, standing in ambush, should watch, so that for every cat who, holding before its face the buckler of impudence should enter the plain of audacity, the very first morsel that it ate should be a liver-piercing shaft.

The old woman's Cat, ignorant of this circumstance, as soon as it smelt the odour of the viands, turned its face like a falcon to the hunting-ground of the table, and the scale of the balance of appetite had not yet been weighted by heavy mouthfuls, when the heart-piercing arrow quivered in its breast.

Dear friend! the honey pays not for the sting,
Content with syrup is a better thing.

The Young Tiger

In the environs of Basrah there was an island of excessively pleasant climate, where limpid waters flowed on every side and life-bestowing zephyrs breathed around.

From its excessive exquisiteness they called it the "Joy-expanding Wilderness," and a Tiger bore sway there, such that from dread of him fierce lions could not set foot in that retreat.

He had lived much time in that wild, according to his wish, and had never seen the form of disappointment in the mirror of existence. He had a young one whose countenance made the world seem bright to him, and his intention was that when that young one came to years he would commit that solitude to his charge, and pass the rest of his life at ease in the corner of retirement. The blossom of his wish had not yet expanded on the stem of desire when the autumn of death gave the fruit of the garden of his existence to the mind of destruction.

And when this Tiger was seized by the claw of the Lion, Death, several wild beasts who for a long time entertained a desire for that wilderness made a unanimous movement and set about appropriating it. The young Tiger saw that he possessed not the strength to resist. He went voluntarily into exile, and amongst the wild beasts a huge contest arose. A blood-spilling Lion overcame all the others and brought the island into his own possession, and the young Tiger, having for some time endured distress in the mountains and wastes, conveyed himself to another haunt, and disclosed his affliction to the wild beasts of that district, asking their aid to find a remedy.

They, having received intelligence of the victory of the Lion, and his overpowering might, said: "O unfortunate! thy place is now in the possession of a Lion such that from terror of him the wild birds will not fly over that wilderness, and from fear of him the elephant will not approach. We have not strength to fight with him and thou too art not able to enter with him the arena of strife. Our opinion demands that thou shouldst betake thyself to his court, and with perfect loyalty enter his service."

These words seemed reasonable to the young Tiger, and he looked upon his best course to be this—that he should voluntarily enter the service of the Lion, and, to the extent of his ability, offer the duties of attendance. Through the intervention of one of the nobles he obtained the honour of waiting on the Lion, and, having become the object of the imperial regard, was appointed to an office suited to his spirit. Having tightly fastened the belt of obedience on the waist of affection the royal favour was constantly augmented and he incessantly displayed increased exertion in the affairs of the state.

Upon a certain time an important matter arose which called the Lion away to a distant jungle; and at that time the heat of the oven of the sky was unmitigated, and the expanse of waste and mountain like a furnace of glass fiercely inflamed. From the excessive heat of the air, the brains of animals were boiled in their craniums, and the crabs in the water were fried like fish in the frying-pan.

The Lion reflected: "At such a time, when the shell at the bottom of the deep, like a fowl on a spit, is roasting, an affair of this importance has occurred. Who may there be among my attendants who would not be affected by the labour and who, undeterred by the heat of the atmosphere, would approach this undertaking?"

In the midst of this reflection the Tiger came in with the line of attendants and observed that the Lion was thoughtful. On the ground of his tact and affection, he advanced near the throne of royalty, and was emboldened to ask the cause of that thoughtfulness, and having learned how the case stood, he took upon himself to accomplish the matter, and having been honoured with permission, he set off with a body of attendants, and, arriving at that place at noon, he betook himself to the accomplishment of that affair, and the instant that the business was settled to his satisfaction he changed his reins to return.

The officers who had been appointed to attend him unanimously represented as follows: "In such heat as this, all this distance has been traversed by the steps of completion, and now that the affair has been settled and the confidence placed in you by his majesty been demonstrated, it will certainly be advisable if you should repose a short time in the shade of a tree and allay the fiery tongue of thirst by drinking cool water."

The Tiger smiled and said: "My intimacy and rank with his majesty the king is a banner that I have by toil and effort set up. It would not be well to level it with the ground by indulgence and sloth. Without supporting trouble it is impossible to arrive at the carrying off of treasure, and unaccompanied by the thorn we cannot reap the enjoyment of the rose garden."

The informers furnished intelligence of this to the Lion, and recited the book of the affair, from preface to conclusion. The Lion nodded the head of approval, and said: "The people may be at peace in the just reign of that ruler who does not place his head on the pillow of repose." He then sent for the Tiger, and having distinguished him with special honours, committed that jungle to him, and, having bestowed on him the place of his sire, conferred on him, in addition, the dignity of being his heir.

And the use of this fable is, that thou mayest learn that to no one does the sun of his wish rise from the eastern quarter of hope without the diligent use of great exertion.

The Fox and the Drum

It is related that a Fox was once prowling over a moor, and was roaming in every direction in hope of scenting food. Presently he came to the foot of a tree, at the side of which they had suspended a drum, and whenever a gust of wind came, a branch of the tree was put in motion, and struck the surface of the drum, when a terrible noise arose from it.

The Fox, seeing a domestic fowl under the tree, who was pecking the ground with her beak, and searching for food, planted himself in ambush, and wished to make her his prey, when all of a sudden the sound of a drum reached his ear. He looked and saw a very fat form, and a prodigious sound from it reached his hearing. The appetite of the Fox was excited, and he thought to himself, "Assuredly its flesh and skin will be proportioned to its voice."

He issued from his lurking-place and turned toward the tree. The fowl being put on its guard by that circumstance, fled, and the Fox, by a hundred exertions, ascended the tree. Much did he labour till he had torn the drum, and then he found nought save a skin and a piece of wood. The fire of regret descended into his heart, and the water of contrition began to run from his eyes, and he said: "Alas! that by reason of this huge bulk which is all wind, that lawful prey has escaped from my hand, and from this empty form no advantage has resulted to me."

Loudly ever sounds the labour,
But in vain—within is nought:
Art thou wise, for substance labour,
Semblance will avail thee nought.

The Sparrows and the Falcon

Two Sparrows once fixed their nest on the branch of a tree; and of worldly gear, water and grain sufficed them; while on the summit of a mountain, beneath which that tree lay, a Falcon had its abode, which, at the time of stooping on its quarry, issued from its lurking-place like lightning, and, like heaven's bolt, clean consumed the feebler birds.

Whenever the Sparrows produced young, and the time was near at hand for them to fly, that Falcon, rushing forth from its ambush, used to carry them off and make them food for its own young. Now, to those Sparrows—in accordance with the saying, "The law of home is a part of faith"—to migrate from that place was impossible, and yet from the cruelty of the tyrannous Hawk it was difficult to reside there.

On one occasion their young ones, having gained strength and put forth feathers and wings, were able to move; and the father and mother, pleased with the sight of their offspring, testified their joy at their attempt to fly.

Suddenly the thought of the Falcon passed through their minds, and, all at once, they began to lament from anxiety.

One of their children—in whose countenance the signs of ripe discretion were visible—having inquired the reason of their despondency, they recounted the history of the Falcon's oppression and of its carrying off their young, with all the particulars.

The son said; "The Causer of Causes has sent a cure for every sorrow. It is probable that if ye exert yourselves in repelling this misfortune both this calamity will be averted from our heads and this burden removed from your hearts."

These words pleased the Sparrows; and while one of them stopped to attend the young ones, the other flew forth in search of relief. He resolved in his mind on the way that he would tell his story to whatsoever animal his eyes first fell upon, and ask a remedy for his heart's distress from it.

It happened that a Salamander, having come forth from a mine of fire, was wandering in the spreading plain of the desert. When the glance of the Sparrow lighted upon him, and that strange form came into his view, he said to himself: "I have fallen upon good! Come on, I will disclose the grief of my heart to this marvellous bird; perhaps he may undo the knot of my affairs and may show me the way to a remedy." Then with the utmost respect, he advanced to the Salamander, and after the usual salutation, paid the compliment of offering service. The Salamander, too, in a kind tone, expressed the courtesy required toward travellers and said: "The traces of weariness are discernible in thy countenance. If this arises from journeying, be pleased to halt some days in this neighbourhood; and if the case be aught else, explain it, that, to the extent of my power, I may exert myself to remedy it."

The Sparrow loosed his tongue, and represented to the Salamander his piteous condition, after a fashion, that, had he told it to a rock, it would have been rent in pieces by his distress.

After hearing his tale, the Salamander, too, felt the fire of compassion kindled, and he said; "Grieve not! for I will this night take such measures as to consume the Falcon's abode and nest and all that therein is. Do thou point out to me thy dwelling, and go to thy offspring until the time I come to thee."

The Sparrow indicated his dwelling in such a way as not to leave a doubt in the mind of the Salamander; and with a glad heart turned toward his own nest. When the night came on, the Salamander, with a number of its own kind, each carrying a quantity of naphtha and brimstone, set off in the direction of the spot, and under the guidance of that Sparrow conveyed themselves to the vicinity of the Falcon's nest.

The latter, unaware of the impending misfortune, had, with its young, eaten plentifully and fallen asleep. The Salamanders cast upon their nest all the naphtha and brimstone that they had brought with them and turned back and the blast of justice fell upon those oppressors. They rose up from the sleep of negligence and all of them, with their abode and nest, were at once consumed to ashes.

And this instance is given that thou mayest know that every one who labours to repel an enemy, though he be small and weak, and his foe great and strong, may yet hope for victory and triumph.

The Hermit, the Thief, and the Demon

It is related that a Hermit of pure disposition, abstemious and virtuous, had made his cell in one of the environs of Baghdad, and passed his morning and evening hours in the worship of the All-wise King, and by these means had shaken his skirt clear from the dust of worldly affairs. He had bowed his head in the corner of contentment under the collar of freedom from care, and rested satisfied with the portion that was supplied to him from the invisible world.

One of his sincere disciples got knowledge of the poverty and fastings of the Holy Man, and by way of offering, brought to the hermitage a she buffalo, young and fat, with whose delicious milk the palate of desire was oiled and sweetened.

A thief beheld the circumstance, and his hungry appetite was excited; and he set off for the cell of the recluse. A demon, too, joined him in the likeness of a man. The thief asked him: "Who art thou, and whither goest thou?" He replied: "I am a demon, who have assumed this shape, and, putting on this guise, am going to the hermitage of the recluse, for many of the people of this country, through the blessing of his instruction, have begun to repent and to be converted and the market of our temptations has become flat. I wish to get an opportunity and kill him. This is my story which thou hast heard; now, tell me, who art thou and what is thy story?" The thief replied:

"I am a man whose trade is roguery, and I am occupied night and day with thinking how to steal some one's goods and impose the scar of affliction on his heart. I am now going, as the recluse has got a fat buffalo, to steal it and use it for my own wants." The demon said;

"Praise be to God that the bond of kinship is strong between us, and this alone is sufficient to ally us, since the object of both is to assail him."

They then proceeded on their way, and at night reached the cell of the recluse. The latter had finished the performance of his daily worship, and had gone to sleep, just as he was, on his prayer-carpet. The thief bethought himself, that if the demon attempted to kill him he would probably awake and make an outcry; and the other people who were his neighbours, would be alarmed, and in that case it would be impossible to steal the buffalo. The demon, too, reflected that if the thief carried off the buffalo from the house, he must of course open the door. Then the noise of the door would very likely awaken the recluse, and he should have to postpone killing him. He then said to the thief: "Do thou wait and give me time to kill the hermit, and then do thou steal the buffalo." The thief rejoined: "Stop thou till I steal the buffalo, and then kill the hermit."

This difference was prolonged between them, and at last the words of both came to wrangling. The thief was so annoyed that he called out to the recluse: "There is a demon here who wants to kill thee." The demon, too, shouted: "Here is a thief, who wants to steal thy buffalo."

The hermit was roused by the uproar, and raised a cry, whereupon the neighbours came, and both the thief and the demon ran way; and the life and property of the Holy Man remained safe and secure through the quarrel of his enemies.

When the two hostile armies fall to strife,
Then from its sheath what need to draw the knife?

The King and the Hawk

It is related that in ancient times there was a King fond of hunting. He was ever giving reins to the courser of his desire in the pursuit of game, and was always casting the lasso of gladness over the neck of sport. Now this King had a Hawk, who at a single flight could bring down a pebble from the peak of the Caucasus, and in terror of whose claws the constellation Aquila kept himself in the green nest of the sky; and the King had a prodigious fondness for this Hawk and always cared for it with his own hands.

It happened one day that the Monarch, holding the Hawk on his hand, had gone to the chase. A stag leapt up before him and he galloped after it with the utmost eagerness. But he did not succeed in coming up with it, and became separated from his retinue and servants; and though some of them followed him, the King rode so hotly that the morning breeze could not have reached the dust he raised.

Meantime the fire of his thirst was kindled, and the intense desire to drink overcame the King. He galloped his steed in every direction in search of water until he reached the skirt of a mountain, and beheld that from its summit limpid water was trickling. The King drew forth a cup which he had in his quiver, and riding under the mountain filled the cup with that water, which fell drop by drop, and was about to take a draught, when the Hawk made a blow with his wing, and spilled all the water in the goblet. The King was vexed at this action, but held the cup a second time under the rock, until it was brimful. He then raised it to his lips again, and again the Hawk made a movement and overthrew the cup. The King rendered impatient by thirst, dashed the Hawk on the ground and killed it.

Shortly after a stirrup-holder of the King came up and saw the Hawk dead, and the Monarch athirst. He then undid a water-vessel from his saddle-cord and washed the cup clean, and was about to give the King a drink. The latter bade him ascend the mountain, as he had an inclination for the pure water which trickled from the rock; and could not wait to collect it in the cup, drop by drop. The stirrup-holder ascended the mountain and beheld a spring giving out a drop at a time with a hundred stintings; and a huge serpent lay dead on the margin of the fountain; and as the heat of the sun had taken effect upon it, the poisonous saliva mixed with the water of that mountain, and it trickled drop by drop down the rock.

The stirrup-holder was overcome with horror, and came down from the mountain bewildered, and represented the state of the case, and gave the King a cup of cold water from his ewer. The latter raised the cup to his lips, and his eyes overflowed with tears. The attendant asked the reason of his weeping. The King drew a sigh from his anguished heart and relating in full the story of the Hawk and the spilling of the water in the cup, said: "I grieve for the death of the Hawk, and bemoan my own deed in that without inquiry I have deprived a creature, so dear to me, of life." The attendant replied: "This Hawk protected thee from a great peril, and has established a claim to the gratitude of all the people of this country. It would have been better if the King had not been precipitate in slaying it, and had quenched the fire of wrath with the water of mildness."

The King replied; "I repent of this unseemly action; but my repentance is now unavailing, and the wound of this sorrow cannot be healed by any salve"; and this story is related in order that it may be known that many such incidents have occurred where, through the disastrous results of precipitation, men have fallen into the whirlpool of repentance.

The Mouse and the Frog

It is related that a Mouse had taken up its abode on the brink of a fountain and had fixed its residence at the foot of a tree.

A Frog, too, passed his time in the water there, and sometimes came to the margin of the pool to take the air. One day, coming to the edge of the water, he continued uttering his voice in a heart-rending cadence and assumed himself to be a nightingale of a thousand melodies.

At that time the Mouse was engaged in chanting in a corner of his cell. Directly he heard the uproarious yelling of the Frog he was astounded, and came out with the intention of taking a look at the reciter; and while occupied with listening to him, kept smiting his hands together and shaking his head. These gestures, which seemed to display approbation, pleased the Frog and he made advances toward acquaintance with him. In short, being mutually pleased with each other, they became inseparable companions, and used to narrate to each other entertaining stories and tales.

One day the Mouse said to the Frog: "I am oftentimes desirous of disclosing to thee a secret and recounting to thee a grief which I have at heart, and at that moment thou art abiding under the water. However much I shout thou nearest me not, owing to the noise of the water, and in spite of my crying to thee, the sound cannot reach thee, because of the clamour of the other frogs. We must devise some means by which thou mayest know when I come to the brink of the water, and thus mayest be informed of my arrival without my shouting to thee."

The Frog said: "Thou speakest the truth. I, too, have often pondered uneasily, thinking, should my friend come to the brink of the water, how shall I, at the bottom of this fountain, learn his arrival? And it sometimes happens that I, too, come to the mouth of thy hole, and thou hast gone out from another side, and I have to wait long. I had intended to have touched somewhat on this subject before, but now the arrangement of it rests with thee."

The Mouse replied: "I have got hold of the thread of a plan, and it appears to me the best thing to get a long string, and to fasten one end to thy foot, and tie the other tight around my own, in order that when I come to the water's edge and shake the string, thou mayest know what I want; and if thou, too, art so kind as to come to the door of my cell, I may also get information by thy jerking the string." Both parties agreed to this, and the knot of friendship was in this manner firmly secured, and they were also kept informed of one another's condition. One day, the Mouse came to the water's edge to seek the Frog, in order to renew their friendly converse. All of a sudden a Crow, like an unforeseen calamity, flew down from the air, and snatching up the Mouse, soared aloft, with him. The string which was tied to the leg of the Mouse drew forth the Frog from the bottom of the water, and, as the other leg was fastened to the Frog's leg, he was suspended head downward in the air. The Crow flew on, holding the Mouse in its beak, and lower still the Frog hanging head downward. People witnessing that extraordinary sight were uttering in the road various jokes and sarcasms: "A strange thing this, that contrary to his wont, a crow has made a prey of a frog!" and "Never before was a frog the prey of a crow!"

The Frog was howling out in reply: "Now, too, a Frog is not the prey of a Crow, but from the bad luck of associating with a Mouse, I have been caught in this calamity, and he who associates with a different species deserves a thousand times as much."

And this story carries with it this beneficial advice: That no one ought to associate with one of a different race, in order that, like the Frog, he may not be suspended on the string of calamity.

The Crow and the Partridge

It is related that one day a Crow was flying and saw a Partridge, which was walking gracefully on the ground with a quick step and graceful gait that enchanted the heart of the looker-on.

The Crow was pleased with the gait of the Partridge, and amazed at its agility. The desire of walking in the same manner fixed itself in his mind, and the insane longing to step proudly, after this fascinating fashion, made its appearance. He forthwith girt his loins in attendance on the Partridge, and abandoning sleep and food, gave himself up to that arduous occupation, and kept continually running in the traces of the Partridge and gazing on its progress.

One day the Partridge said: "O crazy, black-faced one! I observe that thou art ever hovering about me, and art always watching my motions. What is it that thou dost want?"

The Crow replied: "O thou of graceful manners and sweet smiling face, know that having conceived a desire to learn thy gait, I have followed thy steps for a long time past, and wish to acquire thy manner of walking, in order that I may place the foot of preeminence on the head of my fellows."

The Partridge uttered a merry laugh, and said: "Alack! alack! My walking gracefully is a thing implanted in me by nature, and thy style of going is equally a natural characteristic. My going is in one way, and thy mode of procedure is quite another. Leave off this fancy and relinquish this idea."

The Crow replied: "Since I have plunged into this affair, no idle stories shall make me give it up; and until I grasp my wished-for object, I will not turn back from this road."

So the unfortunate Crow for a long time ran after the Partridge, and having failed to learn his method of going, forgot his own too, and could in nowise recover it.