Then the chief minister Gomukha, having told the story of the two Vidyádhara maidens, said to Naraváhanadatta, “Some ordinary men even, being kindly disposed towards the three worlds, resist with firm resolution the disturbance of love and other passions.
Story of Śúravarman who spared his guilty wife.
For the king Kuladhara once had a servant of distinguished valour, a young man of good family, named Śúravarman. And one day, as he was returning from war, he entered his house suddenly, and found his wife alone with his friend. And when he saw it, he restrained his wrath, and in his self-control reflected, “What is the use of slaying this animal who has betrayed his friend? Or of punishing this wicked woman? Why too should I saddle my soul with a load of guilt?” After he had thus reflected, he left them both unharmed and said to them, “I will kill whichever of you two I see again. You must neither of you come in my sight again. When he said this and let them depart, they went away to some distant place, but Śúravarman married another wife, and lived there in comfort.
“Thus, prince, a man who conquers wrath will not be subject to grief; and a man, who displays prudence, is never harmed. Even in the case of animals prudence produces success, not valour. In proof of it, hear this story about the lion, and the bull, and other animals.”
Story of the Ox abandoned in the Forest.[1]
There was in a certain city a rich merchant’s son. Once on a time, as he was going to the city of Mathurá to trade, a draught-bull belonging to him, named Sanjívaka, as it was dragging the yoke vigorously, broke it, and so slipped in the path, which had become muddy by a mountain torrent flowing into it, and fell and bruised its limbs. The merchant’s son, seeing that the bull was unable to move on account of its bruises, and not succeeding in his attempts to raise it up from the ground, at last in despair went off and left it there. And, as fate would have it, the bull slowly revived, and rose up, and by eating tender grass recovered its former condition. And it went to the bank of the Yamuná, and by eating green grass and wandering about at will, it became fat and strong. And it roamed about there, with full hump, wantoning, like the bull of Śiva, tearing up ant-hills with its horns, and bellowing frequently.
Now at that time there lived in a neighbouring wood a lion named Pingalaka, who had subdued the forest by his might; and that king of beasts had two jackals for ministers; the name of the one was Damanaka, and the name of the other was Karaṭaka. That lion, going one day to the bank of the Yamuná to drink water, heard close to him the roar of that bull Sanjívaka. And when the lion heard the roar of that bull, never heard before, resounding through the air, he thought, “What animal makes this sound? Surely some great creature dwells here, so I will depart, for if it saw me, it might slay me, or expel me from the forest.” Thereupon the lion quickly returned to the forest without drinking water, and continued in a state of fear, hiding his feelings from his followers.
Then the wise jackal[2] Damanaka, the minister of that king, said secretly to Karaṭaka the second minister, “Our master went to drink water; so how comes it that he has so quickly returned without drinking? We must ask him the reason.” Then Karaṭaka said—“What business is this of ours? Have you not heard the story of the ape that drew out the wedge?”