Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts

Sunday, January 7, 2018

The Fox, the Hen, and the Drum

From The Tortoise and the Geese and Other Fables of Bidpai by Maude Barrows Dutton, with illustrations by E. Boyd Smith, online at: Baldwin Project.

Notes. This story is found in both the Bidpai and Panchatantra traditions; for another version, see: The Jackal and the War-Drum. That version does not, however, have the "bird in the hand" element that this story does.

Summary:  A fox is about to catch a chicken when he is distracted by what he thinks is the promise of an even greater catch.

Read the story below:



THE FOX, THE HEN, AND THE DRUM


A Fox, who was out in search of food, discovered a Hen scratching for worms at the foot of a tree. He hid himself in a bush near by, and was about to spring out and seize her, when a strange tapping sound fell upon his ears; for in that same tree there was a Drum, and when the wind blew, the branches beat against it.

Now the Fox was exceedingly hungry, and reasoned thus, "A noise as loud as that must be made by a fowl much larger than this Hen. I will, therefore, let her go, and will bring down that larger bird for my supper."

Without further thought he rushed out of the bush with a noise that put the Hen to flight, and, after many vain efforts, scrambled up the tree. High among the leaves he found the Drum, and fell upon it tooth and claw. He soon had it open, only to see that it was filled with nothing more or less than empty air.

The Fox hung his tail. "What a stupid wretch I am!" he groaned. "Because of my own greediness, I must now go supperless to bed."



Saturday, December 30, 2017

The Goat and the Brahmin

From The Jataka, Volume I, translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts.

Notes. This is the Matakabhatta Jataka; the title means "the food offered for the dead," as referred to in the story's "Feast for the Dead." This is a great fable about how karma always finds a way!

Summary: The goat both laughs and weeps at the prospect of dying in a sacrifice at the Feast for the Dead.

Read the story below:


THE GOAT AND THE BRAHMIN


Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, a brahmin, Who was versed in the Three Vedas and world-famed as a teacher, being minded to offer a Feast for the Dead, had a goat fetched and said to his pupils, "My sons, take this goat down to the river and bathe it; then hang a garland round its neck, give it a pottle of grain to eat, groom it a bit, and bring it back."

"Very good," said they, and down to the river they took the goat, where they bathed and groomed the creature and set it on the bank.

The goat, becoming conscious of the deeds of its past lives, was overjoyed at the thought that on this very day it would be freed from all its misery, and laughed aloud like the smashing of a pot. Then at the thought that the brahmin by slaying it would bear the misery which it had borne, the goat felt a great compassion for the brahmin, and wept with a loud voice.

"Friend goat," said the young brahmins, "your voice has been loud both in laughter and in weeping; what made you laugh and what made you weep?"

"Ask me your question before your master."

So with the goat they came to their master and told him of the matter. After hearing their story, the master asked the goat why it laughed and why it wept.

Hereupon the animal, recalling its past deeds by its power of remembering its former existences, spoke thus to the brahmin, "In times past, brahmin, I, like you, was a brahmin versed in the mystic texts of the Vedas, and I, to offer a Feast for the Dead, killed a goat for my offering. All through killing that single goat, I have had my head cut off five hundred times all but one. This is my five hundredth and last birth; and I laughed aloud when I thought that this very day I should be freed from my misery. On the other hand, I wept when I thought how, whilst I, who for killing a goat had been doomed to lose my head five hundred times, was to-day being freed from my misery, you, as a penalty for killing me, would be doomed to lose your head, like me, five hundred times. Thus it was out of compassion for you that I wept."

"Fear not, goat," said the brahmin; "I will not kill you."

"What is this you say, brahmin?" said the goat. "Whether you kill me or not, I cannot escape death to-day."

"Fear not, goat; I will go about with you to guard you."

"Weak is your protection, brahmin, and strong is the force of my evil-doing."

Setting the goat at liberty, the brahmin said to his disciples, "Let us not allow anyone to kill this goat;" and, accompanied by the young men, he followed the animal closely about.

The moment the goat was set free, it reached out its neck to browse on the leaves of a bush growing near the top of a rock. And that very instant a thunderbolt struck the rock, rending off a mass which hit the goat on the outstretched neck and tore off its head. And people came crowding round.

In those days the Bodhisatta had been born a Tree-Fairy in that selfsame spot. By his supernatural powers he now seated himself cross-legged in mid-air while all the crowd looked on. Thinking to himself, "If these creatures only knew the fruit of evil-doing, perhaps they would desist from killing," in his sweet voice he taught them the Truth in this stanza:

If folk but knew the penalty would be
Birth unto sorrow, living things would cease
From taking life. Stern is the slayer's doom.

Thus did the Great Being preach the Truth, scaring his hearers with the fear of hell; and the people, hearing him, were so terrified at the fear of hell that they left off taking life.

And the Bodhisatta after establishing the multitude in the Commandments by preaching the Truth to them, passed away to fare according to his deserts.

The people, too, remained steadfast in the teaching of the Bodhisatta and spent their lives in charity and other good works, so that in the end they thronged the City of the Devas.

Sunday, December 24, 2017

0172. The Lion and the Doe

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Vissasabhojana Jataka.

Summary: The lion is undone by his love for a doe.

Read the story below:


THE LION AND THE DOE


Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a very wealthy merchant. He had a herdsman who, when the corn was growing thick, drove his cows to the forest and kept them there at a shieling, bringing the produce from time to time to the merchant.

Now hard by the shieling in the forest there dwelt a lion; and so afraid of the lion were the cows that they gave but little milk. So when the herdsman brought in his ghee one day, the merchant asked why there was so little of it. Then the herdsman told him the reason.

"Well, has the lion formed an attachment to anything?"

"Yes, master; he's fond of a doe."

"Could you catch that doe?"

"Yes, master."

"Well, catch her, and rub her all over with poison and sugar, and let her dry. Keep her a day or two, and then turn her loose. Because of his affection for her, the lion will lick her all over with his tongue, and die. Take his hide with the claws and teeth and fat, and bring them back to me."

So saying, he gave deadly poison to the herdsman and sent him off. With the aid of a net which he made, the herdsman caught the doe and carried out the Bodhisatta's orders.

As soon as he saw the doe again, the lion, in his great love for her, licked her with his tongue so that he died.

And the herdsman took the lion's hide and the rest, and brought them to the Bodhisatta, who said, "Affection for others should be eschewed. Mark how, for all his strength, the king of beasts, the lion, was led by his sinful love for a doe to poison himself by licking her and so to die."

So saying, he uttered this stanza for the instruction of those gathered around:

Trust not the trusted, nor th’ untrusted trust;
Trust kills; through trust the lion bit the dust.



Sunday, December 17, 2017

0166. The Drummer in the Forest

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Bherivada Jataka. Compare the story of the Boddhisatta trying to teach a wayward young deer in The Self-Willed Deer.

Summary: A drummer's foolish son comes to grief in a forest infested by robbers.


THE DRUMMER IN THE FOREST



Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as a drummer, and dwelt in a village. Hearing that there was to be a festival at Benares, and hoping to make money by playing his drum to the crowds of holiday-makers, he made his way to the city, with his son. And there he played, and made a great deal of money.

On his way home with his earnings he had to pass through a forest which was infested by robbers; and as the boy kept beating away at the drum without ever stopping, the Bodhisatta tried to stop him by saying, "Don't behave like that, beat only now and again, as if some great lord were passing by."

But in defiance of his father's bidding, the boy thought the best way to frighten the robbers away was to keep steadily on beating away at the drum.

At the first notes of the drum, away scampered the robbers, thinking some great lord was passing by. But hearing the noise keep on, they saw their mistake and came back to find out who it really was. Finding only two persons, they beat and robbed them.

"Alas!" cried the Bodhisatta; "by your ceaseless drumming you have lost all our hard-earned takings!"

And, so saying, he repeated this stanza:
Go not too far, but learn excess to shun;
For over-drumming lost what drumming won.



Monday, December 4, 2017

0202. The Lion and the Carpenter

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. This is yet another of the fables in which the lion (a kind of king) has a jackal as his vassal, along with a crow.

Summary: A carpenter forms a friendship with a lion, but he is not ready to extend that friendship to the lion's companions.

Read the story below:


THE LION AND THE CARPENTER



In a certain city lived a carpenter named Trust-good. It was his constant habit to carry his lunch and go with his wife into the forest, where he cut great anjana logs.

Now in that forest lived a lion named Spotless, who had as hangers-on two carnivorous creatures, a jackal and a crow.

One day the lion was roaming the wood alone and encountered the carpenter. The carpenter for his part, on beholding that most alarming lion, whether considering himself already lost or perhaps with the ready wit to perceive that it is safer to face the powerful, advanced to meet the lion, bowed low, and said: "Come, friend, come! Today you must eat my own dinner which my wife - your brother's wife - has provided."

"My good fellow," said the lion, "being carnivorous, I do not live on rice. But in spite of that, I will have a taste, since I take a fancy to you. What kind of dainty have you got?"

When the lion had spoken, the carpenter stuffed him with all kinds of dainties - buns, muffins, chewers, and things, all flavoured with sugar, butter, grape juice, and spice. And to show his gratitude, the lion guaranteed his safety and granted unhindered passage through the forest.

Then the carpenter said: "Comrade, you must come here every day, but please come alone. You must not bring anyone else to visit me."
In this manner they spent their days in friendship. And the lion, since every day he received such hospitality, such a variety of goodies, gave up the practice of hunting.

Then the jackal and the crow, who lived on others' luck, went hungry, and they implored the lion. "Master," they said, "where do you go every day? And tell us why you come back so happy."

"I don't go anywhere," said he. But when they urged the question with great deference, the lion said: "A friend of mine comes into this wood every day. His wife cooks the most delicious things, and I eat them every day, in order to show friendly feeling."

Then the jackal and the crow said: "We two will go there, will kill the carpenter, and have enough meat and blood to keep us fat for a long time."

But the lion heard them and said: "Look here! I guaranteed his safety. How can I even imagine playing him such a scurvy trick? But I will get a delicious titbit from him for you also." To this they agreed. So the three started to find the carpenter.

While they were still far off, the carpenter caught a glimpse of the lion and his seedy companions, and he thought: "This does not look prosperous to me." So he and his wife made haste to climb a tree.

Then the lion came up and said: "My good fellow, why did you climb a tree when you saw me? Why, I am your friend, the lion. My name is Spotless. Do not be alarmed."

But the carpenter stayed where he was and said:

You jackal does not reassure;
Your crow's sharp bill offends:
You therefore see me up a tree -
I do not like your friends.


Thursday, November 30, 2017

201. How Supersmart Ate the Elephant

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. As often, the jackal here is a trickster, outsmarting animals stronger than he is and also fending off a rival.

Summary: The jackal has found a dead elephant that he wants to eat, but he needs help to accomplish the task, and he doesn't want to share with anyone else.

Read the story below:


HOW SUPERSMART ATE THE ELEPHANT


There was once a jackal named Supersmart in a part of a forest. One day he came upon an elephant that had died a natural death in the wood. But he could only stalk about the body; he could not cut through the tough hide.

At this moment a lion, in his wanderings to and fro, came to the spot. And the jackal, spying him, obsequiously rubbed his scalp in the dust, clasped his lotus paws, and said: "My lord and king, I am merely a cudgel-bearer, guarding this elephant in the king's interest. May the king deign to eat it."

Then the lion said: "My good fellow, under no circumstances do I eat what another has killed. I graciously bestow this elephant upon you."

And the jackal joyfully replied: "It is only what our lord and king has taught his servants to expect."

When the lion was gone, a tiger arrived. And the jackal thought when he saw him: "Well, I sent one rascal packing by doing obeisance. Now, how shall I dispose of this one? To be sure, he is a hero, and therefore can be managed only by intrigue. For there is a saying:
Where bribes and flattery would fail,
Intrigue is certain to avail.
And indeed, all creatures are held in bondage by heart-piercing intrigue. As the saying goes:
Even a pearl, so smoothly hard and round,
Is fastened by a thread and safely bound,
After a way to pierce its heart is found."

So he took his decision, went to meet the tiger, and slightly stiffening his neck, he said in an agitated tone: "Uncle, how could you venture into the jaws of death? This elephant was killed by a lion, who put me on guard while he went to bathe. And as he went, he gave me my orders. 'If any tiger comes this way,' he said, 'creep up and tell me. I have to clear this forest of tigers, because once, when I had killed an elephant, a tiger helped himself while my back was turned, and I had the leavings. From that day I have been death on tigers.'"

On hearing this, the tiger was terrified, and said: "My dear nephew, make me a gift of my life. Even if he is slow in returning, don't give him any news of me." With these words he decamped.

When the tiger had gone, a leopard appeared. And the jackal thought when he saw him: "Here comes Spot. He has powerful teeth. So I will use him to cut into this elephant-hide."

With this in mind, he said: "Well, nephew, where have you been this long time? And why do you seem so hungry? You come as my guest, according to the proverb:
A guest in need
Is a guest indeed.
Now here lies this elephant, killed by a lion who appointed me its guardian. But for all that, you may enjoy a square meal of elephant-meat, provided you cut and run before he gets back."

"No, uncle," said the leopard, "if things stand so, this meat is not healthy for me. You know the saying:
A man to thrive
Must keep alive.
Never eat a thing that doesn't sit well on the stomach. So I will be off."

"Don't be timid," said the jackal. "Pluck up courage and eat. I will warn you of his coming while he is yet a long way off."

So the leopard did as suggested, and the jackal, as soon as he saw the hide cut through, called out: "Quick, nephew, quick! Here comes the lion."

Hearing this, the leopard vanished also.

Now while the jackal was eating meat through the opening cut by the leopard, a second jackal came on the scene in a great rage. And Supersmart, esteeming him an equal whose prowess was a known quantity, recited the stanza:
Sway patrons with obeisance;
In heroes raise a doubt;
Fling petty bribes to flunkeys;
With equals, fight it out - 
made a dash at him, tore him with his fangs, made him seek the horizon, and himself comfortably enjoyed elephant-meat for a long time.


Tuesday, November 28, 2017

0200. Gautama the Ungrateful

From Indian Fables and Folklore by Shovona Devi, online at: Hathi Trust.

Notes. You can read a long version of this story in the Mahabharata. The crane in the story is a "prince of cranes" by the name of Rajadharman, and Virupaksha is a king of the rakshasas.

Summary: An ungrateful brahmin wrongs the bird who was his benefactor.

GAUTAMA THE UNGRATEFUL


Gautama was a Brahmin reduced to such straits that he used to beg for his meals. One day he met with a stranger and said to him, holding out his right hand with the sacred thread wound round the thumb, "O give me alms in exchange for a Brahmin’s blessing."

The stranger thus accosted was a robber, on his way to steal and murder; so for good luck he offered the Brahmin a coin, instead of robbing him as he had half a mind to do.

"Are you not ashamed to beg, O Brahmin?" said the robber to Gautama, without revealing who he was. "Come with me, and I will see to it that you lack for nothing."

Gautama followed him to his village and lived with him, and in time became a robber himself. For his meals he used to snare birds and kill animals and indulge in all manner of cruelty, hateful to the creed of the true Brahmin.

It so fell out that one day, while he was returning home with a number of bleeding birds tied together by the legs and flung over his shoulder, he met with a Brahmin acquaintance of his.

"Can it be Gautama?" cried the Brahmin, surprised and shocked at his appearance. "What a fall for a Brahmin."

The friends talked together for some time, and Gautama told him the whole story before they parted. The sight of a fellow-Brahmin filled Gautama with a yearning to revisit his own home and people, so he left the village of the robbers secretly by night.

On and on he walked until, wearied out, he lay down under a tree and fell asleep.

In the tree there lived a Crane. Seeing a stranger trusting the hospitality of its tree, it lit fires to frighten off the wild beasts, and itself stood by him, guarding him against harm.

Gautama got up early next morning and was about to resume his journey when the bird thus said to him, "O Brahmin, I must not let you go empty-handed. You must call on my friend Viru-Paksha. He will give you as much gold as you can carry."

Gladly the Brahmin visited Viru-Paksha, and received, even as the bird had told him, a bag full of gold coins. Flinging the bag over his shoulder he trudged along, almost bent down by the weight of the gold. He reached the same tree and lay down beneath it to rest for the night. The bird again came down from the tree, lit fires around, and stood guard over its guest.

Gautama was awake, but pretended to be asleep, and thus thought to himself, "I have still a long distance to go, but have no food with me to eat on the way. It would be wise to kill and roast the bird over the fire, and carry it with me."

Following this wicked resolve, the ungrateful Brahmin wrenched off the head of the Crane, plucked out its feathers, and roasted it over the fire, and then went on his way.

Next morning Viru-paksha waited long for his friend the Crane, but he did not appear, so he sent a messenger to enquire the cause of the delay. When the messenger reached the tree, what should he see but strewn feathers and stains of blood upon the ground beneath. Alas, the poor bird had been murdered!

There, plain enough on the ground, were the footmarks of its murderer.

These he followed up, step by step, until at last he came upon Gautama, whom he seized by the arm, saying, "It was you who slew the pious Crane." For further proof the body of the Crane was found on the Brahmin’s person.

Gautama was taken before Viru-Paksha with the evidence of his crime still fresh upon him. Viru-Paksha ordered the wicked murderer of his friend to be cut to pieces and cast to the dogs and vultures.

Thus died Gautama the Ungrateful, and pieces of his flesh were thrown to the vultures.

"O Vultures! O Vultures!" cried the Executioner; "here is the flesh
of an ungrateful wretch for you to eat."

"We eat not the flesh of the Ungrateful, O Executioner!" replied the vultures.

Next he threw the flesh to the dogs and jackals. "O Dogs and Jackals! O Dogs and Jackals!"’ cried the Executioner; "here is the flesh of an ungrateful wretch for you to eat."

"We eat not the flesh of the Ungrateful, O Executioner!" replied the dogs and jackals.

Thus the vultures, dogs, and jackals refused to touch the meat, and, last of all, it was offered to the worms.

"O Worms! O Worms!" cried the Executioner. "Here is the flesh of an ungrateful wretch for you to eat."

"We eat not the flesh of the Ungrateful, O Executioner!" replied the worms.

So heinous is Ingratitude that not even the vile worms would eat the flesh of the treacherous Gautama.

The vilest creatures, with abhorrence viewed,
Loathe the corruption of Ingratitude.






Sunday, November 26, 2017

0199. How the Rabbit Fooled the Elephant

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. See the notes for this story: Hare in the Moon.

Summary: A quick-witted little hare invents a trick to drive the elephants away from the pond where the hares live.

Read the story below:


HOW THE RABBIT FOOLED THE ELEPHANT




In a part of a forest lived an elephant-king named Four-Tusk, who had a numerous retinue of elephants. His time was spent in protecting the herd.

Now once there came a twelve-year drought, so that tanks, ponds, swamps, and lakes went dry. Then all the elephants said to the lord of the herd: "O King, our little ones are so tortured by thirst that some are like to die, and some are dead. Pray devise a method of removing thirst." So he sent in eight directions elephants fleet as the wind to search for water.

Now those who went east found beside a path near a hermitage a lake named Lake of the Moon. It was beautiful with swans, herons, ospreys, ducks, sheldrakes, cranes, and water-creatures. It was embowered in flowering sprays of branches drooping under the weight of various blossoms. Both banks were embellished with trees. It had beaches made lovely by sheets of foam born of the splashing of transparent waves that danced in the breeze and broke on the shore. Its water was perfumed by the ichor-juice that oozed from elephant-temples washed clean of bees; for these flew up when the lordly creatures plunged. It was ever screened from the heat of the sun by hundreds of parasols in the shape of the countless leaves of trees on its banks. It gave forth deep-toned music from uncounted waves that turned aside on meeting the plump legs, hips, and bosoms of mountain maidens diving. It was brimming with crystal water, and beautified with thickets of water lilies in full bloom. Why describe it? It was a segment of paradise.

When they saw this, they hastened back to report to the elephant-king.

So Four-Tusk, on hearing their report, travelled with them by easy stages to the Lake of the Moon. And finding a gentle slope all around the lake, the elephants plunged in, thereby crushing the heads, necks, fore-paws and hind-paws of thousands of rabbits who long before had made their home on the banks. Now after drinking and bathing, the elephant-king with his followers departed to his own portion of the jungle.

Then the rabbits who were left alive held an emergency convention. "What are we to do now?" said they. "Those fellows - curse their tracks! - will come here every day. Let some plan be framed at once to prevent their return."

Thereupon a rabbit named Victory, perceiving their terror and their utter woe at the crushing of sons, wives, and relatives, said compassionately: "Have no fear. They shall not return. I promise it. For my guardian angel has granted me this grace."

And hearing this, the rabbit-king, whose name was Block-Snout, said to Victory: "Dear friend, this is beyond peradventure. For
Good Victory knows every fact
The textbooks teach; knows how to act
In every place and time. Where he
Is sent, there comes prosperity.
And again:
Speak for pleasure, speak with measure,
Speak with grammar's richest treasure,
Not too much, and with reflection -
Deeds will follow words' direction.
The elephants, sir, making acquaintance with your ripe wisdom, will become aware of my majesty, wisdom, and energy, though I am not present. For the proverb says:
I learn if foreign kings be fools or no
By their dispatches or their nuncio.
And there is a saying:
The envoy binds; he loosens what is bound;
Through him success in war, if found, is found.
And if you go, it is as if I went myself. Because, if you
Speak what lies in your commission,
Speak with careful composition,
Grammar and good ethics seeking,
'It's as if myself were speaking.
And again:
This is, in brief, the envoy's care:
An argument to fit the facts
And sound results, so far as speech
May be translated into acts.
"Depart then, dear friend. And may the office of envoy prove a second guardian angel to you."

So Victory departed and espied the elephant-king in the act of returning to the lake. He was surrounded by thousands of lordly elephants, whose ears, like flowering branches, were swaying in a dignified dance. His body was dappled with masses of pollen from his couch made of twigs from the tips of branches of flowering cassia trees; so that he seemed a laden cloud with many clinging lightning-flashes. His trumpeting was as deep toned and awe inspiring as the clash of countless thunderbolts from which in the rainy season piercing flashes gleam. He had the glossy beauty of leaves in a bed of pure blue lotuses. His twisting trunk had the charm of a perfect snake. His presence was that of an elephant of heaven. His two tusks, shapely, smooth, and full, had the colour of honey. Around his entire visage rose a charming hum from swarms of bees drawn by the fragrant perfume of the ichor-juice that issued from his temples.

And Victory reflected: "It is impossible for folk like me to come too near. Because, as the proverb puts it:
An elephant will kill you if
He touch; a serpent if he sniff;
King's laughter has a deadly sting;
A rascal kills by honouring.
I must by all odds seek impregnable terrain before introducing myself."

After these reflections, he climbed upon a tall and jagged rock-pile before saying: "Is it well with you, lord of the two-tusked breed?"

And the elephant king, hearing this, peered narrowly about, and said "Who are you, sir?"

"I am an envoy," said the rabbit.

"In whose service?" asked the elephant, and the envoy answered: "In the service of the blessèd Moon."

"State your business," said the elephant king, and the rabbit stated it thus.

"You are aware, sir, that no injury may be done an envoy in the discharge of his function. For all kings, without exception, use envoys as their mouthpieces. Indeed, there is a proverb:
Though swords be out and kinsmen fall in strife,
The king still spares the harsh-tongued envoy's life.
"Therefore by command of the Moon I say to you: 'Why, O mortal, why have you used violence upon others, with no true reckoning of your own power or your foe's? For the Scripture says:
All those who madly march to deeds,
Not reckoning who are masters,
Themselves or powerful enemies,
Are asking for disasters.
"'Now you have sinfully violated the Lake of the Moon, known afar by my sacred name. And there you have slain rabbits who are under my special protection, who are of the race of that rabbit-king cherished in my bosom. This is iniquitous. Nay, one would think you the only creature in the world who does not know the rabbit in the moon. But what is gained by much speaking? Desist from such actions, or great disaster will befall you at my hands. But if from this hour you desist, great distinction will be yours; for your body will be nourished by my moonlight, and with your companions you shall pursue your happy, carefree fancies in this forest. In the alternative case, my light shall be withheld, your body will be scorched by summer heat, and you with your companions will perish.'"

On hearing this, the elephant-king felt his heart stagger, and after long reflection he said: "It is true, sir. I have sinned against the blessèd Moon. Who am I that I should longer contend with him? Pray point out to me, and quickly, the way that I must travel to win the blessèd Moon's forgiveness."

The rabbit said: "Come, sir, alone. I will point it out."

So he went by night to the Lake of the Moon, and showed him the moon reflected in the water. There was the brilliant, quivering disk, of lustrous loveliness, surrounded by planets, the Seven Sages, and hosts of stars, all dancing in the reflection of heaven's broad expanse. And its circle was complete, with the full complement of digits.

Seeing this, the elephant said: "I purify myself and worship the deity," and he dropped upon the water a trunk that two men's arms might have encircled. Thereby he disturbed the water, the moon's disk danced to and fro as if mounted on a whirling wheel, and he saw a thousand moons.

Then Victory started back in great agitation, and said to the elephant-king: "Woe, woe to you, O King! You have doubly enraged the Moon."

The elephant said: "For what reason is the blessèd Moon angry with me?"

"Because," said Victory, "you have touched this water."

So the elephant-king, with drooping ears, bowed his head to the very earth in deep obeisance, in order to win forgiveness from the blessèd Moon.

And he spoke again to Victory: "My worthy sir, in all other manners, also, beseech for me the forgiveness of the blessèd Moon. I shall never return here." And with these words he went to his own place.

The feigning of a great commission
Immensely betters your condition:
Feigning a message from the moon,
The rabbits dwelt in comfort soon.


0198. The Frog-King's Folly

From Indian Fables and Folklore by Shovona Devi, online at: Hathi Trust.

Notes. This is a story you will also find in the Panchatantra.

Summary: A snake tricks the foolish king of the frogs by offering him a ride... but the frog ends up paying a high price for the ride.

Read the story below:


THE FROG-KING'S FOLLY


Once upon a time a snake had grown too old to catch prey, so it went and took up its quarters beside a pool where there were many frogs.

The King of the Frogs, named Yal-Pada, the Web-Footed One, was apprised of the coming of this dangerous stranger. He went to the snake, attended by all the frogs, to enquire why, of all places on earth, it had chosen the vicinity of this particular pool for its home.

"I am named Manda-Vish, Slow Poison, O King Yal-Pada," said the snake, lowering its hood. "I am under a curse and forbidden to harm frogs without the leave of their king. Once I pursued a frog and by accident bit a Brahmin. He died, pronouncing this curse on me: May you die if you eat a frog again unless with the leave of the King of the Frogs. O King Yal-Pada, I mean to do penance for my sin in slaying the Brahmin," said the snake. "Let it be my penance to bear your majesty on my head wherever it shall please you to ride."

Without more ado Yal-Pada leaped onto the hood of the snake, which crawled away, swaying its body gracefully to and fro.

The other frogs looked on amazed, but some bolder spirits amongst them followed their king at a distance.

After a time the snake stopped, gasping. "Why do you stay, O Manda-Vish?" asked Yal-Pada.

"O King of the Frogs, I am famished and faint," replied the wily serpent. "I cannot bear you back to the pool unless you grant me something to eat. To eat a frog without your leave, I have told you, would mean my death."

King Yal-Pada had enjoyed his ride immensely, and did not like the idea of losing his dignity by hopping back to the pool, so he offered one of his attendant frogs to the snake.

Having thus appeased its hunger, Manda-Vish took the King of the Frogs up on its hood again and crawled away back to the pool.
In this way the snake was provided with a frog every day, and in return for its meals it took Yal-Pada out on its hood for a ride. Thus one by one all the frogs were eaten up.

When there were no more frogs left for it, Manda-Vish made its last meal off King Yal-Pada, and then departed to find fresh folly to be the victim of its guile.




Friday, November 24, 2017

0197. The Moon in the Well

From Indian Fables and Folklore by Shovona Devi, online at: Hathi Trust.

Notes. You can find more stories about the "moon in the well" at Dan Ashliman's website: The Moon in the Well.

Summary: When the moon disappears behind the clouds, the monkeys decide to find and rescue her.


THE MOON IN THE WELL


Once upon a time a troop of monkeys had been raiding the fruit trees in an orchard by moonlight. All of a sudden the Moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and the monkeys began to search about them for her as if she had dropped down from her place in heaven.

Beside them was a well, and lo! in its water they beheld the reflection of the Moon as the clouds drifted away.

"The Moon has fallen down the well! Let us rescue her," cried the monkeys, setting to work to raise her by forming themselves into a sort of ladder, each hanging on to the tail of the other, and thus letting themselves down the well.

Suddenly the branch supporting them broke, and all the monkeys were hurled into the well.



Saturday, November 11, 2017

0196. The Hungry Elephant

From Indian Fables and Folklore by Shovona Devi, online at: Hathi Trust.

Notes. You can find out more about Ganesha, the elephant-headed god of wisdom, at Wikipedia.

Summary: A merchant tries to fool a hungry elephant, but the elephant is persistent.


THE HUNGRY ELEPHANT


The elephant is not always so foolish as other tales would make him out. On the contrary he is a sagacious beast, cautiously feeling his ground before putting his feet forward. There is reason enough for representing Ganesha, the Hindu God of Wisdom, with an elephant's head. Here is a story from an old novel to show how an elephant can use both sense and strength.

Once a crafty old elephant named Futtehgurrh, the Fort-Winner, felt extremely hungry and, breaking loose from his shackles, wandered into a bazaar stocked with grain. As soon as the grain-sellers saw him coming, they shut up their shops and ran away. One had only time enough to put up the shutters before the elephant came and stood in front of his shop.

"Ho there! I want some rice," cried out the elephant.

"No rice," said a voice from within.

"Flour, then," said the elephant.

"No flour," was the reply.

"Ghee then," said the elephant again.

"No ghee," responded the shopkeeper.

"Very well, molasses," cried the elephant, angrily.

"No molasses," answered the shopkeeper with a hearty laugh, as if it were a good joke.

"I’ll find out the truth for myself then," said the elephant, with a snort.

The angry animal butted at the shutters with its full force, and crash! They went to pieces in an instant, and the shopkeeper was discovered in the midst of plenty, tumbling affrighted over his baskets of grain,

"Oh mercy mercy!" he cried; "here is rice, flour, ghee, and molasses, O good Futtehgurrh! — take what you will," and Futtehgurrh had such a feast off them as he had never had before in his life.

Friday, November 3, 2017

0163. The Farmer and the Bar of Gold

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Kancanakkhandha Jataka.

Summary: A farmer finds a bar of gold in a field so heavy that he cannot carry it.

Read the story below:


THE FARMER AND THE BAR OF GOLD



Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life as a farmer in a village, and was ploughing one day in a field where once stood a village.

Now, in bygone days, a wealthy merchant had died leaving buried in this field a huge bar of gold, as thick round as a man's thigh, and four whole cubits in length. And full on this bar struck the Bodhisatta's plough, and there stuck fast. Taking it to be a spreading root of a tree, he dug it, out; but discovering its real nature, he set to work to clean the dirt off the gold.

The day's work done, at sunset he laid aside his plough and gear, and essayed to shoulder his treasure-trove and walk off with it. But, as he could not so much as lift it, he sat down before it and fell a-thinking what uses he would put it to.

"I'll have so much to live on, so much to bury as a treasure, so much to trade with, and so much for charity and good works," thought he to himself, and accordingly cut the gold into four.

Division made his burthen easy to carry; and he bore home the lumps of gold. After a life of charity and other good works, he passed away to fare thereafter according to his deserts.




Tuesday, October 31, 2017

0157. The Clever Deer

From The Jataka Volume 1 translated by Robert Chalmers, online at: Sacred Texts Archive.

Notes. This is the Tipallattha Miga Jataka. There is a Wikipedia article about animals playing dead.

Summary: As taught by the Bodhisatta, a young deer learns a series of tricks he can use to escape from a hunter.

Read the story below:


THE CLEVER DEER


Once on a time a certain king of Magadha was reigning in Rājagaha; and in those days the Bodhisatta, having been born a stag, was living in the forest at the head of a herd of deer.

Now his sister brought her son to him, saying, "Brother, teach your nephew here the ruses of deer."

"Certainly," said the Bodhisatta; "go away now, my boy, and come back at such and such a time to be taught." Punctually at the time his uncle mentioned, the young stag was there and. received instruction in the ruses of deer.

One day as he was ranging the woods he was caught in a snare and uttered the plaintive cry of a captive. Away fled the herd and told the mother of her son's capture. She came to her brother and asked him whether his nephew had been taught the ruses of deer.

"Fear not; your son is not at fault," said the Bodhisatta. "He has learnt thoroughly deer's ruses, and will come back straightway to your great rejoicing." And so saying, he repeated this stanza:

In all three postures--on his back or sides
Your son is versed; he's trained to use eight hoofs,
And save at midnight never slakes his thirst;
As he lies couched on earth, he lifeless seems,
And only with his under-nostril breathes.
Six tricks my nephew knows to cheat his foes.

Thus did the Bodhisatta console his sister by shewing her how thoroughly her son had mastered the ruses of deer.

Meantime the young stag on being caught in the snare did not struggle, but lay down at full length on his side, with his legs stretched out taut and rigid. He pawed up the ground round his hoofs so as to shower the grass and earth about; relieved nature; let his head fall; lolled out his tongue; beslavered his body all over; swelled himself out by drawing in the wind; turned up his eyes; breathed only with the lower nostril, holding his breath with the upper one; and made himself generally so rigid and so stiff as to look like a corpse. Even the blue-bottles swarmed round him; and here and there crows settled.

The hunter came up and smacked the stag on the belly with his hand, remarking, "He must have been caught early this morning; he's going bad already."

So saying, the man loosed the stag from his bonds, saying to himself, "I'll cut him up here where he lies, and take the flesh home with me."

But as the man guilelessly set to work to gather sticks and leaves to make a fire with, the young stag rose to his feet, shook himself, stretched out his neck, and, like a little cloud scudding before a mighty wind, sped swiftly back to his mother.



Monday, October 30, 2017

0111. The Merchant Who Overcame All Obstacles

From Eastern Stories and Legends by Marie L. Shedlock, online at: Baldwin Project.

Notes. You can see other versions of this jataka here: Vaṇṇupatha Jataka.

Summary: Stranded in a waterless desert, the wise merchant must find a way to save his caravan.

Read the story below:


THE MERCHANT WHO OVERCAME ALL OBSTACLES


ONCE upon a time the Buddha (to be) was born in a merchant's family; and when he grew up he went about trafficking with five hundred carts.

One day he arrived at a sandy desert twenty leagues across. The sand in that desert was so fine that when taken in the closed fist it could not be kept in the hand. After the sun had risen it became as hot as a mass of charcoal, so that no man could walk on it.

Those, therefore, who had to travel over it took wood and water and oil and rice in their carts, and traveled during the night. And at daybreak they formed an encampment, and spread an awning over it, and, taking their meals early, they passed the day sitting in the shade. At sunset they supped; and when the ground had become cool, they yoked their oxen and went on. The traveling was like a voyage over the sea: a so-called land-pilot had to be chosen, and he brought the caravan safe to the other side by his knowledge of the stars.

On this occasion the merchant of our story traversed the desert in that way. And when he had passed over fifty-nine leagues, he thought: "Now in one more night we shall get out of the sand."

And after supper he directed the wood and water to be thrown away, and the wagons to be yoked, and so set out. The pilot had cushions arranged on the foremost cart, and lay down looking at the stars, and directing them where to drive. But, worn out by want of rest during the long march, he fell asleep, and did not perceive that the oxen turned around and taken the same road by which they had come.

The oxen went on the whole night through. Towards dawn the pilot woke up, and, observing the stars, called out: "Stop the wagons! Stop the wagons!" The day broke just as they had stopped, and were drawing up the carts in a line.

Then the men cried out: "Why, this is the very encampment we left yesterday! Our wood and water is all gone! We are lost!" And unyoking the oxen, and spreading the canopy over their heads, they lay down in despondency, each one under his wagon.

But the Bodisat, saying to himself, "If I lose heart, all these will perish," walked about while the morning was yet cool.

And on seeing a tuft of Kusa grass, he thought: "This must have grown by attracting some water which there must be beneath it."
And he made them bring a hoe and dig in that spot. And they dug sixty cubits deep.

And when they had got thus far, the spade of the diggers struck on a rock, and as soon as it struck, they all gave up in despair. But the Bodisat thought, "There must be water under that rock," and, stooping down, applied his ear to it and tested the sound of it. And he heard the sound of water gurgling beneath.

And he got out and called his page. "My lad, if you give up now, we shall all be lost. Don't you lose heart. Take this iron hammer, and go down into the pit and give the rock a good blow."

The lad obeyed, and though they all stood by in despair, he went down full of determination, and struck at the stone. And the rock split in two and fell below, and no longer blocked up the stream. And water rose till its brim was the height of a palm-tree in the well.

And they all drank of the water, and bathed in it. Then they split up their extra yokes and axles, and cooked rice and ate it, and fed their oxen with it. And when the sun set, they put up a flag by the well and went to the place appointed.

There they sold their merchandise at double and treble profit, and returned to their own home, and lived to a good old age, and then passed away according to their deeds. And the Bodisat gave gifts, and did other virtuous acts, and passed away according to his deeds.


Sunday, October 29, 2017

0195. Numskull and the Rabbit

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. You can see a version of this story from the Shukasaptati.

Summary: A sly rabbit decides to challenge the tyrannical rule of the lion.

Read the story below:


NUMSKULL AND THE RABBIT




Intelligence is power. But where
Could power and folly make a pair?
The rabbit played upon his pride
To fool him; and the lion died.

In a part of a forest was a lion drunk with pride, and his name was Numskull. He slaughtered the animals without ceasing. If he saw an animal, he could not spare him.

So all the natives of the forest - deer, boars, buffaloes, wild oxen, rabbits, and others - came together, and with woe-begone countenances, bowed heads, and knees clinging to the ground, they undertook to beseech obsequiously the king of beasts: "Have done, O King, with this merciless, meaningless slaughter of all creatures. It is hostile to happiness in the other world. For the Scripture says:
A thousand future lives
Will pass in wretchedness
For sins a fool commits
His present life to bless.
Again:
What wisdom in a deed
That brings dishonour fell,
That causes loss of trust,
That paves the way to hell?
And yet again:
The ungrateful body, frail
And rank with filth within,
Is such that only fools
For its sake sink in sin.
"Consider these facts, and cease, we pray, to slaughter our generations. For if the master will remain at home, we will of our own motion send him each day for his daily food one animal of the forest. In this way neither the royal sustenance nor our families will be cut short. In this way let the king's duty be performed. For the proverb says:
The king who tastes his kingdom like
Elixir, bit by bit,
Who does not overtax its life,
Will fully relish it.
The king who madly butchers men,
Their lives as little reckoned
As lives of goats, has one square meal,
But never has a second.
A king desiring profit, guards
His world from evil chance;
With gifts and honours waters it
As florists water plants.
Guard subjects like a cow, nor ask
For milk each passing hour:
A vine must first be sprinkled, then
It ripens fruit and flower.
The monarch-lamp from subjects draws
Tax-oil to keep it bright:
Has any ever noticed kings
That shone by inner light?
A seedling is a tender thing,
And yet, if not neglected,
It comes in time to bearing fruit:
So subjects well protected.
Their subjects form the only source
From which accrue to kings
Their gold, grain, gems, and varied drinks,
And many other things.
The kings who serve the common weal,
Luxuriantly sprout;
The common loss is kingly loss,
Without a shade of doubt."

After listening to this address, Numskull said: "Well, gentlemen, you are quite convincing. But if an animal does not come to me every day as I sit here, I promise you I will eat you all."

To this they assented with much relief, and fearlessly roamed the wood. Each day at noon one of them appeared as his dinner, each species taking its turn and providing an individual grown old, or religious, or grief-smitten, or fearful of the loss of son or wife.

One day a rabbit's turn came, it being rabbit-day. And when all the thronging animals had given him directions, he reflected: "How is it possible to kill this lion - curse him! Yet after all,
In what can wisdom not prevail?
In what can resolution fail?
What cannot flattery subdue?
What cannot enterprise put through?
I can kill even a lion."

So he went very slowly, planning to arrive tardily, and meditating with troubled spirit on a means of killing him. Late in the day he came into the presence of the lion, whose throat was pinched by hunger in consequence of the delay, and who angrily thought as he licked his chops: "Aha! I must kill all the animals the first thing in the morning."

While he was thinking, the rabbit slowly drew near, bowed low, and stood before him. But when the lion saw that he was tardy and too small at that for a meal, his soul flamed with wrath, and he taunted the rabbit, saying: "You reprobate! First, you are too small for a meal. Second, you are tardy. Because of this wickedness I am going to kill you, and tomorrow morning I shall extirpate every species of animal."

Then the rabbit bowed low and said with deference: "Master, the wickedness is not mine, nor the other animals*. Pray hear the cause of it."

And the lion answered: "Well, tell it quick, before you are between my fangs."

"Master," said the rabbit, "all the animals recognized today that the rabbits' turn had come, and because I was quite small, they dispatched me with five other rabbits. But in mid-journey there issued from a great hole in the ground a lion who said: 'Where are you bound? Pray to your favourite god.' Then I said: 'We are travelling as the dinner of lion Numskull, our master, according to agreement.' 'Is that so?' said he. 'This forest belongs to me. So all the animals, without exception, must deal with me according to agreement. This Numskull is a sneak thief. Call him out and bring him here at once. Then whichever of us proves stronger, shall be king and shall eat all these animals.' At his command, master, I have come to you. This is the cause of my tardiness. For the rest, my master is the sole judge."

After listening to this, Numskull said: "Well, well, my good fellow, show me that sneak thief of a lion, and be quick about it. I cannot find peace of mind until I have vented on him my anger against the animals. He should have remembered the saying:
Land and friends and gold at most
Have been won when battles cease;
If but one of these should fail,
Do not think of breaking peace.
Where no great reward is won,
Where defeat is nearly sure,
Never stir a quarrel, but
Find it wiser to endure."

"Quite so, master," said the rabbit. "Warriors fight for their country when they are insulted. But this fellow skulks in a fortress. You know he came out of a fortress when he held us up. And an enemy in a fortress is hard to handle. As the saying goes:
A single royal fortress adds
More military force
Than do a thousand elephants,
A hundred thousand horse.
A single archer from a wall
A hundred foes forfends;
And so the military art
A fortress recommends.
God Indra used the wit and skill
Of gods in days of old,
When Devil Gold-mat plagued the world,
To build a fortress-hold.
And he decreed that any king
Who built a fortress sound,
Should conquer foemen. This is why
Such fortresses abound."

When he heard this, Numskull said: "My good fellow, show me that thief. Even if he is hiding in a fortress, I will kill him. For the proverb says:
The strongest man who fails to crush
At birth, disease or foe,
Will later be destroyed by that
Which he permits to grow.
And again:
The man who reckons well his power,
Nor pride nor vigour lacks,
May single-handed smite his foes
Like Rama-with-the-axe."

"Very true," said the rabbit. "But after all it was a mighty lion that I saw. So the master should not set out without realizing the enemy's capacity. As the saying runs:
A warrior failing to compare
Two hosts, in mad desire
For battle, plunges like a moth
Headforemost into fire.
And again:
The weak who challenge mighty foes
A battle to abide,
Like elephants with broken tusks,
Return with drooping pride."

But Numskull said: "What business is it of yours? Show him to me, even in his fortress."

"Very well," said the rabbit. "Follow me, master." And he led the way to a well, where he said to the lion: "Master, who can endure your majesty? The moment he saw you, that thief crawled clear into his hole. Come, I will show him to you."

"Be quick about it, my good fellow," said Numskull.

So the rabbit showed him the well. And the lion, being a dreadful fool, saw his own reflection in the water, and gave voice to a great roar. Then from the well issued a roar twice as loud, because of the echo. This the lion heard, decided that his rival was very powerful, hurled himself down, and met his death.

Thereupon the rabbit cheerfully carried the glad news to all the animals, received their compliments, and lived there contentedly in the forest.

Intelligence is power. But where
Could power and folly make a pair?
The rabbit played upon his pride
To fool him; and the lion died.



Saturday, October 28, 2017

0194. The Mice that Ate Iron

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. See the notes to this version of the story: The Stolen Plow.

Summary: A merchant cheats a businessman, claiming that mice ate the the businessman's iron balance, but the friend finds a way to win in the end.

Read the story below:


THE MICE THAT ATE IRON


In a certain town lived a merchant named Naduk, who lost his money and determined to travel abroad. For

The meanest of mankind is he
Who, having lost his money, can
Inhabit lands or towns where once
He spent it like a gentleman.

And again:

The neighbour gossips blame
His poverty as shame
Who long was wont to play
Among them, proud and gay.

In his house was an iron balance-beam inherited from his ancestors, and it weighed a thousand pals. This he put in pawn with Merchant Lakshman before he departed for foreign countries.

Now after he had long travelled wherever business led him through foreign lands, he returned to his native city and said to Merchant Lakshman: "Friend Lakshman, return my deposit, the balance-beam."

And Lakshman said: "Friend Naduk, your balance beam has been eaten by mice."

To this Naduk replied: "Lakshman, you are in no way to blame, if it has been eaten by mice. Such is life. Nothing in the universe has any permanence. However, I am going to the river for a bath. Please send your boy Money-God with me, to carry my bathing things."

Since Lakshman was conscience-stricken at his own theft, he said to his son Money-God: "My dear boy, let me introduce Uncle Naduk, who is going to the river to bathe. You must go with him and carry his bathing things."

Ah, there is too much truth in the saying:

There is no purely loving deed
Without a pinch of fear or greed
Or service of a selfish need.

And again:

Wherever there is fond attention
That does not seek a service pension,
Was there no timid apprehension?

So Lakshman's son took the bathing things and delightedly accompanied Naduk to the river.

After Naduk had taken his bath, he thrust Lakshman's son Money-God into a mountain cave, blocked the entrance with a great rock, and returned to Lakshman's house.

And when Lakshman said: "Friend Naduk, tell me what has become of my son Money-God who went with you," Naduk answered: "My good Lakshman, a hawk carried him off from the river-bank."

"Oh, Naduk!" cried Lakshman. "You liar! How could a hawk possibly carry off a big boy like Money-God?"

"But, Lakshman," retorted Naduk, "the mice could eat a balance-beam made of iron. Give me my balance-beam, if you want your son."

Finally, they carried their dispute to the palace gate, where Lakshman cried in a piercing tone: "Help! Help! A ghastly deed! This Naduk person has carried off my son his name is Money-God."

Thereupon the magistrates said to Naduk: "Sir, restore the boy to Lakshman."

But Naduk pleaded: "What am I to do? Before my eyes a hawk carried him from the river-bank."

"Come, Naduk!" said they, "you are not telling the truth. How can a hawk carry off a fifteen-year-old boy?"

Then Naduk laughed outright and said: "Gentlemen, listen to my words.

Where mice eat balance-beams of iron
A thousand pals in weight,
A hawk might steal an elephant;
A boy is trifling freight."

"How was that?" they asked, and Naduk told them the story of the balance-beam. At this they laughed and caused the restoration of balance-beam and boy to the respective owners.



Saturday, October 14, 2017

0193. Forethought, Ready-Wit, and Fatalist

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. In Sanskrit, the names of the three fishes are Anagatavidhata, Pratyutpannamati and Yadbhavishya.

Summary: Three fish with different outlooks each react in their own way to the arrival of the fishermen.

Read the story below:


FORETHOUGHT, READY-WIT, AND FATALIST



In a great lake lived three full-grown fishes, whose names were Forethought, Ready-wit, and Fatalist. Now one day the fish named Forethought overheard passers-by on the bank and fishermen saying: "There are plenty of fish in this pond. Tomorrow we go fishing."

On hearing this, Forethought reflected: "This looks bad. Tomorrow or the day after they will be sure to come here. I will take Ready-wit and Fatalist and move to another lake whose waters are not troubled."

So he called them and put the question.

Thereupon Ready-wit said: "I have lived long in this lake and cannot move in such a hurry. If fishermen come here, then I will protect myself by some means devised for the occasion."

But poor, doomed Fatalist said: "There are sizable lakes elsewhere. Who knows whether they will come here or not? One should not abandon the lake of his birth merely because of such small gossip. And the proverb says:
Since scamp and sneak and snake
So often undertake
A plan that does not thrive,
The world wags on, alive.
Therefore I am determined not to go."

And when Forethought realized that their minds were made up, he went to another body of water.

On the next day, when he had gone, the fishermen with their boys beset the inner pool, cast a net, and caught all the fish without exception.

Under these circumstances Ready-wit, while still in the water, played dead. And since they thought: "This big fellow died without help," they drew him from the net and laid him on the bank, from which he wriggled back to safety in the water.

But Fatalist stuck his nose into the meshes of the net, struggling until they pounded him repeatedly with clubs and so killed him.

Forethought and Ready-wit thrive;
Fatalist can't keep alive.


0192. Shell-Neck, Slim, and Grim

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. This famous story is found in both the Jataka and Panchatantra traditions, and thanks to La Fontaine, it became part of the Aesopic tradition later in Europe: The Tortoise Flying.

Summary: Two geese help their friend, a turtle, to go flying.

Read the story below:


SHELL-NECK, SLIM, AND GRIM



In a certain lake lived a turtle named Shell-Neck. He had as friends two ganders whose names were Slim and Grim.

Now in the vicissitudes of time there came a twelve-year drought, which begot ideas of this nature in the two ganders: "This lake has gone dry. Let us seek another body of water. However, we must first say farewell to Shell-Neck, our dear and long-proved friend."

When they did so, the turtle said: "Why do you bid me farewell? I am a water-dweller, and here I should perish very quickly from the scant supply of water and from grief at loss of you. Therefore, if you feel any affection for me, please rescue me from the jaws of this death. Besides, as the water dries in this lake, you two suffer nothing beyond a restricted diet, while to me it means immediate death. Consider which is more serious, loss of food or loss of life."

But they replied: "We are unable to take you with us since you are a water-creature without wings."

Yet the turtle continued: "There is a possible device. Bring a stick of wood." This they did, whereupon the turtle gripped the middle of the stick between his teeth, and said: "Now take firm hold with your bills, one on each side, fly up, and travel with even flight through the sky, until we discover another desirable body of water."

But they objected: "There is a hitch in this fine plan. If you happen to indulge in the smallest conversation, then you will lose your hold on the stick, will fall from a great height, and will be dashed to bits."

"Oh," said the turtle, "from this moment I take a vow of silence, to last as long as we are in heaven."

So they carried out the plan, but while the two ganders were painfully carrying the turtle over a neighbouring city, the people below noticed the spectacle, and there arose a confused buzz of talk as they asked: "What is this cartlike object that two birds are carrying through the atmosphere?"

Hearing this, the doomed turtle was heedless enough to ask: "What are these people chattering about?"

The moment he spoke, the poor simpleton lost his grip and fell to the ground. And persons who wanted meat cut him to bits in a moment with sharp knives.

To take advice from kindly friends
Be ever satisfied:
The stupid turtle lost his grip
Upon the stick, and died.


0191. The Heron That Liked Crab-Meat

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. You can see the Jataka version of this story here: The Cunning Crane and the Crab.

Summary: The heron offers to transport the fish, but the crab is not so easily fooled.

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THE HERON THAT LIKED CRAB-MEAT



There was once a heron in a certain place on the edge of a pond. Being old, he sought an easy way of catching fish on which to live. He began by lingering at the edge of his pond, pretending to be quite irresolute, not eating even the fish within his reach.

Now among the fish lived a crab. He drew near and said: "Uncle, why do you neglect today your usual meals and amusements?" And the heron replied: "So long as I kept fat and flourishing by eating fish, I spent my time pleasantly, enjoying the taste of you. But a great disaster will soon befall you. And as I am old, this will cut short the pleasant course of my life. For this reason I feel depressed."

"Uncle," said the crab, "of what nature is the disaster?"

And the heron continued: "Today I overheard the talk of a number of fishermen as they passed near the pond. 'This is a big pond,' they were saying, 'full of fish. We will try a cast of the net tomorrow or the day after. But today we will go to the lake near the city.' This being so, you are lost, my food supply is cut off, I too am lost, and in grief at the thought, I am indifferent to food today."

Now when the water-dwellers heard the trickster's report, they all feared for their lives and implored the heron, saying: "Uncle! Father! Brother! Friend! Thinker! Since you are informed of the calamity, you also know the remedy. Pray save us from the . . . this death."

Then the heron said: "I am a bird not competent to contend with men. This, however, I can do. I can transfer you from this pond to another, a bottomless one." By this artful speech they were so led astray that they said: "Uncle! Friend! Unselfish kinsman! Take me first! Me first! Did you never hear this?
Stout hearts delight to pay the price
Of merciful self-sacrifice,
Count life as nothing, if it end
In gentle service to a friend."

Then the old rascal laughed in his heart, and took counsel with his mind, thus: "My shrewdness has brought these fishes into my power. They ought to be eaten very comfortably."

Having thus thought it through, he promised what the thronging fish implored, lifted some in his bill, carried them a certain distance to a slab of stone, and ate them there. Day after day he made the trip with supreme delight and satisfaction, and meeting the fish, kept their confidence by ever new inventions.

One day the crab, disturbed by the fear of death, importuned him with the words: "Uncle, pray save me, too, from the jaws of death."
And the heron reflected: "I am quite tired of this unvarying fish diet. I should like to taste him. He is different, and choice." So he picked up the crab and flew through the air.

But since he avoided all bodies of water and seemed planning to alight on the sun-scorched rock, the crab asked him: "Uncle, where is that pond without any bottom?"

And the heron laughed and said: "Do you see that broad, sun-scorched rock? All the water-dwellers have found repose there. Your turn has now come to find repose."

Then the crab looked down and saw a great rock of sacrifice, made horrible by heaps of fish-skeletons. And he thought: "Ah me!
Friends are foes and foes are friends
As they mar or serve your ends;
Few discern where profit tends.
Again:
If you will, with serpents play;
Dwell with foemen who betray:
Shun your false and foolish friends,
Fickle, seeking vicious ends.
Why, he has already eaten these fish whose skeletons are scattered in heaps. So what might be an opportune course of action for me? Yet why do I need to consider?
Man is bidden to chastise
Even elders who devise
Devious courses, arrogant,
Of their duty ignorant.
Again:
Fear fearful things, while yet
No fearful thing appears;
When danger must be met,
Strike, and forget your fears.
So, before he drops me there, I will catch his neck with all four claws."

When he did so, the heron tried to escape, but being a fool, he found no parry to the grip of the crab's nippers, and had his head cut off.

Then the crab painfully made his way back to the pond, dragging the heron's neck as if it had been a lotus-stalk.

And when he came among the fish, they said: "Brother, why come back?"

Thereupon he showed the head as his credentials and said: "He enticed the water-dwellers from every quarter, deceived them with his prevarications, dropped them on a slab of rock not far away, and ate them. But I - further life being predestined - perceived that he destroyed the trustful, and I have brought back his neck. Forget your worries. All the water-dwellers shall live in peace."

A heron ate what fish he could,
The bad, indifferent, and good;
His greed was never satisfied
Till, strangled by a crab, he died.


0190. The Donkey in the Tiger-Skin

From The Panchatantra of Vishnu Sharma, translated by Arthur W. Ryder, online at: The Gold Scales.

Notes. Compare the Aesop's fables of the donkey in the lion's skin.

Summary: The donkey's owner disguises his donkey as a tiger, but the scheme does not last long.

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THE DONKEY IN THE TIGER-SKIN



There was once a laundryman named Clean-Cloth in a certain town. He had a single donkey who had grown very feeble from lack of fodder. As the laundryman wandered in the forest, he saw a dead tiger, and he thought: "Ah, this is lucky. I will put this tiger-skin on the donkey and let him loose in the barley fields at night. For the farmers will think him a tiger and will not drive him out."

When this was done, the donkey ate barley to his heart's content. And at dawn the laundryman took him back to the barn. So as time passed, he grew plump. He could hardly squeeze into the stall.

But one day the donkey heard the bray of a she-donkey in the distance. At the mere sound he himself began to bray. Then the farmers perceived that he was a donkey in disguise, and killed him with blows from clubs and stones and arrows.

However skilful in disguise,
However frightful to the eyes,
Although in tiger-skin arrayed,
The ass was killed - because he brayed.