Volume 2 / Book 10 — Chapter LXII.

The next morning Naraváhanadatta got up, and went into the presence of the king of Vatsa his loving father. There he found Sinhavarman, the brother of the queen Padmávatí and the son of the king of Magadha, who had come there from his own house. The day passed in expressions of welcome, and friendly conversation, and after Naraváhanadatta had had dinner, he returned home. There the wise Gomukha told this story at night, in order to console him who was longing for the society of Śaktiyaśas.

A certain washerman had a thin donkey; so, in order to make it fat, he used to cover it with the skin of a panther and let it loose to feed in his neighbour’s corn. While it was eating the corn, people were afraid to drive it away, thinking that it was a panther. One day a cultivator, who had a bow in his hand, saw it. He thought it was a panther, and through fear bending down, and making himself humpbacked, he proceeded to creep away, with his body covered with a rug. When the donkey saw him going away in this style, he thought he was another donkey, and being primed with corn, he uttered aloud his own asinine bray. Then the cultivator came to the conclusion that it was a donkey, and returning, killed with an arrow the foolish animal, which had made an enemy with its own voice. “In the same way our feud with the crows is due to an inconsiderate utterance.”

For once upon a time the birds were without a king. They all assembled together, and bringing an umbrella and a chowrie, were proceeding to anoint the owl king of the birds. In the meanwhile a crow, flying in the air above, saw it, and said; “You fools, are there not other birds, cuckoos and so on, that you must make this cruel-eyed unpleasant-looking wicked bird king? Out on the inauspicious owl! You must elect a heroic king whose name will ensure prosperity. Listen now, I will tell you a tale.

When the crow had told this story, he went on to say to the birds, “This is the right sort of king, whose name alone ensures none of his subjects being injured. So why does this base owl, who cannot see in the day, deserve a throne? And a base creature is never to be trusted, hear this tale in proof of it.”

Once on a time I lived in a certain tree, and below me in the same tree a bird, named Kapinjala, had made a nest and lived. One day he went away somewhere, and he did not return for many days. In the meanwhile a hare came and took possession of his nest. After some days Kapinjala returned, and an altercation arose between him and the hare, as both laid claim to the nest, exclaiming; “It is mine, not yours.” Then they both set out in search of a qualified arbitrator. And I, out of curiosity, followed them unobserved, to see what would turn up. After they had gone a little way they saw on the bank of a lake a cat, who pretended to have taken a vow of abstinence from injury to all creatures, with his eyes half-closed in meditation. They said to one another; “Why should we not ask this holy cat here to declare what is just?”—Then they approached the cat and said; “Reverend sir, hear our cause, for you are a holy ascetic.” When the cat heard that, he said to them in a low voice,—“I am weak from self-mortification, so I cannot hear at a distance, pray, come near me. For a case wrongly decided brings temporal and eternal death.” With these words the cat encouraged them to come just in front of him, and then the base creature killed at one spring both the hare and Kapinjala.

“So, you see, one cannot confide in villains whose actions are base. Accordingly you must not make this owl king, for he is a great villain.” When the crow said this to the birds, they admitted the force of it, and gave up the idea of anointing the owl king, and dispersed in all directions. And the owl said to the crow; “Remember; from this day forth you and I are enemies. Now I take my leave of you.” And he went away in a rage. But the crow, though he thought that he had spoken what was right, was for a moment despondent. Who is not grieved when he has involved himself in a dangerous quarrel by a mere speech?

“So you see that our feud with the owls arose from an inconsiderate utterance.” Having said this to the king, Chirajívin continued, “The owls are numerous and strong, and you cannot conquer them. Numbers prevail in this world, hear an instance.”

A Bráhman had bought a goat, and was returning from a village with it on his shoulder, when he was seen on the way by many rogues, who wished to deprive him of the goat. And one of them came up to him, and pretending to be in a great state of excitement, said; “Bráhman, how come you to have this dog on your shoulder? Put it down.” When the Bráhman heard that, he paid no attention to it, but went on his way. Then two more came up and said the very same thing to him. Then he began to doubt, and went along examining the goat carefully, when three other rascals came up to him and said: “How comes it that you carry a dog and a sacrificial thread at the same time? Surely you must be a hunter, not a Bráhman, and this is the dog with the help of which you kill game.” When the Bráhman heard that, he said: “Surely some demon has smitten my sight and bewildered me. Can all these men be under the influence of an optical delusion?” Thereupon the Bráhman flung down the goat, and after bathing, returned home, and the rogues took the goat and made a satisfactory meal off it.

Then the king of the owls, Avamarda, came there at night with his followers, and he did not see a single crow on the tree. At that moment Chirajívin uttered a feeble caw below, and the king of the owls, hearing it, came down, and saw him lying there. In his astonishment he asked him who he was, and why he was in that state. And Chirajívin answered, pretending that his voice was weak from pain; “I am Chirajívin, the minister of that king of the crows. And he wished to make an attack on you in accordance with the advice of his ministers. Then I rebuked those other ministers, and said to him, ‘If you ask me for advice, and if I am valued by you, in that case you will not make war with the powerful king of the owls. But you will endeavour to propitiate him, if you have any regard for policy.’ When the foolish king of the crows heard that, he exclaimed, ‘This fellow is a partisan of my enemies,’ and in his wrath, he and his followers pecked me, and reduced me to this state. And he flung me down under the tree, and went off somewhere or other with his followers.” When Chirajívin had said this, he sighed, and turned his face to the ground. And then the king of the owls asked his ministers what they ought to do with Chirajívin. When his minister Díptanayana heard this, he said, “Good people spare even a thief, though ordinarily he ought not to be spared, if they find that he is a benefactor.”

“So we ought to spare the life of this Chirajívin, as he is our benefactor.” When the minister Díptanayana had said this, he remained silent. Then the king of the owls said to another minister, named Vakranása, “What ought we to do? Give me proper advice.” Then Vakranása said, “He should be spared, for he knows the secrets of our foes. This quarrel between the enemies’ king and his minister is for our advantage. Listen, and I will tell you a story which will illustrate it.”

A certain excellent Bráhman received two cows as a donation. A thief happened to see them, and began plotting how to carry them off. At that very time a Rákshasa was longing to eat that Bráhman. It happened that the thief and the Rákshasa, as they were going to his house at night to accomplish their objects, met, and telling one another their errands, went together. When the thief and the Rákshasa entered the Bráhman’s dwelling, they began to wrangle. The thief said; “I will carry off the oxen first, for if you lay hold of the Bráhman first, and he wakes up, how can I get the yoke of oxen?” The Rákshasa said; “By no means! I will first carry off the Bráhman, otherwise he will wake up with the noise of the feet of the oxen, and my labour will all be in vain.” While this was going on, the Bráhman woke up. Then he took his sword, and began to recite a charm for destroying Rákshasas, and the thief and the Rákshasa both fled.

Then the king of the owls asked a minister named Raktáksha, and he, being a discreet minister, said to him; “King, these ministers have done their best to ruin you by impolitic advice. Those, who know policy, place no confidence in the acts of a hereditary enemy. It is only a fool that, though he sees the fault, is satisfied with insincere flattery.”

For once on a time there was a carpenter, who had a wife whom he loved dearly; and the carpenter heard from his neighbours that she was in love with another man; so, wishing to test the fidelity of his wife, he said to her one day: “My dear, I am by command of the king going a long journey to-day, in order to do a job, so give me barley-meal and other things as provision for the journey.” She obeyed and gave him provisions, and he went out of the house; and then secretly came back into it, and with a pupil of his hid himself under the bed. As for the wife, she summoned her paramour. And while she was sitting with him on the bed, the wicked woman happened to touch her husband with her foot, and found out that he was there. And a moment after, her paramour, being puzzled, asked her which she loved the best, himself or her husband. When she heard this, the artful and treacherous woman said to that lover of hers; “I love my husband best, for his sake I would surrender my life. As for this unfaithfulness of mine, it is natural to women; they would even eat dirt, if they had no noses.”

When the carpenter heard this hypocritical speech of the adulteress, he came out from under the bed, and said to his pupil; “You have seen, you are my witness to this; though my wife has betaken herself to this lover, she is still so devoted to me; so I will carry her on my head.” When the silly fellow had said this, he immediately took them both up, as they sat on the bed, upon his head, with the help of his pupil, and carried them about.

“So an undiscerning blockhead, though he sees a crime committed before his eyes, is satisfied with hypocritical flattery, and makes himself ridiculous. So you must not spare Chirajívin, who is a follower of your enemy, for, if not carefully watched, he might slay your Majesty in a moment, like a disease.” When the king of the owls heard Raktáksha say this, he answered; “It was in trying to benefit us that the worthy creature was reduced to this state. So how can we do otherwise than spare his life? Besides, what harm can he do us unaided?” So the king of the owls rejected the advice of Raktáksha, and comforted that crow Chirajívin. Then Chirajívin said to the king of the owls, “What is the use to me of life, now that I am in this state? So have logs of wood brought me, in order that I may enter the fire. And I will ask the fire as a boon, that I may be born again as an owl, in order that I may wreak my vengeance upon this king of the crows.” When he said this, Raktáksha laughed and said to him; “By the favour of our master you will be well enough off: what need is there of fire? Moreover you will never become an owl, as long as you have the nature of a crow. Every creature is such as he is made by the Creator.”

For once on a time a hermit found a young mouse, which had escaped from the claws of a kite, and pitying it, made it by the might of his asceticism into a young maiden. And he brought her up in his hermitage; and, when he saw that she had grown up, wishing to give her to a powerful husband, he summoned the sun. And he said to the sun; “Marry this maiden, whom I wish to give in marriage to some mighty one.” Then the sun answered, “The cloud is more powerful than I, he obscures me in a moment.” When the hermit heard that, he dismissed the sun, and summoned the cloud, and made the same proposal to him. He replied, “The wind is more powerful than I: he drives me into any quarter of the heaven he pleases.” When the hermit got this answer, he summoned the wind and made the same proposal to him. And the wind replied, “The mountains are stronger than I, for I cannot move them.” When the great hermit heard this, he summoned the Himálaya, and made the same proposal to him. That mountain answered him; “The mice are stronger than I am, for they dig holes in me.”

Having thus got these answers in succession from those wise divinities, the great ṛishi summoned a forest mouse, and said to him, “Marry this maiden.” Thereupon the mouse said, “Shew me how she is to be got into my hole.” Then the hermit said, “It is better that she should return to her condition as a mouse.” So he made her a mouse again, and gave her to that male mouse.

A certain old snake, being unable to catch frogs easily on the bank of a lake, which was frequented by men, remained there motionless. And when he was there, the frogs asked him, keeping at a safe distance; “Tell us, worthy sir, why do you no longer eat frogs as of old?” When the snake was asked this question by the frogs, he answered, “While I was pursuing a frog, I one day bit a Bráhman’s son in the finger by mistake, and he died. And his father by a curse made me a bearer of frogs. So how can I eat you now? On the contrary I will carry you on my back.”

When the king of the frogs heard that, he was desirous of being carried, and putting aside fear, he came out of the water, and joyfully mounted on the back of the snake. Then the snake, having gained his good-will by carrying him about with his ministers, represented himself as exhausted, and said cunningly; “I cannot go a step further without food, so give me something to eat. How can a servant exist without subsistence?” When the frog-king, who was fond of being carried about, heard this, he said to him; “Eat a few of my followers then.” So the snake ate all the frogs in succession, as he pleased, and the king of the frogs put up with it, being blinded with pride at being carried about by the snake.

“Thus a fool is deceived by a wise man who worms himself into his confidence. And in the same way I ingratiated myself with your enemies and brought about their ruin. So a king must be skilled in policy and self-restrained; a fool is plundered by his servants and slain by his foes at will. And this goddess of prosperity, O king, is ever treacherous as gambling, fickle as a wave, intoxicating as wine. But she remains as persistently constant to a king, who is self-contained, well-advised, free from vice, and knows differences of character, as if she were tied with a rope. So you must now remain attentive to the words of the wise, and glad at the slaughter of your enemies, rule a realm free from opponents.” When the minister Chirajívin said this to the crow-king Meghavarṇa, the latter loaded him with honours, and ruled as he recommended.

When Gomukha had said this, he went on to say to the son of the king of Vatsa; “So you see, king, that even animals are able to rule prosperously by means of discretion, but the indiscreet are always ruined and become the laughing-stock of the public.”

Story of the foolish servant.

For instance a certain rich man had a foolish servant. He, while shampooing him, in his extreme folly gave him a slap on his body, (for he fancied in his conceit that he thoroughly understood the business while he really knew nothing about it,) and so broke his skin. Then he was dismissed by that master and sank into utter despair.

“The fact is a man who, while ignorant, thinks himself wise, and rushes impetuously at any business, is ruined; hear another story in proof of it.”

In Málava there were two Bráhman brothers, and the wealth they inherited from their father was left jointly between them. And while dividing that wealth, they quarrelled about one having too little and the other having too much, and they made a teacher learned in the Vedas arbitrator, and he said to them; “You must divide every single thing into two halves, in order that you may not quarrel about the inequality of the division.” When the two fools heard this, they divided every single thing into two equal parts, house, beds, et cetera; in fact all their wealth, even the cattle. They had only one female slave; her also they cut in two. When the king heard of that, he punished them with the confiscation of all their property.

“So fools, following the advice of other fools, lose this world and the next. Accordingly a wise man should not serve fools: he should serve wise men. Discontent also does harm, for listen to this tale.”

The story of the mendicants who became emaciated from discontent.

“Thus foolish people, who do not reflect, are deceived by false suppositions, and become the source of laughter to their enemies, and of sorrow to their friends. Now hear another tale of some great fools.”

The camel of a certain merchant gave way under its load on a journey. He said to his servants, “I will go and buy another camel to carry the half of this camel’s load. And you must remain here, and take particular care that, if it clouds over, the rain does not wet the leather of these trunks, which are full of clothes.” With these words the merchant left the servants by the side of the camel, and went off, and suddenly a cloud came up and began to discharge rain. Then the fools said; “Our master told us to take care that the rain did not touch the leather of the trunks;” and after they had made this sage reflection, they dragged the clothes out of the trunks and wrapped them round the leather. The consequence was, that the rain spoiled the clothes. Then the merchant returned, and in a rage said to his servants; “You rascals! Talk of water! Why the whole stock of clothes is spoiled by the rain.” And they answered him; “You told us to keep the rain off the leather of the trunks. What fault have we committed?” He answered; “I told you that, if the leather got wet, the clothes would be spoiled: I told it you in order to save the clothes, not the leather.” Then he placed the load on another camel, and when he returned home, imposed a fine on his servants amounting to the whole of their wealth.

“Thus fools, with undiscerning hearts, turn things upside down, and ruin their own interests and those of other people, and give such absurd answers. Now hear in a few words the story of the fool and the cakes.”

A certain traveller bought eight cakes for a paṇa; and he ate six of them without being satisfied, but his hunger was satisfied by eating the seventh. Then the blockhead exclaimed; “I have been cheated; why did I not eat this cake, which has allayed the pangs of hunger, first of all? Why did I waste those others, why did I not store them up?” In these words he bewailed the fact that his hunger was only gradually satisfied, and the people laughed at him for his ignorance.

A certain merchant said to his foolish servant; “Take care of the door of my shop, I am going home for a moment. After the merchant had said this, he went away, and the servant took the shop-door on his shoulder and went off to see an actor perform. And as he was returning, his master met him and gave him a scolding. And he answered, “I have taken care of this door as you told me.”

“So a fool, who attends only to the words of an order and does not understand the meaning, causes detriment. Now hear the wonderful story of the buffalo and the simpletons.”

Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo.

Some villagers took a buffalo belonging to a certain man, and killed it in an enclosure outside the village, under a banyan-tree, and, dividing it, ate it up. The proprietor of the buffalo went and complained to the king, and he had the villagers, who had eaten the buffalo, brought before him. And the proprietor of the buffalo said before the king, in their presence; “These foolish men took my buffalo under a banyan-tree near the tank, and killed it and ate it before my eyes.” Whereupon an old fool among the villagers said, “There is no tank or banyan-tree in our village. He says what is not true: where did we kill his buffalo or eat it?”

When the proprietor of the buffalo heard this, he said; “What! is there not a banyan-tree and a tank on the east side of the village? Moreover, you ate my buffalo on the eighth day of the lunar month.” When the proprietor of the buffalo said this, the old fool replied, “There is no east side or eighth day in our village.” When the king heard this, he laughed, and said, to encourage the fool; “You are a truthful person, you never say anything false, so tell me the truth, did you eat that buffalo or did you not?” When the fool heard that, he said, “I was born three years after my father died, and he taught me skill in speaking. So I never say what is untrue, my sovereign; it is true that we ate his buffalo, but all the rest that he alleges is false.” When the king heard this, he and his courtiers could not restrain their laughter; so the king restored the price of the buffalo to the plaintiff, and fined those villagers.

“So, fools, in the conceit of their folly, while they deny what need not be denied, reveal what it is their interest to suppress, in order to get themselves believed.”

Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake.

A certain foolish man had an angry wife, who said to him; “To-morrow I shall go to my father’s house, I am invited to a feast. So if you do not bring me a garland of blue lotuses from somewhere or other, you will cease to be my husband, and I shall cease to be your wife.” Accordingly he went at night to the king’s tank to fetch them. And when he entered it, the guards saw him, and cried out; “Who are you?” He said, “I am a Brahmany drake,” but they took him prisoner; and in the morning he was brought before the king, and when questioned, he uttered in his presence the cry of that bird. Then the king himself summoned him and questioned him persistently, and when he told his story, being a merciful monarch, he let the wretched man go unpunished.

Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback.

And a certain Bráhman said to a foolish physician; “Drive in the hump on the back of my son who is deformed.” When the physician heard that, he said; “Give me ten paṇas, I will give you ten times as many, if I do not succeed in this.” Having thus made a bet, and having taken the ten paṇas from the Bráhman, the physician only tortured the hunchback with sweating and other remedies. But he was not able to remove the hump; so he paid down the hundred paṇas; for who in this world would be able to make straight a hunchbacked man?

“So the boastful fashion of promising to accomplish impossibilities only makes a man ridiculous. Therefore a discreet person should not walk in these ways of fools.” When the wise prince Naraváhanadatta had heard, at night, these tales of fools from his auspicious-mouthed minister, named Gomukha, he was exceedingly pleased with him.

And though he was pining for Śaktiyaśas, yet, owing to the pleasure he derived from the stories that Gomukha told him, he was enabled to get to sleep, when he went to bed, and slept surrounded by his ministers who had grown up with him.