by Visnu Sarma
Satire is perhaps too strong a word to use for the kind of corrective criticism we find in the Panćatantra. Education might be a more appropriate term; for education includes both instruction and correction. The Panćatantra is distinguished by two features which it is important to note. First, it does not set up impracticable ideals for men and women in a social and political context. Its main concern and the thrust of the work is to layout the way of nīti, living wisely and well in the truest sense of these two terms, through story and precept. Second, the conception of nīti is based on and articulates a very central and fundamental concept of Indian thought, that of the purusharthas: dharma, artha and kāma, the triple aims of human existence, on which society is grounded and which forms the framework for all human action and relationships. This threefold existential scheme provides the philosophical structure for the Panćatantra.
Dharma has several meanings: the Law22, righteousness, duty, moral and social order, the inherent property or quality of a thing. Artha signifies the economy, all material resources and their management. Kāma is Desire in the broadest scene of the term, and Will. The three terms embrace the whole of an individual’s life: the ethical and social, the material and economic and the emotional dimensions. A fourth goal, moksa, release or ultimate freedom from all worldly concerns and pursuits was posited, added at some later stage in the evolution of philosophical thought. But though this was present as an ultimate goal, it was to come at the end of an individual’s life and perhaps not a goal for everyone except in an academic sense. In the Panćatantra only one tale (not found in all recensions of the text), presents mokṣa—the tale of the turtle-doves (III. The Dove who sacrificed himself).
To outline these three aims of existence, I take up the first, Dhorma. Dharma is both absolute and relative. It is relative because the observance of dharma depends on an individual’s place in the scheme of things and the duties pertaining to that place. Dharma, in the sense of the Law, prescribes duties, responsibilities and rights appropriate to an individual in the social order and station of life. For example, it is the dharma of a king and warrior to fight and shed blood in the defence of his land and people. If a ruler confronted by naked aggression is too weak and has scant resources to fight a powerful enemy, the Law recommends that he may resort to underhand means to protect himself, his kingdom and subjects. Book III of the text exemplifies this. Cloud Hue, King of Crows is a ruler who has to defend his kingdom and subjects against a cruel enemy. And he does this by employing a clever ruse suggested by his minister. Obviously, a private individual is not expected to rush out and burn his neighbour’s home and family to avenge some wrongdoing, since he does have recourse to the law and the courts. On the other hand, the tale of the turtle-doves in the same book illustrates the observance of the principle of dharma in an absolute sense. Theirs is saintly conduct. Their reward is in the hereafter and their happiness is deferred until they are ‘translated’ into another life in another world. The meek and forgiving do not inherit this earth.
The principle of dharma operates at all levels of life, and not simply at the human level. The snake (I. The Grateful Beasts and the Ungrateful Man) tells the Brāhmana who is terrified of helping him out of the well: ‘Sir, we are not free agents; we would not bite a soul if we were not constrained to do so.’ Venom is the inbuilt defence of certain creatures; it is an inherent quality in them, enabling them to survive.
Coming to the second goal of human existence which is artha, the acquisition of wealth and other material resources, it is perhaps pertinent to point out that Indian thought has in no way and at no time believed in or recommended the pursuit of an other-worldly objective to the exclusion of all else. To live in this world, wealth (or money) is needed. The Panćatantra states this need insistently and emphatically. To do without wealth, a person has to follow the path of the great sages and retreat into the forest or lonely mountain caves. That is an option for anyone who prefers it, in which case the individual is opting out of the socio-political world.
The text repeatedly expatiates on the evils of poverty, especially in Books II and V (11.68 to 75). ‘Ha! A plague upon this poverty,’ says Goldy, the mole when he has been deprived of all his wealth by the two monks, Crumplyear and Broadbottom. He has also lost his power and status as a consequence. Overnight he has become a beggar and without honour among his own people (II.76.-7 to 85). As he broods he exclaims bitterly: ‘Alas! Poverty is the root of all evils.’ Goldy continues to brood: ‘Yes, beggary is as terrible as death,’ he says. But in fact it is worse, much worse, for even a corpse knows well that ‘a man is better dead than poor’, (V.18) and would not exchange his lot with that of a beggar. The ills of poverty are put in a telling manner and with wit in this verse:
Wit, kindliness and modesty,
sweetness of speech and youthful beauty,
liveliness too and vitality;
freedom from sorrow, and joviality;
uprightness, knowledge of sacred texts;
the wisdom of the Preceptor of the Immortals;
purity as well of mind and body;
respect too for rules of right conduct:
all these fine attributes arise in people,
once their belly-pot is full.
(V.73)
But money is not everything and it has no value in itself. It is a means to living wisely and well. It has to be put to good use for oneself and for others. The Panćatantra does not recommend the uncontrolled pursuit of amassing wealth. The greater part of Book V is a criticism of greed. Further it warns against unprincipled methods of making money. What is earned is to be earned with honour and integrity and used well, giving to others and sharing.
You may have only a morsel yourself,
why not give half of it to a suppliant?
(II. 54. 1, 2)
The poor man can only offer his mite,
but the reward he reaps, the Vedas say,
(II. 55. 1, 2)
is as great as that which the rich gain by their munificence.
Finally, looking at the third goal, Desire and Will; again the Panćatantra lays emphasis on the middle way, on moderation and restraint. Excessive desire in all forms is to be curbed; but to be without any desire is to lack success and achievement. The will to act, to achieve the right goals, to yoke all one’s powers and abilities to worthwhile enterprises and persevere until success crowns a person’s efforts, is manliness. To desire the good things of life that are lawful and do not injure others, brings happiness—family, friends, good company.
Those who enjoy happy times,
friends with dear friends,
lovers with their beloved,
joyful with the joyous…
(II. 162)
only they ‘live life to the fullest; they are the salt of the earth’.
However, it is friendship that is given a special place, and set above all other relationships. It is singled out for high praise as one of the most important requisites for the good life. True friendship is possible only between equals and with noble minds who are good and wise and ‘cherished for their learning, their refinement, their discipline’ (11.179). Such friendships, close-knit like ‘flesh and claw difficult to split’ (or ‘flesh and nail’ in the human context) are a blessing, opening out trails in life’s wilderness.
A chalice of trust and affection,
a sanctuary from sorrow, anxiety and fear—
Who created this priceless gem—a friend,
a word of just two syllables—Mitra?
(II. 194)
The frame story of Book II is a testimony to this true friendship. When Goldy comes with Lightwing to the great lake that is the home of Slowcoach, he is neurotic being ridden by obsessions. First, it is an obsession with gathering material resources (artha), then with the desire for vengeance and last, with a feeling of total despair brought on by acute shame. He is restored to health in the tranquillity of his surroundings and the company of good and wise friends.
&n
bsp; The aim of the Panćatantra is to inculcate the importance of a harmonious development of all the powers of man; to balance the needs and demands of the individual in society so that the ethical, social, material and emotional aspects of personality may be integrated and lead to a life that is lived wisely and well in the truest sense of these terms. This is nīti. To be free from fear and want is the basic need. Other values are then built on it: giving and receiving, friendship and affection, kindliness and compassion for the needy and distressed, the intelligent use of learning and the rightful use of intelligence, the exercise of judgement and prudence, deliberation before acting, followed by resolute action, giving the best an individual can to succeed in worthwhile enterprises. This is the wisdom conveyed by the Panćatantra, a gentle and practical wisdom. There is no prophetic fervour calling fire and brimstone down on the head of fool and knave; no strident notes are struck. The Panćatantra sets forth a very civilized view of life; a noble way of living which man can aspire to. To characterize this work as unmoral or amoral as has been done at times, is to do it gross injustice. And now we shall examine the artistic form in which this noble and civilized view of life and the ability of human beings to achieve it, if only they had the will to do so, has been presented by Viṣṇu Śarma.
II
Storytelling is an ancient art in India going back to the earliest literature. It formed part of the rituals surrounding the great sacrifices performed during vedic and epic times. We know from the Mahābhārata that storytelling sessions were held in the intervals between the performance of sacrifices that often stretched over long periods of time, days, weeks, even months. Little stories are embedded in the Brāhmana literature23 between explanations of the rituals of sacrifice. The stories of Śakuntalā and Urvaśi-Purūravas, which later provided Kālidāsa with the plots of two of his great plays, are found in the Śatapatha Brāhmana. The Mahābhārata is a veritable mine of stories. But the Panćatantra and the Jātaka Tales to which we have already referred, are the oldest surviving works of fiction that form artistic and cohesive wholes. (The Brhatkathā24 of Gunādhya has been lost; only parts of it are preserved, embedded in later works of fiction.) These two works, the Panćatantra and the Jātaka Tales have many stories in common, which suggests that they have in part, a common source in some distant, undateable past, in the floating body of stories and legends current in societies from the very earliest times. These would be popular and moral tales, fairy and folk-tales and fables. Some of these stories common to the two works are depicted in the Bharhut friezes (second century BC). Stone is a more durable medium for art than birch bark and palm leaves, in spite of vandalism of many sorts that monumental architecture and stone sculpture have been subjected to in India in the long march of centuries.
Of the two works, the Panćatantra has a unique structure. It is hardly accurate to describe it as a ‘collection’ of stories as is sometimes done. A collection of stories consists of single, individual tales, loosely strung together to form a continuous narrative at best, told usually by a single narrator. The Panćatantra, on the other hand, is an artistic whole with a highly organized and complex structure with several narrators functioning at multiple levels of storytelling. It is an intricately designed text interweaving tales with maxims and precepts, discourse and debate.
The text has a frame story, the Preamble, with five narratives or books (tantras) set within it, each narrative or tantra having its own frame story, narrative, dialogue and discourse, and well-defined characters. Within the ‘frame’ or tantra25 of each of the five books are set ‘emboxed’ stories (story within a story). An ‘emboxed’ story has one or more tales nesting within it, narrated by one or other character to others in that specific tale who form the audience. Each tale and subtale has therefore a narrator and an audience and dialogue, together with maxims and precepts and discourses on ethics and polity, all woven into the fabric of the narrative to form a rich pattern: e.g. the tales of The Holy Man and Swindler, and Fair Mind and Foul Mind (I.tales 4 and 27). In some cases, to complicate the structure further, the process of ‘emboxing’ is taken one step further, and then another: e.g. the tales of The lapwing who defied the Ocean, and Strong and the Naked Mendicant (I. tales 16 and 23).
The pattern of structure of frame story-emboxed tale is repeated at several narrative levels in the Panchatantra. Thus, each tantra mirrors the structure of the work as a whole. The following diagram would clearly indicate how the text takes the audience into a series of story-book worlds, one after the other, and how each time the audience (listeners,/readers) steps into layer after layer of storytelling. The examples are from Book I, tale 16.
PANĆATANTRA
1st level:
Narrator, anonymous; audience, listeners/readers at all times and in all places.
2nd level:
Frame story of the king, the three princes and Viṣṇu Śarma.
Narrator/storyteller and audience the same as at the 1st level.
3rd level:
Tantra I; Estrangement of Friends (Mitrabheda), Frame story—the merchant, his bull, Lively (Sanjīvaka), the lion, Tawny (King of the Forest, Piṅgalaka), and his ex-officials, the two jackals, Wary and Wily (Karaṭaka, Damanaka)
Narrator—Viṣṇu Śarma; audience—the three princes.
4th level:
Emboxed tale 16—The Lapwing who defied the Ocean; Narrator—Wily, the jackal; audience—Lively, the bull.
5th level:
Subtales in tale 16, (Four); narrators, (two); audience, (two);
i)
Subtale of The Turtle and the Geese
ii)
Forethought, Readywit and What-will-be-will-be
iii)
The Sparrow and the Tusker Narrator—Chaste, the hen-lapwing Audience—Long Legs, the cock-lapwing
iv)
The subtale of The Ancient Wild Goose and the Fowler
Narrator—a wise bird, friend of the lapwings Audience—the concourse of birds.
6th level:
Tale within subtale iv (5th level): The Lion and the lone Ram
Narrator—The Ancient Wild Goose: subtale iv Audience—Garuda, King of Birds and the whole concourse of birds including the lapwings.
It is clear from the foregoing diagram that there is a multiplicity of narrators at several levels in the narrative, each with his,’ her immediate audience. In addition, they speak to a whole range of audiences beginning with the three princes and ending with the modern reader. Several points of view on fundamental concerns of life and conduct such as fate, free will, ethics and expediency are presented with a case being made for the validity of each point of view by telling a tale or tales. The variety of characters, the diversity of opinions expressed by them and the constant interaction of narrative and discourse, make the Panêatantra a densely textured and layered text. Behind all this diversity however, is the presence and voice of the ancient storyteller who sits at his loom, weaving all the richness spread before us. He provides the thread of unity.
Who is the weaver of these delightful and witty tales? The narrator of the prime frame story (the Preamble of the work) is anonymous. He is re-telling a work of fiction composed by one Viṣṇu áarma whom he introduces in the Preamble together with the king of ‘the southern lands’, presumably the patron of the author and the three princes who form the first of a long series of audiences.
Nothing is known of a Viṣṇu Śarma except that he is said to be the author of the Panćatantra. The names Viṣṇugupta and Viṣṇu Śarma are associated with Ćāṇakya (a patronymic), author of the Arthaśātra. But there is no proof that Viṣṇugupta Ćāṇakya, author of the Arthaśāstra also wrote a nītiśāstra, the Panćatantra. The question is whether Viṣṇu Śarma is himself a fictional character like those in the gallery of characters he created for the entertainment and edification of three young princes and all others since who love to hear a good tale well told. Or whether the name is symbolic like Vyāsa, the author of the Mahābhārata, or B
harata who composed the Nātya Śāstra, the classic work on dramaturgy, music and dance, and other ancient authors. Anonymity of artists and writers has been a feature of Indian art in the past. No one knows whose brush delineated the wistful beauty of the apsarā on the walls at Ajanta (cave 17); or the name of the genius in whose hands the hard rock of the Western Ghats became yielding as softest clay to create the wonder that is the Kailāsanātha temple at Ellora? Viṣṇu áarma is a storyteller of hoary antiquity, almost legendary. Whoever the author was, he was a keen observer of the morals and manners of society at all levels; a careful and sympathetic observer of birds, animals and other dwellers of woods and waters; and an accomplished writer of prose and verse with a full command of many styles: the epigrammatic, lyrical, elegiac and rhetorical. Further, he is a man of enormous learning and philosophical outlook; and a writer of wit, humour and elegance. The tale of the bedbug and the wasp is a good example of the qualities named last (I. Crawly, the bedbug and Drone, the wasp)).
‘And what, noble lady, is the right time and the right place?’ asked Drone, adding, ‘Being a newcomer, I am unfamiliar with the protocol of such matters.’ Gentle irony is employed here to make fun of court etiquette.
That his learning is not pedantic but enters actively into the life of the imagination and colours his outlook on life is evident in his work. The following verse is a good example:
What is Knowledge, if having won her,
firm control over passions fails to follow,
or rightful use of Intelligence lost;
if with Righteousness, Knowledge does not dwell,
if She leads not to Serenity or Fame;
if to have Her is to simply bandy
Her name in this world—What use is She then?
(1.361)