by Visnu Sarma
The very next day, after Forethought had gone, came the fishermen accompanied by servants. They stationed themselves in the middle of the lake, cast their nets wide, and caught all the fish without leaving even one behind. In this predicament, Readywit feigned death as he lay within the net; and the men, thinking, ‘Oh! This huge fish seems to be already dead,’ drew him out and placed him on the bank. Whereupon, in a trice, Readywit wriggled his way back into the water. As for our poor What-will-be-will-be, he stuck his nose into the meshes of the net, and as he struggled and thrashed around trying to escape, the men pounded him repeatedly with their clubs, tearing his body to pieces until he gave up the ghost.
‘Which is why I told you, “Forethought and Readywit prospered…” and so on,’ concluded Chaste.
‘What! My gracious lady, do you really think I am just another What-will-be-will-be?’ asked Long Legs, rather put out.
(324) ‘There is much difference to be seen
between things: horses, elephants,
iron, wood, stone, cloth, water,
man, woman: all differently made.
‘You should not be afraid. While my arms protect you, who has the power to bring about your discomfiture?’
So, when Chaste had laid her eggs on the strand, the Ocean, who had been listening to the previous conversation of the lapwing pair, now thought to himself: ‘Oho! Well, well; if there isn’t sound sense in the saying:.
(325) Fearing that the sky might fall down,
the lapwing rests with feet stretched up.
Who in the world is not conceited
o’er the image he creates of himself!
‘I shall put this bird’s power to the test; let’s see.’
So, the next day, when the páir of lapwings had gone foraging, the Ocean stretched out his foam-tipped wave-hands to their fullest and eagerly seized the eggs. When the hen-lapwing returned to find her nest empty, she reproached her husband, ‘See what has happened, to unfortunate me; the Ocean has robbed me of my eggs. I told you more than once that we should move and live elsewhere. But you, feeble-minded like What-will-be-will-be, refused to listen. Consumed by grief at the loss of my offspring, I shall enter the fire, now. This is my firm decision.’
To this, Long Legs replied, ‘Oh! My gracious lady, just wait till you witness my power; see how I dry up this huge, ruffianly concourse of waters with my beak.’ And his wife remonstrated with him, ‘O, my dear lord, how can you talk like this—do battle with the mighty Ocean? What does the proverb say:
(326) He who through folly, sets out impetuous
to face a foe without judging rightly
the other’s power and his own, will perish
like the moth that flies headlong into the fire.’
‘O, my darling,’ spoke Long Legs soothingly, ‘don’t, don’t talk like this. See how—
(327) Sunbeams fall over earth-supporting mountains
even though the sun is young, newly risen.
What does age count in living things
that are imbued with glorious might?
‘With this beak, I shall empty all the water of the Ocean, right to the last drop. I’ll dry up this vast store of waters and turn it into dryland.’
‘Oh! My beloved,’ cried Chaste, ‘with this beak of yours which can contain only a drop at a time? How will you dry up this vast flood of water, into which the great rivers Gaṅgā and Sindhū, bearing with them the waters of nine times nine hundred tributaries, fall uninterruptedly? Think; why indulge in such vainglorious talk that strains even credulity?’
To this, Long Legs’ confident reply was:
(328) ‘Self-confidence is Fortune’s base;
and my bill, it is strong as iron;
toiling, long days and nights—
Why will the Ocean not run dry?
‘For:
(329) Without courage and manly execution
highest achievement is beyond one’s reach;
Why, the Sun Himself first mounts the scales52
before he triumphs over the mass of rain clouds.’
And Chaste answered reluctantly, ‘If you feel that you must contend with the Ocean, at least call all the other birds to aid you and make it a joint enterprise. For there is great wisdom in the saying:
(330) A host, though each member in it is weak,
working united brings victory to pass.
Of simple straw, a rope is woven,
yet, with it an elephant is bound.
‘And so it was, that:
(331) Sparrow and woodpecker
gnat and frog, banded together,
all with a single end in view—
driving the tusker to his doom.’
Long Legs enquired, ‘And was this possible?’ And Chaste began the tale of The Sparrow and the Tusker.
In the very densest part of a forest, a pair of sparrows lived in a nest that they had built in the branches of a great tamāla tree. In due course they were blessed with a family.
One day, a wild tusker in the grip of spring fever, being greatly tormented by the heat, resorted to the tamāla tree seeking shade. Blind with spring-fever excitement, he happened to thrust at the very branch in which the sparrows had their nest with the tip of his trunk, breaking it. As the branch broke and fell off, the sparrow-eggs were smashed, though the parent-birds themselves, who were destined to live some more years, somehow escaped death. The hen-sparrow, desolated by the death of her offspring, began to lament piteously.
Meanwhile, her best friend, a woodpecker, hearing her lamentations and moved by her grief, flew down to her and said, ‘Dearest friend, what use is all this vain lamentation? There is profound wisdom in these sayings:
(332) The wise do not sorrow
for what is dead, or lost, or past.
Between the wise and the fools,
just this is the difference.
‘Again:
(333) Let no life be mourned here on earth:
he is a fool who mourns for them,
pursuing vanity upon vanity:
for grief brings only more grief.
‘Furthermore:
(334) Slimy, sluggish tears shed by kith and kin—
that is the sole lot of departed souls.
So, let there be no wakes and wailing:
let last rites be done as best as can be.’
To this Sparrow retorted, ‘All very true, I grant you; but what of it? The fact is that this rogue elephant, maddened by spring fever, has destroyed all my children. So, if you are a real friend to me, then you ought to think of some plan to destroy this murderous beast. If that were done, at least the sorrow born of the loss of my children might be alleviated. For it is wisely observed:
(335) Befriended by one in a time of distress,
scoffed at by another in misfortune,
by doing unto them what they did to you,
a person, I think, gets a new lease of life.’
Woodpecker responded saying, ‘Yes, true. Your Ladyship has spoken truly; for, as the proverb says:
(336) He is a true friend who stands by you in bad times
even if he be of another race.
The whole world is your best friend in happy times:
such is the way of the world.
‘And it is also heard:
(337) He is a true friend who when times are bad is there for you;
he is a father who feeds and protects you;
he is a friend too in whom you place your trust;
she is a wife in whom you find repose.
‘Now watch what my wit can devise. I have another dear friend, a gnat by the name of Lute Hum.53 Let me go and fetch her; with her help we are bound to compass the death of this wicked rogue-elephant.’
And Woodpecker took Sparrow along with her to her good friend, the gnat, whom she addressed courteously. ‘Gracious lady,’ she said, ‘here is my dear friend, Sparrow, who has been made desolate by a villainous elephant who smashed all her dearly-cherished eggs.
We have to devise a plan to take vengeance on this fellow; and I fervently hope that you will help us.’
‘Of course,’ replied the gnat, ‘Dear Lady, what other answer can there be? But listen, I have another very dear friend, a frog named Cloud Messenger.54 Let us call upon him for assistance and together we are bound to come up with a good plan; for it is said that:
(338) Plans well-devised by friends shrewd and learned
with expert knowledge of texts on statecraft,
of virtuous conduct who are well-wishers
ready to help, will never come to naught.’
So the three friends set out to meet Cloud Messenger and when they had found him they related the whole story. Having listened carefully, Cloud Messenger gave a snort and remarked, ‘Ah! This fellow… this miserable elephant… what is he when faced by a grand coalition of furiously angry personages… hm…? Nothing. So, this is what we shall do. Lady Gnat, you go first to this passion-drunk creature and hum sweetly in his ear. In the state of fevered excitement that he is in, your music will soothe him so well that he will close his eyes in pleasure. And then. Lady Woodpecker go to him and peck his eyes out; while I… I shall sit on the edge of a great, yawning hollow and begin croaking. When he hears my voice, the thirst-tormented elephant will move in my direction in the hope of finding a pool of water close by. Once there, he will slip and fall into the hollow and attain the fivefold state.’55
The plan was then carried out to the last detail. The spring-fever-struck tusker closed his eyes from sheer pleasure at the song of the gnat and then, blinded by Woodpecker he wandered around until at noon, grievously tormented by growing thirst, he followed the sound of the frog’s croaking, reached the edge of the deep hollow, fell in and died.
‘Which is why I say to you, “The sparrow with the woodpecker…” and the rest of it,’ concluded Chaste, the lapwing’s wife.
Long Legs, the lapwing, then solemnly declared, ‘So be it: with the help of an assemblage of my friends, I shall dry up this Ocean.’
Having come to this decision, Long Legs summoned all the birds and when they had gathered there, he related the whole sorry tale: the abduction of his children; the bitter sorrow this loss had brought him and his wife; her desire for restitution. All the birds sharing his grief started beating the waves with their wings hoping to alleviate Long Legs’ sorrow.
After this had been going on for a while, one of the birds observed, ‘Look, this is no way to accomplish our fondest desire. Instead, why don’t we fill up Ocean himself with sticks and stones and clods of earth?’
No sooner were the words out of the speaker’s mouth than all the birds began the task of filling the ocean with piles of sticks and stones and crumbling clods, carrying as much as the hollows of their bills would contain.
After some time one of the birds remarked, ‘Listen, whichever way you look at it, it is quite plain that we are simply not equal to a contest with the Ocean. So, allow me to make a timely suggestion. There is an ancient wild goose who lives in a banyan tree. He is the one person who can give us counsel that is both sage and practical. Let us go and consult him; for as the story goes:
(339) The captive flock of wild geese in the woods
by the plan of the ancient goose were saved.
The ancient are those with experience ripe;
listen to their words; they deserve a hearing.’
All the birds asked at once, ‘How was that possible?’ And the wise bird began the tale of The Ancient Wild Goose and the Fowler.
In a certain wooded region there flourished a banyan tree with massive branches. In it lived a flock of wild geese. Once there sprang up a vine of the species known as koáambi at the base of that tree. Noticing the appearance of this vine, the ancient wild goose remarked, ‘Look, here is a vine climbing up this banyan tree which in time will pose a threat to us. For, sometime or other, someone may climb up using this vine as a support and harm us. Therefore, while this vine is still slender and easily broken, it should be destroyed.’ But the other birds disregarded his sage counsel and neglected to destroy the vine.
In the course of time, the vine grew and spread on all sides to encircle the whole tree. One day, while the geese were all out foraging, along came a fowler; he climbed up the tree by means of the thick, spreading vine and seeing the birds’ nests, placed snares around them and went home.
Late in the evening, all the wild geese returned, having foraged and sported all day; and they were all caught in the snares. Then the ancient wild goose chided them, ‘See, what has happened; disaster has struck: we are all caught in the snares; and all because you fellows disregarded my advice. And now we shall all perish.’
The birds then pleaded, ‘What has happened has happened; now what do we do, O noble one?’
And the ancient, wise bird counselled, ‘If you are all prepared to follow my advice, there is a way out. When you see the fowler returning, all of you had better be absolutely still and play dead. Thinking, “These birds are quite dead,” the fowler will throw you all to the ground, one by one. When every one of us has been thrown down and the fowler begins to climb down the tree, then we should all rise simultaneously and fly away.’
At daybreak the next day, the fowler arrived, looked over the birds and saw that they were pretty well gone. With complete, confidence, he disentangled the birds, one after the other and threw them to the ground. Then observing that the man was about to climb down, all the birds, following the counsel of the ancient, wise wild goose, rose up simultaneously and flew off.
‘And this is why I quoted the saying about heeding the words of those old in experience,’ concluded the speaker.
At the end of the tale, all the birds headed for the banyan tree where the ancient wild goose had his home and related to him the sad story of the abduction of the lapwing chicks.
The ancient bird listened and then spoke, ‘As you all know, Garuda is King of all Birds. In the circumstances the most suitable course of action is this: that all of you should raise your voices in unison in wails of lamentation and cry out to Garuda to stir his deepest feelings, so that he will be moved to redress your grievance.’
Having settled on this plan, the birds sought Garuda’s presence, who at the time was on the point of being summoned by the Blessed Lord Viṣṇu in connection with matters relating to the imminent War of Gods and Titans. Arriving at that very moment, the birds reported to their lord, the King of Birds, the sorrow of the loss and separation brought about by the Ocean’s infamous act of carrying away the lapwing chicks. ‘Lord,’ they cried out, ‘even as you dwell in glorious splendour, we, who live solely by what we can procure with our bills and are as a result afflicted by a weakness56 in foraging, have been injured and humiliated by the Ocean who has carried away our young. As the proverb rightly points out:
(340) To eat quietly out of sight is indeed
best, especially for the weak and needy.
The lone ram with never a clue how to feed
was by the lion despatched as you will see.’
‘Oh?’ exclaimed Garuda, ‘and how did that happen?’ The ancient bird then began the tale of The Lion and the Lone Ram.
In a densely-wooded region, there was a ram who had been separated from his flock. Stocky in frame, shaggy and long-horned, possessing a tough and strong body, he roamed the forest at will. Now, it happened at one time that a lion surrounded by his retinue of all species of animals, passed that way and saw him. Taking one look at the ram, a weird creature the like of which he had never set eyes on before, the lion grew afraid, his heart pounding with anxious thoughts that made his entire frame shake and tremble unceasingly while every hair on it bristled with apprehension, ‘He must be stronger than I am,’ he reflected, ‘otherwise how could he roam here without a care in the world.’ With such thoughts making him uneasy, the lion quietly inched away.
Next day, the lion again came across the ram who was now happily cropping the grass. ‘What! Is this fellow then a grass-ea
ter! Well, well, in that case his strength can only be in proportion to his diet,’ said the lion to himself. And with a sudden, swift spring he killed the poor ram.
‘Therefore, I say to you once more, “To eat quietly out of sight…” and the rest of it.’
As the ancient wild goose was concluding his tale, Lord Viṣṇu’s messenger appeared on the scene and addressed Garuḍa, ‘Oh! Divine Bird! Our Lord, Nārāyana,57 commands you to go at once to Amarāvati;58 make haste.’
Garuḍa answered the messenger with hurt pride, ‘Oh messenger! What does our Lord want with an unworthy servant like myself!’
To this the messenger replied, ‘Has the Lord ever spoken harshly to you? Why then do you display such pride against the Blessed One?’
Garuḍa replied, ‘The Ocean, the resting place of the Blessed One has carried away the eggs of the lapwing, who is my servant. If I cannot chastise this wrongdoer, then I am not the servant of the Lord. Pray go and tell this to our Lord.’
Lord Viṣṇu, understanding from the messenger’s words that the Winged One was hurt and feigning anger, reflected, ‘Ah! Vinatā’s son seems to be in a dreadful temper. I think I had better go myself, address him in person and bring him here with all honours. For, as the proverb rightly points out:
(341) An able, loyal and high-born servant
is never to be treated with disrespect
but cherished with affection as a son
by a man wishing his fortunes to prosper.
(342) A master though highly pleased with his servants
may bestow on them nothing but high honour;
but servants setting on honour such high value
will sacrifice even their lives for their master.’
Having arrived at this conclusion, Lord Viṣṇu quickly set out to visit Garuda, who, seeing that the Lord had come to his house looked down modestly at the ground and spoke, ‘Supreme Lord! See what the Ocean has done from arrogance that you have made his depths your own dwelling place; he has deeply humiliated me by carrying away my servant’s eggs, the lapwing’s offspring. Out of deference to the Supreme Lord I have refrained from taking strong action; otherwise, I would have reduced this flood of waters to dry land this very day. For it is wisely observed: