The Pancatantra

by Visnu Sarma

  (366) A monarch counselled by evil ministers

  though himself virtuous attracts not that wealth;

  as a pool of sweet waters, pellucid,

  where monstrous crocodiles lurk, does not invite.

  ‘As for you, seeking your own advantage, in all probability you wish only to see our lord isolated, cut off from all other relations. You blockhead! Don’t you see that:

  (367) A monarch shines most brilliant at the centre72 of his court,

  never isolated in lonely splendour.

  He must surely be an adversary

  who likes to see the king solitary.

  ‘Moreover:

  (368) In stern and harsh speech seek what is wholesome,

  it is not as if it is all poison.

  In honey-sweet speech seek out treachery,

  it is not as if it is all ambrosia.

  ‘And if seeing another’s good fortune makes you unhappy, that too is wrong. It is most unbefitting of you to act in the manner you have, to break a friendship that sprang up spontaneously. For:

  (369) Through treachery to gain friends,

  through deceit moral ends,

  through others’ afflictions their own affluence,

  to want learning without effort, woman through violence:

  men with such desires, it is clear,

  are devoid of good feeling and good sense.

  ‘Besides:

  (370) Wealth and prosperity flowing from the people

  are a monarch’s true might and majesty;

  what indeed would the mighty ocean be

  without waves rising crested with the gleam of gems!

  ‘And further, the man who receives high favours from his lord, should on that account show greater modesty and a sense of decorum to a higher degree; for it is aptly observed:

  (371) As the master bestows on his man

  more and greater favours, the more discreet

  the servant’s conduct should be;

  humbler his gait, the lower the profile he keeps.

  ‘But you, sir, you are a man of mean disposition; surely you are aware too of the saying:

  (372) The great and noble though greatly battered

  stand firm, unfaltering;

  the mighty ocean is never sullied

  even as its shores are crumbling;

  the meanest, pettiest causes

  make shallow minds change and veer;

  the pliant grass is set a-trembling

  by lightest, gentlest breezes.

  ‘On the other hand, it is our lord who is entirely to blame. For, without proper scrutiny and due deliberation, he accepted the advice of one such as you, who are a minister in name only; who has no comprehension of the six royal qualities73 and the four expedients74 of realpolitik, all of which are essential for success in the attainment of the threefold goals of life.75 Ah, what wisdom is contained in this statement:

  (373) If monarchs delight in consorting with retainers

  whose bows are unstrung but whose tongues ever ply

  in wonderfully clever ways, and many,

  is it any surprise the enemy

  consorts in delight with Royal Fortune?

  ‘Indeed, the moral is perfectly pointed out in the well-known tale; as it has been said:

  (374) The naked monk he burned with fire;

  he gained the king’s special favour;

  he raised himself to high estate:

  he accomplished it all, did Minister Strong.’

  ‘Oh! Was that so? How?’ exclaimed Wily. And Wary, the jackal, then began the tale of Strong and the Naked Mendicant.

  In the Kingdom of the Kosalas there flourished the city of Ayodhyā,76 where King Fine Chariot77 ruled, upon whose footstool rays of lustre bursting from gem-studded diadems of innumerable vassal princes who kneeled to him, fell shimmering. One day, one of the king’s forest-rangers presented himself at the court to convey a message. ‘My lord,’ he said bowing low, ‘the forest-rulers are all becoming restless; one among them, the forest king, Vindhyaka, needs to be taught a lesson; it is up to His Majesty to take a decision.’

  Then the king summoned one of his ministers, called Strong,78 and despatched him to subdue the rebel kings.

  While Strong was away on his mission, a naked mendicant entered the city at the close of summer. Such was his knowledge of various matters—astrological predictions, prophecies, horo-scopy, augury; the rising of zodiacal signs and division of each sign, threefold, ninefold, twelvefold, thirtyfold; the gnomon and its shadow, eclipses, ecliptic and ascendant; courses of celestial bodies; their varied measurements, their correspondences with elements of the body, their houses and influences on life and thoughts—that in a few days, the fellow had the whole citizenry eating out of his hand as if he had bought and owned it. Finally, as the report of the mendicant’s fame spread around by word of mouth, it reached the king’s ears, who out of consuming curiosity ordered that he be brought to the palace. Having offered the mendicant a seat and all the courtesies, the king asked, ‘Is the revered preceptor truly a reader of other men’s thoughts?’

  ‘His Majesty can be a judge of that by seeing the results,’ answered the mendicant. And by involving the king in discourses of absorbing interest, the mendicant brought him to a fevered pitch of curiosity.

  One day the mendicant failed to appear at the customary hour of discourse. Next day he entered the palace at the usual hour and announced, ‘Oh! King! I have brought you happy tidings. Just this morning, I left this body of mine behind in my hut and assuming another body befitting the World of the Immortals, I went to the Realms of Light with the firm conviction that the Immortals were remembering me. Your Majesty, I have returned from that world just this moment. And while I was there, the Immortals exhorted me to make kind enquiries after Your Majesty’s welfare on their behalf.’

  The king was overpowered by great admiration, hearing these words of the mendicant. Lost in wonderment he cried, ‘Holy Preceptor! Is this really possible? That Your Holiness can actually go to the Realms of Light?’

  ‘Certainly, great king,’ answered the mendicant, ‘Why, I travel to the Realms of Light every day.’

  Completely taken in by it all, the foolish king grew indifferent to the affairs of state, lost all interest in the life of the Inner Apartments79 and became totally involved with the mendicant.

  In the meantime, the minister, Strong, having made thorn-free the forest domains of the kingdom, returned to the capital and entered the royal presence. And what did he see but his royal master alone, disengaged from the council of ministers, closeted all by himself with a naked-mendicant and engaged in animated discourse, his face glowing like a blossoming lotus, about some apparently marvellous event that seemed to have occurred.

  After ascertaining the facts of the situation, Minister Strong approached the king, bowed low and greeted him with the words, ‘Victory to our lord,80 Beloved of Gods.’81

  The king having made the customary, kind enquiries after his minister’s health and well-being, asked, ‘Does Your Honour know of this learned preceptor?’ To which the minister replied, ‘Know him, my lord; who does not know of one who is the progenitor and master of a whole school of learned preceptors? Further, the preceptor’s journey to the Realms of Light is now common knowledge. Is that a fact, my lord?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ responded the king warmly, ‘What Your Honour has heard is true, beyond the shadow of a doubt.’

  The naked mendicant now interposed to add, ‘If the worthy minister is interested, he can see for himself.’ So saying, he entered his hut, bolted the door and waited inside.

  After a few minutes, Strong asked the king, ‘How soon will the mendicant come out, my lord?’

  ‘What makes you so impatient?’ answered the king rather testily, ‘No doubt when he has shed his earthly body and left it within his hut and assumed a celestial one in its place, the mendicant will come out.’

  To this the minister replied, ‘If that is indeed the
case, my lord, let a pile of firewood be brought straight away so that I may set fire to this hut.’

  ‘And why would you want to do that?’ questioned the king.

  ‘Because, my lord,’ the minister retorted promptly, ‘when his earthly body is consumed by fire, the mendicant would stand before Your Majesty in the very same body in which he journeys to the World of the Immortals. In this connection, we hear of a tale; let me relate it to you.’ And the minister, Strong, began the tale of The Maiden wedded to a Snake.

  In Rajagrha,82 there lived a Brāhmana named Deva Śarma. His wife, being childless, wept bitterly everytime she saw the children of her neighbours, until one day the Brāhmana spoke to comfort her, ‘Do not distress yourself any further, dear wife: listen, dear lady, to what I have to say. While I was performing the sacrifices for obtaining offspring, I heard the voice of an invisible being speaking quite clearly and it declared, “Oh! Brāhmana, hear, you shall obtain a son surpassing all others in beauty of face and form, in virtue and good fortune.”’

  At her husband’s words, the Brāhmana lady felt her heart swell with supreme joy. ‘O, may that gracious utterance come true,’ she repeated fervently.

  The lady soon conceived and in due course, she was delivered—of a snake. When she saw the snake, disregarding the words of her friends who, one and all, advised her to abandon her offspring, the lady picked him up with tender affection and after bathing him, placed him in a large, clean chest, where she fed him on milk and butter and other fine foods so that in no time the snake grew to maturity.

  Once, while watching the marriage festivities of the son of one of her neighbours, the Brāhmana lady turned to her husband with tears streaming down her face and said, ‘I am convinced that you have nothing but utter contempt for me, for you make no attempt to arrange for the marriage of my darling boy.’

  To this the Brāhmana’s answer was, ‘Oh! Noble lady; do you expect me to go down into the depths of the underworld and ask Vāsuki, King of Serpents, for the hand of his daughter? Foolish woman, who else do you think will offer his beloved daughter in marriage to a snake?’

  As he spoke these words, the Brāhmana noticed the look of utter misery on his wife’s face. Deeply disturbed by what he saw and out of affection for his wife, the Brāhmana packed a goodly store of provisions for the way and set out on a long journey.

  Travelling some months in distant lands, Deva Śarma finally arrived at a place known as the City of Warbling Birds, located in some far-off land. There, in the house of a kinsman where he knew he could halt and ask for hospitality without feeling embarrassed, because relations between them were based on mutual respect and affection, he spent the night having received due hospitality: a pleasant bath, a fine dinner and other comforts.

  Next morning when he had thanked his host and was ready to depart, the latter enquired, ‘Your Honour, what brought you to this place? And where do you plan to go next?’

  In answer to these queries, Deva Śarma said, ‘Your Honour, I set out from home in search of a young girl who would make a suitable bride for my son.’

  Having gained this information, Deva Śarma’s host immediately responded, ‘Why, in that case, let me say that I have an extremely beautiful daughter; and I am yours to command. Accept my daughter, sir, as your son’s bride.’

  Accepting the offer, Deva Śarma took the maiden accompanied by her kinsfolk and returned home. No sooner had the townsfolk seen that maiden of exquisite loveliness—the loveliness of lustrous pearls—and blessed with innumerable graces, a girl of uncommon opulence of beauty, than their eyes dilated in wondering delight and they spoke to her kin as follows: ‘How can anyone noble and high-souled, give in marriage this priceless gem of a maiden to a snake!’

  Hearing such words, the girl’s elderly relatives, with hearts wrenched by anxiety began to murmur: ‘Let this maiden be removed far away from this boy who seems to be possessed by some baleful goblin.’ Then the maiden cut in sharply with, ‘Enough; no more of such derisive talk; pay heed to the text:

  (375) A monarch speaks but once;

  The sage and holy speak but once;

  a maid is given in marriage but once:

  these three things are done once and once only.

  ‘Besides:

  (376) An act with its inevitable end is twinned,83

  and what is prefigured must come into being;

  nothing can make it otherwise; the gods themselves

  had no way of altering poor Little Blossom’s fate.’

  Then all those who were gathered there asked at once: ‘And who was this poor Little Blossom?’ Thereupon the maiden began the tale of

  Death and Little Blossom.

  Indra, Lord of the Immortals, once had a parrot named Little Blossom, a bird of exquisite beauty, like the beauty of lustrous pearls, who was endowed with innumerable excellences and a fine intellect and who wore lightly his prodigious learning in scientific and sacred texts.

  One day while sitting on the palm of great Indra’s hand, the parrot with his body thrilling with delight at the god’s touch was reciting various Vedic verses,84 when he saw Yama, Lord of Death, approaching at the appointed hour to pay his respects to the great god. At once, Little Blossom moved aside. The whole host of Immortals who were watching, asked the parrot, ‘Why has Your Honour moved aside upon beholding this personage?’ And the bird answered, ‘This personage is indeed the one who deprives all creatures that breathe, of their life’s breath; is it not right then to distance oneself from him?’

  Hearing the parrot’s words, all the gods eager to allay his fears, requested Yama, thus, ‘Lord, pray honour our words and never ever deprive this parrot of his life.’

  ‘Oh! I don’t know about that,’ replied Yama; ‘such matters are under the control of Time.’

  The gods then took Little Blossom and sought the presence of Time, and repeated their request. Thereupon, Time replied, ‘This is a matter for Death; you had better speak to him.’

  The Immortals did as instructed, but at the mere sight of Death, the poor parrot dropped dead. Overwhelmed by grief at Little Blossom’s death, the whole host of Immortals repaired to Yama’s world and demanded, ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  And Yama explained, ‘It was preordained that this bird should die at the mere sight of Death.’ Accepting these words, the gods returned to their own world.

  ‘Which is why I said before, “An act with its own inevitable end is twinned…” and so on,’ observed the maiden; and she continued, ‘Besides, my father should not incur the censure of having made a false promise of his daughter in marriage.’ And obtaining the permission of her kinsfolk who were attending on her, the maiden was wedded to the snake. Immediately, she began to wait upon her husband with devotion, offering him milk to drink and performing other services for him.

  Once, at night, the snake slid out of his spacious chest that had been placed in the maiden’s bed-chamber and climbed into her bed. At once she exclaimed, startled, ‘Who is this in the form of a man?’ And thinking him to be some stranger, she rose and with every limb trembling, went to the door, unlocked it and was about to dash out when she heard him say, ‘Stay, gracious lady; I am your husband.’ And to convince her, he re-entered the snake-form that he had shed and left within the chest and once again emerged from it to stand before her as a man. When the maiden saw him standing before her in a lofty diadem flashing with gems, and wearing gleaming earrings, armlets, bracelets and rings, she dropped down at his feet. They came together in an embrace and experienced the raptures of love.

  The young man’s father who had in the meantime risen very early saw how matters stood. Discovering the truth, he removed the snake-form lying within the chest and consigned it to the flames, telling himself, ‘Let not my son ever again enter this snake-form.’

  In the morning, the Brāhmana and his wife, their hearts bursting with supreme delight, introduced the marvellous young man lost in love of his beautiful bride to everyone gathered there
as their very own son, extraordinary beyond all imaginings.

  Having related this tale to the king as an illustration, Minister Strong then set fire to the hut where the naked mendicant crouched as in the womb.

  ‘Which is why I say to you once more, “The naked mendicant, he burned…” and the rest of the verse.

  ‘O, you miserable fool! It is men like Strong who are true ministers; not those such as you, ministers in mere name, who earn a living by making fraudulent claims of competence in the art of government, albeit they are totally ignorant of the knowledge of statecraft and its methods. By your evil conduct you have clearly demonstrated in every way, your inherited incapacity to be a true minister: for surely, your father before you must have been the same sort of person. For:

  (377) A father’s ways the son surely emulates, we know,

  never on screw-pine85 do cherry-plums86 ever grow.

  ‘In men of learning with a natural reserve which they retain even with the passing of time, inner weaknesses are difficult of detection, unless, they themselves choose to put aside their impenetrable reserve to reveal hidden vulnerabilities. As it is said:

  (378) In joyous response to resonant rain clouds

  peacocks dance; more fools they to reveal plainly

  their secret places;87 or who would see them

  however hard he tried to peer intently.

  ‘But what use is it offering good advice to someone so depraved as you. How excellently is it said:

  (379) No sword can bend an unbending tree

  nor prevail against stone.

  as Needle-bill’s good advice could not, upon one

  who took life easy and would not learn.’

  Wily asked eagerly, ‘And how was that?’ Then Wary began the tale of The Tailor-bird and the Ape.

  In a certain wooded region there lived a troop of apes. One winter evening at dusk when the apes were extremely distressed they noticed a firefly. Believing it to be fire, they lifted it up with great care, covered it with dry grass and leaves and thrusting out their arms, started rubbing their arms and armpits, chests and bellies, all the while enjoying what they truly imagined to be the warmth of a fire.