by Visnu Sarma
the aims of the great.
Who else but the ocean can bear
the fierce submarine15 Fire?’
Recognizing their fitness as worthy disciples, the magician formed four magical quills and gave one to each of the four Brāhmanas, saying, ‘Now, go, and travel north in the direction of the Himalaya Mountains. Wherever your quill happens to fall, there you will certainly find your treasure.’
As the four of them went onwards following the directions given by the magician, the quill of the Brāhmana who was in the forefront, fell on the ground. When he started to dig at that spot, he discovered the soil to be all copper. ‘O, look,’ he exclaimed, ‘take all the copper you want.’ The others sneering at him, retorted, ‘O, you fool! What use is this stuff that even in great quantity cannot make a dent in our poverty! Come, get up, and let us go forward.’ But the first traveller replied, ‘You three go on if you wish, but I shall go no further.’ So saying he took all the copper he needed and turned back, the first to do so.
The other three continued on their journey north. When they had travelled just a little way onwards, the quill of the Brāhmana in front dropped down, and when he started digging at that spot he discovered the soil to be all silver. Seeing it, he was delighted and turned to the other two, ‘Look, friends, here is silver; take all you need; let us go no further.’ But the other two travellers ridiculed him saying, ‘O, you fool! Behind us the soil was all copper; before us it is all silver. If we go further we shall certainly come upon soil that is completely gold. And as for this stuff, even in great quantity it will not destroy our poverty.’ Then the second Brāhmana remarked, ᑠYou two can go on if you wish; as for me, I shall not go with you.’ With these words, he gathered all the silver he could take and turned back.
Now, as the two remaining friends continued their journey, the quill of one of them fell down. As he started digging at that spot the third Brāhmana discovered that the soil was all pure gold. With great delight he spoke to his companion, ‘Look, my friend; this soil is all gold; take as much of it as you like, for nothing that comes after this can be superior to it.’
And his friend, the last and fourth Brāhmana replied scornfully, ‘You idiot! Don’t you see? First it was copper, then silver, and now gold. After this is there any doubt that we shall find precious gems? So, get up; let us go on. Why carry home large quantities of this heavy stuff that is a burden?’ And the other man answered: ‘You go, Your Honour; I shall stay right here and await your return.’
So the last Brāhmana went on alone. The summer sun beat down on him and scorched his limbs; his wits became disoriented from intense thirst and he wandered here and there by the paths in that land of magic. At last, he saw in front of him, a whirling platform on which stood a man with his whole frame drenched in blood, for a whirling wheel was set on his head. He went quickly up to the man and accosted him, ‘Sir, why do you stand there with a wheel whirling on your head? And pray tell me if there is water anywhere around here. For I am dying of thirst.’
The moment the Brāhmana spoke these words, the wheel left the other man’s head and settled on his own. In dismay, the Brāhmana interrogated the other man, ‘My good sir; what is the meaning of this?’ To this the man replied, ‘Sir, the wheel settled on my head in precisely the same way.’ And the Brāhmana asked again, ‘Then tell me, sir, when will this wheel leave my head; for I suffer intense agony.’
Then the man reponded thus: ‘Only when someone like you comes holding a magic quill in his hand and speaks as you did, the wheel will become mounted on the head of that person.’
‘I see,’ remarked the Brāhmana, ‘now tell me, how long have you been here?’
‘Ah! Who is the king ruling the earth at present?’ inquired the man.
‘Why, it is King Vatsa of the Lute,’16 answered the Brāhmana.
‘I see,’ observed the man, ‘When Rāma was ruling over the earth,17 I came here driven by poverty and like you holding a magic quill in my hand. On reaching this spot, I also saw a man standing with a wheel mounted on his head and asked him a question. As soon as the words were out of my mouth the wheel flew off the man’s head and settled on mine. But I am afraid I have lost count of time.’
The Brāhmana who was now the wheel-bearer put another question to the other man. ‘Then tell me, sir, how do you manage to get food, standing as you are in this position?’
‘It is like this, my good fellow,’ explained the man, ‘afraid that his priceless treasures might be stolen, the Lord of Wealth,18 formed this mode of torture to keep persons with magical powers from coming this far. But if any man manages somehow to come here, he feels no hunger or thirst; is not subject to old age or death; he experiences this tornment, and this alone. Now, permit me to leave, sir. You have released me from what can only be described as the ultimate in torture. Let me go home.’ With these words, the man departed.
In the meantime, the Brāhmana who had found gold was waiting for his friend who had gone forward on his quest for wealth. Wondering why his companion was delayed and anxious to find him, he set out in search, following the line of his friend’s footprints. When he had gone some distance, he saw a man whose body was drenched with blood and on whose head was mounted a cruel wheel that whirled constantly. To his horror he recognized this man, in the throes of agony, as his friend. He came close and with tears welling up in his eyes, asked, ‘O, my dear friend; what is this? What does it mean?’
‘The cruel play of Fate, what else?’ answered his friend.
Goldfinder asked again. ‘Tell me, how did this happen?’
In reply, Wheelbearer related the whole story of the wheel. Having listened to it, Goldfinder reproached his friend, ‘My friend, time and again I advised you against going on your quest. But, lacking judgement,19 you would not pay heed to my words. How wisely is the moral pointed out in this tale:
(33) Better common sense than erudition;
good sense is superior to book-learning;
absence of sense invites destruction;
as with the scholars who made a dead lion living.’
‘And how was that?’ asked Wheelbearer. And Goldfinder then began the tale of The Scholars who brought a dead lion to life.
In a certain settlement lived four Brāhmanas in close friendship. Three of them had mastered all the branches of knowledge but they lacked one thing—common sense. One, however, the fourth among them, who had decisively set his face against scholarship possessed just this—plain and simple good sense.
Once, the four of them sat discussing among themselves; and one observed, ‘What use is scholarship to a man who does not travel to other lands to earn wealth by gratifying kings? So whatever we do, it is imperative that we travel abroad.’ And they set out.
When they had gone some distance, the eldest said, ‘Look, the fourth among us is an unlettered fellow. What does he have but just common sense. Without scholarship, depending on mere good sense, how can anyone gain the favour of princes. So, we shall not share the wealth we earn, with him. Let him therefore part company with us and go home.’
The second Brāhmana chimed in with, ‘All right, friend Commonsense you have no scholarship; so you had better go home.’
But the third Brāhmana courteously interprosed, ‘No, no, this is no way to talk; we have played together since we were small children.’ Turning to the fourth Brāhmana, he said, ‘Come along, my good friend; you shall share equally with us.’
With this understanding, the four of them continued their journey. In a forest they chanced upon the bones of a dead lion. And one of them remarked, ‘Look, here is an opportunity for us to demonstrate the value of our learning and put it to practical use. Here lies a creature dead. Let us bring it back to life using the knowledge we have gained by diligent study.’
Immediately one of them rose to the occasion. ‘Oh, I know how to assemble the bones and make the skeleton.’
A second added, ‘And I can provide it with skin and flesh and blood as we
ll.’
The third capped this with, ‘But I can give it the breath of life.
So, when one had assembled the bones properly, another furnished flesh and blood and covered it with skin. Just as the third Brāhmana scholar was going to infuse life into the form, the fourth stopped him, saying, ‘Look; this is a lion; if you give it life, it is going to kill us all.’
But the third scholar retorted bristling, ‘Shame upon you! You wretched fool! What! You think I am the one to make my learning useless and unfruitful, do you?’
The fourth man’s reply came pat, ‘Well, all right then; go ahead; but just wait one moment while I climb this tree nearby.’
As Commonsense climbed up the tree, the third scholar breathed life into the form which straight away rose up as a lion and killed all the three scholars. When the lion went elsewhere the fourth Brāhmana, the man of sense, climbed down and went home.
‘Therefore I told you, “Better common sense than erudition…” and the rest of it,’ concluded Goldfinder.
Whereupon Wheelbearer retorted, ‘O, no, not at all; for your reasoning here is faulty. And I tell you that even those with ample good sense may perish if Fate strikes a blow at them. On the other hand, if Fate is kind, even those with meagre wit succeed in living happily; the following lines make the point clear:
(34) While Hundredwit sits on someone’s head
and Thousandwit hangs limp and dead,
I, who am plain simple Singlewit, you see, my love
playing in these clear waters, happily.’
‘And how was that?’ asked Goldfinder. And then Wheelbearer began the tale of Thousandwit, Hundredwit, Singlewit.
Once, two fishes named Hundredwit and Thousandwit lived in a certain lake. A frog named Singlewit made friends with them. All three would sit together at the water’s edge and enjoy the pleasures of conversation interspersed with wise and witty sayings for a while, then dive back into the water.
One evening at sunset as they were engaged in such conversation, some fishermen carrying nets came there. Looking at the lake they said to one another. ‘See this lake? It abounds with fish and the water is shallow. We shall come here at dawn.’
These words struck the three friends like a bolt of thunder. They started consulting one another. The frog was the first to speak: ‘Did you hear that, my friends Hundredwit and Thousandwit? What should we do now? Flee, or, stay put?’
At this Thousandwit laughed heartily and said, ‘Ah, my dear friend, don’t be alarmed just hearing some words. I doubt if these fellows would really make an appearance, as they say they would. And even if they do, why, I will protect you and myself by using my wits. For, I must tell you, I know a host of tricks in the water.’
Hundredwit agreed, and added, ‘Come, come, my friend; Thousandwit has spoken admirably; for:
(35) Where the wind cannot go in to blow
nor the sun’s rays find a way,
even there the wise man’s wit
always enters and without delay.
‘From merely hearing some words spoken we cannot abandon the place of our birth and everything that has come down to us from our ancestors in due succession. So, do not go from here; I shall protect you by the power of my wit.’
However, the frog said determinedly, ‘Listen, friends, I have but one single wit, and that tells me to flee. I am taking my wife and going right this day to some other lake.’ Having said this, the frog taking advantage of the night departed and went to some other lake.
Farly next morning, the fishermen arrived looking like the henchmen of Death. They threw their nets over the water, enclosing he lake. Fishes and turtles, frogs and crabs and all the other lake-dwellers were caught in the nets and taken. And those two fishes, Hundredwit and Thousandwit fell into the nets, though they tried many a fancy twist and turn to save their lives; and were killed.
Next day, the fishermen satisfied with their catch started home. Hundredwit, being heavy, was carried on the head of one of the fishermen, while Thousandwit was carried tied to a rope, by another man. The frog sitting pretty in an inlet in a pool, saw it all and called out to his wife, ‘Look, look, my beloved,
(36) While Hundredwit sits on someone’s head
and Thousandwit swings from a rope limp and dead,
I, plain, simple singlewit, am sitting pretty here,
my love, playing happily in waters clear.’
‘Therefore, I say to you, my friend, “Even intelligence or wit cannot be the sole measure of things.”’
‘That may be so,’ replied Goldfinder, ‘but is it not wrong to disregard the advice of a friend? But what can be done now? In spite of my dissuasion, you would not desist, such was your inordinate greed and self-opinionatedness born of scholarship. How well the following verse says it all:
(37) Well sung, dear uncle,
you would not stop your song
when I told you to hold your tongue;
now you wear round your neck a jewel
never seen before—a medal
for being so musical!’
‘How was that?’ asked Wheelbearer. And then Goldfinder began the tale of The Singing Ass.
In a certain region lived a donkey named Pushy. In the daytime he had to carry loads of washing, but at night he was free to roam wherever he wished. Once, as he was roaming about in the fields, he met a jackal with whom he struck up a friendship. The two of them once broke through a fence and got into the cucumber beds where they ate as much cucumber as they could and each returned to his own place in the early morning.
One night, the donkey, puffed up with conceit, stood in the middle of the field of cucumbers and said to the jackal: ‘My dear nephew, see how bright the night is, so clear, I feel like singing. Now tell me which raga shall I sing?’
‘Uncle dear,’ answered the jackal apprehensively, ‘why do you wish to stir up trouble? For, we are engaged in the business of thievery. Thieves and lovers should go quietly about their business, as you know. And as the jingle expresses it aptly:
(38) Any man who wishes to keep alive,
would be wise to give up thieving
if racked by a cough;
to give up whoring
if he tends to doze off;
and to curb his eating
if he is full of ailments.
‘Besides, Uncle, your singing is not mellifluous like the tones of conches. Further, the farmers who keep watch in the fields can hear you even at a distance; they will come and bind you with ropes, or even kill you. So why don’t you eat quietly?’
When the donkey heard this he was outraged. ‘You are a dweller of the woods and for that reason, you can have no musical sensibility; which is why you speak like this. But have you not heards it said:
(39) When autumnal moonlight
puts the darkness to flight
and the beloved stays near,
music’s tones murmurous,
sweet as nectar,
breathe softly upon the ear
of those blessed with Fortune’s favour.’
‘True enough, dear Uncle, but you bray so harshly. So why do something against your own interests?’ urged the jackal.
And the donkey bristling with indignation rejoined, ‘Shame, shame on you, you blockhead! What? Do you think I do not know any music? All right then; listen, I’ll tell you the basic principles of musicology. They are as follows:20
(40–42) Seven notes and three scales there be
with one and twenty modes in use,
all weaving music’s golden tones
nine-and-forty distinct ways.
Music moves bound by measures three,
in registers three, in strict accordance
with tempos too and pauses three.
Six singing styles express beautifully
the nine moods21 and emotions forty,
enhanced skilfully by shading and colouring
six and thirty ways, varied exquisitely.
One hundred and five-and-eighty s
ongs and more
of golden sound most melodious,
with subtle phrasing, delicate flourishes
and many a graceful embellishment,
are found set down for the skilled vocalist.
(43) Nothing is to be found here in this world
nor in the world of Immortals above
nobler than the art of song.
The Great Lord Himself22 Rāvaṇa enthralled
with throbbing music he drew with such art
out of bare wizened sinews taut.
‘So now tell me, how can you think that I am not a musicologist? And restrain me from performing?’ demanded Pushy peremptorily.
‘Very well, Uncle, if you think so, go ahead and sing to your heart’s content while I stay by the gap in the fence and keep an eye on the men guarding the fields,’ observed the jackal.
As soon as the jackal had stationed himself near the gap in the fence, the donkey with out-thrust neck began his performance. When the watchmen stationed in the fields heard the braying, they gnashed their teeth in rage, and picking up their cudgels ran to the spot where the donkey stood. They fell in a body and belaboured him so hard that he fell to the ground. Then, picking up a millstone, they tied it round his neck; then they lay down to sleep. In a few moments the donkey stood up forgetting the pain and soreness as donkeys normally do. As expressed in the following lines:
(44) With a dog, a mule, or a horse,
and an ass most of all,
after the first few moments,
the pain from sound drubbings, is hardly felt at all.
With the millstone still hanging round his neck, the donkey crashed headlong through the fence and galloped away while the jackal watching from a safe distance smiled to himself as he muttered this verse:
(45) ‘Well sung, dear uncle,
you did sing your song,
though I told you to hold your tongue;
and now, you wear this jewel
never ever seen before
at your neck… medal
for being so musical.’
‘You too, my friend,’ concluded Goldfinder, ‘in the same manner, you too would not refrain from what you had decided to do.’