Panchatantra Book I : The Lion and the Bull

Once upon a time, in a city in southern India, there lived a wealthy merchant named Vardhaman. One day he thought: “Even an abundant store of wealth will reduce to nothing if it is not consistently replenished. A very little, if added to, grows like an ant-hill. Hence, even though money be abundant, it should be increased. Money should be earned. What is earned, should be guarded. What is guarded, should be enlarged and carefully invested. Even enemies seek the friendship of a rich man. Money makes the old become young, while even the young become old if they do not have wealth.”

Having thus set his mind in order, he collected merchandise bound for the city of Mathura, assembled his servants, and after saying farewell to his family, set forth from the city. He had many bullocks and horses in his caravan. One of them was a fine bull named Sanjeevaka; he looked like white cloud and was girded with a golden bell.

During the course of his journey, he passed through a dense forest. Here the bull Sanjeevaka met with an accident. One of his feet fell in a ditch and he got grievously hurt. When the driver saw what had happened, he jumped excitedly from the wagon, ran to the merchant Vardhaman not far away, and humbly bowing, said: “Oh, my lord! Sanjeevaka is exhausted by the trip, and sank in the mud.”

On hearing this, merchant Vardhaman was deeply dejected. He halted for five nights, but when the poor bull did not return to health, he left caretakers with a supply of fodder, and said: “You must join me later, bringing Sanjeevaka” Having given these directions, he started for his destination.

On the next day, the men, fearing dense forest, abandoned the bullock and made a false report to their master. “Poor Sanjeevaka died,” they said, “and we performed the last rites with fire and everything else.” The merchant, felt sad about his bull for some time and then continued on his journey towards Mathura.

In fact, Sanjeevaka was not dead. He limped step by step to the nearby river. There browsing on the emerald tips of tender grass, he regained his strength and in a few days grew plump as Shiva’s bull, high-humped, and full of energy. He began to merrily explore the jungle and having a ball of his time.

But one day a lion named Pingalaka, with a retinue of servants and friends, came down to the bank of the river for water. There he heard Sanjeevaka’s remarkable bellow. This unknown sound scared the lion and he, while concealing his fear from his company, withdrew under a banyan tree and sat there lost in deep thought.

Now Pingalaka was a righteous king of his forest. He ruled judiciously and all the animals in the forest were happy with him. He was fearless, honest and never adopted deception. He had in his retinue two jackals, sons of former counsellors. Their names were Karataka and Damanaka. These two got into a secret discussion, and Damanaka said: “My dear Karataka, just look at our master Pingalaka. He came all the way for water but is crouching here dejectedly.”

“Why meddle, my dear fellow?” said Karataka. “Needless meddling may be harmful as happened in case of the wedge-extracting monkey.”

“How was that?” asked Damanaka. And Karataka told the story of The Wedge Pulling Monkey.

“Therefore,” Karataka told Damanaka, “it is not wise to poke our nose into affairs that are not our concern. We have a food store. Why should we bother ourselves about Pingalaka’s worries?”

“But,” said Damanaka, “How can you give first-rate service merely from a desire for food with no desire for distinction? What matters is a life full of learning, courage and wealth. If living somehow is the goal, even the crow lives long eating leftovers. We should share the pain and concern of our friends and co-workers.”

“But at present,” said Karataka, “we two hold no job at court. So why meddle? The elders have always said that the stupid person who offers uncalled for advice to the king invites not only insult but also deceit.” “My dear fellow,” said Damanaka, “anyone who serves the king with devotion is bound to earn his favour in the long run. The one who does not remains where he is. Those who understand why the king is angry or generous will one-day rise in office. It is necessary to be in the good books of the king.”

“Well,” said Karataka, “what do you wish to imply?” And Damanaka answered: “You see, our master is frightened, his servants are frightened, and he does not know what to do.” “How can you be sure of that?” asked Karataka, and Damanaka said: “Wise men can infer the thoughts of others from their body language. The expressions, gestures, gait and sound of voice give away the inner thoughts. So by virtue of native intelligence I intend to dispel his fears and gain his confidence.”

“Why,” said Karataka, “you do not know how to make yourself useful to a superior. So tell me. How can you establish power over him?”

“And what makes you think that I do not know the duties of a functionary?” said Damanaka. “I have learnt from the works of poet Vyasa.”

But Karataka objected: “He might perhaps despise you for forcing yourself into a position that does not belong to you.” “Yes,” said Damanaka, “there is point in that. However, I am also a judge of occasions. I cannot take up this discussion when our master is preoccupied with something urgent or more important. I should not appear to be meddling either.”

“But,” said Karataka, “kings are hard to conciliate.”

“Quite true,” said Damanaka. “However the clever person quickly influences his target.”

And Karataka replied: “If you have made up your mind, then I wish you good luck. May your purpose be accomplished.”

So Damanaka went to Pingalaka, bowed and sat down on the seat indicated to him.

Then Pingalaka extended a right paw, and said respectfully: “Do you enjoy health? We haven’t seen you for a long time?” And Damanaka replied: “I don’t know of what use I can be to you, my lord. Yet, according to the learned, there are occasions when every person however high or low will be of use to the king. For generations we have served the king with devotion. Yet I am out of your majesty’s favour.”

“Oh,” said Pingalaka, “you must not say such things. You are the son of my old counsellor.” “O King,” said Damanaka, “there is something that should be said.” And the king replied: “My good fellow, tell me what is it that you have in your mind.”

Then Damanaka began: “My master set out to take water from river. Why did he turn back and camp here?” And Pingalaka, concealing his inner feelings, said: “Damanaka, it just happened so.” “O King,” said the jackal, “if you do not want to disclose, then let it be.”

Hereupon Pingalaka thought: “He seems trustworthy. I will tell him what I have in mind. For one should share his worries with people he can trust.” So Pingalaka said: “Friend Damanaka, did you hear a great voice in the distance?” “Yes, master, I did,” said Damanaka. “What of it?”

Pingalaka continued: “My good fellow, I intend to leave this forest.” “Why?” said Damanaka. “Because,” said Pingalaka, “there has come into our forest some gigantic creature, from whom we hear this great voice. His nature must correspond to his voice, and his power to his nature.”

“What!” said Damanaka. “Is our master frightened by a mere voice? It would be improper if our master abruptly left the forest which was won by his ancestors and has been so long in the family. Besides, many kinds of sounds are heard in the woods. Yet they are nothing but noises, not a warning of danger. I can tell you the story of the jackal, how it overcame the fear of sound.”

“How was that?” asked Pingalaka. And Damanaka told the story of The Jackal and the War Drum.

“And that is why I say that one should not be troubled by a mere sound.” “But,” said Pingalaka, “these retainers of mine are terrified and wish to run away. So how am I to reinforce my resolution?” And Damanaka answered: “Master, they are not to blame. For servants take after the master. The usefulness or uselessness of servants and tools depends upon the skill of master.”

“Please remain on this spot until I return, having ascertained the nature of the creature. Then act as seems proper.” “If you feel so, my dear fellow,” said Pingalaka, “then go. May the force be with you.”

So Damanaka bowed low and set out in the direction of the sound made by Sanjeevaka. And when he was gone, Pingalaka began worrying, so that he thought: “Ah, I made a sad mistake in trusting him to the point of revealing what is in my mind. Perhaps this Damanaka will betray me for dismissing him once. A servant that has been fired from the job cannot be trusted anymore.”

“So I will keep an eye on him, in order to learn his purpose. Perhaps Damanaka might even bring the thing along and try to kill me. Wise men have always maintained that it is difficult to kill even a weak man who does not easily trust others but easy to kill a strong man who readily trusts others.

As the king kept an eye on him, Damanaka moved slowly towards Sanjeevaka, and found that he was after all an animal and thought, “Well, well! This is lucky. This will help me to get back into the good books of the king. Just as a healthy man never thinks of a doctor, a strong and secure king also never remembers the need for a minister.”

With these thoughts in mind, he returned to meet Pingalaka. And Pingalaka, seeing him coming, assumed his former posture. So when Damanaka had come near, had bowed low, and had seated himself, Pingalaka said: “My good fellow, did you see the creature?” “I saw him,” said Damanaka, “through my master’s grace.” “Are you telling the truth?” asked Pingalaka. And Damanaka answered: “How could I report anything else to my gracious master? Whoever lies to the king faces certain ruin.”

“Yes,” said Pingalaka, “I suppose you really did see him. The great do not become angry with the weak. They take on only their equals.”

And Damanaka replied: “I will bring the creature into my gracious master’s presence.” And when Pingalaka heard this, he felt very pleased.

Meanwhile Damanaka returned and called Sanjeevaka: “Come here, you villainous bull! Come here! Our master Pingalaka asks why you don’t stop this meaningless bellowing.” And Sanjeevaka answered: “My good fellow, who is this person named Pingalaka?”

“What!” said Damanaka, “you do not even know our master Pingalaka?” And he continued with indignation: “You shall the consequences of your ignorance. He has a retinue of all kinds of animals. He dwells beside the great banyan tree. He is a mighty lion.”

When Sanjeevaka heard this, he thought himself as good as dead, and he fell into deep dejection, saying: “My dear fellow, you seem to be a man of great wisdom and wit. You alone can save me. If you cannot avoid taking me there, then please ask the master to grant me a safe-conduct.” “You are quite right,” said Damanaka. “Your request shows the ability to say what is appropriate. I would take you to the king once I have his agreement.”

Then Damanaka returned to Pingalaka and said: “Master, he is no ordinary creature. He has served as the vehicle of blessed Shiva. And when I questioned him, he said that Great Shiva was satisfied with him and has given him this forest as a playground.”

At this Pingalaka was frightened, and he said: “I knew it, I knew it. Only by special favour of the gods do creatures wander in a wild wood, bellowing like that, and fearlessly cropping the grass. But what did you say?”

“Master,” said Damanaka, “I said: This forest is the domain of Pingalaka, vehicle of Shiva’s passionate wife. Hence you come as a guest. You must meet him, must spend your time in brotherly love, must eat, drink, work, play, and make your home with him.” All this he promised, adding: ‘You must make your master grant me a safe-conduct.’ “As to that, the master is the sole judge.”

At this Pingalaka was delighted and said: “Splendid, my intelligent servant, splendid! I grant him a safe-conduct. You must hasten to bring him here, but not until he too has bound himself by oath toward me.”

Now Damanaka thought, as he set out to meet Sanjeevaka: “Well, well! The master is gracious to me and ready to do my bidding.” So he found Sanjeevaka, and said respectfully: “My friend, I won the master’s favour for you, and made him give you a safe-conduct. You may come without fear. Still, you must act in agreement with me. I for my part, will take the role of counsellor, and bear the whole burden of administration. Thus we shall both enjoy royal affluence. Otherwise, he who does not respect everyone, however high or low, will forfeit the favour of kings like Dantila.”

“How was that?” asked Sanjeevaka. And Damanaka told the story of The Rise and Fall of Merchant Dantila.

Damanaka resumed, “That is why we must know that pride goes before fall.” “My dear fellow,” said Sanjeevaka, “your argument is quite convincing. Let it be as you say.”

After this Damanaka took him to Pingalaka and said: “O King, here is Sanjeevaka.” Then Sanjeevaka bowed respectfully and stood before the king in a modest attitude. Thereupon Pingalaka extended over him a right paw and said with admiration: “Do you enjoy health? Why do you dwell in this wild wood?”

Sanjeevaka related accurately his separation from merchant Vardhaman and the others. And Pingalaka, after listening to the story, said: “Have no fear, friend. Protected by my paws, lead your own life in this forest.” And Sanjeevaka answered: “Very well, O King.” Then the king of beasts went down to the riverbank, drank and bathed his fill, and plunged again into the forest.

Thus the time passed, and the two developed good friendship. Now Sanjeevaka had assimilated solid intelligence back in service of the merchant Vardhaman, so that in a very few days he educated Pingalaka. He weaned him from forest habits and taught him city manners. Sanjeevaka and Pingalaka held secret discussions every day. This being so, all the other animals of the retinue were kept at a distance. As for the two jackals, they did not even have the right to enter.

Now Karataka and Damanaka, robbed of their master’s favour, got into a discussion. Damanaka said: “Karataka, my noble friend, we two seem to have lost our job. Pingalaka takes such delight in Sanjeevaka’s conversation that he is neglecting his kingly duties. What should we do?”

And Karataka replied: “The king may not heed our advice. But as his counsellors, it is our duty to advise him on it if it is good for him. Besides, in introducing this grass-nibbler to the master you were handling live coals.” And Damanaka answered: “You are right. The fault is mine, not the master’s. What happened to the sage and the jackal should not happen to us.”

“How was that?” asked Karataka. And Damanaka told two stories in one, called The Sage & The Thief.

The Foolish Friend

Once there was a king that was very fond of animals. He had lots of dogs, horses, elephants, deer and other herbivorous animals in his palatial garden. One time during a hunting trip, he came upon a baby monkey abandoned in the jungle and brought him home.

The baby monkey was well looked after in the palace. In course of time he grew to be a big fellow, and became an object of respect to the entire court. The king, indeed, felt such confidence in the monkey and such affection that he made him his personal sword-bearer.

One summer afternoon, the king retired to his chambers to take a nap. He said to the monkey: “I shall rest and sleep for a while. You must keep careful watch to prevent anyone from disturbing me.” With this he went to sleep.

Presently a bee, hovered over him and alighted on the king’s head. On seeing this, the monkey angrily thought: “What! Under my very eyes this wretched creature disturbs the king’s sleep!” And he undertook to drive it away.

But when the bee, for all his efforts, continued to approach the king, the monkey went blind with rage, drew his sword, and fetched a blow at the bee – a blow that split the king’s head.

And the queen, who was sleeping beside him, started up in terror, screaming when she beheld the incomprehensible fact: “You fool! You monkey! The king trusted you. How could you do it?”

Then the monkey told what had happened, after which everybody scolded him and shunned him out to the jungle.

So there is reason in saying that one should not make friends with a fool, inasmuch as the monkey killed the king.

The Two Friends

Once upon a time there lived two friends named Dharmabuddhi and Papabuddhi. These two travelled to another country far away in order to earn money. When they had saved a thousand gold coins, they decided to return home, since their objective was attained.

When they drew near their native city, Dharmabuddhi said: “My good friend, half of our savings belong to you. Please take your share, so that, now that we are at home, we may enjoy our wealth.”

But Papabuddhi, with an evil intention, said to the other: “My good friend, so long as we two hold this treasure in common, our fruitful friendship will remain intact. Let us each take a hundred gold coins, and go to our homes after burying the remainder at a secret place. Whenever we need money, we can come here together and take whatever we need. Moreover it is not safe to take home all this wealth because relatives and friends in need will seek help if they know about our riches. You know that money tempts even saints.”

Now Dharmabuddhi, in the nobility of his nature, did not comprehend the hidden motives of his friend and agreed to the proposal. Each then took a hundred gold coins and carefully hid the remaining eight hundred coins under a Mimosa tree in the forest and made their entrance into the city.

Before long, Papabuddhi exhausted his wealth in bad habits and unwise expenditure. He therefore made a second division with Dharmabuddhi, each taking a second hundred gold coins.

Within a year this, too, had been spent in the same way through Papabuddhi’s hands. As a result, he thought: “Time has come for me to steal all the remaining money”. After this decision, he went alone, removed the treasure, and levelled the ground.

A month later, Papabuddhi went to Dharmabuddhi and said: “My good friend, let us divide the rest of the money equally.” So he and Dharmabuddhi visited the spot and began to dig. When the excavation failed to reveal any treasure, Papabuddhi shouted: “Dharmabuddhi, you have stolen our shared treasure. If you don’t give me my half then I will take you to court.” Naturally Dharamabuddhi denied having taken the money and together they approached the court of law.

In the court, the judge asked them to take oath in the name of God. But Papabuddhi quoted experts as saying that relevant documents should be produced first as proof, then witnesses should be summoned to give evidence and oath in the name of God is to be taken when neither documents nor witnesses are available.

“I can produce the gods of the forest as witnesses. They will determine who is guilty and who is not,” said Papabuddhi. Impressed by this plan, the judges asked both the friends to be present next morning at the forest for a hearing. Then Papabuddhi went home and asked his father’s help. “Father, I have stolen Dharmabuddhi’s money. There is a case in the court that I can win only with your help.”

“How can I help you son? What do you want me to do?” asked his father.

“There is a big mimosa tree near the spot where we had buried the treasure. I am going to hide you in the hollow of that tree. Tomorrow morning when the judges and others assemble there, I will ask you to tell the truth. Then it is your turn to declare that Dharmabuddhi is the thief,” said the son.

“Oh, my son,” said the father, “what are you doing? This is no kind of a scheme. There is wisdom in the old story of the foolish Herons”

“What was that?” asked Papabuddhi. And his father told the story of The Foolish Heron and The Mongoose.

Then father said, “Wise men should not only be resourceful but also know the consequences of being resourceful. If you have a strategy, you must also know what the strategy would lead to.” But Papabuddhi didn’t pay any heed to his father’s warning. During the night he hid his father out of sight in the hollow of the tree. When morning came, Papabuddhi followed Dharmabuddhi and the judge to the mimosa tree. Papabuddhi went near the tree and shouted, “O sun, moon, air, fire, earth, water, day and night, you are all witnesses to the history of humanity. O Gods of the Forest, declare who among us is guilty.”

Then Papabuddhi’s father spoke from inside the hollow of mimosa: “Gentlemen, Dharmabuddhi took that money.” All judges and the king’s men were astonished to hear this statement and sat down to decide what punishment they should give to Dharmabuddhi.

Meanwhile, Dharmabuddhi filled the hollow with rags and hay and set it on fire. The fire forced the half-burnt father to come out of the tree. And they all asked: “Why, sir! What does this mean?”

“It is all Papabuddhi’s doing,” said the father and soon collapsed. The king’s men at once bound Papabuddhi’s hands and feet and hung him to a tree. The judge said, “Papabuddhi considered only the crooked plan but not what would follow. He reaped the consequences.”

The Duel between Elephant and Sparrow

In a dense bit of jungle lived a sparrow and his wife, who had built their nest on the branch of a Tamal tree, and in course of time the female laid eggs.

One afternoon a wild elephant with the spring fever was distressed by the heat, and came beneath that Tamal tree in search of shade. Blinded by his fever, he pulled with the tip of his trunk at the branch where the sparrows had their nest, and broke it. In the process the sparrows’ eggs were crushed, though the parent-birds barely escaped death.

When they realized their eggs destroyed, they were pained and the hen-sparrow began to weep for her eggs. A woodpecker, a close friend of the sparrows, heard her crying and moved by her grief asked her, “My dear friend, why lament in vain? Only the foolish grieve over what is lost or what is dead or what is past. We should take lessons from what has happened and move on.”

“That is good doctrine,” said the hen-sparrow, “but what of it? This elephant has killed my babies. So if you are my friend, think of some plan to kill this big elephant. If that were done, I should feel less grief at the death of my children.”

“Madam,” said the woodpecker, “Everyone tries to be friendly when you are rich and wealthy. Only a friend in need is a friend indeed. Now see what my wit can devise. I, too, have a friend, a fly. I will approach her, so that this villainous beast of an elephant may be killed.”

So he went with the hen-sparrow, found the fly, and said: “Dear madam, this is my friend the hen-sparrow. She is mourning because a villainous elephant smashed her eggs. So you must lend your assistance while I work out a plan for killing him.”

“My good friend,” said the fly, “I also have a very intimate friend, a frog named Meghdoot. Let us do the right thing by calling him into consultation. In times of distress we should approach a trustworthy, righteous and wise friend.

So all three went together and told Meghdoot the entire story. And the frog said: “How feeble a thing is that wretched elephant when pitted against a great team! O’ Fly, you must go and buzz in his fevered ear, so that he may shut his eyes in delight at hearing your music. Then the woodpecker’s bill will peck out his eyes. After that I will sit on the edge of a pit and croak. And he, being thirsty, will hear me, and will approach expecting to find a body of water. When he comes to the pit, he will fall in and perish.”

When they carried out the plan, the fevered elephant shut his eyes in delight at the song of the fly, was blinded by the woodpecker, wandered thirst-smitten at noonday, followed the croak of the frog, came to a great pit, fell in, and died.