The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
which drove him from his native place. Then Hiranya gave this account
of his experiences in the hearing of the crow and the tortoise.
Story of the Mouse and the Hermit. [59]
I lived in a great hole near the city, and one night I stole a
necklace from the palace, and laid it up in my hole. And by looking
at that necklace I acquired strength, [60] and a number of mice
attached themselves to me, as being able to steal food for them. In
the meanwhile a hermit had made a cell near my hole, and he lived on
a large stock of food, which he obtained by begging. Every evening he
used to put the food, which remained over after he had eaten, in his
beggar's porringer on an inaccessible peg, meaning to eat it the next
day. [61] And, every night, when he was asleep, I entered by a hole,
and jumping up, carried it off.
Once on a time, another hermit, a friend of his, came there, and
after eating, conversed with him during the night. And I was at that
time attempting to carry off the food, so the first hermit, who was
listening, made the pot resound frequently by striking it with a
piece of split cane. And the hermit, who was his guest, said, "Why
do you interrupt our conversation to do this?" Whereupon the hermit
to whom the cell belonged, answered him, "I have got an enemy here
in the form of this mouse, who is always jumping up and carrying off
this food of mine, though it is high up. I am trying to frighten him
by moving the pot of food with a piece of cane." When he said this,
the other hermit said to him, "In truth this covetousness is the bane
of creatures, hear a story illustrative of this."
Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds. [62]
Once on a time, as I was wandering from one sacred bathing-place to
another, I reached a town, and there I entered the house of a certain
Bráhman to stay. And while I was there, the Bráhman said to his wife,
"Cook to-day, as it is the change of the moon, a dish composed of
milk, sesame, and rice, for the Bráhmans." She answered him, "How
can a pauper, like you, afford this?" Then the Bráhman said to her,
"My dear, though we should hoard, we should not direct our thoughts
to excessive hoarding--hear this tale."
Story of the greedy Jackal. [63]
In a certain forest a hunter, after he had been hunting, fixed an arrow
in a self-acting bow, [64] and after placing flesh on it, pursued
a wild boar. He pierced the wild boar with a dart, but was mortally
wounded by his tusks, and died; and a jackal beheld all this from a
distance. So he came, but though he was hungry, he would not eat any
of the abundant flesh of the hunter and the boar, wishing to hoard it
up. But he went first to eat what had been placed on the bow, and that
moment the arrow fixed in it flew up, and pierced him so that he died.
"So you must not indulge in excessive hoarding." When the Bráhman said
this, his wife consented, and placed some sesame-seeds in the sun. And
while she went into the house, a dog tasted them and defiled them,
so nobody would buy that dish of sesame-seeds and rice. [65]
"So, you see, covetousness does not give pleasure, it only causes
annoyance to those who cherish it." When the hermit, who was a visitor,
had said this, he went on to say; "If you have a spade, give it me,
in order that I may take steps to put a stop to this annoyance caused
by the mouse." Thereupon the hermit, to whom the cell belonged,
gave the visitor a spade, and I, who saw it all from my place of
concealment, entered my hole. Then the cunning hermit, who had come
to visit the other, discovering the hole by which I entered, began to
dig. And while I retired further and further in, he went on digging,
until at last he reached the necklace and the rest of my stores. And
he said to the hermit, who resided there, in my hearing, "It was by
the power of this necklace that the mouse had such strength." So they
took away all my wealth and placed the necklace on their necks, and
then the master of the cell and the visitor went to sleep with light
hearts. But when they were asleep, I came again to steal, and the
resident hermit woke up and hit me with a stick on the head. That
wounded me, but, as it chanced, did not kill me, and I returned
to my hole. But after that, I had never strength to make the bound
necessary for stealing the food. For wealth is youth to creatures,
and the want of it produces old age; owing to the want of it, spirit,
might, beauty, and enterprise fail. So all my retinue of mice, seeing
that I had become intent on feeding myself only, left me. Servants
leave a master who does not support them, bees a tree without flowers,
swans a tank without water, in spite of long association.
"So I have been long in a state of despondency, but now, having
obtained this Laghupátin for a friend, I have come here to visit you,
noble tortoise." When Hiranya had said this, the tortoise Manthara
answered--"This is a home to you; so do not be despondent, my
friend. To a virtuous man no country is foreign; a man who is content
cannot be unhappy; for the man of endurance calamity does not exist;
there is nothing impossible to the enterprising." While the tortoise
was saying this, a deer, named Chitránga, came to that wood from a
great distance, having been terrified by the hunters. When they saw
him, and observed that no hunter was pursuing him, the tortoise and
his companions made friends with him, and he recovered his strength
and spirits. And those four, the crow, the tortoise, the mouse, and
the deer, long lived there happily as friends, engaged in reciprocal
courtesies.
One day Chitránga was behind time, and Laghupátin flew to the top
of a tree to look for him, and surveyed the whole wood. And he saw
Chitránga on the bank of the river, entangled in the fatal noose, and
then he came down and told this to the mouse and the tortoise. Then
they deliberated together, and Laghupátin took up the mouse in his
beak, and carried him to Chitránga. And the mouse Hiranya comforted
the deer, who was distressed at being caught, and in a moment set
him at liberty by gnawing his bonds asunder. [66] In the meanwhile
the tortoise Manthara, who was devoted to his friends, came up the
bank near them, having travelled along the bed of the river. At that
very moment the hunter, who had set the noose, arrived from somewhere
or other, and when the deer and the others escaped, caught and made
prize of the tortoise. And he put it in a net, and went off, grieved
at having lost the deer. In the meanwhile the friends saw what had
taken place, and by the advice of the far-seeing mouse, the deer went
a considerable distance off, and fell down as if he were dead. [67]
And the crow stood upon his head, and pretended to peck his eyes. When
the hunter saw that, he imagined that he had captured the deer, as
it was dead, and he began to make for it, after putting down the
tortoise on the bank of the river. When the mouse saw him making
towards the deer, he came up, and gnawed a hole in the net which held
the tortoise, so the tortoise was set at liberty, and he plunged into
the river. And when the deer saw the hunter coming near, without the
tortoise, he got up, and ran off, and the crow, for his part, flew up
a tree. Then the hunter came back, and finding that the tortoise had
escaped by the net's having been gnawed asunder, he returned home,
lamenting that the tortoise had fled and could not be recovered.
Then the four friends came together again in high spirits, and the
gratified deer addressed the three others as follows; "I am fortunate
in having obtained you for friends, for you have to-day delivered me
from death at the risk of your lives." In such words the deer praised
the crow and the tortoise and the mouse, and they all lived together
delighting in their mutual friendship.
Thus, you see, even animals attain their ends by wisdom, and they
risk their lives sooner than abandon their friends in calamity. So
full of love is the attachment that subsists among friends; but
attachment to women is not approved because it is open to jealousy;
hear a story in proof of this.
Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of murdering a
Bhilla. [68]
There lived once on a time in a certain town a jealous husband, who
had for wife a beautiful woman, whom he loved exceedingly. But being
suspicious he never left her alone, for he feared that she might be
seduced even by men in pictures. However, one day he had to go to
another country on unavoidable business, and he took his wife with
him. And seeing that a forest inhabited by Bhillas lay in his way, he
left his wife in the house of an old Bráhman villager, and proceeded
on his journey. But, while she was there, she saw some Bhillas, who had
come that way, and she eloped with a young Bhilla whom she saw. And she
went with him to his village, [69] following her inclinations, having
escaped from her jealous husband, as a river that has broken a dam.
In the meanwhile her husband finished his business, and returned, and
asked the Bráhman villager for his wife, and the Bráhman answered him,
"I do not know where she has gone; so much only I know, that some
Bhillas came here: she must have been carried off by them. And their
village is near here, go there quickly, you will find your wife there,
without doubt." When the Bráhman told him this, he wept, and blamed his
own folly, and went to that village of Bhillas, and there he saw his
wife. When the wicked woman saw him, she approached him in fear and
said, "It is not my fault, the Bhilla brought me here by force." Her
husband, blind with love, said, "Come along, let us return home,
before any one discovers us." But she said to him, "Now is the time
when the Bhilla returns from hunting; when he returns he will certainly
pursue you and me, and kill us both. So enter this cavern at present,
and remain concealed. But at night we will kill him when he is asleep,
and leave this place in perfect safety." When the wicked woman said
this to him, he entered the cave; what room is there for discernment
in the heart of one blinded with love?
The Bhilla returned at the close of the day, and that wicked woman
shewed him her husband in the cave, whom his passion had enabled
her to decoy there. And the Bhilla, who was a strong man, and cruel,
dragged out the husband, and tied him firmly to a tree, in order that
he might next day offer him to Bhavání.
And he ate his dinner, and at night lay down to sleep by the side of
the faithless wife, before the eyes of the husband. Then that jealous
husband, who was tied to the tree, seeing him asleep, implored Bhavání
to help him in his need, praising her with hymns. She appeared and
granted him a boon, so that he escaped from his bonds, and cut off
the head of the Bhilla with his own sword. Then he woke up his wife,
and said to her: "Come, I have killed this villain," and she rose
up much grieved. And the faithless woman set out at night with her
husband, but she secretly took with her the head of the Bhilla. And
the next morning, when they reached a town, she shewed the head,
and laying hands upon her husband, cried out, "This man has killed
my husband." Then the city police took her with her husband before
the king. And the jealous husband, being questioned, told the whole
story. Then the king enquired into it, and finding that it was true,
he ordered the ears and nose of that faithless wife to be cut off,
and set her husband at liberty. And he went home freed from the demon
of love for a wicked woman.
"This, prince, is how a woman behaves when over-jealously watched,
for the jealousy of the husband teaches the wife to run after other
men. So a wise man should guard his wife without shewing jealousy. And
a man must by no means reveal a secret to a woman, if he desires