How the Birds Picked a King

Once upon a time the bird-clans gathered for consultation. There were swans and cranes and nightingales; there were peacocks, plovers, and owls; there were doves and pigeons and partridges; there were bluejays, vultures, skylarks; there were demoiselles and cuckoos and woodpeckers and many others.

And they said: “We have in Garuda a king, to be sure. But he is ever intent on serving holy Vishnu, and pays no heed to us. What is the good of a sham king? He does not defend us when we are in genuine distress—when we are caught in traps, for instance. There is a saying:

Only one, but anyone
Is my king, when all is done—
Only one who will restore
Health and joy I felt before:
Anyone, but only one—
For the moon a single sun.

“Any other is king only in name. As the poet says:

Let him calm the panting breath
    Of his people, quivering
Under blows; or he is Death
    Masquerading as a king.

And again:

These six should every man avoid
    Like leaky ships at sea—
A dull professor; and a priest
    Without theology;

[f]
A king who does not give defense;                       
    A wife whose tongue can slash;
A cowboy hankering for town;
    A barber after cash.

We must therefore pitch upon someone else as king of the birds.”

Thereupon, observing that the owl had a venerable appearance, they all said: “Let this owl be our king. And let a plentiful supply be provided of all substances prescribed for the anointing of a king.”

Straightway water was brought from various holy streams; a bouquet of one hundred and eight roots was provided, including the one marked with a wheel and the yellow-stemmed lotus; and the lion-throne was set in place. Moreover, there was drawn on the ground a relief map of the seven continents, oceans, and mountains. A tiger-skin was spread. Golden jars were filled with five twigs, blossoms and grains; oblations were prepared; the most eminent bards chanted poetry. Furthermore, Brahmans, skilled in reciting the four Vedas, also chanted, while maidens sang songs, sweet holiday songs being their specialty. In the forefront was prepared a vessel of consecrated rice set off with white mustard, parched grain, rice-grains, yellow pigment, wreaths of flowers, conch-shells, and so forth. The materials for lustration ceremonies were provided, and holiday drums rumbled. In the midst of a consecrated spot strewn with potash stood the lion-throne, adorned by the person of the owl as he waited the anointing.

At that moment a crow came into the assembly from nobody knew where, announcing his entrance with a raucous caw. And he thought: “Well, well! What means this gathering of all the birds, and this great festival?”

But when the birds saw him, they whispered together: “He is the shrewdest of the birds, they say. So let us have a speech from him, too. For the proverb says:

Of men, the barber smartest is;
    The jackal, of the beasts;
The crow is cleverest of birds;
    The White-Robe, of the priests.

[f]

And besides:

Concerted counsels of the wise,
    If heedfully thought through,
Will never founder, being sound
    From every point of view.”

So the birds said to the crow: “You know, the birds have no king. They have therefore decided unanimously to anoint this owl as their supreme monarch. Please express your opinion also. You come in the nick of time.”

Then the crow laughed and said: “Gentlemen, this is foolish. When you have eminent swans, peacocks, nightingales, partridges, sheldrakes, pigeons, cranes, and others, why anoint this ugly-faced fellow who is blind in the daytime? It seems wrong to me. For

Big hooked nose, and eyes asquint,
Ugly face without a hint
Of tenderness or beauty in 't.
Good-natured, it is fierce to see;
If he were mad, what might it be?

And furthermore:

Ugly, cruel, full of spleen,
Every word he speaks is mean;
If you make the owl your king,
You will fail in everything.

Besides, when Garuda is your king, what is this fellow good for? Suppose he has virtue, still a second king is not a good idea when you already have one. For the saying runs:

A single king of lordly sway
Is good; but more than one will slay,
Like plural suns on Judgment Day.

Why, the very name of your genuine king keeps others from taking liberties. As the proverb puts it:

Mere mention of a lordly monarch's name
To mean men, straightway saves from loss and shame.

[f]

And there is a saying:

The feigning of a great commission
Immensely betters your condition:
Feigning a message from the moon,
The rabbits dwelt in comfort soon.”

“How was that?” asked the birds. And the crow told

How the Rabbit Fooled the Elephant

In a part of a forest lived an elephant-king named Four-Tusk, who had a numerous retinue of elephants. His time was spent in protecting the herd.

Now once there came a twelve-year drought, so that tanks, ponds, swamps, and lakes went dry. Then all the elephants said to the lord of the herd: “O King, our little ones are so tortured by thirst that some are like to die, and some are dead. Pray devise a method of removing thirst.” So he sent in eight directions elephants fleet as the wind to search for water.

Now those who went east found beside a path near a hermitage a lake named Lake of the Moon. It was beautiful with swans, herons, ospreys, ducks, sheldrakes, cranes, and water-creatures. It was embowered in flowering sprays of branches drooping under the weight of various blossoms. Both banks were embellished with trees. It had beaches made lovely by sheets of foam born of the splashing of transparent waves that danced in the breeze and broke on the shore. Its water was perfumed by the ichor-juice that oozed from elephant-temples washed clean of bees; for these flew up when the lordly creatures plunged. It was ever screened from the heat of the sun by hundreds of parasols in the shape of the countless leaves of trees on its banks. It gave forth deep-toned music from uncounted waves that turned aside on meeting the plump legs, hips, and bosoms of mountain maidens diving. It was brimming with crystal water, and beautified with thickets of water-lilies in full bloom. Why describe it? It was a segment of paradise.

When they saw this, they hastened back to report to the elephant-king.

[f]

So Four-Tusk, on hearing their report, traveled with them by easy stages to the Lake of the Moon. And finding a gentle slope all around the lake, the elephants plunged in, thereby crushing the heads, necks, fore-paws and hind-paws of thousands of rabbits who long before had made their home on the banks. Now after drinking and bathing, the elephant-king with his followers departed to his own portion of the jungle.

Then the rabbits who were left alive held an emergency convention. “What are we to do now?” said they. “Those fellows—curse their tracks!—will come here every day. Let some plan be framed at once to prevent their return.”

Thereupon a rabbit named Victory, perceiving their terror and their utter woe at the crushing of sons, wives, and relatives, said compassionately: “Have no fear. They shall not return. I promise it. For my guardian angel has granted me this grace.”

And hearing this, the rabbit-king, whose name was Block-Snout, said to Victory: “Dear friend, this is beyond peradventure. For

Good Victory knows every fact
The textbooks teach; knows how to act
In every place and time. Where he
Is sent, there comes prosperity.

And again:

Speak for pleasure, speak with measure,
Speak with grammar's richest treasure,
Not too much, and with reflection—
Deeds will follow words' direction.

The elephants, sir, making acquaintance with your ripe wisdom, will become aware of my majesty, wisdom, and energy, though I am not present. For the proverb says:

I learn if foreign kings be fools or no
By their dispatches or their nuncio.

[f]

And there is a saying:

The envoy binds; he loosens what is bound;
Through him success in war, if found, is found.

And if you go, it is as if I went myself. Because, if you

Speak what lies in your commission,
Speak with careful composition,
Grammar and good ethics seeking,
'Tis as if myself were speaking.

And again:

This is, in brief, the envoy's care:
    An argument to fit the facts
And sound results, so far as speech
    May be translated into acts.

“Depart then, dear friend. And may the office of envoy prove a second guardian angel to you.”

So Victory departed and espied the elephant-king in the act of returning to the lake. He was surrounded by thousands of lordly elephants, whose ears, like flowering branches, were swaying in a dignified dance. His body was dappled with masses of pollen from his couch made of twigs from the tips of branches of flowering cassia trees; so that he seemed a laden cloud with many clinging lightning-flashes. His trumpeting was as deep toned and awe inspiring as the clash of countless thunderbolts from which in the rainy season piercing flashes gleam. He had the glossy beauty of leaves in a bed of pure blue lotuses. His twisting trunk had the charm of a perfect snake. His presence was that of an elephant of heaven. His two tusks, shapely, smooth, and full, had the color of honey. Around his entire visage rose a charming hum from swarms of bees drawn by the fragrant perfume of the ichor-juice that issued from his temples.

And Victory reflected: “It is impossible for folk like me to come too near. Because, as the proverb puts it:

An elephant will kill you if
He touch; a serpent if he sniff;
King's laughter has a deadly sting;
A rascal kills by honoring.

I must by all odds seek impregnable terrain before introducing myself.”

After these reflections, he climbed upon a tall and jagged rock-pile before saying: “Is it well with you, lord of the two-tusked breed?” And the elephant-king, hearing this, peered narrowly about, and said “Who are you, sir?” “I am an [f]
envoy,” said the rabbit. “In whose service?” asked the elephant, and the envoy answered: “In the service of the blessèd Moon.” “State your business,” said the elephant-king, and the rabbit stated it thus.

“You are aware, sir, that no injury may be done an envoy in the discharge of his function. For all kings, without exception, use envoys as their mouth-pieces. Indeed, there is a proverb:

Though swords be out and kinsmen fall in strife,
The king still spares the harsh-tongued envoy's life.

“Therefore by command of the Moon I say to you: ‘Why, O mortal, why have you used violence upon others, with no true reckoning of your own power or your foe’s? For the Scripture says:

All those who madly march to deeds,
Not reckoning who are masters,
Themselves or powerful enemies,
Are asking for disasters.

“‘Now you have sinfully violated the Lake of the Moon, known afar by my sacred name. And there you have slain rabbits who are under my special protection, who are of the race of that rabbit-king cherished in my bosom. This is iniquitous. Nay, one would think you the only creature in the world who does not know the rabbit in the moon. But what is gained by much speaking? Desist from such actions, or great disaster will befall you at my hands. But if from this hour you desist, great distinction will be yours; for your body will be nourished by my moonlight, and with your companions you shall pursue your happy, carefree fancies in this forest. In the alternative case, my light shall be withheld, your body will be scorched by summer heat, and you with your companions will perish.’”

On hearing this, the elephant-king felt his heart stagger, and after long reflection he said: “It is true, sir. I have sinned against the blessed Moon. Who am I that I should [f]
longer contend with him? Pray point out to me, and quickly, the way that I must travel to win the blessèd Moon’s forgiveness.”

The rabbit said: “Come, sir, alone. I will point it out.” So he went by night to the Lake of the Moon, and showed him the moon reflected in the water. There was the brilliant, quivering disk, of lustrous loveliness, surrounded by planets, the Seven Sages, and hosts of stars, all dancing in the reflection of heaven’s broad expanse. And its circle was complete, with the full complement of digits.

Seeing this, the elephant said: “I purify myself and worship the deity,” and he dropped upon the water a trunk that two men’s arms might have encircled. Thereby he disturbed the water, the moon’s disk danced to and fro as if mounted on a whirling wheel, and he saw a thousand moons.

Then Victory started back in great agitation, and said to the elephant-king: “Woe, woe to you, O King! You have doubly enraged the Moon.” The elephant said: “For what reason is the blessed Moon angry with me?”

“Because,” said Victory, “you have touched this water.” So the elephant-king, with drooping ears, bowed his head to the very earth in deep obeisance, in order to win forgiveness from the blessed Moon. And he spoke again to Victory: “My worthy sir, in all other manners, also, beseech for me the forgiveness of the blessèd Moon. I shall never return here.” And with these words he went to his own place.

“And that is why I say:

The feigning of a great commission,....

and the rest of it.

“But worse remains behind. The owl is a seedy rascal, with a wicked soul. He could never protect subjects. Or rather, to say nothing of protection, you may anticipate actual danger from him. You know the stanza:

A seedy umpire is not very
Pleasing to either adversary:
Rabbit and partridge teach you that—
They died, confiding in the cat.”

“How was that? Tell us about it,” said the birds, and the crow told the story of

The Cat’s Judgment

[f]

At one time I was myself living in a certain tree. And beneath the same tree dwelt another bird, a partridge. So by virtue of our near neighborhood there sprang up between us a firm friendship. Every day after taking our meals and airings we spent the evening hours in a round of amusements, such as repeating witty sayings, telling tales from the old story-books, solving puzzles and conundrums, or exchanging presents.

One day the partridge went foraging with other birds to a spot where the rice was ripe and abundant, and he did not return at nightfall. Of course, I missed him greatly and I thought: “Alas! Why does not my friend the partridge come home tonight? I am much afraid he is caught in some trap, or has even been killed.” And many days passed while I grieved in this way.

Now one evening a rabbit named Speedy made himself at home in the partridge’s old nest in the hole. Nor did I say him nay, for I despaired of seeing the partridge again.

However, one fine day the partridge, who had grown extremely plump from eating rice, remembered his old home and returned. This, indeed, is not to be wondered at.

No mortal has such joy, although
    In heaven's fields he roam,
As in his city, in his land,
    And in his humble home.

Now when he saw the rabbit in the hole, he said reproachfully: “Come now, rabbit, you have done a shabby thing in occupying my apartment. Please begone, and lose no time about it.”

“You fool!” said the rabbit, “don’t you know that a dwelling is yours only while you occupy it?” “Very well, then,” said the partridge, “suppose we ask the neighbors. For, to give you a legal quotation,

[f]
For ownership of cisterns, tanks,                       
    Wells, groves, and houses, too,
The neighbors' testimony goes—
    Such is the legal view.

And again:

When house or field or well or grove
    Or land is in dispute,
A neighbor's testimony is
    Decisive of the suit.”

Then the rabbit said: “You fool! Are you ignorant of the consecrated tradition which says:

Suppose beside your neighbor you
    For ten long years abide,
What weight have learnèd arguments?
    Eyewitnesses decide.

Fool! Fool! Did you never hear the dictum of the sage Narada?

The title to possession is
    A ten years' habitation
With men. But with the birds and beasts
    Mere present occupation.

“Hence, even supposing this apartment to be yours, still it was unoccupied when I moved in, and now it is mine.”

“Well, well!” replied the partridge, “if you appeal to consecrated tradition, come with me, and we will consult the specialists. It shall be yours or mine according to their decision.” “Very well,” said the other, and together they started off to have their suit decided. I, too, was at their heels, out of curiosity. “I will just see what comes of all this,” I said to myself.

Now they had not traveled far when the rabbit asked the partridge: “My good fellow, who is to pass judgment on our disagreement?” And the partridge answered: “On a sand-bank by the sacred Ganges—where there is sweet music from the dancing waves that intercross and break when the water is swept by nimble breezes—there dwells a tomcat whose name is Curd-Ear. He abides unshaken in his vow of penance and self-denial, and character has begotten compassion.”

But when the rabbit spied the cat, his soul staggered with terror, and he said: “No, no! He is a seedy rascal. You must [f]
have heard the proverb:

Oh, never trust a rogue for all
    His pharisaic puzzling:
At holy shrines some saints are found
    Quite capable of guzzling.”

Upon hearing this, Curd-Ear, whose manner of life had been assumed for the purpose of making an easy livelihood, desired to win their confidence. He therefore gazed straight at the sun, stood on his hind-legs, lifted his fore-paws, blinked his eyes, and in order to deceive them by pious sentiments, delivered the following moral discourse. “Alas! Alas! All is vanity. This fragile life passes in a moment. Union with the beloved is an empty dream. Family endearments are a conjurer’s trick. But for the moral law, there would be no escape. Oh, listen to Scripture!

Each transitory day, O man,
    To moral living give;
Else, like the blacksmith's bellows, you
    Suck air, but do not live.

And furthermore:

Non-moral learning is a curse,
    A dog's tail, nothing less,
That does not save from flies and fleas,
    Nor cover nakedness.

And yet again:

A rotten ear among the wheat,
    Among the birds a bat,
Is he who spurns the moral law;
    The merest living gnat.

The flowers and fruit are better than the tree;
Better than curds is butter said to be;
Better than oil-cake, oil that trickles free;
Better than mortal man, morality.

The praise of constant steadfastness
    Some wise professors sing;
But moral earnestness is swift,
    Though many fetters cling.

Forget your prosings manifold;
The moral law is briefly told:
To help your neighbor—this is good;
To injure him is devilhood.”

Having listened to this moral discourse, the rabbit said: “Friend partridge, here on the river-bank is the saint who expounds the moral law. Let us ask him.”

[f]

But the partridge said: “After all, he is our natural enemy. Let us ask him from a distance.” So together they began to question him: “O holy moralist, a dispute has arisen between us. Pray give judgment in accordance with the moral law. And whichever of us is found to speak falsely, him you may eat.”

“Dear friends,” said the cat, “I implore you not to speak thus. My soul abhors every act of cruelty, that street-sign pointing to hell. Surely, you know the Scripture:

The holy first commandment runs—
    Not harsh, but kindly be—
And therefore lavish mercy on
    Mosquito, louse, and flea.

Why speak of hurting innocence?
    For he, with purpose fell
Who injures even noxious beasts,
    Is plunged in ghastly hell.

“Nay, even those who slay living creatures in the act of sacrifice are befuddled, and their hermeneutic theology is at fault. And if you object to me the passage, ‘One should sacrifice with goats,’ in that passage the word ‘goats’ signifies grain that has aged seven years. ‘Go, oats’—such is the true exegesis. And then, consider the passage:

If he who cuts down trees or cattle,
Or makes a bloody slime in battle,
Should thereby win to heaven—well,
Who (let me ask you) goes to hell?

“No, no. I shall eat nobody. However, I am somewhat old and do not readily distinguish your voices from a distance. So how am I to determine winner and loser? In view of this, pray draw near and make me acquainted with the case. Then I can pronounce a judgment that discriminates the essence of the matter, and thus causes no impediment in my march to the other world. You know the stanza:

If any man, from pride or greed,
    Timidity or wrath,
Judge falsely, he has set his foot
    On hell's down-sloping path.

[f]

And again:

Who wrongs a sheep, slays kinsmen five;
    Who wrongs a cow, slays ten;
A hundred die for maidens wronged;
    A thousand die for men.

“Therefore confide in me and speak clearly at the edge of my ear.”

Why spin it out? That seedy rogue won their trust so fully that both drew near him. Then, of course, he seized them simultaneously, one with his paw, the other with the saw of his teeth. And when they were dead, he ate them both.

“And that is why I say:

A seedy umpire is not very. . . .

and the rest of it.

“Just so, you, too, being blind at night, if you take as overlord this seedy fellow who is blind in the daytime, will go the way of the rabbit and the partridge. Reflect on this, then do what seems proper.”

And all the birds, after listening to the crow’s remarks, said: “He speaks well,” and they flew to their homes, planning to reassemble for consultation on the question of a king. Only the owl remained with his consort, for he was blind in the daytime. There he sat in his chair of state, awaiting the anointing. And he called out: “Ho, there! Who takes my orders? Why is the ceremony delayed?”

Thereupon his consort said: “My dear sir, the crow has found means to hold up the ceremony. And the birds have gone flying away. Only that crow, for some reason or other, remains here all alone. Rise at once, and I will conduct you home.”

Then the owl was deeply disappointed, and he said: “You monster! Why have you wronged me by preventing the regal anointing? From this day there is enmity between us. For the proverb says:

When arrows pierce or axes wound
A tree, it grows together sound;
From cruel, ugly speech you feel
A wound that time will never heal.”

[f]

Thereupon he went home with his consort, while the crow reflected: “Dear me! I have burdened myself with a needless enmity by speaking so. I should have remembered:

All spoken words, if harsh and heedless
And inappropriate and needless,
Are self-condemnatory slips
That turn to poison on the lips.

And again:

However wise and strong you be,
Beware the needless enemy:
You would not swallow poison down
Because a doctor lives in town.

No man of sense vituperates
Another, while the public waits;
For even truth should be concealed,
If causing sorrow when revealed.

And finally:

Reflect with many a chosen friend;
Reflect alone, and to the end;
Then act. You are intelligent,
And fame's and wealth's recipient.”

After these reflections, the crow also left the spot.

The Brahman’s Goat

In a certain town lived a Brahman named Friendly who had undertaken the labor of maintaining the sacred fire. One day in the month of February, when a gentle breeze was blowing, when the sky was veiled in clouds and a drizzling rain was falling, he went to another village to beg a victim for the sacrifice, and said to a certain man: “O sacrificer, I wish to make an offering on the approaching day of the new moon. Pray give me a victim.” And the man gave him a plump goat, as prescribed in Scripture. This he put through its paces, found it sound, placed it on his shoulder, and started in haste for his own city.

Now on the road he was met by three rogues whose throats were pinched with hunger. These, spying the plump creature on his shoulder, whispered together: “Come now! If we could eat that creature, we should have the laugh on this sleety weather. Let us fool him, get the goat, and ward off the cold.”

So the first of them changed his dress, issued from a by-path to meet the Brahman, and thus addressed that man of pious life: “O pious Brahman, why are you doing a thing so unconventional and so ridiculous? You are carrying an unclean animal, a dog, on your shoulder. Are you ignorant of the verse:

The dog and the rooster,
The hangman, the ass,
The camel, defile you:
Don't touch them, but pass.”

At that the Brahman was mastered by anger, and he said: “Are you blind, man, that you impute dog-hood to a goat?” “O [f]
Brahman,” said the rogue, “do not be angry. Go whither you will.”

But when he had traveled a little farther, the second rogue met him and said: “Alas, holy sir, alas! Even if this dead calf was a pet, still you should not put it on your shoulder. For the proverb says:

Touch not unwisely man or beast
    That lifeless lie;
Else, gifts of milk and lunar fast
    Must purify.”

Then the Brahman spoke in anger: “Are you blind, man? You call a goat a calf.” And the rogue said: “Holy sir, do not be angry. I spoke in ignorance. Do as you will.”

But when he had walked only a little farther through the forest, the third rogue, changing his dress, met him and said: “Sir, this is most improper. You are carrying a donkey on your shoulder. Yet the proverb tells you:

If you should touch an ass—be it
    In ignorance or not—
You needs must wash your clothes and bathe,
    To cleanse the sinful spot.

Pray drop this thing, before another sees you.”

So the Brahman concluded that it was a goblin in quadruped form, threw it on the ground, and made for home, terrified. Meanwhile, the three rogues met, caught the goat, and carried out their plan.

The Snake and the Ants

[f]

In a certain ant-hill lived a prodigious black snake, and his name was Haughty. One day, instead of following the beaten path out of his hole, he tried to crawl through a narrower crevice. In doing so, he suffered a wound, because his body was huge, and the opening was small, and fate willed it so.

Then the ants gathered about him, drawn by the odor of blood from the wound, and drove him frantic. How many did he kill? Or how many crush? Yet their uncounted phalanx stung him in every member, and enlarged the numerous wounds. And Haughty perished.

The Snake who Paid Cash

There was once a Brahman in a certain place. His time was wholly spent in unproductive farming.

Now one day, toward the end of summer, the heat was too much for him, and he dozed in the shade of a tree in the middle of his field. Not far away he saw, peering over an ant-hill, a terrifying snake that thrust forward a great, swelling hood. And he reflected: “Surely, this is the guardian deity of the field, and I never paid him honor. That is why my farm-work is unproductive. I will pay him honor.”

Thereupon he begged milk from somebody, put it in a saucer, went to the ant-hill, and said: “O guardian of the field! All this long time I did not know that you were living here. Therefore I paid you no honor. From now on, please be gracious to me.” With this he presented the milk and went home.

Now when he came back in the morning and looked about, he [f]
found a gold dinar in the saucer. So he went there every day alone, and offered milk, receiving a dinar each time. One day, however, the Brahman went to town, instructing his son to carry milk to the ant-hill. And the boy took the milk there, set it down, and went home again.

The next day he went there, found a single dinar, and thought: “Surely, this ant-hill is full of dinars. I will kill that fellow and get them all.” With this purpose, while offering milk the next day, the Brahman’s boy struck the snake on the head with a cudgel. Yet somehow—for fate willed it so—the snake did not die. Instead, he furiously struck the boy with his sharp fangs to such effect that the boy died at once. And the relatives cremated him on a woodpile near the field.

On the second day the father returned. And learning from his relatives the cause of his son’s death, he found the facts as stated. And he said:

Be generous to all that lives;
    Receive the needy guest:
If not, your own life fades away
    Like swans from lotus nest.

“How was that?” asked the men. And the Brahman told the story of

The Unsocial Swans

There was once a king named Gay-Chariot in a certain place. He owned a lake named Lotus Lake, which his soldiers guarded carefully. For many golden swans lived there, and they gave one tail-feather apiece every six months.

Now to that lake came a great bird, all of gold. And they told him: “You cannot live among us. For we have rented this lake at the rate of a tail-feather for six months.” And so, [f]
to cut a long story short, a dispute arose.

Then the great bird sought the king’s protection, saying: “O King, those birds ask: ‘What will our king do? We give lodging to nobody.’ And I said: ‘You are not very polite. I will go and tell the king.’ This is the situation. The king must decide.”

Then the king said to his men: “Go, you. Kill all the birds and bring them here at once.” And they started immediately, obeying the king’s command.

Now one old bird saw the king’s men with clubs in their hands, and he said: “Well, kinsmen, this is rather unpleasant. We must all hang together. Let us fly up and away.” And they did so.

“And that is why I say:

Be generous to all that lives, . . .

and the rest of it.”

So in the morning the Brahman took milk again, went to the spot, and called out, in an effort to win the snake’s confidence: “My son met the death that suited his intelligence.” Then the snake said:

The lighted funeral pile you may
    Break up and fling apart;
But love, when torn and patched again,
    Lives in an aching heart.

The Self-Sacrificing Dove

A ghastly fowler plied his trade
Of horror in a forest; made
All living creatures hold their breath:
He seemed to them the god of death.

[f]
He had no comrade on the earth,                         
No friend, no relative by birth.
They all renounced him; he had made
Them do so by his horrid trade.

For you know

The dreadful wretches bringing death
On those who love their living breath,
With natural repulsion (like
Fierce serpents) fill before they strike.

To snare, to imprison, and to drub
He took a net, a cage, a club,
And wandering daily in the wood,
He brought all creatures harm, not good.

While he was in the wood one day,
The sky grew black with clouds straightway;
So wild the wind, so fierce the rain,
It seemed the world dissolved in pain.

Then, as the heart within him quivered,
And every limb grew numb and shivered,
He sought where might a refuge be,
And chanced to come upon a tree.

Now as he rested, near and far
In sudden-clearing skies, each star
Shone bright; and he had wit to pray:
“O Lord, be kind to me today.”

There was a dove upon the tree
Whose nest was in a cavity;
And since his wife was absent long,
He grieved for her in mournful song:

“The wind and rain were very great,
And my belovèd wife is late
In coming home. When she is not
At home, home is an empty spot.

“The house is not the home; but where
The wife is found, the home is there.
The home without the wife is less
To me than some wild wilderness.

“Some wives their life's devotion give,
And in and for the husband live;
Whatever man has such a wife
Is heaped with blessings all his life.”

From fowling-cage the female dove
Had caught the speech of grief and love;
And she was deeply gratified,
And to her husband thus replied:

[f]
“No woman earns the name of bride                       
Whose husband is not satisfied.
If he is happy, she may know
The gods she venerates are so.

“That woman should be burned entire
(Like vines that fade in forest-fire
While blossoms drop from clustered side)
Whose husband is not satisfied.”

And she continued:

“Oh, harken heedfully, my dear;
My words are good for you to hear;
Though it should cost your life, defend
The guest who seeks in you a friend.

“Here lies a fowler; as a guest
He asks for comfort at your nest.
Since cold and hunger press him sore,
Begrudge him not from honor's store.

And the Scripture says:

“Whoever does not give his best
To cheer the late-arriving guest
Will see his merit borne away,
And for the other's sins will pay.

“Oh, let no hate against him rise
Who caged the wife you idolize;
It is my sins of former lives
That, fateful, hold me in the gyves.

For well you know:

“Disease, and poverty, and pain,
With woe that prison brings amain,
Are all the fruit of one sole tree,
Our own, our past iniquity.

“Abandon, therefore, thoughts of hate
Deriving from my captive state;
On virtue set your heart; and pay
This man such honor as you may.”

On listening to his darling, who
Seemed virtue-woven through and through,
An unknown courage fired the dove;
He gave the fowler words of love.

“A hearty welcome, sir, to you;
What for your service may I do?
No more let anxious fancies roam,
For here with me you are at home.”

[f]
In answer to his kindly words                           
Replied the murderer of birds:
“Well, dove, the cold is in me still;
Give me a remedy for chill.”

The dove then brought a bonfire's sole
Surviving ember—one live coal,
And where a pile of dry leaves lay,
He kindled it to fire straightway.

“Now, sir, take heart; forgetting fear,
Resuscitate your members here;
Alas! I cannot put to flight
The cravings of your appetite.

“One patron feeds a thousand men;
One feeds a hundred; one feeds ten.
But I, whose virtue does not thrive,
Scarce keep my puny self alive.

“Ah, if you have not in your nest
Provision for a single guest,
Why occupy today, tomorrow
A nest that harbors naught but sorrow?

“I shall destroy my body, fain
To end its living with its pain,
That nevermore I stand confessed
Powerless to aid a needy guest.”

And thus he blamed himself, you see;
The greedy fowler went scot-free:
Then—“I may yet your craving sate,
If one mere moment you will wait.”

Whereat that creature free from sin,
Joy-quivering his soul within,
Walked round the fire, as it had been
His cherished home, and entered in.

When this the greedy fowler saw,
Compassion filled his soul, and awe.
He, while the dove was cooking, spoke
What from his heart a passage broke:

“None loves his soul, 'tis very plain,
Who smears it with a sinful stain.
The soul commits the sin; and late
Or soon, the soul must expiate.

“My thoughts are evil; my desire
Is ever set on what is dire:
It needs but little wit to tell
I steer my course for ghastly hell.

“A moral lesson let me draw
From what my savage spirit saw.
The high-souled dove, that I may eat,
Has sacrificed himself for meat.

[f]
“Henceforth let all enjoyment be                        
An unfamiliar thing to me;
I'll share the shallow water's fate
In August; will evaporate.

“Cold, wind, and heat I will embrace,
Grow thin and dirty, form and face,
Will fast by every method known,
Seek virtue, perfect and alone.”

The fowler then apieces tore
Club, peg, net, cage—and what is more,
Set free the wretched female dove
Who sorrowed for her perished love.

But she, released from clutches dire,
Beheld her husband in the fire;
Whereat she gave expression so
To thoughts of horror and of woe:

“My lord! My love! What shall I do
With life that drags, apart from you?
What profit has a wretched wife,
Without a husband, of her life?

“For self-esteem, respect, and pride,
The family honor paid a bride,
Authority with all the brood
Of servants, die with widowhood.”

Now after this lamenting sore,
This sorrow bitter evermore,
She went where lay her heart's desire,
Walked straight into the blazing fire.

And lo! She sees her husband shine—
Oh, wonder!—in a car divine;
Her body wears a heavenly gown;
And heavenly gems hang pendent down.

While he, become a god, addressed
True consolation to her breast:
“The deed that you have done, is meet
In following your husband, sweet.

“There grow upon a man alive
Some thirty million hairs and five;
So many years in heaven spend
Wives following husbands to the end.”

So he joyfully took her into the chariot, embraced her, and lived happily. But the fowler sank into the deepest despondency, and plunged into a great forest, meditating death.

And there he saw a forest-fire
And entered it; for all desire
Was dead. His sins were burned away;
He went to heaven, there to stay.

The Old Man With the Young Wife

There was once an aged merchant in a certain town, and his name was Lovelorn. To such an extent had love clouded his reason that, when his wife died, he gave much money in order to marry the daughter of a penniless shopkeeper. But the girl was heartbroken and could not bear to look at the old merchant. This, indeed, might have been anticipated.

The silvered head will sue in vain,
    A maiden's love beseeching;
The maid, despising it, is fain
    To flee afar with screeching;
Like Hangman's Well it causes pain,
    Where dead men's bones are bleaching.

And furthermore:

Slow, tottering steps the strength exhaust;
    The eye unsteady blinks;
From driveling mouth the teeth are lost;
    The handsome figure shrinks;
The limbs are wrinkled; relatives
    And wife contemptuous pass;
The son no further honor gives
    To doddering age. Alas!

Now one night, while she was turning her back to him in [f]
bed, a thief entered the house. And she was terrified at seeing a thief, and embraced her husband, old as he was. He, for his part, felt every limb thrill with astonishment and love, and he thought: “Gracious me! Why does she hug me tonight?” Then, peering narrowly about, he discovered the thief in a corner, and reflected: “No doubt she embraces me from fear of him.” So he said to the thief:

“She who always shrank from me,
Hugs me to her breast;
Thank you, benefactor! Take
What you like the best.”

And the thief made reply:

“Nothing here that I should like;
Should I want a thing,
I'll return if she does not
Passionately cling.”

The Brahman, the Thief, and the Ghost

There was once a poor Brahman in a certain place. He lived on presents, and always did without such luxuries as fine clothes and ointments and perfumes and garlands and gems and betel-gum. His beard and his nails were long, and so was the hair that covered his head and his body. Heat, cold, rain, and the like had dried him up.

Then someone pitied him and gave him two calves. And the Brahman began when they were little and fed them on butter and oil and fodder and other things that he begged. So he made them very plump.

Then a thief saw them and the idea came to him at once: “I [f]
will steal these two cows from this Brahman.” So he took a rope and set out at night. But on the way he met a fellow with a row of sharp teeth set far apart, with a high-bridged nose and uneven eyes, with limbs covered with knotty muscles, with hollow cheeks, with beard and body as yellow as a fire with much butter in it.

And when the thief saw him, he started with acute fear and said: “Who are you, sir?”

The other said: “I am a ghost named Truthful. It is now your turn to explain yourself.”

The thief said: “I am a thief, and my acts are cruel. I am on my way to steal two cows from a poor Brahman.”

Then the ghost felt relieved and said: “My dear sir, I take one meal every three days. So I will just eat this Brahman today. It is delightful that you and I are on the same errand.”

So together they went there and hid, waiting for the proper moment. And when the Brahman went to sleep, the ghost started forward to eat him. But the thief saw him and said: “My dear sir, this is not right. You are not to eat the Brahman until I have stolen his two cows.”

The ghost said: “The racket would most likely wake the Brahman. In that case all my trouble would be vain.”

“But, on the other hand,” said the thief, “if any hindrance arises when you start to eat him, then I cannot steal the two cows either. First I will steal the two cows, then you may eat the Brahman.”

So they disputed, each crying “Me first! Me first!” And when they became heated, the hubbub waked the Brahman. Then the thief said: “Brahman, this is a ghost who wishes to eat you.” And the ghost said: “Brahman, this is a thief who wishes to steal your two cows.”

When the Brahman heard this, he stood up and took a good look. And by remembering a prayer to his favorite god, he saved his life from the ghost, then lifted a club and saved his two cows from the thief.

The Snake in the Prince’s Belly

In a certain city dwelt a king whose name was Godlike. He had a son who wasted daily in every limb because of a snake that used his belly as a home instead of an ant-hill. So the prince became dejected and went to another country. In a city of that country he begged alms, spending his time in a great temple.

Now in that city was a king named Gift, who had two daughters in early womanhood. One of these bowed daily at her father’s feet with the greeting: “Victory, O King,” while the other said: “Your deserts, O King.”

At this the king grew angry, and said: “See, counselors. This young lady speaks malevolently. Give her to some foreigner. Let her have her own deserts.” To this the counselors agreed, and gave the princess, with very few maid-servants, to the prince who made his home in the temple.

And she was delighted, accepted her husband like a god, and went with him to a far country. There by the edge of a [f]
tank in a distant city she left the prince to look after the house while she went with her maids to buy butter, oil, salt, rice, and other supplies. When her shopping was done, she returned and found the prince with his head resting on an ant-hill. And from his mouth issued the head of a hooded snake, taking the air. Likewise another snake crawled from the ant-hill, also to take the air.

When these two saw each other, their eyes grew red with anger, and the ant-hill snake said: “You villain! How can you torment in this way a prince who is so perfectly handsome?” And the snake in the prince’s mouth said: “Villain yourself! How can you bemire those two pots full of gold?” In this fashion each laid bare the other’s weakness.

Then the ant-hill snake continued: “You villain! Doesn’t anybody know the simple remedy of drinking black mustard and so destroying you?” And the belly-snake retorted: “And doesn’t anybody know the simple way to destroy you, by pouring in hot water?”

Now the princess, hiding behind a branch, overheard their conversation, and did just as they suggested. So she made her husband sound and well, and acquired vast wealth. When she returned to her own country, she was highly honored by father, mother, and relatives, and lived happily. For she had her deserts.

The Gullible Carpenter

[f]

There was once a carpenter in a certain village. His wife was a whore, and reputed to be such. So he, desiring to test her, thought: “How can I put her to the test? For the proverb says:

Fire chills, rogues bless, and moonlight burns
Before a wife to virtue turns.

“Now I know from popular gossip that she is unfaithful. For the saying goes:

All things that are not seen or heard
In science or the Sacred Word,
All things in interstellar space
Are known among the populace.”

After these reflections, he said to his wife: “Tomorrow morning, my dear, I am going to another village, where I shall be detained several days. Please put me up a nice lunch.” And her heart quivered when she heard this; she eagerly dropped everything to make delicious dishes, almost pure butter and sugar. In fact, the old saw was justified:

When lowering clouds
    Shut in the day,
When streets are mired
    With sticky clay,
When husband lingers
    Far away,
The flirt becomes
    Supremely gay.

Now at dawn the carpenter rose and left his house. When she had made sure that he was gone, with laughing countenance she spent the dragging day in trying on all her best things. Then she called on an old lover and said: “My husband has gone to another village—the rascal! Please come to our house when the people are asleep.” And he did so.

Now the carpenter spent the day in the forest, stole into his own house at twilight by a side entrance, and hid under [f]
the bed. At this juncture the other fellow arrived and got into bed. And when the carpenter saw him, his heart was stabbed by wrath, and he thought: “Shall I rise and smite him? Or shall I wait until they are asleep and kill them both without effort? Or again, shall I wait to see how she behaves, listen to what she says to him?” At this moment she softly locked the door and went to bed.

But as she did so, she stubbed her toe on the carpenter’s body. And she thought: “It must be that carpenter—the rascal!—who is testing me. Well, I will give him a taste of woman’s tricks.”

While she was thinking, the fellow became insistent. But she clasped her hands and said: “Dear and honored sir, you must not touch me.” And he said: “Well, well! For what purpose did you invite me?”

“Listen,” said she. “I went this morning to Gauri’s shrine to see the goddess. There all at once I heard a voice in the sky, saying: ‘What am I to do, my daughter? You are devoted to me, yet in six months’ time, by the decree of fate, you will be a widow.’ Then I said: ‘O blessèd goddess, since you are aware of the calamity, you also know the remedy. Is there any means of making my husband live a hundred years?’ And the goddess replied: ‘Indeed there is—a remedy depending on you alone.’ Of course I said: ‘If it cost my life, pray tell me, and I will do it.’ Then the goddess said: ‘If you go to bed with another man, and embrace him, then the untimely death that threatens your husband will pass to him. And your husband will live another hundred years.’ For this purpose I invited you. Now do what you had in mind. The words of a goddess must not be falsified—so much is certain.” Then his [f]
face blossomed with noiseless laughter, and he did as she said.

Now the carpenter, fool that he was, felt his body thrill with joy on hearing her words, and he issued from under the bed, saying: “Bravo, faithful wife! Bravo, delight of the family! Because my heart was troubled by the gossip of evil creatures, I pretended a trip to another village in order to test you, and lay hidden under the bed. Come now, embrace me!”

With these words he embraced her and lifted her to his shoulder, then said to the fellow: “My dear and honored sir, you have come here because my good deeds earned this happiness. Through your favor I have won a full hundred years of life. You, too, must mount my shoulder.”

So he forced the fellow, much against his will, to mount his shoulder, and then went dancing about to the doors of the houses of all his relatives.

Mouse-Maid Made Mouse

[f]

The billows of the Ganges were dotted with pearly foam born of the leaping of fishes frightened at hearing the roar of the waters that broke on the rugged, rocky shore. On the bank was a hermitage crowded with holy men devoting their time to the performance of sacred rites—chanting, self-denial, self-torture, study, fasting, and sacrifice. They would take purified water only, and that in measured sips. Their bodies wasted under a diet of bulbs, roots, fruits, and moss. A loin-cloth made of bark formed their scanty raiment.

The father of the hermitage was named Yajnavalkya. After he had bathed in the sacred stream and had begun to rinse his mouth, a little female mouse dropped from a hawk’s beak and fell into his hand. When he saw what she was, he laid her on a banyan leaf, repeated his bath and mouth-rinsing, and performed a ceremony of purification. Then through the magic power of his holiness, he changed her into a girl, and took her with him to his hermitage.

As his wife was childless, he said to her: “Take her, my dear wife. She has come into life as your daughter, and you must rear her carefully.” So the wife reared her and spoiled her with petting. As soon as the girl reached the age of twelve, the mother saw that she was ready for marriage, and said to her husband: “My dear husband, how can you fail to see that the time is passing when your daughter should marry?”

And he replied: “You are quite right, my dear. The saying goes:

Before a man is gratified,
These gods must treat her as a bride—
The fire, the moon, the choir of heaven;
In this way, no offense is given.

Holiness is the gift of fire;
A sweet voice, of the heavenly choir;
The moon gives purity within:
So is a woman free from sin.

Before nubility, 'tis said
That she is white; but after, red;
Before her womanhood is plain,
She is, though naked, free from stain.

[f]
The moon, in mystic fashion, weds                       
A maiden when her beauty spreads;
The heavenly choir, when bosoms grow;
The fire, upon the monthly flow.

To wed a maid is therefore good
Before developed womanhood;
Nor need the loving parents wait
Beyond the early age of eight.

The early signs one kinsman slay;
The bosom takes the next away;
Friends die for passion gratified;
The father, if she ne'er be bride.

For if she bides a maiden still,
She gives herself to whom she will;
Then marry her in tender age:
So warns the heaven-begotten sage.

If she, unwed, unpurified,
Too long within the home abide,
She may no longer married be:
A miserable spinster, she.

A father then, avoiding sin,
Weds her, the appointed time within
(Where'er a husband may be had)
To good, indifferent, or bad.

Now I will try to give her to one of her own station. You know the saying:

Where wealth is very much the same,
And similar the family fame,
Marriage (or friendship) is secure;
But not between the rich and poor.

And finally:

Aim at seven things in marriage;
All the rest you may disparage:

“But

Get money, good looks,
And knowledge of books,
Good family, youth,
Position, and truth.

“So, if she is willing, I will summon the blessed sun, and give her to him.” “I see no harm in that,” said his wife. “Let it be done.”

The holy man therefore summoned the sun, who appeared without delay, and said: “Holy sir, why am I summoned?” The father said: “Here is a daughter of mine. Be kind enough to [f]
marry her.” Then, turning to his daughter, he said: “Little girl, how do you like him, this blessed lamp of the three worlds?” “No, father,” said the girl. “He is too burning hot. I could not like him. Please summon another one, more excellent than he is.”

Upon hearing this, the holy man said to the sun: “Blessèd one, is there any superior to you?” And the sun replied: “Yes, the cloud is superior even to me. When he covers me, I disappear.”

So the holy man summoned the cloud next, and said to the maiden: “Little girl, I will give you to him.” “No,” said she. “This one is black and frigid. Give me to someone finer than he.”

Then the holy man asked: “O cloud, is there anyone superior to you?” And the cloud replied: “The wind is superior even to me.”

So he summoned the wind, and said: “Little girl, I give you to him.” “Father,” said she, “this one is too fidgety. Please invite somebody superior even to him.” So the holy man said: “O wind, is there anyone superior even to you?” “Yes,” said the wind. “The mountain is superior to me.”

So he summoned the mountain and said to the maiden: “Little girl, I give you to him.” “Oh, father,” said she. “He is rough all over, and stiff. Please give me to somebody else.”

So the holy man asked: “O kingly mountain, is there anyone superior even to you?” “Yes,” said the mountain. “Mice are superior to me.”

Then the holy man summoned a mouse, and presented him to the girl, saying: “Little girl, do you like this mouse?”

The moment she saw him, she felt: “My own kind, my own kind,” and her body thrilled and quivered, and she said: “Father dear, turn me into a mouse, and give me to him. Then [f]
I can keep house as my kind of people ought to do.”

And her father, through the magic power of his holiness, turned her into a mouse, and gave her to him.

The Bird With Golden Dung

There was once a great tree on a mountain side. On it lived a bird in whose dung gold appeared.

One day a hunter came to the spot, and directly in front of him the bird dropped its dung, which at the moment of [f]
falling turned to gold. At this the hunter was amazed.

“Well, well!” said he. “For eighty years, man and boy, I have had bird-trapping on the brain, and I never once saw gold in a bird’s dung.” So he set a snare in the tree. And the bird, fool that he was, forgot the danger, and perched on the customary spot. Of course, he was caught immediately.

Then the hunter freed him from the snare, put him in a cage and took him home. But he reflected: “What am I to do with this bird of ill omen? If anybody should ever discover his peculiarity, it would be reported to the king. In that case my very life would be in genuine danger. I will take the bird and report to the king myself.” And he did so.

Now when the king saw the bird, his lotus eyes blossomed and he felt supremely gratified. “Come now, guardsmen,” said he. “Look after this bird with anxious care. Give him everything he wants to eat and drink.”

Then a counselor said: “He was hatched from an egg. Why keep him? You have no evidence save the mere incredible assurance of a hunter. Is gold ever present in bird-dung? Take this bird from the cage and set him free.”

So the king, taking the counselor’s advice, freed the bird, who perched on the lofty arch of the doorway long enough to drop dung which was of gold. Then he recited the stanza:

I played the fool at first; then he
    Who had me on his tether;
And then the king and counselor—
    We all were fools together.

After which he took his carefree flight through the atmosphere.

The Cave That Talked

There was once a lion in a part of a forest, and his name was Rough-Claw. One day he found nothing whatever to eat in his wanderings, and his throat was pinched by hunger. At sunset he came to a great mountain cave and went in, for he thought: “Surely, some animal will come into this cave during the night. I will hide and wait.”

Presently the owner of the cave, a jackal named Curd-Face, came to the door and began to sing: “Cave ahoy! Cave aho-o-oy!” Then after a moment’s silence, he continued in the same tone: “Hello! Don’t you remember how you and I made an agreement that I was to speak to you when I came back from the world outside, and that you were to sing out to me? But you won’t speak to me today. So I am going off to that other cave, which will return my greeting.”

Now when he heard this, the lion thought: “I see. This cave always calls out a greeting when the fellow returns. But today, from fear of me, it doesn’t say a word. This is natural enough. For

The feet and hands refuse to act
    When peril terrifies;
A trembling seizes every limb;
    And speech unuttered dies.

“I will myself call out a greeting, which he will follow to its source, so providing me with a dinner.”

[f]

The lion thereupon called out a greeting. But the cave so magnified the roar that its echo filled the circuit of the horizon, thus terrifying other forest creatures as well, even those far distant. Meanwhile the jackal made off, repeating the stanza:

Joy comes from knowing what to dread,
And sorrow smites the dunderhead:
A long life through, the woods I've walked,
But never heard a cave that talked.

The Frogs That Rode Snakeback

There was once an elderly black snake in a certain spot, and his name was Slow-Poison. He considered the situation from this point of view: “How in the world can I get along without overtaxing my energies?” Then he went to a pond containing many frogs, and behaved as if very dejected.

As he waited thus, a frog came to the edge of the water [f]
and asked: “Uncle, why don’t you bustle about today for food as usual?”

“My dear friend,” said Slow-Poison, “I am afflicted. Why should I wish for food? For this evening, as I was bustling about for food, I saw a frog and made ready to catch him. But he saw me and, fearing death, he escaped among some Brahmans intent upon holy recitation, nor did I perceive which way he went. But in the water at the edge of the pond was the great toe of a Brahman boy, and stupidly deceived by its resemblance to a frog, I bit it, and the boy died immediately. Then the sorrowing father cursed me in these terms: ‘Monster! Since you bit my harmless son, you shall for this sin become a vehicle for frogs, and shall subsist on whatever they choose to allow you.’ Consequently, I have come here to serve as your vehicle.”

Now the frog reported this to all the others. And every last one of them, in extreme delight, went and reported to the frog-king, whose name was Water-Foot. He in turn, accompanied by his counselors, rose hurriedly from the pond—for he thought it an extraordinary occurrence—and climbed upon Slow-Poison’s hood. The others also, in order of age, climbed on his back. Yet others, finding no vacant spot, hopped along behind the snake. Now Slow-Poison, with an eye to making his living, showed them fancy turns in great variety. And Water-Foot, enjoying contact with his body, said to him:

I'd rather ride Slow-Poison than
The finest horse I've seen,
Or elephant, or chariot,
Or man-borne palanquin.

The next day, Slow-Poison was wily enough to move very slowly. So Water-Foot said: “My dear Slow-Poison, why don’t you carry us nicely, as you did before?”

[f]

And Slow-Poison said: “O King, I have no carrying power today because of lack of food.” “My dear fellow,” said the king, “eat the plebeian frogs.”

When Slow-Poison heard this, he quivered with joy in every member and made haste to say: “Why, that is a part of the curse laid on me by the Brahman. For that reason I am greatly pleased at your command.” So he ate frogs uninterruptedly, and in a very few days he grew strong. And with delight and inner laughter he said:

The trick was good. All sorts of frogs
    Within my power have passed.
The only question that remains,
    Is: How long will they last?

Water-Foot, for his part, was befooled by Slow-Poison’s plausibilities, and did not notice a thing.

At this moment another black snake, a tremendous fellow, arrived on the scene. And being amazed at the sight of Slow-Poison used as a vehicle by frogs, he said: “Partner, they are our natural food, yet they use you as a vehicle. This is repellent.” And Slow-Poison said:

I know I should not carry frogs;
    I have it well in mind;
But I am marking time, as did
    The Brahman butter-blind.

“How was that?” asked the snake. And Slow-Poison told the story of

The Butter-Blinded Brahman

There was once a Brahman named Theodore in a certain town. His wife, being unchaste and a pursuer of other men, was forever making cakes with sugar and butter for a lover, and so cheating her husband.

Now one day her husband saw her and said: “My dear wife, what are you cooking? And where are you forever carrying cakes? Tell the truth.”

But her impudence was equal to the occasion, and she lied [f]
to her husband: “There is a shrine of the blessèd goddess not far from here. There I have undertaken a fasting ceremony, and I take an offering, including the most delicious dishes.” Then she took the cakes before his very eyes and started for the shrine of the goddess, imagining that after her statement, her husband would believe it was for the goddess that his wife was daily providing delicious dishes. Having reached the shrine, she went down to the river to perform the ceremonial bath.

Meanwhile her husband arrived by another road and hid behind the statue of the goddess. And his wife entered the shrine after her bath, performed the various rites—laving, anointing, giving incense, making an offering, and so on—bowed before the goddess, and prayed: “O blessed one, how may my husband be made blind?”

Then the Brahman behind the goddess’ back spoke, disguising his natural tone: “If you never stop giving him such food as butter and butter-cakes, then he will presently go blind.”

Now that loose female, deceived by the plausible revelation, gave the Brahman just that kind of food every day. One day the Brahman said: “My dear, I don’t see very well.” And she thought: “Thank the goddess.”

Then the favored lover thought: “The Brahman has gone blind. What can he do to me?” Whereupon he came daily to the house without hesitation.

But at last the Brahman caught him as he entered, seized him by the hair, and clubbed and kicked him to such effect that he died. He also cut off his wicked wife’s nose, and dismissed her.

“And that is why I say:

I know I should not carry frogs ....

and the rest of it.”

Then Slow-Poison, with noiseless laughter, hummed over the verse:

The trick was good. All sorts of frogs ....

and the rest of it. And Water-Foot, hearing this, was [f]
conscience stricken, and wondering what he meant, inquired: “My dear sir, what do you mean by reciting that repulsive verse?” “Nothing at all,” said Slow-Poison, desiring to mask his purpose. And Water-Foot, befooled by his plausible manner, failed to perceive his treachery.

Why spin it out? He ate them all so completely that not even frog-seed was left.