Book I (The Loss of Friends) — The Plover who Fought the Ocean

A plover and his wife once lived by the shore of the sea, the mighty sea that swarms with fish, crocodiles, turtles, sharks, porpoises, pearl oysters, shellfish, and other teeming life. The plover was called Sprawl, and his wife’s name was Constance.

In due time she became pregnant and was ready to lay her eggs. So she said to her husband: “Please find a spot where I may lay my eggs.” “Why,” said he, “this home of ours, inherited from our ancestors, promises progress. Lay your eggs here.” “Oh,” said she, “don’t mention this dreadful place. Here is the ocean near at hand. His tide might some day make a long reach and lick away my babies.”

But the plover answered: “Sweetheart, he knows me, he knows Sprawl. Surely the great ocean cannot show such enmity to me. Did you never hear this?

What man is rash enough to take

The gleaming crest-jewel from a snake? Or stirs the wrath of one so dread

His glance may strike his victim dead?

However summer heat distresses

In wild and treeless wildernesses, Who, after all, would seek the shade By some rogue elephant’s body made?

And again:

When morning’s chilly breezes blow With whirling particles of snow, What man with sense of value sure, Employs for cold the water cure?

To visit Death what man desires, So wakes the lion’s sleeping fires, Who, tired from slaying elephants, Lies in a temporary trance?

Who dares to visit and defy

The death-god? Dares the fearless cry— I challenge you to single strife;

If power be yours, pray take my life?

What son of man, with simple wit,

Defies the fire, and enters it—

The smokeless flame that terrifies,

Whose tongues by hundreds lick the skies?”

But even as he spoke, his wife laughed outright, since she knew the full measure of his capacity, and she said: “Very fine, indeed. There is plenty more where that came from. O king of birds,

Your heavy boastings startle, shock, And make of you a laughingstock: One marvels if the rabbit plants

A dung-pile like the elephant’s.

How can you fail to appreciate your own strength and weakness? There is a Saying:

To know one’s self is hard, to know Wise effort, effort vain;

But accurate self-critics are

Secure in times of strain.

This much of effort brings success; I have the power; I can:

So think, then act, and reap the fruit Of your judicious plan.

And there is sound sense in this:

To take advice from kindly friends Be ever satisfied:

The stupid turtle lost his grip Upon the stick, and died.”

“How was that?” asked Sprawl. And Constance told the story of

SHELL-NECK, SLIM, AND GRIM

In a certain lake lived a turtle named Shell-Neck. He had as friends two ganders whose names were Slim and Grim. Now in the vicissitudes of time there came a twelve-year drought, which begot ideas of this nature in the two ganders: “This lake has gone dry. Let us seek another body of water. However, we must first say farewell to Shell-Neck, our dear and long- proved friend.”

When they did so, the turtle said: “Why do you bid me farewell? I am a water-dweller, and here I should perish very quickly from the scant supply of water and from grief at loss of you. Therefore, if you feel any affection for me, please rescue me from the jaws of this death. Besides, as the water dries in this lake, you two suffer nothing beyond a restricted diet, while to me it means immediate death. Consider which is more serious, loss of food or loss of life.”

But they replied: “We are unable to take you with us since you are a water-creature without wings.” Yet the turtle continued: “There is a possible device. Bring a stick of wood.” This they did, whereupon the turtle gripped the middle of the stick between his teeth, and said: “Now take firm hold with your bills, one on each side, fly up, and travel with even flight through the sky, until we discover another desirable body of water.”

But they objected: “There is a hitch in this fine plan. If you happen to indulge in the smallest conversation, then you will lose your hold on the stick will fall from a great height, and will be dashed to bits.”

“Oh,” said the turtle, “from this moment I take a vow of silence, to last as long as we are in heaven.” So they carried out the plan, but while the two ganders were painfully carrying the turtle over a neighboring city, the people below noticed the spectacle, and there arose a confused buzz of talk as they asked: “What is this cartlike object that two birds are carrying through the atmosphere?”

Hearing this, the doomed turtle was heedless enough to ask: “What are these people chattering about?” The moment he spoke, the poor simpleton lost his grip and fell to the ground. And persons who wanted meat cut him to bits in a moment with sharp knives.

“And that is why I say:

To take advice from kindly friends ... and the rest of it.”

And Constance continued:

Forethought and Readywit thrive; Fatalist can’t keep alive.

“How was that?” asked Sprawl. And she told the story of

FORETHOUGHT, READYWIT, AND FATALIST

In a great lake lived three full-grown fishes, whose names were Forethought, Readywit, and Fatalist. Now one day the fish named Forethought overheard passers-by on the bank and fishermen saying: “There are plenty of fish in this pond. Tomorrow we go fishing.”

On hearing this, Forethought reflected: “This looks bad. Tomorrow or the day after they will be sure to come here. I will take Readywit and Fatalist and move to another lake whose waters are not troubled.” So he called them and put the question.

Thereupon Readywit said: “I have lived long in this lake and cannot move in such a hurry. If fishermen come here, then I will protect myself by some means devised for the occasion.”

But poor, doomed Fatalist said: “There are sizable lakes elsewhere. Who knows whether they will come here or not? One should not abandon the lake of his birth merely because of such small gossip. And the proverb says:

Since scamp and sneak and snake So often undertake

A plan that does not thrive,

The world wags on, alive.

Therefore I am determined not to go.” And when Forethought realized that their minds were made up, he went to another body of water.

On the next day, when he had gone, the fishermen with their boys beset the inner pool, cast a net, and caught all the fish without exception. Under these circumstances Readywit, while still in the water, played dead. And since they thought: “This big fellow died without help,” they drew him

from the net and laid him on the bank, from which he wriggled back to safety in the water. But Fatalist stuck his nose into the meshes of the net, struggling until they pounded him repeatedly with clubs and so killed him.

“And that is why I say:

Forethought and Ready wit thrive; Fatalist can’t keep alive.”

“My dear,” said the plover, “why do you think me like Fatalist?

Horses, elephants, and iron,

Water, woman, man,

Sticks and stones and clothes are built On a different plan.

Feel no anxiety. Who can bring humiliation upon you while my arms protect you?”

So Constance laid her eggs, but the ocean, who had listened to the previous conversation, thought: “Well, well! There is sense in the saying:

Of self-conceit all creatures show

An adequate supply:

The plover lies with claws upstretched To prop the falling sky.

I will just put his power to the test.”

So the next day, when the two plovers had gone foraging, he made a long reach with his wave-hands and eagerly seized the eggs. Then when the hen- plover returned and found the nursery empty, she said to her husband: “See what has happened to poor me. The ocean seized my eggs today. I told you more than once that we should move, but you were stupid as Fatalist and would not go. Now I am so sad at the loss of my children that I have decided to burn myself.”

“My dear,” said the plover, “wait until you witness my power, until I dry up that rascally ocean with my bill.” But she replied: “My dear husband, how can you fight the ocean? Furthermore,

Gay simpletons who fight,

Not estimating right

The foe’s power and their own, Like moths in flame atone.”

“My dear,” said the plover, “you should not say such things.

The sun’s new-risen beams Upon the mountains fall: Where glory is cognate, Age matters not at all.

With this bill I shall dry up the water to the last drop, and turn the sea into dry land.” “Darling,” said his wife, “with a bill that holds one drop how will you dry up the ocean, into which pour without ceasing the Ganges and the Indus, bearing the water of nine times nine hundred tributary streams? Why talk nonsense?” But the plover said:

Success is rooted in the will;

And I possess an iron-strong bill; Long days and nights before me lie: Why should not ocean’s flood go dry?

The highest glory to attain

Asks enterprise and manly strain: The sun must first to Libra climb Before he routs the cloudy time.

“Well,” said his wife, “if you feel that you must make war on the ocean, at least call other birds to your aid before you begin. For the proverb says:

A host where each is weak Brings victory to pass:

The elephant is bound By woven ropes of grass.

And again:

Woodpecker and sparrow With froggy and gnat, Attacking en masse laid The elephant flat.”

“How was that?” asked Sprawl. And Constance told the story of

THE DUEL BETWEEN ELEPHANT AND