Book II (The Winning of Friends) — The Bharunda Birds

By a certain lake in the world lived birds called “bharunda birds.” They had one belly and two necks apiece.

While one of these birds was sauntering about, his first neck found some nectar. Then the second said: “Give me half.” And when the first refused, the second neck angrily picked up poison somewhere and ate it. As they had one belly, they died.

“And that is why I say:

Bharunda birds will teach you why ... and the rest of it. Thus union is strength.”

When the doves heard this, being eager to live, they united their efforts to carry the snare away, flew just an arrow-shot into the air, formed a canopy in the sky, and proceeded without fear.

When the hunter saw the snare carried away by birds, he looked up in amazement, thinking: “This is unprecedented.” And he recited a stanza:

So long as they agree, they may Carry the fatal snare away;

But they will quickly disagree, And then those birds belong to me.

With this in mind, he started to pursue. And when Gay-Neck perceived the savage pursuer and recognized his purpose, with judgment unconfused, he started to fly over regions rough with hills and trees.

And Swift in turn, astonished both by Gay-Neck’s prudent conduct and the hunter’s cruel purpose, repeatedly shifted his glance, looking now up, now down, forgot his concern for food, and followed the flock of doves with keenest interest. For he was thinking: “What will this noble soul do next? And what this villain?” At last the hunter, observing that the flock of doves was protected by the roughness of the paths, tumed back in disappointment, saying:

“What shall not be, will never be; What shall be, follows painlessly; The thing your fingers grasp, will flit, If fate has predetermined it.

And again:

If fate be hostile, even gains Acquired no man can hold;

They go, and take his other wealth, Like hoards of magic gold.

“For, to say nothing of getting birds to eat, I have actually lost the snare which was my means of supporting the family.”

Now when Gay-Neck saw that the hunter had turned back hopeless, he said to the doves: “See! We may travel quietly. The villainous hunter has

turned back. This being so, our best plan is to fly to the city Maidens’ Delight. For in its northeastern quarter dwells a mouse named Gold, a dear friend of mine. He will cut our bonds in a hurry. He is quite competent to set us free from our trouble.”

So they all did as he said, for they were eager to find the mouse named Gold. And when they reached the hole which he had converted into a fortress, they alighted. Now previously

The mouse, in social ethics skilled, Saw danger coming. Then

He built and was residing in

A hundred-gated den.

This being so, Gold was alarmed at the whir of birds’ wings, darted along one path in his fortress-den until just beyond reach of a cat’s paw, and remained on the qui vive, wondering what it meant. But Gay-Neck took his stand at a gate of the den, and said: “My dear Gold, pray hasten to me. See what a plight I am in.”

Thereupon Gold, still within his fortress, said: “My good sir, who are you? What is your errand? And of what nature is your misfortune? Please inform me.” And Gay-Neck answered: “Why, my name is Gay-Neck. I am king of the doves, and a friend of yours. Hasten to me.” At this the mouse felt a quiver in his body and a thrill in his soul. He hastened forth, saying:

If daily to his home

The friends who love him come, And coming, bring delight

To eyes that kindle bright,

A man has found the whole

Of life within his soul.

Then, observing that Gay-Neck and his retainers were caught in a snare, he sadly said: “My good friend, what is this, and whence? Tell me.” “My good friend,” answered Gay-Neck, “why do you ask me? For you know it well. As the proverb says:

Whence, what, by whom, how long, when, where, And how deserved is good or ill,

Thence, that, by him, so long, then, there,

And so it comes. Fate has its will.

And again:

The peacock seems the world to view From thousand eyes that mock the hue Of some bright water-lily;

When fear of death beclouds his mind, His conduct is of one born blind;

He sinks disheartened, silly.

A hundred leagues and twenty-five The vulture spies his meat, But—fate decreeing—fails to see The snare before his feet.

And again:

Snake, bird, and elephant are caged; The moon and sun go through eclipse; The wise are poor: all this I see,

And think how dreadfully fate grips.

And once again:

The birds that in the sky securely soar,

Endure calamities;

While fish are plucked by men from ocean’s floor In far, unsounded seas:

Why speak of virtue here or moral harm? What stance could help or mar?

‘Tis Time that stretches forth a fatal arm, And seizes from afar.”

When Gay-neck had spoken thus, Gold began to cut his bonds, but Gay- Neck checked him, saying: “My good friend, this is wrong. Please do not cut my bonds first, but my followers’.” Now Gold grew angry at this and said: “Come now! You are mistaken. For servants follow the master.” “No, no, my good friend,” said Gay-Neck. “All these poor creatures left others to take service with me. Shall I fail to show them this petty honor? You know

the proverb:

The king who offers honor to

His followers beyond their due, Has servants glad who never quail, Not even should his money fail.

And again:

Through trust, the root of happy power, A creature wins to kingship’s flower; While lions, born to kingship, must

As tyrants govern, lacking trust.

“Besides, after cutting my bonds, you might perhaps get a toothache. Or that villainous hunter might return. In that case, I should surely plunge to hell. As the proverb says:

A king who is content to know That loyal servants suffer woe, Will later go to hell, but first

Will see his earthly projects burst.”

“Yes,” said Gold, “I am well aware of this royal duty. It was to test you that I said what I did. Now I will cut the bonds of all, and you will have in them a numerous retinue. For the proverb says:

The king who mercifully grants Due share in all good circumstance To serving-folk, may fitly rise

The triple world to supervise.”

After making these observations, Gold cut the bonds of all, then said to Gay-Neck: “Now, my friend, you are free to go home.” So Gay-Neck went home with his retinue. Yes, there is wisdom in the saying:

Because a man can gain his ends, Though difficult, with aid of friends, Get friends, and feel those friends to be Integral with prosperity.

Now Swift, who had followed the whole matter of Gay-Neck’s capture and release, was filled with astonishment, and he thought: “What intelligence has this Gold! What capacity! What an ingenious fortress! It would therefore be wise for me also to make friends with Gold. Even though I am of a suspicious temperament, confiding in nobody, even if I am too clever to be overreached by anybody, even so I should win a friend. For the proverb says:

Even the self-sufficient should

Get friends, and seek a greater good: The ocean fears no diminution,

Yet waits Arcturus’ contribution.”

After these reflections, he flew down from his tree, approached the gate of the den, and called out—for he had previously heard the name of Gold: “Gold, my dear sir, pray come out.”

And Gold, hearing this, reflected: “Is this perhaps some other dove who, still somewhat entangled is addressing me?” And he said: “Who are you, sir?” “I am a crow,” was the answer. “My name is Swift.”

On hearing this, Gold hugged a far corner and said: “My very dear sir, please leave this neighborhood.” “But,” replied the crow, “I have come to see you on weighty business. Please grant me an interview.”

“T see no advantage in making your acquaintance,” said Gold. “But,” said the crow, “I feel great confidence in you—the result of seeing how Gay- Neck was relieved of bonds through your exertions. I too may possibly be

caught some day and find deliverance through you. Please enter into friendship with me.”

“Sir,” answered Gold, “you eat, and I am food. How can I feel friendship for you? You have heard the saying:

The dull think inequalities

In strength no fatal blocks

To friendship. True—but they are dull, And public laughingstocks.

Please begone.”

“Look!” said the crow. “Here I perch at the gate of your den. If you do not make friends with me, I shall starve to death.” “But,” said Gold, “how can I make friends with you, with an enemy? For the proverb says:

Make no truce, however snug, With foemen dire:

Water, even boiling hot,

Will quench a fire.”

“Why,” said the crow, “you do not even know me by sight. Why should there be strife? Why say a thing so little to the purpose?”

“Sir,” said Gold, “strife is of two kinds, natural and incidental. Now you are in natural strife with me. And the saying goes:

By incidental means one ends

An incidental strife,

And quickly. Nature’s kind endures Until the loss of life.”

“Sir,” said the crow, “I should like to learn the characteristic quality of each kind.” “Well,” said the mouse, “incidental strife springs from a specific cause, and can therefore be removed by rendering an appropriate service. But strife rooted in nature never disappears. Thus there is enduring

strife between mungoose and snake—herbivorous creatures and those armed with claws—water and fire—gods and devils—dogs and cats—rival wives—lions and elephants—hunter and deer—crow and owl—scholar and numskull—wife and harlot—saint and sinner. In these cases, nobody belonging to anybody has been killed by anybody, yet they fight to the death.”

“But this is senseless,” said the crow. “Listen to me.

For cause a man becomes a friend; For cause grows hostile. So

The prudent make a friend of him, And never make a foe.”

“But,” said Gold, “what commerce can there be between you and me? Listen to the kernel of social ethics:

Whoever trusts a faithless friend And twice in him believes,

Lays hold on death as certainly As when a mule conceives.

And again:

A lion took the life of Panini,

Grammar’s most famous name;

A tusker madly crushed sage Jaimini

Of metaphysic fame;

And Pingal, metric’s boast, was slaughtered by A seaside crocodile—

What sense for scholarly attainments high Have beasts besotted, vile?”

“True enough,” said the crow. “But listen to this:

The beasts and birds as friends are won For cause; plain folks, for service done

And silly souls, for greed or fright— But good men are your friends at sight.

And again:

Like pots of clay, the wicked friend

Is quick to smash and hard to mend: Like pots of gold the righteous flash, As quick to mend, as hard to smash.

And yet again:

Each segment of a sugar-cane Beyond the tip, is sweeter;

The friendship of the good is so— The other kind grows bitter.

Now | assure you that I am upright. Besides, I will reassure you by taking oaths.”

But Gold replied: “I have no confidence in your oaths. There is a saying:

Though a foe be bound by oaths, Trust him none the more:

Indra struck the demon down, Spite of oaths galore.

And again:

Even gods must try to lull Foes with measures mild: Indra, soothing Diti first, Smote her unborn child.

Through a narrow crevice slip Enemies who gloat,

Bringing slow destruction, like Water in a boat.

If, relying on their means, Men confide in foes,

Or in wives whose love is lost, Life abruptly goes.”

To this Swift found no rejoinder, and he thought: “What an eminent intelligence he has in the field of social ethics! Yet for that very reason I crave his friendship.” And he said:

“True friendship, sir, is an affair

Of seven words, the wise declare; I’ve forced you, then, to be a friend— So hear my pleading to the end.

Now grant me your friendship. If you refuse, I shall starve where I stand.”

And Gold reflected: “He is not unintelligent. His speech proves it.

None lacking shrewdness flatter well; None but a lover plays the swell;

No saints are found in judgment seats; No clear, straightforward speaker cheats.

So I must certainly grant him my friendship.”

Having made up his mind to this, he said to the crow: “My dear sir, you have won my confidence. But it was necessary first to test your intelligence. Now I lay my head in your lap.” With this he started to come forth, but when scarcely halfway out, he stopped again. And Swift said: “Do you cherish even yet some reason for mistrusting me? I see you do not leave your fortress.”

“T have no fear of you,” said Gold, “for I have examined your mind. But if I gave my confidence, I might perhaps meet death through other friends of yours.” Then the crow spoke:

Friends purchased at the price of death To other friends and true,

One should avoid, like worthless corn Where finest rice-plants grew.

Hearing this, Gold hastened forth, and there was a civil greeting on both

sides. After a moment Swift said to Gold: “I will not keep you longer outdoors. I am in search of food.” With this he left his friend and flew into thick jungle where he found a wild buffalo that a tiger had killed. Of this he ate his fill, then returned to Gold, carrying a lump of meat red as a dhak- blossom. And he cried: “Come out, my dear Gold! Come out! Enjoy this meat that I have brought.” Now Gold, with sedulous forethought, had constructed a great heap of corn and rice for his friend’s use. And he said: “My dear friend, pray enjoy this rice which I have provided to the best of my ability.” So each was highly pleased with the other, and they ate in order to manifest kindly feeling. This, indeed, is the seed of friendship. As the verse puts it:

Six things are done by friends: To take, and give again;

To listen, and to talk;

To dine, to entertain.

No friendship ever comes Without some kindly deed: The very gods respond

To gifts they have decreed.

As soon as presents cease, So soon does friendship die: The calf deserts the cow Whose udder has gone dry.

So, to make a long story short: The mouse and crow became Such friends as never fail, Enduring, hard to split

As flesh and finger nail.

Indeed, the mouse was so captivated by the crow’s attentions that he grew confident to the point of feeling quite at home between his wings.

Now one day the crow appeared with tears filling his eyes, and sobs choked him as he said: “My very dear Gold, I have grown dissatisfied with this country. I intend to travel.” “My dear friend,” said Gold, “what cause have you for discontent?”

“Listen, my friend,” said the crow. “There has been a dreadful drought in this country, so that all the city people, driven by famine, not only cease to give the birds a few mere crumbs, but actually set bird-traps in every house. To be sure, I have not been caught, for further life is appointed me. Yet this is why I shed tears—for I think of foreign travel. This is why I plan to visit another land.” “Then tell me where you plan to go,” said Gold. And Swift replied:

“In the far south is a great lake in the heart of the jungle. There lives a turtle named Slow, a bosom friend of mine, dearer even than you are. He will give me bits of fish, a digestible diet. In his society I shall be happy, enjoying the delight of conversation spiced with wit. Besides, I cannot behold such slaughter of birds. For the proverb says:

Blest are they who do not see Death upon the family, Friend in trouble, stolen wife, Ruin of the nation’s life.”

“Considering the circumstances,” said Gold, “I will accompany you. I, too, have a great sorrow.” “Of what nature?” asked Swift. “Oh,” said Gold, “it is a long story. When we get there, I will tell you in detail.”

“But,” said the crow, “I travel in the air, you on the ground. How will you accompany me?” And Gold answered: “If you feel concern for the preservation of my life, mount me on your back and carry me very gently.”

At this the crow was delighted and said: “If that is possible, then I am blest indeed. There is none more blest than I. Let it be done. For I know the eight flights, Full-Flight and the rest. Thus I shall carry you in comfort.”

“My friend,” said Gold, “I should like to know the flights by name.” And the crow recited:

Full-Flight, Part-Flight, and the Rise, Great-Flight, and the Curve likewise, Horizontal, Downward-Flight; Number eight is called the Light.

After listening to this, Gold mounted the crow, who set off at Full-Flight. And very gently he brought his friend to the lake.

Thereupon Slow saw a mouse riding a crow, and wondering who he might be, plopped into the water—for he was a judge of occasions. And Swift, after depositing Gold in a hole in a tree on the bank, perched on the tip of a twig and called in a piercing tone: “Friend Slow! Come here! I am your crow friend. After long absence I have come, my heart filled with longing. Come, embrace me. For the saying runs:

Bring sandalwood or camphor? No! Nor even flakes of cooling snow; All are not worth the sixteenth part Of rest upon a friendly heart.”

When he heard this, Slow made a narrow inspection, then, with a quiver of delight and with eyes swimming in joyful tears, he hurriedly scrambled from the water, saying: “I did not know you. I am much to blame. Forgive me.” And when Swift flew down from the tree, he embraced him.

So the two, after exchanging embraces, thrilled with delight, and sitting beneath the tree told each other their adventures during the long separation. Gold also, with a bow to Slow, sat down there. And Slow, spying him, said to Swift: “Tell me, who is this mouse? And why did you mount him, your natural food, on your back and bring him hither?”

And Swift replied: “Ah, he is a mouse named Gold, a friend of mine, almost my second life. To make a short story of it:

His virtues, like the streams of rain Or stars that dot the sky

Or like the grains of dust on earth All numbering defy;

Yes, mathematics fails to count His lofty virtues through;

Yet he, in deep dejection sunk, Has come to visit you.”

“And what,” said Slow, “is the cause of his gloom?” “That,” said the crow, “I asked him yonder. But he put me off, saying: ‘It is a long story. I will tell you when we get there.’ Now, my very dear Gold, pray tell us both the cause of your gloom.”

And Gold told the story of

GOLD’S GLOOM

In the southern country is a city called Maidens’ Delight, and in the neighborhood a shrine to Shiva. In a cell near by lived a hermit named Crop-Ear. During his begging hour he would fill his alms-bowl with dainties from the city, eatables jellified, melting in the mouth, toothsome, flavored with sugar, treacle, and pomegranate. Then, returning to his cell, he satisfied himself according to the ordinance, hid what food was left in the alms-bowl, and hung it on a peg, keeping it for the servants’ breakfast. On this food I subsisted with my companions. And so the time passed.

Since I nibbled his food, however carefully he hid it, the hermit was disgusted, and in fear of me he moved it from place to place, always hanging it higher. Even so I got at it easily enough and ate it.

Now one day a guest arrived, a holy man named Wide-Bottom. And Crop-Ear welcomed him, paid him due respect, and relieved his fatigue. At night they lay on the same couch and started to relate pious tales. But Crop- Ear’s thoughts were so preoccupied with mice that he kept striking the alms-bowl with a frazzled bamboo and returned an absent-minded answer to Wide-Bottom as he told a pious tale.

Then the guest grew extremely angry and said: “Come, Crop-Ear! I perceive that your friendship is dead. For you do not talk with me whole- heartedly. So, night though it be, I shall leave your cell and go elsewhere. For there is a saying:

‘Come! Enter! News from town? A chair! You look run down! Welcome! Why have you slighted Our home so long? Dee-lighted!’ Such kindly words as these

May set the mind at ease,

And friends be glad to go

Where they are greeted so.

And again:

Wherever hosts look vaguely round Or fix their glances on the ground, The guests who visit such a place Are hornless, yet of bovine race.

You should not visit any home

From which no gentle greetings come, Which fails in eager promptitude, With gossip touching bad and good.

“But this you do not understand, having forgotten friendship through pride in the ownership of one mere cell. So that you seem to dwell here, but in reality you have earned a place in hell. For the proverb says:

A certain course for hell to steer, Become a chaplain for a year;

Or try more expeditious ways— Become an abbot for three days.

Poor fool! You take pride in what should cause contrition.”

When he heard this, Crop-Ear was terrified and said: “Do not speak thus, holy sir. There is no friend nearer my heart than you. Pray hear the reason of my inattention. There is a villainous mouse that jumps and climbs to my alms-bowl, however high I hang it, and he eats my leavings. Thus the servants get no recompense, and refuse to tidy up. So to frighten the mouse, I strike the alms-bowl repeatedly with my bamboo. This is the whole story. But I should add that the villain has such cleverness in jumping as to put cats, monkeys, and other creatures to the blush.”

Then Wide-Bottom said: “But have you found the mouse-hole anywhere?” “Holy sir,” said Crop-Ear, “I have not.” “Surely,” said the other, “his hole is over his hoard. Beyond question, the fragrance from his hoard makes him spry. For

The smell of wealth is quite enough To wake a creature’s sterner stuff; And wealth’s enjoyment, even more, With virtuous giving from his store.

And again:

“Tis certain Mother Shandilee

If bargaining in sesame—

Her hulled grains for the unhulled kind— Has some good reason in her mind.”

“How was that?” asked Crop-Ear. And Wide-Bottom told the story of

MOTHER SHANDILEE’S BARGAIN

At one time I asked a certain Brahman in a certain town for shelter during the rainy season, and this he gave me. So there I lived, occupied with pious duties.

One day I woke betimes, and listening to a conversation between my host and his wife, I heard the Brahman say: “My dear, tomorrow will be the winter solstice, an extremely profitable season. So I will go to another village in search of donations. And you, in honor of the sun, should give some Brahman food to the extent of your ability.”

But his wife snapped at him harshly, saying: “Who would give food to a poor Brahman like you? Are you not ashamed to talk like that? And besides:

Since first I put my hand in yours, I haven’t had a thing:

I’ve never tasted stylish food; Don’t mention gem or ring.”

At this the Brahman was terrified and he stammered: “My dear, my dear, you should not say such things. You have heard the saying:

You have a mouthful only? Give A half to feed the needy:

Will any ever own the wealth For which his soul is greedy?

And again:

The poor man can but give a mite; Yet his reward is such—

The Scriptures tell us—as is his, From riches giving much.

The cloud gives only water, yet

The whole world treats him as a pet:

But none can bear, the sun, who stands With rays that look like outstretched hands.

“Bearing this in mind, even the poor should give to the right person at the right time—though the gift seems beneath contempt. For

Great faith, a gift appropriate,

Fit time, a fit recipient,

An understanding heart—and gifts Are blest beyond all measurement.

And some quote this:

Indulge in no excessive greed

(A little helps in time of need) But one, by greed excessive led, Perceived a topknot on his head.”

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