Title: Hindu literature : Comprising The Book of good counsels, Nala and Damayanti, The Ramayana, and Sakoontala
Commentator: Epiphanius Wilson
Author: Toru Dutt
Kālidāsa
Valmiki
Translator: Sir Edwin Arnold
Ralph T. H. Griffith
Sir Monier Monier-Williams
Release date: August 24, 2004 [eBook #13268]
Most recently updated: October 28, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Skinner and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
A story-book from the Sanscrit at least possesses the minor merit of novelty. The "perfect language" has been hitherto regarded as the province of scholars, and few of these even have found time or taste to search its treasures. And yet among them is the key to the heart of modern India—as well as the splendid record of her ancient Gods and glories. The hope of Hindostan lies in the intelligent interest of England. Whatever avails to dissipate misconceptions between them, and to enlarge their intimacy, is a gain to both peoples; and to this end the present volume aspires, in an humble degree, to contribute.
The "Hitopadeśa" is a work of high antiquity, and extended popularity. The prose is doubtless as old as our own era; but the intercalated verses and proverbs compose a selection from writings of an age extremely remote. The "Mahabharata" and the textual Veds are of those quoted; to the first of which Professor M. Williams (in his admirable edition of the "Nala," 1860) assigns a date of 350 B.C., while he claims for the "Rig-Veda" an antiquity as high as B.C. 1300. The "Hitopadeśa" may thus be fairly styled "The Father of all Fables"; for from its numerous translations have come Æsop and Pilpay, and in later days Reineke Fuchs. Originally compiled in Sanscrit, it was rendered, by order of Nushiraván, in the sixth century, A.D., into Persic. From the Persic it passed, A.D. 850, into the Arabic, and thence into Hebrew and Greek. In its own land it obtained as wide a circulation. The Emperor Acbar, impressed with the wisdom of its maxims and the ingenuity of its apologues, commended the work of translating it to his own Vizir, Abdul Fazel. That minister accordingly put the book into a familiar style, and published it with explanations, under the title of the "Criterion of Wisdom." The Emperor had also suggested the abridgment of the long series of shlokes which here and there interrupt the narrative, and the Vizir found this advice sound, and followed it, like the present Translator. To this day, in India, the "Hitopadeśa," under other names (as the "Anvári Suhaili"[1]), retains the delighted attention of young and old, and has some representative in all the Indian vernaculars. A work so well esteemed in the East cannot be unwelcome to Western readers, who receive it here, a condensed but faithful transcript of sense and manner.
As often as an Oriental allusion, or a name in Hindoo mythology, seemed to ask some explanation for the English reader, notes have been appended, bearing reference to the page. In their compilation, and generally, acknowledgment is due to Professor Johnson's excellent version and edition of the "Hitopadeśa," and to Mr. Muir's "Sanscrit Texts."
A residence in India, and close intercourse with the Hindoos, have given the author a lively desire to subserve their advancement. No one listens now to the precipitate ignorance which would set aside as "heathenish" the high civilization of this great race; but justice is not yet done to their past development and present capacities. If the wit, the morality, and the philosophy of these "beasts of India" (so faithfully rendered by Mr. Harrison Weir) surprise any vigorous mind into further exploration of her literature, and deeper sense of our responsibility in her government, the author will be repaid.
EDWIN ARNOLD.
On the banks of the holy river Ganges there stood a city named Pataliputra. The King of it was a good King and a virtuous, and his name was Sudarsana. It chanced one day that he overheard a certain person reciting these verses—
Hearing these the King became disquieted, knowing that his own sons were gaining no wisdom, nor reading the Sacred Writings,[2] but altogether going in the wrong way; and he repeated this verse to himself—
And again this—
"And it has been said," reflected he—
"Nevertheless," mused the King, "I know it is urged that human efforts are useless: as, for instance—
"But then that comes from idleness, with people who will not do what they should do. Rather,
"For indeed,
"And
"So verily,
Having concluded his reflections, the Raja gave orders to assemble a meeting of learned men. Then said he—
"Hear now, O my Pundits! Is there one among you so wise that he will undertake to give the second birth of Wisdom to these my sons, by teaching them the Books of Policy; for they have never yet read the Sacred Writings, and are altogether going in the wrong road; and ye know that
Then uprose a great Sage, by name Vishnu-Sarman, learned in the principles of Policy as is the angel of the planet Jupiter himself, and he said—
"My Lord King, I will undertake to teach these princes Policy, seeing they are born of a great house; for—
"But in this royal family the offspring are royal-minded, and in six moons I will engage to make your Majesty's sons comprehend Policy."
The Raja replied, with condescension:—
"And you, worshipful sir, are competent to teach my children the rules of Policy."
So saying, with much graciousness, he gave the Princes into the charge of Vishnu-Sarman; and that sage, by way of introduction, spake to the Princes, as they sat at ease on the balcony of the palace, in this wise:—
"Hear now, my Princes! for the delectation of your Highnesses, I purpose to tell the tale of the Crow, the Tortoise, the Deer, and the Mouse."
"Pray, sir," said the King's sons, "let us hear it."
Vishnu-Sarman answered—
"It begins with the Winning of Friends; and this is the first verse of it:—
"However was that?" asked the Princes.
Vishnu-Sarman replied:—
"On the banks of the Godavery there stood a large silk-cotton-tree, and thither at night, from all quarters and regions, the birds came to roost. Now once, when the night was just spent, and his Radiance the Moon, Lover of the white lotus, was about to retire behind the western hills, a Crow who perched there, 'Light o' Leap' by name, upon awakening, saw to his great wonder a fowler approaching—a second God of Death. The sight set him reflecting, as he flew off uneasily to follow up the man's movements, and he began to think what mischief this ill-omened apparition foretold.
And yet in this life it must be that
Presently the fowler fixed a net, scattered grains of rice about, and withdrew to hide. At this moment "Speckle-neck," King of the Pigeons, chanced to be passing through the sky with his Court, and caught sight of the rice-grains. Thereupon the King of the Pigeons asked of his rice-loving followers, 'How can there possibly be rice-grains lying here in an unfrequented forest? We will see into it, of course, but We like not the look of it—love of rice may ruin us, as the Traveller was ruined.
"How did that happen?" asked the Pigeons.
"Thus," replied Speckle-neck: "I was pecking about one day in the Deccan forest, and saw an old tiger sitting newly bathed on the bank of a pool, like a Brahman, and with holy kuskus-grass[3] in his paws.
'Ho! ho! ye travellers,' he kept calling out, 'take this golden bangle!'
Presently a covetous fellow passed by and heard him.
'Ah!' thought he, 'this is a bit of luck—but I must not risk my neck for it either.
'But all gain is got by risk, so I will see into it at least;' then he called out, 'Where is thy bangle?'
The Tiger stretched forth his paw and exhibited it.
'Hem!' said the Traveller, 'can I trust such a fierce brute as thou art?'
'Listen,' replied the Tiger, 'once, in the days of my cub-hood, I know I was very wicked. I killed cows, Brahmans, and men without number—and I lost my wife and children for it—and haven't kith or kin left. But lately I met a virtuous man who counselled me to practise the duty of almsgiving—and, as thou seest, I am strict at ablutions and alms. Besides, I am old, and my nails and fangs are gone—so who would mistrust me? and I have so far conquered selfishness, that I keep the golden bangle for whoso comes. Thou seemest poor! I will give it thee. Is it not said,
'Wade over the pool, therefore, and take the bangle,'
Thereupon the covetous Traveller determined to trust him, and waded into the pool, where he soon found himself plunged in mud, and unable to move.
'Ho! ho!' says the Tiger, 'art thou stuck in a slough? stay, I will fetch thee out!'
So saying he approached the wretched man and seized him—who meanwhile bitterly reflected—
And on that verse, too—
And those others—
Here his meditations were cut short by the Tiger devouring him. "And that," said Speckle-neck, "is why we counselled caution."
"Why, yes!" said a certain pigeon, with some presumption, "but you've read the verse—
Hearing that, the Pigeons settled at once; for we know that
And again,
Presently they were caught in the net. Thereat, indeed, they all began to abuse the pigeon by whose suggestion they had been ensnared. It is the old tale!
And we should remember that
When King Speckle-neck heard their reproaches, he said, "No, no! it is no fault of his.
'When the time of trouble cometh, friends may ofttimes irk us most: For the calf at milking-hour the mother's leg is tying-post.'
'And in disaster, dismay is a coward's quality; let us rather rely on fortitude, and devise some remedy. How saith the sage?
"Let us do this now directly," continued the King: "at one moment and with one will, rising under the net, let us fly off with it: for indeed
"And it is written, you know,
Having pondered this advice, the Pigeons adopted it; and flew away with the net. At first the fowler, who was at a distance, hoped to recover them, but as they passed out of sight with the snare about them he gave up the pursuit. Perceiving this, the Pigeons said,
"What is the next thing to be done, O King?"
"A friend of mine," said Speckle-neck, "lives near in a beautiful forest on the Gundaki. Golden-skin is his name—the King of the Mice—he is the one to cut these bonds."
Resolving to have recourse to him, they directed their flight to the hole of Golden-skin—a prudent monarch, who dreaded danger so much that he had made himself a palace with a hundred outlets, and lived always in it. Sitting there he heard the descent of the pigeons, and remained silent and alarmed.
"Friend Golden-skin," cried the King, "have you no welcome for us?"
"Ah, my friend!" said the Mouse-king, rushing out on recognizing the voice, "is it thou art come, Speckle-neck! how delightful!—But what is this?" exclaimed he, regarding the entangled net.
"That," said King Speckle-neck, "is the effect of some wrong-doing in a former life—
Golden-skin, without replying, ran at once to the net, and began to gnaw the strings that held Speckle-neck.
"Nay! friend, not so," said the King, "cut me first these meshes from my followers, and afterwards thou shalt sever mine."
"I am little," answered Golden-skin, "and my teeth are weak—how can I gnaw so much? No! no! I will nibble your strings as long as my teeth last, and afterwards do my best for the others. To preserve dependents by sacrificing oneself is nowhere enjoined by wise moralists; on the contrary—
"Friend," replied King Speckle-neck, "that may be the rule of policy, but I am one that can by no means bear to witness the distress of those who depend on me, for—
And you know the verse,
When King Golden-skin heard this answer his heart was charmed, and his fur bristled up for pure pleasure. "Nobly spoken, friend," said he, "nobly spoken! with such a tenderness for those that look to thee, the Sovereignty of the Three Worlds might be fitly thine." So saying he set himself to cut all their bonds. This done, and the pigeons extricated, the King of the Mice[6] gave them his formal welcome. "But, your Majesty," he said, "this capture in the net was a work of destiny; you must not blame yourself as you did, and suspect a former fault. Is it not written—