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May that woman be reduced to ashes whose husband finds no joy in her.

A father gives within limits, a brother within limits, and a son within limits;

what woman would not honor her husband, whose giving knows no bounds?

Then she spoke again:

“Listen closely, beloved, to the counsel I shall give you:

you must always protect one who seeks refuge, even at the cost of your life.

This bird-catcher lies here, having sought shelter in your dwelling.

Tormented by cold and hunger, he deserves your hospitality.

For it is said:

If a man fails to honor, according to his means, a guest who arrives at evening,

the guest leaves his sins with him and carries off his merit.

Do not bear him hatred, thinking, ‘He has imprisoned my beloved.’

I am bound only by the bonds of my own deeds in former lives.

Poverty, illness, suffering, imprisonment, and calamity—

these are the fruits that embodied beings reap from the tree of their own wrongdoing.

So put aside the hatred born of my captivity;

set your mind upon righteousness and honor him as custom requires.”

Hearing her words, so full of righteous reasoning,

the gentle dove approached the hunter and said:

“Good sir, welcome! Tell me what I may do for you.

Do not be troubled; consider yourself in your own home.”

Hearing these words, the hunter answered the bird:

“Dove, I am bitterly cold. Find me some protection from the chill.”

The dove went off, brought back a glowing ember, and set it down;

then he quickly kindled a fire among dry leaves.

When it was burning brightly, he said to the man who had sought refuge:

“Warm your limbs here at ease, without fear.

All of us forest-dwellers live on whatever we can find,

and I have no store of food with which to appease your hunger.

One man supports a thousand, another a hundred, and another ten;

but I, a lowly creature with no merit from past deeds, can scarcely support myself.

What good is it for a man to live in a house, with all its many cares,

if he cannot provide food for even a single guest?

I shall therefore put this body, with its life of suffering, to such use

that never again need I say, ‘I have nothing,’ when someone comes to me in need.”

He reproached himself, but never the hunter.

Then he said, “I shall satisfy your hunger. Wait a moment.”

With these words, that righteous soul, his heart filled with joy,

circled the fire in reverence and entered it as though entering his own home.

When the hunter saw the dove fall into the flames,

he was overcome with compassion and spoke these words:

“Surely a man who commits evil has no love for himself,

for the evil he himself has done he must himself endure.

My thoughts are wicked, and I have always delighted in wicked deeds.

There is no doubt that I shall fall into a dreadful hell.

By offering me his own flesh, this noble dove

has surely shown a splendid example to a cruel wretch like me.

From this day forward, I shall deny my body every pleasure

and waste it away as summer dries up a shallow pool.

Enduring cold, wind, and heat, my limbs thin and covered with dirt,

I shall practice the highest righteousness through fasts of many kinds.” Then the hunter broke his staff, his catching rods, his net, and his cage,

and released the wretched female dove.

Freed by the hunter, the dove saw her husband lying in the fire.

Her heart scorched by grief, she lamented in anguish:

“My lord, I have no use for life now that you are gone.

What is life worth to a miserable woman bereft of her husband?

Honor, pride, self-esteem, family standing, respect among relatives,

and authority over servants and attendants—all perish with widowhood.”

After many such pitiful laments, overwhelmed by sorrow,

the devoted wife entered that same blazing fire.

Then, clad in heavenly garments and adorned with heavenly ornaments,

the little dove saw her husband seated in a celestial chariot.

He too had gained a heavenly body, and spoke these fitting words:

“Ah, blessed one, you have done nobly in following me!

Thirty-five million hairs grow upon the human body;

for as many years shall a woman dwell in heaven who follows her husband in death.”

In his dove’s body he had enjoyed happiness each day at sunset;

so now, as in that former body, he enjoyed the blessings born of earlier merit.

Then the hunter, filled with joy and profound remorse,

renounced the killing of living creatures and entered a dense forest.

There he saw a forest fire and entered it, his heart free of worldly desire.

His sins burned away, he attained the happiness of heaven.

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“That is why I say, ‘We hear how the dove…’ (134), and so forth.”

After hearing this, Arimardana asked Dīptākṣa, “Under these circumstances, what do you think?” He replied, “Your Majesty, this fellow must certainly not be killed. For:

‘She who always shrinks from me embraces me today!

Bless you, my benefactor! Take whatever I possess.’

And the thief replied:

‘I see nothing of yours worth stealing. But if there ever is anything,

I shall come again, should she fail to embrace you.’”

Arimardana asked, “Who is the woman who will not embrace him? And who is this thief? I should like to hear the whole story.”

Dīptākṣa began: “Story 8: The Tale of the Lovesick Merchant. In a certain town lived an elderly merchant named Kāmātura. His wife had died, and, his mind overcome by desire, he paid a large sum to marry the daughter of a poor merchant. But the girl was so unhappy that she could not bear even to look at her elderly husband. And well might it be said: That white patch of hair upon a man’s head

is the very seat of his humiliation.

Young women keep their distance from him

as from a Chandala’s well marked with a fragment of bone.

And again: His body is shrunken, his gait unsteady, his teeth have fallen out;

his sight wanders, his beauty is ruined, and his mouth dribbles.

His relatives disregard his words, his wife no longer tends him—

alas, the misery! Even his son despises a man overcome by age.

“One day, as she lay in the same bed with him, her face turned away, a thief entered the house. Seeing the thief, she was so terrified that she clasped her husband tightly, old though he was. Astonishment sent a thrill through his whole body, and he thought, ‘Why, what makes her embrace me today?’ Looking carefully about, he spotted the thief in a corner of the house and thought, ‘Surely she is embracing me out of fear of him.’ Realizing this, he addressed the thief with the verse beginning, ‘She who always shrinks from me…’ (186). Hearing this, the thief replied with the verse beginning, ‘I see nothing of yours worth stealing…’ (187). Thus one may wish well even to a thief who has done one a service—how much more to someone who seeks refuge! Besides, having been mistreated by them, this fellow will serve to strengthen us and reveal their weaknesses. For these reasons he must not be killed.” Hearing this, Arimardana asked another minister, Vakranāsa, “My good fellow, what should we do, matters being as they are?”

He replied, “Your Majesty, he must not be killed. For:

Even enemies serve our interests when they quarrel with one another.

A thief saved a man’s life, and a rakshasa saved his pair of cattle.”

Arimardana asked, “How was that?” Vakranāsa began: “Story 10: The Tale of the Brahmin Named Droṇa. In a certain town lived a poor Brahmin named Droṇa, who subsisted on gifts. He never enjoyed fine clothes, ointments, perfumes, garlands, ornaments, betel, or any such comforts. His hair, beard, nails, and body hair had grown long, and his body was wasted by cold, heat, wind, and rain. Out of pity, one of his patrons gave him a pair of calves. The Brahmin raised them from infancy on ghee, oil, fodder, and other things he obtained by begging, until they were well nourished. Seeing them, a thief suddenly thought, ‘I shall steal this Brahmin’s pair of cattle.’ Having made up his mind, he took a tethering rope and set out at night. Halfway there, he saw someone with widely spaced, sharp teeth, a high-bridged nose, glaring blood-red eyes, a body knotted with sinews, and sunken cheeks,

whose beard, hair, and body were tawny as a fiercely blazing fire. Terrified at the sight, the thief asked, ‘Who are you?’

He said, ‘I am Krūrakarman, a thief, on my way to steal a poor Brahmin’s pair of cattle.’

Reassured, the rakshasa said, ‘My good fellow, I eat only once every six days. Today I shall devour that very Brahmin.’

“So the two went there and waited in a secluded place for their opportunity. When the Brahmin was asleep, the thief saw the rakshasa moving forward to eat him and said, ‘My good fellow, that is not fair. Let me steal the cattle first; afterward you may eat the Brahmin.’

The rakshasa replied, ‘The sound of the cattle might wake the Brahmin, and then my whole undertaking would come to nothing.’

The thief replied, ‘And if anything interrupts you when you begin to eat him, I shall be unable to steal the cattle either. So I must take the cattle first, and you can eat the Brahmin afterward.’ As they quarreled, each insisting, ‘Me first!’, their dispute grew so loud that the Brahmin awoke.

Then the thief said to him, ‘Brahmin! This rakshasa wants to eat you!’

The rakshasa said in turn, ‘Brahmin! This thief wants to steal your pair of cattle!’

Hearing this, the Brahmin rose and, fully alert, protected himself from the rakshasa by meditating on his chosen deity and reciting its mantra, and protected his cattle from the thief by brandishing a club.”

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“That is why I say, ‘Even enemies serve our interests…’ (190).”

Having considered his words, Arimardana next asked Prākārakarṇa, “Tell me, what is your opinion?” He replied, “Your Majesty, this fellow certainly must not be killed. If we spare him, mutual affection may in time enable us to live happily together. For it is said:

Creatures who fail to guard one another’s secrets

bring about their own destruction, like the snakes in the anthill and the belly.”

Arimardana asked, “How was that?” Prākārakarṇa began: “Story 10: The Tale of the Snakes in the Anthill and the Belly. In a certain city lived a king named Devaśakti. His son was wasting away day by day, limb by limb, because a snake had made an anthill of his belly and taken up residence there. Although skilled physicians treated him in many ways, using remedies prescribed in sound medical texts, he did not recover. At last, in despair, the prince went to another country. There he lived in a great temple in a certain city, supporting himself by begging. Now the king of that city was named Bali. He had two daughters, both in the bloom of youth. Every day at sunrise they came to their father’s feet and bowed before him. One would say, ‘Victory to Your Majesty, by whose favor all happiness is obtained!’

The other, however, would say, ‘Enjoy what is allotted to you, Your Majesty!’

“Angered at hearing this, the king said, ‘Ministers! Give this ill-spoken girl to some foreigner, so that she herself may enjoy what is allotted to her!’

“The ministers agreed, and with only a small retinue they gave the princess to the prince who was living in the temple. For her part, she accepted her husband joyfully, honored him as a god, and took him away to another country. At length, near a far-off town, she left the prince beside a lake to watch over their lodging and went with her attendants to buy ghee, oil, salt, rice, and other provisions. When she returned from making her purchases, she found the prince asleep with his head resting on an anthill. A snake had thrust its hood out of his mouth and was feeding on the air. Another snake had emerged from the anthill and was doing the same. At the sight of each other, their eyes reddened with rage, and the snake from the anthill said, ‘You villain! Why do you torment this prince, so handsome in every limb?’

The snake in his mouth replied, ‘And you, villain! Why do you defile those two pots full of gold inside this anthill?’ In this way they exposed each other’s secrets.

Then the snake from the anthill spoke again: ‘You villain! Does no one know the remedy for you—that you will perish if he drinks stale fermented rice gruel boiled with mustard seeds?’

The snake in the belly replied, ‘And does no one know the remedy for you—that hot oil or scalding water will destroy you?’ Hidden behind a tree, the princess overheard their conversation and the deadly secrets they revealed, and acted accordingly. She restored her ailing husband to health, acquired the great treasure, and set out for her own country. There her father, mother, and relatives welcomed her with honor, and she lived happily, enjoying what had been allotted to her. That is why I say, ‘Creatures who fail to guard one another’s secrets…’” *********************************************************************** Hearing this, Arimardana himself endorsed their opinion, and it was put into effect. Seeing what had happened, Raktākṣa laughed inwardly and spoke again: “Alas! By your misguided counsel you have brought our lord to ruin. For it is said:

Where the unworthy are honored and the worthy treated with contempt,

three things flourish: famine, death, and fear.

And again:

Even when wrongdoing is committed before his very eyes, a fool is soothed by flattering words.

A wheelwright carried his wife upon his head, together with her lover.”

The ministers asked, “How was that?” Raktākṣa began: “Story 11: The Tale of the Wheelwright Vīravara and His Wife. In a certain town lived a wheelwright named Vīravara. His wife, Kāmadamanī, was unfaithful, and her conduct was the talk of the town. To test her, he thought, ‘I must put her to the proof. For it is said:

If fire should become cold, or the hare-marked moon grow hot,

then women might be faithful—if a wicked man could be a friend.

And I know from what people say that she is unfaithful. For it is said:

Whatever has neither been seen nor heard in the Vedas and learned treatises—

the people know it all, everything that happens within the universe.’

“Having reflected in this way, he said to his wife, ‘My dear, tomorrow morning I am going to another village. I shall have to spend a few days there, so prepare some suitable provisions for my journey.’

“She was delighted to hear this. In her eagerness she abandoned all her chores and prepared food rich in ghee and sugar. Indeed, it is well said:

On a gloomy day, in deep darkness, when clouds pour rain, in a great forest and the like—

or when her husband goes abroad—a lustful woman finds her greatest pleasure.

“At dawn he rose and left the house. Once she knew he had gone, she spent the day as best she could, smiling and adorning herself. Then she went to the house of a lover she already knew and told him, ‘That wretched husband of mine has gone to another village. Come to our house when everyone is asleep.’ Meanwhile, the wheelwright spent the day in the forest, returned at dusk, entered his house by a side door, and hid beneath the bed. Presently Devadatta arrived and sat down upon it. At the sight, the wheelwright’s heart filled with fury, and he thought, ‘Shall I get up and kill him? Or shall I wait until they are asleep and easily kill them both? But first I shall watch what she does and listen to what she says to him.’ Just then she quietly shut the door and climbed onto the bed. As she did so, her foot touched the wheelwright’s body. She thought, ‘Surely this wretch of a wheelwright is here to test me. I must show him a little of a woman’s cunning.’ While she was thinking this, Devadatta grew eager to touch her. But she folded her hands and said, ‘Noble sir! You must not touch my body, for I am a devoted wife, a woman of perfect chastity. Otherwise I shall curse you and reduce you to ashes.’ He said, ‘If that is so, why did you invite me?’

“She replied, ‘Listen carefully. At dawn today I went to the temple of Caṇḍikā to worship the goddess. Suddenly a voice spoke from the sky: “Daughter, what can I do? You are devoted to me, but by the decree of fate you will become a widow within six months.” Then I said, “Goddess! Just as you know the danger, you must also know its remedy. Is there any means by which my husband may live for a hundred years?”

“‘She replied, “My child, there is a remedy—and yet there is none, for it rests entirely with you.”

“‘Hearing this, I said, “Goddess! Even if it costs me my life, tell me what to do, and I shall do it.”

“‘Then the goddess said, “If today you climb into the same bed with another man and embrace him, the untimely death that threatens your husband will pass to that man. Your husband will then live another hundred years.” That is why I asked you to come. So do whatever you wish. Surely the goddess’s words cannot prove false.’ Then, his face blooming with a suppressed smile, he did as the occasion invited.”