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Now, the very house I had entered to beg for alms was the house she too entered, carrying her sesame seeds to trade. She called out, “Will anyone take hulled sesame seeds in exchange for unhulled ones?”

The mistress of the house came forward and was about to take the hulled seeds in exchange for unhulled ones when her son, who had studied Kāmandakī’s treatise on statecraft, said, “Mother! You must not take these seeds. Do not accept her hulled sesame in exchange for unhulled. There must be some reason why she is offering such a bargain.”

On hearing this, she refused the sesame seeds. That is why I say, “Not without a reason does Mother Śāṇḍilī…”

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Having told this story, the visitor asked again, “Now, do you know the route he takes?”

Tāmracūḍa replied, “Reverend sir, I do. He never comes alone, but surrounded by a countless horde. Before my very eyes he roams this way and that, coming and going with all his followers.”

The visitor asked, “Have you anything to dig with?”

“Indeed I have,” he replied. “Here is a little hand-spade made entirely of iron.”

The visitor said, “Then you must be ready to join me at dawn. Together we shall follow his tracks over the ground, before people’s footsteps have disturbed it.” Hearing his words, I thought, “Alas, I am ruined! Everything he says betrays a purpose. Just as he has discovered the treasure, he will surely discover our stronghold too. His intentions make that plain.” For it is said:

Having seen a man but once, the wise can judge his worth;

the skilled can tell a weight in palas merely by hefting it in the hand.

A creature’s inclinations reveal beforehand

the good or ill that awaits it in another birth:

even before its tail feathers appear, a young peacock is known

by the way it advances to meet those who approach, or withdraws.

Then, my mind trembling with fear, I abandoned the usual route to my stronghold and set off with my followers by another path. As I led them onward, a huge cat came toward us. Seeing the troop of mice, he suddenly sprang into their midst. Those who survived the slaughter, leaving the earth drenched in blood, reviled me for leading them astray and fled back to that same stronghold. Indeed, it is well said: A deer may sever the noose, evade the hidden trap, and break through the net by force;

it may escape far from a forest ringed with tangled tongues of flame;

it may leap swiftly beyond the reach of the hunters’ arrows, yet fall into a well as it runs.

When fate is hostile, what can courage accomplish?

I alone went elsewhere. The rest foolishly returned to the stronghold. Meanwhile, that wicked wandering ascetic saw the blood-spattered ground and followed the very path to our fortress, arriving at its entrance.

That a man is always bold, that he overpowers others,

that he speaks with arrogance—all this is strength born of wealth.

Hearing this, I was seized with anger and made an especially mighty leap toward the begging bowl. But I failed to reach it and fell to the ground. Hearing me fall, my enemy laughed and said to Tāmracūḍa, “Look! Look at this marvel!” Then he said:

Wealth makes everyone powerful; the man with money is accounted wise.

Look at this penniless mouse, now reduced to the level of his fellows!

“So sleep without fear. The source of his leaping power is now in our hands. Indeed, it is well said:

Like a serpent without fangs, like an elephant bereft of must,

a man without wealth is a man in name alone.”

Hearing this, I thought, “I no longer have the strength to leap even a finger’s breadth. A curse on the life of a penniless man!” For it is said:

All the undertakings of a man bereft of wealth and poor in judgment

dry up like little streams in summer.

Like the grain called crow-barley, like sesame growing wild,

penniless men have a name, but serve no useful purpose.

A poor man’s other virtues, though they exist, do not shine.

Wealth illuminates virtues as the sun illuminates living things.

A man who has always been poor does not suffer so much in this world

as one who, having gained wealth, loses it and lives in misery.

Better to be born a tree on barren soil, dried up, eaten by worms,

and scorched all over by fire, than to be born a beggar.

Powerless poverty is viewed with suspicion everywhere;

even one who comes to help abandons the destitute and goes away.

The poor man’s hopes rise up again and again,

only to fall fruitless within his breast, like a widow’s breasts.

Even in broad daylight, a man shrouded in poverty’s darkness

is seen by no one, though he stands before them and strives to be noticed.

Thus I lamented, utterly disheartened. Seeing my treasure being used as a pillow beneath his cheek, I returned to my stronghold at dawn. As my servants went out that morning, they said to one another, “Alas, he cannot even fill our bellies. By following him, all we get is trouble from cats and the like. What use is there in serving him? For it is said:

A master from whom no benefits come, but only misfortunes,

should be abandoned from afar, especially by those who depend on him.”

Hearing their words, I entered my stronghold. When not one of them came forward to greet me, I thought, “A curse on poverty!” Indeed, it is well said:

A poor man is as good as dead; a childless union is dead;

dead is an ancestral offering without a learned Brahmin, and dead a sacrifice without gifts to the priests.

Men without wealth torment their minds with a hundred hopes,

but cannot act upon them, like widows of noble birth.

Poverty brings suffering and the deepest humiliation to living beings;

because of it, even their own kin consider them dead while they still live.

A man stained by poverty becomes a vessel of misery,

the very summit of disgrace, and a perpetual dwelling place of misfortune.

His relatives are ashamed of him and conceal their kinship;

his friends turn into enemies when he has not a cowrie to his name.

Pennilessness is contempt made flesh, a dwelling place of calamities;

for living beings, it is another name for death.

People shun a poor man in fear, as they shun dust raised by goats,

dust from a broom, or the shadow cast by a lamp or bed.

Even clay left over from cleansing may serve some purpose somewhere;

but a penniless man is thought to serve none at all.

Though a poor man comes to a rich man’s house wishing to give,

he is taken for a beggar. A curse indeed on human poverty!

If a man clings to life while watching his wealth being stolen,

even his ancestors refuse the water he offers them in his cupped hands.

And again:

He who gives his life in battle for cattle or Brahmins,

or when his wife or wealth is being carried off, wins the everlasting worlds.

Having made up my mind, I went there at night and gnawed a hole in the box while he lay fast asleep. But just then the wicked ascetic awoke. He struck me on the head with his split bamboo staff. Somehow, because a little life still remained to me, I escaped and did not die. For it is said: A man obtains what is destined for him;

not even a god can prevent it.

Therefore I neither grieve nor marvel:

what is mine can never belong to another.

The crow and the tortoise asked, “How was that?” Hiraṇyaka replied: Story 4: The Tale of Sāgaradatta. In a certain town lived a merchant named Sāgaradatta. His son bought a book that was being offered for a hundred silver coins. In it was written: A man obtains what is destined for him;

not even a god can prevent it.

Therefore I neither grieve nor marvel:

what is mine can never belong to another.

When Sāgaradatta saw it, he asked his son, “My son, how much did you pay for this book?”

“A hundred silver coins,” he replied.

Hearing this, Sāgaradatta said, “Shame on you, fool! You pay a hundred silver coins for a book with a single verse in it! With such intelligence, how will you ever earn a fortune? From this day forward, you are not to enter my house.” Having scolded him thus, he drove him out. In his despondency, the young man journeyed to a distant country, reached a certain town, and settled there. A few days later, one of its inhabitants asked him, “Where have you come from, sir? And what is your name?” He replied, “A man obtains what is destined for him.” When someone else questioned him, he gave the same answer. Thus he became known throughout the town as Prāptavyamartha—“What Is Destined.” Now, on the day of a great festival, a princess named Candravatī, in the first bloom of beauty and youth, was looking out over the town with a single companion. As it happened, a wonderfully handsome and charming prince came into her sight. The moment she saw him, she was struck by the flower-shafted god of love, and said to her friend, “My friend, you must find some way for me to meet this man today.” Hearing this, her companion went at once to the prince and said, “Candravatī has sent me to you. She sends this message: ‘Since seeing you, I have been brought by the god of love to the point of death. Unless you come to me very soon, death will be my only refuge.’” Hearing this, he said, “If I must come to her, tell me how I am to get inside.”

Her friend replied, “At night you must climb up by a stout rope hanging from the palace.”

He said, “If that is what you have decided, I shall do so.”

Having arranged this, the friend returned to Candravatī. But when night came, the prince thought to himself, “Ah, this would be a terrible wrong! For it is said:

A man who beds his teacher’s daughter, his friend’s wife, or the wife of his master or servant

is called in this world a slayer of a Brahmin.

And again:

One should never perform an act that brings disgrace,

leads to a fall, or defeats one’s own interests.”

Having considered the matter carefully, he did not go to her. Meanwhile, Prāptavyamartha, wandering about at night, saw the rope hanging beside the white palace. Overcome with curiosity, he grasped it and climbed up. The princess, confidently believing him to be the prince, welcomed him with a bath, food, drink, clothing, and other attentions, then lay down beside him on the bed. Her body thrilled with delight at his touch, and she said, “I fell in love with you at first sight and have given myself to you. I shall never, even in my thoughts, have any husband but you. Why, then, do you not speak to me?”

He replied, “A man obtains what is destined for him.”

At these words she realized that he was someone else, sent him down from the white palace, and dismissed him. He then made his way to a ruined temple and lay down to sleep. Presently a constable arrived there, having arranged to meet a woman who was conducting a secret affair. Seeing that someone was already asleep there, and wishing to preserve his secret, he asked, “Who are you?”

He replied, “A man obtains what is destined for him.”

Hearing this, the constable said, “This temple is deserted. Go to my house and sleep there instead.”

He agreed, but in his confusion went to the wrong bed and lay down. Now the constable had a daughter named Vinayavatī, endowed with youth and beauty. She had fallen in love with a certain man, arranged a meeting with him, and was lying in that bed. When she saw the newcomer, she thought, “Here is my beloved!” Misled by the thick darkness of the night, she rose, had food, clothing, and other comforts provided for him, and married him by the gāndharva rite of mutual consent. Then she lay beside him and, her face blooming like a lotus, asked, “Why do you still not speak freely with me?”

He replied, “A man obtains what is destined for him.”

Hearing this, she thought, “Such is the fruit of an act undertaken without proper consideration.” Reflecting thus, she sadly sent him away. As he walked along the street, a bridegroom named Varakīrti, who came from another region, approached with a great flourish of music. Prāptavyamartha began walking along with the wedding party. The auspicious hour was drawing near, and the merchant’s daughter stood in her wedding finery, adorned with the sacred wedding cord, upon the raised platform beneath a pavilion at the door of her father’s house beside the royal road. Just then an elephant in must, having killed its driver, came charging toward that very spot, throwing everyone into confusion amid the cries of the fleeing crowd. At the sight of it, all the bridegroom’s attendants scattered in every direction, and the bridegroom fled with them. Seeing the girl left alone, her eyes darting with fear, Prāptavyamartha boldly reassured her: “Do not be afraid. I will protect you.” Taking her right hand, he stood his ground with great courage and shouted fierce rebukes at the elephant. Somehow, by the favor of fate, the elephant went away. When Varakīrti returned with his friends and relatives, the auspicious hour had passed. Seeing the girl holding another man’s hand, he said, “Father-in-law, you have acted wrongly! After promising your daughter to me, you have given her to someone else!” The merchant replied, “Sir, I too fled in fear of the elephant and have only just returned with you. I do not know what has happened.” Then he began questioning his daughter: “Child, you have not acted well. Tell me what this means.”

She replied, “This man saved me when my life was in danger. As long as I live, no one but he shall take my hand.”

The night passed amid this dispute. In the morning a great crowd gathered there. Hearing the news, the princess came to the spot. The constable’s daughter also heard the story as it passed from mouth to mouth and came there too. Then the king, hearing of the great gathering, arrived in person. He said to Prāptavyamartha, “Speak freely, sir. What has happened here?”

He replied, “A man obtains what is destined for him.”

Remembering, the princess said, “Not even a god can prevent it.”

Then the constable’s daughter said, “Therefore I neither grieve nor marvel.”

Having heard the whole account of what had happened to everyone, the merchant’s daughter said, “What is mine can never belong to another.”

The king assured them all that they had nothing to fear, questioned each of them separately, and learned the truth. With great honor he gave his daughter to Prāptavyamartha, adorned with every ornament and accompanied by her attendants, together with a thousand villages. Proclaiming before the whole city, “You are my son,” he anointed him heir to the throne. The constable too gave his daughter to Prāptavyamartha, honoring her with gifts of clothing and whatever else his means allowed. Then Prāptavyamartha had his mother and father, together with their entire household, brought to that city with due honor. There he lived happily with his family, enjoying every kind of pleasure. That is why I say, “A man obtains what is destined for him.” After experiencing all these joys and sorrows, I fell into deep despondency, and this friend brought me here to you. Such is the reason for my disillusionment. Mantharaka said, “My good fellow, this is undoubtedly a true friend. Though weakened by hunger, he carried you here on his back—you, his natural enemy and proper prey—and did not devour you even on the way. For it is said:

Choose as your finest friend one whose heart never changes because of wealth,

and who remains your friend at all times.

The wise declare that friends must be tested by these sure signs,

just as learned priests test the sacrificial fire.

And again:

The friend who remains a friend when calamity comes is a friend indeed;

when prosperity arrives, even a wicked man will act as a friend.

“So today I too have come to trust him. For friendship between water creatures and flesh-eating crows runs counter to the rules of prudence. Yet it is well said:

No one is absolutely a friend to anyone, nor absolutely an enemy;

one proved an enemy may be seen to accomplish a task in which a friend has failed.

“You are welcome, then. Stay here on the shore of the lake as though in your own home. As for the loss of your wealth and your life in a foreign land, you must not grieve over them. For it is said:

A cloud’s shade, a wicked man’s affection, land beside the sea,

youth, and riches—all vanish in a little while.

“That is why discerning, self-controlled people do not crave wealth. For it is said: Though carefully amassed and guarded like life itself,

though never spent even on one’s own body,

these heartless riches will not accompany a man five steps

when he sets out for the realm of Death.

And again:

As flesh is devoured by fish in the water, by beasts upon the earth,

and by birds in the sky, so is the wealthy man preyed upon everywhere.

A king finds charges against a rich man, though he is innocent;

a poor man, even when guilty, goes untroubled everywhere.

Wealth must be earned, increased, and protected;

if consumed without replenishment, even Mount Sumeru would dwindle away.