Prevod

Nor should you think, “I have won a kingdom,” and let the intoxication of prosperity bring you to ruin. For a king’s fortunes are fleeting. Royal Fortune is as difficult to attain as the top of a bamboo pole, and delights in tumbling down in an instant. Though sustained by a hundred efforts, she is hard to hold; though faithfully courted, she betrays you in the end. Like a troop of monkeys, her thoughts scatter in every direction; like a lotus leaf, she allows nothing to cling to her; like the course of the wind, she is ever restless; like the friendship of the ignoble, she is unstable; like a venomous snake, she is difficult to handle; like a streak of evening cloud, her glow lasts only a moment; like a string of water bubbles, she is fragile by nature; like the body itself, she is ungrateful; like a hoard of wealth found in a dream, she vanishes as soon as she is seen. Moreover—At the very moment a king is anointed,

he must turn his mind to the troubles that may come;

for at a king’s coronation, the jars

pour forth calamity along with the water.

There is no one whom calamity cannot reach. As it is said—Think of Rama’s departure into the forest, of the sons of Pandu dwelling in the wilderness,

of the destruction of the Vrishnis, of King Nala’s fall from his throne,

of Arjuna’s service as a dancing master, and of the downfall of the lord of Lanka:

everyone in this world suffers under the sway of Time. Who can save whom?

Where is Dasharatha, who went to heaven and became the friend of mighty Indra?

And where is King Sagara, who set the bounds of the ocean?

Where is Prithu, the son of Vena, born from a hand? Where is Manu, sprung from the Sun?

Surely mighty Time, having awakened them, has closed their eyes again.

Where has Mandhatri gone, the conqueror of the three worlds? Where is King Satyavrata?

Where has Nahusha gone, who ruled the gods? Where is Keshava, versed in sacred learning?

With their chariots and splendid elephants, they thought themselves seated upon Indra’s throne;

yet it was mighty Time that raised them up, and Time that drove them away.

And again—

That king, those ministers, those women, those groves and gardens—

he and they, one and all, vanished beneath the gaze of Death.

Having thus attained Royal Fortune, as restless as the ears of an elephant in rut, enjoy her favors with justice as your sole devotion.

Thus ends the third book, entitled “Of Crows and Owls,” in the Panchatantra composed by the illustrious Vishnu Sharma.

************************************************************************ The Fourth Book: The Loss of What Was Gained