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Now begins the second book, called “The Winning of Friends.” Its opening verse is:

Even without resources, the wise, intelligent, and widely learned

Swiftly accomplish their purposes, like the crow, the mouse, the deer, and the tortoise.

The story is told as follows. The introductory tale: the story of Laghupatanaka and Citragrīva. In the southern country there is a city called Mahilāropya. Not far from it stood an immense banyan tree, towering high, its fruit enjoyed by birds of many kinds, its hollows filled with insects, and its shade a comfort to crowds of weary travelers. Well indeed is it said: That tree is worthy of praise beneath whose shade deer sleep, whose leaves are plucked on every side by flocks of birds,

Whose hollows teem with insects, whose trunk shelters troops of monkeys,

And whose flowers the bees sip without fear—

A tree that, in every part, gives comfort to many living creatures. Any other is merely a burden to the earth.

In that tree lived a crow named Laghupatanaka. One day, as he was setting out toward the city in search of food, he saw a man approaching with a net in his hand. His body was very dark, his feet cracked, and his hair bristled upward; he looked like a servant of Yama, the god of death. Alarmed at the sight, the crow thought, “This wicked fellow is heading straight for the banyan where I live. Who knows whether the birds dwelling there will meet their end today?” Turning these fears over in his mind, he at once flew back to the banyan and warned all the birds: “Listen! A wicked hunter is coming with a net and rice in his hands. Whatever you do, do not trust him. He will spread his net and scatter the rice. Every one of you must regard those grains as deadly kālakūṭa poison.” While he was speaking, the hunter came to the foot of the banyan, spread his net, and scattered rice as white as sinduvāra blossoms. Then he went a little distance away and concealed himself. The birds in the tree, held back by the warning of Laghupatanaka as though by a bolt across a door, remained still, looking upon the grains as sprouts of deadly poison. Just then a king of pigeons named Citragrīva, roaming in search of food with a retinue of a thousand, caught sight of the rice from afar. Though Laghupatanaka warned him, his greedy appetite made him swoop down to eat, and he and all his followers were caught. Well indeed is it said:

Those foolish creatures enslaved by a greedy tongue

Meet an unforeseen death, like fish that dwell in water.

Or perhaps such things happen because fate has turned against one; the fault is not his. For it is said: How did Rāvaṇa, descendant of Pulastya, fail to see the wrong in carrying off another man’s wife?

How did even Rāma fail to recognize that a golden deer could not exist?

How did Yudhiṣṭhira suddenly bring ruin upon himself through dice?

When disaster draws near and clouds the mind, judgment generally fails.

And again:

Even the judgments of the great go astray

When they are caught in Death’s noose and fate has bewildered their minds.

Meanwhile, seeing that the pigeons were caught, the hunter joyfully raised his club and ran forward to kill them. Citragrīva, finding himself and his followers trapped and seeing the hunter approach, said to the pigeons, “Do not be afraid! For it is said:

One whose judgment does not fail in any calamity

Will surely overcome it through that very strength.

The great remain the same in prosperity and adversity:

The sun is red at its rising, and red again at its setting.

“Let us all rise into the air together, carrying the net and its cords. Once we are out of his sight, we can find our freedom. But if you lose your heads through fear and fail to rise together, you will meet your deaths. For it is said:

Even threads, stretched out side by side and joined in great numbers,

Withstand many strains through their multitude: so it is with good people united.

They did as he advised. As they flew through the sky carrying the net, the hunter ran after them along the ground. Looking upward, he recited this verse:

Even these birds can carry off a net when they act together;

But once they begin to quarrel, they will surely fall.

Laghupatanaka too abandoned his search for food and followed them, curious to see what would happen. At last, when the birds had passed beyond his sight, the hunter gave up hope, recited this verse, and turned back:

What is not destined will not happen; what is destined happens even without effort.

Even what lies in the palm of one’s hand is lost if it is not meant to be.

And again:

If wealth should somehow come when fate has turned its face away,

It gathers up one’s other possessions too and departs, like the treasure Śaṅkha.

“Never mind my hopes of feasting on birds—even the net that supported my family is lost!” Citragrīva, meanwhile, seeing that the hunter had disappeared, said to the others, “The wicked hunter has turned back. Now fly calmly, all of you, toward the northeastern side of Mahilāropya. My friend, a mouse named Hiraṇyaka, lives there. He will cut the bonds of every one of us. For it is said:

When misfortune overtakes a mortal,

No one but a friend offers help, even if only in words.

Thus encouraged by Citragrīva, the pigeons reached Hiraṇyaka’s fortified burrow in the city of Mahilāropya. Hiraṇyaka was resting comfortably within his stronghold, a burrow with a thousand entrances, afraid of nothing. Well indeed is it said:

Like a snake without fangs, or an elephant bereft of its rutting strength,

A king without a fortress falls into everyone’s power.

And again:

Neither a thousand elephants nor a hundred thousand horses

Can accomplish for kings in war what a single fortress can.

A single archer stationed on a rampart can hold off a hundred;

That is why those versed in statecraft praise a fortress.

Coming up to the burrow, Citragrīva called loudly, “My friend Hiraṇyaka! Come quickly! I am in terrible trouble!”

Hearing him, Hiraṇyaka called from within his fortified burrow, “Who are you? Why have you come? What has happened? What sort of trouble are you in? Tell me.”

Citragrīva replied, “It is I, your friend Citragrīva, king of the pigeons. Come quickly! I have urgent need of you.”

At these words, Hiraṇyaka’s fur bristled with delight. His heart rejoiced, his fears vanished, and he hurried out. Well indeed is it said:

Affectionate friends, whose sight delights the eyes,

Do not come every day even to the homes of noble householders.

The sunrise, my dear fellow, betel, a tale from the Bhārata,

A beloved wife, and a good friend seem fresh and new each day.

For one whose friends come to his house day after day,

No other happiness can equal the joy within his heart.

But when Hiraṇyaka saw Citragrīva and his followers caught in the net, he said sorrowfully, “My friend, what is this?” Citragrīva replied, “Why ask when you can see? For it is said: Whatever good or evil the fruits of one’s own deeds may be, from whatever source, through whatever agent,

At whatever time, in whatever manner, to whatever extent, and in whatever place they are due,

From that source, through that agent, at that time, in that manner, those very fruits

Come to one, in that measure and in that place, under the rule of fate.

“My greed for food has brought me into these bonds. Now please cut them quickly.” Hearing this, Hiraṇyaka said:

A bird can see food twenty-five yojanas away,

Yet, when fate so wills, it cannot see the snare beside it.

And again: When I behold the sun and moon afflicted by eclipse,

Elephants, snakes, and birds held captive,

And people of wisdom living in poverty,

I can only think: how powerful is fate!

And again: Even birds that roam the lonely reaches of the sky meet with disaster;

Skillful fishermen catch fish even from the ocean’s unfathomable waters.

What can bad conduct or good conduct do here? What advantage lies in finding a safe place?

Time stretches out its hand and seizes everyone, even from afar.

With these words, Hiraṇyaka was about to cut Citragrīva’s bonds when the pigeon king said, “My good friend, no, do not do that. First cut the bonds of my followers, and mine afterward.”

Hiraṇyaka was annoyed to hear this. “What you say is not right,” he replied. “Servants come after their master.”

“My good friend, do not say that,” said Citragrīva. “All these poor creatures depend on me. Besides, they have left their own families to follow me. How can I deny them even this much consideration? For it is said:

When a king always treats his servants with the highest honor,

They never forsake him, even when they see him penniless.

And again:

Trust is the root of prosperity; thus the elephant leads a herd.

The lion, though king of beasts, has no beasts gathered around him.

“Besides, while you are cutting my bonds, your teeth might break, or that wicked hunter might appear. Then I should surely fall into hell. For it is said:

A master who enjoys himself while his faithful servants suffer

Comes to grief in this world and goes to hell in the next.

Delighted by this, Hiraṇyaka said, “My friend, I know the duties of a king. I was only testing you. I shall cut everyone else’s bonds first. With such conduct, you will always have a great following of pigeons. For it is said:

Seeing your compassion toward your servants and your willingness to share with them,

One might well believe that a heart like yours deserves lordship over all three worlds.

Having said this, Hiraṇyaka cut all their bonds and said to Citragrīva, “My friend, return now to your home. If misfortune comes again, come back to me.”

After bidding them farewell, he went back into his fortress. Citragrīva too returned home with his followers. Well indeed is it said:

One who has friends accomplishes even things most difficult to achieve.

Therefore one should make friends who are one’s equals.

The crow Laghupatanaka had watched the whole rescue of Citragrīva and his companions. Filled with wonder, he thought, “What intelligence this Hiraṇyaka possesses! What ability, and what a well-equipped fortress! Here is the very means by which birds caught in snares may be set free. I trust no one, and my nature is fickle; even so, I shall make him my friend. For it is said:

Even those who lack nothing should wisely make friends.

The ocean, though full, still looks to the rising of the moon.

Having made up his mind, he flew down from the tree, settled at the entrance to the burrow, and called to Hiraṇyaka in a voice like Citragrīva’s: “Come out, Hiraṇyaka! Come, my friend, come!”

Hearing the voice, Hiraṇyaka thought, “Can there be another pigeon still caught in the net, calling to me?” He said, “Who are you?”

“I am a crow named Laghupatanaka,” came the reply.

At this, Hiraṇyaka withdrew still farther into his burrow and said, “Go away from here at once!”

The crow said, “I have come to you on important business. Why will you not let me see you?”

“I have no reason to associate with you,” Hiraṇyaka replied.

“My friend,” said the crow, “I saw you free Citragrīva from his bonds, and it filled me with affection for you. If I should ever be caught myself, perhaps you would set me free as well. So please become my friend.” Hiraṇyaka replied, “You are an eater, and I am your food. What friendship can there be between us? Go away. How can friendship exist between natural enemies? For it is said:

Friendship and marriage are fitting between those of equal wealth

And equal family standing, not between the prosperous and the destitute.

And again:

The fool who unwisely makes a friend unlike himself,

Whether lower or higher in station, becomes a laughingstock.

“So go away.”

The crow replied, “Hiraṇyaka, here I sit at the gate of your fortress. If you will not be my friend, I shall give up my life before your eyes. I shall sit here and fast to death.”

Hiraṇyaka said, “How can I make friends with you, an enemy? For it is said:

One should not make peace with an enemy, however firmly the treaty is bound:

Even water heated to boiling still puts out a fire.

The crow said, “We have never even met. How can there be enmity between us? Why say something so unreasonable?” Hiraṇyaka replied, “There are two kinds of enmity: natural and acquired. You are our natural enemy. For it is said:

Acquired enmity can soon be ended by deliberate acts of kindness;

Natural enmity ends only with the loss of life.

The crow said, “I should like to hear the distinction between these two kinds of enmity. Please explain it.”

Hiraṇyaka replied, “Acquired enmity arises from a particular cause. It disappears when a suitable kindness is done to remedy that cause. Natural enmity, however, never disappears. Such is the enmity between mongooses and snakes, grass-eating animals and beasts armed with claws, water and fire, gods and demons, dogs and cats, the rich and the poor, rival wives, lions and elephants, hunters and deer, learned Brahmins and those who have abandoned sacred observances, fools and scholars, faithful wives and adulteresses, good people and bad. Neither need have killed anyone belonging to the other, yet they torment one another’s lives.” The crow said, “That is no reason. Listen to what I have to say:

For a reason one becomes a friend; for a reason one becomes an enemy.

Therefore the wise should foster friendship here, not enmity.

“So meet with me, that we may fulfill the duties of friendship.”

Hiraṇyaka said, “Listen to the very essence of prudence:

One who tries to restore a cherished bond after it has once been betrayed

Embraces death, like a she-mule conceiving a foal.

“Nor should one think, ‘I am virtuous; no one will torment me with hostility.’ That too is an unsafe assumption. For it is said: A lion took the precious life of Pāṇini, the author of grammar;

An elephant suddenly crushed the sage Jaimini, author of the Mīmāṃsā;

A sea monster killed Piṅgala, a treasury of knowledge about meter, upon the shore.

What do furious beasts, their minds shrouded in ignorance, care for merit?

The crow replied, “That is true. Even so, listen:

People become friends through kindness, beasts and birds through some occasion,

Fools through fear or greed, but good people at the mere sight of one another.

A wicked person is like an earthen pot, easily broken and hard to mend;

A good person is like a golden vessel, hard to break and easy to repair.

As sugarcane grows sweeter joint by joint as one moves down from its tip,

So does friendship with the good; with their opposites, the reverse is true.

And again:

One begins large and gradually dwindles; the other is small at first and grows thereafter.

Like the shadows of morning and afternoon are the friendships of the wicked and the good.

“Now, I am a good creature. Besides, I shall put you at ease with oaths and whatever other assurances you wish.”

Hiraṇyaka replied, “Your oaths give me no confidence. For it is said:

Never trust an enemy, even when bound by oaths:

We hear that Śakra killed Vṛtra after swearing an oath.

Even the gods cannot overcome an enemy without first gaining trust.

It was through trust that the lord of the gods cut apart the child in Diti’s womb.

And further:

One who desires wisdom, long life, and happiness

Should not trust an enemy, even if that enemy is as wise as Bṛhaspati.

And again:

An enemy may enter through the tiniest opening

And then slowly destroy one, as a flood of water destroys a boat.

Do not trust the untrustworthy; do not trust even the trustworthy.

The danger born of trust cuts away one’s very roots.

The wary, though weak, are not slain even by the mighty;

The trusting, though strong, are soon slain even by the weak.

Viṣṇugupta’s sound action, Bhārgava’s winning of friends,

And Bṛhaspati’s distrust: thus policy rests on three foundations.

And again:

One who puts trust in enemies or in wives whose affection has utterly faded,

Even for the sake of great wealth, has reached the end of his life.

Hearing this, Laghupatanaka could find no answer. He thought, “How keen his understanding of prudence is! All the more reason to seek his friendship.” He said, “Hiraṇyaka, my friend!

The wise say that good people become friends after taking seven steps together.

So you have already become my friend. Now hear what I have to say.

“If you still do not trust me, stay within your fortress. Only talk with me regularly, and let us always enjoy conversations about virtues and faults and share wise and beautiful sayings.”