Two Fables from India
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Hello hello, and welcome back to Storynory! You’re listening to Jana and I’m here with two fables from the Panchatantra.
The Lion, the Jackal, and the Cave
Deep in the heart of the jungle lived a mighty lion who, with age, had grown slow and weary. Hunting had become difficult, and he often went hungry. One day, while roaming the forest, he came across a cave.
"This cave looks like the perfect place for an animal to rest," thought the lion. "I will hide inside and wait. Sooner or later, its owner shall return, and I’ll have an easy meal."
The lion squeezed into the cave and settled in a dark corner. He waited and waited. Finally, as the sun dipped low in the sky, the cave's true owner—a clever jackal—approached, humming a tune.
The jackal stopped short when he noticed large paw prints in the dirt. He examined them carefully and saw that they led into the cave but didn’t come out.
"Something is not right. Why would the footprints stop at the entrance? Could it be that an enemy is hiding from me inside?"
The jackal thought.
The jackal’s sharp mind hatched a plan. He stood at the mouth of the cave,and called out loudly, "Hello, cave! How are you this evening?”
The lion heard the jackal's voice and thought, "Ah, the owner is back. He sounds like a Jackal. I would rather have a deer for dinner, but a Jackal will do when I’m this hungry.”
The jackal called out once again:
“It is I, your old friend. Why are you so silent today? Are you sulking? You usually greet me when I return! What’s happened cave?"
At the back of the cave, the lion got ready to pounce.
“Hell-oh-oh!” continued the jackal with his annoying howl. And the lion thought:
“ I suppose I should answer, or he might grow suspicious or even worse, never stop howling."
In his gruff voice, the lion roared, "Welcome back dear jackal! It is I, your friend, the cave. I have been waiting for you!"
The jackal sprang away, laughing. "A talking cave? Nonsense! I reckon you are no cave… you are a big hungry lion!"
The lion, realising his mistake, sprang out of the cave, but the jackal was already far away, safe among the trees.
From that day on, the jackal became even more cautious, and the hungry lion learnt that it’s useless to try and outtrick a master-trickster!
The Bedbug, the Flea, and the King
Once, in a grand palace, a splendid bed made of silk and gold was laid out in the king’s chamber. It was a bed fit for royalty, and it was home to a fortunate bedbug who had grown quite accustomed to his cosy life.
The bedbug prided himself on his careful routine. He was never hasty or greedy, and waited, until the king was in the deepest part of his sleep before he took a bite.. “Why take unnecessary risks?” the bedbug often mused to himself. “A good life is a quiet life.”
Late into the night, as the bedbug was getting ready for his usual undisturbed meal, a flea landed on the edge of the bed with an eager bounce.
“Greetings, friend!” chirped the flea.
The bedbug blinked in surprise. “Friend? This bed is mine, thank you very much. Who are you, and why are you intruding?”
“I’m a flea,” announced the visitor, puffing himself up proudly. “A traveller of great agility, known far and wide for my daring bites and daring escapes. I couldn’t resist the scent of royalty! This bed is a feast waiting to happen, and you—well, you’re wasting it with all your caution.”
The bedbug frowned. “I prefer my way. I nibble gently, only when the king is fast asleep mind. It’s a system that has kept me safe and comfortable for years.”
The flea snorted. “What a boring life! Your way might be fine for a slow old-fashioned bug, but it’s terribly dull. I bite quickly and cleverly—the king will never notice a thing! Why not let me show you how it’s done?”
“No, thank you,” replied the bedbug, turning up his nose. “I don’t need lessons in recklessness.”
But the flea was persistent, hopping about and boasting of his speed and skill. “Oh, come on, you old stick-in-the-mud! If you let me stay, I’ll show you my superior technique. You might even learn a thing or two!”
After much pestering, the bedbug sighed. “Fine. But follow my rules: bite gently, and only when the king is fast asleep.”
“Of course,” said the flea with a wink.
That night, as the king settled into bed, the flea, brimming with impatience, decided he couldn’t wait for the king to start snoring. “Why wait?” he thought. “I’m quick enough to get away.”
Without warning, the flea leapt onto the king’s neck and bit him sharply.
The king awoke with a roar. “Guards!” he shouted. “Something has bitten me!”
Servants rushed in with lamps, turning the bed upside down in their search for the culprit. Pillows were flung, blankets scattered, and every corner inspected. The flea, true to his word, hopped away unnoticed in the chaos.
The poor bedbug, however, had nowhere to hide. The servants found him clinging to the mattress. “Here it is!” they cried, and with one swift slap, that was the end of the bedbug.
From his safe hiding-place in the curtains, the flea watched the scene and sighed. “Perhaps the bedbug had it right after all. His way might have been dull, but at least it was safe. I should really stop giving advice… but where’s the fun in that?”