The Enchanted Parrot

Front matter

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THE ENCHANTED PARROT

THE ENCHANTED

Translator's Introduction

Introduction

The Śuka Saptati, seventy tales of a parrot, are quite characteristic of Eastern story. The peg on which they hang is a certain Prabhâvatî. This lady's husband, whose name is Madana, has gone on a long journey. He has, however, left her his parrot, a bird which appears to be under a charm. Prabhâvatî, after her husband has been absent some little time, begins to feel rather dull, and her attendants, or friends, suggest that she had better look out for some admirer to console her during his absence. She accordingly is preparing to start on this errand, when the parrot suddenly finds his voice, and remarks very strongly on Prabhâvatî's disreputable intentions. Prabhâvatî makes up her mind to have the parrot's neck wrung, but before actually departing, and ordering the bloodthirsty deed to be carried out, she reflects that after all it is only a bird speaking, and tells him that she means to go in spite of his well-meant advice. This starts the parrot off, and he bids her go by all means, if she is as clever as some one whom he knows. Prab asks him who this person may be, and wherein their cleverness consists. This leads to Story I, and just when the climax arrives the parrot stops, and asks Prabhâvatî and her friends how they think the story ends. Of course they don't know, and the parrot keeps them on tenterhooks for a bit, and finally tells them. By this time the evening is tolerably far advanced, so that it is of no use for Prabhâvatî to set out on her love-making expeditions, and she goes to bed with her attendants. This process is repeated for sixty-nine evenings, and finally Prabhâvatî's husband returns. From what he gathers, he does not altogether approve of his wife's goings on in his absence; and seems as if he meant to proceed to extremities, when the eloquent parrot calms him down with the seventieth story, after which Madana's father observes a great festival in honour of his son and daughter-in-law, and the parrot, having worked out the charm (or the curse), ascends to heaven in a rain of flowers.

Note.

The tales all begin and end in a similar manner. I have given the introduction and conclusion to the first two as examples, but it does not seem necessary to go through all the stories in the same way. Some of the Tales have been omitted as unsuitable for translation into English.

Introduction to the Stories

THE ENCHANTED PARROT

ŚUKA SAPTATI

Homage to Śâradâ, the abode of Divine Wisdom

There is a city called Chandrapura, whose king was Vikramasena. A man of noble family called Haridatta lived there too. He had a wife named Śringârasundarî, and a son— Madana. Madana's wife's name was Prabhâvatî, the daughter of Somadatta, a man of importance in the town. Now Madana was a bad son. He was entirely given up to the pleasures of sense, and cared for nothing but gambling, drink, and women. His father and mother were filled with grief and anxiety at their son's evil courses. One day a certain Trivikrama, a Brâhman, who had observed Haridatta's affliction, went to his house to see him, and took with him a confidential friend in the shape of a parrot. "My dear Haridatta," said the Brâhman, "take care of this parrot, and treat it as though it were your own son; I think very likely your grief will be alleviated by its knowledge and wisdom." So Haridatta took the parrot and handed it over to his son, who put it into a golden cage and kept it in his sleeping-chamber. One day the parrot was in a reflective mood and said—

"My son! tears shed from your father's eyes for your wickedness bedew the ground. These evil courses will ruin you, as they ruined Devasarma."

"And pray who was Devasarma?" replied Madana. The parrot said—

"There is a city called Panchapura, and in it lived a Brahman called Satyasarma. His wife was Dharmaiala, and his son Devasarma. Devasarma was so intent on the pursuit of sacred wisdom, that he forgot all about the duty he owed to his parents, and started for a distant country, where he performed penances on the banks of the Bhagirathi. One day when he was on his pilgrimage, it so happened that a crane flying overhead dropped some excrement on him. The ascetic looked up with eyes of fury, and the unfortunate bird immediately fell to earth scorched to ashes at his glance.

"Devasarma continued his journey, and presently reached the house of a Brahman. The Brahman's wife was sent by her husband to meet him, and by his orders reproved Devasarma for having destroyed so excellent a bird as the crane, finally telling him to go elsewhere and look for a lodging. So Devasarma put up with the repulse and continued his journey, for the fact that his breach of temper was known made him feel very uncomfortable.

"At last he reached Varanasi, and went to the dwelling of Dharma Vyadha, a learned Brahman, who had been changed, in consequence of a curse, into a butcher. He found the butcher at home—a rough, savage-looking man, his hands all covered with blood, the very image of the demon of destruction. Devaiarma stood still horrified at such a spectacle; but the butcher bid him good-day, and inviting him into the house, gave him food and lodging. When he had been refreshed and rested, he said to the butcher : 'Tell me, where did you and your good wife learn your wisdom? Whence did you gain this divine knowledge that you have? '

"The butcher said— " 'He who observes rightly the duties that belong to his own condition;

He whose mind is not distracted by outward objects, be they great or small; He who obeys his father, who is temperate in all things;

He is the true devotee, he has the true wisdom, he has attained to virtue and righteousness.

" 'Such am I and my wife ; but as for you, you have abandoned your father, you are a wanderer from your home, you are not worthy of being even spoken to by one of my position. I respect the duties of hospitality, therefore I have answered your question.'

"Devasarma said: 'And wherein does perfect discipline consist?'

"The butcher replied—

" 'Those who fail to honour those worthy of honour;

Those who do not respect persons worthy of respect;

Those who despise others.

Such as these do not enter paradise."

"On receiving this advice Devasarma retraced his steps and went home again. He performed his duties, and so became famous in this world, and in the next attained to happiness.

"This is what you must do," continued the parrot. "You must do yottr duty in the sphere in which you have been placed, and you must respect your parents' wishes."

At these words Madana repented of his conduct, returned home and behaved with due regard to his father and mother. Soon after, with their permission, he left them, took leave of his wife Prabhavati, and started for a far country. His wife dutifully mourned his absence for some days, when at last her friends advised her to stop her lamentations, and try and find some one to console her solitude. What they said was this: "A father, a husband, are all very well as long as they are alive, but when they are both dead, or as good as dead, it is a great mistake to waste one's life and youth in tears and lamentations. So though you have lost your husband you have not lost your youth and vigour, and you should make the best of both."

Prabhavati thought there was something in this advice, and proceeded to carry it out without delay, by falling in love with a certain Ganachandra. In fact, she went on in such a way that the parrot was moved to rebuke her severely and said: "Really! such behaviour is too bad!" and a good deal more to the same effect.

Prabhavati was so angry at the parrot's presuming to advise her, that she intended to tell her servants to wring the parrot's neck as soon as she was gone; before starting, however, she waited a moment to offer some betel at the shrine of her protecting divinity.

While she was engaged upon this, the parrot said: "Well, good luck to you! Where are you going?"

She thought to herself, "After all, it is only a bird," and said laughing, "If you want to know, I am going to meet a lover."

"Shocking!" exclaimed the parrot; "I never heard of any woman of decent character doing such a thing! However, if your mind is made up, right or wrong, I suppose you must go. For—

"People of low character, when they are depressed, always try to get some kind of diversion; like the woman of light character who dragged the merchant's son about by his hair."

"And what was that? " said Prabhavati, making the parrot a respectful bow.

"If you will make love," answered the parrot, "by all means make love; but before you go, hear the tale I have to tell you."

Prabhavati assented, and the parrot said—

Story 1 : Mohana and Lakshmî.

Story I

In a town called Chandrâvatî there lived a certain Râja. His name was Bhîma. A man called Mohana was also an inhabitant of the same town. He was the son of a prominent townsman, and was very rich. One day he fell in love with the wife of a fellow-citizen whose name was Lakshmî. So he got hold of a woman called Pûrnâ who was a sort of go-between in these matters, and commissioned her to take a message for him to Lakshmî when her husband was away from home. Pûrnâ, who had been handsomely feed, did as she was asked. She went to the house and said to Lakshmî, "There is a man here, in this town, who has fallen a victim to your attractions; I wish you would invite him to your house." "Well!" replied Lakshmî, "this seems to me hardly the sort of thing that a woman of respectable character ought to do, but as you seem to have made the bargain with him, I will do as you wish. For, as the saying is—

" 'Hari cannot avoid the deadly poison;

The tortoise bears up the world on his back;

The ocean endures the submarine fire in its

depths;

Honest people always carry out their engagements.' "

When she heard this Pûrnâ was charmed, and so in the evening she brought Lakshmi to her own house as the meeting place with Mohana. When it came to the point, Mohana was prevented from coming by an accident, and Lakshmî, who was anticipating some amusement, said : "Well! if Mohana can't come, you had better invite some one else." So Pûrnâ did as she was asked, and by some blunder or other brought Lakshmî her own husband as a visitor." The parrot continued: "Here was a pretty state of things; what do you suppose her husband did, and what do you suppose she did?"

Prabhâvatî and her friends replied: "We haven't the slightest idea; pray tell us what happened."

"Certainly," answered the parrot, "I shall be delighted to tell you, if you will wait here for a while."

They gladly assented, and after some time had passed, the parrot finished the story: "Lakshmî at once recognized her husband, and saying, 'Hullo! so it is you, is it? You have come back unexpectedly, have you?' seized him by his hair, and dragged him about saying, 'You scoundrel! You are always telling me that the only woman in the world you care for is your wife. Now I have found you out, and I will make you sorry for it.' Well, the end of it all was that Haridatta pacified his wife with some difficulty, and at last persuaded her to go home with him."

Prabhâvatî and her friends were enchanted with the story, and as night was now tolerably far advanced they all went to bed.

Story 2 : Yaśodevî and her Transmigrations.

Story II

The next evening Prabhâvatî began to think over her pursuit of a lover, and asked the parrot for his advice. The parrot said: "Go, by all means, if you desire to go! That is to say, if you are as clever in getting out of difficulties as Yaśodevî was."

"And pray who was Yaśodevĭ? " rejoined Prabhâvatî.

"If I tell you," replied the parrot, "and keep you here, perhaps you will carry out your intention of wringing my neck."

"Never mind," answered Prabhâvatî, "be the result what it may, I must hear the story of Yaśodevî."

So the parrot began—

"There is a town called Nandana, whose prince bore the same name. He had a son, Râjaśekhara,

and Râjaśekhara's wife was called Saśiprabhâ. Now a certain Dhanasena came across her, and fell violently in love with her. He was absolutely consumed with the flame of his passion, and at last his mother,Yaśodevî, asked him what was the matter. With many sighs and tears he told her. He must have the prince's wife. She was very difficult to get hold of, but he could not live without her. On hearing this, Yaśodevî bid him be of good cheer, and said she would see what could be done. So she abstained from all food, and putting on her best clothes went to Saśiprabhâ, taking with her a bitch. She assumed an appearance of grief, and taking Saśiprabhâ aside, said to her: ' You see this bitch; well, you and I and this bitch were sisters in a former existence. As for me, I had no compunction in accepting the advances of my lovers; you received their addresses, but with some hesitation. But this was not the case with our sister. She would not have anything to do with men at any price; she kept them at a distance, and now you see to what a condition she is reduced. She has to live as a bitch, all the time recollecting what she was. You, through your reluctance, may or may not remember your former state; but as far as I am concerned, I have no recollection of it whatever, for I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And so I am sorry for you, and I am come to warn you by showing you this bitch, and telling you her story. If you have got a lover I advise you to give him all he wants, and save yourself from the disagreeables of a future state like this. For the person who gives liberally will himself be the recipient of endless favours. It is said: " Those who beg from house to house, merely let you know that they are there; they do not ask for anything, for the liberal always give alms freely according to their condition, to those in need of assistance." '

" Saśiprabhâ was quite overcome by this address, and embracing Yaśodevî wept over her and entreated her assistance in escaping from the fate which seemed to impend. So Yaśodevî introduced Saśiprabhâ to her own son, and Râjaśekhara, who had been bribed with magnificent presents of gold and jewels, was quite willing to let her go, and thought that a great piece of good luck had befallen him.

" So Yaśodevî by her skill and cleverness cheated the prince of the princess, and gained her own ends. If you are as clever as she was, go; if not, stay at home — go to bed, and don't make a fool of yourself."

Story 3 : Prince Sudarśana and Vimala.

Story III

In a town called Viśalâ, the ruler of which was Sudarśana, lived a merchant whose name was Vimala. Now Vimala was the possessor of two very beautiful and charming wives, and these ladies had attracted the attention of a rascal named Kuntala. He set his mind on getting hold of them somehow or other, and eventually went to the shrine of Durgâ, and, making a costly offering to the goddess, prayed her to make him exactly like Vimala. Durgâ granted him his petition, and he accordingly went straight to Vimala's house and took possession of it in the owner's absence. He speedily won all the servants over by handsome presents, and made himself so extremely agreeable to Vimala's wives that they gave him everything he asked for. The servants could not quite make out what it all meant, but they supposed that Vimala had at last learnt the fleeting and transitory nature of wealth, and had determined hereafter to be liberal. In due course of time the genuine Vimala returned home, and found the door locked against him. He was in a terrible state, and uttered curses and lamentations without end. While he was thus engaged some of his relations came by and he appealed in vain to them: "Come and help me! I have been cheated by the prince of scoundrels!"

Presently a party of merchants came by who viewed the spectacle with astonishment. They too declined to give any assistance, so finally he went to the chief of the police and laid a complaint. "Sir!" he exclaimed, "I have been done by the biggest blackguard in the whole town." So the police took the matter up, and went to Vimala's house to set things straight.

Vimala did not accompany them, but he had taken care to rouse their interest in his case by a liberal expenditure of money. When they reached the house they saw Vimala (as they thought) indoors. So they said, "It is all right, there is Vimala inside!" Presently the real Vimala, who had followed them, appeared. They were rather at a loss to know which was which, and the end of it was that a disturbance arose, and a good deal of damage was done.

The Prince Sudarśana got all the blame for this; as it is said—

"The fire of revolt breaks out, produced by tyranny and oppression. It becomes unquenchable, and the majesty and the dignity of the prince is injured by it."

The whole matter then came before the prince, and after some reflection he hit upon the following expedient. He took Vimala's wives apart and said: "Pray tell me! What presents did Vimala give you when he married you? How much money did he give you? What business does he carry on? What were his father and mother, and what is the position of his family?"

They answered his questions quite frankly, and he soon found out all he wanted to know. Then he put the same questions in their equivalent form to the two men. Their answers, of course, were quite different. So he decided that the true Vimala was the man whose answers corresponded with what the ladies had told him, and to him he restored his wives, while the other—the scoundrel —was turned out of the town.

Story 4 : The Stupid Brâhman who married a Witch.

Story IV

There is a Brâhman settlement called Somaprabhâ, and in it lived a Brâhman, famous for his wisdom and righteousness, named Somasama. His daughter was remarkable for her beauty and grace, but she had the reputation of being a witch.

The consequence of this was, that in spite of her charms, no one could be found bold enough to marry her. Somasama therefore travelled about to try and find a husband for his daughter, and in the course of his wanderings reached Janasthâna — a Brâhman town. There he came across a Brâhman named Govinda, as stupid as he was poor, and he prevailed on him to take his daughter off his hands. So Govinda married the dangerous damsel, infatuated by her good looks, and that in spite of the advice of all his friends, who did their best to persuade him to have nothing to do with her. The union did not turn out a success, for the bride was active and lively, while Govinda was a dull, heavy sort of person; so she never ceased to lament the fact that she was quite thrown away on him. As the saying is: "A lord full of all the virtues is no good for a woman of life and energy: such energy as the virtuous and the ascetic possess is worthless; or only a source of evil."

One day she said to Govinda: " It is a long time since I left my parents; I wish you would take me to see them." Govinda willingly assented, and cleaned up his cart, preparatory to starting with his wife.

On the road they fell in with a young Brâhman

named Vishnu, a remarkably smart and attractive young fellow. He at once took the fancy of Govinda's wife, and an attachment sprang up between them at first sight. For, as has been said — " Love takes its origin from mutual glances: then the feelings are roused and it comes into existence. Then follows loss of sleep, emaciation, distraction, loss of self-control, madness, folly, death. Wise men tell us that these, ten conditions are brought about in men by means of love."

So the traveller wrote to Govinda, saying that he was a Brâhman named Vishnu, an inhabitant of the neighbouring town, that he was on a journey but afraid to travel alone, so might he go with them.

The stupid Govinda consented without any misgivings, and the end of it was that one day when his back was turned, his fellow-traveller made such an inroad into the lady's affections that she fell a victim to his attractions, and told him her whole history, her name, and her family. Presently Govinda came back, and when he wanted to get into his cart they called him a thief and declined to let him come in, and after some disputing, Vishnu committed a violent assault on him and beat him severely, assisted by the damsel's magical powers.

Govinda then went into the village close by, threw himself on his back and uttered piercing cries and lamentations. The villagers came and asked him what was the matter. " My good people," he exclaimed, " I have been assaulted and robbed of my wife by a scoundrel; come and help me ! " At last the matter came to the ears of the chief of the police, and he ordered Vishnu and the witch-like damsel to be brought before him. He asked the pair what answer they had to make to this charge. Vishnu replied: " This is my wife; we were travelling quietly along the road when we met this man, who all of a sudden went out of his senses and attacked us." Govinda was then asked what he had to say; and he made as nearly as possible the same answer as Vishnu.

A soothsayer happened to be present, but to find out the truth was quite beyond his powers. The question therefore arose how was the magistrate to come to a decision. The soothsayer then asked them some further questions, and said: " Would you tell me at what time you met on the road? " They both said, " After dinner." The soothsayer then took the two Brâhmans aside, and asked them separately, " What did the lady eat for dinner? " Govinda of course knew, and was able to answer the question without any diffi-

culty, but Vishnu was quite at a loss, and did not know what to say; so he lost his case and became an object of ridicule to every one, while they advised Govinda to let the lady go to the infernal regions and be rid of a nuisance. For it has been said —

" A learned man given to love and wine; a dancer who dances badly;

A devotee who is stupid and foolish; a parasite who is old and worn-out;

A Brâhman who is ignorant of the Scriptures; a kingdom whose ruler is a child;

A friend who cannot give advice, and who is deceitful; a wife who, rejoicing in her youth and beauty, makes love to other men;

A wise man keeps clear of all these."

A man too whose faculties are obscured by love, and who, despising common-sense advice, travels with his sweetheart along the highway, will certainly be attacked and robbed as Govinda was, who got into trouble because he would not listen to the advice of his friends.

Story 5 : The Queen and the Laughing Fish.

Story V

There is a city called Ujjayinî, and the king's name is Vikramâditya. His queen was Kâmalînâ. She was a lady of very noble family, and was the king's favourite wife. One day the king was dining, with her and he gave her some roast fish. She looked at them and said: " Sir ! I cannot bear to look at these men, much less to touch them ! " On these words the fish burst into a loud laugh, so loud that it was heard by all the people in the town. The king could not understand this, so he asked the astrologers, who were acquainted with the language of birds, what the fish meant by their laughter. None of them could tell him; so he sent for his private chaplain, who was the head of the Brâhmans in the town, and said: "If you don't tell me what those fish meant by laughing at what the queen said, I shall send you and all the Brâhmans into exile." The chaplain, on hearing this, was a good deal upset, and asking for a few days' grace, went home. He was quite sure that he and the rest of the reverend gentlemen would have to go, for it seemed impossible to find any answer to the question. His daughter observed his depressed condition and said: " Father ! what's the matter? Why do

you look so dismal? Tell me the cause of the trouble. You know people possessed of wisdom should not lose their self-possession even if difficulties arise. For it has been said —

" ' The man who is not overjoyed hi prosperity, who is not cast down in adversity, who is stedfast in difficulties, such a man as this has been born for an everlasting ornament and protection to the world.' "

So the Bráhman told his daughter the whole story, and how the king had threatened to banish him; since —

" There is not a single person in this world on whose friendship or affection one can rely: how much less on that of a king who walks in the way? of treachery.

" For it has been said —

" ' Cleanliness in a crow ; honesty in a gambler; mildness in a serpent; women satisfied with love; vigour in a eunuch; truth in a drunkard; friendship in a king — who ever heard of these things? '

" Moreover —

" ' Put not your trust in rivers, in savage beasts, in homed cattle, in armed men, in women, in princes. Kings are like soldiers clad in mail, savage, crooked in their ways as serpents that

creep on you for evil. A king slays with his smile; he may pay honour, but he is dangerous; the elephant kills with a touch, the serpent with a caress.'

" I have served the king," continued the Brâhman, " faithfully all these years, yet he has become my enemy, and will send me and my fellow Brâhmans into exile. It has been said —

" ' A man may give up something for the sake of his family;

He may give up his family for the sake of his village;

He may give up his village for the sake of his country;

But he will give up the whole world to save his life.' "

When the Brâhman's daughter heard that she said: " This, father, is all very true, but no respect will be paid to a servant that has been sent adrift by his master.

" For it has been said —

" ' A man may be of the highest character, or very commonplace. If he devotes himself to the service of the ruler, whichever he may be, he will get nothing out of it. The king will take the first man he comes across, be he ignorant, or learned, honourable or dishonourable, into his service; for kings, women, and creepers generally lay hold of what is nearest to them.'

" Besides this—

" ' A man may be learned, energetic, skilful, ambitious, well versed in all his duties, but he' is nothing without the prince's favour. A man may be nobly born, possessed of ability, but if he does not pay court to the prince he may just as well spend his life in begging or perpetual penance. One who falls into the power of diseases, crocodiles or kings, and the stupid man who does not know how to get out of a difficulty, will never keep his position in life.'

" For it has been said —

" ' Kings are as nothing to those wise and skilful persons who by their power bring lions, tigers, serpents and elephants into subjection. But — men who are wise rely on the king's favour, and so attain to eminence. The sandal grove can only flourish on Mount Malaya.'

"All the insignia of rank, — parasols, elephants, horses, are given by the king to those whom he delights to honour. You are the object of the king's affection and honour, therefore, my dear father, do not be downcast. The chief minister's duty is to clear up, from time to time, all the doubts which beset the king's mind, Therefore cheer

up ! I will find out for you what the fish meant by their laughter."

The Brâhman at this advice felt somewhat comforted, and went and told the king what his daughter had said. The king was delighted, and immediately sent for the damsel. She came and made an elaborate obeisance to his majesty and said, " Sir ! pray do not treat these Brâhmans so ill: it is not their fault. Pray tell me what kind of a laugh was it that you heard from the fish? Still, I am only a woman, and I wonder you are not ashamed to ask me to clear the matter up. For —