Sanskrit literature -- Translations into English; Tales -- India
A flock of pigeons, led by a specially fine bird who had been chosen
king because of his size and the beauty of his plumage, came flying
rapidly along, and noticed the white rice, but did not see the net,
because it was very much the same colour as the ground. Down swooped
the king, and down swept all the other pigeons, eager to enjoy a good
meal without any trouble to themselves. Alas, their joy was short
lived! They were all caught in the net and began struggling to escape,
beating the air with their wings and uttering loud cries of distress.
The crow and the man behind the tree kept very quiet, watching them;
the man with his stick ready to beat the poor helpless birds to death,
the crow watching out of mere curiosity. Now a very strange and
wonderful thing came to pass. The king of the pigeons, who had his wits
about him, said to the imprisoned birds:
“Take the net up in your beaks, all of you spread out your wings at
once, and fly straight up into the air as quickly as possible.”
1. What special qualities did the king display when he gave these
orders to his subjects?
2. Can you think of any other advice the king might have given?
CHAPTER II
In a moment all the pigeons, who were accustomed to obey their leader,
did as they were bid; each little bird seized a separate thread of the
net in his beak and up, up, up, they all flew, looking very beautiful
with the sunlight gleaming on their white wings. Very soon they were
out of sight; and the man, who thought he had hit upon a very clever
plan, came forth from his hiding-place, very much surprised at what had
happened. He stood gazing up after his vanished net for a little time,
and then went away muttering to himself, whilst the wise old crow
laughed at him.
When the pigeons had flown some distance, and were beginning to get
exhausted, for the net was heavy and they were quite unused to carrying
loads, the king bade them rest awhile in a clearing of the forest; and
as they all lay on the ground panting for breath, with the cruel net
still hampering them, he said:
“What we must do now is to take this horrible net to my old friend
Hiranya the mouse, who will, I am quite sure, nibble through the
strings for me and set us all free. He lives, as you all know, near the
tree where the net was spread, deep underground; but there are many
passages leading to his home, and we shall easily find one of the
openings. Once there, we will all lift up our voices, and call to him
at once, when he will be sure to hear us.” So the weary pigeons took up
their burden once more, and sped back whence they had come, greatly to
the surprise of the crow, who wondered at their coming back to the very
place where misfortune had overtaken them. He very soon learnt the
reason, and got so excited watching what was going on, that he hopped
out of his nest and perched upon a branch where he could see better.
Presently a great clamour arose, one word being repeated again and
again: “Hiranya! Hiranya! Hiranya.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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