Haridatta and the Serpent of the Anthill

In a certain place lived a brahmin named Haridatta. He farmed, but his field never bore anything.

One hot day he was lying in the shade of a tree in his field when, a little way off, he saw a fearsome serpent with its hood raised on an anthill. He thought: "Surely this is the deity of my field, and I have never once worshipped it — that is why my field bears nothing. Today I shall worship it."

He begged some milk, put it in a bowl, went to the anthill and said: "Guardian of the field! All this time I did not know you lived here, and so I have not worshipped you. Forgive me." He left the milk and went home.

Next morning he came and found a gold coin in the bowl. He took it. And so, day after day, he offered milk and received a gold coin.

One day he had to go to another village, and sent his son with the milk. The boy set the milk down and came away. Next day he came, saw a gold coin there, took it, and thought: "This anthill must be full of gold coins. Let me kill the snake and take the whole lot at once."

So the following day, as he set down the milk, he struck at the serpent's head with a stick. By chance the serpent escaped with its life — but in fury it bit the boy with its sharp fangs, and he died on the spot. His relatives burned him on a pyre not far from that field.

The next day the father returned. Hearing from his relatives how his son had died, he said: "He who shows no kindness to those who come to him for refuge sees his own purposes destroyed."

Then he took milk to the anthill and began praising the serpent aloud. The serpent said from within: "You have come here out of greed; you have even put down your grief for your son. Friendship between you and me is no longer fitting. Your son struck me in the arrogance of his youth, and I bit him. How am I to forget the pain of that blow, and how will you forget the loss of a son? Look at the burning pyre, and look at my broken hood — affection once soured between friends does not grow back."

And giving him a diamond of great value it said: "Do not come here again." The brahmin took the jewel and went home, cursing his son's folly.

चितिकायां दीपितायां पश्य स्फटो भग्नो ममैव च । मित्रे रुष्टे तु या प्रीतिः सा स्नेहेन न वर्धते ॥

Moral: Look at the burning pyre — and look at my broken hood. Affection once soured between friends does not grow back by fondness.

From the Panchatantra, Book III — Of Crows and Owls.