The Fowler and the Pair of Doves

In a great forest there roamed a fowler of cruel nature — like death itself to living creatures. He had no friend, no kinsman, no relative; his cruel trade had made everyone abandon him. With cage and snare and stick he went about killing birds every day.

One day a dove-hen fell into his hands, and he put her in his cage.

Just then every quarter of the sky went black, a violent wind rose and rain came down in sheets, as though the end of the world had arrived. Shaking with cold and wild with fear, he searched for shelter and reached the foot of a great tree, and said: "Whoever is here, I come to you for refuge; I am tormented by cold and hunger."

On a branch of that tree lived the dove-hen's mate, grieving aloud because his beloved had not come home: "Such rain has fallen and my love has not returned. Without her this house is no house of mine. It is not the building that makes a home — it is the mistress of it."

From inside the cage his mate heard his voice and called up to him: "My lord, listen to me carefully. This fowler has come to your dwelling for refuge, tormented by cold and hunger; show him a guest's honour. Whoever does not honour a guest to the best of his ability — that guest leaves him his sins and carries off his merit.

"And do not hate him because he has bound me; that is only the fruit of my own past deeds. Poverty, illness, sorrow, bondage and misfortune are all the fruit of our own faults. So put aside hatred, fix your mind on duty, and honour him as the rule requires."

Hearing his wife speak of duty, the dove went to the fowler and said: "You are welcome, sir. Tell me what I may do for you. Set your mind at rest — you have come to your own house." The fowler said: "Dove, the cold is tormenting me badly."

Then the dove fetched a burning brand from somewhere, heaped up dry leaves, and lit a fire — "Warm yourself, sir." Then he said: "But I have nothing with which to quiet your hunger. What is the use of a house whose owner cannot keep even one guest alive? From today this body is done with all enjoyment — I shall serve you with the body itself."

Saying this he walked three times round the fire and entered it, offering his own flesh to satisfy his guest's hunger.

Seeing him fall into the flames, the fowler's heart broke with pity. He said: "The man who does evil does not truly love himself; what he does, he must eat himself. I am a sinner, always at sinful work — surely I shall go to a terrible hell. This great-souled dove has taught me by giving up his own body."

He broke the cage and freed the dove-hen, threw away his snare and his stick, and left off killing for the path of penance. And the dove-hen, holding life worthless without her mate, went into that same fire, and the two together attained the highest state.

यः सायमतिथिं प्रातर्यथाशक्ति न पूजयेत् । तस्यासौ दुष्कृतं दत्त्वा सुकृतं चापकर्षति ॥

Moral: Whoever fails to honour, as best he can, a guest who comes at evening or at dawn — that guest leaves him his own sins and carries away his merit.

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