The Panchatantra (Purnabhadra's Recension of 1199 CE)/Book 5/Slow, the Weaver
SLOW, THE WEAVER
In a certain town lived a weaver named Slow. One day all the pegs in his loom broke. So he took an axe, and in his search for wood, came to the seashore. There he found a great sissoo tree, and he thought: "This seems a good-sized tree. If I cut it down, I can make plenty of weaving-tools." He therefore lifted his axe upon it.
Now there was a fairy in the tree who said: "My friend, this tree is my home. Please spare it. For I live here in utter happiness, since my body is caressed by breezes cool from contact with ocean billows."
"But, sir," said the weaver, "what am I to do? While I lack apparatus made of wood, my family is pinched by hunger. Therefore, please move elsewhere, and quickly. I intend to cut it down."
"Sir," said the fairy, "I have taken a liking to you. Ask anything you like, but spare this tree."
"In that case," said the weaver, "I will go home and return after asking my friend and my wife." And when the fairy consented, the weaver started home. On entering the town, he encountered his particular friend, the barber, and said: "My friend, I have won the favor of a fairy. Tell me what to ask for."
And the barber said: "My dear fellow, if it is really so, ask for a kingdom. You can be king, and I will be prime minister. So we shall both taste the delights of this world before those of the world to come."
"Quite so, my friend," replied the weaver. "However, I shall ask my wife, too." "Don't," said the barber. "It is a mistake to consult women. As the saying goes:
Give a woman food and dresses
(Chiefly when her trouble presses);
Give her gems and all things nice;
Do not ask for her advice.
And again:
Where a woman, gambler, child,
As a guide is domiciled,
Death advances, stage by stage—
So declares the ancient sage.
And once again:
Only while he does not hear
Woman's whisper in his ear.
May a man a leader be,
Keeping due humility.
Women seek for selfish treasures,
Think of nothing but their pleasures,
Even children by them reckoned
To their selfish comfort second."
And the weaver rejoined: "You may be right. Still, I shall ask her. She is a good wife."
So he made haste and said to her: "My dear wife, today we won the favor of a fairy. He offers anything we want. So I have come to ask you to tell me what to say to him. Here is my friend, the barber, who tells me to ask for a kingdom."
"Dear husband," said she, "what sense have barbers? Do not take his advice. For the proverb says:
All advice you may discard
From a barber, child, or bard,
Monk or hermit or musician,
Or a man of base condition.
"Besides, this king-business means a series of dreadful troubles and involves worry about peace, war, change of base, entrenchment, alliance, duplicity, and other matters. It never gives satisfaction. And even worse,
His very sons and brothers wish
The slaughter of a king;
As this is kingship's nature, who
Would not reject the thing?"
"Yes," said the weaver, "you are right. But tell me what to ask for." And she replied: "As it is, you turn out one piece of cloth a day, and this meets all our expenses. Now ask for a second pair of arms and an extra head, so that you may produce one piece of cloth in front and another behind. The price of one meets the household expenses, with the price of the other you may put on style and spend the time in honor among your peers."
On hearing this, he was delighted and said: "Splendid, my faithful wife! You have made a splendid suggestion. I am determined to follow it."
So the weaver went and laid his request before the fairy: "Well, sir, if you offer what I wish, pray give me a second pair of arms and an extra head." And in the act of speaking he became two-headed and four-armed.
But as he came home, delight in his heart, the people thought he was a fiend, and beat him with clubs and stones and things so that he died.
"And that is why I say:
He who, lacking wit, does not, . . . .
and the rest of it."
Then the wheel-bearer continued: "Yes, any man becomes ridiculous when bitten by the demon of extravagant hope. There is sense in this:
Do not indulge in hopes
Extravagantly high:
Else, whitened like the sire
Of Moon-Lord, you will lie."
"How was that?" asked the gold-finder. And the other told the story of