Of Crows and Owls

There was once a great shady banyan tree, full of birdsong. A king of the crows named Meghavarna had made his home in it. He had an enemy, Avamarda, the king of the owls.

One night the owl king made a surprise attack on the banyan tree. He defeated the crows, killed many of them, and flew away.

Next morning Meghavarna called his ministers together. “Our enemy is powerful,” he said. “He has beaten us once, and he could gather a huge army and attack again. We must find a way to protect ourselves.”

The first minister said, “When an enemy is stronger, you must either move to another country or make peace with him.”

The second said, “There is no danger just yet. Let us study what the enemy means to do and what strength we have, and then do our best.”

The third said, “Better to die than to give in or run away. We should go and fight. A brave king with allies beats his enemies.”

The fourth said, “He is too strong to beat in battle. Let us make a truce with him, and kill him when we get a chance.”

Then the oldest minister spoke. His name was Chirajívin, which means “long-lived.” “What truce?” he said. “Who would carry the message? Crows and owls have been at war since the beginning of time. No, this must be done by cunning. Cunning is the root of every kingdom.”

“You are old,” said the king. “Tell me first, if you know it, how this war between crows and owls began.”

“It all began with a few careless words,” said Chirajívin.

And he told the king this story. Once, long ago, the birds had no king. They all gathered together, bringing a royal umbrella and a fan of yak’s hair, ready to crown the owl as king of all the birds. Just then a crow flew overhead and saw what they were doing.

“You fools!” he cried. “Aren’t there other birds, like the cuckoo? Why choose this cruel-eyed, unpleasant, wicked-looking owl? You should choose a brave king whose very name brings good luck.” He told them a tale of an elephant king frightened away by a clever hare, and another about a false holy cat. “You cannot trust a creature with a wicked nature,” he said, “so you must not make this owl your king.”

The birds saw the sense in what he said. They gave up the crowning and flew off in every direction. But the owl turned to the crow. “Remember this,” he said. “From this day you and I are enemies.” And he went away in a rage. The crow felt, for a moment, that he had been right. But he was troubled all the same, as anyone is who has started a dangerous quarrel just by speaking.

“So that is how our feud with the owls began,” said Chirajívin. “And the owls are many and strong, and you cannot beat them in battle. When enemies are many, they can win even against the truth, as a gang of rogues once talked a Brahmin into believing his goat was a dog. So here is my plan. Pull out some of my feathers and leave me lying under this tree. Then take everyone to that hill over there and wait until I come back with the job done.”

The king agreed. He plucked out some of Chirajívin’s feathers, pretending to be furious, and left him lying under the tree. Then he flew off to the mountain with all his crows.

That night the owl king came back with his followers and found the banyan tree empty. Then from below came a feeble caw. The owl king flew down and found Chirajívin lying on the ground. “Who are you?” he asked in surprise. “And why are you in this state?”

Chirajívin answered in a weak voice, as if he were in great pain. “I am Chirajívin, the crow king’s minister. My king wanted to attack you, as his other ministers advised. But I scolded them, and told him, ‘If you want my advice, do not make war on the mighty king of the owls. Try to make friends with him instead.’ The foolish king shouted that I was on your side. He and his followers pecked me until I was like this, threw me down under the tree, and went off somewhere.” Then he sighed and turned his face to the ground.

The owl king asked his ministers what should be done with this crow.

“Good people spare even a thief who has helped them,” said one named Díptanayana. “This crow has tried to help us, so we should spare him.”

“Spare him,” agreed another named Vakranása. “He knows our enemies’ secrets, and a quarrel between their king and his minister can only be good for us.”

But the last minister, Raktáksha, was wiser. “King,” he said, “these ministers are leading you to ruin. Anyone who understands such matters knows you must never trust an enemy whose family has always been your enemy. Do not spare this crow. If you do not watch him, he could destroy you in a moment, like a sudden sickness.”

The owl king would not listen. “This good creature was hurt trying to help us,” he said. “How can we not spare him? Besides, what harm can he do all by himself?” So he comforted Chirajívin.

Then Chirajívin said, “What use is life to me now? Bring me firewood so that I can throw myself on a fire, and I will pray to be born again as an owl, so that I can take revenge on that crow king.”

Raktáksha only laughed. “Our master will look after you well enough. Why do you need a fire? And you will never become an owl, as long as you have the nature of a crow. Every creature stays as its Creator made it.”

Chirajívin thought to himself, “This king ignores his one wise minister and listens to fools. My plan is working.” The owl king took him back to his own fortress, a cave in the hills, and kept him at his side, feeding him tasty morsels until his feathers grew back as glossy as a peacock’s.

One day Chirajívin said to the owl king, “King, let me go and cheer up that crow king and coax him back to his home. Then you can attack him tonight and kill him, and I can repay your kindness. But in the meantime, all of you should block your doorway with grass and leaves and stay inside the cave where your nests are, so that the crows cannot attack you by day.”

So the owls went into their cave and piled dry grass and leaves across the door and all the paths leading to it. And Chirajívin flew back to his own king.

He returned carrying a blazing stick from a funeral fire in his beak, and every crow following him carried a piece of wood. As soon as they arrived, Chirajívin set fire to the dry grass blocking the cave door. Every crow dropped his piece of wood onto the flames at the same moment. The fire roared up, and the owls were trapped inside, and every one of them perished, king and all.

Meghavarna was overjoyed, and he led his crows home to the banyan tree. There Chirajívin told him all about his life among the enemy. “The owl king had one good minister, Raktáksha,” he said. “I came through safely only because the king trusted too easily and would not follow that minister’s advice. That is how I won the fool’s trust and tricked him.” He told the king one last fable, about an old snake who pretended to serve the frogs, giving them rides on his back, until he had eaten them all.

“So a king must understand how to govern and keep control of himself,” said Chirajívin. “Good fortune is as fickle as a wave. But she stays loyal, as if tied with a rope, to a king who is steady, listens to good advice, and knows a true friend from a false one.”

Meghavarna heaped honours on his wise old minister, and from then on he ruled just as Chirajívin advised.

About this tale

This tale is the frame story of the crows and the owls, which forms the third book of the Panchatantra. It is retold here from the version in the Kathá Sarit Ságara, Somadeva’s eleventh-century Sanskrit collection, in the English translation by C. H. Tawney (Project Gutenberg #40588). In Somadeva’s book a prince’s minister tells it to show that even animals can rule well by using good sense.

Tawney’s footnote cites the scholar Benfey, who pointed to a scene in the Mahabharata. There a warrior lying under a sacred fig tree watches an owl kill many sleeping crows, and the sight gives him the idea for a night attack. Tawney adds that in the Arabic, Greek and Hebrew translations the enemies of the owls are ravens.

Read the original: C. H. Tawney, The Kathá Sarit Ságara (Ocean of the Streams of Story) by Somadeva (Project Gutenberg #40588)

Best for ages 9–12 — a story of war, spies and clever advice, including an acted threat of self-immolation and an entire community killed in a burning cave; adult preview is essential.

A closer reading

Chirajivin’s damaged feathers are genuine, but the story he tells about them is false. The owl king treats visible suffering as proof of political loyalty. Those are different questions: helping an injured stranger need not require placing him inside a fortress or following his security advice.

Raktaksha notices the strategic risk, but his claim that inherited enmity can never change is broader than the evidence establishes. The crow’s successful deception does not prove that every descendant of an enemy is untrustworthy. The ending also asks readers to separate victory from moral approval: the crows regain their home by burning all the owls, a devastating outcome rather than an uncomplicated model of good government.

Try this with the story

Sort the owl council’s statements into observations, assumptions and proposed safeguards. Design one response that offers care to the injured crow while checking his account and limiting access to the cave. Discuss how that differs from either instant trust or inherited suspicion.

Talk about it

• What do the injured feathers prove, and what do they fail to prove?
• Why is the instruction to block the cave entrance especially dangerous?
• Can a strategy succeed while leaving serious ethical questions about its cost?

More stories like this

• The Story of the Hare and the Partridge — the fable of the false holy cat that the crow tells the birds
• The Story of the Brahman and the Goat — the fable of the goat and the rogues told in this war
• The Brahmin, the Thief, and the Demon — another fable told at the owls’ council
• Elephants and Hares — A Panchatantra Story of Wit Over Might — the tale of the hare who frightened away the elephants