Sanjivaka said, "Friend, you speak out of affection, but Pingalaka is noble by nature. He has shown me great favour. I shall not abandon him."

Seeing that his words had failed to move Sanjivaka, Damanaka took leave of him and returned to Karataka.

Karataka asked, "Friend, what has come of your effort?"

Damanaka replied, "I warned Sanjivaka, but he places complete trust in Pingalaka and would not listen. Therefore I must now turn Pingalaka against him."

Karataka said, "How can you hope to separate two who have become such close companions? Pingalaka is powerful, and Sanjivaka is wise. Your undertaking is no easy one."

Damanaka smiled. "My friend, strength alone does not always prevail. Wisdom and well-chosen means often accomplish what force cannot. Listen, and I shall tell you a story."

The Crows and the Serpent

In a certain forest stood a great banyan tree. High among its broad branches lived a pair of crows, husband and wife, while deep within a hollow of the same tree dwelt a black serpent. Whenever the crows' young were born, the serpent crept up and devoured them before they had even begun their lives. Though this sorrow visited them again and again, the crow could not bring himself to abandon the tree, for it had long been his home. Indeed, those who have lived long in one place seldom leave it. Crows, timid men, and deer cling to familiar ground, while lions, noble men, and elephants leave a place only when honour demands it.

One day the mother crow, her heart broken by the loss of so many of her young, said to her husband, "My lord, this wicked serpent has robbed us of child after child. I can bear this grief no longer. Let us leave this tree and seek another home. There is no friend like good health, no enemy like disease, no love greater than the love of one's children, and no sorrow greater than their loss. Tell me, who can live in peace if his fields lie beside a river, if his wife gives her affection to another, or if a serpent has made its dwelling beneath his roof? As long as that serpent remains in this tree, we too shall never know peace."

The crow listened quietly before replying. "Dear one, your sorrow is mine as well. Yet we have lived in this tree for many years, and it is not easy to forsake the place where one has long made a home. Still, I shall not abandon hope. If I cannot overcome the serpent by strength, I shall overcome him by wisdom."

The female crow looked at him anxiously. "This serpent is swift, venomous, and powerful. How can you hope to destroy him?"

The crow answered, "I may not possess the strength to fight him myself, but I have wise friends who understand the ways of the world and are skilled in counsel. I shall seek their advice, and by their wisdom this wicked serpent shall soon meet his end."

With that resolve, the crow flew to another tree where an old jackal, his trusted friend, had long made his home. The jackal welcomed him warmly and, seeing the sorrow upon his friend's face, asked what had happened.

The crow told him everything—the serpent's dwelling in the hollow of the banyan tree, the repeated loss of their young, and the despair that had fallen upon his household. "Friend," he said, "our family is being destroyed before our eyes. Tell me what should now be done. Unless some remedy is found, our home is lost."

The jackal remained silent for a time, considering the matter carefully. At length he said, "Do not lose heart. The death of that cruel serpent is nearer than you think. One need not always repay evil with strength, for the wicked often bring destruction upon themselves, just as trees growing upon the bank of a river are eventually swept away. And this reminds me of another tale. A certain heron, after devouring many fishes through deceit and greed, at last met his own death at the claws of a crab."

The crow said, "Friend, how did that happen?"

The jackal began story of The Heron, the Fishes, and the Crab.