Kapota Jātaka

In ancient times, when King Brahmadatta ruled Varanasi, the Bodhisatta was reborn as a gentle, virtuous pigeon endowed with great wisdom and contented serenity. The King's royal cook, admiring the pigeon's quiet elegance, wove a cozy wicker nesting-basket, lined it with soft straw, and hung it beneath the rafters of the royal kitchen, providing the bird with water and leaving the kitchen window open so it could fly out to the forest at dawn to feed on wild grass seeds.

One day, a scruffy, gluttonous crow smelled the intoxicating aroma of roast fish and rich spiced meats wafting from the palace chimneys. Salivating with greed, the crow spied the well-fed pigeon flying gracefully into the kitchen window. Scheming to gain access to the royal meats, the crow approached the Bodhisatta with hypocritical flattery, praising his beauty and begging to become his companion and disciple. The wise pigeon immediately discerned the crow's treacherous appetite and warned him: 'Friend, our natures and diets are utterly dissimilar. Pigeons sustain life on seeds and grains, dwelling peacefully without theft. Crows crave meat and scavenge through violence and stealth. He who enters another's kitchen out of gluttony plays with fire and courts gruesome destruction.'

The crow pretended to accept the pigeon's holy guidance, but the following morning, when the Bodhisatta prepared to fly out to the meadows to forage, the crow feigned severe bellyache, groaning: 'Alas, brother! A sharp cramp grips my bowels; fly ahead to the fields, and let me rest in the warm basket.' The Bodhisatta warned him once more: 'Beware! Do not let thy belly be thy executioner!' As soon as the pigeon disappeared into the sky, the cook placed a steaming pot of royal mutton curry onto the sideboard and stepped into the pantry for herbs.

Seizing his moment, the ravenous crow plummeted from the rafters, plunged his beak into the boiling vessel, and attempted to drag out a massive chunk of fish and meat. In his haste, he knocked the heavy bronze lid with a deafening crash. Alerted by the din, the cook rushed in, slammed the door shut, and grabbed the squawking bird. In blistering fury at the spoiled royal feast, the cook plucked every single feather from the crow's wings, tail, and body until its pink skin was entirely bare. Then, crushing pungent pickled mustard seeds and rock salt into hot ginger brine, the cook rubbed the agonizing concoction thoroughly into every pore of the screaming crow and hurled him back into the basket.

When the Bodhisatta returned at dusk, he found his foolish companion writhing in torment, shivering in pools of blood and brine. With sorrowful detachment, the Bodhisatta uttered five solemn stanzas: 'The heedless fool who rejects the timely counsel of a true friend and succumbs to the tyranny of his palate must inevitably reap agonizing torment, even as this wretched crow lies plucked and pickled in his own folly.' Recognizing that the kitchen had become contaminated by violence, the Bodhisatta spread his wings and flew away to the tranquil forest.