The Greedy Jackal: A Short Panchatantra Story with a Moral on Greed

A Peaceful Pasture and a Shepherd’s Flute

Nestled in the river’s fertile catchment, a village shepherd began each day by leading his flock to the lush pastures that thrived there year-round. This was a land of plenty: a sea of perennial green grass broken by islands of dense, shady groves. These groves teemed with life—the quick flash of a hare, the graceful leap of a deer, and the sly slink of a jackal or fox.

For the shepherd, it was a peaceful routine. As his sheep grazed contentedly, he would rest beneath a broad tree, filling the air with the melancholy notes of his flute. When the sun began to sink, he would herd his flock home, secure them in their pen, and leave the watchful sheep-dog to stand guard through the silent hours of the night.

The shepherd used to take his flock to the catchment area for pasture everyday. While the sheep kept grazing green grass, the shepherd stood under a shady tree and played on his flute.

The Two Rams: A Clash of Horns and Tempers

Among the flock were two rams, locked in a perpetual feud. Their ritual was as predictable as the sunset. After grazing to build their strength, they would seek each other out, standing snout to snout to exchange fiery glares that promised violence. This silent challenge would inevitably erupt into a brutal duel, the thunderous crash of their colliding horns echoing through the pasture.

The shepherd’s attempts to separate them were futile. They were sworn enemies, slaves to their own rage. Bleeding and bruised, they would only retreat to gather momentum for the next devastating charge, determined to strike with the full, terrible might of their bodies.

The rams, sworn enemies as they were, would start fighting as when they were in a mood to do so. Regardless of their bleeding foreheads, they would go back and then run fast to strike with their full might.

A Watchful Eye from the Shadows: The Greedy Jackal

From the shadows of a grove, a jackal watched the daily battles. He was possessed by a gnawing greed, and the scent of blood in the air was a torment. As the rams clashed, he would lick his chops, his mind whispering, “If only I could taste that warm, rich blood… just one lick…”

A Cunning Plan Takes Shape

For days he watched, obsessed, scheming. Then, a wicked idea bloomed in his mind. “I will play the peacemaker,” he thought, a sly grin spreading across his muzzle. “I will step between them, pretending to end their quarrel. They will be grateful, and I will offer to tend their wounds… with my tongue. They will see a benefactor; I will get my feast.”

The Jackal’s Whisper: Planting Seeds of Deception

But a true peace would end his hopes. He needed their rage to continue. His greed demanded it. And so, a new plan took shape—one of manipulation. The next morning, as the flock settled, the jackal slunk toward one of the rams. “A word of warning,” he began, his voice dripping with false concern. “Your rival sought my teeth against you. I refused, of course. My loyalty is to the stronger beast. I would rather see you win, and I can help you ensure it.”

Cunning as jackals are, the greedy jackal never wanted that the rams should give up fighting. He knew that if it happened, he would not be able to taste their blood. So, he decided to incite them against each other.

“But how?” the ram grunted, his interest piqued.

“Precisely at the peak of your fight,” the jackal whispered, “I will intervene as a mediator. Your enemy will be confused, his guard will drop for a single, crucial moment. That is when you must strike. One decisive blow, and victory will be yours.”

The ram gave a slow, approving nod, convinced of the jackal’s support. Little did he know that the schemer’s loyalty was a phantom, born entirely of gluttony. “Now,” the jackal said, slinking backward, “I must prepare. Give me some time to craft a perfect plan, and wait for my signal.”

A Tale Told Twice: Tricking the Second Ram

The very next day, the jackal approached the second ram. “A private word, great one,” he murmured with feigned respect, leading him away from the flock. “I bring grave news. Your adversary secretly asked for my aid to defeat you. I spurned him. My instincts favor the true champion. I wish to help you secure your victory—from the shadows, of course.”

Next day, the jackal went to the other ram to incite him against the other ram.

“How?” demanded the ram, impatiently stamping a hoof.

“With perfect timing,” the jackal purred. “In the heat of the clash, I will step between you. He will be startled—hesitate. In that single moment of confusion, you must put all your strength into one final, crushing blow. It will be over before he knows what happened.”

Having poisoned both minds with the same venomous promise, the jackal’s trap was set.

The Battle Begins: A Frenzy of Fury

The next day, the air crackled with tension. Ignoring the lush grass, the two rams circled one another, their hatred amplified by the jackal’s lies. With a roar, they collided. This was not their usual skirmish; it was a frenzy of raw fury. Their horns clashed with a sound like splitting wood, and soon their faces were masked with blood.

From his hiding place, the jackal watched, salivating. The time was right.

The Jackal’s Fatal Intervention

He darted onto the battlefield, crying out in a voice slick with false concern, “Stop this madness! Cease!”

Blinded by rage, the rams did not hear him. They broke apart, lowering their heads to charge again. The jackal, seeing his chance, scrambled directly into the space between them. “Listen to me!” he shrieked.

For a heartbeat, they paused, confused by the obstacle. They snorted, waiting for the fool to flee. But the jackal stood his ground, his eyes fixed not on them, but on the blood he craved.

It was the only chance they gave him.

With a simultaneous bellow, they launched forward. There was no time for the jackal to cry out. The world exploded into blinding pain as two mighty forces met with him at their center. There was a terrible, final crack, and the cunning trickster was crushed by the very violence he had engineered, falling lifeless to the trampled grass.

The jackal was crushed between their foreheads and fell down dead on the spot.

The Price of Greed: A Moral Revealed

And so, the jackal’s greed crafted a trap not for the rams, but for himself. He tasted the blood he so desired, but it was his own.

The two rams, their rage spent on the grisly accident, finally broke apart and wandered away, their feud forgotten. The flute of the shepherd once again carried over the peaceful pasture, a gentle melody underscoring a simple, ancient truth:

Greed is a curse that blinds us to danger. It promises a feast but delivers only a tragic end.

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