There is a deer who lives so deep in a certain forest that no one ever sees him. Men call him the Sarabha. My little one, if you listen when all the world is quiet, and the sun is far away, you may hear his voice coming faintly from the woods.
One day a king was hunting in this forest, and he penetrated so far, so far, that one of these fair Sarabhas passed within his view. “Who are you, beautiful creature?” he cried. But the Sarabha ran on and disappeared through the trees. “I will catch him,” exclaimed the King furiously, “he cannot escape me!” And darting forward upon his horse he shot arrows at the beautiful one. The arrows flew around the deer, but he feared them not, and ran over the grass as a bird flies through the air.
The king’s horse raced faster and faster, and the forest, the hills, the valleys passed by unseen. His hunting-men, his army, his elephant-troops were left behind in the forest, searching in vain for their King. All were forgotten; nothing more on earth existed for the King; only the beautiful one he was pursuing. “Run, run…. faster… faster!” cried the King in fury. The hoofs of his horse hardly touched the ground as he galloped through space. But suddenly they reached a deep chasm, which the Sarabha had leaped easily across. The King did not see the chasm; his eyes were set only on the quarry he was pursuing, but the horse perceived it and, not daring to jump, stopped suddenly at the edge, and the King was flung over his head deep into the chasm.
“Why do I no more hear the clatter of the horse’s hoofs?” thought the Sarabha, “Has the King turned away, or has he perhaps fallen in the chasm?” The Sarabha looked behind him and saw the horse running here and there riderless, and his heart was filled with sorrow. “The King has fallen into the chasm! He is all alone! His army is far away! Surely he is suffering more than another would suffer in such a plight, for he has an army, glittering with gold, a hundred elephants, and men to guard him and await his call. But now he is alone, poor King! I will save him, if he be still alive.”
Such were the thoughts of the Sarabha as he turned and went back to the chasm. On reaching the brink he looked down and saw his enemy lying in the dust, moaning. And, bending over, he spoke to him in a gentle voice: “King of men”, he said, “do not fear me. I am not a goblin who does harm to those who are lost and far from home. I drink the water you drink and eat the grass that grows o earth. I am able to help you, o King, and bring you out of this chasm. Trust me, I will come.”
“Do my eyes see truly?” thought the King, “Is this not my enemy, who has come to help me?” The King looked up at the Sarabha and his heart was full of shame. “Fair one”, he said, “I am not hurt over much, for the armour which covers me is strong. But the thought that I have been your enemy hurts me more than my wounds. Forgive me, blessed one.” Hearing these words, the Sarabha knew that the King trusted him and loved him. He descended into the chasm, and taking the King on his back, he climbed the high walls with a strength greater than that of the mightiest elephant, and brought him into the forest.
Then the King threw his arms around the Sarabha. “How can I thank you?” he said. “My palace, my country is yours, Come, dear one, return with me to the city. I cannot leave you here in the forest to be killed by hunters and wild animals.” “Great King”, said the Sarabha, “do not ask me to go to your palace. Here is my country, in this forest; the trees are my palaces. But if you wish to make me happy, grant then this favour, I pray. Hunt no more in the forest, that those who live beneath the trees may be happy and free.”
The King gave his promise gladly and returned to the palace, to the great joy of his people who welcomed him with cheers. Then without more ado he published a decree that henceforth none should hunt in the forest again, wherefore the King and his people and the animals in the forest all lived happy ever after.
