The Sage and the Scorpion

Early in the morning, before the town woke, an old sage went down the stone steps to the river to bathe.

The water was cool and still. Mist lay over it in soft white bands. On the far side, a heron stood on one leg among the reeds, and somewhere a temple bell was ringing.

The sage waded in up to his waist, cupped water in his hands and let it run over his head. He said his morning prayers quietly, as he had done every day for more than fifty years.

Then he noticed something small, splashing in the water near the steps.

Something in the water

It was a scorpion.

It must have fallen from the stones above, or been carried down by the current from the bank. It was struggling hard, its legs paddling, its curled tail thrashing. But scorpions cannot swim, and each time it struggled it slipped a little further from the edge.

The sage watched it for a moment. It was going to drown.

He reached into the water, gently scooped the scorpion onto his palm, and began to lift it towards the steps.

The instant the scorpion felt his hand, it arched its tail and stung him.

A hot, sharp pain shot up his arm. The sage gasped. His hand jerked, and the scorpion tumbled back into the river.

Again

The sage stood still for a moment, holding his throbbing hand against his chest. He breathed slowly, waiting for the first wave of pain to pass.

The scorpion was still struggling in the water, weaker now.

The sage reached in and scooped it up again.

Again it stung him. Again his hand shook with the pain, and again the scorpion fell back into the river.

A young man had come down to the steps to fill his water pot. He had seen everything, and now he called out in astonishment.

"Swami! What are you doing? That's a scorpion! It has stung you twice. Leave it alone!"

The sage did not answer. His face was pale and his hand was swelling, but his eyes were still on the little creature in the water. He reached in a third time.

The scorpion stung him a third time.

But this time, before it could fall, the sage turned his hand and set it down on a dry stone on the step. The scorpion scuttled away into a crack in the wall and was gone.

A question on the steps

The sage climbed slowly out of the river and sat down on the bottom step. He was shaking a little. The young man put down his pot and hurried over to him.

"Swami," he said, "your hand! Let me fetch someone. Let me find a healer." Then, unable to stop himself, "But why did you do it? It stung you every time you tried to help it. It didn't want to be saved. You knew it would sting you again, and still you kept trying!"

The sage looked down at his hand for a while. Then he looked up and smiled, tiredly.

"My son," he said, "it is the nature of a scorpion to sting. It cannot help it. It does not know that I meant it no harm. It only knows that something large took hold of it, and it did what scorpions do."

He paused, and looked out at the river, where the mist was beginning to lift.

"And it is my nature to save," he said. "Why should I give up my nature just because the scorpion will not give up its own?"

The young man's thoughts

The young man helped the sage up the steps and found someone to bind his hand with cooling herbs. Then he went home, carrying his water pot, and he thought about what he had seen for the rest of the day.

He thought of a neighbour who was always rude to him, and how he had stopped greeting her. He thought of a brother who had once spoken unkindly, and how they had not really spoken since. They were being scorpions, he had told himself. So why should I bother?

Now he was not so sure.

The sage had not pretended the scorpion was harmless. He had not let it sting him for ever; in the end, he had found a way to put it down safely. But he had not let it change him, either. He had not decided, because the scorpion was cruel, to become cruel himself.

The next morning, the young man greeted his neighbour.

She did not greet him back. He did it again the morning after, and the morning after that.

It was not easy. But it was his nature, he decided, to be kind. And he did not intend to give it up.

About this story

This short teaching story is told across India and is now known all over the world, sometimes with a sage, sometimes with a monk or a wandering holy man. Its exact origin is not known. Many tellers add that being true to your own nature does not mean letting yourself be hurt again and again: you may help the scorpion, but it is wise to find a leaf or a stick to lift it with. This version is a shortened, simplified retelling.