“What?” Suku gasped. “That was so inauspicious.”
“Of course it was,” said Kalu. “At least for me. King Athi thought it signaled an unhappy marriage and ordered his men to put me to death.”
Veera bristled with anger. “No one should be put to death for sneezing,” he said. “That’s not fair.”
“Didn’t anyone try to help you?” asked Suku. He felt the same way as Veera, now that he had heard the man’s story. How could they send him back to King Athi, who had been so rash and selfish?
“The new queen intervened,” said Kalu. “She begged for mercy.”
“Did that work?” asked Veera.
“A little,” said Kalu. “The king allowed me to choose how I wanted to die. But die I must, he said.”
“That’s terrible,” said Veera.
“I escaped from the wedding hall,” said Kalu. “And I’ve been running ever since.”
“Maybe King Athi will have cooled down by now?” asked Suku.
“No chance of that,” said the man, showing a parchment with his name and a reward for catching him written on it.
Suku and Veera sat down on the temple steps. They had to send the man back to Sheetalpur. But they didn’t want him to be put to death, either. Was there another way?
“Maybe he should choose poison,” said Suku. “That would be quick.”
“You’re not helping,” said Veera.
“Maybe he should be trampled by an elephant?” asked Suku.
“Don’t be like that,” said Veera.
“Maybe every day for a month he could read the stories you write,” said Suku. “That would kill him for sure.”
“Very funny,” said Veera. “Maybe he could read your poems. That would kill him instantly.”
“It hasn’t killed you,” said Suku.
“That’s because I’ve become immune to them,” said Veera. At that moment, something clicked in his head.
“Maybe —” began Suku.
“Wait a moment,” said Veera. “I think I’ve found a way to save Kalu.”
“What’s that?” asked Suku.
“Kalu, you could die of old age,” said Veera. “That would satisfy the king’s decree and let you live until you are old.”
Kalu’s eyes lit up. That was perfect. The boys had saved his life.
“You’re a genius,” said Suku. “But he should stop going to weddings or sneezing, or both, until he’s really old.”
Veera instructed his guards to take Kalu back to Sheetalpur. Kalu was confident of escaping King Athi’s wrath and relieved to be going back home to see his family.
“Now, it’s time I beat you at gilli-danda,” said Suku.
“I may beat you today,” said Veera.
“Not a chance — not even when you’re old and wrinkled,” said Suku, riding ahead.
Suku’s aunt Chandra was a washerwoman. While she worked, she sang songs about the forests and the trees, the rivers and the bees. People in the village often stopped outside her house to listen. Like all washerwomen, she had a donkey.
The donkey carried her load to and from the river and sang with her whenever it pleased. But of course the donkey’s braying was not sweet like Chandra’s voice. Like any other donkey’s, its braying was loud and harsh.
One evening, Suku saw his aunt Chandra in the market.
“Hello, Aunt Chandra,” said Suku. “How are you today?”
“Same old, same old,” said Chandra. “Every day I get into a fight with the potter next door.”
“Why?” asked Suku.
“The potter gets upset about everything I do: ‘You beat your clothes too loudly,’ he says. ‘Your donkey brays too loudly; your singing is horrible.’”
“But you sing beautifully,” said Suku. “That man must have no taste.”
“Mark my words, nephew,” said Chandra, “one day that potter is going to bring lots of trouble and drop it on my doorstep.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen,” said Suku. “But if it does, I’ll be there to help you.”
One day, the potter was working on a vase for a rich man. It was a special order worth a lot of money. The potter had spent hours preparing the clay and setting it up on his potter’s wheel. He didn’t want anything to go wrong.
The clay was poised on the wheel as it began to spin. Slowly, the vase began to take shape in the potter’s deft hands. Just when he was curving his fingers to shape the neck of the vase, he heard “Hee-haw! Hee-haw!”
The potter was so startled that he let go of the vase. Now it lay splattered on the ground in a big lump. He would have to start all over again. The potter was enraged at the donkey and at the washerwoman, who had allowed the donkey to sing. “No one should encourage donkeys to sing,” he mumbled. “Enough is enough. I’m going to get rid of the woman and her donkey once and for all.”
That night he lay awake plotting an evil plan.
Early the next morning, the potter stood in the line to meet King Bheema.
“What can I do for you?” asked the king.
“I have not come to ask for help, Your Majesty,” said the potter. “I have come to help you.”
The king was astonished. How could the man possibly help him? Was he a spy? A wise man with advice? Or an astrologer with a prediction for the forthcoming year?
“Do tell me,” said King Bheema. “I’m intrigued.”
“I’m a potter, Your Majesty,” said the man. “I saw Airavata, the celestial elephant that belongs to Indra, the god of thunder, in my dreams.”
“I hear that’s a good omen,” said the king, still unsure why the man was in his court.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the potter. “But I wondered why that dream came to me. That’s when I realized it wasn’t for me. I don’t have any elephants. The gods were sending a message to you through me.”
“And what message would that be?” asked the king.
“Even though your royal elephants are tall and strong,” said the potter, “they are still as gray as the monsoon clouds.”
The king wasn’t sure if the man was insane or genuinely trying to help. He decided to listen to him — after all, that’s why he kept the doors to his court open.
“What should I do?” asked King Bheema.
“I know someone who can wash your elephants and turn them as white as Airavata,” said the potter.
“Really?” said the king. “Who is that?”
“My neighbor, the washerwoman Chandra,” said the potter. “She could turn even the grayest of clothes white. She would be perfect for the job.”
The king was amused. Who was this miracle woman who could turn his elephants from gray to white? Was the potter trying to get a job at the palace for his neighbor?
“Bring the washerwoman to my court tomorrow,” ordered the king.
When the news spread about the potter’s dream and his suggestion to the king, everyone was afraid for Chandra. How could she change the color of the elephants?
Soon the rumors reached Chandra, too. She was worried. She had known the day would come when the potter would bring her harm. What was she going to do? Maybe Suku could help, she thought. Suku visited the king often and was friends with the prince. Maybe Suku could tell the king about the potter’s ploy.
Chandra went to Suku’s house and explained the situation. “Tell me how to get out of this,” she begged.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Chandra,” said Suku. “I’ll come up with something.”
Suku didn’t waste a moment. He set off to the palace to see Prince Veera.
“I need your help, my friend,” said Suku. He told Veera about the tiff between the potter and his aunt and how it had reached the palace.
“I don’t like this at all,” said Veera. “It is one thing to have a disagreement with a neighbor; everyone does.”
“We have seen so many cases of that,” agreed Suku. He recalled the neighbors fighting about wells and water, mango pickles and precious gems.
“But to
bring it to the king and make him party to their feud,” said Prince Veera, “well, that’s crossing the line.”
“And she is my aunt,” said Suku. “I need to help her.”
“I’m sure Father will be fair,” said Veera. “We should teach the potter a lesson, though.”
Suku agreed. They couldn’t just complain about the potter to the king. They needed a plan.
“Can you show me how your aunt washes clothes?” said Veera.
“Like everyone else, I suppose,” said Suku.
“I have never washed my own clothes,” said Veera. “So show me.”
Suku took Veera back to his aunt’s house in the village. She had bundles of dirty clothing to wash.
“I soak the clothes in big pots, like this,” explained Chandra. “Then I beat them on a stone. After that I wash them in the river and dry them on the riverbank.”
Veera watched with fascination. I should learn about all the trades in my kingdom, he thought. Now every time he put on clean clothes, he would appreciate the work that went into washing them.
“What if you had to wash a big blanket?” asked Veera.
“I would need a bigger pot,” said Chandra. “I would get one from the market. The potter next door has a shop there.”
Veera smiled. “I think I know how to outwit the potter,” he said. “But you must do what I tell you.” Then Veera explained his plan to Suku and Chandra.
That night Chandra slept peacefully. She knew the prince’s idea would save her from the wrath of the king and perhaps even stop the potter from bothering her again.
Early the next morning, the king summoned the washerwoman to the court. Prince Veera and Suku were there, too.
“I order you to wash my elephants and turn them white, just like Airavata, the celestial elephant in the skies,” said King Bheema. He was sure the woman would refuse. Who could do such a task?
The washerwoman didn’t seem perturbed at all. She smiled at the king and said, “Of course, Your Majesty. May I see your elephants first?”
The king was taken aback.
“Perhaps we should invite the potter, too, to come with us to the stables,” said Prince Veera. “After all, it was his dream.”
The king agreed, and the potter was summoned. When he arrived, he joined the king and his entourage as they walked to the stables with Chandra, Veera, and Suku.
Chandra entered the stables. She walked around the first elephant. She took out a string and measured the elephant. She touched its back and its trunk. Then she repeated the same process with the second elephant. She pursed her lips, nodded, and muttered to herself.
The king watched with amusement as she considered the task. Suku and Veera were watching the potter. He looked far more afraid than the washerwoman.
Finally, after a few minutes of inspection, Chandra stepped out of the stables. She looked at the king solemnly and said, “I think I can wash these elephants and turn them white, Your Majesty.”
“What?” the king exclaimed in surprise.
“But I need a few supplies before I can get to work.”
“What do you need?” asked Veera.
“I need two pots to soak each of these elephants in,” she said. “The pots need to be big and strong enough to hold the elephants overnight.”
The king caught on quickly. He looked at Veera and Suku, who were grinning from ear to ear.
The king turned to the potter and said, “Dear man, your idea was wonderful. Now I am relying on you to make the biggest, strongest pots to soak my elephants in.”
The potter gasped. His mouth fell open in shock. “B-but . . .” he stammered.
“Come with the pots,” said the king, “as soon as you can.”
The potter ran from the stables back to his house. He packed his bags and left the village, lest the king should send soldiers asking for the pots.
Chandra left the palace happy. She had managed to thwart the potter’s ploy.
“So tell me, boys,” said the king. “Did the washerwoman have any help?”
Suku nodded and pointed at Veera. “She is my aunt, Your Majesty,” he said. “And I’m grateful to Veera for helping me.”
“I knew it,” said the king. “Well done!”
That night the village celebrated the potter’s defeat and Chandra’s victory with a big feast. The guests of honor were Prince Veera and his best friend, Suku.
A few days later, a poet was invited to the king’s court. It was customary for visiting poets to recite some verses in honor of the king and his kingdom. The king would then reward the poet with money and perhaps even a title.
The poet spent the whole morning reciting poems about the king’s generosity. The king rewarded him with a lavish lunch with himself and his courtiers. In the afternoon, the poet recited poems about how the kingdom was filled with clever people. He read out many verses exalting the wisdom of not just the king and his court, but every citizen in the kingdom.
Prince Veera and Suku listened to the last few verses from the balcony upstairs. “The poet is very talented,” said Suku.
“He exaggerates,” said Prince Veera. “He’s just trying to impress Father.”
“It’s not so easy to impress you,” said Suku.
That evening, after the poet had set off on his journey with a cart full of gifts, the king was in a good mood.
“I agree with the poet,” said the king. “Our kingdom is filled with wise men and women. We have no fools.”
Prince Veera nudged Suku. “I told you,” he whispered. “The poet has given Father a high horse.”
“What horse?” asked King Bheema, catching the last word in Veera’s sentence.
“You shouldn’t believe everything the poet said, Father,” said Veera. “He used the word wise just to rhyme with nice.”
“I’m not that naïve,” said the king. “I sincerely believe I don’t have any fools in my kingdom.”
“What if I prove you wrong?” said Veera. “Suku and I will make our way through the village and find five fools. We’ll meet you at the palace gardens in an hour.”
The king smiled. “You’re bored, I think,” he said. “I challenge you to find a single fool, let alone five.”
Veera and Suku set off toward the village. On their way, they met a woman who was searching for something in the river.
“What are you looking for?” asked Suku.
“My gold ring,” said the woman.
“When did you lose it?” asked Suku.
“This afternoon, when I was working.”
“Where were you working?” asked Suku.
“In the mangrove,” said the woman.
“Why are you looking in the river if you lost the ring in the mangrove?” asked Prince Veera.
“You’re so silly,” said the woman. She had not recognized the prince. “The mangrove is dark now. But the river is well lit. There’s a better chance of finding the ring here.”
“Come with me,” said the prince. “We’ll get someone to find your ring for you tomorrow.”
So the woman followed the boys as they walked to the village.
On their way, they met a farmer on a donkey, with a bundle of firewood on his head.
“Dear man,” said Prince Veera, walking alongside the donkey. “Why don’t you place the firewood on the donkey’s back?”
The man was aghast at the suggestion. “Can’t you see my donkey is very tired?” asked the man. “How can I burden it with the firewood, too?”
Prince Veera invited the man to join them. Suku offered to carry the firewood until they reached the palace.
As the party of four made their way through the village, they saw a man lying on his back in the street. His hands were in the air and he was calling out to people to help him get up.
What is he doing? wondered Prince Veera.
Suku placed the bundle of firewood on the ground and asked the man about his predicament.
“Can’t you see my hands are far apart?” answered
the man. “How can I get up without moving them?”
“Why are you holding them apart?” asked Suku.
“Because that’s the length of the fabric my wife asked me to bring from the shops.”
“Why are you on the ground, then?” asked Prince Veera. “Surely the fabric shop is not down there?”
“I slipped on a banana peel and fell,” said the man. “I can’t get up without moving my hands. And if I move my hands, I’ll forget the measurement.”
Prince Veera and Suku helped the man up without holding his hands and asked that he, too, come with them.
“Our job is done here,” said Veera. “Let’s go to the palace.”
“But . . .” said Suku. They had only three fools with them. Veera had promised the king he would find five.
“Trust me,” said Veera.
Suku smiled. Veera must have something up his sleeve.
When they reached the palace, the king was pacing in the gardens impatiently.
“There you are,” he said. “I’m sure you found no fools in my kingdom.”
“I found five soon enough, Your Highness,” said Veera.
The king looked at the woman who was crying for her ring, the farmer on the donkey, and the man with his hands held far apart. Veera explained why he had brought them.
“There are only three,” said the king. “Have you failed?”
“You haven’t counted all the fools,” said Veera. “In addition to the three I brought, you already know the other two.”
The king looked puzzled.
“The fourth fool is me, Your Majesty, for going on an errand to fetch fools,” said Veera. “And the fifth fool is you, who got taken in by the words of the poet and believed that your kingdom could have no fools.”
Suku gasped. Had Veera crossed the line? He had just called the king a fool!
The king was silent. The garden was quiet except for the call of the birds returning home to roost.
Mangoes, Mischief, and Tales of Friendship Page 6
