The Reward of Honesty

Serivan was a seller of pots and pans. He had a merchant friend, named Malli who was very greedy and mean. One day they crossed the river Televasta and reached the town of Anuradhapur. They settled between themselves to go about in different parts of the town.

In the same city there lived a poor family which has once been quite rich. The only survivors in the family now were two women, a young girl and her grandmother. Life was hard for them.

Lying among the old pots and pans in their house was golden bowl. It was out of use, so it looked dirty. Malli went past their door, crying, ‘Exchange your old pots for new!’

The young girl said, “Let’s buy a new plate, grandma! There is a pot seller in the street.”.

“But we have no money to pay for it, my child,” replied the old woman.

“Why, we can offer this old metal bowl in exchange,” said the girl.

Malli was called in. He examined the bowl and scratched a line on its bottom with a needle. His suspicion was right. It was pure gold. But he wanted to get it for nothing. He threw it on the floor, saying that it was useless and worthless. He got up and left the house.

The young girl was sad at the seller’s rudeness. But her grandmother wondered why he had behaved in such an insulting manner.

The next morning, Serivan visited that part of the town. Once again the young girl urged her grandma to get her a new plate. Most unwillingly, ht old lady called the potseller in. He looked gentle and honest. He too examined the dirty old bowl.

“Will you exchange this for a plate?” asked the young girl.

“Old mother, your bowl is pure gold, and worth a lot of money. I haven’t so much money on me.”

Both the women were astonished to hear this. “My son, it must be your touch which turned the bowl into gold. Take it! Give us anything in exchange,” said the old lady.

Serivan gave away all his new pots and also 500 silver coins which he had at that time. He kept with him just 8 coins to pay to boatman to take him across the river.

No sooner had Servan left the house than the greedy Malli turned up. He wanted to buy the bowl. The old woman scolded him for telling a lie in order to cheat her.

Malli began to curse Serivan for his loss.

“I shall have my revenge on that fool! Why did he undo my plan?”, he cried.

He rushed after Servian to the riverside. But the boat was already in the midstream. He shouted insults at Serivan, tore his clothes, los his balance of mind. His heart burst and he dropped down dead.

The End.

Tenali Raman and the Weightlifter

Tenali Raman and his wife were on their way to Hampi, the capital of Vijayanagaram. On the waythey passed through a village at the foot of a hill. The villagers had gathered in front of the village temple. Raman’s wife became curious and dragged her husband to the spot. Husband and wife pushed through the crowd to appear in the front row.

A body builder was exhibiting his strength. He was seen carrying a huge gunny bag on his left shoulder and twirling his moustache with his right hand.

“He is carrying a bog of 500 quintals of rice,” said the man standing next to Raman.

“This is nothing, I can carry a thousand times more weight,” said Raman in a loud voice.

Startled by this announcement, the body builder dropped the bag he was carrying. 

Everybody looked at Raman wondering whether a new champion had arrived.

Enjoying the attention, Raman addressed the crowd. “Why, I can carry that hill on my bare shoulder,” he said, pointing out the hill nearby.

The villagers gasped. Raman’s wife appeared tense. She had a suspicion that her husband had opened his mouth too wide. Meanwhile the body builder had recovered his wit. He laughed out loud and said, “Is that so? Let’s see you do it”.

The villagers were now excited. They had seen only Hanumanji carrying the Sanjeevani mountain - and that too in pictures. Now here was a man who claimed he could repeat the feat.

“I said I can do it. Did I say I’ll do it now? Asked Raman. “Carrying a hill requires a lot of preparation”, Raman added.

Turning to the weightlifter, Raman asked, “How long did you take to prepare for this feat of carrying the sack of rice?”

“Three months,” confessed the weight lifter.

“How long will you take?” the village Chief asked Raman.

“Six months”, said Raman without batting an eye.

Then Raman added. “I need to eat enormous amount of food to build my muscles. And I need someone to massage my body, daily”.

“And we need a place to live, we are outsiders”, said Raman’s wife.

The village chief agreed to provide the couple with a house and arrange the food supply. He directed the weight lifter to give Raman body massage daily.

“And we will meet here, exactly six months from now,” said the village chief getting up from the chair.

Raman’s wife was relieved. They did not have to wonder where the food would come from. For the next six months, at least.

Raman led a royal life in the village. Villagers supplied pots of milk, honey and curd. 

Cartloads of rice and ragi were delivered to their house. The body builder was available to cook food, and also give body massage to Raman every day.

The body builder who had become a Raman disciple by now asked Raman about the practice. “Would you like to begin with a small rock, then move on to bigger and bigger rocks?” he asked. Raman sent him away asking him to make ragi mudde (balls of steamed ragi flour).

Soon it was the D-day. The whole village assembled at the foot of the hill. Raman and his wife arrived in a decorated cart pulled by the body builder. The villagers received the weight lifter, Raman with a shout of joy.

The village chief gave a sign that the show could begin.

Raman stood in a circle with people seated all round. He sat in the warrior’s pose, Veeramudra, and announced he was ready.

The villagers were puzzled. The village chief became impatient. “What are you waiting for?” he barked.

“I’m waiting for your men to place the hill on my shoulder,” said Raman calmly.

Everybody gaped at Raman. The village chief shouted in anger “You said … “

Raman cut him short, “I said I will carry that hill. Even now I’m willing to carry the hill. I’m waiting for your men to place it on my shoulder.”

“But who will lift the hill?” asked the Village Chief in bewilderment.

“That’s your problem,” Raman said.

“Only Hanumanji can lift it,” said Raman’s wife.

The village chief joined his hands in salutation to Raman. “A man of your strength and determination should carry not a lowly hill, but Mount Kailas.” The villagers started laughing.

When they got back home, Raman asked his wife to pack, “We are leaving this village,” he said.

The End