Kidspeak: Don’t Push It Hard, Ye Fathers

openclipart father son jnanozero87

Father: Which one do you love more, me or Mommy?
Son: I love you both.
Father: Very Well, let’s say I went to Japan and Mommy went to France which country will you go to?
Son: Japan.
Father: See, you love Mommy more than me?
Son: No, I just want to visit Japan.
Father: Let’s say I went to Japan and Mommy went to France which country will you go to?
Son: France.
Father: See?
Son: No, its just because I have already visited Japan.

End

 

 

 

Source: jokes-best.com and image from openclipart.org (jnanozero87)

It’s Kodakandan And Vidakandan Again! A Story For Children

It’s unfortunate the lore of Kodakandan (the guy loathes parting with) and Vidakandan (the guy who never lets up) has not gained currency as much as Tenali Raman of Akbar Birbal stories. Nonetheless the stories are fun to read wherein the duo try outwitting each other and sometimes as in this piece…

Here we go:

Part 1

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‘Listen,’ Kodakandan looked around nervously if someone is overhearing them. ‘I learnt thru my sources the siddhar (1) has arrived. He would be in the cave only for a day or two before he disappears into the forest again. Not many know about it yet and even fewer know about his powers. I’m going to the hills to meet him carrying with me jack fruits and honey – for that’s what he loves to have. And when he’s sated and happy, I would get him to cast his grace on these stones.’ He opened his palm to reveal a few ‘stones’ that were like black pepper seeds, no larger. ‘If it’s like last year – no reason for it to be otherwise – they would turn into lustrous pebble-sized gem stones! And, man, we would be rich beyond wildest dreams.’

Vidakandan: ‘I’m glad this year you’re taking more stones with you unlike in the past when you brought back just one that still let us live in style for one whole year. With so many this time, I’m already seeing visions of us wallowing in unimaginable luxury and fun for all times to come.’

Kodakandan: ‘Yes, my friend. Don’t breathe a word about this to anyone, even to your own shadow. A stampede outside the cave is not very conducive to receiving favor from the siddhar. Take care of yourself while I’m gone for no more than a couple of days. Perhaps you could take shelter in the Shiva temple near the river.’

The conversation reached the ears of the rich man inside the house behind them as intended and drew him out of his house.

‘Hey strangers, you must pardon me for overhearing you, not that I really wanted to. Come inside, come inside…I may have a proposition mutually profitable to us.’

With appropriate expression of shock and surprise at a third person becoming privy to their well-guarded secret and with due reluctance, they allowed themselves to be invited into the house.

‘Permit me, please, to be your host, first. Fortunately, it’s time for breakfast. Join me – always, belly before business, I say, eh?’ He believed a full belly made one feel expansive and generous – it always worked for him in negotiations.

Holding Kodakandan by hand he led them to the dining place. Keeping with his social standing, the fare was sumptuous and finger-lickingly delicious, bringing out the hungriest hogs in them.

And then, the business.

‘Why do you trouble yourself climbing the hills alone? You don’t appear heavy. My men could easily carry you all the way to the cave without breaking sweat. And with you, a sack-full of jack fruits and honey that would be hard for the siddhar to grow tired of.’

Kodakandan: ‘Won’t work. I must do it alone. There’re certain niyamam’s and nishtai’s (prescribed do’s and don’ts) to be observed diligently while approaching a siddhar, even more than going to a temple. It’s not some tourist spot to visit. Also, any crowd and commotion at his cave-step – well, he might just pack up and go back to the forest.’

‘Okay, okay, so be it. I was merely trying to help. While you’re away, your colleague can be my guest in this house. You may not know this…the Shiva temple is locked up in nights to allow the spirits and snakes to pray in peace.’

Vidakandan went pale for a moment and felt relieved at the next. A narrow escape if ever: ‘Oh…we are grateful for your kindness; and what do we owe you…’

‘Well, nothing much…I’ve this pricey pebble-sized gem stone. If it could be made egg-sized or, even better, rock-sized…could be a small rock, you see. One can’t get too greedy. You’ll be rewarded well for your effort. A purse of gold coins, eh?’

Kodakandan thought about it, eyes crinkled, forehead furrowed.

‘We’ll do better than that to repay your kindness. I’ll carry two stones for you, if you have them.‘

‘You’re a large-hearted person, just as I thought. Two? I could spare two dozen, if you ask.’

Ask Kodakandan did, though it was something else: ‘And make it two purses, one for each of us. Now if you can get those stones, I’ll be on my way – must reach up there before noon.’

A little disappointed at the cost escalation, he went in and returned presently with a small leather pouch and the stones in hand. What the duo saw before them was absolutely eye-popping – two of the finest specimens they had ever set their eyes on, goose-berry sized, flawless and brilliant blue in color.

‘I still have a question before we proceed…are you guys close?’

‘Close? We’re like brothers…only born to different parents. Thicker than thieves. Once for me it was a zamindar’s daughter in marriage or him. What do you think I did?’

‘Okay, that’s settled. Now, be careful with these gems…they cost a king’s money. I’m trusting you with them. And quit worrying about your friend here. Until you return, he’ll be my guest, I insist.’

Hostage would be more apt, Vidakandan thought. And there was always this element of risk: Would his mate now with gems in his possession return to get his friend released? Of course, he would – they were in it together – unless he veered off their plans.

Kodakandan: ‘Lay all your doubts to rest, Sir. Instead, get busy filling up the purses to bursting. Will be back by tomorrow noon. For the last day in your life you’re a millionaire…from tomorrow you’ll be a multi-millionaire!’

To Vidakandan, ‘Don’t worry, my friend, I won’t be a minute later than necessary. Meanwhile enjoy the hospitality of out generous host.’

So, he took off not forgetting to procure from his host a couple of jack fruits and a pot of honey, its mouth closed by a piece of cloth.

Part 2

Following day, beyond noon, the rich man was getting increasingly restless with each passing hour. What if the siddhar did not like the jack fruits or he no longer dispensed favors or worse, he was ‘over the hill’ with his tricks. Could it be that Kodakandan lost his way in the hills? The fool had insisted on it doing it alone. Or, was it all a scam? With all these thoughts swirling in his head, the rich man was losing his congeniality like water hissing away on a hot tava.  As the shadows grew longer, he turned downright hostile. He had Vidakandan bound to a pillar with ropes. A search team was assembled to be sent up the hills to hound Kodakandan out of his hiding if he ever was and another to scour the neighboring villages if he had taken to his heels.

Just when the ‘dogs’ were ready to be unleashed, Kodakandan was sighted rounding the corner on his way to the rich man’s house.

Quickly Vidakandan was freed with profuse apologies and made comfortable. The rich man went half-way out with open arms to welcome Kodakandan. Once inside and seated, an attendant rushed to his side to fan him, another fetched him a glass of refreshing nimbu pani

Business is never crass, business never waits.

‘So, man, honestly, we were all quite worried if you’ll return at all. I’m sure you’ll not blame a man for having anxious moments after he had parted with his riches without any commensurate collateral.’

If Vidakandan was cut to the quick with this assessment of his worth as abysmal, neither the rich man nor Kodakandan seemed to take note.

‘My good friend, I’m all ready to receive…you may unload the goodies now and restore my cheer.’

A somber faced Kodakandan made no move.

The rich man’s ardor cooled down by a few notches on noticing a distinct lack of spirit on the part of Kodakandan.

‘What happened? Where are my gems? The siddhar didn’t work on them?’

‘Well, he did. There’s good news and bad news for you.’

‘Don’t talk in riddles. I’m in no mood to…’

‘The bad news first: Your gems were in fact germs afflicting you…they’re gone…they just turned into ashes in siddhar’s hands.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Yes, I saw it happen right before my eyes.’

‘I can’t believe this…’

‘Now to the good news: Siddhar said these stones of yours would have brought you untold misery in the days ahead. It was good riddance – those were his words to be precise. Your run of bad days is behind you and things will look up now, he assured.’

The rich man struggled in his mind if he should be happy or sad at this. What was he blabbering about bad days? He enjoyed sanguine health, his business flourishing…wait a minute…but then the harvest failed for the first time only after he appropriated the stones – the tenant had died on him before repaying the loan in full; a couple of months ago his prized cows perished from some unknown ailment. To cap it all, the king turned cold after a jealous neighbor had filled his ears about him – falling out of the king’s favor would have far more deleterious consequences for him…mmm…He had so far not connected these dots. Only now it all seemed to make sense…

On the other hand, these two guys might just be conning him out of his priceless gems.

How was he to figure out what it was?  Maybe he should lock them up and give them a sound thrashing to see if they change their siddhar story and come clean.

While he was weighing his options, there was commotion outside his house. To his great trepidation, it was a man from the royal court bringing him a message.  It was a personal invitation from the king for him to attend a pooja in the palace clearly pointing to his reinstatement in the king’s good books, a happy augury for the times ahead! How did this happen? Perhaps the king finally saw thru the web of lies about him? Not of an inquiring disposition, he let it be. Anyway, all is well as they say that ends well.

His thoughts went back to the siddhar – his prophecy was indeed playing out right!

And on the debit side, the stones were never his in the first place. The hapless tenant had almost paid back the loan in full before his untimely death. A loss, if any, was amply compensated many times over by his regaining of the king’s favor.

Overjoyed at the turn of events, the rich man expressed his gratitude in good measure by presenting them with their purses of gold coins and much more.

The duo took leave and headed away as fast as their legs could carry.

Part 3

On reaching a big city far removed the rich man’s place, they would sell the pebble-sized blue stone to a merchant not wanting to know about its provenance. Should fetch them a good deal though not the market price. If you are wondering, yes, it was one of the two stones that the rich man had parted with.

What had happened to the other stone? Well, to keep the story short: the king was immensely pleased to receive a rare and precious gem as a present from the rich man so discreetly sent thru his personal emissary, Kodakandan, and promised never to discuss or divulge the source to anyone, as requested by the rich man.

Now you know why Kodakandan asked the rich man for giving two stones in place of one, if he really went up the hills, where did he go instead and how the rich man made it back to the king’s good books!!!

Later one day when Kodakandan was changing his clothes for taking bath, Vidakandan noticed a thick gold chain with a pendant bearing royal insignia swinging from his neck.

Vidakandan: ‘Anna, namakulla ippadi saiyalama? (Brother, between us, how could you?). You didn’t tell me about and give me my share of the gifts you received from the king.’ He was referring to their code of conduct of sharing the booty equally in any joint endeavor,.

Isn’t something said about a tiger and its stripes?

End

 

Notes: (1) Siddhar is a venerable spiritual person who has gained power over natural forces thru yoga and other esoteric practices. There were many siddhar’s chronicled in the past. It is believed by many some of these siddhar’s are still alive today.

 

Image from ruchiskitchen.co

The Wrath Of A Yogi Meets The Wisdom Of A Guru

One evening a guru and his sishya (disciple), on their way to Kashi, reached the village, Peroor.

The village wore a deserted look. Not a living soul in sight save a few stray dogs eyeing them suspiciously. The sishya threw a few pieces of roti at them making themselves welcome.

They saw the shrine at the far end of the main street. None besides the priest at the shrine though it remained open. The priest welcomed them with cordiality that surprised them, gave them water for wash and seated them comfortably on a cot. He further told them they could have dinner with him and spend the night at the shrine and continue with their journey in the morning. Won’t he be discommoded? He assured them he would in fact consider himself blessed to be hosting them for the night.

Meal over, they were relaxing on the cot enjoying the silence broken now and then by a cool breeze whooshing through the leafy trees around. It was then the guru asked the priest:

‘Where’s everybody? Didn’t see a man or a woman or even a child playing. Isn’t it a little early retiring for the night?’

The priest suddenly lost his cheer: ‘Guruji, it’s a long story. If you’re too tired and wanting to go to sleep I won’t bother you with it now. Perhaps in the morning…’

Guru: ‘You got us hooked. Go ahead and tell us all about it. Sleep can wait.’

Priest: ‘Alright…It all happened years ago when I was a kid though I don’t remember any of it first hand. This story – I heard it when I was in teens from my father who was also a priest here before me.’

The priest’s story:

One evening it was just after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

A yogi and his disciple trudged their way to the village, exhausted and hungry.

The village in those days was just a main street lined with houses on either side with a few lanes teeing off and a small shrine and a pond a little away from the street – it’s still much the same as you’ll see. Fertile soil and agriculture worked wonders making the villagers prosperous.

It was the day of the weekly market. The small ground in front of the shrine was bustling with buyers and sellers from this and near-by villages. So it would be at least for an hour more. Vegetables, grains, pots and pans, groceries, clothes, toys, eats…there were even some rides for the children. It was more like a small rural fair.

The visitors were roundly ignored by the villagers busy with themselves, noticed only by a bunch of boisterous boys and their dogs barking and snarling frightfully taking them to be beggars or worse, thieves…

The boys taunted them, gesturing them to go away. One of the boys even threw a log of wood at the disciple hurting him in his leg. And laughing at him as the poor man winced in pain. While the boys ‘amused’ themselves at their expense, no one from the village inquired of them or came to their aid. No time for a couple of irksome mendicants that a market place usually attracted, many of them fake.

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The yogi became furious at this lack of hospitality to the point of utter disregard and even physical assault. The disciple trembled with premonition seeing an angry guru. Pouring out water from his kamandalam and reciting some mantra’s the yogi cursed the village thus:

In the village of Peroor those coming out of their houses later than sun-set tomorrow would break their legs like my disciple here on taking their first steps. And so it’ll be every evening. The curse would lift on the first rays of the morning sun and be so until the sun sets in the evening. If they dare coming out again, they would lose all their fortune. And third time – the house would come down crashing on them unexpectedly. There would be no fourth time. No power on earth may revoke this curse.

The yogi decided not spend anytime in the village. As he was going away seething in unabated anger, the village headman and my father ran to him, hearing about it from the boys and somehow feeling in their guts this was for real. They prostrated before him grabbing his feet seeking a thousand apologies for the negligence and the offence.

The yogi could not be mollified easily.

The headman and my father kept up with the yogi in his long and brisk strides, going all the way to the outskirts of the village, pleading for release from the harsh curse.

The yogi finally relented only so far as to let people go out in the night to seek medical help if needed for the sick. Nothing more.

My father continued to press on the yogi, yes, respectfully, for mitigation. Even gods allowed for a release when they cursed anyone.

Thereupon the yogi said there would be a wise guru coming at the same time of the day to our village. No telling when, though it wouldn’t be anytime soon. If he is happy with our hospitality, he may choose to be our savior.

That’s as best it got.

The yogi advised the headman and my father to return to the village. And in future to attend to holy men with greater care.

So he walked away with his disciple into the night never looking back once.

The priest ended this story: ‘So here we’re waiting and waiting for our savior to appear. Meanwhile years have rolled by with no relief. We had learnt our lessons the hard way, never giving holy men visiting us thereafter any cause to be unhappy. In fact everyone of them is welcomed with genuine warmth and, of course, us looking to him expectantly if he would be the man we’re waiting for.’

Guru: ‘Didn’t the yogi tell you how you would recognize him?’

Priest: ‘We did ask him. What he said sounded like a riddle. He said to take the holy men visiting us to the market place. The wise among them, he meant our savior, would know all by himself if he could and would save us. Since then we did take every visitor to the market place to no avail. They were clueless, all expressing their impotency in face of the yogi’s curse.’

Guru: ‘Yes, it sounds like a riddle. I wonder…why the market place?’

Priest: ‘Perhaps because that’s where everyone was making merry that evening unfortunately ignoring the yogi and the harassment he suffered.’

Guru: ‘Could be like you said, the yogi was rubbing his point in.’

Priest: ‘Needless to add, in the days following the incident Peroor did see a few of its men lose their legs. A couple of them saw their fertile fields turn barren for no reason. And at least there was one house crash, my father told me.’

Priest: ‘I must also tell you this: On the following morning after the yogi left, a stone tablet appeared mysteriously at the market place with the curse etched verbatim. To this day, it stands there. We can see it in the morning if you wish.’

Guru: ‘Interesting. Let’s go over in the morning as you say.’

The priest fetched a couple of spare cots he had stowed away. Tired from the journey, the guru and his sishya readily fell asleep. The priest was awake for quite a while with thoughts swirling in his head before he yielded to the charms of nidra devi (Morpheus).

Early morning completing his ablutions and nithya karma, the guru was ready to leave the village intending to cover a good distance before the sun got hot overhead; of course with a brief halt at the market place as he had promised the priest, to be done after the sun peeked out with his first rays. Who knew if visitors were exempted? The guru did not want to take chances with the yogi.

At the market place they stood before the stone tablet eyeing the etched curse.

Guru: ‘I had meant to ask you this yesterday…If this village is cursed thus, why did you all not move away? That would be the easiest thing to do.’

Priest: ‘No, Guruji. This is the ancestral place for everyone here with their houses, fields, orchards, pond, this shrine of the kuldeva’s…tended for generations. The soil here is very fertile, much better than places around. Agriculture has rewarded the villagers bountifully. Affluence screams from roof-tops. No strife, no sickness…all in all a great place to live but for the curse.’

The guru’s attention was divided between listening to what the priest said and what he read on the tablet.

In the meantime the village headman and a few early-risers who had work to do in the fields joined them.

The guru then sat down on the floor in front of the tablet; he withdrew from the present eyes closed losing himself in deep meditation.

cartoon-yogi-meditating fasab wordpress com

A little later, he got up dusting himself.

Guru: ‘The yogi feels contrite over his harsh action and that the curse has endured for so long. But what’s done cannot be undone. He’s very eager to see the village released from his curse. I’ve his blessings to work on it.’

Expressing regret over his inability to stay back until the matter is resolved satisfactorily, he instructed the headman what needed to be done. And assured them this would take them off the hook.

The headman and the priest saw no harm in carrying it out. At worst it meant some wasted effort and disappointment ensuing. But for some reason they felt it would work out this time.

They gave a fond farewell to the guru and his sishya, accompanying them to the outskirts of the village, tears of gratitude clouding their eyes and choking their words.

The news quickly spread causing a lot of excitement all around.

But there was work to do, cut out for them by the guru, before the day ran out.

A small knee-high wall was built fully and closely encircling the tablet. A pole was planted inside the structure carrying a signage reading ‘Peroor’. Another similar pole was erected in the market place at a distance from the structure.

It was almost sun-set when the job was completed.

Everyone scrambled to get behind shuttered doors of their houses.

Now only the orange glow filled the horizon.

A little later somewhere a door opened noisily.

A figure was seen making it to the shrine. No limp there.

As the headman clanged the bell at the shrine without let up, doors opened one by one. Steps were taken tentatively.

In a minute, the entire village emptied itself onto the main street…

The jubilation and revelry continued well past midnight in Siroor and well, why not?

Yes, the village was born again that night as Siroor as the signage on the second pole at the market place proudly proclaimed.

The village of Peroor, still bearing the curse with no prospect of release as decreed by the yogi, was now simply a small enclave enclosed by a wall with its own signage and no inhabitants.

End
Source: Images from spiritualsuperpower.com and fasab.wordpress.com

Across The Waters Sans Boat Or Bridge – A Children’s Story Of Tenali Raman’s Wit And Wisdom

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The pehalwan from the north was an instant hit. People dropped their jaws watching his amazing acts of physical prowess – he would have a couple of heavy-built locals stand on his out-stretched arm, pull a tree clean off the ground with bare hands or bend iron bars.

It was only a matter of time before he drew the attention of Krishna Deva Raya’s court where he was invited for a display of his strengths before the royalty, senior officials of the court and special invitees. A part of the beautiful palace garden was set up for the show. As a standard courtesy extended to all artistes, on arrival important dignitaries ere personally introduced by Raya to the pehalwan with a few words on who they were. When it was Tenali Raman’s turn Raya went overboard waxing eloquently about his wit. Not given to sharing the stage with anyone else, the pehalwan looked at Raman’s unremarkable presence in a traditional attire, his body language making no secret of where he stood on brawn vis-a-vis brain.  Raya noticed it right away and made light of it cautioning  the pehalwan not to get on the wrong side of Raman.

Introductions concluded, Raya went back to his seat and the pehalwan to his position for commencement of the show. In his opening act he came out cradling a baby, a little large-sized, in his arms; his audience amused at this light-hearted start – a L or XL bear mad with buzzing wasps held in an embrace would have been a more satisfying sight! Soon he was handling the baby like it was a soft-toy, tossing it from here to there, standing it up on his little finger in a ‘Krishna’s Govardhana’ pose, tossing it up overhead and catching it quite nonchalantly. It was in fact a toy for all to see setting everyone at ease – there was no danger to any life. Just when people began to wonder where it was going a wooden table was brought in; and a few of his people joining from the sidelines climbed atop and jumped up and down like they were standing on hot bricks, no one knew why. Were they trying hard to crash the table and failing? The pehalwan holding the baby effortlessly in one hand walked up casually gesturing them to get off. Once the table was clear, he dusted the top with his towel and showing great care and concern laid the baby on its back on the table, seemingly ending the frivolous miming act that no one really understood or even cared.

And perhaps readying himself for his second act, the pehalwan stood a little to the front of the table, taking time to wipe copious sweat streaming off his body. For the first time a few of the onlookers were intrigued – all that sweat in playing with a toy?

Suddenly there was sound like something was crumbling. Next moment they all saw the table crashing down and the baby landing with a thud bringing in a rush the people  who had earlier stomped on the table. They struggled to lift the baby out of the pile of splintered wood. They could not. They devised a rope around its waist and tried to pull with more men joining in to help. The baby wouldn’t budge. All this while the pehalwan stood unperturbed, his face slowly breaking into a hint of a smile.  Finally he stepped forward and shoving aside his men grabbed the baby by its crown and held it aloft on his palm for all to see like it was no more than a soft-toy.

When the penny dropped – this was no ordinary baby to defy the utmost exertions of many and neither was the pehalwan’s feat – he earned a generous round of applause.
And so followed many acts of sheer physical strength that left his audience awe-struck. Like carrying a human pyramid on his shoulders, holding back Raya’s chariot pulled by his prized horses…More than once Raya was seen to be enjoying himself visibly conveying his appreciation. And, so were his guests.

A great show-man he was, the pehalwan played out his acts knowing well how to ratchet up the tempo to a crescendo in a cycle only to be followed by another cycle more challenging, and another, keeping his audience right through on the edge of their seats.
In a final act, he lifted a massive cannon ball of iron and heaved it straight off the palace gardens (of course, landing safely).

As the ovation died down, it was time for Raya to honor the performer suitably and reward the pehalwan with gifts.

Just then, Tenali Raman got up from his seat.

‘My lord, I’ve a small request to make of our esteemed guest. I’m sure it would be easily accomplished compared to the awesome display we saw today.’

The pehalwan confusedly looked at Raya.

Raya gave his nod.

‘Thank you, my lord, for your kind indulgence,’ Raman bowed.

‘It’s like this. Here it is, no cannon ball, only a small piece of cloth. I would like to see it thrown across this stream only a few feet wide. That’s all,’ Raman offered it to the pehalwan with insincere deference.

It was an artificial stream arranged to flow through the garden, fed from the fountains.

Too full of himself with the adulation showered on him, the pehalwan, seemingly exasperated  at the ridiculousness of the exercise, snatched the piece of cloth without a thought from Raman’s hand, made a mock show of bending down under its weight and then, crushing it in his hand, threw it across the stream with all his might as it were. He felt it was quite beneath him to even turn around to check on the outcome. Alas, for him, the piece of cloth, as it would, sailed through the air no further than a couple of feet  before being blown adrift by the mild breeze and dropping down in a crazy swirl into the stream.

Raman was at hand giving the stunned pehalwan another piece of cloth. Again, the result was no different. It was then the pehalwan realized the impossibility of the situation and his own folly in making the attempts.

When a third piece was offered, he shoved it back into Raman’s hands with a gesture that said: ‘All right, Smarty, I got suckered in.  It’s now your turn; try getting out of it, eh?’

Raman was clumsy dropping  the piece of cloth to the ground. He then picked it up, rolled it into a ball, muttered some mantra’s and sent it across the stream. And lo, there it sailed all the way like a cannon ball landing on the far side almost going out of sight.

How did he do it? When and from whom did he learn mantra’s? Raya was dazed as everyone was. The pehalwan fared the worst looking like someone punched him hard in his gut knocking him out of breath.

But first things first. A large-hearted and wise Raya did not allow Raman’s side-show to take the shine off the pehalwan’s hitherto awesome display of muscle power, bestowing on him the honors, words of praise and gifts rightly due to him. A mortified pehalwan made his peace with Raman – no use crossing swords with a guy who pulls potent mantra’s from his scabbard.

It was then Raman leaked out the secret of his mantra’s – there was no mantra’s, no secret. The ball of cloth that he threw across the stream had a pebble inside making the flight perfectly possible. He had picked it up along with the cloth that he had dropped on purpose.

Why did Raman let the cat out of the bag?

If it were not debunked at the earlies, he feared, people including Raya would want him on occasions to invoke those and other mantra’s for causes right or wrong. He would be held up to ridicule for failures, much worse, his loyalty questioned, despite his protestations of innocence and ignorance.

At this the pehalwan could not help laughing over his own imbecility and Raman’s wit. Preparing to leave the town, he gifted his emblematic silver bracelet to Raman and invited him to his home-land to learn from him some real mantra’s.

End 

Source: www, animationxpress.com

I’ll Be Happy To Know You Didn’t Get It Either!!

No great shakes?

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There are ten people in a house. Everybody wants to make a hand shake with only people shorter than themselves. Assume everybody is different in height.

How many hand shakes are made?

I’ve already given it away!! Go to ‘Comments’ if you still wish to know.

End

 

 

From: braingle.com (beijing200820) and clipartix.com

Tenali Raman And The Vidooshak (A Story For Children)

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Once hearing about Tenali Raman’s wit and wisdom, a neighboring king requested Krishna Deva Raya to send Raman to his royal court for some days. Raya could not refuse.

Raman was received warmly on his arrival and given a seat of honor with a generous introduction at the court by his host. Predictably it aroused envy in the hearts of the native officers. They bided their time for the right opportunity to pull Raman down from his high pedestal. At the same time they had to be cautious not to offend their king as Raman was a guest of the state.

Their wait was not long. An evening of entertainment was arranged at the court to greet the arrival of Spring. The officers planned to use the court vidooshak (jester) for their purpose. It suited them well for a vidooshak’s acts were never considered seriously and there was no risk of earning the king’s ire

That day the program was well underway with a rich fare of songs, dances, skits, acrobatics, mimicry and magic show. When it was his turn, a roar of expectation from the audience greeted the vidooshak for the last act of the evening. He quickly launched himself with practiced virtuosity of a seasoned artiste.  The contemporary events provided him with ample scope for topical humor interspersed with fun moments around stereotypes at home, at the shop, on the street and even at the court. No doubt the crowd was immensely enjoying it as was the king, seen more than once laughing aloud. Raman too was appreciative of the jester’s antics.

In the final moments of his act, without warning, the vidooshak invited or rather pulled a surprised Raman to the center stage.

A sweeping look at the king, the audience and finally resting on Raman, ‘Dear Sir, you don’t mind helping me with this small act?’

A rhetoric that needed no reply.

‘Sir, I seek your indulgence for the next few minutes. Kindly do the opposite of what I’m doing. Won’t you, please?’

‘Here I stand, please sit.’

A dazed Raman obliged.

‘I open my eyes, kindly close yours.’

Followed by ‘I laugh, would you cry for us, Sir.’

By now Raman recovered his wit; deciding to play along, he gave out a feisty howl that caused the vidooshak to miss his steps.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ the vidooshak said in a mock bow, not betraying his surprise at Raman’s ready and rather animated participation. ‘Now you’ve warmed up, Sir, let’s move to more interesting stuff.’

The vidooshak brought in two picture stands and placed them in full view. The first one had a portrait of a man who had a remarkable resemblance to the king. The other portrait showed a  man looking generally annoyed at life.

‘Sir, these men are real, present here in their portraits.’

He spoke about the first portrait: ‘This man as one may guess is of noble birth and immense wealth, a man in god’s own mold…,’ waxing eloquently on his virtues particularly on his generosity towards the less fortunate.

And pointing to the second, pillorying him at length: ‘Well, a man without anyone to call his own, still amassing wealth through usurious lending, he is everything what the other man is not. It’s said there isn’t a crow, a pigeon or a field mouse in this land that has till date taken a grain off him…’

When he was done, on cue, two rose-garlands were brought. With elaborate ceremony, he took one and garlanded the first portrait.

‘Sir, it’s your turn,’ in mock deference.

Did he have a choice? Do or don’t, either way he was damned, it seemed.

Without hesitation, Raman picked up the second garland and arranged it neatly over the second portrait. And, stood there casting a mischievous glance all around.

A gleeful vidooshak saw Raman fair and square in his trap: ‘Honestly, Sir, we’re shocked – I’m sure our majesty too joins me when I say this. Perhaps you saw some merit in him that remained completely indiscernible to one and all in this august assembly. Could you kindly enlighten us on the same?’

‘Oh, that’s simple,’ Raman paused for effect.

All necks craned forward in hushed silence to catch his words.

‘Well, this man of noble birth of course had shared his wealth with others – a very laudable gesture.’ Raman sneaked a glance at the king nodding in approval.

‘But look at the other guy. He denied himself his own wealth living a miserly life unlike the man of noble birth who did enjoy his besides being generous; and the miserable fellow is destined to leave everything he has for others after his time with none to bequeath to;.again, quite unlike the man you garlanded with offspring’s to enjoy their inheritance thereafter.’

A few moments of silence for the words to sink in followed by a long burst of applause from the audience lead by the king himself, thrilled to see the legendary Raman best his poor adversary.

End

Source: Inspired by a story from bhagavatam-katha.com and image from dailymotion.com

A Tale From A Mango Tree (Children’s Story)

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‘You, know, I’m the one taking all the risks, sneaking into houses. You stand at a safe distance ready to run away at the first sign of trouble.’

‘And don’t forget you’ve no act unless I pick you up and drop you over the fence, keep watch and get you back same way.’

The two men, one short and the other tall, were arguing under the Mango Tree over their fair share of the loot taken from an unwilling wayfarer whose misfortune it was to cross their path early in the evening, .

As always their wrangle was inconclusive and it was agreed to maintain the status quo at 50-50. .

The short man now emptied the contents of the wayfarer’s bag into a pile on the ground – it was all silver coins. Didn’t amount to much belying the heft. Cursing their luck over the insubstantial returns for their efforts, he dutifully did the ‘one for you, one for me, watched over by a pair of wary eyes,’

The meager split finished, ‘Okay…means we’re not done for the night.’

‘You’re right. You have anything in mind?’

‘I have heard there’s an widow living all by herself in the village. Old money. I suggest we pay her a visit tonight. A real cinch – we should be done and gone before the clock moves.’

It wasn’t dark yet and a little shut-eye was in order before attending to their business usually conducted after mid-night. The coins were secured in  waist belts covered by the dhoti folds, the turbans straightened and laid out on the ground and in a few turns they were lost to the waking world.

The entire proceedings were watched with dismay by Kaaga, the crow. The hapless wayfarer had rested under the Tree and even shared his food before running into these men. And now they plan to rob the poor lady.

He turned sad:

‘The kind lady…never missed setting aside every morning some cooked rice for us. But how do I alert her to their nefarious plans? We don’t speak their language.’

Awash with despair, ‘A shame that I know what’s going to happen and still helpless to do anything about it.’

‘May be we could do something,’ said the Mango Tree, a mute witness to the happenings till now.

‘How do you mean?’

‘It might just work…go and get Mooshika (the mouse) here – we need him.’

Soon enough an excited Mooshika scampered to the base of the Tree – for, it was quite unusual to be called at this hour.

‘You’ve told me some time ago you hoard things people leave behind or lose at the village tank and it’s getting so full up that you find it difficult to move around in your own home?’

‘That’s right. Badly needs cleaning up – since she’s isn’t around I don’t mind saying this.’

‘Anything in silver? Not coins.’

‘Oh, plentiful – chains, rings, tiny bells fallen off anklets, small diya’s (wick-lamps)…you know we have no use for these.’

Thereupon Mooshika heard from the Mango Tree what was to be done, which it accomplished silently in the next few minutes, helped by a few friends.

Just when the tall man got the spell right to open up the treasure chest inside the cave, he was rudely woken up by faint sounds near his ears of bells tingling.

A light sleeper he was as suited for his trade, he was immediately alert. Unable to discern any immediate threat he calmed down. Nevertheless it was safer for them to be ready for any danger lurking close by; so he woke up his accomplice.

As the short man got up, a rain of silver trinkets fell on the ground from his garment.

The tall man’s countenance hardened.

He fixed the other man with a malevolent glare: ’So you hid these from me…you cheat’.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The tall man silently pointed to the silver on the ground.

‘Oh…no idea, really, how they got to me…believe me you’

Trading mutual allegations, the feud heated up.

It was too late…the rising decibels had brought a crowd of unwelcome villagers to the spot.

Without a thought, they took off to keep the hide on their back…as fast as their legs could carry, stumbling and pulling themselves up and helping each other in their flight.

Never mind it was late, Kaaga cawed gustily, Mooshika and his pals danced unabashedly and the Tree sighed in relief.

End