Birbal: The stick that grows

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in the palace of the great Emperor Akbar, there lived a very clever man named Birbal. Whenever there was a puzzle that nobody could solve, everyone said the same thing. Call Birbal!

One morning, a rich merchant came hurrying into the court. His turban was crooked and his face was full of worry.

"Your Majesty, please help me!" he cried. "Last night, someone took my little box of gold coins. I kept it in a locked cupboard in my own room. Only my five servants could have gone in there. But when I ask them, every one of them says, not me, not me!"

Emperor Akbar stroked his beard. "Five servants, and only one thief," he said. "This is a job for Birbal."

Birbal smiled and bowed. "Bring all five servants here, please."

Soon the five servants stood in a line before the throne. One was old, one was young, one was tall, one was short, and one kept twisting the end of his shirt between his fingers.

Birbal walked slowly past them, looking at each face. "Did any of you take the gold?" he asked.

"No, sir!" they all said together.

"Hmm," said Birbal. "Then I will need some help from magic."

The whole court went very quiet. Magic? Even Emperor Akbar raised his eyebrows.

Birbal clapped his hands, and a helper brought in five wooden sticks. Birbal held them up so everyone could see. He stood them side by side on the floor. They were exactly the same length, not even a tiny bit different.

"These are magic sticks," said Birbal in a deep, serious voice. "A wise old holy man gave them to me. Each of you will take one stick home tonight. If you are honest, your stick will stay just as it is. But the stick that sleeps in the thief's house will grow. By morning, it will be longer by two fingers!"

He held up two fingers, like this. Can you hold up two fingers too?

The servants looked at the sticks. Then they looked at one another. Each one took a stick and went home.

Now, little one, let us tiptoe into the house of one of those servants that night. Shh. Quietly now.

The moon was bright. Everyone in the house was asleep, except one man. He sat on his mat, staring at the stick in his hands. His heart went thump, thump, thump.

"What if it really is magic?" he whispered. "What if it grows while I sleep? Then everyone will know I took the gold!"

He held the stick up to the moonlight. Was it already a little longer? He could not tell. He turned it this way and that way. He could not sleep a wink.

Then he had an idea. "I know!" he whispered. "If the stick is going to grow by two fingers, I will cut two fingers off now. Then, in the morning, it will be just the right size again!"

So he took a knife from the kitchen, and very carefully, snip, snip, he cut a piece off the end of his stick. Then he lay down with a smile, thinking he was very clever indeed.

In the morning, all five servants came back to the palace. Emperor Akbar sat on his throne. The merchant stood nearby, wringing his hands. Everyone wanted to see the magic.

"Now," said Birbal, "put your sticks down on the floor, side by side."

One by one, the servants laid their sticks down. Birbal bent down and looked. Everyone leaned forward to look too.

Four sticks were exactly the same length. But one stick was shorter. It was shorter by two fingers!

Can you guess whose stick that was?

Birbal picked up the short stick and turned to the servant who had brought it. It was the man who had been twisting his shirt.

"Your stick did not grow," said Birbal gently. "It became smaller. Why would an honest man cut his stick?"

The servant's mouth opened, but no words came out. His face turned red. At last, he hung his head.

"I am sorry," he said in a small voice. "I took the gold. I was afraid the stick would grow, so I cut it."

The whole court burst out laughing. Even Emperor Akbar laughed until his crown wobbled.

"But Birbal," said the Emperor, "tell me the truth. Were these sticks really magic?"

Birbal laughed too. "No, Your Majesty. They were ordinary sticks, the kind you find under any tree. They could never grow. But a person who has done something wrong is always worried. The honest servants slept peacefully, because they had nothing to fear. Only the thief was afraid, and his fear told us the truth."

The servant brought back the little box of gold coins, every single one. He folded his hands before the merchant. "Please forgive me, master. I will never steal again."

The merchant was so happy to have his gold back that his worried face turned into a big smile. Emperor Akbar told the servant to work hard and make up for the wrong he had done, and the servant promised he would.

And the merchant? He thanked Birbal again and again. "Clever Birbal," he said, "you caught a thief with nothing but a stick!"

Birbal only smiled. "Not with a stick," he said. "With the truth."

So remember, little one. When we tell the truth, we can sleep happily, just like those honest servants. Good night.