The scholars who brought a lion to life

Told in English, Telugu.

Long ago, in a quiet town beside a wide river, there lived four friends. They had grown up on the same street. They had splashed in the same river, climbed the same mango trees, and shared plates of curd rice under the same neem tree when they were small.

As they grew older, three of the friends went to study with great teachers. Keshava, Madhava and Govinda read from sunrise until the oil lamps burned low. They learned grammar and poetry, the movements of the stars, the secrets of medicine, and many rare sciences that only a few people in the whole land understood. People in the town bowed when they passed and whispered, "There go the great scholars."

The fourth friend was called Subuddhi. Books made his head ache, and he could never remember the long verses. But Subuddhi noticed things. He knew which clouds meant rain, which path was too slippery after a storm, and which dog in the street would bite if you came too close. When a neighbour had a problem, it was often Subuddhi they asked, because he would think about it calmly and say something simple and true.

One evening the four friends sat together on the steps by the river. "What is the use of all our learning," said Keshava, the eldest, "if it stays locked up in this small town? Let us travel to the courts of kings. A king will reward scholars like us with gold and honour."

Everyone agreed, and a few mornings later the four set out together along the dusty road.

They had not gone very far when Keshava stopped and looked at Subuddhi. "I have been thinking," he said. "Kings reward learning. Subuddhi has no learning. Why should we share our rewards with someone who has only common sense? Subuddhi, it might be better if you went home."

Madhava nodded. "It is nothing against you, friend. But you have not studied as we have."

Subuddhi said nothing. He looked down at the road, and his ears grew hot. Can you imagine how that felt, to be told by your oldest friends that you were not good enough to walk beside them?

But Govinda, the youngest of the scholars, stepped forward. "No," he said firmly. "This is not right. We played together when we were little boys. We shared everything then. He is our friend, and he comes with us. Whatever we earn, he will have a share."

Keshava shrugged, Madhava agreed, and so the four walked on. Subuddhi gave Govinda a grateful smile, and Govinda smiled back.

The road led them into a deep forest. Tall trees closed over their heads, and birds called to one another in the green shade. In a clearing they came upon something strange: a heap of old white bones lying in the grass.

Madhava bent down. "These are the bones of some great animal," he said. "Friends, here is a perfect chance to test our learning. Let us bring this creature back to life!"

Keshava's eyes shone. "I know the science of joining bones. I can put the skeleton together."

"And I," said Madhava, "know how to give it flesh and skin and blood."

Govinda hesitated, then said quietly, "And I have learned the secret words that give breath and life."

Subuddhi looked at the bones. He looked at the long sharp teeth in the skull, and the great curved claws. A cold feeling crept up his back.

Keshava began. He chanted and worked, and one by one the bones slid into place: the backbone, the ribs, the four strong legs, the heavy head. Then Madhava sat beside it and chanted his own verses. Slowly muscle and skin grew over the bones, and a thick golden mane spread across the neck. Now there was no doubt at all. Lying in the grass, perfect in every way but still and silent, was a full-grown lion.

Govinda knelt and closed his eyes to begin the last and greatest spell.

"Wait!" said Subuddhi. "Please, wait. Look at it. That is a lion. If you wake him, he will be hungry, and the nearest food in this whole forest is us."

Keshava laughed. "You simpleton. Do you think we studied all those years only to stop now, because you are afraid? This is the proof of our learning."

"I am not asking you to throw your learning away," said Subuddhi. "I am asking you to use it with sense. You have already shown what you can do. Leave the lion asleep. Let us walk on."

Govinda opened his eyes and looked at Subuddhi. For a moment he seemed unsure. But the other two were watching him, and he did not want them to think he was a coward, or that his learning was less than theirs. "I cannot stop now," he said. "Everything we have worked for has come to this moment."

Subuddhi saw that nothing he said would change their minds. His heart was heavy. "Then at least give me one moment," he said. "Let me climb that tree first."

The scholars laughed as he scrambled up the trunk of a tall tree and clung to a high branch. "Look at our brave friend," said Madhava.

Govinda began to chant. His voice rose, clear and sure. A breath of wind moved through the clearing. The lion's chest lifted. His tail twitched. Then the great golden eyes opened.

The lion rose to his feet. He did not know that these men had given him life. He did not care about their books or their spells or their cleverness. He was a lion, and he was hungry, and he did what lions do. With a roar that shook the leaves, he sprang.

Subuddhi shut his eyes tight and held on to the branch. When at last the forest was quiet again, and the lion had padded away into the trees, the three great scholars were gone. They would never walk home again.

Subuddhi climbed down slowly. His legs were shaking. He stood in the clearing for a long time, thinking of three little boys laughing in the river, and of Govinda, who had stood up for him on the road that very morning. Tears ran down his face, and he let them fall.

Then he turned and walked the long road home alone.

When he reached the town, he told everyone what had happened. He did not tell it to show how clever he had been. He told it so that no one would ever make the same mistake. And the story has been told ever since, from grandparent to child, for hundreds and hundreds of years, until it has reached you tonight.

Now, let us think about it together. Were Keshava, Madhava and Govinda foolish? In one way, no. They knew more than almost anyone in the land. They could do something truly wonderful. But they never stopped to ask the most important question of all: should we? Their pride had grown bigger than their good sense.

Subuddhi could not read a single hard book. But he could look at a lion and see a lion. And he was brave too, in his own way. It takes courage to say stop when everyone else is excited, and to keep saying it while they laugh at you.

Think also of Govinda. He was the kindest of the scholars. He did the right thing on the road when he stood up for his friend. But at the most important moment, he did not want to look weak in front of the others, and so he did not listen. Even good people can make that mistake. That is why it matters so much to listen to a friend who cares about us, even when what they say is not what we want to hear.

So as you go to school and learn more and more, and I hope you learn a great deal, remember the four friends in the forest. Learning is like a sharp knife. In wise hands, it can cut fruit and feed a whole family. Without good sense, it can hurt. The best learning is the kind that walks hand in hand with wisdom.

Sleep well now, little scholar. And may you always have both: a full head, and a sensible heart.