The Loyal Mongoose

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in a quiet village beside a slow green river, there lived a Brahmin named Devasharma and his wife Savitri. Their house was small, with a mud floor that Savitri swept clean every morning and a tulasi plant standing proudly in the courtyard. They did not have much money, but they had something they had prayed for over many years. They had a baby son, round and bright eyed, who laughed whenever a sparrow hopped near the doorway.

One rainy evening, around the time the baby was born, Devasharma heard a thin squeaking sound near the woodpile. He bent down and found a tiny mongoose, wet and shivering, all alone. Its mother was nowhere to be seen. Devasharma lifted it gently in his palm and carried it inside.

Savitri looked at the little creature and her heart softened at once. She warmed some milk, dipped a corner of cloth in it, and let the mongoose suck from it drop by drop. Night after night she fed it, just as she fed her own child. And so the baby and the mongoose grew up together under the same roof, like two brothers.

The mongoose became a sleek, quick little fellow with a bushy tail and sharp, clever eyes. He followed Savitri from room to room. He curled up beside the baby's cradle while the child slept. When the baby woke and cried, the mongoose would run to Savitri and tug at the edge of her sari, as if to say, come quickly, he needs you.

And yet, deep in Savitri's mind, there was a small worry she could not quite shake away. Now and then she would watch the mongoose with his sharp little teeth and his wild quick movements, and she would think, he is an animal of the forest, after all. Who knows what such a creature might do one day? She never said this aloud. She loved him. But the worry sat there quietly, like a pebble in a shoe.

One hot afternoon, Devasharma had gone to a neighbouring village to perform a puja. The water pot in the kitchen was empty, and Savitri needed to fetch water from the river. The baby had just fallen asleep in his cradle, his tiny fists curled up beside his cheeks.

Savitri hesitated at the door. The river was not far, but she did not like leaving her son. She looked at the mongoose, who was sitting beside the cradle, his tail wrapped neatly around his feet.

Watch over him, she said softly. I will be back very soon.

She lifted the big brass pot onto her hip and hurried down the path towards the river.

The house grew very still. A crow called somewhere far away. The afternoon heat made the air shimmer above the courtyard. The mongoose sat quietly, his ears turning this way and that, listening to every little sound.

Then he heard something that made every hair on his body stand up. It was a soft, dry, sliding sound, coming from a crack near the back wall.

Slowly, slowly, a long dark shape slid into the room. It was a cobra, black and gleaming, its tongue flicking in and out as it tasted the air. It moved across the floor, closer and closer to the cradle where the baby lay sleeping.

The mongoose did not stop to think about himself. He did not think about how big the snake was, or how dangerous its bite could be. He thought only of the little child he had grown up beside. In one swift leap he placed himself between the cobra and the cradle.

The cobra rose up and spread its hood wide. It hissed, a sharp terrible sound. The mongoose stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the snake, his body ready.

What followed was a fierce and fast battle. The cobra struck, and the mongoose darted aside. The cobra struck again, and again the mongoose was quicker. Round and round they went across the floor, while the baby slept on, never knowing the danger so close to him. At last, with all his courage and strength, the mongoose caught the cobra behind its head and held on until the snake moved no more.

The mongoose stood there, panting and tired, his fur ruffled. There was blood on his mouth and on his paws from the fight. He looked at the cradle. The baby was safe, still breathing softly, still fast asleep.

The mongoose felt so proud. He wanted Savitri to know. He wanted her to see that he had kept his promise. So he ran out of the house and down the path to wait for her by the gate.

Soon he saw her coming up the path, the heavy brass pot full of water balanced on her hip. He ran towards her, jumping and circling around her feet, his little face lifted up to hers, as if he were saying, come and see, come and see what I have done.

But Savitri did not see a proud and happy friend. She saw only the blood on his mouth and paws. And that old pebble of worry in her mind suddenly became a great, crashing fear.

My baby, she thought. Oh no. He has hurt my baby.

She did not stop. She did not look. She did not ask herself whether there could be any other reason. In that one terrible, hasty moment, with fear roaring in her ears, she brought the heavy brass pot down upon the little mongoose. And the loyal creature who had loved her son so well lay still upon the path.

Savitri ran into the house, weeping, ready to find the worst.

And there was her son, lying in his cradle, safe and whole, just waking up and yawning. He blinked at her and gave a sleepy little smile.

Then Savitri saw the cobra lying on the floor beside the cradle. She saw the marks of the struggle, the scattered things knocked over in the fight. And in a single instant she understood everything.

She clutched her baby to her chest and sank down onto the floor. The mongoose had not harmed her son. He had saved him. He had faced a deadly cobra all alone, and then he had run out, joyful and proud, to tell her. And she had not given him even one moment to be understood.

When Devasharma came home that evening, he found his wife sitting in the courtyard with the baby in her lap and the still little mongoose wrapped in a soft cloth beside her. Her eyes were red from crying. Slowly, she told him everything.

Devasharma was quiet for a long time. Then he sat down beside her and put his hand on her shoulder.

We cannot undo what has been done, he said gently. But we can remember him. And we can learn from him.

Together, they buried the mongoose beneath the neem tree near the gate, the very place where he used to wait for them every evening. Savitri placed a small lamp there and a handful of jasmine flowers.

The sorrow stayed in Savitri's heart for a long while. But slowly, it changed into something else. It became a kind of wisdom, a promise she made to herself.

Years passed, and the baby grew into a strong and thoughtful boy. Whenever he became angry or frightened and wanted to rush into doing something, his mother would take his hand and lead him to the neem tree by the gate.

She would tell him the story of the brave mongoose who had once saved his life. And at the end, she would always say the same thing. Look first, my dear. Think. Find out the whole truth. Fear and anger make us hasty, and a hasty moment can hurt the ones who love us most.

The boy never forgot. And every evening, he would light the little lamp beneath the neem tree, for the friend he never knew, who had loved him all the same.

So tonight, before you sleep, think about this. Has something ever looked one way at first, and turned out to be quite different when you looked more closely? That is the gift the little mongoose left behind. Goodnight, my dear.