The Donkey Who Sang

Told in English, Telugu.

Once upon a time, in a small village beside a river, there lived a washerman named Ramayya. Every morning he loaded big bundles of clothes onto the back of his donkey, Uddhata, and they walked together down to the river. All day long Uddhata carried heavy loads. In the evening Ramayya let him wander free to find his own food.

Uddhata was a strong donkey, but he was always a little hungry. The grass near the washerman's hut was dry and thin, and his tummy grumbled every night.

One evening, while he was nibbling at some prickly weeds, a jackal trotted out of the bushes. He had sharp ears and bright, twinkling eyes.

"Namaskaram, friend donkey," said the jackal. "You look hungry."

"I am very hungry," sighed Uddhata. "This grass tastes like old rope."

The jackal leaned close and whispered, "I know a secret place. Across the stream there is a farmer's field full of the sweetest cucumbers you ever tasted. Shall we go together?"

Uddhata's long ears stood straight up. "Cucumbers? Juicy, crunchy cucumbers? Oh yes, please!"

So that night, when the whole village was asleep, the two new friends crept out. The moon was big and round and bright, like a silver plate in the sky. They tiptoed across the stream, splish, splash, and slipped through a gap in the farmer's fence.

And there it was. Row after row of fat green cucumbers, shining in the moonlight.

Uddhata bit into one. Crunch! It was cool and sweet and full of juice. He ate another, and another, and another. The jackal ate too, quietly, keeping one ear turned towards the farmer's hut at the edge of the field.

Night after night they came back. Every night they ate until their tummies were round and full, and every night they slipped home before the sun came up. Nobody ever saw them.

Then came one very special night. The moon was brighter than ever. A cool breeze blew across the field. Uddhata had eaten so many cucumbers that he felt wonderful from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.

He lifted his head and looked up at the shining moon. "Friend jackal," he said, "I feel so happy tonight. Look at that beautiful moon! Listen to that gentle breeze! I feel a song coming. I simply must sing."

The jackal froze. His ears went flat. "Sing? Here? Oh no, no, no, my friend! We are thieves in a farmer's field. Thieves must be quiet as mice. If you sing, the farmer will wake up, and then we will be in big trouble."

"But I have a lovely voice," said Uddhata proudly. "Everyone should hear it."

The jackal tried not to laugh. "Friend, your voice is very... loud. When you sing, the whole village can hear you. The farmer is sleeping just over there. Please, please, keep your song for another day."

Uddhata stamped his hoof. "You are a jungle creature. You know nothing about music. Music is the sweetest thing in the world. On a night like this, a song is bursting inside me. I cannot keep it in!"

The jackal saw that his friend would not listen. He thought quickly. "All right, all right," he said. "If you must sing, then please wait until I am safely outside the fence. I will keep watch for you from there."

"As you like," said Uddhata, and he took a deep, deep breath.

The jackal scampered to the fence, squeezed through the gap, and hid behind a big bush.

Now, children, what do you think happened next? Was Uddhata's song sweet and soft like a cuckoo's? Let us find out.

Uddhata opened his mouth wide and sang.

"HEE-HAW! HEE-HAW! HEE-HAAAAW!"

It was the loudest sound that field had ever heard. The birds flew out of the trees. The village dogs began to bark. And inside his little hut, the farmer Subbayya sat bolt upright on his cot.

"What is that noise?" he cried. "Someone is in my field!"

He grabbed his stick and his lantern and came running. There, standing in the middle of his cucumbers, was a donkey with his head in the air, still singing, "HEE-HAAAW!"

"So you are the one eating my cucumbers every night!" shouted Subbayya.

Uddhata stopped singing. His mouth snapped shut. He tried to run, but his tummy was so full of cucumbers that he could only wobble. The farmer gave him two smacks on his back with the stick, which stung quite a lot. Then, so the donkey could not run off and come back again, Subbayya tied a heavy wooden log to his neck with a rope.

"Now go home," said the farmer, "and do not come back!"

Poor Uddhata. Slowly, slowly, he dragged that heavy log out of the field, across the stream, and down the path. Thump, thump, went the log behind him.

By the path, the jackal was waiting. When he saw his friend, he did not laugh at him. He came close and gently began chewing through the rope with his sharp teeth.

"Are you hurt, friend?" he asked softly.

"Only a little," said Uddhata, hanging his head. "You told me not to sing. You told me it was the wrong time and the wrong place. I did not listen."

Snap! The rope broke, and the heavy log rolled away into the grass.

"Your song was not the problem," said the jackal kindly. "Singing is a happy thing. But there is a right time for everything. In a farmer's field at midnight is not the time for a song."

Uddhata nodded his long head. "From now on," he said, "I will listen when a good friend warns me."

And from that day on, Uddhata never went back to steal cucumbers. He sang his songs only in the morning, down by the river, while Ramayya washed the clothes. The fishes did not seem to mind at all.

So, little one, the next time someone who loves you says, wait, not now, remember Uddhata and his great big song. Good night.