Paramanandayya's Silly Disciples

Told in English, Telugu.

Long ago, in a small village on the banks of the Krishna river, there lived a gentle teacher named Paramanandayya. He had a long grey beard, a soft voice, and a heart as big as a mango tree. Every morning he taught the village children their letters and their prayers.

Paramanandayya had ten disciples who lived with him. They swept his house, fetched his water, and carried his books. They loved their teacher very much. They were kind, and they were cheerful. But oh, my dear, they were also very, very silly.

One day a letter came from the next village. A rich farmer was holding a big feast for his daughter's wedding, and he had invited Paramanandayya and all his disciples.

"A feast!" cried the disciples, jumping up and down. "Pulihora! Bobbatlu! Garelu!"

"Calm down, calm down," laughed Paramanandayya. "We will leave at sunrise."

The next morning, the teacher climbed onto his old brown horse, and the ten disciples walked behind him in a long line. Before they set off, Paramanandayya turned around and said, "Listen carefully, my children. The road is long and bumpy. If anything falls from the horse, pick it up and bring it along. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Guruvu garu!" they all shouted together.

They walked and walked. The sun climbed higher. Soon, the teacher's fine silk shawl slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the dusty road. The disciples saw it, but they were busy thinking about bobbatlu, so they just kept walking.

A little later, the horse stopped, lifted its tail, and plop, plop, plop, it left a small heap of droppings on the road.

The eldest disciple shouted, "Stop, everyone! Something has fallen from the horse! Guruvu garu told us to pick up anything that falls!"

So the ten disciples carefully gathered up every bit of the horse's droppings, wrapped them in a cloth, and carried the bundle proudly.

When they reached a shady tree, Paramanandayya climbed down to rest. He reached for his shawl and found it gone.

"My shawl! Where is my shawl?" he asked.

"Oh, it fell down long ago, near the tamarind tree," said one disciple.

"Then why didn't you pick it up?"

"But Guruvu garu, it fell from you, not from the horse!" said another. "Look, we picked up everything the horse dropped!" And he opened the smelly bundle with a big, proud smile.

Paramanandayya held his nose and shook his head. Then he began to laugh, because what else could he do? "My dear children," he said, "from now on, pick up only the things that are useful."

One of the disciples ran back and fetched the shawl, and they all went on their way.

Soon they came to the river. The water was not deep, but it was wide and quick. Paramanandayya said, "I will ride my horse across slowly. You hold hands and walk across together, and be careful."

The disciples held hands and stepped into the cool water. Splash, splash, splash. The water came up to their knees, then up to their waists. They giggled and wobbled, but at last all of them climbed out safely on the other side. The teacher had ridden ahead to find the road, so the disciples were alone on the riverbank.

"Wait!" said the eldest disciple. "We must make sure nobody was carried away by the river. Let me count."

He pointed at his friends one by one. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine." His face went pale. "Nine! There were ten of us! One of us is missing!"

"That cannot be!" said another. "Let me count." He pointed carefully at each friend. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine." He gasped. "Nine! It is true!"

One by one, every disciple counted, and every one of them got nine. Can you guess why? Think... think...

That's right. Each one was forgetting to count himself!

But the disciples did not know that. They sat down on the sand and began to cry. "Our poor brother! The river has taken him! What will we tell Guruvu garu?"

Just then a cowherd boy came by with his cows. He saw ten young men sitting in a circle, weeping loudly.

"Anna, why are you crying?" he asked.

"We were ten when we stepped into the river," sobbed the eldest, "and now we are only nine. One of us is lost!"

The boy looked at them and counted quickly in his head. Ten. He hid a smile behind his hand.

"Don't cry," he said kindly. "I have a special trick to bring back your lost friend. Stand in a line."

The disciples wiped their eyes and stood in a line. The cowherd boy walked along and gently tapped each one on the head with his little stick. "One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine..." He stopped at the last disciple and tapped him too. "And TEN!"

The disciples stared at each other. Then they cheered! They hugged one another, they hugged the cowherd boy, and they even tried to hug a cow.

"He has come back! Our brother has come back!" they shouted. "You are a magician!"

The boy just laughed, waved goodbye, and went on with his cows.

When the disciples ran to catch up with Paramanandayya, they told him the whole wonderful story. The old teacher listened, and his beard shook as he laughed and laughed.

"My dear children," he said, wiping his eyes, "that boy did no magic. Your brother was never lost. Each of you counted everyone except himself. When you count, always remember to count yourself too."

The disciples looked at each other and slowly began to understand. Then they all laughed together, louder than anyone.

And that evening, at the wedding feast, they ate pulihora and bobbatlu until their tummies were round and full. Before they sat down, the eldest disciple counted everyone very carefully, and this time, he pointed at himself too. Ten!

So, little one, the next time you count your friends, who will you remember to count? Yes, that's right. You!