Tenali Rama: How Tenali Rama got his wit

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in the town of Tenali, on the banks of the river Krishna, there lived a little boy named Ramakrishna. Everyone simply called him Rama.

Rama was not like the other children. He asked questions all day long. Why is the sky blue? Why does the moon follow us when we walk? Why does a cat always land on its feet? His teachers sometimes sighed and shook their heads, but Rama never stopped wondering.

One evening, Rama was sitting on the steps near the temple, swinging his legs and watching the cows come home. A holy man with a long white beard came walking slowly down the road. He stopped and looked at Rama for a long time.

"Child," said the holy man kindly, "I can see a bright little spark in your eyes. Would you like a gift that could make that spark shine like a lamp?"

Rama jumped up. "Yes, Swamy! What do I have to do?"

The holy man bent down and whispered a prayer into his ear. "Go to the old Kali temple at the edge of the village tonight. Sit before the Goddess and say this prayer again and again, with all your heart. If your heart is true, Mother Kali will come to you."

That night, when the whole village was asleep, Rama tiptoed out of the house. The moon was round and silver. Frogs sang croak, croak in the paddy fields. Rama's heart went thump, thump, thump as he walked to the little temple.

Inside, a single oil lamp flickered. Rama sat down on the cool stone floor, closed his eyes, folded his hands, and began to say the prayer. He said it once. He said it ten times. He said it a hundred times. His legs began to ache, and his eyes felt heavy, but he did not stop.

Suddenly, the whole temple filled with a warm golden light. Rama opened his eyes, and there she was. The Goddess Kali stood before him, glowing like a thousand lamps at Deepavali.

But here is the surprising part. The Goddess had not one face, not two faces, but a thousand faces! A thousand pairs of eyes blinking, a thousand noses, a thousand mouths, all on one shining Goddess. And she had only two hands.

Rama looked at her. He looked at all those faces. And then, before he could stop himself, he began to laugh. First a little giggle, then a big laugh, until he had to hold his tummy.

All thousand faces of the Goddess frowned at once. "Little boy," she said, and her voice rang like a temple bell. "You prayed and prayed for me to come. Now I am here, and you laugh at me? Tell me why, at once!"

Rama wiped his eyes and bowed politely. "Please forgive me, Amma. I was only thinking. I have just one nose and two hands. When I catch a cold, my nose runs and runs, and I can hardly keep up wiping it. But you have a thousand noses and only two hands. If all your noses caught a cold on the same day, how would you ever manage?"

For a moment, the temple was very, very quiet. Rama held his breath. Was the Goddess going to be angry?

Then one of the faces smiled. Then another. And then all thousand faces burst out laughing, until the temple bells jingled by themselves.

"What a cheeky, clever child you are!" said the Goddess. "No one has ever made me laugh like that. I will give you a gift."

She held out her two hands. In one hand was a golden bowl filled with white milk. In the other hand was a golden bowl filled with thick curd.

"Listen carefully," she said. "The milk is the gift of learning. Whoever drinks it will become wise and full of knowledge. The curd is the gift of wealth. Whoever eats it will have plenty of riches. But you may choose only one."

Rama scratched his head. Learning or riches? Riches or learning? What would you choose, little one? Think... think...

Rama thought, "If I am wise but have no money, I will be hungry. If I have money but no wisdom, I will not know how to use it well."

"Amma," he said sweetly, "may I hold the bowls for a moment, so I can look closely before I choose?"

The Goddess handed him both bowls. And quick as a squirrel, Rama poured the milk into the curd, stirred it with his finger, and drank the whole thing, gulp, gulp, gulp! Then he licked his lips.

"Rama!" cried the Goddess. "I told you to choose only one!"

"But Amma," said Rama with a milky smile, "you never said I could not mix them!"

The Goddess tried to look stern, but her eyes were twinkling. "You tricked me, little one. So here is what will happen. You will be wise, and you will be well looked after. But you will use your cleverness to make people laugh. You will be a Vikatakavi, a jester poet."

Rama did not look sad at all. He began to say the word slowly. "Vi, ka, ta, ka, vi. Amma, look! Vikatakavi reads the same from the front and from the back! What a wonderful name you have given me!"

Can you say it with me? Vi, ka, ta, ka, vi. Now say it backwards. Vi, ka, ta, ka, vi. It is the same!

The Goddess laughed one last time, a soft and loving laugh. "Clever to the very end. Go, my child. One day, your wit will be famous in the court of a great king."

The golden light faded, and Rama found himself alone in the little temple, with the lamp still flickering.

And the Goddess was right. Rama grew up to become Tenali Ramakrishna, the jester poet in the court of the great king Sri Krishnadevaraya of Vijayanagara. With his quick mind, he solved puzzles, caught cheats, and made the whole court laugh.

And it all began one moonlit night, with a thousand noses, two hands, and one very clever little boy.