Mangoes, Mischief, and Tales of Friendship

by Chitra Soundar

  Prince Veera slipped out of his room and followed the sound. His father was not in his room. He was not in the courtyard. His father was not on the grounds or anywhere near the pond.

  Where could he be?

  Prince Veera listened hard. The sound came from the far east wing of the palace, by the royal kitchen. What was his father doing in the kitchen? He hardly ever went there, unless he didn’t want anyone to know he was eating.

  Then Veera remembered the sweets, the sweets that his father had to abandon until his official duties were over! Veera walked swiftly to the kitchen.

  A crowd of servants stood outside, their ears to the door. Inside, the king ranted and raved. When Prince Veera walked closer, the servants moved away.

  “What’s going on?” Veera asked.

  “It’s about the laddu,” said one of the maids.

  “The laddu? Is that the reason for his anger?”

  I handled the case and I brought the fragrance into the palace, Veera thought. Oh, my sweet butters, what’s going to happen to me?

  “One laddu is missing,” said the maid. “The king left exactly eleven of them in the box last night. This morning, when he came by, only ten remained.”

  “Do you know who took the missing laddu?”

  “No one knows. Nobody will own up.”

  Prince Veera smiled. This was something he could handle. Well, the laddu had gone missing. It would never come back, but the memory of its fragrance and its taste would never leave the mind of the person who had eaten it. “Time for me to sort this out,” he said as he pushed the door open and went into the kitchen.

  Inside he saw that the king was still in his pajamas, standing on top of a huge cauldron. His face was red. The kitchen staff stood in front of him, shaking like flags on a windy day.

  “Father, what is the problem?” Veera asked.

  The king stopped his tirade and looked at his son. “I want to know who is lying. I can forgive stealing, but not lying.”

  “Why not leave this to me?” said the prince. “I’ll find out.”

  “This is all because of your case,” said the king. “We were happy before we knew about Meetaram’s sweets.”

  Prince Veera hung his head. The sooner he found the culprit, the better it would be for everyone. He braced himself and looked up. “Father, you have many appointments today. Why don’t you get ready while I solve this problem? I’ll bring the culprit to your court.”

  King Bheema handed the box of laddus to his guard and said, “Keep this under lock and key.”

  Prince Veera smiled. “Remember,” he said to everyone. “You are in this kitchen to cook food, not steal it. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the sooner we can all get back to cooking breakfast and lunch.”

  No one stirred. The thief was lying low.

  “I know the sweets are very tempting and the smell makes you hungry, but it is not good to lie to the king,” said Prince Veera. “Now, who took the laddu?”

  No one would own up. Not a single word was spoken. Prince Veera didn’t know who the thief could be.

  “I’ll tell the king to forgive you,” said the prince, “but you must confess now.”

  Again no one stepped forward.

  “Then it is time to invoke the God of Honesty,” the prince said, signaling to the sentry. “Please fetch me twenty pieces of firewood of the same length.”

  In a few minutes, the sentry returned with an armload of firewood.

  “Each of you gets one piece of wood,” said the prince. “You will step through the pantry invoking the God of Honesty and pray for mercy. Then you will come out the other side.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “If you are speaking the truth, your firewood will shrink by an inch by the time you step out on the other side. If you are lying, the God of Honesty will not grace you with his presence and your stick will remain the same length.”

  The sentry handed out the sticks as each person walked through the pantry. The prince stood waiting on the other side.

  As they walked in, each of them chanted the familiar slogan —“Satyameva Jayete!”— invoking the God of Honesty. Then they stepped out of the pantry and stood in front of the prince with their piece of wood.

  “Measure each of these,” Veera ordered.

  The sentry measured each piece of firewood and noted the measurements on a scroll.

  Prince Veera then read through the scroll and smiled. “I know who did it. Tell the king we will be in his court shortly.”

  But the king didn’t wait for Veera. He wanted to know who had lied to him. He came to the kitchen right away.

  “Do you know who did it?” asked the king.

  “Yes, Father. I know who stole the laddu and who lied to us,” said the prince.

  “I’ll forgive the stealing. The laddu is not important. We’re getting another cartload today. But who lied to me?”

  “The fourth man from the right,” said Prince Veera.

  Before the king could say anything, the liar fell at the king’s feet. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. I won’t lie to you ever again.”

  “Take him away, we’ll deal with him later,” said the king. “How did you find this out, Veera?”

  “I merely invoked the conscience of the guilty man,” Prince Veera said.

  “Did you threaten him?” asked the king.

  “Father, I did no such thing,” said Veera, and he explained what he had made the servants do.

  “How did that help? Did the guilty man confess?”

  “No, Father. The servants believed that the God of Honesty would shrink their firewood if they were innocent. Because the God of Honesty would not help him, the guilty man was afraid that his firewood would be longer than the others.”

  The king nodded with his eyes closed. He understood the minds of wrongdoers. They always lived in fear of being found out.

  “The culprit took a knife and chopped a small bit of the firewood. So when we measured all of the pieces at the end, the one with the shortest firewood was the liar.” Prince Veera held up the scroll.

  “Well done, my son. The laddu thief was caught by his own guilty conscience.”

  “So can I share a laddu with you, Father?” Veera asked.

  “Of course you can, my son,” the king said. “Can I share one of your jalebis?”

  Prince Veera had a busy schedule during the day. He had to get up very early to go swimming. After breakfast he studied mathematics, science, and economics. After lunch he practiced archery, horseback riding, and wrestling.

  One Wednesday, Suku was expected to join Veera for his morning swim. Veera waited at the riverbank, but there was no sign of his friend. Veera swam alone.

  He expected Suku to join him for breakfast, but again he was disappointed.

  “Where is Suku?” Veera asked his mother.

  “Maybe he is needed at the farm today, son,” said the queen.

  The whole day passed and there was no sign of Suku. Veera couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to go find him.

  Veera rode his white horse through the wide streets of Himpur. His personal guards rode behind him. The streets were lined with neem and banyan trees. Veera went past the village temple and the lotus lake, and then he crossed the bridge over the lake.

  The streets were narrower now and the houses smaller. Large corn and paddy fields were dotted with farmhouses.

  “Look, the prince is here to see Suku,” said a man looking up from his work.

  The people who lived in Suku’s neighborhood were not surprised. Veera came often to visit Suku and spent a lot of time playing in the streets. If he was not wearing expensive clothes or jewelry, or if there were no guards around the area, they would not realize it was Prince Veera playing hide-and-seek on the streets with the other boys.

  Veera dismounted from his horse outside Suku’s parents’ house. He knocked on the door and Suku’s father opened it.

  “Welcome, my dear prince,” said Suku’s father.

&
nbsp; “Good evening, sir. Where is my friend Suku?” asked the prince.

  “He has gone away on a short trip,” said Suku’s father.

  “What sort of trip?” asked the prince. “He never mentioned anything.”

  “It was quite sudden, Your Majesty. He had to leave this morning.”

  Prince Veera looked around. Suku’s clothes were still there. His bag and shoes were there, too. “All his things are here,” he said. “Please tell me what is going on.”

  Suku’s father couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. “The greedy moneylender has taken my boy away, Your Majesty. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. Neither did Suku.”

  “How much do you owe the moneylender?” asked Prince Veera.

  “Twenty-five silvers. Just twenty-five silvers. But I don’t have that money. And I won’t until I complete my harvest and sell my crops in the market.”

  “Who is this moneylender?” asked the prince. “He is very heartless.”

  “Angar is his name,” said Suku’s father, and he explained.

  “Angar comes from a family of moneylenders. He charges heavy interest on the money he lends. He even leases utensils and jewelry for weddings. And he takes away people’s belongings when they are unable to pay the interest. He is very greedy, Your Majesty.”

  “I’m going to do something about this,” said the prince.

  “But Suku is still with him,” said Suku’s father. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I don’t want anything to happen to my son, Your Majesty.”

  “Get me a bag of twenty-five silvers,” Veera said to his guard, “and get my friend back.” Then, to Suku’s parents he said, “I’ll teach the moneylender a lesson he will never forget.”

  Suku’s parents refused the money at first, but Prince Veera urged them to take it. After a lot of discussion, they finally agreed to accept the prince’s help in bringing their son back.

  The next day Suku returned home from the moneylender’s, then headed straight to the palace with a bag of sweet potatoes and guavas.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You have been very kind to us. My father will repay the money after the harvest.”

  “Never mind, Suku,” said Prince Veera. “I couldn’t wait until the harvest to beat you at horseback riding or archery, could I?”

  “Ha! To be beaten, you mean!” said Suku. “You can’t wait to lose.”

  “We’ll see about that. What happened at the moneylender’s house?” asked the prince. “Did he hurt you at all?”

  “No, he just made me do all his chores,” said Suku. “He made me count the money, make tea for him, and even wash his clothes. But that was easy. He had only two shirts and two dhotis.”

  “Didn’t you say he was rich?”

  “Yes, he is. But he doesn’t spend money. He eats only one meal a day, to save his silvers.”

  “That is pure greed,” said Prince Veera. “Maybe he is saving the money for a reason.”

  “I don’t think any reason is good enough to swindle people out of their possessions,” said Suku. “He makes people give up their hard-earned things and money just to fill his coffers.”

  “Does he have any children?”

  “No children, no family,” said Suku. “Not even a pet. He lives alone, counts his money, eats, sleeps, and snores. He doesn’t even have anyone to collect his dues. If people return the money late, he charges more interest.”

  “We have to teach him a lesson, my friend,” said Prince Veera. “We can’t let him continue to cheat anymore.”

  “You mean, report him to your father’s court?” asked Suku. “I don’t think we can do that. People who borrow from him sign a paper that says they agree to his terms. Your father will throw the case out when he sees the papers.”

  “But that’s not fair,” said the prince. “We have to teach him a lesson. How about a bit of Veera treatment? Are you ready for some fun?”

  Then Veera whispered a plan to his friend.

  The next day, dressed as an ordinary farmer’s boy, Veera set off to see the moneylender. No one noticed him as he walked down the street and turned right at the village square, onto a road lined with beautiful magnolia trees. The fragrance was wonderful.

  Angar the moneylender lived at number seventy-seven. A large statue of a white elephant stood outside the door. No one could miss that, thought Veera as he knocked.

  A thin, scrawny man opened the door.

  “I’m here to see Angar, the moneylender,” said Veera.

  “What for?” barked the man.

  “To borrow some cookware for my sister’s wedding.”

  “Come in,” said the man.

  Veera stepped inside. The house was large and spacious, but he noticed that there wasn’t any furniture, except for a desk set up on a dais. The seating area was covered in silk. There wasn’t a single chair to sit on.

  The man climbed onto the dais and sat down on the silk-covered floor.

  “I am Angar,” he said. “What kind of pots and pans do you need?”

  “Can I look at them and decide?” asked Veera.

  The moneylender pointed to a green door. Veera pushed it open and stepped inside a room filled with pots, pans, ladles, and cups. They were made of copper, bronze, and steel, and some were made of earthenware.

  Veera took a selection of bronze vessels and stepped out again. He put them on the floor and said, “These are the ones I need.”

  “Very well then. You are taking ten pots. You must return them in the same condition in a week’s time. You owe me three silvers now and two silvers when you return them.” The moneylender wrote down the details in his notebook.

  Veera signed the agreement and handed three silvers to the moneylender, then took his pots and left.

  One week went by and then two. A whole month had passed and still Veera hadn’t bothered to return the pots.

  “I think we have waited long enough,” said Suku. “We should return the pots to the moneylender.”

  “Angar must have forgotten about them by now,” said Veera. “He hasn’t sent anyone to get them.”

  “He doesn’t do that,” explained Suku. “He simply charges more. Make sure you bring some extra silvers with you.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” said Veera. “I have enough to keep Angar happy.” He carefully lifted twenty pots and placed them in a cart.

  Suku drove the cart while Veera sat inside, holding the pots. The boys arrived at the moneylender’s house and unloaded the cart.

  On hearing them, Angar appeared from inside.

  “Where were you all this time?” he yelled. “You should have returned these pots weeks ago. I will have to charge you more now.”

  Veera smiled. “Well, kind sir, there is a small problem. You asked me to return the pots in the same condition. But I’m afraid that is not possible.”

  “Why not? Did you break them? How did you break bronze pots?”

  “I didn’t break them,” said Veera. “But, you see, these pots gave birth to little ones. They were in a delicate state. I couldn’t bring them until the little pots were strong enough to travel.”

  “Strong enough?” asked the moneylender. “What are you talking about?”

  “See, dear sir, you didn’t realize that the pots you lent me were with children,” explained Veera. “After the wedding was over, I left them in the pantry for just a few hours. Then I heard sounds. Sounds of the pots rattling and clanging. When I rushed in to check, there were little pots in them.”

  “I don’t believe this,” said Angar.

  “I knew you’d say that,” said the prince. “Here, I brought your pots with their little ones. They all belong to you rightfully.”

  Angar counted the big pots. There were ten. He counted the small pots. There were ten. Well, what a neat profit!

  “Thank you, young man,” he said. “You’re very honest. Others would have hidden the little pots and never returned them.”

  Even though Angar was happy with
the little pots, he still charged Veera for the delay in returning the large ones. Veera forked over five silvers and returned home with Suku.

  “I couldn’t believe it when he actually stroked the little pots with love,” said Suku. “That man is so greedy.”

  “Let him enjoy his pots while he can,” said Veera. His eyes glinted at the prospect of teaching Angar a lesson. No one mistreated his friend and got away with it!

  A week later, again dressed in ordinary clothes, Veera set off to see the moneylender. This time he needed no introduction. When he asked for twenty pots, the moneylender was more than happy to lend them.

  “Please take as many as you like. Remember to bring back any little ones,” he said, giving him a receipt for six silvers.

  Veera returned home and sent the pots to the royal kitchen. They weren’t going anywhere again. Suku and Veera continued with their lessons for a month before they remembered Angar and his pots.

  “Now that we are done with our lessons, do you think Angar is ready for his?” Suku asked.

  “That sounds like fun,” said Veera, and they discussed what they would tell Angar.

  Veera and Suku set off on their horses, but they dismounted before they reached Angar’s house. They walked up to the door and knocked.

  When the door opened, Veera and Suku burst out crying. They sat on the doorstep and cried loudly. They wailed and screamed. The whole street came to watch.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Angar. “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s about the pots. I can’t bear to tell you,” said the prince.