The Long Path to Wisdom

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  The judge shook her head and ordered everyone back into the room to give her verdict: “This woman,” she began, “belongs to the returned sailor. The loafer has committed adultery and is thus obligated to pay compensation. But what does this good-for-nothing have to offer? He doesn’t have a cent to his name. No livestock. No property.”

  To the purported beggar woman she declared: “Fruit cannot return to the tree, but a daughter can return to her mother.”

  Finally, she turned to the husband: “Your fruit is rotten. If you insist, I will let you have it. But if you want my advice: Take your ship, sail far away, and find someone else to love!”

  The fishermen had pulled their boats ashore and lashed them firmly to the palm trees. They could tell by the colors of the sea and sky that a heavy storm was brewing and they must take every precaution.

  Just then a messenger galloped in from the palace demanding fresh fish. The king insisted on having at least one fried fish at every meal, and the palace scullery was clean out. When the messenger saw that the fishermen’s baskets were also empty, beads of sweat dotted his brow. His Majesty did not take kindly to unfulfilled wishes, least of all when it came to his favorite foods. The servant asked the fishermen to row back out, but they pointed to the deep black clouds and the white-caps frothing along the crests of the growing waves. None of them felt inclined to risk his life. The envoy pleaded with them—they had no idea what would happen to him if he returned to the court empty-handed! At last a brave young fisherman took pity on him and declared that he was willing to take the risk.

  Together they launched his boat into the crashing surf. He rowed for all he was worth, and it was not long before he was all but lost to view down inside the deep troughs of the waves.

  The storm’s ferocity increased. It started to rain, and gradually the fishermen started to think that the sea had swallowed their comrade forever. Hours passed. The servant of the court was on the brink of despair when an especially large breaker suddenly spilled the rowboat back ashore. And there sat the fisherman with a big, fat fish in his hands.

  The fisherman and the envoy raced to the palace, where the fisherman was led immediately to the king’s apartments. Outside the very last door the chamberlain was waiting for him. He gazed at the fish. “You have made a fine catch,” he remarked pointedly. “But whatever reward you get, half belongs to me.”

  “I risked my life in the storm,” the shocked fisherman protested. “I’ll give you a tenth.”

  “No. Fifty-fifty or you’ll not get past this door.”

  “That’s completely unfair,” cried the outraged fisherman. “Why should you get anything at all?”

  “Because if you don’t see the king then you’ll get nothing at all. Simple as that.”

  The fisherman realized that he was powerless, and he agreed to the terms.

  The chamberlain opened the heavy door and announced the arrival of a fisherman with fresh fish.

  At the sight of the fish the king’s mouth began to water. The chef prepared it quickly, and in no time at all the king was lost in the flavors of his favorite dish. When he was utterly satisfied, he reclined on his cushions and summoned the fisherman.

  “You have earned my gratitude. What do you desire? How can I demonstrate my appreciation? Gems? A new boat?”

  The fisherman looked at the floor and shook his head. “No, Your Highness, nothing of the kind. I want only twenty lashes across my bare back.”

  The king burst out laughing. “I see you are no stranger to a jest. How delightful! But speak truthfully; you may name your reward. Your word is my command.”

  The fisherman stood by his original request, and so the reluctant king called for a whip.

  The young man bared his back, and the king struck him as softly as he could.

  “My Lord, not so timidly. Give it all you’ve got.”

  Not wanting to break his promise, the king laid into the fisherman with all his might. After the tenth stroke, the fisherman jumped up and cried, “Stop, that’s enough. Now it’s the chamberlain’s turn.”

  The confused king turned to the servant, who had followed the proceedings without a word, his face white as chalk.

  Stammering, the chamberlain confessed to the arrangement he had imposed on the fisherman, whereupon he received his own ten lashes.

  When it was done, the king relieved the chamberlain of the powers he had abused and appointed the bold fisherman to take his place.

  In a certain village there lived four young men who had been close friends since early childhood. After a long day’s work in the fields, they liked to meet at a teahouse and exchange the most marvelous tales. They would often sit together until late in the evening trying to outdo one another to see which of them was the best storyteller.

  One day they noticed a stranger eating noodle soup at a nearby table. He wore an elegant longyi, a handsome shirt, and on top of that an exquisite vest. The four friends put their heads together and came up with a plan to trick the traveler out of his fancy clothes.

  A short time later they sidled up to the stranger and started a conversation. They asked where he was from and where the road might be taking him. Eventually they suggested a competition. Each of them should give an earnest account of a ludicrous story. If anyone betrayed even the slightest skepticism, that person would become a slave to the others. The proprietor of the teahouse would be the referee.

  The stranger thought it was a good suggestion and agreed to participate. They ordered another round of tea with crackers and roasted melon seeds to nibble on. Then the first of the young men started his tale.

  “My mother loved fruit, and best of all mangos. A tall, proud mango tree grew in front of our house, and when I was still in her womb she asked my father to pick a few of the delicious fruits for her. My father replied that he would be happy to do so if only the ripe mangos did not hang so high in the tree. It would be a dangerous climb. He’d gladly go to the market for her if she liked. My mother insisted on mangos from her own tree, since they were sweeter and juicier, so she asked my three brothers to pick some for her, but they, too, declared that it would be too perilous to climb the tree. My dear mother was so disappointed that I could hardly stand it. In the night I crept out of her womb and clambered up the tree. Over the next several hours I harvested nearly every mango from its branches and piled them into a neat pyramid at the foot of my mother’s bed. Just before sunrise I crawled back into her belly. When she awoke she could not believe her eyes. No one knew how the mangos had gotten into her room, but now she could eat as many as she liked, and she had plenty to share with my brothers and the neighbors.”

  The young man sipped his tea and looked around expectantly, but the traveler just nodded in agreement.

  And so the second young man began his tale.

  “Not far from our house there is an old eucalyptus tree. It stands so tall that its crown is not infrequently lost in the clouds. Shortly after I was born—I could not have been more than two weeks old—I decided to explore the tree. Climbing up was more challenging than I expected, but still it was much easier than climbing back down. Halfway back to the ground I was nearly exhausted, and I was starting to worry that I would have to spend the night up there. Then I remembered that the village smith had a tall ladder. I ran to the smithy as fast as I could, borrowed the ladder, and ran back to the tree, where I safely completed my descent.”

  The stranger smiled, and in his face there was not the slightest sign that he doubted the tale’s veracity.

  The four friends looked at each other in disappointment. Now it was the third young man’s turn.

  “Even as a very young child I loved to wander alone through the jungle. One time—I had just turned one—I saw a hare disappear into a bush. Full of curiosity, I crawled in after it. I scrambled deeper and deeper into the thicket, until I found myself face-to-face not with a hare, but with a tiger. The tiger gazed at me with big
, hungry eyes. I asked him whether he had noticed a hare running past. He shook his head, opened his mouth wide, and bared his teeth. There was no doubt that he intended to devour me. I told him to leave me in peace, but the foolish animal would not listen. He came closer and closer until I had no choice but to strike him. I guess I overdid it, because he split right in two and died on the spot.”

  The young man looked anxiously from one listener to the next. All of them sat in reflective silence; not a one betrayed even a trace of disbelief.

  And so the fourth young man launched into his yarn.

  “Let me say up front that I like to eat fish and also to catch them myself. Last year I spent a few days at the beach, where I borrowed a boat from a fisherman and rowed out to sea. But even after several hours I hadn’t had a single bite. These waters were supposed to be teeming with fish, so I talked to the other fishermen, and they were all having similarly bad luck. For days they had been returning to shore empty-handed; even the best bait was no help.

  “I decided to get to the bottom of it, so I jumped into the sea and dove down deep. The water was pleasantly warm and clear, but there were no fish in sight. After three days and nights I finally found the answer to the riddle. At the bottom of the sea lay a fish as big as a mountain. He hardly moved, but from time to time he would open his mouth. Whenever he did all of the fish from far and wide would disappear into it as if drawn by some magical force. I swam up to the monster and killed it with a single blow. I was hungry from all that diving, so I decided to make a dinner of that fish right then and there. I lit a fire, grilled the fish, and ate it. When I was done, I resurfaced, swam to shore, and told the other fishermen that their troubles were over and that they would soon be returning with full nets.”

  Confident of his victory, the narrator looked around, but everyone just nodded. No one expressed even a shred of doubt about the story’s details.

  Now it was the stranger’s turn.

  “Not long ago I owned a great many papaya trees. One of them was especially tall and shapely, but it bore no fruit. My workers recommended I cut it down, but I could not bring myself to do it. The following year it suddenly produced four large papayas more beautiful and magnificent than on any other tree. When they were ripe and glowing reddish-golden in the sun we harvested them. When I cut them open a young man stepped out of each one. From that moment on, the four of them became my slaves. Unfortunately they were lethargic and lazy, and after only a few weeks they all ran away. Since then I have scoured the land in search of them, and it looks like today is my lucky day, because I have found you at last, my runaway slaves. Pack your things and return with me to my estate.”

  The four young men were frozen with fear. They would not even touch their tea. If they went along with the stranger’s story then they would have to follow his command and go off with him. But if they questioned his word, they would lose the competition and again be forced to serve as his slaves.

  The traveler smiled broadly at them. “Well?” he asked.

  When they had nothing to say, the proprietor of the teahouse wanted to know whether they believed the tale. None of the four made so much as a peep, and the proprietor declared that the traveler had won the competition.

  “Since you are now my slaves,” said the victor, “everything you own also belongs to me. Remove your pants and shirts and give them to me. After that I will set you free.”

  The four men did as they were told. The man tied their clothes into a large bundle and went on his way, singing merrily to himself as he left the village.

  A long time ago a crocodile lived on the banks of a mighty river with his wife, who often felt sick and weak. One day she told her husband that the only cure for her ailments was to eat a monkey heart. “Please, dear,” she implored him, “bring me the heart of a young little monkey.”

  The crocodile loved his wife dearly and began his search at once. Both sides of the river were lined with tall trees, and the crocodile had often seen monkeys frolicking in their boughs. One monkey in particular had caught his eye because he was so curious and bold. He would always climb out the farthest on the limbs that hung over the river, and he clambered nimbly and fearlessly into the highest branches. Though small in stature, this little monkey clearly had a big heart. So the crocodile swam to the middle of the stream, where he kept a sharp lookout. He spent the whole day in the water and was just about to give up when he spotted the monkey in a mango tree.

  “Hey, Monkey,” he called, “the fruits on the other side of the river are much bigger and juicier. I’ll take you over there if you like.”

  “A likely story,” replied the monkey. “Why should the fruit be better there than here? You just want to eat me.”

  “Not at all! I was only trying to help,” claimed the crocodile. But the little monkey would not be taken in.

  This encounter repeated itself time and again over the next several days. The crocodile regaled the monkey with tales of unimaginably large bananas and mouth-watering papayas on the far bank, but the monkey was not buying it. At least not until his curiosity finally got the better of him and he accepted the crocodile’s offer to ferry him over.

  The monkey climbed onto the crocodile’s back and off they went. About halfway across the stream the crocodile began to submerge.

  “What are you doing?” cried the horrified monkey. “I’ll drown!”

  So the crocodile confessed that he had in fact been lying all along and that he now meant to kill the monkey for the sake of his sickly wife, who desired the monkey’s heart.

  The monkey laughed. “You can kill me if you like,” he said, “but you won’t get my heart that way. Do you really think that we monkeys carry our hearts around with us all day long? How are we supposed to spring lightly from treetop to treetop while carrying our heavy hearts?”

  The crocodile needed to think about this.

  “We hide our hearts in trees,” the monkey went on. “We tuck them away in little hollows or in nests. If your wife is dead set on eating a monkey heart, then bring me back to shore and I’ll fetch not one, but two of them right away.”

  The crocodile swam back to shore and let the monkey go.

  The monkey returned almost immediately with two extraordinarily large and juicy figs. He insisted that they were especially strong monkey hearts, and he gave them to the crocodile, who happily brought them home to his wife. Convinced that they were monkey hearts, she ate the figs and enjoyed excellent health all the rest of her days.

  A good long time ago there lived a man who wove and sold hats of straw. All of the farmers needed his hats to keep their heads out of the sun while they worked in the fields, so business was generally good. One day after finishing a batch of hats he packed them in a large basket and set off for the next village. It was market day there, and many people would be keen to buy his goods.

  It was a strenuous hike and the sun was blazing in the blue sky, so the hat maker decided to rest awhile in the shade of a sprawling banyan tree. He intended only to catch his breath, but in the heat of the day he soon fell asleep.

  When he woke some time later he could tell by the sun that he had slept a long while. Now he would have to hurry to get to the village in time. He looked around grumpily for his hats, and he could hardly believe his eyes—all of them were gone! Only the one on his head remained. The hat maker hastily searched around the massive tree, wondering what could have happened. He looked among the roots and bushes, but he did not find a single hat.

  At some point he heard laughter in the tree above him. He glanced up, and in the boughs he saw a large troop of monkeys, each one with a straw hat on its head! They split their sides laughing while the hat maker cursed and threatened them and went through all kinds of contortions trying to get his hats back. The amused monkeys merely mimicked his furious gestures!

  The hat maker was outraged at the way the monkeys were mocking him, but in the end it gave him an idea. The an
imals reminded him of ill-mannered children. Perhaps he could outsmart them.

  “Oh, what a beautiful hat!” he said loudly. He took his hat in his hands, examined it from all sides, and finally put it back on his head. The monkeys imitated him.

  Next the hat maker declared: “It’s so hot today, isn’t it?” He took his hat off again and fanned himself with it. Up in the treetop the monkeys squealed with glee and mocked him again.

  A third time the man took the hat off his head and examined it critically. “Oh, I don’t like this hat anymore,” he said, and threw it decisively to the ground.

  The monkeys laughed, took their hats in their hands, and threw them all to the ground.

  Pleased with this outcome, the hat maker chuckled while the monkeys, enraged by this trick, screamed and thrashed around in the tree, but did not dare to come down. The man quickly gathered the hats and went on his way.

  Many years later the hat maker’s son took over his father’s business. The son had children of his own, the oldest of whom decided to carry on his grandfather’s trade. And so it came to pass that more than twenty years later a young man with a basket full of straw hats was making his way to the very same village, where again it was a market day.

  It was still a difficult road, and again it was a hot day when the young man stopped to rest under the very same tree where his grandfather once had napped. Like his grandfather, the young man fell asleep and woke to find that all the laboriously woven hats had vanished. He looked here and there without any idea what could have become of them. Suddenly he remembered a story that his grandfather had often told him when he was just a boy. So he looked up into the tree, and sure enough, there sat a band of monkeys with broad grins on their faces and straw hats on their heads.