King Akbar was very fond of singing and believed he had a wonderful voice. In reality, he was a terrible singer, but nobody in the kingdom had the courage to tell him the truth. Whenever he sang, people would clap and say "Wow!" just to please him, so he continued thinking he was truly talented.
His singing was absolutely dreadful. When he attempted to sing a Hindi song, it came out as a jumbled mess of notes and words that nobody could understand. Yet everyone applauded politely after each performance.
One day, Akbar organized a singing competition. He invited all the finest singers in his kingdom—including the legendary Tansen—and appointed four judges. The talented musicians performed beautifully, singing ghazals and songs with perfect pitch, accompanied by harmonium and guitar. Their voices rose and fell gracefully, filling the palace with melody.
Then it was Akbar's turn. He announced he would sing "Chaiya Chaiya," but he couldn't even remember the words properly. His voice went up and down randomly, and he started screaming "Chaiya! Chaiya! Chaiya!" louder and louder.
The audience could barely tolerate it, but nobody dared cover their ears for fear of punishment. Then someone discovered a clever trick: if they clapped loudly enough, they could drown out the king's terrible voice. Soon everyone was clapping thunderously, and Akbar thought they loved his performance so much that they couldn't contain their enthusiasm. Encouraged, he sang even louder.
The clapping grew more frantic. Suddenly, all the glass windowpanes in the palace began to crack and shatter. "Look at this!" the courtiers exclaimed. "Your Majesty, your voice is so powerful it breaks glass!" At that moment, it happened to start raining, and they added, "Your song is so magnificent it reaches the clouds and brings down rain!"
All this praise went straight to Akbar's head. He declared, "God has given me this gift of singing, so I must share it with everyone. From now on, every person in my palace must gather each morning from nine to eleven o'clock to hear me practice."
The palace staff was horrified. His daily singing sessions became unbearable. Some people developed upset stomachs and had to rush to the toilet repeatedly. Others got runny noses or started crying. A few even went deaf from the awful sound. One poor man's hair began falling out every time the king sang. But still, nobody had the courage to tell Akbar the truth.
The people begged Birbal for help. "You're the smartest person in the kingdom," they pleaded. "You must find a way to make him stop!" Birbal didn't want to hurt his friend's feelings, but he knew he had to do something. He came up with a clever plan.
One day, Birbal approached Akbar and said, "Your Majesty, you are such a powerful singer! Remember that day when you sang and the rain came down? Your voice literally brought water from the sky!" "Yes, yes!" Akbar agreed proudly. "That's why I sing every day—so everyone can enjoy my magnificent voice!"
"Well," Birbal continued, "there's a nearby village suffering from drought. All their wells have run dry. Your Majesty, could you perhaps sing into one of their wells? Your powerful voice might bring water up from deep within the earth to fill it."
"How would that work?" Akbar asked, intrigued. "You simply stand at the well and sing down into it," Birbal explained. "Since your voice is so powerful, it will reach deep into the earth and draw the water up." "Yes, yes! Let's try it!" Akbar exclaimed.
Birbal had a secret reason for this plan. He knew that when you sing into a well, your voice echoes back to you—just like when you shout in a tunnel or under a bridge. This would be the only way for Akbar to hear his own voice.
They arrived at the dry well. "Are you sure this will work?" Akbar asked. "Your Majesty, it depends on how powerfully you sing," Birbal replied. "The louder and stronger, the better chance of bringing up the water." "Alright, let me try!" Akbar said confidently.
He began to sing down into the well. Immediately, all the nearby crows started cawing in distress and flew away. Dogs ran off yelping. Then Akbar sang even louder. Suddenly, his voice echoed back from the well, and the sound hurt his own ears.
"What was that?" Akbar cried out. "What is this terrible voice I'm hearing?" "That's just the echo, Your Majesty," Birbal explained calmly. "Your voice is bouncing off the walls of the well and coming back. It's science."
"So you're telling me... this is my own voice?" Akbar asked slowly. "Yes, Your Majesty. That's correct." "But this is horrible!" Akbar exclaimed. "This is the worst voice I've ever heard! Who is this terrible singer?"
"There is no terrible singer," Birbal said gently. "It's your voice reflecting back to you." Akbar stood in stunned silence. "This is my voice? How come nobody ever told me?"
Birbal remained quiet, and in that moment, Akbar understood everything. His voice was truly horrible, but everyone had been too afraid to tell him the truth. Only Birbal had the courage to show him reality—in a kind and polite way—by taking him to the well where he could hear himself.
"When you hear your own voice, that's when you truly realize," Akbar said quietly. And that is the moral of the story. From that day forward, King Akbar never sang again in his life.
