Clever Shankhar

Clever Shankhar

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Shankhar. He was tall and thin, and he did not have much money. But Shankhar had something better than money. He had a very clever mind.

Shankhar did not want to stay in one place and work at a regular job. He wanted to travel the world, help people, and use his wits to solve problems. So one day, he packed a small bag and set off on his journey.

He walked and walked and walked until he came to a small village. In that village, something terrible had happened. A huge rock had rolled down from the mountain and landed right in the middle of the road. It was as big as a room. Nobody could get past it. If you wanted to fetch water, it now took an hour to go around. The whole village was blocked and miserable.

The villagers were standing around, complaining and complaining. "Oh my goodness, how will we ever move this rock? It is so heavy. There is no way. Our lives have become so difficult!"

Shankhar walked up and looked at the rock. Then he looked at the people.

"I will move the rock," he said.

The villagers stared at him. He was so thin — as thin as a little child — and he was a stranger. They burst out laughing. "Ha ha ha! You? You are going to move this rock? Come on, please don't waste our time. Go away!"

"I will move the rock," Shankhar said again, calmly.

The chief of the village stepped forward. "Fine. If you can move that rock, I will give you one hundred gold coins."

"Agreed," said Shankhar. "But I have two conditions. First, bring me a very long, strong rope. Second, everyone must cheer for me."

The villagers laughed even harder. "He wants us to cheer? Fine, fine, we will cheer!"

They brought him a long rope. Shankhar tied it carefully and tightly around the great rock, asking people to help him knot it properly. Then he took hold of the end of the rope and began to pull.

Of course, he was alone and thin. He could not move the rock even one inch. But he kept pulling with all his effort, straining and pulling.

The villagers began to cheer, just as they had promised. "Ho ho hurray! Ho ho hurray! Go go Shankhar! Go go Shankhar!"

The rock moved one tiny inch. Just one inch. But the crowd went wild. They cheered even louder.

Then one person in the crowd thought, "He is doing it all alone. I should help him." So that person ran forward and grabbed the rope.

When others saw that, they joined too. Then more people. Then more. Slowly the whole village was pulling the rope together, chanting, "Ho ho hurray! Ho ho hurray!"

Slowly, slowly, with thirty people pulling together, the great rock shifted. It moved. It rolled. And with one final heave, they pushed it off the road.

The whole village erupted in cheers. "Wow, Shankhar! You moved the rock!"

But Shankhar shook his head. "I did not move the rock," he said. "I only started. Once I started, everyone wanted to help. And because thirty people pulled together, the rock moved. I was just the one who began."

The villagers looked at each other. "You are right. We should have started long ago. We just didn't know how."

The chief gave Shankhar the hundred gold coins. Shankhar counted out thirty coins and gave one to each of the thirty people who had helped pull.

"You all contributed," he said. "Here is your share."

He kept the remaining seventy coins for himself.

"Wow, Shankhar!" they all said. "You are so clever!"

Shankhar smiled and walked on.

He walked and walked until he came to another village. There was a big fair going on. You know what a fair is, right? It is like the Brighton fair, with lots of games and rides and prizes. There were many stalls, and people were playing games to win prizes.

At one stall, there was a special challenge. The stall owner had put up a big wall about twenty meters away, roughly the distance from one end of a room to the other. He held up a towel.

"This is just a towel," he said. "You can do whatever you like with it. But you must throw it and make it cross over the wall. If you can do that, you win one hundred gold coins!"

Lots of people tried. They folded the towel tightly and threw it as hard as they could. But every time, the towel would open up in midair, catch the wind, and float slowly back down. Even the strongest people could only throw it close to the wall before it drifted down.

Then they brought out the strongest man in the village. His name was Bahubali. He was six feet five inches tall, much taller than daddy, and he had muscles like boulders.

"I am the strongest person in this village," Bahubali declared. "Nobody can fight me. I will throw this towel!"

He took the towel, ran back as far as he could, and hurled it with all his might. He threw it so hard that he fell down from the effort. The towel flew up, opened in the air, floated across, touched the very top of the wall, and then drifted back down. Still not over.

Then Shankhar stepped forward.

"I will throw the towel and make it cross the wall," he said.

The crowd burst out laughing. "Ha ha ha! Look at you! You are so thin! You are so tall and skinny! How can you do what Bahubali could not?"

Shankhar smiled. "I may not be strong," he said, "but I am smart."

They gave him the towel. Shankhar looked around, picked up a large stone, placed it inside the towel, and tied the towel tightly around the stone. Then he picked up the stone and threw it.

The stone flew smoothly through the air and sailed cleanly over the wall. The towel went with it.

"That is cheating!" the stall owner cried.

"Is it?" said Shankhar. "You said I had to make the towel cross the wall. You did not say I could not tie anything around it."

The crowd went silent. Then they burst into applause.

"Shankhar is so smart! Shankhar is so smart!"

They gave him the hundred gold coins. Shankhar said, "You see, you do not always have to be the strongest. Sometimes you just have to be the smartest."

And he walked on.

He walked and walked until he reached the capital city of the kingdom. In that city, there was a king. This king was very fat because he loved food more than anything else in the world. He ate all day long, and he always wanted the very best food.

The king had made an announcement: "Whoever can bring me the best dish in the world will receive one hundred crore gold coins!"

The finest cooks from all the restaurants in the kingdom came forward. They made the most wonderful food you can imagine. Pizzas and pastas, sushi and tapioca, Thai curries and French pastries, all the finest cuisines of the world. One by one, they brought their dishes to the king.

The king took one bite of each dish and said, "No. I do not want it."

He did not like a single one.

Then Shankhar stepped forward.

"Your Majesty," he said, "I am the best cook in the world. I will give you the best dish you have ever tasted."

The whole court burst out laughing. "Look at this skinny fellow! He thinks he can cook better than all the master chefs?"

"I can," said Shankhar. "But I have two conditions."

The king raised an eyebrow. "What conditions?"

"First," said Shankhar, "I will bring you the food tomorrow evening at six o'clock, when the sun is setting. My condition is that you must not eat anything at all the whole day. You must wait for my food and only my food."

The king frowned. "What a silly condition! But fine."

"Second," said Shankhar, "you must give me your kitchen to use."

"Fine," said the king.

"And if my food is not the best dish you have ever eaten," said Shankhar, "I will give you all two hundred gold coins that I have saved."

The king agreed. He was a proud man and he was certain he would win.

The next morning, the king woke up and the cook brought breakfast. The king remembered his promise and said, "I cannot eat. I must wait for Shankhar's food."

In the morning it was not so bad. But by the afternoon, the king was very, very hungry. He paced around the palace. His stomach growled. He told himself, "I must keep my promise. I made it in front of everyone."

By four o'clock in the afternoon, the king was going absolutely crazy. He had never fasted in his life. He had never gone more than two hours without eating. Now it had been the whole day.

"I am not hungry," he kept saying, though his stomach said otherwise. "Naughty, naughty, naughty."

By six o'clock, the king's eyes were barely staying open. He was dizzy with hunger. But he was also very excited to try Shankhar's dish.

Shankhar arrived. He placed a simple bowl in front of the king.

Do you know what was in the bowl?

Some rice. Some potato. And some dal.

The whole court gasped. People whispered to each other. "Oh my goodness. The king is going to have Shankhar thrown in jail. He made the king starve the whole day, and now he brings him dal and rice and potato? Simple peasant food?"

But the king was so hungry. He smelled the food. It smelled wonderful. He took a bite.

His eyes went wide.

"Oh my goodness," the king said slowly. "This is the best dish I have ever eaten in my entire life. What did you do, Shankhar? This is so good. So, so good. I love you! Here are your gold coins!"

Everyone in the court was confused. "What is wrong with the king? We brought him pasta and pizza and sushi and Thai food, all the finest cuisines in the world, and he did not want any of it. But he is eating dal and rice and potato like he has never eaten before?"

When the king had finished every last grain of rice, he looked up at Shankhar with shining eyes.

"What was the secret of your dish, Shankhar?"

Shankhar smiled. "The secret, Your Majesty, was hunger. When you are truly, deeply hungry, even the simplest food tastes like the best meal in the world. But when you are not hungry, no dish in the world will satisfy you."

The king sat quietly for a long moment. Then he said, "I have learned something today. So many people in my kingdom are hungry. They do not get enough food. How can I help them?"

"You should not let anyone go hungry," said Shankhar. "You have seen today how terrible it is to be hungry. Imagine feeling that way every single day."

The king nodded. He ordered free kitchens to be built all over his kingdom, where anyone who was hungry could come and eat for free.

Then the king heard all the stories about Shankhar. The coins in the village. The towel over the wall. And now this.

"Shankhar," said the king, "you are the cleverest and kindest man I have ever met. I want you to join my court. You will be my minister."

He paused. "And from today, your name is no longer Shankhar."

"What will my name be?" asked Shankhar.

"Your name," said the king, "will be Birbal."

And that is how the first Birbal story began. A poor, clever young man named Shankhar walked the world with nothing but his wits, helped everyone he met, and became the great Birbal, the wisest minister in the kingdom.

The end.