A Book of Tricksters Read online

  He stopped when he reached the bank and didn’t put his legs into the mud. Instead, he looked over the water. Because of the rising mist, it was difficult to see clearly. But he thought he saw a log floating in the water. Or it could have been Buaya. There were a couple of bumps near the end of the log that could have been his eyes.

  I’d better make sure before I take a drink, he thought. He backed away from the bank, sat down and began to plan.

  Then he stood up and returned to the bank. “If that’s a log,” he said very loudly to himself, “it will talk to me. If it’s a crocodile, it won’t say anything.”

  A voice came from the middle of a river. “Yes, I’m a log. Can I come closer and talk to you?”

  “Buaya, you’re even stupider than I thought. Everyone knows that logs don’t talk. Of course you can’t come nearer. I know what you’d do to me when you opened your mouth.” Kancil hopped away and began to sing:

  You’re so big, and I’m not.

  But I’m very smart, and you’re definitely not.

  The crocodile muttered loudly to himself about what he wanted to do to Kancil. He sounded extremely angry.

  The next morning, Kancil came to the river a little later. He knew that he would be able get a drink safely because the mist had burned off, and he could see where Buaya was floating. He knew that if his enemy were in the middle of the river, he would be able to finish his drink and get back to the jungle by the time the crocodile had reached the bank.

  He was about to step off the bank to drink when he noticed that across the water there were enough leaves, green grass and tasty buds to feed him for weeks. Not only that, but a longan tree had clusters of cat’s eyes hanging so close to the ground that he could easily reach them. Kancil thought that longan fruit was the most delicious in the world.

  He stepped back from the riverbank and sat down to think. He certainly wanted to get all the fruit, but the river was flowing so swiftly that he knew he couldn’t swim across, and even if he could, the crocodile would be waiting for him.

  Suddenly, an idea came to him. He stood up and walked to the edge of the river. “Hello, Buaya,” he called out. “It certainly is a beautiful day.”

  The crocodile looked up, and when he saw the mouse deer, he swam toward the shore. “You’re just in time for lunch, Kancil,” he said.

  “As a matter of fact, I just came to talk to you about lunch,” the mouse deer replied. “But not for today and not me. The king is having a great feast tomorrow, and he sent me to invite you, along with all of your brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles.”

  Buaya was very pleased. The crocodiles had never been invited to a royal feast before. “Thank you, Kancil. We’d be delighted to come. But let’s talk about today’s lunch.” The mouse deer backed up as the crocodile put his short front legs on the edge of the bank.

  “Not so fast, my friend,” Kancil replied. “The king also told me that he wanted to know exactly how many crocodiles were in the river. He wants to have enough food for everyone. You’ve got to gather everyone here so that I can count them all and report back to the king.”

  In a few minutes, the river was filled with crocodiles. Some of them were thrashing their tails in the water. Some were rolling over and over in excitement, and a few were snapping at each other. Buaya swam over to the edge of the river. “Have you finished counting, Kancil?”

  “Finished? I haven’t even begun. Everyone is moving around so much that I don’t know where to start. Tell them to quiet down. They’ll have to line up side by side, with their mouths closed and pointing up the river, and they’ll have to be close together, because I’m going to walk across their backs counting each one. If any one of your relatives eats me, I won’t be able to finish counting, and the king will be very angry.”

  There was some more shoving and pushing and snapping as the crocodiles followed Kancil’s instructions. But, in a few minutes, they were all in position. They looked like a floating bridge of logs that led all the way to the opposite bank, near where the longan tree was growing.

  Kancil stepped onto the back of the first crocodile. “One!” he shouted. Then he stepped onto the second. “Two!” He called out.

  He had counted to 47 when he reached the far bank. He hopped to the shore and bounded toward the green grass, buds, leaves and the delicious cat’s eye fruit.

  “I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.

  The crocodiles waited and waited. Finally, Buaya called out. “Kancil, hurry up. You’ve got to tell the king how many of us will be at the feast.”

  Kancil’s voice came from the jungle. “What feast? The only feast is the one I’m having right now. There’s enough food for me to have feasts for a long, long time.” And he began to sing:

  You sure are big, and I sure am not.

  I’m definitely the smartest, and you sure are not.

  When the other crocodiles heard Kancil’s mocking song, they became very angry at Buaya. They began thrashing their tails, rolling over in anger and trying to snap at him.

  “You must be the stupidest crocodile who ever lived. You’ve made us all look like fools. Don’t come around us anymore.” And they all swam away, leaving Buaya alone in the middle of the river.

  “I’ll get Kancil, if I have to wait all day,” he grumbled.

  He waited all day, but never saw the mouse deer. He waited several more days without success. But every once in a while, he thought he heard a song coming from where the longan tree grew.

  You’re the biggest that there is.

  But I’m the smartest that there is.

  Have a good feast.

  How the BILLY GOATS Gruff Got Across the Bridge

  NORWAY :: In northern European tales, the villains were often trolls, large, frightening creatures who ate their victims. They had a great weakness. They would turn into stone if hit by direct sunlight. This Norwegian story, in which three brothers use their wits to defeat a troll, was first written down over a century and a half ago.

  The grass was definitely greener on the other side, and there was more of it—lots and lots more.

  As the three Billy Goats Gruff gazed across the river, they could hear their stomachs rumbling. They’d eaten all the grass on their side. And they were extremely hungry.

  But the river flowed very swiftly, and it was very deep. If they tried to swim to the other side, they’d probably be swept away by the current and carried over the falls whose mist and roar was just downstream.

  “Maybe there’s a bridge upstream,” the smallest and youngest of the goats suggested early one morning. The other two scoffed at him, telling him that they’d have heard about it if there were one.

  “We’ll never know for sure unless we look,” the little goat replied. “I’m going to head upstream to check it out.”

  “You’re wasting your energy,” his brothers laughed. But he started off anyway.

  The little goat trudged along for hours. He was hot and tired and hungrier than ever. He was just about to turn back when he came to a bend in the trail beside the river. I’ll just see what’s around the bend before I head home, he thought to himself.

  When he walked around the bend, he saw a bridge across the river. At the far end of the bridge, a huge Norway maple cast a shadow over the last few planks and the ground beyond. Past the shadows, the little goat saw a field filled with green grass.

  Trip, trip, trip. The goat’s hooves sounded as he started to cross the bridge.

  “Who’s crossing my bridge?” a voice roared from the darkness under the bridge.

  The little goat stopped. He saw a dark shape climbing onto the planks in the shadows. It was a troll.

  The goat knew that if he stayed in the sunlight, he would be safe. He knew that trolls turned to stone if the sunlight hit them. I might be eaten by the troll if I try to cross, he thought. But if I don’t keep going, I’m going to die of hunger.

  He had an idea.

  “You are certainly the biggest
, most fearsome, most magnificent troll I’ve ever seen,” he said to the troll. He hadn’t seen any trolls before, but he figured a little flattery couldn’t hurt.

  “I know you want to gobble me up. But I’m small and skinny, and I’d be tough and stringy. You deserve a better meal than I’d make. My brother will be along soon, and he’s bigger and fatter. Why don’t you wait for him? I’d just ruin your appetite.”

  The troll spent a while mulling over what the little goat had said.

  “Okay,” it finally grumbled. “I’ll let you go across. But your brother better be as good as you say.”

  The troll shuffled and grunted as it lowered itself off the bridge, and the little goat crossed the dark section of the bridge, passed through the shadows of the tree and headed to the green field.

  Meanwhile, back at the old field, his brothers started to get worried. “I’m sure he didn’t find a bridge,” the oldest remarked. “I wonder if something has happened to him.”

  “Maybe he did find a bridge and is getting fat eating green grass,” the middle-sized goat replied. “I think I’ll head upstream and check things out.”

  Late in the afternoon, with the sun very low in the sky, the middle brother arrived at the bridge. Long shadows stretched across it, and the troll crouched in the shadows, waiting. It had been waiting for the middle goat for hours, getting hungrier by the minute.

  “Who’s crossing my bridge?” rumbled the troll, although it knew perfectly well who it was.

  “Well, your brother wasn’t exaggerating. You are bigger and fatter than he is,” observed the troll, as drool streamed from its mouth.

  “Where is my brother?” the middle goat asked. “Have you eaten him?”

  “No, I let him cross. I didn’t want to eat him and ruin my appetite.”

  The middle goat quickly understood how his brother had escaped the troll and decided to try the same thing.

  “You’re right, I am bigger and fatter. And I can tell by the way your stomach is rumbling that you’re really hungry. But I wouldn’t even half fill you up. Why don’t you let me go across? Then you can wait for our biggest brother. He’s so big that he’ll fill you up so that you won’t want to eat for a week.”

  The troll spent a while mulling over what the middle goat had said.

  “Okay. You can cross,” it said. “But your brother better be as big as you say he is.”

  The middle brother crossed the bridge, and, just as the sun set, he joined his little brother in the green field.

  Back at the old field, the biggest goat had gone to sleep very hungry. Just before dawn, his stomach was growling so much that it woke him up.

  He thought to himself that if his brothers hadn’t come home, they might just have found a way across the river. He decided that he’d better check it out before he was so weak with hunger that he couldn’t walk.

  He arrived at the bridge just at noon. The sun was shining down on the bridge, and the troll crouched in a small patch of shade under the tree. It had been waiting since the second goat had crossed the night before and was very hungry.

  “Who’s crossing my bridge?” it growled, although it could clearly see the goat in the bright sunlight at the far edge of the bridge. The troll was a creature of habit and always said the same thing when anyone crossed its bridge.

  “Your brother was right. You really are big, and you do look like you’d make a great meal.”

  The biggest goat could tell from the sound of the voice in the shadows that the troll really was big, and, in his weakened condition, he knew that he’d have a tough time defeating it if he had to fight.

  “You’re right,” he called across the bridge. “I would be good to eat, and I can tell from all that rumbling that you’re really hungry. But if you want me, you’ll have to meet me. We’ll have a fair fight in the middle of the bridge.”

  The troll stayed under the tree. It knew what would happen if it stepped into the bright noonday sun.

  “Are you a coward?” the goat taunted.

  The troll did not reply.

  The biggest goat could see no movement in the shadows.

  “I guess you are,” the goat continued. “You’re a hungry coward.”

  Still no reply.

  “And you’re ugly. An ugly, hungry coward.”

  The troll stirred in the shade and uttered an angry growl. But it stayed put.

  “A hungry, ugly coward. And moreover, you’re stupid. Even my little brothers could fool you, and they’re not very smart at all.”

  Of course, that wasn’t true, but the troll didn’t know it. It stood up and roared angrily.

  “That’s not true. I may be hungry, but I’m not a coward. And I’m not ugly. And I’m certainly not stupid. You think I won’t fight you. But I will.”

  The troll rushed out from the shadows.

  And as the biggest goat watched from the sunlight in the middle of the bridge, the troll turned into stone—a huge, grey-black boulder that was so heavy it cracked the planks of the bridge. The biggest goat walked toward the boulder, lowered his head and pushed the boulder over the edge and into the river.

  The biggest goat crossed the bridge and joined his brothers in the green field. They stayed there for many weeks. By the time they had eaten all the grass, the grass on the other side of the river was green again. And so they decided to go back.

  They stayed together until they reached the bridge. Then they all agreed to let the smallest goat cross first, just in case another troll had taken up residence in the shadows below. They knew that their little brother would use his wits, and that working together, they would all arrive safely at the other side.

  Why the SHINING One Shines No More

  INDIA :: For many centuries, children in India heard stories from the Panchatantra, a book written more than 2,000 years ago. Many of the stories are about animals who often behave like human beings. In this one, a powerful and proud lion meets a small, weak and wise hare.

  He called himself Bhasuraka, the Shining One. That wasn’t his real name, but it made him feel important, and he liked to feel important. In fact, he felt so important that he declared himself the King of the Jungle.

  There was no doubt that he was very big and very strong and very fierce. The smaller and weaker creatures were all terrified of him. He would roar loudly as he strode through the jungle looking for animals to kill and eat. He usually ate more than he ever needed. And when he was full, he’d kill some more animals just for the joy of seeing the fear in their eyes.

  Every day there were fewer and fewer small animals. One day, those who were left called a meeting under the great banyan tree. Sambar and chital deer, long-tailed gorals and pygmy hogs, hares, squirrels and shrews gathered to discuss what they could do about Bhasuraka.

  “Soon there will be none of us left,” several of them lamented. “We’ve got to do something. But what?”

  There was much discussion, a great deal of disagreement and a lot of just talking for the sake of talking. Some of the animals wanted to move far away, but were reminded that there’d be hungry lions wherever they went. One suggested an elaborate plan to trap the lion. It involved ropes, ladders, nets and an animal to sit in the middle of the trap as bait. But no one could figure out how to rig such a trap.

  Then, a wise old hispid hare made a suggestion. “As long as Bhasuraka is around, he’s going to keep killing us. The best we can do is try to convince him not to kill so many of us. Here’s my idea.” And he outlined his plan.

  Of course, there was more discussion—agreements and disagreements, and talking for the sake of talking. Finally, they all agreed that a group of them should go to Bhasuraka and tell him the hare’s idea.

  “We must remember not to show how frightened we are, and we must be sure to treat him with great respect. If we don’t do that, he’s likely to become so angry that he’ll kill us all before we tell him our idea,” said the wise old hare.

  And so they did, bowing politely as they entered th
e clearing where the King of the Jungle lay sunning himself. “Oh Shining One,” the wise old hare began, “we understand that you must eat, and that means some of us must die. But you are killing so many that soon there’ll be no one left for you to feed on.”

  He went on to explain that each day at noon, the small animals would select one of their own to be taken to Bhasuraka’s lair. “You will always have a supply of food. You won’t have to use so much energy hunting through the jungle. And when it’s cold and rainy, your meal will be delivered right to your door.”

  Bhasuraka pretended to be thinking, something he didn’t do very often. He was actually just taking his time, enjoying watching the animals fidget nervously. Finally, he roared: “All right! But make sure I get my meal every day at noon. If you’re even just a little late, I’ll go into the jungle and kill everyone. Remember, I am king, and my word is law.”

  “Yes, certainly, oh Shining One!” the group stammered nervously.

  That’s the way things went for several months. Every day, a different group of animals would arrive in the clearing exactly when the sun was directly overhead, bow humbly, praise Bhasuraka, present him with the animal that was to be his meal, bow again and back quickly away.

  Then came the day that the hares, the most timid creatures in the jungle, were to supply Bhasuraka’s meal. Each looked nervously at the others, hoping that someone else would volunteer. Nobody did. Finally, the wise old hare spoke up. “I don’t want to be eaten any more than the rest of you. I’d hoped to spend my old age watching my grandchildren play. But I’ll go. I’ve had a long life for a hare.”

  Even though they were all wearing very sad faces, the other hares were all relieved when they heard his decision. “We’ll all walk with you.”

  “No,” he replied. “I’ll go alone; in fact, I’ll leave right now. It will give me more time to enjoy my last morning on earth.”