A Silent Exchange
Long ago there lived a king. One day, as he held his court, a messenger was ushered in. He was the envoy of another king. The stranger bowed to the king, walked up to the throne, and drew a line around it with a piece of charcoal. He did not speak a single word. "What does this mean?" asked the king. But the stranger made no reply. The ruler was greatly perplexed. He ordered his ministers and councillors to explain the meaning of the line around him. But alas, they only gave him a blank look. The four wise men of the realm were then summoned but they, too, failed to interpret the message. "Is there none in the whole of my land who is clever enough to read the meaning behind this mysterious line?" cried the king. He was indeed very angry. He gave the four men of wisdom just three days to find someone who could explain the meaning of the line. If they failed, their heads would be chopped off, he warned them. They looked at the messenger to get some clue. But he remained silent and stood still as a stone.
Helpless, the four wise men set out to do the king's bidding. They knocked at every door and, on the third day, came to a house on the outskirts of the kingdom. They did not have a knock-on its door, for, it was wide open. They entered and as they did so, there was a soft tinkling of bells. "What could this mean?" they wondered. Suddenly, they saw in the room a pestle suspended from the roof and pounding wheat in a mortar all by itself. No one was there. Surprised, they moved into the second chamber. It was quite empty, save for a hanging cradle that was rocking again all by itself. Their hearts began to beat faster. They went out and looked at the roof. To their amazement, they saw corn laid out on it to dry. Birds were wheeling over it but could not peck it, for a fan of palm leaves fixed onto the roof was swaying over it from side to side. There was no wind, not a leaf stirred on the trees, and yet the fan swayed and kept the winged creatures away. "Are we in a land of magic?" they marvelled and hurried once again into the house. The little bells softly tinkled once more and the faint sound of clickety clack-clackety click came from inside, which they had failed to observe during their first entry. It led them to the last and the innermost chamber. There they saw a poor man working at his loom. "Good evening, friends," he greeted them with a smile. "What enchantment is there in this house? The pestle is pounding, the cradle is rocking, and the fan is swaying, all by themselves!" exclaimed the wise lot.
"It's most simple. I'm doing all that myself!" replied the weaver, in a casual way. "How can you do all that when you're sitting here and weaving? Please don't oke with us; we're on a serious mission," said the bewildered men. "All three things are attached to the loom by strings. As I weave, the strings move and set the pestle, the cradle, and the fan in motion. Simple isn't it?" explained the weaver. "But as we enter and come out little bells tinkle softly!" observed the four. "Yes, they do," replied the weaver with a smile. "For, under the wooden board at the threshold are again a series of strings which are attached to these bells hanging here in front of me. As you step on the plank, the strings move and bells tinkle telling me that someone has entered." The wise men marvelled at the ingenuity of the simple weaver. A sense of humility came over them. For, they themselves were not really as wise as they appeared to be, after all! They saluted him and explained the purpose of their wandering. The weaver fell into a deep reverie. He then picked up some toys his grandson loved to play with, caught hold of a chicken from the backyard, and dropped them all into a bag hung over his shoulder.
The wise men were indeed surprised. But they hastened to t