Birbal’s Journey to Heaven

The royal barber was jealous of Birbal. Every morning, as he trimmed the Emperor’s beard, he heard Akbar talking about Birbal’s cleverness, and every morning he ground his teeth a little more. At last he made a plan.

One day, as he was shaving the Emperor, he sighed loudly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Akbar.

“Oh, Your Majesty, I had a dream last night. I dreamed of your honoured father in heaven. He has everything he needs there, but he is so lonely. He wishes someone wise could come and tell him all the news of your glorious reign.”

“And how would anyone get to heaven?”

“There is a way, Your Majesty. A wise man must be placed on a funeral fire, and the smoke will carry him up to heaven. Of course, it must be the wisest man at court.” He paused. “Someone like Birbal.”

The Emperor, who was rather fond of dreams and omens, thought this sounded reasonable. He sent for Birbal and told him about his important journey.

Birbal understood at once who was behind this. But he only bowed. “I will be honoured to go, Your Majesty. I only ask for a week to prepare, and that the fire be built near my own house, where my family can say goodbye.”

The Emperor agreed. That very night, Birbal had his servants begin digging a tunnel from the spot where the fire would be built, all the way under the ground to his own house.

A week later the fire was lit. Birbal climbed onto the woodpile, waved farewell, and disappeared into the smoke. Everyone thought he had gone up to heaven. In fact he had slipped down through a hidden trapdoor into the tunnel, and from there into his house, where he stayed out of sight for six months. He let his hair and beard grow long and wild.

Then one day he walked back into the court, looking shaggy and strange.

“Birbal! You have returned from heaven! How is my father?”

“Very well, Your Majesty. He sends his love. He has everything he could want in heaven, except for one thing. There are no barbers up there. Look at me, I couldn’t get a single haircut in six months. Your father’s beard is so long now that he trips over it. He begs you to send your own barber to him at once.”

The barber, who had been standing by the throne, turned as white as milk.

The Emperor looked at the trembling barber, and then at Birbal, and suddenly he understood the whole thing. He was angry with the barber, but he was angrier still with himself for being fooled. The barber fell to his knees and confessed everything, and begged to be spared a journey to heaven.

He kept his life but lost his job, and for the rest of his days he never dreamed about anyone’s ancestors again.