The Brinjals of the Royal Garden

King Krishnadevaraya had a special brinjal plant growing in his royal garden. Its brinjals were small and purple and so delicious that the king would let no one else eat them. Guards watched over the garden day and night.

One evening the king served these brinjals at a feast, and Tenali Raman tasted them. When he got home, he couldn’t stop talking about how good they were. His wife sighed.

“I wish I could taste them, just once.”

Tenali loved his wife very much. So late that night, he crept to the palace garden, waited until the guards were dozing, slipped over the wall, and picked a basket of the royal brinjals. His wife cooked them, and they were the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

But there was a problem. Their little son had seen his father come home with the basket. “He’s only small,” said Tenali’s wife. “He’ll tell everybody, and the king will hear about it.”

Tenali thought for a moment. It was a hot night, and the boy was sleeping on the roof to keep cool. Tenali took a bucket of water, climbed up to the roof, and poured it over his sleeping son.

The boy woke up with a yell. “It’s raining, my son,” said Tenali calmly. “Come inside.” He carried the dripping, sleepy boy indoors, put him in dry clothes and gave him a plate of the brinjal curry before tucking him into bed.

The next day the king discovered that his brinjals had been picked, and he was furious. Someone whispered that Tenali’s family had been seen eating something very special. The king sent for Tenali and his son.

“Tell me, child,” said the king gently, “what did you eat last night?”

“Brinjals,” said the boy happily. “Father brought them home. He brought them the night it rained so hard I got wet on the roof.”

The courtiers looked at each other. It hadn’t rained in Vijayanagara for weeks. The ground was as dry as dust.

“Rain?” said the king. “There was no rain last night. The boy must have dreamed it all.”

Tenali Raman said nothing, and the king let them go.

But Tenali was an honest man underneath all his tricks, and the secret sat uncomfortably in his stomach, along with the brinjals. A few days later he went back to the king and confessed everything, and told him about the bucket of water.

The king stared at him, and then laughed until tears came to his eyes. “You stole my brinjals and then made it rain on your own son to cover it up!” He shook his head. “For honesty that comes late but comes at all, I forgive you. And tell your wife she may have one basket of my brinjals every year, as long as she doesn’t tell anyone where they came from.”