There was once a Brahmani (a Brahmin’s wife) and her husband. The Brahmani was as sharp as a tack, but the Brahmin was incredibly foolish. As a result, the Brahmani had to manage all the household affairs while the Brahmin just sat and ate, much to her exasperation. The Brahmani was a fiery woman, and with no oil for her hair or comfort for her body, living on daily alms, her husband’s constant chatter was the last straw. She was at her wit’s end.
One day, the Brahmin came to her and said, “My dear, are you making sweet cakes today?”
Throwing down her winnowing fan and grabbing a broom, the Brahmani roared, “Yes, I’m just sitting here to make sweet cakes! The rice pot is empty, and you, with not a penny to your name, the son of a cake-eater, want to eat cakes! Get out of my house!”
The courtyard trembled with her roar, the trees shook, and the birds flew away. The Brahmin thought, “What? I have to endure insults from my own wife? This will not do!”
And so, in a fit of anger, he went into the forest.
He wandered through the woods until he met a hermit. After hearing the Brahmin’s story, the hermit took him to his ashram.
At the ashram, the Brahmin began to study under the hermit. But how does a foolish old man learn from a sage? In the morning, he would chant gibberish, and in the evening, he would chant more gibberish. During the day, he would mumble nonsense, and at night, his snores would fill the air.
In this way, the Brahmin “learned” a great deal. Having learned so much, the Brahmin thought to himself, “I am a great scholar now! My fame and fortune will spread far and wide. I won’t have to look at that sour face of my wife’s anymore. Ha! I will be in a grand place, and she will be far away.”
Overjoyed, and without a word to the hermit, he packed his books and his staff and, crying “Victory to the Mother Goddess!”, he set off for home.
The sun was scorching, hot enough to ripen the palm fruits and crack the earth. In the evening, the Brahmin reached the edge of his village. “Alright,” he thought, “I will go to the king’s palace, of course, but first, let me see if my wife is dead or alive.” It was a little late when he reached his courtyard.
He heard a sizzling sound. “The Brahmani is frying palm-fruit fritters, I suppose!” The Brahmin crept to a corner and listened.
“How many sizzles? Let me count. Four, five, seven, eight… twenty-one.”
Then the sizzling stopped. The Brahmani washed her hands and feet and came outside.
The Brahmin called out in a loud voice, “Brahmani, are you home? I have returned, having learned great and profound knowledge!”
Startled, the Brahmani rushed out and saw her husband, his body covered in holy marks.
“Where have you been all this time?” she asked, flustered. The Brahmin replied, “Brahmani! I have learned great and profound knowledge, and I have come to tell you about it!” The Brahmani said, “You foolish man!” The Brahmin said, “You say that because you do not know. Otherwise, you would have already served me the twenty-one fritters you just made.” “Eh? How did you know?”
The Brahmin said, “Brahmani! That is the mother of all knowledge! I knew it by my powers of calculation. Wherever anyone is frying fritters, I know it in my mind.”
The Brahmani was amazed. “Oh, oh, is it true, is it true?” In her joy, she ran to all her neighbors and said, “My husband has returned, having learned such knowledge as has never been seen before.”
The neighbors were astonished. They came and saw the Brahmin, surrounded by his many books, wagging his topknot and spouting long, incomprehensible words. Who could understand such things? Everyone was amazed.
Soon, the news spread throughout the village that the Brahmin had returned with wondrous knowledge.
His days passed in grandeur. He would read one person’s palm, another’s fortune, and his fame spread far and wide.
One day, Moti the washerman lost his donkey. He came to the Brahmin’s door and pleaded, “O learned one, tell me what to do. I have lost my only possession, my lame donkey.”
The Brahmin said, “Be quiet. I will first perform my prayers to the goddess Chandi, and then I will tell you. Wait at the door.”
Moti waited at the door without food or water.
The Brahmin went inside and said, “Brahmani, what do I do now? Give me my umbrella.”
Taking his umbrella, the Brahmin searched the fields under the scorching sun but could not find the donkey.
Then, panting and disheartened, he came back and said, “Listen, Moti! You will not find your donkey today. The goddess is very angry; who knows what she might do. Come back tomorrow and take your donkey home.”
Hearing of the goddess’s anger, Moti went away in fear.
The sun had set, and night had fallen. The Brahmin was very worried. “Alas, now all my pretense will be exposed.”
Night came. The Brahmin sat with his head in his hands, thinking, “All my knowledge, all my books, are a sham. O Mother Goddess, what have you done! This is a terrible predicament.” Thinking and thinking, the Brahmin fell asleep.
Late at night, there was a noise in the corner of the courtyard. The Brahmin woke with a start.
“Brahmani, Brahmani, did you hear that? What was that noise?” “Yes, yes—I think a thief has come. We must catch him.”
The Brahmani, however, was afraid of thieves. In a tearful voice, she said, “Brahmani, then I will hide!”
The Brahmani said, “Really! And you are such a great scholar? Enough of your scholarship. I will hold the lamp; you go and catch the thief. You spend your days predicting other people’s thieves, but when a thief enters your own house, you are in a panic.”
What could the Brahmin do? Trembling with fear, he wrapped his sacred thread around his ten fingers and, chanting the names of the gods, he went to catch the thief.
“There’s the thief, catch him!” The Brahmani pushed the Brahmin forward. “Gyaa-gyaa-gyaa—”
The Brahmani brought the lamp and saw—“Oh my! What is this!”
Oh my, this is not a thief, it’s a huge donkey lying here in a heap!
The Brahmin and the donkey were in a tangled mess. When the Brahmin stumbled and fell on top of it, the rope around the lame donkey’s neck tightened into a noose. The donkey gurgled, and the Brahmin thrashed about.
The Brahmin’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted. The Brahmani screamed, “Alas! What has happened!”
The neighbors came running. “What, what, what has happened? Don’t be afraid!”
The Brahmani said, “No, no, it’s nothing. We were just looking at this donkey.”
Quickly, the Brahmani tied the donkey to a post and carried the Brahmin to bed. With oil, water, and fanning, everyone asked, “What, what, what has happened?”
The Brahmani said, “It is nothing much. The master was in deep meditation. He has just brought back Moti’s donkey with his powers and is now resting. Bringing back a lost donkey with the power of mantras is no small feat. That is why the great astrologer is a little exhausted.”
What a miracle! A lost donkey brought back by the power of mantras! Everyone was amazed.
As soon as he regained consciousness, the Brahmin sat up, shouting, “Thief! Thief!”
The Brahmani said, “Where is the thief in your head? Look, Moti’s donkey is tied to the post.” The Brahmin said, “The donkey? Where, where? Call Moti!” The Brahmani quickly said, “Be quiet, be quiet—Moti at this hour? Oh, my dears, the night is almost over. You all go home now. Let the Brahmin sleep.”
Everyone left. The Brahmin asked, “Brahmani, what happened?”
The next day, Moti came and saw his donkey! He prostrated himself on the ground with such fervor that he ate half the dust in the courtyard. From then on, Moti washed the Brahmin’s clothes for free. This miraculous story, with even more embellishments, he spread in all the villages.
Then, the Brahmin was praised throughout the land. In time, this story reached the king’s ears.
The princess’s necklace, worth a hundred thousand rupees, was missing. Many astrologers and scholars had come and failed. In the end, they called for the Brahmin.
Tall guards with large staffs came for him. The Brahmin thought, “I was better off as a fool. Who knows what fate has in store for me.” Trembling like a goat before the sacrificial altar, the Brahmin went to the royal court.
The king’s order was: “If you can find the necklace, you will be rewarded. If not, Brahmin, you will spend the rest of your days in prison.”
Forgetting all his usual rituals, the Brahmin said, “Your Majesty, I need two days’ time.”
“Very well.”
A day passed, and night came. The Brahmin was given a room. He drank pot after pot of water and paced restlessly. “Alas, Mother Goddess, you have put me in a terrible situation. My reputation is ruined, and my life and property are at stake. What do I do, Mother, what do I do? O Jagadamba, was this your plan?”
The royal gardener, whose name was Jagadamba, was passing by. She stopped abruptly, her heart pounding. Without another word, she rushed in and fell at the Brahmin’s feet. “Forgive me, master, forgive me, father! Whatever you say, father, I will do. Please do not mention my name to the king!”
The Brahmin was astonished. “What is this! Who are you, who are you! What have I done? Why are you doing this?”
“No, father, master, you know everything. I will never do such a thing again. Forgive me, father, I took the princess’s necklace out of greed. Forgive me, father, I fall at your feet!”
Then the Brahmin understood what had happened. The name “Jagadamba” had brought Jaga to him!
His courage returned. Composed and looking like a great scholar, he said, “What you have done, you have done. Do not be afraid. Make sure the necklace is in a pot. Take it and place it in the mud of the back-gate pond. Do not make any mistake.”
With tears in her eyes, Jaga was saved. She immediately took the necklace and placed it in the back-gate pond.
The next day, his body covered in holy marks like a tiger’s stripes, wearing three shawls, with large prayer beads around his neck and his topknot heavy with flowers, the Brahmin, with his books, umbrella, and staff, went to the king’s court.
He wagged his topknot, chanted mantras, and made grand gestures. He opened this book and that, a hundred books in all. He counted on his fingers until they were sore, drew countless charts on the ground, and after a long time, he declared:
“Listen, Your Majesty! I have found the necklace. It is surely in your pond.”
“Search, search!” The pond was drained, but where was the necklace?
The king said, “Ha! You have spoken cleverly, but you do not value your life, you Brahmin!” “Forgive me, Your Majesty!” The Brahmin was about to burst into tears. “I have made no mistake, Your Majesty. This is truly the work of the goddess Jagadamba!” The king said, “True! It could be a matter of fate. Alright, search again! But tie up the Brahmin so he cannot escape.”
Again, the search began. In the mud, a pot was found. When it was broken, the dazzling necklace was inside.
“Found, found!” The Brahmin was untied. The king left his throne and fell at his feet. “From this day on, you are the scholar of my court.”
The Brahmin fainted from joy. But this time, it was not the fainting from catching a thief. Be that as it may, it was a good thing. And after that?
Wealth, jewels, and pearls were showered upon him. Every day, the Brahmin sat in the king’s court. Great scholars came from all corners of the land, but they were all terrified of our scholar’s name.
The king and queen paid him homage. Jaga, the gardener, brought him flowers every day. The Brahmin worshipped the ten-armed goddess.
In a three-storied palace, the same old Brahmin now slept on a golden bed.
His storerooms overflowed with oil, and he was laden with jewelry. The Brahmani was overjoyed and never stopped smiling.
Every day, the Brahmin ate sweet cakes. “Ah, what a good wife.” Hearing this, the Brahmani would smile from ear to ear, and, in her happiness, she began to serve her husband with great devotion.