Jkhorea and Jkhore, the Two Brothers

Jkhorea and Jkhore, the Two Brothers

Once there were two orphan brothers: the elder, Jkhorea, and the younger, Jkhore. They learned early to rely on one another, and when they grew older, they went to another village to look for work. Jkhorea was hired to help in the fields. He was patient and thoughtful, and always tried to think before he acted. Jkhore looked after goats. He had a kind heart, but he took words so literally that something surprising happened to him almost every day. One day the brothers saw that their rice had run out. “Jkhore,” said the elder, “go to the goat owners and ask for our payment. One will give a pai, the second a pava, and the third a paila. Gather it all and bring it home so that we can cook rice.” In that place, pai, pava, and paila were names for measures. But Jkhore decided that his brother wanted the little wooden measuring cups themselves. He went to the first house. “Please give me a pai.” “A pai of rice?” the householders asked. “No, just a pai.” So they gave him a small wooden measure. At the second house, he asked for a pava, and at the third, a paila. He came home proudly, put all the wooden cups into a cooking pot, and began to boil them. Jkhorea returned from the field hungry. “How is the rice?” “Very strange,” said Jkhore. “No matter how long I boil it, it stays hard.” The elder brother looked into the pot and held his head. “I asked for rice measured in those cups, not the cups themselves!” Jkhore thought about this. “You should have said so.” The next day Jkhorea decided to give his brother a simple task. “You will plough. If the plough catches on a root to the right, remove the root. If it catches on one to the left, remove the left-hand root. Just do not harm the animals.” Jkhore repeated the instructions twice and set off for the field. The plough caught on a root. Jkhore stared at it for a long time, then laid down the plough, led the oxen into the shade, and began to argue with the root. “Listen,” he said. “My brother says I must remove you. Could you move by yourself?” The root, of course, said nothing. So Jkhore dug it out with his hands. When he had finished, he was so covered in dirt that he looked as though he had just grown from the earth. “At least the oxen are safe,” said Jkhorea when he saw him. “That is already better.” Another time, Jkhore was watching goats in hot weather. He was eating roasted grain when he noticed that the goats lay in the shade and kept chewing. “You clever creatures!” he cried. “I have given you nothing, yet you are eating anyway!” He went closer, watched carefully, and suddenly understood that the goats were simply chewing over grass they had eaten earlier. “Ah,” said Jkhore. “So you can eat the same meal twice. That is a useful talent.” That was how their days passed: Jkhorea worked, while Jkhore kept discovering the world anew without meaning to. But one evening the master they served unfairly blamed the brothers for a damaged harvest. Jkhorea knew it was better to leave than to spend every day proving they were honest. The brothers packed their things and set off on the road. At evening they climbed a great tree so they could sleep safely. Before long, a raja and his companions stopped beneath it. They were travelling to a festival, carrying drums, cloth, dishes, and many bundles. Everyone lay down to sleep. Jkhore saw a large drum and whispered, “Brother, I have always wanted to know how it sounds at night.” “Do not even think about it,” said Jkhorea. But Jkhore accidentally caught a dry branch. It fell straight onto the drum. Boom! The people woke, the horses stirred, and someone cried, “Thunder!” “Forest spirits!” shouted someone else. Within moments, the whole party was hurrying away down the road. The brothers climbed down. “We must return their things,” said Jkhorea. “The drum too?” “Especially the drum.” They caught up with the party the next morning. At first the raja was surprised, but when he heard the truth, he laughed. “If you had wanted to steal, you would not have chased me to return everything. I will give you work at my household for your honesty.” So the brothers came to live near the palace. Jkhorea worked well and quickly earned respect. Jkhore continued to surprise everyone. One day he was sent to a field to fetch ripe grain. He saw many small insects on the ears of wheat. “Do not worry,” he told the plants. “I will save you.” Fortunately, this time he did not set the field on fire, as the hero of the old harsh tale would have done. He ran to fetch the bee smoker he had seen in the gardener’s shed. A little smoke drove away the insects, and the grain was saved. Jkhorea was amazed. “Did you think of that yourself?” “I simply thought longer than I usually do.” “Keep doing that,” said his brother with a smile. Another day Jkhore heard dry seedpods cracking in the wind. “Who is calling me?” he asked. Crack, crack! “Again?” He was about to feel offended by the field, but he remembered his brother’s words: think first. Jkhore sat on the ground and listened. He understood that it was the seeds rattling inside the pods. “Ah! You are not quarrelling. You are musicians.” He cut a few dry pods, made rattles from them, and brought them to the children in the village. Before long, everyone knew Jkhore not as the boy who mixed everything up, but as someone who found something unexpected in ordinary things. One day the brothers quarrelled. Jkhorea was tired and spoke sharply. Jkhore was hurt and ran away. Beyond the village, he met some travellers searching for a path through the jungle. “I will show you,” said Jkhore. He walked ahead, but suddenly heard a tiger in the bushes. Jkhore froze. The tiger froze too. The boy remembered that the animal might be as frightened of him as he was of it. Slowly, without turning his back, he stepped away and quietly led the travellers along another path. So they reached the village safely. The travellers gave Jkhore a small bag of dried figs and thanked him for his quick thinking. When he came home, Jkhorea had been searching everywhere for him. “Brother! I thought something had happened to you.” “And I thought you were very angry with me.” “I was angry. But that does not mean I want to lose you.” Jkhore held out a fig. “Then peace?” “Peace.” The brothers sat on the porch and divided the figs equally. In time, Jkhorea came to manage the raja’s great estate. Jkhore taught younger shepherds and village children a simple rule: “If you do not understand a word, ask again. If something seems strange, look once more. And if you greatly want to do the first thing that comes into your mind, count to three at least.” The children laughed. “Do you always do that yourself?” Jkhore answered honestly, “Now, almost always.” And they lived together peacefully, helping one another. One brother knew how to plan well, and the other knew how to look at the world in a way that no one else could. For it turned out that when patience is friends with curiosity, even the silliest misunderstanding can become a good story.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨