The Greedy Palm Civet

The Greedy Palm Civet

Once, three farmers cleared a patch of land near a forest and planted bananas. They worked hard for a long time. They carried water, propped up young stems after the rain, cleared away dry leaves, and peered beneath the broad green foliage each day. “Will they be ripe soon?” At last, heavy bunches appeared. The bananas grew plump and yellow, and their sweet scent drifted all the way to the edge of the forest. But whenever the farmers decided, “We can cut that bunch tomorrow,” the ripest fruit had vanished by morning. “How strange,” said the first farmer. “Here yesterday, gone today,” said the second. “Someone comes at night,” guessed the third. They searched the ground, but any tracks were lost among the leaves. They kept watch in the evening, yet the mysterious visitor never appeared. So they made a trap that would catch the thief without hurting it. Beside the sweetest-smelling bunch, they propped up a large woven basket. A tug on a banana would pull away the support and let the basket drop gently over whoever stood below. “Now we'll see who's been taking our crop,” they said, and went home. That night, two palm civets came out of the forest: a mother and her young daughter. The little civet lifted her nose at once. “Mother! Can you smell that?” “I can,” her mother said. “And that's exactly why we should keep walking.” “But I'll only look.” They moved a little closer. Between the broad leaves hung the finest yellow bunch in the whole plantation. The mother stopped. “Something isn't right. That basket wasn't there yesterday.” The young civet looked up. “I'm only looking, Mother. Looking isn't forbidden.” “No. But sometimes it's best to walk away before curiosity draws you any farther.” The little civet took another step. “I'll only come a bit closer. I won't touch.” “Don't,” said her mother. “What could happen if I take just one step?” One more step. Then another. At last the young civet stood directly beneath the bunch. “I'll only smell it.” She stretched her neck. “Oh, what a wonderful smell!” “Come along,” her mother insisted. “In a moment. I'll just touch it with one paw. I'm not eating anything.” Her paw brushed the banana skin. Nothing happened. The little civet smiled. “See? I only touched it.” Her mother shook her head. “This is how foolish adventures begin. ‘I'll only look.’ ‘I'll only come closer.’ ‘I'll only touch.’” But her daughter was no longer listening. “I'll just pull one banana toward me. I won't even pick it.” She took the fruit in both paws and gave it a little tug. Click went the support. Down came the basket with a rustle. And the young civet was trapped inside. “Mother!” she squeaked. “I'm here,” her mother said calmly from the other side of the woven wicker. “Let me out!” Her mother walked around the basket. She pushed it with her nose and tried lifting it with a paw, but it was big and heavy. “I'm afraid I can't move it on my own.” The little civet fell quiet. “What if the people come?” “Then we'll see what happens. For now, don't panic. You're safe, and the basket isn't hurting you.” The youngster sat down and gazed sadly at the banana that had caused all the trouble. “I really wasn't going to steal the whole bunch.” “I know,” said her mother. “You only wanted to look.” “Then only come closer.” “Yes.” “Then only smell it.” “Yes.” “Then only touch it...” “And every ‘only’ brought you one step closer to the trap.” The young civet sighed. “I understand now.” At dawn, the farmers arrived. One look at the fallen basket told them that their nighttime visitor had finally been caught. “So you're the one who's been enjoying our bananas!” said the first. “She's only young,” the second observed. The little civet flattened her ears and huddled in a corner. The third farmer crouched beside her. “We need our harvest. But we're not going to hurt a little animal over a few bananas.” They carefully lifted the basket, carried it away from the plantation to the edge of the forest, and set it on the ground. All this time, the mother civet had been hiding in the nearby bushes. “Ready?” said the farmer. He raised one edge of the basket. The young civet shot out so quickly that dry leaves flew in every direction. In a moment, she was beside her mother. “Let's go home,” her mother said. “Yes, let's.” They set off into the forest. But after a few steps, the little civet turned to look back at the bananas. Her mother stopped too. “Well? Can you smell them again?” “Oh, yes,” the youngster admitted. “And what are you going to do?” The little civet thought. “I'll look from here. Then I'll keep walking.” Her mother smiled. “That's much wiser.” After that, the farmers covered their ripe bunches with netting, and the palm civets found their food in the forest. And they say that young civet remembered one thing for the rest of her life: a great deal of trouble rarely begins with the words, “I'm going to do something foolish.” More often, it begins very quietly. “I'll only look.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨