The Jackal and the Gamarala

The Jackal and the Gamarala

Long ago, in a village in Sri Lanka, there lived a gamarala, the name old Sinhalese tales gave to a country householder and farmer. One year, just before plowing season, the gamarala found himself in trouble. He had no oxen of his own, yet his field was ready and waiting. So he cooked a pot of milk rice, packed it into a box, balanced it on his head, and set off to ask his neighbors whether anyone could lend him a pair of oxen. He had not gone far when two jackals stepped out from the bushes. “Where are you going, Gamarala?” they asked. “To find oxen for plowing.” The jackals sniffed the air. “And what smells so good?” “Milk rice.” The jackals exchanged a glance. “Give the rice to us,” they said, “and we will plow your field ourselves.” The gamarala stopped. He looked at one jackal. Then at the other. Both stood with their tails held proudly in the air, as though plowing fields were the very thing they had been born to do. “Well,” said the gamarala at last. “If you promise.” The jackals ate every grain of milk rice. Then the gamarala led them to the field, fitted them into the harness, and said, “Now let us work.” The jackals braced their paws. Once! The plow did not move. Twice! The plow gave the tiniest creak. Three times! One jackal sat down in the dust and the other got tangled in the straps. “What magnificent plowmen!” cried the gamarala. He untangled the harness and sent the tricksters away. “No more milk rice for you!” The following morning, the gamarala cooked another batch of milk rice and again set out to look for oxen. He had hardly left the village when he met two more jackals. “Where are you going?” “To borrow oxen.” “What are you carrying?” “Milk rice.” “Give it to us and we will plow the field!” The gamarala shook his head. “Yesterday I already trusted two experts just like you.” “Oh, those must have been weak jackals,” these two insisted. “We are strong! Just look at our paws!” They spoke so confidently that the gamarala finally agreed. The rice disappeared even faster than the day before. And the plow? The plow, of course, remained exactly where it was. “That is enough,” said the gamarala. This time he did not even argue. He removed the harness and sent the jackals running back into the bushes. One of them thought as he fled, “Plowing is hard. Milk rice is delicious. If only I could get the rice without promising anything at all.” Nearby lived a wild cat whom Jackal considered a great expert in clever plans. “Teach me how to get into the gamarala's house and taste some of his milk rice,” Jackal begged. Cat thought for a moment. “Hide beside the bundles of firewood. When the householder's wife goes to fetch water, I will signal you. But remember this: once you are inside, be absolutely silent. Otherwise you will reveal yourself.” “Me? Make noise?” Jackal said, offended. “I could stay quiet all night.” He hid beside the firewood. Before long, the woman of the house picked up a water jar and walked toward the well. Cat flicked his tail. “Now!” Jackal slipped into the house and climbed onto a high wooden shelf beneath the roof. Cat passed him a little milk rice in half a coconut shell. “Eat and keep quiet,” he whispered. Jackal was delighted. The rice was warm, slightly sweet, and smelled wonderfully of milk. Evening passed. Darkness settled outside. Then a distant sound floated in from the fields. “Awooo! Awooo!” Other jackals were calling to one another. Jackal's ears stood up. “Do you hear that? My relatives are calling. I should answer.” Cat nearly dropped his tail in alarm. “Do not even think about it! If you howl, the gamarala will hear you.” “All right, all right,” Jackal whispered. He covered his muzzle with both paws. A little time passed. Again came the call from the fields. “Awooooo!” Jackal bounced on the shelf. “Now I definitely have to answer!” “No!” Cat hissed. “You asked me to teach you cleverness. The cleverest thing you can do right now is stay silent.” Jackal pressed his lips together. He lasted one moment. Then another. Then a third. At last he could bear it no longer. “AWOOOOOO!” The house became quiet. Very quiet. Cat closed his eyes. “I warned you.” A voice came from the next room. “Who is singing under my roof?” A lamp was lit. The gamarala looked up and saw Jackal sitting on the high shelf with a coconut bowl in his paws. “Aha! So this is who comes for my rice without doing any plowing.” He picked up a long broom and gently tapped the edge of the shelf. “Out you go, midnight singer!” Jackal jumped down, shot through the doorway, and ran so fast that only the tip of his tail could be seen in the darkness. Cat slipped outside after him. Once they were safely beyond the yard, Cat asked, “Well? Did you learn anything?” Jackal, still catching his breath, nodded. “I did.” “And what is the lesson?” Jackal looked back toward the gamarala's house. “If you are going to rely on a clever plan, you should at least know when to keep quiet.” “Not bad,” Cat purred. “And an even better lesson is not to sneak in for someone else's food in the first place.” From then on, whenever Jackal heard his relatives calling at night, he first checked very carefully where he was sitting and whether the bowl in his paws belonged to someone else. As for the gamarala, he eventually found a neighbor who lent him real oxen. When the field was finally plowed, the farmer cooked a great pot of milk rice. This time, he served it to the people who had truly helped him.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨