Birbal Counts the Crows

Long ago, in the city of Agra, there lived a king named Akbar. He had a wise and funny friend named Birbal.

One sunny morning, Akbar and Birbal took a walk in the palace garden. The fountains went splish, splash. The breeze was cool and soft. Above them, many crows sat on the garden wall.

Kaa, kaa, kaa! went the crows.

Akbar looked up at them. A playful idea came to him. He smiled and turned to Birbal.

"Birbal," he said, "tell me something. How many crows live in our city?"

It was a very hard question. Nobody could count every crow in the city! But Birbal did not look worried at all. He looked up at the sky. He moved his fingers, as if he was counting. Then he closed his eyes for a moment.

Kaa, kaa, kaa! went the crows.

Birbal opened his eyes. "Jahanpanah," he said. "There are ninety-five thousand, four hundred and sixty-three crows."

Akbar raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Birbal? What if I count them, and there are fewer?"

"Then some crows have gone visiting," said Birbal. "They are with their aunties and uncles in the nearby villages."

Akbar's eyes twinkled. "And what if there are more?"

Birbal bowed with a smile. "Then some crows have guests, Jahanpanah. Their cousins have come to visit them from far away."

For a moment, Akbar was quiet. Then he laughed. He laughed so much that he had to sit down on a garden bench. Birbal laughed too. Even the gardener among the roses began to smile.

"Birbal," said Akbar, "nobody can count all the crows. But you have answered me with a smile."

Kaa, kaa, kaa! went the crows. It sounded as if they were laughing too.

The sun was warm. The fountains sang softly. And the two friends walked on through the garden, still smiling.