Mangoes, Mischief, and Tales of Friendship Read online

  Book One

  A Dollop of Ghee and a Pot of Wisdom

  Book Two

  A Jar of Pickles and a Pinch of Justice

  Prince Veera’s First Case

  Who Stole the Laddus?

  The Case of the Greedy Moneylender

  The Unfortunate Case

  Long ago in a faraway land, King Bheema ruled a small kingdom surrounded by the magnificent hills of Himtuk. King Bheema was a kind and just ruler. Every day he held court at the palace. Rich or poor, tall or short, man or woman — anyone could walk in with a problem. The king would always find a way to solve it.

  The king lived with his wife and son in a red stone palace. Prince Veera was ten years old. But he didn’t go to school — the school came to him. His teachers lived in the palace and taught him mathematics, science, economics, and many languages, including Persian, Mandarin, and Latin.

  The prince had to master archery, horseback riding, and swimming. Sons of ministers and students with special scholarships came to the palace to study with him.

  If anyone could compete with Prince Veera, it was Suku, the farmer’s son. Suku had won a scholarship to study with the prince. He was a good match for Veera and could best him in wrestling and fencing. He rode horses as well as Veera, too.

  The two boys became good friends. They ate together, studied together, and played in the courtyard together. When they were let out early from classes, the boys liked to hide behind the large golden curtains and peep into the king’s court. It was always filled with people who had problems.

  Three days after harvest, Suku came to the palace to see Prince Veera. He brought fresh corn, bunches of groundnuts, and tender coconut water to drink.

  “Do you want to go to the woods?” Prince Veera asked. “We can check mongoose holes for snakes and chase deer and bison.”

  “After a week of harvest, I don’t want to be anywhere near plants and trees,” said Suku. “Can we sneak into the court and see what’s going on?”

  “Let’s go to the queen’s chambers,” said Veera. “We can watch the court through the small windows.”

  The boys scampered through the rooms, jumping onto ornate chests. The thick carpets hid the sound of their hurrying feet.

  Whenever a guard appeared, they hid behind the large carved doors. As soon as they reached the queen’s chambers, Veera peeked in to see if any of his mother’s maids were there with the flowers and perfume the queen needed for her bath.

  Seeing no one, the boys went through the recreation room and into the viewing gallery. The long, thin corridor overlooked the court. Alongside the windows, a bench was set up for the queen to sit on and listen. The round windows were decorated with carvings of peacocks and elephants. They glistened, reflecting the sparkle of the gemstones.

  “This is a great place to spy,” said Prince Veera. “You can see and hear everything that happens.”

  “Shh!” Suku whispered. “Spies don’t chatter.”

  Before Veera could reply, a horn blared. He and Suku kneeled on the cushioned benches and peeped through the windows. To the beat of drums, King Bheema entered through the large doors. Two soldiers walked in front of him. A long train of maroon silk stretched from the king’s tunic.

  “What if the sentry steps on it?” Prince Veera asked.

  “I’ll die laughing,” said Suku.

  “I’m sure you will die if you laugh,” said Prince Veera. “Want to try?”

  “Shh! Stop talking,” said Suku.

  From below they heard the king say, “Let the proceedings begin.”

  Then King Bheema sat down on his throne.

  A man stepped to the center of the court and gave his name. He asked the king to do something about the crows that dirtied his newly built terrace.

  As people presented their problems, the king sometimes asked them to come back later with more details or to bring a witness. Sometimes he gave them work, sometimes he gave them money. One or two even got punished for wasting his time.

  Some of the problems were serious. One man was there about his sick parents. A woman came to complain about her greedy landlord.

  Some people had silly problems — like the man who had lost his shadow. Another wanted to charge rent to the birds that sat on his roof. A woman came to complain that the roadside tree gave more shade to her neighbor’s house than her own.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Suku when a man asked if he could live inside his neighbor’s chimney.

  “I’m sure we could solve these problems,” said Veera.

  “And who’s going to let us?” Suku said.

  That evening the boys didn’t play in the woods or swim in the river. They played court instead. Prince Veera met imaginary people and heard their cases. Suku was his counsel.

  A week had gone by. There were no classes on New Moon day. With nothing to do, the boys crept into the palace to watch King Bheema hold court.

  But this time, the court was empty, and outside there was a long line of people waiting to see the king.

  “Where is your father?” Suku asked.

  Veera and Suku raced to the king’s chambers.

  “The king is unwell,” said the royal physician. “Don’t bother him.”

  Veera looked at his father’s pale face. His mother, the queen, sat close by, tending to him.

  “But people are waiting,” Veera whispered to Suku.

  “Maybe we should open our own court,” Suku whispered back.

  Veera’s eyes twinkled. “This is the perfect opportunity.”

  He leaned toward his father’s bed. “Father, I can hold court today on your behalf,” he said.

  “What?” the king sputtered, trying to sit up.

  “We have been listening to your court for many days,” admitted Veera. “We’re sure we can handle it.”

  “Are you trying to become king?” asked the king, smiling.

  “No, Father, but I will learn to govern,” said Veera, “and you can get some rest.”

  “Well, that sounds very tempting,” the king said. “But you can’t do this on your own.”

  “Here I present to you my wise counsel, Suku,” said Veera.

  The king smiled at both of them. “You’ve been planning this for a long time then,” he said. “Very well. I’ll give you a chance. But you can hear only simple cases and only in the courtyard. Not in my court.”

  “Anything you say, Father,” Veera said, unable to hide his smile.

  A court was set up quickly in the courtyard. Prince Veera’s chair was placed in the middle. A chair for Suku was placed to its right. Four sentries stood nearby, guarding the courtyard as people formed a line. Some people were alone, some had brought their friends. Some were empty-handed. Some held chickens or eggs, and one even held a bucket of biriyani.

  A sentry announced the arrival of the prince. A loud gasp rose from the people. “Where is the king?” many of them cried.

  “Let’s hear the first case,” said the prince, sitting down.

  A man who smelled of hay stepped forward and bowed to the prince. “Your Highness,” he began, “my neighbor follows my cow all around town and picks up the cow dung. I want you to forbid him to do that. Anything that the cow drops belongs to me.”

  Veera thought about it for a moment and said, “From today, why don’t you tie a dung bag behind the cow? Then you can collect all the droppings yourself.”

  “Next case!” said Suku.

  “Dear Prince,” said the next man who stepped forward. “It’s my neighbor. I want her to stop singing.”

  “Is she awful?” asked Veera.

  “She is the best singer in this city, Your Highness
,” he explained. “I just sit next to the window all day and listen. I miss work on most days.”

  Veera and Suku huddled and discussed the case.

  “From today onward, you have to keep your windows shut until you come back from work,” Veera ordered.

  “Who is next?” asked Suku.

  Two men stepped forward. One was dressed in cotton and the other in silk. The first man stood with his arms folded. The second man leaned on his wooden cane and stroked his mustache.

  “State your case,” said Prince Veera.

  “With due respect, dear Prince, I think this problem is too tricky for you,” said the second man.

  “If I decide the problem is too big for me, the king will surely talk to you tomorrow,” said the prince. “Today you must place your trust in me.”

  “My name is Meetaram,” said the second man. “I have a small sweetshop in the market. I make all the sweets myself and I use only pure butter and sugar.”

  “This is the prince’s court. Don’t waste our time talking about your sweetshop,” said Suku.

  “I really like sweets,” said the prince. “I want to hear more.”

  “Your Majesty, we make laddus, jalebis, and kheer and soan papdi. We make all sorts of sweets. We are famous all over the kingdom.”

  “Have you brought any sweets with you?” asked the prince.

  Meetaram turned and gestured to someone. Another man entered and handed Meetaram a large plate covered by a checked cloth. The smell of sugar and butter wafted over the courtyard. The people closed their eyes and enjoyed the smell.

  “Very nice!” said the prince. “It smells very nice.” He leaned forward to take a sweet.

  Suku shook his head ever so slightly. Veera sat back in his chair, frowning at Suku.

  “Don’t smell it, Your Majesty,” said the other man. “That’s exactly the problem.”

  “Take the sweets to my room,” Veera said.

  A sentry took the plate from Meetaram.

  “Your Majesty,” said Meetaram, “this man, Kapi, stood several minutes outside my shop smelling my sweets. But he left without buying or paying.”

  “If he didn’t buy, why must he pay?” asked Veera.

  “Because he enjoyed the smell so much. It takes a lot of butter and sugar to get that smell, Your Majesty. That smell attracts many customers into the shop. If they all came just to smell my sweets and never buy any, I wouldn’t make any money.”

  “Hmmm, interesting,” said the prince.

  “This man Kapi should pay five silver coins for enjoying the sweet smells in my shop. You have to be fair, Prince Veera, just like your father.”

  Prince Veera closed his eyes. He could almost touch the wafting fragrance of the sweets. It made him slightly hungry.

  “Kapi, what do you say for yourself?”

  Kapi was not as richly dressed as Meetaram. He was thin and didn’t wear any jewelry. His white shirt was almost brown and his dhoti was patched in many places.

  “My dear prince, I’m a poor man,” Kapi began. “I work very hard in the fields. Once a month, I come to town to buy groceries. I have only five silver coins. Walking through the market, I smelled the sweets. I stopped for a few minutes, taking in the wonderful smells. But the sweets were too expensive. I couldn’t afford to buy rice, vegetables, and sweets with the money I had.”

  “What did you do then?” asked the prince. He didn’t realize that people had to choose between vegetables and sweets. He was surprised that Kapi decided to buy vegetables instead of sweets. I’d definitely choose the sweets, he thought.

  “My children need food, Your Majesty. They go to school and they need to eat well. The sweets would last for just a day. But the rice and vegetables will last all month. So I decided not to buy the sweets.”

  “But you enjoyed the smell?” the prince asked.

  “Yes, I did. Somehow the smell itself was enough. It felt like eating the sweets.”

  “That’s exactly my case, Your Majesty,” piped in Meetaram.

  “Shh!” Suku hushed the man.

  The prince closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the sweets, just the problem in front of him. What would his father do?

  “OK, I’ve decided,” said Prince Veera. “Kapi, give your five silver coins to Meetaram.”

  Kapi’s face fell. With tears in his eyes, he handed over the money.

  Meetaram’s face lit up with joy. He counted the five silver coins at least five times.

  The prince watched this in silence.

  “Thank you, dear Prince. You are very fair and just,” said Meetaram. “I’ll take my leave now.”

  “Not so fast, my man. Now please return the five silvers to Kapi.”

  “But —”

  “Well, he smelled your sweets, but he didn’t eat them.”

  “Yes, but —”

  “And you held the money in your hands, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “You counted it; you imagined adding it to your money box. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “He enjoyed the smell of sweets, and you enjoyed the feel of money. A fair exchange, don’t you think?”

  Meetaram hung his head in shame.

  “From now on, treat your customers fairly,” Prince Veera cautioned. “Always make some sweets for people who cannot afford to buy expensive ones.”

  Meetaram returned the money and left the court.

  “Bring the plate of sweets from my room,” said the prince. “Take these to your children, Kapi. Let them eat rice, vegetables, and sweets today.”

  Kapi left the court smiling and carrying a large basket filled with sweets.

  That night during dinner, Prince Veera ate all his vegetables, even his peas.

  Ever since Meetaram brought the sweets into the court, not a meal was eaten without discussing them. The cooks, sentries, maids — everyone talked about the sweets and the fragrance that lingered in the hallways.

  “Maybe the prince should have given the sweets to everyone,” said a sentry.

  “Maybe the prince should have fined Meetaram and made him bring more sweets,” said another.

  Prince Veera, too, found it difficult to forget the aroma of the sweets. He ordered that the palace be sprayed with camphor fumes to wipe out the wafting smell. But it didn’t help. The smell was lodged in everyone’s minds. Wiping it out of the courtyard, thrones, curtains, and carpets didn’t make it go away.

  The news reached the ministers, then the queen and king.

  “What is this gossip about sweets?” King Bheema asked.

  “It’s nothing, Father. Just a case,” said Prince Veera.

  “Was the smell really divine?” asked the queen.

  “Yes, it was. Not even the royal cook has made sweets that smelled like that.”

  “Your father loves sweets,” said the queen. “Especially those made of butter! The laddus, that’s his favorite.”

  “Maybe we should order some sweets,” said the king. “If only I’d handled this case before I let you have your own court!”

  “Let me check that Meetaram is not cheating anyone now. If he has reformed his ways, then you can buy sweets from his shop,” Prince Veera said. He didn’t want Meetaram to use his court to sell more sweets.

  So the next day, the prince set off to the market dressed like an urchin.

  “Can you find the shop on your own?” asked the queen.

  “I’ll ask around,” said Prince Veera. But he didn’t have to. The buttery, sugary smell wafted through the market, telling him where to go.

  Veera sat outside the sweetshop for hours, smelling the cinnamon, cardamom, and cashews. He watched the customers come in and saw that Meetaram was fair to them. He looked at the plates on the shelves, loaded with sweets. He licked his lips but he bought nothing.

  After sunset Meetaram closed his shop and Prince Veera returned to the palace, hungry, tired, and hot. It is hard business, this justice, he thou
ght. But it was good to know that Meetaram had indeed mended his ways.

  The next day, the prince sent a sentry with a large cart down to the market. The king had written down his order for the sweets and so had the queen. Prince Veera and Suku wanted some, too. Every member of the royal household wanted the sweets.

  Meetaram was delighted. He checked the list many times. He loaded the cart with sweets. “These are for the king, the queen, and the prince,” he said. “I will personally deliver the rest by tomorrow. First we have to make a new batch.”

  “That means the rest of us will have to wait another day,” said the sentry, and he drove the cart back toward the palace.

  Back at the palace, the royal family was waiting. As soon as the cart arrived, the sweets were unloaded and brought to the kitchen.

  The king stepped forward and opened a large box of laddus. The yellow balls of lentils fried in sugar syrup glistened in the light.

  “Svadishta! Delicious!” he cried, after biting into a big laddu.

  Just as he finished the first and reached for a second, the minister arrived. “A messenger from the kingdom of Chalu is here to see you, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Not now!” the king moaned.

  “Sorry, Your Majesty. This is of utmost importance.”

  The king put the box down on the table. There were exactly eleven laddus left. “Don’t smell them and don’t touch them,” he warned. “And don’t eat them!”

  Early the next morning, Prince Veera was awakened by a loud noise. He stumbled out of bed and went to the door. What was it? It was not thunder, but more like a roar. He opened the door and listened intently. It sounded like his father. But King Bheema never shouted — at least, not that early in the morning! The sun had not even risen high enough to warm the pond in the garden.