The Farmer and the Money-lender - An Indian Fairy Tale

There was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a money-lender. Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the money-lender rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the farmer went to the money-lender's house, and said, "You can't squeeze water from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich."My friend," returned the money-lender, piously, "riches come from Ram--ask him."

"Thank you, I will!" replied the simple farmer; so he prepared three girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake and went on his way without a word. Next the fanner met a Jogi or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. 

At last, he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry, the kindly farmer gave him the last cake, and sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation.

"And where are you going?" asked the poor man, at length.

"Oh I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!" replied the farmer. "I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go?"

"Perhaps I can," said the poor man, smiling, "for I am Ram! What do you want of me?"

Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch shell, and showed him how to to blow it in a particular way, saying,
"Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of that money-lender, for even magic is not proof against their wiles!"

The farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact the money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, "Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily." Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune, in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the farmer found himself telling the whole story--all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that.

Nevertheless the money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favourable opportunity and stole the conch.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed he went back to the farmer, and said, coolly, "Look here; I've got your conch, but I can't use it; you haven't got it, so it's dear you can't use it either. Business is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this,--whatever you get from it, I am to get double."

"Never!" cried the farmer; "that would be the old business all over again!"

"Not at all!" replied the wily money-lender; "you will have your share! Now, don't he a dog in the manger, for if you get all you want, what can it matter to you if I am rich or poor?"

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a money-lender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the money-lender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so preyed upon the farmer's mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything.

At last, there came a very dry season,--so dry that the farmer's crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and lo! there was the well, but the money-lender had two!--two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out,

"Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!" And so he was, in a twinkling, but the moneylender of course was blind of both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells, he fell into one, and was drowned.

Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a money-lender--but only by losing one of his eyes.

"A Nincompoop" by Anton Chekhov

by Anton Chekhov

A few days ago I asked my children's governess, Julia Vassilyevna, to come into my study.

"Sit down, Julia Vassilyevna," I said. "Let's settle our accounts. Although you most likely need some money, you stand on ceremony and won't ask for it yourself. Now then, we agreed on thirty rubles a month..."

"Forty."

"No, thirty. I made a note of it. I always pay the governess thirty. Now then, you have been here two months, so ...."

"Two months and five days."

"Exactly two months. I made a specific note of it. That means you have sixty rubles coming to you. Subtract nine Sundays... you know you did not work with Kolya on Sundays, you only took walks. And three holidays..."

Julia Vassilyevna flushed a deep red and picked at the flounce of her dress, but - not a word.

"Three holidays, therefore take off twelve rubles. Four day Kolya was sick and there were no lesson, as you were occupied with Vanya. Three days you had a toothache and my wife gave you permission not to work after lunch. Twelve and seven - nineteen. Subtract... that leaves... hmm... forty-one rubles. Correct?"

Julia Vassilyevna's left eye reddened and filled with moisture. Her chin trembled; she coughed nervously and blew her nose, but - not a word.

"Around New Year's you broke a teacup and saucer: take off two rubles. The cup cost more, it was an heirloom, but - let it go. When did not I take a loss! Then, due to your neglect, Kolya climbed a tree and tore his jacket: take away ten. Also due to your heedlessness the maid stole Vanya's shoes. You ought to watch everything! You get paid for it. So, that means five more rubles off. The tenth of January I gave you ten rubles..."

"You did not", whispered Julia Vassilyevna.

"But I made a note of it."

"Well... all right."

"Take twenty-seven from forty-one - that leaves fourteen."

Both eyes willed with tears. Perspiration appeared on the thin, pretty little nose. Poor girl!

"Only once was I given any money," she said in a trembling voice, "and that was by your wife. Three rubles, nothing more."

"Really? You see now, and I did not make a note of it! Take three from fourteen... leaves eleven. Here is your money, my dear. Three, three, three, one and one. Her it is!

I handed her eleven rubles. She took them and with trembling fingers stuffed them into her pocket.

"Merci," she whispered.

I jumped up and started pacing the room. I was overcome with anger.

"For what, this - 'merci'?" I asked.

"For the money."

"But you know I have cheated you, for God's sake - robbed you! I have actually stolen from you! Why this 'merci'?"

"In my other places, they did not give me anything at all."

"They did not give you anything? No wonder! I played a little joke on you, a cruel lesson, just to teach you... I am going to give you the entire eighty rubles! Here they are in an envelope all ready for you... Is it really possible to be so spineless? Why don't you protest? Why be silent? Is it possible in this world to be without teeth and claws - to be such a nincompoop?"

She smiled crookedly and I read in her expression: "It is possible."

I asked her pardon for the cruel lesson and, to her great surprise, gave her eighty rubles. She murmured her little "merci" several times and went out. I looked after her and thought: "How easy it is to crush the weak in this world!"