Harisarman

In a certain village lived a Brahman named Harisarman, poor and out of work, with many children. He wandered begging with his family until he reached a city and entered the service of a rich householder, Sthuladatta. The sons tended cows, the wife served in the house, and Harisarman himself lived nearby as an attendant.

One day Sthuladatta held a great feast for his daughter’s marriage. Friends and merry-makers crowded in. Harisarman hoped to fill himself and his family with ghee, meat, and sweets from his patron’s kitchen. He waited anxiously—and no one thought of him.

Hurt and hungry that night, he told his wife their poverty and stupidity earned such disrespect. He would pretend to know magic so Sthuladatta would honour him; when she found a chance, she must say he was skilled in astrology and magical arts. After dark, while the household slept, he stole the bridegroom’s horse and hid it some distance away.

In the morning the wedding party searched everywhere; the horse was gone—an evil omen. While Sthuladatta fretted and hunted for thieves, Harisarman’s wife came forward: her husband was a wise man who could recover the horse—why not ask him? Called at last, Harisarman remarked that yesterday he was forgotten, but today, with the horse stolen, he was remembered. Sthuladatta begged forgiveness and asked who had taken it. Harisarman drew pretended diagrams and announced the thieves had left the horse on the southern boundary; fetch it before nightfall or it would be gone farther. Men ran, found the horse, and praised his discernment. Honoured as a sage, he lived happily in Sthuladatta’s regard.

Later a thief stole gold and jewels from the king’s palace. The king, hearing of Harisarman’s fame, summoned him. Playing for time, Harisarman said he would speak tomorrow, and was locked in a guarded chamber. Alone and afraid of his own lie, he blamed the tongue that had boasted. “O Tongue, what have you done through greed? Wicked one, you will soon be punished in full.”

Now a palace maid named Jihva—“Tongue”—had stolen the treasure with her brother’s help. Alarmed at the “wizard,” she pressed her ear to his door that night, heard him scolding his tongue, and thought herself discovered. She got in, fell at his feet, and confessed: she was Jihva who took the treasure and buried it under a pomegranate in the garden behind the palace. Spare her, and take the gold she still held. Harisarman answered proudly that he knew past, present, and future, would not denounce a creature who begged protection, but must have her gold. She agreed and fled. Astonished, he reflected that fear lays secret crimes bare—while he blamed his own jihva, the thief Jihva had flung herself at his feet. He slept easier.

In the morning, with a show of skill, he led the king to the pomegranate and the buried treasure, saying the thief had escaped with part of it. The king, pleased, granted him the revenue of many villages.

But the minister Devajnanin whispered that no man gains such knowledge without study—likely this fellow lived by secret dealings with thieves. Better test him. The king himself brought a covered pitcher with a frog inside and asked Harisarman to name what it held. Sure his last hour had come, Harisarman remembered the childhood pet name “Froggie” his father had given him in sport, and cried out in despair, “This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it will soon destroy your helpless self.” The court roared applause—he knew even about the frog! Thinking it true divination, the king heaped on more village revenues, gold, an umbrella, and state carriages. So Harisarman prospered in the world.

About this story

Joseph Jacobs included “Harisarman” in his Indian Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1892), illustrated by John D. Batten. His notes say he took it from C. H. Tawney’s English translation (Calcutta, 1880) of Somadeva’s Sanskrit Katha-Sarit-Sagara, the “Ocean of the Streams of Story,” and that he “slightly toned down the inflated style of the original.”

Jacobs also points to a close European cousin, the Grimms’ “Doctor Knowall,” where the pretend doctor sighs “Ach, ich armer Krebs” (“Oh, poor crab that I am”) and a crab turns up under the dish—just as Harisarman’s pet name, Froggie, saves him here. The maid’s name, Jihva, means “tongue,” which is the pun the theft scene turns on. Nothing has been softened.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, Indian Fairy Tales, 1892 (Project Gutenberg #7128)

Best for ages 6–8 — a funny story of bluffing and lucky guesses that children enjoy once they catch the word-jokes.

A closer reading

The three successes have different causes. The horse’s location is known because Harisarman hid it himself. The treasure is found because Jihva mishears his private complaint as an accusation. The frog is identified by sheer coincidence. To the spectators these look like repeated confirmation of one power; readers see three unrelated mechanisms.

The minister proposes a fresh test rather than accepting fame alone, but one lucky phrase defeats it. The comedy depends on the gap between what Harisarman means and what his audience hears. He also keeps part of the stolen gold, so this is not a tale in which honest conduct earns its reward. His hunger and humiliation explain the start of the bluff without making the theft harmless.

Try this with the story

Make a three-row evidence chart for horse, treasure and frog. Record Harisarman’s actual knowledge, the audience’s explanation and the reader’s explanation. Decide what further check would be needed before treating the final answer as a reliable ability.

Talk about it

• How do the causes of the horse, treasure and frog successes differ?
• Why does Jihva hear an accusation where Harisarman intends a complaint?
• Why is the minister’s new test a reasonable idea even though chance defeats it?

Related stories

• Doctor Knowall — the German cousin of this tale, where a fake doctor’s nickname is mistaken for an answer
• The Soothsayer’s Son — an Indian tale about a real fortune-teller whose predictions all come true
• A Lac of Rupees for a Piece of Advice — another Jacobs tale where words and wit matter more than wealth