One day, when it was already evening, four venerable elders were sitting and talking among themselves, amusing each other with outlandish stories about distant lands.
The first elder said:
“Once I was walking along the bank of the Bode River, I saw a huge buffalo, the size of a mountain, standing on one bank of the river, and he stretched out his neck, reached the other bank and, imagine, immediately licked off the rice crops from three maus of land with his tongue!
[Mau is an ancient measure of area, approximately 330 square meters. m.]
The second elder smiled and said:
- Well, what is this! I’ve seen such Indian reeds that they’re simply miracles, and that’s all. Its trunk is long, like the Truong Son mountain range.
The first elder remarked with a grin:
- Well, is this trunk as thick as a community house? Isn't that right, sir?
“Exactly,” the second one answered him calmly. “Otherwise, what would you order a rope to be made from to thread it through that buffalo’s nostrils!”
Here the third elder intervened in the conversation:
– And do such trifles seem like miracles to you, sir? Let me tell you, I once saw such a tall tree that the top of its head touched the sky, and its trunk was so huge that you couldn’t walk around it in a month.
- That can’t be true! – the elders spoke at once.
- Don’t believe me? - the third elder was offended. - Then tell me, to which pole should you tie your buffalo, venerable ones?
Here the fourth elder intervened:
- All of you, honorable ones, are telling the pure truth... Stop quarreling. But I’ll tell you honestly, these are not miracles yet. So I saw a huge drum, such a drum, the roar of which shook entire countries!
The three elders were surprised and let’s pester the fourth with questions:
- How big is this drum, since its roar shakes entire countries?
“Judge for yourselves, venerables: to cover that drum, there was barely enough skin from that same buffalo from the Bode River, and its body is made of wood, the top of which reaches the sky, well, and Indian reed, the trunk of which is as long as the Truong Son mountain range, was used for the hoop.”
The three elders realized that the fourth was smarter than them.
“Tell me, sir,” they asked sarcastically, “what do they hang your drum on when they are going to hit it?”
“Your servant knows this, let me answer, sir.”
The old men turned around, looked at the boy, and graciously nodded their heads in agreement. The boy scratched his ear and said:
“That drum hangs on the bridge that I often walked along with my father. One day we stopped, looked down from the bridge, and the bridge was so high that the buffalo you deigned to talk about seemed very tiny to us, no bigger than a flea, the trunk of an Indian reed, equal to the Chuong Son mountain range, was no longer than a hair, and the tree, the top of which rested against the sky, seemed no taller than a mushroom. Then my father looked at it, his head began to spin, and he flew down. I mourned my father for three years. When I took off my mourning, I went back to that bridge, and I saw that my father was still flying down.
The elders heard this, their mouths were gaping, they were wagging their tongues, but they couldn’t say anything.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru