The Bear’s Bad Bargain: A Tale of Greed and Cleverness

Adapted from Tales of India: Folktales from Bengal, Punjab, and Tamil Nadu

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The Hungry Old Couple

In a tiny hut at the edge of a wealthy man’s orchard lived an elderly woodman and his wife. Their humble dwelling stood so close to the property that branches of a magnificent pear tree hung directly over their yard. The rich owner had agreed that if any fruit happened to fall into their yard, the old couple could eat it.

Day after day, the elderly pair watched the pears ripening on the branches above, hoping for a strong wind or perhaps a flock of flying foxes to knock some down. But the fruit remained firmly attached to the tree, and not a single pear fell.

The old woman, who had a tendency to grumble and scold, became increasingly worried that they would end up as beggars. In her anxiety, she began serving her husband nothing but dry bread and insisted he work harder than ever. The poor old woodman grew thinner by the day, all because the stubborn pears refused to fall!

Finally, the woodman reached his limit. “I will not work another day,” he declared firmly, “unless you give me khichri for my dinner.” Khichri was a savory dish made of rice, lentils, and spices—a proper meal for a hardworking man.

With great reluctance, his wife gathered rice, pulse, butter, and spices, and began cooking. Soon, a delicious aroma filled their small home. The woodman, enticed by the smell, wanted to eat immediately.

“No, no,” insisted his wife. “Not until you’ve brought in another load of wood—and make sure it’s a good one. You must work for your dinner.”

The Bear’s Bargain

The old man trudged to the forest and began chopping wood with renewed energy. With each swing of his axe, he imagined the delicious khichri waiting for him at home. The thought made him work even harder.

As he gathered his bundle, a bear came wandering by. This bear, like most of his kind, was terribly curious and couldn’t help investigating.

“Peace be with you, friend,” said the bear, his black nose twitching in the air. “What are you planning to do with that remarkably large bundle of wood?”

“It’s for my wife,” the woodman replied. Then, lowering his voice confidentially and smacking his lips, he added, “She has made such a khichri for dinner! If I bring home a good bundle of wood, she’s certain to give me a generous portion. Oh, my friend, you should just smell that khichri!”

The bear’s mouth began to water. Bears, as everyone knows, are terrible gluttons.

“Do you think your wife would give me some too, if I brought her a bundle of wood?” he asked eagerly.

“Perhaps,” answered the woodman craftily, “if it was a very big load.”

“Would four hundredweight be enough?” the bear inquired.

The woodman shook his head. “I’m afraid not. You see, khichri is expensive to make—there’s rice, plenty of butter, pulse, and—”

“Would eight hundredweight do?” the bear interrupted.

“Say half a ton, and it’s a bargain!” declared the woodman.

“Half a ton is a large quantity,” sighed the bear.

“There’s saffron in the khichri,” the woodman mentioned casually.

At this, the bear’s little eyes twinkled with greed and delight. He licked his lips and quickly agreed, “It’s a bargain! Go home quickly and tell your wife to keep the khichri hot. I’ll be there shortly.”

The Empty Pot

The woodman hurried home, delighted to tell his wife how he had convinced the bear to bring half a ton of wood in exchange for a portion of khichri.

Though the old woman had to admit it was a good bargain, she couldn’t help finding something to complain about. She began scolding her husband for not specifying exactly how much khichri the bear would receive.

“He’ll devour the entire pot before we’ve finished our first helping!” she fretted.

The woodman turned pale at this thought. “In that case,” he suggested, “we should start eating now to get a fair share.”

Without further discussion, they sat on the floor with the brass pot of khichri between them and began eating as quickly as they could.

“Remember to leave some for the bear,” the woodman reminded his wife, his mouth full.

“Certainly, certainly,” she replied, helping herself to another handful.

“My dear,” the old woman said in turn, her mouth equally full, “remember the poor bear!”

“Certainly, certainly, my love!” the old man responded, taking another large portion.

This continued until not a single grain remained in the pot.

The Clever Deception

“What shall we do now?” worried the woodman. “It’s all your fault for eating so much.”

“My fault!” his wife retorted. “You ate twice as much as I did!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! Men always eat more than women.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Yes, they do!”

Finally, the woodman sighed. “There’s no use arguing about it. The khichri is gone, and the bear will be furious.”

“That wouldn’t matter if we could still get the wood,” said the greedy old woman. “I know what we’ll do—we’ll lock up all the food in the house, leave the empty khichri pot by the fire, and hide in the garret. When the bear arrives, he’ll think we’ve gone out and left his dinner. He’ll drop his wood bundle and come inside. He might rampage a bit when he finds the pot empty, but he can’t do much damage, and I doubt he’ll bother taking the wood away.”

They quickly locked away all their food and hid in the garret.

The Bear’s Disappointment

Meanwhile, the bear had been working diligently on his bundle of wood. It took much longer than expected, but eventually, he arrived at the woodcutter’s cottage, exhausted from his labor.

Seeing the brass khichri pot by the fire, he dropped his heavy load and went inside. His anger was tremendous when he found nothing in the pot—not a grain of rice or the smallest bit of pulse—only a lingering aroma so tantalizingly delicious that he actually cried with rage and disappointment.

Though he turned the house upside down in his fury, he couldn’t find a morsel of food. Finally, he declared he would take his wood back, but as the crafty old woman had predicted, he couldn’t bring himself to carry such a heavy burden again, even for revenge.

“I won’t leave empty-handed,” he growled, seizing the khichri pot. “If I can’t have the taste, I’ll at least have the smell!”

An Unexpected Opportunity

As the bear was leaving, he noticed the beautiful golden pears hanging from the tree branches that extended over the yard. His mouth watered instantly, for he was desperately hungry and these were the first pears of the season. In a moment, he had climbed the wall, scaled the tree, and was about to bite into the biggest, ripest pear when a thought struck him.

“If I take these pears home, I could sell them to other bears for a good price,” he reasoned. “With that money, I could buy my own khichri. Ha! I’ll have the best of the bargain after all!”

He began gathering the ripe pears and placing them in the khichri pot. Whenever he came across an unripe one, he would shake his head and mutter, “No one would buy that, yet it’s a pity to waste it.” Then he would pop it into his mouth, making faces if it was particularly sour.

The Sneeze That Saved the Day

All this time, the woodman’s wife had been watching through a crack, holding her breath for fear of discovery. But she was asthmatic and had a cold, making it increasingly difficult to remain silent. Just as the khichri pot was filled with golden ripe pears, she could hold back no longer and let out a tremendous sneeze: “A-h-che-u!”

The bear, thinking someone had fired a gun at him, dropped the pot into the cottage yard and fled into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him.

And so, the clever old couple ended up with the khichri, the wood, and the coveted pears. The poor bear, however, got nothing but a terrible stomachache from eating unripe fruit.

This tale from India reminds us that cleverness can sometimes overcome strength, but also that greed often leads to unexpected consequences for everyone involved.