The king’s prized stallion refused food; courtiers prescribed hymns and rare herbs. Tenali asked for a week alone with the horse and a rope made of jute. On day seven, the bucket was empty.
Tenali led the animal to a quiet shed away from incense and opinions. He tied a jute rope to the trough and another end loosely to the horse’s mouth. Each time the horse tugged at the rope, it pulled the bucket of grain a little closer; each time it ignored the rope, Tenali walked away and let boredom graze. Hunger met curiosity halfway. By the third day the horse discovered that the rope answered only to teeth, not prayers. On the seventh, when the king arrived, the stallion nuzzled the trough like a musician greeting his instrument. The courtiers asked which mantra he used. “The one that begins with ‘if—then’,” Tenali said. “If the horse eats, then the rope relaxes. It is the same scripture I use on obstinate men.” The king laughed, the stable breathed again, and the palace learned to hire fewer priests for problems whose gods are mechanics.
