Buddus`s Father

Once there was an old farmer named Buddhu's father. His paddy fields were ripe, and flocks of weaver birds came and feasted on his rice. To chase them away, Buddhu's father made a clapper (a kind of noise-making tool). But even the sound of the clapper didn’t scare the birds away.

Frustrated, he shouted, “You scoundrels! If I catch you, I’ll show you the Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan!”

Now, Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan didn’t actually mean anything. Buddhu's father couldn’t think of a proper threat, so he made up those words. Every day the birds came, and every day Buddhu's father failed to drive them away. All he could do was shout, “I’ll show you the Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan!”

One day, something unusual happened—a huge tiger had come into the field at night and fallen asleep there. By the time it woke up, it was already morning, and it couldn’t leave unnoticed.

That day too, Buddhu's father came with his clapper to chase the birds and shouted, “If I catch you, I’ll show you the Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan!”

Hearing these strange words, the tiger grew anxious. “What on earth is Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan? I've never heard of such a thing. It must be dangerous,” thought the tiger. The more it thought about it, the more curious and fearful it became. So it slowly came out from the paddy field and called out to Buddhu's father.

Seeing the tiger, Buddhu's father was terrified, but being a clever man, he quickly composed himself so the tiger wouldn’t notice. “What is it, brother?” he asked.

The tiger said, “What’s that thing you were shouting—Kiri-Miri-Bandhan? I must see it!”

Buddhu's father replied, “Oh, that’s not something easy to show. It needs a lot of materials.”

“I’ll get whatever you need,” said the tiger. “Just show it to me once.”

“Alright,” said Buddhu's father, “Bring me a big, strong sack, a long thick rope, and a heavy club.”

“Is that all?” said the tiger. “No problem!”

It was market day. The tiger hid in a bush near the path to the market. Soon, three puffed rice sellers came by, carrying large, strong sacks. The tiger leapt out with a roar. The sellers dropped their goods and ran for their lives. The tiger brought the sacks to Buddhu's father.

Next, it went to fetch rope. In a nearby field, many cows were tied up. As the tiger approached, the cows panicked and ran off, snapping their ropes. The tiger gathered the ropes and gave them to Buddhu's father.

Then it went to find a club. Some wrestlers were practicing nearby. As soon as they saw the tiger, they fled, leaving behind a big club. The tiger picked it up in its mouth and brought it to Buddhu's father.

“Now show me the Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan,” said the tiger eagerly.

“Alright,” said Buddhu's father. “First, get into the sack.”

The tiger willingly climbed into the sack. Quickly, Buddhu's father tied up the sack tightly with the rope so the tiger couldn’t even move. Then he picked up the club and gave the sack a mighty whack.

“Ow! What are you doing?” cried the tiger in surprise.

“I’m showing you the Iri-Miri-Kiri-Bandhan. Scared?” said Buddhu's father.

“Not at all,” lied the tiger, not wanting to admit fear.

Then Buddhu's father began beating the sack relentlessly. The tiger tried to endure in silence, but after ten or twelve blows, it started howling in pain. Eventually, it could only groan. When it fell completely silent, Buddhu's father thought it was dead, opened the sack, and dragged the tiger to the edge of the field before going home.

But the tiger wasn’t dead. After lying there like a corpse for four or five hours, it slowly got up. Its body ached and it had a fever, but anger kept it going. Grinding its teeth, it muttered, “You rogue, Buddhu's father! Just wait—I’ll get you!”

When Buddhu's father heard the tiger was coming back for revenge, he locked himself inside his house and didn’t come out for three days. The tiger prowled around his house, cursing and growling.

Finally, one day, the tiger tried a trick. In a gentle voice, it called, “Brother, could I have some fire to light my tobacco?”

Buddhu's father heard the voice, but the growl behind it gave the tiger away. Peeking through the door, he saw the tiger and shouted, “I’ve got a fever, I can’t open the door. Slide in your stick through the door gap, I’ll tie some fire to it.”

Having no stick, the tiger pushed its tail through the gap instead.

Immediately, Buddhu's father chopped the tail with a cleaver. The tiger let out a terrible scream and leapt as high as the rooftop. Then, clutching its stubby tail, it ran away howling.

But Buddhu's father wasn’t relieved. He knew the tiger would come back with reinforcements. And sure enough, the next day, he saw twenty to twenty-five tigers approaching. Panicked, he climbed up a tall tamarind tree behind his house and hid behind a hanging pot tied to the tree.

The tigers spotted him and began taunting and threatening him. Buddhu's father remained silent, holding the pot and watching them.

Then one clever tiger came up with a plan: “Let the biggest among us squat down. The next one will climb on his back, and so on, until we reach him.”

The biggest among them was the tail-less tiger, but his wounded tail hurt too much to sit. Somehow, he found a hole and lowered his tail into it before crouching. Then the others climbed on his back, one by one, forming a tower of tigers.

Just when they were about to reach Buddhu's father, something funny happened! The hole where the tail was tucked in was a crab hole. The crab, smelling the wound, came out and pinched the tail.

The tiger howled, “Yow! Growl! Buddhu's father above, and Buddhu's father below!” and jumped up in pain. All the tigers on his back tumbled down with a crash.

At that exact moment, Buddhu's father smashed the pot on the topmost tiger’s head and shouted, “Catch him! Catch the scoundrel by the neck!”

That was it—the tigers fled in all directions, never to return to Buddhu's father’s house again.