The Story of the Donkey and Tiger

In a lush jungle where sunlight dripped through the canopy like golden honey, and vines whispered secrets to the breeze, lived a donkey named Damu. Damu was not the fastest, nor the strongest, nor the wisest. But he was, unquestionably, the loudest. His braying echoed through the trees like thunder, waking birds, annoying monkeys, and irritating nearly every animal in the forest. And what Damu lacked in sense, he made up for in stubbornness.

One sweltering afternoon, as Damu wandered near a watering hole, he stumbled upon a tiger named Takar—sleek, powerful, and feared throughout the jungle. Takar was lounging in the shade, his golden eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Damu, being Damu, decided this was the perfect time to strike up a conversation.

“Good day to you, stripes!” he brayed.

Takar opened one eye, mildly amused. “It’s Takar, not ‘stripes,’” he growled lazily. “What brings you here, noise-maker?”

“I come with important news!” Damu announced proudly, puffing out his chest. “Did you know that the grass is blue?”

Takar’s ears twitched. “What did you say?”

“The grass,” Damu repeated, “is blue. Everyone knows it. I see it every day. Bright, sky-blue blades of grass, waving in the breeze!”

The tiger blinked, then chuckled. “Damu, the grass is green. Everyone with eyes knows that.”

Damu stomped his hooves. “No! It is blue, and I’ll prove it. If you won’t agree, then we must take this to the King of the Jungle!”

Now, the King of the Jungle was neither Takar nor Damu, but an old, wise lion named Lunga. He was known for his fairness and patience, though both were tested often.

So off the pair went, the tiger calmly pacing and the donkey braying about his “blue grass discovery” all the way.

At the foot of the great Lion’s Rock, they found Lunga sunning himself. He looked down with a sigh, for he could already sense foolishness approaching.

“What brings you here?” he asked, stretching his great paws.

“Your Majesty,” Damu began with an exaggerated bow, “I need you to settle a matter of great importance. I say the grass is blue. Takar here says it is green. Please tell him he is wrong.”

Lunga looked from the donkey to the tiger and back again. Slowly, he said, “Yes, Damu. You are right. The grass is blue.”

Damu jumped in excitement. “Ha! I knew it! I knew it!”

Then, to Damu’s surprise, Lunga turned to Takar. “And you, Takar, for arguing with a fool and wasting my time with such nonsense… I sentence you to three days of silence. No hunting, no growling, no roaring. Go reflect.”

Takar’s ears twitched, but he bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Damu, triumphant, trotted off, humming a terrible tune and proclaiming himself “the wisest beast in the jungle.”

After Damu left, Lunga turned to Takar and spoke softly, “You know well the grass is green.”

“I do,” Takar replied. “But I didn’t want to let a fool spread nonsense without challenge.”

Lunga nodded. “And yet, wisdom lies not in correcting fools, but in knowing which fools are worth correcting. You have strength and sense, Takar, but don’t waste them on those who cannot listen. Let the donkey bray. The jungle knows the truth.”

Takar bowed again and disappeared into the trees, his stripes melting into the shadows.

As for Damu, he spent the rest of his days telling anyone who would listen (and many who wouldn’t) how he had bested the tiger and proved the grass was blue. The other animals rolled their eyes and moved on.

And so, in the jungle where sunlight still spilled like honey, and vines still whispered in the breeze, the story of the donkey and the tiger lived on—not as a tale of victory or truth, but a lesson:

Don’t argue with fools, or you risk being judged for the company you keep.