Once upon a time there was a youth called Moti, who was very big and strong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine. So clumsy was he that he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk or curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing, upsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him :
' Here, Moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years ; take them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can.'
Then Moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over his shoulder, singing gaily to himself as he walked along.
In one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when he came to a certain city where he entered the travellers' ' serai' or inn to pass the night. Now a serai, you must know, is generally just a large square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the inside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps a few rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too proud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses. Moti, of course, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and he wasn't rich and he wasn't proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the innkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home, and in five minutes was fast asleep.
In the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he