A bird-seller once presented Emperor Akbar with a marvellous parrot named Mitthu. The bird could recite verses, mimic the ministers, and greet the emperor with a cheerful “Salaam, Jahanpanah!” Akbar grew so fond of Mitthu that he appointed a special keeper for him, built him a golden cage, and issued a stern royal decree: “This parrot shall receive the best of care. And hear this well — whoever tells me that my parrot has died will be thrown into the deepest dungeon!”
The keeper looked after Mitthu like a prince. He fed him pomegranates and chillies, fanned him in summer, and covered his cage on cold nights. But no care, however loving, can make any creature live forever. One morning, the keeper found Mitthu lying still at the bottom of the golden cage. The poor bird had died peacefully in the night.
The keeper began to tremble. If he told the emperor, the dungeon awaited him — the decree was clear. If he stayed silent, the truth would come out anyway. Weeping with fear, he ran to the one man who could untangle any knot: Birbal.
Birbal heard him out and patted his shoulder. “Go home. Say nothing. I shall inform the emperor myself.” The keeper gasped, “But the decree, sahib!” Birbal only smiled.
At court, Birbal approached the throne with a face full of wonder. “Huzoor, a miracle! Your Mitthu has become a great sage!” Akbar leaned forward. “A sage? What do you mean, Birbal?” “Come and see, Your Majesty,” said Birbal. “The parrot lies with his eyes closed in deep meditation. He does not eat, he does not drink, he does not speak, he does not flutter a single feather. Such stillness! Such devotion! No saint in the empire meditates so perfectly.”
The curious emperor hurried to the golden cage — and stopped short. One look, and the truth was plain. “Meditating?” cried Akbar. “Birbal, you fool, the parrot is dead!”
Birbal bowed very low. “Jahanpanah, YOU have said it — not I. And surely the emperor will not throw the emperor into the dungeon?” Akbar stood speechless a moment, then burst into laughter at his own decree. The keeper was pardoned and rewarded, and Akbar learned how heavy a careless royal order can be.