One afternoon in court, the talk turned to the people of the kingdom. “How many blind people would there be in our land?” Akbar wondered. A courtier guessed a few hundred. Another guessed a thousand. Then Birbal spoke up: “Your Majesty, there are far more blind people in the kingdom than people who can see.”
The court burst into laughter. “Impossible!” said Akbar. “Look around — nearly everyone has perfectly good eyes!” But Birbal only bowed. “Give me three days, huzoor, and I will bring you proof, with a written list.”
The next morning, Birbal did something very strange. He took an old cot, a bundle of rope, and sat down in the middle of the busiest bazaar in Agra, weaving the rope through the cot's frame. Beside him sat two royal scribes with paper, pen and ink. One held a sheet titled 'The Blind', the other a sheet titled 'Those Who See'.
A vegetable seller passed by. “Arre, Birbal sahib! What are you doing?” Birbal said nothing — but nodded to the first scribe, who wrote the man's name on the list of the blind. A soldier stopped. “Minister, what are you doing?” His name too went on the blind list. All day long, people saw Birbal plainly weaving a cot, and still they asked, “What are you doing?” Name after name filled the blind list. Only a rare few said, “Ah, Birbal is weaving a cot!” — and their names went on the short list of those who see.
By the third day, the news reached the palace, and Akbar himself rode down to the bazaar. He watched Birbal pulling the ropes tight and asked, laughing, “Birbal, what on earth are you doing?”
Birbal nodded solemnly, and the scribe wrote at the very top of the blind list: 'Emperor Akbar.'
Then Birbal rose and presented both lists. The list of the blind was many pages long; the list of those who see held barely a handful of names. “Huzoor,” he said gently, “everyone watched me weave, yet almost everyone asked what I was doing. Those who do not use their eyes — are they not blind?” Akbar laughed till his crown shook, and admitted that Birbal had won again.