In a deep, quiet pond joined to a river by a narrow channel lived three large fish, friends since they were tiny, yet utterly different in nature. The first was Anagatavidhata — “one who prepares before trouble comes.” The second was Pratyutpannamati — “one whose wit flashes at the moment of danger.” The third was Yadbhavishya — “whatever must happen will happen.”
One evening some fishermen passing along the bank looked into the water. “Brother, see how this pond swarms with fish! We will come at dawn with our nets.” Their voices carried clearly over the still water, and the three friends heard every word.
Anagatavidhata spoke at once. “You heard them. Tonight, while the channel still holds water, I am leaving for the river. Come with me!” Pratyutpannamati flicked his tail. “Danger may come, or it may not. If it comes, my wit has never yet failed me — I shall think of something at the moment itself.” And Yadbhavishya laughed lazily. “Fishermen have talked before. What is written will happen wherever I swim — why should I leave the home of my fathers?” So that very night Anagatavidhata slipped down the channel into the great river, and was safe.
At dawn the fishermen came and spread their nets from bank to bank, and both the friends who had stayed behind were caught. Pratyutpannamati did not waste a heartbeat: he turned belly-up, went stiff, and floated like a fish long dead. “This one is spoiled — dead since yesterday,” said a fisherman, and tossed him onto the bank by the water's edge — where, with one quiet flick, he slid into the deep and was gone. But poor Yadbhavishya thrashed and leapt and flapped in the net, and was carried away in the fishermen's basket, and there his story ended.
The wise remember all three: foresight saves surely, presence of mind saves narrowly — but he who sits back and waits upon fate only helps the net close around himself.