A jackal named Chandarava once grew so hungry that he crept out of the forest and into a town at dusk, sniffing for scraps. The town dogs caught his scent and came bounding after him, barking furiously. Running for his life through the winding lanes, the jackal dashed into a dyer's courtyard and tumbled headlong into a huge vat of indigo dye. When he climbed out, dripping and gasping, he was blue from nose to tail — a colour no creature of the forest had ever worn.
When he returned to the jungle, the animals froze at the sight of him. Lions, tigers, wolves and even the elephants backed away from this strange, shining blue being. Seeing their fear, the sly jackal drew himself up grandly. “Do not be afraid,” he announced. “The Creator himself has sent me, Kakudruma, to rule over the forests. Serve me faithfully and you shall live under my protection.” The awestruck animals bowed low. The tiger became his minister, the lion his doorkeeper, and every beast brought him the choicest food. But haughty Kakudruma drove away his own kin, the jackals, fearing they might recognise him.
He lived like an emperor until one full-moon evening, when a pack of jackals far away lifted their heads and began to howl. The old song stirred the blue king's blood. Forgetting crown and court, he threw back his head and howled long and loud with them.
The lion and the tiger stared, then looked at each other in disbelief. This heaven-sent ruler was nothing but a jackal in disguise! Roaring with anger at how they had been fooled, the great beasts turned on the false king, and that was the end of Kakudruma and his borrowed blue glory. The animals of the forest never again bowed to a stranger merely because of his colour, and they remembered ever after how a single moment of truth had undone a mountain of pretence.