On the bank of a wide river stood a great jamun tree, heavy with sweet purple fruit all year round. In its branches lived a cheerful monkey named Raktamukha. One warm afternoon a crocodile called Karalamukha crawled out of the water to rest in the tree's shade. The friendly monkey tossed him a handful of jamuns, and the crocodile had never tasted anything so delightful. From that day on, the two became the closest of friends.
Every day Karalamukha swam across the river to talk and feast beneath the tree, and every evening he carried fruit home to his wife. She enjoyed the jamuns, but she grew jealous of the friend who kept her husband away so long. A wicked thought took root in her mind: a monkey who ate such sweet fruit every day must surely have a heart sweeter still. Pretending to be terribly ill, she declared that only the heart of a monkey could cure her — and that she would die unless her husband brought her the heart of his friend.
Karalamukha was heartbroken, but he could not refuse his wife. With a heavy spirit he invited Raktamukha home for dinner, saying his wife longed to meet her husband's dear friend. The trusting monkey climbed onto the crocodile's back, and off they glided. But midstream, where the water ran deep, the guilty crocodile could hide the truth no longer and confessed why the monkey had really been invited.
Raktamukha's heart pounded, yet he kept his wits about him. “Oh, my friend, why didn't you say so before?” he said calmly. “We monkeys keep our hearts safely in the hollow of the tree. Take me back and I shall fetch it gladly.” The foolish crocodile turned around at once. The instant they reached the bank, Raktamukha leapt to the highest branch. “Go home, traitor,” he called down. “Whoever carries his heart in his chest never hands it to one who has betrayed him. Our friendship ends today.” And the crocodile swam home empty-handed, having lost both his friend and the sweet fruit forever.