A washerman in a certain town kept a donkey named Uddhata. All day the donkey carried heavy bundles of clothes to the river and back, but at night he was left free to wander. On his rambles he made friends with a jackal, and the two worked out a fine arrangement. Each night the donkey would push through the hedge of some vegetable field with his strong shoulders, the jackal would slip in through the gap, and the two would feast to their hearts' content, escaping before dawn.
One night they found their way into a field of ripe cucumbers, sweeter and juicier than anything they had tasted all year. They returned night after night, and the donkey grew sleek and plump. Then came an evening when the moon rose full and silver over the field, and the donkey's heart swelled with happiness. “Nephew,” he said to the jackal, “see how beautiful the night is! Music is rising in my soul. I feel I must sing.”
The jackal's ears shot up in alarm. “Uncle, please, do no such thing! We are thieves in this field. Singing will bring the farmers running with their sticks. Eat quietly and let us go.” But the donkey was offended. “You are a wild creature of the woods,” he said loftily. “What would you know of the classical ragas, of rhythm and melody? Music is divine!” “I know nothing of ragas, uncle,” admitted the jackal, backing toward the hedge, “but I do know this — your concert will earn you a reward you will not like. I shall wait outside and watch for it.”
The jackal slipped safely out of the field, and the donkey lifted his muzzle to the moon and began to bray with all his might. The farmers guarding the crop were on him in moments. They beat the tuneful thief soundly with sticks and hung a heavy wooden mortar round his neck before driving him off. As the bruised donkey limped away, the jackal called out gently from the bushes, “Well sung, uncle! I see the audience has presented you with a fine medal.”