On the shore of a lake stood an ancient banyan tree where a colony of storks had nested for generations. But in a hollow at the foot of the tree there lived a black snake, and every season, when the young storks hatched, the snake climbed quietly at night and swallowed the little ones before they could fly. The storks grieved and grieved, yet could think of no way to be rid of the powerful serpent.
One day an old stork stood weeping at the edge of the water, too heartbroken even to fish. A crab came sidling by and asked, “Uncle, why these tears?” The stork poured out the story of the snake and the lost chicks. Now, the crab thought to himself: these storks are enemies of my people — they eat crabs whenever they can; let me give them advice that finishes them too. Hiding this thought, he said sweetly, “Uncle, there is a way. Down the shore lives a mongoose, the born enemy of snakes. Scatter a trail of fish from the mongoose's burrow to the snake's hollow. The mongoose will follow the feast, find the snake — and your enemy is gone.”
The storks were overjoyed. That very day they laid a line of fish from the mongoose's home, piece by piece, right up to the snake's hollow at their own tree. Everything happened just as the crab had foretold — but only half of it was welcome. The mongoose followed the trail of fish, discovered the snake, and after a fierce battle killed it. The storks danced on their branches.
But a mongoose's nose does not stop at snakes. Having found a tree that smelled of birds, he came back the next day, and the day after, climbing higher each time. One by one, the very storks who had laid the path to their own door lost their young ones to the visitor they had invited. Too late they understood the crab's cunning and their own thoughtlessness — a plan is not wise, say the elders, until you have thought all the way to its end.