In a lane of Vijayanagara lived a quiet woodcutter named Gopanna, and about him the neighbours whispered a cruel rumour: "See his face first thing in the morning, and your whole day is ruined." The rumour hopped from lane to lane until it reached the palace itself.
"Nonsense," said King Krishnadevaraya — but a seed of curiosity had been planted. He ordered that Gopanna be brought to stand outside his chamber at dawn, so that his would be the first face the king saw. It so happened that everything went wrong that day. The king stubbed his toe on the doorstep. The kitchen burnt the royal breakfast, and he sat hungry through a long assembly. A messenger brought word of storms sinking two grain boats. By evening the king's head throbbed, and the courtiers murmured wisely: "The omen, Sire. The woodcutter's face." In a black temper, the king thundered, "Is it so? Then the wretch shall trouble no one's mornings again. Let him be hanged!"
Poor Gopanna wept in his cell, and word of it reached Tenali Rama, who came at once and whispered long in the prisoner's ear.
At the execution ground, the man was granted, by custom, his last words. Gopanna stood straight and spoke as he had been taught: "People of Vijayanagara! They say mine is the unluckiest face in the kingdom — for the king saw it at dawn and lost his breakfast. But I saw the KING'S face at that same dawn — and I am losing my life. Judge for yourselves, good people: whose face is the unluckier?"
A ripple ran through the crowd; nobody dared laugh, and nobody could argue. When the words were carried to Krishnadevaraya, he sat silent for a long moment — then hurried to the ground himself, cut the rope with his own sword, and filled the woodcutter's arms with gold. "Your face, friend, brought me my best lesson this year," he said. "The only bad omen in my kingdom today was a king who listened to whispers." And he decreed that no one in Vijayanagara should ever again be punished for an omen.