A devout Brahmin named Mitra Sharma once travelled to a neighbouring village to perform a sacred ceremony, and the grateful host presented him with a fine, plump goat. Pleased with the gift, the Brahmin hoisted the animal onto his shoulders and set off on the long walk home through fields and woodland.
Now, three lazy crooks happened to spot him on the road, and their mouths watered at the sight of the healthy goat. “That animal should be our dinner tonight,” said one. “But how do we take it from him without a fight?” They put their heads together, hatched a trick, and hurried ahead by shortcuts to wait for the Brahmin at three different points along his path.
As the Brahmin passed the first crook, the man cried out in mock horror, “Shame on you, holy sir! A pious Brahmin carrying an unclean dog on his shoulders!” The Brahmin snapped, “Are you blind? This is a goat!” and marched on, annoyed. A mile later the second crook appeared, shaking his head sadly. “What a world! A Brahmin lugging a dead calf about!” The Brahmin faltered. He touched the goat — warm, bleating, alive — surely a goat? He walked on, but his steps had slowed. At the third bend the last crook blocked his way, laughing: “Sir, have you no shame, giving a donkey a ride on your own shoulders?”
Now doubt swallowed the poor Brahmin whole. Three different strangers, three different eyes — could they all be wrong and he alone right? Perhaps the creature was some shape-shifting demon that changed form at every mile! Trembling, he flung the goat down by the roadside and hurried home to bathe and purify himself. The three crooks, chuckling merrily, gathered up their prize and had their feast — while the learned Brahmin never discovered that the only magic at work that day had been the magic of a lie told three times.