In the forest of Brahmaranya lived a magnificent wild elephant named Karpuratilaka. He was as huge as a walking hill, and no beast dared cross his path. Watching him from the thickets, a pack of jackals thought greedy thoughts: “If ever that mountain of an elephant fell, there would be food enough for the whole pack for four months.” But who can make a mountain fall?
“I can,” said the oldest jackal, “not by strength, but by wit. Watch me.” He trotted up to the elephant, bowed until his nose touched the ground, and said humbly, “Lord, grant this small one a moment. The beasts of the forest have held a great council. They said: a land without a king is lost — and who has royal majesty, strength and calm like the great Karpuratilaka? They have chosen you king of the forest! The throne is ready, the auspicious hour is near — come quickly, my lord, or the sacred moment will pass!”
The elephant's heart swelled with pride. King of the forest! Trumpeting with joy, he set off at once behind the jackal, who led him straight toward a great lake ringed with soft, bottomless mud. The light little jackal trotted easily across the crust; the enormous elephant, hurrying after his crown, sank to his belly in the bog.
“Friend jackal!” he cried. “I am sinking! Help me!” The old jackal looked back and grinned. “Take hold of my tail with your trunk, my lord, and pull yourself out! You trusted the flattery of a jackal — now see where it has carried you.” Struggle as he might, the mighty elephant could not free himself from the swamp, and in the end the jackals got exactly what they had wanted.
Thus the small but sharp-witted bring down the strong who lose their heads — for there is no trap so deep as praise we are too pleased to question.