One bitterly cold winter evening, Emperor Akbar stood by the palace lake and shivered. “Would anyone stand in this freezing water all night?” he wondered aloud. “Surely not, Your Majesty,” said the courtiers. Akbar announced a challenge: whoever stood neck-deep in the lake till sunrise would win a thousand gold coins.
A poor washerman, desperate to feed his family, accepted. All night he stood in the icy water, his teeth chattering, while guards watched from the shore. To keep his courage up, he fixed his eyes on a tiny lamp burning far away on a palace tower. At dawn he came out, trembling but triumphant, and asked for his reward.
“How did you survive the cold?” asked Akbar. “Majesty, I kept looking at the lamp on your tower. It gave me hope,” said the honest man. A jealous courtier whispered, “There it is! He warmed himself with the heat of that lamp. He does not deserve the prize.” Akbar agreed and sent the poor man away empty-handed.
Birbal thought this was terribly unfair, but he said nothing. The next day he did not come to court. Akbar sent a messenger, and the reply came: “I will come as soon as my khichdi is cooked.” The whole day passed. At last the curious emperor rode to Birbal's house himself.
There sat Birbal under a tree. A small fire flickered on the ground, and high above it, tied to a tall pole, hung a pot of rice and lentils. “Birbal, have you lost your senses?” laughed Akbar. “The pot is so far from the fire — the khichdi will never cook!”
Birbal folded his hands. “Why not, Majesty? If a washerman standing in a freezing lake can be warmed by a lamp burning a mile away on a tower, surely my khichdi can cook from a fire a few feet below.”
Akbar fell silent. He understood at once how unjust he had been. The washerman was called to court, honoured, and given two thousand gold coins — and Birbal's khichdi became the most famous dish never cooked.