On the lush banks of the Great River, just at the edge of a tropical forest, once lived a clever crocodile named Olive and a sly fox named Basil.
Olive was immensely proud of his tough, armoured scales and mighty jaws, but he hated missing a meal. Basil, on the other hand, was quick-witted and light on his feet, always finding ways to outsmart the river dwellers when he was hungry.
One afternoon, Basil stood on a high riverbank, gazing longingly at a grove of ripe, juicy fig trees on the opposite side of the water. The current was far too swift for a fox to swim, and he knew Olive lurked beneath the surface.
The fox called out to the river, ‘Oh, Olive! Mighty ruler of the waters! I come bearing a dilemma that only a creature of your vast wisdom can solve.’
The crocodile surfaced, his yellow eyes gleaming with pride. ‘What is it, little fox? Speak quickly, for my appetite grows short.’
‘The forest animals were debating today,’ Basil said, pretending to look troubled. ‘They claimed that the forest holds far more creatures than the river. I argued that the river is home to a vast army under your command, but they laughed at me. Is it true that you rule over only a handful of river beasts?’
Olive’s tail whipped the water in anger. ‘A handful? Nonsense! I command an army of thousands!’
‘I wish I could believe you,’ Basil sighed, shaking his head. ‘But unless I see them with my own eyes, I shall have to endure their mockery.’
‘I will prove it to you,’ bellowed the proud crocodile.
Olive roared into the depths, summoning every crocodile, alligator, and water lizard in the river. Within minutes, hundreds of scaled backs emerged, snapping and crowding together until they formed a solid bridge spanning from one bank to the other.
‘Look upon my legion!’ Olive boasted. ‘Count them yourself if you doubt me.’
‘I shall count them, great Olive,’ Basil replied gracefully.
With a nimble leap, Basil landed on Olive’s back.
‘One,’ he counted.
He jumped to the next crocodile.
‘Two.’
Then the next, and the next.
‘Three, four, five,’ pattering swiftly across the living bridge.
Before Olive realised what was happening, Basil bounded onto the opposite riverbank, entirely unharmed and well out of reach. He trotted over to the fig trees, plucked a sweet, ripe fruit and turned back to face the river.
‘Five hundred and two,’ Basil called out with a bow. ‘A truly magnificent army, Olive! Thank you for the bridge.’
The crocodile realised he had been tricked, but his army was already dispersing back into the muddy waters, leaving him alone and embarrassed.
Moral
Vanity makes the strong easy prey for the clever.
