Sambar the Mouse

NPC

Lore

The Life Story of Sambar the Mouse—told by a talking rodent.

I was born in the home of a devout old hermit. The place was bustling with my family—my parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We never went hungry: every day the hermit’s kind neighbors brought him bread, flour, cheese, eggs, butter, vegetables, and fruit. They always gave him more than he could eat, hoping he’d pray for them in return. Whether his prayers helped or not I can’t say, but share his food with us he would not. To keep us away he hung the food basket from a hook in the kitchen ceiling.

Even as a youngster I was brave—and crafty. I’d leap into the basket from a nearby wall, fill my belly, then drop the leftovers down to my family. Each raid was a holiday for them.

When the hermit noticed, he hung the basket even higher.

One day a wandering monk stopped by. After feeding the guest, the hermit moved the basket yet again, curious whether I could still reach it. The monk began telling stories about his long, perilous travels, but soon saw that his host kept glancing at the ceiling.

Slighted, the monk burst out, “I’m sharing my adventures and you’re hardly listening! Don’t they interest you?”

“That’s not true,” the hermit said. “I am listening intently, but I must watch that basket. Those mice are devouring everything, especially one nimble little thing that jumps in and tosses food to the rest.”

The guest replied, “Your tale reminds me of a woman who swapped cleaned wheat for uncleaned wheat.”

“What tale is that?” the hermit asked.

“Once I stayed with a respectable man. Late that night I heard him tell his wife he’d invite guests for dinner. She objected: ’Feasts every day? We’ll waste our savings and end up with nothing!’ He answered, ’Don’t be stingy. Whoever only hoards, gives nothing, and never enjoys what he has, ends up like the wolf.’

“’A hunter shot a deer, slung it over his shoulders, and started home. Then a bear attacked. The deer blocked his aim, so he stabbed the bear, but it dragged him down. Both died from their wounds.

“’That night a wolf trotted by, found the deer, the bear, and the hunter, and rejoiced. “All mine!” he thought. “I’ll make it last. I won’t share a bite. Tonight I’ll just gnaw the crossbow string.” He started chewing; the crossbow sprang, and the bolt pierced his greedy heart. See, wife—hoarding isn’t always wise.’

“The wife agreed. Next morning she washed fine wheat, spread it to dry, and asked her child to guard it. The child got distracted, a pig gobbled part and fouled the rest. She gathered the ruined grain, went to market, and exchanged it—measure for measure—for uncleaned wheat.

“A neighbor laughed: ’Imagine, giving away cleaned grain for uncleaned! There must be a reason.’”

The monk ended, “So it is with your mouse. If she jumps higher than the rest, something powers her. Hand me a hoe—I’ll dig up her burrow and find it.”

I’d been eavesdropping from a friend’s tunnel. In my own burrow lay a treasure—one thousand gold coins. Neither I nor the hermit knew who’d put them there, but I played with them every day, and they filled me with joy. The traveler tore up the floor, found the coins, pocketed them, and said, “Here’s the secret of the mouse’s mighty leap. She won’t be doing that again.”

Sadly, he was right. Next morning the hungry mice came for food, but I could no longer reach the basket—my strength was gone. At once my friends and kin turned their backs on me; afraid they’d have to feed me, they wouldn’t even say hello.

It stung. I thought, “In good times friends abound, in trouble none. Lose your money—lose your people.” Poverty is poison; no wound burns like it. While you’re rich they praise you, but go broke and they condemn everything you do: generosity becomes waste, pride becomes quarrelsomeness, quiet turns into gloom. Death is kinder than poverty. A beggar might sooner survive sticking his hand into a viper’s jaws than asking help from a miser.

Meanwhile the hermit and his guest split my gold. The hermit hid his share under his pillow. Desperate to regain my power, I tried to snatch a few coins. He woke and struck me so hard I barely crawled away. Greed still nagged me; I tried again. The blow was worse. Bleeding, I finally grasped the truth. The coins now filled me with horror. I set myself four rules:

Mind your own affairs; don’t covet another’s.

Good manners are the mark of true nobility.

Contentment is the greatest wealth.

Wisdom is knowing what’s beyond your reach and letting it be.

I chose to live poor but honest. I left the hermit’s house, settled deep in the woods, dug a snug burrow, and befriended a gentle dove. Through her I heard of you, Brother Crow, and of your bond with the turtle. I longed to meet you, for nothing beats loyal friends—and nothing is worse than loneliness.

Clever Sambar ended her story. The turtle said softly, “Thank you. You’ve suffered much, but your wisdom now outweighs any gold. Forget the past. A noble heart is honored without riches: a lion is always a lion, and a sage moves freely to seek new knowledge, taking reason, not gold, for company.”

The crow was thrilled that the mouse and turtle were friends. Suddenly they heard footsteps—a deer was running toward them. They scattered: the turtle slid into the pond, the mouse darted into her hole, and the crow flew into a tree. From above the crow saw no hunters and called them back. The turtle noticed the deer hesitating to drink.

The deer bowed, stepped closer, and the turtle asked where he came from.

“I lived in a wild forest,” he said, “but when I saw the snakes fleeing in one direction, I feared hunters would soon encircle it, so I fled.”

“No hunter has ever come here,” the turtle said. “Stay with us—the grazing is good.”

The deer gladly joined them. The four friends chose a pleasant spot under a huge tree where they met each day, traded news, and told stories.

One day the deer didn’t appear. Worried, the crow flew off to search. He found the deer tangled in a hunter’s net near their clearing, hurried back, and told the others. The mouse asked him to carry her to the deer. Reaching him she squeaked,

“Brother, how did you get caught? You’re one of the sharpest beasts alive!”

The deer sighed, “Brains can’t beat fate. Swift legs and strength can’t tear a net woven by chance.”

Just then the turtle arrived, panting. The deer moaned, “Sister, why come? The mouse could free me alone. If the hunter comes, I’ll run, the crow will fly, the mouse will hide—but you’re slow; you’ll be caught!”

“Life is nothing without friends,” the turtle replied. “If I can’t help, I can at least stand by you. A true friend will give her very heart.”

The mouse had almost finished chewing the net when they heard the hunter’s steps. The deer burst free and bolted, the crow soared, the mouse hid. The hunter found only the torn net and the slow turtle. He tied her with the leftover rope.

“Oh, disaster!” cried the mouse. “First my gold, now my dearest friend—am I cursed?”

Sambar thought fast: “Deer, limp onto the hunter’s path and act wounded. Crow, perch on him and pretend to peck. The hunter will drop his pack and chase you. Deer, lead him deep into the brush. I’ll gnaw the ropes and free the turtle.”

They followed her plan exactly. The hunter, seeing easy prey, threw down his gear and ran after the deer. The deer and crow lured him far away while the mouse freed the turtle, and the four friends slipped home unharmed.

When the exhausted hunter returned he found only shredded cords. “Evil spirits are tormenting me!” he raged. Convinced the forest was cursed, he fled and never returned.

From then on the four friends lived in peace and joy. Now and then the dove would visit, bringing news and fresh tales, which everyone loved to hear.

From Grimm Legends Bestiary 5E, p. 62 · Fern Flower Press