The Brahmin sat cross legged outside his hut praying. The palms of his hands pressed close together in front of his face.
Three noises broke the silence: The first was the howl of an excited dog; the second the squeak of a frightened mousecat; the third was the puffing and panting of that same mousecat as he ran towards the hut.
“And…”, said the Brahmin, seeing that the mousecat would be caught before he could reach the safety of the hut, “those who stray so far need the power to protect themselves.”
He slowly opened his hands and the mousecat became a fierce mousedog who turned on his pursuer and let out a blood-thirsty snarl that sent the dog running, tail down, back to its village.
“And…”, said the Brahmin.
“And…”, said the mousedog, “I shall take better care, and remember who I am.”
Under the Brahmin’s care the mousedog grew in size and confidence. The mousedog soon strayed from the Brahmin’s country exploring the deep, dark forests that lay beyond. The bolder he became the more certain that our story has to move on.
