One sultry afternoon in the grand court of Vijayanagara, King Krishnadevaraya summoned his ministers. The king’s face was clouded with concern, and a heavy silence settled over the hall. Only the whir of ceiling fans and the anxious fidgeting of courtiers filled the space. At the king’s right stood Tenali Raman, the famed court jester and wise advisor, always ready with his wit and wisdom. The king’s eyes swept across the room, pausing on Tenali. “Last night,” the king began, “I had a most peculiar dream. It has troubled me all day. I must know its meaning.” The courtiers exchanged worried glances. Dreams in the ancient kingdom were not dismissed lightly, especially not those of the king. The king continued, “In my dream, I saw all my teeth fall out, one by one, until only a single tooth remained. I awoke in a cold sweat. What does this mean? Someone tell me.” The assembly was silent until an elderly minister stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, such a dream is…unfortunate. Tradition teaches that losing teeth in a dream means outliving your loved ones. You may be destined to witness the passing of your family and friends.” Gasps rippled through the hall. The king’s face grew pale, his brow furrowed deeper. The minister, sensing the king’s displeasure, shrank back. The courtiers held their breath, afraid to speak out. But Tenali Raman, ever calm, stepped forward with a gentle smile. “Your Majesty, may I offer another interpretation?” The king, desperate for comfort, nodded. Tenali bowed and spoke, “O King, your dream is a sign of great fortune—rarely does destiny grant such a vision. To lose your teeth, save for one, means you shall live the longest of all your kin and friends. It is a blessing—your life will be longer than anyone else’s in your family.” The king’s eyes widened. He sat up straighter, hope flickering in his gaze. “Is that truly so, Tenali?” Tenali nodded respectfully. “Indeed, Majesty. Where others saw sorrow, I see the gift of longevity bestowed upon you. Your reign will be long and prosperous.” The courtiers murmured in relief. The king’s frown softened and was replaced by a look of gratitude. “But Tenali,” the king asked thoughtfully, “you have given me comfort, while the same message brought me distress from my minister. How is it that the same dream can be spoken of in two such different ways?” Tenali smiled and replied, “Your Majesty, the truth may be one, but the way it is expressed can change the heart’s response. Words have the power to heal or to hurt. Diplomacy and wisdom in speech can turn even bitter news into something bearable.” The king considered this, nodding slowly. “You have taught me not just the meaning of my dream, but the art of communication itself.” He turned to the elderly minister and said gently, “You spoke the truth, but Tenali showed me how truth can be shared with kindness.” The court relaxed as the king’s mood improved. He ordered his attendants, “Bring forth a bag of gold coins. Tenali Raman has once again lightened my heart and taught me a lesson worth more than gold.” The bag was brought, and the king handed it to Tenali with a smile. “May your wisdom continue to guide our kingdom.” Tenali bowed low. “Long live the king! May your reign be as long and bright as your dream foretells.” The court erupted in applause. The ministers, too, learned a valuable lesson that day: that the manner in which we share our thoughts is as important as the truth itself. Later, as the court dispersed, the elderly minister approached Tenali. “You have great skill, Tenali. My words brought only despair. Yours brought hope, though we spoke of the same fate. I have much to learn from you.” Tenali placed a hand on the minister’s shoulder. “We all speak the truth, respected sir. But like a gardener tending delicate flowers, we must choose our words with care. Kindness waters the heart; harshness wilts it.” The minister smiled, grateful for the advice. That evening, word spread throughout Vijayanagara about Tenali’s cleverness and the gentle power of wise communication. People spoke of how a single dream had become a lesson for all: the same message can be delivered with diplomacy, so that even hard truths may nurture understanding instead of sorrow. And so, in the great kingdom, Tenali’s tale became a lesson not just in intelligence, but in the art of communicating with wisdom and compassion.

One sultry afternoon in the grand court of Vijayanagara, King Krishnadevaraya summoned his ministers. The king’s face was clouded with concern, and a heavy silence settled over the hall. Only the whir of ceiling fans and the anxious fidgeting of courtiers filled the space. At the king’s right stood Tenali Raman, the famed court jester and wise advisor, always ready with his wit and wisdom. The king’s eyes swept across the room, pausing on Tenali. “Last night,” the king began, “I had a most peculiar dream. It has troubled me all day. I must know its meaning.” The courtiers exchanged worried glances. Dreams in the ancient kingdom were not dismissed lightly, especially not those of the king. The king continued, “In my dream, I saw all my teeth fall out, one by one, until only a single tooth remained. I awoke in a cold sweat. What does this mean? Someone tell me.” The assembly was silent until an elderly minister stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, such a dream is…unfortunate. Tradition teaches that losing teeth in a dream means outliving your loved ones. You may be destined to witness the passing of your family and friends.” Gasps rippled through the hall. The king’s face grew pale, his brow furrowed deeper. The minister, sensing the king’s displeasure, shrank back. The courtiers held their breath, afraid to speak out. But Tenali Raman, ever calm, stepped forward with a gentle smile. “Your Majesty, may I offer another interpretation?” The king, desperate for comfort, nodded. Tenali bowed and spoke, “O King, your dream is a sign of great fortune—rarely does destiny grant such a vision. To lose your teeth, save for one, means you shall live the longest of all your kin and friends. It is a blessing—your life will be longer than anyone else’s in your family.” The king’s eyes widened. He sat up straighter, hope flickering in his gaze. “Is that truly so, Tenali?” Tenali nodded respectfully. “Indeed, Majesty. Where others saw sorrow, I see the gift of longevity bestowed upon you. Your reign will be long and prosperous.” The courtiers murmured in relief. The king’s frown softened and was replaced by a look of gratitude. “But Tenali,” the king asked thoughtfully, “you have given me comfort, while the same message brought me distress from my minister. How is it that the same dream can be spoken of in two such different ways?” Tenali smiled and replied, “Your Majesty, the truth may be one, but the way it is expressed can change the heart’s response. Words have the power to heal or to hurt. Diplomacy and wisdom in speech can turn even bitter news into something bearable.” The king considered this, nodding slowly. “You have taught me not just the meaning of my dream, but the art of communication itself.” He turned to the elderly minister and said gently, “You spoke the truth, but Tenali showed me how truth can be shared with kindness.” The court relaxed as the king’s mood improved. He ordered his attendants, “Bring forth a bag of gold coins. Tenali Raman has once again lightened my heart and taught me a lesson worth more than gold.” The bag was brought, and the king handed it to Tenali with a smile. “May your wisdom continue to guide our kingdom.” Tenali bowed low. “Long live the king! May your reign be as long and bright as your dream foretells.” The court erupted in applause. The ministers, too, learned a valuable lesson that day: that the manner in which we share our thoughts is as important as the truth itself. Later, as the court dispersed, the elderly minister approached Tenali. “You have great skill, Tenali. My words brought only despair. Yours brought hope, though we spoke of the same fate. I have much to learn from you.” Tenali placed a hand on the minister’s shoulder. “We all speak the truth, respected sir. But like a gardener tending delicate flowers, we must choose our words with care. Kindness waters the heart; harshness wilts it.” The minister smiled, grateful for the advice. That evening, word spread throughout Vijayanagara about Tenali’s cleverness and the gentle power of wise communication. People spoke of how a single dream had become a lesson for all: the same message can be delivered with diplomacy, so that even hard truths may nurture understanding instead of sorrow. And so, in the great kingdom, Tenali’s tale became a lesson not just in intelligence, but in the art of communicating with wisdom and compassion.