1.        The Monkey and the Crocodile

It was a beautiful lake surrounded by lush green grasses, beautiful trees, mountains and sweetest, tastiest jamun trees. There lived a monkey on one of the jamun trees located near the lake.

The lake also had a few crocodiles. There was one crocodile that used to collect the jamun fruits from the lake that fall from the tree.

As the crocodile visits the jamun trees every day, it became friends with Monkey. Crocodile and monkey met every day. The monkey helped crocodile by providing more and fresh jamun fruits from the tree. Their relationship continued and they became close pals.

One day, the monkey asked the crocodile to give some jamun fruits to his wife and family as the fruits were more delicious. The crocodile agreed and took a lot of jamun fruits to his wife.

His wife was so happy and surprised that she never ate so delicious fruits, so far. She inquired her husband, where he got those fruits. The crocodile told her, his friend, monkey who lives in a Jamun tree gave these for him.

The wife crocodile made a plan in her mind. She asked her husband, ‘Does your friend eat these fruits every day?’ The crocodile replied yes. She added, ‘Oh my goodness. These are the sweetest fruits we ever ate. Imagine how delicious the monkey’s heart would be if he eat these fruits daily! I need the heart of your friend. Can you please bring it for me?’

The crocodile was shocked to hear it from his wife. He replied, ‘But he is my close friend. I can’t do this to him.’

The wife crocodile told him, ‘don’t worry. You bring him here. I will then take care! Or else, you may try to push him down into the water if he doesn’t know swimming!’

After a long time, the crocodile agreed to bring monkey to his wife.


The very next day, crocodile invited monkey to join them for lunch and asked for his favorite foods. Monkey happily agreed to be the guest and but worried that the monkey did not know how to swim in the lake.

Crocodile on thinking about monkey’s sorrow, pleased monkey and told him, ‘Don’t worry. I will carry you on my back and will take you back safely too!’

The monkey accepted and crocodile rode him to his home on his back on the water. As they reached half way, the crocodile tried to push monkey down into the water. However, monkey held the crocodile tightly and did not fall. Monkey got suspicious about crocodile’s act and asked him to tell the truth.

Since crocodile believed him as his good friend, he told about the conversation and the fight his wife had with him and he was taking monkey to eat his heart!

The intelligent monkey said, ‘Oh my dear friend, you should have told me this earlier. I left my heart on one of the branches of the tree as I won’t carry it if I travel long. If you take me back, I can give you my heart.’

Crocodile accepted and rode the monkey back to the lake. As they reached the tree where the monkey lived, the monkey climbed quickly and escaped from the crocodile.

He shouted at crocodile, ‘I thought you as a good friend, but you cheated me. I will never come back and never be your friend.’

The crocodile understood his mistake and returned back home empty handed, losing a good friend indeed

2.         The Cactus

The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man; and it is not past belief that one may review an entire courtship while removing one’s gloves.

That is what Trysdale was doing, standing by a table in his bachelor apartments. On the table stood a singular-looking green plant in a red earthen jar. The plant was one of the species of cacti, and was provided with long, tentacular leaves that perpetually swayed with the slightest breeze with a peculiar beckoning motion.

Trysdale’s friend, the brother of the bride, stood at a sideboard complaining at being allowed to drink alone. Both men were in evening dress. White favors like stars upon their coats shone through the gloom of the apartment.

As he slowly unbuttoned his gloves, there passed through Trysdale’s mind a swift, scarifying retrospect of the last few hours. It seemed that in his nostrils was still the scent of the flowers that had been banked in odorous masses about the church, and in his ears the lowpitched hum of a thousand well-bred voices, the rustle of crisp garments, and, most insistently recurring, the drawling words of the minister irrevocably binding her to another.

From this last hopeless point of view he still strove, as if it had become a habit of his mind, to reach some conjecture as to why and how he had lost her. Shaken rudely by the uncompromising fact, he had suddenly found himself confronted by a thing he had never before faced –his own innermost, unmitigated, arid unbedecked self. He saw all the garbs of pretence and egoism that he had worn now turn to rags of folly. He shuddered at the thought that to others, before now, the garments of his

soul must have appeared sorry and threadbare. Vanity and conceit? These were the joints in his armor. And how free from either she had always been–But why–

As she had slowly moved up the aisle toward the altar he had felt an unworthy, sullen exultation that had served to support him. He had told himself that her paleness was from thoughts of another than the man to whom she was about to give herself. But even that poor consolation had been wrenched from him. For, when he saw that swift, limpid, upward look that she gave the man when he took her hand, he knew himself to be forgotten. Once that same look had been raised to him, and he had gauged its meaning. Indeed, his conceit had crumbled; its last prop was gone. Why had it ended thus? There had been no quarrel between them, nothing–


For the thousandth time he remarshalled in his mind the events of those last few days before the tide had so suddenly turned.

She had always insisted upon placing him upon a pedestal, and he had accepted her homage with royal grandeur. It had been a very sweet incense that she had burned before him; so modest (he told himself); so childlike and worshipful, and (he would once have sworn) so sincere.

She had invested him with an almost supernatural number of high attributes and excellencies and talents, and he had absorbed the oblation as a desert drinks the rain that can coax from it no promise of blossom or fruit.

As Trysdale grimly wrenched apart the seam of his last glove, the crowning instance of his fatuous and tardily mourned egoism came vividly back to him. The scene was the night when he had asked her to come up on his pedestal with him and share his greatness. He could not, now, for the pain of it, allow his mind to dwell upon the memory of her

convincing beauty that night–the careless wave of her hair, the tenderness and virginal charm of her looks and words. But they had been enough, and they had brought him to speak. During their conversation she had said:

“And Captain Carruthers tells me that you speak the Spanish language like a native. Why have you hidden this accomplishment from me? Is there anything you do not know?”

Now, Carruthers was an idiot. No doubt he (Trysdale) had been guilty (he sometimes did such things) of airing at the club some old, canting Castilian proverb dug from the hotchpotch at the back of dictionaries. Carruthers, who was one of his incontinent admirers, was the very man to have magnified this exhibition of doubtful erudition.

But, alas! the incense of her admiration had been so sweet and flattering. He allowed the imputation to pass without denial. Without protest, he allowed her to twine about his brow this spurious bay of Spanish scholarship. He let it grace his conquering head, and, among its soft convolutions, he did not feel the prick of the thorn that was to pierce him later.

How glad, how shy, how tremulous she was! How she fluttered like a snared bird when he laid his mightiness at her feet! He could have sworn, and he could swear now, that unmistakable consent was in her eyes, but, coyly, she would give him no direct answer. “I will send you my answer to-morrow,” she said; and he, the indulgent, confident victor, smilingly granted the delay. The next day he waited, impatient, in his rooms for the word. At noon her groom came to the door and left the strange cactus in the red earthen jar. There was no note, no message, merely a tag upon the plant bearing a barbarous foreign or botanical

name. He waited until night, but her answer did not come. His large pride and hurt vanity kept him from seeking her. Two evenings later they met at a dinner. Their greetings were conventional, but she looked at him, breathless, wondering, eager. He was courteous, adamant, waiting her explanation. With womanly swiftness she took her cue from his manner, and turned to snow and ice. Thus, and wider from this on, they had drifted apart. Where was his fault? Who had been to blame? Humbled now, he sought the answer amid the ruins of his self-conceit. If–


The voice of the other man in the room, querulously intruding upon his thoughts, aroused him.

“I say, Trysdale, what the deuce is the matter with you? You look unhappy as if you yourself had been married instead of having acted merely as an accomplice. Look at me, another accessory, come two thousand miles on a garlicky, cockroachy banana steamer all the way from South America to connive at the sacrifice–please to observe how lightly my guilt rests upon my shoulders. Only little sister I had, too, and now she’s gone. Come now! take something to ease your conscience.”

“I don’t drink just now, thanks,” said Trysdale.


“Your brandy,” resumed the other, coming over and joining him, “is abominable. Run down to see me some time at Punta Redonda, and try some of our stuff that old Garcia smuggles in. It’s worth the, trip. Hallo! here’s an old acquaintance. Wherever did you rake up this cactus, Trysdale?”

“A present,” said Trysdale, “from a friend. Know the species?”

“Very well. It’s a tropical concern. See hundreds of ’em around Punta every day. Here’s the name on this tag tied to it. Know any Spanish, Trysdale?”

“No,” said Trysdale, with the bitter wraith of a smile–“Is it Spanish?”


“Yes. The natives imagine the leaves are reaching out and beckoning to you. They call it by this name–Ventomarme. Name means in English, ‘Come and take me.’”


3.         THE GOLDEN SLUG


In the ancient time, lived a young man named Galoran. He was respected because of his wealth and honor. His parents were nobleman so he could live with luxury. However, he was very wasteful and every day just squandered the wealth of his parents.

One day, his parents died, but he did not care and continued to spend money as well as before. Because his life was so extravagant, all the treasure that he had was running out and he became an unemployed person. Many people sympathized with him and offered a job. But every time he got the job, he just dallied and it made him always be fired.

Several months later, there was a wealthy widow who interested him. He married the widow and of course, he was very happy to be living in luxury again.

The widow had a daughter who was very diligent and clever to weave. Her name is Jambean, a beautiful girl and had been famous because of

her weaving. However, Galoran did not like the girl, because the girl often scolded him because of his laziness. Finally, he threatened to torture and kill Jambean. He revealed the plan to his wife and the wife was very sad to hear of the threat.

Hearing the news, Jambean was very sad but she volunteered herself to be killed by her father. She told that she wanted to be dumped into a dam and did not burry under the ground after the death. The mother agreed and did all of her wants. In the dam, her body and head suddenly turned into the golden slugs.

Several years later, there are two widows who were looking for firewood. They were kindred, the first widow named Mbok Sambega Rondo and the second called Mbok Rondo Sembagil. When looking for the firewood in the jungle, they were very surprised because of finding the beautiful golden slugs. They brought it and maintained at home.

Once they brought the snails, there was always a miracle every day. Their kitchen was always filled with the delicious food when they came home from work. They were very surprised, and wanted to know the person who made those foods. They pretended to go to work and hid in the back of the house. A few moments later, there was a beautiful girl came from the inside of the conch and she began to cook the delicious meals.

Both widows then secretly held and did not let the girl to get into the snail anymore. The girl apparently was Jambean who had been killed by her father. Both widows then allowed her to stay with them. Because of their versatility in weaving, she got her famous back and made a handsome prince attracted. In the end, she married the prince and lived happily.