1The court of King Krishnadeva Raya was a place of illustrious talent and lively debate. The king — himself a renowned poet — was a generous patron of learning, always eager to share his latest compositions with his court. One afternoon, inspired by the play of sunlight on the palace garden, he composed a short poem. It was a beautifully crafted verse, but also rather vague — its meaning floated somewhere between admiration and longing, and only the most alert reader would grasp its true intent.

2Pleased with himself, the king summoned his eminent ministers and read the poem aloud. The ministers, skilled in reading situations as sharply as they read texts, sensed immediately that the verse was something deeply personal. To comment on it too freely might mean treading on private royal matters. One by one, they offered polite, non-committal praise and found reasons to slip away — a document to sign here, a delegation to attend to there. The king, left with an unappreciated poem and a growing sense of frustration, turned to the only audience he truly trusted: his beloved queen, Thirumalambal.

3He found her in her chambers, where she had spent the better part of the day managing household affairs and receiving guests. She was thoroughly exhausted. As the king settled into his chair and began reciting his poem in an earnest, expectant voice, the queen — try as she might — could not hold back a wide, helpless yawn. It escaped her lips at precisely the worst moment: just as the king reached the most delicate line of the verse. Dramatic irony

4The king fell silent. To him, in his pride as a poet, that single yawn was not merely tiredness — it was a dismissal, an insult to his creative spirit. He rose stiffly, his expression unreadable, and walked out of the chamber without a word. From that day forward, he stopped speaking to the queen entirely. The silence between them was not hostile, but it was cold and forlorn — like a garden after the rains have gone. Simile

5Queen Thirumalambal was distraught. She understood perfectly why the king was hurt, and she genuinely regretted the unfortunate timing of that involuntary yawn. Yet she also knew that walking up to the king and simply saying "I was tired — I meant no disrespect" would not heal the wound to his pride. What was needed was not an apology, but a carefully crafted lesson. And for that, there was only one person worth approaching: Tenali Ramakrishna.

6Tenali Rama listened to the queen's account with quiet attention. He asked a few precise questions, nodding slowly. A small smile settled on his face — the kind that appears when a mind has already solved the puzzle it was just handed. He assured the queen that he had a strategy, asked her to trust him, and promised that within a day, the matter would be resolved without anyone losing face. Foreshadowing

7The following morning, the royal court was in full session. Nobles and ministers sat in their designated places. The bustling hall, intricately decorated with carved pillars and ornate tapestries, hummed with quiet conversation. The discussion that day had turned to agriculture — specifically to the cultivation of paddy, on which the prosperity of the empire depended. Ministers spoke profusely about irrigation, seed quality, and soil preparation.

8At this point, Tenali Rama rose to his feet and requested the court's attention. He announced, with the air of a man who has just made a remarkable discovery, that he had come across a most extraordinary variety of paddy seeds. These seeds, he declared confidently, had the potential to yield nearly three times the harvest of ordinary varieties. A ripple of surprise passed through the assembled courtiers.

9Instantly, the sarcasm began. Snickers and murmurs spread across the hall. Several ministers, barely concealing their amusement, raised their eyebrows. "Magic seeds, are they?" one courtier asked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Perhaps they grow without sunlight?" another added. "Or water, perhaps!" called a third, to laughter from the benches. The claims seemed absurd — no known variety could triple the yield with such ease. Rama remained unfazed, waiting patiently for the laughter to settle. Comic relief

10Even the king, intrigued despite himself, fixed Tenali Rama with a sceptical gaze. His brow furrowed slightly. "And what is the secret behind these remarkable seeds?" he asked, his voice carrying that blend of royal authority and restrained curiosity. The hall fell into an attentive hush. Everyone leaned forward, keenly waiting.

11Tenali Rama smiled and replied with perfect calm: "The seeds themselves, Your Majesty, are quite ordinary. The real difference lies entirely with the person who sows them." He paused for effect. "These seeds will produce a triple harvest — but only if the farmer does not yawn while scattering them in the field." Wit / Double meaning

12For a moment, the court was silent — genuinely trying to process the statement. Then the absurdity of the condition hit everyone at once. The idea of a farmer carefully suppressing every yawn while sowing seeds was so delightfully ridiculous that laughter erupted through the hall. Even the most dignified ministers chuckled openly. And then — quite without intending to — the king himself felt the edges of a yawn pulling at his jaw. He could not stop it. The great king of Vijayanagara, sitting on his throne, yawned openly in front of his entire court. Situational irony

13A small, meaningful silence followed. Rama bowed respectfully and spoke, his words measured and gentle: "Your Majesty, is there a single person in this great hall — or indeed in all the kingdom — who does not yawn? It is not a sign of disrespect or inattentiveness. A yawn is as natural and involuntary as breathing itself. It visits kings and farmers, scholars and children, alike — without asking permission." Aphorism

14The message, wrapped in humour and delivered with the lightest possible touch, landed precisely where it was intended. Realisation gnawed at the king's heart. He had punished his devoted queen for an act she had no power to prevent — a simple, human, unavoidable yawn. The pride that had seemed so justified only days ago now felt, in the light of Rama's gentle lesson, rather small and rather foolish. Irony

15That very evening, the king made his way to Queen Thirumalambal's chambers. He sat beside her, and with a simple, heartfelt gesture of reconciliation, apologised for his silence and his wounded pride. The queen, whose heart held no bitterness, forgave him warmly. The cold distance between them dissolved as completely as morning mist. The bond between them was, if anything, stronger for having been tested. And the wise, sharp-witted Tenali Rama — who had orchestrated the whole affair without once pointing a finger of blame at the king — received gifts and warm honours from the royal couple. The court brimmed with admiration for the man who could heal a wound without ever once drawing attention to it. Resolution