On the banks of a great river, a jamun tree grew tall and full of fruit. In that tree lived a monkey — cheerful, generous, and fond of company. He spent his days swinging from branch to branch, eating the sweet purple berries, and tossing extras into the water below just to watch the splash.
One afternoon, a crocodile swam up and caught one of the fallen berries in his jaws. The taste surprised him. Sweet, ripe, unlike anything he found in the murky river bottom. He looked up and saw the monkey grinning down at him.
"Did you like that?" the monkey called out.
"Very much," said the crocodile. "I've never tasted anything so good."
"Then take some home. I have more than I can eat." The monkey shook the branch and a rain of jamun berries fell into the water.
That was how their friendship started. Day after day, the crocodile swam to the base of the tree, and the monkey shared his berries. They talked for hours — about the river, the forest, the weather, their lives. The monkey told stories about the birds he knew. The crocodile described the world beneath the water.
Weeks turned into months. The crocodile began carrying berries home to his wife, who waited on a sandbank downstream. She ate them eagerly at first, but over time, she grew suspicious.
"You spend all day with this monkey," she said one evening, her tail lashing the sand. "Tell me — if his berries are this sweet, imagine how sweet his heart must be."
The crocodile stared at her. "What are you saying?"
"I want to eat the monkey's heart. Bring it to me, or don't bother coming home."
The crocodile was horrified. The monkey was his friend — the only real friend he had. But his wife refused to eat, refused to speak to him, and lay on the sandbank with her eyes closed, pretending to waste away.
After three agonizing days, the crocodile gave in.
He swam to the jamun tree the next morning with a heavy chest. "My friend," he said, keeping his voice light, "my wife wants to meet you. She says anyone who shares such wonderful berries must be a wonderful person. Come, ride on my back. I'll take you to our home for dinner."
The monkey hesitated. He had never left his tree to cross the river. But the crocodile was his friend. What reason did he have to doubt him?
He climbed down and hopped onto the crocodile's broad, scaly back. They set off across the wide river, the water sparkling under the afternoon sun.
Halfway across, the crocodile began to sink. Water lapped at the monkey's feet.
"What are you doing?" the monkey cried, gripping the crocodile's rough hide.
The crocodile could not hold the lie any longer. Guilt made his voice crack. "I'm sorry, my friend. My wife — she wants your heart. She believes it must be as sweet as the berries you share."
For a moment, everything stopped. The monkey felt the cold river water around his ankles and understood exactly what was happening. His heart hammered. But panic, he knew, would drown him faster than any crocodile could.
So he laughed.
"Oh, is that all?" the monkey said brightly. "Why didn't you say so earlier? I would have brought it along! But I don't carry my heart with me when I travel — I leave it safe in a hollow of the jamun tree. Take me back and I'll fetch it for you."
The crocodile, who was not particularly clever, felt a wave of relief. Of course — that made sense. He turned around and swam back to the riverbank.
The moment they reached the tree, the monkey leaped off the crocodile's back and scrambled up to the highest branch. He sat there, breathing hard, heart pounding — the very heart the crocodile wanted.
"Well?" the crocodile called up. "Bring your heart down."
The monkey looked down at his old friend and shook his head slowly. "You fool. No creature keeps their heart outside their body. I trusted you. You were my only friend on this river. And you chose to betray me for your wife's cruelty."
The crocodile opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say?
"Go home," the monkey said quietly. "And don't come back."
The crocodile slipped beneath the water and swam away. The monkey watched the ripples fade until the river was smooth again.
He sat in his tree for a long time after that, surrounded by jamun berries, eating none of them.
He never threw fruit into the river again.
Some friendships, once broken, leave a crack that runs deeper than the river itself. But the monkey survived because he kept his wits sharper than his grief. In the worst moment, he didn't freeze — he thought. And thinking saved his life.
The crocodile learned something too, though whether he learned it well enough is another question. He learned that when you trade a real friend for someone else's cruelty, you lose both — the friend, and the respect you had for yourself.