Cunning Rabbit And His Well

This tale has been adapted from the original for readability:

Long ago, Cunnie Rabbit and all the other animals gathered to talk, because the country had dried up. There wasn’t a drop of water anywhere, and everyone was close to dying of thirst. The biggest animals spoke, then the smallest, but nobody could think of a way out. Cunnie Rabbit said nothing. He just listened, and thought to himself, what can I do to get water?

After a while he got up, went home, and started digging a well. He dug and dug until water came rushing up, plenty of it. He drank his fill.

Before long the others heard Cunnie Rabbit had found water. Spider went to him and said, “Friend, we’ve got no water to drink. We’re going to die. Give us some.”

Cunnie Rabbit said, “If anyone wants me to give them water, let them come and wrestle me for it.”

Spider agreed. So Spider and Cunnie Rabbit fought. Cunnie Rabbit lifted Spider up towards the sky and let him drop back down. Then Spider hauled Cunnie Rabbit up. Cunnie Rabbit went high, and he blew a horn he carried in his hand. When he blew it, darkness fell. When he blew it again, daylight came clean and clear. Then he dropped down, grabbed at the world, and his arms stretched deep into the ground. Cunnie Rabbit got up again and lifted Spider back up. Spider stayed on top of the sky for a whole rainy season and a whole dry season. When he finally came down and felt himself getting weak, he shook Cunnie Rabbit’s hand and said, “You’re a strong man. I can’t do it again.”

Then the other animals came, one after another, and tried their luck, but none of them could beat Cunnie Rabbit. At last Elephant came, thirsty and angry, and said, “Where’s the one who claims he’s the strongest? Let him come now. I want water.”

Cunnie Rabbit stepped forward and boasted, “It’s me.”

Elephant wrapped Cunnie Rabbit up tight with his long trunk, flung him round and round, and heaved him up so hard he seemed to smash into the sky. Elephant sweated buckets, and the hair you see on his hide now is what came from that sweat. But Cunnie Rabbit came back down, stood up straight, and lifted Elephant up in turn.

Elephant’s trunk struck the ground as he went, and he tried to brace himself, but it broke when he was hauled up. Elephant stared and said, “That tiny Cunnie Rabbit did this to me?”

He grabbed Cunnie Rabbit again and dragged him along the ground, making a terrible noise. They fought and fought and fought, over a space bigger than a town, four times over. They fought until fire caught in the place. Wherever one slammed the other, flames sprang up, until everything burned away and only sand was left.

Still, the animals did not know how to get water from Cunnie Rabbit without ruining themselves. So they made a bargain. They brought piles of cloth, so much it could have filled towns, and they gave it all to Cunnie Rabbit. They begged him, saying, “Please, if you don’t give us water we’ll die.”

Cunnie Rabbit agreed. “All right,” he said. “Let everyone take a cup of water and drink.”

But the bargain had a catch. If anyone failed to finish their cup, they had to hand over a piece of cloth to Cunnie Rabbit and say, “This is for the water I wasted.” And that cup, the story says, was so big it could have covered a whole town, and more besides.

Elephant went first. He filled the cup from the well, put his trunk into it, and drank and drank until he finished. Then Leopard tried, and drank until the cup was empty. One by one the animals did the same. At last even the smallest animals drained what was left. After that they were so full they couldn’t walk home. They could hardly move, but they managed to get up and cook.

They cooked a vast pot of rice, the biggest you can imagine. Then they ate it, goats and cows and fowl and sheep, even the elephants, until nothing was left.

Afterwards a great flood of water spread over them all. They didn’t know which way it came in or out. Ash from the fire drifted over every animal. They swam and struggled back to their own homes, and that is why, the tale says, animals that were once all white can now be red, or brown, or black, or spotted.

And from that time on, the goats kept little habits that look like play, but are really memories. When a goat drops to its knees and rubs along the grass, it is remembering how it swam long ago. When it chews and chews, it is still finishing the rice from that feast. When it kicks up its heels, it is shaking water from its skin. When it shakes its ears, it is feeling the old chill. When it wriggles its tail fast, it is paddling. When goats stand up on their hind legs, they are greeting Cunnie Rabbit the way they did when they went to beg for water. When they butt and tussle, they are remembering the fights. When they touch noses, they are making bargains again. When a kid bleats “maa, maa”, it is calling for its mother the way it did when Cunnie Rabbit told it to fetch her. And when one goat runs and the others follow, that too is a memory, from the day word went out for everyone to come and drink.