“Tush!” said the squire. “Where in the world is such an ox?”
“Just in my house!” said the Brāhman.
“Then make a bet about it!”
“All right! I bet you a thousand he can.”
So the bet was made. And he filled a hundred carts (small waggons made for two bullocks) with sand and gravel and stones, ranged them all in a row, and tied them all firmly together, cross-bar to axle-tree.
Then he bathed Nandi Visāla, gave him a measure of scented rice, hung a garland round his neck, and yoked him by himself to the front cart. Then he took his seat on the pole, raised his goad aloft, and called out, “Gee up! you brute!! Drag ‘em along! you wretch!!”
The Bodisat said to himself, “He addresses me as a wretch. I am no wretch!” And keeping his four legs as firm as so many posts, he stood perfectly still.
Then the squire that moment claimed his bet, and made the Brāhman hand over the thousand pieces. And the Brāhman, minus his thousand, took out his ox, went home to his house, and lay down overwhelmed with grief.
Presently Nanda Visāla, who was roaming about the place, came up and saw the Brāhman grieving there, and said to him,
“What, Brāhman! are you asleep?”