“Just in my house!” said the Brahmin.
“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 wagons 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 Brahmin hand over the thousand pieces. And the Brahmin, minus his thousand, took out his ox, went home to his house, and lay down overwhelmed with grief.
Presently Nandi Visāla, who was roaming about the place, came up and saw the Brahmin grieving there, and said to him: “What, Brahmin! Are you asleep?”
“Sleep! How can I sleep after losing the thousand pieces?”
“Brahmin! I’ve lived so long in your house, and have I ever broken any pots, or rubbed up against the walls?”