Long ago, in a quiet stone well at the edge of a forest, there lived a
frog named Kupa. He had been born in that well, and he had never once
left it. The well was his whole world — the green moss on the walls, the
little ring of sky far above, the cool dark water at the bottom. To
Kupa, this was everything that existed.
"There is nothing wider than my well," Kupa would announce to the
insects. "I have measured it with my own hops. From this wall to that
wall is the widest distance there can ever be."
The insects had seen rivers and fields, but Kupa would not listen. He
had decided, and that was that.
One rainy day a traveling frog named Samudra tumbled in over the rim.
He was from the sea.
"Welcome!" said Kupa proudly. "You have come to the greatest place in
the world. Tell me — is the place you come from as big as one hop?" And
he hopped a little way.
"Bigger," said Samudra gently.
"As big as two hops?" Kupa hopped again, sure he was being generous.
"Friend," said Samudra, "the sea is so wide that you could hop for a
thousand years and never reach the other side. The sun rises out of it
and sets into it. Whole rivers pour into it and it does not even fill
up."
Kupa puffed himself up, furious. "Lies! There is nothing bigger than my
well. I have never seen this sea, so it cannot be real. My well is all
there is."
He turned his back and would not hear another word.
Samudra looked at the little frog clinging so tightly to his little
well, certain that his single small puddle was the entire universe. He
did not argue. There is no arguing with a mind that has locked its only
door. Quietly, when the rains rose, Samudra climbed out and went on
toward the great water, leaving Kupa to rule his kingdom of moss and
shadow, sure of everything, and knowing almost nothing at all.