The palace of King Krishnadevaraya had a problem — rats. They were everywhere: in the granary, in the kitchens, even inside the royal turban room. The king offered a reward to anyone who could rid the palace of rats.
A merchant came to the court with a hundred cats. "Your Majesty," he said grandly, "my cats are the finest rat-hunters in the whole kingdom. Give me a hundred gold coins and your palace will be rat-free in a week."
The king agreed. The cats were given to the palace staff and the merchant pocketed his coins.
But there was a condition: each cat must be fed only the finest milk, twice a day, from the royal kitchen.
One week passed. Then two. The rats were certainly fewer, but the milk bill had become enormous — the cats were being fed like princes, and some of them had grown so fat and comfortable that they had completely forgotten about rats.
Tenali Raman watched all this quietly. One evening, he went to the king. "Your Majesty, I have a solution."
"But the cats are already here," said the king.
"Yes," said Tenali Raman. "But they are not working. Here is why: a cat given milk every day has no reason to hunt. May I try something for just three days?"
The king agreed. Tenali Raman went to the kitchen and quietly stopped the milk supply to the cats. The cats grew restless. Then hungry. And then — one by one — they remembered what they were born to do.
Within three days, every rat in the palace had either fled or been caught.
"Brilliant," said the king. "But why did my staff not think of this?"
"Because, Your Majesty," said Tenali Raman, "when we are comfortable, we stop trying. This is true of cats — and of ministers too." He glanced around the court with a small smile.
The king laughed for a very long time. And from that day, the cats of the palace were fed only after a good morning's work — and they never complained.