A merchant once owned a donkey who carried salt from the town to the market every day.
The route passed over a shallow river. The donkey knew the crossing well - the smooth stones, the current, the depth at different points. He had made the journey so many times he could have done it half asleep.
One morning, crossing the river, he slipped.
He went down sideways into the water and sat there for a moment before the merchant pulled him up. When he stood, something felt different. The load on his back was lighter. The salt had dissolved in the water.
The donkey noticed this very carefully.
The next morning he slipped again. Same spot, same sideways fall, same result. The merchant was annoyed but said nothing. Accidents happen.
The morning after that, the donkey slipped again.
The merchant stood on the bank watching his donkey sit contentedly in the river while a season's worth of salt disappeared downstream. He understood what was happening.
The next day he loaded the donkey not with salt but with cotton - two enormous bales of it, light as anything.
The donkey walked to the river, found his usual spot, and sat down deliberately.
The cotton soaked up the water. By the time the donkey stood up, the bales weighed more than anything he had ever carried. He staggered to the bank and stood there dripping, legs shaking.
He never sat down in the river again.
The merchant said nothing about it. There was no need.
Some lessons cannot be taught. They can only be learned the hard way - with wet cotton on your back and a long walk home.
