The cabin I sit in at the Prime Minister’s Office is part of a large hall. There’s a central door, and on either side are six cabins separated by partitions about three and a half feet high. These cabins house private secretaries and other staff—around 24 to 25 people in total. As soon as the door opens, my cabin is the first one visible.
If the hall door is open, part of the cabin opposite mine gets hidden behind it. There’s a three-foot-tall cupboard there. Since it’s not easily visible, staff often leave their empty teacups and other items on top of it.
It was around 3:30 in the afternoon. Everyone had just finished their tea. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a staff member entered, visibly shaken, and announced loudly enough for all to hear, “The Prime Minister is coming this way!”
I was startled. I’ve been working in the PMO for 17 years, and never before has a Prime Minister—or even a senior-most officer—stepped into the staff cabins. Perhaps they never felt the need. As the saying goes, one must go to the temple to see God; rarely does God visit the devotee’s home.
Everyone scrambled to tidy up their space, but there was no time. Right behind the staff member, Prime Minister Narendra Modi walked in. Naturally, since mine was the first cabin, his eyes fell on me. He asked a few brief questions about my work. Then he went to each cabin, speaking with the staff.
Finally, he reached the cabin opposite mine. His gaze landed on the 7–8 empty teacups placed on the cupboard. With a playful smile, he remarked, “You all seem to drink a lot of tea.”
One of the staff replied, “Sir, not all these cups are ours. Others also leave their empty cups here.”
The Prime Minister chuckled and said, “Friends, have you heard the story of Akbar and Birbal?”
We all turned our attention to him, eager to listen.
He began narrating the tale (as I understood it in Marathi):
Once, Emperor Akbar visited Birbal’s home. He saw Birbal and his wife sitting on a platform, eating mangoes. Akbar’s eyes fell on the mango pits scattered on the floor. He thought to himself, “Birbal considers himself clever. Today’s a good chance to show him that the emperor is no less intelligent.”
Akbar counted the pits and said, “Birbal, I can tell how many mangoes you’ve eaten before I arrived.”
Using the number of pits, Akbar made his guess. But Birbal, ever wise, immediately understood the emperor’s intent. With a mischievous smile, he replied, “Your Majesty, you’re mistaken. These pits are from the mangoes I ate. My wife eats mangoes along with the pits.”
Prime Minister Modi paused and looked around. His meaning was clear. We all burst into laughter.
(As I interpreted the story: Birbal may have outwitted the emperor with his cleverness, but don’t try to fool me. Don’t blame others—clearly, you all drank the tea!)
The Prime Minister left. But a leader who engages with staff in this manner, telling them an Akbar–Birbal story, is perhaps one of a kind.
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