The dogs of a city were chasing a jackal. In his flight he took refuge in a dyer's workshop, where he threw himself into a vat full of indigo. When he came out he was blue from head to foot, and the dogs, who did not know what kind of creature he was, gave up and went back the way they had come.
Something similar happened in the jungle. Neither the tiger nor the panthers, neither the bears nor the wolves had ever seen a being of that color, and all of them drew back in terror because they took him for a monster.
Noticing the effect he produced, the jackal decided to take advantage of it. He gathered the beasts and proclaimed that the God of the animals had chosen him to rule, and that they must call him Abiniku. He went on handing out posts among the species, but the jackals, who were of his own blood, he did not even look at: he drove them far away. With the beasts at his service, he lacked nothing.
One afternoon, meeting with the Council, he heard from far away the laments of some jackals. His blue fur stood on end, tears came to his eyes and, unable to stop himself, he let out a sharp howl. “He is a thoroughly vile jackal, he has lied to us!” cried the tiger. All the beasts leaped on the false king, killed him and devoured him.
Disowning one's own people to take a place that does not belong to one can be kept up for a while, thanks to appearances. But one's true nature comes to light when least expected, and then everything is lost, even life. Whoever turns away from his own people out of vanity ends up at the mercy of strangers.