Category: Stories

Once upon a time in ancient India, a thief running away from guards noticed a beggar sleeping in a dark alley. He secretly put the small but priceless piece of jewelry he had just stolen into the pocket of the beggar. He then ran away, intending to come back and steal from the beggar after he outran the guards.

Overnight, the thief was accidentally killed during a struggle with the guards. The beggar was now a rich man. In his pocket, he had enough wealth to live comfortably for life, but he never once checked his own pocket, so he never knew. He lived the rest of his life as a beggar.

You never know what you will find when you look within—there may be hidden treasures.

Once, in a faraway country there was a drought. There had been no rain for days. No rain for weeks. No rain for months. And the land was dry, dry. And hard and cracked and brown and dusty. And the sun beat down relentlessly. And the heat was unbearable. Like living in an oven. Impossible to breathe. And everywhere the dust. On the ground. In the air. On your skin. In your eyes. In your throat. Suffocating dust.
And the plants were dying. Changing from green through yellow to brown, they withered and died. And the animals were starving： the cattle, the sheep, the pigs, the goats – getting thinner and thinner and thinner … and dying. And the people were starving too, for there was nothing to eat. And the drought went on and on and on.
So one day; all the men went into the temple to pray for rain. In the sweltering heat they got down on their knees on the hard, dusty ground and they prayed and they prayed and they prayed for rain. But still there was no rain.
And so another day, all the women went into the temple to pray for rain. In the sweltering heat they got down on their knees on the hard dusty ground and they prayed and they prayed and they prayed for rain. But still there was no rain.
And then one day, a little girl went up the steps to the temple. She was about nine and she was wearing a dirty yellow dress that was torn. Her feet were bare and her legs and arms were dusty. Her long hair was tangled and in a mess. There was dirt on her face. And up she went up the steps of the temple, to pray for rain. But do you know what she had with her? She had with her an umbrella. Not a posh umbrella. A scruffy old broken umbrella. But an umbrella just the same. And she skipped into the temple and got down on her knees and put her umbrella on the ground beside her and she prayed and she prayed and she prayed for rain.
And do you know what? When she came out of the temple, it was raining.

Some cowherd boys used to tend their cows in a meadow where a terrible poisonous snake lived. Everyone was on the alert for fear of it.
One day a brahmachari was going along the meadow. The boys ran to him and said; ‘Revered sir, please don’t go that way. A venomous snake lives over there.’ ‘What of it, my good children?’ said the brahmachari. ‘I am not afraid of the snake. I know some mantras.’ So saying, he continued on his way along the meadow. But the cowherd boys, being afraid, did not accompany him.
In the mean time the snake moved swiftly toward him with upraised hood. As soon as it came near, he recited a mantra, and the snake lay at his feet like an earthworm. The brahmachari said: ‘Look here. Why do you go about doing harm? Come, I will give you a holy word. By repeating it you will learn to love God. Ultimately you will realize Him and so get rid of your violent nature.’
Saying this, he taught the snake a holy word and initiated him into spiritual life. The snake bowed before the teacher and said, ‘Revered sir, how shall I practise spiritual discipline?’ ‘Repeat that sacred word’, said the teacher, ‘and do no harm to anybody.’ As he was about to depart, the brahmachari said, ‘I shall see you again.’
“Some days passed and the cowherd boys noticed that the snake would not bite. They threw stones at it. Still it showed no anger; it behaved as if it were an earthworm. One day one of the boys came close to it, caught it by the tail, and, whirling it round and round, dashed it again and again on the ground and threw it away. The snake vomited blood and became unconscious. It was stunned. It could not move. So, thinking it dead, the boys went their way.
Late at night the snake regained consciousness. Slowly and with great difficulty it dragged itself into its hole; its bones were broken and it could scarcely move. Many days passed. The snake became a mere skeleton covered with a skin. Now and then, at night, it would come out in search of food. For fear of the boys it would not leave its hole during the day-time. Since receiving the sacred word from the teacher, it had given up doing harm to others. It maintained its life on dirt, leaves, or the fruit that dropped from the trees.
About a year later the brahmachari came that way again and asked after the snake. The cowherd boys told him that it was dead. But he couldn’t believe them. He knew that the snake would not die before attaining the fruit of the holy word with which it had been initiated.
He found his way to the place and, searching here and there, called it by the name he had given it. Hearing the teacher’s voice, it came out of its hole and bowed before him with great reverence. ‘How are you?’ asked the brahmachari. ‘I am well, sir’, replied the snake. ‘But’, the teacher asked, ‘why are you so thin?’ The snake replied: ‘Revered sir, you ordered me not to harm anybody. So I have been living only on leaves and fruit. Perhaps that has made me thinner.’
The snake had developed the quality of sattva; it could not be angry with anyone. It had totally forgotten that the cowherd boys had almost killed it.
The brahmachari said: ‘It can’t be mere want of food that has reduced you to this state. There must be some other reason. Think a little.’ Then the snake remembered that the boys had dashed it against the ground. It said: ‘Yes, revered sir, now I remember. The boys one day dashed me violently against the ground. They are ignorant, after all. They didn’t realize what a great change had come over my mind. How could they know I wouldn’t bite or harm anyone?’
The brahmachari exclaimed: ‘What a shame! You are such a fool! You don’t know how to protect yourself. I asked you not to bite, but I didn’t forbid you to hiss. Why didn’t you scare them by hissing?’

A long long time ago, in North America, there lived a great leader called Haiwatha. He was a powerful man, but he had a terrible problem. His country and the next country were at war. Haiwatha had killed many of his enemy but he had also suffered greatly. Haiwatha had lost his parents and his pregnant wife. And Haiwatha was tired of war. He wanted peace. But he knew that his enemy would not accept a peace agreement. And so he had a big problem.

What do you do when you have a big problem in your life?

Haiwatha decided to go deep into Nature, because in a mysterious way, sometimes Nature can give us the answer to our problems. So he crossed the fields, he swam the mighty river, and climbed deep into the mountains. Haiwatha spent many days in the mountains, thinking about how he could make peace in his country.

One cold morning, Haiwatha wanted to make a fire. So he went and picked up wooden sticks. As he picked up the sticks, he looked at the pieces of wood and suddenly realized how he could bring peace to his country.

Carrying the sticks, Haiawatha ran down the mountain, swam the mighty river, walked through the fields and walked into his enemy’s village. This of course was a very dangerous thing to do because his enemy could kill him easily.

The leader of the village came to Haiwatha and Haiwatha said, “let’s have peace, let’s stop fighting, let’s end the war.”

The leader looked at Haiwatha and said, “No there shall be no peace. You have killed my people, you have killed my family and we want revenge.”

Haiwatha expected this answer, and he took one thin stick from the group of sticks. And he said to his enemy, “I will accept war but only if you can break this one thin stick.”

Haiwatha laughed because he was a powerful man and he could easily break the stick. And he raised the stick above his head. Just before his enemy broke the stick, Haiwatha said, “Wait.”

And Haiwatha picked up the large group of sticks, and he carefully put that one thin stick into the middle of the group. Haiwatha said, “Now try to break the stick.”

And now because the thin stick was protected by the group of sticks, his enemy could not break that one stick, no matter how hard he tried.

Haiwatha said, “We are like sticks because when we are divided we are easily broken. But when we come together, we are powerful. Let’s at least try to work for peace.”

And his enemy saw the wisdom of Haiwatha’s words, and this was the beginning of the peace journey.

The moral of the story is, we people of the 21st century are also like sticks. When we gather our role models around us like sticks, we become more powerful, too.”