In a quiet village in Bihar, nestled between rolling hills, two childhood friends, Sonu Prasad and Guddu Prasad, lived very different lives. Sonu Prasad, a humble man with calloused hands and a trusting heart, struggled to make ends meet. Guddu Prasad, on the other hand, was wealthy—his storerooms overflowed with grain, and his laughter carried the confidence of a man who always got his way. But behind his smooth words lay a cunning mind, always calculating, always scheming.
One evening, as the sun painted the sky in shades of orange, Sonu Prasad knocked on Guddu Prasad’s ornate door. “Guddu Bhaiya,” he said, his voice heavy with resolve, “I can no longer watch my family go hungry. I’m leaving for Navi Mumbai to find work. But before I go, I ask you to safeguard my only possession—this iron rod, passed down from my grandfather.”
Guddu Prasad’s eyes gleamed as he took the heavy, intricately carved rod. “Of course, my friend! It will be as safe as gold in my storeroom. Go with my blessings.”
With a grateful nod, Sonu Prasad set off, his heart both hopeful and weary.
Sonu Prasad’s two years in Navi Mumbai.
The journey to Navi Mumbai tested Sonu Prasad in ways he’d never imagined. His first nights were spent on construction sites, his calloused hands blistered anew as he mixed mortar under a pitiless sun. Some evenings, when the monsoon rains leaked through his makeshift shelter, he’d clutch the memory of his grandfather’s iron rod like a promise—this hardship would not be forever.
Through backbreaking labor and sleepless nights, he saved every rupee, skipping meals to send coins home. The city’s chaos never dulled his longing for the village’s rolling hills, where his children’s laughter once mingled with the evening breeze.
When at last his savings could buy a small plot and seeds for harvest, he returned, shoulders squared with hard-won pride. The village looked unchanged, but Sonu was not the same man who’d left. His first steps turned not toward home, but to Guddu Prasad’s door.
“Guddu Bhaiya, I’ve come for my iron rod,” Sonu Prasad said warmly.
Guddu Prasad sighed, shaking his head. “Ah, Sonu Prasad… a terrible thing happened. The mice in my storeroom—they chewed through that rod along with other metal objects. Nothing is left but rust.”
Sonu Prasad’s smile faded. He knew iron didn’t vanish into mouse bellies, but he simply bowed. “I see. How… unfortunate.”
That night, he sat by his hearth, staring into the flames. Guddu Bhaiya’s greed had gone too far. A plan took shape in his mind.
The next morning, while Guddu Prasad was away, Sonu Prasad’s servant approached his wife. “Madam, Guddu Prasad-ji is at our master’s house. He requests his son’s presence—there’s a gift waiting.”
Trusting, she sent the boy off.
When Guddu Prasad returned, his cheerful call for his son was met with confusion. “Why are you calling him?” his wife asked. “He left with Sonu Prasad’s servant hours ago!”
Guddu Prasad’s blood ran cold. He stormed to Sonu Prasad’s home, fists clenched. “Where is my son?”
Sonu Prasad looked up, his face a mask of sorrow. “A hawk, brother. It swooped down and carried him off before we could react. The skies… they took him.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Guddu Prasad snarled.
The village panchayat gathered under the old banyan tree. The headman, a wise elder with a voice like gravel, listened to both sides.
“Sonu Prasad,” he said, “a hawk cannot lift a child. Speak the truth.”
Sonu Prasad folded his hands. “Respected elders, if mice can devour an iron rod, why can’t a hawk take a child?” Sonu Prasad then narrated the entire matter to the village headman.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Guddu Prasad’s face flushed crimson as the truth unraveled.
With a heavy sigh, the headman declared, “Return the rod, Guddu Prasad. A lie begets a lie, but honesty builds trust.”
Shamefaced, Guddu Prasad handed over the rod. That night, as fireflies danced in the dusk, he vowed never to betray another’s trust.
The next morning, Sonu was planting the rod in the ground in his field. His wife asked: “What are you doing?”
Sonu Prasad smiled: “Building the foundation of faith… so that our future generations may know – honesty is true wealth.”
Moral: Deceit returns like a boomerang—sometimes, it takes a clever lesson to reveal its cost. Beware of treacherous friends.
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