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nce, not all too long ago, in a
land to the south where it is warm all the time, there lived a wise man. He was
quite content to wander the world, a-leaning on his staff that was no more than
an old straight branch, humming a tune and telling a tale to those he met, and
finding rest and food with those who would give it to him.
One day when the Injèrá looked down with fierce heat on the land below, the wise
man began to wish for a little water and shade as he walked, for his old bones
creaked in the heat and his mouth was dry. He climbed a hill, hoping to sit in
the cool shade of a fruit tree atop it, and what should he see when he had
mounted it, but a neat little hut on the other side. The wise man went and
knocked on the door frame, and was answered by a smiling old woman who beckoned
him in when he asked if he might stop a moment in her home. The old woman was a
widow, and very poor. Her home was almost bare save for a table, a chair, a
shelf, a bed and a fireplace and she had but one old, sickly cow, one old
meldarapple whose fruit was often blighted, and one old, lame dog to live off.
And yet as the wise man went to leave her, thanking her for her gracious
hospitality, she flustered and said he must stay a little longer. That night she
offered him her only bed, herself sleeping on the dirt floor, and gave him
apples to eat and milk to drink, and the dog watched over him while he slept.
The next morn the wise man woke early. Now, he was not only a wise man, but one
who the gods looked kindly on. So, to show his thanks, he cured the cow and
mended the dog’s limp with clever medicines and prayers, while the apple tree’s
crop was bountiful every year and it went on to seed many more. The old widow
was so delighted she gave the wise man her dog as a companion, saying she would
not need it now he had left her so blessed.
Some days later the wise man came across the home of another widow as poor as
the last. The news of his kindness had spread, and this old woman guessed who he
was when he passed her door. She stepped out to speak to him as he sat and
thought in a patch of shade nearby her hut.
“Why, sir,” she said. “Since my husband has died life has been hard for me, on
my own in the world. I hear you are a great sage of sorts with miraculous powers
and plentiful kindness. I have no one to watch over my cow at night, and I often
fear the wild dogs will get into her pen, or bandits take her off while I sleep.
Will you not give me that dog?”
“Very well,” said the wise man. “Will you let me rest in your home and give me
something to eat, for I am hungry and my legs ache. I can walk no further
today.”
“Why, no!” said the widow. “I’ll do no such thing. If I fed you, there would be
little left for me.”
“Then you shall not have the dog,” said the wise man. “The widow who gave him to
me showed kindness, but expected nothing in return. You show no such kindness,
yet you expect kindness from others.”
So the wise man slept beneath the stars and walked on the next day with his dog
close behind.
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