The Well of Wisdom (Short Story)

In a quiet village nestled between sun-kissed hills and whispering fields, there lived a wise old teacher named Master Ram. His words were like rain in a drought—rare, refreshing, and remembered. One day, tired of drawing water from the river, he decided to buy a well from the village lawyer, Mr. Bhaskar, a man whose tongue was sharper than a sword and whose words danced like smoke—twisting and unclear.

The deal was sealed with ink and handshake. The well, once dusty and abandoned, now belonged to Master Ram, who planned to use it for his garden and for teaching science to his students.
Two suns had set and risen when Mr. Bhaskar, in his crisp coat and smug smile, arrived at the teacher’s door.

“Good morning, Master Ram,” he said, his voice as oily as spilled butter.
“Good morning, Mr. Bhaskar. What brings you here?” the teacher replied, sweeping dry leaves from his courtyard.

“Well,” the lawyer began, dragging the word like a snake across gravel, “I sold you the well, but not the water in it. If you wish to use the water, you’ll need to pay an extra fee.”
Master Ram looked up with a calm smile, the kind the moon gives to tides—silent, but strong.

“Ah, Mr. Bhaskar,” he said, “I was just about to come to you myself. You see, since I only purchased the well and not the water, I must kindly ask you to remove your water by tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll have to start charging rent for storing your water in my well.”

Mr. Bhaskar blinked. His smirk faded like mist under morning sun.
“Uh… I-I was just joking, sir! A harmless joke between neighbors, you see!” he stammered.
Master Ram chuckled, the sound as warm as morning tea. “Indeed. But remember, Bhaskar, before you became a man of laws, you sat under our roof, learning your letters. You drank the water of knowledge from our well.”

The lawyer lowered his head, cheeks flushed like a child caught cheating.
Master Ram continued, “Wisdom is like a well—deep, still, and generous. But when pride tries to own the water, it drowns itself in its reflection.”

The wind stirred. The old neem tree behind the house rustled, as if it, too, was nodding in agreement.

From that day, no one in the village dared to trick Master Ram. His words had no need for noise—they echoed in minds, like the soft drop of truth in a silent well.
Moral: He who tries to outwit the wise with clever words often ends up drinking from the cup of his own foolishness.      

By Rameshwar Yadav