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The Wise Pigeon

Once upon a time there was a king named Varsha who owned a pigeon and its name was Sibi. This pigeon was so wise that King Varsha would always consult him before attending his court. Sibi was also very good at predicting the weather and days of good fortune. King Varsha and his ministers whenever they wanted to go out hunting or on a long journey would consult the wise pigeon Sibi.

One afternoon when Sibi was sitting in the court, a flock of pigeons flew past the open door and settled noisily in some apple trees that grew in the garden. King Varsha was most surprised when Sibi turned to him and said, "Those are my people perched on the apple trees. They have come to ask me to visit the country where I was born and bred. Please give me permission to take a holiday so that I may visit my old home and see my parents and relatives again."

But King Varsha was disturbed by the pigeon's request.

"If you go away, Sibi," he said "who will advise me and help me to make correct decisions? How do I know that you will return from that distant country where your people live?"

Sibi felt hurt that King Varsha had doubted his loyalty.

"You know King…that I never break my word", he said. "If I promise that I will return upon a certain day, you know that I will keep it. Moreover, on my return I will bring you a truly wonderful fruit which has the rare quality of giving immortality to those who eat it."
Quick Navigation: The Elephant Rope (Belief)
King Varsha's curiosity was aroused by Sibi's description of this rare and wonderful fruit. Although he was reluctant to part with Sibi even for a short time, he agreed to let him go for a week. Sibi flew off with a shrill scream of delight and joined the flock of pigeons on the apple trees. For a few minutes there was a great chattering in the trees and then they all rose into the air and flew off.

Sibi's father was the king of all the birds in his native country. He and his queen were delighted to see their son again. There was great feasting and rejoicing in honour of his visit. Time passed all too quickly and at the end of a week, Sibi told his parents, "I must now return to my King Varsha. He is expecting me back tomorrow and I must not disappoint him."

"Go. my son", said the king of the pigeons, "and if your king can spare you again, come and visit us next year."

"I will try to come", said Sibi. "And I have one favour to ask you… Will you allow me to carry back to my king a specimen of the fruit of immortality which grows in these forests?"

"Most certainly", said the king of the pigeons and he gave his son one of those wonderful fruits. Some hours later, while King Varsha and his Chief Minister were together in the council chamber, the pigeon flew in through the open window and settled at the king's feet. In his beak Sibi carried the golden fruit.

"A thousand welcomes, my dear Sibi!" said King Varsha caressing his beloved Sibi. "And is this the fruit of immortality of which you spoke?"

"Yes, it is", said the pigeon, laying the fruit on King Varsha's throne. "Those who eat it shall never die." All eyes in the council chamber turned enviously upon the golden fruit. King Varsha considered for a moment and then said. "This precious fruit must not be wasted. Let us plant it in the ground and raise from it a tree which will bear more fruits upon its branches. In this way, many people will benefit from it."

The gardener was sent for and he was told to plant the fruit with great care in the royal gardens. When the young tree appeared, it was to be well watered, fenced around and tended with great care.

Time passed and a plant did spring up from the fruit and began to grow into a young tree. King Varsha and the pigeon both watched its growth. Fruit began to form upon it. Then a strange thing happened. On a certain night, one of the fruits fell to the ground and was poisoned by a snake which bit the fruit. In the morning, the gardener, not knowing what had happened, chanted to pass by and seeing the precious fruit lying on the ground, picked it up, put it into a basket and took it straight to King Varsha.

The king summoned Sibi and the Chief Minister and said, "Behold, here is the first fruit of our tree of immortality." "Do not eat it your highness", said the Chief Minister. "The first fruit should be dedicated to God". The king was pleased with his advice and sent soldiers to inform the pundits that he would attend the temple the next morning.

The king divided the fruit amongst the pundits, dedicating the two pieces to God. These portions, of course, the pundits took as usual, for their own use and no sooner had they eaten one of them than they fell into a profound sleep from which they never woke. The king was thunderstruck and immediately consulted the Chief Minister.

"Their deaths must have been caused by the fruit of immortality", said the Chief Minister.

"It appears to me that Sibi has done us a great evil by introducing this poisonous fruit into our country. It seems that he intended to kill you and your family in this way!"

King Varsha was inclined to believe his Chief Minister and summoning Sibi, he asked the pigeon. "For whom did you bring this fruit of immortality?"

"For you, O, king!" answered Sibi without any hesitation.

Then King Varsha said bitterly, "I have protected you all these years and placed you in a position of honour and trust. You have nothing but ingratitude for me and an evil plot against my life and the lives of my family and people."


Without giving Sibi a chance to say a word in his own defence, he chased the pigeon out of his palace and told him not to come back. Then the king gave instructions to the gardener to place a thorny fence around the tree and ordered that no one was to visit the spot. Sibi was full of grief and flew to his native place where his parents lived. Sibi told his parents what had happened and cried bitterly.

The king of pigeons said, "Do not worry, my son, a time will soon come and King Varsha will learn the truth. Till that time you stay here and pray to God".

Sibi was much comforted on listening to his father and prayed to God. But he refused to eat anything until the king learned the truth.

Now, there happened to be a dhobi – a washer man connected with the palace. He lived with his son who was married. Unfortunately, the dhobi's wife and the son's wife did not get along and were frequently quarrelling with each other. This brought much grief to the dhobi and his wife. So, one day they decided that they could no longer withstand it and would put an end to their lives. While discussing the matter, it occurred to the dhobi that some of the poisoned fruit from the king’s tree would serve their purpose. At night he got into the garden pushed aside the thorny fence and taking one fruit, returned home. Then he and his wife both ate the fruit and lay down as they planned to die.

But the result was very different from what they expected, for no sooner had they eaten the fruit than they suddenly became quite young again! The dhobi sprang to his feet exclaiming, "Isn't this wonderful? I feel almost like a boy again!" and his wife gave a skip and a jump and screamed, "I'm a girl. I'm a girl! I can dance and sing again!"

The strange news spread fast and reached the palace. King Varsha was amazed and very troubled in mind when he heard the story. He made enquiries and learnt, for the first time, that the fruit which the gardener had brought to him was not plucked from the trees, but picked off the ground. "That unlucky fruit must have been poisoned by a snake!" cried King Varsha in distress. "And I chased my faithful Sibi due to my own suspicious thoughts and lack of faith. My poor pigeon has been my best friend. I shall go to his native country and beg him to forgive me. He would come back to me."

Then King Varsha at once set for the native place of Sibi. Soon he reached the place where Sibi's parents lived. At once the king of pigeons who was Sibi's father came forward and welcomed King Varsha and his men. He took King Varsha where Sibi was chanting prayers. On hearing the noise around, the wise pigeon Sibi opened his eyes and said, "Oh my lord! You've come to see me". King Varsha was filled with joy. With tears in his eyes he said to Sibi, "My faithful friend! Forgive me for I suspected your conduct! Please come back to my place and stay with me. To rule the country wisely, I need your advice and help."

Sibi at once came and sat on King Varsha's hand and the king kissed his dear bird. They went back to their country and Sibi was praised by everyone. The king and Sibi ate the fruit of immortality and lived forever. The king also gave the fruit to everyone and all his countrymen praised Sibi and they lived in peace.

Moral: Suspicion Poisons Friendship.
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The Elephant Rope (Belief)

A gentleman was walking through an elephant camp, and he spotted that the elephants weren’t being kept in cages or held by the use of chains.

All that was holding them back from escaping the camp, was a small piece of rope tied to one of their legs.


As the man gazed upon the elephants, he was completely confused as to why the elephants didn’t just use their strength to break the rope and escape the camp. They could easily have done so, but instead, they didn’t try to at all.

Quick Navigation: The Gift of the Magi

Curious and wanting to know the answer, he asked a trainer nearby why the elephants were just standing there and never tried to escape.

The trainer replied;
“when they are very young and much smaller we use the same size rope to tie them and, at that age, it’s enough to hold them. As they grow up, they are conditioned to believe they cannot break away. They believe the rope can still hold them, so they never try to break free.”

The only reason that the elephants weren’t breaking free and escaping from the camp was that over time they adopted the belief that it just wasn’t possible.

~ * Moral of the story * ~
No matter how much the world tries to hold you back, always continue with the belief that what you want to achieve is possible. Believing you can become successful is the most important step in actually achieving it.
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The Blind Girl & Her Boyfriend

There was a blind girl who hated herself purely for the fact she was blind. The only person she didn’t hate was her loving boyfriend, as he was always there for her. She said that if she could only see the world, she would marry him.
Short Story: The crow & The peacock
One day, someone donated a pair of eyes to her – now she could see everything, including her boyfriend. Her boyfriend asked her, “now that you can see the world, will you marry me?”


The girl was shocked when she saw that her boyfriend was blind too, and refused to marry him. Her boyfriend walked away in tears, and later wrote a letter to her saying:
“Just take care of my eyes dear.”

~ * Moral of the story * ~

When our circumstances change, so does our mind. Some people may not be able to see the way things were before, and might not be able to appreciate them. There are many things to take away from this story, not just one.

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The crow & The peacock

Collected by: Aisha Jannat

A crow lived in the forest and was absolutely satisfied in life. But one day he saw a swan. "This swan is so white,” he thought, “and I am so black. This swan must be the happiest bird in the world.”

He expressed his thoughts to the swan. “Actually,” the swan replied, “I was feeling that I was the happiest bird around until I saw a parrot, which has two colors. I now think the parrot is the happiest bird in creation.” The crow then approached the parrot. The parrot explained, “I lived a very happy life until I saw a peacock. I have only two colors, but the peacock has multiple colors.”


The crow then visited a peacock in the zoo and saw that hundreds of people had gathered to see him. After the people had left, the crow approached the peacock. “Dear peacock,” the crow said, “you are so beautiful. Every day thousands of people come to see you. When people see me, they immediately shoo me away. I think you are the happiest bird on the planet.”

The peacock replied, “I always thought that I was the most beautiful and happy bird on the planet. But because of my beauty, I am entrapped in this zoo. I have examined the zoo very carefully, and I have realized that the crow is the only bird not kept in a cage. So for past few days I have been thinking that if I were a crow, I could happily roam everywhere.”
Moral: Without God, nobody are not fully perfect in the world. Sometimes we compare us down instead of valuing what God has given us. This also leads to wrong cycle of unhappiness. This is often our problem too.
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Who would tie the bell?

There was a grocery shop in a town. Plenty of mice lived in that grocery shop. Food was in plenty for them. They ate everything and spoiled all the bags. They also wasted the bread, biscuits and fruits of the shop.

The grocer got really worried. So, he thought "I should buy a cat and let it stay at the grocery. Only then I can save my things."


He bought a nice, big fat cat and let him stay there. The cat had a nice time hunting the mice and killing them. The mice could not move freely now. They were afraid that anytime the cat would eat them up.

The mice wanted to do something. They held a meeting and all of them tweeted "We must get rid of the cat. Can someone give a suggestion"?

All the mice sat and brooded. A smart looking mouse stood up and said, "The cat moves softly. That is the problem. If we can tie a bell around her neck, then things will be fine. We can know the movements of the cat".

“Yes, that is answer,” stated all the mice. An old mouse slowly stood up and asked, "Who would tie the bell?" After some moments there was no one there to answer this question.

⤃ You can also read: A Wise Counting Story.
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A Short Popular Story about: A Wise Counting

Emperor Akbar was in the habit of putting riddles and puzzles to his courtiers. He often asked questions which were strange and witty. It took much wisdom to answer these questions.

Once he asked a very strange question. The courtiers were dumb folded by his question.


Akbar glanced at his courtiers. As he looked, one by one the heads began to hang low in search of an answer. It was at this moment that Birbal entered the courtyard. Birbal who knew the nature of the emperor quickly grasped the situation and asked, "May I know the question so that I can try for an answer".

Akbar said, "How many crows are there in this city?"

Without even a moment's thought, Birbal replied "There are fifty thousand five hundred and eighty nine crows, my lord".

"How can you be so sure?” asked Akbar.

Birbal said, "Make you men count, My lord. If you find more crows it means some have come to visit their relatives here. If you find less number of crows it means some have gone to visit their relatives elsewhere".

Akbar was pleased very much by Birbal's wit.

⇒ You can also read: Safety is the first importance Story.
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Short Story abou A Town Mouse and a Country Mouse

A Town Mouse and a Country Mouse were friends. The Country Mouse one day invited his friend to come and see him at his home in the fields. The Town Mouse came and they sat down to a dinner of barleycorns and roots the latter of which had a distinctly earthy flavor.


The flavor was not much to the taste of the guest and presently he broke out with “My poor dear friend, you live here no better than the ants. Now, you should just see how I fare! My larder is a regular horn of plenty. You must come and stay with me and I promise you shall live on the fat of the land."

So when he returned to town he took the Country Mouse with him and showed him into a larder containing flour and oatmeal and figs and honey and dates.

The Country Mouse had never seen anything like it and sat down to enjoy the luxuries his friend provided. But before they had well begun, the door of the larder opened and some one came in. The two Mice scampered off and hid themselves in a narrow and exceedingly uncomfortable hole. Presently, when all was quiet, they ventured out again. But some one else came in, and off they scuttled again. This was too much for the visitor. "Good bye," said he, "I'm off. You live in the lap of luxury, I can see, but you are surrounded by dangers whereas at home I can enjoy my simple dinner of roots and corn in peace."

⇛ You can also read: THE SIX BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT
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A World Famous Short Story about THE SIX BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT

The people who lived in a small village were always arguing and fighting among each other about God and different religions. They could never agree to a common answer. So they came to the Buddha to find out what exactly God looks like. The Buddha asked his disciples to get a large magnificent elephant and six blind men. He then brought the blind to the elephant and asked them to describe what an elephant looks like.


The first blind man touched the elephant leg and reported that it "looked" like a tree trunk.

The second blind man touched the elephant’s stomach and said that the elephant was a wall.

The third blind man touched the elephant ear and said that it was a fan.

The fourth blind man touched the elephant’s tail and described the elephant as a piece of rope.

The fifth blind man felt the elephant's tusks and described it as a spear.

And the sixth blind man rubbed the elephant’s snout and got very scared because he thought it was a snake.

All of them got into a big argument about the "appearance" of an elephant. The Buddha asked the citizens: "Each blind man had touched the elephant but each of them gives a different description of the animal. Which answer is right?" "All of them are right," was the reply.

"Why? Because everyone can only see one part of the elephant. They are not able to see the whole animal. The same applies to God and to religions. No one will see Him completely." By this parable, Buddha taught that we should respect all other religions and their beliefs.

By this parable, Buddha taught that we should respect all other religions and their beliefs.

⇛ Welcome to read The gift of the Magi!
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A Popular love story about The Gift of the Magi

Author: O. Henry (William Sidney Porter), 1862–1910
First Published: 1905One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And 60 cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating?

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below belonged to this flat a letterbox into which no letter would go and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.”

The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of “Dillingham” looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and a reached his flat above, he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good? Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling, something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Young’s in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the air shaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry and mocked at Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon’s been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped, the sign read “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran and collected herself, panting, before Madame, large, too white, chilly, and hardly looking the “Sofronie.”
“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.
“I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.”
Down rippled the brown cascade.
“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
“Give it to me quick,” said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was none other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it, she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home, her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

“If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do—oh, what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents!”

At 7 o’clock the coffee was made, and the frying pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please, God, make him think I am still pretty.”

The door opened, and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat, and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of a quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
“Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow again—you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice—what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.”

“You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

“Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?” Jim looked about the room curiously.

“You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
“You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you—sold and gone too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed to quickly wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us
regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. “Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package, you may see why you had me going awhile at first.”

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White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy, and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For their lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshiped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were
hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say, “My hair grows so fast, Jim!”

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!” Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull, precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep me a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicleof two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were of the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest. Everywhere they are the wisest. They are the magi.
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