Grandma's Tale of the Silver River Inspired by Prof Pulin Garg

Grandma’s Tale of the Silver River

Inspired by Prof Pulin Garg

Grandma begins, “My dear little child, we have lived in this village for as long as I can remember, and our land has always blessed us. Just as you sit here listening to my tales, I once sat listening to my grandma’s stories, passed down through time like a stream flowing through the ages. I heard that she, too, had heard these stories from her grandmother.”

Story Number 4:

Once upon a time, long, long ago, just about yesterday, far, far away, beyond the jungles and seas, but just around the corner from our village, was a village nestled by a silver river that sparkled under the sun and moon alike. The river was special; its waters were rich with minerals that made the soil fertile, so the farmers’ crops grew bountifully. The artisans, too, depended on the river; the clay from its banks was fine and smooth, perfect for making pots, sculptures, and other treasures. Life was simple, and the villagers took only what they needed, grateful for the gifts of the river.

One day, a merchant from a far-off city visited the village. He marvelled at the quality of the farmers’ crops and the artisans’ wares and recognised the rare minerals in the river’s water. He offered them coins for the produce and the pottery, claiming that the rest of the world would pay handsomely for their craft. Eager for wealth, the villagers allowed the merchant to set up a trading post by the river.

But the merchant wanted more. He built dams and diverted the river’s flow to collect the precious minerals directly, promising the villagers even greater riches. The river soon ran low, and the farmers’ fields began to dry up. The artisans could no longer find the fine clay they needed. Still, the merchant kept demanding more, claiming that only he knew how to extract the minerals properly and that he needed more workers to help. Little by little, the villagers left their farms and workshops to labour at the trading post, bound to the merchant’s demands.

The once-thriving village became poor and hungry, its people worn and weary. Those who protested were told to remain silent, for the merchant promised the village would prosper one day if they worked harder and longer.

Years passed, and a child was born in the village. This child grew up listening to the tales of the Silver River, tales of how it used to nourish the land and provide for all. With a courageous heart and wise eyes, the child began to wonder what lay beyond the dams. Quietly, under the cover of night, the child climbed over the merchant’s walls and saw how the river had been hoarded, its waters trapped and its minerals stripped away.

The child returned to the village and gathered the people, sharing what had been seen. Inspired, the villagers rose up, tore down the dams, and restored the river to its natural flow. With no more minerals to hoard, the merchant abandoned his promises of wealth and left. The river returned to the village, sparkling as it once did, and with it, life returned as well. The soil grew fertile again, the artisans found their clay, and the village once more thrived.

But my dear child, remember this: there will always be another merchant, another clever voice promising riches and power if we only give up what is ours. When that day comes, I hope you will remember the story of the Silver River and be brave enough to protect what belongs to our village.

The moral of the story, my dear child, is this: True wealth lies not in hoarding or control but in sharing the gifts of nature so that all may thrive. When we forget this, we risk losing what sustains us all.”