Unchain letter
Once upon a time, as a rich man neared the end of his life, he called his three sons to his bedside. He counselled them to be wise, and to respect his will. Then he left them to their fortunes. When his will was read, the eldest son had received all the properties. The second had received all the livestock. The youngest received the entire granary.
When they had paid their respects appropriately, the three turned their attention to their inheritance. The first, rejoicing in his vast landed wealth, immediately threw a lavish celebratory feast. so that all could see and admire his domains. The second, not to be outdone, threw a bigger feast where he ordered entire flocks slaughtered to feed the horde of guests.
The third, inclined to do likewise, thought it prudent to first check the contents of the granary. He didn't find much there. In fact, he found nothing at all. The granary was bare. There would be no feast for this one. But it was a nice large granary, and it looked like it needed tending. So he swept it, all the time grateful to the father who had left him this treasure. The 5 grains of wheat that he found, he planted with reverence, and tended well. The empty room he kept spotless and in perfect repair.
When you plant seeds, not all of them fruit. But all 5 of the young man's wheat stalks grew tall and strong, and in turn yielded abundant grain. Not enough to sustain his home, but enough to sow for another year. Meanwhile, in the time he found after providing for his family by doing odd jobs, he continued to tend the granary, oblivious to his brothers' calls to get rid of it.
In 5 summers, the granary was no more empty. It was full of glorious golden wheat. Not overful, for some was always given to the needy. And the young man gazed upon the granary. And he felt his own arms and legs and back, hardened by the toil of tilling and watering and harvesting. And he thanked his father for the limitless bounty that had fallen to his share. And he slept.
x-----x-----x
So where does the story come from? It's based on a dim recollection I have of a story where a prudent son does more than look a gift horse in the mouth, and goes beyond.
Why did I write it? Well, I just received one of those infernal chain letters, with an invocation to some saint, and a request to pass it on to an odd number of friends who had touched my life. My first instinct was to throw it in the trash. Then I stopped to think that a friend had just included me as one of the important people who had touched his life. Now however trivial the mail, that's a very moving thought. I have often reflected on the important influences in my life, but haven't always reached out to acknowledge them. A few months ago, a childhood teacher, whom I have always cited as one of my seminal influences, died. For years I had lived in the same city, but not made the effort to tell her how much she had meant to my life.
The point of the story? After all, unlike morality tales, the older brothers weren't prodigal and didn't come to grief. Everyone lived happily ever after. I guess the only message there is that I nearly threw that mail away without realising that everything it meant lay not in the body of the mail, not in the prayer, but in the address list.
I guess it means thank you for being my friend.
When they had paid their respects appropriately, the three turned their attention to their inheritance. The first, rejoicing in his vast landed wealth, immediately threw a lavish celebratory feast. so that all could see and admire his domains. The second, not to be outdone, threw a bigger feast where he ordered entire flocks slaughtered to feed the horde of guests.
The third, inclined to do likewise, thought it prudent to first check the contents of the granary. He didn't find much there. In fact, he found nothing at all. The granary was bare. There would be no feast for this one. But it was a nice large granary, and it looked like it needed tending. So he swept it, all the time grateful to the father who had left him this treasure. The 5 grains of wheat that he found, he planted with reverence, and tended well. The empty room he kept spotless and in perfect repair.
When you plant seeds, not all of them fruit. But all 5 of the young man's wheat stalks grew tall and strong, and in turn yielded abundant grain. Not enough to sustain his home, but enough to sow for another year. Meanwhile, in the time he found after providing for his family by doing odd jobs, he continued to tend the granary, oblivious to his brothers' calls to get rid of it.
In 5 summers, the granary was no more empty. It was full of glorious golden wheat. Not overful, for some was always given to the needy. And the young man gazed upon the granary. And he felt his own arms and legs and back, hardened by the toil of tilling and watering and harvesting. And he thanked his father for the limitless bounty that had fallen to his share. And he slept.
x-----x-----x
So where does the story come from? It's based on a dim recollection I have of a story where a prudent son does more than look a gift horse in the mouth, and goes beyond.
Why did I write it? Well, I just received one of those infernal chain letters, with an invocation to some saint, and a request to pass it on to an odd number of friends who had touched my life. My first instinct was to throw it in the trash. Then I stopped to think that a friend had just included me as one of the important people who had touched his life. Now however trivial the mail, that's a very moving thought. I have often reflected on the important influences in my life, but haven't always reached out to acknowledge them. A few months ago, a childhood teacher, whom I have always cited as one of my seminal influences, died. For years I had lived in the same city, but not made the effort to tell her how much she had meant to my life.
The point of the story? After all, unlike morality tales, the older brothers weren't prodigal and didn't come to grief. Everyone lived happily ever after. I guess the only message there is that I nearly threw that mail away without realising that everything it meant lay not in the body of the mail, not in the prayer, but in the address list.
I guess it means thank you for being my friend.
posted by Sridhar at 8:34 am
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