The Old Man and the Snake

In a quiet village nestled between two great hills, there lived an old man named Arun. He was a solitary figure, with a long white beard and eyes that had seen too much of the world. His cottage, made of stone and wood, stood at the edge of the forest, where the trees whispered ancient secrets and the wind carried stories lost to time.

Arun spent his days tending to his garden and talking to the animals. Some villagers said he had once been a scholar, others claimed he was a healer, but no one truly knew. What they all agreed upon was that Arun was wise, kind, and carried a sadness that no one dared ask about.

One summer morning, as the sun pierced through the mist, Arun found a snake curled near the edge of his garden. Its scales shimmered like polished copper, and its eyes, though reptilian, held a strange intelligence. Most would have run or tried to kill it, but Arun simply stood still.

“You must be lost,” he said softly.

The snake raised its head, unthreatening. To his surprise, it spoke.

“I am not lost. I have come to you, old man.”

Arun blinked, unsure if he was dreaming. “Why me?”

“Because you once knew mercy,” said the snake. “And I have need of it again.”

Intrigued, Arun invited the snake inside. He gave it a place by the hearth and a bowl of milk. Days passed, and the snake remained, watching him silently, occasionally speaking in riddles or asking deep questions about life and time. Arun, too lonely to question his good fortune, welcomed the company.

One evening, the snake told its tale.

“Long ago, I was a man. A prince, full of pride and hunger for power. I betrayed my brother to take the throne, but the gods saw my treachery. They cursed me to crawl on my belly until I found someone who could show true mercy—the kind I never gave.”

Arun listened, silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “And you think I am that someone?”

“I know you are,” said the snake. “You spared me. You showed kindness without reason. That is rare.”

Arun stood and walked to the fire. “There was a time I too was proud. I was a soldier. I took lives without question. One day, I met a boy, no older than sixteen, trembling on the battlefield. He dropped his sword and begged for mercy. I raised mine... then dropped it. I couldn’t do it. I let him go.”

The snake looked up. “What became of him?”

“I don’t know,” said Arun. “But I never picked up a sword again. I left the army, left everything. Mercy changed me too.”

The room was quiet. The fire crackled. Then the snake hissed, not in threat, but in transformation. Light engulfed it, and in its place stood a young man, regal and sorrowful.

“You have broken the curse,” he said. “Your mercy has freed me.”

Arun took a step back, stunned. “And now?”

“I must return to my kingdom, if it still exists. But first, I owe you a debt.”

“You owe me nothing,” said Arun. “Go live a better life.”

The man bowed deeply. “Then at least accept this—”

He placed a small, glowing gem on the old man’s table. “It will keep you warm and fed until the end of your days. And when your time comes, may you be remembered not as a soldier, but as a man who chose mercy.”

With that, he left, disappearing into the forest.

Years passed, and Arun grew older. He never saw the prince again, but the gem did as promised—his crops never failed, and his health remained strong. Villagers came to him for wisdom, and children sat by his feet for stories.

When he passed away peacefully in his sleep, the entire village mourned. They carved into his gravestone a single line:

"Here lies the man who once spared a life and changed the course of two."

And deep in the forest, by a ruined stone palace, a new king lit a candle each year in memory of the old man who had taught him what it meant to be human.