Two Oxen, One Path

Once upon a time, in a quiet farming village nestled between rolling hills, lived two oxen. One was named Boro, large and strong with years of labor behind him. The other was Naru, young, spirited, and full of untested energy.

Boro had served the villagers faithfully for over a decade, plowing fields, hauling carts, and guiding farmers through the rhythms of each season. Naru, on the other hand, had just come of age and was yoked for the very first time.

One spring morning, the farmer placed them side by side and fastened the yoke over their necks. It was time to till the earth for planting.

As they took their first steps, Naru pushed ahead with all his might. He strained against the yoke, eager to prove his strength.

"Faster, Boro!" he barked. "We can finish this field before midday!"

But Boro kept a slow and steady pace. His legs moved with the wisdom of many seasons, every step calculated, every breath controlled.

"Why do you drag your feet?" Naru snapped. "We could be the best team this village has ever seen if you didn’t hold me back."

Boro said nothing.

Day after day, they plowed together. And day after day, Naru grew more frustrated. He would pull too fast, veer off course, and tire himself before the sun was high. The yoke would dig into his shoulders from the uneven strain, and the rows they carved were crooked and shallow.

Still, Boro remained calm. He bore the weight, corrected their direction, and allowed Naru space to learn — though the burden often fell more on his side.

One day, after a particularly long and clumsy morning, Naru collapsed beneath a tree, exhausted.

“This yoke is cursed!” he groaned. “No matter how hard I pull, we never finish on time. And you — you never even try!”

Boro looked at him kindly. “Young one, do you think strength alone tills the earth?”

Naru frowned. “Isn’t that what oxen are for?”

Boro chuckled softly. “We are for more than pulling. We are for balance, for patience, for trust. The path we walk is not just dirt and stone — it is partnership.”

Naru looked away, ashamed. “But I just wanted to be good.”

“And you will be,” Boro said, “but not alone.”

The next morning, Naru took his place beside Boro with a quiet heart. When the yoke was fastened, he didn’t lurch forward. He matched Boro’s pace. He watched how Boro leaned into turns, how he adjusted to hills, how he listened to the rhythm of the soil beneath his hooves.

And as the days passed, the two moved not as two, but as one.

Their rows grew straighter. Their work became smoother. The farmer smiled as he watched them from a distance, seeing how the elder ox guided with experience, and how the young one learned with humility.

One afternoon, as they approached a steep hill, Naru felt the yoke grow heavier. Boro stumbled slightly, his legs trembling.

Without thinking, Naru shifted his weight, bearing more of the load. The wagon steadied. Together, they reached the top.

When they rested, Boro turned to him with a weary smile. “You’ve learned well, Naru.”

The younger ox nodded. “Because you were patient.”

They walked on in silence, side by side, the dirt path stretching far ahead — a path they would walk together, one steady step at a time.

Moral of the Story:

True strength lies not in how fast one can move alone, but in how steadily two can walk together.