THE STRANGER THEY NEVER KNEW

In a quiet, remote village nestled among the rolling hills of South India, lived an impoverished family. Their tiny home, made of cracked clay walls and a thatched roof, stood at the edge of a barren field that could no longer feed them. Inside, Raman, an old farmer, sat hunched in his chair, his eyes clouded with age and worry. His wife, Lakshmi, worked silently, her frail hands busy mending their only pair of sandals. Their daughter, Meera, a young woman in her early twenties, stared out at the fading sunset, her heart heavy with the weight of their endless misfortune.

Theirs was a life bound by debt. Years of failed crops and unpaid loans had stripped them of every ounce of hope. The landlord had come by just that morning, giving them his final warning: either the debt was paid, or the land and house, their last possession, would be seized. With nowhere else to go, their future seemed bleak.

As the evening shadows deepened, a knock on their door startled them from their thoughts. When Raman opened the door, a stranger stood before him. The man was in his early thirties, dressed in fine clothes, and adorned with gold jewelry that gleamed in the dim light. His appearance was striking, his face calm yet marked with a quiet urgency. He carried a polished suitcase in his hand and smiled warmly at the old man.

Namaskaram,” he greeted. “I am a traveler passing through. May I request shelter for the night?”

Raman hesitated. They had no food to spare, but it was custom to never turn away a guest. Before he could respond, the man continued, “Please don’t worry. I will pay for my stay. I even wish to have a local chicken for dinner. If it’s too much to ask, I can pay you in advance.”

The man opened his suitcase, and the family’s eyes widened. Inside lay bundles of money and gleaming gold. Lakshmi gasped, and even Meera, who had long grown weary of dreams, stared at the fortune with disbelief. The man pulled out a stack of crisp notes and handed them to Raman.

“Please, use this for the food and anything else you may need.”

Raman accepted the money, still stunned by the stranger’s generosity. That night, the family prepared the best meal they had cooked in years. The air filled with the rich aroma of spices as they served the guest a lavish feast. Yet, as they sat together, an unsettling thought grew in their minds. The man was alone, carrying immense wealth. No one in the village knew of his presence.

After the meal, the man retired to the small room they had prepared for him. The silence in the house became thick with tension. Meera, her eyes filled with a determination her parents had never seen, whispered, “This could be our chance.”

Raman and Lakshmi looked at her, confused. “What are you talking about?” her father asked.

Meera’s voice trembled. “The money in that suitcase — it’s enough to pay off our debts. We could live in peace again, without fear of losing our home. No one knows he is here.”

Lakshmi recoiled. “Meera! We cannot think like that. We are not thieves.”

“But we are desperate,” Meera countered, her voice rising. “If we lose this house, we have nothing left. He is a stranger, and if we don’t act now, we may never have another chance.”

Raman shifted uneasily. “This is not right. We cannot harm someone for money.”

Meera knelt before her parents, tears in her eyes. “We have lived with nothing for so long. We are good people, but what has that given us? He’s just passing through. His life can solve all our problems.”

After a long pause, the seed of greed took root in Raman’s heart. He reluctantly agreed, and Lakshmi, though shaken, did not protest. The weight of their poverty crushed their conscience, and together, they planned to poison the man’s dinner.

Later that night, they prepared another dish — one spiced not only with local herbs but with poison. When they served it to the guest, he smiled warmly, unaware of their betrayal. As he ate, he complimented their hospitality. But soon, his face grew pale. He dropped his spoon, clutching his throat. His eyes, once calm and gentle, filled with pain and confusion. In his final moments, he tried to speak, his voice faltering with tears. But before he could say anything, he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The family stood in stunned silence, the enormity of their crime settling on them like a heavy fog. Meera, her hands shaking, closed the suitcase filled with money and gold. It had all happened so quickly.

The next morning, Raman decided to go to the village shop, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. As he stepped out into the familiar streets, his heart raced with guilt. At the shop, the local shopkeeper greeted him warmly.

“Raman, I have good news for you!” the man said with excitement. “Your troubles are over.”

Raman blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your son! He’s come back!” the shopkeeper said, smiling broadly. “The boy who left home years ago to find work. He returned last night. I heard he brought enough wealth to settle all your debts and more. He even visited your house. You must have met him!”

In their blind greed, they had murdered their only hope, their own flesh and blood.

The suitcase, once seen as their salvation, now lay in their home, a monument to their ruin.