A Thief Has a Straw in His Beard

In a quiet, dusty village tucked far from the city’s reach, there lived a man named Kareem — known not for his good deeds, but for his clever tongue and slippery hands. He was always around when something went missing, but never quite close enough to catch. Chickens, coins, jewelry — small things would vanish like whispers in the wind, and yet Kareem remained untouched.

The villagers whispered about him often. “Kareem ke hath saaf nahi lagtay,” said old Amma Bakhto, narrowing her eyes. But suspicion alone could not chain a man. Proof — that was needed.

One hot afternoon, a scream echoed through the village. It came from the house of Haji Fareed, the oldest and wealthiest man in the village.

“My gold is gone! My daughter’s wedding jewelry — it’s stolen!” he bellowed, his voice shaking the quiet. Within hours, the village gathered in the courtyard under the shade of the banyan tree — the place where justice was discussed when courts were too far away.

Fareed’s son, Haroon, stood up. “We all know who might’ve done this,” he said without naming anyone. “But let’s do this wisely. Let the thief reveal himself.”

People murmured. The village elder, Baba Latif, raised a hand. “We shall handle this the old way.”

He told everyone to gather in the village square the next morning. “Let no one miss it,” he commanded. “Truth always shows itself.”

---

The next day, the villagers stood in a circle. Baba Latif brought out a bowl full of dried straws — long and thin.

“Each man shall pick a straw and place it in his beard,” he said. “A harmless ritual. But remember — a thief cannot hide for long.”

The crowd grew tense.

One by one, every man — old and young — came forward. Kareem stepped up with a smirk. He reached into the bowl, pulled out a straw, and tucked it quickly into his beard. But as he turned away, something unusual happened.

The straw wouldn’t sit straight. It bent oddly, and he kept fidgeting. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted it again and again.

Baba Latif watched him silently. The villagers did too.

Then, the elder spoke slowly:
“You see, the thief knows his guilt. Even a straw becomes a weight on his soul. He cannot sit still. He fears that the world sees his crime written on his face.”

Kareem’s eyes darted. “What kind of trick is this?” he barked. “This proves nothing!”

Baba Latif looked calmly at him. “Why are you the only one panicking, Kareem?”

The village fell into still silence.

Kareem swallowed hard.

Haroon stepped forward. “Search him.”

“No need!” Kareem shouted, his voice cracking. “This is all superstition! Straw in the beard — what nonsense!”

But it was too late. His fear had betrayed him.

Two men grabbed his arms, and sure enough, hidden beneath his kurta, tied to his waist in a cloth pouch — was Haji Fareed’s missing gold.

The crowd gasped. Kareem fell to his knees, unable to look up. His beard still held the straw — now the most foolish crown of all.

---

That day, the village learned two lessons.

First — sometimes truth doesn’t need force, only patience.

Second — guilt doesn’t hide well. Even the smallest thing, like a straw in a beard, can scream louder than a confession.

Kareem was taken to the city for punishment. But in the village, this incident became legend.

Children whispered the tale on moonlit nights. Farmers laughed and warned each other jokingly, “Don’t scratch your beard too much — lest they think you stole something!”

And Baba Latif’s words lived on:

> “A thief has a straw in his beard — because guilt is a fire that always finds a way to rise in smoke.”