A priest was almost done with his missionary work with the local tribes in the jungle, and several of the members of the tribe had been taught and converted to Christianity from his work. He never got around to teaching the people how to read, however, so he was concerned on the effect his departure would have on their community. Eager to give them something, he set about teaching the king a few rudimentary words.
The chief took the priest on a walk through the jungle, then, while pointing to a tree, "This is a tree." So the chief repeated ''tree,'' and nodded.
Buoyed, the priest pointed at a rock. The chief nodded, ''Rock.'' The priest was delighted
At last, he sensed that teaching had a payoff. When there was some distance away, they heard a noise from the brushwood. Curiosity induced them to look closer for a moment, and they were horrified to observe two natives crouched together.
The priest, with nothing to say, blurts out, ''It's a man riding a bicycle!''
Without pause, the chief drew his gun and shot the couple. The priest was horrified and said, ''What have you done? I taught you for years how to be kind, compassionate, and you do this?''
The chief met him with an air of calm, as was his wont, and said, ''My cycle.''
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More stories from Rohitha Lanka and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Pot Boiling Over
Once, there was a pot of about 340 million drops and droplets. Most of them would like to think they lived together peacefully for decades, but that wasn’t true. Different regions struggled, sometimes fought, with each other. And the mainstreams still often pursued and attacked the minorities. Law enforcers sometimes pushed minority drops out of the pot, never to be seen again.
By Gabriel Shames6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Nice story