The Candle and the Sun

The Candle and the Sun

Once, in a land not marked on any map, there existed a world where Light had a voice, a shape, and even emotions.

In this world, the Candle stood proud in a quiet village. Every night, it would light up the cottage of Old Mira, a kind-hearted herbalist who healed the sick and comforted the weary. The Candle glowed not with power, but with purpose. Its flickering flame lit pages of wisdom, brewed herbs with love, and kept the fears of darkness away.

The Candle knew its limits. It could not shine during storms. It could not reach beyond the cottage. It did not blind, nor boast. But it was content.

One day, a thunderous light tore through the sky. The Sun had descended closer than ever before, driven by whispers of a Candle that the world adored.

"Is it true?" the Sun asked, its voice rumbling like dawn breaking mountains. "A small flicker of waxed wick is honored here more than me?"

The Candle bowed. “I am no rival to you, dear Sun. You warm oceans, guide farmers, and make flowers bloom. I am but a helper in the dark.”

But the Sun, offended, flared brighter.

"Yet they sing of you in stories and poems. They call you ‘hope,’ ‘comfort,’ even ‘savior.’ While I, who brings life to every leaf, am forgotten after dusk.”

The villagers looked up, shielding their eyes. Plants wilted under the burning glare. Wells dried, animals hid, and even the shadows struggled to find rest. The Sun's pride had turned into punishment.

Old Mira stepped outside, her wrinkled face bathed in harsh light.

“Dear Sun,” she said gently, “you are mighty, yes. But in your brightness, none can look at you. In your heat, none can sit in peace. The Candle’s glow may be small, but it warms our hearts without burning our skin. It listens, it heals. It helps us sleep, not fear.”

The Sun laughed. “You compare a whisper to a song?”

“No,” Mira replied. “We compare a voice that listens to a voice that only speaks.”

Shaken, the Sun dimmed slightly. “But I give so much!”

“And yet,” Mira said, “you demand attention for it.”

The Sun realized something then. It had always been praised in daylight, but it had never been needed the way the Candle was. Its power was undeniable, but it had never understood the power of presence.

That night, for the first time, the Sun set softly — not in shame, but in understanding. It gave the Candle room to glow again.

The Candle flickered in gratitude and said to the night, “Even the greatest lights need rest. And even the smallest lights have meaning.”

From that day on, the Sun rose gentler, and the Candle burned brighter in the hearts of all who saw it.

💡 Moral:

True greatness is not in shining the brightest, but in being a light when someone needs it most.