The Honest Horse and His Poor Owner.

**A Honest Horse Race and His Poor Owner**

In a quiet village nestled between two hills and a stream, there lived a poor man named Ramu. He had very little to his name—a small hut made of bamboo, a tiny piece of land that barely grew enough food, and a lean but spirited horse named Bijli. Ramu had raised Bijli since he was a foal, feeding him whatever scraps he could find, brushing his coat every day, and talking to him as if he were family.

Bijli was no ordinary horse. Though not the fastest in the region, he had a proud gait, an intelligent gaze, and, more than anything, a heart full of honesty and loyalty. He never needed reins to be guided and never strayed from the path once set. Villagers often joked, “Ramu’s horse is more honest than half the people we know!”

Life wasn’t easy for Ramu. The monsoons had ruined his crops for two years in a row. Debt collectors came knocking, and he was down to his last handful of rice. Yet, every evening, he would walk with Bijli down the village road, talk to him about his troubles, and find some comfort in his horse’s silent presence.

One day, a notice was nailed to the old banyan tree in the village square: “**Annual Royal Horse Race – Prize: 50,000 rupees and a year’s supply of grain**.” Ramu’s heart skipped a beat. That amount could change his life. But the race was not for the faint of heart—it stretched across rough terrain, through forests, streams, and uphill climbs. The best horses from across the region would be there, many owned by the wealthy and trained by professionals.

Still, Ramu looked at Bijli and said, “Let’s try, my friend. We’ve nothing to lose.”

For the next few weeks, they trained hard. Ramu couldn’t afford fancy feed or trainers, but he knew Bijli better than anyone. He trusted the horse’s instincts and spirit. Other villagers laughed. “Your poor horse? He’s too old!” some said. But Ramu just smiled. He believed in honesty, effort, and heart.

The race day arrived with fanfare. Bright banners fluttered, crowds cheered, and horses with glossy coats and golden saddles pranced about. Ramu stood in a corner with Bijli, dressed in simple cotton, while others wore embroidered riding gear. People chuckled and whispered. “Why did they even let him in?” one man scoffed.

The whistle blew. The horses thundered forward. Dust rose. Ramu held on tight, letting Bijli find his rhythm. One by one, many horses sped ahead, their riders yelling commands. But as the terrain grew rougher, the gaps began to close.

Some horses slipped in muddy patches. Others got distracted in the forest. A few riders tried shortcuts—leaving the marked path, hoping to save time. But not Bijli. He stayed steady and on track, never straying from the marked route.

Halfway through, they came upon a narrow bridge over a ravine. A wealthy rider, Rana Singh, was stuck—his horse refused to move. Seeing Ramu approach, Rana called out, “Help me! I’ll pay you!”

Ramu hesitated. The race was still on. But he couldn’t ignore someone in need. He got down, calmed the frightened horse, and helped Rana cross. Bijli waited patiently, then resumed the race without complaint.

When Ramu finally reached the last stretch, he was behind at least six others. The crowd wasn’t even paying attention to him. But as the finish line approached, a surprise awaited everyone. Two of the front runners were disqualified for straying off course. Another had hurt his horse’s leg by forcing it too hard. Rana Singh had fallen back.

To everyone’s shock, Ramu and Bijli crossed the finish line third—but the **first** among those who followed the rules honestly.

The judges conferred. They had seen Ramu help another rider, never break a rule, and complete the toughest parts with grace and care. The announcement came:

“**The winner of this year’s Royal Race is not the fastest, but the most honorable—Ramu and his horse, Bijli.**”

Gasps filled the air. Then came thunderous applause. People stood, clapping for the poor man and his honest horse. The prize money was his. But more than that, he earned respect, dignity, and a story that would be told for generations.

Ramu wept silently, hugging Bijli. “We did it, old friend,” he whispered. “Not just by speed—but by staying true.”

From that day on, Ramu never had to struggle again. He opened a small stable, taught young riders, and always said, “Winning is good. But winning with honesty? That’s true victory.”

And Bijli? He lived out his days not in races, but in peace—remembered not as the fastest horse, but the truest one.
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