The last gift of the old king

By Ishtiaq Ahmad

In a peaceful kingdom nestled between misty hills and silver rivers, there lived a king named Elion. For over fifty years, King Elion had ruled with wisdom, justice, and a heart full of compassion. Under his care, the land bloomed, the people thrived, and harmony reigned. He was not only a ruler but a shepherd to his people—a man who saw every farmer, merchant, and child as his own.

Now, in the twilight of his life, the king had grown old and weary. His steps were slow, his voice soft, and his once-sharp eyes now clouded with time. Elion had no children of his own, and as his strength faded, one question remained: Who would wear the crown after him?

Rather than handing power to nobles or distant relatives, Elion chose a different path. He wanted to leave his kingdom in the hands of someone who truly understood what it meant to serve—not someone of royal blood, but someone of noble heart.

He summoned his people and made an announcement that surprised them all:

> “Three days from now, I shall choose my successor. Bring me not gold, strength, or titles. Bring me a gift that reflects your heart. The one who shows the greatest soul shall wear the crown.”



The news spread like wildfire. Throughout the land, people prepared to impress the king. Nobles polished their finest gems. Scholars composed speeches full of eloquent words. Knights readied displays of bravery and strength.

On the first day, wealthy men brought chests overflowing with gold, claiming their riches would help grow the kingdom. On the second day, warriors performed daring feats to prove their strength. On the third day, poets and musicians tried to win the king’s favor with beauty and art.

Elion watched them all quietly from his wooden chair beneath the great tree in the palace courtyard. He nodded politely, listened carefully, but gave no sign of decision.

Just as the sun began to set on the third day, a young boy pushed through the crowd. He was no older than ten, with dust on his clothes and hope in his eyes. In his hands, he held a warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth.

He approached the king and bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty,” he said shyly, “I do not have riches or strength. My mother is very sick, and we have little food. But she always tells me to share what we have, even when it's not much. This is our last loaf of bread. I brought it for you.”

The crowd murmured. Some laughed. Others scoffed. But King Elion did not move. He looked into the boy’s eyes—and there, he saw truth, love, and the kind of courage that doesn’t need a sword.

Elion stood slowly, walked to the boy, and gently took the bread.

Tears welled in the old king’s eyes. “Of all the gifts brought to me,” he said, his voice steady and clear, “this is the one given with the purest heart.”

He removed the golden crown from his head and placed it on the boy’s.

“This child,” he declared, “understands what it means to give, even when it costs something. This is the heart of a true king.”

Silence fell. Then, the people erupted in cheers—not for tradition or ceremony, but for hope. They saw in the boy a future shaped not by pride or power, but by kindness.

Elion passed away peacefully a few days later. But his final gift—a kingdom entrusted to compassion—lived on.

The young boy, named Aron, grew to be a wise and beloved ruler. He never forgot the lesson of that day: that greatness isn’t found in what we possess, but in what we give.


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Moral:
True leadership is not born from power or wealth, but from humility, kindness, and the courage to give even when it’s hard.