The Broken Lantern

In a quiet mountain village surrounded by mist and pine trees lived a young girl named Meera. She was known for her curious eyes and her habit of asking endless questions. Her favorite place was her grandfather’s old workshop — a little wooden shed filled with tools, glass pieces, and half-built lanterns.

Her grandfather, Ravi, was the village’s most skilled lantern maker. Every festival, people from nearby villages came to buy his lanterns because they glowed brighter and lasted longer than any others.

Meera would often sit beside him, watching as he carefully shaped glass, trimmed wicks, and polished brass handles until they shone.

“Grandpa,” she asked one day, “why do you spend so much time fixing old, broken lanterns when you could make new ones?”

Ravi smiled. “Because, my dear, even a broken lantern can shine again — if someone believes in its light.”

Meera didn’t fully understand then, but those words stayed in her heart.

One evening, as the village prepared for the Festival of Lights, a powerful storm rolled down the mountains. The wind howled, trees bent, and lightning flashed across the sky. In moments, the power went out, and the entire village was swallowed in darkness.

When morning came, destruction was everywhere — roofs torn off, crops destroyed, and lanterns shattered. Worst of all, Ravi’s workshop was half destroyed. The shelves had fallen, and dozens of lanterns lay broken on the floor.

Ravi stood silently for a long time, looking at the ruins. Meera ran to him, heartbroken. “Grandpa, everything’s gone! The festival will be ruined. We can’t fix all of them in time!”

He picked up one broken lantern and smiled gently. “Then we’ll fix this one. One light is better than none.”

But as the day went on, Ravi grew tired and weak. His hands trembled. By nightfall, he was too ill to work. The doctor said he needed rest for several days.

Meera sat beside her grandfather’s bed, holding his hand. “Don’t worry, Grandpa,” she whispered. “I’ll finish the lantern for you.”

Ravi smiled faintly. “Remember, child — it’s not the glass or the metal that makes a lantern shine. It’s the light inside.”

That night, Meera entered the workshop alone. The wind outside moaned like an old ghost. She gathered the broken pieces, her small hands trembling. The lantern’s frame was bent, the glass cracked, and the wick soaked with rainwater.

Tears filled her eyes. “How can something this broken ever shine again?” she whispered.

She wanted to give up — but then she remembered her grandfather’s words. “Even a broken lantern can shine again, if someone believes in its light.”

So she started working. She straightened the frame with a hammer, glued the cracks, and replaced the wick. Her fingers got cut on the glass, and her eyes stung with tears, but she didn’t stop.

Hours passed. Finally, she placed the small lantern on the table, poured in oil, and struck a match. For a moment, nothing happened. Then — a tiny flicker. The flame struggled, swayed, and finally stood steady, casting a soft, golden glow across the ruined workshop.

Meera smiled through her tears. “You did it, Grandpa,” she whispered. “We did it.”

That night, she carried the lantern to the village square. People gathered, drawn to the faint light cutting through the darkness.

One of the elders said, “We thought there would be no festival this year.”

Meera lifted the lantern high. “We only need one light to begin,” she said.

Inspired, others began bringing their damaged lanterns, and together, they repaired them. By midnight, hundreds of tiny lights flickered across the village — a sea of warmth and color against the cold night.

When Ravi woke the next morning, he saw the glow through his window. Meera sat beside him, holding the same lantern she had fixed.

He smiled proudly. “You learned the true craft, Meera. Making lanterns is not about creating light — it’s about restoring it.”

Years later, after Ravi passed away, Meera became the village’s new lantern maker. Every festival, she placed that same old lantern — the one she had repaired that stormy night — in the center of the square.

When people asked her why she still kept it, she always said,

“Because this lantern reminds me that no matter how broken we feel, we can still shine again if we keep our faith burning inside.”

Moral of the Story:

True light doesn’t come from perfection — it comes from perseverance, faith, and the courage to keep shining even when life breaks you down.