The False Jewel

The False Jewel

Long ago, an elder keeper lived at a temple in Laos. He knew many prayers, could sit quietly for a long time, and often told the younger students that patience was important. But he had one weakness. He dearly wanted to become someone whom everyone would talk about. Each morning, when the first sunlight touched the golden edge of the temple roof, he sat before a little shrine and repeated the same wish. “May I find a jewel unlike any other,” he said. “May it give me the power to rise into the sky and fly like a bird.” The young students heard this wish almost every day. At first they were surprised. Then they grew used to it. One of them was a cheerful, rather mischievous boy. One morning he thought, “Our teacher wants a miracle so badly that he may believe the first shining thing he sees. I wonder whether he would notice that himself.” That day, fish was being prepared in the kitchen for lunch. The boy noticed a small round fish eye, bright as a glass bead. He wrapped it carefully in a clean leaf and placed it in a tiny box. The next morning, the elder keeper was praying again. “Oh, if only I could receive a magic jewel! I would fly higher than the palm trees, higher than the hills, higher than the clouds!” The boy approached with great ceremony and held out the little box. “Teacher,” he said, “today I found something unusual. Perhaps it is what you have waited for.” The elder keeper opened the box. Inside lay a small, shining round thing. “It is the jewel!” he whispered. “At last!” “Are you sure?” asked the boy gently. “Of course I am! Could an ordinary thing shine like that?” The boy tried not to smile. “And what will you do now?” “I will fly!” The elder keeper ran into the courtyard. He took two broad palm leaves, tied them to his arms, and flapped them like great green wings. Once he flapped. Twice he flapped. Three times he flapped. But his feet remained firmly on the ground. “How strange,” he murmured. “Perhaps I am too low down.” The boy, standing nearby, said, “Maybe flying must begin from a higher place.” It was only a careless suggestion, but the elder keeper brightened at once. “Yes! Exactly! Birds do not begin in the middle of a room. I must go to the roof!” “Teacher, I am not sure that is a good—” But the elder keeper was already hurrying toward the stairs. He climbed onto the broad temple roof. The younger students gathered below. Some called for him to stop. Some waved their arms. But he stood high above the courtyard, holding the palm leaves and gazing at the blue hills far away. “Now,” he announced, “everyone will see what my jewel can do!” Down below, the boy noticed a large stack of dry grass that had been brought for household use. “If we cannot persuade him,” he whispered to the others, “let us move the grass closer!” Together they dragged the soft pile directly beneath the edge of the roof. The elder keeper spread his palm-leaf wings wide. “One… two… three!” He stepped forward. The leaves fluttered. His robe streamed behind him. For one tiny moment, he truly felt as if he were flying. Then—whoosh! He vanished into the dry grass. Silence fell. A moment later, his head appeared. Then his shoulders. A straw hung from one eyebrow, and another stuck behind his ear. “I did not fly,” he said in surprise. The boy came forward and offered a hand. “No, teacher. You did not.” “Then the jewel is not magic?” “Teacher,” the boy said softly, “it is not a jewel at all. I wanted to show you that when we want very badly to believe something, we can stop asking simple questions.” The elder keeper looked at the shining little object in his palm. Now, in the clear daylight and without his dream of fame, it did not seem magical at all. For a long moment, he said nothing. The younger students said nothing either. No one laughed. At last the elder keeper looked up. “I have spoken to you many times about patience,” he said. “Yet I did not have patience enough to think. I have spoken about wisdom, yet I believed a sparkle. I dreamed of rising above everyone else and did not notice what was right before my nose.” He untied the palm leaves from his arms and smiled. “It is a good thing that a pile of hay became my best teacher today.” Then everyone laughed, and he laughed with them. After that, the elder keeper no longer asked the sky for a magic jewel. Whenever he wanted something extraordinary, he first asked himself, “Is this truly so? Or do I simply wish it to be true?” And he gave the younger students a new lesson. “Not every wonder shines,” he said. “And not everything that shines is a wonder. Before you try to fly into the clouds, make certain your wings are real.” They say there were fewer grand speeches at the temple after that and more careful thoughts. As for the palm leaves, they were used only where they belonged: for shade, for fans, and for roofs—but certainly not for flying.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨