The Origin of the Mole

The Origin of the Mole

Long ago, two farmers lived next to one another. One was rich, and the other was poor.

One year they decided to sow a shared field. The soil was the same on both sides, they scattered the seed on the same day, and rain fell equally on every furrow.

But when spring came, something strange happened.

On the half tended by the poor farmer, neat green shoots sprang up. On the other half, the earth remained almost bare.

The rich man was upset. He walked along the boundary, looked at his neighbour’s green shoots, and grew angrier and angrier.

“At last,” he said, “my grain has come up. You must have mixed up the boundary.”

“How could I have?” asked the poor farmer in surprise. “We divided the field ourselves. Each of us sowed his own half.”

“No,” insisted the rich man. “The best crop here is mine.”

They argued for a long time, but neither would give way.

Then the rich man said, “Come here before dawn tomorrow. Let the field itself say who it belongs to.”

The poor man did not understand what this meant, but he agreed.

That evening, the rich man called his son.

“You will help me win the argument,” he said.

Near the green field, he dug a shallow hollow. He seated his son inside it and covered him with dry grass so that no one could see him.

“When I ask tomorrow, ‘Whose field is this?’ you must say from beneath the ground, ‘The rich farmer’s!’ Everyone will think the earth itself has answered.”

The boy did not much like the plan.

“But is that fair?” he asked.

“Do not argue,” his father replied. “Just do as I say.”

Before sunrise, neighbours gathered at the field. A light mist lay over the ground, and dew shone in the grass.

The rich farmer stepped forward and asked loudly, “Tell us, Earth, who owns this green field?”

From beneath the straw came a voice.

“The rich farmer! The rich farmer!”

The people gasped.

But an old traveller, who happened to be passing along the road, stopped and listened carefully.

“What a strange thing,” he said. “I have travelled the world for many years, yet I have never heard the earth speak in a human voice.”

He came closer, pulled aside the straw, and found the boy.

Everyone understood what had happened.

The rich farmer turned red.

“I only wanted to prove that the field was mine,” he said.

“You cannot make a lie into truth, even if you hide it beneath the ground,” the traveller answered.

The boy climbed out of the hollow and lowered his head.

“I knew it was not honest,” he said softly. “But I obeyed.”

And here, in the old tale, the wonder begins.

The traveller touched the ground with his stick and said, “If someone likes speaking from beneath the earth so much, let him come to know the underground world well.”

The earth stirred beneath the boy’s feet. He grew smaller. Strong little digging paws appeared on his hands, his nose stretched forward, and his eyes became tiny.

In a moment, a mole sat before the people.

The mole gave a surprised snort, quickly scraped at the ground, and disappeared into the soft soil.

For a long time, everyone watched the little mound moving slowly across the field.

The rich farmer understood his shame and gave his neighbour back the green field.

That year the poor man had a good harvest. Yet he did not boast. He shared grain with his neighbour, so that the next spring the rich man would have seed to sow as well.

They say that ever since then, the mole has lived underground. He digs long tunnels, avoids bright sunlight, and from time to time pushes little heaps of earth up into the open.

And when old people saw a molehill in the middle of a field, they would say with a smile, “There, the earth is reminding us again: it is better to speak the truth in the light than to hide it under straw.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨