The Price of a Welcome

The Price of a Welcome

Long ago, a husband and wife lived in a small village in Laos. They were not wealthy, but they worked well together and knew the value of every coin they earned. Every few weeks, they filled their baskets with things to sell: woven goods, dried herbs, vegetables, and small household treasures. Then they walked to the market in the neighboring town. One day, their trading went especially well. By afternoon their baskets were empty, their little purse was heavy with coins, and they started home in good spirits. They had not gone halfway when the sky turned dark. Thunder rolled over the rice fields. Wind bent the tall grass. Then rain burst from the clouds so fiercely that the road became a stream within minutes. “We must find shelter,” said the wife, holding her wet hat in place. “The village is still far away.” Ahead, among the trees, they saw a temple. Its high roof would keep out the rain, and broad steps led to a covered platform. The couple went to the keeper of the temple and asked politely, “Will you let us sleep beside the steps for the night? We will not disturb you. At first light, we will be on our way.” But the keeper was in a sour mood. “No,” he said. “Go on your way.” “Then perhaps only beneath the roof?” asked the husband. “We are soaked through.” “I said no.” There was nothing else to do. The temple stood on a rise, and beneath its floor it was drier than the open ground. There the husband and wife settled for the night. “What a strange welcome,” the wife whispered. “There is room enough above us, but not one dry corner for two travelers.” “Do not be angry,” said her husband. “Let us think of how to stay warm instead.” They wrapped themselves in their cloaks. Above them, in the room where they lay, the keeper had already made himself comfortable on his mat. Then the husband spoke a little louder than he needed to. “When we return home,” he said, “how glad I shall be to see our daughter! I expect she has been watching the road for us.” His wife understood his thought at once. “Of course,” she said. “She has grown into such a kind girl. And she is lovely, too. There is not another like her in the whole village.” Everything above them became quiet. A moment later, hurried footsteps sounded on the floor. “Good people!” the keeper called. “Why are you sleeping down there? Come up here. It is dry, and there are mats.” The husband and wife looked at one another, but said nothing. They were invited inside and given a warm, dry place. Before long the keeper asked, as if the question had only just occurred to him, “You mentioned a daughter?” “We did,” said the husband. “You say she is kind?” “Very.” “And lovely?” “So all the neighbors say,” the wife replied calmly. The keeper paused. Then he said, “For some time I have been thinking that I might leave this work and begin a different life. If I did, would you consider allowing me to marry your daughter?” The husband looked solemnly at his wife. His wife looked solemnly back at him. “If all goes well,” they said, “why should we not?” After that, the keeper became even more generous. In the morning the rain had stopped. The couple wished to cook a little rice, but they had no pot of their own. “Take mine,” said the keeper quickly. “And do not search for dry branches. Here is good firewood.” He gave them food for the road, added a few silver coins, and then, after thinking for a moment, slipped a little more money into their bag. “Tell your daughter that I will come soon to meet her,” he said. “I have made up my mind.” The husband and wife thanked him warmly and set off for home. For a while the wife was silent. Then she said, “What happens now? We do not have any daughter.” “That is why we will not wait long,” her husband answered. Three days later, they returned to the temple. This time the keeper hurried out to meet them. “Well?” he asked. “How is your daughter? Did you give her my message?” The husband sighed. “We had no time. While we were away, the family of a young man from another village came to visit. Their families had been discussing an engagement for a long while. She has already promised herself to him.” “To someone else?” said the keeper. “Yes,” said the wife. “The wedding is already being prepared.” For a long time, the keeper said nothing. Then he spoke slowly. “Well, then. Perhaps I should change nothing after all. I will remain here.” The husband and wife said goodbye and walked toward home. When the temple had disappeared around the bend in the road, the wife began to laugh softly. “Yesterday there was not even a place for us beside the steps. But when an imaginary daughter appeared, there were mats, a pot, food, and silver.” Her husband nodded. “Kindness offered only for reward shows itself very quickly.” They did not boast about their trick, and they had no wish to use one like it again. Still, their village told the tale for many years as a cheerful reminder. True hospitality should not wait for a prize. We see a person most clearly not when something useful is promised, but when a drenched traveler comes to the door and simply asks for help.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨