The Stingy Companion

The Stingy Companion

Once, two men set out together for a distant city. The road would take several days, so each packed a bag with bread, cheese, dried fruit, and nuts. The first traveler was named Aram, the second Vardan. Before leaving, Vardan proposed an agreement. “First we will eat from your bag, Aram. When it is empty, we will open mine. It is easier than dividing everything in half each day.” “Agreed,” said Aram. The first days went well. Each evening they sat beside the road, and Aram brought out food for them both. “Take another piece,” he would say. “Thank you, my friend,” Vardan replied. On the third day, Aram’s bag was empty. At noon, they stopped beside a stream. Vardan sat in the shade, untied his bag, and took out a fresh round of bread. Aram held out his hand. “Now it is time for us to eat from your bag.” “Mine?” Vardan quickly pulled the string tight again. “Yes. That was our agreement.” “I have changed my mind.” At first Aram thought he was joking. “Do not tease me. We ate my food for half the journey.” “That is exactly why I must keep mine,” said Vardan. “What if there is not enough for me to reach the city?” “And what about me?” “You should have counted better.” Aram could scarcely believe what he heard. “I shared with you every day.” “That was your choice.” Vardan broke off a piece of bread and began to eat. Aram asked for only a little, but his companion would not give in. At last Vardan stood. “I will walk faster. The city is still far away.” And he left Aram alone on the road. Aram walked as far as he could. He drank from streams and picked a few sour berries, but by evening he was weak with hunger. As dusk fell, he saw an old abandoned mill beside the road. Its roof leaked, its wheel had not turned for years, and its door hung crooked. But inside it was dry. “I will sleep here,” Aram decided. “In the morning I will think of something.” An old drum hung on the wall, and a great wooden grain bin stood in the corner. Aram climbed inside the bin, covered himself with his cloak, and tried to sleep. At midnight, the mill door creaked. A bear came in. A few minutes later, a wolf arrived. Then came a fox. The three animals sat in the middle of the mill like old friends meeting to talk. “How do you manage when food is scarce?” asked the wolf. “Not badly,” said the bear. “On the northern slope grows a root that can be eaten. You only need to know which one. It is sweetish and very nourishing.” “I will remember that,” thought the hungry Aram. The fox turned to the wolf. “Why are you so gloomy?” “I cannot go near the flock by Green Village,” complained the wolf. “A great black dog guards it. He is watchful and brave and lets no one near.” “Good,” said the bear. “Flocks need guarding.” “Perhaps,” grumbled the wolf. “By that sheepfold grows a rare mountain herb. People hardly notice it because it hides among the rocks. Old healers used it in brews to restore strength after a long illness.” Aram listened closely. He had heard that the ruler’s son in the far city had been weak for many months and that the doctors could not help him. Then the bear asked the fox, “And what news do you have?” The fox waved his tail proudly. “I may not be as strong as you, but I find interesting things. Under an old plane tree nearby is hidden a jar of old coins. And another lies beneath the threshold of this very mill.” Aram nearly gasped. The animals talked a little longer, then settled down to sleep on the floor of the mill. Aram knew he could not leave if they stayed until morning. Very carefully, he stretched out his hand to the drum beside him and began to play. Boom-boom! Bang! Boom-boom-boom! The bear jumped up. The wolf spun around. “People! A festival!” cried the fox. “Run!” All three animals rushed out of the mill. Aram waited until everything was quiet. Then he climbed out of the grain bin. First he found the jar beneath the threshold. There really were coins inside. But instead of taking all of them, Aram chose only a few. “That is enough for food and the road,” he said. “Someone else’s gold can easily turn hunger into greed.” At dawn he went to the northern slope and found the root the bear had described. He tasted a tiny piece with care, then ate some and felt his strength return. Next he went to Green Village. At the sheepfold, a large black dog came to meet him. “Easy, friend,” Aram said, making no sudden move. The shepherd came out. “What do you need?” Aram explained that he was looking for an unusual mountain herb growing near the sheepfold. The shepherd knew it. “My grandmother used to gather that,” he said. “But do not take too much. It is rare.” Together they found a few small plants. Aram picked only as many leaves as the shepherd allowed and left the roots in the ground. “So it can grow again,” he explained. The dog sat nearby and watched closely. “A fine guardian,” said Aram. “The best,” the shepherd answered proudly. When Aram reached the city, he learned that the ruler’s son was indeed ill. He did not call himself a healer or promise a miracle. “I heard of a mountain herb,” he told the palace doctors. “Perhaps you know it and can decide whether it may help.” Among the older doctors was one who recognized the plant at once. “I have been looking for this for months!” he said. “It is rare, but the old books do mention it.” The doctors prepared a safe brew themselves and cared for the young man. In time, he began to grow stronger. The ruler wanted to reward Aram generously. “Ask for gold, land, or a house.” Aram thought for a moment. “Give me enough to bring my family here and open a small inn for travelers. And let us plant this useful herb in the palace garden, so that people will not have to search the mountains every time.” The ruler liked that answer. So Aram received a modest house by the road. A jug of water always stood there, and bread baked in the oven. On the door he hung a simple sign: “No traveler should go hungry beside another person’s table.” Several months passed. One day, a worn-out traveler came into the inn. It was Vardan. He had looked for work in different cities, spent his supplies, and now could hardly afford an evening meal. When he saw Aram, Vardan froze. “You? How did you come to live here? Where did you get this house?” Aram seated him at the table and set a bowl of hot soup before him. “First, eat.” Vardan ate in silence. When his bowl was empty, he asked again, “How did you become so fortunate?” Aram told him about the mill, the animals, the roots, the herb, and the hidden coins. Vardan’s eyes brightened. “So there is still gold under that mill?” “I do not know,” said Aram. “And I do not think that is the most important part of the story.” But Vardan was already barely listening. That night he went to the old mill. He climbed into the grain bin and waited. At midnight the bear, wolf, and fox came again. The fox sniffed at once. “Last time someone listened to us. Then coins disappeared. Tonight we will inspect everything first.” The animals walked around the mill. Vardan sat as still as he could, but fear made him sneeze. “Aha!” cried the fox. Vardan leapt from the bin and ran for the door. The bear stamped one great paw. The wolf growled. The fox chased him, trying to catch the edge of his cloak. Vardan ran so fast that he lost his bag, his hat, and one shoe. He did not stop until dawn. When he finally returned to the city, he looked as if he had raced the wind and lost. Aram saw him at the inn gate. “Did you find gold?” Vardan shook his head. “No. I barely found myself.” Aram smiled and handed him water. Vardan was silent for a long time. “I thought your good fortune began with the jar of coins,” he said at last. “No,” Aram replied. “It began when I heard useful advice and decided to use it without hurting anyone.” Vardan lowered his eyes. “Once I left you hungry for the sake of a few loaves.” “You did.” “And you still fed me.” “Because I remember well what it is like to walk a road hungry.” The next morning Vardan did not go looking for treasure. He asked Aram for work at the inn. At first he carried water and chopped firewood. Then he learned to bake bread. Whenever a tired traveler came through the door, Vardan began setting a bowl before them himself. It took a long time before he stopped counting every piece of food given to another. But at last he did. And he remembered the old agreement from the road for the rest of his life: when you share a journey with someone, share not only the easy miles, but bread, responsibility, and care.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨