The Story of the Wind

The Story of the Wind

Two brothers lived in neighbouring houses at the edge of a village. The elder brother was well-to-do. He had a pair of strong oxen, a plough with a smooth wooden handle, broad fields of good black earth, and a storehouse that was never empty. The younger brother had only a little patch of land, a small cottage, a wife, and several children who were always growing out of their shoes.

All summer the younger brother worked as hard as he could. He rose before dawn, weeded his field, mended fences, and carried water when the ground was dry. At harvest time he cut his wheat and tied it into sheaves. There was not much of it, but it was clean grain, and he hoped it would last the family through the winter.

One evening, when the sheaves lay drying in the field, the Wind came racing across the plain. It whistled over the furrows, tugged at the grass, and flung the loose ears of wheat this way and that. By morning the field looked as if a flock of wild birds had been scratching in it. Grain lay scattered in the weeds, in the ditch, and under the hedge.

The younger brother stood in the ruined field with his hands hanging at his sides.

“Well,” he said at last, “if the Wind has taken such an interest in my harvest, I shall go and ask him what he means by it.”

His wife looked at him anxiously. “How will you find the Wind?”

“I do not know,” he answered. “But I know where I shall not find him: here among the scattered grain.”

So he put a crust of bread in his pocket, tied up his worn boots, and set out. He crossed the field, passed through a forest where the branches whispered above him, climbed down into a ravine, and then up a long hill on the other side. At the very top he found a strange little house standing on high, thin legs. Around it danced a dozen tiny whirlwinds, each no higher than a child. They chased leaves, lifted dust, and darted away whenever he tried to look at them.

The younger brother knocked.

The door opened, and there stood an old man with a beard as grey as rain clouds. His coat fluttered though there was no breeze in the doorway, and his eyes were bright and restless.

“Who are you?” asked the old man. “And why have you climbed all this way?”

“I am a farmer,” said the younger brother. “Last night the Wind scattered my wheat. It was little enough before, and now it is less still. I came to speak with the one who did it.”

The old man rubbed his beard. “Then you have come to speak with me. I am the Wind.”

The younger brother did not shout. He only said, “It was not kind of you.”

The Wind looked down at his boots, which were muddy from the road. “No,” he said after a while. “Sometimes I rush about too carelessly. I chase clouds, rattle shutters, shake apples from trees, and forget that the small things I toss aside may be all that someone has.”

He went inside and returned with a plain cloth bag, old but neatly patched.

“Take this,” he said. “Whenever you and your family are hungry, say, ‘Bag, treat us kindly.’ It will give you enough food for the meal. But remember one thing. Do not boast of it to strangers. A gift is safest in quiet hands.”

The younger brother thanked him warmly and set off for home. By nightfall he reached an inn beside the road. He was tired, his feet ached, and rain had begun to patter on the roof.

The innkeeper and his wife greeted him kindly. “Come in, traveller,” said the innkeeper. “You may rest by the fire.”

The younger brother sat down. Soon the smell of supper filled the room, and his stomach growled. Then he remembered the bag.

“Bag,” he said softly, “treat us kindly.”

At once a loaf of fresh bread appeared on the table, followed by a steaming pot of porridge, golden pies, a bowl of borscht, and a jug of sweet fruit drink. The innkeeper and his wife stared. The younger brother should have remembered the Wind’s warning, but the wonder of it made him careless.

“It is only a little gift from the Wind,” he said proudly. “It will feed anyone who asks it properly.”

The innkeeper smiled. “What a remarkable thing. You must stay the night, friend. Our best room is ready for you.”

The younger brother, pleased with himself, went to sleep. During the night the innkeeper and his wife crept into the room, took the magic bag, and put an ordinary old bag in its place.

In the morning the younger brother thanked them, slung the bag over his shoulder, and hurried home. His children ran out to meet him, and his wife set a place at the table.

“Now we shall eat well,” he said. “Bag, treat us kindly.”

Nothing happened.

He asked again. Still nothing happened but the children’s puzzled silence.

His wife looked at the shabby bag, then at him. “Did you show it to anyone?”

The younger brother lowered his head. “I may have shown it to the people at an inn.”

“Then the Wind’s warning was not so hard to understand,” she said, though not unkindly.

Ashamed, the younger brother put on his boots again and climbed back to the house on the hill.

The Wind opened the door before he could knock. “You have returned quickly.”

“The bag is gone,” said the younger brother. “I was foolish. I showed it to strangers, and now I have only an ordinary sack.”

The Wind sighed, but he did not scold. Instead he led the younger brother into the house and brought out a small white ram with bright, watchful eyes.

“Take this ram,” he said. “When you need money, ask him gently to shake his fleece. Coins will fall beside his hooves. Use only what you need, and do not boast to strangers. That advice has not changed.”

The younger brother promised faithfully. “This time I shall say nothing.”

He walked down the hill, and by evening he was once again at the same inn. The innkeeper and his wife welcomed him with broad smiles.

“Back already?” asked the innkeeper.

“Yes,” said the younger brother. “I have a small companion with me.”

The white ram stood by the hearth. The younger brother looked at the innkeeper, looked at the ram, and remembered his promise. Then he remembered how wonderful it was to be admired, and the promise slipped away.

“Shake your fleece,” he said.

The ram gave himself a little shake. Bright coins tinkled onto the floor beside his hooves.

The innkeeper’s wife clasped her hands. “What a marvellous ram!”

“It is a gift from the Wind,” said the younger brother. “But I must not boast about it.”

The innkeeper smiled even more sweetly. “Of course not. You must be tired. Stay the night in our best room.”

Again the younger brother slept, and again the innkeeper and his wife crept in. This time they led away the magic ram and tied an ordinary white ram in its place.

At home the next day, the younger brother spoke to the ram. “Please shake your fleece.”

The ram chewed a straw.

He asked again, more loudly. The ram looked at him with sleepy eyes and continued to chew.

The younger brother sat on the doorstep and covered his face with his hands. “I did not listen twice,” he told his wife. “The first time I forgot the warning. The second time I remembered it and still ignored it.”

His wife sat beside him. “Then go back once more. But this time ask not only for help. Ask how to make things right.”

So the younger brother climbed the hill for a third time. The Wind was waiting for him.

“I know why you have come,” said the old man.

“I have lost the bag and the ram,” said the younger brother. “But the fault was mine. I boasted twice, and twice the innkeeper took what was not his. I do not want to hurt anyone. I only want a fair way to get back what belongs to my family.”

The Wind nodded. “That is a better question.”

He gave the younger brother a little drum, no larger than a loaf of bread.

“Tap it three times,” said the Wind, “and twelve of my small helpers will come. They will not harm anyone. But they can make enough bustle that a hidden wrong has nowhere left to hide. Use the drum for justice, not revenge.”

The younger brother thanked him and carried the drum down the hill. When he reached the inn, the innkeeper and his wife met him at the door, though their smiles were less easy than before.

“Have you come for supper?” asked the innkeeper.

“I have come for my bag and my white ram,” said the younger brother.

“We know nothing about them,” said the innkeeper.

The younger brother set the little drum on a table and tapped it three times.

Tap, tap, tap.

At once twelve tiny wind-helpers rushed into the room. They were no taller than kettles, with wild hair and quick bright eyes. One flung open the shutters. Another sent the innkeeper’s hat rolling across the floor. Two whistled up the chimney. Others looked beneath benches, behind chests, under the stairs, and even in the attic.

They did not break a thing. Yet the whole inn was full of whirling curtains, rattling spoons, dancing ashes, and startled cries.

At last one little helper dragged out the cloth bag from beneath a pile of blankets. Another came down the stairs leading the white ram by a ribbon.

The innkeeper and his wife could no longer deny the truth. Their faces turned red.

“We were wrong,” said the innkeeper. “Take them. We should not have taken what was yours.”

The younger brother took back the bag and the ram. “I wish you no harm,” he said. “But another person’s things do not become yours merely because that person was too trusting.”

Then he tapped the drum once. The twelve little helpers vanished like dust in a sunbeam, and the inn grew quiet again.

At home, the younger brother told his wife everything. He apologized for not trusting her good sense, and she forgave him. The bag gave the family warm meals, and the little white ram gave enough coins to mend the roof and buy boots for the children before winter.

Still, the younger brother did not become lazy. He and his wife kept their garden, gathered hay, repaired the fence, and helped neighbours when they could. “The magic bag can put supper on the table,” he said, “but it cannot sow the wheat, mend the gate, or put an arm around a lonely person.”

One day the elder brother came to visit. He saw the full table, the mended roof, and the children in warm boots.

“You have done well,” he said. “Where did all this come from?”

The younger brother told him the whole story. He showed him the bag and the white ram, and he even explained why the little drum stayed mostly on a shelf.

The elder brother listened closely. Then his eyes settled on the bag and the ram.

“I have a pair of fine oxen and a good plough,” he said. “Give me the bag and the ram, and I will give you the oxen and plough. With them you can work a larger field and provide for your family honestly.”

The younger brother thought about it. He had long wished for oxen of his own. “Very well,” he said. “Let us exchange.”

The next morning he led the oxen to the field and fastened them to the plough. At first they pulled a few furrows. Then they stopped. No matter how much he urged them, they would not move.

A neighbour walking by paused at the fence. “Have you watered them?” he asked.

“No,” said the younger brother. “I thought they would simply work.”

“Have you fed them? Let them rest? Spoken to them kindly?”

The younger brother looked at the oxen. Their heads hung low, and their flanks trembled with tiredness.

“A living creature is not a magic bag,” said the neighbour. “It cannot give simply because you ask. First you must care for it.”

The younger brother unyoked the oxen. He brought them water and feed, rubbed their necks, and scratched them between the horns. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was so eager to own you that I forgot to learn what you need.”

That evening he went to his elder brother.

“Brother,” he said, “let us undo our exchange. I see now that I do not yet know how to keep oxen or use a plough as I should. I must learn first.”

But the elder brother had already grown fond of the easy meals and the bright coins.

“Our agreement was fair,” he said. “You wanted oxen, and I wanted the bag and the ram. An exchange is an exchange.”

The younger brother went home sadly. His wife listened as he told her what had happened. Then she glanced at the little drum on the shelf.

“Remember the Wind’s words,” she said. “He gave you that drum for justice, not revenge.”

“I remember,” said the younger brother. “I shall not use it to frighten my brother.”

The next morning he went once more to the elder brother’s house.

“Brother,” he said, “I am asking kindly. I made a foolish bargain because I did not understand the work behind the oxen and plough. Let us return what we traded, and when I am ready, perhaps you will teach me how to care for oxen properly.”

The elder brother shook his head. “No. The bargain stands.”

The younger brother set the little drum on the ground between them.

“I do not want a quarrel,” he said. “I only want an honest conversation.”

Then he tapped the drum three times.

Tap, tap, tap.

The twelve tiny wind-helpers sprang up in the yard. This time they did not search under benches or race through the attic. They moved about briskly and cheerfully. Two opened the storehouse doors. Three rolled the cloth bag out into the sunlight. Another led the white ram from the shed. Two more untangled the oxen’s reins and set them beside the plough. The rest whirled around the yard so merrily that the chickens hid under the porch and the elder brother had to hold on to his hat.

“Enough!” he cried. “Please make them stop.”

The younger brother tapped the drum once. The little helpers vanished at once.

“I could make a great commotion,” said the younger brother. “But I do not want to shame you or frighten you. I only want us to be fair with one another. The bag and ram came to me because my family was hungry. The oxen and plough are useful only in the hands of someone who understands their care. Let us undo the exchange and remain brothers.”

The elder brother looked at the bag, the ram, the oxen, and the plough. Then he looked at his younger brother’s tired but steady face.

At last he sighed. “You are right. I liked the easy gifts too much, and I forgot that a fair bargain should not leave one brother helpless while the other grows comfortable.”

So they exchanged everything back.

“And when you decide you are ready for oxen,” said the elder brother, “come to me. I will show you how to feed them, water them, rest them, and guide a plough. I should have taught you before I offered a trade.”

The brothers shook hands, and the hard feeling between them melted away.

After that, the younger brother used the Wind’s gifts wisely. The bag fed his family and any hungry guest who came to the door. The ram shook out coins only when the household truly needed them. The little drum rested on its shelf, and the younger brother hoped he would never have to tap it again.

Sometimes the children asked, “Father, may we see the tiny wind-helpers?”

On a calm afternoon he would tap the drum once. A small wild-haired head would pop up from behind the shelf.

“No adventures today,” the younger brother would say.

The little helper would nod very seriously and disappear, while the children laughed.

As for the great Wind, he no longer scattered the younger brother’s grain. When he hurried over the fields, he blew gently enough to dry the sheaves and turn the mill sails. And whenever the younger brother heard him whispering in the grass, he remembered three things: listen to good advice, do not boast of what you have been given, and never expect magic to take the place of sense, kindness, and care.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨