The vegetable basket.


And there was a village far aside any township, with people loving and caring who lived and shared all with the village.

With no real entertainment the monastery that stood a little more than a mile way was no less than a pilgrimage to the commoners and the travelers alike.All of what made the place a grandeur. And yet the best part was the faith the villagers had in each other and in their lord, for they had a firm belief in the fate that was presumably all what one could never ask for.

As if this were not enough, I write to you yet another tale that instigates the basic human moral of self-satisfaction and content.

On one noticeable indifferent day a man approached the monk who lived and served the Church all day long with a basket filled with vegetables.

“this is the finest produce my farm ever brought in brother. Accept this in a form of gratitude.”

“thank you my friend. I’ll immediately bring it to the Abbot’s notice, he’ll delighted by this offering.”

“No! I brought this offering as in the form of a gratitude for what you did when I was in need, for whenever I stood knocking this door, it was you who responded my call and healed my wounds, it was you who served me with bread and butter and not the abbot, and yet if I must I’ll bring something for him too.”

The monk was startled but still gladly accepted the gift. Once the farmer left, he held the basket all day long and spent hours staring and admiring its contents. When dusk fell the monk suppressed all his confusion and went to the abbot to present him with all the farmer came with, for he was the one who taught the monk in the first place, his very words were a part of his master’s soul.

And the bishop was truly pleased, for he admired his student’s devotion, but on the other hand he remembered that the monastery was a home to a sick bishop, a man who was barely alive and thought:

“I’ll send these vegetables to the dying man, who knows it might bring some happiness to his soul.”

And that is what he did. But the grapes didn’t stay in the sick monk’s room for long either, for he reflected: “The maester has served me long and I must repay.I’m sure he’ll enjoy them.”

The maester was indeed amazed at this form of admiration, and yet he could not hold the basket for long for he was delighted by their perfection to such an extent that he refused to believe that he has any right over them, for only a holy man deserves such a precious gift, and who better than the Sexton, a man who was eternally devoted to the church and it’s residents.

Nonetheless the sexton gave his gift to yet another man, this time, a farmer, whom the sexton believed to be the most qualified man for something the farmer himself grew in his farm and in turn admired the very smallest of lord’s creation.

Upon receiving the gift, the farmer easily recognized the vegetables, for they were no less of his heart’s part. He remembered the first time he came to the monastery, and of the person who had opened the gates for him; it was that gesture which allowed him to be among this community of people who knew how to value the wonders of life.

And so, the very next day he went back to the monk.

“Look, what I’ve brought you. Eat them and savor what the lord has plucked for you, it’s a part of your destiny and there is no power that’ll allow anybody else to consume them.

And thus the loop was completed; a loop of joy and happiness, which always shines brightly around generous people.


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