The Kingdom Where Everything Cost One Silver Coin

                         The Kingdom Where Everything Cost One Silver Coin

Long ago, in a land kissed by golden sunrises and gentle silver moonlights, there lived a wise old teacher named Master Arun and his cheerful young student, Little Rohan. Together they wandered from village to village, learning the ways of the world and sharing stories under starry skies.

One bright morning, as they walked along a winding forest path, they saw a beautiful town sparkling in the distance. Tall white walls, colorful flags fluttering in the breeze, and the happy laughter of children greeted them even before they reached the gates.

“Welcome, travellers!” cried the gatekeeper with a wide smile. “You have reached the Kingdom of Equal Coins, the happiest place on earth!”

Rohan’s eyes grew round as saucers when he stepped into the marketplace.

A little girl skipped past holding a fluffy white bunny in one hand and a basket of ripe mangoes in the other.

“How much for the bunny?” Rohan asked curiously.

“One silver coin,” the girl answered.

“And the mangoes?”

“One silver coin!” she giggled.

Rohan ran from stall to stall, his heart dancing with joy.

A loaf of warm bread, still steaming from the oven — one silver coin.

A pair of soft leather shoes that shone like chestnuts — one silver coin.

A tiny glass bottle filled with starlight (yes, real starlight that twinkled inside!) — one silver coin.

Even a beautiful snow-white pony with a silky mane — just one silver coin!

Rohan spun around and hugged his teacher. “Master Arun! This is paradise! We never have to worry about money again! We are richer than kings here!”

But Master Arun did not smile. His kind eyes looked sad and serious as he watched the people trading diamonds for potatoes and golden necklaces for onions.

“My child,” he said softly, placing a hand on Rohan’s shoulder, “when a loaf of bread and a diamond ring cost the same, something is terribly wrong. Value is not just about coins; it is about wisdom, effort, and understanding. A kingdom that treats everything as equal has forgotten what truly matters. The ruler here must be very foolish. Let us rest only one night and leave at dawn.”

Rohan pouted. “Leave? Never! Everyone is so happy! Look, Master — that man just traded a ruby for a turnip and he’s laughing! I want to stay forever!”

Master Arun spoke gently for a long time. He told stories of kings who lost their thrones because they could not tell gold from dust, and of clever foxes who tricked silly crows. But Rohan only saw the shining toys, the sweet cakes, and the beautiful ponies — all for one silver coin.

At sunset, Master Arun sighed. “Very well, little one. I cannot force you. But promise me you will be careful. If ever you are in great trouble, close your eyes and call my name three times with all your heart. I will come to you.”

Rohan hugged his teacher tightly. “I will be fine, Master! You worry too much!”

The next morning, Master Arun kissed Rohan’s forehead and walked away alone, his staff tapping softly on the cobblestone road. Rohan waved until the old man disappeared beyond the rainbow-colored gates.

And so the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months.

Rohan had the time of his life.

He bought mountains of sweets and ate until his cheeks turned rosy and round.

He bought a velvet cape, a wooden sword painted gold, and even a little boat to sail on the palace lake.

He grew chubby and cheerful, and the children of the town loved playing with him because he always had the best toys — all for one silver coin each.

“See, Master Arun was wrong!” Rohan told the sparrows on his windowsill every morning. “This is the best kingdom in the whole wide world!”

One rainy afternoon, dark clouds gathered and thunder rumbled like giant drums. Rain poured down in silver sheets. Rohan was inside his cozy room, building a castle out of chocolate biscuits, when he heard a terrible CRASH!

Outside, the wall of old Mr. Gupta’s house had fallen in the storm. Bricks lay scattered like broken toys, and beneath them lay poor Mr. Gupta’s prized white goat, Snowdrop, still and silent.

Mr. Gupta was heartbroken. He ran straight to the palace, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks.

“Your Majesty!” he cried before King Sillyvan the Twelfth. “My beautiful Snowdrop is dead because my neighbor’s wall fell on her! Please give me justice!”

King Sillyvan was a round man with a crown too big for his head. He liked everything to be simple. He scratched his beard and announced in a loud voice:

“The wall killed the goat. The owner of the wall must be punished. Bring the neighbor at once!”

The neighbor, a kind baker named Mrs. Lakshmi, trembled before the throne.

“But Your Majesty,” she said, “it is not my fault the wall fell! The mason who built it must have done poor work!”

“Very well!” boomed the king. “Bring the mason!”

The mason, a thin man with clever hands, bowed low. “Sire, I built the wall strong and true. It was the man who mixed the mortar who gave me weak cement!”

So the mortar-mixer was dragged in, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Your Majesty,” he wept, “I mixed the mortar perfectly! But the man who sold me the sand sold me sandy mud instead of proper river sand!”

And so it went on. One by one, people were brought to the palace — the sand seller, the water carrier, the man who made the bricks, even the potter who fired them. Each pointed to someone else.

King Sillyvan grew tired of the long chain of blame. He waved his hand grandly.

“Enough!” he declared. “Someone must be punished today, or people will think I am not a strong king! Hang the last man brought before me!”

By unlucky chance, the last man was the poor potter who had only fired the bricks in his kiln many years ago.

The potter fell to his knees. “Mercy, Your Majesty! I am innocent!”

But the king loved giving orders more than finding truth. “Prepare the gallows!” he shouted. “Justice must be served!”

The royal hangman prepared the rope. When he placed the noose around the potter’s neck, he frowned.

“Too loose!” the hangman grumbled. “This noose is too big for his skinny neck. It will never work properly.”

King Sillyvan stood up, red in the face. “A royal noose cannot be wasted! Find someone whose neck fits perfectly. My order cannot be changed — someone must hang today!”

Soldiers marched through the rainy streets, measuring necks with the dripping rope.

They measured the cook — too thin.

They measured the gardener — too thick.

They measured the milkmaid — much too small.

At last they came to Rohan’s house. By now Rohan had grown quite plump from months of cakes and sweets. When the soldiers slipped the wet rope around his neck, it fitted perfectly.

“Aha!” the captain cried. “This boy’s neck is exactly right! Bring him to the palace!”

Poor Rohan! His heart thumped like a frightened rabbit. The soldiers dragged him through muddy streets while he shouted, “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even know the goat! Please let me go!”

But no one listened. Crowds gathered under black umbrellas to watch.

In the palace courtyard stood the tall gallows, dark against the stormy sky. Rohan was pushed up the wooden steps. Raindrops slid down his cheeks like cold tears.

As the hangman adjusted the rope, Rohan remembered his teacher’s words. His lips trembled.

“Master Arun… Master Arun… Master Arun!” he whispered three times with all his heart.

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning lit the sky, and there — standing calm and tall in the rain — was Master Arun himself, his white beard shining like moonlight.

The crowd gasped. Even King Sillyvan leaned forward in surprise.

Master Arun walked straight to the gallows and smiled up at Rohan.

“My brave boy,” he said loudly so everyone could hear, “today is the luckiest day of your life!”

Rohan blinked through the rain. “L-lucky?” he stammered.

“Yes!” Master Arun raised his arms to the sky. “The wise stars have aligned in a once-in-a-thousand-years pattern. Whoever leaves this world from this gallows today will go straight to the highest heaven! They will sit beside the gods themselves and live in eternal joy, bathed in golden light, eating sweets that never finish and playing games that never end!”

The king’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Is this true?” he asked eagerly.

“Absolutely true, Your Majesty,” Master Arun bowed. “The stars have spoken. This boy is blessed beyond measure!”

King Sillyvan jumped from his throne so fast his crown rolled across the floor.

“Then release the boy at once!” he shouted. “I am the king! If anyone deserves heaven today, it is I! Hang me instead!”

The soldiers looked at one another, confused, but a king’s order is a king’s order. They untied Rohan and led the excited king up the steps.

“Your Majesty, are you sure?” the hangman asked nervously.

“Of course I’m sure!” King Sillyvan laughed, rubbing his hands. “Immortal joy! Golden palaces! Never-ending sweets! Hurry up!”

And before anyone could stop him, the king placed the noose around his own neck and kicked away the stool himself.

Snap!

The foolish king got his wish — though perhaps not the heaven he expected.

The crowd stood silent in the rain. Then Master Arun took Rohan’s hand.

“Come, my child,” he said gently. “It is time to go home.”

Rohan looked around at the once-happy kingdom. People were staring at the gallows in shock. Some began to cry. Others whispered that maybe bread and diamonds should not cost the same after all.

Rohan hugged his teacher tightly. “I’m sorry, Master. You were right. I should have listened.”

Master Arun smiled and wiped the rain from Rohan’s face. “We all learn, little one. The important thing is that you are safe — and a little wiser.”

Hand in hand, they walked out of the Kingdom of Equal Coins. Behind them, the rainbow-colored gates looked dull and grey under the stormy sky.

From that day on, whenever Rohan saw something shiny and cheap, he remembered the kingdom where everything cost one silver coin… and the terrible price of forgetting what things are truly worth.

And wherever they travelled next, Rohan walked close beside his teacher, listening carefully to every word.

Because some lessons are worth far more than one silver coin.

Moral of the story: It is useless to expect justice in a country where the king is a fool.