It was the monsoon season in a small Indian village nestled by green fields and winding rivers. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind a cool breeze and streams of muddy water flowing through the narrow streets. In one such lane, two young girls, Kavya and Meera, were playing joyously.
The village was alive with festivity—it was Navratri, and the air buzzed with excitement. Everyone was busy preparing for the evening prayers and celebrations. Both Kavya and Meera wore new frocks, gifts from their families for the festive occasion. Kavya, the younger of the two, was known for her mischievous streak.
Unable to resist the temptation of the muddy water, Kavya stomped her small foot into a puddle. The water splashed high, drenching Meera’s sparkling red frock with muddy stains.
“Kavya!” Meera exclaimed, her voice filled with annoyance. She tried to wipe the stains with her hands, but the mud only smudged further.
At that moment, Meera’s mother, Suman, walked by. Seeing her daughter’s frock soiled, her brows furrowed in anger. “What happened to your new dress, Meera?” she asked sternly.
“Kavya splashed muddy water on me, Ma,” Meera replied, pointing an accusing finger at her friend.
Suman’s temper flared. Without a second thought, she marched up to Kavya and scolded her. “Is this how you behave during the festival?” she snapped before landing two sharp slaps on Kavya’s back.
Startled and hurt, little Kavya burst into tears, her cries echoing through the street. Hearing her daughter’s wails, Kavya’s mother, Radha, rushed out of their house. She crouched down, her voice soft with concern. “Kavya, why are you crying? What happened?”
Amid her sobs, Kavya managed to say, “Meera’s mother hit me, Amma!”
Radha’s protective instincts kicked in. Anger clouded her face as she stormed toward Suman. “How dare you raise your hand on my daughter?” Radha shouted. “If Meera’s dress got dirty, it’s no reason to hit a child!”
Suman, equally enraged, fired back. “Teach your daughter some manners, Radha. She ruined my daughter’s new frock!”
What began as an argument between two mothers quickly attracted the attention of the neighbors. Other women from the village joined in, some siding with Suman, others with Radha. The heated exchange of words soon escalated into a full-blown quarrel. Insults were hurled, voices grew louder, and before long, even the men of the village got involved.
Amid this chaos, Meera’s grandmother, Parvati Amma, stepped out of her house. A frail but wise woman in her 70s, she carried an air of calm authority. Leaning on her walking stick, she slowly made her way to the center of the commotion.
“Enough!” she said, her voice cutting through the noise like a temple bell. “What are you all doing? This is Navratri, a time for prayer and harmony. Yet here you are, fighting over something so trivial!”
But her words barely reached the ears of the angry crowd.
Meanwhile, unnoticed by the adults, Kavya and Meera had drifted away from the chaos. Their earlier quarrel forgotten, they were now crouched by the stream, carefully folding paper boats from scraps of colorful paper. Giggling, they let their boats sail in the muddy water, cheering each time one of them floated farther than the other’s.
Parvati Amma noticed the two girls and gestured toward them. “Look at those children,” she said, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “They were the reason for this fight, yet they’ve already forgotten their anger. They are friends again, playing and laughing together. And here you all are, grown adults, still shouting and insulting each other. Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”
The crowd turned to see the two girls, their innocence shining like a ray of sunlight after a storm. The adults exchanged guilty glances, realizing the absurdity of their behavior. Slowly, the quarrel died down. Murmuring apologies, the men and women dispersed, retreating to their homes.
Parvati Amma smiled faintly and walked back to her house, her work done.
As for Kavya and Meera, they continued playing until their mothers called them inside for the evening festivities. That day, the village learned a simple yet profound lesson: forgiveness and letting go are the keys to harmony, and sometimes, even grown-ups can learn this from children.
The festival night went on peacefully, the air once again filled with laughter, music, and the aroma of festive feasts. And amidst the joyous celebrations, the memory of a lesson in forgiveness lingered in the hearts of the villagers.