The Widow’s Ruse

Sitaram the scholar frowned as he read the letter from his old tutor in Benares, inviting him to visit the city to meet distinguished men of learning who would be attending a conference.

It is an invitation I cannot refuse, thought Sitaram. But what should I do with the money I have saved? Taking his five hundred rupees along the road would be dangerous, as there were many robbers who would gladly cut his throat for such a sum.

Then, Sitaram thought of Jeevan, the merchant, who always greeted him with kind words and a smile. Jeevan, being a wealthy man, would surely take care of his savings while he was away.

Packing his five hundred rupees in a bag, Sitaram hurried to Jeevan’s shop and asked him to mind the money. Jeevan, eyeing the bag of rupees, patted Sitaram on the shoulder.

“You should be careful whom you trust with so much money,” he said dryly. “I prefer not to even touch your money. But, if you like, you can bury it in my house. Only you will know where it is hidden, and it will be perfectly safe.”

Sitaram thought this was a wonderful idea. He did not stop to think that it might be easy for Jeevan—or anyone else—to find the hidden money.

Sitaram dug a small hole in the corner of one of Jeevan’s rooms, buried his money, and stamped the earth firmly. Sighing with relief, he thought, Now I know my money will be safe while I’m away.

Six weeks later, Sitaram returned from Benares, full of the wisdom he had acquired. He went straight to Jeevan’s shop and greeted the merchant.

“I am back from Benares, so I’ve come to collect the money I buried in your house.”

“Only you know where you buried it,” replied Jeevan with a jovial smile. “So go ahead and dig it up while I attend to my customers.”

Sitaram carefully measured the spot where he had buried the money and began digging. But even after digging a big hole, there was no trace of his treasure. Panicking, Sitaram rushed into Jeevan’s shop.

“My money!” he shouted in despair. “It’s gone!”

Jeevan looked surprised. “That’s impossible! Only you knew where it was buried. You must have told someone. I warned you not to trust anyone.”

With no sympathy from Jeevan, Sitaram wandered aimlessly along the road, bitterly lamenting the loss of all his money. Suddenly, someone clutched his sleeve. Turning around, he saw it was the widow Bhavani, an old friend.

“What troubles you, my son?” she asked. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Sitaram, grateful for someone to confide in, explained how he had buried his money in Jeevan’s house before going to Benares, only to find it missing upon his return.

The widow Bhavani listened, then chuckled. “You were very foolish, Sitaram, to trust that man Jeevan. But listen carefully and do exactly as I say—you will get your money back.”

Later that afternoon, the widow went to Jeevan’s shop, looking very distressed.

“I need your help,” she said, sounding desperate. “I’ve just heard that my grandson in Benares is very ill, and I must leave immediately. But what will I do with my jewelry? I cannot take it with me.”

She pulled out a cloth, revealing several valuable pieces of jewelry. The sight of such wealth made Jeevan’s eyes gleam. He assured her she could safely leave the jewelry with him but urged her not to tell anyone about their arrangement.

The widow, appearing relieved, said, “Thank you! I will go home and bring the rest of my jewelry. I’ll return in an hour.”

With that, she left, clutching her precious bundle. Jeevan, still dazzled by the thought of such wealth, rubbed his hands with excitement. But then, a thought struck him: What if this woman learns about Sitaram’s loss? I may never get my hands on her jewelry.

Realizing he had made a mistake by stealing Sitaram’s money, Jeevan decided to fix the situation quickly. He called one of his assistants and told him to find Sitaram immediately.

Sitaram was not far away, loitering near the shop. As soon as he arrived, Jeevan greeted him warmly.

“I have wonderful news for you,” he exclaimed. “You must have mistaken the spot where you buried your money, because I found it in the far corner of the room. Here is your money.”

Overcome with joy, Sitaram thanked Jeevan profusely. At that moment, the widow returned to the shop and spotted Sitaram.

“Sitaram!” she cried happily. “You’ve returned from Benares! Did you happen to meet my grandson?”

“Yes, I did,” Sitaram replied. “He is doing very well and sends you his greetings.”

The widow frowned. “Then those rumors about him being ill were false! How dare they spread such lies?” She turned to Jeevan with a smile. “I suppose there’s no need for me to leave now—or for you to look after my jewelry.”

Sitaram and the widow left the shop together, chatting cheerfully. All Jeevan could do was sit there, fuming, as he thought of the jewelry—and the five hundred rupees—that had slipped through his fingers.