Once upon a time, in a quiet green village, there lived an old farmer named Hari. He had four sons: Ravi, Devi, Kiri, and Movi.
The brothers had grown up strong and smart. They helped their father in the fields every day, digging soil, planting seeds, and carrying heavy baskets of crops. But there was one big problem: they argued all the time.
“You stepped on my row of carrots again!” Ravi would shout.
“Well, maybe you should plant straighter!” Devi would snap back.
“Can we stop fighting for one day?” Kiri would groan.
“Ugh, you all make farming more tiring than it needs to be,” Movi would mutter.
Their father, Farmer Hari, was proud of their hard work, but the constant quarrelling made him deeply worried.
If they keep fighting like this, how will they ever survive without me? he often thought.
One day, the farmer fell ill. He lay in bed, feeling weak and tired, and decided it was time to teach his sons an important lesson.
He called out to them, and the four brothers came quickly, concern on their faces.
“My sons,” the old farmer said gently, “go and fetch a few sticks from the yard.”
The brothers looked at each other, puzzled, but did as he asked. They soon returned with bundles of dry sticks.
“Now, all of you are holding a bundle of sticks. Tie it all with strings,” the father said, pointing to a coiled-up bundle of twine near his bed.
Ravi picked it up and handed it to Devi, as if ordering him to do it. Devi started wrapping the twine tightly around the sticks as Kiri and Movi stood there watching until he had one thick, neat bundle.
“Now,” said the farmer, “try to break it.”
Each son tried. Ravi used both hands and strained. “It’s too tough!”
Devi pushed it against his knee. “Won’t budge!”
Kiri twisted with all his might. “Nope!”
Movi gave one last try and flopped back, panting. “Unbreakable!”
The farmer nodded. Then he untied the twine slowly and handed one stick each to the boys.
“Now break them,” he said.
SNAP! Ravi broke his in an instant.
CRACK! went Devi’s.
SNICK! went Kiri’s.
SNAP! Movi smiled. “That was easy.”
The farmer looked at his sons with kind but serious eyes.
“If you keep fighting,” he said, his voice faint but steady, “you will fall apart, one by one, just like those sticks. Anyone can break you if you’re alone. But if you stay together, like the bundle, you will be strong.”
The brothers were silent.
The farmer continued, “One day, I may not be here to guide you. But if you stay united, you can face anything. Even if there’s a long dry season and the crops don’t grow, or if heavy rains flood the fields, if you work together, you will find a way.”
Ravi lowered his head. “I never thought of it like that.”
Devi nodded. “I don’t want us to fall apart.”
Kiri added, “We’ve always been strong. Imagine what we can do if we stop arguing.”
Movi smiled. “Stronger together. Like the bundle.”
Farmer Hari let out a peaceful sigh and smiled. He knew that they now understood the importance of working together. From that day forward, the four brothers helped each other, listened more, and quarrelled less. And together, they kept the farm strong and thriving, come sunshine or storm.
Moral: unity is strength.
The End.