In a small village nestled at the foot of a great mountain, the people depended on streams that flowed down from the heights to water their crops. But one year, the rains stopped, and the streams dried up. The crops withered, and the villagers began to despair.
Among them was a young woman named Dara. She, like the others, watched helplessly as her fields shriveled. Each day she went to tend the land, hoping for rain, but none came. The elders of the village gathered to discuss the drought, reminding everyone that hardship was a part of life. “We must endure,” they said. “The rains will return when they will.”
But Dara was not content to wait. She remembered stories her grandmother had told her, about the spirit of the mountain who listened to the cries of those in need. One evening, unable to sit in silence any longer, Dara stood before the village. “I will climb the mountain and ask for its mercy,” she declared.
The villagers were shocked. “No one speaks to the mountain anymore,” they said. “It hasn’t answered anyone in generations.”
“I must try,” Dara replied, her resolve firm.
At dawn, she set off, climbing the steep, rocky path that led to the summit. As the hours passed, the sun beat down, and the wind howled around her, but Dara pressed on, her heart filled with hope. When she reached the top, she looked out over the barren valley below and called out, “Spirit of the mountain, have mercy! Our village is dying. We need water!”
Her voice echoed, but there was no answer. She waited, her heart sinking as doubt crept in. Had she been foolish to believe the old stories?
Just as she was about to turn back, she heard a rustling sound behind her. She turned to see an old woman standing in the shadows of a large rock, her eyes bright with wisdom.
“You call out to the mountain,” the woman said, “though others have told you it would not answer. Why?”
Dara, though surprised, stood tall. “Because I couldn’t sit and watch everything wither. I had to try.”
The old woman smiled. “There is an ancient spring deep within the mountain, long forgotten. It once fed the streams to your village, but it has been sealed by time. I can show you where it is, but you must bring others to help uncover it.”
Dara’s heart leapt with hope. “I will,” she promised.
She hurried back to the village, telling everyone of the old woman’s words. Though skeptical, the elders saw the hope in Dara’s eyes and agreed to help. Together, the villagers climbed the mountain, digging where Dara had been shown. It was hard work, but Dara’s courage had sparked something in them all.
After days of effort, they finally uncovered the ancient spring. Water burst forth, flowing down the mountain and filling the village’s riverbeds once more. The crops were saved, and the people rejoiced, not only because of the water, but because they had worked together to bring it back.
Dara had shown them that asking for help was not enough—one had to act and believe that even in the face of despair, there was always something more that could be done.
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