Story 6: The Fence That Divided Nothing
Two neighbors in the village shared a long stretch of land between their houses.
For years, the space stayed open. Children played there. Chickens wandered. Everyone passed freely.
Then one day, a wooden fence appeared overnight.
It stood straight, tall, and proud.
On one side stood Neighbor One, arms crossed.
On the other stood Neighbor Two, equally stubborn.
“That land is mine,” said the first.
“No, it has always been mine,” said the second.
Soon the argument reached the banyan tree.
The elder listened patiently.
“Who built the fence?” he asked.
Both men pointed at each other.
“I only finished it,” said the first.
“I only repaired it,” said the second.
The villagers murmured.
The elder walked to the disputed land.
He studied the fence carefully. Then he asked the two men to follow him.
“Lift it,” he said.
They struggled. The fence was heavy.
Together, they carried it to the banyan tree.
The elder placed it in the center of the gathering.
“This fence,” he said calmly,
“belongs to the village.”
The two neighbors protested.
“It was built by our hands!”
The elder nodded.
“Exactly,” he replied.
“And built from wood cut from the village forest,
using nails from the village blacksmith,
on land used by the whole village.”
Silence spread.
The elder continued:
“If the fence belongs to everyone,
then it divides nothing.”
He turned to the crowd.
“From today, this land stays open again.
And the fence will protect the village well instead.”
The villagers agreed.
The neighbors looked at each other — embarrassed.
The children ran back into the open space the same evening.
The chickens returned.
The path was free again.
🌟 Moral
What we try to divide often reminds us we are already connected.
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