Once, Sheikhchilli’s mother was sick with fever. And she was worried about her idiot son and about putting him to some useful work. None was ready to employ him. She was making both ends meet by selling wood, cutting grass and selling it. So, she said to her son, “Sheikhchilli! I am running high fever. I can’t go to cut the grass. You must do some work to earn food. Take the sickle, go to the jungle and cut grass the way you saw me cutting. It is not a difficult task. If you don’t do it, we shall go hungry.”
Eating was something that Sheikhchilli liked the best of all things. The thought of going hungry chilled him. He picked up the sickle and went to the jungle. Somehow, he managed to cut a bale of grass by noon. It was a very proud moment for Sheikhchilli. He had done a useful work his mother should be grateful for.
He returned home with the bale and tossed it making a loud noise for everyone to hear and know that Sheikhchilli was a man of work. His mother smiled with tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, Sheikhchilli realised that he had forgotten the sickle in the jungle. He went back to get it before anyone else could find it.
It was there lying in the grass under the blazing sun of the noon. Sheikchilli shrieked as he touched it. The sickle had become heated. Even its handle was quite hot, as hot as his mother’s fever-stricken body. Sheikchilli sat worrying. Why was it so hot?
He as once jumped to the conclusion that the poor sickle was suffering from the fever like his mother. He thought that the sickle could die if not treated immediately. Sheikhchilli took off his Kurta and picked up the sickle carefully with it. Then he proceeded towards the village where a Hakim lived.
On his way, Sheikhchilli met a person who asked, “Where do you go, son? Why are you holding that sickle wrapped around with a piece of cloth?”
“Uncle! My poor sickle has high fever. I must take it to Hakim sahib,” Sheikhchilli informed.
The other person knew that he had met an idiot. He was fond of pulling the legs of others. He said, “I am a city Hakim, more qualified than your village Hakim. Let me see your sickle.”
He felt the sickle. It was hot. He spoke, “Oh! It has high hay fever. It can be fatal.”
“Oh! Oh!!” Sheikhchilli moaned. “Tell me what I should do.”
“There is only one sure shot cure for this kind of fever. Medicines don’t work. Tie it with a string and give it a few dips in the water of the well. It will get well in a jiffy.”
Sheikhchilli thanked the so-called city expert Hakim profusely and did as he was advised. A few dips in the cold water of the well cooled down the sickle to the joy of young Sheikhchilli.
Now he thought that he had a sure cure for fever passed down to him by a city Hakim. He ran to his house to see his sick mother. Her condition had worsened and she had lost consciousness. Sheikhchilli muttered, “Nothing to worry. Now I know the trick.”
Sometime later, some people noticed the idiot Sheikhchilli busy in doing something very horrendous. They rushed to the well and found that Sheikhchilli had brought his sick mother to the well in the unconscious state. He had tied a rope and was about to lower her into the well to give her dips into the water to treat her fever.
When the people learnt about the sickle’s fever and its treatment, they pitied the dumbness of Sheikhchilli. The people were too shocked to laugh even.
Moral : Trickery proves dangerous sometimes.
