The Three Friends and the Bag of Gold

Three wanderers—Arjun, Vikram, and Salim—trudged along a dusty road at dusk, their pockets as empty as their promises. Arjun was the loud dreamer, Vikram the sly calculator, and Salim the quiet one who always nodded last.

Suddenly, Arjun’s foot struck something heavy half-buried in the dirt.

“Whoa—look at this!” Arjun shouted, hauling up a worn leather bag. Gold coins spilled out like sunlight, clinking against each other.

Vikram’s eyes widened. “Fortune has finally remembered our names.”

Salim whistled low. “We’re rich. Actually rich.”

They dragged the bag into a thicket of trees and counted the coins by firelight. Enough to change three lives forever.

“We split it equally tomorrow,” Arjun declared, slapping his friends’ shoulders. “But tonight we celebrate like kings!”

Vikram smiled thinly. “One problem. We’ve got no food, no wine. Can’t toast our new lives on empty stomachs.”

“I’ll go,” Salim offered, already standing. “The village is only an hour away. I’ll bring back bread, meat, and the best wine they have.”

“Perfect,” said Vikram, exchanging the quickest glance with Arjun.

As soon as Salim’s footsteps faded, Arjun leaned in. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Vikram’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why split three ways when two is simpler? When he returns, we take care of him. Quick. Clean. Then the gold is ours.”

Arjun grinned, teeth flashing in the firelight. “I knew you’d see it my way. Brothers in gold, brothers in blood.”

Meanwhile, Salim walked fast, heart hammering—not with excitement, but with cold certainty.

They’ll kill me, he thought. I saw that look. Two against one is never fair.

At the village he bought bread, roasted chicken, and two bottles of dark red wine. Then, hidden behind the wine-seller’s hut, he poured a colorless powder into one bottle—the merchant’s “special” for rats—and shook it gently.

“May the better man win,” he muttered, and started back.

When he returned, the fire crackled higher. Vikram and Arjun greeted him with wide, false smiles.

“You took your time, brother!” Arjun laughed, clapping him too hard on the back.

“Road was longer than I remembered,” Salim replied, setting the food down. “Eat. Drink. We deserve this.”

They tore into the chicken and bread like starving wolves. Vikram uncorked the first bottle and poured generously for everyone. They drank deeply, toasting their “eternal friendship.”

Half an hour later, Vikram clutched his stomach. “Something… doesn’t feel right.”

Arjun’s face had gone pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “The wine… Salim, what did you—”

Salim leaned against a tree, watching them both with calm, tired eyes.

“You were going to kill me,” he said softly. “I heard you planning before I even left. So I made sure the wine told the truth.”

Vikram tried to stand but collapsed, gasping. “You… poisoned us?”

“Yes,” Salim answered. His own voice was growing weaker. “And I drank it too. Because three greedy men don’t deserve the gold. Better none of us have it than any of us betray the others.”

Arjun coughed blood, eyes wide with rage and fear. “You fool… we could’ve been kings…”

Salim smiled faintly as the world tilted. “Kings die alone too. At least now… the bag stays pure.”

The fire crackled on. Three bodies lay still beneath the trees. The bag of gold sat untouched between them, glowing softly in the dying light—ownerless, useless, and finally honest.

Moral: Greed whispers to every heart the same deadly promise.