The Blind Experts

 The Blind Experts

A noble king on Andhak’s throne heard every subject’s plea,

When came an old man, bowed with need, from shackles of poverty.

“A loan,” he begged, “of gold, a sum, a thousand coins to hold,

I leave my sons, both blind, as pledge—a tale will soon unfold.”

The king, intrigued, then asked him how such sons could serve his hand,

The old man swore on skill and sense they’d faithfully command.

“The elder smells the soul of steeds, the younger gems can tell,

By touch and scent, their judgment’s pure—they read what truths compel.”

The gold was paid, and the sons remained within the royal keep,

Till traders came with goods to sell—with promises so deep.

A horse was brought, of noble breed, or so the seller swore,

But when the blind boy touched its flank, truth rose from folklore.

“This horse will throw its rider down—it knows a milkman’s hand!

It drank from buffalo’s own milk and grew on that man’s land.”

The trader shamed, confessed the lie, and left within the hour,

The king now knew the blind boy’s gift—a rare and potent power.

Then came a jeweller, gems in hand, with diamonds bright and clear,

The younger son held one and sensed a presence dark and near.

“This stone has blood,” the blind boy said, “and sorrow clings within,

It stole the lives of two who held—a cursed and tragic sin.”

The jeweller fled in silent dread—his secret had been told,

The king sat stunned by truths unearthed more precious than the gold.

Then came the father, gold repaid, to take his sons and go,

The king then asked, “And what of you? What special skill do you show?”

“I see the truth in any soul,” the old man spoke outright,

“Then tell me mine,” the king demanded, standing in his light.

“You are the son,” the old man said, “of one who lived by theft.”

Enraged, the king cried, “Off with heads! You leave me all bereft!”

Then Betal paused upon the path, mid-air and darkly hung,

“O Vikram, was this judgment just? Speak—hold or loose your tongue!”

The king replied, “The truth cuts deep, but spoken out of place,

The old man’s pride brought doom to all—a blind and reckless grace.”

Then Betal laughed—a chilling sound—and flew back to the tree,

And Vikram drew his sword and sighed… the quest still yet to be.