Never walk behind a horse or before a king, as you will get kicked in either case.

 Never walk behind a horse or before a king, as you will get kicked in either case.

In the lively village of Awantipur lived a boy named Arif, known for two things: his curiosity and his talent for getting into trouble.

One morning, his father handed him a sack of grain to take to the mill. “And listen carefully,” his father said, raising a finger. “Never walk behind a horse or before a king.”

Arif grinned. “I’m not afraid of horses or kings,” he said boldly, and off he went.

On the way, he spotted a strong black horse tied under a tree. “What a fine animal!” Arif said. “Let me show I’m not afraid.” He tiptoed behind the horse, making funny faces as if to impress an invisible audience.

The horse, however, was not impressed.

With a sudden thud, it kicked backwards. Arif flew into a pile of hay like a tossed sack of potatoes. His turban slipped over his eyes, and he lay there groaning.

A farmer nearby laughed. “That’s what comes from making friends from the wrong end of a horse!”

Arif stood up, embarrassed but still stubborn. “Just bad luck,” he muttered, dusting himself off.

By the time he reached the mill, a royal procession was passing through. Trumpets boomed, soldiers marched, and the king rode proudly in the centre.

Arif’s eyes sparkled. “Today I’ll see the king up close!”

Ignoring the crowd stepping aside, he walked right into the path of the procession. He even waved.

The soldiers did not wave back.

Two guards grabbed him and pushed him aside so fast that he spun around and landed flat on the ground—again. The sack of grain burst open, and flour puffed into the air, covering him from head to toe.

Now he looked less like a brave boy and more like a walking cloud.

The crowd burst into laughter.

When Arif returned home, limping and powdered white, his father raised an eyebrow. “You look like you fought a storm and lost.”

Arif sighed. “First the horse kicked me, then the king’s guards threw me. I think I understand now.”

“And what is that?” his father asked.

Arif wiped flour from his face and said, “Never stand where danger kicks… and never stand where power pushes.”

His father nodded with a smile. “Exactly. Wisdom is knowing where not to stand.”

From that day on, Arif kept a safe distance—from hooves, crowns, and his own foolish bravery.

And the village? It never forgets the day a boy tried to challenge both a horse and a king—and lost twice.