The Well Beneath the Sand

Arun’s caravan waited beside the village gate. Clay jars held water for the desert crossing. Tara checked the ropes while their elder guide studied the evening sky.

They traveled after sunset, when the sand was cool. The guide followed familiar stars. Tara watched the oxen pull steadily, their wooden wheels making two winding tracks.

Near dawn, the tired guide nodded asleep. Without his directions, the caravan curved around a great dune. Nobody noticed that their tracks had begun making a circle.

Morning brought a dreadful surprise. The travelers found yesterday’s camp beneath their feet! Tara recognized a broken twig. They had used most of their water and gone nowhere.

The sun climbed higher. Everyone rested in the cart’s narrow shade. Arun would not let worry decide for them. “First, let us look carefully,” he told the travelers.

Beyond the camp, Arun spotted a tuft of green grass. Nothing else was growing there. “Its roots may reach water,” he said. Tara brought the digging tools quickly.

They dug beneath the grass until their spades struck a flat rock. The hole looked dry. Some wanted to stop, but Arun climbed down to examine the stone.

Tara crouched safely beside him and listened. Beneath the rock came a faint, rushing sound. Arun smiled. “There is water below us. We have reached its stone door.”

A strong hammer blow cracked the rock. Clear water bubbled through the opening and filled the well. The travelers cheered, then carefully passed their empty jars down together.

They watered the oxen, refilled every jar, and marked the well for future travelers. At sunset, the caravan continued. One small green clue had changed the whole journey.