The Wise Way Around the Mountain
On Ganesh Chaturthi morning, the whole colony smelled of flowers and something sweet frying somewhere, and the Gang had a problem. A big one. A mountain of one, actually.
“It’s blocked,” said Tara, hands on hips. “Completely, totally blocked.”
The lane that led to old Bansi Uncle’s house — where the Gang delivered a plate of modaks every festival, because Bansi Uncle lived alone and loved the Gang’s visit more than the sweets — was buried under a fallen heap. A neighbour’s wall had been taken down for repairs, and the rubble and a great tarpaulin-covered mound of sand sat squarely across the only path the Gang knew.
“We could climb over it,” said Khushi, already rolling up her sleeves. “With a plate of modaks?” said Aarav. “One slip and Bansi Uncle gets a plate of sand.”
“We could move it,” said Khushi, less certainly. Anish looked at the mound, then at his own small arms, then at the mound again, and quietly folded that idea into a paper boat in his head and let it sail away.
They stood there, stuck. The obvious path was blocked, and the two obvious answers — go over, or move the mountain — were both wrong.
That was when the Genie appeared, feet-first as always, sneakers gleaming, sitting cheerfully on top of the tarpaulin mound. “Wonderful obstacle,” he said. “Truly first-rate. What are you going to do about it?”
“There’s no way through,” said Aarav. “Ah.” The Genie’s eyes twinkled. “You said the magic word. Through.” He hopped down. “You’ve been staring so hard at going through the mountain, and over the mountain, that you’ve forgotten the oldest trick of all.” He pointed a gleaming sneaker not at the mound — but at the little gully that ran beside it, past the tailor’s shop, around the back, and — if you knew it was there — right up to Bansi Uncle’s other gate.
“Around,” breathed Tara. “It’s longer.” “It’s longer,” agreed the Genie. “By exactly four extra minutes. And Bansi Uncle, I promise you, has never once in his life minded a visit that took four extra minutes.” He grinned. “When the straight path is blocked, the clever child pushes harder. But the wise child looks for the loving way around. Not the cleverest path. Not the fastest. The one that still gets the modaks there warm, and nobody buried in sand.”
So the Gang went the long way — past the tailor, around the back, through the gully bright with festival marigolds someone had strung along a fence. And when they arrived at the far gate, four minutes late and entirely un-sandy, Bansi Uncle was waiting, because he’d heard them coming from all the laughing.
“You found the back way,” he said, delighted. “Nobody remembers the back way anymore.” “The Genie remembered,” said Khushi. “Of course he did,” said Bansi Uncle — though when the Gang turned to introduce him, the Genie was, naturally, nowhere to be seen. Only a single footprint in the sand mound, sneaker-shaped, already filling with festival light.
Moral of the story: When the straight path is blocked, wisdom looks for the way around — the one that carries the kindness through unharmed.
Two things to wonder about
- The Gang’s first two ideas were “go over” and “move it.” Why do you think the around way was so hard to see at first?
- The way around was longer by four minutes. When is a longer, kinder path better than a shorter, harder one — and can you think of a time you took it?
For the grown-up by your side
“Thinking differently” gets praised a lot, but this story adds a quiet condition: the cleverest solution isn’t always the wisest — the wise one is the path that still delivers the kindness intact. When your child is stuck, you might ask not “how do we power through?” but “is there a way around — one that keeps everyone whole?” Ganesh Chaturthi is a lovely day to notice that removing obstacles and choosing the gentle route can be the same act.
