A narrow path wound through the deep forest. Dawn light slipped through the leaves and fell in little pieces on the ground. With his old iron axe on his shoulder and a gamchha around his neck, a woodcutter walked along, humming a tune. He had hardly a paisa at home, yet he smiled. That axe was everything — he cut wood, sold wood, and only then did rice go on the stove.
By the canal leaned a dead old tree. The woodcutter tied his gamchha around his waist and set to work — thwack! thwack! thwack! Suddenly his hand slipped. The axe somersaulted through the air — splash! — and sank into the deep black water. He ran and peered over the edge — nothing but ripples upon ripples. The axe was gone.
The woodcutter sank down on the bank. The forest had gone strangely quiet. Only drip… drip… water fell from the leaves. He had no money for a new axe. His chest felt hollow. Burying his face in his knees, he whispered, 'How will I get by from tomorrow?'
All at once the canal water swelled and bubbled up. A blue glow filled the air! Up through the water rose a fairy — a water lily in her hair, a gleaming golden axe in her hand. In a sweet voice she asked, 'Is this golden axe yours, child?' Now tell me — what would you have said?
The golden gleam dazzled the woodcutter's eyes. His fingers itched to say yes… but he swallowed hard and shook his head. 'No, dear — mine was iron, with a crack in the handle.' Shown a silver axe, he said again, 'No, no.' The fairy laughed and placed all three axes in his hands. 'This is the reward for the truth, child.'
Word of it reached the greedy woodcutter next door. He came running, flung his own axe into the canal on purpose — kersplash! — and began to weep pretend tears. 'Oh, my axe, my poor axe!' The fairy rose up holding the golden axe. 'Is this yours?' The greedy man leapt. 'Yes, yes — that one's mine!'
The fairy looked at him in silence for a moment. Then she said, coolly, 'How did the owner of an iron axe come to recognize a golden one?' And — whoosh! — the light went out. The water turned black and still again. The greedy man stood there empty-handed — no gold, and his own axe never came back either.
Evening settled over the forest. Fireflies blinked on and off. The greedy woodcutter sat by the canal, head hanging low. The honest woodcutter came and laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Come, brother — from tomorrow we'll cut wood together. I've got three whole axes now!' The greedy man wiped his eyes. 'And I don't have even one… it's true, brother — honesty is worth more than gold.'