The Peach Thief

There once was a hungry, wandering traveler who was imprisoned by the King because he believed that she had stolen a peach from his precious peach grove in front of his castle. She was thrown into a dungeon cell with a dirt floor covered in hay and one tiny window that she could only reach when she stood on the tips of her toes and stretched out her arms to full length. She slept on the floor and was fed stale, crusty bread once a day. She was constantly hungry, which wasn't too different than every other day before. Except now, she was trapped in a simple cell versus roving free.

She had a heart as wide as the Great Lakes and as deep as the Grand Canyon. Crumbs always fell as she ate her dry bread, and she gathered all the crumbs and divided them into three small piles. One pile was for the mice who scurried when the moon rose. One pile was for the birds who visited right before dawn. The third pile was buried for the hard working ants digging tunnels beneath the castle.

One afternoon the King summoned the thought-to-be thieving traveler to his court. Everyone from the village was there. There were astrologers and doctors and merchants and peasants and beggars and priests and midwifes and chefs and maids and... -- you get the idea: everyone was there. The rich sat in plush mahogany seats, the merchants sat on wooden benches, and the poor stood behind everyone. The King and his court of princes and advisors all sat on the north side of the room looking powerful and staunch in their crimson robes with indigo collars. The peach thief stood in front of the King in her simple, full black dress and charcoal shirt with big sleeves looking straight at him.

"I do not tolerate thieves in my kingdom," boasted the King. "I have summoned you to my court to show all of my people what befalls thieves."

"Dear King," said she. "I do not dispute your claims. If you believe me to be guilty, I must be guilty. There cannot be any other truth for you are a wise king, and I am a thieving traveler."

"You speak truth, criminal," replied the King proudly. "You are learning quickly and are to be commended for your lessons. Still, you are a thief and you must be punished like all thieves: swiftly, harshly and justly."

"My dear King, your words humble me, and I only ask for a just punishment for my perceived crime. If I may be so bold, may I ask a question, your Excellency?"

"Thief! That is a question, and you are so bold. I do not tolerate boldness in my kingdom. It is what leads to thieves like you stealing my peaches. But if you must ask a question let it be a riddle. I seek to be amused."

"A riddle, your Graciousness, is all I have."

"Begin, but make haste. I will not delay your punishment much longer, nor shall your punishment be less harsh."

The whole court quieted and leaned forward to hear the thief share her riddle.

The thief clasped her hands in what looked like prayer and began.

"There is a land that is confined / by brick wall borders carefully aligned. / It is meant to contain / to protect the reign / of a leader whose justice is deemed divine.

"He sits upon a golden throne / and passes judgment on a traveling crone / whose hunger caused wandering hands / to snatch fallen fruit off the land / only there was no flesh only a hard stone.

"Now, her prisoner meal of stale bread / feeds more mouths than can possibly be fed / mouths above, beneath and within. / All of these mouths are her kin. / How is it possible that she and her kin are not yet dead?"

"That is an easy riddle. She is not dead because she stands in front of me, and I have not ordered her death. Yet."

The crowd clapped in agreement and believed the riddle solved. Then, the peach thief spoke.
"Yes, my King, that is part of the solution. It is not the whole solution."

The King was perplexed and the crowd began to stir. He was afraid he would lose control of his people, so he called loudly to his advisors -- his philosophers and scientists and astrologers and doctors and priests -- and asked them to solve the puzzle.

Theory after theory, solution after solution was shared, and each one was rejected by the thought-to-be thief. The King was getting frustrated and angry with each of his advisors.

"How can she outwit all of my best advisors," he screamed. "You are all useless!

"Thief! I order you to share the answer. Then, I shall order your death."

Everyone quieted again. The peach thief held everyone's attention, and she was quite aware of it. She slowed down and raised her voice so all could hear.

"The answer is quite simple, your Graciousness. They are all alive because of compassion. The King showed his compassion to the crone in the form of a daily meal, which was more bountiful than the pit of the rotten fruit. In turn, the crone repaid his compassion by sharing the left over crumbs with the mice, birds and ants. Compassion, my King, is the only answer."

The King cried and the whole court was silent.

"My dear old Crone, you have taught me a lesson more profound than all of my advisors. I now know your just punishment: you shall join my court; you shall advise my advisors."

"Your Excellency, I thank you for your merciful sentence. I have but one humble request."
"What is it," asked the King.

"I ask that you give the stones from all the rotten, fallen fruit away freely so that others may multiply your compassion."

From that day forward, the kingdom was called "The Land of Compassionate Peaches", and while hunger and poverty and hierarchy still existed, there was never another thief.