Where the Sun Shines, There Scandal Is

 

Four ancient owls—Huma the Observer, Zara the Listener, Feroz the Questioner, and Bakht the Silent—once embarked on a great journey to understand why scandal seems to follow power like an unshakable shadow. Each owl chose a different path to uncover this truth. Huma flew to glittering palaces where kings and queens held court. Zara perched in bustling marketplaces where merchants haggled and traded. Feroz soared above great universities where scholars debated ideas. And Bakht, true to his nature, settled silently among humble villages where farmers worked the land.

After many seasons of watching and listening, the owls returned to share what they had learned.

Huma spoke first, his golden eyes gleaming with insight. "Where crowns and thrones shine brightest, whispers thrive in dark corners," he said. "A king's gardener knows more secrets than his royal spies. But here is the deeper truth—scandal clings not to power itself, but to the fear of losing it." His words revealed that those in high places often create their own storms through paranoia and pride.

Zara ruffled her feathers and shared what she had heard in the marketplace. "The merchants cried 'fraud!' and 'thief!' at their competitors while hiding spoiled goods in their own stalls," she observed. "Scandal is like a mirror—those who shout accusations loudest often fear seeing their own reflection." She had learned that greed and hypocrisy feed scandals more than any actual misdeed.

Feroz, ever the thinker, recounted a troubling scene from the universities. "A renowned professor was disgraced when his stolen thesis was exposed," he said. "But the real scandal was this—his rivals had done the same, only they hadn't been caught." His discovery showed how systems that reward deception create scandals waiting to happen.

Finally, all eyes turned to Bakht, who had remained silent throughout. Without a word, he dropped a weathered scroll at their feet. On it was written: "The village's great scandal was a widow's remarriage. The outrage lasted one week. But her harvest that year fed the entire village through winter." His silent lesson spoke loudest of all—what some call scandal, others call survival.

As the owls reflected on their journeys, they understood that scandal grows wherever power, greed, or fear take root. But they also saw that its sting fades when met with patience like Bakht's, facts like Feroz's, humility like Zara's, or detachment like Huma's.

For anyone facing scandal today, the owls offer this wisdom: First, ask whether the uproar is really about truth or simply someone's fear or greed. Second, remember that outrage, like fireflies, shines bright but briefly—wait and it will pass. And third, focus on what truly matters, just as the villagers focused on their harvest while gossip swirled around them.

The sun shines on all things equally, but only the wise learn to see clearly in its light. Scandal may be inevitable where humans gather, but how we respond to it—with wisdom or panic, with grace or malice—determines whether it consumes us or passes like a shadow at noon.

This is why the owls' tale endures: not because it promises to prevent scandal, but because it teaches us to see through the noise to what really matters. In palaces or marketplaces, in universities or small villages, the choice remains ours—to be blinded by the glare of scandal, or to learn, like the owls, to navigate wisely through the light and shadows of human nature.