The Cup which Stole Away Happiness
This is an exploratory continuation of a short story from the novel Kite Runner. Readers could kindly review the story and leave comments at the end of the story.


Ardal was a poor peasant in the barren lands of Ughkstan. Thin, lanky, but never lack the essence of boisterousness. He was handsome by his age, his dark haired coupled by his tanned skin, envied by the villagers around. They say that his eyes were bedazzling enough to charm even the beauties of Persian. But yet, he was loyal to his wife, Marla, who was his wife through a family arrangement which is nothing of peculiar between his father and his wife’s grandfather.
Whatever shortcomings Ardal had, it was never of his mood. Despite his not well-to-do situation, he was never frustrated. He would smile through it. He had never given up before. In short, he was a happy man. Never did he have ever shed a tear before. It was all his optimism that had push him all these while to live on. And no one complained about it.
Being happy wasn’t a sin, and everyone knew it. It was after all, his optimism that made him likable in Ughkstan. His jovial mood cheer every single soul he met. He was nicked as the ‘Saint Happy’.
On a typical hot day when the sun was at its prime, Ardal was plotting his land as usual. A normal routine so typical that his mind was wandering through the horizons of Ughkstan. How had he wished that he would be richer, so that he could provide Marla with a comfortable life. He was a happy man, but he would love to make his wife happier. Then he would be able to provide his future children a better life. Or so he had thought.
As if his prayers had been answered, suddenly, the ground felt solid. A clunk was heard as he swung deeper with his tool. He stooped, and scratched the ground away as he scanned the ground for the source of the discovery. There it was, a metallic brass cup engraved with a language he had known for all his life. The words were sketchy, but he had figured how to find his way through the soil-stained cup.
“Thou shall not weep in tears, for despair would turn thee into fortune.”
Long wondered by the cup, he brought it back to his wife. He was just incapacitated by the mystery of it.
“Perhaps you have to cry into the cup,” Marla suggested.
Now, this had been a hard part of him. He had never shed a single tear since he was born. He could just find something to be happy about. He pushed it for Marla to try, but it was in vain. No matter how Marla wept into the cup, there wasn’t any sign that the mystical cup had responded. So Marla pinched Ardal as hard as she could that finally Ardal shed a single tear. Whether it was a tear of pain or of sadness, no one knew. What they knew was it turned into a single pearl, the size and shape of a tear drop. They were so happy that they took it to the market to sell it. The pearl did fetch a hefty price, which the couple were happy enough and bought enough to celebrate a feast between the two. Marla had made Ardal to keep it a secret from anyone; for fear that the cup would be gone.
The first pearl had lasted him for a week. He needn’t do anything other than marvel at the cup. He even tried shedding some tears under the onions he had chopped to create that effect. Of course, it didn’t work out. Even the pinching did not work anymore, for he was very well aware of that tiny hurt that he could cause to himself.
There was a time when he tried to make himself sad. He tried breaking his treasured vase at home. It was his long accompanied vase. The first vase he had as a gift from his grandparents. Inheritance, they called it. It was nothing of a value. It was just a vase containing the memories of his grandparents he loved most. Of course, he wept. So many tears came out that it could basically fill the cup. The tears turned into pearls before it could reach the bottom of the cup, so that the tears never made its way to form a single large teardrop. But it was enough, enough to last him a few lifetime to live the way he is.
But just like every other man, greed had always found a way into a man’s heart. He built a big luxury house, with the grandest archway into his ‘palace’. He had a luscious garden which became the envy of Ughkstan. He hired gardeners to tend to his trees and potted plants brought from India. He had maids serving him and Marla. To him, life was like heaven.
But how could Ardal, a mere mortal, know the ways to manage his ‘richness’? Before long, his money ran out, and he had to think of ways to make his magic cup work again. He tried gambling, but it didn’t work. He wept not a single tear. He tried breaking as many vases as possible, but it still couldn’t work. He tried stabbing his thigh with a dagger, and it bled, but he never wept. How foolish it was, he thought, but he had no money left. He had to figure a way somehow.
It was then that the Devil had whispered into his ears. Ardal was desperate, the Devil knew it. How Ardal wished he could cry and mourn for his wife. It would be tears enough to last him a luxury life. How nice, he had thought. Limping his way, he went to the drug store. He requested for rat poison. The druggist sold the poisons; although he was wondering why Ardal had had need it since his house had practically no vermin.
It was a day when he had offered a romantic dinner with Marla. Marla didn’t know something was wrong. How Ardal could do anything to harm her? No wife would doubt her husband for sure. Ardal offered her the poison wine, and she took sip by sip without any suspicion. Even as she felt drowsy and fell down, she took her last breathe, and would never ever know what had happened. Never in her life had she thought that Ardal would do anything to harm her. Never.
Evil has nothing to be described. Ardal became the richest man not only in Ughkstan, but in the whole country. Many would have doubt how had he gain such fortune, but no one dared to question him. A djinn, one may suspect, but something of that mystic was a taboo to mention. So no one did really find out why.
Now, Ardal may be a man of great fortune, but he was never the same happy man as before. He was lonely. He had no one to accompany him, other than his guilt and his sins. Loneliness is the biggest fear of all men. And women perhaps. He was no long the ‘Saint Happy’ that he was, and he has been extremely depressed. Yes, fortune and fame meant the whole world to him, but what use does it make if there is nobody to share it with? He didn’t marry a new wife, for his guild had forbid him to. Every day, he just ate and slept, hiding himself from the world, until one day, he had decided to take the matters into his own hand. He committed suicide, with a dagger right through his heart. With that he left a note, that ask for forgiveness of his past deeds, and his fortune shall be donated to the needy ones. That was the end, at the least he could for the others.
And the cup. What happened to the magic cup? Ahh, no one knew for sure. It was gone for a long time, perhaps buried in the same place it was found, until another fool who would repeat the same thing.
***
Sometimes, we are human beings who are clouded by our greed that we had forgot to appreciate the people around us. Happiness is in fact, more valuable than the mass of fortune that we had. Never a person can be happier if he even had to worry about his fortune. This, my friend, I shall leave this story for you to ponder. Our family and friends around us are the treasures that had stay around for us. If you had time, do drop a message and call your loved ones. Greed, can be a hindrance of all happiness.
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