A Gift More Precious Than Gold

In the old days, when information was scarce, a story was a priceless spiritual gift. People were willing to travel far, even to eavesdrop, just to gather a tale to share with others. This is how the habit of gossip, passed down through many generations, took root.

One late afternoon, pale golden sunlight stretched across the dirt path leading into the village. An old woman sat on her porch, her eyes gazing toward the end of the lane, where the familiar figure of her elderly neighbor had not yet appeared. She sighed, gently smoothing the hem of her faded brown robe. She had not spoken to anyone all day, nor heard any fresh news. A feeling of emptiness and restlessness swelled in her chest, as if something vital were missing.

Life in that era was strangely simple. There were no telephones, no internet, no newspapers. Only a few people in the whole village could read; the rest were oblivious to the written word. But the human brain, much like a hungry stomach, demands a specific kind of nourishment each day: information. A day without learning something new or hearing a story could set the mind on edge, causing stress or even illness. The old woman understood this better than anyone. She had endured countless long, silent days with only the wind and distant roosters for company, a loneliness so profound it felt like madness.

She stood up and walked to the gate, looking toward Mrs. Tam’s house at the far end of the village. “I should go over there,” she told herself. “Even if there’s nothing new, sitting together for a while will ease this feeling.” As she walked, she thought that if someone were to bring a wondrous story today, some news from a distant place, it would be more precious than gold or silver. For gold and silver can buy rice and cloth, but they cannot purchase the joy of hearing something new, of sharing a tale.

Just then, Mrs. Tam came hurrying up the lane, her face beaming. “Have you heard the news?” she called out. “I just heard from little Tí that he went to the district town yesterday. People are saying an official downriver was dismissed for corruption!” The old woman cried out in delight. “Is that true? How wonderful that you know this! Come inside and tell me every detail!” The two old women held hands, entered the house, and sat down on a bamboo bench to begin their conversation. Mrs. Tam told the story while the old woman listened, occasionally exclaiming or asking for more details. Both forgot their hunger and fatigue, immersed in the joy of exchanging information, as if they had just received an invaluable gift.

From that time of information scarcity, people formed a habit: any story they heard, even about others’ private lives, became a “gift” to be carried and told elsewhere. An affair in the village, a stolen dog, a tiger spotted in the forest—all became hot news, whispered from morning to night. The person with the most stories was considered wealthy and beloved. Thus, the habit of gossip and tale-bearing was born, sinking deep into people’s character and passing through generations.

Today, information is overwhelming. We no longer need to wait for a neighbor to come and tell a story. But the old habit remains, only shifting from spoken words to social media, from tales by the hearth to posts on Facebook. People still carry others’ stories as gifts, but now such gifts can wound, can cause harm, and must be held in check.

**The Meaning of the Story**

This tale reveals that the need for information is a human instinct. When information is scarce, it is easy to develop nosy, gossipy habits. Today, despite abundant information, we must remain mindful so as not to be drawn into useless matters that invade others’ privacy. Instead, we should learn to select what we take in and keep our mind/heart serene.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang