The Wise Man and the Coins
A short wisdom fictional tale about charity, kindness, and how small acts multiply.
Back in the olden days in Arabia — no one remembers the exact town, though it might have been somewhere near where the Prophet once walked — there lived a wise old man known throughout the streets, though few truly knew him.
Every morning, or most mornings at least, he would walk quietly through different streets of the town. And whenever he saw a needy person — someone sitting alone, someone with tired eyes, someone who looked like they hadn’t eaten yet — he would gently hand them a coin or two. Not much. Just a small piece of silver or copper. Then he would smile, say a kind word, and walk on.
He did this for years. Always choosing different streets. Always giving without fuss, and without waiting for thanks.
One day, a neighbour who had often watched the old man from afar finally stopped him. “Old man,” he said, “I see you giving out coins almost every day. But it’s just a coin or two each time. Is that really worth anything? They can’t buy much with it.”
The wise man looked at him kindly and replied, “Does it matter how big or small it is? Is it still a charity?”
The neighbour paused. “I suppose it is… but still, what can they really do with one coin?”
The wise man smiled. “Maybe to you, it’s not much. You have a home. You have animals. You wear nice clothes. But to someone who has nothing, even one coin may buy a little bread. A few dates. A moment of relief.”
He continued, “And when I give it, I smile. Because smiling is also a charity in the eyes of God. I want to give more — not just from my hand, but from my heart.”
The neighbour nodded slowly. “A smile is a charity… that’s true. Do you do anything else?””
The old man replied, “I also say, ‘God bless you’ when I give it. A prayer is a gift. It costs me nothing, but maybe it lifts their heart. And in God’s eyes, maybe it adds to the weight of the charity.”
Now the neighbour was truly intrigued. He had always known the old man was wise, but he’d never asked him why he did what he did — until now. “What else happens when you give them charity?” he asked.
The wise man chuckled softly. “Sometimes they smile back. So they give charity too. A smile shared is two people giving.”
The neighbour felt something stir in his chest — a strange warmth, a quiet light. “And after that?” he asked.
The wise man said, “Often, they use the coin to buy food or fruit in the market. That helps the sellers. It keeps trade flowing. It feeds their families. It spreads goodness through the town.”
The neighbour’s eyes lit up. “Wait a minute… I have a fruit stall! You mean… your coin might come back to me?”
The wise man nodded. “Since you own a fruit stall, maybe I can answer all your questions with just one more answer.”
He leaned in gently. “That coin I gave yesterday? Maybe someone used it to buy fruit from your stall. Then you used that money to buy bread from the baker. And the baker bought wood from the carpenter. And the carpenter fed his child. A single coin — and many people blessed by it. That’s how God multiplies goodness. It doesn’t stop at the hand that gives — it continues, grows, and returns in ways we do not expect.”
The neighbour stood silently. He had never thought of it that way. His heart felt softer, his eyes a little wetter.
The wise man smiled, sensing the change. “Perhaps every time I give, God writes it down,” he said. “But He does not write only the coin. He writes the smile. The prayer. The moment of hope it gives. What we count as one, God may count as ten. Or seventy. Or seven hundred. Or even more.”
The neighbour whispered, “Is that really how it works?”
The wise man’s voice was gentle, certain. “Only God knows the full count. But He has promised: ‘Whoever does a good deed, He multiplies it.’ So I trust Him.”
Then, as the wise man began walking away down the sunlit street, he turned once more to the neighbour and said with a smile, “Even answering a question and teaching another about God is a charity.”
From that day on, the neighbour gave to charity more often — and to the hungry, he would sometimes offer an apple or two from his fruit stall, smiling as he did, knowing even a small act could ripple through the town like a blessing. As wisdom says, a pebble dropped in a pond makes only a small splash, but its ripples can grow to cross the entire water.