313th story

There once lived a powerful man, a man so consumed by riches that his name was spoken with awe and fear. When the appointed hour of death arrived and the last thread of hope was severed, he called his children, those he cherished more than anything except gold, to his bedside.

With a voice weakened by age yet sharpened by obsession, he said:

“My children, know that I have spent a lifetime gathering this fortune. I have crossed lands and seas, endured the exhaustion of journeys and the burden of settling in unfamiliar places.

I have clenched my own throat with hunger, denied myself comfort, pleasure, and generosity,all so this wealth might grow. You must never neglect its protection, and you must never, under any excuse, allow your hands to loosen the knot of spending.

If one day a person approaches you and claims, ‘I saw your father in a dream; he asks for food, for sweets, for charity in his name,’ do not be deceived. Such words are lies, for I have made no such request. The dead eat nothing, and gold does not follow a man beyond the grave.

Even if I myself appear before you in your dreams, pleading and begging, do not heed it. Dreams are nothing but illusions and imagination, and such visions may be no more than the whispers of Satan. I would never desire in death what I refused myself in life.”

Having uttered these final words, words heavier than his gold and colder than his heart, he breathed his last and delivered his soul, not to mercy, but to the keeper of Hell’s treasury.

And his children celebrated, divided his wealth, and shared a steady income with many charities to help people in need.

A man who lives enslaved by wealth dies enslaved by it as well, and even in death, his heart may remain poorer than the poorest soul.