She Mocked An Old Beggar In The Market — But Didn’t Know Who She Was, And This Happened.
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She Mocked an Old Beggar in the Market—But Didn’t Know Who She Was
In the bustling town of Umuke, Adana was the girl everyone admired. Her beauty was legendary: skin as smooth as palm oil, eyes bright as stars, and a smile that could make hearts flutter. Traders in the market whispered about her, old women praised her luck, and young men vied for her attention. Her father, Chief Namdi, was a wealthy trader, and her mother, Madame Ego, dressed her in the finest clothes and jewels. With such parents, Adana grew up believing she was untouchable.
But Adana’s beauty was matched by her pride. She walked through the market with her head high, her nose in the air, and her words sharp as a cutlass to anyone she considered beneath her. To Adana, poor people were invisible, and those who lacked perfume or fine clothes didn’t deserve respect.
One sweltering market day, Adana strolled through the crowd, her gold earrings catching the sunlight. People cleared the way, some out of admiration, others out of fear of her tongue. In a quiet corner, an old beggar woman sat, her clothes torn, hair gray and rough, hands trembling as she stretched them out for food. “My daughter, please, just small food. I have not eaten since yesterday,” the woman pleaded.
Adana stopped, looked down, and smirked. Instead of pity, she burst into laughter that cut through the market. “Food? Look at you—old, dirty, smelling like rotten fish. You dare call me daughter? You’re not even fit to be my maid.” The old woman’s eyes watered, but she bowed her head in silence. The crowd gasped, but no one dared confront Adana, not with her father’s wealth behind her.
Adana stepped closer, her voice louder so all could hear. “Why don’t you go and die, old woman? People like you make this market look ugly.” The old woman raised her head, her gaze suddenly powerful. “Beauty fades, my child. Pride destroys. Respect others, for you never know who they are.” Adana rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “Do you know who I am? I am Adana, daughter of Chief Namdi. No one can match my beauty or status. You are nothing but a hungry dog.”
The old woman sighed, whispered words no one heard, and disappeared into the crowd. The market carried on, but an uneasy silence lingered. Some muttered, “This girl’s pride will destroy her.” Adana walked away, satisfied she had embarrassed the beggar. She didn’t know that with every step, her life was walking into a storm.
That evening, Adana returned home, proud of herself. She replayed the scene in her mind, the laughter and the old woman’s bowed head. Sitting before her mirror, she admired her reflection. “Who can ever match me?” she whispered, touching her smooth cheeks. Her mother entered with food, reminding her to keep her strength for another day of showing off her beauty.
But at midnight, a chill swept through Adana’s room. She tossed and turned, hearing a faint voice whisper her name. Her reflection in the mirror changed—her flawless skin covered in blemishes, her hair dull and thin. She screamed, but when she lit a lamp, her face was normal again. “Just a dream,” she told herself, but her sleep was troubled by visions of the old beggar’s eyes.
By morning, the nightmare became real. Clumps of hair littered her pillow. Faint rashes spread across her cheeks. Her scream shook the house. Madame Ego rushed in, horrified. Doctors from the city came, but none could explain her mysterious illness. “It’s beyond medicine,” they said. Word spread quickly: Adana, the beautiful daughter of Chief Namdi, was no longer beautiful.
Friends stopped visiting, suitors found excuses, and the market buzzed with gossip. “Pretty flower has turned to dry leaf,” children sang. Adana, once the pride of Umuke, now hid indoors, afraid of her reflection. She smashed her mirror in anger, knelt before it in tears, begging for her beauty back.
One night, Adana dreamed of the old woman again. This time, she stood tall and glowing. “Adana, you mocked me. You shamed the poor. You worshiped your beauty. Now you will learn pride has a price.” Adana fell to her knees in the dream, crying, but the woman vanished. She woke trembling, wondering if her suffering was punishment for her cruelty.
Weeks passed. Adana grew thin, her face covered in scars, her hair gone, her voice cracked from endless crying. Her parents tried to protect her, but in Umuke, secrets never stayed hidden. Suitors stopped coming, friends abandoned her, and even her closest companion crossed the street to avoid her. Adana felt like the lowest of all.
One evening, she overheard young men laughing outside her window. “Do you remember Adana, Chief Namdi’s daughter? The proud queen of Umuke. But look at her now—even the poorest man wouldn’t take her.” Their laughter echoed long after they left. Adana buried her face in her hands. For the first time, she whispered, “God, please help me.”
That night, she dreamed of the old woman again, now glowing with a gentle light. “Adana, this is not to destroy you. This is to teach you. The beauty you worshiped has faded, but you still have a chance. Learn humility and your life will change.” Adana woke up trembling, her heart pounding. For the first time, she wondered if her only hope was to truly change.
The next morning, Adana sat on her bed, her pride now a heavy chain around her neck. She remembered the mocking voices, the laughter, the cruel gossip. Everything she boasted of was gone. When her mother brought breakfast, Adana pushed the plate away. “Mama, I want to go to the market today.” Madame Ego was shocked. “Do you want people to laugh you to death?” Adana wiped her tears. “Let them mock me. I cannot stay in this room forever. If this is punishment for what I did, I must face it.”
That afternoon, Adana wrapped her head in a scarf to hide her bald patches and wore a plain gown. Without jewelry or makeup, she stepped out of the compound. The market froze. Traders stopped mid-sentence. Children pointed. Some women whispered, “See how the mighty has fallen.” Adana’s knees shook, but she kept walking. She went straight to the spot where the old beggar woman used to sit. The space was empty; no one had seen her since the day of the mockery.
Adana knelt down in the dust. “Mama, wherever you are, forgive me. I was proud. I was cruel. I should never have spoken to you that way.” The crowd stared, shocked. The same Adana who once raised her chin high was now on her knees, crying in the open market.
From that day, Adana’s life began to change. She started helping the poor, carrying baskets for old women, giving out her clothes, and sweeping the market square. At first, people mocked her. “Ugly helper,” they called her. “She is trying to buy her beauty back.” But Adana ignored their words. For once, she was not living for applause. Every night, she prayed, “God, forgive me. Teach me to be humble. Even if I never become beautiful again, make my heart good.”
Her parents watched with amazement. Chief Namdi shook his head. “This is not the same daughter we raised; something has truly changed her.” Slowly, signs of healing appeared. Her skin began to glow again, her hair grew back, and her beauty returned—this time, with humility shining from her eyes.
One market day, Adana was sweeping the square when she saw a familiar figure approaching. It was the old woman, but now dressed in a flowing gown, her skin glowing, her steps strong. People gasped. “Who is this? She looks like a queen.” The woman walked straight to Adana and smiled. “My child, you have learned the lesson. Beauty fades, but character remains. You mocked me in rags, but now you have served with humility. For this, your life will be restored.”
Before the eyes of the market crowd, the woman raised her hand over Adana. A warm light surrounded her, and in that moment, every scar vanished, every blemish disappeared. Adana’s beauty returned in full glory, even brighter than before. But now, it was not just outer beauty—it was kindness in her eyes, gentleness in her smile, and humility in her heart.
Then came the final twist. The old woman revealed her true identity. She was not just a beggar, but a wealthy woman in disguise—a spiritual figure sent to test the hearts of people. She owned vast lands and businesses but often appeared as a poor woman to see how others treated her. In front of everyone, she told Adana, “Because you have changed, I will bless you. But remember, never let pride rule your heart again.”
From that day, Adana became a different person. Her story spread beyond Umuke, teaching people everywhere that beauty without humility is empty and respect must be given to all, no matter how small they seem. And so, the girl who mocked a beggar became the woman who learned that true beauty lives not on the face, but in the heart.
The End
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