In a small village nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, a young woman named Ya walked through life with an air of arrogance that often drew scorn from the villagers.

Her beauty was marred by a face that seemed to have been sculpted in haste, leaving her with uneven features and a sharp jawline.

This physical appearance, combined with her haughty demeanor, made her the subject of ridicule and gossip among the villagers.

thumbnail

They whispered behind her back, calling her names and mocking her pride, but Ya paid them no mind.

She considered herself the pride of the village, convinced that one day they would all recognize her worth.

On that fateful day, Ya’s arrogance reached a new low.

As she strutted through the village square, she encountered an old woman—dirty and worn—who dared to correct her.

Fueled by indignation, Ya slapped the old woman across the face, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Don’t ever correct me,” she sneered, her pride swelling as she walked away, leaving the old woman in shock.

The villagers watched in disbelief, their murmurs of disapproval echoing through the square.

How could someone be so cruel?

Ya lived with her poor parents near the village shrine.

Her mother often urged her to be kinder, to soften her tone, but Ya dismissed her advice with a wave of her hand.

“Why should I care what they think?” she would scoff, believing herself above the petty judgments of the villagers.

But deep down, there was a growing unease—a feeling that her arrogance and pride would lead to consequences she could not foresee.

As the sun dipped below the horizon that evening, whispers of Ya’s actions spread like wildfire.

At the village well, a group of maidens gathered, their voices hushed but excited.

“Did you hear what she did?” one of them asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“She slapped an old woman!” Another maiden chimed in, “She thinks she’s above us all, but one day, she will learn.”

Ya approached the well, bucket in hand, and confronted the maidens.

“What are you gossiping about? Is my life feeding any of you?” she demanded, her tone sharp.

The maidens exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond.

One of them, Abena, stepped forward.

“You behave as though you are above all of us,” she said boldly.

“And I am,” Ya replied without hesitation, her arrogance unwavering.

Later that night, as the village settled into a quiet rhythm, the air thickened with tension.

The old woman Ya had slapped murmured a curse under her breath, her words drifting into the night like smoke.

The villagers felt a shift, an unsettling energy that seemed to hang in the air, unnoticed by Ya but palpable to everyone else.

That night, as Ya slept, the moon hid behind a thick veil of clouds.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint echo of the old woman’s curse.

As dawn approached, Ya tossed and turned on her mat, her body feeling strange and foreign.

When the first rooster crowed, she jolted awake, screaming at the sight of her reflection.

Her skin had changed overnight—dark patches crept across her cheeks, swelling into rough bumps, and her lips twisted unnaturally.

Panic surged through her as she clutched her face, her once sharp features now grotesquely altered.

Her mother rushed into the room, her eyes widening in horror.

“Ya! What is happening to you?” she cried, taking a step back in shock.

Ya’s heart raced as she realized the gravity of her situation.

“Mother, help me!” she pleaded, but her mother could only stare in disbelief at the transformation.

By the time the sun rose fully, the news of Ya’s condition had spread throughout the village like wildfire.

Villagers gathered outside her home, whispering and pointing, some laughing while others shook their heads in pity.

“She thought she was queen,” one man chuckled.

“Look at her now!” Others murmured warnings, “Pride goes before destruction.”

Ya heard every laugh, every whisper, and it felt like daggers piercing her heart.

When her father returned from the shrine and saw her, he froze in shock.

“We must go to the herbalist,” he said shakily.

The herbalist’s hut was filled with the scent of herbs and smoke, and as soon as they stepped inside, the old man looked up, narrowing his eyes as if he had been expecting them.

“Ah, so it has begun,” he said knowingly.

Ya’s mother dropped to her knees, begging for help.

“Please, wise one, heal our daughter!” But the herbalist shook his head.

“This sickness is not one leaf or one medicine can cure. It is the old woman you slapped. She laid a curse on Ya.”

Ya’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“That dirty old woman? Never!” she spat defiantly.

But her father turned sharply, his voice firm.

“Ya, this is not the time for such talk.” Yet, pride still clung to her like a stubborn shadow.

She refused to beg the old woman for forgiveness, convinced that humility was beneath her.

Days passed, and Ya’s condition worsened.

The swelling spread down her neck, her breathing became labored, and sharp pains shot through her joints.

Sleep eluded her, and the laughter that once filled the village was replaced by murmurs of pity.

Yet, she remained stubborn, refusing to seek the old woman’s forgiveness.

One night, the pain became unbearable.

Ya lay curled on her mat, tears streaming silently as her mother wiped her face with trembling hands.

“Ya, please,” her mother whispered, voice breaking.

“You will die if you do not humble yourself. Please beg her.” Ya looked at her parents, their faces filled with love and concern, and something inside her cracked.

Before dawn, she wrapped a cloth around her head to cover her disfigured face and left the house without telling anyone.

She walked past the shrine path, across farmlands, and into the forest where the old woman was rumored to live.

Her legs trembled, and her breath came in painful gasps, but she pressed on.

Finally, she saw a small hut made of mud and palm fronds, smoke rising from its roof.

The old woman sat outside, grinding herbs with slow, steady movements.

Ya’s heart pounded as she approached, her knees shaking.

The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but she forced herself to move.

She fell to her knees before the old woman.

“Mother,” she whispered.

“Forgive me. Forgive me for my pride. Forgive me for disrespecting you.”

The old woman gazed at Ya with calm, knowing eyes.

“I knew you would come,” she said.

“Pain teaches where words fail.” Ya bowed her head, tears dripping down her swollen cheeks.

“I am sorry. I was wrong.”

The old woman reached out and lifted Ya’s chin gently.

“Go home,” she instructed.

“Change your ways.

Respect those older than you.

Treat people kindly.

Let humility dwell in you.

When your heart changes, your body will follow.” With that, she turned away and entered her hut.

Strangely, Ya felt something loosen within her, as if invisible chains were falling away.

She returned home exhausted but hopeful.

Her parents rushed to her, embracing her with relief when she whispered, “I begged her.”

From that day onward, Ya began to change.

She greeted elders with respect, helped her mother fetch water, and apologized to those she had wronged.

Slowly, very slowly, the swelling faded.

The patches on her skin softened, her breathing eased, and her face regained its shape—not perfect, but peaceful.

The villagers watched in amazement as the once arrogant Ya transformed into a humble, respectful young woman.

Little by little, their whispers changed from mockery to admiration.

Even the old woman passed through the village one evening, and when Ya greeted her with a deep bow, the woman smiled.

“You have learned.”

And thus, the lesson was clear: pride blinds the heart and invites destruction.

Ya had learned that true beauty lies not in appearance, but in the kindness and humility of the heart.