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Once Sheikhchilli’s mother was sick with fever. And she was worried about her idiot son and about putting him to some useful work. No one was ready to employ him. She was making both ends meet by selling wood, cutting grass and selling it to the people who had milch cows. So, she said to her son, “Sheikhchilli! I am running high fever. I can’t go to cut the grass. You must do some work to earn food. Take the sickle, go to the jungle and cut grass the way you saw me cutting. It is not a difficult task. If you don’t do it we shall go hungry.”
Eating was something that Sheikhchilli liked the best of all things. The thought of going hungry chilled him. He picked up the sickle and went to the jungle. Somehow he managed to cut a bale of the grass by noon. It was a very proud moment for Sheikhchilli. He had done a useful work his mother should be grateful for.
He returned home with the bale on his head and tossed it making a loud noise for everyone to hear and know that Sheikhchili was a man of work. His mother smiled with tears in her eyes.