It was a fine morning when the sun was in its zenith making the multi hued poppies across the meadow to beam brilliantly and gaily dancing with the far wind. A gangling fellow, worn-out and exhausted, stood behind the big oak tree looking directly at his field, verdant bestowed upon his eyes. His cerulean old shirt, tested by time was murky to look at and his aged hat rested on his head covering his thin black hair was a messy thing. He sighed deeply as he stared at the lifeless scarecrows and upon looking at it with a pang of curiosity, a loud roar from beyond perturbed his solitude. He looked up and saw the clouds turned gray, stirred in the vast sky and he looked perplexed and terrified. He got his hat over his head with eyes still fixed on the insufferable scenario he ever saw. “It could be the end of the world,” he cried and knelt down on the earth. He closed his eyes as if afraid what would happen next.
A sudden voice spoke up at him and he knew it came from the stirring clouds. He clandestinely opened his eyes and the clouds held its position as if nothing had happened. He stood up astonished. “Who are you who spoke to me?” he loudly asked upon looking at the open sky. “I am, God!” was the reply. His astonishment grew like a wildfire in the forest as he heard the thing. He looked around to find out if someone was playing a hoax on him. But he was disappointed. His thoughts were indecisive and he’s still uncertain whether it was God who spoke to him or not.
“Did I fear you my son?” asked God compassionately. The man thought of a witty thing to test if He’s really God. He grinned on the brilliant idea and faced the vast sky with pride and buoyancy.
“Now stranger, you’re saying you are God? Prove to me then your ambiguous claim,” said he.
There was a sudden silence and the wind hath passed to and fro. The man waited frantically for His answer. Then God replied: “What is it then my son, you wanted?” The man thought deeply, walking from here to there, looking at the tree standing like sentinels, to the verdant mountains and alack, a decision came as he rested his eyes once more to the scarecrows. Then he said to God: “If you are God really, make those lifeless scarecrows be human like me, for them to plow my field and so me to take my rest.”
Then without much ado, the scarecrows turned to be humans and they’ve started plowing the field. The man, delighted and stunned, looked them with amazement. “And so you believe to me now my son?” God asked to the man. “I still not,” was his proud answer. He weighed things wisely taking advantage for his own sake. “You could be anything than God?” “Ask one more thing my son and I’ll prove to you that I am God.” The man smiled slightly and he opened his mouth to speak up. “Do prove to me the real you upon giving me a mansion with thousand of rooms, with hundreds of servants, silver walls, and a landscape of beautiful foliages and flora. Give me a room filled with gold that even the faraway kings will kneel down before me to see my riches.”
The man waited for a moment for his wishes to come true and he smiled lavishly thinking of the idea. “And that would come true my son,” said God and all his wishes loomed on his eyes. He was now a thousand times richer than a king and he need not to plow his field anymore. His rich could even buy a soul. “Then you believe me now my son that I am God?”
The man still feeling a want of satisfaction answered Him: “You prove to me that you’re God by making the scarecrows human; by giving me the wealth I least expected. But one thing more I wanted,” he said to God. “What is it my son? Tell me.”
The man on his new clothes standing in the midst of his riches shouted: “I wanted to become God and have the powers you all possess!” Then he smiled of the thought that he could be the most powerful creature on earth; that he could be God and be worshipped by the world.
“But that is impossible my son,” God replied. “Then you’re not God! Do prove to me by doing so.” The man demanded impatiently. God sighed deeply and said: “Then you will be god.”
The clouds stirred again and the man, with the wealth the world could envy, stood amidst the open field and became a lifeless scarecrow, the god of the fields.
TO GOD BE THE GLORY(“,)