A very sick woman lay on her bed and looked at her husband with teary eyes. ‘Honey,’ she said, her voice weak yet determined. ‘If I die, how long would it take you before you marry another wife?!’
The husband, taken aback by the question, tried to soothe her. ‘Till your grave becomes dry, my love,’ he replied, attempting to make a heartfelt promise.
Her fragile fingers clutched his hand. ‘Are you promising me this?’ she asked again, her eyes searching his for sincerity.
‘Of course, darling… I promise you,’ he assured her, kissing her forehead tenderly.
After her demise, true to his word, the devoted husband visited her grave every single day for a year. But a curious thing happened – the grave was always wet, never drying out. Rain or shine, the soil remained moist, like a perpetually damp sponge.
One evening, as he made his somber pilgrimage, something was different. There, among the hallowed tombstones, stood the woman’s brother. ‘Jason,’ the husband called out, perplexed. ‘What are you doing here?’
Jason looked up, a watering can in his hand. ‘I’m fulfilling the wish of my only sister,’ he explained with a rueful smile. ‘She made me promise to come here every day and wet her grave.’
The husband stood there, processing the bittersweet irony. His beloved had ensured that her resting place would stay wet, indefinitely prolonging his vow. Clever, even in death, her love and humor shined through, leaving him both heartbroken and bemused.
