Subhan: The Little Boy Who Crossed the Raging River to Save Bibi Amina
Subhan lived in a tiny village where mountain peaks kissed the sky and a blue river sang as it flowed. He was a ten-year-old boy—skinny, with big bright eyes and a smile that never faded. His father was a farmer, his mother kept the home, and Subhan went to school, where he was the smartest in his class.
Every morning, he’d race down the dirt path with his friends, barefoot, kicking up dust. He loved stories—old tales of jinns, brave warriors, and hidden treasures buried under the mango trees. But more than listening, Subhan wanted to live a story of his own.
One day, the village elder announced: “A storm took the bridge to the other side of the river. No one can cross to get medicine for old Bibi Amina. She’s very sick.”
The men shook their heads. The current was too strong. The wood was gone. No one dared.
But Subhan raised his hand. “I’ll go.”
They laughed. “You? You’re just a boy.”
That night, Subhan couldn’t sleep. He remembered his grandmother’s words: “Courage isn’t being big. It’s being afraid and going anyway.”
At dawn, he slipped out with a rope, a small knife, and his father’s old walking stick. He walked upstream where the river narrowed between two rocks. The water roared like a lion. He tied the rope around his waist, looped it to a tree, and stepped in.
Cold. Fast. Terrifying.
One foot slipped. He fell. The river pulled. But he grabbed a root, pulled himself up, gasping. Again. And again. Until he reached the other side—wet, shaking, alive.
He ran to the neighboring village, found the doctor, and begged. The doctor gave him the medicine. Subhan ran back, crossed the same deadly water, and reached home by sunset.
Bibi Amina drank the medicine. By morning, she smiled.
The village gathered. No one laughed now.
The elder placed a hand on Subhan’s shoulder. “You didn’t just save a life. You built a bridge—with your heart.”
From that day, whenever children asked how to be brave, the answer was simple:
“Be like Subhan.”
