Why money can’t buy happiness is often explained through long speeches and weighty arguments. The people of Goa have a rather more unusual answer. It involves a miser, a jar of gold, a magnificent cake and a baker who found fortune knocking at his door not once, but twice.
Many years ago, a man and his wife lived in a small Goan village. They had no children, and although the man earned enough to keep both of them comfortable, he could hardly bear to spend a coin. He would sooner go without something he needed than part with his money.
Hidden in the darkest corner of his room was a large clay jar. His wife was not allowed near it. Nobody was. The jar held every gold piece the man had managed to collect over the years, and he guarded it more carefully than anything else he owned.
Every evening, he went through the same secret ritual. First, he bolted the door. Then, he closed the little window and lit an oil lamp. Only when he was sure that no curious eye could see him did he pull away the dark blanket covering the jar.
The room would fill with the dull yellow light of the lamp. Inside the jar, the coins glimmered.
The old man loved that sight. He let the gold run between his fingers, listening to the soft clink of one coin striking another. Now and then, he selected a few pieces, kissed them and pressed them to his chest before putting them back.
His obsession with money had left little room in his life for any other pleasure. Every coin he saved was eventually turned into gold, and every gold piece went straight into the jar. He did not spend the treasure or use it to improve his home. All he wanted was to watch the heap rise.
Then, one evening, a coin landed near the mouth of the jar and would go no farther. The jar was full.
The miser gazed at it with shining eyes. After years of hoarding money and denying himself nearly every comfort, he had finally filled the vessel to its brim. He went to bed believing that this must be the happiest night of his life.
He did not sleep a wink.
A dry twig falling from a mango tree made him jump. The flutter of an owl’s wings sent him hurrying to the window. Each rustle outside became a footstep, and every shadow seemed to hide a thief.
Before long, the nightmares began. In one of them, robbers tied him to his bed and escaped with the jar. They left a heavy stone in its place.
The man woke with a cry and rushed across the room. There stood the jar, safe beneath its blanket. He lifted the lid and plunged his hands into the coins just to make certain they were still there.
It had only been a dream, but that brought him little comfort. The next night was no better. Nor was the night after that.
Soon, his money anxiety followed him everywhere. He barely ate. He grew thin and weary, and even the sight of the gold no longer pleased him. It only reminded him of all the ways in which he might lose it.
Perhaps this was his first lesson in why money can’t buy happiness. He owned more gold than ever before, yet he had never felt so frightened or so poor in spirit. The treasure belonged to him, but his peace of mind belonged to the treasure.
Eventually, he could bear it no longer.
A merchant in the village regularly shipped jars of salt to Mangalore. The miser asked him to add one more jar to the next consignment and sell it for whatever it fetched. He did not mention what it truly contained.
The merchant agreed, assuming it was simply another jar of salt. The vessel was loaded onto the ship, carried to Mangalore and sold to a baker.
Imagine the baker’s face when he opened it.
Instead of salt, he found gold coins packed all the way to the top. He stared into the jar, then looked around the room, half expecting someone to rush in and claim it.
After much thought, he decided to keep half the coins and give the other half to the captain who had unknowingly brought him such good fortune. He baked an enormous cake, hid the captain’s share inside it and decorated the outside with fruits, flowers and tiny birds. On top stood a model of the captain’s own ship, complete with its name.
The captain had never seen anything like it. The cake was far too beautiful to cut, he thought, so he placed it in a glass case and displayed it proudly in his cabin.
For several months, it sailed back and forth between Goa and Mangalore. Its colors slowly faded, and when the monsoon arrived, mildew crept across its surface.
The captain nearly threw it into the sea. Instead, when the ship next reached Mangalore, he gave it to a poor fisherman.
The fisherman had no children and no use for such a huge, ageing cake. Hoping to earn something from it, he carried it to the nearest baker.
By chance, it was the same baker who had made it.
The baker recognized his creation at once. He paid the fisherman a bright gold coin, hurried into his room and broke the cake apart. Out tumbled the gold he had once tried to give away.
“This time, I shall keep every coin,” he said. “God has sent it back to me.”
His unexpected luck gave rise to a Konkani saying remembered in Goa even today: “Sulchea poderan khavum,” meaning, “Let the baker from the South have it.”
The old miser believed that wealth and happiness would arrive together. Instead, his greed for money cost him his sleep, his health and, finally, the treasure itself. That may be the simplest explanation of why money can’t buy happiness: gold can fill a jar to the brim, but it cannot fill a life that has been emptied of everything else.
If You Liked This Folk Tale…
If this Goan tale made you reflect on the things that truly bring us peace, travel with us next to the hills of Nagaland. Our previous folk tale offers a very different but equally timeless lesson, showing how determination can carry us through even the most stubborn difficulties. Read this inspiring Nagaland folk tale about overcoming obstacles through perseverance and discover why giving up too soon can sometimes cost us more than the struggle itself.
Kalai is passionate about reading and reinterpreting folk tales from all over the country. Write to her at kalai.muse@gmail.com to know more about her.