crocodile and Little Giral Story 2025

 The Crocodile Who Was the Keeper of Rain.

Long ago, in a dry place where rivers flowed quietly, there lived a large crocodile.

This crocodile was no ordinary one. Its skin shone like gold in the sun, and its eyes were very wise. It lived in the deep waters of a large river, which was the lifeblood of the area. This crocodile was not only a powerful animal, but also the keeper of rain.

Every year, when the land dried up and the people were thirsty for water, the elders of the village would do an old job by the river. They would sing old songs, throw things into the river, and offer fruit and honey. Then, this crocodile would come out of the river, listen to them, and decide when the rain would come.

But one day everything changed.

One year, the rain came very late. The fields dried up, the rivers dried up, and the people began to worry. When they had gathered at the river and done their work, the crocodile came out—he looked bigger and more arrogant than ever. He didn’t make a sound, he didn’t smile, he didn’t nod. He just looked with his old eyes and said:

“You want rain? Bring me gold.”

The elders were astonished. Gold? This had never happened before.

An old woman, with white hair and bent with age, stepped forward.

“Crocodile,” she said, “the rain is not yours to sell. It belongs to everyone. You were chosen to protect it, not to sell it.”

But the crocodile only laughed, a sound that made the river tremble.

“The world has changed, old woman. And I must change too. Now the rain has a price. If you want it, give me money.”

The people went back, heartbroken. Some tried to find gold in caves and under trees, but they were poor farmers. Soon, the water shortage spread throughout the area. Animals began to die, children began to cry, and the sky was still dry.

Then a little girl came.

She was only thirteen years old, with bright eyes and strong legs. She saw her mother crying over the empty gourd and her little brother weakening with thirst. She had no gold, but she had courage.

The girl went to the village elders and said:

"I will talk to the crocodile."

They laughed affectionately.

"Daughter, he is dangerous. He is no longer the crocodile we knew."

"That is why I must go," she replied.

Carrying a small drum and a bag of seeds, the girl walked barefoot to the river.

She stood on the dry bank, the wind stirring her old shirt, and she began to sing. Her voice was thin and trembling, but the song was very old—older than wars and kings. It was the rain song of the first people.

The river moved. Slowly, the crocodile emerged, huge and gleaming with pride.

"Has anyone else come to beg?" he said.

"No," said the girl. "I have come to remind you."

The crocodile blinked. "What have you come to remind me of, little fish?"

"Who are you?" His voice became firm. "You were chosen not for your teeth, but for your wisdom. The sky trusted you, the earth trusted you, and so did we."

The crocodile's nostrils flared. "I was tired of serving people who give nothing in return. You call me greedy, but is it wrong to ask for money?"

The girl came closer. Her feet were touching the river bank. "It's wrong when your power becomes a prison. Now you keep the rain as a prisoner. The trees are dying, the birds have flown away. Who will you protect when it's all over?"

The crocodile said nothing.

He opened his big mouth and shot a spray of water that made the girl fall back. She got wet, but then she stood up. Her little drum was damaged, but her courage didn't.

"Do what you have to do," he said softly. "But I will keep reminding you. People may be afraid of you now, but they will remember. And remembering is more powerful than gold."

The crocodile looked at her for a long time, then went back into the water without saying anything.

Days passed. Then weeks.

And then something strange happened.

The animals began to gather at the river. First the elephants came, quiet and slow. Then the deer, the leopards, the monkeys, even the shy aardvarks. All stood without fighting, without making a noise. They just kept looking into the river, waiting.

The people saw this.

The old woman came back to the river and saw the animals. She was amazed. It was a sign.

“Nature remembers,” she said. “And now she is waiting.”

That night, the clouds began to gather. No song, no offering. Just silence—deep and waiting.

The crocodile came up again.

This time, his eyes were less bright. He looked tired. And when he spoke, there was no pride in his voice.

“They have come,” he said. “Not to beg, not to give. But to see.”

He looked up at the sky.

“Even the rain is looking at me now.”

The girl stepped forward again, her shirt sewn by her mother’s hand. She held out her palm.

“You can still decide. Let the rain be free again.”

The crocodile looked at her little hand. Then at the animals. Then to the sky.

And that roar.

It was not a roar of anger, but a sound that tore the clouds apart. Lightning danced across the sky. And then—the rain.

Very fast, sweet, and continuous. It rained on the earth, filled the rivers, watered the trees, and washed the tears from the faces of thousands of people.

From that day on, the crocodile changed.

He still protected the river, but no longer from people, but for people. When others tried to stop the water, he would drive them away. When drought threatened again, he would remind the sky with his roar.

And the girl? She became a great elder woman. People called her "the girl who woke up the rain."

When she was old and white-haired, she would still sit by the river and tell the children:

"Power is not to be kept to yourself. It is to be given. Like rain."

Lesson:

True power is helping others. When power is used only for oneself, even nature rises up to heal it.