Once upon a time, there was a king who had four wives. His favorite was the fourth—young, charming, and showered with the finest silks, jewels, and every luxury. He doted on her, keeping her close and spoiled.
His third wife was a stunning beauty, the kind he’d proudly show off on his travels across Europe. He adored her but always feared she’d leave him for someone else—her looks were that captivating.
The second wife? Sharp as a tack, wise, and always there when he needed advice. She was his confidante, helping him navigate politics and tough times with grace. He trusted her completely.
Then there was the first wife—steadfast, loyal, handed down to him after his elder brother passed. She managed his lands and wealth with quiet dedication, though he hardly spared her a glance, even though her love for him ran deep.
One day, the king fell gravely ill. Staring death in the face, he realized—no matter how many wives he had, he’d die alone. So he turned to his beloved fourth wife:
*”I’ve loved you most, given you everything. Will you follow me into the grave?”*
*”Don’t be absurd,”* she scoffed, leaving without another word. Her rejection cut like a knife.
Heartbroken, he asked his third wife:
*”I’ve shown you off to the world. Will you follow me now?”*
*”No,”* she said bluntly. *”Life’s too sweet. I’ll remarry.”*
The pain was unbearable. Desperate, he turned to his second wife:
*”You’ve always been my rock. Will you stay with me beyond death?”*
*”I’m sorry,”* she said gently. *”The best I can do is give you a proper burial.”*
Her words struck like thunder. Then—a whisper:
*”I’ll go with you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”*
It was his first wife, frail from years of neglect but unwavering. Shame washed over him. *”I should have treasured you,”* he muttered.
Here’s the truth: we all have four wives.
Our fourth wife is our body—no matter how much we pamper it, it leaves us when we die. The third is our career, wealth, and status—it passes to others. The second is family and friends—they’ll walk us to the grave but no further.
But the first wife? That’s our soul. Ignored in the rush for money, power, and pleasure, yet the only one that stays. Care for it, nurture it—it’s the greatest gift we’ll ever give ourselves.
