Once upon a time, in the bustling town of Hamelin, nestled among the lush green hills of medieval Germany, the people faced a great crisis. A swarm of rats had overrun the town. They scurried through homes, chewed on food, and terrified everyone, even the cats. The townsfolk tried every trick—traps, poison, even magic charms—but nothing worked.
One afternoon, a strange man arrived at the town gates. He wore a long coat stitched in many colors and carried a wooden flute at his side. He introduced himself to the mayor and said, “I am a piper. For a price, I will rid your town of these rats.”
The mayor, desperate, agreed. “If you succeed, you shall be richly rewarded.”
The Piper nodded and walked into the town square. He lifted his flute and played a tune unlike anything the people had ever heard. It was lively and strange, both haunting and joyful. As he played, rats emerged from every crevice—homes, wells, markets—and gathered around him.
He led them dancing through the streets, out of the town gates, and down to the River Weser. There, one by one, the rats plunged into the water and disappeared beneath the waves.
The town rejoiced. The bells rang, and people cheered. But when the Piper returned to claim his reward, the mayor hesitated.
“You only played a song,” he said. “You shall have twenty silver coins, not a chest of gold.”
The Piper’s eyes narrowed. “You gave me your word.”
“Take what’s offered,” the mayor replied, waving him away.
The Piper left the town without a word. But the next morning, just as the sun rose, he returned. This time, he played a new tune—softer, sweeter, almost magical.
As the notes floated through the air, the children of Hamelin stirred. Drawn by the melody, they left their beds and homes, following the Piper through the streets. Boys and girls danced joyfully behind him, their faces lit with wonder.
The townspeople awoke too late. By the time they realized what had happened, the Piper had led the children through a mountain pass. As the last child stepped inside, the rock closed behind them.
Only one child remained—a boy with a limp who couldn’t keep up. He told the grieving town what had happened.
To this day, Hamelin remembers. A plaque still stands, and no music is played on that street.
Moral: Breaking a promise can cost far more than gold.
