IN the dry land of Maharlika, animals lived under the care of Queen Maya, a wise eagle who flew high and watched over the land. The kingdom included many islands, rivers, and valleys, all connected by winding roads built and maintained by the Great Guild of Builders, a ministry led by the massive and respected elephant, Don Bakal.
Don Bakal’s role was to ensure all roads were smooth and strong, connecting even the smallest village to the kingdom’s heart. The animals paid their feather-tax or claw-coin regularly, believing it would fund bridges, fix potholes, and open paths for farmers, teachers, and healers.
But not all creatures were as noble as they seemed.
Don Bakal had trusted the building work to a group of sleek, well-dressed monitor lizards known as the Kontra-Ktors. Led by Señor Hunyango, a clever chameleon with a silver tongue, these contractors gained the Guild’s confidence with flashy brochures and promises of golden highways.
“Pay us,” said Señor Hunyango, “and we will pave roads that shine like the moonlight!”
And pay them, they did.
But while the surface of their roads looked fine for a while, the rains soon came, bringing the truth.
Roads crumbled like stale bread. Bridges broke under the weight of even a goat. Weeds grew faster than cement could dry.
Yet the Kontra-Ktors kept building, or pretending to. They used hollow stones, watered-down tar, and ghost workers. Some roads existed only on paper, with no paw ever touching them. The gold meant for highways ended up in tree mansions, private jets disguised as hawks, and underground vaults guarded by crocodiles.
The people, from hardworking carabaos to clever rats, from patient ducks to nimble monkeys, grew weary. Every month, they contributed a little of their food, coins, and feathers for “development.” But their wagons got stuck in mud. Their carts broke on unfinished paths. Farmers couldn’t get yams to market. Teachers couldn’t reach forest schools. Sick cubs couldn’t make it to the jungle clinic in time.
Yet, Don Bakal, heavy with jewels and praise, claimed,
“The roads are there! Maybe you animals just can’t see them.”
Whispers spread across Maharlika. The animals spoke quietly about the Golden Pothole, a story of a secret road that cost millions but led nowhere. Investigators, lean meerkats and brave hornbills, tried to follow the trail but found only forged footprints and missing maps.
Then one day, a brave tarsier named Tala stood at the ruined foot of a broken bridge and shouted:
“The Kontra-Ktors build only for themselves! We walk on lies while they ride on gold!”
Her cry echoed across valleys. Protests ignited. The animals marched. They blocked fake roads with real logs. They demanded transparency, open scrolls, true costs, and real repairs.
Cornered, Don Bakal blamed Señor Hunyango. But the chameleon had already changed color and disappeared into the jungle.
So, Queen Maya called for a new council, one led by service, not size. Builders who used real stone. Roads tested by rain. And a promise:
“No road shall be built unless it brings a child home, a farmer to market, or a healer to a village.”
Moral of the Story:
When the roads to progress are built on lies, it is the humble who fall into the cracks. Beware of those who build only for gold; they lead nations down the road to nowhere.
