In a dense, green forest, where the sunlight filtered down like golden threads through the tall trees, and the river gently trickled over moss-covered stones, lived two friends: Công, the magnificent peacock, and Cốc, the little green frog.
From the time they were small, they had been inseparable, sharing every day together.
“Công, let’s play by the river!” croaked Cốc cheerfully, hopping onto a lily pad that bobbed up and down with his weight.
“Yes, and afterwards, we’ll go to the waterfall!” called Công, opening his wings wide. The dazzling colours of his feathers caught the light like a rainbow scattered into gemstones.
They spent their childhood racing the dragonflies, splashing in the cool river, and listening to the wise old cicadas singing from the treetops. To Cốc, the forest was a whole world: safe, alive, and full of wonders. To Công, it was home—though he sometimes gazed at the horizon with curious eyes.
As the years passed, Cốc remained a simple little frog, content with the small joys of the forest: the taste of fresh raindrops, the shelter of lotus leaves, and the company of his dear friend. Công, however, grew into a truly stunning peacock. His iridescent plumage shimmered with every colour of the rainbow, so bright that even the flowers seemed to bow their heads when he walked past. The other animals admired him from afar, and Công basked in their praise.
One day, as Công admired his reflection in the clear river, he whispered to himself:
“Why should I stay here? My feathers are too beautiful for this dark forest. I belong in a world of splendour and admiration. I shall go to the royal garden, where humans will marvel at me!”
Cốc, who had been nearby, froze at his words. His small green body trembled as he spoke softly:
“But why, Công? This is our home. Here we have the trees that give us shade, the river that refreshes us, and all the animals who are our friends. Isn’t that enough?”
But Công only shook his head proudly. “You don’t understand, Cốc. I’m not like you anymore. I’m destined for something greater. I was born to shine, not to live hidden among shadows.”
That very morning, Công spread his splendid wings and, without another glance at the forest, flew toward the royal palace.
The royal garden was vast, filled with roses, fountains, and trimmed hedges. Every day, Công performed, displaying his glorious plumage like a living jewel. He felt proud—he had found the admiration he dreamed of.
But as weeks turned into months, a hollow feeling grew inside him. At night, when the garden grew silent, Công found himself staring at the stars, remembering the soft croak of his old friend.
Meanwhile, back in the forest, Cốc waited faithfully. Each day he hopped to the riverbank, scanning the sky for a flash of rainbow wings. “Perhaps today he will return,” Cốc whispered to himself. He sang small songs into the night, hoping the wind might carry them to his friend. But the years passed, and Công never came.
Then one summer, a terrible drought swept across the land. The royal garden withered, the fountains dried up, and the ponds turned to cracked earth. The humans, struggling for survival, no longer cared about the peacock. They stopped feeding him, too worried about their own hunger and thirst.
Công, once so admired, now wandered weak and lonely through the parched gardens. His feathers, dulled by dust and sun, no longer shone as before. With a heavy heart he whispered:
“Oh, if only I had never left the forest! There I had the shade of the trees, the cool water of the river, and above all, my loyal friend Cốc. I traded true happiness for shallow praise.”
Gathering what strength he had left, Công spread his tired wings and flew. He crossed dry fields and barren hills, his heart aching with every beat. Finally, at dusk, he reached the forest.
But when he landed by the old pond, the place felt strangely empty. The water was low, and the lilies wilted.
“Cốc! Cốc!” called Công desperately, his cry echoing through the trees. But no cheerful croak answered him. The drought had driven the animals to safer places, and Cốc was gone.
Công searched day and night, calling again and again until his voice grew hoarse. Only the echo of his own sorrow returned to him.
From that day on, it is said that the peacock’s mournful call is not just a song, but a cry of loneliness for the friend he lost. His voice echoes through the forest, a reminder of a friendship he once carelessly cast aside.
And yet, on quiet nights, when the moonlight silver-paints the trees and the forest grows still, some say a faint croak can be heard in reply—as if Cốc, from somewhere far away, still answers Công, offering comfort.
The moral of the story: True friendship and home are more precious than outward splendour and admiration.