The Farmer’s Royal Favour

Close to Ujjain, people still talk of a story passed down like a family secret. One evening, a tired noble, some prince of Paramara dynasty—stopped at a poor farmer’s hut. Hungry and worn out, he asked for food. The farmer had no feast to serve, so he quietly patted out a roti from the little flour he had that day.

The noble took a bite, tasted it… and froze. This was no ordinary roti—it felt so soft like cream in mouth, softer like silk and sweet in a way he had never known. “What magic is this?” he asked. The farmer, half-smiling, half-shy, said, “No magic, my lord. Just the mitti of Malwa, and our Sharbati wheat.”

The noble was so taken by its taste that he commanded this wheat to be sown in all his lands. The sharbati roti founds it’s way from the poor man’s chulha to the royal thalis—served in palace banquets, offered in temples, and cherished as the pride of Malwa.

No one remembers that farmer’s name anymore, but each golden roti still carries his tale—of the soil he tilled, the simplicity he lived with, and the flavor that even kings could never forget.