Stone Soup, Chinese Folktale

‘Stone Soup’ has its traditional roots in European folklore. Nevertheless, this story is set in China, where three monks bestow happiness to the distant villagers. The three deities of Hok, Lok, and Siew are prominent in Chinese folklore, bestowing health, family, happiness, and mutual love.

High in the rugged mountains of China, three monks climbed its peaks. The youngest monk Hok asked, “What makes one happy?”

The oldest monk Siew replied, “Let’s find out.”

As they climbed up one of the peaks, on its other side a valley stretched. It was covered with a fog. Where the fog was the thinnest, the rooftops of the houses jagged through, showing a sign of a village.

The villagers were hard working people. But everybody just cared about their work. There was no helping, no sharing, no sense of community. Hard times of famine, floods, and war made people that way.

When the monks reached the gates of the village, there was nobody to welcome them. When they entered the village, the people hid in their houses. They knocked on the doors of people houses, but nobody responded.

The oldest monk looked at the youngest and said, “This is a picture of an unhappy village. Shall we bring happiness to them?”

The puzzled young monk asked, “But how are we going to do this?

“It’s very simple. We will make stone soup.”

The young monk still didn’t understand how a stone soup would make the whole village happy, but decided to follow the directions of the wise monk.

In the center of the village stood a square stone awaiting a fire to be set on it. The monks gathered twigs and branches and made a fire. Next to the stone stood a small tin pot awaiting its use. The middle monk took the pot and filled it with water from the nearby well.

All this time a curious girl was observing them from behind a house. The curiosity helped her gather her courage to approach the monks. “What are you doing?”

“We’re making stone soup and we need three stones,” answered Siew.

Together they searched around for three stones. The three monks pretended to be looking for them, but let the girl find them. Once she picked three stones, she proudly handed them to Lok, the middle monk, who was nearest her. The water was already bubbling under the hot fire. Lok dropped the stones into the pot and started mixing them, “Those excellent stones you helped us find will make a very special soup.”

The girl looked at the very tiny pot and worried it would not hold much soup, “I think my mother has a bigger pot.” So she ran home and asked her mom for the biggest pot.

“What do you need it for?”

“For the newcomers to make stone soup,” replied the girl.

“Hmm,” the mother thought to herself, the stones don’t coast anything. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to find out how they’re doing it.

She followed the girl already rolling a huge tin pot to the center of the village. The tin pot rolling on the stone streets made so much clamor that the villages started poking their heads in the windows and doors.

The monks switched the pots and filled the big one with more water. Lok mixed the stones, making even more clamor while hitting the tin pot. Now, the curious people started approaching  the center.

Siew pleased with the villagers coming out said, “Traditional soup should have some salt and pepper.”

“That is true, but we have none,” responded Lok while continuing to mix the stones in the pot.

A scholar quietly disappeared into his house, which was right there in the center. Now, he reemerged and said, “I just found some salt and pepper.”

Quietly observing and learning until now, the youngest monk spoke, “The carrots would make the broth even tastier.”

A woman standing in the back ran to her house. In a blink of an eye, she returned with a basket full of carrots and handed them to Hok, who suggested it.

“Do you think onions would make a difference?” asked Siew.

“Oh, yes, onion and parsley,” responded a farmer, and he was off. He returned in a moment with a basket full of onions, parsley, “and I found some green beans to add.”

“It smells delicious and I can’t wait for everybody to taste it,” said Hok.

“I think we could still add a few more vegetables,” suggested Lok, who continued to stir the soup.

A few villagers ran to their house. One brought mushrooms. Another brought cabbage. A shy seamstress brought noodles and asked, “Do you think we could use noodles?”

“Of course,” responded Siew.

More and more people were leaving the courtyard and coming back with baskets full of vegetables and breads. Something magical was happening. The people were opening their hearts and coming together.

The soup was making bubbly sound, filling the village with savory aroma. The villagers were pulling the tables and chairs out of their houses and setting them in the courtyard. Red lanterns were set above the tables. The bowls were set on the table ready to be filled with hot delicious soup.

Everyone sat down and the monks went around and filled the bowls with soup and cups with tea. The bread was passed around. The villagers’ hearts filled with joy. They had never been together for such feast, which continued with stories being told and songs being sang.

When it was time to say good night, the people unlocked their homes and invited the monks into them.

In the foggy morning, the villagers stood outside the gate saying farewell to the monks. An elderly man spoke, “You have given us the greatest joy of sharing and for that we will be grateful forever.”

 “To be happy is as simple as making stone soup,” smiled Sew.

Source: ‘Stone Soup’ by Jon Muth

Raven - Trickster Tale of the Pacific Northwest

The Pacific Northwest region of the US is surrounded in Native American myths and tales with the central character of raven. It is a brave bird of cunning proportions. He tricks one to help another. A hero, who steals the light from the Sky Chief to give it to the people living in darkness.

The sky above was as dark as the ground below. People lived in the dark and cold. Raven was sad for the people knowing that there was a light, making the day bright and cheerful. Therefore, he set to search for light.

He flew over high mountains and deep valleys filled with rugged coastlines of lakes and snaking rivers. He flew and flew and in the far far distance he saw a glimpse of light. He flew toward the light. The land below and above was getting brighter and lighter and there he saw the house of the Sky Chief.

Perched in a pine tree, he observed the house, from which a beautiful young girl emerged. She was the daughter of the Sky Chief. She dipped a woven basket into the lake and drank its sweet water.

Raven conceived a plan. He turned himself into a pine needle and floated on the water. The girl dipped the basket into the water again. She took a sip of the water on which the needle smoothly floated into her mouth.

After some months passed, the girl gave birth to a child. It had been raven reborn as a boy child.

The Sky Chief was overjoyed with the curious boy. He carved toys for him and played games with him.

One day, he invited the elders to share his happiness. They gathered in a circle, watching the raven-child crawl around. But raven had a plan to fulfil. He just pretended to be playing. He was searching for the light. Then he saw a bright colorful box in the corner.

He crawled to it and not being able to open it, he cried and cried until the mother opened the box for him. There was a smaller box inside. She lifted the lid of the smaller box. Another box appeared inside. So she lifted one more lid and suddenly a blazing light poured out of it.

Happy raven giggled to the delight of the Sky Chief, who told his daughter, “Why don’t you give him the ball of light.”

Raven-boy pretended to be playing with the ball. He rolled it on the floor closer and closer to the open window. Then he changed into a bird and snatching the ball in his beak, he flew out the window.

The bird flew back over the valleys and mountains and high above the highest peak he perched the ball of light in the sky. And this is how Raven stole the sun and gave it to the people.

In return, the people always feed Raven for bringing them light.

Source: ‘Raven’ by Gerald McDermott

Just a Minute, Mexican Trickster Tale

From the rich traditions of Mexican culture comes a trickster tale of Grandma Beetle. She gets a visit from the skeleton named Senor Calavera, who requires her to leave with him right away. The grandma promises to do so in ‘just a minute.’ She still has one, two, three…things to do.

One day, while the Grandma Beetle was sweeping the floor, she heard a knock at the door. She opened the door and to her surprise she saw a very skinny gentleman. He tipped his hat and introduced himself, “I’m Senor Calavera. It’s time for you to come with me.”

“Just a minute, Senor Calavera,” responded the grandma. “I have ONE house to sweep.”

“UNO house to sweep,” said the skeleton as to himself. “Well, I have extra time today.” So he waited patiently sitting on a chair and sipping cold drink.

As soon as the grandma was done with sweeping, she sneaked to the kitchen. The skeleton followed her right away. “Just a minute, Senor Calavera,” announced the grandma. “I have TWO pots of tea to boil.”

“DOS pots of tea to boil shouldn’t take long,” responded the skeleton. “It won’t hurt to wait a bit longer.”

As soon as the Grandma Beetle boiled the water on the stove, she turned around to the table. “Just a minute, Senor Calavera, I have THREE baskets of corn to make into tortillas.”

Now, the skeleton was beginning to lose his patience. He looked at the TRES baskets, drummed his skeletal fingers at the table TRES times and put his hat back on his head as about to leave.

“Just a minute, Senor Calavera,” insisted the grandma. “I have FOUR fruits to slice and will go with you right away.”

“CUATRO fruits: pine apple, melon, pear, mango.” The skeleton saw that it was clearly taking longer than he had expected.

“Just a minute, Senor Calavera,” continued the grandma. “I have FIVE cheeses to melt.”

“CINCO cheeses to melt. It looks like I have to give you a hand.” He put on an apron and melted the cheeses on a stove.

Meanwhile, the grandma added more pots on the stove. “Just a minute, Senor Calavera. I have SIX pots of food to cook.”

The skeleton threw his hands up in the air and said, “SEIS pots of food. I hope they turn delicious.”

When the savory smell filled the kitchen and the skeleton thought this was it, the grandma said, “Just a minute, Senor Calavera. I have SEVEN pinatas to fill with candy.”

He shook his head in disbelief and opened the door for the grandma to carry SIETE pinatas outside. Maybe this was the chance to get the grandma out and be on their way. But as soon as he thought so, the grandma said, “Just a minute, Senor Calavera. I have to set EIGHT plates on the table.”

“OCHO plates,” the skeleton couldn’t take this any longer. He turned around and was ready to leave, but when he opened the door NINE children stormed in.

“NUEVE children,” exclaimed the grandma. “Oh, I have to add one more plate.” However, after a short pause, she said, “Actually, I have to add two more plates.”

“That’s TEN,” pointed one of the grandchildren.

“But it’s only NINE of use,” protested another.

“No, no. It is DIEZ,” confirmed the grandma. “Here is our special guest.” She pulled a chair for Senor Calavera and introduced him.

The Grandma Beetle’s birthday was celebrated as planned. At the end she blew all the candles. It seemed as the skeleton disappeared in the dust with all the blast from the candles.

Now, the grandma was content and announced, “I am ready, Senor Calavera.” But, he was nowhere to be found. The only remnant from the skeleton’s visit was a note, “Dear Grandma Beetle, I had a blast. I will be back for your next birthday party. Sincerely, Senor Calavera.”

Source: ‘Just a Minute’ by Yuyi Morales

The Pale Mountains, Alpine Folktale

The Southern Alps, where the lands are called Italy and the rocks are named Dolomites, have awed its inhabitants and visitors for centuries. Those enchanting mountains once were home to a kingdom, which takes us to a legend.  

One upon a time, high in the Southern Alps stretched a kingdom of green meadows, shady woods and dark peaks. The inhabitants were hunters and shepherds, who loved their lands. The only unhappy person there was the king’s son, who dreamed of the moon. With the full moon in the sky, the prince wandered the mountains until dawn with his eyes high on the moon.

One day, during the hunt, the prince got separated from his companions. He searched for them, but with tall thick trees, he couldn’t find or hear them. As he stumbled upon a clearing with Alpine roses, he made his rest for the night. In his deep sleep, he dreamed of a beautiful maiden in a land, where everything was bright. When she told him that she was the daughter of the King of the Moon, he woke in that instance.

The prince sprang up, disappointed it was just a dream. As he looked around trying to decide which way to proceed, a voice reached him from the woods. He restrained his right ear, and then heard more voices. He followed them and upon reaching and startling two men he explained, “Don’t worry. I’m a hunter. I got separated from my companions.”

The two men replied, “We are people of the Moon. We don’t know your woods. We’re on our way back home.” The prince’s face turned from radiant to pale. He explained his wish. The men laughed and invited him to come with them. “But,” they said, “Remember the earth people can’t stay long in the moon as the light is too bright and you can go blind. On the other hand, we can’t stay long on the earth, because the darkness makes us sad.”

The pleasant talk among the men filled the time it took them to get to the moon. Upon reaching it, the men directed the prince to the castle and they went in the opposite direction. The white grass and flowers stretched as far as the eye could see. Everything was white and bright. Just then, the prince realized he was holding the Alpine roses he picked on earth.

As he was approaching the castle, the first person he met was a gardener, who right away noticed the cheerful flowers, “Where did you pick them?”

“On earth, where I just came from.”

“The princess will certainly reward you well for those flowers,” suggested the gardener.

The prince followed the path to the castle, where he presented the flowers to the princess. He didn’t want any reward as he was a prince himself. The charmed princess asked the prince many questions about the earth.

The king seeing his daughter very happy invited the prince to stay with them, which he did. But as the wise men said before, he couldn’t stay there for a long time or he would go blind. Therefore, after a few weeks, the prince returned to the earth with the princess, who was thrilled to see the colors.

She of course was enchanted with the colors of the flowers. Many happy days passed, but one night the princess stood out on the balcony looking toward the moon. The prince knew right away what bothered her. He tried to convince her that she would get used to the dark peaks of the mountains, which she didn’t find happy. She grew paler and weaker with every day.

As soon as the Moon King learned the news, he travelled to earth to take his daughter back home. “You’re welcome to come with us,” the king invited the prince. Nobody wanted to see the prince go, but he was too much in love with the princess to let her go. So he followed.

As the princess was getting better on the moon, the prince’s vision was getting weaker. Maybe the fate was trying to show them that it wasn’t meant for them to be together. There was no other choice for the prince, but to return to earth.

Upon doing so, he was very unhappy. Day and night he wandered the low meadows and high peaks to find rest or peace, but none of it was to be found. Until one day, he came across a small cave from which came out a little man about three feet tall with a long white beard and a red cone-shaped hat. Both men startled each other, but seeing each other’s unhappy face they knew they had something in common. They spoke and told their sorrows. “We hide in the caves, because nobody will give us a piece of land to live in peacefully,” said the little man.

The prince added, “I dreamed of the moon, but the light was too bright for my eyes. So the princess came to live with me, but the black peaks made her too sad to live on earth.”

An idea sprang into the dwarf’s mind, “What if my people covered the black peaks with the white light of the moon, would you give us some land in exchange?”

It’s too good to be true thought the prince to himself, “How are you going to do it?”

“Leave it to us. I just need your word that we will be left in peace on our land.”

Doubtful prince replied, “You have my word.”

In a blink of an eye, the dwarfs spanned the moonbeams around the black peaks, covering them in white light.

Meanwhile, sad news reached the prince of the dying princess and her wish to see him for one last time. Without any delay, the prince rushed to the moon and to the castle, where he announced, “Our sorrows are over. The black peaks beam with white light now. You can come back to the earth and we could be happy there.”  

His excited words motivated the princess to get well and give it another chance. Soon her lips and cheeks grew rosy again. After a short time, the prince was able to take her once more to his earth kingdom.

The shining landscape with its white peaks, green meadows and colorful flowers filled the princess with so much joy that she was never again stricken with nostalgia. She noticed the beautify of the pale mountains, which were far more beautiful than her native land.

The prince and the princess lived happily ever after. The little men lived in peace. The pale mountains, which are today called Dolomites, until today glow with their magical light. And whoever once takes a look at them, the longing will keep bringing them back to the Dolomites.

Source: The Pale Mountains by Carl Felix Wolff

Blarney Stone Legend of Ireland

Among the forty shades of green Ireland, in its southern part, not far away from the city of Cork, stands a castle. It is a very special castle as it is known for a mysterious stone. And it’s not only the mystery surrounding the stone, but also its location, which take us to the legend.

A very long time ago, Queen Elizabeth ruled the green lands of England and Ireland. She was a smart Queen, but when she demanded something, she simply had to have it and would take no for an answer.

At the time, Lord Cormac MacCarthy was the owner of the Blarney Castle. Nevertheless, the Queen demanded the Lord to surrender his castle as part of the peace agreement between England and Ireland.

The Lord desperately searching for a possible reason to hold on to his castle was not able to sleep for many nights. He wasn’t a man of many words. He wouldn’t know how to charm or convince the Queen to let him keep the castle.

One night, in order to clear his mind he wandered into the woods surrounding the castle. As soon as he stepped onto the path leading deep into the woods, there right in front of him stood a stone, not small, not big, just the right size to sit on it. Surprised Lord wondered, “Who would put this here, blocking the path.” He looked around, “It’s not possible for it to roll down from any direction.”

As the stone was blocking the narrow path, he simply sat on it. The moment he did that and rested his heavy head on his right hand, a fairy appeared out of nowhere. Startled, he raised his head, hearing the words, “Don’t worry about the castle, go inside it and have a good night rest. With the first light come back to this stone and kiss it. After that you will never have to worry about choosing the right words.”

The Lord slept well, the first sun rays falling right on his eyes woke him up. Suddenly, he remembered the stone and rushed to the woods. The stone was still there. He looked around. Nobody was nearby, so he kissed the stone. In a blink of an eye, the words started pouring into his mind what to say to the Queen and how to present it.

But before his trip to appear in front of the Queen, he had to do one more thing. He didn’t want anybody else to find the stone, so he embedded it at the top of his castle’s barricades in such a way that it was almost impossible to reach it.

Meanwhile, the Queen was growing inpatient. Cormac without any further delay rushed to see the Queen and with his ‘fair words and soft speech’ would make one promise after another. But he kept none of them.

After a few empty promises, the enraged Queen declared, “This is all blarney; what he says, he never means.” Thus a new word entered the English language.

The Lord kept the castle and the stone stands atop it until today. And people found the way to reach it and kiss it.

Source: Ireland by Max Caulfield

The Rainbow Lake, Alpine Folktale

In the Italian Dolomites, below its rocky spires, lies Lake Carezza, also known as KarerSee. The lake is known for its amazing colors. Some people believe that precious stones were laid at the bottom of the lake, reflecting its rainbow colors. Or maybe there is a different explanation for it, which leads us to a legend.

A very long time ago, the most beautiful mermaid with the most enchanting voice was seen at the shores of the Lake Carezza. Whenever somebody tried to approach her, she would spring instantly back into the water.

Between the lake and the rocky Dolomites, in the dense forest lived a mean sorcerer. The first time he noticed the mermaid, he made up his mind of her belonging to him. Every day he tried to approach the mermaid and every day she would disappear into the waters right in front of his eyes. After seven days of trying, the sorcerer grew very inpatient. He sent lightning hitting the surface and splashing the water to the surrounding forest. He sent waves to shake the lake’s water out of its basin.

Nothing worked until one day he noticed birds perched on the surrounding trees and listening to the mermaid’s singing. Then, an idea sprang into his mind. He would change himself into an otter and swim in the lake. This is how he would catch the mermaid.

Well, the birds sense that the otter was not really an otter and twittered furiously to warn the mermaid. She sensed the bird’s warning and dived into the lake. The sorcerer disguised as otter chased the mermaid around the lake once, twice, three times. But mermaid was so much faster, exhausted and drenched sorcerer quit the chase.

While walking home and grumbling, suddenly he remembered about a mountain witch. He rushed up the mountain where she lived. After sorcerer was done explaining his situation, she laughed at him, “What kind of sorcerer are you, if you can’t catch a mermaid?” But she wasn’t interested in his answer. She waived her hand and said, “Do you know what a rainbow is?” The sorcerer rolled his eyes and the witch continued, “I’m glad you do. What you need to do is create a beautiful rainbow coming from above the mountains and going into the lake. The mermaid doesn’t know what a rainbow is. When she sees its colors, she will want to follow it. Meanwhile, you need to disguise yourself as an old peddler with a sack on your back filled with glittering things and make your way slowly towards her. Remember to make a small hole in your sack to let the trivialities drop slowly to the ground. When she sees your pretty trifles, tell her that you have lots of them at your home; that beautiful princess from far lands come to buy them from you. So she will want to follow you instead.”

The sorcerer was very pleased with this idea. Right from the witch’s house he climbed higher to the mountains’ peaks, from which he dropped a rainbow to the lake. The mermaid sitting at the shore noticed the amazing rainbow.

The sorcerer rushed down the mountains. Out of excitement, he forgot to disguise himself. As soon as he approached the lake and saw the mermaid in that instance he realized his mistake. But it was too late. The mermaid was already hidden in the lake’s water.

Furious sorcerer tore up the trees and threw boulders around. At the end, he plunged the rainbow violently into the lake. Then he turned on his heel and was never seen again.

The rainbow sank into the lake’s water and until today reflects its beautiful colors.

Source: The Pale Mountains by Carl Felix Wolff

A Man Who Walked Between the Twin Towers of NYC

On the east coast of the United States, on one of the world’s largest natural harbors stands the City of New York. The city consists of five boroughs. The most famous is Manhattan for its skyscrapers. Once there stood two identical towers called the Twin Towers. They were the tallest buildings in New York City. Many years before its tragic fate, a much happier event had occurred at its top.

On August 7, 1974, Philippe Petit, a French artist at the age of twenty-five saw an opportunity right in front of him. He was a street performer, riding a unicycle, juggling balls and flaming torches. But what he liked the most was walking on a rope tied between two trees.

One day he entertained people in the park as usual. He paraded on a rope with a hat on his nose. After all the clapping was done and people were gone, Philippe stood on a robe facing two towers in front of him. As he stood between two trees and looking at those two towers an idea came to his mind, to walk between those two towers.

He already knew from his experience in his country that it would be impossible to get a permission to walk between the towers. Therefore, he had to plan everything secretly. As the construction on the towers was still in progress, he and his friend dressed as construction workers and sneaked the wire and equipment to attach it in a big container rolled on a dolly.

When they reached the roof, it was dark outside and Philippe’s two more friends were already waiting at the top of the opposite tower. They tied a wire to an arrow and shot it across to Philippe. The wire was securely tied on both ends, stretching between the Twin Towers.

With the first rays of sun, Philippe put on his black shirt and tights, picked up a balancing pole and stepped onto the wire. While he was approaching the middle of the wire, he felt the wind ruffling his hair and heard the birds singing above his ears. He felt happy and free.

He reached the second tower and turned right back. At the same time, a woman on the ground noticed him and raised her concern. A policeman noticed the distraught woman, who pointed to the top of the towers. Now, the policeman raised his concern and radioed his coworkers to send reinforcement in order to bring the man down.

As soon as more officers arrived, they rushed to the top of both towers. They yelled through megaphones for Philippe to leave the wire and step on the roof. But he walked back and forth and knelt striking a salute pose.

Almost after an hour of his performance, he felt satisfied and walked back to the roof, where he was arrested. The officers brought him to court. The judge was not sure what to do with the young artist. So he ordered Philippe to perform for the children in the park, which he did very gladly.

Source: The Man Who Walked Between the Towers by Mordicai Gerstein

The Nightingale of Sass-leng, Alpine Folktale

In northern Italy, an Alpine range called Dolomites awes with its beauty. Ladin people, living there since the ancient times, sometimes can hear the awe-inspiring song of a nightingale. Some locals whisper that it is a voice of an enchanted princess.

Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a castle at the foot of the Sass-leng Mountain. One sunny morning, as she strolled the beautiful gardens of the valley, she saw a hawk circling over a nest. “Oh, no. There is probably a little bird there.” She rushed to the nest making a noise. The scared hawk turned away. In the nest, there was a tiny trembling nightingale.

The princess stroked the scared bird with the tips of her fingers until he stopped shivering. When she was about to leave, the bird spoke in a human voice. “You have saved my life and in return I will grant you a power of turning into a nightingale whenever you wish. You can lose this power only through someone’s death.”

The princess didn’t understand the last part, but it was too late to ask, the bird already flew away. Enchanted by the beauty and the singing of the nightingale birds, she wanted to try her powers. When the dark shadows of the evening covered the bed gardens, the princess sneaked into the garden and said, “I wish I were a nightingale.”

The wish was granted. She admired her tiny wings and colorful feathers. She sang a song and beamed at the sound of her voice. From now on, the princess spent most of her days turning herself into a nightingale and exploring the valleys below her.

One early morning, she flew above a castle in the Gardena Valley. “I’ve never seen this castle before.” She flew down and perched herself on a tree nearest to the castle. As she looked at the castle, she saw a knight coming into the courtyard with his hunting knife. She sang a song sweet and enchanting. The charmed prince moved closer to the tree, but the bird had hidden.

A few days later, she came back singing her sweet song. The prince appeared swiftly in one of the castle towers. He spread his left arm with his palm up as waiting for the bird to fly over. But she laughed at the serious face of the knight and left.

Soon, the knight lost his interest in hunting. The only thing that made him happy was the song of a nightingale. While the knight was getting sadder and sadder, the nightingale flew over the other parts of the high mountains and low valleys. She didn’t think much how her singing could distress somebody.

One day as she was chirping her way over a mountain, a falcon pursued her. She quickly flew down to the valley and hid under a lamb’s belly. “Well, well who are you running away from?”

“The cruel falcon almost killed me.”

“You’re not so innocent yourself. You too have killed someone,” replied the lamb.

“Me! What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you fly back to the Gardena Valley, where you used to sing to a knight.”

The worried princess flew as fast as she could to the knight’s castle. She landed on a thick brick wall of a window from which she saw the knight last time. As she peeped in, she saw him laying motionless on his bed, with white face and his dogs whimpering around.

Full of remorse, she flew back to her castle and wished to change back to her human form as quickly as possible. But nothing happened. She was still a bird and in that moment she understood the last words of the nightingale she rescued.

So she remained a bird and some people insist that from time to time, they can hear her singing in her Valley of Sass-leng.

 

Source: The Pale Mountains by Carl Felix Wolff.

Three Samurai Cats - Japanese Folktale

In the country of Japan during the medieval times, there were knights called samurai. In general, the samurai followed the teachings of Zen Buddhism, which emphasized stillness, meditation, and harmony with nature. The Zen masters applied those teachings with their disciples, making them think out of conventional patterns. The violence is not always the best way to accomplish things and this message is conveyed in this story.

In the shadow of Mt. Fuji stood a castle, which was occupied by its owner, daimyo, and a very mean rat. The rat was not welcomed there, but refused to leave. “What shall I do?” questioned the daimyo, who was out of ideas at this point. Nothing worked, including traps or poison. However, as soon as the daimyo spoke the question out loud, an idea came to his mind.

He mounted his white horse, galloped over hills to a distant shrine known for samurai cats. At the shrine he was welcomed by the senior monk, docho. They sat on a mat cross-legged under a shaded terrace. In the background, out on the field, under the blue sky, samurai cats practiced their fighting skills. After explaining the situation, the daimyo pleaded with docho, “I beg you for help. I am at my wits’ end.”

The docho after taking a sip of tea, calmly answered, “Don’t worry. I have the right samurai cat for you. As soon as he is back from his mission, I will send him to you.”

Few days later, a knock at the door woke the owner, “Who is here at such early hour?”

“It is samurai cat. I was sent by my master.”

The daimyo was up in a blink of an eye. “Pardon me,” he said while opening the door. He gestured toward the main hall, explaining, “I just saw the rat there, practicing his moves with a stick.”

The cat and the rat faced each other, the samurai pulled his sword, “I demand you to leave this place.”

“Make me,” answered the rat with a smirk on his face.

The cat charged. The quick rat leaped aside, hitting the samurai with his stick and flew him across the hall to the front door. “You can close the door behind you,” laughed the rat. The humiliated cat left.

The owner rode back to the shrine, begging for a stronger samurai. The docho answered, “I thought this beginner was ready for this kind of mission, but I misjudged. I will send you the best skilled samurai as soon as he is back.”

A couple weeks later, the horse’s loud hooves hitting the ground woke up the owner. As he opened the door, a big samurai cat stood there, “Where is the rat?”

“In the main hall,” answered the daimyo, leading the way. This time, the rat was practicing the karate moves.

When the cat and the rat faced each other, the samurai demanded, “Leave the castle or I will show you what swordsmanship means.”

“Be my guest,” answered the rat with his eyebrows raised.

The samurai drew his sword. He moved it to the right, left, up and down. The rat noticed the owner’s fascination and clapped, “Bravo,” and with a plan in his mind he asked, “Do you know how two draw a pair of circles?”

“Of course, I do,” beamed the samurai. But in this moment of praise, he forgot why he was here. And in that split second, the rat kicked the samurai so hard, he flew across the hall, landing by the entry door. “You may as well close the door behind you,” suggested the rat. The humiliated cat left.

Furious daimyo, rode back to the shrine. Previously practicing samurai cats in the open-field now were hiding behind the columns, trying to eavesdrop.  The docho’s hand was supporting his chin as he pondered, “It seems as I have to send for the master of the martial arts.”

“I will be awaiting him eagerly,” said the daimyo and took his leave.

After a few weeks, persistent knocking at the door woke the owner. He rushed to the door and faced an old cat wearing rags. “Oh, it’s not who I thought it was. Do you need food?”

“Yes, I am who you were expecting and yes, I would like some food and a mat to lay on,” replied the cat. After eating a bowl of rice and drinking milk, the cat rested his body on the mat and fell asleep.

All this time, the rat was practicing his stick movements and after being ignored by the cat, he nudged his ribs with the end of the stick and asked, “Do you want to fight?”

“No, I want to rest.”

Day after day, the rat would make fun of the cat, eat his food and ask him the same question, “Do you want to fight?”

Each day the cat’s answer was the same, “Not today, maybe tomorrow.”

The daimyo yelled, “I can’t take this any longer.” He rode back to the shrine. The master assured him that his patience would be rewarded.

Upon his return to the castle, it was right in time for the Obon Festival. Thousands of lanterns would be lit, food would be prepared and the spirits of the ancestors would be celebrated.

While the rice balls were being prepared, the rat helped himself without asking. “One ball, one ball, one ball,” he kept taking the small rice balls and putting them together into one big ball. The rice ball grew to a gigantic size. As the rat wanted to roll it on the floor, his foot got caught in a tatami mat. Stuck to the ball, he rolled with it, crying for help.

After weeks of laying on the mat, the cat got up and asked, “Will you leave now?”

“Not that I want to, but if you help me, then I will.” And he did.

The happy daimyo brought a beautiful sword decorated with precious stones as a gift to the shrine. “How did he do it?” enquired the surprised owner.

“He simply let the opponent to defeat himself,” replied the docho. “There is only a handful of samurai, who truly understand it.”

“But how do you let somebody defeat himself?” continued fascinated daimyo.

“Do you remember when I told you that your patience would be rewarded? You need to practice patience and stillness. Learn to act without acting.” With those words ringing in his ears, the daimyo left the shrine.

Source: The Three Samurai Cats by Eric Kimmel

Medio Pollito - Spanish Tale

The Iberian Peninsula can be easily remembered by number ‘two.’ It almost connects two continents of Europe and Africa. And it is mostly composed of two countries, Portugal and Spain. At the heart of Spain its capital of Madrid stands. At the heart of the capital stands a cathedral with the highest spire in the city holding something magical at its end. The legend will explain. 

In a village outside Madrid, there was a hen house. Inside it a hen laid an egg. There was something special about this egg. It was flat on one side, quite unusual. And out of it came a chick, a very remarkable chick. It had one leg, one eye, one wing, half of its comb and beak. So it was called Medio Pollito, meaning half-chick.

Medio Pollito was not like other chicks, which stayed close to their mother. He was eager to explore. The first time he saw a road, he asked, “Where does it lead?”

“It goes to the city of Madrid,” explained the mother.

“What’s there?” He enquired further.

“The king lives there,” continued mother.

“Who is he?”

“He rules over the Spanish lands.”

Medio Pollito with the tip of his wing touched his half beak and pondered, “I wonder how he looks like and the city he lives in.”

The other animals in the barnyard heard about Medio Pollito dream of going to Madrid and laughed at him.

Sad chick hid under his mother’s belly. The mother tenderly brushed the chick’s head with her feathers and said, “Don’t worry what other animals say. If you want to travel and you put your mind to it, then nothing and nobody can stop you from achieving it.”

So Medio Pollito listened to his mother encouragement and followed the road to Madrid.

When his throat got dry, he stopped to beak some water from a stream. As he bend down, he heard, “Please help me, the weeds are stopping my flow.”

The kind chick responded to the stream, “As soon as I quench my thirst, I will pluck the weeds.”

He gulped the water, then plucked the weeds, “All done.”

“Thank you for your kindness. If you are ever in need, think of me,” said the stream.

Off he was, getting closer to the city. When Medio Pollito passed by a campfire, he heard, “Please, help me. My dying fire needs more wood.”

The half-chick thought that every time he stopped, it was taking him longer to get to the city. But his good heart told him to gather wood. So he did.

“Thank you for your kindness. If you are ever in need, think of me,” said the fire.

Medio Pollito continued his adventure. When he approached a hill, he stopped to gaze at the city spread in front of him. He didn’t notice a chestnut tree next to him until he heard, “Please, help me. I am tangled in those thick branches.” It was wind, which wanted to move on with its journey as much as Medio Pollito.

Half-chick thought to himself since I am so close to the city, I have time to reach it before it gets dark. He climbed into the tree and freed the wind.

“Thank you for your kindness. If you are ever in need, think of me,” said the wind.

The gates of the city were wide opened. Medio Pollito wandered the streets. The busy pedestrians did not pay any attention to Medio Pollito. It was dinner time. His belly growled. “What am I supposed to do now?” worried he.

The royal cook noticed the half-chick and asked, “What are you doing here in the city? Shouldn’t you be in the country?”

“I just came from the country to see the king,” replied he.

“I must say it is your lucky day. I work in the king’s kitchens. Why don’t I take you there,” suggested the cook.

“That would be splendid.” The good-natured chick believed the cook, who had some other plans in mind.

At the palace, the cook put the chick into a pot and said, “You need to take a bath before I can present you to the king. You are all dusty from your travel.” That was quite true, so the chick believed the cook.

After swimming in the pot for quite some time, Medio Pollito said, “Cook, I am ready to come out and see the king.”

“You will see the king, when I serve you in a bowl as he requested a chicken soup for his dinner,” snapped the cook slamming the heavy lid to cover the pot.

Tears rolled down the chick’s cheek as the water was getting hotter and it was getting more and more uncomfortable inside the pot. Then he remembered the cool water of the stream.

Instantly he heard a voice, “Don’t be afraid. I will keep the water at a comfortable temperature. Enjoy your swim.”

“Thank you for your quick help,” said the chick. But he still worried how the stream would be able to keep the water cool if the fire was hissing under the pot.

Immediately, he heard another voice, “Don’t worry. I will sizzle and smoke, but not heat. So the water will stay as it is.”

“Thank you for putting my mind at ease.” As soon he said his last words to the fire, the cook appeared.

He was quite annoyed with the smoke in the kitchen. He lifted the lid, “Why is the water warm instead of hot.”

A head appeared above the water and retorted quickly, “Can I see the king now?”

The angry cook plucked the chick by his comb with the tips of his fingers and threw him out the window, “Find your own way to the king.”

Medio Pollito wandered the streets again. He was cold and hungry. He thought of his mother and hen house and wanted to be back there with the wind’s speed.

At that moment, the wind appeared, “Are you giving up so quickly? Where is your spirit of adventure?” When the resigned chick didn’t respond, the wind suggested, “Why don’t I show you the city? If you don’t like it, then I’ll take you home.”

Medio Pollito agreed.

The wind took him to the highest place in the city, which was the cathedral’s spire. The wind perched the chick at the tip of the spire and said, “Look around. What do you think?”

The chick looked around and saw the red roofs of beautiful buildings, squares filled with colorful markets and the cobbled streets winding among them. “It’s the most amazing view I’ve ever seen. I could stay here forever.”

“Stay as long as you wish,” replied the wind.

So the half-chick did. And he stands there to this day. As the wind blows, the chick turns in the same direction, showing the people below which way the wind is blowing.

Source: Medio Pollito by Eric A. Kimmel.

Note: Iberian Peninsula is home to three countries, including Andorra in the Pyrenees Mountains (north) and to a state of Gibraltar (British governed territory) at the southern end of the peninsula.

Golem of Prague Legend

At the heart of Europe, there is a country of Czech Republic. In the north-west part of the country its capital of Prague stands proudly. There was time, when the proud city was shamed by the attacks against the Jews. Those times take us to a legend of Golem.

In the year of 1580, the beautiful city of Prague bore witness to violent acts against the Jews, who were forced to live in the restricted area of ghetto. The chief rabbi of Prague, Judah Loew ben Bezalel, sensed the building trouble against his people. At his study, while he prayed vigorously for freedom of the Jews, his heavy head rested on his praying hands and fell into slumber. He dreamed of a man made of clay and of untold power.

The following day at the crack of dawn, Rabbi Lowe sent for his son-in-law and his best student. Upon their arrival, he announced, “I need your help in creating Golem.”

When darkness covered the city, the three men left the ghetto through a secret passage to the River Vlatva. Both young men shoveled the clay from the muddy banks of the river unto a one big pile.

The rabbi felt the clay with his hands and chanted his prayers softly. His hands moved around the shapeless mass, shaping it. Then he rose and faced a lifeless figure laying on the riverbank.

He raised his arms and voice slightly, chanting spells from Cabala. The wind whirled around the clay figure. A thunder struck the ground, putting life into the lifeless figure. Two young men gripped each other in fear.

After the shaking ground calmed, the rabbi touched the creature’s forehead with the tips of his fingers and spoke, “Golem. Awake.” And he did.

“Father, why do you need me?” spoke Golem.

“To protect my people,” answered the rabbi. “Follow us. We need to return to the ghetto before daylight catches with us.”

Once at the attic, the rabbi explained more, “I need you to guard the ghetto at night and report those who wish harm upon us. By day, you will help at the synagogue.”

It wasn’t long before a riot raised and reached the gates of the Jewish ghetto. Golem stood protecting the gates, but with every push, the hinges screeched and slowly gave way to the rioting crowds.

Golem with his big strong hands swept the attackers to the right and left, sending them up in the air and letting them crash to the ground. The mob seeing the dead and wounded fled in panic.

The Emperor upon hearing horrible news, he summoned the rabbi to Prague Castle and demanded answers, “What is your plan?” The emperor roared like a lion, “Are you planning on destroying the whole city?”

“I have no intention of destroying the city,” calmly answered the rabbi. “We only wish to live within the city in peace and not to be oppressed.”

“And how are you planning to achieve it with the monster your created?” Emperor’s voice continued to rumble along the castle’s walls.

“As soon as the Jews are safe, Golem will no longer have its purpose here and will be turned back to its original state of clay,” assured the rabbi.

With a calmer voice the emperor declared, “I guarantee the safety of your people.”

“Tonight Golem will be turned into clay. That’s my promise,” responded the rabbi with a bow of his head and left the castle.

At night, the rabbi chanted the Cabala words over the sleeping body of Golem. Slowly the body was losing its shape. The face and hands were disappearing in a pile of clay. There was no more Golem, except a pile of clay.

The two young men helped the rabbi again. This time to wheel the carts of clay back to riverbanks.

This was the only time, when the city of Prague witnessed the creature of Golem. Perhaps, if there is need, he may appear again.

Note: Other Golem versions: Golem of Chelm (March post) and Golem of Vilna (April post)

 

Source: Golem by David Wisniewski