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

Traditional Folktale of The Three Trees

In Western Asia, between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River, which cuts through the Sea of Galilee, lies a place known as Israel. In this special place, there are two historical cities called Bethlehem and Jerusalem. This traditional folktale takes us to those places as well as to hope and faith.

A long time ago, among many rolling green hills, there was one hill distinct by its three trees.

As seasons changed, the trees changed with them. Spring covered the barren branches with lush green leaves. Summer turned the leaves upwards toward the sun. Autumn changed the green leaves into beautiful range of red and golden colors. Winter brought the branches to its barren state. It did not cover the branches with its white fluffy snow as in other cooler regions.

During those seasons, the three trees dreamed of their destiny. The first tree spoke, “I wish to be turned into the most delicate looking chest on the outside, but the sturdiest on the inside.”

“Why would you wish for that?” asked the third three.

“To hold the heaviest and the finest jewelry in the world,” answered the first tree.

The second tree replied, “I want to be turned into the most spectacular ship.”

“Why would you wish for that?” asked the third three again.

“To travel around the world and carry the grandest of all people such as kings and queens,” responded the second tree.

The first and the second tree looked at the third tree and asked, “You don’t have a dream?”

The third tree sighed, “I do. I wish to stay here and reach the heaven.”

For many years, all three trees remained on the hill until one sunny day, when a woodcutter came. He raised his axe and kept chopping the first tree until it fell. The first tree spoke, “I am ready for my dream to come true.”

The following day, the woodcutter did the same thing to the second tree, which spoke exactly the same words as the first tree, “I am ready for my dream to come true.”

On the third day, the third tree wept, when it saw the woodcutter approaching the hill and said, “But my dream is over.”

The woodcutter chopped the first tree into small pieces and sold it to a carpenter. The carpenter sawed the wood into planks and nailed them together into a sturdy manger. Then he sold it to a farmer from Bethlehem, who put it in his stable and filled it with hay for animals. “Oh, my dream is over,” sighed the first tree.

One night, a baby was laid on hay in the manger. A man and a woman surrounded by animals watched over this special baby. The first tree then knew it was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

The second tree was cut into big pieces and sold to a carpenter. The carpenter nailed the planks into a sturdy boat, then sold it to fishermen. Each night the fishermen took the boat to a lake called the Sea of Galilee and once the net filled with fish, they pulled them onto the boat. The boat left the shore only during the night and just for fishing. Its wood now smelled of fish. “Oh, my dream is over,” sighed the second tree.

One night, storm raised the waves crushing them against the boat. The fishermen prayed for their safe return. A man appeared in the boat, spread his arms and turned his palms down calming the waters. The second tree then knew it was carrying the mightiest king in the world.

The third tree was cut into long pieces and moved to a wood-yard to wait for its order. One day, in Jerusalem two long planks were cut and nailed together creating a cross. A man was nailed to the cross and the cross was raised up with the man. People wept watching the man die.

The following day, a miracle happened; the man who had died on the cross was reborn and was seen among the people again. The third tree then knew it reached the heaven.

Source: The Three Trees. A Traditional Folktale by Elena Pasquali.

Legend of Robin Hood

At the heart of England, there is a city named Nottingham. At the center of the city stands the Nottingham Palace with a statue of Robin Hood. The legendary Robin Hood has been at the center stage of English folklore for many centuries. And this heroic outlaw takes us to his legend.

During the times of King Harry the Second of England, in the forests near the town of Nottingham lived Hugh Fitzooth with his wife and son Robert. Hugh was the head Forester of the King’s forests restricted for King’s hunting only, where no deer could be shot.

The boy was born in the year of 1160 in the town of Lockesley. Often he was known as Rob of Lockesley. As soon as he could walk, he accompanied his father into the forest. As soon as his arms were strong enough he learned to draw the bow and speed an arrow. During the winter evenings he eagerly listened to the stories about an outlaw, who rampaged through the King’s forests killing the deer told by his father by the fire.

The mother fond of the boy, but not so much of those stories taught her son to read and write in hopes of him becoming a clerk. The boy had the outmost respect for his mother, but he was the happiest in the woods with his bow and arrow.

The kind and caring father had some enemies, who despised him. At the most convenient occasion they convinced the King of Hugh’s deception. He was removed from his post as King’s Forester and arrested for treason.

The mother and the boy, then of 19, sheltered at their only relative. Soon after, the mother’s already failing health and the winter’s journey turned to be too much for her. Her departure from the earthly planes was shortly followed by his father’s, who died in jail awaiting his trial. Losing both parents in such short time crushed the boy. He missed them greatly, his mother’s gentleness and his father’s companionship.

One day, his uncle announced, “How would you like to take a part in an archer’s tournament?” Rob’s eyes twinkled and that was enough for his uncle to know what the answer was.

On his way to Nottingham, he encountered a group of Foresters and the deceitful head Forester, who took his father’s place. Rob would have passed by them without a word if the head Forester didn’t look for trouble, “Look who we have here…the one who claims to be the best archer.” An argument broke between those two resulting in archery fight. Rob’s arrow reached the head Forester first, killing him and making Rob an outlaw at the same time.

He stopped by the cottage of an older woman, he knew well. He learned that her sons became outlaws due to hunger, which forced them to hunt for forbidden deer. He stayed overnight and met with her sons, who announced, “We’re looking for a leader. So we’re heading to the archery tournament to find an outlaw, who can win the competition and become our leader.”

Rob in order to disguise his face wore a hood over his head. He won the tournament and was recognized as “Rob in the hood.”

Later that night, he became the leader of the outlaws of the Sherwood Forest. With a toast he was named “Robin Hood.”

They all swore to, “Take money and goods from the unjust rich, aid and befriend the poor and the helpless, and harm no woman.”

All that summer, Robin Hood and his men roamed in Sherwood Forest gaining fame of their deeds.

The fame of Robin Hood had reached Queen Eleanor in London. The Queen invited him and his four men to London’s tournament to shoot against King Harry’s men, in return promising amnesty for them.

At Finsbury Field, Robin Hood and his men won the King’s tourney, which story had been passed down from father to son, and even unto the present day.

After the death of King Harry, King Richard hearing of Robin Hood’s pranks became an admirer of him and desired to meet him.

Upon meeting the new King, Robin Hood and his men pledged their service to him.

Meanwhile, the fate reconnected Robin Hood and his childhood friend Marian. Her misfortune led her to joining Robin Hood and his men. Shortly after, they were weeded.

Their happiness lasted only five years. Marian was sickened of a plague and died. Robins’ light was gone. After the death of King Richard, the new King waged fierce war upon the outlaws.

Robin Hood and his men left the Sherwood Forest and went into Derbyshire. One of the last stories of him states that an arrow had reached his shoulder. It was all just a scratch, but it left him in fever. Shortly after, the body of Robin Hood had died, but his spirit has lived through the centuries.

Source: ‘Robin Hood’ by J. Walker McSpadden offers many adventures of Robin Hood.

Myth of the 'Glorious City' of Athens

Both Greece and its capital Athens are surrounded by many mythological stories. Long before those lands were called Greece, they were known as Attica.  Almost every town in the ancient Attica had a god or goddess that looked after the townspeople.

One of the goddesses was Athena. She was known as smart, just and talented. Her favorite town in the whole Attica was Athens. She wanted to offer her patronage to its people. But her uncle, Poseidon, wished to do the same. He was the god of the sea. He loved the coastal towns and got very annoyed with Athena that she dared to claim Athens for herself.

The situation worried other gods, who didn’t want any fight between those two. Zeus, father of Athena and brother of Poseidon, announced, “Why don’t you allow the people to decide who should be the patron?” People didn’t want to anger any of the gods by choosing. Instead they asked Zeus to do so. In reply Zeus proclaimed, “Let the best gift, the most beneficial to the city, decide about the patronage.” The confused people looked at each other.

Poseidon not wasting any time struck a rock with his trident causing a spring of water to gush forth from the ground and declared, “Dear people of Athens, my gift assures you with water. Therefore, you wouldn’t have to worry about any drought.”

Impressed people tasted the water, hiding their disappointment. The water was salty and tasted exactly like the sea water.

Now it was Athena’s turn. All eyes fell upon her.

Athena calmly planted a seed in the ground. A twig sprang from the ground. The people robbed their eyes in disbelief. The twig continued to grow upwards, branching outwards; the trunk was getting thicker and thicker. The green leaves started to show on the branches, with flowers blooming among them and at the very end shiny fruits dark in color appeared. Then Athena said, “My dear people, the olive tree will give you food, oil and firewood.”

The people tasted the fruit; impressed in unison loudly acclaimed Athena as their patron.

With time the people so many benefits of the olive tree. Its tasty olives and golden oil provided food, further giving benefits to their skinny skin and long age.

In return people named the town Athens after Athena and built numerous temples dedicated to her. One of them stands proudly atop Acropolis hill.

Temple of Athena at Acropolis 

Acropolis

Legend of Diavolezza Mountain

In the magical mountain range called Alps, within the country of Switzerland, lays a mountain pass called Bernina Pass. The pass is like a bridge connecting many peaks of the Alps. One of those peaks is Diavolezza, which holds a legend.

Once upon a time, high in the Alps, there were enchanting mountains. Its rocky snow-capped peaks and ridges stretched as far as the eye could see. Right below the snowy peaks and before its green slopes a blanket of ice glistened. The slopes below and meadows were dotted with deep-blue lakes sparkling with crystal clear water, with yellow daisies vastly spread among the green pastures shining like the sun above them, and with herds of goat-antelopes grazing on the lush green grass.

In those magnificent mountains lived a beautiful fairy-queen or a she-spirit or some even called her a she-devil. She lived in a stone fortress within the walls of Diavolezza Mountain. A few lucky hunters spotted her shadows galloping above the mountains. Her shadows charmed many of those lucky hunters, who became fascinated and obsessed with her. They followed her, but she was protected by her herd of goat-antelopes.

One of the hunters, who followed her, was a handsome young man named Aratsch. The handsome youth never returned home and the enchanting she-devil was never seen again. Nobody knows what happened to either of them. Some claim to hear the wailing voice of the Diavolezza Mountain on a windy nightfall, calling ‘mort ais Aratsch,’ which means ‘Aratsch is dead.’ Some claim to see the greyish shadow resembling her on the white ice sheet called glacier.