THE STORY OF THE AGED MOTHERA Japanese Folktale
Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widowed mother. Theyowned a bit of land which supplied them with food, and their humble were peaceful and happy.Shinano was governed by adespoticleader who though a warrior, had a great and cowardly shrinking fromanything suggestive of failing health and strength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entireprovince was given strict orders to immediately put to death all aged people. Those werebarbarousdays, andthe custom of abandoning old people to die was not common. The poor farmer loved his aged mother withtender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But no one ever thought a second time aboutobeying themandateof the governor, so with many deep hopeless sighs, the youth prepared for what at thattime was considered the kindest mode of death.Just at sundown, when his day’s work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice which is principal foodfor poor, cooked and dried it, and tying it in a square cloth, swung andbundlearound his neck along with agourdfilled with cool, sweet water. Then he lifted his helpless old mother to his back and stated on his painful journey up the mountain. The road was long and steep; the narrowed road was crossed and recrossed bymany paths made by the hunters and woodcutters. In some place, they mingled in a confused puzzled, but hegave no heed. One path or another, it mattered not. On he went, climbing blindly upward – ever upwardtowards the high baresummitof what is know as Obatsuyama, the mountain of the “abandoning of aged”.The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they noted the reckless hastening from one path toanother, and her loving heart grew anxious. Her son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his returnmight be one of danger, so she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs from brushes as they passed,she quietly dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that they climbed, the narrow path behind themwas dotted at frequently intervals with tiny piles of twigs. At last the summit was reached. Weary and heartsick, the youth gently released his burden and silently prepared a place of comfort as his last duty to the lovedone. Gathering fallen pine needle, he made a soft cushion and tenderly lifting his old mother therein, hewrapped her padded coat more closely about the stooping shoulders and with tearful eyes and an aching heartsaid farewell.The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her last injunction. “Let not thine eyes beblinded, my son.” She said. “The mountain road is full of dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path whichholds the piles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar way farther down”. The son’s surprised eyes lookedback over the path, then at the poor old, shriveled hands all scratched and soiled by their work of love. Hisheart smote him and bowing to the grounds, he cried aloud: “oh, Honorable mother, thy kindness thrusts myheart! I will not leave thee. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and together we will die!”Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed no) and hastened down the path, through theshadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath the kitchen floor was a walled closet for food,which was covered and hidden from view. There the son his mother, supplying her with everything needful andcontinually watching and fearing. Time passed, and he was beginning to feel safe when again the governor sent forth heralds bearing an unreasonable order, seemingly as a boast of his power. His demand was that hissubject should present him with a rope of ashes. The entire province trembled with dread. The order must beobeyed yet who in all Shinano could make a rope of ashes?One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think. Iwill think” On the second day she told him what to do. “Make rope twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch itupon a row of flat stones and burn it there on the windless night.” He called the people together and did as shesaid and when the blaze and died, behold upon the stones with every twist and fiber showing perfectly. Lay arope of whithead ashes.The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, but he demanded to know where hehad ?obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!” cried the farmer, “the truth must be told!” and with deep bows herelated his story. The governor listened and then meditated in silence. Finally he lifted his head. “Shinanoneeds more than strength of youth,” he said gravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-know saying,“with the crown of snow, there cometh a wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and customdrifted into as far a past that only legends remains.