the aged mother

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Once there lived at the foot of a mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widow mother. They owned a bit of land that supplied them with food. They both led a happy, peaceful and humble life.

Shinano, the town where they lived, was governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had a great and cowardly shrinking from anything suggestive of failing health and strength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entire province was given strict orders to immediately put to death all the aged people. The days were barbarous, and the act of abandoning old people to die in isolation was not strange. The poor farmer had immense love and reverence for his aged mother and the order filled his heart with sorrow. No one could even think to refuse to obey the mandate of the governor. With many a deep and hopeless sighs, the youth prepared for the kindest mode, he could kill his mother with.

At twilight, when his day's work ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice, the principal food for the poor. He cooked and dried the rice and tied it in a square cloth making a pack of it. The bundle was swung around the neck along with a gourd filled with cool sweet water. He then, lifted his helpless old mother to his back and set out on his painful journey up the mountain. Paths made by hunters and woodcutter, crossed and re-crossed the long, steep and narrow road at several places. At some places he was confused and lost, but he paid no heed. One path or another, it mattered not for him. On he went, climbing blindly upward - ever upward towards the high bare summit of what was known as Obatsuyama, the mountain of the "abandoning of the aged"

The eyes of the old mother had still light in them and they noted the reckless hastening of her son from one path to another. Her loving heart grew anxious because her son did not know the mountain's paths and his return might be one of dangers. She forth her hand to snap twigs from brushes as they passed by She quietly dropped a handful of twigs every few steps as they climbed up. Thus the narrow path behind them was dotted at frequent intervals with tiny piles of twigs. Weary and heart sick, at last he reached the summit.

The son gently released his burden and silently prepared a place of comfort as his last duty to his beloved old mother. He gathered some fallen pine needles and made a soft cushion and tenderly lifted her onto it. He wrapped padded coat closely around her stooping shoulders and said her farewell with aching heart and tearful eyes.

The trembling mother's voice full of unselfish love delivered her last injunction. "Let not thine eyes be blind, my son." She said. "The mountain road is full of dangers. Look carefully and follow the path which holds the piles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar path farther down". The surprised son looked back to the path and then to the hands of the poor old lady. They were shriveled, scratched and soiled. His heart broke within and bowed to the ground crying aloud: "oh, honorable mother, your kindness breaks my heart!! will not leave you. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and together we will die!"

Once again he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed now) and hastened down the path, through the shadows 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 hid his mother and supplied her with everything she needed, watching and fearing if she would be discovered. Time passed and he began to feel safe when again the governor sent forth messengers bearing another senseless order, seemingly a pride in his power. His demand was that his subjects should present him with a rope of ashes.

The entire province again went into a state of fear. Who in all Shinano could make a rope of ashes? Yet the order had to be obeyed. One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. "Wait!" she said. "I will think. I will think" Next day she told him how to make a rope of ashes. "Make a rope of twisted straw," she said. "Then stretch it upon a row of flat stones and burn it on a windless night." He summoned all the people and did what she had said. After the blaze died down, there lay a rope of ashes upon the stones, with every twist and fiber looking perfectly intact.

The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised him, but he insisted to know where he got his wisdom. "Alas! Alas!" cried the farmer, "the truth must be told!" With deep bows he related his story. The governor listened to him and meditated in silence for a while. Then he lifted his head. "Shinano needs more than strength of youth," he said gravely. "Ah, that I should not have forgotten the well-known saying, "with the crown of snow, there cometh wisdom!" That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and the custom drifted so far into past that only legend remain.