One Thousand and One Arabian Nights

The Shahyar and Scheherazade.

The One Thousand and One Nights, also called the Arabian Nights, is a collection of folk stories from all over the Middle East, India, and northern Africa. The “thousand and one nights” refer to the stories that Scheherazade would tell her husband, the Shahyar, king of Persia, every night. The king was shocked to discover that his brother's wife had been unfaithful and soon discovers that his own wife had also been unfaithful. The Shahyar has his wife executed. He bitterly makes up his mind that all women are evil and unfaithful. He then married a succession of virgins, which he would execute following morning so that they will not get an opportunity to be unfaithful. The Sharyar's vizier, whose job is it to supply the king with virgins, was running out of girls. Thus his own daughter, named Scheherazade, volunteered to marry the king. In order to avoid execution, Scheherazade would tell the Shahyar one story for every night for one thousand and one nights. She would often end her story unfinished, leaving the king in suspense. He would postpone her execution so in order to hear the conclusion. But every night, Scheherazade would begin with another story (or sometimes a story within a story) and again would not end it; thus, for every story she tells is another day that her life is spared. She goes on with this scheme for a thousand and one nights, until the king had a change of heart. (Read a narrative version of this story from ShortStories.com.)

Three of the most popular stories are stories are given below: Aladdin'sWonderful Lamp, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor.

ALADDIN'S WONDERFUL LAMP

Poster of the 1992 Disney animated film, Alladin.

The story of Aladdin and the lamp and the genie is well-known, but it was not part of the original One Thousand and One Nights. The story was added by Antoine Galland, a Frenchman who translated the Arabian Nights in the eighteenth century. According to his diary (dated March 25, 1709), Galland heard this story from Youhenna Diab, a Maronite scholar from Aleppo, Syria.

“Aladdin” is a story of a poor boy who was tricked by an evil magician into retrieving a magic lamp from a cave. Aladdin finds the lamp in the cave, but the magician traps him inside. Aladdin was freed by the genie in the lamp. Using the genie's powers, Aladdin marries the sultan's daughter and becomes rich. The magician tricks the princess into giving him the lamp but was killed by Aladdin and the princess; so they lived happily ever after.

Once there lived a poor widow and her son, Aladdin. One day, Aladdin’s uncle, Mustafa, came to visit them. He said, “Sister, why don’t you let Aladdin come and work for me?” They agreed and Mustafa took Aladdin along with him. They walked in the desert and came to a cave. The cave was full of riches and treasures but Mustafa was afraid to go inside. He wanted Aladdin to go in and get him the treasures instead. “Go inside,” commanded Mustafa, “and find me the jewels. You will also find a lamp. Bring it to me.”

Aladdin went inside and found more riches than he could ever imagine. He found a beautiful ring and wore it on his finger. He also collected as many gems as he could, but before he could come out of the cave, Mustafa said, “Quick! Just hand me all, the jewels and the lamp!” Aladdin refused. Angry at the refusal, his cruel uncle blocked the entrance of the cave and left.

Aladdin sat in the dark and cried. Then he saw the old lamp and decided to light it. While cleaning it, he rubbed the lamp and out came a genie! “Master, I shall grant you three wishes,” he said. Aladdin said, “Take me home!” In seconds, Aladdin was with his mother, counting the gems he had brought from the cave. Aladdin also brought the ring along with him and when he rubbed it, out came another genie! “Master, I shall grant you three wishes!” said the genie. “Make us rich and happy!” said Aladdin. And Aladdin and his mother lived happily.

One day, Aladdin saw the sultan’s daughter and fell in love with her. He went to the palace with gems and asked for her hand in marriage. The king agreed to this. After marriage, Aladdin showered the princess with all the riches and gave her a huge palace to live in. When the sultan died, Aladdin ruled the kingdom. He was just and kindhearted and everybody was happy under his rule.

Meanwhile, Mustafa came to know how Aladdin found the magic lamp and became rich. He wanted to take the lamp back. So, one day, when Aladdin was away, Mustafa came to the palace dressed as a trader. He cried out, “Get new lamps for old ones! New lamps for old!” Hearing this, the princess took out the magic lamp and gave it to him. She did not know that the old lamp was indeed magical. She bought a shiny new lamp instead. Mustafa gladly took the lamp and went away. He then commanded the genie, “Send Aladdin’s entire palace into the deserts in Africa!” And saying this, Mustafa, along with the princess in the palace, were sent to Africa. Aladdin, on coming back, found his wife and house missing. He searched for the palace for three long days. Finally, he rubbed his magic ring and asked the genie, “Please take me to my princess!” The genie agreed. When he met his wife, Aladdin and the princess decided to trick Mustafa.

One night, the princess said to Mustafa, “I don’t think Aladdin will ever find me here! I might as well live as your slave for I am certain he is dead now!” Mustafa was very happy and ordered for a feast. During the feast, the princess got Mustafa drunk and he fell into a deep sleep.

In the meantime, the princess took the magic lamp to Aladdin. Together, they asked the genie of the lamp to take the entire palace back to Aladdin’s kingdom. The genie then killed Mustafa and Aladdin and the princess lived happily ever after.

ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES

Poster of the 1944 Universal adventure film Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

“Ali Baba” is another story that is not part of the original One Thousand and One Nights but wa s only added by its French translator, Antoine Galland. It tells the story of Ali Baba, who discovers a thieves' hideout full of treasure. The story made the phrase “Open Sesame!” famous.

Ali Baba, a poor woodcutter was in the forest when he saw forty thieves stop in front of a cave.

The leader said “Open Sesame!” and before Ali Baba’s amazed eyes the sealed mouth of the cave magically opened and the men disappeared inside. To come out and close the entrance, the leader said “Close Sesame” and the cave sealed itself once more. Trembling with excitement Ali Baba waited till the thieves had left and then entered the cave after saying the magic words. To his delight he found lots of treasure.

Ali Baba told his brother Kasim about the wondrous cave. Kasim set off to get some treasure for himself too. Sadly, he forgot the words to leave the cave and the thieves killed him. Ali Baba discovered his brother’s body in the cave. With the help of a slave girl called Morgiana, he was able to take Kasim’s body back home and bury it.

Realising that someone else knew about their cave the thieves tracked Ali Baba down. The leader, disguised as an oil seller stayed with Ali Baba. He had brought along mules loaded with forty oil jars containing the other thieves. Clever Morgiana knew who the oil seller really was and poured boiling oil into the jars killing the other thieves. While dancing in front of the leader of the thieves Morgiana stabbed him. Ali Baba was saved and lived happily ever after.

THE SEVEN VOYAGES OF SINBAD THE SAILOR

Poster of the 1947 Technicolor fantasy film Sinbad the Sailor, which tells of the "eighth" voyage of Sinbad.

The story of Sinbad is part of the original One Thousand and One Nights, with each voyage told every night. It tells the story of the adventures of Sinbad, which sometimes resembles the adventures of Odysseus in The Odyssey. Sinbad's encounter with the giant monster in the third voyage was like that of Odysseus with Polyphemus. The adventure where the ship's crew was made to eat a drug-like herb so that they can be fattened is like the episode with the Lotus-Eaters (who gave Odysseus' men a drug so that they will forget about going home) and with Circe (a witch who turned Odysseus's crew into pigs).

Long time ago, during the reign of Caliph Harun al-Rashid of Baghdad, a poor porter named Hinbad, tired from a day of carrying other people's goods from the market, sat down to rest in front of the gate of a rich man's house. He began to complain to God on the injustices of this word: why there are people who can afford to life of ease while he must work hard and remain poor. He was heard by the owner of the house, named Sinbad. Sinbad invited the the poor porter inside and told him that he became rich “by fortune and fate” in the course of seven voyages. He then proceeds to tell Hinbad his adventures.

The first voyage. Sinbad squandered all of his father's inheritance to him, so he went out on a ship in order to regain his fortune. In his first journey he and his men landed on an island with trees which have been there “ever since the world began”. The island turned out to be a gigantic whale, which was awakened by a fire lit by Sinbad's sailors. As the whale dived into the depths, Sinbad's ship and men sailed without him. Sinbad was saved by a piece of wood sent by God and was washed ashore into another island. There he met one of the king's groomsmen and then rescued one of the king's mares from being drowned by an supernatural aquatic horse. The groomsman brought Sinbad to the king, who makes him into a trusted courier. One day, the ship Sinbad sailed in arrived at the island. Sinbad took all of his goods, which was still in the ship's hold, and gave them to the king. In return the king gave Sinbad many precious gifts, which he sold for a great profit. He then returns to Baghdad to life a life of ease. (Then Sindbad gives the porter a hundred gold coins and tells him to come back tomorrow for the continuation of his story.)

The second voyage. Sinbad became bored with his life of ease in Baghdad and decides to go again on an adventure at sea. Again, he was accidentally left behind by his shipmates; this time on an island inhabited by giant birds called rocs. He strapped himself on a roc, which flew him to a valley of giant snakes which can swallow elephants—these giant snakes are the roc's natural prey. The valley floor was filled with diamonds. To get the diamonds, merchants would throw huge chunks of meat into the valley. The rocs would then carry the meat with diamonds stuck on them to their nests. Then the merchants would retrieve the diamonds by driving away the rocs from their nests. So Sinbad strapped himself on a chunk of meat and was carried by a roc to its nest. He was then rescued by merchants returned to Baghdad with a fortune of diamonds.

The third voyage. Again restless for adventure, Sinbad and his men sailed to Basra (in Iraq). They were captured by a giant monster (who was similar to Polyphemus in The Odyssey). The giant proceeded to eat the crew, starting with their fat captain. Sinbad heated two heated two iron kebabs (which the giant had been using to roast the men) and used them to blind the monster. He and his men sailed away on a raft they made the day before. However, the monster's mate was able to kill Sinbad's men with rocks. Sinbad encounters further adventures, including an encounter with a giant python, and eventually returns to Baghdad.

The fourth voyage. Sinbad was against thirsty for adventure. As usual, he and his men were shipwrecked on an island. The naked savages of the island forced his men to eat an herb which robs people of reason in order to fatten them for cooking. Sinbad refused to eat the herb and escapes. He is rescued by some pepper gatherers and was taken back to their own island. Their king befriended Sinbad and gave him his own daughter as a wife. Sinbad's wife soon falls ill and dies. Then he finds out that the island has a peculiar custom: when a spouse dies, the surviving spouse is buried with them, together with fine clothes and costly jewelry. Sinbad was then buried in a cave with his dead wife, along with a jug of water and seven loaves of bread. It turns out that the cave was a communal tomb: every time a spouse dies, both the husband and wife are buried there. Every time a husband and wife were buried, Sinbad would kill the surviving spouse and take their rations. One day, a wild animal showed Sinbad a way out of the tomb and then he was rescued by a passing ship. He returned to Baghdad with riches he accumulated in the cave.

The fifth voyage. Once more Sinbad was bored with his life of ease and returned to sea. While passing by a desert island, the crew spotted a giant egg. The men went to shore to examine the egg, which they end up breaking and eating the chick inside. Sinbad recognized that it was a roc egg and urged the crew to escape. The parent rocs arrived and destroyed their ship by dropping boulders on it. Sinbad was shipwrecked and enslaved by the Old Man of the Sea. The Old Man would ride on his shoulders and wrap himself to his neck using his legs. To get out of this misery, Sinbad tricked the Old Man to drink some wine that he made. When the Old Man fell asleep, Sinbad killed him and escapes. On the way home, he passed by the City of Apes. The people of the city would escape on rafts to the sea in order to avoid the man-eating apes that ravage their city every night. Because of the apes, Sinbad was able to steal the treasure of the city and return to Baghdad.

The sixth voyage. Hungry for adventure, Sinbad set sail again but was shipwrecked again, this time on an island with steep cliffs. Sinbad's men eventually die off with starvation until he was left all alone. He then discovers an underground river in a cavern beneath the cliffs. He fell asleep and when he awoke he found that the river has taken him to city of King Serenib (in Ceylon, Sri Lanka), a land rich with treasure. He amazes the king with stories of Caliph Haroun al-Rashid of Baghdad. In return, King Serenib asks Sinbad to return to Baghdad and give the caliph presents on his behalf, including a cup carved from a single ruby and a bed made from the skin of a giant snake, upon which whoever sits would never get sick.

The seventh and final voyage. Sinbad sets out to sea for the last time, but as usual he gets shipwrecked. He constructs a raft and sails to a nearby city. The chief merchant gives his daughter to Sinbad as his wife and declares him his heir. The people of the city turn into birds once a month. Sinbad had one of the bird-people carry him until they see the angels praising God. Suddenly fire rains from the sky and nearly killed all of the bird-people. The bird-people blamed Sinbad for their misfortune and left him on a mountaintop. There he met two young men who claim to be servants of God and they gave him a golden staff. When he returned to the city, Sinbad discovered from his wife that the people of the city are actually demons (although she and her father were not). Upon her advice, Sinbad sells their possessions and returns to Baghdad with his wife. Sinbad resolves to live quietly and enjoy his riches, and to no longer go on adventures.

R E F E R E N C E S

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Thousand_and_One_Nights

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aladdin

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ali_Baba

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinbad_the_Sailor

http://shortstoriesshort.com/story/aladdin/

http://www.kidsgen.com/stories/arabian_tales/ali_baba_and_forty_thieves.htm

"The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran (Excerpts)

 "The Prophet" is a book written by Lebanese author Kahlil Gibran (January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931), published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1923. It is composed 26 essays on the human situation, with topics ranging from love, marriage, buying and selling, beauty, religion, and death. It tells the story of Almustafa the prophet, who is about to board a ship after his twelve-year ministry in the foreign city of Orphalese. He is stopped by a group of people, led by a woman named Almitra, who asked him his final words on various topics.

Gibran was born to a Maronite Catholic family. He is said to be the third most well-read authors in the world, after William Shakespeare and Laozi (Lao Tzu).

Excerpts from “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran

The Coming of the Ship

Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.

And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.

Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.

But he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:

How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.

Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?

Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.

It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.

Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.

Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?

A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.

And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.

Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.

And his soul cried out to them, and he said:

Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides,

How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.

Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.

Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,

Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.

And you, vast sea, sleepless mother, Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,

Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.

And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.

And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from the field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.

And he said to himself:

Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?

And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?

And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?

Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?

And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?

Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?

A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?

If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unrembered seasons?

If this indeed be the our in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.

Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,

And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.

These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.

And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.

And the elders of the city stood forth and said:

Go not yet away from us.

A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.

No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved. Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.

And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:

Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.

You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.

Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

And others came also and entreated him.

But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.

And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.

And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.

And she hailed him, saying: Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship.

And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.

Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.

Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.

In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.

Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.

And he answered,

People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls?

On Love

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love. When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

On Marriage

Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children." And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Everybody has His Burden--Indonesian folktale

A mango tree. (Image via Panoramio.Com)

Everybody has His Burden

“Everybody has his burden but the heaviest burden is for the small and low”.

Once there was a mango tree. It had many large branches which gave generous shade and bore many luscious fruits. Everybody who saw the fine yield of fruit admired the tree and wished they owned a tree like it.

One day, a complaining voice was heard right under the bottom of the tree.

“Poor me. What a burden I have to bear. I’ve got to carry such a load; the heavy trunk, all the huge branches, all the leaves and fruit. So heavy is my load that I’m buried alive in the soil. Never I am able to see the nice work of nature above earth. Never can I breathe fresh air or see the moon or the sun.

"On contrary, people hurt me when they sometimes pull me out to plant me somewhere else. Oh, I can’t describe how I suffer all the time. Only God knows my sufferings. What a nice life the trunk has”.

When the trunk heard this sullen outburst, he answered:

“My dear brother, don’t talk like that. Do you really think I have a nice life? You don’t know how I have to bear the weight of those great branches and all that load of fruit on me. I’m always frightened when there is a hard whirlwind shaking my body. The whirlwind turns and twist my body so badly. You don’t know how it hurts. I am fortunate if I don’t break into two. If I do, then everything is finished.”

“One thing I hate. Day after day, people who bring firewood to the market lean their heavy bundles of wood to me. Torture my flesh when they strike their axes on my body. I bleed them for hours. Besides this, even the people lean on me at the same time. No need to tell you what my suffering is all that weight to support. Do you think they are thankful to me? Not at all. Then only notice the leaves above their heads who gave them shade. Of what use are those leaves? They only have a nice life, dancing whenever there is the slightest breeze.”

The grumbling of the trunk was heard by the leaves. They fretted to hear these words of envy about themselves. So they said grumpily:

“How sad we are to hear you both talking like that. How ungrateful you both you are. Isn’t it we who protect you from the burning rays of the sun? And what about the raining season? We always do our best to protect you from the harsh squalls that drench you. We protect you from the strong whirlwind with will uproot you. How much we suffer during these severe winds. We creak and rattle from their hand whippings and lacking. We are smacked down on earth and flung here and there and everywhere. Those of us who will still have the strength to hold onto a branch to avoid falling are solely scratched. Those of us who are scattered on the earth are collected by the people. For a moment, we are glad to be together again but the happiness does not last long. We realized this togetherness is until we are put to death by fire and turned into ash. How can you say that we have a nice life! It’s the fruit who have a nice life, hanging and swinging all day. It is the fruit that counts for everybody.”

The fruits were saddened to hear this talk. They said in a sulky voice:

“My dear brothers and sisters, how sad we are to hear your words. It is far from the truth of what we actually feel and what we have to face every time. We are the most to be pitied.”

"We always live in fear. We have to keep up our good name all the time, to be famous throughout the world. If we are not sweet and delicious and pretty, people won’t buy us. They will cut us all off and you will become firewood.

“Besides that, how about the children who had stones at us when we are doing our best to take care ourselves and ripen into beauties that people will want to buy? And even when we are ripe we have to suffer when we are eaten by people. We are not complaining, After all, people like to grow us because we are delicious. And that means they respect us. The best of us seeds selected and replanted. We have pride seeing our descendants: seeds of our seeds.”

“Stop! Stop talking!” The root said harshly again. “No need to talk anymore. All of you depend on me. If I don’t exist all of you will not be there. If I’m sick then there will no trunk, no leaves, no fruit. I have to work hard to all of you, looking for the food you all need. Have for no thought of me who has to do so much for all of us? Do you think only of your own feelings?"

So it must be among people too, say the Bataks. Think what other feel before you take a step. The true balance of democracy is when the leaves, fruit, trunks and roots are all taken into the picture.

"In a Grove” by Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke (March 1, 1892 – July 24, 1927) was a Japanese writer who is considered the “Father of the Japanese Short Story”. He is noted for “his superb style and finely detailed stories that explore the darker side of human nature.” This story, “In a Grove” (藪の中 Yabu no Naka) was first published in the January 1922 in the literature monthly Shinchō. It tells the story of the mysterious death of a samurai warrior from the perspective of six witnesses, each contradicting each other, plus the victim himself, told through a spirit medium. The story has been adapted by the influential Japanese director Akira Kurosawa in the award-winning film, Rashōmon (1950). (Akutagawa’s earlier short shory “Rashōmon”, a gate of the city of Kyoto, provided the setting for the movie; “In a Grove” provided the story and the characters.)

  

“In a Grove”

By Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

The Testimony of a Woodcutter Questioned by a High Police Commissioner

Yes, sir. Certainly, it was I who found the body. This morning, as usual, I went to cut my daily quota of cedars, when I found the body in a grove in a hollow in the mountains. The exact location? About 150 meters off the Yamashina stage road. It's an out-of-the-way grove of bamboo and cedars.

The body was lying flat on its back dressed in a bluish silk kimono and a wrinkled head-dress of the Kyoto style. A single sword-stroke had pierced the breast. The fallen bamboo-blades around it were stained with bloody blossoms. No, the blood was no longer running. The wound had dried up, I believe. And also, a gad-fly was stuck fast there, hardly noticing my footsteps.

You ask me if I saw a sword or any such thing?

No, nothing, sir. I found only a rope at the root of a cedar nearby. And … well, in addition to a rope, I found a comb. That was all. Apparently he must have made a battle of it before he was murdered, because the grass and fallen bamboo-blades had been trampled down all around.

"A horse was nearby?"

No, sir. It's hard enough for a man to enter, let alone a horse.

 

The Testimony of a Traveling Buddhist Priest Questioned by a High Police Commissioner

The time? Certainly, it was about noon yesterday, sir. The unfortunate man was on the road from Sekiyama to Yamashina. He was walking toward Sekiyama with a woman accompanying him on horseback, who I have since learned was his wife. A scarf hanging from her head hid her face from view. All I saw was the color of her clothes, a lilac-colored suit. Her horse was a sorrel with a fine mane. The lady's height? Oh, about four feet five inches. Since I am a Buddhist priest, I took little notice about her details. Well, the man was armed with a sword as well as a bow and arrows. And I remember that he carried some twenty odd arrows in his quiver.

Little did I expect that he would meet such a fate. Truly human life is as evanescent as the morning dew or a flash of lightning. My words are inadequate to express my sympathy for him.

 

The Testimony of a Policeman Questioned by a High Police Commissioner

The man that I arrested? He is a notorious brigand called Tajomaru. When I arrested him, he had fallen off his horse. He was groaning on the bridge at Awataguchi. The time? It was in the early hours of last night. For the record, I might say that the other day I tried to arrest him, but unfortunately he escaped. He was wearing a dark blue silk kimono and a large plain sword. And, as you see, he got a bow and arrows somewhere. You say that this bow and these arrows look like the ones owned by the dead man? Then Tajomaru must be the murderer. The bow wound with leather strips, the black lacquered quiver, the seventeen arrows with hawk feathers—these were all in his possession I believe. Yes, Sir, the horse is, as you say, a sorrel with a fine mane. A little beyond the stone bridge I found the horse grazing by the roadside, with his long rein dangling. Surely there is some providence in his having been thrown by the horse.

Of all the robbers prowling around Kyoto, this Tajomaru has given the most grief to the women in town. Last autumn a wife who came to the mountain back of the Pindora of the Toribe Temple, presumably to pay a visit, was murdered, along with a girl. It has been suspected that it was his doing. If this criminal murdered the man, you cannot tell what he may have done with the man's wife. May it please your honor to look into this problem as well.

The Testimony of an Old Woman Questioned by a High Police Commissioner

Yes, sir, that corpse is the man who married my daughter. He does not come from Kyoto. He was a samurai in the town of Kokufu in the province of Wakasa. His name was Kanazawa no Takehiko, and his age was twenty-six. He was of a gentle disposition, so I am sure he did nothing to provoke the anger of others. My daughter? Her name is Masago, and her age is nineteen. She is a spirited, fun-loving girl, but I am sure she has never known any man except Takehiko. She has a small, oval, dark-complexioned face with a mole at the corner of her left eye.

Yesterday Takehiko left for Wakasa with my daughter. What bad luck it is that things should have come to such a sad end! What has become of my daughter? I am resigned to giving up my son-in-law as lost, but the fate of my daughter worries me sick. For heaven's sake leave no stone unturned to find her. I hate that robber Tajomaru, or whatever his name is. Not only my son-in-law, but my daughter… (Her later words were drowned in tears.)

 

Tajomaru's Confession

I killed him, but not her. Where's she gone? I can't tell. Oh, wait a minute. No torture can make me confess what I don't know. Now things have come to such a head, I won't keep anything from you.

Yesterday a little past noon I met that couple. Just then a puff of wind blew, and raised her hanging scarf, so that I caught a glimpse of her face.

Instantly it was again covered from my view. That may have been one reason; she looked like a Bodhisattva. At that moment I made up my mind to capture her even if I had to kill her man.

Why? To me killing isn't a matter of such great consequence as you might think. When a woman is captured, her man has to be killed anyway. In killing, I use the sword I wear at my side. Am I the only one who kills people? You, you don't use your swords. You kill people with your power, with your money. Sometimes you kill them on the pretext of working for their good. It's true they don't bleed. They are in the best of health, but all the same you've killed them. It's hard to say who is a greater sinner, you or me. (An ironic smile.)

But it would be good if I could capture a woman without killing her man. So, I made up my mind to capture her, and do my best not to kill him. But it's out of the question on the Yamashina stage road. So I managed to lure the couple into the mountains.

It was quite easy. I became their traveling companion, and I told them there was an old mound in the mountain over there, and that I had dug it open and found many mirrors and swords. I went on to tell them I'd buried the things in a grove behind the mountain, and that I'd like to sell them at a low price to anyone who would care to have them. Then…you see, isn't greed terrible? He was beginning to be moved by my talk before he knew it. In less than half an hour they were driving their horse toward the mountain with me.

When he came in front of the grove, I told them that the treasures were buried in it, and I asked them to come and see. The man had no objection— he was blinded by greed. The woman said she would wait on horseback. It was natural for her to say so, at the sight of a thick grove.

To tell you the truth, my plan worked just as I wished, so I went into the grove with him, leaving her behind alone.

The grove is only bamboo for some distance. About fifty yards ahead there's a rather open clump of cedars. It was a convenient spot for my purpose. Pushing my way through the grove, I told him a plausible lie that the treasures were buried under the cedars. When I told him this, he pushed his laborious way toward the slender cedar visible through the grove. After a while the bamboo thinned out, and we came to where a number of cedars grew in a row. As soon as we got there, I seized him from behind. Because he was a trained, sword-bearing warrior, he was quite strong, but he was taken by surprise, so there was no help for him. I soon tied him up to the root of a cedar. Where did I get a rope? Thank heaven, being a robber, I had a rope with me, since I might have to scale a wall at any moment. Of course it was easy to stop him from calling out by gagging his mouth with fallen bamboo leaves.

When I disposed of him, I went to his woman and asked her to come and see him, because he seemed to have been suddenly taken sick. It's needless to say that this plan also worked well. The woman, her sedge hat off, came into the depths of the grove, where I led her by the hand. The instant she caught sight of her husband, she drew a small sword. I've never seen a woman of such violent temper. If I'd been off guard, I'd have got a thrust in my side. I dodged, but she kept on slashing at me. She might have wounded me deeply or killed me. But I'm Tajomaru. I managed to strike down her small sword without drawing my own. The most spirited woman is defenseless without a weapon. At least I could satisfy my desire for her without taking her husband's life.

Yes…without taking his life. I had no wish to kill him. I was about to run away from the grove, leaving the woman behind in tears, when she frantically clung to my arm. In broken fragments of words, she asked that either her husband or I die. She said it was more trying than death to have her shame known to two men. She gasped out that she wanted to be the wife of whichever survived. Then a furious desire to kill him seized me. (Gloomy excitement.)

Telling you in this way, no doubt I seem a crueler man than you. But that's because you didn't see her face. Especially her burning eyes at that moment. As I saw her eye to eye, I wanted to make her my wife even if I were to be struck by lightning. I wanted to make her my wife… this single desire filled my mind. This was not only lust, as you might think. At that time if I'd had no other desire than lust, I'd surely not have minded knocking her down and running away. Then I wouldn't have stained my sword with his blood. But the moment I gazed at her face in the dark grove, I decided not to leave there without killing him.

But I didn't like to resort to unfair means to kill him. I untied him and told him to cross swords with me. (The rope that was found at the root of the cedar is the rope I dropped at the time.) Furious with anger, he drew his thick sword. And quick as thought, he sprang at me ferociously, without speaking a word. I needn't tell you how our fight turned out. The twenty-third stroke…please remember this. I'm impressed with this fact still. Nobody under the sun has ever clashed swords with me twenty strokes. (A cheerful smile.)

When he fell, I turned toward her, lowering my blood-stained sword. But to my great astonishment she was gone. I wondered to where she had run away. I looked for her in the clump of cedars. I listened, but heard only a groaning sound from the throat of the dying man.

As soon as we started to cross swords, she may have run away through the grove to call for help. When I thought of that, I decided it was a matter of life and death to me. So, robbing him of his sword, and bow and arrows, I ran out to the mountain road. There I found her horse still grazing quietly. It would be a mere waste of words to tell you the later details, but before I entered town I had already parted with the sword. That's all my confession. I know that my head will be hung in chains anyway, so put me down for the maximum penalty. (A defiant attitude.)

The Repentance of a Woman Who Has Come to Kiyomizu Temple

 That man in the blue silk kimono, after forcing me to yield to him, laughed mockingly as he looked at my bound husband. How horrified my husband must have been! But no matter how hard he struggled in agony, the rope cut into him all the more tightly. In spite of myself I ran stumblingly toward his side. Or rather I tried to run toward him, but the man instantly knocked me down. Just at that moment I saw an indescribable light in my husband's eyes. Something beyond expression…his eyes make me shudder even now. That instantaneous look of my husband, who couldn't speak a word, told me all his heart. The flash in his eyes was neither anger nor sorrow…only a cold light, a look of loathing. More struck by the look in his eyes than by the blow of the thief, I called out in spite of myself and fell unconscious.

In the course of time I came to, and found that the man in blue silk was gone. I saw only my husband still bound to the root of the cedar. I raised myself from the bamboo-blades with difficulty, and looked into his face; but the expression in his eyes was just the same as before.

Beneath the cold contempt in his eyes, there was hatred. Shame, grief, and anger… I don't know how to express my heart at that time. Reeling to my feet, I went up to my husband.

"Takejiro," I said to him, "since things have come to this pass, I cannot live with you. I'm determined to die…but you must die, too. You saw my shame. I can't leave you alive as you are."

This was all I could say. Still he went on gazing at me with loathing and contempt. My heart breaking, I looked for his sword. It must have been taken by the robber. Neither his sword nor his bow and arrows were to be seen in the grove. But fortunately my small sword was lying at my feet. Raising it over head, once more I said, "Now give me your life. I'll follow you right away."

When he heard these words, he moved his lips with difficulty. Since his mouth was stuffed with leaves, of course his voice could not be heard at all. But at a glance I understood his words. Despising me, his look said only, "Kill me." Neither conscious nor unconscious, I stabbed the small sword through the lilac-colored kimono into his breast.

Again at this time I must have fainted. By the time I managed to look up, he had already breathed his last—still in bonds. A streak of sinking sunlight streamed through the clump of cedars and bamboos, and shone on his pale face. Gulping down my sobs, I untied the rope from his dead body. And…and what has become of me? Only that, since I have no more strength to tell you. Anyway, I hadn't the strength to die. I stabbed my own throat with the small sword, I threw myself into a pond at the foot of the mountain, and I tried to kill myself in many ways. Unable to end my life, I am still living in dishonor. (A lonely smile.) Worthless as I am, I must have been forsaken even by the most merciful Kwannon. I killed my own husband. I was violated by the robber. Whatever can I do? Whatever can I… I… (Gradually, violent sobbing.)

The Story of the Murdered Man, as Told Through a Medium

After violating my wife, the robber, sitting there, began to speak comforting words to her. Of course I couldn't speak. My whole body was tied fast to the root of a cedar. But meanwhile I winked at her many times, as much as to say "Don't believe the robber." I wanted to convey some such meaning to her. But my wife, sitting dejectedly on the bamboo leaves, was looking hard at her lap. To all appearance, she was listening to his words. I was agonized by jealousy. In the meantime the robber went on with his clever talk, from one subject to another. The robber finally made his bold brazen proposal. "Once your virtue is stained, you won't get along well with your husband, so won't you be my wife instead? It's my love for you that made me be violent toward you."

While the criminal talked, my wife raised her face as if in a trance. She had never looked so beautiful as at that moment. What did my beautiful wife say in answer to him while I was sitting bound there? I am lost in space, but I have never thought of her answer without burning with anger and jealousy. Truly she said, "Then take me away with you wherever you go."

This is not the whole of her sin. If that were all, I would not be tormented so much in the dark. When she was going out of the grove as if in a dream, her hand in the robber's, she suddenly turned pale, and pointed at me tied to the root of the cedar, and said, "Kill him! I cannot marry you as long as he lives." "Kill him!" she cried many times, as if she had gone crazy. Even now these words threaten to blow me headlong into the bottomless abyss of darkness. Has such a hateful thing come out of a human mouth ever before? Have such cursed words ever struck a human ear, even once? Even once such a…(A sudden cry of scorn.) At these words the robber himself turned pale. "Kill him," she cried, clinging to his arms. Looking hard at her, he answered neither yes nor no… but hardly had I thought about his answer before she had been knocked down into the bamboo leaves. (Again a cry of scorn.) Quietly folding his arms, he looked at me and said, "What will you do with her? Kill her or save her? You have only to nod. Kill her?" For these words alone I would like to pardon his crime.

While I hesitated, she shrieked and ran into the depths of the grove. The robber instantly snatched at her, but he failed even to grasp her sleeve.

After she ran away, he took up my sword, and my bow and arrows. With a single stroke he cut one of my bonds. I remember his mumbling, "My fate is next." Then he disappeared from the grove. All was silent after that. No, I heard someone crying. Untying the rest of my bonds, I listened carefully, and I noticed that it was my own crying. (Long silence.)

I raised my exhausted body from the foot of the cedar. In front of me there was shining the small sword which my wife had dropped. I took it up and stabbed it into my breast. A bloody lump rose to my mouth, but I didn't feel any pain. When my breast grew cold, everything was as silent as the dead in their graves. What profound silence! Not a single bird note was heard in the sky over this grave in the hollow of the mountains. Only a lonely light lingered on the cedars and mountains. By and by the light gradually grew fainter, till the cedars and bamboo were lost to view. Lying there, I was enveloped in deep silence.

Then someone crept up to me. I tried to see who it was. But darkness had already been gathering round me. Someone…that someone drew the small sword softly out of my breast in its invisible hand. At the same time once more blood flowed into my mouth. And once and for all I sank down into the darkness of space.

 

All images from the movie Rashōmon (Kurusawa, [dir.], 1950).