The Legend of Hoan Kiem Lake

Late at night, on a lonely stretch of river, a fisherman named Lê Thận hauled in his net. It was heavy, but not with fish. At the bottom lay a long, gleaming iron bar, giving off a light as cold as moonlight. He threw it away. He cast twice more, and each time the same bar came back. In those days, the whole country was held by the armies of the Ming, the dynasty then ruling China.

This is a legend from the old books, not an event anyone could dig up and see. But it explains why a small lake in the heart of Hanoi has such a lovely name: Hoan Kiem, meaning the Returned Sword.

According to an old chronicle, the Complete Annals of Đại Việt, Ming armies came from the north early in the 15th century. They took Đại Việt, an old name for Vietnam. They renamed the country and made its people follow northern customs. Under foreign rule, talented people were exploited and scholars were coerced. Vietnamese people still remember those years as a deep wound.

In the mountain forests of Lam Sơn, in Thanh Hóa province, one man decided to rise up. His name was Lê Lợi.

The old records say that at first, the Lam Sơn army was small and weak. It hid in the forest, and time and again it fled and lost everything. Lê Lợi worried. He did not know how to keep his followers loyal, or what strength could face so mighty an army from the north.

That was when the story of the divine sword began.

The chronicles keep many versions, but one is told most often and in the most detail. In it, after his three casts that night, the fisherman Lê Thận took the strange iron bar home. He kept it, not knowing what it was.

Not long after, Lê Lợi came to visit. In the dark, the bar suddenly glowed a strange blue-green, lighting a whole corner of the house. Lê Lợi picked it up and saw it was a sword blade, sharp but without a hilt.

Another day, walking alone in the forest, Lê Lợi saw something glinting high in a tall tree. He climbed up and found a sword hilt, jeweled and finely carved, shaped like the hilt of the very blade the fisherman was keeping. He brought it back and tried fitting them together.

Blade and hilt fit perfectly, as if they had never been apart.

Looking closely at the blade, Lê Lợi saw two characters carved deep into the metal: Thuận Thiên, meaning in accord with Heaven's will. Word spread through the army that it was a divine sword given by the Dragon King, ruler of the world beneath the water. The soldiers said the Dragon King had taken pity on the Vietnamese people and sent the Golden Turtle to bring the sword up to the one who could save the country.

From that day, everything changed.

As the old books tell it, with the Thuận Thiên sword in hand, Lê Lợi and his army seemed to gain a strength no one could explain. Where they had once retreated, they now began to win. From the mountain forests of Thanh Hóa, they advanced steadily north. They fought through the battles of Chi Lăng and Xương Giang, and each one drove the Ming army a step closer to defeat. Ten years of resistance, ten years of endurance. At last, in 1427, the Ming army had to withdraw to its own land.

The country was at peace.

In 1428, Lê Lợi became emperor in Thăng Long, the city now called Hanoi. He took the name Lê Thái Tổ. He named his reign Thuận Thiên, and he restored the country's name, Đại Việt. The commoner hero from the forests of Lam Sơn now sat on the throne in the capital.

But the story was not over.

The chronicles tell of a day, soon after peace came, when the emperor took a boat out on Tả Vọng Lake. It was a wide lake in the heart of Thăng Long. The water was still and the breeze soft, as peaceful as if there had never been a war.

As he drifted, the emperor saw the lake suddenly ripple. From the depths, a giant golden turtle slowly rose, larger than any he had ever seen. It raised its head, its eyes gentle. Slowly it spoke, or made a sign only the emperor could understand: the time had come to return the sword to the Dragon King's palace.

Standing in the boat, the emperor looked at the golden turtle, then at the Thuận Thiên sword at his side. He understood. The sword was not his. It had been given for one task, and that task was done. The country was at peace, the people were safe, and the sword had to return to its place.

Gently, the emperor offered up the sword. He did not regret it. Or perhaps he did, but knew he could not keep it, because some things are only borrowed and belong to no one. Then came the wonder of the old tale: the sword seemed to fly from his hand by itself. It glided through the air and dropped into the Golden Turtle's open mouth. Holding the sword in its jaws, the turtle slowly sank, deeper and deeper, until it vanished into the dark water below.

The lake grew still again, as if nothing had happened.

The emperor stood watching for a long time. Then he turned and gave the lake a new name. It would no longer be Tả Vọng. From that day, it would be Hoan Kiem, meaning the Returned Sword. That way, generations to come would remember what happened here. On a peaceful morning, an emperor gave back what he no longer needed to keep, because the country had been saved.

The people of Hanoi have an even more familiar name for it, short and warm: Hồ Gươm. In Vietnamese, gươm is a word for sword, so the name simply means Sword Lake.

The story has lived in Vietnamese hearts for nearly 600 years and has lost none of its power to move people. The strength to defend the country is given when it is needed, and must be returned when the work is done.

Early in the morning, from the shore of Hoan Kiem Lake, you can see the Turtle Tower in the middle of the water and think of that peaceful morning. Beneath the blue-green water, the story is still there, quiet and deep, like the sword the Golden Turtle has kept from that distant morning to this day.