Legend of the Broom

A few leaves have just fallen in the yard on the first morning of Tết, the Lunar New Year festival in Vietnam. The broom still lies quietly in a corner of the house.

On ordinary days, the moment dry leaves touch the yard, the broom goes rustling across. Yet today, no one picks it up. The Vietnamese of old had a custom of letting the broom rest for the three days of Tết, and a folk tale says the broom waited a very long time for that rest.

The story begins in a kitchen in heaven.

The keeper of that kitchen was a woman who cooked very well. Her cakes were delicious and every dish she made smelled wonderful, so that anyone who tasted it once remembered it. Because of that talent, she was put in charge of the heavenly kitchen, where food was prepared for the banquets of heaven.

Every day, one task followed another in that kitchen. As soon as one dish was done, another was waiting. Steam rose from the pots. The smell of fresh cakes drifted past the cupboards where the food was kept. The cook knew well which things were hers and which had to stay whole for the banquet.

But she had a habit that was hard to break.

When she saw a tasty dish, she wanted a taste. One bite made her want another. Even when food was left over, she could not leave it alone. So the stores of food kept shrinking, little by little.

Heaven also had an old man who looked after the horses. His work was hard, and his meals were plain. The cook knew him, and many times she secretly shared good food with him.

At first it was only a little. Then a little more. Each time the cook took a share, the food set aside for the banquets of the heavenly kitchen grew smaller again.

One day, heaven held a banquet. From early morning, the people of the heavenly kitchen hurried about their work. Every dish was made ready. When the full moon rose bright, the trays would be carried out.

Just then, the cook heard the old horse keeper coming from far off. She knew he was looking for her, so she led him into a corner of the pantry and poured him a few cups of wine.

The old man had just come back from tending the horses, and he was hungry. In the dark, the smell of food drifted over from the trays nearby. The wine only made him want something to eat all the more, to ease his hunger.

Then his hand found its way to the dishes waiting to be carried out to the banquet.

One bite.

Another bite.

Every dish smelled good. From each one, he meant to taste only a little. But when the servants came to carry the trays, every bowl was already less than full.

The banquet had not even begun, and the food prepared for it was no longer whole. The cook bowed her head and admitted her fault. What happened on that full-moon night also brought to light all the times she had taken food from the heavenly kitchen and shared it with the old man.

The two of them were sent down to earth to become brooms.

So they left a kitchen full of good food for the life of broom straws, always busy sweeping. The brooms went across the yard. The brooms went through the kitchen. They gathered dry leaves, bits of straw and dust into one place.

Sweeping in the morning.

Sweeping at noon.

Sweeping again in the afternoon.

Whenever a rustling sound was heard, it meant the pair of brooms was at work. They swept under the table legs, along the walls, around the porch and back into the kitchen. The straws skimmed close to the ground, moving from one spot to the next, without missing a single corner.

People of old turned that very way of sweeping into a playful riddle:

"In the house there is a lady who goes about licking everything."

The riddle does not call the broom by name. It only describes how the straws brush close to the yard. Wherever they touch, dry leaves, bits of straw and dust are gathered up. With that playful picture of licking, a listener can guess at once what is rustling all over the house.

As soon as one corner was clean, new leaves blew into another. The pair of brooms turned back, gathered one more round, then stood against the wall to wait for the next sweeping. Day after day, the rustling followed them from the yard into the kitchen, and from the porch to the table legs.

After a great many days of work, the pair of brooms asked for a little rest. The request was granted. Every year, they would have three days off at Tết Nguyên đán, the Lunar New Year.

Only three days, but for a broom that had swept from morning to afternoon, it was a precious stretch of quiet.

That is why, the old folk say, the broom is set aside in a corner for the three days of Tết. On the first day, the broom rests. On the second day, it still rests. On the third day, its straws still do not have to rustle across the floor.

The leaves in the yard can wait. A little dust in the house can wait too. Even the riddle about the lady who licks everything falls quiet for a while, because the thing it speaks of is lying still.

And on the first morning of the year, that rustling sound pauses.

Out in the yard, the first sunlight of the year falls on a few dry leaves. Inside, the broom still leans in its corner, urging no one to pick it up.

The leaves lie still on the yard. The broom lies still by the wall. The three days of rest at the start of the year have begun.