Thach Sanh

The sound of an axe rings out, stroke by stroke, in the empty forest. It is steady as a heartbeat, steady as the breath of someone who is not afraid of being alone. This is Thạch Sanh, an orphan who lives by himself in the forest, with the axe his father left him and a pair of hands that never seem to tire.

Grandparents have handed this old tale down. It is a folktale, not a page of history with dates.

Once upon a time, a kind old couple lived in the forest. They had no children. Heaven took pity on them and gave them a son. But before their happiness was complete, his parents died one after the other while the boy was still small. Thạch Sanh grew up alone in the deep forest. Every day he cut firewood, and all he owned was the one axe his father had left him. He was as strong as an old forest tree, and as gentle as the early breeze through the leaves. He had no wealth, but his heart knew no worry.

One day, a traveler stopped to rest where Thạch Sanh lived. He was Lý Thông, a wine seller. Seeing the big, kindhearted young man, the wine seller thought to himself that such a person would be very handy to keep close. Sweetly, he proposed that the two of them swear to be brothers. Thạch Sanh gladly agreed and went to live in the home of Lý Thông and his mother. From then on, Thạch Sanh worked hard to help the family of his sworn brother. He never suspected that his kindness would be used, again and again.

In those days, a fierce monster had taken over an abandoned shrine in that region. The tale calls it a chằn tinh. The villagers lived in fear. Every year they had to offer a person for the monster to eat, so that it would not destroy the village. That year, the turn fell to the household of Lý Thông, who had to send someone to keep watch in the shrine. He was afraid to die, so he thought up a scheme. He told Thạch Sanh a lie: it was just an ordinary night watch at the shrine of a spirit. Then he asked his younger brother to take his place for one night. Kind Thạch Sanh did not think twice. He cheerfully went to guard the shrine in his brother's place.

At midnight, the monster appeared, fierce and terrible to look at. Thạch Sanh did not tremble. He swung his axe and fought back. The fight raged on in the darkness, and in the end Thạch Sanh brought the monster down. Where the creature fell, it left behind a bow and arrows made of gold. He went home carrying the creature's head and the golden bow and arrows.

But by the time Thạch Sanh got back, Lý Thông had another story ready. The monster, he said, had been a spirit that the king kept, and now his younger brother had killed it. It was a terrible crime, and the king's soldiers would come to arrest him at once. He urged Thạch Sanh to flee back to the forest to escape punishment. Thạch Sanh believed him. He handed over the monster's head and went back to the forest. Lý Thông carried the head to the king and took all the credit, and the king made him a duke. Thạch Sanh knew nothing of this. He went on living quietly in the forest with his axe.

Then something else happened. The princess was strolling in the royal garden when a giant eagle swooped down from the sky and carried her off. The king could not sleep for worry, and he ordered a search for her. When Lý Thông heard the news, he remembered Thạch Sanh. He went into the forest again and pretended to care for his younger brother. The king's men were no longer angry, he said. He invited him to come out and help find the princess, to win merit that would make up for his crime.

Thạch Sanh went with Lý Thông to look for tracks. He traced the marks of great wings on the ground and at last found the deep cave where the eagle was holding the princess. Without hesitating, Thạch Sanh had the others hold a rope from above and lowered himself into the dark cave. Down below, the eagle was savage, but Thạch Sanh fought without stepping back. He shot the eagle with the golden bow and badly wounded it. Then he found the princess and brought her to the rope.

Lý Thông pulled the princess up. Thạch Sanh waited below for his turn. But just as he was ready to climb, Lý Thông ordered the soldiers to fill in the cave. Earth and rock crashed down. Thạch Sanh was left alone underground in the dark, with not a single ray of light getting in.

Thạch Sanh did not panic. Standing alone in total darkness, he listened. Water seeped through the rock walls. A cold wind crept in from some deep crack, from no direction he could tell. Step by step, he felt his way deeper into the cave. Then, in a silence between the small sounds of falling stones, he heard something else. It was a small sob, choked and weary, like someone who had cried for too long with no one to hear.

Thạch Sanh walked toward the crying. In a dark corner of the cave, a young man was locked in an iron cage. Thạch Sanh did not ask many questions. He broke the lock and opened the cage. The prisoner was the son of Thủy Tề, the king of the waters. The eagle had captured him and kept him locked up down there for a long time.

To thank Thạch Sanh for saving his life, the prince led him along a secret waterway down to the palace of the waters. It was a palace beneath the sea, glowing with coral, where the water lapped gently with every step. The king of the waters came out to greet them, overjoyed to see his son come home safe. He treated Thạch Sanh with every kindness. Then he gave him a magic lute, a treasure of the underwater palace, like a gift sent from the heart of the sea to the land above. Thạch Sanh took the lute without any thought of asking for a reward. He only wanted to go back to the trees of the forest and the familiar sound of his axe.

But as soon as he came out onto dry land, before he could even catch his breath, soldiers seized him. Treasure had just been stolen from the royal storehouse. The spirits of the monster and the eagle still bore him a grudge. They had stolen it themselves and laid the blame on him. No one asked why. No one listened. Thạch Sanh was thrown into prison, still holding the magic lute.

This was the third time Thạch Sanh had been left all alone, this time in a dark prison between cold stone walls. But he did not complain. In that darkness, he took out the lute and gently plucked it, note by note.

The sound of the lute rose in the damp cell. It was very soft, like the breathing of the wind. But the music of the magic lute would not stay within four walls. It slipped through the cracks in the stone, thin as mist. It rose over the prison roof, crossed the dark palace courtyard, and flew straight into the inner chamber where the princess was.

Ever since she had been brought back to the palace after her rescue, the princess had not spoken a single word, and no medicine helped. The whole palace was worried, and the king was full of sorrow. But that night, when the music of Thạch Sanh slipped in, she suddenly felt something grow warm in her chest. It was as if someone were calling her name from very far away. She opened her mouth. Out came her first words after so many days of silence. She spoke a sentence, and then she laughed. The whole palace was in an uproar.

The king ordered a search for the source of the music. Soldiers followed the sound all night. They found a man sitting quietly in the dark prison, gently plucking a small lute. The king had him brought up. The princess saw him and knew him at once. This was the man who had fought alone in the dark cave and saved her from the eagle.

The truth came out. Lý Thông and his mother had nothing left to deny. Everything was told from beginning to end: the trick of the shrine watch, the stolen credit for the monster's head, and the brother left in the cave. The king was furious and wanted to punish them severely. But Thạch Sanh stepped forward and asked him to spare them. Whatever had happened, he said, mother and son had once been his family, so let them go home to their village and live there. The king agreed.

Lý Thông and his mother were set free and started off together for their home village. But along the way, a storm blew up, and lightning struck right where the two of them stood. The lightning was like a judgment from heaven. From then on, no one saw Lý Thông and his mother again. There was only a dung beetle by the roadside, crawling slowly through the grass.

The king gave Thạch Sanh the princess in marriage. But the story did not end there.

News spread everywhere that Thạch Sanh was about to marry the princess and stood high in the favor of the king. At this, 18 vassal kingdoms refused to accept it, and they marched their armies in to attack. The soldiers came as thick as ants, with banners covering the sky and war drums thundering. The court officials were anxious. The king asked Thạch Sanh what plan he had.

Thạch Sanh took up no sword and drew up no battle lines. He walked out under the open sky, sat down, took out the magic lute, and played.

The music rang out.

It was not the sound of battle. It was not the sound of victory. It was a strange music, proud and clear at once. It was stirring, and yet it softened hearts and made them wonder what they were fighting for. The music passed over the ranks of the 18 kingdoms and sank into every soldier. Their hands suddenly felt heavy. Their hearts suddenly felt wistful. One by one, the weapons fell, though no one had given the order.

The soldiers and generals of the 18 kingdoms stood dazed in the middle of the battlefield, no longer knowing what they were doing there.

Then Thạch Sanh did one more thing that amazed everyone. He had a small pot of rice set out, and he invited the whole army of the 18 kingdoms to sit down and eat. The soldiers looked at the tiny pot and sneered. Tens of thousands of people eating from a pot this small would get only a few grains each, they thought. But the rice was scooped out, and the pot never emptied. They scooped more, and it was still full. Tens of thousands of people ate their fill, and the pot was still as full as at the start. The soldiers and generals of the 18 kingdoms looked at one another, and no one said a word. Then they stood up, bowed in farewell, gathered their troops and went home.

Not a single arrow. Not a single war drum. Only the music of a lute and a pot of rice.

Afterward, the king handed his throne to Thạch Sanh. The orphan who had once lived alone in the forest with the axe his father left him became a king of all the people. Thạch Sanh and the princess lived together in peace and happiness.

People say the magic lute of Thạch Sanh is still with us. It is not in a palace of gold and jade, but in every story that grandparents tell their grandchildren. And the magic pot of rice, scooped and scooped and never emptied, remains an image Vietnamese people have always held on to: well fed, warm, gentle, and enough for everyone. There is always enough, however many people sit down together to eat.