The Clever Verdict

An old woman's voice rang out across a yard in a small Cham village, before it was light enough to make out a face. She had lost two chickens. The night before, they had been huddled in their coop. By morning they had vanished. She stood in the middle of the yard, sad and angry at once, and spoke loudly so the whole village could hear. Someone, she said, had stolen her chickens. She talked all day, and then all through a second day. But no one admitted it, and no one came forward.

This is a folktale of the Cham. The Cham are a people of south-central Vietnam whose ancestors lived in the ancient kingdom of Champa. Cham elders tell of an official in those parts who judged disputes and was famous everywhere. He never shouted at anyone, and he had no need for a whip. He had only one thing: small but brilliant tricks that made the truth come out all by itself. When he heard about the old woman's chickens, he sent for every household that lived nearby.

When everyone had gathered, the official spoke calmly. The old woman had complained for two whole days, he said, and no one in the village had had any peace. So, to be fair, each person should step forward in turn and pat her lightly on the shoulder, once, as a reminder to say less next time. Hearing this, everyone felt relieved. One by one they stepped up. Each of them only laid a hand very gently on her shoulder, then smiled kindly and stepped back.

But with one man, things were quite different. He came forward and patted her shoulder several times, in a hurry, muttering that she deserved it for going on and on. Everyone else had been the same. Only this man was different. The official, seated at the head of the gathering, saw it clearly and gave a small smile. He called the man closer.

"Listen," he said. "The old woman only spoke to the open sky. She never named anyone. An honest person hears it and lets it go, like a breeze passing by the ear. Only the one who stole the chickens would hear it and flinch, then grow so hasty and cross." The man went pale. He bowed his head and admitted that he had taken the two chickens. The truth had come out, and no one had needed to raise a voice.

Some time later, there was trouble in the village again. This time it was another old woman. One morning she found that the ripe bunch of bananas hanging at the edge of her porch had been picked by a thief. She had been saving it for a long time. Now it was gone, and she stood there dazed with regret. She went to the official who judged disputes and told him the whole story.

The official thought for a moment. Then he had strange news spread through the village. He said he had just dropped a gold ring in the shallow stretch of river at the edge of the village. Whoever groped for it, found it and brought it back would be well rewarded. Hearing there was gold, the villagers called to one another and went down to the river. They rolled up their trousers, waded in, and pushed their hands into the mud, groping for it. After a long while, nobody had found the ring. They all clambered out, both hands smeared with mud.

The official stood on the bank and told everyone to open their hands for him to see. He went from one person to the next, looking closely at every pair of hands. Everyone was the same. Only one man was different. There he stopped. On his hands, among the brown mud, were strange dark streaks, quite unlike anyone else's. The official pointed at them. "This is banana sap stuck to your hands," he said. "When it meets mud, it turns black. Only hands that have just picked a whole bunch of bananas would still carry sap like this." The man gave a start and had to confess. He was the one who had stolen the old woman's bananas.

Twice now, one small trick had made the one who was hiding step forward on his own. But the third case was quite different. This time there was no one different in the crowd, and no thief to find.

It happened like this. In the village lived a poor old woman who carried oil every day, selling it from place to place to earn her living. One day, as she walked along the road, her foot struck a big stone lying right in the middle of the path. She pitched forward, and her whole jar of oil spilled onto the ground and soaked away into the grass. That jar of oil was everything she had to trade with. With it gone, she had nothing left to live on. She sat at the roadside, her eyes brimming with tears, with no one to turn to. The stone just lay there in silence. It could not say a word.

When the official heard, he once again thought up a very strange plan. He had a shelter put up right beside the road. Then he announced that today he would hold a trial of the very stone that had tripped the oil seller. A judge putting a stone on trial! Everyone found it funny and strange, and a great crowd came flocking to watch. But to get inside the shelter, each person had to pay two coins. People were so curious that they happily dug into their pockets and paid, pushing and squeezing to get in.

The official sat in the middle of the shelter and gravely asked the stone all sorts of things. He asked why it was lying across the middle of the road, and whether it knew it had made the old woman spill all her oil. The stone, of course, did not say a single word. The crowd rocked with laughter. When a fair amount of money had come in, the official stood up and calmly explained. A stone, he said, could never repay the old woman. But the money everyone had gladly given today, put together, was enough for her to buy a new jar of oil and go on selling.

With that, he handed all the money to the oil seller. Her hands trembled as she took it, and she wept for joy. As for the people who had come to watch, at first they had only meant to have some fun. Now they understood. Together they had just helped someone in hardship, and none of them had felt it as a burden. Everyone went home light of heart, smiling, with a warm feeling inside.

To this day, the Cham of that village remind one another of the official who judged disputes and never needed to raise his voice. And each time the tale of that stone on trial by the roadside is told again, people still smile.