The Goddess Dang Giai

This wind does not come from the sky. It brings no rain, and it carries no scent of the forest back to the village. It comes from a pair of wings. In the high mountains of the northern Central Highlands, around the Ngọc Linh range where clouds hang all year, the Xơ Đăng people still tell their children and grandchildren an old tale about that strange wind. Each time it rose, the whole village held its breath and huddled close together.

The Xơ Đăng call the one who stirred up that wind the evil bird. It was a giant bird with a sharp horn growing from its head. Its beak was hard and long, like two sword blades pressed together. Its outspread wings were as wide as the whole roof of the village communal house. Each time it beat its wings, storms roared up, and the scrape of its beak rang like thunder, shaking the mountains and forests. The evil bird swooped down and carried off people, and the villagers' buffalo and cattle too, then shot back up and vanished into the clouds. From the day it came, the Xơ Đăng at the foot of Ngọc Linh lived in constant fear, and no one dared go up to the hillside fields alone.

In those days, this land had a king and a queen. They had lived together a long time, yet they still had no child to carry on the line and look after the village. The king grieved deeply. Night after night, he prayed with all his heart to every god, hoping only that heaven would take pity and send him a child.

His prayers rose all the way to the high heavens. Up there lived the god Mykây and his wife, the goddess Đăng Giai. The two were moved with pity for this kind king who had such bad luck with children. But even the powers of the gods had limits, and they could not simply hand the king a child. They talked it over again and again. In the end, the goddess Đăng Giai decided to come down to earth herself, to be born as the daughter of the king.

One night, the queen dreamed that a bright star, sparkling like a diamond, fell straight into her mouth, and she swallowed it. Nine months later, she gave birth to a princess of rare beauty. As the girl grew, she stood out more each day from the other children of the village. Her eyes were bright, her hands were quick, she was brave, and above all she was very clever. Looking at his daughter, the king was overjoyed. But out there, the wind from the wings of the evil bird had not stopped blowing for a single day.

The evil bird grew bolder and bolder. The king sent word far and wide. Whoever rid the village of it and brought back peace would be given his very throne. Many strong young warriors set out. But whenever they came near, the evil bird had only to fan its wings once, and a storm whirled up and blew them all back. Human strength, however great, could never beat the storm from those wings.

That was when the princess stepped forward and asked to go. She did not count on being stronger than the warriors. She had sat thinking for a long time about something everyone feared, yet no one had paid attention to. What made the evil bird impossible to defeat was the storm from its own wings. So, with the right plan, that very storm could be turned against it.

She set to work at once. She had the soldiers forge very sharp weapons, then told each of them to bring a basket full of wild forest flowers, light and fragrant. When all was ready, the princess looked up at the sky and prayed with all her heart to the god Mykây. High above, the god heard her and gave her a heavenly bow and a magic arrow.

On the day of battle, the evil bird swooped down again, beating its wings hard. A storm rolled up, sucking everything high into the sky. But this time, just as the princess had planned, the storm became its own trap. She waved her hand as a signal. All at once, the soldiers threw every forest flower into the wind. A whole cloud of flowers fluttered up, carried high by the whirlwind. Mixed in with those light flowers, the sharp weapons were swept by the wind straight into the body of the evil bird. The storm it had made now turned back against it. The giant bird was wounded, its wings faltered, and the fierce wind slowly weakened.

That was the moment the princess had been waiting for. She raised the heavenly bow, set the magic arrow, aimed straight at the chest of the evil bird and let go. The arrow flew. The wings as wide as the communal house roof slowly folded, sank down and fell still. The fearsome wind of all those years was gone. All across the Ngọc Linh country, wind was once more only wind, cool and gentle over the hillside fields.

The village burst into joy. The Xơ Đăng dared to go up to their fields again, and children played once more under a clear sky. Just as he had promised, the king handed the throne to the princess. She ruled the village gently and wisely for two years. The land was peaceful, houses were rebuilt, and gongs rang out again on festival nights.

Then one day, the princess called everyone close. Gently, she told them something she had kept hidden for a long time. She was not a mortal at all. She was the goddess Đăng Giai, wife of the god Mykây. Out of love for the people, she had come down as the daughter of the king to save the village from disaster. Now that her work was done, she had to return to the sky. With those words, just as she turned 18, she rose lightly into the air, higher and higher, until she vanished into the clouds above the peak of Ngọc Linh. Behind her she left a village at peace, and grateful.

The Xơ Đăng people still tell this story to their children and grandchildren by the fire, whenever night falls at the foot of the Ngọc Linh mountains. They tell of a girl who took the very wind of the mighty and used it to shelter the weak. The gentle wind on this land was once won back for everyone by a brave and clever princess.