The Healing Leaves

The warm scent of forest leaves fills the whole stilt house.

It is a very unusual scent, sharp yet gentle, like earth after rain mixed with young grass drying in the sun. In the tale that follows, wherever this leafy scent is found, someone has just been saved from a serious illness. The story begins with a leaf from the mountain forest, and with the heart of a devoted son.

Long ago, at the foot of a green mountain range, there was a small mường of the Mường people. The Mường are an ethnic group of northern Vietnam whose language is closely related to Vietnamese. A mường is a stretch of land together with the Mường community that lives on it. In that mường lived a family whose father had died young, leaving a gentle mother and three sons. All he left them was a crossbow, a copper pot and a worn fishing net.

The three brothers grew up side by side. But as they grew, each took on a different nature. The eldest and the second brother nursed grudges over how things would be shared. Who would get the crossbow, and who would own the copper pot? The two of them went over it again and again, and sometimes spoke harshly to each other. Only the youngest cared nothing for such things. He was gentle, and he loved his mother more than anyone in the house.

Then one rainy season, the mother fell ill. She lay on the floor of the stilt house, her face pale, her breathing weaker each day. The two elder brothers were worried, but they did not know what to do. When they heard of skilled healers, they went to find them. Yet every healer shook his head and said her illness was grave and she was unlikely to pull through.

The youngest son said little. He stayed by his mother day and night and never left her side. He fanned her to ease the heat, held her up for each sip of water, wiped her brow, and told her cheerful stories to lift her spirits. Every night he stayed awake, hoping only that by morning she would be a little more alert. But she kept growing weaker.

One afternoon, aching with love for his mother and unable to help her, the youngest son slipped away to the edge of the forest and sat down to cry. He cried without a sound, only letting the tears fall. In his heart there was a single wish. If there were any way at all to save his mother, he would do anything.

Just then came a soft beating of wings. A strange bird flew down and landed on a branch right in front of him. It was beautiful, with a beak that gleamed like gold and legs that shone like silver, its feathers sparkling in the evening sun. It tilted its head and looked at him with round, clear eyes. Then it spoke, in a voice as bright as a mountain stream.

"Do not cry any more. I know where to find the leaves that can save your mother."

The youngest son stood stock still. The bird gently stirred its wings and told him to follow the little stream upward, toward its source. There, deep in the forest, stood a strange tree, with flowers as red as fire. Its leaves were a shimmering green, as if someone had scattered sunlight over them. He was to pick the three youngest leaves, take them home, pound them gently, and lay them on his mother's lips. With that, the bird spread its wings and flew off, leaving a trail of light that slowly faded among the treetops.

The youngest son did not hesitate. He followed the stream deep into the forest. The path was rough. Thorns tore his shirt and stones cut his feet until they bled, but he felt no pain. He thought only of his mother lying at home, waiting. He walked and walked, and as night was falling, a blaze of red suddenly lit up before him. It was the very tree the bird had described, with flaming red flowers and glittering green leaves. It gave off a sharp yet gentle scent, a forest scent found nowhere else.

Tenderly, he picked exactly three young leaves, held them to his chest, and hurried home. It was late at night when he arrived. He pounded the three leaves gently and laid them on his mother's lips, just as the bird had told him. Then he sat beside her, holding her thin hand, and waited anxiously.

As if by magic, after only a little while, her breathing grew steady. Color came back into her face. Toward dawn she opened her eyes and whispered the name of her youngest son. The whole family wept for joy. The mother was out of danger and grew stronger every day. Before long she was up and about again, cooking rice, laughing and talking as before. And in the stilt house, that warm scent of forest leaves still lingered.

The story of the strange leaves that cured a grave illness soon spread through the whole mường. The head of the mường was called the chẩu. As it happened, his daughter too was lying ill in bed. He sent people to announce far and wide that whoever cured his daughter would receive half of the mường as a reward.

When he heard this, the eldest brother was stirred by greed. His youngest brother had found the leaves, he thought, so why not take the credit himself? So he went to the chẩu, beat his chest and declared that he alone knew the cure. But the eldest did not know where the tree grew or what it looked like. He went into the forest, searched high and low, and brought back a few random handfuls of leaves. He applied them again and again, but the girl did not improve at all. His attempt to claim the credit came to nothing, and his face burned with shame.

Seeing this, the second brother could not bear to watch the girl grow ever weaker. He went home, told the whole story from beginning to end, and admitted that it was the youngest who had found the leaves. The youngest son heard it all and blamed no one. He quietly went up into the forest, followed the same stream, and picked the leaves of that red-flowered tree. Then he went to treat the daughter of the chẩu. Within a few days the girl was well again, as rosy as if she had never been ill.

The chẩu was overjoyed and kept his word. He wanted to give the youngest son half of the mường. But the youngest son pressed his palms together and politely declined. He said he had healed her out of compassion for the sick, not to gain riches. He asked for only one thing: to lead everyone to the red-flowered tree in the forest and show the whole mường those healing leaves. Then any family with someone ill would know where to look, and people could save one another.

The chẩu listened and was moved by the young man's heart. He agreed at once. From then on, the people of the mường followed the youngest son into the forest and came to know the precious leaves of the mountain. As for the eldest brother, he came to his senses. He felt love for his brother and shame at his own greed, so he went to him and apologized. The youngest son only smiled gently, took his hand, and said that brothers should not stay angry with each other. The household was at peace once more. The three brothers gathered again around their mother, who was healthy and strong.

The Mường people of that mountain country still tell this story to their children and grandchildren. They tell of the gentle youngest son, and of the healing leaves of the forest that traveled with people all through the mường. And in this story, whenever that sharp yet gentle leafy scent drifts through a stilt house, someone there has just been saved. Saved by the love of someone who was willing to go deep into the forest and pick leaves for a person they love.