The Hundred-Knot Bamboo

Late in the afternoon, at the edge of a village, a clump of bamboo rustles in the wind. The stalks creak as they rub together, a familiar sound like the breathing of the countryside, heard for generations. The low sun slips through gaps in the leaves and paints long strips of gold on the ground. That creaking calls to mind a fairy tale that almost every Vietnamese child has heard at least once. It is the story of a young farmer named Khoai, a greedy rich man, and a magic bamboo with exactly 100 knots.

Once upon a time, in a small village, there lived a young man named Khoai. He was poor and owned no fields or garden, so he worked as a hired hand for the rich man of the village. He was diligent and uncomplaining, out in the fields in sun and rain alike. Seeing how hard Khoai worked, the rich man made him a promise. If Khoai worked for him for three full years without idling, he would give Khoai his daughter in marriage.

When Khoai heard this, he felt as happy as on a festival day. He trusted the promise and worked twice, even three times as hard. Three years went by, and Khoai was still as eager as on his first day. But the rich man had other plans. He was wealthy, and he wanted his daughter to marry into a family of equal standing, not to a son-in-law with empty hands. So he thought up a scheme to be rid of Khoai, without being known as a man who broke his word.

The rich man called Khoai in, putting on a solemn face. He said he would keep his promise, but Khoai had to do one more task. He was to go into the forest and find a bamboo with exactly 100 knots, not one more and not one less. If Khoai brought it back, the rich man would give him his daughter at once.

Khoai did not know that the rich man had laid a trap. In the bamboo forest, each stalk had only a few dozen knots, and not one had a full 100 in one piece. The rich man knew this for certain, and set the condition expecting Khoai to search in vain, lose heart and leave.

Khoai obeyed and went into the forest with his machete. He walked from morning to noon, and from noon to late afternoon, passing clump after clump of bamboo and looking at every stalk. Each one fell short of 100 knots. The sun sank lower, and the bamboo began to cast long shadows. Khoai sat down at the foot of a stalk, his heart heavy. He bowed his head, covered his eyes with both hands, and wept alone in the empty forest.

Suddenly, a strange light shone up in front of him. The creaking of the bamboo fell completely silent, as if the whole forest were holding its breath. An old man appeared, with snow-white hair and beard, a kind face, and eyes as bright as stars. It was Bụt, the kindly spirit of Vietnamese fairy tales. Bụt asked softly what had made him cry.

Khoai raised his head and wiped away his tears. Then he told Bụt everything, about his three years of hired work, the rich man's promise, and the bamboo with 100 knots that could never be found.

Bụt nodded and smiled gently. He told Khoai not to be sad, and taught him two magic phrases. To make the pieces of bamboo join together, Khoai should call out, "Join together! Join together!" To make them come apart, he should call out, "Come apart! Come apart!" Khoai had only to do that.

Khoai looked up to ask more, but Bụt had vanished. All that remained was a faint, sweet scent, like grass after rain. And the wind began to blow again through the green bamboo leaves.

Khoai stood up and swung his machete at the bamboo. He cut and cut, and each cut gave him a section with a single knot. He counted silently, piece by piece, and laid them one after another in a long line on the ground. One, two, three, all the way to exactly 100 pieces. All 100 knots stretched out across the forest floor, each piece set a little apart from the next.

Khoai took a deep breath and called out loud in the empty forest. "Join together! Join together!"

Then something strange happened. The 100 pieces of bamboo shivered, then flew at one another. They locked together, knot by knot, tight and neat. In the blink of an eye, a long, straight bamboo of exactly 100 knots lay before Khoai, fresh green and glossy, as if it had just been cut.

Khoai was so happy that he clapped his hands with a loud smack. In the empty forest, the clap rang out alone, then faded into the leaves.

He hoisted the hundred-knot bamboo onto his shoulder and walked out of the forest. The bamboo was very long, and since he carried it alone, it kept swaying forward and back. But Khoai did not feel the weight. His heart was soaring.

At the rich man's house, Khoai laid the hundred-knot bamboo down in the middle of the yard. The rich man came out and stared, wide-eyed, unable to believe it. He bent down and counted every knot, again and again. There really were 100. Baffled, unable to work out how it had been done, he reached out to touch the stalk.

At once, Khoai called out, "Join together! Join together!"

The rich man's hand stuck fast to the bamboo, and he could not pull it free. He pulled, he twisted, and he shouted as he pulled. But his hand would not leave the bamboo, not even by an inch.

Khoai folded his arms and stood watching, calm and composed. "Sir," he asked, "do you still mean to keep your promise and give me your daughter?"

Tugging at his hand, the rich man pleaded. "Let me go! I promise, I promise with all my heart, I will give you my daughter at once!"

Khoai stood still for a moment, looking the rich man straight in the face. Then he nodded, stepped back, and called out loud. "Come apart! Come apart!"

All at once the rich man's hand went light and came free with ease. He stared at it in bewilderment. No one was hurt, and no one was in pain. There was only one face, flushed red with shame.

This time, the rich man kept his word. The wedding was held not long after, and the whole village crowded into his yard. His daughter stepped out to welcome the young man who had worked for three years without a single complaint. Khoai married the one he had longed for, after so many years of hard work and patient waiting.

That is the fairy tale of the hundred-knot bamboo, which our elders have handed down through the generations, each place telling it its own way.

Whenever the bamboo rustles in the yard, the story comes back. In the old tales, Bụt is never far away. He often comes to those who sit crying alone at the foot of the bamboo, yet still have not given up hope.