The Magic Gourd

In the land of the Cham, there is a very tall mountain. It is so tall that its peak always wears a white cloud, like a soft cotton cap. The Cham say that the mountain rose so high into the sky because of a gentle boy and a kind old grandmother, long ago. The Cham are a people of south-central Vietnam whose ancestors lived in the ancient kingdom of Champa.

The boy's name was Nha Xoa. He had lived with his grandmother since he was very small. There were only the two of them in the house. They were very poor, but they loved each other dearly. The grandmother was old, her back bent and her legs weak, so the boy took care of all the heavy work at home.

Every day, Nha Xoa worked as a hired hand for a rich family in the village. He toiled from the time the roosters crowed at dawn until the sun went down. For a whole day of such work, he was paid two bowls of rice. Nha Xoa ate one bowl to ease his hunger. The other bowl he wrapped carefully in a large leaf and saved to carry home to his grandmother.

But home was far away, and the road back climbed many hills. By the time he arrived, the rice had gone cold and hard. His grandmother had almost no teeth left. She chewed and chewed but could not manage it. Watching her, Nha Xoa felt his heart ache. He thought to himself that if only he had a piece of land, he would grow rice. Then every day he could cook his grandmother a bowl of hot, fragrant, soft rice.

With that thought, Nha Xoa went to ask for land. He asked the rich man for a tiny plot, and the rich man shook his head. He went to a hillside and worked hard clearing the grass for a field. Then the villagers told him the land belonged to the whole village, and he must not touch it. Someone pointed up at the tall rocky mountain and joked, "There is empty land way up there. Go and plant that." They were only joking, for that mountain was sheer rock, its head wrapped in cloud, and no one had ever set foot on it.

Yet Nha Xoa took them at their word. He packed a few wild yams to eat along the way and told his grandmother to look after herself at home. Then he set off up the mountain alone.

The mountain was steep as a wall, its rocks rough and slippery. Nha Xoa clung on with his hands and feet and crept up little by little. After a whole day of clinging to the rock, his arms and legs ached with tiredness. Whenever he grew too weary, he sat to rest on a ledge. He nibbled a tiny piece of yam to ease his hunger, and then he pushed on again.

He climbed for one day, then two days, then three. He climbed on and on, past cliff after cliff. On the seventh day, just as his bag of yams ran empty, Nha Xoa set foot on the top of the mountain.

At the top there was nothing but rock and more rock, not a single patch of soft earth. But Nha Xoa did not lose heart. He gathered stones, pulled up weeds and burned the dry grass. With his own hands he broke open a small patch of ground right on the rocky summit, a place where plants could grow. Then, beside a clear stream, he found a few gourd seeds that someone had dropped. Overjoyed, Nha Xoa sowed them in the ground he had just broken. He raised four little gourd vines, fresh and green.

When the planting was done, he hurried back down the mountain to see his grandmother. He promised himself he would come back up when the gourds were grown. High on the summit, the smoke from the fire he had lit to clear his field rose all the way to the blue sky. Heaven looked down and saw a tiny boy who had climbed for seven days over rock, enduring hunger and hardship, just to grow food for his grandmother. Heaven was deeply moved. It was Heaven, the Cham say, that made those gourd vines grow as fast as the wind.

When Nha Xoa came back, he stopped short, his eyes wide and round. The four vines had already borne fruit. Every gourd was big and round, and they lay all over the plot. He split one open. How strange! Inside there was no gourd flesh at all, only a heap of white rice. The grains were as big as bees, pure white and wonderfully fragrant. He split another, and this one was full of soft, sweet-smelling sticky rice. Nha Xoa hugged two gourds tight to his chest and ran down the mountain as if he were flying.

At home, he showed them to his grandmother with delight. At first she did not believe him. She even worried that he had taken something belonging to someone else. But when Nha Xoa tipped a gourd, white rice poured out and kept on pouring, and the gourd never grew empty. Only then did she believe it was true. That evening, for the first time after so many hungry days, the grandmother and her grandson sat side by side and ate a hot, fragrant meal of rice. They stayed full late into the night.

The next morning, the two of them went up the mountain together. There were still plenty of gourds, each one bursting with rice, enough to feed them both for a lifetime and more. But the old woman kept just two, one of ordinary rice and one of sticky rice. She said, "This is all the two of us need. It is enough."

Then she turned to face the four directions, pressed her thin hands together, and gave thanks to Heaven. She prayed softly that all the other gourds be kept for other poor people. She asked Heaven to take pity on anyone as poor as she and her grandson, and to help them.

The moment she finished, the face of the mountain split open in a long crack. All the other gourds slowly sank down into it, deep into the heart of the mountain, as if tucked carefully away for the poor. And then, wonder of wonders, the mountain began to grow taller, and taller still. It grew a thousand times higher than before. It rose above every mountain around, until its peak was lost among the clouds.

Nha Xoa and his grandmother stood at the foot of the mountain, each holding a magic gourd. They looked up at the peak, now hidden entirely in white cloud. The same rich man still lived peacefully down in the village, and no one blamed or punished him. It was only that he could never understand why the old rocky mountain had suddenly grown so tall.

And ever since, the Cham have told their children and grandchildren about the tallest mountain in the region. It is the mountain that grew because a boy loved his grandmother, and an old woman gave up her share of rice for others. People believe that deep inside it, many gourds full of rice still lie hidden. They wait quietly for the day they can be shared with those who are honest, hardworking and kind. The mountain is still keeping its rice in silence, saving it for the poor.