The Starfruit Tree

One summer morning, the old starfruit tree in the corner of the garden bent low under its fruit. Clusters of golden starfruit crowded along the branches, so heavy that every branch dipped toward the ground. The scent of ripe fruit, softly sour, drifted on the early breeze. This was the younger brother's tree. Behind this gentle tree lies an old tale that grandparents in Vietnam never stop telling. Generations of Vietnamese children have grown up knowing it by heart.

Long ago, there were two brothers. Their parents died young. The elder brother took the whole house and all the land, and left the younger one nothing but a thatched hut and an old starfruit tree in the corner of the garden. The younger brother accepted it without a word of complaint.

He lived in the hut and tended the starfruit tree every day. That season the tree bore thick clusters of golden fruit, so many that the boughs curved down. Looking at the laden tree, he was glad that at least he had this much.

Then one morning a strange bird flew in. It was huge, with shimmering feathers, and its outstretched wings seemed to cover a whole corner of the sky. The bird landed on the tree and ate the ripe fruit, one by one. The younger brother stood watching, full of sorrow. The tree was all he owned. If the bird ate everything, how would he live?

Hesitantly, he spoke to the bird. "Bird, I know the starfruit tastes good, but this tree is the most precious thing I have. If you keep eating, what will I live on?"

The bird raised its head and looked at him. Its voice rang out, warm and clear, like a human voice. "Eat one fruit, pay one lump of gold. Sew a bag three hand spans long, and bring it to carry the gold."

The younger brother was dumbfounded, unsure whether it could be true. Still, that night at home he took an old piece of cloth and sat sewing carefully, making a bag exactly three hand spans long. No bigger, no smaller. Exactly three spans, as the bird had told him.

The next morning, the bird came back. Seeing him ready, it bent down so he could climb onto its back. Then it beat its wings and rose into the air. He held on tight with his eyes shut, hearing only the wind whistling past his ears and the steady beat of the wings.

The bird flew over mountains, over the sea, past drifting white clouds. At last it landed on an island in the middle of the open sea. The island glittered with gold. Gold lay scattered all over the ground, heaped in piles high and low, blazing in the midday sun. He stepped down, not knowing where to look first.

His hands trembled as he picked up the pieces one by one and put them in the bag. Each time the bag grew heavier, he felt the urge to take still more. But then he remembered the bird's words. Three spans, no more. He stopped. When the bag was just full, not one piece more, he climbed onto the bird's back. The bird beat its wings and carried him home.

Back home, he opened the bag. Gold poured out, gleaming, enough to live in comfort for the rest of his days. He bought more land and built a new house, and his life was changed for good.

The news reached the elder brother, who was sick with regret. That starfruit tree was the one he had given away, and now his brother was rich because of it! He hurried over to see his brother, all sweetness. "Come now, little brother, let's trade back. You take my whole house and all my land, and I will just ask for the starfruit tree."

The younger brother knew his elder brother was greedy, but he was too gentle to quarrel. "Take the tree back, then. I agree."

The elder brother went home and gleefully kept watch over the tree. Sure enough, the magic bird flew in again to eat the starfruit. Like his brother, he complained to the bird about the tree. The bird said the same words. "Eat one fruit, pay one lump of gold. Sew a bag three hand spans long, and bring it to carry the gold."

But the elder brother was different. That night at home, he did not sew a bag of three spans. He took every piece of cloth in the house and sewed an enormous bag, 12 spans long, and even tied a few more lengths of cloth onto it. The bigger the bag, he reckoned, the more gold he could carry.

The next morning the bird came, saw that he was ready, and bent down for him to climb onto its back. It flew off over mountains and sea and brought him to the island of gold.

The moment his feet touched the island, the elder brother rushed to grab the gold like a man who had lost his mind. He stuffed the 12-span bag full. Still not satisfied, he crammed more into his shirt pockets, into his belt, inside his clothes. The gold was heavy and his back bent under it, yet he kept stuffing in more. Only when the bird urged him did he finally climb on.

The bird lifted him into the air, but the load was terribly heavy. It strained with all its strength, its wings laboring. Over the sea the wind was strong and the waves crashed. The bird lurched. Then one wing tipped. The bag of gold dragged downward. The elder brother lost his grip and fell into the sea with all his gold.

Greed had taken everything from him. The house was gone, traded away to his brother. The gold was gone too, lost before he could hold on to it.

The younger brother lived in peace and happiness with just enough. The starfruit tree stayed green and healthy in the corner of the garden, season after season. And every year, when the starfruit ripened, the magic bird still came back to perch on the branches. It ate a few fruits, then beat its wings and flew away, a small dot fading into the deep blue sky.