Thien Y A Na

There is a scent unlike any other. Agarwood. Warm, deep, a little sweet, it drifts up only once and then stays in the memory for a very long time. Agarwood is a fragrant, resinous wood used for incense and perfume.

In Nha Trang, that scent seems to rise from a small hill beside a river mouth, where a few towers of red brick stand quietly looking out to sea. People along the central coast still say that this scent of agarwood is bound up with a Mother. And the story of the Mother begins long, long ago, when the agarwood was still a log drifting on the waves.

This is a very old legend, not something that can be dug up and examined. Yet for generations, the people here have told it with reverence. For them, it is the story of the Mother of a whole land.

The story goes that in those days, at the foot of Mount Đại An near the sea, there lived an old couple who grew melons. Their melon field was lush and green, the round fruit lying out in the sun. But every year when the melons ripened, the old couple found in the morning that a few had been picked by someone in the night.

One moonlit night, the old man hid at the edge of the field to see for himself. Very late, he saw a girl of about 13 or 14 step out from the shadow of the trees. She moved as lightly as mist. She walked among the rows of melons and held each fruit tenderly, as if she were playing with them.

The old man was not angry at all. Seeing the girl alone in the middle of the night, he felt only pity. He stepped out and spoke to her gently. The girl said she had no father or mother and nowhere to go home to. So the old couple took her home and raised her as their own daughter. From then on, the small house among the melons held one more laugh.

The old couple loved her dearly. But in her heart there was always a longing they could not fully understand. It was a longing for some faraway place she had left behind.

Then one year the rains were heavy, and floodwater rose across the whole region. Missing the mountain of her old home, the girl took flowers, leaves and pebbles and built a tiny mountain in the yard. She sat beside it for a long time. The old man came home from the fields, saw the garden in disorder, and scolded her with a few words before he could stop himself.

She fell silent and said nothing.

As soon as the words were out, the old man's heart sank. He knew she had done nothing wrong. She was only homesick. He was about to turn back and comfort her.

But at that very moment, a huge agarwood log came floating along on the floodwater, filling the whole area with its fragrance. The girl looked at the log for a long while. Then she gently passed into it and became one with it. The log rode the current out to the river mouth, and from there it drifted on and on toward the north, across wave after wave.

In a distant land to the north, the agarwood log washed ashore. Its strange fragrance made everyone who passed stop. The people of that land gathered around to lift it. But strangely, the log was as heavy as a mountain. However many people joined their strength, they could not raise it.

Only when a young prince of about 20 laid his hand on it did the log suddenly become as light as a sprig of flowers. He brought it back to the palace and placed it in his own room. Night after night, he sat beside it as if sitting beside a friend.

Then one night, he glimpsed a gentle figure in white stepping out of the log, carrying the warm scent of agarwood. It was the girl from long ago. The two slowly grew fond of each other and became husband and wife. They had a son and a daughter, named Trí and Quý.

She lived among golden halls and jade palaces, with a kind husband and good children. And yet in her heart there was an emptiness that nothing could fill. Night after night, the faint scent of agarwood somewhere in the palace made her think of the melon field under the moon. She missed Mount Đại An. She missed the old couple who had taken her in when she was small.

Her longing for home grew and grew. Then one day, she led her two children back to the agarwood log. Together they crossed the sea and returned to the south, to the very river mouth of her old home.

Left behind in the north, the prince never stopped missing his wife and children. He sent people out in boats to search for her across the whole sea. But she had already reached her home. The legend says that just as the searching boats came near the southern coast, a wind suddenly rose from the open sea and the waves stood high. The boats had no choice but to turn their bows and head back, so that she could live in peace beside her own mountain.

Back at the foot of Mount Đại An, she hurried to look for the old melon farmers. But they had grown old and frail and had died long before. Quietly, she built a small shrine to honor them, as a child honors her own parents.

Then she stayed on with the people of the region. Seeing that they were still poor, she taught them to clear wild land and to sow rice and plant corn so they would have enough to eat. She taught the women how to raise silkworms, reel silk and weave smooth, fine cloth. Little by little the fields grew green, and the looms grew busy with the click of the shuttle. The people of the region came to see her as a Mother.

When the people at last had enough to eat and wear, one day she rose up to the heavens.

The people missed their Mother beyond words. They carved a stone statue to worship her on Cù Lao Hill, beside the river mouth, and then they raised the towers. The middle tower was for the Mother. The towers on either side were for the old melon-growing couple and her two children.

The Cham call her Po Nagar, which means Mother of the Land. Later the Vietnamese called her Thiên Y A Na Thánh Mẫu, the Holy Mother Thiên Y A Na. In some places she is lovingly called Bà Chúa Ngọc. The Cham and the Vietnamese each call the Mother by a different name. But in the hearts of both peoples, she is still the one who brought plenty and warmth to this land.

People believe the towers in the story are Tháp Bà Ponagar. They still stand today on Cù Lao Hill, beside the mouth of the Cái River. The hill is in Nha Trang, in Khánh Hòa province.

Behind the main tower stands a stone stele. It tells this very story of the Mother, in a text called Thiên Y Tiên nữ truyện. Phan Thanh Giản composed that text more than 160 years ago. The stele stands there quietly, behind the towers of red brick.

At the foot of the towers, the warm scent of agarwood drifts in the incense smoke. Standing there, anyone can see why, for generations, people along the central coast have kept coming back to this hill, like children coming home to their Mother.