The Young Farmer and His Aged Mother

By Matsuo Basho
Illustrated By: Stella Wei
Adapted by Elaine Lindy of Stories to Grow By from "The Story of the Aged Mother," a

Japanese folktale.

LONG, LONG AGO IN JAPAN there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor
farmer and his aged, widowed mother. They owned a bit of land which
supplied them with food, and they were humble, peaceful, and happy.
The province where they lived was called Hitachi. The Governor of
Hitachi was a warrior and he hated anything that was weak or frail. One
day, he issued a horrible proclamation - all of the old people in the
province must be put to death. "There is no place in Hitachi," he decreed,
"for those who take and do not give. Old people take and take, and give
nothing back. I will not put up with this anymore." In those days it was
not uncommon to leave very old people alone to die, but to command
this to happen all at once for all the old people in Hitachi was even more
cruel.
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The poor farmer loved his aged mother dearly and the order filled his
heart with sadness. "What do I care who takes and who gives," thought
the son. "I love my mother and that's all I care about." But no one ever
thought twice about disobeying an order of the Governor. And so with
many deep sighs, the youth prepared for what at that time was
considered the kindest mode of death.
At sundown when his day’s work was ended, the young farmer took a
quantity of rice which was the main food of the poor. He cooked and
dried it, and tied it in a square cloth. He swung the bundle around his
neck along with a gourd filled with cool, sweet water. Then he lifted his
helpless old mother to his back and started on a long, painful journey up
the mountain.
The road was long and steep. It was crossed and re-crossed by many
paths made by the hunters and woodcutters. One path or another, it
mattered not to the young man, as long as he went up. On he went, ever
upward towards the high bare top of what is known as Obatsuyama, the
mountain of “abandoning the aged.”
The eyes of the old mother were not so dim to at least notice the reckless
hastening from one path to another. Her loving heart grew anxious. Her
son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his return might be
dangerous for him. So she stretched forth her hand and snapped the
twigs from brushes as they passed. Then quietly she dropped a handful
every few steps of the way so that as they climbed, the narrow path
behind them was dotted at frequent intervals with tiny piles of twigs.
At last the summit was reached. Weary and heartsick, the youth gently
set down his mother and quietly prepared a place of comfort as his last
duty to the loved one. Gathering fallen pine needles, he made a soft
cushion and tenderly lifted his old mother onto it. He wrapped her
padded coat more closely about the stooping shoulders. With tearful
eyes and an aching heart, he said farewell.

Gathering fallen pine needles, he made a soft cushion

and tenderly lifted his old mother onto it.

The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her
last advice. “The mountain road is full of dangers, my son," she
said. "Look carefully and follow the path that tracks the piles of twigs.
They will guide you down.” The son’s surprised eyes looked back over
the path, and then at the poor old, shriveled hands, all scratched and
soiled by their work of love. His heart broke.
Bowing to the ground, the son cried out, “Oh, Honorable mother, your
kindness breaks my heart. I will not leave you! Together we will follow
the path of twigs and if together we must die, so be it.”
How light she seemed now! He hastened down the path, through the
shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath the
kitchen floor was a walled closet for food, which was covered and hidden
from view. There the son hid his mother, giving her with everything she
needed, always watching and fearing she would be discovered.

How light she seemed now!

Time passed. He was beginning to feel safe when again the Governor
sent forth heralds bearing an order that seemed almost absurd. It was as
if the Governor making an impossible demand only as a boast of his
power. His demand was that his subjects should present him with a rope
of ashes.
The entire province trembled with dread. The order must be obeyed - yet
who in all of Hitachi could make a rope of ashes? One night, in great
distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. “Wait!” she
said. “I will think.” The next day she told him what to do.
“Make a rope of twisted straw,” she said. “Stretch it upon a long flat stone
and burn it on a windless night.” He called the people together and did as
she said. When the blaze died down, there upon the stone with every
twist and fiber showing perfectly, lay a rope of ashes.

The Governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised him
greatly, but he demanded to know where he had obtained his wisdom.
“Alas!” cried the young farmer, “the truth must be told!” With deep bows
he related his story, how the idea had come from his aged mother whom
he had not killed as commanded but instead had been secretly keeping
alive.
The Governor listened, frowning. Finally he lifted his head. “It is not
everyday that I reconsider a decision. I'm reminded of a saying from my
youth: 'With the crown of snow, there cometh wisdom.' It is clear the old
people give us wisdom from their experience that the young do not
have." That very hour, that cruel law was abolished.
At their dinner of rice and grilled fish that evening, the son mused, "I'm
not sure it matters if someone is giving or not, for us to care for them."
"You got that right," said the mother.
"Though it's good the Governor changed his decree," said the son, "for
whatever reason he had."
"There's wisdom in that too, son," said the mother with a smile.
For Hitachi and all of Japan, the custom of leaving the elderly to die
drifted so far into the past that only its legend remains.

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