Old Mother and the Son

Long, long ago, in a small village nestled at the foot of a mountain in Japan, there lived a poor farmer and his elderly, widowed mother. Their lives were simple, sustained by the small plot of land they owned. Though humble, they were content and happy, living peacefully together.

The province where they resided was called Hitachi, governed by a warrior with a hard heart. The Governor despised anything weak or fragile, and one day he issued a cruel decree—every elderly person in the province was to be put to death. "The old take but give nothing in return," the Governor declared. "There is no place for them here." In those times, it was not uncommon for the very old to be abandoned to die, but the Governor's order to execute them all at once was particularly merciless.

The poor farmer was devastated. He loved his mother dearly, and the thought of losing her filled him with sorrow. "What does it matter who gives or takes," he thought bitterly. "I love my mother, and that is enough." But the Governor's word was law, and no one dared disobey. With a heavy heart, the young man prepared for what was considered a merciful death for the elderly in those days.

At dusk, after completing his day's work, the farmer cooked and dried some rice, wrapping it in a cloth bundle. He also filled a gourd with fresh water, slung both over his shoulder, and gently lifted his frail mother onto his back. With deep sorrow, he began the long, arduous journey up the mountain, known to all as Obatsuyama—the "Mountain of Abandoning the Aged."

The path was steep, crisscrossed by many trails forged by hunters and woodcutters. The farmer didn’t care which way he went, so long as he continued upward. His mother, though frail, was still sharp of mind. She noticed her son’s hurried, uncertain pace and feared he would struggle to find his way back. Silently, she began snapping twigs from the bushes they passed, dropping them every few steps to mark the trail.

At last, they reached the mountain's summit. Exhausted and heartbroken, the farmer gently set his mother down and prepared a resting place for her. He gathered fallen pine needles, making a soft cushion, and tenderly wrapped his mother’s coat around her shoulders. Tears filled his eyes as he prepared to say goodbye.

But as he knelt to leave, his mother’s voice, trembling yet filled with love, spoke: “The path is dangerous, my son. Follow the trail of twigs I left behind. They will guide you safely down.” The farmer’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked back along the path, realizing what she had done. His heart shattered.

Bowing low to the ground, he cried out, “Oh, honorable mother, your kindness is more than I can bear. I cannot leave you! If we must die, then we will die together.”

With renewed strength, he lifted his mother onto his back once more and hurried down the mountain, following the trail of twigs through the moonlit forest. Back in their humble hut, he found a secret chamber beneath the kitchen floor, where he hid his mother, determined to protect her.

Time passed, and they lived in secrecy. But soon, another proclamation from the Governor struck fear into the hearts of the people. This time, the Governor demanded something impossible—a rope made entirely of ashes. No one in the province knew how to meet such a challenge, and terror spread once again.

In his despair, the farmer confided the Governor’s demand to his mother. “Wait,” she said calmly. “I have an idea.” The next day, she instructed her son to twist a rope of straw, lay it on a flat stone, and burn it on a still, windless night. He did as she advised, and when the flames died down, the straw rope had turned to ash, perfectly intact, every twist and fiber visible.

The farmer presented the rope of ashes to the Governor, who was astonished by the young man’s cleverness. “How did you come by such wisdom?” the Governor asked. With a heavy heart, the farmer confessed the truth—that his aged mother, whom he had hidden away, was the one who had given him the idea.

The Governor was silent, deep in thought. Then, recalling an old saying, he murmured, “With the crown of snow comes wisdom.” Realizing the value of the elderly, the Governor immediately repealed his cruel decree. “The old have much to offer us, far more than we realize,” he declared.

From that day on, the people of Hitachi no longer abandoned their elderly, and the cruel practice faded into legend, remembered only in stories. The farmer and his mother, too, lived in peace, their bond unbroken by time or hardship.

And in their small home, as they shared a meal of rice and fish one evening, the son smiled and said, “Perhaps it does not matter who gives or who takes. We must care for each other, no matter what.”

His mother, her eyes filled with wisdom, smiled in return. "There is much truth in that, my son."