rice fables

4
“It’s such a busy life,” young farmer Maung Khin thought, wishing he had time for a little fun. His lean body was used to planting, weeding, and harvesting. He checked the mud banks around each field and mended them when the rains were heavy, or when crabs burrowed into them, or when the hot sun cracked the caked earth. He also scooped water from the canal to make sure the rice crop had plenty of water. Sometimes, he scared birds away from the ripening harvest. U Nu, Maung Khin’s father, also worked hard, yet money was not plentiful. “We work very hard, but seem to have few pleasures,” Maung Khin said to his father wistfully. “Maybe, if I go to the city, we can become rich.” U Nu was hurt and upset, for Maung Khin was his only son, but he understood. “If you want, go to the city,” he replied. “I wish you health and wealth.” Maung Khin buries his treasure U Nu gave his son a few silver coins he had saved. Maung Khin packed up. “The city is large, and work there will also be hard,” his father said. “In case we do not see each other again, just remember, the earth bears golden fruit, and only buried treasure is worthwhile.” Looking fondly at his son, U Nu added, “I wish you well.” Maung Khin started toward Mandalay. Expectation coursed through his veins; even the name of the big city seemed exciting. It was several days’ walk to the city. Maung strode along the dusty roads, his head held high. Maung Khin imagined what lay ahead—Mandalay, riches, good times, all heady thoughts for a farm boy. As he reached the city, his excitement rose. The mighty Irrawaddy ran lazily through the city. “What a big river,” he marveled. He had never seen such large buildings and magnificent pagodas, so tall they seemed to reach for the sky. He gaped at the broad streets lined with riotous red flame trees and delighted in the prosperity and wealth around him. He savored the aroma from small eating houses and looked longingly at stores, which lined every street and offered all sorts of colorful wares he had never seen before. “Soon I will be just like them, wearing bright clothes, and buying whatever I want,” he thought. “What a wonderful place.” He spent one of his silver coins to eat the best meal he had ever had, and then snoozed under a shady flame tree. When Maung Khin awoke, he stretched and shook his head, throwing off the vestiges of sleep. “Now, I will find a job and I’ll be rich in no time,” he said. Maung Khin soon worked as a servant of a wealthy merchant. In the merchant’s house, he saw affluence. His master’s garden abounded in orchids and roses and he saw the master and his friends spending hours of leisure. Although his master was rich, Maung Khin’s wage was small. He saved nothing. Months, then years, went by. “Father was right,” he mused. Money is not easy to come by, even in Mandalay.” Sometimes, his thoughts returned to the simple village life and the rice fields. One day, a stranger came to his master’s house. “I am looking for Maung Khin, the son of U Nu from the village of Mawlu,” he announced to the man who greeted him at the door. His uncle found Maung Khin in the servant’s quarters. “I’m sorry to bring you sad news,” he said. “Your father died a few days back. His end was peaceful but, before he died, he asked me to find you here in Mandalay and to tell you he had left a large bag of treasure for you at home. It can wait there until you return.” How Maung Khin wished he could have seen his father again before he died. “My old father remembered me on his deathbed, even though it has been many years since I was home,” he thought. “Now, he is at peace with Buddha.” From then on, life in the big city seemed even more difficult. So, Maung Khin decided to go back to Mawlu. “How did my father come by this treasure?” he thought on his way back. “We were always poor and my father’s house was so small.” Reaching the village, he went to his uncle’s place. They greeted each other warmly and sat down to chat. They drank tea and nibbled at sweet palm jaggery. “The sack of treasure your father left you,” his uncle went on, “he made only one condition. That you bury it!” Maung Khin was stunned. “This is madness,” he blurted out. “My father leaves me treasure, but says I must bury it? How does that make sense?” His uncle was of no help and soon went off to sleep. After some time, Maung Khin lay down on his own sleeping mat. Though tired from the long walk, he lay awake recalling the times spent working with his father, and the words, “I looked at only buried treasure is worthwhile.” Next morning, Maung Khin greeted his uncle. “If it is my father’s wish that I bury his treasure,” he said. “Then, it must be. I must do as he asked.” His uncle then gave him a large sack, bulging and heavy. Maung Khin was eager to open it. His hand shook as he bent to untie the rope, a thin strip of bamboo, now hardened and dry. When at last the sack fell free, he looked inside. “What’s this?” he said, standing up. “Has there been a mistake? This is not treasure. It’s rice.” Maung Khin gaped in disbelief. Then his father’s words became clear. He went out to the fields to prepare the soil for burying his treasure. Maung Khin became a successful and prosperous rice farmer, but before every planting he recalled his father’s words, “Only buried treasure is worthwhile.” 39 Rice Today July-September 2012 Rice Today July-September 2012 38 Ms. Stilwell is a writer based in Hobart, Australia. This story, originally published in 1959, is part of her forthcoming book, Rice—a grain with many stories, a collection of 28 legends about rice and the many customs associated with this amazing grain. Rice fables: Myanmar by Alice Stilwell

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Selected folk tales from the book Rice-a grain with many stories by Alice Flinn-Stilwell

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Page 1: Rice Fables

“It’s such a busy life,” young farmer Maung Khin thought, wishing he had time for a little fun. His lean body was used to planting, weeding, and harvesting. He checked the mud banks around each field and mended them when the rains were heavy, or when crabs burrowed into them, or when the hot sun cracked the caked earth. He also scooped water from the canal to make sure the rice crop had plenty of water. Sometimes, he scared birds away from the ripening harvest.

U Nu, Maung Khin’s father, also worked hard, yet money was not plentiful.

“We work very hard, but seem to have few pleasures,” Maung Khin said to his father wistfully. “Maybe, if I go to the city, we can become rich.”

U Nu was hurt and upset, for Maung Khin was his only son, but he understood.

“If you want, go to the city,” he replied. “I wish you health and wealth.”

Maung Khin buries his treasure

U Nu gave his son a few silver coins he had saved. Maung Khin packed up. “The city is large, and work there will also be hard,” his father said. “In case we do not see each other again, just remember, the earth bears golden fruit, and only buried treasure is worthwhile.”

Looking fondly at his son, U Nu added, “I wish you well.”

Maung Khin started toward Mandalay. Expectation coursed through his veins; even the name of the big city seemed exciting.

It was several days’ walk to the city. Maung strode along the dusty roads, his head held high.

Maung Khin imagined what lay ahead—Mandalay, riches, good times, all heady thoughts for a farm boy.

As he reached the city, his excitement rose. The mighty Irrawaddy ran lazily through the city. “What a big river,” he marveled.

He had never seen such large buildings and magnificent pagodas, so tall they seemed to reach for the sky. He gaped at the broad streets lined with riotous red flame trees and delighted in the prosperity and wealth around him. He savored the aroma from small eating houses and looked longingly at stores, which lined every street and offered all sorts of colorful wares he had never seen before.

“Soon I will be just like them, wearing bright clothes, and buying whatever I want,” he thought. “What a wonderful place.”

He spent one of his silver coins to eat the best meal he had ever had, and then snoozed under a shady flame tree. When Maung Khin awoke, he stretched and shook his head, throwing off the vestiges of sleep.

“Now, I will find a job and I’ll be rich in no time,” he said.

Maung Khin soon worked as a servant of a wealthy merchant. In the merchant’s house, he saw affluence. His master’s garden abounded in orchids and roses and he saw the master and his friends spending hours of leisure. Although his master was rich, Maung Khin’s wage was small. He saved nothing.

Months, then years, went by.

“Father was right,” he mused. Money is not easy to come by, even in Mandalay.” Sometimes, his thoughts returned to the simple village life and the rice fields.

One day, a stranger came to his master’s house. “I am looking for Maung Khin, the son of U Nu from the village of Mawlu,” he announced to the man who greeted him at the door.

His uncle found Maung Khin in the servant’s quarters. “I’m sorry to bring you sad news,” he said. “Your father died a few days back. His end was peaceful but, before he died, he asked me to find you here in Mandalay and to tell you he had left a large bag of treasure for you at home. It can wait there until you return.”

How Maung Khin wished he could have seen his father again before he died.

“My old father remembered me on his deathbed, even though it has been many years since I was home,” he thought. “Now, he is at peace with Buddha.”

From then on, life in the big city seemed even more difficult.

So, Maung Khin decided to go back to Mawlu.

“How did my father come by this treasure?” he thought on his way back. “We were always poor and my father’s house was so small.”

Reaching the village, he went to his uncle’s place. They greeted each other warmly and sat down to chat. They drank tea and nibbled at sweet palm jaggery.

“The sack of treasure your father left you,” his uncle went on, “he made only one condition. That you bury it!”

Maung Khin was stunned.

“This is madness,” he blurted out. “My father leaves me treasure, but says I must bury it? How does that make sense?”

His uncle was of no help and soon went off to sleep. After some time, Maung Khin lay down on his own sleeping mat. Though tired from the long walk, he lay awake recalling the times spent working with his father, and the words, “I looked at only buried treasure is worthwhile.”

Next morning, Maung Khin greeted his uncle.

“If it is my father’s wish that I bury his treasure,” he said. “Then, it must be. I must do as he asked.”

His uncle then gave him a large sack, bulging and heavy. Maung Khin was eager to open it. His hand shook as he bent to untie the rope, a thin strip of bamboo, now hardened and dry. When at last the sack fell free, he looked inside.

“What’s this?” he said, standing up. “Has there been a mistake? This is not treasure. It’s rice.”

Maung Khin gaped in disbelief. Then his father’s words became clear. He went out to the fields to prepare the soil for burying his treasure.

Maung Khin became a successful and prosperous rice farmer, but before every planting he recalled his father’s words, “Only buried treasure is worthwhile.”

39Rice Today July-September 2012Rice Today July-September 201238

Ms. Stilwell is a writer based in Hobart, Australia. This story, originally published in 1959, is part of her forthcoming book, Rice—a grain with many stories, a collection of 28 legends about rice and the many customs associated with this amazing grain.

Rice fables: Myanmar

by Alice Stilwell

Page 2: Rice Fables

Rice fables: China

by Alice Flinn-Stilwell

Once upon a time in China, rice carried many more grains than the plant of today.

Seasons were bountiful and rice plants flourished with grains covering the full length of every rice stem. Yet, some people were dissatisfied.

“The state of the world is not good,” said an elderly man, stroking his beard.

“Surely, life should be better,” said another.“Perhaps Pan Gu could help,” said yet another. “He

created the world; maybe he can improve it.”Pan Gu lived high in the heavens. The people asked

"woojay" (a crow) to carry their petition to heaven. “Let’s also send 'fatt koh' (rice cakes),” suggested an

old man. “This will surely please Pan Gu.”The people asked for four things: first, to make

the spring season last all year for without exremes of temperature crops will grow easily; second, to make crops perennial so that we will not have to plant new crops every year; third, to cast away calamities such as famine and earthquakes; and, lastly, to ensure that all people are equal and that emperors will always be fair.

The crow flew high in the sky till its shiny black wings disappeared into the blue. Many days and many nights later, it reached the heavens. The crow presented Pan Gu with the rice cakes and the petition.

Pan Gu read the petition from beginning to end. Then, he said, “I grant all these wishes but with one condition—they will be granted just once—at the moment they are said aloud. So, you must speak to no one until you reach your people.”

The crow thanked Pan Gu with a bow. Days and nights later it reached the Earth.

“What a fantastic job I’ve done,” it said, perched on a stone.

“Hey there, Mr. Crow,” said a voice.The crow looked around to see where the voice came

from.“My, you look puffed up and pleased with yourself,”

said the voice.The crow realized that the voice came from the brown

stone it was resting on. Remembering Pan Gu’s caution about speaking, it just bowed to acknowledge the stone. The stone looked crestfallen.

“I’m only a stone. Is that why you don’t speak to me?”“Oh, no, my friend, I was wondering how you

manage because you are so bare,” said the crow. “In summer, you must be so hot in the searing sun, and you must be freezing in the winter snow.”

Immediately, the stone was covered in thick green moss to protect it from the extremes of cold and heat.

“What power I have,” thought the crow, and it flew on.

Some time later, it stopped to rest on the branch of a ginkgo bush,

for this was before ginkgos had become trees. The crow perched haughtily on a top branch, feeling highly pleased

with himself.“My, you look a fine happy fellow,” said the ginkgo.

“Why are you so pleased?”Remembering the instructions, the crow just nodded

its head. “Won’t you speak to me?” said the bush gruffly.

“You seem to fancy yourself.”“No, no,” said the crow. “I’m not like that at

all, and, to prove it, you can have one of Pan Gu’s promises. You will grow and bear

seed year after year and never need to be replanted.”

The crow flew straight on again, more pleased than ever

with itself. Soon, it saw the people waiting for its return. The crow realized that it

had already given away two of Pan Gu’s promises. It flew gently down to the ground feeling extremely awkward. Everyone watched in hopeful eagerness to

hear its news.

Afraid to tell the truth, the crow lied, “Pan Gu says we do not need the changes we asked for. Everything on Earth is perfectly alright.”

Everyone was terribly disappointed. They had been sure the crow would make their case well and was bound to be successful.

Moreover, the crow had forgotten to tell Pan Gu that the rice cake must be steamed before it can be eaten. Pan Gu was really angry when he tasted the awful cake after granting the people’s wishes. He sent Fu-His, the god of agriculture, down to Earth, saying, “Bring me back all rice grains and leave none behind. This will punish these miserable people.”

Fu-His reached the Earth swiftly and stripped the rice stalks almost bare; just a little remained at the top. The sparrows in the fields looked on, aghast at what was happening. They twittered among themselves and could not believe that this god, their friend, was taking all the grains.

“What will we eat?” they asked each other.The people looked on, horrified, too.Fu-His looked over the fields and saw that grains were

left on top of the stalks.The sparrows knew they would starve if all the grains

were removed. Thousands flew to Fu-His saying, “Please leave us the grains that are left. Don’t punish us because of the crow’s mistake.”

Fu-His liked sparrows. Not wanting to see them suffer, he didn’t go back to the field, but flew straight back to the heavens.

That is the reason people do not like crows and a rice plant has grains only at the top of the stalk.

Ms. Flinn-Stilwell is a writer based in Hobart, Australia. This story is part of her forthcoming book, Rice–a grain with many stories, a collection of 28 legends about rice and the many customs associated with this amazing grain.

35Rice Today October-December 2012Rice Today October-December 201234

How rice panicles came to be

Crow and Tree—Heaven and earTH in winTer. digiTal arT by HarTwig Kopp-delaney.©

Page 3: Rice Fables

34 35Rice Today January-March 2013Rice Today January-March 2013

Rice fables: Philippines

The first palayretold by Alice Flinn-Stilwell

illustrated by Sherri Maigne Meneses

This Philippine folklore about the origin of rice has been told in various ways in many a gathering as it was passed from generation to generation.

Long ago, when the world was new and peaceful, trees grew tall and strong, flowers bloomed, oceans and swift rivers rippled under sunny skies, and animals roamed in abundance.

All people were hunters and gatherers. They moved from place to place, living under leafy shelters or in dry caves. Food was easily available. Fish were easy to catch, fruits and tubers were plentiful, and they could always trap an animal to roast.

Makisig and Liwayway lived happily. Life, like the world around them, seemed idyllic. Being newly married, they wanted time to be alone, so they moved their camp away from the clan and closer to the sea.

Late one afternoon, Makisig returned from collecting shellfish from the rocks near the shore.

“Liwayway, I like this place,” he said.“Me, too!” Liwayway replied, taking the laden basket

from him.The setting sun caught the crests of the waves and

turned them from golden orange, then red, until the sun disappeared below the horizon of the South China Sea. The fragrant warmth of the night enveloped the contented couple.

Liwayway soon became pregnant. They were both delighted and they decided to stay in their own place, where Makisig cut bamboo to build a stronger shelter.

But then, the expected rains did not come. The sun continued to shine every day, the soil dried and cracked, the leaves on the trees turned brown and fell, and animals left in search of food.

Makisig had to walk farther each day searching for something to fill their food basket. He knew good food was important for his wife and their coming child. Sometimes, he ate only a few berries, saving the more succulent ones for Liwayway.

One hot afternoon, Makisig trudged a long way. He found nothing to eat. He searched in a small valley, but found nothing. He trudged on up a steep hill to find only yellowing grass. Exhausted, he lay down under a small scrubby tree.

He lay with his eyes closed, tired, worried, but enjoying the respite from walking. After a while, a light cooling breeze fanned him. Feeling refreshed, he opened his eyes.

“I must be dreaming,” he thought, “the grass is dancing.”

He shut his eyes and rested again. Then he heard sounds like music. The dry grass rustled rhythmically, and seemed to say, “Makisig, we want to help. We have

something for you. Pick our grains. We are good food and delicious.”

Makisig peered through half-opened eyes, then looked again more closely. He stared in disbelief. The grass was bowed down with grains. He struggled to his feet and picked a drooping stalk.

“Smells good!” he said aloud.The breeze rustled the grass again, and seemed to

say, “Pound the grains lightly with a stone to remove the golden brown husk. Boil the pearly white parts. The grains are good.”

Makisig doubted that this dry hard grain could taste good. But, his basket was still empty, so he filled it with heads of this grass and set off home.

“We can only try,” he thought.As he reached their bamboo shelter, he worried. “Did I imagine it all?” But, his basket was full, so

he told Liwayway the whole story. They removed the husks, and the white grains were soon bubbling in a clay pot over a fire.

What the grasses told Makisig was true. The hard grains softened, and also became much larger. They put the hot grains on banana leaves to cool, added a few small fish, and sat down to a feast.

“Mmm, delicious!” said Liwayway.”And how good to feel full,” murmured Makisig.They slept well that night.Makisig returned the next day to cut as much grain

as he could carry. The wind whispered again. “Plant the best grains in the valley, in muddy soil. If it doesn’t rain, carry water from the river. The plants will grow lush and green and will give you more grains—plenty for you and Liwayway, and for the new child. In time, there will be enough to share with your clan. Call the grains palay!”

Makisig and Liwayway never went hungry again, nor did their clan. Soon, all were growing this wonder grain.

Ms. Flinn-Stilwell is a writer based in Hobart, Australia. This story is part of her forthcoming book, Rice–a grain with many stories, a collection of 28 legends about rice and the many customs associated with this amazing grain. Ms. Meneses is a communications associate at IRRI.

35Rice Today January-March 2013Rice Today January-March 201334

Page 4: Rice Fables

34 35Rice Today April-June 2013Rice Today April-June 2013

Rice fables: Japan

35Rice Today January-March 201334

Many years ago in Japan, ascetic monks abounded. They were highly revered and respected. They became

models for everyone to look up to and emulate.These monks deprived themselves in various ways.

Some gave up sleeping on mats, preferring hard stones instead. Others walked barefoot many miles to inspire others to shun physical comfort.

The monk who ate no rice

In Asia, many people eat rice three times a day. For them, rice is life; but, in this Japanese fable, a “holy man” seems to have given up eating rice.

story by Alice Flinn-Stilwellillustrated by Sherri Maigne Meneses

One monk even gave up eating rice. Throughout the land, people were amazed when they heard of his abstinence for they could not imagine life without eating rice.

Everyone eats rice three times a day, and for snacks as well,” the people marveled. “How can he live without rice?”

When they learned that the monk ate pine needles instead of rice, they were even more amazed. They could only presume that he was very dedicated to be able to do such a thing.

Over time, he became so well known and revered that the Emperor invited him to live in the imperial garden. So, the monk came and lived in a small bamboo house in the Emperor’s garden. Every day, he sat cross-legged on his mat, meditating for hours and hours at a time. The Emperor found him to be extremely devout.

”Who else could sit cross-legged so long, and who else could live without rice, eating only pine needles?” the Emperor wondered. “He must truly be a saint.”

However, a few of the young attendants in the Emperor’s court were not so sure about this monk that everyone talked about. They all agreed that he seemed impressive, and they treated him with the respect the Emperor demanded. But, they found it hard to believe that he ate no rice.

One day, they decided to visit the monk.”My good holy man, how many years has it been

since you last ate rice?” they asked.”Ah, it was many years ago when I was but a young

man,” he said, flattered, in a very worldly way, by their interest. “I’m nearly eighty now.”

As the young lads walked away, their thoughts were occupied with the monk.

”If the monk eats only pine needles and no rice, what can his feces look like?” one of the men wondered. “They must look strange.”

His friends agreed, but dropped the matter quickly.

Several days later, these court attendants were relaxing, sitting round a table drinking. They’d all had a little too much rice wine when one of them suggested, “Let’s check the monk’s outhouse and look at his feces, which must be strange.”

Not one objected. So, a little drunk, they crept to the ascetic’s outhouse. There, they found not the remains of pine needles but the remains of rice.

“How can this be?” they asked each other. “Where does he get his rice from?”

They were determined to find out. Quietly, they waited outside the monk’s house until he left for his daily walk. Then, they crept inside. There was little in the tiny house, so there were not many places to look.

They picked up the small mat the monk usually sat on.

Underneath, the earth was soft, not nearly as hard as you would expect if someone sat there day after day. They wondered what they might find, but they didn’t have to dig far before their suspicions were confirmed. They found a sack of rice.

“Aha!” said the young fellows. “Well, well!” They nodded their heads in tipsy agreement and they carefully put back the soil and the mat so nothing looked disturbed.

They waited for the monk to return. He was totally surprised and taken aback to find his small house crowded with young men, and all grinning broadly. Then they laughed at him and chanted: “Rice poop saint! Rice poop saint!”

His secret uncovered, the disgraced and humiliated ascetic fled. No one has ever heard of the monk who gave up eating rice since then.

Ms. Flinn-Stilwell is a writer based in Hobart, Australia. This story is part of her forthcoming book, Rice—a grain with many stories, a collection of 28 legends about rice and the many customs associated with this amazing grain. Ms. Meneses is a communications associate at IRRI.

Rice Today January-March 2013