[Monifa] Filling The Village
They sit by the fire, listening, and I begin.
Long and long ago, far and far away, there was a tribe that lived in the mountains. Their chief was very old, and very wise, and when it came time that he knew he would soon pass on, he gathered his three sons.
The oldest son was strong and brave, tall and wide.
I lift my good arm high to illustrate.
The middle son was quick and clever, long and lean.
I move my fingers quickly, to indicate running.
And the youngest son was slow and quiet, short and round.
I curve my arm out in front of me, as if I have a bit of a paunch.
The wise old chief knew that if he did not make a decision on who was to lead, the tribesmen would fight among themselves and the tribe would be lost, for they could not survive long in the mountains if they did not work together.
But the wise old chief--being very old, and very wise, mind you--also knew that if he chose one of his sons over the others, the two he did not choose might turn on their brother, and through their grumbling and harsh words also destroy the tribe.
So the chief proposed a challenge. He sent his senior wife to fetch his chest, and had her took out fifteen gold pieces.
I tap my fingers against my leg.
She counted them slowly, and she counted them carefully. One, two, three...
And the chief bade her give five coins to each of his three sons. 'There is a market,' he said, 'in the valley below.'
I make my voice low and gravelly, and cough a few times to show the chief's age.
'You are strong and clever and wise, my sons. Go now, and spend your coins. Bring me back something that can fill the whole village. Whichever one of you does this will be chief when I am gone.'
I cough once more, then continue in my own voice.
Now, the three sons knew that five gold coins could not buy very much. A fair number of things, certainly, but enough to fill the village?
The oldest son, tall and wide, was determined to do his best and become chief. He knew it would not be easy, but he had a good heart and was willing to try.
On the first day after the challenge, he went down the mountain with his five coins, thinking all the while. He visited the market, peering into all the stalls and looking into every basket. He searched high, and he searched low. He searched until the sun had nearly set. Then he made his purchase and returned home, climbing high up the mountain to the village.
He carried two huge barrels, one under each arm, and he showed them to the chief. 'Here,' he said, 'I bring food to fill the village.'
The wise old chief smiled. 'This is good,' he said. 'You have done well. But your brothers must also take their turn.'
I smile, feeling the tale flow out of me to fill the room.
So on the second day, the middle brother went down the mountain with his five coins. But because he was a clever one, he spoke to his mother first, and took her advice. He was gone only an hour, and soon returned, loping long and loping lean up the mountain path to the village.
He carried two large bales, one under each arm, and led his raptor carrying more behind him. 'Here,' he said, 'I bring straw to fill the village with, to soften the hard stone under our feet.'
The wise old chief smiled. 'This is good,' he said. 'You have done very well, my son.'
The oldest son, tall and wide, and the middle son, long and lean, were anxious, and pressed their father for a decision. But--
'No,' he said. 'Your youngest brother must also be given his turn.'
They grumbled, but bowed to their father's wisdom.
So on the third day, the youngest son went down the mountain, walking carefully, bobbing along all short and round. He was very young, and quiet. Slow to speak and quick to listen.
He had seen how quickly the grain his oldest brother had brought disappeared, and resolved not to purchase something that could be eaten. He had heard the grumbling among the women of the village at the mess the straw left in their huts, as the children played in it and the chickens tossed it to and fro.
He thought and he thought and he thought some more, as he wandered through the marketplace. What could he buy with his five gold coins that would fill the village?
He looked at fine metal cooking pots, and sharp steel knives. He looked at warm furs and glass beads and spices from far away. He walked all through the market twice, and then, while the sun was still high in the sky, he made his purchase and returned to the village, high on the mountainside.
I raise my hand, making two fingers walk high up in the air, as if climbing a mountain.
He carried only a small bundle with him, and when his brothers saw him, they laughed and whispered to each other.
'He brings little,' said the elder brother. 'How can he fill the village?'
'Perhaps,' said the middle brother, 'he is planning something we did not think of.' Then he thought some more, and shook his head, for he was quite certain that he was the cleverest of the three.
I smile, letting the middle brother's smug grin cover my face.
The youngest brother went to his father, to the wise old chief. He bowed, short and round, before him.
'What have you brought to me, my son? What have you brought to fill the village?'
His son, his youngest son, smiled and shook his head. 'I will show you,' he said, 'once the sun has set.'
The wise old chief nodded, and there was a twinkle in his eye.
All evening the third son worked, going here and there among the villagers. He went into every hut, visited every family, and spoke to the women of the house. His brothers watched for a time, but quickly grew weary of it, and went to sit and wait by their father, muttering to themselves.
I make a grumbling noise and flap my fingers, as if they are a talking mouth.
At last night came, and the youngest brother returned, smiling wide, to his father's side.
'Will you show me now?' the old chief asked.
He nodded. 'I will.' Then he took his father's hand and helped him from his seat, leading him outside into the center of the village.
In every hut, candles burned bright, illuminating the village with a soft warm glow. Women could be heard still at work, and the men of the village sat quietly chatting in the light. A few children sat playing, visible through the open doorways, and their soft laughter could be heard fluttering through the night air.
The old chief smiled, and his first two sons could see he had made his decision.
He turned first to his oldest son. 'My son,' he said. 'You have filled our people's bellies and kept them from hunger for a time. I thank you. But I cannot choose you.' The oldest son, tall and wide, nodded slowly and stepped aside.
Next, the wise old chief turned to his second son. 'My son,' he said. 'You have warmed our people and given them respite from the harsh earth of the mountain for a time. I thank you. But--' And he shook his head.
I shake my own head.
'I cannot choose you.' And the middle son, long and lean, he too stepped aside.
Then the chief turned to his youngest son, short and round. The old man had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, as he was watching the villagers at work and play, but he turned quickly enough and bowed before his father.
'My son,' the wise old chief said. 'Your brothers have tended to the bodies of our people, but you have seen to make their spirits brighter and their hearts content. This is the mark of a true leader. You will be chief when I am gone.'
And all the tribe heard, and saw why the wise old chief...
I smile.
...was wise.