Wonder Tales from Tibet

by Eleanore Myers Jewett

In a far country, many years ago, there lived six young men who were fast friends. One was a Magician’s son, one a Blacksmith’s son, the third a Doctor’s son, the fourth the son of a Woodcarver, the fifth the son of a Painter, and the sixth the son of a Prince. Now all these six lads intended to follow the lives and the work of their fathers, but before settling down, they all desired to seek some great adventure.

“Let us go forth together,” said they, “and travel into some strange country, and then perhaps something wonderful may befall us which will make us rich to the end of our days, or at least give us a goodly tale to tell our neighbors when we [[77]]shall have returned and taken up our fathers’ work.”

So it was agreed among them, and on a certain day, very early in the morning, all six started out together. For several days they traveled, choosing always the least known road and going farther and farther from the country they knew into the unfamiliar lands beyond. Yet no adventure whatever befell them.

At last they came to a small, round pond into which six streams emptied, each coming from a different direction. Then said the Blacksmith’s son:

“Friends, here are six rivers, one for each of us. Suppose we separate, each choosing one stream and following it alone to its source. It may be that Dame Adventure is shy and will not meet us all together, whereas to each of us apart she will bring some rare happening.”

This saying pleased the other five, and they agreed at once. “Moreover,” said [[78]]the Magician’s son, “let us each plant a small tree at the mouth of his chosen river, and I will weave a spell upon them all so that if aught evil befalls its planter, that tree will wither away.”

“Splendid!” said the Doctor’s son, “and let us agree to return to this spot at the end of a year and a day. And when we are met, if any one of us is absent and his tree withered, we will straightway follow his stream and try to rescue him from his danger.”

The other friends were greatly pleased at these suggestions, and each of the six set about at once choosing a tree and planting it at the mouth of one of the streams. When the trees were all planted, the young men took their stand beside their respective streams while the Magician’s son went around from one tree to another, weaving a magic spell about it so that it would wither and die if any ill came to the one who had planted it. Then, with many handshakes and words of faithfulness and [[79]]affection, the six friends parted, each one disappearing up the bank of the river he had selected.

Now we shall follow the fortunes of the Prince’s son. The underbrush along the bank of his stream was thick and heavy, so that he must needs walk slowly and with difficulty. All day long he wandered on, finding no open space, and hearing nothing but the sound of the water babbling beside him. At length, however, the banks of the little river began to widen out, and toward sunset he found himself in an open meadow, with an old broken well in the middle of it and a dark forest beyond. He was tired and warm with the long hard walk through the underbrush, so when he had reached the well, he sat down beside it to rest and cool himself. He had not been there long before he saw approaching him a tall and exceedingly beautiful girl with a water pitcher on her shoulder. Her hair was very long and black, she was clothed in flowing white linen garments, [[80]]and she moved across the field bare-footed, with a light, lithe step. And marvellous to behold, wherever her foot pressed the soft earth, a white flower sprang into bloom, marking her course across the meadow in a trail of beauty. While the Prince’s son was wondering at this and at the unusual loveliness of the girl, she drew up to the well and lowered her pitcher from her shoulder. He jumped up at once and, taking it from her hand, offered to draw the water for her. She said not a word, but when the pitcher was full, she set forth again across the meadow, leaving him to follow her and carry it. Over the field and into the woods they went, in the deepening twilight. The maiden moved with a sure step, quickly and easily among the trees, but the Prince’s son had great trouble in following her, often stumbling in the darkness and finding the pitcher of water ever heavier and harder to carry. At last it grew so dark in the woods that he could see nothing at [[81]]all except the gleam of the girl’s white dress before him, and the water pitcher became so heavy that his shoulder well-nigh broke with the weight of it, but he struggled on, determined not to lose sight of his strange and beautiful guide.

Quite unexpectedly they came at length to a little log hut with a candle shining in the window. As they approached it, the door was opened by an old man, white-haired, shriveled and bent, with an old, wrinkled woman beside him.