The Magic Mango
A King of ancient Annam (now a part of Vietnam) once had three fine sons and one fair daughter. The sons, alas, were, all
three, taken from him.
The oldest was killed by a tiger in the forest. The second was drowned in the South China Sea. And the third fell in a battle with
a neighbouring king’s army.
There was left to this Annamite King only his daughter, the fair Lotus Blossom. But that this King’s only daughter was weak and
ill, so weak that she could never leaver her bed! Surely she was under the spell of some evil spirit.
It was not that the Princess Lotus Blossom was not beloved. She was as fair as the blossom for which she was named. All who
saw her pale face loved her for her sweet smile. And her father, the King, loved her most of all.
From near and far came the doctors that were called in to cure of her weakness. Even to China across the sea the King sent
messengers to bring back medicines that might help her. The Chinese doctors made for her strong powders, ground out of tiger
bones. They said she must drink soup made of the livers of dragons. But none of their cures brought color to the pale cheeks of
Lotus Blossom. None gave her the strength to rise from her bed.
“There is a witch woman who lives in a cave in the side of the North Mountain,” one of his ministers told the King one day.
“Everyone says she makes magic. Yesterday she brought back from the dead the wife of a silk merchant. Perhaps she can
restore our Princess to health.”
The King himself hurried to the cave in the mountainside to find this witch woman. And before he could speak, she knew why
he had come.
“I myself cannot cure your daughter, O King. But perhaps the Gods of this Mountain will tell you how to break the spell that
keeps her in her bed.”
The woman threw a thick gray veil over her head so that no one could see her face. But all in the King’s company heard her
voice as she talked to the Gods of the Mountain. Then she threw back the veil.
“It can be done,” she cried in triumph. “A certain mango can cure the girl. It is a magic mango, and it grows somewhere in this
land of Annam. The most perfect mango it is. Smooth, and rosy gold, and as big as a small melon. its perfume is like flowers.”
“But where, Old One, where can this magic mango be found? In whose garden – on what tree does it grow?”
“The Gods did not tell me that.” The witch woman shook her head. And the King’s face was troubled.
“Let it be known all over our land that theyoung man who brings the magic mango to my daughter shall have her for his bride.”
So the King spoke. And his words spread like fire to the farthest ends of his kingdom.
All the youths of Annam searched for the magic mango. Fine youths brought fair fruit to the King’s palace. But none of them
had the mango which would cure the sick Princess.
Now, on the shores of the South China Sea, there lived a poor fisherman in a little mud hut. Each morning this man and his three
sons threw their fishing nets into the ocean. Each night they drew them out again. Sometimes they made a good catch.
Sometimes, however, the fish in their nets were few. Like most other fishermen, they had but little money to buy their food and
their clothes.
“Our mango tree has good fruit,” that fisherman said to his sons when he heard the King’s promise. “You, Loo, my oldest son,
shall pick the best mangoes and take them to the palace. Heaven grant that the magic mango shall be in one of your baskets.
Then you can marry the King’s daughter and we shall be rich.”
Filled with the mangoes, the baskets on the ends of the carrying pole were heavy on the shoulder of Loo, the fisherman’s son.
But he was trotting along the path between the rice fields on the way to the palace. Suddenly he met a little old man. His yellow
face was wrinkled. His thin beard was gray. One saw at once that this traveler was old enough to be treated with great respect.
“Good day, Good Youth.” The little old man gave Loo a friendly greeting. “What are you carrying so fast in your baskets?”
Alas, this oldest son of the fisherman had but little patience with ancient strangers. He had been well taught to be polite to the
aged, but he seemed to have forgotten the teaching of his parents.
“Meddlesome old fool,” Loo muttered under his breath. “What business is it of yours what I have in my baskets?” Then he
spoke aloud, hoping to rid himself of the old man. “Ai, I have some raw shrimps. I caught them early this morning.”
“Let me have a look at your shrimps. Let me lift the green leaves which cover them up.”
But Loo rudely pushed the wrinkled old hand away. “Not for you, Old Man, or for anyone else will I uncover my basket,” he
cried.
“Well, you say you have shrimps there, my Son, so shrimps you must have,” the old man spoke quietly as he turned away. But
there was something in his tone of voice which made Loo uneasy.
Finally the fisherman’s oldest son reached the King’s palace. As first the guards did not wish to let Loo come in. Many young
men had already brought mangoes. But none had cured the Princess.
The King had almost lost hope. But he gave the order that this young man should bring his baskets into the room of the Princess.
As she looked on, the green leaves were lifted. But no mangoes were in sight. No, there was only a mass of bad-smelling
shrimps. Now Loo knew that the old man had put a spell on his baskets when he had said, “Shrimps you must have.”
“This is a bad joke,” the angry King cried. The Princess fainted. And the fisherman’s oldest son was thrown out of the palace.
At home that night, the young man did not dare tell what had happened. All he said was, “The magic mango was not in my
baskets.”
“Perhaps Ba, your brother, will have better luck,” the fisherman said. And he told his second son to pick the best mangoes that
had been left on the glossy green tree. He sent him off with his blessing with two basketsful.
As it happened with Loo, Ba was trotting along with his carrying pole riding upon his shoulder. The basket of mangoes swung
from its ends. Then there came to him the little old man with the wrinkled face and the scanty gray beard.
“Good day, Good Youth,” the old man said politely. “What are you carrying so fast in your baskets?”
Now, Ba, the second son of the poor fisherman, like his older brother never minded telling a lie. He, too, would not take the
trouble to lift the green leaves and show the mangoes beneath them.
“Old Man, if it is any business of yours, I have a load of elephants’ hair. Elephants’ hair from Cambodia, which I will sell in the
market.” He spoke rudely, as one never should to ma man of such a splendid great age.
“Ha!” the old man said then. “Give me a look at your elephants’ hair.” And he made as if to lift up the leaves.
When Ba pushed his hands away, he continued, “Well, since you say you have elephants’ hair, that is what it must be.”
The young man did not understand what he meant. He only tossed his foolish head and went along toward the palace.
“More mangoes!” The palace guards were not pleased to see Ba with the baskets swinging from his carrying pole.
“The magic mango had better be there in your baskets,” they said as they let him come in. “The King’s patience is almost gone.
You will feel the rattan rod on your bare back if one of your mangoes does not cure Lotus Blossom.”
“Let the baskets be opened.” The King gave the order after Ba had saluted him, bowing his head to the ground again and again.
“Let the mangoes be seen.”
But when the green leaves were lifted, no mangoes were there at all. There was only a tangle of elephants’ hair, dirty, bad
smelling and gray.
It was as the guard had warned Ba. Thirty times the rattan rod fell upon his bare back. He went home and told his fisherman
father that a robber band had attacked him. They had beaten him soundly, he said, because he had no money to give them.
“Let me try to find the magic mango, my Father.” It was Nop, the third son of this fisherman on the South China Sea. “Perhaps
good luck will be mine. Perhaps one of the mangoes I take will make Princess Lotus Blossom strong again. Then she will be my
bride.
Nop’s brothers laughed. His father looked doubtful. This youngest of his three sons was more gentle that his older brothers.
They often called him a sissy because he was polite to every person he met. Young Nop was known on that seashore as a youth
who had never in his life told a lie.
“There are only a few mangoes left on our tree,” his father objected. “They are the smallest and the poorest. And they are high
in the treetop.”
“I would climb even up to the sky to reach the magic mango if it will cure the King’s daughter.” Nop was determined.
“Go then,” said his father. “But watch out for those robbers who treated your brother so badly.”
“When I marry the Princess, we shall be rich.” The good youth was already dreaming of his share in the King’s treasures. “I
will build for you a stone house. You shall have a water buffalo to plow the land behind our house. There shall be pigs and
chickens in our courtyard and ducks on the lake.”
With these fine promises, Nop went trotting along the path between the rice fields. His baskets of mangoes danced as he ran.
But he did not feel the weight of the carrying pole. He was so happy at the thought that if the Gods wished, he would marry the
Princess.
“What do you carry in your baskets, my Son?” It was the same little old man with the wrinkled face and gray beard. And it was
the same question he had asked of Nop’s brothers, Loo and Ba.
But the old man did not receive the same kind of answer this time. Nop did not think up a lie or brush the old man aside.
“Mangoes I have, Honorable Old One,” he replied politely. “My mangoes are juicy and fresh, although they are not very big.
Somehow I am sure that among them is the magic mango which will cure the King’s daughter. Pray for me, Old One, that that
magic mango may be among them.”
“Mangoes you say they are, and indeed mangoes they are.” The old man had lifted the green leaves and was gazing upon the
fruit. “And the magic mango, indeed, may well be among them.”
It was many hours before the palace guards would let this third son of the fisherman inside the palace. It was more hours before
the King would receive him and take him and his mangoes to the princess.
But at last the green leaves were lifted. And the King and his daughter looked down at the finest mangoes that had ever been seen
in that land.
Nop’s eyes were round with wonder. For the fruit he had picked from the top of the mango tree had been only the size of
plums. Now every one was as big as a small melon. Their flowery perfume filled the room where the Princess lay on her couch.
The smooth round sides of the mangoes gleamed like the golden crown of a King.
“At last, here we have mangoes fit for Lotus Blossom to eat. Try one, my Daughter. And Heaven send that it be the magic
mango which will cure you.”
Shouts of joy rang through the palace. For Lotus Blossom, with her first bite of Nop’s mango, had risen from her bed. Her pale
face was now as rosy as the sunrise. Quickly she walked out onto her balcony, where all the people could see her. She was
quite well and strong again.
The King ordered that the wedding feast be held the next day. A gown of bright silk was brought for Nop, and satin shoes were
put on his feet. No one would have known that Nop was a poor fisherman’s son. In his fine clothes, and with the goodness that
shone out of his eyes, he was a fit bridegroom for any king’s daughter.
For three days the people ate, danced, and sang. Everyone made merry, and for ever after the fair Lotus Blossom lived happily
with her good husband.
Nop did not forget the words he had spoken when he left his old home. A new stone house was built on the spot where the
fisherman’s mud hut had stood. Pigs rooted, and chickens scratched in the courtyard. The water buffalo was bought, and ducks
swam on the pond. So Nop was able to keep his promise, all because of his politeness to the little old man.
from The Elephant’s Bathtub – Wonder Tales from the Far East
by Frances Carpenter