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The Aged Mother

by Matsuo Basho

Also known as The Story of the Aged Mother, this Japanese folktale tells the story of an
unkind ruler who issues cruel orders, including one demand that all old folks are to be
abandoned and left to die. Basho tells a poignant story about a mother and her son and their
love for one another.

Yoshitoshi, The moon and the abandoned old woman, 1892

Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widowed

mother. They owned a bit of land which supplied them with food, and they were humble,

peaceful, and happy.Shining was governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had a

great and cowardly shrinking from anything suggestive of failing health and strength. This

caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entire province was given strict orders to

immediately put to death all aged people. Those were barbarous days, and the custom of

abandoning old people to die was not uncommon. The poor farmer loved his aged mother

with tender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But no one ever thought

twice about obeying the mandate of the governor, so with many deep and hopeless sighs,

the youth prepared for what at that time was considered the kindest mode of death.
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Just at sundown, when his day’s work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice

which was the principal food for the poor, and he cooked, dried it, and tied it in a square

cloth, which he swung in a bundle around his neck along with a gourd filled with cool, sweet

water. Then he lifted his helpless old mother to his back and started on his painful journey up

the mountain. The road was long and steep; the narrow road was crossed and re-crossed by

many paths made by the hunters and woodcutters. In some place, they lost and confues, but

he gave no heed. One path or another, it mattered not. On he went, climbing blindly upward -

- ever upward towards the high bare summit of what is known as Obatsuyama, the mountain

of the “abandoning of the aged.”The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they

noted the reckless hastening from one path to another, and her loving heart grew anxious.

Her son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his return might be one of danger, so

she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs from brushes as they passed, she

quietly dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that as they climbed, the narrow

path behind them was dotted at frequent intervals with tiny piles of twigs. At last the summit

was reached. Weary and heart sick, the youth gently released his burden and silently
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prepared a place of comfort as his last duty to the loved one. Gathering fallen pine needles,

he made a soft cushion and tenderly lifted his old mother onto it. Hew rapped her padded

coat more closely about the stooping shoulders and with tearful eyes and an aching heart he

said farewell.The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her last

injunction. “Let not thine eyes be blinded, my son.” She said. “The mountain road is full of

dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path which holds the piles of twigs. They will guide

you to the familiar path farther down”. The son’s surprised eyes looked back over the path,

then at the poor old, shriveled hands all scratched and soiled by their work of love. His heart

broke within and bowing to the ground, he cried aloud: “oh, Honorable mother, your kindness

breaks my heart! I will not leave you. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and together

we will die!”Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed now) and hastened

down the path, through the shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath

the kitchen floor was a walled closet for food, which was covered and hidden from view.

There the son hid his mother, supplying her with everything she needed, continually watching

and fearing she would be discovered. Time passed, and he was beginning to feel safe when
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again the governor sent forth heralds bearing an unreasonable order, seemingly as a boast

of his power. His demand was that his subjects should present him with a rope of ashes.

The entire province trembled with dread. The order must be obeyed yet who in all Shining

could make a rope of ashes? One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his

hidden mother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think. I will think” On the second day she told him what

to do. “Make rope of twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch it upon a row of flat stones and

burn it on a windless night.” He called the people together and did as she said and when the

blaze died down, there upon the stones, with every twist and fiber showing perfectly, lay a

rope of ashes.The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, but he

demanded to know where he had obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!” cried the farmer, “the

truth must be told!” and with deep bows he related his story. The governor listened and then

meditated in silence. Finally he lifted his head. “Shining needs more than strength of youth,”

he said gravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-known saying, “with the crown of

snow, there cometh wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and custom drifted

into as far a past that only legends remain.