As re-told by Kyra Hall-Gelly
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| Picture c/o the world of chinese.com |
This is the tale of a love most enduring: of anger and
family, and one perfect day…
Far away, in the land of smiles, a poor, young, ill-treated
cowherd by the name of Niulang, was cast out by his family, and tasked with the
impossible task, of turning nine oxen, into ten, before he would be welcomed
home.
Sad, and destitute, Niulang sat hopeless behind a tree,
contemplating his fate, when a white-bearded elder approached the young man,
and heard his plight. “Worry not” said the elder, “for there is a sick ox in a
nearby mountain. Go there, and you will have your tenth ox!”
Off Niulang ventured, the impossible task, now seemingly
possible.
For weeks, alone, over valley and mountain Niulang trudged,
and at last, found the weak and ailing ox with a broken leg. Three days the
kind Niulang fed the ox, trundling back, and forth, back and forth, with
bundles of grass, until it was full. Exhausted, Niulang collapsed beside it. And
then, the ox did no less, than speak!
“I was once the god of cattle, in heaven! It pronounced. “I
violated the laws of heaven, and was made into an ox for my crimes!” The ox
lamented woefully.
“How do I help you?” the kind Niulang remarked.
The ox smiled (if an ox can do such things!) “The only cure for me kind lad, is for me to bathe my
wounded leg, with the dew that rests on the petal of flowers, for a month. How
do I collect such sacred delicacies, with hooves like these?”
Niulang’s kind heart was touched. He forgot, about his own
misfortune. “I will collect it for you, friend” he said. And dutifully he set
about, each morning, collecting the shimmering dewdrops from the petals of
flowers, in the morning light. Gently he bathed the ox’s wounded leg. And at
night, exhausted, fell onto his back, and slept, ready to faithfully continue his
task the next morning, and the next.
On the last morning of the month, Niulang woke up and
beamed, to see his ox friend healthy, strong, and healed. His friend was well.
And now, perhaps, he could return home.
Niulang and his ten oxen travelled back, back, over valley
and mountain, to his home. “I left with nine oxen” he said softly, when his
sister-in-law opened the door, “and as you asked, I have returned with ten. May
I come in?”
“No!” his sister-in-law hollered, angry and bitter at his success.
“You are not wanted! Give me back my nine oxen! Take the tenth and go from
here!”
Poor old Niulang. All he had now, was the shirt on his back,
and his healed ox friend.
What would become of him?
Meanwhile (and here comes the romance), the seventh daughter
of a goddess, Zinvh the Weaver, was growing bored of her life. Inertia had set
in. She was deeply unhappy. ‘Sod this’ she said, and left. She was going to see
the world of earth! She was going to have some fun!
It was the old ox who spied her, and, with his friend
Niulang’s loneliness and self-sacrifice in mind he thought ‘now I can help you, faithful lad.”
A little trickery here, a little persuasion there, and soon
Niulang and the princess fell in love. Much fun they had, yes. A naughty
princess, she was, perhaps, but she was a wonderful wife!
Legend has it, that it was the playful, adventurous Zinv,
wife of the kindly cowherd Niulang, that brought silkworms down from heaven, to
the earth, and taught its people how to extract silk.
Happily they lived, and had two children: one boy, and one
girl.
Until, of course, the goddess of heaven found out, that
Zinvh, the fairy goddess, had married (gulp) a mere mortal man! Straight back
to heaven, she ordered the naughty princess, now mother and wife.
Poor old Niulang. He could do nothing. Was he destined to be
alone?
Crying, he turned to his trusty old friend, the ox. And
saddened by his plight, the ox told him something dreadful:
“Kill me” he said. “Turn my skin into a garment. With it,
you can ascend to heaven, and rescue your lovely wife.”
“No!” Niulang refused. “You are my faithful friend!”
The ox looked about him, at Niulang’s beautiful children, and
remembered the kindness of the boy Niulang once was. “Your children need their
mother. You need your wife. I have lived a long life. Much longer, and more
happy, than it would have been without you lad. It is time for me to go.”
Regretfully Niulang carried out his horrible task. As
painlessly as he could manage, and blessed his friend, and missed him dearly.
Crying all the time, he made a garment from the hide, and strung it upon his
back. And with his two children in his arms, he ascended to heaven, to find his
wife.
But the goddess of heaven grew angrier still, when she
learned of his act of valour. She took one of her hairpins, and drew a deep,
jagged line across the sky. Now there was a river of sky, between Niulang and
his love. Try as he might, he could not cross the swelling, turbulent river
safely, with his two children in his arms.
Niulang and his children wept bitterly. They mourned and
cried so loud, that all the Magpies in the world, hearing their pleas, flew
gracefully from the trees, and collected in a flock. They flew up into heaven,
and made a bridge of wings for Niulang and his children to cross safely.
The goddess could do nothing. And after raging, and
screaming, and many days of anger, she relented:
“You may meet, but once a year, upon this bridge; on the seventh
day, of the seventh lunar month.”
Well this arrangement was far from perfect. But every year,
on the seventh day, of the seventh lunar month, Niulang and his children, run
arms open, to their wife and mother upon the bridge of Magpies, for one,
perfect day of familial bliss.
Now, every year on this day, the festival of Qi Xi is held.
Daughters, mothers, women and girls, pray for skills. And couples celebrate the
love, of the humble cowherd and the weaver princess.
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