Storytelling For Peace

Selected stories for peace and conflict resolution

Not Our Problem: A Tale from Burma and Thailand

retold by Margaret Read MacDonald

The King sat with his Adviser eating honey on puffed rice. As they ate they leaned from the palace window and watched the street below.
They talked of this and that.
The King, not paying attention to what he was doing, Let a drop of honey fall onto the windowsill.
"Oh sire, let me wipe that up," offered the Adviser.
"Never mind," said the King.
"It is not our problem.
The servants will clean it later."

As the two continued to dine on their honey and puffed rice, The drop of honey slowly began to drip down the windowsill.
At last it fell with a plop onto the street below.
Soon a fly had landed on the drop of honey and begun
His own meal.
Immediately a gecko sprang from under the palace and with a flip
Of its long tongue swallowed the fly.
But a cat had seen the gecko and pounced.
Then a dog sprang forward and attacked the cat!

"Sire, there seems to be a cat and dog fight in the street.
Should we call someone to stop it?"
"Never mind," said the King.
"It's not our problem."
So the two continued to munch their honey and puffed rice.

Meanwhile the cat's owner had arrived and was beating the dog.
The dog's owner ran up and began to beat the cat.
Soon the two were beating each other.

"Sire, there are two persons fighting in the street now.
Shouldn't we send someone to break this up?"
The King lazily looked from the window.
"Never mind.
It's not our problem."

The friends of the cat's owner gathered and began to cheer him on.
The friends of the dog's owner began to cheer her on as well.
Soon both groups entered the fight and attacked each other.

"Sire, a number of people are fighting in the street now.
Perhaps we should call someone to break this up."
The King was too lazy even to look.
You can guess what he said.
"Never mind.
It's not our problem."

Now soldiers arrived on the scene.
At first they tried to break up the fighting.
But when they heard the cause of the fight
Some sided with the cat's owner.
Others sided with the dog's owner.
Soon the soldiers too had joined the fight.

With the soldiers involved, the fight erupted into civil war.
Houses were burned down.
People were harmed.
And the palace itself was set afire and burned to the ground.
The King and his Adviser stood surveying the ruins.
"Perhaps," said the King,
"I was wrong?
Perhaps the drop of honey WAS our problem."

The Monk and the Samurai

Retold by John Porcino

There was once a samurai warrior who traveled to the distant home of an old monk. On arriving he burst through the door and bellowed, "Monk, tell me! What is the difference between heaven and hell?"

The monk sat still for a moment on the tatami-matted floor. Then he turned and looked up at the warrior. "You call yourself a samurai warrior," he smirked. "Why, look at you. You're nothing but a mere sliver of a man!"

"Whaaat!!" cried the samurai, as he reached for his sword.

"Oho!" said the monk. "I see you reach for your sword. I doubt you could cut off the head of a fly with that."

The samurai was so infuriated that he could not hold himself back. He pulled his sword from its sheath and lifted it above his head to strike off the head of the old monk. At this the monk looked up into his seething eyes and said, "That, my son, is the gate to hell." Realizing that the monk had risked his life to teach this lesson, the samurai slowly lowered his sword and put it back into the sheath. He bowed low to the monk in thanks for this teaching.

"My friend," said the monk, "That is the gate to heaven."

The Farmer and the Angel

Retold by John Porcino

There was once a very kind and joyful old farmer. He was ninety years old and, though his bones were a wee bit weary, his eyes still sparkled with love and laughter. He was the kind who seemed to know just what it took to make you smile, and when you needed to weep he'd sit by your side and hold you. He was the kind who noticed the dew sparkling on a spider's web and knew the taste of a juicy red strawberry. He was the kind who still at ninety worked hard every day on the land, and when you needed a helping hand his sleeves were rolled ready to go.

One day, because of his goodness, he was visited by an angel who granted him a wish. The angel said to the old man that anything he wanted would be his.

Now if you had one wish, what would it be? [Note: Asked to the audience.]

[The teller picks audience members:] "A million dollars!", "A castle by the sea!", "All the wishes I want!", "A Lamborghini!"

The farmer could have wished for any of these things, but instead he said to the angel, "I am happy with the bounty of food upon my plate and the love that surrounds me daily, but before I die I should like just once to see heaven and hell."

The angel told him to take hold of her cloak and in an instant they arrived at the gates of hell.

To the surprise of the good man, when he passed through the gates he found himself on the edge of a beautiful open green surrounded by tall graceful pine trees. As he walked toward the middle of the green he saw many people seated around a great long table that was heaped high with the most magnificent and delicious foods the man had ever seen. Yet as he drew near he saw that the people looked sickly and thin, as if they were wasting away from starvation. How could this be? Then he noticed that the people's arms were locked straight so that they could not bend them. It was impossible for these people to feed themselves. "Achh," the man sighed, "this is truly hell."

Hastily he returned to the angel and took hold of her cloak. In another instant they arrived at the gates of heaven.

Here too the good man found himself on the edge of a beautiful open green surrounded by tall majestic pine trees. He walked toward the middle of the green and saw many people seated around a great long table that was heaped high with the most wonderful and delicious foods. As he drew near the man saw that the people's arms were locked straight so they could not be bent. Yet these people were smiling and laughing. Their eyes danced with a merry delight and their stomachs seemed joyfully content. How was this possible? The good man looked closer and he saw: the people of heaven were feeding each other! "Ah yes," smiled the good man with a knowing nod of his head, "this, this is truly heaven."

Reprinted with permission from Spinning Tales, Weaving Hope: Stories of Peace, Justice & the Environment, edited by Ed Brody, Jay Goldspinner, Katie Green, Rona Leventhal, and John Porcino, New Society Publishers, 1992, pp. 113-114. New edition 2002.

The Cycle

Retold by Peninnah Schram

King Solomon was noted, not only for his great wisdom and his skill as a judge, but also for his ability to understand the languages of the birds and the beasts of the fields. Thus, he would sometimes listen to the complaints of animals against each other and against humanity.

Once, a grief-stricken lioness came before Solomon with a bitter complaint. "Say what is in your heart," said Solomon, "I will hear you out."

And the lioness spoke. "Why must there be war? Why must we attack one another? Can there be no peace in the world? Is it right that the hunter comes to my den and robs me of my babies and then, before my own eyes, strips off their skin? Does he have no pity for the mother? No pity for the babies? That hunter must be punished, Your Honor, and be shown no mercy, for he is guilty of killing my babies."

And the lioness began to cry with great anguish.

When King Solomon heard this, he said, "Listen to my story and tell me who is to blame?" And Solomon told this story.

One day, the mongoose and the weasel were talking, and the weasel was complaining, "That snake has eaten up so many of my babies. He comes and attacks them when I run out for a few moments to get them some food." And the weasel moaned with grief.

"Well then," suggested the mongoose, "why not devise a scheme to get the snake out of his cave and then attack him? Let's see. The snake loves fish, so we'll put a trail of fish leading away from his cave right to where we can kill him."

"Good," replied the weasel. "That will be a just dessert for him, and a good dinner for you, my friend."

So the mongoose and the weasel caught some fish and dropped them in a row on the path to the snake's cave. When the snake smelled the fish, he left his cave and ate each of the fish. As he slithered past the scorpion, the scorpion sharpened its stinger to attack the snake and accidentally struck the hen nearby.

The hen ran to the rooster and alerted him that the scorpion was ready to make war. The rooster called out "cock-a-doodle-doo," which sounded the alarm and the wolf ran out of his dean.

As he ran by the weasel's home, the wolf saw that the weasel's babies had been left unguarded, so he ate them.

When the weasel returned home after having helped the mongoose kill the snake, she found her babies gone, and she knew that they had been killed.

Weasel ran to the Judge and cried, "The wolf has killed my children. Punish him, punish him!" The the Judge asked her just one question: "What did you bring for food for your children, Mother weasel?"

And when the weasel answered, "Birds, Your Honor," the Judge said, "You, yourself, are to blame for your children's death—and no one else."

Then Solomon looked at the lioness and waited. The lioness lowered her eyes and head in shame. And the lioness understood. Yes, the lioness understood.

The Talmud says: "What you do not want to have happen to you, do not do to another."

Reprinted with permission from Jewish Stories One Generation Tells Another, by Peninnah Schram, Jason Aronson Inc., 1996, pp. 466-469.

One of the most influential books of wisdom in the Middle Ages was Kalila and Dimna, known as the "lawbook" of India's rulers and filled with fables and parables. The Arabic translation was extremely popular among Arabs and Jews, and the first Hebrew translation appeared during the thirteenth century. This story was inspired by a particular moral lesson in a story in Kalila and Dimna.

The Master of the Tea Ceremony

retold by Dan Yashinsky

Long ago in Japan there was a master of the tea ceremony. The teamaster practised his art in the palace of Lord Tosa.

One day Lord Tosa was invited to visit the Shogun in the city of Yeddo. He brought with him not only his warriors but also the master of the tea ceremony. He wanted the Shogun to enjoy the teamaster's great art.

The custom of the Shogun was that every man who entered his palace should be dressed in the traditional costume of a samurai warrior. When the teamaster arrived with Lord Tosa's entourage he too began to wear the two crossed swords of a samurai, although he had never before worn a sword in his life.

On many occasions in the next few days Lord Tosa asked his teamaster to perform the tea ceremony, and the teamaster became a favourite of the lords and ladies of the Shogun's court. After a few days, the teamaster was given leave to spend a few hours out in the streets of the city. He was delighted to leave the palace and wander about, watching the hustle and bustle. Seeing the children play in the schoolyards reminded him of his own little boy and girl back home, and he smiled.

When it was time for him to return to the palace, the teamaster began to walk back the way he had come. He came to a bridge and began to cross it. Coming towards him on the bridge was a large, mean-looking man. This man was a ronin, a free-lance mercenary who roamed the countryside, sometimes serving an honest cause but more usually making trouble for law-abiding citizens. The ronin was in an ugly mood. As he passed the little teamaster he jostled him so that he fell to the ground. When the teamaster stood up and tried to walk away, the ronin stopped him and said, "How dare you push me and knock me around!"

"Pardon me," said the teamaster politely, "but I believe it was you who knocked against me. I was the one who fell."

"Are you calling me a liar?" the big man shouted. He hadn't failed to notice that the teamaster was short and slight of build. "Come on, take out your sword and let's settle this argument right here and now!"

"Ah, I'm afraid that I cannot oblige you with a fight," said the teamaster. "Let me explain. You see, I'm not really a samurai. I practise the tea ceremony for Lord Tosa. I am wearing these garments and swords because my lord is visiting the Shogun, and I must dress like a warrior to enter the palace. I have never held a sword in my life."

"So you say," sneered the ronin, "and what I say is that you are nothing but a coward. If you refuse to give me satisfaction, if you refuse to fight, I will tell the whole town that your Lord Tosa is served by men who have no honour."

The teamaster had no wish to bring dishonour to his lord. He stood before the ronin, his mind racing and his heart pounding. All of a sudden he had an idea. He remembered that on his meander through Yeddo he had passed an academy of swordfighting. He thought to himself, "I will return to that academy and learn at least how to hold the sword properly; then when he kills me I will not die in a shameful manner."

He spoke to the ronin and said, "I will fight you. Before I do so, grant me two hours to complete a certain errand. I promise to meet you back here on the bridge and settle our dispute with swords."

The mercenary thought that the little man must be going off to collect a bribe, and he was happy to grant the delay. "See that you return in two hours," he said, "or all of Yeddo will know of your disgrace."

The teamaster hurried down the street to the door of the swordfighting academy. He explained breathlessly his urgent need to see the swordmaster, and the doormen brought him in. As quickly as he could, the teamaster described his dilemma, concluding, "... so you see I have come to learn from you how to hold a sword properly so that when I receive my deathblow, at least I will die with honour."

"I understand," said the swordmaster. Then he smiled.

"What's so funny?" asked the teamaster. "I myself find nothing amusing in the situation."

"Pardon my smile," said the swordmaster. "Most of my students come to me to learn how to avoid death, and how to bring death to their enemies. You are the first man who has ever come to me to learn the art of dying."

"Do not mock me!" cried the teamaster. "Please teach me what I need to know."

"Before I teach you my art," said the swordmaster, "would you be so kind as to show my yours?"

The teamaster knew that this would be his last chance to practise his art. With a great effort he began to prepare. He assembled the elements and utensils of the tea ceremony: the tea, the water, the whisk, the clay vessel, the brazier. Then he prepared himself. When all was ready, with a peaceful spirit he was able to serve the tea to the swordmaster.

The swordmaster observed the teamaster carefully and, after he had sipped from the bowl of tea, he said, "I see now that you are already a great master. I have nothing further to teach you. You already know everything necessary for your combat. Let me just make one suggestion. When you return to the bridge for the fight, approach your enemy as if he is a good friend. Go to him as if he is your most honoured guest at the tea ceremony. When you arrive, be sure to greet him politely and thank him for waiting for you. Take off your jacket, roll it, and place it on the ground. Place your fan upon it. Roll up your sleeves. Tie the headband of resolution around your forehead. Face your opponent. Grasp your sword by the hilt, draw it, and hold it above your head. Announce your readiness for his attack. Then close your eyes. When you hear his battle cry, bring your sword down with all your strength. If you do exactly as I say, I assure you that all will be as your desire. Farewell—and have a good death."

The teamaster was puzzled by the strange advice. But there was no more time for a lesson in sword-holding or swordfighting. He thanked the swordmaster and took his leave. He began to walk back to the bridge. As he walked, he tried to prepare himself not for a fight but for a tea ceremony. He felt calm, as if he were going to serve tea for a well-loved friend. He approached the scene of the combat. Step by step he let go of his hope, and step by step he let go of his fear.

By the time he reached the bridge he could see the ronin striding about, shouting and brandishing his sword. A crowd had gathered, eager to see blood. The teamaster walked slowly up to the ronin, greeted him, and thanked him for waiting. He placed his jacket and fan upon the ground, rolled up his sleeves, and tied the headband of resolution about his head. He took his sword, held it above his head, and said that he was ready to fight. The sword felt amazingly light in his hands. Then he closed his eyes.

He had no tea this time. He had no water, or whisk, or clay vessel, or fire, or brazier. The only thing left to offer was himself.

The teamaster stood there for a long time, but the ronin's cry of attack never came. Finally the little man open his eyes. He saw an astonishing sight. The ronin's sword lay on the ground in front of him. The mercenary soldier was backing away from him, his eyes full of terror and confusion. He broke into a run and dashed around the corner.

When the ronin had looked at the face of the teamaster, standing quietly in front of him, he lost his nerve. He did not know how to fight an enemy who showed neither hope nor fear. He did not know how to attack a man who stood peacefully, eyes closed, sword held without a quiver high above his head, waiting to serve, not tea, but his whole life. The ronin had been so scared that he'd thrown his own sword down and made his escape, glad he hadn't been slaughtered by so powerful an enemy.

The teamaster picked up his things and returned to the Shogun's palace. Before leaving Yeddo he visited his friend at the swordfighting academy. He served the swordmaster tea, told him the story, and the swordmaster smiled again.

"The Master of the Tea Ceremony" is my free translation from Pascal Fauliot's book Les Contes des Arts Martiaux (Editions Retz). I gratefully acknowledge his permission to let me retell this story in English. It was first published in my book, The Storyteller At Fault (Ragweed Press), and is also in a forthcoming book titled Suddenly They Heard Footsteps.

Why Bat Hangs Upside Down: A Story from Sudan

retold by Allison Cox

Long ago, when the world was new, the Creator called all the creatures together and told them, "The earth is filled with wondrous places—go out and find the place that you would call home."

So all the creatures went out and at first, for some reason, all the animals decided to live together over in one place over here and all the birds decided to live together in another place over there.

Now—to celebrate their new home, the animals decided to have a party. Word went out that the animals would all gather that evening in a nearby clearing. When Bat heard about the party, he was very excited. He got so busy brushing his fur and shining his wings! And when he finally arrived, Bat fluttered to the branch of a nearby tree and looked down toward the clearing. Ooooh! All the animals were having a good time!

There were all sorts of tasty foods and sweet drinks laid out for everyone. And the animals were making their own music. Some were playing drums and reeds, lions were roaring, elephants trumpeting—everyone singing. They were dancing in a line and stamping their feet. The place was hopping! Bat shivered with anticipation and fluttered down to the entrance where Zebra stood guard.

"Evening, Zebra," Bat squeaked. "Fine night for a party!"

"Stop right there, Bat!" neighed Zebra. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We-, We-, Well into the animals party…," stammered Bat.

"Oh, no you don't! This party is ONLY for animals and YOU are NOT an animal!"

"Oh, but I am!" insisted Bat. "See, I've got fur and teeth—only animals have that."

"And you've got wings! Only birds have wings. Now get out of here before I stomp you!" Zebra raised his hoof and Bat quickly fluttered out of the way, back up to that tree.

He sadly watched the animals feasting and singing and dancing … and the tears began to run down his fur, all the way to his feet. And Bat began to slip this way and that way … until he slipped all the way around and hung upside down. Bat was too sad to care. He just stayed upside down and his tears fell down to the round.

Well, when the birds heard about the animals' party, they decided this sounded like a great idea. They decided to have a party of their own! When word went out that all the birds would gather that night in a nearby clearing, Bat thought, "Now's my chance to have some fun!" He spiffed himself up, shined his wings, buffed up his feet—he was ready!

He fluttered over to the clearing and landed in a nearby tree. The party was already in full swing. There were tables of wonderful seeds and berries and big seashells filled with sweet nectars to drink. The best singers of the bird kingdom were hooting, cawing, whistling, warbling and crooning away. The long-legged birds were high stepping with the smaller birds dancing between their legs. And everyone was shaking their wings—feathers flying everywhere!

Bat couldn't wait to get in there! He fluttered down to the entrance where Vulture stood guard.

"Evening, Vulture" Bat said nonchalantly as he hurried inside.

"Stop right there, Bat! You can't go in there!"

"Why not? It's the bird's party and I'M A BIRD! See, I've got wings—one, two, one on each side!"

"You also have fuzzy dark fur and sharp little teeth," hissed Vulture. "Birds have feathers and beaks—not fur and teeth. Now get out of here before I peck you!" And Bat barely missed being pecked by Vulture as he quickly fluttered back up to the tree.

Bat was still trembling as he sadly watched the birds feasting and singing and dancing … and the tears began to run down his fur, all the way to his feet. And Bat began to slip this way … and that way … until he slipped all the way around and … hung upside down. But Bat was too sad to care. He just stayed upside down and his tears fell down to the ground.

And ever since that day, Bats have always stayed to themselves, and they only go out late at night when most of the other creatures are asleep. And they still hang upside down—so their tears will fall to the ground—to this very day.

My source for this tale is "The Party" in One Day We Had To Run by Sybella Wilkes, Millbrook Press, 1994. In this book, refugee children tell their stories in words and paintings. Abraham Marial Kiol, a 14-year-old boy from the Dinka Bor Tribe of Sudan, told Wilkes this tale. He ended with: "Tell the children of the world: We don't want to be bats. We want to find our place. To be either an animal or bird so that we can be happy."

Water Not Wine: A Tale from Africa and China

retold by Elisa Pearmain

Once upon a time, the eldest and richest man in a village decided that it would be a good idea to give a feast for all of the townspeople at the start of the event. "I will provide the feast," he said, "if you will each bring a jug of wine."

"Of course, of course," they all agreed.

But as soon as they had parted, the youngest of the group was already cursing himself for having agreed to part with one whole jug of wine. He did not have much wine in his stores, and he did not want to spend money either. "There must be another way," he told his wife. And he sat down to think.

After a while a smile crossed his face. "The other nine elders will pour their wine into the common pot. Could one jug of water spoil so much wine?"

"Hardly so, my clever husband," she answered.

And so it was that on the day of the feast this man put on his finest robes, filled his jug with fresh water from the well, and went to the party. On his way he met up with the other elders. They were greeted at the party by the sounds of music playing, and the delicious smells of food cooking. The host motioned for the elders to pour their jugs of wine into a great clay pot in the courtyard.

First there was dancing and entertainment. Then the bell was rung and the guests were seated.

The elders sat together at the head table. The host ordered his servants to fill everyone's cups with the wine. Each of the elders waited patiently for the last guest to be served. They were anxious to taste the fine, refreshing wine.

The host gave the signal and the guests put their cupts to their lips. They sipped, and sipped again. But what they tasted was not wine but water, for each of them had thought, "One jug of water cannot spoil a great pot of wine." Each of them had filled his jug at the well.

They looked at each other sheepishly, avoiding the eyes of the host, and then continued to drink as if it were the finest wine their lips had ever tasted.

That day a new saying arose among the people of the village, a saying that spread around the world: "If you wish to take wine, you must give it also."

From Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, edited by Elisa Davy Pearmain, Pilgrim Press, 1998, pp. 66-67. Author's note: Written versions of this story include "The Feast," collected from the Bamum tribe, Cameroon, Africa, by H. Courlander, in The King's Drum (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962), pp. 56-57, and "Ten Jugs of Wine," in Sweet and Sour: Tales from China, by Carol Kendall and Yoa-wen Li (New York: Clarion Books, 1979), pp. 18-20.

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