A Vietnamese Love Story
Long ago, in ancient Vietnam, there lived a wealthy Mandarin who had but one daughter. With a face as radiant as a lotus blossom, the Mandarin cherished his daughter more than all his riches. So great was his love for her, and so deep his desire to shield her from harm, that he confined her to a room in the highest tower of his grand estate, perched atop a hill. She was never permitted to leave the house.
Day and night, the beautiful maiden remained in her chamber, dressed in the finest silks, pampered with exquisite meals, and entertained by the kingdom’s most skilled musicians and poets, who filled her days with soul-stirring melodies and ballads.
Yet, all her joys were confined to that splendid room. Her toes had never touched the dewy grass, her hands had never plucked fruit from the trees, her fingers had never felt the cool ripple of the river, and she had never played or shared stories with other children, save for her loyal servants. The only sunlight that ever graced her cheeks was the faint glow that filtered through her ornate window.
One day, as the Mandarin’s daughter sat by the window, gazing at the river below and admiring the graceful boats gliding across the water, her eyes fell upon a small ghe (a traditional Vietnamese boat). From afar, she could see the boatman standing tall, skilfully steering his craft to the calmest part of the river. He then sat down, lifted a bamboo flute to his lips, and began to play.
Soon, the most enchanting melody she had ever heard wafted up to her window. The music was as soothing as the whisper of a gentle breeze, the murmur of the river, and the song of the nightingale, all blending into a harmony that touched her heart deeply.
As she watched and listened, the maiden imagined how young, strong, and handsome the boatman must be up close.
She remained at the window all day until the sun dipped behind the distant mountains. She watched as the boatman steered his ghe away, disappearing.
That night, she dreamt of the same beautiful melody. In her dream, she stepped into the boat, accompanied by a young man. Together, they drifted down the tranquil river, bathed in the glow of the full moon.
The boatman showed her all the strange and wondrous things that lay before them. For the first time, she experienced sights she had only heard of in the poets’ tales.
She felt the cool river water flowing past the boat, the gentle kiss of the evening breeze on her cheeks, and the sweet fragrance of wild orchids hanging from the trees as they passed.
A smile played on her lips as she dreamt on. She stepped out of the boat, held by the young man’s strong arms, and ran across the meadow to pick wild berries, relishing the soft touch of fresh grass beneath her feet. The tangy sweetness of the freshly picked berries was more delightful than any fruit she had ever tasted.
She felt the young man’s protective embrace as the fierce roar of a green-eyed tiger echoed from the jungle—only to wake to the sound of the bronze gong.
The moment she rose from her soft bed, the Mandarin’s daughter hurried to the window, hoping to catch another glimpse of the little ghe.
Her heart leapt when she saw the boat, and as the boatman’s mesmerising flute music floated up to her window once more, her heart melted with longing.
Again, she stayed by the window all day, until she knew the melodies by heart. Whenever the boat drew near the foot of the hill, she dropped tiny petals, hoping the wind would carry them to the boatman. From afar, the boatman caught one of the windblown petals. He glimpsed a tiny figure at the window of the grand estate on the hill.
He could tell it was a maiden, though her face remained a mystery. For him, it was enough to know she listened to his music, and this filled his heart and soul with every note he played.
One day, a nobleman whom the boatman ferried across the river remarked on the exceptional quality of his music and asked whom he played for.
The boatman smiled shyly and glanced toward the little window on the hill. “I do not know her name, but she comes to that window every day and drops petals to show her appreciation.”
The nobleman looked up at the estate, laughed, and said, “You are a dreamer, young boatman. That is the Mandarin’s daughter, the most beautiful maiden in all the land, sought after by the richest and most powerful men in the kingdom. How can you be so foolish as to think she would care for a simple boatman like you?”
The boatman said nothing. Sadly, he put away his flute and steered the boat down the river as darkness fell. His hopes of winning the maiden’s heart were shattered, and he thought he would never have the courage to face her. From that day on, he resolved to leave the river behind.
When morning came, the Mandarin’s daughter waited by the window, but the little boat was nowhere to be seen. As the day wore on, she sat and waited, but the boatman did not appear.
Her heart grew heavy, and tears streamed from her dark, sorrowful eyes.
Days passed, and still, the boatman did not return. Yet, she never stopped waiting. Day and night, she sat by the window, refusing to go to bed. And as the days turned into weeks, her strength began to wane.
Soon, she fell ill. Her servants laid her in bed and summoned her father.
When the Mandarin learned of the boatman, he was furious. He called for the kingdom’s finest physicians to heal his daughter, but none could cure her. With each passing day, she grew weaker.
Desperate and heartbroken, the Mandarin wept for his daughter. Realising that nothing seemed to help her, he finally ordered his servants to search the rivers for the man who had once played a bamboo flute in a small ghe.
The Mandarin’s men scoured the villages and rivers, and at last, they returned with a trembling, frightened boatman.
Clutching his flute, he wondered what crime he had committed and why he had been summoned. “Are you the young man who played music for my daughter on your flute?” demanded the Mandarin. The boatman nodded quietly.
“It seems your simple music has bewitched my daughter. Now she is gravely ill. I have searched the land for the finest suitors, but if your melodies can restore her spirit, then I invite you to ask for her hand. And if she agrees, I will not stand in your way. Play your flute once more, young boatman, and if my daughter chooses you above all others, so be it.”
The boatman stood in astonishment. His hopes of winning the maiden’s heart were rekindled. With a surge of courage and joy, he lifted his flute to his lips and began to play the sweetest melody ever heard within the palace walls.
Soon, the tender, warm notes filled the empty halls of the grand estate and reached the maiden’s bedside. At the familiar sound, her eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile appeared on her lips. In a weak voice, she whispered, “He has returned.”
She asked her servants to help her rise. With newfound strength, she walked through the halls, seeking the source of the beautiful music.
Her heart raced as she saw a sturdy young man playing a bamboo flute at the end of the corridor.
With each step closer, her heartbeat grew stronger. Yet, the nearer she came, the colder her eyes grew. Unlike the handsome boatman of her dreams, the man before her had an unremarkable face and a demeanour she could never love.
Out of courtesy, she bowed her head slightly, thanked the young man, and asked her father to reward him for his kindness.
Back in her room, she wondered how she could have been so foolish as to dream of a simple boatman. She vowed never to sit by the window again, dreaming of a boatman from afar.
The boatman’s heart was shattered. Having glimpsed a face that existed only in the dreams of men, he knew his heart would never find peace. He declined the bag of gold the Mandarin offered him and left the palace with heavy steps.
He lost all desire to play his flute, for it only reminded him of the maiden who had dropped petals from the estate window. He avoided the rivers, for he could see the reflection of her beautiful face in the flowing water.
His longing for the maiden, who he knew could never love him, caused his heart such pain that, in time, he lay down and died of a broken heart.
When the villagers prepared to send the boatman on his final journey down the river, they found neither his body nor his flute. Instead, on his bed lay an exquisite piece of green jade. They took the jade to a carver, who transformed it into a beautiful drinking cup.
Time passed, and everyone forgot the music that had once enchanted the village.
One day, the Mandarin ordered his servants to search the land for the most precious gift he could give his daughter.
One servant ventured to the boatman’s old village, where a farmer sold the cup for a bag of gold, and soon, the exquisite jade cup found its way to the Mandarin’s palace.
Fascinated by the precious gift, the Mandarin ordered his servants to serve his daughter water only from this jade cup.
The daughter accepted the valuable gift, and as she raised the cup to her lips for the first time, she heard a melancholic melody she had not heard in a long time.
The melody was sad yet beautiful. Then, as she drank from the cup, she saw at its bottom the image of a small ghe and the young boatman steering it down the peaceful river.
Suddenly, the maiden remembered the joy she had always felt upon hearing the boatman’s music.
Since his departure, no handsome suitor in the land had ever brought her such warmth and happiness.
Her days and nights seemed longer and emptier than the times she had spent by the window. At that moment, her heart ached with regret, and tears filled her eyes.
“Dear boatman, your love was the truest I have ever known. A love I can never have again. I was wrong to reject you. Wherever you are, I hope you can feel my longing for your beautiful music and your true love.”
As she spoke these words, a single tear rolled down her delicate cheek and fell into the cup. When the tear touched the water, the cup shattered into pieces.
Then, a breeze swept through the window, lifting the shards of jade into the air and carrying them into the night.
With the breeze came the sound of a flute, mingling with the song of night birds. It was the same beautiful melody the boatman had played, but this time, the notes were filled with joy.
The boatman had finally won the maiden’s heart at the window, and at last his soul found peace.
“Outer beauty is no guarantee of love. But love as steadfast as this will surpass even the bounds of beauty itself.”