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.
Known Japanese poet Matsuo Basho composed haiku, infused with the spirit of Zen.
The renowned Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉) during his lifetime of the period of Edo worked in the collaborative haikai no renga form; people today recognize this most famous brief and clear master.
The Aged Mother is an incredibly sweet Japanese folk tale, well worth the short amount of time it takes to read. It reminds us all of the wisdom that comes with age, the importance of all forms of wisdom, and demonstrates the love between mother and child perfectly.
I would recommend this for anyone looking for an uplifting folk tale, for themselves or their children.
That governor is such a dick. Kill all the old people because he's uncomfortable with the idea of aging? Harsh, dude.
So this youth tries to obey the orders and carries his mother on his back up to the top of a mountain, intending to leave her there (out of sight, out of mind, I guess). But the mother's more worried about her kid getting lost on the way back down, so as they climb, she's snapping off branches and leaving them in little piles so her son has a trail to follow back home. When he sees what his mother has done for him, he realizes he can't just leave her there to die (you would hope he would've realized that sooner, but at least he finally got it), so he takes her home and stuffs her in a closet under the floorboards for the next few months.
Then the governor gets stupid again and demands that his subjects present him with a rope of ashes. Everyone freaks out because nobody knows how to make such a thing... except for the old lady under the floor. She gives her son instructions, he makes a rope of ashes, and the governor is amazed. The kid--perhaps stupidly--can't contain himself and blurts out that his old mother told him how to do it... at which point the governor, who hasn't shown any sort of intelligence or compassion up to that point, realizes that, hey, maybe old people are good for something after all! So he abolishes the law about leaving old people on mountains to die. (Presumably, the old lady got to come out from under the floor... but story doesn't actually say.)
This story very much has the feel of a folktale. I can't say that I really enjoyed it. The translation I read was pretty rough, and the story itself is just... well, kind of cruel. I know there have been despots over the centuries, but this guy's edicts just seemed so arbitrary. Did he follow his own rules and off his own parents? How old was he himself? (In other words, should he have been left out on a mountain himself?) In any case, he was entirely unpleasant... so much so that I question his quick turnaround at the end.
This isn't my favourite short story. It's interesting to read something this old, but I don't know if I'd want to bother reading it again. (If the subject matter weren't so awful, this style of story might almost make a better children's picture book. But I don't know if we want to give little kids the idea that it's okay to abandon granny on the top of a mountain.)
At first: Wait what? Basho writes short stories too, so ignorant (I thought) Then: I am loving this story. Oh yes.. After a while: I am pretty sure, I know this story. YES! This is in one of my grade school subject. Finally: This is the one, still loved it. But its definitely altered.
This is beautiful and so Japanese. The culture drips across the story and relates the strong bond between mother and son! I fully intend to read more of this author! 3.5 stars.
“The Aged Mother,” traditionally attributed to Matsuo Bashō, occupies a distinctive place at the intersection of folklore, ethical parable, and Buddhist humanism.
Unlike Bashō’s haiku, which distill emotion into fleeting moments, this prose narrative unfolds with deliberate simplicity, allowing its moral gravity to accumulate quietly. The story recounts a son forced by royal decree to abandon his elderly mother in the mountains, only to discover that her wisdom remains indispensable even in abandonment.
At its core, the tale confronts the tension between obedience to authority and fidelity to compassion. The king’s law—mandating the death of the aged—represents a utilitarian logic that values efficiency over humanity.
Against this stands the mother’s unwavering gentleness, which persists even as she prepares for her own erasure. Her concern is not for her life, but for her son’s safety and moral well-being, a reversal that destabilizes conventional power hierarchies.
The mountain journey forms the emotional spine of the narrative. As the son carries his mother upward, she breaks twigs to mark the path, ensuring he can find his way back. This gesture encapsulates the story’s ethical vision: love expresses itself not through protest or resistance, but through practical, anticipatory care. The mother’s wisdom is not abstract; it is embodied, immediate, and self-effacing.
Bashō’s style reinforces this ethos through radical restraint. The prose is spare, avoiding rhetorical flourish or sentimental excess. This minimalism reflects a Buddhist sensibility in which truth emerges through clarity rather than persuasion. The emotional force of the story arises precisely because the narrative refuses to dramatize suffering. The mother does not weep, curse, or plead. Her serenity becomes a silent indictment of the cruelty she faces.
The turning point arrives when the king poses riddles to his subjects—questions that cannot be answered without the very wisdom the decree sought to eliminate. The son’s secret consultation with his mother underscores the story’s central irony: the aged are deemed burdensome until their absence reveals an irreplaceable void. When the king ultimately repeals the law, the victory feels earned not through rebellion, but through revelation.
“The Aged Mother” endures because it articulates an ethics of interdependence. It suggests that societies collapse not when they lack strength, but when they forget gratitude. Age, in this narrative, is not decline but distillation—the refinement of insight through endurance. The story’s quiet power lies in its insistence that compassion is not weakness, and that wisdom often survives in those whom systems are quickest to discard.
O banalitate care avea altă valoare atunci când a fost scrisă (acum sute de ani), această povestire japoneză e mai mult ridicolă decât necesară cumva sau cuiva. Dar are un punct forte: se citește în 5 minute și te poți considera câștigat cu o nouă lectură, indiferent de calitatea ei. Temele sunt câteva, e adevărat, printre care iubirea, altruismul, înțelepciunea sau naivitatea, dar sunt evidențiate într-un mod stângaci și neinteresant.
A beautiful story about a son and his mother, with a cruel emporer who tried to tear them apart. In the end, wisdom won over strength, showing all that minds and hearts can be changed if you perservere in your beliefs.
Stories of legend seem to have minimalized plot points. As well as reckless behavior. Is it a thing of the times, or is it just the narrative structure?