The Old Lady of Ngerchokl

 The Old Lady of Ngerchokl

(A Legend from Palau)

The old woman stared at her reflection in the dark water and was frightened. A plumeria leaf fell soundlessly on the pool's surface, creating a ripple of waves that grew rounder and rounder and then—gone. The old woman sighed. "Like these ripples, my life will soon disappear. My husband has died and my family is gone except for one daughter. She is young and not ready to live alone.” The old woman whispered to her reflection,"I must dare the dark magic. I must begin my secret plan.”

She fingered the wide leaves of a breadfruit tree that shaded her as she sat, reluctant to begin. The rain forest's green quiet surrounded her like a protective shawl. "Do I dare attempt this magic?”

As if in answer, a fruit dove flew overhead, shyly warning, "Co-o-o, no-o-o-o, no-o-o-o.” The woman trembled. Just then a tropic bird shrilled loudly, its slender white body soaring high above, "Keer-keer, ye-e-es, yes!” Which cry should she heed?

Another sound answered her question. She smiled as she listened to bare feet slap, slap, slapping across the rock path. Her daughter was hurrying with two empty pots. "We are asked to fill these. The village needs water. I will help you, Mother.”

"Yes, we will fill them but not from this pool. Today we find the place where the water is cool and refreshing—like magic!” The old woman plucked a red hibiscus and tucked it behind her daughter's ear.

"No, Mother, not the pool of dark water and—" The young girl shivered. "It is whispered that the mists swirl with death.”

"My child, many things are said that are not true. We will walk quietly without disturbing one spirit or waking a rock. But we must hurry so the villagers have water before dark.”

At first the path meandered through sea vines tangled and twisted. It crossed through a swamp and became swallowed by mud stinking of rot. The mother and daughter followed a row of mangrove trees standing on stilted roots in the murky brine. Moss-shrouded branches creaked in the spooky silence. Not one friendly sound was heard, only the whining of mosquitoes, the warning clicks of geckos, and the clattering of hermit crabs slithering in the shadows.

The old woman felt a touch on her shoulder. “Mother, this path chills my heart. Finally the swamp ends, but now the jungle begins. Please, let's go home.”

“No, something waits that could change us forever.” With her walking stick the old woman whacked at the green wall of vines and bamboo. Brittle branches rattled as if a hundred tongues were scolding, “Go back, go back!”

The path became steep and rocky. Trees towered thick and lush, their outstretched branches tangled above like a giant weaving. Younger trees stooped sad and yellow under shrouds of vines, swaying and sighing. Giant spiders glowed like jewels on sticky webs. The old woman continued, but her steps became slower. She breathed harder, determined to keep fear out of her thoughts.

The path circled near a cliff. She stepped to the edge. Above her a giant bat swooped in large circles. Beyond the path’s next curve, mist swirled up through the branches.

Was she imagining or could she hear the sounds of water splashing? “Young one, listen.”

Her daughter’s eyes grew wide with fright. “What is it, Mother?”

“We are near.”

“This place smells of death. Mother, please, let's return home.”

The old woman pointed to a clearing. “Rest there. The bushes are full of blossoms. Gather an armful as an offering to the water spirits while I find a place to drink from the pool's edge.”

“No, Mother, your legs are trembling. You rest. I will fill our clay pots and bring water to you.”

“No! You must never touch the dark water. Never!”

“Mother, why do you speak with anger? I feel the dark spirits. They chill my blood. I will gather blossoms. Hurry, drink your fill so we can leave.”

The old woman gazed one last time at her daughter.

“Remember, never touch the water in this pool, never!” She touched her daughter's troubled face. “Pick blossoms until your arms are full, and your heart will feel brighter. Look for the place where the water sounds like laughter. I will wait for you there.”

The old woman hurried toward the water. Soon she stood at the pool’s edge.

Perhaps the legend is false. Perhaps there is no magic. If I dive into this pool I may never return. Is it possible to find the stones that restore youth forever, for always? If I dive into this pool, what is my fate? To never return? Or to return and remain young forever? Never or always, which will it be?

The old woman of Palau felt her heart turn cold. She shuddered. “My daughter! You will never see me old and ugly again!”

She dove into the darkness. An icy cold pierced her chest. Already her heart ached to return to warmth and light. Down she swam. The water grew heavy, close, suffocating. Her mind screamed, Turn around, go back, go back.

She struggled through water as dark and blinding as octopus ink. Something slithered against her legs. She wanted to scream, to breathe, to warn her daughter, Stay away from the pool, stay away.

Still she swam deeper. The water grew colder, heavier, crushing her on all sides, pressing tighter and tighter. Confusion swirled in her head. Foolish woman, believing foolish old tales. There are no magic stones, no enchanted pool, only darkness and death unless you turn around . .. turn around.

With the last of her strength she pulled one stroke deeper. Her fingers touched the bottom and scraped through the mud. Nothing! No magic stones. But then... yes, something cold and smooth. Her fingers curled around a stone and slowly, steadily her arm felt strong and young. Yes! The magic must be real.

Air! Her body screamed for air. She must breathe. Her lungs were burning. Breathe! Her thoughts were spinning. She was confused and could not see. Which way was the surface? A wall of black seemed to surround her. Was she swimming up toward light or down toward death? Her strength was ebbing; it was no use, young or old, she could not survive without air.

“My child, my child.” She closed her eyes and saw her child’s face, a young face so frightened and looking for her mother.

The blackness parted. She swam and kicked until she reached the surface. Sunlight warmed her face like the sweet kiss from a child. She breathed in gulpfuls of air.

“Here I am! I have returned. Come to the pool.” She swam to the rocky edge, reached toward her child, but stopped. Her daughter stared back.

“Dear lady, I don't know who you are.” The girl stared at her. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I am looking for my mother.”

“l am your mother.” The woman stood next to her daughter. “Look at me and see who I am!”

The girl shook her head.

The woman stared at the reflection in the pool. Two faces stared back, the face of her daughter, pale with fear, and the face of a beautiful young woman—her face!

“Please don’t taunt me, dear lady. Have you seen my mother? I am worried she is lost.”

“Dear child, I am your mother. I have become young and beautiful as I once was.”

“No! Go away.” The daughter stamped her feet in anger and spoke with courage. “You are a wicked spirit trying to trick me. Go away. I must search for my mother.”

“Wait. Listen, so you will understand. I have become young so you’ll never feel ashamed of this ugly old face.”

“Ashamed?! You are evil to say such words.”

“But my arms had become brittle as dry bamboo. They no longer could hold you with strength.”

“My mother's arms are plenty strong to give comfort.”

“But my body had grown shapeless and wrinkled as an old yam.”

“What do you know, foolish woman? My mother's lap is soft and safe. I will not be frightened by monsters like you.”

"But little one, your old mother’s hair was no longer thick and black.”

“My mother’s hair is gray like the dolphin. She smiles when I comb the tangles that her stiff arms cannot reach. Your arms are young. You do not need a daughter to comb and caress you.”

“My old voice had become scratchy and weak.”

“My mother’s voice may be old and sometimes cross but it is soft with love. Her heart is full of stories and songs. We laugh as we work, filling the air with singing.”

The daughter stamped her feet once again, slap-slap-slap—so hard that footprints were left in the rock. “Go away. Leave me alone. Somewhere my mother is waiting for me. She said I would hear her voice laughing. We must hurry back to the village. Whoever you are, go away and never return. Never!”

The woman of Palau looked again into the pool. She saw her youth and all its beauty but she also saw her foolishness. “What have I done?” Now she understood; she had lost all that she loved.

She stared at the water and said the rest of the words that had been whispered. Beware and be careful. If one re-enters the pool, the magic is destroyed. Eternal youth is lost forever. Re-enter the water and choose: death or old age. Death or old age!

The old lady cried, “Do I have the courage to make such a choice? What does it matter? To remain as I am means being dead to my daughter.”

The woman dove into the pool. Once again foam swirled around her. Down she swam until her fingers touched the stones. She felt her legs grow heavy and weak. Pain gnawed again inside her bones and cold stiffened her joints. The confidence and daring of youth became dim and then lost.

With the last of her strength she swam to the surface. She rested, holding onto a rock. She stared at her hand and wept. Tears of loss mixed with joy and relief, for once again her hand was wrinkled and old.

“Mother! Let me help you!” The girl rushed to her mother’s side. “You are trembling. Let me rub your arms. Rest your head on my lap while I untangle your hair.” The daughter plucked the red blossom behind her ear and tucked it into her mother’s hair. “I was afraid I had lost you forever.”

The love in her daughter's voice warmed the old woman's body. She looked at her child and was amazed. She could see her true self reflected in her daughter's eyes. And she could see more. She could see life’s ripples spreading toward adulthood, dimming with old age, and beginning again with the young. As if some magic had cleared her sight, she could see memories waiting to be made, laughter, tears, and young life ready to continue the circle.

The old woman reached for her daughter’s hand and slowly stood up. They began their journey home. Step by step the old woman of Palau felt strength from a deep joy that was always and forever, both old and young.

On the island of Babeldaob, in the village of Ngaraard, runs a river called Ngerchokl. This river winds through a valley in the volcanic hills until it tumbles down into a deep, dark pool. The pool is surrounded by tall breadfruit, coconut, and pandanus trees. On the lava rocks surrounding the pool, footprints of a little girl can be seen. People say they are the footprints of a faithful daughter who wanted only her own true mother, the old woman of Palau.

Sources:

Micronesian Legends

Nancy Bo Flood, Beret E. Strong, William Flood

2002

Pages: 59-64