The Poor Man's Truth

Once upon a time, there was a poor potter. He made pots, bowls, and jugs out of clay, fired them thoroughly in a kiln, and then traveled to villages to trade his goods for grain. The potter had a skinny horse that struggled to pull his cart along the roads and a son named Ivancho—a very clever and agile boy. When the boy turned eighteen, his father loaded the cart with pots and said to him:

"My son, Ivancho, you've grown up, and it's time for you to take my place. Get in the cart and go to the market to sell the pots. By the time you return, I'll have prepared more. I won't teach you wisdom—you're already sharp. I'll just say this: take the upper road to the market, and when you return, take the lower road. When you reach the crossroads on your way back, turn to face the moon and raise your left hand. The moon will show you the right path. Now, good luck!"

Ivancho got into the cart and whipped the horse. He traveled for seven full days. On the eighth day, he arrived at a poor village. In this village, there were only a dozen rich people—the village elder and his bearded councilors. They squeezed the peasants dry and lived comfortably. Ivancho arrived at the market, unharnessed his horse, and began calling out to customers:

"Pots for sale! Cheap prices! A bowl of grain for a painted jug!"

But no one bought anything from him because the peasants' barns had been empty for a long time. The young potter grew disheartened. "I'll spend the night here and leave tomorrow," he thought.

In the evening, the town crier beat a drum in the village square and announced:

"The hundred-year-old communal dung pit outside the village is for sale! Whoever buys it won't regret it!"

"I'll buy it!" Ivancho decided and went to the village council.

"What will you give for our hundred-year-old dung pit?" the elder asked him.

"I'll give you the cart with the pots," Ivancho replied.

"That's not enough," the bearded elder shook his head. "Add something else!"

"I'll throw in my skinny mare!" Ivancho said.

The elder decided to consult his nine councilors:

"What do you think? Should we give him our useless dung pit?"

"Give it to him," the councilors replied. "You'll take the cart and the skinny mare and ride around with your wife, and we'll divide the pots among ourselves."

The deal was made. Now the owner of the hundred-year-old communal dung pit, Ivancho thought long and hard about what to do with it and finally decided to give the manure to the poor. He took out his last coin, paid the town crier, and asked him to beat the drum again and announce that he was giving away the manure for free to anyone with neglected fields. The poor hitched their carts and spent twenty days hauling manure to their fields. Then, when one of the poor men began gathering the last bits of manure, Ivancho decided to help him. Suddenly, his shovel hit a stone. Digging through the earth, the potter's son saw a large, smooth stone slab. He dragged it aside and gasped in astonishment: under the slab lay a silver jug filled with gold coins.

The stunned poor men fell silent, while the elder and his bearded councilors began scheming:

"Ivancho, we only sold you the dung pit, so the silver jug you found under the stone slab belongs to us."

Then the people who were grateful to Ivancho intervened and began defending him:

"If the jug was buried in his own pit, then by right it belongs to him."

In the end, the dispute was settled this way: Ivancho would give the silver jug to the village council, but he could keep the gold. Ivancho bought a black horse, swift as the wind, poured the gold into a new leather saddlebag, threw it over the saddle, mounted the horse, and galloped back to his village along the lower road, as his father had instructed.

But before he disappeared from sight, the elder gathered his bearded councilors and ordered them to take the gold from the potter's son. Suddenly, all nine councilors tugged at their beards and found themselves beardless.

"Take your scimitars!" the elder ordered.

Nine black hands reached for the wall, took nine heavy scimitars, and tucked them into their belts.

"Mount the fastest horses, catch the boy with the saddlebag, and cut off his head. I want the gold here before the first rooster crows!" the elder commanded.

The nine bandits rushed into the street, unlocked the stable with three locks, mounted their swift horses, and disappeared into the night.

Meanwhile, Ivancho swayed in the saddle and whistled carelessly. The horse trotted across the flat field. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a rider with fiery black eyes, a hatchet in his left hand, and a tall papakha just like Ivancho's appeared before him.

"Where are you headed, brother?" the stranger asked.

"I'm heading home," Ivancho replied.

"Take me as your companion."

"With pleasure," Ivancho said. "I wouldn't spare myself for a friend."

They rode side by side and engaged in heartfelt conversation. Finally, they reached the crossroads.

"Which way now?" Ivancho stopped his horse, but then he remembered his father's instructions, turned to face the moon, and raised his left hand. "That way!" he said. "That's the right path."

With these words, he turned his horse to the left, but the stranger turned to the right and shouted:

"Follow me!"

"Wait, brother," Ivancho objected. "That road will lead us to a bandit den."

"If I'm with you, don't fear any bandits!" the stranger assured him and swung his hatchet.

Ivancho obediently galloped after him.

They crossed the field, entered the forest, and rode all night. At dawn, they arrived at an unfamiliar village, rode through its streets, but didn't see a single living soul or a single light in any window. The companions stopped at an inn. They dismounted, saw the door open, and peeked inside—no one was there. They entered the inn, lit a candle, sat at the table, took out what food they had, and began to eat. Then they drank a cup of wine from a barrel that stood in the inn. When Ivancho began to yawn, his companion said:

"You, brother, go to sleep, and I'll go find out what kind of village this is."

Ivancho stretched out by the stove, and the stranger with the hatchet left. He wandered through the village for a long time, listening. Dead silence surrounded him, as if all the people had died. Quietly, like a deer, the young man walked and suddenly froze in place, holding his breath. Somewhere nearby, muffled human voices were coming from underground. Stealthily, he approached the source of the voices and saw a well. "It must have dried up if there are people inside. I'll listen to what they're saying," the stranger thought.

"The potter's son has been in the inn for a while now!" a voice said. "He's tired, so he'll drink a cup of wine and fall asleep like a log," another voice whispered.
— He’s probably already asleep; it’s been over half an hour since we heard the sound of horse hooves, — hissed the third voice.

— It’s time! Come out one by one! — ordered the first voice.

Hearing this, Ivancho’s sworn brother gripped his axe even tighter and moved closer to the well. As soon as the first bandit’s head appeared above the frame, the young man swung his axe.

— One strike, and the head is off; I don’t repeat twice, — he shouted, and the bandit’s head rolled to the ground. The second bandit met the same fate.

And so did the third...

And the fourth.

And the fifth.

Finally, the chieftain himself appeared.

— Where are you? — he shouted, but at that very moment, Ivancho’s sworn brother chopped off his head too. He returned to the inn and woke Ivancho.

— Get up, — he said, — it’s time to get ready; a long road awaits us.

They harnessed the horses again and rode all day. They crossed nine rivers and left eight mountains behind. Darkness caught them in a big city. They stopped at the largest inn, ate their fill, and went to sleep. This city was ruled by an evil king. As soon as he learned that unknown travelers had stopped at the inn, he immediately sent his servants to find out who they were, where they came from, and what they were carrying. The servants quickly gathered all the information and told the king that the travelers had a bag of gold and a small axe. The king’s eyes flared with greed.

— Let’s take their money and their heads off their shoulders. Have them come to the palace tomorrow morning! — he ordered.

The next day, the royal cupbearer himself brought a flask of wine to the inn and delivered the king’s invitation.

— Is the royal palace beautiful? — Ivancho asked the courtier.

— The palace is beautiful, but the king’s daughter is even more beautiful. You won’t find another like her in the whole world.

— If that’s the case, let’s go! — Ivancho’s sworn brother jumped up.

They bought new caftans, got haircuts, curled their mustaches, and headed to the palace, leaving the money locked up at the inn.

The king warmly welcomed the guests, clapped his hands, and ordered them to be served the most delicious dishes. When the guests had eaten their fill, the king clapped his hands again:

— Bring the wine!

And suddenly, the royal chambers seemed to brighten — the king’s daughter herself entered, carrying a golden flask on a silver tray. Ivancho was speechless. It was true — he had never seen such a beauty in his life. The maiden looked at him sadly as she offered the flask of wine but said nothing. The other guests began to taste the royal wine, but Ivancho couldn’t take his eyes off the king’s daughter.

— Do you like my daughter? — the king asked him.

— Yes! — Ivancho replied.

— If so, I give her to you.

Ivancho glanced at his sworn brother.

— Take her, — he whispered. — As long as I’m with you, don’t be afraid.

A lavish wedding was held. While everyone was celebrating, the king’s daughter, who had grown very fond of Ivancho, secretly cried and wiped her tears with a silk handkerchief. Why was the beauty so sad? She grieved because she knew — her betrothed’s last hour had come. Forty times her father had married her off to the finest young men, and every night, when she and her groom went to sleep, the evil king sent a viper to bite the groom between the eyebrows. The snake would slither into the room through the keyhole. The girl had pitied and not pitied the other royal and noble sons, but her heart ached for Ivancho.

The wedding ended. The songs and music fell silent. Ivancho and his bride went to their bedchamber. They locked the gilded doors behind them. Ivancho’s sworn brother spread out his sheepskin coat and lay down by the threshold, placing his axe under his head. Midnight passed. Ivancho and the king’s daughter fell asleep, but the sworn brother lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening. When the first roosters crowed in the royal garden, he heard a rustling. He looked closely and saw a snake crawling up the stairs, its head held high. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. The snake crawled over his chest, raised its tail in front of the door, and as soon as it poked its head through the keyhole, Ivancho’s sworn brother jumped up, grabbed his axe, swung, and struck the snake.

— One strike, and the head is off; I don’t repeat twice! — he exclaimed.

The severed snake’s head fell into the room of the groom and bride, and the scaly tail dropped at their feet.

Having dealt with this matter, the sworn brother knocked on the door, woke the groom and bride, and secretly led them out of the palace. They went to the inn, took the bag of gold, and rode into the forest, hurrying to get as far away as possible before the king woke up. The king’s daughter sat on the horse in front of Ivancho, trembling like an aspen leaf, while Ivancho whispered to comfort her:

— Don’t be afraid, as long as my faithful sworn brother is with us!

For seven days and nights, they rode through mountains and valleys, and finally, they approached Ivancho’s home village. On the outskirts, Ivancho’s sworn brother stopped his horse and said:

— Here I will bid you farewell. Go home and live honestly and justly!

— Who are you? Who sent you to protect me on this journey? — Ivancho asked him.

— I am a folk warrior. My mother sent me and told me to guard you because you did good for the poor.

— What is your mother’s name?

— The Truth of the Poor.

And with these words, the sworn brother vanished — as if he had sunk into the ground.

— What a strange man! — Ivancho said and rode off with the king’s daughter to his father’s house.

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The Poor Man's Truth

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