Ti Tai-Tai and Ko Ko-o

The boundless plains of Northern China, entirely plowed and covered with all kinds of crops, delight the heart of the landowner, but do not expect to find particular beauty or diversity in them, especially when everything visible to the eye is blanketed with a fine, yellow dust brought by the northern and northwestern winds...

The monotonous landscape cannot even be brightened by the somber, tall, bare Qinling mountain range, stretching across the entire width of China, between the basins of the Yellow River (Huang He) and the Great River (Da Jiang, or Yangtze).

Southern China presents a completely different picture. It is almost entirely filled with low but picturesque mountains, dotted with countless lakes, valleys, rivers, and streams. The warm climate, abundance of moisture, and lush vegetation make Southern China one of the most beautiful regions in the world.

The North is extremely poor in animals and birds, while the South astonishes with the abundance of birds, animals, and insects in its marvelous forests. From all sides, the singing, buzzing, and varied cries of the forest inhabitants can be heard. The vivid imagination of the southerners, more poetic than their northern counterparts, has created many tales and legends connected with local animals and birds; these stories are sometimes poetic and heartfelt, often touching on aspects of family life.

Often in the forest and clearings, the calls of two birds can be heard: one is called Ko Ko-o, the other Ti Tai-tai. These names are imitations of their calls, much like the cuckoo in Russia.

The first, Ko Ko-o, can often be heard but is rarely seen. In size and build, it resembles a brown thrush but is slightly longer; its feathers are jet-black, and it emits a clear, pure, distinct cry: Ko-ko-o-o!

The other bird resembles a lark and is called (in the northern language) Hei-dou-niao (meaning "black bean bird"), or alternatively (in the southern language) Ti Tai-tai. It rises from the ground with an astonishingly melodic chirping, very much resembling the sounds: "Ti tai-tai." The bird shoots straight up like an arrow, continuously emitting the same sounds until it disappears from sight and hearing in the blue sky.

Many years ago, though exactly when is unknown, only that it was very long ago, a young man named A Xin lived in those parts with his mother and young sister. They were a well-off family: they had their own land and house. The only problem was that there was only one man in the family: they needed to ensure the continuation of the lineage...

Finding a bride in China is easy. But the mother did not want just any daughter-in-law; she carefully observed all the local girls. Finally, she chose one who, even with the most critical eye, had no flaws: she was beautiful, intelligent, kind, obedient, and the best at needlework in the entire region!

Soon, the wedding was held.

It is understandable that A Xin passionately loved his young, cheerful, chirping wife, A Ko; but what was more surprising was that his mother also became extremely attached to the young woman—the hope of their lineage.

In short, everyone in the house adored the charming young woman: she was the center of their life; even the young husband, who had a strong character and firmly held the household in his hands, obeyed her in everything. The mother, like most Chinese widows with adult sons, was somewhat afraid of her son and obeyed him in everything. This made her all the more attentive to the charming young woman. It was also good that A Ko became friends and sincerely loved her husband's young sister, A Suo...

One day, A Xin went away on business for a few days. A Ko and A Suo were essentially still children; they felt free from supervision, frolicked, and ran around the fields...

Beyond the fields began hills covered with dense thickets. Enchanting butterflies fluttered around so whimsically, birds sang so brightly, and the thick shade beckoned so temptingly that the friends could not resist the temptation and broke A Xin's rule: never to go beyond the fields into the hills...

They, hand in hand, walked along a path between two hills; then, chasing butterflies and running from flower to flower, they lost both the path and the direction to their home.

Suddenly, a huge red mass flashed before A Suo's eyes, and a terrible cry was heard. A huge tiger leaped, almost grazing A Suo, and grabbed A Ko by the shoulder. A Suo, petrified with horror, saw the tiger stand for a moment, glaring at her with fierce eyes and lashing its tail, then drag the unfortunate woman into the thicket. What happened next—the girl did not know: she fainted.

How much time passed before A Suo regained consciousness, she also did not know... But remembering what had just happened, she ran in terror. By chance, A Suo found the very path that led to their field; and soon, breathless and unconscious, she ran home.

For a long time, the frightened mother could not understand what had happened to her and where A Ko was. One cannot imagine the mother's horror when, finally, from her daughter's fragmented words, interrupted by sobs, she learned the terrible truth...

— Son, what will the son say? — hammered in her mind...

People, especially women, are often unfair and cruel in misfortune. And this mother, forgetting that the young girl's grief was no less than her own, lashed out at her daughter:

— It's all your fault! Why did you go with A Ko into the hills? You were told not to do so many times! Be cursed—get out of my house! Find A Ko, and don't think of returning home without her!

The unfortunate girl could not bear this new blow. Her mind became clouded. She meekly left her home and went into the hills, where she had so recently laughed and played with A Ko.

— Ko-ko-o, Ko-ko-o! — she called for the lost woman.
— Ko-ko-o, — the forests and rocks answered her...

No one ever saw poor A Suo again. But so that reckless mothers would remember they are responsible for their children's fate, the gods transplanted A Suo's soul into the body of a bird, which, though unseen, reminds with its cry: "Ko ko-o"—"Do not be cruel!"

— Ko-ko-o-o, — clearly echoes in the thicket.
— Ti-tai-tai, — a melodious chirping answers from the clearing...

Once upon a time, there lived a prosperous farmer named A Guai (a very common surname in the South). His land was not in one piece but scattered; one field, recently inherited, was particularly remote.

A Guai had a good, kind wife. But after giving him a little son, A Pun, she passed into the land of shadows...

A Guai grieved deeply for his wife, though, of course, he showed nothing of it, so as "not to lose face." But life takes its toll: one cannot live without a wife. A Guai had not yet tired of family life, and the widower decided to try again.

No sooner said than done: brides were plentiful—girls are born more often than boys in China.

Soon, A Guai brought a lovely young wife into his home. This time, too, the choice was successful: the beautiful, cheerful, but impulsive A Lin adored children and with all the ardor of her inexperienced heart became attached to her stepson, A Pun.
And Guai rejoiced, praising himself in his heart for making a good choice...

She soon gave birth to a beautiful boy as well, but later on, she did not wish to follow in the footsteps of her predecessor: she grew plumper, stronger, and her character changed—it became more independent, self-reliant, and decisive.

The father was delighted. His second son, A Ti, would serve as a new thread, reinforcing that invisible yet strong bond of love that exists between those living on earth and those who have passed into eternity, all members of the same family...

But alas! While A Lin did not yet have her own son, she busied herself, amused herself, and indulged her stepson in every way—he was a lovely, living toy to her. But when A Ti was born, he completely captured his mother's heart. Gradually, her love for her stepson waned, and thoughts began to creep into her mind: "Why should Pu get everything and become the head of the family, and not Ti? Just because he's older? But Ti is more handsome, better, and surely will be smarter!"

In short, it didn't take long for A Lin to feel, instead of her former love for her stepson, first a cooling, then indifference, and finally a dislike that imperceptibly turned into hatred.

The young woman herself did not fully understand what was happening to her; she only felt that her stepson was a nasty, unpleasant, and repulsive boy, standing in the way of her beloved son. But she was clever enough to carefully hide her true feelings for the time being.

Nevertheless, A Pun dearly loved his younger brother and always yielded to him.

Over the years, the hatred in A Lin's heart grew and swelled toward her stepson. The mere sight of him stirred up a storm of hatred within her... Finally, she could no longer fight it and decided to take a desperate step. She resolved to remove her stepson from her son's path.

But how to do it without getting her hands dirty, without arousing suspicion in anyone, and without having to witness it herself?

She thought long and hard and finally came up with a plan...

One day, she called both boys and, giving each a basket of beans, said:

"Here are some bean seeds: this basket is for you, Pun, and this one is for you, Ti. You're not little anymore; it's time you learned to work. Go right now to the farthest field and plant the beans, but not together—each of you on a separate plot. I want to see who does a better job. Stay in the field and don't dare return home under any circumstances until the beans sprout. Whoever's beans sprout first must return immediately... Pun, you've already been to this field with your father, but Ti hasn't; so make sure to show him the way so he remembers it. And be careful not to mix up the baskets!"

The mother gave the children some cooked rice and sent them off.

On the way, A Ti kept fooling around and running about, paying no attention to A Pun's requests to remember the landmarks. In his mischief, he grabbed his brother's basket and accidentally pulled off the cloth covering the seeds.

The boy was struck by the fact that his older brother's beans were much larger and juicier than his own. "Brother's beans are fresh, so they'll sprout faster than mine," he thought.

"Give me your beans," he asked.
"But Mom said not to mix up the baskets!" the older brother objected.
"Give them to me, I want them! Do it now, or I'll tell Mom that you're not listening to me and being mean!"

Pun knew the consequences of such a complaint, so he handed over his basket of full beans and took his brother's small, dry seeds.

Only by evening did they reach the distant field. Immediately, they each chose a plot of excellent, already plowed, moist soil and began planting the beans. Ti planted them haphazardly and hurriedly, while Pun planted them methodically, carefully, at equal distances, and at the same depth. Heaven itself blessed their work: as soon as the last seed was placed in the ground, a light rain began to fall. The boys took shelter in a straw hut on their field and spent the night there.

In that favorable climate, with an abundance of warmth and moisture, the seeds sprouted extremely quickly. The boys had barely finished eating the rice they had brought with them when one morning, stepping out of the hut, Pun saw his plot entirely covered with green, sharp, arrow-like bean sprouts. But strangely, only the seeds Pun had planted had sprouted, while not a single sprout had emerged from Ti's plot. The children did not suspect that their mother had pre-boiled the beans she had given to Pun—that's why they were larger and juicier...

A Pun felt sorry to leave A Ti alone in the field, but he couldn't disobey his mother's orders. He comforted his sulking brother as best he could and set off for home.

Soon evening fell: a light rain began, and Pun had to spend the night in someone else's field in a stranger's hut, returning home only in the morning.

As soon as A Lin saw her stepson, her heart sank: she immediately guessed what had happened.

"How dare you return alone?"
"Mom, you ordered that..."
"Go back, you little dog, and don't come back without your brother!" The poor boy ran back...

There was their field: his beans had grown even taller, while his brother's plot remained bare. But where was Ti? Probably in the hut!

In vain, choking on tears, the boy searched for his brother and cried out:

"Ti-tai-tai (brother, where are you)?"

But Ti was nowhere to be found, neither here nor in the neighboring fields or thickets: most likely, frightened by the loneliness, he had wandered off and gotten lost during the night.

A Pun ran and called for his brother until, finally, he collapsed and died of exhaustion. And at the moment of his death, a bird with a wondrous song flew up from his body into the sky:

"Ti-tai-tai!"

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Ti Tai-Tai and Ko Ko-o

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