In the misty mountains of Nepal, where towering pine trees reached toward the heavens and morning fog wrapped the valleys in silvery veils, there lived an old woodcutter. His back was bent from years of hard labor, his hands were rough and calloused, and deep lines of hardship carved valleys across his weathered face. He was desperately poor, so poor that some days he could not afford even a handful of rice to fill his empty belly.
Each morning, the old man would trudge into the thick forest with his worn axe slung over his shoulder, searching for fallen branches and dead trees to cut. He would bundle the wood and carry it to the village market, selling it for a few meager coins that barely kept him alive. His life was an endless cycle of toil and hunger, and hope had long since abandoned his weary heart.
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One particular day, when hunger gnawed at his stomach with particular fierceness, the old woodcutter ventured deeper into the forest than usual. “Perhaps if I gather more wood today,” he thought, “I can sell more and finally have a proper meal.” With determination born of desperation, he worked tirelessly, cutting and collecting until he had amassed a bundle far larger than he normally carried.
When at last he finished, he stood before the enormous pile of firewood and wiped the sweat from his brow. The bundle was massive, twice the size of what he usually managed. Feeling a small spark of satisfaction, he bent down to hoist it onto his shoulders.
But his arms trembled. His knees buckled. The weight was simply too much for his aged, weakened body. He tried again, straining with all his might, but he could not lift it even an inch off the ground. The old man sank down beside his bundle, tears of frustration and exhaustion streaming down his weathered cheeks.
“Oh, what is the use?” he cried out to the empty forest. “I am too old, too weak, too tired. This life is nothing but suffering!” He looked up at the canopy of leaves above him and sighed deeply. “If only I were dead,” he said bitterly. “If only Death would take me now and end this misery.”
The words had barely left his lips when a shadow fell across him. A chill ran down his spine as a calm voice spoke from behind: “Did you call me?”
The woodcutter spun around, his heart pounding with terror. Standing before him was a tall, ethereal figure wrapped in dark robes. The figure’s face was neither young nor old, neither kind nor cruel, but somehow timeless and inevitable.
“N-no! No, I did not call anyone!” the woodcutter stammered, his voice shaking with fear.
The figure smiled gently, ignoring the old man’s obvious lie. “Please, do not be afraid. I am Death,” he said in a voice as soft as falling leaves. “You called for me, and so I have come. That is simply how it works.”
The woodcutter’s mouth went dry. He stared at Death, trying to comprehend that this being before him was truly the end of all things. It seemed impossible, too surreal. How could Death look so ordinary, so calm?
Seeing the doubt flickering in the old man’s eyes, Death turned toward a nearby pond where an elderly woman was bathing in the cool water. Death simply looked at her and gestured almost imperceptibly. In that instant, the woman gasped, clutched her chest, and fell lifeless into the water.
The woodcutter’s blood turned to ice. “You… you really are Death,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Death replied simply. “Now, shall we go?”
But in that moment of stark reality, the old woodcutter suddenly understood something profound. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he was hungry and poor and suffering. But he was alive. The warm sun still touched his skin. The forest still sang with birdsong. There were still mornings to see and breath to breathe.
“Wait!” the woodcutter said quickly. “I… I realize now that I don’t actually want to die. Not yet. I was just… frustrated. Could you please, perhaps, help me lift this bundle of wood onto my shoulders instead?”
Death looked at the old man for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well.” With effortless strength, Death lifted the enormous bundle and placed it gently on the woodcutter’s back.
The old man bowed gratefully and was about to leave when a thought struck him. “Before you go,” he said nervously, “could you tell me… how much longer do I have to live?”
Death looked into the distance, as if reading something written in the air that only he could see. “Five years to a day,” he replied. Then, like morning mist touched by the sun, Death vanished.
That night, the woodcutter lay awake on his thin mat, staring at the ceiling as countless thoughts swirled through his mind. Five years. Only five years. The knowledge weighed on him like a stone in his chest. But slowly, an idea began to form, an audacious, impossible idea that grew stronger with each passing hour.
At first light, the old woodcutter rose and hurried into the forest. He searched until he found it: the greatest, oldest tree in the entire wood, with a trunk so massive that three men could not encircle it with their arms. He took his axe and carefully cut a single hole at the base of the trunk, just large enough for a person to enter.
Then he began to carve. Day after day, month after month, year after year, he hollowed out the inside of that enormous tree. He carved stairs that spiraled upward, rooms within the wood, intricate patterns on the walls. He worked with fierce determination, knowing that his very life depended on completing this task. For five long years he carved, until the tree had become a magnificent dwelling, a work of art hidden within living wood.
On the appointed day, Death returned, appearing before the woodcutter’s humble home exactly as promised. “It is time,” Death said gently.
The old woodcutter nodded slowly. “Yes, I know. I will come with you willingly. But before I do, I have one request. For five years I have been carving something beautiful, a gift for the people who will live long after I am gone. Will you come see it? I would like to show you my work before I leave this world.”
Death, curious despite himself, agreed. Together they walked into the forest, the old man leading the way with careful steps. When they reached the great tree, Death’s eyes widened with admiration. “This is remarkable,” he said.
“Please, go inside and see,” the woodcutter urged. “The most beautiful carvings are at the very top.”
Death climbed into the tree through the hole at its base and ascended the winding stairs, marveling at the intricate craftsmanship. He climbed higher and higher, examining every detail with appreciation.
The moment Death reached the topmost chamber, the old woodcutter scrambled down the stairs as fast as his aged legs could carry him. He leaped out of the opening, grabbed a heavy wooden plug he had prepared, and sealed the hole shut from the outside. Then he piled stones and earth against it, trapping Death inside.
“Forgive me,” the woodcutter whispered to the sealed tree. “But I am not ready.” And he went home.
Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months stretched into years. Something strange began to happen in the world. People fell ill, but they did not die. Animals grew old and weak, but they continued living. Women gave birth, but the elderly lingered on, unable to pass. The world grew overcrowded, and suffering multiplied. The sick remained sick, the hungry remained hungry, and there was no release, no rest, no peace.
Even the gods in the heavens became troubled by the imbalance. Finally, they approached the great Lord Shiva, the destroyer and transformer, the one who maintains the cosmic balance between creation and destruction.
Lord Shiva saw what had happened and understood. He disguised himself as an ordinary traveler and descended to earth, going directly to the old woodcutter’s home.
By now, the woodcutter was ancient beyond measure. He had lived far longer than any human should, and his body was a prison of pain. He could barely move, barely see, barely breathe. When Lord Shiva appeared before him and asked gently, “Do you still wish to go on living?” the old man wept.
“No,” the woodcutter whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, no more. I am ready to die now. I have been ready for so long.”
Lord Shiva helped the frail old man to his feet, and together they walked slowly, painfully, into the forest. They found the great tree, and Lord Shiva removed the seal with a wave of his hand.
Death emerged from the tree, his form trembling and diminished. The long imprisonment had shaken even him. He fell to his knees before Lord Shiva and pleaded: “Great Lord, please help me. Humans are too clever, too desperate. They will always find ways to trap me, to avoid me, to keep me at bay. I beg you, make me invisible, so that no mortal can see me coming and devise ways to escape.”
Lord Shiva nodded solemnly. “So be it. From this day forward, no human shall see your face until the moment you take them. You will walk among them unseen, and when their time comes, you will simply be there.”
And so it was done. Death became invisible to mortal eyes, present everywhere yet seen by no one.
As for the old woodcutter, he closed his eyes one final time and breathed his last breath. His long, long life finally came to its natural end, and he found at last the peace he had denied himself for so many years.
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The Moral Lesson
This profound tale teaches us that death is not our enemy, but a natural and necessary part of existence. The story reveals how trying to avoid death only prolongs suffering and disrupts the natural balance of life. When the woodcutter trapped Death, he did not create paradise but rather increased misery in the world, as the sick could not find relief and the weary could not rest. The story reminds us to accept the cycle of life and death with grace, understanding that death gives meaning to life, and that sometimes the kindest thing is to let go.
Knowledge Check
Q1: Why did the woodcutter first call for Death in this Nepali folktale?
A: The old woodcutter called for Death out of exhaustion, frustration, and despair. He had gathered a huge bundle of wood but found himself too weak to lift it. Overwhelmed by his poverty, hunger, and the hardships of his difficult life, he cried out wishing he were dead. However, when Death actually appeared, the woodcutter realized he wasn’t truly ready to die.
Q2: How did Death prove his identity to the doubting woodcutter?
A: When the woodcutter expressed doubt that the figure before him was really Death, Death pointed to an elderly woman bathing in a nearby pond. With just a gesture, Death caused the woman to suddenly fall and die. This dramatic demonstration convinced the woodcutter that he was indeed speaking with Death himself.
Q3: What did the woodcutter create over five years to trap Death?
A: The woodcutter found the largest tree in the forest and spent five years carving out its interior, creating an elaborate dwelling with winding stairs, rooms, and intricate patterns. He told Death it was a gift for future generations and convinced Death to climb to the top to see the most beautiful carvings, then sealed the entrance and trapped Death inside.
Q4: What happened to the world when Death was trapped in the tree?
A: With Death imprisoned, the natural cycle was disrupted. People and animals fell ill but could not die. The elderly and suffering continued living without release. Women gave birth but no one passed away, causing the world to become overcrowded and filled with prolonged suffering. This imbalance troubled even the gods in heaven.
Q5: Why did Lord Shiva make Death invisible in this Nepali folktale?
A: After being trapped for many years, Death pleaded with Lord Shiva for help, explaining that humans were too clever and would always find ways to avoid or trap him if they could see him coming. Lord Shiva granted Death’s request to become invisible so that mortals could no longer devise schemes to escape their appointed time, thus restoring the natural order.
Q6: What Hindu and Nepali cultural elements are present in this story?
A: The story contains several cultural elements including the appearance of Lord Shiva (one of the principal deities in Hindu mythology who represents destruction and transformation), the concept of dharma and cosmic balance, the relationship between gods and mortals, the woodcutter’s acceptance of karma and fate, and the traditional Nepali setting in mountain forests. The tale reflects Hindu philosophical views on death as a necessary part of the cosmic cycle.
Source: Nepali folktale, Nepal
