Basa-Jauna

Basa-Jauna

Once, in a green land at the foot of the Pyrenees, lived a farming family. A mother had three sons and a little daughter. The boys were curious, strong, and restless. They wanted to see what lay beyond the neighbouring hills, the dark forest, and the road that vanished between the mountains.

One morning they said to their mother, “Let us travel a little. We will return as soon as we have seen the world.”

Their mother did not want to let them go, but she knew that a heart called to the road could not be held back by warnings alone. She gave each a round loaf, wrapped some cheese, and asked them to stay together.

“The road is kind to those who pay attention,” she said. “Do not quarrel, and do not leave one another alone.”

The brothers promised and set out.

All day they walked along paths between the hills. Toward evening they found themselves in such a thick forest that the sky could be seen only in narrow strips between the treetops.

“We must find a place for the night,” said the eldest.

He climbed a tree and looked around, but saw nothing. The middle brother tried too, and all around were only dark waves of forest.

Then the youngest climbed the tallest pine.

“There!” he called. “Far away, I can see a thin thread of smoke!”

They walked toward it.

When darkness had fully fallen, a great stone castle rose among the trees. Light shone in several windows. The brothers knocked.

Basa-Andre, mistress of the forest house, opened the door.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here at night?” she asked.

“We are travellers. We need only a corner until morning.”

Basa-Andre looked around anxiously.

“Basa-Jauna, master of this forest house, lives here. He does not like unexpected guests. If he finds you, he may grow very angry.”

“It is dark outside, and we will not find the road,” answered the brothers. “Let us wait out the night.”

The woman admitted them and hid them in different corners of the great kitchen.

Soon heavy footsteps thudded outside. Basa-Jauna came in, took a wet cloak from his shoulders, sniffed, and frowned.

“Someone is in the house.”

“You imagine it,” said Basa-Andre.

“No. I smell human presence.”

The eldest brother had to come out. Basa-Jauna looked at him beneath his thick brows.

“Can you work?”

“Yes.”

“Then stay and serve in this house.”

He found the second brother in the same way, and then the third. Instead of sending them out into the night, Basa-Jauna kept them in the castle. But their service was not easy. From dawn until evening, they carried firewood, mended fences, tended paths, and worked about the place. Basa-Jauna was strict and disliked being questioned.

Months passed, then years.

At home, the little sister grew up. She often asked her mother about the brothers, but her mother could only sigh. No one knew where they had gone.

One day the girl heard someone mention that her brothers had travelled toward a distant forest. She decided to find them.

Her mother gave her a little loaf for the road and a spindle, so her hands would have their familiar work whenever she stopped.

“Be careful,” she said. “Remember, courage is not being afraid of nothing. Courage is thinking even when you are afraid.”

The girl walked for a long time. Toward evening, she saw a thin thread of smoke above the trees, and soon the same stone castle.

Basa-Andre opened the door.

“Another traveller?” she asked in surprise.

“I am looking for work and a place for the night,” said the girl, not telling her about the brothers at once.

Basa-Jauna kept her as a servant too.

In the first days, the brothers and their sister did not recognise one another. They had parted when she was very small. But one day the girl softly sang a song their mother had sung at home. The eldest brother went still.

“Where did you learn that song?”

She named their mother.

In a moment all four were hugging and laughing through tears.

“We will go home together,” said the middle brother.

But soon they noticed something strange. Their sister was growing pale and tired.

“What is wrong?” asked the youngest.

She did not want to frighten them, but at last she confessed, “Every evening Basa-Jauna orders me to put my little finger through a small hole in his chamber door. He touches it with strange magic, and afterward I feel as though all my strength has been drained away.”

The brothers were angry, but their sister stopped them.

“If we rush at him with our fists, we will lose. We must act more wisely.”

The next day, when Basa-Andre had gone out, they made a plan. In the evening, the brothers told Basa-Jauna they had seen a strange light and tracks of an unknown animal far in a gorge. The master of the forest house wanted to investigate at once.

They led him to a narrow path between rocks. There the brothers rolled prepared logs into the way, blocking the passage.

Basa-Jauna roared so loudly that leaves fell from the branches.

“Open the way!”

“No,” said the sister from a safe distance. “We will no longer be your unwilling servants, and you will no longer take my strength.”

Basa-Jauna was angry for a long time, but at last he turned down another path, deeper into the mountains. He never returned to the castle.

It seemed the danger was over. But Basa-Andre soon guessed what had happened. She said nothing, only became unusually silent.

That evening the sister warmed water so her brothers could wash their feet after a hard day’s work. Basa-Andre gave her three small teeth and said, “Drop one into each basin. It will help them with their tiredness.”

The girl believed her.

The moment the brothers touched the water, silver mist filled the room. When it cleared, three great oxen stood where the three boys had been.

“What have you done?” cried the sister.

Basa-Andre turned away.

“In the forest house, old magic has old rules.”

From then on, the girl led her enchanted brothers to the green meadows. She spoke with them, though they could not answer in human words, and every day she looked for a way to lift the spell.

One morning, they crossed a stone bridge over a stream. Beneath it, the girl saw Basa-Andre gathering herbs.

She stood in front of her.

“I will not leave until I know how to restore my brothers. We do not wish you harm. We only wish to go home.”

Basa-Andre looked at her for a long time. Perhaps she had expected threats or revenge. But the girl stood quietly.

At last the mistress said, “In the valley beyond the bridge grows a hazel tree. Cut three slender branches. Touch each ox gently three times with a branch and call each brother by the name his mother used.”

The girl ran to the valley, found the hazel, and did exactly as she had been told.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Mist rose around the first ox, and there stood the eldest brother again.

The middle brother returned the same way.

Then the youngest.

What joy there was. They embraced, interrupted one another, and laughed so loudly that the echo rolled among the hills.

Basa-Andre gathered her things and chose to leave the castle. Before going, she said, “The forest remembers both kindness and hurt. Live so that it remembers you kindly.”

The brothers and sister went home to their mother. Later, they returned to the stone castle and opened its doors to travellers. From then on, anyone lost in the forest who saw a thin thread of smoke above the trees knew they could find fire, water, and a safe place for the night.

And whenever someone asked whom the house belonged to, the four would answer, “To those who know how to stay together.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨