The Legend of the Pomelo Tree

In the ancient province of An Giang, where the Mekong River spreads into countless channels that nourish the fertile delta, there once lived a young farmer named Hiếu whose name meant “filial piety” in the old language. True to his name, Hiếu was known throughout the region for his deep respect and care for his elderly grandfather, Ông Bưởi.

Ông Bưởi was ninety years old, bent with age and nearly blind, but his mind remained sharp and his heart overflowed with wisdom gained from a long life of observing the cycles of nature and the ways of people. Though many in the village saw him as a burden who could no longer contribute to the family’s welfare, Hiếu treasured every moment with his grandfather and sought his advice on all important matters.

“Grandfather,” Hiếu would say each morning as he helped the old man to his favorite spot under the great banyan tree, “tell me what you see in the sky today. Your eyes may be dim, but your wisdom helps me understand things I could never see alone.”

Ông Bưởi would smile and pat his grandson’s hand. “My dear boy, you have a good heart. The sky tells me that you will be blessed beyond measure, for the gods smile upon those who honor their elders.”

The other villagers often criticized Hiếu for spending so much time caring for his grandfather instead of focusing entirely on farming or seeking a wealthy wife to improve his circumstances.

“That old man eats your food and provides nothing in return,” said his neighbor Tham. “You could work twice as much if you didn’t waste time listening to his endless stories.”

“You’re too young to be tied down by an old man’s needs,” added another villager. “Send him to live with relatives in the city where they have more resources to care for the elderly.”

But Hiếu always replied the same way: “My grandfather is my treasure, not my burden. His wisdom is worth more than all the rice in the Mekong Delta. As long as I have strength, he will never lack for care and comfort.”

One particularly difficult year, a terrible drought struck the region. The canals dried up, the rice paddies cracked like broken pottery, and many families began to go hungry. Hiếu’s small plot of land produced almost nothing, and soon he was down to his last few grains of rice.

Other families were hoarding what little food they had, but Hiếu continued to give his grandfather the best portions of their meager meals, often going to bed hungry himself to ensure the old man was properly nourished.

“Grandson,” Ông Bưởi said one evening, noticing that Hiếu had given him most of their small bowl of rice porridge, “you must eat more. I am old and my time is short, but you are young and have many years ahead of you.”

“Grandfather,” Hiếu replied gently, “what kind of future would I have if I abandoned the person who gave me life and raised me with such love? Food tastes sweeter when shared with someone precious, and your company is nourishment enough for my soul.”

Unknown to Hiếu, his words and actions were being observed by celestial beings. The Jade Emperor, ruler of heaven, had sent his messengers to earth to find examples of true virtue among humanity, and they had been watching the young farmer with growing admiration.

That very night, as Hiếu slept beside his grandfather’s bed to ensure the old man stayed warm, a luminous figure appeared in their humble home. It was the Kitchen God, Ông Táo, who had been moved by the young man’s filial devotion.

“Ông Bưởi,” the deity said softly to the sleeping grandfather, “your grandson’s care for you has touched the hearts of all the gods. We wish to reward his virtue, but the gift must come through you, for it is proper that elders bestow blessings upon the young.”

In his dream, Ông Bưởi found himself standing in a magnificent garden filled with trees bearing fruits he had never seen before. The Kitchen God gestured to one particular tree laden with large, golden-green fruits.

“These are called bưởi,” the god explained, “named in your honor. Take the seeds of this fruit back to earth. When your grandson plants them with love and tends them with the same care he shows you, they will grow into trees that will feed not just your family, but countless generations to come.”

When Ông Bưởi awoke, he found his hands full of large, fragrant seeds unlike anything he had ever seen. His dim eyes could barely make them out, but he could smell their sweet, citrusy fragrance.

“Hiếu,” he called to his grandson, “come quickly. I have something wonderful to show you.”

Hiếu hurried to his grandfather’s side and gasped when he saw the mysterious seeds. “Where did these come from, grandfather?”

Ông Bưởi related his dream, and though such a story might have seemed impossible, Hiếu’s faith in his grandfather’s wisdom was absolute. “If you believe these seeds are a gift from heaven, then I will plant them with all the love in my heart.”

Despite the drought and the hard, cracked earth, Hiếu carefully planted the seeds in the small garden behind their house. He carried water from a distant well, bucket by bucket, to nurture the tiny seedlings that emerged. Each day, he would bring his grandfather to see the progress of the strange plants.

“Tell them about our ancestors,” Ông Bưởi would say as Hiếu watered the seedlings. “Plants grow better when they know they are part of a family’s history.”

So Hiếu would talk to the growing plants about his great-grandfather who had been a scholar, his great-grandmother who had been famous for her kindness to the poor, and all the generations of their family who had farmed this land with love and dedication.

The young trees grew with remarkable speed, and within a year they were tall and strong, with broad leaves that provided cooling shade. In the second year, they began to flower with white, fragrant blossoms that filled the air with sweetness.

By the third year, the trees bore fruit—large, thick-skinned orbs that were golden-green on the outside and filled with sweet, juicy segments inside. The fruit was unlike anything anyone in the village had ever tasted—refreshing and sweet, with a complex flavor that seemed to contain hints of honey, flowers, and morning dew.

When Ông Bưởi tasted the first fruit, tears rolled down his weathered cheeks. “This is the taste of your love, my grandson,” he said. “Sweet and pure, with depth that comes only from a generous heart.”

Word of the miraculous fruit spread quickly throughout the delta. People came from distant villages to see the trees and taste the wonderful fruit that Hiếu generously shared with all visitors.

But the most remarkable thing about the pomelo trees was their incredible productivity. Each tree produced hundreds of large fruits, far more than any other fruit tree anyone had seen. Moreover, the trees seemed to thrive even in difficult conditions, continuing to bear fruit even during dry seasons when other crops failed.

Hiếu shared the seeds freely with anyone who wanted to grow pomelo trees, but he noticed something interesting: the trees grew best for families where children showed respect and care for their elders. In households where young people neglected or mistreated elderly family members, the trees would grow slowly and bear little fruit.

“The pomelo remembers its origin,” Ông Bưởi explained to visitors who asked about this phenomenon. “It was born from filial love, and it flourishes only where that same love exists.”

As the years passed, pomelo trees spread throughout Vietnam, becoming one of the country’s most beloved fruits. They were especially prized during the Mid-Autumn Festival and Lunar New Year, when their large size and sweet flavor made them perfect for family gatherings and ancestral offerings.

Ông Bưởi lived to be over a hundred years old, long enough to see his great-grandchildren playing beneath the original pomelo trees. He would often tell them the story of how the fruit came to earth as a reward for honoring elders.

“Remember,” he would say, “the sweetest fruits in life come not from thinking only of ourselves, but from caring for those who came before us and those who will come after us.”

When Ông Bưởi finally passed away peacefully in his sleep, the villagers noticed that the original pomelo trees bloomed more magnificently than ever before, as if they were celebrating the life of the wise old man whose name they bore.

Hiếu continued his grandfather’s traditions, teaching his own children and grandchildren about the importance of respecting elders and caring for family. The pomelo orchard became a place of pilgrimage for families wanting to learn about filial piety and the blessings that come from honoring the wisdom of age.

The legend of the pomelo tree became one of Vietnam’s most cherished stories about family values. During harvest time, families would gather beneath pomelo trees to share the fruit and remember the tale of Hiếu and Ông Bưởi.

“When you eat pomelo,” parents would tell their children, “remember that its sweetness comes from the love between generations. Treat your elders with respect and care, and your own life will be filled with the kind of abundance that cannot be measured in gold or silver.”

And they say that even today, the largest and sweetest pomelos still grow on trees planted by those who truly understand the lesson of Hiếu and his grandfather—that the greatest treasures in life are not material possessions, but the wisdom, love, and blessings that pass from one generation to the next, creating sweetness that can nourish families for centuries to come.