Ivasyk-Telesyk - Ukrainian

My parents wished for me so strongly that they carved me from a block of wood, and here I am, Ivasyk-Telesyk. I spend my days floating on the river in a golden boat with a silver oar, feeling the sun warm my wooden skin while I fish, but I always listen for my mother’s special song, the one that tells me it’s safe to come to shore. This is the story of how that song was stolen and how I had to use all my wits to find my way back home; it is the Ukrainian tale of Ivasyk-Telesyk. It all began in a cozy cottage nestled deep in the woods, where an old man and woman lived with a quiet but powerful longing for a child of their own. One day, my father brought home a smooth log and, with loving hands, carved a little boy. Through the sheer power of their love and desire, I came to life. They named me Ivasyk-Telesyk and cherished me more than all the treasures in the world.

My father, overjoyed to have a son, crafted a beautiful golden boat and a tiny silver oar just for me. Every morning, my mother would pack a delicious lunch and I would paddle out onto the calm river to fish. The water was my playground, and the fish were my friends until it was time to catch them. When lunch was ready, my mother would walk to the riverbank and sing her sweet, clear song: 'Telesyk, my little son! Row your boat to the shore! I have food and drink for you.' Hearing her unique voice, a sound sweeter than any bird's, I would paddle back, eat, and then return to my fishing. But I was not alone. Unseen, a malevolent serpent-witch named Zmiya watched from the reeds, her cold eyes fixed on me. She heard the song and, her stomach rumbling with a monstrous hunger, decided I would be her next meal. She crept to the shore and tried to mimic my mother's call, but her voice was rough and gravelly, like stones grinding together. I knew instantly it wasn't my mother. 'I know that's not your voice.' I called out. 'My mother's is as sweet as the morning dew.'

Furious at being outsmarted, Zmiya slithered to the village blacksmith. 'Forge me a high, sweet voice like the mother's.' she demanded, her eyes glowing with menace. The blacksmith, trembling with fear of her dark power, did as she asked, hammering and shaping her voice until it was as clear and pure as a silver bell. Zmiya returned to the river and sang the song. This time, the notes were perfect, a flawless imitation of my mother's loving call. I was completely fooled. I paddled to the shore, expecting my mother's warm embrace, but was instead snatched up by the cruel witch's claws. She carried me back to her crooked hut, which stood on giant chicken legs, and ordered her daughter, Olenka, to heat the oven. 'We will roast him for dinner.' she cackled. As Olenka prepared the large wooden baker's peel, a plan sparked in my mind. I pretended to be confused and scared. 'I don't know how to sit on that.' I said innocently. 'It's so big, and I'm so small. Can you show me how?' Annoyed by my supposed ignorance, Olenka huffed and lay on the peel to demonstrate. In a flash, I shoved the peel and Olenka into the hot oven and barred the door. I didn't wait a second longer; I scrambled out of the hut and climbed the tallest sycamore tree I could find.

When Zmiya returned and discovered my trick, she flew into a terrible rage. Her shrieks echoed through the forest. Finding me high in the sycamore tree, she began to gnaw at the trunk with her iron teeth, determined to bring me down. Chips of wood flew like angry hornets as the tree groaned and swayed violently. I clung to the branches, my wooden heart pounding. I was terrified. Looking up, I saw a flock of wild geese flying high overhead. 'Oh, dear geese, you are flying so high, please take me on your wings and carry me to my parents.' I cried out. But the lead goose dismissed me without a glance. 'We are tired and our own young ones are weary.' he called back. A second, larger flock passed, and they too refused my desperate plea. Just as I began to lose hope, with the tree shuddering beneath me, a final, smaller flock appeared. A young gosling was struggling at the very back. I called out one last time, my voice filled with all the fear and hope I had left. The little gosling heard the desperation in my voice and swooped down. 'Climb on.' it chirped kindly. 'I will take you home.'

The brave little gosling was small, but its heart was immense. It flew for miles, carrying me safely on its back as the forest and the witch's hut shrank to a speck below. My parents had been weeping for me, thinking I was lost forever. When the gosling landed gently in our yard, they could hardly believe their eyes. They hugged me so tightly I thought my wooden seams might crack. They thanked the little goose with tears of gratitude, feeding it the finest grains until it was strong and healthy enough to rejoin its flock. My story, the tale of Ivasyk-Telesyk, became a favorite told around Ukrainian hearths for generations. It is a story that teaches children that ingenuity and courage are far more powerful than brute strength, and that kindness can be found in the most unexpected of allies. Even today, the story of the boy carved from wood inspires art, music, and plays, reminding us all that a parent's love can give life to the most amazing things and that even the smallest hero can outsmart the greatest monster.