Ivasyk-Telesyk - Ukrainian

My story doesn’t begin in the usual way, because I’m not a usual boy. I was carved from a smooth piece of wood by a kind old man and woman who wished for a son more than anything in the world. They loved me so much that I came to life! My name is Ivasyk-Telesyk, and my home was a cozy cottage near a wide, peaceful river. Every morning, my father would send me off in my little golden boat with its shiny silver paddle to catch fish for our dinner. I would float on the water for hours, feeling the gentle rock of the waves. When I got hungry, my mother would come to the riverbank and sing a special song just for me, so I knew it was safe to row ashore for the lunch she’d packed. Her voice was like honey and sunshine mixed together. Life was simple and happy, but a dark shadow was watching from the reeds, its greedy eyes fixed on my little boat. This shadow was listening to my mother's song and growing jealous. This is the story of Ivasyk-Telesyk, and it’s a tale about how even the smallest person can outsmart the greatest danger with a quick mind and a brave heart.

The shadow belonged to a wicked serpent-witch named Zmiya. She wanted to capture me and, I suspect, have me for her dinner! One day she crept to the riverbank and tried to imitate my mother's song. 'Ivasyk-Telesyk, my son, come to the shore! I have food and drink for you!' she croaked. But her voice was low and gravelly, like stones grinding together, and not at all like my mother’s sweet call. 'I hear you, but that’s not my mother’s voice!' I shouted back and stayed safely in my boat. Furious, the witch stormed off to the village blacksmith. 'Forge me a voice!' she screeched, 'One as high and sweet as a bird’s song, or I'll turn you into a rusty nail!' The blacksmith, trembling with fear, did as she asked. The next day, the witch returned to the river and sang again. This time, her voice was so beautiful and sounded so much like my mother's that my heart leaped with joy. Can you imagine hearing a voice so perfect you'd never guess it was a trick? I paddled my golden boat straight to the shore, only to be snatched up by the cruel witch and carried away to her strange hut on chicken legs.

In her dark, musty home, the witch ordered her daughter, Olenka, to heat the oven. I knew they planned to cook me! My heart pounded like a drum against my ribs, but I knew that panic wouldn't help me. I had to think. When Olenka told me to sit on the big wooden baking peel to be pushed into the fiery oven, I pretended I didn’t understand. 'How do I do it?' I asked, looking as confused as I could. 'I’m just a little boy, I don't know how to sit on a peel. Do my feet go here? Or here?' Olenka grew impatient and rolled her eyes. 'Oh, it's easy! You are so silly! Look, it's like this!' she huffed, and she sat on the peel herself to show me how. That was my chance! In a flash, I shoved the peel deep into the oven, slammed the heavy iron door shut, and ran for my life. I scrambled out of the hut and didn't stop until I had climbed to the very top of the tallest sycamore tree I could find, just as the witch returned and realized what I had done. She shrieked with rage and began to gnaw at the tree trunk with her iron teeth, trying to bring me down.

From my perch high in the tree, I saw flocks of wild geese flying south. Their wings beat a steady rhythm in the sky. 'Oh, dear geese, please take me to my parents!' I cried out. The first flock was too proud and flew on without a glance. The second was in too much of a hurry, worried about being late. I started to lose hope, my tears mixing with the morning dew on the leaves. But then a final, smaller flock flew by. A young gosling at the back heard my plea. 'I will help you,' it chirped, its voice full of kindness, 'if you will have me.' I carefully climbed onto its back, and together we flew over forests and fields. Finally, I saw my little cottage. My parents were overjoyed to see me, hugging me tightly and thanking the brave little gosling with tears in their eyes. My story has been told by Ukrainian families for hundreds of years, a bedtime reminder that your mind is your sharpest tool. It teaches us to be cautious of voices that sound sweet but are not true, and that bravery and cleverness are far more powerful than brute strength. And today, the tale of Ivasyk-Telesyk still inspires children to believe that no matter how small you are, you have the wit to find your way back home.