Heungbu and Nolbu

By Mark Peterson

All Koreans love the story of the two brothers, Heungbu and Nolbu. I'm going to tell the story today, but conclude with a twist that most people don't know when they tell the story. Let's start with the story (or you'll never get the "twist" that I will offer).

Two brothers: Nolbu was the elder brother and he was a scoundrel. At the outset of the story we learn of the awful things he does: kicks pregnant women in the belly, defecates in the village well, sprinkles rocks in the rice, feeds the baby from its own diaper ― really gross stuff, of course, meant to be crudely humorous. More importantly we find out that Nolbu has a big house with fields and plentiful harvests and grains of all kinds in his storehouse. And he is married to a "high-maintenance wife," so to speak.

Heungbu on the other hand, is good-hearted, married to a long-suffering, supportive wife, has between 10 and 20 children ― his story changes with each telling, depending on the mood of the storyteller, and he is very poor. He either lives in a cave or in a poor tumble-down shanty. He scrounges for food the best he can, but never has enough.

One day, his otherwise suffering-in-silence wife suggests the Heungbu go see his wealthy brother to see if they can get some rice or something. Heungbu visits the elder brother but is sent away. On the way from the house, he smells rice cooking and circles around to the kitchen where he surprises Nolbu's wife. She shrieks, "Eek, a man in the kitchen!" and strikes him on the cheek with the rice ladle. Heungbu recoils, but touching his cheek he finds rice, which he scrapes off and eats. Then he asks if she'll swat him again on the other cheek so he can get a little more rice to eat.

The story is laced with humor. The core item of the story, after the set-up, is the episode with a swallow. Chased from its nest by a menacing snake, the baby swallow falls to the ground and breaks a leg. Heungbu, ever the good-hearted man, binds up the wound with some silk thread. When the bird flies south for the winter, it reports Heungbu's goodness to the swallow king who gives the bird a seed to bring to Heungbu in the spring. Heungbu plants the seed and there grow five huge gourds which, when opened, yield all sorts of treasures, including a big house.

Nolbu, jealous, finds a swallow, breaks its leg, binds it up and sends it off to the south for the winter in hopes of a similar outcome. The bird, indeed brings him a seed, which he plants and they see five huge gourds grow. However, when they cut open each gourd all kinds of demons and beggars and wild animals emerge, and finally a river of sewage that washes away his big house. Homeless, he goes to Heungbu and begs for help, which of course, ever the good-hearted Heungbu offers.

The story is generally analyzed as a morality tale teaching the value of brotherly kindness. I have a different interpretation.

Since the story, first told by pansori singers and later written, was created at about the time that equal division of inheritance gave way to primogeniture, I think the story is in the category of "protest literature." It is protesting the loss of inheritance by the Heungbus of the nation, and the commandeering of the main house and bulk of the fields and slaves by the eldest son, the Nolbus of the country. The story shows the injustice of the unequal division of property at a time when the memory of equal division was still alive in the minds of the people.

I first presented this analysis at a conference in Andong about 20 years ago. It was an international conference with about 20 scholars attending and presenting their research. I was surprised, but pleased, to see the local paper the next day that covered the conference but wrote up only one presentation ― mine. They thought the analysis was compelling and more interesting than the other presentations.

For my part, I am resubmitting the story today in this series I'm writing for The Korea Times to reiterate my "frog outside the well" theme, that Korea, generally, is not fully cognizant of this change in society ― this Confucianization at the end of the 17th, beginning of the 18th centuries.

That's my current challenge: to help Korean society come to a clearer understanding of the role of Confucianism in its cultural development.

Mark Peterson (markpeterson@byu.edu) is professor emeritus of Korean, Asian and Near Eastern languages at Brigham Young University in Utah.

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