The Clever Old Woman and the Three Thieves
Reading time: 7 min
About this story: The Clever Old Woman and the Three Thieves is a Folktale from Kyrgyzstan set in the Ancient. This Conversational tale explores themes of Wisdom and is suitable for All Ages. It offers Cultural insights. A clever old woman uses wit to outsmart three greedy thieves in this timeless Kyrgyz folktale.
Long ago, in the rugged mountains of Kyrgyzstan, nestled between rolling green pastures and towering peaks, lived an old woman named Aygul. Her years had gifted her with wisdom rather than frailty, and though her back had slightly curved with age, her sharp mind remained untouched by time. She was a woman who had seen much, who had lived through hardship and joy, and who had learned, above all, that wit was often mightier than strength.
Aygul lived alone in a yurt at the edge of a small village, where the wind carried the scent of wildflowers in summer and the crisp bite of snow in winter. Though she had no family left, the villagers respected her, for she was not only kind but shrewd. Many had come to her for advice, whether it was about curing an ailment with herbs or settling a dispute between neighbors. She always had an answer, a clever way to solve a problem without violence or cruelty.
It was widely believed that Aygul had a small treasure hidden away in her home—gold coins and precious keepsakes left to her by her late husband, who had been a respected trader. Though she never flaunted wealth, the whispers of it spread far beyond the village. Eventually, they reached the ears of three thieves—Bakyt, Meder, and Tynch—men who had no regard for hard work and lived by taking what they wanted from others.
One cold autumn night, as the moon hid behind a veil of clouds, these three thieves made their way to Aygul’s yurt, convinced that robbing an old woman would be the easiest crime they had ever committed. What they didn’t know was that they were about to be outmatched—not by strength, but by sheer cunning.
A Knock at Midnight
Aygul sat inside her yurt, wrapped in a thick woolen shawl, sipping on a cup of hot tea as the fire crackled beside her. The night was still, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustling of dry leaves caught in the wind. She had sensed for some time that trouble was coming. The way strangers had lingered in the marketplace, the hushed tones of travelers who spoke of thieves roaming the countryside—she had taken notice of it all.
When she heard the faint sound of footsteps crunching outside, she did not panic. Instead, she set her cup down with deliberate care and smiled to herself.
With swift movements, she took an old wooden chest from the corner of her yurt and placed it in the center, covering it with a thick woolen blanket. Then, she positioned a small stool beside it and sat down. In a voice loud enough for those outside to hear, she began to speak.
“Oh, dear grandson,” she sighed dramatically. “I do wish you were here tonight! The roads are dangerous, and thieves lurk in the shadows, but no matter. If any scoundrels dare to enter, I have a plan to deal with them!”
Outside, the three thieves crouched low, listening intently.
“She knows?” Meder whispered.
“Nonsense,” Bakyt scoffed. “She’s an old woman. She probably talks to herself all the time.”
But Tynch, the most cautious of the three, furrowed his brow. “Clever ones are always the most dangerous,” he muttered.
Still, greed got the better of them, and they decided to proceed with their plan.
A Trick of Shadows
They burst into the yurt, expecting fear, maybe even a scream. But instead, they were greeted by the sight of Aygul smiling warmly at them.
“Ah! My grandsons, you’ve finally returned!” she cried, clapping her hands together.
The thieves hesitated. “What?” Bakyt growled.
Aygul squinted at them as if her eyesight had faded with age. “Are you not the guards my son sent to protect me?” She leaned forward as though studying their faces. “Surely, he sent you, knowing how alone I am in this big, dangerous world!”
The three men exchanged glances.
“Of course, we are… your guards,” Meder said, smirking. “Yes, we’ve come to protect you.”
“Wonderful!” Aygul said cheerfully. “Then you must help me. My treasure must be hidden in a safe place. I have prepared a chest full of gold, but I am too old to carry it myself. Would you, kind and strong warriors, help an old woman and take it into the woods to bury it where no thief will ever find it?”
The thieves could hardly believe their luck. They had planned to search the yurt for treasure, but here was the old woman handing them a chest full of gold.
Eagerly, they lifted the heavy trunk and staggered out into the darkness.
Lost in the Night
Aygul directed them toward the thickest part of the forest, a place where even the bravest hunters rarely ventured at night. “Go straight until you reach the well at the clearing,” she instructed. “Dig deep beside it. The earth is soft there. But beware of the spirits that roam at night!”
The thieves scoffed at her warning and hurried into the woods, their arms straining under the weight of the chest. But as they trudged deeper, the trees grew denser, their branches reaching like bony fingers toward the sky. The wind howled through the leaves, and in the distance, a wolf howled—a long, mournful sound that sent a chill down their spines.
Meder was the first to grow uneasy. “Are we sure this is the right way?” he muttered.
“Keep walking,” Bakyt snapped. “The sooner we bury this, the sooner we can take it for ourselves.”
But when they finally reached the well, their excitement turned to rage. They threw off the blanket and lifted the lid—only to find an empty chest.
“She tricked us!” Bakyt roared, kicking the chest so hard it tumbled into the well with a hollow thud.
And then they heard it.
A rustling in the trees. A whisper of voices—soft, eerie, neither near nor far.
“The spirits…” Tynch whispered, remembering Aygul’s warning.
Whether it was their own guilty minds or some strange trick of the night, fear took hold of them. Without another word, they bolted, dropping their shovels and stumbling over roots as they fled back toward the village.
A Hero’s Welcome
Meanwhile, Aygul sat by her fire, sipping tea with a contented smile. By dawn, the villagers had heard of the thieves’ humiliation. As they limped into the village, covered in dirt and scratches, people gathered to jeer and laugh at their misfortune.
“Outwitted by an old woman!” someone called.
“Maybe she’ll hire you as her servants!” another joked.
Shame burned in their cheeks. Unable to face their disgrace, the three thieves left the village that very day, never to return.
A Legacy of Wit
In the years that followed, Aygul became something of a legend. Parents told their children her tale, reminding them that strength and greed were no match for wisdom and cunning.
And so, the clever old woman who bested three thieves without raising a finger lived out her days in peace, her laughter as bright as the Kyrgyz sun, her mind sharper than ever.
