Japanese Fairy Tales
that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother’s story and
suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you
severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. Before
you I have no countenance left, and I beg you to forgive me.”
And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must
have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her
step-mother’s treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and
simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances—bearing all her
troubles with so much patience and amiability—made him compare her to
the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime
and mud of the moats and ponds, fitting emblem of a heart which keeps
itself unsullied while passing through the world.
The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while
been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had
gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that
went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to
the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her
step-daughter.
“I am ashamed! I am ashamed!” she exclaimed in broken tones. “I did not
know what a filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with
a step-mother’s jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating
you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you
reciprocated the feeling, and thus when I saw you retire so often to
your room I followed you, and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror
for long intervals, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked
you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic
art. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you
in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From
this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a
new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as a child
that I have borne myself. I shall love and cherish you with all my
heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused
you. Therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before,
and give me, I beg of you, some of the filial love that you have
hitherto given to your own lost mother.”
Thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of
the girl she had so wronged.
Such was the sweetness of the girl’s disposition that she willingly
forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment’s resentment or malice
towards her afterwards. The father saw by his wife’s face that she was
truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible
misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and
the wronged.
From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in
water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl
gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care
that her step-mother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness
were rewarded at last.
THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA
Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in the
province of Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by a
cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. From time to time
many travelers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the old
women round the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the girls
washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings, whispered
dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to the goblin’s
cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human flesh. No one
dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all those who
could, avoided it in the daytime, and travelers were warned of the
dreaded place.
One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was a
belated traveler, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim
walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave for
forgiveness of sins. He had apparently lost his way, and as it was late
he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the haunted
spot.
He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the
evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very
anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night’s lodging. He
found himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in
vain for some sign of human habitation.
At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees
in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer
of a single ray of light. He exclaimed with joy:
“Oh. surely that is some cottage where I can get a night’s lodging!”
Keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as
quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a
miserable-looking little cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in
a tumble-down condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and
grass pushed their way through the gaps. The paper screens which serve
as windows and doors in Japan were full of holes, and the posts of the
house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to support the old
thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the light of an old lantern an
old woman sat industriously spinning.
The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:
“O Baa San (old woman), good evening! I am a traveler! Please excuse
me, but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have
nowhere to rest to-night. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend
the night under your roof.”
The old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning,
rose from her seat and approached the intruder.
“I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have lost
your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately I cannot
put you up, for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation
whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!”
“Oh, that does not matter,” said the priest; “all I want is a shelter
under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to
let me lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to
walk further to-night, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I
shall have to sleep out on the cold plain.” And in this way he pressed
the old woman to let him stay.
She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:
“Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very poor
welcome only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the night is
cold.”
The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off his
sandals and entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of
wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.
“You must be hungry after your long tramp,” said the old woman. “I will
go and cook some supper for you.” She then went to the kitchen to cook
some rice.
After the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the
fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim
thought to himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a
kind, hospitable old woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire
died slowly down he began to shiver with cold just as he had done when
he arrived.
“I see you are cold,” said the old woman; “I will go out and gather
some wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the
house while I am gone.”
“No, no,” said the pilgrim, “let me go instead, for you are old, and I
cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!”
The old woman shook her head and said:
“You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest.” Then she left him
and went out.
In a minute she came back and said:
“You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens don’t go
near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell you!”
“If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won’t,” said
the priest, rather bewildered.
The old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. The
fire had died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim
lantern. For the first time that night he began to feel that he was in
a weird place, and the old woman’s words, “Whatever you do don’t peep
into the back room,” aroused his curiosity and his fear.
What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to
see? For some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept
him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep
into the forbidden place.
He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then the
thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed
her made him come back to his place by the fireside.
As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he
began to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful
secret was in the room behind him. He must find out.
“She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will just
have a peep before she comes back,” said the man to himself.
With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all
this time in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily
crept towards the forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back
the sliding door and looked in. What he saw froze the blood in his
veins. The room was full of dead men’s bones and the walls were
splashed and the floor was covered with human blood. In one corner
skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was a heap of arm
bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The sickening smell made him
faint. He fell backwards with horror, and for some time lay in a heap
with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. He trembled all over and his
teeth chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot.
“How horrible!” he cried out. “What awful den have I come to in my
travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind
old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will
show herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!”
With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his
hat and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could
carry him. Out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as
he could from the goblin’s haunt. He had not gone far when he heard
steps behind him and a voice crying: “Stop! stop!”
He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran he
heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he
recognized the old woman’s voice which grew louder and louder as she
came nearer.
“Stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden room?”
The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the
ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if
the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his
heart he repeated the prayer to Buddha:
“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.”
And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind,
and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her
hand she carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked
after him, “Stop! stop!”
At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and
with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The
priest now knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story
of whom he had often heard but never believed to be true. He felt that
he owed his wonderful escape to the protection of Buddha to whom he had
prayed for help, so he took out his rosary and bowing his head as the