Japanese Fairy Tales
silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos were also covered with
snow and the pond was thick with ice.
And each day there were new joys and new wonders for Urashima, and so
great was his happiness that he forgot everything, even the home he had
left behind and his parents and his own country, and three days passed
without his even thinking of all he had left behind. Then his mind came
back to him and he remembered who he was, and that he did not belong to
this wonderful land or the Sea King’s palace, and he said to himself:
“O dear! I must not stay on here, for I have an old father and mother
at home. What can have happened to them all this time? How anxious they
must have been these days when I did not return as usual. I must go
back at once without letting one more day pass.” And he began to
prepare for the journey in great haste.
Then he went to his beautiful wife, the Princess, and bowing low before
her he said:
“Indeed, I have been very happy with you for a long time, Otohime Sama”
(for that was her name), “and you have been kinder to me than any words
can tell. But now I must say good-by. I must go back to my old
parents.”
Then Otohime Sama began to weep, and said softly and sadly:
“Is it not well with you here, Urashima, that you wish to leave me so
soon? Where is the haste? Stay with me yet another day only!”
But Urashima had remembered his old parents, and in Japan the duty to
parents is stronger than everything else, stronger even than pleasure
or love, and he would not be persuaded, but answered:
“Indeed, I must go. Do not think that I wish to leave you. It is not
that. I must go and see my old parents. Let me go for one day and I
will come back to you.”
“Then,” said the Princess sorrowfully, “there is nothing to be done. I
will send you back to-day to your father and mother, and instead of
trying to keep you with me one more day, I shall give you this as a
token of our love—please take it back with you;” and she brought him a
beautiful lacquer box tied about with a silken cord and tassels of red
silk.
Urashima had received so much from the Princess already that he felt
some compunction in taking the gift, and said:
“It does not seem right for me to take yet another gift from you after
all the many favors I have received at your hands, but because it is
your wish I will do so,” and then he added:
“Tell me what is this box?”
“That,” answered the Princess “is the tamate-bako (Box of the Jewel
Hand), and it contains something very precious. You must not open this
box, whatever happens! If you open it something dreadful will happen to
you! Now promise me that you will never open this box!”
And Urashima promised that he would never, never open the box whatever
happened.
Then bidding good-by to Otohime Sama he went down to the seashore, the
Princess and her attendants following him, and there he found a large
tortoise waiting for him.
He quickly mounted the creature’s back and was carried away over the
shining sea into the East. He looked back to wave his hand to Otohime
Sama till at last he could see her no more, and the land of the Sea
King and the roofs of the wonderful palace were lost in the far, far
distance. Then, with his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he
looked for the rising of the blue hills on the horizon before him.
At last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so well, and to
the shore from whence he had set out. He stepped on to the shore and
looked about him while the tortoise rode away back to the Sea King’s
realm.
But what is the strange fear that seizes Urashima as he stands and
looks about him? Why does he gaze so fixedly at the people that pass
him by, and why do they in turn stand and look at him? The shore is the
same and the hills are the same, but the people that he sees walking
past him have very different faces to those he had known so well
before.
Wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his old home. Even
that looks different, but a house stands on the spot, and he calls out:
“Father, I have just returned!” and he was about to enter, when he saw
a strange man coming out.
“Perhaps my parents have moved while I have been away, and have gone
somewhere else,” was the fisherman’s thought. Somehow he began to feel
strangely anxious, he could not tell why.
“Excuse me,” said he to the man who was staring at him, “but till
within the last few days I have lived in this house. My name is
Urashima Taro. Where have my parents gone whom I left here?”
A very bewildered expression came over the face of the man, and, still
gazing intently on Urashima’s face, he said:
“What? Are you Urashima Taro?”
“Yes,” said the fisherman, “I am Urashima Taro!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the man, “you must not make such jokes. It is true
that once upon a time a man called Urashima Taro did live in this
village, but that is a story three hundred years old. He could not
possibly be alive now!”
When Urashima heard these strange words he was frightened, and said:
“Please, please, you must not joke with me, I am greatly perplexed. I
am really Urashima Taro, and I certainly have not lived three hundred
years. Till four or five days ago I lived on this spot. Tell me what I
want to know without more joking, please.”
But the man’s face grew more and more grave, and he answered:
“You may or may not be Urashima Taro, I don’t know. But the Urashima
Taro of whom I have heard is a man who lived three hundred years ago.
Perhaps you are his spirit come to revisit your old home?”
“Why do you mock me?” said Urashima. “I am no spirit! I am a living
man—do you not see my feet;” and “don-don,” he stamped on the ground,
first with one foot and then with the other to show the man. (Japanese
ghosts have no feet.)
“But Urashima Taro lived three hundred years ago, that is all I know;
it is written in the village chronicles,” persisted the man, who could
not believe what the fisherman said.
Urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. He stood looking all
around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed, something in the appearance
of everything was different to what he remembered before he went away,
and the awful feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps
true. He seemed to be in a strange dream. The few days he had spent in
the Sea King’s palace beyond the sea had not been days at all: they had
been hundreds of years, and in that time his parents had died and all
the people he had ever known, and the village had written down his
story. There was no use in staying here any longer. He must get back to
his beautiful wife beyond the sea.
He made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand the box which
the Princess had given him. But which was the way? He could not find it
alone! Suddenly he remembered the box, the tamate-bako.
“The Princess told me when she gave me the box never to open it—that it
contained a very precious thing. But now that I have no home, now that
I have lost everything that was dear to me here, and my heart grows
thin with sadness, at such a time, if I open the box, surely I shall
find something that will help me, something that will show me the way
back to my beautiful Princess over the sea. There is nothing else for
me to do now. Yes, yes, I will open the box and look in!”
And so his heart consented to this act of disobedience, and he tried to
persuade himself that he was doing the right thing in breaking his
promise.
Slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and
wonderingly he lifted the lid of the precious box. And what did he
find? Strange to say only a beautiful little purple cloud rose out of
the box in three soft wisps. For an instant it covered his face and
wavered over him as if loath to go, and then it floated away like vapor
over the sea.
Urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong and handsome
youth of twenty-four, suddenly became very, very old. His back doubled
up with age, his hair turned snowy white, his face wrinkled and he fell
down dead on the beach.
Poor Urashima! because of his disobedience he could never return to the
Sea King’s realm or the lovely Princess beyond the sea.
Little children, never be disobedient to those who are wiser than you
for disobedience was the beginning of all the miseries and sorrows of
life.
THE FARMER AND THE BADGER
Long, long ago, there lived an old farmer and his wife who had made
their home in the mountains, far from any town. Their only neighbor was
a bad and malicious badger. This badger used to come out every night
and run across to the farmer’s field and spoil the vegetables and the
rice which the farmer spent his time in carefully cultivating. The
badger at last grew so ruthless in his mischievous work, and did so
much harm everywhere on the farm, that the good-natured farmer could
not stand it any longer, and determined to put a stop to it. So he lay
in wait day after day and night after night, with a big club, hoping to
catch the badger, but all in vain. Then he laid traps for the wicked
animal.
The farmer’s trouble and patience was rewarded, for one fine day on
going his rounds he found the badger caught in a hole he had dug for
that purpose. The farmer was delighted at having caught his enemy, and
carried him home securely bound with rope. When he reached the house
the farmer said to his wife:
“I have at last caught the bad badger. You must keep an eye on him
while I am out at work and not let him escape, because I want to make
him into soup to-night.”
Saying this, he hung the badger up to the rafters of his storehouse and
went out to his work in the fields. The badger was in great distress,
for he did not at all like the idea of being made into soup that night,
and he thought and thought for a long time, trying to hit upon some
plan by which he might escape. It was hard to think clearly in his
uncomfortable position, for he had been hung upside down. Very near
him, at the entrance to the storehouse, looking out towards the green
fields and the trees and the pleasant sunshine, stood the farmer’s old
wife pounding barley. She looked tired and old. Her face was seamed
with many wrinkles, and was as brown as leather, and every now and then
she stopped to wipe the perspiration which rolled down her face.
“Dear lady,” said the wily badger, “you must be very weary doing such
heavy work in your old age. Won’t you let me do that for you? My arms
are very strong, and I could relieve you for a little while!”
“Thank you for your kindness,” said the old woman, “but I cannot let
you do this work for me because I must not untie you, for you might
escape if I did, and my husband would be very angry if he came home and
found you gone.”
Now, the badger is one of the most cunning of animals, and he said
again in a very sad, gentle, voice:
“You are very unkind. You might untie me, for I promise not to try to
escape. If you are afraid of your husband, I will let you bind me again
before his return when I have finished pounding the barley. I am so
tired and sore tied up like this. If you would only let me down for a
few minutes I would indeed be thankful!”
The old woman had a good and simple nature, and could not think badly
of any one. Much less did she think that the badger was only deceiving
her in order to get away. She felt sorry, too, for the animal as she
turned to look at him. He looked in such a sad plight hanging downwards
from the ceiling by his legs, which were all tied together so tightly
that the rope and the knots were cutting into the skin. So in the
kindness of her heart, and believing the creature’s promise that he
would not run away, she untied the cord and let him down.
The old woman then gave him the wooden pestle and told him to do the