Nihon no harou~īn and the Kuchisake-onna

Happy Halloween, everyone! Or should I say," Happiharou~in," as they say in Japan. As I've said in the past, Halloween (Harou~in) is a very interesting holiday in Japan. It has become more and more popular since the year 2000, and is really viewed as an opportunity for the busy working class people to drop their inhibitions and have fun in a way that would normally be frowned upon in Japanese society.

Since Japan is a very orderly, subdued culture, where everyone has a job to perform in an orderly fashion, one night of partying (for the adults) and cosplay is a welcome retreat for many people. There are many different aspects of Japanese Halloween that would be interesting to learn about; for instance, the crazy and time-consuming costume culture, the wide variety of sweet and savory snacks that come out around Halloween, or the charmingly strange "Mundane Halloween" parties that take place in office buildings every year. But I've covered a lot of that in a different blog post already, so this year I thought it would be fun to take a step back from Japan's modern Halloween and take a look at a good old-fashioned Japanese legend that is just creepy enough for the October holiday.

A huge part of Halloween is telling and being scared by creepy, hair-raising ghost and ghoul stories. And, while Japan doesn't have too many ghosts that operate solely on Halloween, it has plenty of scary stories that perfectly fit into the holiday. So, take a seat and listen. Have you ever heard the legend of Kuchisake-onna, aka the Slit-Mouthed Woman?  

CONTENT WARNING: Contains descriptions of blood, gore, and violence. May be disturbing to some readers.

Imagine this: It is a dark, somewhat chilly, evening. You, a enterprising young student at one of Japan's top schools, have just left campus for the day after spending a few hours getting in some extra studying. As you start making your way towards the train station, you notice absent-mindedly that you are one of the only people in the area. There's a businessman decked out in a full suit and carrying a briefcase heading in the same direction as you, a rowdy group of party girls stumbling down the street towards the next open bar, and one other student who, like you, is heading home after a long day at school. It really doesn't surprise you that there aren't many people out at this hour of the night; in fact there's more than you expected. But it's still a little unnerving to see the streets of Tokyo so deserted. The road that you are on is typically full to bursting with people - hundreds, maybe even thousands, all trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Without this throng of people, the streets seem unnatural and too quiet, almost like a spell has been cast on part of the city. You're not afraid of big open spaces or silence, but both of them together at this late hour is more than enough to unnerve you.

On a whim, you quickly glance over your shoulder; there's nothing there. You knew nothing would be there, but you had to check anyway. You look towards the the train station; it's only a few blocks away but it feels like you still have miles to go. You've walked this route a million times; you know every inch of pavement, every street lamp and gutter grate, and you even know how many steps it will take you to get to the station. Everything is familiar. At least it was until tonight. In the dark, everything seems mildly sinister, everything has a shadow hiding behind it. Without thinking, you pick up your pace just a little bit. 

A few minutes later, you're within a few yards of the train station. It's old and dimly lit, but you can still see the outline of its double doors and the stone archway that leads to the waiting platforms. You heave a slight sigh of relief; you're practically in the doors now and there's nothing creepy about the station. You've been there so many times that the ticket taker knows you by name and always has a bit of sage advice for you before you board your train home. Old Mr. Shinohara had always worked at the train station; you couldn't remember a time before he manned the ticket counter. In a way, he had always looked out for you when you were a young child and had rode the train all by yourself. The first time you had ridden alone you had missed your train and had been lost in the station for hours. You had no idea what to do and you were absolutely certain you were going to have to live in the station forever. Considering the fact that you are here, heading home, that obviously didn't end up happening, because Mr. Shinohara had found you, assured you that you were not lost forever, and put you on the next train that got you home in no time at all. Since that day, he had always been a close, somewhat fatherly friend whom you always knew you could depend on. You smiled to yourself as this memory came to mind; you hadn't thought about it in a long long time, because you had been too busy with school and extra studying. 

You continue walking as you smile over these fond memories. You're so caught up in your own thoughts that you've hardly kept track of where you're headed. Just before the train station there's a somewhat narrow, yellow-lit underpass that keeps the road open even as another road passes above. This underpass is considered to be the beginning of the train station, so you've under it every time you come into town for school. As you walk you begin to pass through this bridge almost unaware of your surroundings; it seems just the same as it always has. The only thing different tonight is the lone woman in a beige raincoat who is also walking under the bridge close by the wall, barely visible under the illumiating glow of the underpass's floodlights.

You glance absentmindedly in her direction as you begin making your way through the archway. You can hear the woman's footsteps echoing around the close walls of the tunnel, each step a loud, shuffling gate that is only the tiniest bit uneven, as if the woman has one shoe that doesn't fit correctly and she's favoring that foot. Soon your own footsteps join in and make the echoing even louder and more resounding. If the woman didn't know that you were walking the same path as her before, she certainly knows now because it is impossible to miss or ignore the sound of your footsteps bouncing off the walls and ceiling. The woman has noticed you because, after walking for only a few more moments, she stops in her stride and turns to look at you. 

The woman, who is short and skinny, has the longest, most unkempt black hair you've ever seen. She continues to look at you as you walk down the tunnel. She didn't just glance at you and then move on; her eyes are still fixed on you in an intense, somewhat searching manner. Her eyes, which are just visible above a clean white surgical mask, are a deep hazelnut color with the prettiest flecks of gold swimming inside them. These eyes watch you intently with a bright, happy expression, almost as if the woman is smiling at you as you pass by, and her grin is reflected in her eyes. She continues to watch you the entire time you are walking past her, turning on her heels every so often so that her eyes are always following you directly. You continue on, aware of this strange woman's gaze, but you try to ignore it. There's something otherworldly about her stare, and you'd rather not look at it head-on. As you pass by her, you can feel her gaze still fixed upon you, never wavering, constant, bizarre. A shiver jumps up your spine and you keep walking. 

You are just about to set foot out of the underpass when you feel a light tapping on your right shoulder. Turning to investigate, you come face to face with the strange woman in the mask. 

Her eyes seem to smile again, though she doesn't blink. The flecks of gold in her irises seem to sparkle in the light of the floodlights. She ever-so-slightly raises her hand and taps you again, and then she lightly lays her fingers on your shoulder. Her touch is so subtle that you can hardly feel it at all; it's soft like the wings of a dove and it has an almost ethereal quality to it.

You give the woman a puzzled look and open your mouth to speak but she beats you to it. In a quiet, almost subdued, voice she asks shyly, "Am I beautiful?"

She looks down at the ground, as if she's embarrassed by her question, but she never removes her hand from your shoulder. Taken aback by this strange and sudden question, you find yourself at a loss for words. Then, trying to get the woman to look up at you again, you answer in a stupefied voice, "Why, yes."

The moment those words leave your lips and echo against the walls of the underpass, the woman's demeanor changes. Her head snaps back up into a forward position, and she once again fixes her strange, bright eyes on you. Her grip on your shoulder tightens and her fingernails dig into your skin. You recoil in pain, but it's already too late. With her free hand, the woman reaches up to her face and, in one swift movement, she tears the surgical mask from her mouth, uncovering the most horrible sight you've ever seen in your life. Under the woman's bare face, now revealed, is a ghoulish, bloody, maniacal grin stretched from ear to ear. Jagged scars elongate her mouth and and send trickles of blood running down her chin and neck. Behind her slit cheeks, you see rows and rows of sharp white teeth also covered in blood and scar tissue. 

Flinging the surgical mask to the ground, the deformed woman continues to hold you tightly. And she reaches into the pocket of her coat and pulls out a shiny, sharp pair of scissors. You fight as hard as you can to get away from the terrifying woman, but her vise-like grip is too strong. Her fingers dig into your shoulder, and you can feel her nails holding on tightly. You scream as loudly as you can, desperately calling for aid from anyone who may be nearby.

No one comes to your rescue; there's no one to hear you. Brandishing the scissors with deathly accuracy, the slit-mouthed woman wildly slashes at your face and throat, carving two jagged cuts into the sides of your cheeks. You can feel warm blood running from the cuts; you raise your hands to your face to shield it from further attacks, and your fingers and hands come away red.

The slit-mouthed woman grins maniacally as she twirls her weapon; her pearly white teeth gleam through her own scars as she inspects her handiwork. Her wide grin and flashing eyes are all you can see as you continue to fight frantically to escape. Those horrible eyes, that demon grin.

Finally, with one final tug, you manage to break free. Stumbling over the pavement, you make a mad dash for the train station. Your feet scrape wildly as you run for your life; you hold your torn and bloody face with one hand and, with the other, you reach for the handle of the double doors. You dare not look behind you.

You get one hand on the door handle, but at the same instant you feel a terrifyingly strong tug from behind you. In one final, desperate attempt, you fight back against the force pulling you, but it's no use. She has you. The slit-mouthed woman spins you around violently, forcing you to face her once more; her horrible face is only inches from yours. With one final, heart-stopping grin, she leaps upon you, knocking you to the ground while simultaneously plunging her scissors into you again and again.

You hit the ground hard and only have one more chance to fight back. You scream into the face of Kuchisake-onna. All she does is scream back, a horrible high-pitched victory scream. The last thing you see is the twisted, scarred face of the Slit-Mouthed Woman. Then everything fades to black. 

*****

Kuchisake-onna, aka the Slit-Mouthed Woman, is one of the most terrifying Japanese ghost stories I've ever read. Full of gore, terror, and, more often than not, no happy ending, I think it's safe to say that Kuchiske-onna is one story that is more than scary enough for Halloween. While many people believe that Kuchisake-onna has origins all the way back in the 17th century, her story started being told in rural Japan around 1979. While there are many different versions of the story (i.e., that Kuchisake-onna was the unfaithful wife of a shogun and the angry man mutilated her face for her sins; that she was the victim of plastic surgery gone wrong), everyone agrees that the Slit-Mouthed Woman is an Onryo (a vengeful spirit full of rage due to things that happened to her while she was alive) who will always kill anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.

And, what started as a spooky story parents told their kids to discourage bad behavior and sneaking out at night soon took on a life of its own. The story was passed by word of mouth from school to school until it was known all over the nation of Japan. It is still a popular ghost story today, and many people still avoid getting into situations where they might meet Kuchisake-onna. 

I don't know if there's a moral to this story (maybe don't go out alone at night), but I do know it is very creepy and unnerving to anyone who isn't prepared for it. Of course, it's not strictly a Halloween story, but when else am I going to write about such a scary urban legend?

Happy Halloween everyone! 

Stay safe out there as you're trick-or-treating. You never know who or what you may encounter....

Original Legend 

Cultural Impact 

Legend Variations 

Onryo 

The Legends That Made Japan - Part 3

Every culture has its own plethora of stories - strange and unique tales that were first told centuries ago to explain the world and all the creatures in it. Passed down by word of mouth, these stories were retold for generations - told by grandfathers around fireplaces to their young grandchildren, who then told their grandchildren. After centuries of passing stories on, it can be hard to tell who first told the story or why it was created in the first place. People can become disinterested in old tales because, when the original storyteller isn't around anymore and when the tale has been told dozens of times before, the tale is no longer interesting to new generations.

Because of this, old stories aren't taken terribly seriously; no matter how wonderful the stories are or how ancient the characters in it, younger generations often find it hard to relate to stories from hundreds of years ago. Stories sink into the past and are no longer relevant. But sometimes tales that have been lost to the past can resurface. When new history starts repeating old history, ancient tales suddenly hold new meaning. Suddenly, the old stories that grandfather told around the fire become true in real life and people have to refer back to the ancient stories to find out what is supposed to happen next. Our next Japanese legend is one such story.


Once upon a time in Japan, when the cherry blossoms were new and pink as a summer sunset, when the the wild ocean beat around Japan like a furious turquoise bird flapping its gorgeous wings, and when there were no great heroes to protect the land, there lived a man and his wife. This man and his wife had lived for many years, too many to count. They had watched the sun rise and set every morning and had seen centuries pass as slowly as the turtle. And now, in their old age, they too had become just as slow.

Day after day they went about the task of keeping their small home in order. The wife would bake the bread every morning and sweep the dust from the tatami mats; her husband would travel to the nearby village to trade and pass the time with old friends. The couple worked together to keep their home cozy and, hand in hand, they patched every leak and storm-torn hole that ever opened in their house. Every evening, the old couple would sit on their front step. Sometimes they brought work with them, like a tatami mat that needed mending or a pile of clothes that needed to be folded, but more often than not when they sat on the front step at night the old man and his wife would simply sit together and hold hands. They watched the endless sky move along its way and spied every silver falling star. For, no matter how many years they had lived, the love that had brought them together in the first place never left their hearts.

Theirs was a happy life and they would have been completely content if it weren't for their one great sadness. For years, the old man and his wife had wished for a child to call their own. In their youth, this had been their only hope - to birth a strong, heathy heir who could care for them in their old age. They had tried many times to bear a child; they offered sacrifices to the gods, praying that they wouldn't remain barren forever. The man and his wife had wished for nothing more, but it had not come to pass. Now in their old age they had no heir to care for them, no one to carry on their family name. Sometimes as the man and his wife sat on their font step to watch stars fly by, when they watched one season after another melt away, they spoke of their youthful wish. While it saddened them to remember their hope for a child, it was only a passing sadness that only came from time to time. So they let life continue; their happy world was at peace. 

One morning in early spring, the old woman was preparing to do the day's washing. Having searched the house for every last piece of laundry, she had carried basket after basket down to the river to soak and clean. One piece of clothing after another came out of her baskets, pulled out swiftly and cleanly so no other clothes would come with it. The fabric was quickly submerged in the chilly, bubbling stream and scrubbed so vigorously that any dirt was quick to leave the clothing. Out of the basket, into the stream, scrubbed to a shine, and placed on the warm river rocks to dry in the mid-morning sun. One shirt after another, pairs of pants, and socks had their turn in the washing cycle. The old woman worked this way for hours, diligently cleaning everything she had carried down to the river. 

She was so immersed in her work that she neglected to look up from it for whole minutes at a time; the world could have been falling in around her and she wouldn't have noticed. She had been washing for so many years, on the same river bank; she had watched the water bubble by for so many years, she was certain that nothing new or exciting was happening around her. So why should she bother to look up?

However, when she finally did take her mind off her washing and looked up from the stream, her eyes saw a most unusual sight. Bobbing back and forth in the roiling current, pink and rosy as the afternoon sun, as big as a bayberry bush, was a huge peach. The old woman couldn't believe her eyes; it must have been a trick of the light or her ancient eyes were finally failing. But it was not a trick or an illusion and with every moment the huge pink peach bobbed closer and closer to the old woman. Plucking it from the water with more than a little difficulty, the woman examined it closer. It was indeed a peach but what tree could have produced it? Placing it in her basket and forgetting the rest of her laundry, the old woman hurried home with her prize. 

Her husband was just as shocked and puzzled by the giant peach when he discovered it sitting in their living room as he came home that evening. His wife told how she had found it and together they puzzled over how such a large fruit could have come to be. For hours, the old man and his wife racked their brains for a suitable explanation but when no answer presented itself. So the couple resigned themselves to the mystery and decided to eat the peach instead. Fetching a knife from the cupboard, the old man placed the sharp tip on the very top of the fruit and gently cut into it. A fragrant aroma rose from the peach like the smell of freshly cut bamboo mixed with honey tea and lavender, a pink mist rose into the air, and a tiny pink stream of juice ran down the peach's side. What a treat this was going to be, the old man thought to himself as he plunged the knife deeper into the fruit.

Suddenly, though, from inside the peach a tiny voice cried out as high pitched as a bird in a note just as sweet as a song, "Please don't hurt me; put away your knife."

Shocked, the old man and his life jumped back clutching each other in fear. Never before had they encountered such a large peach and now it appeared to be alive, or possessed by a spirit or demon. 

For minutes on end, the couple did nothing beside watch the peach. For just a moment is was still, resting on the tatami mat in peace. Then with a start the peach began to jump. Up and down in its place, rocking back and forth when it came to earth, the pink mist above it intensified and from inside the little voice began to laugh. Not a sinister, demon laugh or that of a trickster spirit but, instead, the happy, jubilant giggles of a child. Then, just as the old man was leaning close to the peach to listen to the laughter, the giant fruit split open and busted apart.

The halves of the peach fell gently to the ground and, standing it its place, was a little baby boy. Pink as the peach with cheeks as rosy as sunrise, the chubby little boy giggled as the old man and his wife looked on in astonishment. Of all things to appear from a peach, this little peach boy was the last thing they expected. But, nonetheless, the peach boy had come to them, and the old woman believed that he had been sent to them to fulfill their wish for a child. At long last they would have a son to raise, a beautiful child who would make their days joyful, a precious boy who would grow into a strong man and take care of them in their old age. Yes, this little boy was meant to be their son. 

Picking the baby up and wrapping him in her nearby laundry, the old woman cradled him in her arms, gazing down at his tiny face. She kissed his forehead softly. "You will be a fine man one day, Peach Boy," she whispered. Then, looking up at her husband, she said, "But what sort of a name is Peach Boy for a fine child like this? We shall call him Momotaro!"

Nodding in agreement, the old man took a place beside his wife and joined her in watching their new son. "Momotaro, a fine name indeed," he said. 

                                                                    To Be Continued...


While I was writing this post, I realized just how long and detailed the story of the peach boy is. What is typed above is only about half the story. I could have kept writing and finished, but I don't want my readers to get bored sifting through endless paragraphs. So I will make this story a two-parter; enjoy the first half above and be looking for part two very soon. 


Photo Credit: Pinterest 
Sources Sighted: Overly Sarcastic Productions

The Legends that Made Japan - Part 2

If there is one thing that Japan is known for, it's the country's  massive demon population. The country is filled to bursting with stories; there is nothing close to an estimated number and it seems everywhere you turn there's another demon legend or story popping out of the woodwork. I looked up the definition of a Japanese demon when I was researching for this post, and I was actually amazed at how many results I got. It turns out that there is no catch-all word for a Japanese demon; there are different names for every species of demon and a different name for every unique creature. The closest thing I could find to a categorizing name was Yokai, which basically means a powerful being that brings bad luck and likes to mess with humans.

As someone studying the Japanese Yokai from the outside, they just seem like folk stories told to explain away strange happenings. But just imagine this for a moment. I or anyone else who isn't from Japan is not afraid of the Yokai because they are not "real" to us. But anyone who grew up hearing these stories must have been terrified, because not only are the Yokai stories bedtime stories, they are also an integral part of the Japanese belief system and, therefore, prevalent in any Japanese person's life.

In my research I came across the stories of a few specific Yokai; below is just one of them. As you read, imagine how you would feel if you thought this Japanese demon was real.

Once upon a time when Japan was still a new land, when the humans were few and far between and the land was swarming with Yokai of all kinds, there lived one particularly strange Yokai who was quite fearsome. One fine summer day when the sun was as bright as a water droplet, a handsome young woodcutter wandered into the woods on his way to a nearby town. Once there, he planned to start a business and make a living for himself in a humble yet comfortable way. 

On his way through the woods, the young man happened to pass a pool of water that rested next to a very dark cave. Thinking nothing of the latter or the former, he prepared to continue on his way, but after taking only a few steps forward, the woodcutter suddenly stumbled. Falling forward over the root that had caught his foot, he came crashing to the ground and his axe, which had been slung over his shoulder, flew out of reach and into the nearby water. Recovering from the shock of his fall, the young man was soon greeted by the new shock of his missing axe. Being unable to swim and unsure of how deep the water was, the poor man realized that his livelihood was most likely gone forever. Unable to do anything more, the woodcutter prepared to depart. But as he turned to go, he stopped still in his tracks.  

Standing in front of him with his axe cradled under her arm stood a young woman whose beauty could only be rivaled by Princess Kaguya herself. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders in a silky web, her smile shimmered in the sunlight, and her eyes were as black as night and seemed to pierce the young man's soul. Without a word, she walked up to the woodcutter, placed the retrieved axe in his hands, and then turned and skipped off into the woods. Unable to contain his amazement or his wildly beating heart, the young man shouldered his axe and followed the young woman.  

Entranced by her beauty, the young man returned to the pool every day after that for weeks on end. Every time he visited, the young woman was waiting for him and they spent the day together, talking and getting to know each other. The woodcutter quickly fell in love with the mysterious woman and even hoped that she might love him back. But as the weeks of visits wore on, the woodcutter began to sense a change within himself. His once vibrant spirit began to dim and he seemed more haggard and exhausted with every visit. On each new morning, the woodcutter would wake and sense a weariness inside himself that sleep had not abated; dragging himself out of his home, he would take one exhausting step after another and walk back to the pond where he had met the young woman. Though every visit with her seemed to awaken his tired heart, upon leaving her side the woodcutter was instantly weakened again. 

Weeks went by. Every morning the sun rose and every evening it sank behind the hills. And with every new day the poor woodcutter wasted away to even less of his former self. Finally, seeing the woodcutter's haggard state, a local Buddhist priest resolved to help the young man. The priest had a theory; perhaps the mysterious young woman at the waterfall had the answer to the woodcutter's plight. So one morning the priest accompanied the woodcutter and they both traveled back to the waterfall in the woods.  

The woodcutter called out for the young woman; he looked everywhere for her coming but she did not appear. Sadly, the woodcutter turned to go, but as he did the priest cried out in alarm, causing the woodcutter to look back at the waterfall. From the silvery sheet of water shot webs as tall as a man. They gushed from the water with a fury and wrapped themselves around everything on the shore. Trees, bushes, and rocks were all covered with the silky webs. In horror, the woodcutter watched as the priest repelled the webs with ancient spells and commanded the web's maker to desist. But the attack continued until the priest was forced to withdraw, pulling the shell-shocked woodcutter behind him.  

Back in the village, the priest revealed the horrible truth. The beautiful young woman that the woodcutter had fallen in love with was in reality a Jorogumo, or spider demon. This particular demon had been in the region for years but no one had ever gotten so close to her before without being eaten. As a Yokai, this spider demon was a man-eater and had, in fact, killed and eaten several unfortunate young men who wandered too close to her waterfall. The priest warned the young woodcutter that if he continued to keep company with this demon, he would eventually waste away into nothing if the Jorogumo didn't eat him first.  

Disheartened and forced to imagine a life without the woman who had stolen his heart, the poor woodcutter left the priest and headed for home. His mind was a blur as he tried to put everything he had learned somewhere in his mind, but no matter how he spun the turn of events, he was still heartbroken. As he turned to enter his house, the path that led to the Yokai's waterfall caught his eye, the path he had traveled so often in the hopes of seeing the beautiful young woman. As he looked at it, something stirred inside of him, a feeling that couldn't be denied, as if his heart were being pulled by a string towards one thing. 

With total abandon, the young woodcutter took off running, up the familiar path towards that old waterfall. Crashing through the trees and shouting his love at the top of his lungs, he reached the edge of the water, paused for only an instant to take one final look at the village behind him, and then, with one giant leap, he jumped into the waiting arms of the spider Jorogumo. Wrapping him in her webs, the spider, who still wore the face of the beautiful young woman, kissed the young man on the lips and then retreated with him to her cave behind the waterfall. 

If there is a moral to this story, I'm guessing it would be, "Don't commit to a relationship before finding out what the other person really is." Or, "Don't make quick decisions when dating a Japanese demon!" ;)

There is still a waterfall today that is supposed to have the Jorogumo's cave behind it, the Joren Waterfall in Shizuoka Prefecture. Oddly enough, this waterfall and the pool of water it spills into are a popular tourist attraction and hundreds of people a year go swimming in the crystal-clear pond. While the story of the Jorogumo at the Joren waterfall is a myth, I personally wouldn't swim in that water or, at the very least, wouldn't go poking around behind the waterfall.


Photo Credit: Pinterest 
Sources Cited: Overly Sarcastic Productions

The Legends that Made Japan Part 1

                                                       
We can't know where we're going without knowing where we've been. Similarly, we cannot study another culture without studying what shaped it in the first place. Cultures are built on myths and stories that explain how things came to be and why the culture functions like it does. Many myths give explanations about the belief systems of a culture and you can even find stories that give explanations about the land that a culture exists in. For instance, in the Philippines there is a myth that explains the creation of Mount Mayon, or, in Ancient Greece, there was a myth that told of the creation of the Greek gods. Myths shape a culture and can even carry over into the modern day with some fairly relevant context. To fully understand a culture, it is important to see where it came from and to study what was passed down as history for years.

All that being said, I think it would be very interesting to take a look at and unpack several myths from Japan. Some of them have carried over to modern time and, as a whole, they can give a clearer picture of the culture. So let's unpack these one at a time, and let's start with a simple yet interesting story.

The Legend of Princess Kaguya 

Once upon a time in ancient Japan, when the people were wise and Mount Fuji was white as fresh fallen snow, there lived a poor bamboo cutter and his wife. They lived at the edge of the forest and, even though they had lived long lives, they had no child to care for them in their old age. But, despite this, the bamboo cutter lived a happy life. Everyday the old man would take up his axe and walk deep into the forest to find the lushest bamboo stalks and his wife would clean their humble home to make it cozy.  

On one particular day, the bamboo cutter once again ventured into the woods for a day's work. With one swing of his axe, a bamboo stalk would come crashing to the ground. The old man worked quickly and was soon deeply focused on his task. After hours of work, the bamboo cutter chopped his axe into a seemingly normal stalk of bamboo, but it was far from it. After the majority of it fell to the ground, the leftover stump began to glow with a strange light, glorious and dazzling to behold. The stump split its sides and unfurled like a newly grown flower. The old man cautiously approached the open stump and looked inside only to see two shiny eyes peeping back at him.  

Startled but not altogether terrified, the old man looked closer. The sparkling eyes belonged to a little girl no bigger than the man's hand. She sat there looking at the old man with the most innocent face he had ever seen, and without a moment's hesitation the bamboo cutter held out his hand towards the little child. Picking up her voluminous kimono and flowing black hair, the little girl leaped from the bamboo stump into the man's hand where she landed as light as a feather.  

The old bamboo cutter took the little girl home and presented her to his wife, who became instantly infatuated with her. They decided to keep her as their own and raise her as a daughter; they were determined to give her the best life possible and they gave her the name Kaguya. From that day forward the bamboo cutter and his wife were far happier than they had ever been in the past; they finally had an adoring young daughter to care for and to love and someone to care for them in the years to come. In addition, they were no longer poor, for now every time that the bamboo cutter went into the forest and set about his work, a gold nugget fell from each bamboo stalk that he cut. Using their newfound wealth, the old man and his wife built a fine home for Kaguya and gave her all the splendor of a princess.  

The years rolled by, the bamboo grew tall, the birds sang of beauty and love, and Princess Kaguya grew into a fine young woman. She was the picture of flawless beauty,  with skin white as a moonbeam and hair black as the evening. Far and wide her beauty was renowned, and eager young men traveled from the ends of the earth to seek the fair princess' hand in marriage. But the princess had no interest in any of the young men that came to call; without even meeting the men she would send them away or send them on quests that they never returned from. One such suitor was the emperor of Japan himself; he too sought to woo the elusive young beauty but he was also turned way. But upon seeing how sad the young king was, Princess Kaguya pitied him and they became close friends.  

When her mother asked the princess why she continually turned away handsome rich suitors, Kaguya revealed her true origin.  

Princess Kaguya was the true princess of the moon, sent down to earth for unknown reasons. She was fated to live on earth until an appointed time, a time that was quickly approaching. With in the next full moon, Princess Kaguya would return to her home and rule there with no memory of her life on earth; this included her adoptive parents and her friendship with the emperor. 

Upon hearing this news, the poor emperor was grief-stricken and was determined to keep Kaguya safe from the "moon people" any way he could. He set guards around her home and vowed that she would remain on earth. 

But all his efforts were in vain, for when the "moon people" came down to fetch their princess, they temporarily blinded all the emperor's men and landed in the house without ever touching the ground. Princess Kaguya, though saddened by her imminent departure left a small gift for her friend the emperor, the elixir of youth in a bottle. She then drew around herself a cape of feathers that made her forget all her love for humans and their world and was then swept away back to the moon.  

The emperor could not be comforted and upon finding Kaguya's gift he ordered that it be burned on the top of the highest mountain since life without Kaguya was meaningless to him. The bottle of elixir was taken to the top of a snow-piqued mountain and burned, and from then on the mountain was called Fuji after the burning that happened upon it. 

That was a really long story. Not all of them with be that long. But I just think that it is so interesting how traces of this myth can still be seen today and that Japan's most recognizable landmark is tied to Princess Kaguya of the moon. This story is still popular in modern media; a movie based on the myth was recently made by Studio Ghibli, the same animation company that made Spirited Away.


Photo Credit: SlashFlim
Princess Kaguya Movie
Sources Cited: Overly Sarcastic Productions