Urashima Taro

That evening the sun sank very slowly into the sea, staining the water a warm orange. On the sand beside a fishing village, a young man with a net over his shoulder walked home after a day of fishing, just as he had on so many other evenings. Yet this ordinary evening would split his life in two, a half before and a half after. And the two halves would be separated not by a single night, but by 300 years.

The young man's name was Urashima Taro. He lived in the little fishing village of Mizu-no-ye, in the province of Tango, on the coast of Japan. His father had been a fisherman before him, and Urashima had followed in his footsteps to become the most skillful net thrower in the whole district. But the villagers remembered him not only for his catch. They remembered his gentle heart, for he had never been willing to harm any living creature, however small. People in Japan have told this story from one generation to the next. It all began on that very evening.

On his way home, Urashima came upon a group of children crowded around a small sea turtle on the sand. One poked at its shell with a stick, another shouted and teased it, and the turtle kept pulling its head inside, struggling to crawl away with nowhere to go. Urashima stopped and told the children to let the turtle go. They refused, saying they had caught it themselves. So Urashima offered to pay for the turtle, and the children agreed at once. He handed them the money in exchange for the poor little turtle. When the children had run far off, he gently carried the turtle to the water's edge and stroked its shell. "Go on now," he whispered. "From now on no one will bully you." Then he set it down in the sea and stood watching until it disappeared beneath the blue water.

The next morning, Urashima rowed out to sea as he did every day. Just as his boat reached the open water, a voice called out his name. Urashima looked around but saw no one. There was only the turtle from the day before, floating right beside his boat. "Yesterday you protected me and saved my life," the turtle said. "I have come to thank you." Urashima was stunned. He had never heard of a turtle that could speak like a person.

The turtle said it could take him down to a place no mortal had ever set foot in, the palace of the Dragon King at the bottom of the sea. Curious, Urashima agreed. At once the turtle began to grow, bigger and bigger, until its back was wide enough for him to climb on and sit firmly. As soon as he was settled, the turtle dove straight down through layer after layer of deep blue water, carrying him far into the depths of the ocean.

They stopped before a great gate, finely carved. Beyond it rose a magnificent palace built of coral and studded with glittering pearls. This was Rin Gin, the palace of the Dragon King, the ruler of all the seas. Right at the gate a whole procession of fish courtiers stood waiting: the red sea bream, the flounder, the sole and the cuttlefish. They all bowed respectfully and led Urashima inside, as if welcoming an honored guest.

A princess of rare beauty came out to greet him, her eyes resting on him gently. "Do you not recognize me?" she said softly. "I am the turtle you saved yesterday." Her name was Otohime, and she was the daughter of the Dragon King. "It was I who invited you here, to thank you for saving my life," Otohime went on. "If you are willing, please stay here forever, where no one grows old, and I will be your wife."

Otohime showed Urashima all around the palace, then led him into a wondrous garden where the four seasons were all present at once, each on its own side. To the east, plum and cherry trees bloomed white and pink and nightingales sang sweetly, as if it were spring. To the south, the trees stood lush and green under warm sunshine while cicadas and crickets chirped loudly, as if it were summer. To the west, maple leaves blazed red against the sunset sky and chrysanthemums crowded the paths, as if it were autumn. And to the north, the ground lay under a layer of white snow and the pond was quietly frozen over, as if it were winter. Just by walking around a single garden, Urashima passed through all four seasons in one afternoon.

The days in the Dragon King's palace slipped by so peacefully and happily that Urashima forgot all his cares. By his own count, three days had passed since he came down into the sea. Then one evening he suddenly thought of his aging parents back home. He missed the small house by the sea and his familiar fishing boat. "I must go home to see my parents," he told Otohime. "I have only been gone three days, but they must be waiting anxiously for me."

Otohime was saddened and tried to persuade him to stay. But when she saw that Urashima's mind was made up, she wiped away her tears and gave her consent. Before he left, she handed him a small lacquer box called a tamatebako, tied with a silk cord and tassels of red silk. "This is my gift to you," Otohime said. "But you must promise me one thing. Whatever happens, you must never open this box." Urashima took the box and raised his hand in a firm promise. Then he said goodbye to Otohime and climbed onto the turtle's back to return to the world above.

The turtle carried Urashima back to the very same stretch of sand, then dove out of sight. But when he looked around, he no longer recognized the place. The familiar path was gone. Not a trace remained of his parents' thatched house, and the whole fishing hamlet had changed completely. He asked a passerby about the Urashima family. The man frowned and thought for a while. Then he answered, "The Urashima Taro I have heard about lived 300 years ago."

Urashima stood frozen on the sand. He had spent only three days in the Dragon King's palace, yet here on land, 300 years had gone by. His parents, his home and everyone he had ever known were all gone. Everything he had longed for on the way home was now just a name in someone else's old story.

Lost and with nowhere to turn, Urashima looked down at the tamatebako still clutched tightly in his hands. His promise to Otohime still stood. But the emptiness he felt now was greater than anything he had ever endured. Slowly, he lifted the lid. From inside the box, a thin wisp of purple smoke, strangely beautiful, curled up in three soft rings. Then it drifted apart and settled lightly over his face.

In that instant Urashima, who a moment before had been a strong and handsome young man of only 24, grew visibly old. His straight back bent over. His black hair turned as white as snow. His young face was etched with the wrinkles of the years. In a single moment, the 300 years he had never lived seemed to pour all at once into his body.

He stood there on the familiar sand, where long ago a young man had walked home with his net after a day of fishing. The sea still lapped at the shore as steadily as on that evening, when he had bent down to save a little turtle from the mischievous children. Only now the man gazing out to sea had eyes that had looked across 300 years. He was no longer the young man of that evening. Urashima Taro stood gazing out to sea like that for a long, long time. His white hair blended with the whitecaps, before the same sea where, 300 years earlier, he had let the little turtle go.