The Willow of Mukochima
NOT far from Matsue, the great city of the Province of the Gods, there once dwelt a widow and her son. Their wooden hut looked upon the Shinji Lake set in a framework of mountain peaks. Ayame was true to the old religion, the worship of the descendants of Izanagi and Izanami. Long ere the sun rose above the chain of hills, she was up, and, with Umewaki’s hand clasped closely in her own, went down to the verge of the lake. First they laved their faces in the cool water, then, turning towards the east, they clapped their hands four times and saluted the sun. “Konnichi Sama! All hail to thee, Day-Maker. Shine and bring joy to the Place of the Issuing of Clouds.” Then, having turned towards the west, mother and son blessed the holy, immemorial shrine of Kitzuki; towards the north and the south they turned and prayed to the gods, unto each one, who dwell in the blue Plain of High Heaven.
Umewaki’s father had been dead many years, and the love of the mother was centred upon her son. He was in the open air from sunrise to nightfall; sometimes by Ayame’s side, sometimes alone, watching the heron or the crane, or listening to the sweet call of the yamabato. The hut was in a remote spot, but Ayame felt that her son was safe in the keeping of the good gods.
It was a beautiful summer morning. Ayame and Umewaki awakened soon after dawn. Hand in hand they went to the shore of Lake Shinji. It still slept beneath the faintly-tinged haze. The Lady of Fire had not whispered of her approach to the soft mists that veiled the hills. Mother and son waited patiently. As the Day-Maker appeared, they cried, “Konnichi Sama! Great Goddess, shine upon thy land. Give it beauty and peace and joy.” Then mother and son returned to the hut. Ayame plied her shuttle, and Umewaki left her to wander in the woods.
Noon came. “My boy has met some woodcutter; he talks with him in the shade of the pine trees,” she thought. As the evening drew on, she said, “He is with little Kime, his playmate, but I shall soon hear his soft footstep.” Night fell. “Once only has he been so late; when he went to Matsue with the good Shijo.” She looked through the paper window, and then stepped out. The hills cast a mysterious shadow on the surface of the lake. Still there was no sign of Umewaki. The mother called his name. No response came save the echo of her own voice. Now she searched far and near. To every peasant she put the question, “Have you seen my Umewaki?” But she always received the same answer. At last she returned home weary: “He may be there waiting for me,” she thought. It was midnight: the hut was empty. Ayame was heavy at heart, and as she lay upon her mat she wept bitterly, and cried to the gods to give her back her son. So the night passed. In the morning she learned that a band of robbers had been seen among the mountains.
Poor Umewaki had, in truth, been stolen by the robbers. He was watched night and day, and had no chance of escape. From town to town they travelled. Through strange villages where the name of Buddha was upon the lips of the people, across great plains unsheltered by mountains. The summer passed, and autumn came. Still the men would not let Umewaki go. They treated him cruelly, and he began to pine away. Then the robbers knew that he was of no use to them. As they neared Yedo, they left him, faint and weary, on the roadside. A kind man of Mukochima found the poor little fellow and carried him to his home. But Umewaki had not long to live. On the fifteenth day of the third month, the day sacred to the awakening of the Spring, he opened his eyes, and called to the good woman who tended him, “Tell my dear mother that I love her, and would stay with her, but the Lady of the Great Light calls me, and I must obey.”