Urashima Tarō

In the gentle coastal village of Sumiyoshi, where fishing boats bobbed like colorful flowers on the morning tide and the scent of salt air mingled with the fragrance of blooming plum trees, there lived a young fisherman named Urashima Tarō. He was known throughout the village for his kind heart, his honest nature, and his remarkable skill with both rod and net. Unlike other fishermen who took pride in the size of their catch or the coins in their purse, Tarō found his greatest joy in the simple rhythm of the sea and the peaceful solitude of his small boat dancing on the waves.

Every morning, as the first light painted the eastern sky with delicate brushstrokes of pink and gold, Tarō would push his modest fishing boat into the gentle surf. He never took more fish than he needed, always returned the smallest ones to grow larger, and treated every creature of the sea with the respect due to a fellow inhabitant of the world.

On one particularly serene morning in late spring, when the cherry blossoms had finished their brief but glorious display and early summer flowers were beginning to show their colors, Tarō decided to try his luck in a quiet cove he had discovered several days earlier. The water there was so clear and still that it seemed like a mirror reflecting the sky, and he had seen promising signs of fish moving in the deeper waters.

As he rounded a rocky promontory that sheltered the cove from the open sea, Tarō heard something that made him stop rowing immediately. Rising above the gentle splash of waves against stone came the sound of cruel laughter mixed with what seemed to be cries of distress.

Concerned, Tarō guided his boat toward the source of the commotion. There, on a small stretch of sandy beach between two large rocks, he discovered a group of village children surrounding something on the sand. They were poking at their captive with sticks, laughing as it tried desperately to escape their torment.

“Please stop!” Tarō called out as he beached his boat and hurried toward them. “What are you doing?”

As he approached, he could see that the children had captured a large sea turtle—an ancient creature whose shell was covered with seaweed and barnacles that spoke of many years spent in the deep ocean. The poor animal was on its back, helpless, while the children continued their cruel game.

“It’s just an old turtle,” said one of the boys, a child Tarō recognized as the son of a merchant family. “We found it on the beach and we’re having fun with it.”

“Fun?” Tarō’s voice carried both sadness and gentle reproach. “Look at this magnificent creature. See how old it is, how far it has traveled. This turtle has seen wonders beyond our imagination, has survived storms and currents that would terrify grown men. How can causing suffering to such a being be considered fun?”

The children looked somewhat ashamed under Tarō’s gentle but firm gaze. They were not truly cruel children, merely thoughtless in the way that young people sometimes are when they have not yet learned to consider the feelings of others.

“But what harm does it do?” asked a girl with grass-stained hands. “It’s only a turtle.”

Tarō knelt beside the overturned creature, noting the exhaustion in its ancient eyes and the way its flippers moved weakly in its attempts to right itself. “Every living being deserves our respect and compassion,” he explained patiently. “This turtle has as much right to live in peace as we do. Would you like to be turned upside down and poked with sticks by giants?”

The children exchanged glances, beginning to understand the cruelty of their actions. One by one, they dropped their sticks and stepped back, their faces showing the shame that comes when one realizes they have been causing unnecessary suffering.

“We’re sorry, Urashima-san,” the merchant’s son said quietly. “We didn’t think about it like that.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Tarō replied warmly. “Now, shall we help this old friend return to his home?”

With great care, Tarō gently turned the turtle right-side up. The ancient creature was larger than he had first realized—easily the size of a large cooking pot—and its shell showed the scars and marks of a very long life. For a moment, the turtle lay still, as if gathering strength after its ordeal.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, the turtle turned its head and looked directly at Tarō. Its eyes, which had seemed dim with exhaustion, now held a depth of intelligence that was almost human. When it spoke, its voice was deep and resonant like the sound of distant waves.

“Young fisherman,” the turtle said, causing the children to gasp and step back in amazement, “you have shown kindness to one who could not help himself. In a world where many take pleasure in the suffering of others, you chose compassion. Such actions do not go unnoticed.”

Tarō, though surprised to hear the turtle speak, felt no fear. In his heart, he had always believed that the sea held mysteries beyond human understanding, and he accepted this miracle with the same calm acceptance he brought to sunrise and tide.

“I did only what anyone with a good heart would do, honored turtle,” Tarō replied respectfully. “All creatures deserve to live free from unnecessary suffering.”

The turtle’s ancient eyes seemed to glow with approval. “You speak truly, and your actions match your words. I am more than I appear to be, young Tarō. Allow me to offer you a gift in return for your kindness.”

“There is no need for gifts,” Tarō said gently. “Helping you was reward enough.”

“Nevertheless,” the turtle continued, “I would be honored if you would accept my invitation. Far beneath the waves lies a palace of wonder beyond mortal imagination. The Sea King’s daughter, Princess Otohime, has heard tales of your kindness to sea creatures. She would very much like to meet you and express her gratitude personally.”

The children stared in open-mouthed amazement as the turtle continued speaking.

“If you will climb upon my shell, I will carry you safely to the palace beneath the waves. There you will be honored as a friend of the sea, and you will see marvels that no other mortal has ever witnessed.”

Tarō looked at his simple fishing boat, then at the mysterious turtle who offered such an incredible adventure. His practical mind told him that such things were impossible, but his heart sensed that he stood at the threshold of something magical and important.

“Will I be able to return to my home?” he asked thoughtfully. “I have responsibilities here, people who depend on me.”

“Of course,” the turtle assured him. “You may return whenever you wish. Time moves differently in the palace beneath the waves, and what seems like days to you will pass like hours in your world above.”

The offer was too wondrous to refuse. After securing his boat so it would not drift away, Tarō carefully climbed onto the turtle’s broad shell. The ancient creature felt surprisingly steady beneath him, like a living island.

“Hold tight, young friend,” the turtle advised, “and do not fear. The sea protects those who show kindness to her children.”

As they entered the water, Tarō expected to feel the shock of cold seawater, but instead found himself surrounded by a warm, gentle current that seemed to carry its own air. He could breathe easily as they descended, and the water around them glowed with a soft, pearl-like radiance that illuminated their path.

Down, down they dove, past schools of colorful fish that swam in perfect formations like living flowers, past coral gardens that bloomed in impossible colors, past underwater mountains crowned with forests of swaying kelp. The deeper they went, the more magnificent the scenery became, until Tarō felt as though he were traveling through a dream made of light and water.

Finally, as they descended through what seemed like clouds of luminous plankton, the most incredible sight Tarō had ever imagined spread out below them. The Sea King’s palace rose from the ocean floor like a mountain made of pearl and coral, its towers and spires reaching upward through the blue-green depths. Gardens of sea anemones and underwater flowers surrounded the palace, tended by schools of fish that moved with purposeful intelligence.

The palace gates were guarded by enormous sea creatures—giant octopi whose tentacles moved in graceful welcome, dolphins whose eyes sparkled with wisdom, and great whales whose songs filled the water with music beyond description. As the turtle approached, the gates opened silently, revealing corridors that glowed with their own inner light.

Inside the palace, Tarō found himself in a great hall whose beauty exceeded anything in the mortal world. The walls were made of living coral that grew in perfect patterns, the floor was covered with the finest sand embedded with pearls and precious stones, and the ceiling stretched so high it was lost in gentle blue shadows.

At the far end of the hall, seated on a throne carved from a single enormous pearl, was Princess Otohime herself. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long black hair that flowed around her like liquid silk, skin that seemed to hold the soft glow of moonlight on water, and eyes as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself. Her robes were woven from sea silk and adorned with gems that captured and reflected light like trapped starfire.

“Welcome, Urashima Tarō,” the princess said, her voice carrying the musical quality of waves breaking gently on a peaceful shore. “Your reputation for kindness has reached even these depths. You honor us with your presence.”

Tarō bowed deeply, overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur surrounding him. “Your Highness, I am deeply honored by your invitation, though I feel I have done nothing to deserve such magnificent hospitality.”

Princess Otohime smiled, and her smile seemed to brighten the entire hall. “Kindness is the rarest treasure in any world, Tarō. You protected one of our people when you could have easily ignored his plight. Such compassion deserves recognition and reward.”

What followed were the most wonderful days of Tarō’s life. The princess herself showed him the marvels of her underwater realm. They walked through gardens where coral grew in patterns more beautiful than any earthly flower arrangement, where fish painted living pictures in the water with their synchronized movements, and where the very sand sparkled with embedded diamonds and emeralds.

They visited the palace library, where scrolls made from processed kelp contained the wisdom of the sea, recording thousands of years of ocean history and the stories of every ship that had ever sailed above. The princess read to him tales of great storms and gentle calms, of brave sailors and tragic voyages, of treasures lost and loves remembered.

In the music chambers, Tarō heard compositions played by orchestras of sea creatures—whales providing the deep bass notes, dolphins contributing melodic themes, and schools of small fish creating intricate harmonies. The music was unlike anything he had ever experienced, seeming to resonate not just in his ears but in his very soul.

The palace kitchens served feasts that delighted every sense. Delicate seaweeds prepared with subtle flavors, fruits that grew only in underwater groves, and dishes that seemed to capture the essence of the sea itself. Everything was served on plates made from polished shells and accompanied by wines that tasted of distilled moonlight.

But most wonderful of all was the company of Princess Otohime herself. She was not only beautiful but wise, kind, and genuinely interested in learning about the world above the waves. They would spend hours in conversation, she asking about life in his village, he marveling at the wonders of her realm.

“Tell me about the sunrise,” she would say, her eyes bright with curiosity. “We see only the dancing patterns of light that filter down to us, but I have always wondered what it truly looks like when the sun first appears above the horizon.”

Tarō would do his best to describe the daily miracle he had witnessed thousands of times, trying to find words for the way the sky changed colors, the way the light seemed to pour across the water like liquid gold, the way the whole world seemed to wake up with the coming of the new day.

In return, the princess would show him the secret wonders of her domain—the nurseries where baby sea creatures were tended with loving care, the workshops where skilled artisans created beautiful objects from living coral and pearl, the sacred chambers where the ancient spirits of the sea were honored and consulted.

Days flowed into one another like a gentle current, each bringing new wonders and deepening the friendship between the kind fisherman and the sea princess. Tarō had never been happier, had never felt more valued and appreciated. In Princess Otohime’s company, he felt as though he were the most interesting and important person in the world.

But as time passed—though he could not say how much time, for in the palace beneath the waves, each day seemed timeless and perfect—Tarō began to feel a small but growing sense of unease. He thought more frequently of his village, of the familiar sights and sounds of his simple life above the waves.

“Princess,” he said one day as they sat in a garden where luminous flowers swayed in the gentle currents, “I have been deeply honored by your hospitality, but I find myself missing my home. Might I return to visit my village, just for a short while?”

Princess Otohime’s beautiful face clouded with sadness, though she tried to hide it. “Of course, dear Tarō. You are not a prisoner here, but an honored guest who may come and go as he pleases. But I confess, your departure will bring great sorrow to my heart.”

“It would only be a brief visit,” Tarō assured her, touched by her obvious distress. “I would return soon, I promise.”

The princess was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently stroking a coral flower that glowed brighter under her touch. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a weight of sadness that seemed to come from deep understanding.

“I will not try to persuade you to stay against your wishes,” she said softly. “But I fear that once you return to your world above, you may find it more changed than you expect. Time, as I mentioned, moves differently here. What has seemed like a few pleasant weeks to you…”

She paused, unable to continue.

“What do you mean?” Tarō asked, a chill of premonition running through him despite the warm currents of the palace.

“I had hoped you might stay with us forever,” the princess admitted, tears like liquid pearls beginning to form in her eyes. “But I understand that your heart belongs to the world above. Before you go, please accept this gift.”

She produced a beautiful box made from the finest jade, decorated with intricate carvings of sea creatures and bound with cords of woven sea silk. The box was small enough to hold in two hands, but it seemed to pulse with its own mysterious life.

“This tamatebako contains a precious gift,” Princess Otohime explained, her voice trembling slightly. “But you must promise me—no matter what happens, no matter how curious you become, you must never open this box. As long as it remains sealed, it will protect you. But if you open it…”

She could not finish the sentence, but placed the box gently in Tarō’s hands.

“I promise,” Tarō said solemnly, though he did not understand why a simple box should inspire such serious warnings.

The farewell was bittersweet. The entire court of the sea palace gathered to see Tarō off, presenting him with gifts of rare shells and pearls to remember them by. But it was the princess’s farewell that touched him most deeply.

“You have brought light to our realm, Urashima Tarō,” she said, embracing him gently. “Know that you will always have a home here beneath the waves, and friends who think of you with love.”

The same ancient turtle that had brought him to the palace carried him back to the surface. As they rose through the blue-green depths, passing the wonderful sights he had come to know so well, Tarō felt his heart torn between excitement at seeing his home again and sadness at leaving such beauty behind.

When they finally broke the surface of the sea, Tarō was surprised to see that it was late afternoon rather than the morning he had expected. The sun was beginning its descent toward the western horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that seemed almost pale compared to the vibrant colors of the underwater palace.

“Thank you for everything, honored turtle,” Tarō said as they approached the familiar shore.

“Remember the princess’s warning,” the turtle replied seriously. “The box must never be opened. Your happiness depends on heeding her words.”

Tarō nodded solemnly and climbed down from the turtle’s shell. As he waded toward shore, he turned back to wave goodbye, but the turtle had already disappeared beneath the waves, leaving only gentle ripples to mark its passage.

But as Tarō looked around, trying to get his bearings, he began to notice that something was terribly wrong. The shoreline looked familiar, but different. The rocks were worn smoother than he remembered, and the beach was shaped differently. Where there had been a small fishing hut, there was now only a pile of weather-beaten boards.

Confused and increasingly worried, Tarō hurried toward his village. But the path he had walked countless times seemed strange, overgrown with plants he didn’t recognize. When he finally reached what should have been the outskirts of Sumiyoshi, he stopped in shock.

The village was completely different. The houses were built in an unfamiliar style, the streets followed different patterns, and the people he saw were all strangers. Their clothing, too, seemed odd—similar to what he knew but somehow more elaborate, as if fashions had evolved in ways he couldn’t understand.

Heart pounding with growing panic, Tarō approached an elderly woman who was tending a small garden.

“Excuse me, grandmother,” he said politely, “but could you tell me—is this the village of Sumiyoshi?”

The old woman looked up at him with cloudy eyes, studying his appearance with confusion. “It is indeed Sumiyoshi, young man, though I do not recognize you. Are you perhaps visiting from another village?”

“I… I live here,” Tarō said uncertainly. “At least, I used to. I am Urashima Tarō, the fisherman. Perhaps you know my house, near the harbor?”

The old woman’s eyes widened, and she stepped back with an expression of fear and amazement. “Urashima Tarō? But that cannot be! Urashima Tarō was my great-grandfather’s grandfather. He disappeared from this village over a hundred years ago!”

The world seemed to spin around Tarō as the terrible truth began to dawn on him. Princess Otohime’s words echoed in his memory: “Time moves differently here. What has seemed like a few pleasant weeks to you…”

“A hundred years?” he whispered, looking down at his hands, which still appeared young and strong. “But that’s impossible. I was only in the palace for a few weeks.”

Other villagers had begun to gather, drawn by the commotion. An elderly man with a long white beard approached, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Did you say Urashima Tarō?” the old man asked. “There is indeed a legend about such a man. It is said that he saved a sea turtle and was taken to the palace of the Sea King. But that story is from the time of our ancestors’ ancestors.”

Tarō felt as though the ground was shifting beneath his feet. Everyone he had ever known—his parents, his friends, his neighbors—all were long dead. The life he had planned to return to had vanished while he spent what he thought were merely days in paradise.

“The legend says,” the old man continued thoughtfully, “that Urashima Tarō was given a box by the Sea Princess, but was warned never to open it. Some say the box contained his lost time, others that it held his mortality. But all versions of the story agree that the box was the key to the mystery.”

Tarō looked down at the beautiful jade box in his hands, Princess Otohime’s warnings echoing in his memory. But what did warnings matter now? His old life was gone, everyone he had ever cared about was long dead, and he was alone in a world that had moved on without him.

Perhaps the box held answers. Perhaps it contained some way to reverse what had happened, or at least to understand it. Despite his promise to the princess, desperation and grief overwhelmed his better judgment.

With trembling hands, Tarō untied the silk cords and slowly opened the jade box.

What emerged was not treasure or magic artifacts, but something far more powerful and terrible—a great cloud of white smoke or mist that seemed to contain within it all the years that had passed while he was in the underwater palace. The smoke swirled around him, and as it touched his skin, Tarō felt a century of time rushing through his body all at once.

His hair turned white as snow, his strong back bent with age, and his smooth skin became lined and weathered. In moments, he had aged from a young man to an ancient one, his body finally catching up with the hundred years that had passed in the world above.

As the mist dissipated and the box crumbled to dust in his withered hands, Tarō understood the princess’s gift and her warning. The box had contained his youth, preserving it as long as it remained sealed. By opening it, he had released all the time that had been held back, and now he was as old as he should have been if he had lived through all those years in the mortal world.

The villagers who had gathered around stepped back in amazement and fear as they witnessed this transformation. But Tarō felt no anger, only a deep, profound sadness mixed with understanding.

He had been given a choice, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. He could have remained in the timeless paradise beneath the waves, living forever in beauty and happiness with Princess Otohime. Or he could return to his mortal world, accepting the passage of time and the loss that comes with it.

In his homesickness, he had chosen to return, but in opening the box, he had also chosen to face the full consequences of time’s passage. Now he understood that there are no perfect choices in life, only different paths with different prices.

As the sun set over the changed village of Sumiyoshi, the ancient Urashima Tarō sat down on a stone by the harbor, looking out over the sea that had once carried him to such wonders. He thought of Princess Otohime, waiting in her palace beneath the waves, and wondered if she had known what choice he would ultimately make.

The villagers, gradually overcoming their initial shock, began to approach him with kindness. Though he was a stranger from another time, they could see the sadness in his ancient eyes and the weight of profound loss that he carried.

“Grandfather Urashima,” said the old man who had first spoken of the legend, “you have returned to us from a story, and now you must help us understand what your journey means.”

And so, in his final years, Urashima Tarō became the village storyteller, sharing the tale of his incredible journey with anyone who would listen. He spoke of the wonders beneath the waves, of the kindness of Princess Otohime, and of the choices that define our lives.

But most of all, he taught the children who gathered around him to be kind to all creatures, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. For kindness, he would tell them, opens doors to wonders beyond imagination—though every wonder comes with its own price, and every choice shapes the story of our lives in ways we cannot foresee.

When Urashima Tarō finally passed away, still looking out over the sea he had loved so much, the villagers said that on calm nights, you could sometimes see a gentle glow beneath the waves—Princess Otohime, still waiting faithfully for her friend to return to the timeless paradise where love conquers even the passage of years.