A New Year’s Gift (A Japanese Folktale)

One New Year’s Eve Day,

many years ago, an old man was carrying five cone-shaped hats into town to sell. Through the heavily falling snow, he caught sight of something red in the distance. He squinted and tried to discern what it was, but couldn’t.

Though he had traveled this road many times before, the old man wasn’t quite sure where he was. The depth of the snow was slowing his pace, and the heaviness of the snowfall was making it hard for his aging eyes to see.

I must be getting close to town by now, he thought to himself. I can’t have much farther to go. Then he looked around and tried to catch his bearings. Once again a slight flash of red caught his eye.

What could that be? he wondered, and as he thought, something occurred to him. Just outside of town, near a crossroads, there were six waist high statues of Ksitigarbha, a Buddhist deity known as jizou in Japan that swore to protect all living beings in the six realms of the living.

I’ll bet that’s what it is, the old man said to himself. I’ll bet that red thing is one of the bonnets on those stone jizou that are just outside of town. And on a whim, the old man began trudging through the snow in their direction.

When the old man got to the place where the six stone statues were standing, he was surprised to see that none of them were adorned in their typical red bonnets and bibs. He looked around and was even more surprised to find that there wasn’t anything red near the statues at all.

That’s strange, he thought.

I wonder what that could have been. He squinted off into the distance again, but all he saw was white. Moving his gaze back to the six statues, the old man felt a strange surge of compassion. The statues looked cold and neglected. Mounds of snow had built up on their heads and shoulders. Windblown bits of snow had begun to stick to their soft, round faces. Their feet and legs were hidden from sight.

Moved by a strange sensation, the old man reached out and cleared the growing mounds of snow from the statues’ heads and shoulders. He knelt down and dug their feet and legs out from the snow. Then, when he was finished, he took a step back from the statues, bowed deeply, turned, and started walking into town again.

He hadn’t gotten more than ten steps from the line of statues when he suddenly felt compelled to go back and look at them again. From ten steps away, he could barely discern the outlines of their figures through the falling snow.

Those poor things, he thought. Then he marched back over to them. Already, the snow he had just brushed from their heads was beginning to pile back up. Where are your bonnets? he asked out loud.

Standing before the statues, the old man thought for a minute. Then he untied the string on his shoulder and lowered the five cone-shaped hats that had been strung across his back. One at a time, the old man looked at each statue’s smooth, childlike face, gently reached out and wiped the snow from each statue’s head and shoulders, tied one of the straw hats that he and his elderly wife had to its head, and bowed before backing away and moving on to the next one.

Standing before the last statue, the old man reached out and wiped the snow from its head and shoulders before realizing that he didn’t have any hats left to give. What can I do? the old man thought while looking toward the other statues. Then it occurred to him. He was wearing a hat just like the ones he had given to the other statues. Without hesitation, the old man loosened the string of his own hat, removed it from his head, and placed it on the head of the remaining jizou.

When he was finished, he took a step backward and bowed very deeply. Big, wet flakes of snow landed on his thinning hair and melted. Cold drops of water slid down to his scalp and made him shiver. Well, there’s no point in going to town now, he thought, I don’t have anything left to sell. Then he pulled the straw covering off his shoulders, placed it over his head, and began heading home.

When the old man got home,

he slid the door open and somewhat timidly said, I’m home. Then he sat at the edge of the raised platform that ran into the single room of he and his wife’s house and removed the circular snowshoes and straw boots from his feet.

Welcome back, his wife chattily called out. That was quick. Were you able to … Before she finished her sentence, she abruptly stopped talking and looked at her husband as he entered their tiny home. Where’s your hat? she questioned. Why are you all wet?

Well, the old man began hesitantly, I gave it away.

You gave it away? his wife quickly asked.

Umm … the old man stammered, Yeah .... I gave them all away.

What do you mean you gave them all away? his wife implored. You gave each and every single hat away?

Well … the old man paused. Yeah.

Bewildered, the old woman curtly asked, Who did you give them too?

Umm … the old man began, Well … before I got to town, I came across those six Jizou states near the crossroads.

Jizou statues? the old woman quickly interrupted. Did you give our hats to a bunch of Jizou statues?

Yes, the old man started again, I did. You see, when I came across them, they were just standing there, covered in snow. They weren’t wearing any bonnets or bibs or anything, they were just covered in snow. And … I don’t know … something about them moved me. I can’t quite explain it, but I just felt like I ought to wipe the snow from their heads and shoulders and do what little I could for them.

As the old woman listened to her husband’s story, her eyes welled up with tears.

I’m sorry, the old man said. I know, tomorrow is New Year’s Day and we don’t have anything to celebrate with.

But the old woman wasn’t angry anymore. Something about her husband’s story had moved her, and she walked over to where her husband was standing, looked down at his feet, and said, What you did was a good thing. We’ll find a way to get by tomorrow. It’s okay.

Then she slowly raised her eyes until they met those of her husband, and the two of them suddenly burst into laughter while gazing at each other.

That night,

the old woman awoke to a strange sound. It was soft at first and slightly haunting, but as it continued without pause, it gradually grew in strength and volume. The old woman didn’t stir. With her eyes open and her brow slightly furrowed, she lay in her futon and listening. The noise seemed to be coming from all sides of the house. It seemed to be saying something.

Ten minutes passed, but the old woman didn’t do anything.

Twenty minutes passed, and still she lay in her futon listening.

Thirty minutes passed. The old woman became enchanted.

Then finally, she was able to understand. It was a song, a short, chant-like song that gently rolled up and down.

To the old man’s house, we go, we go.
Sharing our thanks with the gifts we tow.

As if awakening from a spell, the old woman threw the heavy winter blanket from her body and quickly got up onto her feet. She hurried over to where the old man was sleeping and shook his shoulders. Hey! Hey! Wake up! she whispered forcefully.

The old man’s head rocked back and forth.

Hey, she whispered a little more sharply. Hey!

The old man opened his eyes.

Hey! the old woman said again.

Hmm? the old man groaned. Then groggily, What is it?

Listen!

Pouring in from all sides of the house, the eerie song was quite loud now. It filled the old man’s ears:

To the old man’s house, we go, we go.
Sharing our thanks with the gifts we tow.

Continuing to grow in strength and volume, the chant continued until finally it appeared as if the source of the noise was standing right outside of the house, surrounding it. Neither the old man nor the old woman moved.

From his futon, the old man stared up into his wife’s frightened eyes. Kneeling at the old man’s side, the old woman stared down at her husband. Neither of them could move.

Suddenly, the night went silent, and in that brief moment of weightlessness the old man and the old woman quickly blinked their eyes and looked around. Nothing was askew.

Then.

Boom.

Something large and heavy slammed down to the ground and shook their house.

The old man quickly moved the old woman’s arm from his should and got up from his futon.

He hurried across the room over to the door of his house, stepped down onto the cool dirt of the foyer, undid the door latch, and threw it open. Without stopping to put on his wooden sandals, the old man stepped outside into the snow. He looked out into the darkness. In the distance, he saw what seemed to be the hazy silhouettes of six short figures running off into the night.

As the old man squinted in their direction, the old woman joined him, just beyond the doorway. Look! she gasped, while covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other.

The old man followed the line of his wife’s arm out to a place in front of their house where, sunken in the fresh and unbroken snow, a massive round disk of blindingly white mochi was surrounded by towers of beautifully lacquered wooden boxes. The old man, still barefoot, stepped further into the snow and walked over to them. His wife followed.

What is it? she asked.

It can’t be, the old man answered while reaching out and removing the lid from one of the boxes. You’re never going to believe this! he gasped. Then lifting the uppermost box from its base, he turned to his wife and said, Look!

Inside the box was the most beautiful food the old man and old woman had ever seen.

When she saw it, the old woman’s face filled with delight. She looked up at the old man, and the two of them stood there staring at each other, their faces full of wonder and amazement. Then, they turned and looked out into the darkness around them. Almost simultaneously, they began bowing and calling out in all directions:

Thank you!

Thank you!

Thank you!

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This is an original translation of a Japanese Folktale called Kasajizou. The text that I used to base this translation on can be found at http://hukumusume.com/douwa/. This site has a large database of basic Japanese folktales. All images used in this post were found at https://ukiyo-e.org.