A young woodcutter named Taro lived
with his mother and father on a lonely
hillside. All day long he chopped wood
in the forest. Though he worked very
hard, he earned very little money. This made him sad, for he was a thoughtful
son and wanted to give his old parents
everything they needed.
One evening, when Taro and his
parents were sitting in a corner of their
hut, a strong wind began to blow. It
whistled through the cracks of the hut
and everyone felt very cold. Suddenly
Taro’s father said, “I wish I had a cup of
sake; it would warm me and do my old
heart good.”
This made Taro sadder than ever,
for the heart-warming drink called
saké was very expensive. ‘How do I
earn more money?’ he asked himself.
‘How do I get a little saké for my poor
old father?’ He decided to work harder
than before.
Next morning, Taro jumped out of
bed earlier than usual and made his
way to the forest. He chopped and cut,
chopped and cut as the sun climbed,
and soon he was so warm that he had
to take off his jacket. His mouth was
dry, and his face was wet with sweat.
‘My poor old father!’ he thought. ‘If only
he was as warm as I!’
And with that he began to chop even heard? Could it be, could it possibly be
rushing water?
Taro could not remember ever seeing
or hearing a rushing stream in that part
of the forest. He was thirsty. The axe
dropped out of his hands and he ran in
the direction of the sound.
Taro saw a beautiful little waterfall
hidden behind a rock. Kneeling at a
place where the water flowed quietly,
he cupped a little in his hands and
put it to his lips. Was it water? Or was
it saké? He tasted it again and again,
and always it was the delicious saké
instead of cold water.
Taro quickly filled the pitcher he had
with him and hurried home. The old
man was delighted with the sake. After
only one swallow of the liquid he stopped shivering and did a little dance in the middle of the floor.
That afternoon, a neighbour stopped
by for a visit. Taro’s father politely offered
her a cup of the saké. The lady drank it
greedily, and thanked the old man. Then
Taro told her the story of the magic
water fall. Thanking them for the
delicious drink, she left in a hurry. By
nightfall she had spread the story
throughout the whole village.
That evening there was a long
procession of visitors to the woodcutter’s house. Each man heard the story of the waterfall, and took a sip of the sake. In less than an hour the pitcher was empty.
Next morning, Taro started for work
even earlier than the morning before.
He carried with him the largest pitcher
he owned, for he intended first of all to
go to the waterfall. When he reached
it, he found to his great surprise all his
neighbours there. They were carrying
pitchers, jars, buckets — anything they
could find to hold the magic saké. Then
one villager knelt and held his mouth
under the waterfall to drink. He drank
again and again, and then shouted
angrily, “Water! Nothing but water!”
Others also tried, but there was no
sake, only cold water.
We have been tricked!” shouted the
villagers. “Where is Taro? Let us drown
him in this waterfall.” But Taro had been wise enough to slip behind a rock when he saw how things were going. He was nowhere to be found.
Muttering their anger and
disappointment, the villagers left the
place one by one. Taro came out from
his hiding place. Was it true, he
wondered? Was the sake a dream?
Once more he caught a little liquid in
his hand and put it to his lips. It was
the same fine saké. To the thoughtful
son, the magic waterfall gave the
delicious sake. To everyone else, it gave
only cold water.
The story of Taro and his magic
waterfall reached the Emperor of Japan.
He sent for the young woodcutter, and
rewarded him with twenty pieces of gold for having been so good and kind. Then he named the most beautiful fountain in the city after Taro. This, said the Emperor, was to encourage all children to honour and obey their parents.
