My Lord Bag of Rice

My Lord Bag of Rice

Long ago in Japan, there lived a brave warrior named Fujiwara Hidesato. In time, people came to call him Tawara Toda—My Lord Bag of Rice. This is how he earned that unusual name. One clear morning, Hidesato set out on a journey. A quiver of arrows hung across his back, a great bow was in his hand, and unknown roads lay ahead. Before long he reached a bridge over Lake Biwa. But as soon as he stepped onto its wooden boards, he stopped. A huge dragon lay across the entire bridge. Its body was as thick as an old pine trunk, its tail touched one end of the bridge, and a great paw hung over the other. A little flame drifted from its nostrils, and each breath sent out curls of smoke. Hidesato felt his heart beat faster. “There is no road back,” he said quietly to himself. “And there is a road ahead.” He walked on slowly. He stepped over a scaly paw, passed between the coils of the great body, and did not look back. When the bridge was behind him, someone called, “Noble warrior, wait!” Hidesato turned. The dragon was gone. A man in green robes decorated with shell patterns stood on the bridge. A strange crown like a dragon’s head shone above his brow. “Did you call to me?” Hidesato asked. “I did. I am the Dragon King of Lake Biwa. The creature on the bridge was a magical form I used. For many days I have waited for a person who would not flee merely from my appearance.” “Why did you need such a person?” The Dragon King sighed. “On Mount Mikami lives a giant centipede. Every night it comes down to the lake and terrifies my family. We cannot live peacefully in our own home. I have been searching for someone brave enough to help us.” Hidesato looked toward the distant mountain. “I will try,” he said. The Dragon King led him to his palace beneath the lake. Water opened before them like a clear curtain. Beyond it stood a palace of white stone and pearl columns, with gardens where golden fish moved among corals. A feast was held for the guest. Golden fish danced, red carp played stringed instruments, and silver trout carried dishes on shining trays. Hidesato had almost forgotten why he had come when the floor trembled. Thump. Thump. Thump. From far away came a rumble like a hundred drums walking across the mountains. “It is coming,” whispered the Dragon King. Two lights appeared on the dark hillside. Then came dozens more—the bright eyes and many feet of the giant centipede. Hidesato took his bow. Only three arrows remained in his quiver. He drew the first and released it. The arrow struck its mark but bounced from the creature’s hard armor. “Never mind,” Hidesato said. “I have two more.” The second arrow flew true as well, but could not pierce the monster’s strong shell. The Dragon King went pale. “One remains.” Hidesato looked quietly at his last arrow. He remembered an old lesson he had heard from hunters: ordinary weapons do not always overcome what seems impossible. Sometimes knowledge matters more than force. He dampened the arrowhead, drew the bow, and waited without rushing. When the centipede lifted its head, he released the string. The arrow crossed the night. This time the creature stopped sharply. The lights along its many legs began to go out, one by one. The giant centipede retreated from the lake, crawled back into the mountains, and never returned to the Dragon King’s lands. A strong wind rose. Thunder sounded over the lake, lightning flashed, and then all was still. Morning came. Sunlight shone over the water, and the people of the underwater palace stepped outside without fear for the first time in a long while. “You have saved our home,” said the Dragon King. “Allow us to thank you.” He ordered gifts brought before Hidesato. First came a great bronze bell. Then a bag of rice. Then a roll of silk. And then a marvelous cooking pot. Hidesato felt embarrassed. “I did not help you for a reward.” “That is why we wish to give one,” the king replied with a smile. Hidesato thanked him and set out for home. Servants of the Dragon King carried the gifts behind him, then bowed at the bridge and disappeared into the morning mist. At home, Hidesato soon learned that the gifts were no ordinary things. The bronze bell had a voice so clear that Hidesato gave it to a temple. Its sound traveled over fields and villages, reminding people of the passage of time. The bag of rice was enchanted. No matter how much rice was taken from it, it never became empty. The roll of silk never grew shorter. Cut a piece for festival clothes, and by morning it was as long as before. The cooking pot could prepare a meal by itself. One had only to place ingredients inside, cover it, and wait a little. Hidesato could have hidden these things and lived only for himself. Instead, he chose another way. When a nearby village had a poor harvest, rice from the bag went to families who lacked food. Silk helped people who needed warm clothes. The wonderful cooking pot often worked at large shared celebrations. People wondered, “How much rice can there be in that bag?” “Perhaps as much as a good heart needs,” Hidesato would joke. And so he became known as My Lord Bag of Rice. But he thought the magical things were not his greatest treasure. For that day on the bridge, Hidesato learned that courage does not mean feeling no fear. Courage begins when fear is there, and you still step forward because someone needs your help.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨