The Princess of Hase

This moral story for children ages 6-12 combines entertainment with important values.

Long ago in the ancient capital of Nara, during the time when emperors still ruled from that sacred city, there lived a noble lord named Fujiwara no Toyonari. He was a man of high rank and great wisdom, respected by all who knew him.

Lord Fujiwara’s wife was Princess Murasaki, a woman of exceptional beauty and kindness. For many years, they lived together in happiness, but their joy was incomplete, for they had no children. In those days, having no heir to carry on one’s name and care for one’s ancestors was considered a great misfortune.

“My lord,” Princess Murasaki said one day, “let us make a pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-dera, where the great statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy, dwells. Perhaps if we pray with sincere hearts, she will bless us with a child.”

Lord Fujiwara agreed, and together they traveled to the famous temple at Hase, in the province of Yamato. There stood a magnificent statue of Kannon carved from a single camphor tree, towering high above the worshippers. For one hundred days, the couple came to the temple and prayed with all their hearts.

Their devotion moved the compassionate Kannon, and their prayers were answered. Princess Murasaki became pregnant, and in due time, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. They named her Hase-hime—Princess Hase—after the temple where they had prayed for her.

The child grew in beauty and grace, bringing joy to her parents’ hearts. She was gentle and obedient, with a kind word for everyone. Lord Fujiwara and Princess Murasaki watched her with pride, knowing that their prayers had been answered beyond their dreams.

But happiness in this world is often fleeting, like cherry blossoms in the wind. When Hase-hime was only five years old, Princess Murasaki fell gravely ill. The court physicians could do nothing to help her. As she lay dying, she called her little daughter to her bedside.

“My precious Hase-hime,” the princess said, her voice weak, “I must leave you soon. I will not see you grow into a woman, will not see you marry, will not hold your children. This causes me great sorrow.”

The little girl wept, not fully understanding death but knowing that her mother was going away.

“Listen carefully to my words,” Princess Murasaki continued. “You must always obey your father and bring him no shame. Be patient and kind, no matter what trials come to you. And remember—” here she paused to gather her strength—”your father will marry again. He must have someone to manage the household and perhaps give him a son. When that day comes, you must treat your new mother with respect and obedience, even if she is not kind to you. Promise me this.”

“I promise, Mother,” Hase-hime said through her tears. “I will be good always.”

Princess Murasaki smiled, touched her daughter’s cheek one last time, and closed her eyes forever.

After the proper period of mourning, Lord Fujiwara did indeed take a new wife, as was expected of a man of his station. His second wife was named Lady Terute. She was beautiful and accomplished, but her heart was cold and jealous.

Lady Terute soon bore Lord Fujiwara a son, and her jealousy of Hase-hime grew fierce. “Why should this girl from another woman be loved when my son is here?” she thought. “She will take inheritance that should go to my child.”

From that day forward, Lady Terute treated Hase-hime with great cruelty. She gave the girl the worst food, the coldest room in the house, and the most difficult chores. She scolded her for the smallest mistakes and never gave her a kind word.

But Hase-hime remembered her mother’s dying wish. No matter how badly her stepmother treated her, she remained respectful and obedient. She served Lady Terute without complaint, never spoke ill of her to anyone, and continued to perform her duties perfectly.

Years passed, and Hase-hime grew into a beautiful young woman of exceptional grace and skill. She excelled in poetry, music, calligraphy, and all the arts expected of a noble lady. Her beauty and accomplishments were talked about throughout the capital.

This only increased Lady Terute’s hatred. “Everyone speaks of how wonderful she is,” the stepmother fumed. “No one notices my own son! I must be rid of this girl.”

One day, when Lord Fujiwara was away at the imperial court, Lady Terute summoned one of the household servants, a man named Katoda. “Take Princess Hase-hime into the mountains,” she commanded, “and kill her. Then bring me proof that the deed is done.”

Katoda was shocked. “My lady! How can I kill the master’s daughter? It would be a terrible crime!”

“Do as I say, or I will tell my husband that you tried to harm me,” Lady Terute threatened. “Who do you think he will believe—his wife or a servant?”

Reluctantly, Katoda agreed. He told Hase-hime that her stepmother wished her to visit a certain mountain temple. The innocent girl, still obedient, followed him into the wilderness.

When they reached a remote part of the mountains, Katoda stopped. With tears in his eyes, he told Hase-hime of Lady Terute’s cruel order.

“I cannot kill you, princess,” he said. “You have never done anything but good. But I also cannot return without proof of your death, or Lady Terute will destroy me and my family.”

Hase-hime, though terrified, remained calm. She had been raised on Buddhist teachings about compassion and the impermanence of life. “I understand,” she said quietly. “If my death is fated, I accept it. But please, allow me one last prayer before I die.”

She knelt beneath a great cedar tree and began to pray to Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy who had granted her life. “Merciful Kannon,” she prayed, “if it is my karma to die now, I accept it peacefully. But if I am to live longer, please protect me.”

As she prayed, a strange thing happened. The wind rose suddenly, and clouds gathered in the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Katoda, who was raising his sword to strike, suddenly felt his arm grow weak. He could not bring himself to harm someone so pure and innocent.

“Princess,” he said, “I cannot do this. Run! Hide yourself deep in these mountains. I will tell Lady Terute that you are dead. Perhaps you can find safety somewhere far from here.”

He cut off a lock of her hair to show as proof, then fled back down the mountain.

Hase-hime was left alone in the wilderness. She had no food, no shelter, and no way to return home. Night was falling. She found a small cave beneath an overhanging rock and curled up inside, cold and frightened but still grateful to be alive.

In the morning, she emerged from the cave and began to wander through the mountains. She survived by eating wild berries and drinking from mountain streams. At night, she prayed to Kannon for protection.

On the third day, as she stumbled through the forest, weak from hunger, she came upon a small hermitage. An old Buddhist nun lived there, practicing meditation far from the world of men.

The nun, whose name was Myoe, took one look at the exhausted, dirty girl and knew immediately that something terrible had happened. She brought Hase-hime inside, gave her food and water, and listened to her story.

“You may stay here with me,” Myoe said. “I am old and will soon die. You can care for me in my final days, and in return, I will teach you the deepest Buddhist teachings.”

And so Hase-hime lived in the mountain hermitage for two years. She cared for the old nun and learned profound wisdom about compassion, impermanence, and the nature of suffering. When Myoe finally died peacefully in meditation, Hase-hime performed the proper funeral rites and continued to live alone in the hermitage, spending her days in prayer and meditation.

Meanwhile, back in Nara, Lord Fujiwara had finally learned the truth. A servant, tormented by guilt, had revealed Lady Terute’s plot. Lord Fujiwara was horrified and furious. He immediately divorced Lady Terute and sent her away in disgrace. Then he organized search parties to scour the mountains for his daughter, though he feared she must be dead.

One day, a monk who had been searching the remote mountain paths came upon the hermitage. He found Hase-hime there, thin and pale but alive, deep in meditation before a small statue of Kannon.

“Princess!” he cried. “Your father has been searching for you desperately! He knows the truth of what happened!”

When Hase-hime was finally reunited with her father, he wept with joy and relief. “My daughter! I thought I had lost you forever! Can you ever forgive me for not protecting you?”

“Father,” Hase-hime replied with a gentle smile, “there is nothing to forgive. What happened was my karma, and through it, I learned truths I would never have discovered in a comfortable palace. My mother taught me patience and obedience. My stepmother taught me about suffering and compassion. And the Buddha taught me that all hardships can lead to enlightenment if we face them with the right spirit.”

Lord Fujiwara marveled at his daughter’s wisdom. She had gone into the mountains as a girl and returned as a woman of deep spiritual understanding.

Soon after, a prince of the imperial family heard of Hase-hime’s beauty, grace, and wisdom. He asked for her hand in marriage, and Lord Fujiwara gladly consented. Hase-hime became a princess of the imperial court, respected by all for her kindness and her deep understanding of Buddhist teachings.

But she never forgot her time in the mountains, and she always kept a small statue of Kannon in her chambers, remembering the goddess who had protected her and the mother who had taught her to endure all things with patience and grace.

The story of Princess Hase spread throughout Japan, teaching people that cruelty will be revealed and punished, that virtue will ultimately be rewarded, and that suffering faced with patience and faith can transform us into better, wiser beings.