Princess Hase: The Dutiful Daugh…

‘Princess Hase: The Dutiful Daugh…’ is an educational moral story perfect for bedtime reading with children ages 6-12.

In ancient Japan, high on a mountain slope where cherry blossoms bloomed each spring, there stood the estate of Lord Fujiwara, a respected daimyo. His mansion had elegant gardens with stone pathways, peaceful ponds, and bridges painted red like maple leaves in autumn.

Lord Fujiwara’s greatest treasure was his daughter, Princess Hase. She had inherited her mother’s grace and gentle spirit. The princess’s mother had died when Hase was very young, leaving behind only tender memories and a beautiful jade comb.

“Father,” young Hase would say, brushing her long black hair with her mother’s comb, “tell me again about Mother’s kindness.”

Lord Fujiwara would smile sadly and share stories of his beloved first wife while Hase listened, her eyes reflecting both sorrow and peace.

As Hase grew into a young woman, her beauty and gentle nature became known throughout the province. She moved through the estate like morning mist, speaking softly to servants, tending the garden, and practicing her calligraphy with dedication. Her kindness touched everyone she met.

But Lord Fujiwara was lonely, and his advisors pressed him to remarry. Eventually, he chose Lady Teruko, a widow from a neighboring province who had a daughter of her own.

On her wedding day, Lady Teruko arrived at the estate in a magnificent lacquered palanquin, her daughter Ayame walking beside it. Hase waited respectfully at the entrance, bowing low.

“Welcome to our home, Honored Mother,” Hase said softly. “I hope we may bring you happiness.”

Lady Teruko’s eyes swept over Hase, taking in the girl’s graceful bow, her simple but elegant silk kimono, and the way the servants looked at her with obvious affection. Something cold and hard settled in Lady Teruko’s heart.

“We shall see,” she replied coolly.

At first, Lord Fujiwara didn’t notice the change in his household. He was often away attending to his duties, traveling to the capital or managing his lands. But when he was home, Lady Teruko was all smiles and gentle words.

As soon as Lord Fujiwara left, however, everything changed.

“Princess Hase,” Lady Teruko would say, her voice sharp as a blade, “the garden needs weeding. You will do it yourself—the servants are busy with more important tasks.”

Hase would bow respectfully. “Yes, Honored Mother. I will do so at once.”

While Ayame wore the finest silk kimonos and spent her days playing music and painting, Hase was given increasingly difficult tasks. She scrubbed floors until her hands were red and rough. She carried water from the well in the cold winter mornings. She mended clothes by candlelight long after everyone else had gone to sleep.

The old nurse who had cared for Hase since birth watched with growing anger. “My lady,” she whispered to Hase one evening, “you must tell your father how you’re being treated! This is not right!”

But Hase shook her head gently, her fingers still moving the needle through fabric. “Father has found happiness again, Old Nurse. Lady Teruko makes him smile. I would not disturb his peace with complaints. It is my duty as a daughter to be obedient.”

“But she’s cruel!” the nurse protested.

“Then I must respond with kindness,” Hase said simply. “Perhaps my patience will soften her heart.”

Yet Lady Teruko’s heart only grew harder. She saw how the servants still loved Hase, how the gardener saved the prettiest flowers for her, how the cook always made sure Hase ate properly despite her stepmother’s orders. Most of all, she saw how Lord Fujiwara’s face lit up whenever he saw his daughter.

“She makes Ayame look plain by comparison,” Lady Teruko muttered to herself. “Something must be done.”

One day, a precious scroll went missing from Lord Fujiwara’s private study—a scroll that had belonged to his first wife. Lady Teruko went to her husband with tears in her eyes.

“My lord,” she sobbed, “I hesitate to speak, but I found this in Princess Hase’s room.” She produced the missing scroll from her sleeve. “I know she loved her mother, but to steal such a precious item…”

Lord Fujiwara’s face went pale. “There must be some mistake. Hase would never—”

“Perhaps,” Lady Teruko said carefully, “she resents me for taking her mother’s place. Perhaps she acted without thinking clearly.”

When Lord Fujiwara confronted Hase, she looked confused. “Father, I would never take anything from your study without permission. I don’t know how—”

“Enough!” Lord Fujiwara said, his voice heavy with disappointment. He didn’t want to believe his daughter would steal, but the evidence seemed clear. “You will go to the mountain temple and spend time in reflection. Perhaps the monks can teach you better discipline.”

Hase’s eyes filled with tears, but she bowed deeply. “As you wish, Father. I am sorry to have disappointed you.”

The old nurse packed Hase’s few belongings with tears streaming down her wrinkled face. “I know you didn’t take that scroll, my sweet girl. That wicked woman put it there!”

“Hush,” Hase whispered. “Speak no ill of my honored stepmother. I will go to the temple gladly. Perhaps there I can find peace and wisdom.”

The journey to the mountain temple was long and cold. Winter was coming, and the path was steep and rocky. But Hase climbed steadily, carrying her small bundle, her mother’s jade comb tucked safely in her sleeve.

At the temple, the monks were kind. They gave her simple food and a small room. In exchange, she helped in the temple gardens and learned to copy sacred texts with her beautiful calligraphy.

Months passed. Hase worked hard, never complaining, always patient and kind. Her calligraphy became so beautiful that people from distant provinces began requesting copies of sutras written in her elegant hand.

One day, a messenger arrived at the temple with urgent news. “The Emperor himself has heard of the calligrapher at this temple! He requests examples of your work!”

The head monk smiled at Hase. “Your talent and patience have borne fruit, child. Your work will be seen by the highest in the land.”

Meanwhile, back at the estate, Lady Teruko’s schemes had begun to unravel. One servant had seen her plant the scroll in Hase’s room. Another had witnessed her cruelty. Slowly, whispers reached Lord Fujiwara’s ears—whispers he could no longer ignore.

The truth struck him like lightning. His beloved daughter had been innocent all along!

Lord Fujiwara rushed to the mountain temple, his heart breaking with remorse. He found Hase in the garden, tending to winter chrysanthemums, her face serene despite her rough clothing and work-worn hands.

“Hase!” he cried, falling to his knees before her. “My daughter, forgive me! I was a fool. I didn’t protect you when you needed me most.”

Hase helped her father rise, tears running down her cheeks. But there was no anger in her eyes, only love. “Father, there is nothing to forgive. You did what you thought was right. I am just glad to see you again.”

“You should hate me,” Lord Fujiwara whispered. “You should be angry.”

“Anger and hatred are heavy burdens,” Hase said softly. “I chose patience and kindness instead. See what came of it?” She gestured to the temple, the peaceful gardens, the scrolls of her beautiful calligraphy. “This hardship taught me so much. It made me stronger.”

Lord Fujiwara embraced his daughter, overcome with emotion. “You have your mother’s spirit—gentle but unbreakable. I am so proud of you.”

They returned home together. Lady Teruko, faced with evidence of her cruelty, fell to her knees and begged forgiveness. Lord Fujiwara banished her and Ayame from his estate, though Hase asked him to be merciful in his judgment.

“Let anger go, Father,” she said. “They must live with their own consciences. That is punishment enough.”

News of Princess Hase’s virtue, talent, and forgiveness spread throughout Japan. Her calligraphy was indeed commissioned by the Imperial court. Young nobles came from distant provinces to see the daughter whose gentleness had proven stronger than cruelty.

But Hase remained humble. She continued to tend the gardens, to speak kindly to servants, to live simply. Each morning, she would brush her hair with her mother’s jade comb and remember the lesson she had learned: that true nobility comes not from position or power, but from how we treat others when life is hard.

The old nurse, now quite elderly, would watch Hase with shining eyes. “Your mother would be so proud,” she would say. “You are exactly the woman she hoped you’d become.”

And Hase would smile, looking out over the cherry blossoms that bloomed each spring—beautiful flowers that endured the harsh winter only to emerge more lovely than before, just like the young princess who had overcome cruelty with grace.