# Anthology of Japanese Literature/The Umbrella Oracle

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​The Umbrella Oracle
[Saikaku Shokoku-banashi, I, iv] by Ihara Saikaku
Saikaku wrote his famous “Tales from the Provinces,” the collection from which this story is taken, in 1685. From his early youth he had been fond of travel and now, at the age of forty-three, he attempted to record the most interesting of the stories, tales, legends, and incidents that he had heard or witnessed in his travels throughout Japan.
Commendable indeed is the spirit of philanthropy in this world of ours!
To the famous “Hanging Temple of Kwannon” in the Province of Kii, someone had once presented twenty oil-paper umbrellas which, repaired every year, were hung beside the temple for the use of any and all who might be caught in the rain or snow. They were always conscientiously returned when the weather improved—not a single one had ever been lost.
One day in the spring of 1649, however, a certain villager borrowed one of the umbrellas and, while he was returning home, had it blown out of his hands by a violent “divine wind” that blew up suddenly from the direction of the shrine on Tamazu Isle. The umbrella was blown completely out of sight, and though the villager bemoaned its loss there was not a thing he could do.
Borne aloft by the wind, the umbrella landed finally in the little hamlet of Anazato, far in the mountains of the island of Kyushu. The people of this village had from ancient times been completely cut off from the world and—uncultured folk that they were—had never even seen an umbrella! All of the learned men and elders of the village gathered around to discuss the curious object before ​them—reaching agreement, however, only upon the fact that none of them had ever before seen anything like it.
Finally one local wise man stepped forth and proclaimed, “Upon counting the radiating bamboo ribs, there are exactly forty. The paper too is round and luminous, and not of the ordinary kind. Though I hesitate to utter that August Name, this is without a doubt the God of the Sun, whose name we have so often heard, and is assuredly his divine attribute from the Inner Sanctuary of the Great Shrine of Ise, which has deigned to fly to us here!”
All present were filled with awe. Hurriedly the salt water of purification was scattered about the ground and the divinity installed upon a clean reed mat; and the whole population of the village went up into the mountains and, gathering wood and rushes, built a shrine that the deity’s spirit might be transferred hence from Ise. When they had paid reverence to it, the divine spirit did indeed enter the umbrella.
At the time of the summer rains the site upon which the shrine was situated became greatly agitated, and the commotion did not cease. When the umbrella was consulted, the following oracle was delivered: “All this summer the sacred hearth has been simply filthy, with cockroaches boiled in the holy vessels and the contamination reaching even to my Inner Shrine! Henceforth, in this entire province, let there not be a single cockroach left alive! I also have one other request. I desire you to select a beautiful young maiden as a consolation offering for me. If this is not done within seven days, without fail, I will cause the rain to fall in great torrents; I will rain you all to death, so that the seed of man remains no more upon the earth!”
Thus spake the oracle.
The villagers were frightened out of their wits. They held a meeting, and summoned all the maidens of the village to decide which one should serve the deity. But the young maidens, weeping and wailing, strongly protested the umbrella-god’s cruel demand. When asked the reason for their excess of grief, they cried, “How could we ​survive even one night with such a god?”—for they had come to attach a peculiar significance to the odd shape which the deity had assumed.
At this juncture a young and beautiful widow from the village stepped forward, saying, “Since it is for the god, I will offer myself in place of the young maidens.”
All night long the beautiful widow waited in the shrine, but she did not get a bit of affection. Enraged, she charged into the inner sanctum, grasped the divine umbrella firmly in her hands and screaming, “Worthless deceiver!” she tore it apart, and threw the pieces as far as she could!
Translated by Richard Lane