Once upon a time, there lived an old farmer Fusao, with his wife Fuyumi, and son Daichi in a small village in Japan. Daichi loved to write. However, he feared he would not be considered as part of the family if he did not keep up with the family occupation and tradition of becoming a farmer. So he decided to become a farmer too, just like his Oto-san (father).
But Fusao wished otherwise!
‘Son, I’m a poor farmer. I have nothing much to give you other than this piece of land. But I know you have it in you to be a writer and the world will talk about you in times to come. I know it!’ said Fusao, holding Daichi
by his shoulders.
“Thank you, Oto-san, but I think I should look after the family, just like you do. Be a good farmer, just like you are. Just like a good farmer tills his land, sows his seeds, watches his fields of rice in full glory, and puts a smile on his family’s face. I want to be that farmer.” Daichi said as he looked Fusao in the eye.
Fusao opened his cupboard and got something out. Daichi could not understand what it was.
How exquisite! thought Daichi.
As Fusao spread out the shining mat, Daichi saw blue and silver brocade heri (edgings). It was a tatami (traditional Japanese mat)! A silver and blue tatami ! What a marvel, this rice straw mat, one unlike any other he had ever seen.
“Here, son, it’s no ordinary tatami . I inherited it from my Oto-san. It’s a magical tatami . It can help you be a better writer,” said Fusao as Daichi held it with motherly affection.
“But how will the tatami make me a better writer?” asked Daichi, clueless about this magical inheritance in his hand.
“Now, that’s for you to figure out,” said Fusao and he left to be with the Gods.
May be I will see him in the temple every morning. Calmly sitting by the Buddha in a meditative pose, the scent of the rice fields still fresh in his spirit. The love for his family ripe in his heart!
Time flew by and Daichi turned into a fine young farmer, tilling his fields and watched them prosper. At noon he’d wait for his wife to get him some white rice and tsukemono (pickle). He would sit under the fragile sakura (cherry blossoms) by the fields and open his book to write. But as he would dip his pen into the ink, he was lost for words.
His recalled Fusao’s last words and finally decided to use the magic tatami . Daichi opened is father’s cupboard and for the millionth time he stared at that shimmering piece of inheritance. He got the tatami out and spread it on the floor. As instructed by Fusao, he closed his eyes and chanted a prayer with the juzu (Japanese chanting beads) in his hand.
And the tatami flew! Out of the window and into the vast open blue sky. He had not opened his eyes till he felt the chilly wind on his face and the cottony clouds grazing his neck.
Finally, he realized that he was flying too!
He looked down, holding on tight to the mat that shimmered in the sunlight. And he saw his Nippon like he never had. Like the birds would see as they’d spread their wings and fly high above the mundane.
The beautiful Japanese Tsukiyama gardens with their lovely hilly landscapes, lush green tea gardens, breathtakingly beautiful expanses of rice fields, and he never thought he would be higher than Mount Fuji!
As the sun sprinkled an afterglow across the sky and the sky was a beautiful vermillion, he dodged the moon and stars, the mat navigating him to places with no names; only scenic images that overwhelmed him. In some places he saw that the land was lit up, brighter than the day! But that light was something else. Somewhere it was red, somewhere blue, and some lights blinked. And he thought, may be days were different in different places.
The night flew by and the sun took over from the moon. Suddenly Daichi realized that his wife would be worrying about his whereabouts, waiting with the white rice and tsukemono, looking as fragile as the sakura that gave us shade; perhaps not eaten herself. He flew back after chanting a prayer and rushed to the fields.
That afternoon, again he sat under the cherry blossom tree by his fields and dipped his pen in ink to write. And to his surprise, the pen started moving. He wrote about everything he saw, and went on to write stories only he could have written. The images in his mind translated into the most beautiful words, the most inconceivable and mystical stories. Having gone to places beyond his rice fields and his humble hut had fuelled his imagination and he wrote like an unstoppable stallion, the pen galloping away on the paper, faster than his thoughts transpired.
Soon his writing prowess was talked about in his village and also in faraway places that perhaps he had seen from the skies above.
The tatami is in Fusao’s cupboard, just the way it was when he gave it to Daichi. But Daichi hopes that may be one more trip and he would meet his beloved Oto-san, sitting on a cloud, watching over his family.
He’d embrace him and say nothing.
Vaishali Shroff is a freelance writer and editor and also runs a reading club for children. She has been published in the Chicken Soup India series and her children’s stories have been read-aloud @ smories. Check Storywallahs and Store for more.