The Story of the Man Who Did Not Wish to Die

Long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His family name meant “Millionaire,” and though he was not quite as rich as that, he was very far from poor. His father had left him a small fortune, and he lived on it, idling his days away without a serious thought of work, until he was about thirty-two years old.

Then one day, for no reason at all, he began to think about sickness and death, and the thought made him miserable. “I should like to live five or six hundred years at least,” he said to himself, “and never be ill. An ordinary life is far too short.” He wondered whether, if he lived plainly and carefully from now on, he could make his life last as long as he liked.

He had heard old legends of emperors who lived a thousand years, and of a Princess of Yamato who was said to have reached five hundred. He had often heard, too, the story of the Chinese king Shin-no-Shiko, one of the ablest and mightiest rulers China ever had, who built great palaces and the famous Great Wall. Shin-no-Shiko had everything in the world he could want, yet for all the splendor of his court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was wretched, because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all behind. The thought followed him when he went to bed, when he got up, and all through the day. If only he could find the Elixir of Life, he would be happy.

So the Emperor called his courtiers together and asked whether any of them could find him the Elixir he had so often read and heard about. An old courtier named Jofuku told him that far away across the sea lay a land called Horaizan, where certain hermits kept the secret of the Elixir; whoever drank it lived forever. The Emperor ordered Jofuku to sail to Horaizan, find the hermits and bring back a phial of the magic drink. He gave him one of his best junks, fitted it out and loaded it with treasure and jewels as gifts for the hermits. Jofuku sailed away, but he never came back to the waiting Emperor. In the tradition described by this tale, Mount Fuji was identified with the fabled Horaizan, and Jofuku was honoured as a patron of the hermits.

Sentaro made up his mind to go and find the hermits and, if he could, become one himself, so that he might get the water of everlasting life. He remembered being told as a child that the hermits lived not only on Mount Fuji but on all the highest peaks. So he left his house in the care of his relatives and set out. He travelled through every mountain region in the land and climbed the highest summits, but he never found a single hermit.

At last, after many days wandering in country he did not know, he met a hunter. “Can you tell me where the hermits live who have the Elixir of Life?” he asked.

“No,” said the hunter. “I can’t tell you where any hermits live, but there’s a famous robber in these parts. They say he leads a band of two hundred men.”

This silly answer annoyed Sentaro very much, and he decided it was foolish to waste any more time searching this way. Instead he would go straight to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshipped as the hermits’ patron god in the south of Japan. There he prayed for seven days, begging Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he longed for.

At midnight on the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the door of the inner shrine flew open and Jofuku appeared in a shining cloud. He called Sentaro to come closer and said:

“Your wish is a very selfish one and not easily granted. You want to become a hermit to find the Elixir of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit’s life is? A hermit may eat only fruit, berries and the bark of pine trees. He must cut himself off from the world until his heart is as pure as gold and free of every earthly desire. Little by little, keeping these strict rules, he stops feeling hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp and walk on water without wetting his feet. But you, Sentaro, love good food and every comfort. You are not even like an ordinary man, for you are unusually lazy and feel heat and cold more than most people. You could never go barefoot or wear one thin robe in winter. Do you think you would ever have the patience to live as a hermit? Still, in answer to your prayer, I will help you another way. I will send you to the Land of Perpetual Life, where death never comes and people live forever.”

With that, Jofuku put a little paper crane into Sentaro’s hand and told him to sit on its back; it would carry him there. Wondering, Sentaro did as he was told. The crane grew big enough for him to ride comfortably, spread its wings, rose high into the air and flew off over the mountains and out to sea. At first Sentaro was terrified, but gradually he grew used to flying. On and on they went for thousands of miles. The bird never stopped to rest or eat, which was natural enough for a paper bird, and strangely, Sentaro needed no food either.

After several days they came to an island. The crane flew some way inland and landed, and as soon as Sentaro climbed down, it folded itself up and flew into his pocket.

Sentaro looked about curiously to see what the Land of Perpetual Life was like. He walked around the countryside and then through the town. Everything was strange and different from home, but the land and its people looked prosperous, so he decided it would suit him to stay and took a room at an inn. The innkeeper was a kind man. When Sentaro explained that he was a stranger who had come to live there, the innkeeper promised to arrange everything with the governor of the city, and even found him a house. So Sentaro got his great wish and became a resident of the Land of Perpetual Life.

No islander could remember anyone ever dying there, and sickness was unknown. Long ago priests had come from India and China and told them of a beautiful land called Paradise, where every heart is filled with happiness and contentment, but whose gates can only be reached by dying. This story had been handed down for ages, though nobody really knew what death was, except that it led to Paradise. So instead of dreading death as Sentaro and ordinary people did, everyone on the island, rich and poor alike, longed for it. They were all tired of their long, long lives and yearned to go to the happy land the priests had described centuries before.

Sentaro soon learned all this from talking to the islanders, and it seemed to him he had landed in Topsy-Turvy Land, where everything was upside down. He had come here so joyfully to escape from dying, only to find that the people, who could never die, thought death would be bliss. What he had always thought of as poison they ate as good food, and the things he was used to eating they refused. Whenever foreign merchants arrived, rich people rushed to buy poisons from them and swallowed them eagerly, hoping to die and go to Paradise. But deadly poisons from other lands had no effect there; those who took them only found themselves feeling healthier than before. The islanders tried in vain to imagine what death might be like. The wealthy would have given everything they owned to shorten their lives to even two or three hundred years. To live on and on without any change seemed to them dreary and sad.

In the chemists’ shops there was a medicine always in demand, because after a hundred years of taking it, it was supposed to turn the hair a little gray and upset the stomach. Sentaro was amazed to see the poisonous globe-fish served in restaurants as a delicacy, and street sellers hawking sauces made from poisonous beetles. Yet he never saw anyone fall ill after eating these dreadful things, nor did he ever see anyone with so much as a cold.

Sentaro was delighted. He told himself that he would never tire of living and that it was wicked to wish for death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part, he wanted to live for thousands of years and enjoy himself. He set himself up in business and, for the time being, never even thought of going home.

As the years went by, though, things did not go so smoothly. He had heavy losses in business, and more than once he fell out with his neighbors, which annoyed him greatly. Time flew past like an arrow, for he was busy from morning to night. Three hundred years went by in this dull way, and at last he began to grow tired of life in that country and to long for his own land and his old home. However long he stayed here, life would always be the same. Was it not foolish and tiresome to stay forever?

Wanting now to escape from the Land of Perpetual Life, Sentaro thought of Jofuku, who had helped him when he wanted to escape from death, and he prayed to the saint to take him home. No sooner had he prayed than the paper crane popped out of his pocket, still unharmed after all those years. Once more it grew until it was big enough to ride, and as soon as Sentaro climbed on, it spread its wings and flew swiftly out over the sea toward Japan.

But such was the man’s contrary nature that he looked back and regretted everything he had left. He tried to stop the bird, but it was no use; the crane kept on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean. Then a storm blew up. The paper crane got wet, crumpled and fell into the sea, and Sentaro fell with it. Terrified of drowning, he cried out to Jofuku to save him. He looked all round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a great deal of sea water, which made things worse. As he struggled to stay afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming toward him with its huge mouth open, ready to swallow him. Nearly paralyzed with fear, sure that his end had come, he screamed as loudly as he could for Jofuku to rescue him.

And then Sentaro woke up, startled by his own screams. He had fallen asleep in front of the shrine during his long prayer, and all his strange and terrifying adventures had been nothing but a wild dream. He was in a cold sweat with fright and utterly bewildered.

Suddenly a bright light came toward him, and in it stood a messenger holding a book. “I am sent by Jofuku,” he said. “In answer to your prayer he allowed you to see the Land of Perpetual Life in a dream. But you grew tired of living there and begged to come home so that you might die. To test you, Jofuku let you fall into the sea and sent a shark to swallow you. Your wish for death was not real, for even then you shouted for help. It is useless, too, for you to wish to become a hermit or to find the Elixir of Life. Those things are not for someone like you; your life is not strict enough. Go back to your father’s house and live a good and hard-working life. Never forget the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children’s future. Then you will live to a good old age and be happy. But give up this empty wish to escape death, for no one can do that, and by now you must have learned that even when selfish wishes are granted, they do not bring happiness. In this book are many rules that will be good for you to know. Study them, and they will guide you along the path I have shown you.”

The messenger vanished as soon as he had spoken, and Sentaro took the lesson to heart. He went home with the book in his hand, gave up all his foolish wishes, tried to live a good and useful life by its teachings, and from then on he and his household prospered.

Where this story comes from

“The Story of the Man Who Did Not Wish to Die” is the eighth tale in Yei Theodora Ozaki’s Japanese Fairy Tales. In her preface Ozaki explains that, unlike most of her stories, this one comes from a little book written about a hundred years before her time by Shinsui Tamenaga, called Chosei Furo, or “Longevity.” She gave it its English title herself.

The tale borrows the old Chinese story of King Shin-no-Shiko, builder of the Great Wall, who sent Jofuku across the sea to find the Elixir of Life. Ozaki notes the belief that Mount Fuji is the fabled Horaizan and that Jofuku is worshipped as patron god of the hermits.

Read the original: Japanese Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg)

Reading guidance: older readers; adults should preview before sharing. The tale discusses fear of death, people wishing to die, repeated poisoning attempts and a frightening near-drowning dream.

A wish that changes when it is granted

Sentaro imagines endless life as endless pleasure. The island gives him the first without guaranteeing the second: business losses and quarrels continue, and after three hundred years he wants home. The paper crane offers escape both times, yet each departure makes him look back. His difficulty is not only the length of life but his habit of imagining satisfaction somewhere else.

The dream lets the narrator reverse ordinary expectations—poisons become food and immortality becomes a burden. Those reversals are fantasy, not information about substances or a model for responding to someone in distress. The messenger’s frightening ‘test’ is part of this moralizing story and should be open to criticism.

Make a list of what Sentaro expects before each journey and what he feels afterward. Which of his problems could the final choice to work and care for his household address, and which fears does the ending leave unresolved?

Think about it

• Why does Jofuku say Sentaro could never become a hermit?
• What is strange about the people in the Land of Perpetual Life?
• How does the shark scene change the story from a wish-fulfilling journey into a frightening dream?

You may also like

• The Story of Urashima Taro, the Fisher Lad — another Japanese tale where years slip away in a strange land
• The Bamboo-Cutter and the Moon-Child — an elixir of immortality and Mount Fuji
• The “Shinansha,” or the South Pointing Carriage — another legend of an ancient Chinese emperor