The Temple of the White Herons
This happened many, many years ago.There was a small village nestled among mountains and forests. The people there lived happily and prosperously. They were friends with the white herons: there were countless numbers of them in those parts. The herons would fly in, circle above the village, and settle by the river. The peasants and the herons lived in peace and harmony.
But one day, a great calamity befell the village—a drought set in. The rivers and ponds dried up. Not even a drop of water remained in the wells.
The people were distressed. "The harvest will perish," they thought, "and a great famine will come to the village." They went to the village elder for advice.
"We must pray to the heavenly gods," the elder decided. "Perhaps they will take pity on us and send rain to the earth."
The elder began to pray fervently to the gods. Suddenly, he heard people running to his house.
"Water! Water! Look—water!" they shouted. "Water is pouring from the sky!"
The elder rushed out of his house, unable to understand what the people were talking about. He looked into the distance and his mouth fell open in astonishment. Over the forest, just beyond the village, stood a white pillar, swaying as if a river had risen from the earth to the sky!
The peasants rushed to the forest, drawing closer, but it wasn't a river at all—it was the white herons. They stretched from the ground all the way to the clouds, flapping their wings.
"The herons aren't circling here for no reason," said the elder. "It's as if they're pointing us to something!"
"I remember my grandfather told me," said an old woman, "that there's a miraculous swamp in our forest—its water never dries up. Maybe the white herons are helping us find it."
The peasants went into the depths of the forest. They wandered for a long time until they came to a large swamp. But the swamp was dry too. The peasants were completely at a loss. They stood there, not knowing what to do.
But the elder kept repeating:
"The white herons didn't circle over the swamp for no reason! Oh, not for no reason!"
He walked around the swamp, and suddenly it seemed to him that he could hear water bubbling nearby, a stream singing and gurgling. The elder touched a tall rock, and it was wet!
"It seems there's a spring inside the rock," he realized, "or maybe even a river flowing."
Everyone was amazed:
"How can a river flow inside a rock? Where does it flow from and to?"
But the elder stood his ground:
"The river flows, and that's all!"
He ordered a stonemason to be called and the rock to be broken. The stonemason struck once, then twice, but the rock was like iron—it only hummed, and not a single piece broke off. The stonemason called for helpers. They struck together, but still couldn't break it.
It was already getting dark. The elder then approached the rock and began to plead:
"Have mercy on us, Lady Rock, open your waters to us, quench the thirst of our children."
The rock swayed, and everyone saw a small crack at its base. The crack began to grow, pushing the rock apart.
The elder was frightened and shouted:
"Step away from the rock! Step away!"
The peasants scattered, hiding behind trees, watching what would happen next.
The rock swayed and then stopped. Then it took a deep breath, coughed, and spat out a jet of pure, ringing water from within! The jet soared high into the sky, sparkling in the moonlight!
The peasants stood with their mouths open in amazement, unable to look away. Then the white herons appeared—circling around the water, sometimes flying closer, sometimes touching it with their wings, and even dipping their heads under the spray!
Everyone felt joyful and happy. The ringing stream quenched the forest and the fields, filled the river, the ponds, and the forest swamp with water.
"I was right," said the elder. "The white herons didn't circle over the swamp for no reason. It seems these are no ordinary birds, but messengers of the Spirit of the Forest Swamp. The master of the swamp heard our prayers and sent us salvation."
The peasants bowed to the herons. The birds circled over the forest once more and then flew away.
It is said that the villagers built a temple on the edge of the forest swamp and named it Sagimoniya, which means "Temple of the White Herons." From then on, they worshipped the Spirit of the Forest Swamp and never forgot the white herons—they always welcomed them warmly in the village.
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