Two Frogs

Long ago, when Kyoto was still the capital of Japan, there lived a frog in Kyoto.

She lived not just anywhere, but near a temple, in a small, half-dried-up well in the palace courtyard.

Life was good there: the bottom was soft, sticky, and damp.
But then a hot summer came. So hot that everything around dried up—puddles, ditches, streams. And, of course, the old well dried up completely. The bottom cracked, becoming dry and hard. It was hard to believe it was still a well.

“I’ll have to move!” thought the poor frog. “But where? Everything nearby has dried up. I’ll go to the city of Osaka. They say Osaka is by the sea, and I’ve never seen the sea. At least I’ll get to see what it’s like!”

So the frog crawled out of the well and quietly hopped along the road to Osaka.
Meanwhile, in the city of Osaka, there lived another frog. She lived freely in a large, round pond. She would bury herself in the soft mud or swim in the murky water among swaying seaweed, and on sunny days, she would bask on a warm, smooth stone.

But in Osaka, it also became very hot. The ditches, streams, and ponds dried up there too. Even the round pond where the frog lived dried up. The bottom became completely shallow. The frog had lived her entire life in the pond, and suddenly she found herself on dry land—no water, no mud, just dry dust.

“There’s a drought in Osaka!” thought the frog. “I need to move somewhere. I’ll go to the city of Kyoto. They say Kyoto is the capital of Japan. I’ll get to see the palaces and temples there too.”

So the frog thought and then hopped leisurely along the road to Kyoto.
As it happened, both frogs set off on their journeys on the same day and even at the same time—early in the morning. One hopped from Kyoto to Osaka, and the other from Osaka to Kyoto. They hopped slowly: a hop, then a rest, another hop, then another rest. Since they started at the same time and neither hopped faster or slower than the other, they were bound to meet exactly halfway.

And halfway between Osaka and Kyoto stands Mount Tenozan. The frogs hopped up to the mountain, rested a bit, and then slowly began to climb the slope. Of course, they climbed very slowly because they weren’t used to hopping up mountains. Huffing and puffing, they climbed higher and higher. They couldn’t see each other yet because the mountain stood between them. Finally, the frogs reached the very top. There, they bumped heads.

“Well, well!” said the Kyoto frog.
“Well, well!” said the Osaka frog.
“I’m a frog from Kyoto, and I’m hopping to Osaka. And you?” asked the Kyoto frog.
“I’m a frog from Osaka, and I’m hopping to Kyoto. There’s such a drought in Osaka!”
“A drought in Osaka? A drought in Osaka?” the Kyoto frog exclaimed. “Just like in Kyoto? Just like in Kyoto?”

“Is it hot in Kyoto too?”
“Oh, yes! In Kyoto, not just the puddles but even the wells have dried up.”

“Then there’s no point in hopping further,” the Osaka frog said sadly. “If there’s a drought in your place and a drought in mine, it’s better to die at home.”

The frogs fell silent and thought. It was so frustrating to turn back halfway!
They thought and thought and decided to check each other’s stories. After all, who knows what passersby might say!

“Here’s what I think,” said the Kyoto frog. “Since I’ve climbed this mountain, I might as well take a look at Osaka from here. From the mountain, you should be able to see the sea.”

“That’s a great idea!” said the Osaka frog. “I’ll take a look too. From here, you should be able to see the palaces and temples of Kyoto.”

Both frogs stood up on their hind legs, stretched to their full frog height, bulged their frog eyes, and peered into the distance.

They looked and looked, and suddenly the Kyoto frog plopped back down and said angrily:

“What is this? Nothing new, nothing interesting! It’s exactly like Kyoto! Everyone says: the sea, the sea! But I don’t see any sea in Osaka.”

And the Osaka frog also got angry:
“What is this? What kind of capital is this? It’s exactly like Osaka. I thought I’d see the palaces and temples of the capital. But there’s nothing interesting there—it’s all just like home.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to go back to Kyoto!” said the Kyoto frog. “We’ll wait for the rain at home.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to go back to Osaka!” said the Osaka frog. “If it rains, it’ll be wet at home too.”

The frogs said goodbye, turned around, and started hopping back down the mountain. And after just a hop or two, they lost sight of each other because the sharp peak of the mountain rose between them again.

And that’s how it ended: the Kyoto frog returned to Kyoto, and the Osaka frog returned to Osaka. And for the rest of their lives, they thought that Kyoto was exactly like Osaka and Osaka was exactly like Kyoto.

But that’s not true. Those cities are not alike at all.
So what happened?
The Kyoto frog wasn’t looking at Osaka—she was looking at her native Kyoto. And the Osaka frog wasn’t looking at Kyoto—she was looking at Osaka.

You see, frogs’ eyes are on top of their heads. So when they stood on their hind legs and tilted their heads back, their eyes ended up facing backward.

They weren’t looking forward—they were looking back: each frog was looking at the place she had come from.

They just didn’t know it.
And so the Osaka frog returned to Osaka, to her pond, and said sadly to her tadpoles: “Osaka, Kyoto—it’s all the same swamp!” And the tadpoles cried bitterly. That’s why they say: “Frog children are just like frogs.”

And the Kyoto frog returned to Kyoto, to her old spot, crawled back into her well, and said to her fellow frogs:

“There’s no sea in the world!”
And that’s why they say: “A well frog knows nothing of the sea.”

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Two Frogs

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