Princess Mononoke (1997): Why Did Ashitaka Give Kaya’s Dagger to San? A Psychological Analysis

When I first watched Hayao Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke(Studio Ghibli Official) in the 6th grade, one specific scene deeply unsettled me. It is the moment Ashitaka casually hands over the obsidian crystal dagger—the precious parting gift from his village fiancée, Kaya—to the wolf gods to give to San. Even as a child, my immediate thought was: “Wait, you’re just giving that away?!”

For years, this scene felt like a frustrating blemish on an otherwise noble protagonist. However, as I grew older and re-examined the film, my perspective shifted. I began to wonder if we could reinterpret “The Problem of Kaya’s Dagger” not as an act of callousness, but as a profoundly positive, emotional milestone.

Before we unpack the heavy emotional symbolism, let’s first take a slightly humorous, objective look at Ashitaka’s unique psychology regarding women, and why his behavior often feels so incredibly baffling.

*This is a translated version. The original (Japanese) is available here.

Princess Mononoke (1997) Character Analysis: Ashitaka’s Baffling Confidence

Invading the Workspace: The Bellows Scene

If you had to describe Ashitaka, you would likely say he is “a brave, endlessly kind warrior who stoically hides his suffering.”

He is a tragic hero burdened by an “unjust curse,” and it is impossible not to root for him. However, when interacting with women, Ashitaka reveals a highly eccentric, almost arrogant side of his personality. The clearest example is his first night in Irontown (Tataraba).

While Ashitaka is eating dinner with the men, the women who operate the massive iron bellows come to peer at the handsome stranger. They playfully flirt with him, jokingly saying, “You should come over to our place later.” Ashitaka responds with absolute sincerity, saying he would love to see their workplace. Later, after his tense meeting with Lady Eboshi, he casually strolls into the women’s restricted workspace, steps onto the bellows, and starts pumping the iron.

On the surface, this looks like a standard “hero helping out” trope. But let’s be blunt: Ashitaka takes a sarcastic, flirtatious joke completely literally, barges into a marginalized group’s private workspace, and physically takes over their job without actually being invited to do so.

If a normal guy was told “come over to our place” by a group of teasing women, he would laugh it off. He certainly wouldn’t show up at their shift and start doing their manual labor.

So, where does Ashitaka get the audacity to act like this?

Ashitaka: The Man Born to be King

To truly understand Ashitaka, we must remember his origins: he is the last prince of the Emishi tribe. He was literally raised to be a king. Had the boar god never attacked, he would have ruled his village. And crucially, as a tribal king, it is highly likely Kaya would not have been his only wife.

Director Miyazaki addressed this exact dynamic in an interview published in The Place Where the Wind Returns, Continued (続・風の帰る場所, in Japanese). When asked what would happen if Ashitaka brought San back to his village where Kaya was waiting, Miyazaki laughed and said:

“It’s meaningless to ask, isn’t it? But when I told someone, ‘If he takes San back home, Kaya is still there,’ they were shocked. It makes things so much easier to understand when you put it on that level. I even added, ‘No, he could just take them both as his wives!'”

The key takeaway isn’t that Ashitaka is a sleazy womanizer; it is that Ashitaka possesses absolutely zero romantic complexes, awkwardness, or inhibitions around women. As royalty, his psychology is fundamentally different.

Therefore, the anxious thought of “Will these women reject me?” simply does not exist in his brain. When the Irontown women say “come over,” he genuinely thinks, “Excellent! I am going.” It is this exact same royal, unshakeable confidence that allows him to stare at a feral girl holding a blade to his throat and smoothly say, “You’re beautiful,” without a shred of hesitation.

The Infuriating Dagger Hand-Off

When you view the film through this “kingly” lens, the infamous “dagger hand-off” scene crosses the line from tragic to slightly hilarious. In Ashitaka’s mind, the thought process is brutally simple: “This is a very shiny rock. I bet San would be happy if I gave it to her.”

It is infuriating! And what makes it even worse is that San actually falls for it. She blushes, says “It’s beautiful,” and immediately wears it around her neck.

Don’t fall for it, San! That isn’t a sacred family heirloom; it’s a parting gift from his ex-fiancée! If San ever asked where he got it, Ashitaka wouldn’t even flinch. Like a true king, he would probably just smile calmly and say, “A woman gave it to me.”

We absolutely should respect Ashitaka for his physical bravery and his fierce, earnest fight for justice. He is an incredible hero. But when it comes to navigating romantic etiquette, his aristocratic obliviousness is painfully real.

Now, everything I’ve said so far is the cynical interpretation of a fan looking back. It wouldn’t be fair to end the analysis here. Let’s dig deeper and explore how we can reframe this “infuriating” scene into a profoundly beautiful, thematic triumph.

Rethinking the Dagger: The Tears of a Broken Prince

The Hidden Agony of the Journey

While we can joke about his royal audacity, we must never forget the brutal reality: Ashitaka is a man subjected to unimaginable trauma.

He saved his village, and his reward was a rotting, fatal curse and permanent exile. He was ordered to cut his hair and leave everything he loved behind, forever. When Kaya tearfully hands him the dagger and promises to think of him always, Ashitaka doesn’t break down. He suppresses his own terror to give her a warm, reassuring smile. He is a truly good man.

In fact, this impossibly strong warrior only sheds tears exactly one time in the entire film.

This teardrop is arguably the most important emotional pivot in the movie. It marks the exact death of his old life and the birth of his new one. Before this tear, he is fighting to survive and cure his curse. After this tear, he accepts his impending death and chooses to live his remaining days entirely for San.

But this raises a heartbreaking psychological question: between the moment he left his village and the moment he cried by the pond, how many times did Ashitaka break down?

The Weight of the Obsidian Blade

Because Miyazaki respects his audience, we are never shown Ashitaka’s private moments of grief. But we can logically deduce what his journey was like. He was exiled, alone, rotting from the inside out, wandering aimlessly westward with absolutely no guarantee of a cure.

During that hellish, lonely trek across the mountains, it is practically guaranteed that there were freezing nights where Ashitaka clutched Kaya’s dagger to his chest and wept in sheer terror and homesickness.

When you view the dagger as his sole emotional lifeline, you realize how massive it was when he finally met the monk Jigo. Jigo gave him the keyword: “The Forest Spirit.” Suddenly, this doomed, aimless wanderer had a destination.

To Ashitaka, Jigo’s rumor essentially meant: “There is a miracle doctor in the west who can cure your terminal illness.” He finally had hope.

But when he finally meets the “doctor” (the Forest Spirit), he is essentially told, “I will save you from the bullet, but I will not cure your illness. You are still going to die.” That single tear he sheds by the water isn’t just sadness; it is the absolute, crushing finality of despair.

Ashitaka is Finally “Okay”

So, his journey of hardship ended in a terminal diagnosis. But from the ashes of that despair, a new salvation emerged: the existence of San.

By meeting San, Ashitaka’s entire reason for existing shifted. He realized his destiny wasn’t to “fight his own suffering,” but to step between the humans and the forest and fight for San. (Of course, Moro violently mocks his arrogant, human desire to “save” San, but his noble intention remains).

When you factor in this immense emotional journey, the act of giving away the dagger completely transforms.

Giving San the very blade he cried over for months doesn’t mean he is disrespecting Kaya. It means: “This blade protected my heart when I was at my absolute lowest. I am passing its protective blessing onto you. May it keep you safe.”

Most importantly, it signifies that Ashitaka no longer needs the emotional crutch of his past. He has found his future.

When we watch him hand over that obsidian blade, we shouldn’t roll our eyes. We should look at him and think: “Ashitaka… you’re going to be okay now. You didn’t beat the curse, but you found a reason to live. You survived. I’m so glad you found her.”

Conclusion: The Problem of Kaya’s Dagger Solved

Even if you still find the gesture slightly grating, viewing it as an act of emotional graduation makes the scene infinitely more poignant, doesn’t it?

Lore Appendix: Ashitaka and Lady Eboshi’s Reality Check

Throughout this article, I’ve focused heavily on Ashitaka’s “arrogance” regarding women. But his royal upbringing also bred a deep sense of youthful self-righteousness. Thankfully, the film provides the perfect foil to shatter that immaturity: Lady Eboshi.

During their confrontation in Irontown, Eboshi delivers one of the most piercing lines in the film: “Do not show off your petty misfortune so smugly.”

It is heavily implied in Ghibli lore that Eboshi survived an unimaginably horrific past—likely being sold into slavery overseas—before clawing her way up to become the ruler of Irontown. To a hardened, ruthless survivor like her, Ashitaka’s tragic tale of being exiled with a cursed arm is genuinely just “petty.”

While her dismissal feels incredibly harsh, it is a vital narrative anchor for Princess Mononoke.

Without Eboshi’s brutal reality check, Ashitaka’s constant moralizing and “woe-is-me” main character syndrome would have become deeply annoying. Ashitaka genuinely believes he is the most tragic victim in the world (and to be fair, his situation is horrible). But placing him against Eboshi—a woman who suffered equal or worse trauma and responded by building an empire—perfectly balances the film, forcing our young, immature prince to realize the world does not revolve around his pain.

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What do you think? Does Ashitaka’s emotional trauma justify him giving away Kaya’s parting gift, or was it still a massive romantic faux pas? Let me know your thoughts!

The images used in this article are from Studio Ghibli Works Still Images.