The story of Okunitama begins with geography. In ancient Japan, each province designated a chief shrine -- a soja -- where travelers and officials could pay respects to all the province's major deities in a single visit. Okunitama became the soja of Musashi Province, consolidating the gods of six regional shrines into one complex. The main shrine is dedicated to Okuninushi, one of the most important figures in Shinto mythology. Archaeological evidence confirms that the shrine stood very close to the provincial capital, or kokufu, of Musashi, and its status was officially recognized from the Taika period beginning in 645 AD. The walled inner complex, protected by inner and outer gates, shelters the main hall. Surrounding it are seven subsidiary shrines -- Matsuo, Tatsumi, Toshoguu, Sumiyoshi, Owashi, Miyanome, and an Inari shrine -- along with a sumo ring, a Russo-Japanese War memorial, and remnants of the old Musashi provincial offices.

The shrine's history reads like a who's who of medieval Japanese power. In 1062, during the late Heian period, the warlord Minamoto no Yoriyoshi and his son Minamoto no Yoshiie donated thousands of zelkova saplings to Okunitama, planting a living prayer for victory in their military campaigns in the northern province of Mutsu. Those trees would define the landscape of Fuchu for centuries -- the grand zelkova-lined avenue approaching the shrine remains one of the city's signature features. In 1182, Minamoto no Yoritomo came to the shrine for a different kind of petition: he prayed for the safe delivery of a child during the pregnancy of his wife, Hojo Masako. After establishing the Kamakura shogunate, Yoritomo extensively rebuilt the shrine. Tokugawa Ieyasu rebuilt it again in 1590, and after a fire in 1649, it was restored once more. The Meiji government officially renamed the shrine Okunitama Jinja in 1872 and ranked it as a Kanpei-shosha, an Imperial Shrine of the third rank, in 1886.

The Kurayami Matsuri predates its current name. The original festival was an utagaki -- a gathering where men and women sang and danced for one another in the darkness. The novelist Ryotaro Shiba wrote bluntly that the event served as more than courtship: among the revelers were married participants who took advantage of the darkness for illicit encounters. During the Meiji Era, facing pointed criticism from Christian missionaries, the authorities shut the utagaki down entirely. The festival that replaced it kept the spirit of the original but tamed its wildest edges. Kurayami means darkness, and the celebration was originally held at night, only shifting to evening hours in 1959. Today the week-long festival runs from April 30 to May 6. On May 4, the approach road to the shrine becomes a horse-racing track, and performers stage traditional masked folk dances. On May 5, six great taiko drums lead eight mikoshi through the streets to a temporary resting place. They return to the shrine early the following morning.

Fuchu sits in western Tokyo, a commuter city that most bullet-train tourists never visit. Yet the shrine grounds feel like a portal to a different era. The zelkova avenue, descended from the trees planted by Minamoto warriors a thousand years ago, canopies the main approach with green in summer and blazing color in autumn. Inside the gates, the atmosphere shifts from suburban bustle to quiet reverence. Cherry trees weep beside the hand-washing station. A drum tower rises above the inner precincts. The shrine is not a museum piece -- it is actively used for weddings, coming-of-age ceremonies, and New Year prayers, drawing steady crowds from across the Tokyo metropolitan area. As one of the Tokyo Go-sha, the five great shrines, it carries a weight of tradition that few places in the sprawling metropolis can match.