The Heike Story

by Eiji Yoshikawa

  Through the lengthening nights of late autumn, squadrons of small craft with blazing torches were strung out along the bay like mysterious sea-lights, and Kiyomori looked on content. He had done his utmost; the rest lay with the gods. As he gazed at the Milky Way one night, it occurred to him that many months had passed since he left the capital, and he wondered what was taking place there. Who of all his sons and brothers, he reflected, was able enough to replace him as the chief of the Heike? Tsunemori, his younger brother, was frail; Norimori, the next younger, only meek. Tokitada, his brother-in-law, was apt to go to extremes; obviously gifted, but too headstrong. Though promising, Tadanori, his half-brother, was still too young.

  As for his eldest son and successor, Shigemori—Kiyomori knew that he was respected by all the Heike, but not really loved. There was something forbidding about him; beneath that quiet exterior was hidden a meanness of soul. Kiyomori did not much like the cool, astute eyes, whose shrewdness, he often regretted, made Shigemori seem petty rather than wise. Shigemori had changed, too. Much of the freshness and vigor he had had as a youth had vanished. Was he ill? Kiyomori wondered. He would have a good physician examine him as soon as he got back to Kyoto. Whatever the case, he had been hearing that Shigemori now had a private chapel where he spent much of his time. . . . That was most likely at the bottom of it. There was entirely too much of this nonsense going on, he often mused. His brothers and children were beginning to ape the aristocrats: they had grown to love luxurious living; were immersed in all manner of elegant refinement; made an ornamental pastime of their religion, kneeling at their prayers with painted faces and eyebrows, and their teeth dyed black.

  Kiyomori had no objections to elegance and refinement. They were thoroughly desirable. Life was richer for them. As for religion—even he had taken the vows. Not by any means did he approve of the disbeliever, but this aping of the aristocrats and this travesty of religion—he would have none of it. At Rokuhara he had tried to encourage certain ideals for the warrior class. He had seen to it that Buddhism received the respect it deserved in their way of life, but from early youth he had refused to tolerate the superstitions that grew up around it. The mysterious universe alone deserved to be worshipped. He would have Tokiko speak seriously to Shigemori about all this. It was more likely that he would listen to his mother in such matters. . . .

  Late in the autumn, Kiyomori returned to Kyoto, where there was talk that he would remain in the capital for the winter.

  One tranquil day when the maples were just beginning to crimson, the Regent's carriage drew up at the mansion on West Eighth Avenue where Kiyomori waited to receive his illustrious visitor. Despite assurances on every side that Kiyomori was amiably disposed, the Regent had set out in a state of apprehension, but found on arriving that his fears were quite unjustified.

  "It is most gratifying, sir, to find you in good health. I have wanted for some time to call on you at Fukuhara to see the progress on the harbor and to admire your villa, but with his majesty's coming-of-age so near, various duties have kept me from paying my respects to you, sir."

  "On the contrary, such trifles must not interfere with the responsibilities of your high office. When the coming-of-age rites are over, you must give yourself a leisurely trip to Fukuhara. And that reminds me to ask whether a date for the rites has been set."

  "The last State Council decided on the third day of the New Year."

  "That will be a day of great rejoicing for us all," Kiyomori said fervently.

  The Regent's brows contracted in a troubled frown. "To tell you the truth—" he began. "You have probably already heard that there was a serious altercation between my men and your son's on the day that the State Council met."

  "Hmm—that I did. I was told that it was quite a gaudy affair."

  "I have no wish to apportion blame when our men have been at each other's throats, but people have let their imaginations and tongues run away with them and say that there is discord between our two houses."

  "We have no way of bridling their tongues. Let who will talk . . . but I have reproved my son, Shigemori. It was a most childish performance."

  "On the contrary, sir—and my reason for calling on you today was to offer my apologies. I equally deserve your censure. Neither your son nor I knew what was happening. I also understand that your grandson has been sent to Isй in disgrace and beg you to recall him as well as accept my very humble apologies."

  "It is not for you to apologize," Kiyomori said with a deprecating smile. "This whole affair seems to have troubled you more than it should. Shigemori only dealt with his son as he should. I took Shigemori to task because I love him. He is my heir and it ill becomes one in his position to fly into a passion as his retainers did over a trifle. It is not at all like him to do so and I lay it to his illness. The Chinese physician who cured me has examined Shigemori and found that he is suffering from some disorder of the stomach, and has ordered him to rest. Difficult as it may be for you, I beg you to overlook this affair."

  "This is more than I deserve, sir."

  "Shigemori will soon be here and I shall have my other sons as well as Tokitada join us and drink with us in token of our reconciliation."

  On January 3, 1173, the eleven-year-old boy-Emperor celebrated his coming-of-age with great pomp and solemnity, and in October the ex-Emperor, in his son's name, asked for the hand of Kiyomori's daughter, Tokuko, who was seventeen, and who subsequently became Takakura's Empress.

  The current of events moved on relentlessly and the Heike willy-nilly were swept to eminence and power. Kiyomori's name was on every tongue and no one dared to repeat anything derogatory to the Heike. Fear also was in the air.

  Kiyomori, however, seemed indifferent to all that was taking place, even scornful of the position that the Heike occupied, for his heart's wish had been granted: the harbor at Owada was almost completed. This at last was the year in which a fleet of vessels lay cradled in the smooth waters of the bay, waiting for the ships of Sung to sail in.

  CHAPTER XLVI

  A MONK IS BANISHED

  What was that? It was a mild afternoon in spring when an extraordinary strident voice reciting sutras interrupted the musicians at their playing. "Impossible! You shall not pass—where are you off to?" a guard challenged.

  A noisy argument ensued.

  An astonished courtier laid his lute aside as another discordant shout reverberated through the screening-wall.

  The ex-Emperor motioned to one of the courtiers. "Go and see what it's all about."

  The courtier stepped out on the gallery just as a powerfully built priest flung aside a guard and pushed his way through a gate of the inner court. His hair hung to his shoulders and his hairy legs protruded from his tattered robes like massive pine logs.

  "His majesty can hear me now. He must be tired with listening to music all day. Let him listen for a change to what Mongaku preaches to the common people in the streets of the capital!" he said, looking about the narrow inner court and unrolling a sutra scroll.

  "Mongaku from the hills of Takao!" a courtier exclaimed, recognizing the odd figure that he often saw at street corners appealing for alms and donations.

  Mongaku read off an appeal for donations for a new temple; it sounded, however, like a peroration against maladministration and the extravagance of the aristocrats.

  "See that the man is arrested," the ex-Emperor ordered. One of his attendants leaped upon a balustrade and swooped down on Mongaku, pinning his arms to his sides.

  "Are you mad! Don't you realize that this is the Palace?"

  Mongaku stood motionless as the body hurtled against him.

  "I do," Mongaku replied fiercely to the attendant who clung to him. "I have spent years in the hills of Takao praying for the erection of a temple from which enlightment will come to the world, and in the streets of the capital have begged for donations from the common people. I have come to beg for a gift from his majesty—even a pittance willingly given is enough. Let me present my
humble petition."

  "What's meant by all this violence when you've come to beg?"

  "I know where respect is due. I have knocked several times on the gates, but the sound of music has drowned out everything and the guards have pretended not to hear me. There was nothing left for me but to force my way in. Don't trifle with me or you'll pay for it!"

  "Here, you mad monk!"

  Mongaku freed one hand and with a twist of his wrist sent his opponent flying over one shoulder and crashing to the ground. The attendant quickly came to his feet and lunged at Mongaku, who struck him on the cheek with the sutra scroll. As he returned once more to the attack, Mongaku gave him another blow on the chest. The attendant staggered back and fell and did not rise again.

  "Will you still interfere with me?"

  Mongaku glared at the dozen or more soldiers closing in on him.

  "Don't flinch! At his legs!" the soldiers yelled, throwing themselves on Mongaku.

  Mongaku still held the scroll, but a dagger suddenly flashed in his right hand. "Get back," he threatened; the soldiers fell back as he made his way rapidly toward some stairs. An officer of the Guards threw himself on Mongaku as Mongaku struck out at him with his dagger; the officer, his arm bleeding, clung to him until more soldiers arrived, overpowered Mongaku, and led him off to the jail.

  Mongaku was ordered banished to Izu in eastern Japan. There had been considerable disagreement among Goshirakawa's advisers whether Mongaku should be pardoned or not, for not only was he a priest, but the common people had only good to say of him and even loved him.

  Mongaku, astride a barebacked horse, was smiling, his teeth showing white through his beard.

  "I hear our good Mongaku had been banished."

  "That amusing fellow?"

  "Why is that? Banished—and where to?"

  "Izu. To Izu, people say."

  Sympathetic crowds flocked to meet Mongaku as he rode through the streets of the capital. At crossroads he stopped to make odd speeches to the people until his guards prodded him on impatiently. A little man stood on tiptoe, staring intently over people's shoulders at the hulking figure as it moved off into the distance.

  Head high and smiling, Mongaku rode out by the city gate, from which unnumbered exiles had departed in grief and tears. But there was laughter and even gaiety among the crowd as they took leave of Mongaku. Once outside the city walls only a few odd stragglers followed the cavalcade down the tree-lined highway.

  Mongaku suddenly turned to halloo to the captain of his guards, who pretended not to hear him. Mongaku next leaned toward the soldier who was leading his horse. "Stop. Let me get down," he said, explaining that an intimate matter needed to be attended to. The soldier stopped and waited for the captain to ride up alongside and give an order. Mongaku, who was marched off into the near-by woods, was soon back, but instead of mounting, he ambled up a small mound and seated himself on a stone, saying: "Bring me some water. I'm thirsty."

  The captain shook his head and frowned. It was exactly as he had predicted. He fully expected to have trouble with his prisoner and had taken the precaution of selecting toughened, well-built soldiers for guards—and several more than was thought necessary.

  ". . . There's not much we can do. Give him water," he said. "Don't annoy him and coax him back on his horse as quickly as possible."

  When Mongaku had relieved his thirst, he turned to the captain and began: "While we're here, I want to talk to you. Get down and come here. Rest awhile."

  "What's this? You're a prisoner on your way into exile and we're your guards. What do you mean by this? We sail from Otsu and you can talk to me when we're on board."

  "It will be too late then."

  "We're barely out of the capital and can't waste time like this. Get back on your horse. We can't keep the boat at Otsu waiting."

  Mongaku did not move. "You don't want to talk?" he said, and broke into a mocking laugh. "Ah, my poor captain—the last of the Genji in the capital! When I heard that Yorimasa's son was to accompany me, I was pleased at the thought of having someone to talk to. Alas, you're no different from the rest of these!"

  The captain flushed self-consciously, then dismounted. Handing the reins to a soldier, he approached Mongaku with a placating air.

  "Your reverence, my father often spoke of you. My men have orders not to treat you like a common prisoner, but I cannot have you behave in this extraordinary fashion if I am to carry out my duties."

  "No, captain, I don't intend to cause trouble, but surely you won't keep an exile from saying farewell to his friends?"

  "There's no regulation that says you may not. The least we can do is look the other way while you talk to a few."

  "That's it! I want you to do just that. I'm rather tenderhearted, and when I see how some have followed me all the way from jail, I feel that I must try to console them and send them on home. Give me a little time to talk to them.

  The captain frowned his reluctance. "Well then, be quick about it," he said, ordering the guards to the side of the road.

  Mongaku stood up and waved to some figures in the distance. The soldiers soon saw several persons approach at a run— four or five young monks, a couple, and a nondescript fellow. The monks were Mongaku's disciples from Takao, to whom he gave a few words of advice. Mongaku's eyes next sought the couple— Asatori and his wife, Yomogi, who had anxiously mingled with the crowd in the hope of having a last word with him. They gazed at Mongaku with brimming eyes.

  "So it was you, after all," Mongaku said. "How have things gone with you? Do you still live on the Street of the Ox-dealers? Everything all right? It's time there were childrene, ado you have any?"

  "We had one, who died soon after he was born, and there have been none since," Asatori said. "Yomogi and I have known you for a long time, but we never dreamed that we would part like this."

  "True, many strange chances brought us together. After the Hogen War, Asatori and I shared food and shelter on the ruins of the Willow-Spring Palace. And you, Yomogi, you were Lady Tokiwa's little nursemaid then and used to come with your pail to the Willow Spring. Yes, how you've changed, and the world too!"

  "Of course, that's to be expected. It's seventeen years since that happened," Yomogi said, pressing a small parcel into Mongaku's hand. "Here is some medicine, in case you are taken sick. There are seven kinds there. The other things are rice dumplings steamed with mugwort, which I cooked early this morning. Something to eat when you cross the lake."

  "How well you've remembered my favorite sweet! I'm most grateful to you for that and the medicine."

  Mongaku turned to Asatori again. "And your studies?"

  "That's another thing I wanted to tell you—and you'll be pleased to hear this. Quite recently I was licensed to practice and invited to join the Academy of Physicians. But I have no desire whatever to serve the Court, for I hope to spend the rest of my life humbly in the Street of the Ox-Dealers, helping the poor."

  Mongaku nodded his approval. "What different paths our lives have taken, though we want the same thing—a paradise on earth! You're by nature humble, and I—stormy!"

  "Good Mongaku, how right you are, and you do well to denounce the countless evils in the world. Still, I can't understand what made you behave as you did at the Cloister Palace, where they thought you insane."

  "Unfortunately, Asatori, my deeds and my heart are not in harmony with each other.—Yes, I spent years at the Nachi Falls, hoping to be sanctified by its waters, but I now realize that salvation does not lie in that direction for me. I was not meant for the life of contemplation, for I cannot ignore the evils and corruption in the world. I can only act as I think right for me, and I have thought of finding a way by which to rid the entire face of this capital of its rottenness—the corruption of the Cloister Government and the arrogance of the Heike. How this will be done I cannot yet tell you, but, Asatori, you shall see that for yourself in a few years' time."