The Demon at Agi Bridge and Other Japanese Tales (Translations from the Asian Classics)

by Philip K. Dick

  It is not clear whether the compiler was a Buddhist monk or an aristocrat, a single author or a group of writers. Traditionally, the compiler has been thought to be Minamoto no Takakuni (1004–1077), but the inclusion of stories dated after Takakuni’s death makes his editorship improbable.

  The Konjaku monogatari shū is the first world history of Buddhism to have been written in Japanese; two-thirds of the anthology is composed of Buddhist stories and the rest, secular stories. Books 1 through 4 describe the history of Buddhism in India, from the birth of Shakyamuni Buddha to the spread of Buddhism after his death. Books 6 through 9 (8 is missing) cover the transmission of Buddhism from India to China. Books 11 through 20 (18 is missing) outline the history of Buddhism in Japan, beginning with the transmission of Buddhism from China. Finally, books 5, 10, and 21 through 31 (21 is missing) depict secular life in India, China, and Japan. Books 5 and 10—on India and China, respectively—begin with stories about the sovereign and court, followed by stories of ministers and then of warriors. Book 22 provides biographies of powerful Fujiwara ministers, book 23 presents stories of military leaders, and book 24 offers tales of doctors, diviners, and artists. In other words, the secular parts begin with the sovereigns and imperial court as the source of authority and gradually work outward to include such other classes as the samurai, who are featured in book 25. Books 26 through 31 center on the themes of karmic retribution and reward, demons and spirits, humor, and love—depicting a diverse social world that contrasts with the aristocratic world of Heian monogatari (court tales).

  The setsuwa in the Konjaku monogatari shū have two large purposes: religious (for leading the audience to a deeper understanding of Buddhism) and secular (for providing entertainment and practical advice). In its religious aims, the Konjaku monogatari shū tries to appeal to commoners by presenting Buddhism in a simplified form. The rewards for faith are immediate, and the punishments for sin are direct and immediate. The stories about the Lotus Sutra, for example, make no or little attempt to explain the content of the sutra; instead, they focus on the efficacy and merit acquired by reciting the sutra or having faith in it. Indeed, worldly efficacy—the belief in the power of Buddhism to protect human beings from disasters—is usually stressed. The Buddhist setsuwa probably were compiled by Buddhist preachers as a means of instruction for an illiterate audience. They, however, are not sermons but rather stories that could be used in sermons. The moral at the end usually applies to only part of a story, reflecting the multiple functions of these narratives. (Indeed, the same story often appears in another setsuwa collection for a completely different purpose.)

  The focus of the Buddhist stories generally is on the strange and miraculous rather than on doctrinal matters. The same interest in the strange and mysterious marks the secular books, particularly 27 (demons and spirits), 28 (humor), 29 (evil and criminals), 30 (love stories), and 31 (miscellany of tales). The setting of the setsuwa ranges from the ninth to the twelfth century, encompassing the same historical period in which the monogatari flourished but with a much broader social and topographical range.

  The Konjaku monogatari shū was written in wakan-konkōbun, a Sino-Japanese style that reflects the Chinese influence of certain sources and a strong movement toward vernacular Japanese. The setsuwa are presented not as words directly spoken by the narrator or editor, but as transmissions of stories that have been heard and recorded.

  TALES FROM INDIA

  Books 1 through 3 begin with the birth of Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, and end with his death. Book 4 contains stories that take place after Shakyamuni’s death, and book 5 focuses on the world before his birth, with stories that overlap with the Jãtaka in Pali literature. The stories translated here, from book 5, were chosen because of their impact on Japanese literature.

  The story “How the One-Horned Ascetic Carried a Woman on His Back from the Mountains to the Royal City” (5:4), which derives from book 17 of an early-fifth-century Chinese translation from Sanskrit known as Commentary on the Great Wisdom Sutra (Dazhi dulun, Jp. Daichidoron, Skt. Mahāprajñāpāramitāśāstra) and is related to a Jãtaka story (no. 526). Similar stories appear in book 37 of the Chronicle of Great Peace (Taiheiki, ca. 1340s–1371) and in numerous setsuwa collections, including the early-fifteenth-century Transmissions from Three Countries (Sangoku denki, 2:28). The “One-Horned Ascetic,” which pits ascetic life against erotic lure, became a nō play under the same name and, in the mid-eighteenth century, was the basis for the famous kabuki play Narukami.

  The self-sacrifice of the rabbit in “How Three Beasts Practiced the Bodhisattva Way and How the Rabbit Roasted Himself” (5:13), with the moon to remind us of this great act, reveals the bodhisattva ideal of sacrifice and became famous in Japan. This story is directly linked to the following tale, “How a Lion Showed Pity for a Monkey’s Children and Tore Out His Own Flesh for an Eagle” (5:14), which is a parable about the sacrifice of Shakyamuni Buddha.

  The story “How a Nine-Colored Deer Came Out of a Mountain and Saved a Man from Drowning” (5:18), which is associated with a Jãtaka tale (no. 482), is a noted example of an ongaeshi (repaying-gratitude tale), which was to become a major narrative pattern in Japanese setsuwa and folklore. Typically, an animal (such as a snake, fox, turtle, frog, or crab) saves a human being, who does not forget the gratitude or obligation. In this story, the ongaeshi is combined with the concept of hōjō (liberation of sentient beings).

  How the One-Horned Ascetic Carried a Woman on His Back from the Mountains to the Royal City (5:4)

  Long ago in India, there was a sennin, or mountain ascetic.1 He was called the One-Horned Ascetic because he had a single horn growing out of his forehead. He had lived for many years deep in the mountains, devoting himself to religious practices. He could ride on the clouds and soar through the sky, move lofty mountains and make birds and beasts obey his commands.

  It so happened that torrential rains suddenly began to fall, and all the trails were reduced to a wretched condition. The ascetic was for some reason powerless to deal with such circumstances. For lack of any better alternative, he tried making his way on foot, but the mountains were so steep that he kept slipping and falling down. He was well along in years, and when he fell down in this way, it made him extremely angry. “It’s because it keeps on raining here in the world that the trails are in such wretched shape and I fall down like this!” he said. “My robes of moss are sopping and have a nasty feel to them. It’s the dragon kings who are causing all this rain!” He then pounced on the dragon kings and stuffed them into the water bottle he was carrying. The dragon kings were extremely grieved and unhappy about this.

  Big as they were, the dragon kings had been stuffed into a very narrow space and were unable to move, which distressed them greatly. But because the ascetic was a holy man and wielded highly esteemed powers, there was nothing they could do about this. Thus time went by, until for twenty years no rain whatsoever had fallen. As a result, the whole world was afflicted with drought, and all the five lands of India were plunged into endless grief. The kings of the sixteen great states of India carried out various prayers and petitions, begging the rain to fall, but even these had no effect. The kings were at their wit’s end and had no idea what to do.

  At that point, a certain soothsayer said to the kings, “To the northeast of here is a tall mountain, and in the mountain lives an ascetic. He has seized all the dragon kings who cause the rain to fall and placed them in confinement—that’s why no rain falls in the world. Your holy men may offer all the prayers they like, but they can never compete with the power of that holy man in the mountain!”

  When the people of the various lands heard this, they tried to come up with some plan of action, but could think of nothing. Then one of the high officials said, “He may be a holy man, and that’s our hard luck. But there’s never been anyone who was blind to physical beauty or uncharmed by sweet voices. Long ago there was an ascetic named Udraka Ramaputra who was much more advanced in power
s than this mountain man. But he suddenly fell under the spell of feminine allure and lost all his mystical powers. So we should try that approach. Let a call be sent out to recruit all the women in the sixteen great states who are outstanding in beauty and have charming voices. We’ll send them into the mountain, to the lofty peaks and deep valleys, wherever this ascetic dwells, where this holy man makes his quarters. And then, when they sing their plaintive and seductive songs, then, holy man though he may be, he cannot fail to succumb to them!”

  “That’s what we’ll do, starting at once!” his listeners exclaimed, and they set out to round up women of superb beauty and alluring voices from the population. When they had selected five hundred such women, they decked them in attractive garments, scented them with sandalwood perfume, bathed them in aloe-scented water, placed them in five hundred elegantly adorned carriages, and sent them off.

  The women entered the mountain, stepped down from their carriages, and all five hundred of them, flocking together, walked this way and that. What a splendid sight they were! Then they separated, walking in groups of ten or twenty individuals. They made their way among the various caves, through the trees, and between the mountain peaks, singing their songs in a plaintive manner. The mountains echoed with them, the valleys resounded, and the heavenly beings, the dragons and gods, gathered around to listen.

  Presently, standing beside a deep cavern, wearing robes made of moss, the holy man himself appeared. Lean, emaciated, there was scarcely any flesh on his body. Nothing but skin and bones, one might wonder where his spirit had any room to hide. From his forehead grew his single horn. He was an unspeakably weird and frightening sight. A mere shadow of a being, he leaned on his staff, clasping his water bottle, and with a wry smile on his face came hobbling forward.

  “What sort of beings are you, that you appear here and favor me with the singing of these splendid songs? I have lived in this mountain now for a thousand years, but I have never heard their like before. Are you beings come down from heaven, or minions of the devil pressing in on me?” asked the holy man.

  Then one of the women replied, “We are not heavenly beings, nor minions of the devil. We are five hundred Kekara2 women who, banding together as a group, have come here from India. We heard that this was a mountain of unparalleled appeal, where ten thousand flowers bloom, where streams flow most bountifully, and that herein dwells a saint matchless in holiness. We will sing songs for him, we thought, for if he resides in the mountains, he has doubtless never heard songs such as ours. And in that way, we can form a religious bond with him. For these reasons, therefore, we have made a point of coming here!”

  When the holy man listened to their songs, beholding a sight such as he had never seen in past or present, singing that was plaintive and seductive, his eyes were dazed, his emotions stirred, his heart was deeply moved, and his spirit led quite astray.

  “Would you be kind enough to heed my request?” asked the holy man.

  The woman assumed an inviting air, thinking that in that way she could entrap him. “What would you like me to do? What request could I fail to comply with?” she said.

  “I thought if I could touch you—perhaps just a little—,” said the holy man, speaking in a gruff and awkward manner.

  The woman was terrified, but at the same time did not wish to offend him. There he was, that ugly horn growing out of his head, yet she had been sent by the kings with specific instructions to treat him kindly. In the end, therefore, frightening as it was, she let the holy man do as he had requested.

  At that moment, the dragon kings, filled with joy, came bursting out of the water bottle and rose up into the air.3 No sooner had they done so than the whole sky darkened and clouded over, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and heavy rain began to fall.

  The woman had no place to hide, but neither could she make her way out of the mountain. Therefore, terrified though she was, she remained where she was during the days that followed.

  The holy man meanwhile had fallen deeply in love with her. When five days had passed, he said, “The rain has let up and the sky is clearing.”

  “I can’t stay here any longer,” the woman said to the holy man. “I must be starting back.”

  Reluctant to part with her, the holy man said, “Well, I suppose you must,” but he spoke in a distressed and doleful manner.

  “I’m not used to a place like this,” said the woman. “Walking over these rocky cliffs, my feet are all bruised and swollen. And on top of that, I don’t know which is the way home!”

  “In that case,” said the holy man, “I will act as your guide on the road out of the mountains.”

  He started out ahead of her. And as she looked at him—head as though mantled in snow, face all in wrinkles, his one horn growing out of his forehead, bent over at the waist, dressed in robes of moss, leaning on his pewter-ringed staff,4 and tottering along—she thought she had never seen anyone so ridiculous, and at the same time so frightening.

  After a while, they came to a place where the trail was no more than a thin ledge running along the side of the mountain. Sheer cliffs rose on either side, like a pair of folding screens, with huge waterfalls tumbling down them. Below was a deep pool from which white waves leaped up as though about to climb back into the air. Everywhere one looked were dense banks of cloud and mist. In fact, unless one sprouted wings or climbed on a dragon’s back, it was hard to imagine how one could possibly get past such a place.

  When the woman reached the spot, she said to the holy man, “I don’t see how I can go on. Just looking at it, my eyes grow dim and I don’t even know what I’m doing. How could I possibly make my way ahead? But you are accustomed to walking such trails. Perhaps you could carry me on your back.”

  The holy man was so deeply infatuated with her that he felt he could not refuse. “All right,” he said. “Here—climb on my back.” His legs were so spindly they looked as though they were about to snap, and he was terrified that he might drop her, but he carried her on his back nevertheless. When they got past the difficult place, the woman said, “Just a little farther!” and in this way she got him to carry her all the way to the royal city.

  When the pair were spotted on the road and word got around that the holy man One-Horned Ascetic who lived in the mountains was entering the capital carrying a Kekara woman on his back, people from all over the broad land of India, those high and low in station, men and women alike, gathered around to have a look. There he was, his one horn growing out of his forehead, his head as though mantled in snow. His legs were thin as needles, and he used his pewter-ringed staff to hold up the woman’s rear end, jacking her up when she threatened to slip down his back. No one could keep from laughing and jeering at them.

  When they entered the royal palace, the king too was moved to laughter. But he had heard that the holy man was highly venerated and so he treated him with respect and awe. “Hurry now, return to where you came from!” he said. And the holy man, who up to now had felt as though he were flying through the air, staggering, stumbling, made his way back home. Accounts tell us there really was a holy man as ridiculous as this!

  How Three Beasts Practiced the Bodhisattva Way and How the Rabbit Roasted Himself (5:13)

  Once long ago in India there were three beasts—a rabbit, a fox, and a monkey—who together determined to seek enlightenment and devote themselves to the bodhisattva way. Each thought to himself, “Because in our previous existences we incurred a heavy burden of guilt, we have been reborn in this lowly form as beasts. In our former lives, we showed no pity for living beings, were stingy with our goods and wealth, and gave nothing to others. Because of these grave offenses, we fell into hell and suffered there a long time, and since a residue of guilt still remained, we were condemned to be born in our present form. But now we must rid ourselves of these animal bodies!”

  To those older in years, they showed the respect due to parents; those only a little older they treated as older brothers; and with those younger, they
displayed the affection one would for a younger brother. They set aside their own concerns and thought first of the concerns of others.

  The god Indra5 took note of this. “Although beasts in body,” he said, “they have set their minds on a noble goal. Yet even among those born in human form are some who kill living creatures, seize the goods belonging to others, murder their own father or mother, or treat their elder or younger brothers with enmity. Some hide evil designs behind a smiling face; some feign affection while nursing deep anger in their hearts. It seems hardly likely, then, that these beasts should in truth entertain such exalted aims. I must put them to a test!”

  So saying, he abruptly transformed himself into an old man, feeble, helpless, with no visible means of support. Then he went to the three beasts and said, “I’m an old man, feeble, helpless. You three beasts, please help me! I have no children, my house is poor, and I’ve nothing to eat! I have heard that you three show deep pity in your hearts.”

  When the three beasts heard this, they said, “This is exactly what we had hoped for. We will look to your needs at once!”

  Then the monkey, climbing trees, picked chestnuts, persimmons, pears, jujubes, tangerines, oranges, monkey pears, hazelnuts, and two kinds of akebi fruit and brought them around. Going out to the village fields, he gathered melons, eggplants, beans, adzuki beans, black-eyed peas, foxtail millet, panic grass, and Chinese millet and brought these, too, preparing them to the old man’s taste.

  The fox went off to the graveyard where people had put out offerings of food; gathered up the rice cakes and other rice dishes and the abalone, bonito, and similar kinds of seafood; and brought them, fixing them in a suitable manner. By this time, the old man had eaten all he could eat.