Japanese Tales

by Royall Tyler

  156.

  CHERRY BLOSSOMS

  A little acolyte on Mount Hiei, fresh from the country, arrived when the cherry trees were in full bloom. When a cruel wind sent the petals flying, the boy burst into tears.

  “What makes you cry so, my dear?” a monk gently comforted him. “Are you sorry to see the flowers fall? But flowers never last, you know. They always fall. You shouldn’t cry!”

  “Who cares whether they fall or not!” the boy sobbed. “Not me! But if the barley flowers in Daddy’s field blow away there’ll be no crop and that’d be awful!” He bawled all the harder.

  So much for that sweet child’s sensitive feelings.

  157.

  THE THIRST FOR PARADISE

  A gentleman who longed ardently for rebirth in paradise was afraid of what his body might do to confuse him when the time came, since the body is treacherous at best. “If I’m very ill,” he reflected, “my last moments won’t go the way I hope and I won’t get to paradise. It’ll be much easier to keep my mind steady if I die in perfect health.” So he decided to burn as a human lamp, the way the Bodhisattva Kiken did in the Lotus Sutra.

  Unsure whether he could actually bear the pain, however, he first devised a test: he pressed two red-hot shovel blades against his body with his arms. Since the pain was bearable, he continued his preparations. Then he realized that this course would actually be all too easy. On the other hand, he doubted that he could ever achieve in this life the wisdom and virtue simply to go to paradise without trying, and he was still worried about what doubts might assail him when he came to die naturally.

  At this point he remembered Mount Fudaraku, Kannon’s paradise. Mount Fudaraku really exists in this world and is accessible in this body. That was where he should go! He gave up treating his burns and set out instead for the coastal province of Tosa, where he got a new boat and practiced sailing.

  When he felt ready, he asked a seaman to warn him as soon as a steady breeze should set in from the north. When the day came, he hoisted his sail and started south alone. There was no stopping him. His wife and children could only watch him go. They wept as he vanished over the horizon.

  His unbending resolve aroused great admiration at the time. People felt sure that he must have reached his goal.

  158.

  THE CHANTING SKULL

  In Empress Kōken’s reign the monk Eikō lived in the village of Kumano in Kii. He had moved there to bring the blessings of the Teaching to that remote shore, and the villagers revered him as a bodhisattva. Even the empress recognized that he was a saint.

  Eventually another monk arrived but said nothing about where he had come from. His only possessions were a Lotus Sutra in tiny writing, a silver jug, and a rough string chair. For years he worshipped by Eikō’s side till one day, as mysteriously as he had arrived, he announced he was leaving. He was going over the mountains to Ise, he said, and he left Eikō his chair. Eikō was touched. He gave the monk a generous parting gift of parched rice and sent two men with him to keep him company on the trail. After the first day, the monk gave the men his Sutra, his rice, and his begging bowl and sent them home. All he kept was his silver jug and a long rope.

  Two years later, some villagers were in the mountains along the Kumano River to cut timber for a boat when they heard a far-off voice ceaselessly chanting the Lotus Sutra. The awed villagers looked for where it was coming from but found nothing. Half a year later, they were back to bring out their boat and heard the voice again. They left their boat where it was and went to tell Eikō, who came straight back to the mountains with them.

  After a long search Eikō discovered a skeleton hanging against a cliff. The man had thrown himself off the cliff after tying each foot to the top with a rope, by now practically rotted away. Nearby lay a silver jug, which Eikō recognized at once. This was how the monk had chosen to flee the sorrows of mortal life. Eikō wept.

  After three years Eikō went back to the mountains and heard the voice again. This time he found the skull. Still uncorrupted, the tongue was chanting as it had when the monk lived. Eikō prostrated himself before it and took the lesson to heart. He often remembered his friend in his prayers after that, and gave himself entirely to chanting the Lotus.

  159.

  THE LITTLE GOD SAILS AWAY

  Dōkō, a monk and Lotus devotee who lived at Tennōji, confined himself each year for the summer retreat at Kumano. He was on his way back from Kumano when, one evening at sundown, he found himself passing along the shore in Minabe county of the province of Kii; so he camped on the spot under a large tree.

  In the middle of the night a lot of horsemen rode up nearby. Who in the world could they be? Dōkō heard one call out, “Are you there, you old man under the tree?”

  “Here I am!” answered a voice.

  Dōkō was surprised to learn that someone else was under the tree too.

  “Hurry up, then! Come with us!” the rider called again.

  The voice under the tree declined. “Not tonight, I’m afraid,” it said.

  “My horse’s legs are broken and I can’t ride him. I’ll have to fix him tomorrow or find another horse. And I’m just too old to walk, you know.”

  The horsemen rode away. At dawn the worried Dōkō checked all around the tree. He found nothing but the crumbling image of a road god, obviously very old. Images like this were supposed to have a man part and a woman part, but the woman part was missing. In front of the god was a votive plaque with a picture of a horse on it. The legs were broken off. Dōkō realized that it was the god’s voice that he had heard last night. He tied the piece with the legs on it back in place with some string so that the picture was whole again, then stayed to see what might happen next.

  That night he lay under the tree again and the riders came as before. This time the god got on his horse and rode off with them. Toward dawn Dōkō heard him come back.

  In a moment an old man came to Dōkō and bowed. “Holy man,” he said, “your curing my horse allowed me to do my duty. I owe you more than I can ever repay! I’m the road god under this tree. All those riders were gods of disease. Normally I clear the way for them as they go through the land, and if I don’t go with them they beat and abuse me cruelly. But now I’m sure that thanks to you I can cast off this poor shape of mine and be reborn in some far nobler form.”

  Dōkō expressed his wonder and protested he could not possibly bring about any such happy change. “Holy man,” the god replied, “stay under this tree for three days, chanting the Lotus Sutra. I’ll listen, and by the power of the Sutra I’ll leave this suffering body and be reborn into the Land of Bliss.” Then he vanished.

  Dōkō complied. For three days and three nights he chanted the Lotus Sutra and on the fourth day the old man appeared again. “By your compassion, holy man,” he said, “I’m leaving this body forever and taking on a much better one. I’m going to be reborn far away to the south, on Mount Fudaraku where the blessed Kannon lives, as a follower of the bodhisattva. This is because I’ve heard the Lotus. If you want proof that I speak the truth, make a little boat out of branches, put my wooden image in it, and launch the boat on the sea. Then watch what happens.” And once again the old man disappeared.

  Dōkō made the boat and laid the image in it. The sea was perfectly calm when he put it in the water, and there was not a breath of wind, but the boat sailed straight toward the south. Having watched it go, Dōkō prostrated himself toward it till it faded from view. Meanwhile an old man in the village nearby dreamed he saw the road god, now decked in glory, flying amid strains of heavenly music toward the south.

  160.

  THE UNEARTHLY FRAGRANCE

  Being all alone in the world, a nun in Chikuzen province, in Kyushu, sought out a mountain temple where she cooked year after year for the saintly monk who lived there. She never stopped calling Amida’s holy Name, and not discreetly either, because she did it in a voice so piercing that it was more a shriek than a chant. The monk’s disciples came to
hate the noise and lost no opportunity to slander her to their master, who eventually sent her away.

  Having nowhere to go she wandered the plain, still calling Amida, till a good woman invited her in. “We have a large house here,” the woman told her, “and large grounds — plenty of room for you to stay and go on calling the Name!”

  The nun accepted gladly, and was so grateful to be fed and kindly cared for that she asked for some flax to spin in return. At first the woman would not hear of the idea, but the nun insisted. The thread she spun was so fine that the woman was deeply touched. “Here I’d been glad just to give you a place to call the Name,” she exclaimed, “and now you’re spinning for me so lovingly!”

  Years later the nun said one day to the woman, “The day after tomorrow I’m going to die. May I bathe in preparation? You’ve been so kind to me all this time, and I want to show you what our last moments can be. But don’t tell anyone!” She wept as she spoke. Though saddened by this news, the woman kept the secret.

  On the day, the nun bathed and put on a clean robe, then sat down facing the west and began calling the Name as loudly as always while the woman watched her, respectfully, from a few feet away. Darkness fell. Late in the night an unearthly light shone over the fields nearby and the woman felt afraid; but when the air was filled with an indescribable fragrance and a purple cloud floated down from the heavens to envelop the house, the woman joined her voice to the nun’s in calling the lord. Then the nun quietly touched her hands to her forehead and passed away. The woman had never seen anything so moving, and wept as she prostrated herself in love and awe.

  A certain worthy monk who later lived on Mount Kōya was part of the household at the time, being only about twelve years old. The woman told him the story, assuring him that although she had not seen Amida Buddha and all the saints and bodhisattvas coming to greet the nun’s soul, she certainly had seen the light and the purple cloud. In fact, the fragrance of the nun’s passing had perfumed her, and stayed with her forever after.

  Yes, it’s true that those who are to be reborn in paradise always know beforehand when they are to go and are able to let others know. May you too, who hear this story, be filled with faith and devoutly call the Name, so as to pass when your time comes into the Land of Bliss!

  161.

  A TWINGE OF REGRET

  Not many years ago a holy man called Rengejō realized that he was growing weaker and weaker with age, and that death was not far off. Since his greatest hope was to die with his thoughts on Amida (for then he would go to Amida’s paradise), he decided that when he felt ready he would take no chances but end his own life by drowning.

  Tōren, an old and experienced friend, immediately disapproved. “You’d be a fool to do that!” he warned. “On the contrary, you should keep calling the Name just as long as you possibly can because every day then will mean more merit for you.”

  When Rengejō remained unconvinced, Tōren gave in and promised that he would stop objecting. “What will be, will be!” he sighed, and helped Rengejō get ready.

  The news of what Rengejō was going to do had quickly spread, and a large, pious crowd was waiting by the Katsura River to worship and to share in the blessing of his passing. Rengejō found a deep stretch of the stream, called the Name loudly, and a moment later plunged in. Tōren, standing nearby, wept for a friend he knew he would miss.

  A few days later Tōren was taken ill, apparently under the influence of a spirit, and his state caused great alarm until finally the spirit declared itself. “I am Rengejō,” it said.

  “I don’t understand!” Tōren exclaimed. “We were friends for years and you never had anything against me! You died such a holy death! I never imagined you’d come back!”

  “You tried to stop me, you see,” the spirit answered, “but you hadn’t realized how determined I was. Now it’s all over. What I did was just for my salvation, not for anyone else’s, and I don’t mean to say that when the time came I had any wish to pull back. I really don’t know what happened. But at any rate, I was about to go in when suddenly I didn’t want to go through with it. There was such a crowd, though, that I didn’t see how I could very well change my mind. I looked at you and our eyes met. What my look meant was, ‘Please stop me!’ But you didn’t understand and you just seemed to urge me on. I was so angry as I went under that I couldn’t possibly have gone to paradise. Now I’m wandering in a region I never wanted to see. It’s all my fault and I’m not blaming you, but it’s that last twinge of regret that’s brought me back to you.”

  What happened to Rengejō should stand as a warning. The human spirit is elusive, and one never knows which way it will turn.

  162.

  DADDY, WHO WERE THOSE PEOPLE?

  The yin-yang diviner Kamo no Tadayuki was the equal of the greatest masters of the past, and incomparable in his own time. His advice and services were valued highly both by the court and by private patrons.

  Tadayuki was just setting out to do a purification when fatherly affection made him decide to take along his nine-year-old son Yasunori, who sat beside him all through the rite. While they were riding home in Tadayuki’s carriage, little Yasunori said, “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Daddy, during the purification I saw lots of people. They looked like people but they weren’t, and they were very scary. They ate up the food offerings, then they got on the little boats, carriages, and horses you’d laid out and they all went away. What were they, Daddy?”

  Tadayuki was amazed. He knew he had an unusual gift for the art, but he had never seen supernatural beings when he was a child. He had come to see them only gradually, as his study progressed. “Yasunori must be a genius if he can see them just like that, even now,” he thought. “He must have the same gift that people had in the Age of the Gods, when supernatural beings and men mingled quite freely.”

  Tadayuki was right. Yasunori grew up to be a great master, and his children and grandchildren flourished in the same way.

  163.

  THE CURSE

  Ōtsuki no Mochisuke, the son of the Budget Bureau director, belonged to a distinguished line of such officials. He was also extremely talented and would certainly have attained unusual prominence if he had lived. Unfortunately, he had rivals who felt that he stood in the way of their own advancement and therefore wanted to be rid of him. After an oracle, delivered in his own home, told him he had an enemy, he consulted a yin-yang diviner for a list of days when he should take special precautions. On the days indicated by the diviner he barred his gate securely to the world.

  His enemy secretly commissioned another diviner to secure his death by magic. “Naturally we’ll have to be cautious while he’s in seclusion,” said the enemy magician, “but if we work together and lay a curse on him on one of those days, it’s sure to work. Take me to his house and get him to come out. He won’t open his gate, of course, but I only need to hear his voice. If I can just hear him talk, we’ll get him.”

  Off they went to Mochisuke’s house, where his enemy pounded furiously on the gate. He insisted to the servant who answered that he had urgent business with Mochisuke and that, seclusion or no seclusion, he should be allowed to slip inside. The servant reported this to Mochisuke, who adamantly refused. “Everyone has a right to look out for his own safety,” he said, “and I don’t want that fellow in here. Tell him to go away.”

  “All right,” said the enemy, “but if he won’t open the gate, at least he could put his head out the little window there.”

  Perhaps it was just Mochisuke’s karma to die, because that is exactly what he did. He put his head out the little window and asked his visitor what he wanted. As he did so the diviner heard his voice and saw his face, and laid on him the most powerful curse he could summon. Since the visitor actually had nothing to say, he could only answer that he was going down to the country and thought Mochisuke should know.

  “He must be mad to have called me out just to hear that,” Mochisuke fumed as he
drew his head back in.

  Soon his head began to ache, and in three days he was dead.

  They say that the man who commissioned the curse died shortly afterwards under unfortunate circumstances. It was frightening how his curse turned right back on him.

  164.

  THE HARMLESS HAUNT

  As a scholar, Ki no Haseo was so magnificently learned that he had no rival in all the world. However, he knew nothing of yin-yang lore.

  A dog kept jumping over the wall to piss in Haseo’s garden, and Haseo was puzzled enough to consult a yin-yang diviner about it. He hoped to learn whether the dog’s doings boded well or ill.

  The diviner divined. “Well, there’ll be a demon in your house on such-and-such a date,” he announced. “Don’t worry, though. This demon doesn’t hurt people or put curses on them, or anything like that. The thing to do is to shut yourself up in seclusion on that day.”

  By the time the day came, Haseo had forgotten all about it. Seclusion was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he had his students over to his house to compose Chinese poetry. Learned meters, metaphors, and rhymes were blossoming on every page when suddenly a lugubrious howl issued from the closet nearby. The assembled scholars quaked where they sat. Then someone cracked open the closet door. A demon burst forth. It was two feet tall, with a white body and legs and a black head, and it had a single black horn. They were all frightened out of their wits.

  But one among the company, a wise and brave man, kicked at the demon’s head as it darted by. The black thing fell off. Why, the creature was a white dog, barking and yapping like mad! The thing on its head had been a bucket. During the night the dog had gotten into the closet and ended up with its head stuck in the bucket, which was why its howl had sounded so weird. The relieved scholars burst into laughter.