Now Chōemon and Hambei fully expected an initial refusal, so they were surprised to hear Tarō's reply: "I'll go, of course I'll go. I'll be glad to go to the capital."
While leading his lazy life, Tarō had fantasized daily about living in a grand mansion and becoming a Middle Councilor, or a Grand Councilor, or even Emperor. What could be better, therefore, than to go to the capital? From that very day, he gave up his life of idleness and said goodbye to his longtime companions in solitude, the flies. Then, bidding farewell to the villagers, he set out on his journey. Relieved at getting rid of this burden to the village and at having carried out the Middle Councilor's command, the people of Atarashi sent Tarō off loaded with gifts. There was considerable unease, however, as to whether he would actually do the work required by his obligatory service.
Having despatched Tarō to the capital, they lived in fear of receiving any day now a reprimand from Kyoto. When a messenger did come, however, he brought unexpected news: Tarō was a very hard worker, and the Middle Councilor was highly pleased. True, he had the strange habit of going round to look at the mansions of the Grand Councilors and Ministers and even the palace of the Emperor, on his day off; but that did not really matter, and the Middle Councilor was warm in his praise for Tarō's devoted service.
As if this news were not surprise enough for the villagers of Atarashi, some four months later there came word of developments a hundred times more startling. Having finished his period of service, Tarō remained in the capital, going to Kiyomizu Temple every day to look among the worshippers for a suitable bride. The woman he found at last was the favorite attendant of the wife of a Grand Councilor. They got to know each other through an exchange of poems; and, though at first she was not interested in him, she was gradually won over by his evident cultivation as well as gentleness. In the end, she became his bride.
However, this second piece of news seemed rather ordinary by comparison with the third, which was to come. This last was truly earth-shaking: heaven and earth could have crumbled to pieces without producing more amazement among the people of Atarashi. The news was that Tarō was the son of the Prince of Uji, himself the son of a previous Emperor. The Prince of Uji had been banished to Shinano on false charges and had died there. Tarō was, in fact, the son of this prince and a local woman. It had by now become clear to everyone that the charges against the prince had been groundless. Thus, when the Court learned that Tarō was actually his surviving heir, he was granted the fifth court rank and appointed governor of Shinano, the place of his father's undeserved exile. He was expected to return and take up his duties there very soon.
This news was truly gut-wrenching to the people of Atarashi. If the story had begun and ended in the capital, amazement would have been their only response; but if Lazybones Tarō was to come to Shinano as governor, it would have a great effect on their own destinies. Atarashi was, after all, Tarōs hometown. One normally feels affection for one's hometown, so the new governor would almost certainly do well by the people of Atarashi. That was one viewpoint. But there were persons who very much doubted whether Tarō would feel grateful toward the village, given its treatment of him and his family over the years. The villagers had never dreamed that the man who, some thirty years before, had appeared from nowhere to lead a shadowy existence in their midst had been in reality an august personage of imperial rank. True, they need not accuse themselves of grossly abusing the family of strangers, but neither had they gone out of their way to be kind. And as for Tarō (the son of an Imperial Prince!) with his unaccountable lazy ways, the villagers had always viewed him with contempt as an eccentric, and mocked him as a fool. If they had sent him to the capital, it was to be rid of a tiresome nuisance. Why should Tarō feel goodwill toward people who had treated him like that? No doubt he would pay them back with some punishment as soon as he took up his new post. When one of their number expressed this opinion, the fear of impending punishment spread throughout Atarashi, and the people trembled.
There was nothing left for it but to seek the help of O-roku, the only person in Atarashi who had shown kindness to Tarō. Suddenly the old woman became a person of importance, kowtowed to by all the villagers, who asked that she go to Government House and beg the new governor's pardon on behalf of Atarashi, if he imposed some harsh exaction on the village. O-roku herself, however, was secretly afraid that Tarō might have become aware of her trickery regarding the costs of his food; like the other villagers, she feared Tarō's return to Shinano as governor.
Soon afterwards the new governor assumed his post in Shinano, but no message came from him to Atarashi until a half year had passed. His letter stated that Atarashi was his hometown, and that he was grateful especially to O-roku for her kindness. Chōemon and the other elders too had been good enough to send him to the capital, which had led to his present good fortune. He wished to thank O-roku, Chōemon, and the others in person, and asked them to present themselves at the governor's mansion.
Reading the letter, the inhabitants of Atarashi heaved a collective sigh of relief, and Chōemon and the other elders, together with O-roku, went off to Government House. When they arrived, they were amazed at the beauty of the governor's residence. It was not that it was sumptuous or obviously costly. It had, rather, an elegant refinement combined throughout with a highly functional design: it was this that was so impressive. And the entire edifice had apparently been designed by the governor (that is to say, by Lazybones Tarō), who had given detailed instructions to the builders. It was hard for the villagers of Atarashi to believe that their Lazybones had been responsible for such an impressive structure.
As they stood there gaping, the governor appeared. He certainly resembled Lazybones; but they simply could not connect the dignified person of the governor, his hair carefully arranged, with the old Tarō, living in a smelly hut, with hair disheveled, body grimy, and rice sticking to his mouth. They were stunned into silence, and the governor too said nothing. The silence continued for a while until the governor broke it by saying, "Welcome, people of Atarashi. I remember you all fondly."
They didn't know quite what to say to this; but, overwhelmed by the series of shocks, one of them found himself asking a rather rude question: "Are y-y-you really Master Lazybones? We never dreamed Lazybones would become His Excellency the Governor..."
"A man is an animal that's constantly changing," the governor replied with a smile. "The 'me' of yesterday is not the same as the 'me' of today. Therefore, the Lazybones Tarō of ten years ago is not the same as the man who stands before you now. On the other hand, I do have some memory of him, deep inside me, so perhaps I am the same person after all."
The villagers didn't really understand what this reply might mean, and they asked him another unseemly question: "We're happy to have the chance to see your official residence, Your Excellency. It's wonderful—there's nothing else like it here in the provinces. And we hear that it was Your Excellency himself, the former Master Lazybones, who designed it and oversaw its building. It's incredible to us who knew Master Lazybones that he could ever have built anything as wonderful as this. We've also heard rumors that Master Lazybones wooed his present wife, the attendant at the Grand Councilor's residence, by writing poems to her.
This too doesn't seem at all like the man we knew. Did you really build this mansion and really write those poems?"
Once again Master Lazybones smiled and responded to their rude inquiry:
"Among the books my father left me, there was the plan for a mansion—probably his old residence in the capital, I suppose. And there were more plans of other mansions as well. I looked at them everyday and imagined the kind of house I'd like to live in, building it and tearing it down and rebuilding it in my mind. Then when I went to Kyoto, I walked around looking at mansions belonging to various people. So when I was appointed governor and came back to Shinano, I knew how to realize my dream of so many years—though I didn't have the funds to do more than what you see.
"Among my father'
s books, there was also a copy of Poems, Ancient and Modern. If you live an idle life for eight years, it's not hard to memorize the poems in that collection. I varied them slightly when I exchanged poems with the lady who became my wife. That gave rise to all sorts of amusing gossip!"
He laughed heartily. The villagers understood what he meant this time, but it was hard for them to imagine Tarō gazing at house-plans and perusing the classical poetry collection in the midst of that lazy life.
Finally the villagers asked the governor what concerned them most: what did he think of them and their village?
"The people of Atarashi were kind to my family; and, in particular, they allowed me to spend eight long years leading the idle life of my choice. I'm grateful for that. O-roku, especially, brought food to me every day; and Chōemon and the others sent me to Kyoto. I'm going to give all of you presents as a sign of my gratitude." And, distributing various gifts, he sent the villagers away. They returned home rejoicing that Lazybones Tarō had not taken revenge for past grievances, but rather had given them gifts. Still, in all his time in Shinano, the benevolent governor never once went to visit the village of Atarashi, his old hometown.
Lastly, as to the way the governor worked: it was his habit to go to his office daily and take charge of affairs; yet he managed to spend most of his time there reading books and gazing off into space. Occasionally a subordinate would come to ask for his judgment on some matter. "Uh-huh," the governor would say, nodding his head. "That'll be fine. Do as you think best." His residence was of course incomparably larger than Lazybones Tarō's hut; and, since he had a wife, and plenty of maid-servants and retainers, he was never grubby and never had grains of rice sticking to his mouth. But apart from that, his way of life was almost the same as it had been in his days of idleness.
This new governor, who at first sight must have seemed an incompetent, did something which stunned his subordinates in the first year after his arrival: he announced a new personnel policy. He had the splendid idea of enforcing rewards and punishments fairly at every level of government service, including the lowest. Observing the new policy, the provincial officials all knew in their hearts that there was something mysterious and inscrutable about this governor, who still had a good deal of "Lazybones Tarō" about him. Thus, his orders were carried out, and the province of Shinano was well governed. About three times a year, the "Lazybones Governor" would shake his head as he listened to reports from his staff. That meant a clear "no" to what was being proposed; and his subordinates would realize eventually that by doing this he had nipped some troublesome problem in the bud.
He had served as governor for ten years, and then one day his sleeping-mat was found empty. His wife and his retainers scoured the province, its mountains and rivers, but no trace of him was ever found. People began to wonder if this governor, whose early life, sudden rise, and final disappearance were all so strange, might not be a god or spirit. In the end, the ex-governor, Master Lazybones Tarō, came to be worshipped as a god. In his hometown of Atarashi, a shrine was erected to the "Great Luminous Deity Lazybones," and people came to worship there, as they do to this very day.
Lotus
Kumagai Jirō Naozane, after encountering the great saint Hōnen and hearing the doctrine of the Sole Practice of the Nembutsu, immediately shaved his head and took the religious name Rensei-bō ("Lotus-Born"). He did this out of an earnest wish to be reborn on the calyx of a lotus flower in the Pure Land of Perfect Bliss.
Naozane remained for a time in the capital, serving Hōnen. He may have become a monk, but he was still a fierce warrior from the Eastlands and well fitted to act as the holy man's bodyguard. Hōnen's teachings represented a total revolution in the interpretation of the nembutsu and a fundamental denial of the Buddhist doctrines that had prevailed up to that time. For that reason, he was hated by many in the capital, and above all by the monks of the Tendai Sect on Mount Hiei. Hōnen's person was always in danger, and his disciples had been looking for a powerful warrior to defend him; but they could hardly hire a professional in armor and helmet as the holy man's bodyguard. Thus, Naozane's entry into the monastic community seemed heaven-sent.
And so Rensei-bō served as bodyguard for a time. One day, however, he suddenly said to his teacher, "I would like to return to the East and spread your teachings there." This request surprised the other disciples. He spoke of spreading the teachings, but Rensei-bō was still very much the warrior, a man of violent passions. Who knew what he might do? The disciples had misgivings. But Hōnen gathered the community together and addressed them: "There are many enemies of the nembutsu in the East. It will take a man like Rensei-bō, with his intense, pure-hearted faith, to spread the teachings there."
It is said that when Rensei-bō heard tell of this, he said: "Hōnen is the only one who truly understands me. I'm willing to give my life for my teacher!"
Rensei-bō bade farewell to Hōnen and the disciples and set off for the East in high spirits, but he presented a very odd appearance as he traveled. He had already made a name for himself as a master archer and horseman, yet before reaching his destination, he fell from his horse any number of times. And no wonder: the horse's head was set toward the East, but he had reversed the saddle, putting it back to front, so he rode facing backwards. Asked why, he answered, "The West is the direction where Lord Amida resides. It would be rude to sit with my backside to that direction."
It had been a long time since he'd returned to his native Musashi. Burned into the minds of the people of that province was the image of Kumagai Jirō Naozane, the daredevil of the battle of Ichinotani. It was said that Naozane had now entered religion and become a disciple of Hōnen, but it was impossible for the people of Musashi to conceive of this wild warrior tonsured. That was why crowds of people came day after day to his lodgings, hoping for a glimpse of the new Rensei-bō. He welcomed them warmly and explained just how he had become a nembutsu devotee.
"Over the years I've built up a lot of bad karma for myself, and I've suffered as a result. But now that I'm a disciple of Hōnen, I've found happiness," he began in a gentle voice. Then all of a sudden, his face turned red and he began to shout: "Shame on you all! You're still attached to this world of dust and keep on piling up bad karma. Shame on you! Hurry up and enter the Way of Sole Practice! Concentrate on rebirth in paradise!"
His audience, watching the monk Rensei-bō haranguing them and recalling the former fierce warrior Kumagai Jirō Naozane, felt a touch of nostalgia, and a touch of the burlesque. Yet there were many, too, who were moved by the intensity of his faith, and large numbers of them became nembutsu devotees as a result.
Viewed from outside, Naozane's entry into the religious life seemed surprising, but it was by no means a sudden decision on his part. He had made a name for himself as a valiant fighter in the Genji-Heike wars and then returned to his native place, but deep in his heart he was sick of being a warrior. Of course he enjoyed the thrill of battle. He loved the tense excitement: the two camps pitched over against each other; the single horseman slipping from his own camp, riding out in front of the enemy and announcing in a loud voice: "It is I, Kumagai Jirō Naozane, dweller in the land of Musashi!" He truly loved this instant when he took the lead in beginning the battle. Then, ignoring the hail of arrows released by the enemy archers, he would plunge into the enemy camp, cutting down the warriors who, one after another, came at him with slashing swords. Could anything in the world be as thrilling? Even now Naozane's heart would beat faster at the memory of those moments on the battlefield.
It was at the battle of Satake that he first experienced the excitement of leading the initial charge. He rode far ahead of everyone else and killed many of the enemy. There were some who later criticized his impetuous act as contrary to military regulations, but it was hard to deny that his courage in pressing alone into the enemy camp greatly raised the fighting-spirit of his own side and led them to an overwhelming victory. This battle of Satake made military men aware of Naozane's existenc
e, but it was the battle of Ichinotani above all that made him famous throughout the land.
In this latter battle, he took the head of Atsumori, scion of the Heike clan. When he did so, he recalled for a moment Kojiro, his own son of the same age; but it was only a moment's hesitation. The account passed down to later ages of Naozane's motive for becoming a monk—his striking down Atsumori, the Heike noble of seventeen, and his "weeping, weeping as he struck"; his consequent sense of the transience of life, leading to his taking the tonsure—all of this was a lie, made up by monks who made their living telling stories. In reality, Naozane never forgot his joy at taking the head of Atsumori, son of the Heike.
Why, then, did this man so fond of battle come to dislike the life of the soldier? It is not enough for a soldier simply to fight day after day. After the battle comes the duty to report to his superiors, which can result in a heightened reputation for valor and other rewards. To Naozane, however, it was a great nuisance. This was true after the battle of Ichinotani as well. Kajiwara Heizo Kagetoki inquired of him: "How many heads did you, in fact, take? I've heard about Atsumori, but I want a report on how many heads you took in all."
Lotus & Other Tales of Medieval Japan Page 10