"Oh my, yes! When the wind blows, the leaves just pour into the chapel. And not just leaves—I get lizards and snakes and foxes and badgers. I really don't know what to do!"
"Not leaves, you old shit—a boy-slave!"
With this, Saburō ordered his followers to search the whole temple. They searched the sanctuary, the priest's living quarters, and his private altar, and then under the veranda, behind the ceiling, and below the floor-boards; but they found nothing.
"That's strange," said Saburō. "We can't find the boy, but he certainly came in at the gate, and there's no sign of him escaping from the back. He's got to be here somewhere. This shit-priest is hiding him, that's for sure. Now talk! If you don't, you'll be sorry." Saburō suggested to his father that the old priest be made to talk, but that far even Sansho Dayū was unwilling to go: "I agree that he's probably hiding the boy, but I won't have him tortured. He's under the protection of the Buddha, after all. Now, I'm not a believer or anything, but I don't like the idea of roughing up someone in the Buddha's service. There might be a curse of some sort. So, Saburō, we'll have to call it a day. We can always come back later."
The search-party was about to leave when Saburō stopped them. "No, Father, it's a bit too early to go home. I've been looking at the ceiling for the past few minutes, and I see that that leather basket hanging from the beam there is swaying even though there's no wind. And the net around it looks new. I'm sure this bastard has hidden the boy in that basket. If we go back without checking that, we'll regret it forever." He started to pull at the net. His elder brother Tarō, unable to hold back any longer, went up to him. "Hold on a minute, Saburō. There are lots of old images and scriptures in these ancient temples, and they often put things of that sort that are no longer of use in baskets like this, tie them with cords, and hang them from the roof beams. If the cord looks new, maybe it's because the priest just hung it up today or yesterday. And you know, sometimes in these mountain temples even when there's no wind outside, there's a draft inside due to the shape of the valleys. Anyway, the house of Sansho Dayū is not so poor that the absence of just one servant will make such a difference."
Tarō was the eldest son and heir but seldom took an active role in matters. He had always disliked his father's and younger brother's greedy and cruel ways; but being a good-natured sort, he didn't like to stir up trouble. Now he was speaking in what was, for him, a very decisive manner. But Saburō answered, "I'm willing to listen to you in some matters, Elder Brother, but not in this. It'd be like having your prey right in front of you and then letting the beast escape! Even the Buddha isn't always merciful." He swiftly grabbed hold of the net and lowered the basket. He was too impatient to untie the cords so he cut them all with several slashes of his sword. But when he removed the lid, something extraordinary happened. The image of Jizo that Zushiō wore around his neck gave forth a golden flash like lightning that sent Saburō sprawling below the veranda.
"Well, what did I tell you, Saburō? You should regard yourself as lucky that the Buddha spared your life!" said Tarō. At any rate, there was nothing Sansho Dayū could do but take his leave, saying to the priest as he did so, "Sorry to have disturbed your reverence. We'll be on our way for now, but we'll be back, you can be sure of that."
The priest had been on pins and needles earlier, wondering when Zushiō would be discovered. He was concerned because he felt sure that discovery would mean death for the boy; and he was even more worried about what kind of punishment would be meted out to him in that case. But now the holy bodhisattva Jizo had worked a miracle and saved not only Zushiō but the reverend priest as well!
When the search-party had disappeared into the distance, he helped the lad out of the basket. The two joined hands, rejoicing at their delivery and thanking the Buddha from their hearts for his mercy. Zushiō declared that he would go to the capital the very next day and then come back as soon as possible for his sister. The priest, amazed at the boy's innocence, warned, "You must have been very tenderly raised, my boy. You're too naive, much too naive. Sansho Dayū gave up for today, but you can be sure that he's keeping watch on the two of us. One word that you have left this temple, and your pursuers will be after you just three to five miles down the road. No, I've started something, and I've got to finish it. I'll take you to the capital myself."
And so the priest put the boy back into the basket, tied it up with cords from top to bottom and side to side, and set off for the capital carrying the basket on his back. If he met anyone on the way and they asked him what he had on his back, he always answered, "I am a priest of the Kokubun-ji in Tango, and I have an ancient image known as 'the Branded Jizo' in my temple. But it's in such bad condition that I've decided to take it up to the capital to have it repainted."
And so the priest traveled from Tango to Seventh Avenue in the western part of the capital, where there was a chapel to the god of Suzaku. Here he released Zushiō from the basket and then said farewell. The boy had made it to the capital safely, but now he had no idea what to do in this city he had never seen before. The language of the capital was very different from his own, and no one would believe him when he announced himself to be the son of the Governor of Shinobu. He was in a great quandary, when he heard someone say that the Shitenno-ji in Naniwa (a temple founded by the holy Prince Shotoku) was famous for its miracles. If one offered prayers for something there, they were bound to be granted. And so he decided to go to Shitenno-ji. While he was there, a procession went by led by a famous wonder-working priest known as Ajari Daishi. As he passed, Ajari Daishi noticed Zushiō and, pausing for a moment, instructed the lad to enter his service as a page. Zushiō, not knowing what else to do with himself, meekly obeyed.
Now just at this time, a certain Grand Councilor, known as Umezu-no-in because he lived in Umezu to the west of the capital, had a strange dream. He was childless and had long wanted to adopt a suitable boy. In his dream, Prince Shotoku appeared and said to him, "Go to Shitenno-ji and worship me. On your way home, I will provide you with a fine son." And in the dream, the Prince gave the Grand Councilor a handsome young boy.
Umezu-no-in decided to go at once on pilgrimage to Shotokus tomb at Shitenno-ji and then to pay a visit to Ajari Daishi, with whom he had been on cordial terms for a long time. The holy man was surrounded by a great crowd of attendant youths and boys; but as the Councilor glanced at them, he was struck by one boy in particular who looked exactly like the lad in his dream. "This is the very child Prince Shotoku promised me!" he thought joyfully. "Ajari Daishi, please give me this page as my adopted son." Of course the holy man was surprised, as were the other priests and youths and boys in attendance: why would the Councilor suddenly choose to adopt this boy sitting unobtrusively in one of the last places? Nevertheless, the request was honored; and afterward, when the lad had been properly bathed and groomed, they saw that he radiated a beauty and elegance surpassing that of any son of a Minister or great nobleman.
So it was that Umezu-no-in joyfully took Zushiō back with him to the capital, where he prepared to introduce his newly adopted son to all his friends. These Great Ministers, noblemen, and courtiers were very impressed by Zushiō's handsome appearance, but the general opinion was that "it would not do to take a person of doubtful origin as adopted son of a Grand Councilor." Learning of this, Zushiō took out the lineage chart he always carried and placed it before one of the Great Ministers. The Minister opened it and read what was written: "Zushiō-maru, heir to Fujiwara Masauji, Magistrate of Iwaki, Lord of the fifty-four counties in Mutsu."
"Is he, then, the heir to the famous Fujiwara Masauji, Lord of Mutsu? Lord Masauji was falsely accused and exiled to Tsukushi, but now he has been pardoned and will soon return to the capital. A wonderful turn of events! And Umezu-no-in has found himself a fine son, truly a treasure of a son!" This was what everyone said, congratulating the Grand Councilor and envying him his good fortune.
Word of all this soon came to the ear of the Emperor, who commanded that Masauji should pass the headshi
p of the family on to Zushiō, who would henceforth hold the fifty-four counties in Mutsu and, in addition, the Anraku-ji region, where his father had been exiled, as a special holding "to provide sustenance for his horses."
Zushiō responded, "I have no need for the lands at Anraku-ji in Tsukushi, or even for the fifty-four counties in Mutsu. I ask, rather, that Your Majesty grant me the area around Yura in the province of Tango."
The Emperor felt all the greater goodwill toward Zushiō on account of his lack of greed. "Well then, since it is your earnest request, We shall give you Yura in Tango in place of Anraku-ji in Tsukushi, as sustenance for your horses. As for the fifty-four counties in Mutsu, you shall hold them, whether you wish to or not."
Now Zushiō was eager to leave for Tango as soon as possible and be reunited with his sister. Anju must be enduring great hardships, he thought. If Zushiō had hoped to rise in the world, it was only in order to save Anju and then look together for their mother. A decree was issued in the new governor's name, saying that on such-and-such a day he would proceed to Tango and lodge at the Kokubun-ji.
Great was the surprise of the resident priest at the Kokubun-ji: "Though the land of Tango is small, still there are many famous temples. And yet the new governor wishes to stay in this neglected place! There must be something behind it. I'm not aware of doing anything especially wicked; but, after all, no ones perfect—'Beat anything, and dust will rise,' as the saying goes. Its a dangerous situation. Perhaps I'd better run away...." And so he did, as swiftly as he could.
Thus, when the new governor of Tango arrived at the Kokubun-ji, the priest was not there to greet him. Zushiō ordered that a thorough search of the province be made, and at last the priest was found and brought before him. The old man was trembling with terror, but the governor approached him respectfully: "Thank you, reverend sir. You saved my life."
"I never saved your life, Lord Governor," wailed the old priest. "Please execute me quickly and get it over with!"
"Look at my face carefully. I am the boy you hid in the leather basket."
"I've heard of ugly ducklings turning into swans, but this is amazing! What a change in less than half a year!" cried the priest, rejoicing to see Zushiō again. "I never dreamed that that lad would become governor of the province."
"Do you know what's become of Anju, whom I had to leave behind at Sansho Dayū's?" asked the governor.
"It's a very painful thing to say, but your sister died at the hands of Sansho Dayū and his son Saburō. I managed to obtain her body for cremation. Here are her ashes and her hair," the priest concluded, showing him a small packet of remains.
"I decided to go to the capital and make my way in the world because I wanted to be able to save her," Zushiō said, sobbing and pressing the remains to his face. "But she's dead, and my success means nothing."
The next day, Zushiō summoned Sansho Dayū, who announced to his five sons: "We're being told to appear before the new governor himself! He probably wants to ask about the famous places and old ruins in this area. If we give good replies, he may reward us with some land. If he does ask what land we want, be sure to request as much as possible! The more we get, the better it'll be for our descendants."
When Sansho Dayū appeared before Zushiō, the new governor smiled warmly and inquired about the region, its famous places and historical sites. Sansho had each of his five sons answer in turn, reporting amusingly, and accurately, on the various places to be seen.
"Well now, I'd like to give you all some land; but would you prefer something fairly large or something rather small?" inquired the governor.
Bull's eye! thought Sansho, smiling to himself as he made sure that his sons asked for "something fairly large." But just as Sansho and his sons were congratulating themselves on their success, the new governor said something rather odd. "Oh, by the way, there used to be a couple of children, sister and brother, named Shinobu and Wasuregusa at your place. How are they? Are they still all right?"
Startled, Sansho answered, "Yes, well, I bought that pair last year for thirteen kan, but they were of no use at all—we didn't know what to do with them. Still, we took good care of them and let them do pretty much as they liked. But that ungrateful Wasuregusa, the younger brother, up and ran away. Worthless rascal, returning evil for good like that! Then the older sister, Shinobu, fell into the ocean and drowned one day when she was supposed to be drawing water."
"I see," said the governor. "That Wasuregusa was a worthless rascal, was he?"
"He most certainly was, Your Excellency. Why, I paid thirteen whole kan for him, and he ran away without doing even a thousandth-part of the work he owed me. A real good-for-nothing, he was."
"I see.... A real good-for-nothing? Well, that good-for-nothing is here before you now: I am that worthless rascal Wasuregusa! I am, in fact, Zushiō, son and heir of Fujiwara Masauji, Magistrate of Iwaki, Lord of the fifty-four counties in Mutsu. I was sold to a slave-dealer at the port of Naoi and then bought by you, Sansho Dayū—you, who took such good care of me. Not three shoulder-loads of brushwood, but ten a day, you told me. And you shut me and my sister up in that hut by the side gate at New Year's, and taught us the taste of hunger. And you branded this face with your 'Yama' mark—I'll never forget the pain! And then you tried to kill us, in the pine-tree bathtub. And you, Saburō, you chopped off my sister's long black hair with your dirk. And then, finally, the two of you tortured and killed her because she helped me to escape. She died rather than say anything that might help you—isn't that true? Oh, I miss her so! She was a wonderful sister. It was due to her that I've come into my own.... But her sufferings were much, much worse than mine. And you were responsible for those sufferings. I might be able to forgive what you did to me, but what you did to my sister, never! If crimes like that could be forgiven, this would be a world without gods or buddhas. And it's not only for my sister. Who knows how many people have died at your hands? How many people went to their deaths cursing you both? I can hear the voices of all those you murdered, my sister and all the others; their bitter, angry voices.
"Saburō, you asked for 'a fairly large piece of land,' and you shall have it. Hades is much larger than this land, and filled with the torments of many hells, so they say. You can look forward to the pains you will suffer there."
I cannot bring myself to write in detail about the punishment that Zushiō imposed on Sansho Dayū. The merciful Mori Ōgai in his version of the story lets the villain go unpunished. (Surgeon-General of the Imperial Army though he was, had he forgotten the severity of the code of military justice?) But that was not the way things happened. If the people of that time had had a chance to read Ōgai's novel, their reaction surely would have been along the following lines: "Don't be ridiculous! Sansho Dayū and Saburō must receive retribution for their crimes. And for such terribly cruel acts, the punishment too needs to be a little cruel." Therefore, though I do not wish to describe it in detail, let me simply relate the bare facts: Sansho Dayū was condemned to "death by sawing," in which the criminal was buried in earth up to his neck, and then his head was sawed off. They took Sansho Dayū to the very spot where Anju had been killed and buried him in the prescribed manner; then Saburō was made to do the sawing. After his father was killed, Saburō himself was buried alive, and his retainers, who had taken part in Anju's murder, were ordered to saw off his head. They say that during his father's execution Saburō said, "According to the teachings of the holy saint Hōnen, even the greatest evil-doer can go to Paradise if he recites the Name of Amida Buddha. You can recite the Holy Name even now, Father, with just your head sticking out of the earth. Recite the nembutsu, then, and let the sound of this saw against your flesh and bones be like the sound of gongs and wooden drums in a temple liturgy. I'll be coming soon, so wait for me at the entrance to the underworld, Father. I'll carry you across the River of Hades on my back."
And so the matter was ended. Tarō entered the priesthood, as he had long wished to do, and spent his days in prayer for t
he repose of the souls of his father and brother as well as Anju and other dead slaves. Jiro inherited his father's manor-lands—or rather, the half that was not confiscated.
Thus, the evil were punished and the good rewarded.
Zushiō went to the capital and was reunited with his father. He received permission from Umezu-no-in to leave his household and then returned to the village of Shinobu together with his father, the priest of the Kokubun-ji, and Kohagi, to become Lord of the fifty-four counties in Mutsu, now restored to his family. And so our story comes to a happy ending.
There is, however, an interesting and well-known sequel. After returning to Shinobu, there was still a person Zushiō had to find: it was, of course, his mother. People said she was in Ezogashima, the northernmost "Island of the Ezo People," present-day Hokkaido. It would be impossible to find her in such a place, everyone said, but Zushiō would not give up and went all the way to that northern isle to search for hen He had already been there for one month; but, far from finding his mother, he had not even had any news of her.
Then one day he saw a strange sight. A woman somewhat past her middle years was chasing birds with a long pole—or rather, she was pretending to chase them. She was a "bird-catcher," a kind of wandering entertainer of that time. (Zushiō had heard that some of these "bird-catchers" served as prostitutes as well.) This particular woman was, sadly, blind in both eyes. She pretended to pursue birds with her long pole, saying all the while, "My dear Zushiō, where can he be? My dear Anju, where can she be? My dear Uwataki, where can she be?" Then she fell to the ground.
When he heard the names Zushiō, Anju, and Uwataki, Zushiō felt a kind of charge run through his body. Could this be his mother? He listened once more, carefully. Again, the woman made as if to catch a bird, saying "My dear Zushiō, where can he be? My dear Anju, where can she be? My dear Uwataki, where can she be?"; and again she fell down. Yes, it was his mother! Zushiō ran to her and embraced her. "Mother, I'm Zushiō! Zushiō, who was parted from you at the port of Naoi!"
Lotus & Other Tales of Medieval Japan Page 17