Tales of Moonlight and Rain

by Ueda, Akinari

  The temple grounds were an auspicious, holy place, a clearing one-third of a mile on each side without a shabby grove in sight, where even the smallest pebble had been swept away;4 but here, far removed from the temples, no sound of incantations, bells, or ringing-staffs could be heard. Luxuriant trees pushed through the clouds; the sound of water flowing beside the path was light and clear, deepening the melancholy. Unable to sleep, Muzen spoke: “The Great Teacher’s godlike moral influence brings enlightenment even to the soil, rocks, grass, and trees, and coming down to us today after more than eight hundred years it is ever more splendid and noble. Among his many achievements all around the country is this mountain, the greatest of all Buddhist temples. When the Teacher was living, he crossed to distant China, where something happened that moved him deeply. Saying ‘Wherever this lands will be the holy spot from which I shall spread my Way,’ he threw a vajra into the far-off sky, and this mountain is where it came to rest. I have heard that it lodged in the Vajra Pine at the front of the Platform. They say there is no grass, tree, spring, or rock on this mountain that is not sacred. That we are able unexpectedly to take lodgings here this night is the result of a happy bond, transcending a single life.5 Although you are young, you must never neglect your faith.” He spoke softly, his voice clear and wistful.

  In the woods behind the Mausoleum, it seemed, a bird cried buppan, buppan, and the echo sounded close at hand. Muzen felt suddenly wide awake: “Extraordinary. The bird that just sang must be the one called buppōsō. I heard a long time ago that it nests on this mountain, but I have never met anyone who had actually heard its voice. The fact that we have been able to hear this while we lodge here tonight may be an omen that our misdeeds will vanish and we will take good karma into the next life. They say that this bird chooses immaculate places to live. It is well known that it nests on Mount Kashō in the province of Kanzuke, Mount Futara in the province of Shimozuke, the peak of Daigo in Yamashiro, Mount Shinaga in Kawachi,6 and especially on this mountain, as a gāthā poem by the Great Teacher says:

  In the quiet forest, sitting alone in my hut at dawn

  I hear the call of the Three Jewels in one bird.

  The bird has a voice, I have a mind—

  voice, mind, clouds, water, all perfectly enlightened.7

  Another old poem says:

  As the peak of Matsuno-o quietly greets the dawn

  I look up and hear the bird cry buppōsō.8

  It has been handed down that, long ago, the gods of Matsuno-o commanded this bird always to serve the priest Enrō of Saifukuji, because he was without equal as a believer in the Lotus Sutra, and so we know that the bird lives in that sacred precinct as well.9 Tonight, strangely enough, we have already heard the voice of the bird. How can I fail to be moved in these circumstances?”10 After cocking his head in thought for a time, he recited a seventeen-syllable verse in the haikai style, of which he had long been fond:

  “The cry of the bird is mysterious, too—lush foliage on the secret mountain.“11

  Taking out his travel-inkstone, he wrote down the verse by lantern light, then strained his ears in hopes of hearing the voice of the bird again, when, to his surprise, he heard instead the stern voice of a forerunner, coming from the direction of the distant temples and gradually drawing closer. “Who could be coming to worship so late at night?” he said, in puzzlement and fear. Exchanging glances, father and son held their breath as they peered toward the voice. Soon a young samurai outrider approached them, stomping roughly on the planks of the bridge.

  Startled, they hid on the right side of the hall, but the samurai quickly discovered them. “Who are you?” he said. “His Excellency is coming. Get down quickly.” In a panic, they climbed down from the veranda and prostrated themselves on the ground. Soon they could hear the sound of many shoes, particularly the resounding echo of clogs, as a nobleman dressed in court robes and cap ascended to the hall, followed by four or five samurai, who sat to his right and left. The nobleman said to his attendants, “Why is so-and-so not here?” “He should be here soon,” one of them replied. Again footsteps could be heard, and another group, including a dignified samurai and a lay-priest with a shaved head, bowed and ascended to the hall. Addressing the samurai who had just arrived, the nobleman said, “Hitachi, why are you late?” The samurai replied, “Shirae and Kumagae were hard at work, saying that they would offer saké to Your Excellency, and so I wanted to prepare some fresh fish to go with it. This is why I have arrived late to serve Your Excellency.“12 When the fish had been arranged and presented, the nobleman said, “Mansaku, you pour.“13 A beautiful young samurai respectfully approached on his knees and raised the saké flask. As the cup was passed from person to person, the party appeared to grow lively. The nobleman spoke again: “I have not heard Jōha’s stories for a long time. Summon him.” The order seemed to be passed from man to man, until a large monk with a flat face and prominent features, wearing a priest’s robes, appeared from behind the prostrate Muzen and sat at the end of the row. The nobleman questioned him on various ancient matters, about which he replied in detail. Greatly impressed, the nobleman said, “Give him a reward.”

  “Soon a young samurai outrider approached them, stomping roughly on the planks of the bridge.”

  One of the samurai asked the monk a question: “I have heard that this mountain was established by a priest of high virtue, that there is no soil, rock, grass, or tree here that is not sacred. Yet there is poison in the waters of the Jewel River.14 A man who drinks this water will die. For this reason, I have heard, the Great Teacher composed a poem:

  Forgetting, the traveler will surely scoop and drink—

  the waters of the Jewel River deep in Takano.15

  Why is it that, despite his high virtue, he did not dry up this poisonous stream? What is your analysis of this strange matter?” Smiling, the monk said, “The poem was selected for inclusion in the Fūgashū.16 In the headnote, the author explained, ‘There being many poisonous insects upstream in the river called “Jewel River,” on the path to the Inner Sanctuary of Takano, I cautioned against drinking from the stream and later wrote this poem.’ And so it is just as you have recalled. Further, your question is reasonable because the Great Teacher, having mysterious, god-like powers, made the invisible gods open up roads where there had been none before; he cut through rocks more easily than digging in the soil, imprisoned great serpents, and subdued goblin-birds—when we consider that he accomplished these great deeds, which are revered by all under heaven, we cannot accept the headnote as the truth. There are, of course, streams called Jewel River in various provinces,17 and all the poems composed about them praise the purity of their waters, leading us to conclude that this Jewel River, too, is not a poisonous stream; that the spirit of the poem is ‘Even if someone coming here to worship has forgotten the existence of such a famous river on this mountain, he will be delighted by the purity of the stream and scoop some water up to drink’; and that somebody concocted the headnote later, having heard a groundless report about poison. If we pursue our doubts further, we will see that the poem is not in the style of the early days of the present capital.18 Generally, in the old language of this country, ‘jeweled chaplet,’ ‘jeweled curtain,’ ‘jeweled robe,’ and the like were words of praise for a beautiful form or purity, so that pure water, too, was praised as ‘jewel water,’ ‘jewel well,’ and ‘jewel river.’19 Why would anyone have attached ‘jewel’ to the name of a poisonous stream? People who embrace Buddhism blindly and fail to grasp the spirit of poetry often make this kind of mistake. It is very perceptive of you to question the meaning of this poem, especially as you are not a poet yourself,” he concluded, praising the man warmly. The nobleman and all the others lauded the reasonableness of this explanation.

  From behind the hall came the cry buppan, buppan, sounding quite near. Raising his cup, the nobleman said, “That bird rarely calls. Tonight’s party is better than ever. Jōha, how about it?” The monk bowed and said, “A link f
rom me would surely sound fusty to your ears, my Lord. A traveler passing the night here has been reciting haikai in the current style. It would seem fresh to you, my Lord; please summon him and listen.” “Call him,” said the nobleman. A young samurai turned to Muzen and said, “You have been summoned. Approach.” Unsure whether he was dreaming or awake, Muzen crept forward, trembling with fear. The monk turned to him. “That verse you just composed—present it to my Lord,” he said. Muzen replied fearfully, “I do not remember what it was. Please forgive me.” The monk pressed him: “You said ‘the secret mountain,’ did you not? His Excellency is waiting. Quickly.” More terrified than ever, Muzen said, “Who is the person you call His Excellency, holding a banquet by night, deep in this mountain? It is very mysterious.” The monk answered, “The man I refer to as His Excellency is the regent, Lord Hidetsugu. The others are Kimura Hitachi-no-suke, Sasabe Awaji, Shirae Bingo, Kumagae Daizen, Awano Moku, Hibino Shimotsuke, Yamaguchi Shōun, Marumo Fushin, the lay-monk Ryūsai, Yamamoto Tonomo, Yamada Sanjūrō, Fuwa Mansaku, and, addressing you, Jōha, Bridge of the Dharma.20 It is due to a strange and fortunate bond that you are able to behold His Excellency. Now hurry and give him your verse.” It was so horrible that the hair on Muzen’s head would have stood on end, had there been any hair, and he felt as though his innards and his spirit alike were flying away into space. Trembling, he drew a clean sheet of paper from his pilgrim-bag, wrote on it with a faltering brush, and presented it. Tonomo took the paper and recited in a loud voice:

  “The cry of the bird is mysterious, too—lush foliage on the secret mountain.”

  “Clever,” said the nobleman. “Someone provide a linking stanza.“21 Yamada Sanjūro moved forward and said, “I shall try.” Cocking his head in thought for a moment, he produced:

  “Burning poppy seeds till dawn of a short night on the dais.22

  How is this?” He showed it to Jōha. “Well done,” the monk said, and presented it to his lord, who said, “Not bad.” Well pleased, he took a drink and passed the cup around.

  Suddenly turning pale, the man called Awaji said, “The asura time is here already. The asuras say that they have come to escort you. Please rise.” Instantly, the faces of the entire party turned as red as though blood had been poured over them. In high spirits they cried, “Again tonight we shall take Ishida, Masuda, and the rest by surprise.“23 Hidetsugu turned to Kimura. “I have shown myself to these two nobodies,” he said. “Take them with us to the asura realm.” The senior retainers intervened and spoke with one voice: “Their life spans have not yet run out. Do not repeat your evil deeds,” but their words, and the figures of all the party, seemed to fade into the distant sky.

  Muzen and his son fainted and lay motionless for a time, and then, as the eastern sky brightened, they were revived by the chill of the dew; but still terrified in the partial darkness, they fervently chanted the name of the Great Teacher,24 until, finally seeing the sun emerge, they rushed down the mountain, returned to the capital, and sought treatment with medicines and acupuncture. One day as he was passing the Sanjō Bridge, Muzen thought of the Brutality Mound and felt his gaze being drawn toward the temple.25 “It was horrible, even in broad daylight,” he recounted to people in the capital. The story has been recorded here just as he told it.

  NOTES

  1. Quoted in George Sansom, A History of Japan, vol. 2, 1334–1615 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1961), p. 366.

  2. Translated by Oliver Statler, Japanese Pilgrimage (New York: Morrow, 1983), p. 28.

  3. Fuji and Tsukuba are, by convention, the two principal peaks of eastern Japan. With the stability and prosperity of Japan and improved transportation under the Tokugawa regime, domestic travel became increasingly popular.

  4. “clearing one-third of a mile on each side”: the main compound at Kōya is, in fact, about one-third of a mile west to east, and about 120 yards north to south.

  5. Muzen is saying that their good fortune is the result of a bond from a former life.

  6. Mount Kashō is in the city of Numata, Gumma Prefecture; Mount Futara, now called Mount Nikkō, is in Tochigi Prefecture (it is said that Kūkai changed the name from Futara to Nikkō during a visit in 820); Mount Daigo is in Fushimi Ward, southeastern Kyoto; and Kawachi is the modern Osaka Prefecture. Shinaga apparently was the name of a mountain in Taishi, Minami-kawachi County.

  7. This verse, which is in Chinese, appears in volume 10 of Kōbō Daishi, Shōryōshū (Collected Inspirations, 835), with the title “A Poem on Hearing [a] Buppōsō at Night at Ryūkōin on Mount Kōya.” Paraphrased, the poem reads: “In the quiet forest, meditating alone in my hut at dawn, I hear the call of a three-jewel bird singing buppōsō, ‘Buddha, dharma, saṅgha,’ the Three Jewels. In its voice the bird embodies the Three Jewels, and I, hearing it, have a mind that responds. In this holy place, the animate voice and mind, the inanimate clouds and water all have attained perfect enlightenment.” Ryūkōin, one of the Kōya sub-temples, stands just northeast of the main compound.

  8. This poem, a waka, is by Fujiwara Mitsutoshi (1210–1276) and appears in Fubokushō (The Japanese Collection, ca. 1310). Mount Matsuno-o (Matsuo) is in Ukyō Ward, west of the Matsuno-o Shrine, Kyoto.

  9. The deities enshrined at the Matsuno-o Shrine are Ōyamakui-no-kami and Ichikishimahime-no-mikoto. Enrō (1130–1208), an eminent priest of the Tendai sect, became abbot of Saifukuji, a temple that stood south of the Matsuno-o Shrine, in 1176. The Lotus Sutra (J. Myōhōrengekyō) is the basic scripture of the Tendai sect and perhaps the most important text in East Asian Buddhism.

  10. Muzen echoes Kūkai, who, in his poem, said that his mind responded to the bird’s call. Having heard the bird, Muzen is inspired to compose a poem.

  11. “secret mountain”: refers to Mount Kōya, the center of the Shingon sect of esoteric Buddhism.

  12. At this point, a reader familiar with Japanese history will realize that the nobleman must be Toyotomi Hidetsugu. Kimura Hitachi-no-suke Shigekore (d. 1595) was a retainer and confidant of Hidetsugu; Shirae Bingo-no-kami (d. 1595) and Kumagae Daizen-no-suke Naoyuki (d. 1595) also were retainers of Hidetsugu. Hitachi-no-suke, Bingo-no-kami, and Daizen-no-suke are honorary court titles. Unlike many of Hidetsugu’s other retainers, who died with him at Kōya, Kimura, Shirae, and Kumagae took their lives elsewhere; in this story, they have rejoined their master at Mount Kōya, but have arrived late.

  13. Fuwa Mansaku (1579–1595), Hidetsugu’s page, was noted for his beauty. He took his own life at Kōya, before his master.

  14. Conventional wisdom held at the time that the waters of the Tamagawa (Jewel River) were poisonous.

  15. This poem, a waka, is attributed to Kōbō Daishi and appears in the Fūgashū (Collection of Elegance, 1346), no. 1778. The headnote that precedes it reads (as Jōha says): “There being many poisonous insects upstream in the river called ‘Jewel River,’ on the path to the Inner Sanctuary of Takano, I cautioned against drinking from the stream and later wrote this poem.” “Takano” is an alternative reading of the characters for Kōya. My translation of the poem follows Jōha’s interpretation, which reflects Akinari’s own reading (Tandai shōshinroku [A Record of Daring and Prudence, 1808], sec. 46) and differs from earlier readings in rejecting the headnote and interpreting the poem without reference to it. For readers who accept the headnote as authentic, the ambiguity of the first part of the poem has led to two distinct readings: “Forgetting [that the river is poisonous], did the [dead] traveler scoop and drink?” and “Even forgetting [that the river is poisonous], should the traveler scoop and drink? [No, he should not.]”

  16. The Fūgashū is number seventeen of the twenty-one imperially commissioned anthologies of poetry.

  17. The six most famous Jewel Rivers (Tamagawa)—all of them utamakura—are in the prefectures of Kyoto, Shiga, Osaka, Wakayama (at Kōya), Tokyo, and Miyagi.

  18. Kyoto became the capital in 794, when Kōbō Daishi, the putative author of the poem, was five years old, or about a genera
tion before the great Kokinshū poets Henjō (816–890?), Narihira (825–880), and Komachi (fl. ca. 833–857). The natural assumption is that Kōbō Daishi would have composed poetry in the style of his own time.

  19. “jeweled chaplet … jewel river”: tamakazura (the title of the “Jeweled Chaplet” chapter of The Tale of Genji), tamadare, tamaginu, tamamizu, tamanoi, and tamagawa.

  20. Sasabe Awaji-no-kami served as Hidetsugu’s second when the disgraced regent committed suicide; Awano Moku-no-suke, Hibino Shimotsuke-no-kami, Yamaguchi Shōun, Marumo Fushin, Ryūsai, Yamamoto Tonomo-no-suke, and Yamada Sanjūrō were retainers of Hidetsugu who committed suicide just before or after their master. Yamamoto and Yamada were young pages. Awaji-no-kami, Moku-no-suke, Shimotsuke-no-kami, and Tonomo-no-suke are honorary court titles.