The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature (Modern Asian Literature Series)

by Неизвестный

  From then on, each night Rurikōmaru had to sleep alone in the room right next to the master’s. “I’ll be back soon,” Senjumaru had said when they parted and then went off toward Yase along a rugged, almost untraveled mountain path, so as not to be seen by anyone. Night after night in his dreams Rurikōmaru saw that receding figure growing smaller and smaller, vanishing in the distance. Looking back, he felt a certain guilt at not having forced Senjumaru to give up his plan, so likely to lead to his death. Yet had he gone with him then, what disaster might have awaited him? The thought made him bless his own good fortune. “The Buddha was protecting me. From now on I’m going to do whatever my master says, so as to become in the end as pure in heart as any holy man should be. Then I’ll pray constantly for Senjumaru’s salvation.”

  Rurikōmaru vowed this repeatedly to himself. If he really did have the sort of gifts the master was always praising him for, then he would surely be able to endure every sort of hard and painful practice, finally awakening to the truth of the Dharma Realm of Suchness and attaining the state of Wondrous Enlightenment. The very thought made the flame of faith blaze up within his earnest young mind.

  At last autumn came. A half year had passed since Senjumaru had left the mountain. The loud whirring of cicadas which had filled the mountainsides was now replaced by the melancholy sound of the higurashi, or “evening cicada,” and the leaves of the forest trees grew gradually yellower. One evening after vespers Rurikōmaru was descending the stone stairway in front of the Monju Pavilion, going toward his quarters, when he heard someone calling to him from the top of the stairway in a low, hesitant voice: “Excuse me, but might you be Rurikōmaru? I’ve come with a message for you from my master, from the village of Fukakusa in Yamashiro. I was told to hand this letter to you directly.” The man, half-hidden in the shadows of the pavilion gate, beckoned to him, making many little bows and revealing in a meaningful fashion the edge of a letter which he had concealed in his kimono sleeve. “Don’t worry, it’s all explained here. My master told me to show you this letter, in private if possible, and bring back your reply.”

  Rurikōmaru looked suspiciously at the fellow, a man of about twenty with scraggly whiskers and the lowly manner of a servant. He took the letter, though, and looked at the writing on the front. “Why, it’s Senjumaru’s hand!” he cried out despite himself. The man, trying to quiet him, went on to say: “Yes, it’s true. It’s good you haven’t forgotten. The sender of this letter is indeed Senjumaru, your good friend and now my master. This past spring, soon after leaving the mountain, he fell into the clutches of a slave trader and had a very hard time. But his luck hadn’t run out, for just two months ago he was sold to be the servant of a rich man in Fukakusa. His gentle looks won the heart of the rich man’s daughter, and now he’s the son-in-law of the family, with everything he could desire.

  “And so I’ve brought you this letter which will tell you all about the world outside, just as my master promised. It’s not at all the terrifying place he thought it was when he was on the holy mountain. Women aren’t like snakes or wild animals at all. No, they’re prettier than the flowers of spring and as loving as the Buddha. It’s all explained in detail in this letter.

  “My master Senjumaru is loved by a lot of other women too, not only the rich man’s daughter: Tomorrow, it’s off to Kamizaki; today, to Kanishima and Eguchi—he wanders about here and there, attended by a crowd of courtesans more beautiful even than the twenty-five bodhisattvas. He passes his days in pleasure, like a butterfly in springtime, fluttering over the fields and hills. And here you are, knowing nothing about what the world out there has to offer; leading a dreary life on this mountain. My master feels sorry for you; he wants you to come to Fukakusa, if possible, and share his happiness, for old times’ sake. I can see for myself that you’re an even better-looking and more charming young acolyte than my master must have been. It’s a terrible waste for you to spend your life up here. Just think how admired and wanted someone with your looks would be if you went out into the world! Anyway, please read this letter and see whether or not I’m telling the truth. And then by all means come with me to Fukakusa. I have to leave now for Katata Bay in the province of Ōmi, but I’ll be back here by dawn tomorrow. Think it over carefully till then; and when you’ve decided, wait for me beneath this gate, taking care that no one sees you. I promise that nothing bad will come of this. And nothing would make my master happier than to see you return with me!”

  Looking at the man’s smiling face, Rurikōmaru felt somehow afraid. He hadn’t had time fully to taste the joy of this unexpected message from the friend he’d not seen for six months; and now this grave proposition, which might well determine the rest of his life, was suddenly thrust before him. It seemed for a while as if he couldn’t breathe, as if his eyes had grown dim. He stood there trembling, rooted to the spot.

  I don’t know where to begin or where to stop, trying to describe all that’s happened to me since that day, the letter began. I’d have liked to go to the holy mountain myself so I could see you again after so long and tell you everything in person. But for one who has broken the monastic rules, the lofty summit of the One Vehicle of Salvation towers too high above me to look upon; and the valley of the One Taste of Truth lies too deep for me to approach. . . .

  Rurikōmaru stood there blankly, hardly knowing what he was doing. He held the letter loosely in one hand, hurriedly reading a sentence here, a sentence there.

  During all the time that has passed since I left, promising to return within half a day, you must have thought I’d deceived you. That thought fills me with pain and regret. I never had any such intention. I was on my way back that evening and had already reached Kiraragoe when suddenly a man rushed out at me from the shadows. I found myself being gagged and blindfolded and dragged who knows where. Horrified, I thought that the Buddha’s punishment had been swift indeed, that I’d be taken alive across the River of the Dead to experience the eight torments of Hell!

  But though there were praiseworthy lines like those above, there was also one beginning boldly with the words “It’s a sheer delight!” which seemed to hold neither gods nor buddhas in awe.

  The truth is, the outside world is not a dream, not an illusion. It’s a sheer delight—in fact a paradise, the Western Pure Land here on earth. I have no use anymore for the doctrine of “Three Thousand Phenomena in a Single Thought” or for the meditation on “The Perfect Interpenetration of the Three Truths.” Believe me, the joy of being just a common layman involved with the passions is infinitely preferable to being an ascetic practicing the “Perfect and Sudden Way” to enlightenment. I urge you to change your way of thinking and come down the mountain at once.

  Could this really be Senjumaru speaking? Senjumaru, who had been so devout, who had hated the very sound of the word “passion”—could these really be his thoughts? The sacrilegious comments that filled the letter, the strangely excited tone, the enthusiasm which seemed somehow overwrought, all aroused a feeling of revulsion in Rurikōmaru, yet at the same time, and to an equal degree, caused the curiosity about the outside world that had been building up inside him for a long time to well forth.

  Tomorrow morning will do very well, so please think it over carefully. It goes without saying that you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. Everything the monks on that mountain tell you is a pack of lies. They’ll say anything to an innocent lad like you to make you give up any thought of the greater world outside. Anyway, take a good look at this letter and then decide for yourself. All right?

  The servant could see from the look on Rurikōmaru’s face that he was hesitant and suspicious, so he spoke to him again in a reassuring manner, then, with several hurried little bows, ran down the steps.

  Even so, Rurikōmaru could not stop trembling. The man had left behind a burden so heavy it overwhelmed the heart of this innocent, serious-minded youth. His whole future would depend on the reply he had to give by the next morning. This was the first time he had ever
had to make such a great decision for himself. That realization itself made his heart pound uncontrollably.

  That night, overcome by anxiety and excitement, he was incapable of calmly considering the problem he’d been presented with. He decided to wait until he was feeling calmer and then try again to read that strange letter filled with the most amazing revelations about the long-hidden secret of “women.” Leaving it sitting on top of his desk, he closed his eyes and earnestly prayed to the Buddha. The letter brought news of his beloved friend, yet it made him feel angry and resentful, since it amounted to a surprise attack on his firm determination to devote himself to the most intense religious training and to accrue merit in accordance with the karmic relations he had established.

  “If I read it again, it will lead me astray. Wouldn’t it be better to burn it?” he told himself; but the next minute he laughed at his own cowardice: “I’m not such a weakling that I need to be so afraid!” Whether he was to be led astray or not depended solely on the will of the Buddha. Senjumaru claimed that the world outside was not an illusion, but how far was he to be believed? How much of it was mere temptation? And if he couldn’t resist that kind of temptation, hadn’t he already been abandoned by the Buddha? A sneaking curiosity that kept raising its head left him unable to resist asking such questions and making such excuses.

  It is hard to convey the gentleness and beauty of women, either in words or pictures. To what shall I compare them? . . . Just yesterday I embarked at Yodo Harbor and went to a place called Eguchi where from the houses along the riverbank came a throng of courtesans paddling their little boats toward us. It seemed like Seishi Bodhisattva’s descent from Paradise or an apparition of the Willow Kannon: I was filled with joy and gratitude! Before long they surrounded our boat and began singing popular songs so gaily that I begged them to sing one for me—any one would do. Then one of the women, beating time on the gunwale of the boat, sang: “Even holy Shakamuni / Who went from passion to perfect peace / Once knew the mother of his son / Ragora, ’tis said.” Over and over she sang it, so entertainingly. . . .

  Throughout this passage Senjumaru seemed to be doing his utmost to destroy Rurikōmaru’s devotion to the Way. It was a shout of joy and praise from a youth who for the first time in his sixteen years of life had been shown what the world could be. In one part of the letter, Senjumaru became ecstatic; in another, he railed against the master who had deceived him for so long; in another, he vowed eternal friendship for Rurikōmaru, his childhood companion, and urged him to leave the mountain. Rurikōmaru felt he had never been so impressed by anything he’d ever read before, not even the words of sacred scripture.

  The Pure Land of Perfect Bliss, believed to be billions of worlds away, lies just below your mountain, and living bodhisattvas in great numbers are waiting to welcome you there at any time.

  What reason was there for continuing to doubt this amazing fact? Senjumaru hadn’t actually mentioned them, but there must be kalavinka birds and parrots and peacocks filling the air with their cries. There would be pavilions made of mother-of-pearl and agate, stairways of gold and silver and garnet. A wondrous world of fantasy abruptly rose before Rurikōmaru’s eyes, as in a fairy tale. Why should it be an obstacle to enlightenment, to spend a while in such a pleasant world? Why should the master have such contempt for it and try to keep them all away from it? He wanted to know the reason he had to overcome this “temptation” if he was to try to overcome it.

  He spread the letter out in the dim lamplight and read it over and over again. That whole night he spent in thought, without a moment’s sleep. He struggled to find some means of denying the facts in the letter, taxing his knowledge and powers of understanding to their limits. He tried listening to the voice of conscience and seeking guidance from the Buddha to a degree that anyone would find commendable. In the end, there was nothing to keep him from taking the final step, apart from his attachment to his accustomed life in the monastery and his blind faith in the precepts of his master. But those two things had an unexpectedly strong hold on his mind. If he were to fight off the desire to leave the mountain, he would have to strengthen those two feelings to the utmost.

  “So, am I willing to believe Senjumaru and deny the teachings of the Buddha, the precepts of my master? To go so far as to call the Buddha and my master liars? Do I honestly think that will be the end of it?” he muttered aloud. The fleeting world outside must surely be a pleasant place, as Senjumaru said. But would it do to cast aside in one morning the firm faith he had built up over fourteen years for the sake of such diversions? Had he not recently made a vow to endure the harshest, most painful ascetic practice? Even if he could have worldly pleasures in the present life, wouldn’t he have to endure pains ten or twenty times as great if, incurring the Buddha’s displeasure, he fell into the fires of Hell in the next life?

  The word “breeding” suddenly came to mind. He and Senjumaru had had different characters since earliest childhood. He knew the Buddha was protecting him. It was that, surely, that had made him think of retribution in the next life just now. So long as there was a next life, how could he fail to fear the prospect of punishment? It was because there was hope of a life to come that the master had forbidden them the pleasures of this life. Senjumaru, it seemed, did not believe; but he would—he would believe in the next life and in perdition. That itself would demonstrate the superiority of his character. When the master praised him, wasn’t he referring precisely to that?

  These thoughts descended on Rurikōmaru like a revelation from Heaven. At first it was like lightning flashing, then as if the waves of the sea were gradually spreading, washing over his soul, filling his body to overflowing. He felt refreshed, like someone moved by the clear sounds of music; it seemed to him the sort of heightened religious emotion that only an ascetic who has entered the realm of samadhi could experience. Rurikōmaru found himself folding his hands in prayer to the unseen Buddha and saying in his heart again and again: “Forgive me, please, for being foolish enough to give in to the temptations of this life even for a little while, and being willing to throw away the rewards of the world to come. I promise never again to allow those wicked thoughts to arise the way I did tonight, so please forgive me.”

  No, no matter what, he would not be misled by anyone. If Senjumaru wanted to indulge in worldly pleasures, let him do so on his own. And then let him fall headfirst into the Avici Hell in the next life and suffer there for endless aeons. And Rurikōmaru, meanwhile, would travel to the Western Pure Land and gaze down from on high on Senjumaru crying in torment. His faith was now unshakable, regardless of what anyone said. He had stopped himself in the nick of time; but now he was safe, now there was nothing to worry about.

  As Rurikōmaru arrived at this resolution, the long autumn night grew gradually lighter, and the clear sound of the bell calling them to early matins was heard. With a mind many times more tense than usual, he respectfully presented himself in the chamber of his master, who seemed only just to have awakened.

  Now the man sent by Senjumaru had been waiting beside the stone steps leading to the Monju Pavilion from before dawn. But though Rurikōmaru did meet him there, the boy’s reply was an unexpected one: “For reasons of my own, I’ve decided not to leave the holy mountain, despite the attractions of life elsewhere. I’d rather have the blessing of the Buddha than the love of women.” He drew the letter from the night before out of the folds of his kimono, and went on: “Tell your master that I hope to gain peace in the next life, even if I have to suffer in this one. . . . And this letter will disturb my peace of mind, so please take it back with you.”

  The man blinked his eyes in amazement and seemed about to say something, when Rurikōmaru hurriedly threw the letter onto the ground and set off toward the monastery without so much as a backward look.

  And so winter came on. “You’ll be fifteen next year, and when I think of what happened to Senjumaru, it seems best for you to take your full vows as soon as possible, in the spring,” said th
e master.

  However, Rurikōmaru’s mind had been disturbed by the letter from his old friend, and he wasn’t able to maintain his serenity for very long—he had merely repressed his feelings in a burst of religious fervor. Gradually he, too, began to share the obsessions that had so troubled Senjumaru. The time came when like his friend, he too would see the forms of women in his dreams and feel bewitched by the images of the bodhisattvas in the chapels and pagodas. He even began to wish he hadn’t returned Senjumaru’s letter that day. There were days when he became aware of himself waiting for the messenger from Fukakusa to come again. He was afraid to let the master see his face.

  Nonetheless, he still had faith in the divine protection of the Buddha, and he was not about to act as rashly as Senjumaru had. So one day he presented himself reverently before the master and confessed: “Master, have pity on me—forgive me my folly, I can’t laugh at Senjumaru’s action any more. Teach me the way to put out the flames of passion and make my fantasies of women disappear. I will endure even the harshest rites to be free of them.”

  “It took courage for you to confess this to me,” said the Master. “Your intentions are admirable. You’re a fine young acolyte, I assure you. Whenever those evil thoughts begin to arise, you must seek the Buddha’s compassion through wholehearted prayer. For the next twenty-one days, you are to purify your body with cold water each day without fail and seclude yourself in the Lotus Hall. Your reward will then surely come, and these shameful visions will cease.” Such were the master’s instructions.

  It was the night of the twenty-first day, the end of Rurikōmaru’s special devotions: Fatigued from those long days of ascetic practice, he was leaning against a pillar in the Lotus Hall, dozing, when the figure of a noble-looking old man appeared in a dream. He seemed to be calling Rurikōmaru’s name repeatedly. “I have good news for you,” he told him. “In a former life, you were an official at the court of a certain Indian king. At that time, there was a beautiful woman in the capital who was very much in love with you. However, since you were already a person with his mind set firmly on the Way and not given to worldly lusts, she was unable to lead you astray. It was due to your merit in resisting that woman’s charms that you had the good fortune in this life of being brought up under the guidance of your master and receiving his invaluable instruction. The woman who loved you, though, has been unable to forget you and is now living on this mountain in a different form. As retribution for her sin in having tried to win you over, she was reborn as a bird; but having spent her life in this holy place where she hears the words of the sutras chanted every morning and evening, she will gain rebirth next time in the Western Pure Land. In the end, seated together with you on one of the lotuses that bloom in Paradise, she will appear as a bodhisattva, bathed in the radiance of the buddhas of all ten directions.