A-Yokai-A-Day: Kazenbo

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Kazenbō
火前坊
かぜんぼう
“monk in the flames”

Toriyama Sekien’s kazenbō

There is a mountain in Kyoto called Toribeyama. During the Heian period, it was an important burial/cremation ground for royalty and nobility. During major epidemics, it was said that the smoke rising from mountain from all the burning bodies was unending.

Towards the end of the 10th century, a number of priests decided to offer themselves up in ritual sacrifice by fire, in hopes to achieve enlightenment. The ceremony was open to the public, and a large number of people came to witness the event.

A number of these priests did not actually achieve enlightenment due to their improper attachments to the material world. Instead, they still haunt Toribeyama, appearing in ghostly flames as beggar-monks wreathed in the fires of ignorance and sin.

Honestly, this yokai creeps me out more than many of the other ones we’ve seen this month. The idea of death by fire, and particularly self-immolation is so horrifying to me. They say burning is among the most painful ways to die. The super-heated air makes your lungs burn and blister while you are still conscious, causing you to simultaneously suffocate and drown in your own blood. Meanwhile every pain receptor in your burning skin is firing at maximum power. And then to have the entire purpose of your death be rendered meaningless because of some “worldly attachment” (a.k.a. “you didn’t want to die in a fire”), causing you to remain forever as a vengeful onryō; never dying, always burning… That’s pretty awful.

Kazenbō, for The Book of the Hakutaku

A-Yokai-A-Day: Himamushi Nyudo

Today’s yokai is one of Toriyama Sekien’s priest/monk yokai which I mentioned in yesterday’s post. Although this yokai doesn’t actually have anything to do with the clergy in particular, there’s a few reasons to depict as a priest. One is that there have historically been a lot of priest & monk yokai, so naming your yokai as a priest or monk automatically puts it in good company. Another is for humor; contrasting something so ugly and wretched with people who are supposed to be good and pure makes for good humor. Even in English we tell a lot of priest jokes. Good humor transcends geography.

Now, on to the yokai!

Himamushi nyūdō
火間蟲入道
ひまむしにゅうどう
“oven bug priest”

Toriyama Sekien’s himamushi nyūdō

Life is work. Or at least, work is a very important part of life. According to Toriyama Sekien’s description of this yokai (another one of his creations), those who were lazy in life, carelessly wasting their time from birth to death, will come back as this spirit. It lives under the floorboards and crawls out at night time. It’s main activity is to bother people who are working hard late at night or pulling all-nighters—by jumping out and scaring them, blowing out the lights, and licking up their lamp oil (in the Edo period, lamps burned fish oil).

Himamushi nyūdō’s name is a bit tricky to translate. There’s no such thing as an “oven bug” in Japanese, but according to yokai-ologist Tada Katsumi, it may be a play on words meant to refer to cockroaches. The “hima” part of this yokai’s name can also be read “kama,” and probably refers to the kamado, the traditional Japanese oven. There is a kamado featured in Sekien’s picture, and he usually only puts things in his pictures for a reason. Cockroaches, normally called gokiburi in Japanese, have a few nicknames; among them himushi (“fire bug”) and hitorimushi (“lamp bug”), both of which sound similar to himamushi. Cockroaches would have fed on the oil in old lamps just like this yokai. They live in dark, warm spaces such as under and around a kamado, just like this yokai. They crawl out of the floorboards to scare those working late at night, just like this yokai. Of course there’s also something satisfying about the idea that lazy people come back as cockroaches after they die…

Can you find the characters for ヘマムショ入道?

Another fun fact about this yokai’s name: According to Sekien’s explanation, this spirit was originally called “himamushiyo nyūdō,” and over time it became corrupted into “hemamusho nyūdō”—which was a popular Edo period cartoon. The hemamusho nyūdō is a monk drawn with the katakana characters used to write its name: ヘ, マ, ム, シ, ョ, 入, and 道. It appeared in all sorts of graffiti and prints during the Edo period. Today there’s a similar type of cartoon face called the “henohenomoheji“—the hemamusho nyūdō was the Edo period equivalent. Toriyama Sekien often liked to tie his made up yokai to contemporary real events and phenomenon, possibly in order to give them a sense of authenticity.

My himamushi nyūdō sketch for The Book of the Hakutaku

A-Yokai-A-Day: Ozato

Today’s yokai is not the first zatō yokai we’ve seen on the blog, and it probably won’t be the last. I’ve written the translation for zatō down below as “blind man,” but there is a lot more to it that isn’t quite picked up by that translation.

In the Edo period, there was a strict caste system in place, and you could only perform the certain types of work that were allowed by your caste. It’s an unthinkable restriction by today’s standards, but back then it did more than just control the peasants; it also provided welfare for certain groups of citizens. For example, while there was no social security system back then, the government did establish guilds for the disabled so that certain types of work were reserved for them, reserving for them a way to make a living.

The zatō were one of these guild-like organizations. Only blind citizens were allowed to become zatō, and only zatō were allowed to perform certain types of work: anma, a traditional kind of massage, and playing the biwa, a lute-like instrument. This allowed blind people their own realm in which to prosper (No word on what blind people who weren’t interested in music, massage, or accounting did for a living.). The zatō guilds made enough money that they were able to become money lenders.

The zatō was a popular staple of Edo period art, especially ukiyoe, which depicted the dreamlike “floating world” of urban life, beauty, and pleasure. As a result, it’s no surprise that there are more than a couple zatō-based yokai stories. Blind Hōichi from the famous ghost story Miminashi Hōichi (“Hōichi the Earless”) is a good example.

Fans of Japanese film might know the character Zatōichi the blind swordsman. He is of course a swordsman but also a zatō. So there’s a lot more to this word than just “blind man,” but there’s not really an easy way to translate it. I prefer to leave the word as-is, because it has no English equivalent.

Ōzato
大座頭
おおざと
“giant zatō (blind man)”

Toriyama Sekien’s Ōzatō

Ōzatō appear on windy, rainy nights, and usually loiter about the same areas night after night. They wear tattered, old hakama and geta. If you stop to ask them where they are going, they reply: “Always to the whorehouse, to play the shamisen!”

That’s all that Toriyama Sekien writes about them. It may not be much, but it does give you a bit of an idea of how Toriyama Sekien (and probably his readers) felt about certain zatō who loiters about late at night…

Some zatō were able to make lots of money from a few regular high-paying customers, and by profiting from moneylending and collection schemes. By manipulating guild fees, they could syphon funds away from the poorer guild members. It’s safe to say his opinion of these zatō was not very high either.

Sekien lived in a time of strong censorship, but he was about to hide his critiques of society in his yokai artwork. Among his yokai, there are a lot of -bōzu and -nyūdō (priests and monks) yokai, as well as a number of zatō yokai. He didn’t have a very high opinion of people who frequented red light districts either, judging by how many brothel monsters he slipped into his works.

Sekien especially did not look favorably on corruption among clergy. But can you blame him? Even today, who enjoys receiving solicitors, especially those who appear to be exploiting a disability to gain your sympathy? And corrupt priests are still just as infuriating today—just the other day we pulled into the gas station to fill up, and in front of us was an imported European luxury sports car with full leather interior. Out pops a monk wearing full robes, fills it up with high octane gas, and then ROARS down the street when he is done.

Many of Sekien’s yokai are not-so-subtle digs at these hypocritical aspects of society. Keep that in mind as we look at more of his monks and priests this week.

My sketch for Ōzatō

A-Yokai-A-Day: Tengu Tsubute

There’s a typhoon bearing down on Japan right now, and aside from the wind and rain, all sorts of things are flying through the air. Fall leaves, dirt and sand, tiny pebbles and pieces of torn election posters… And of course everyone is in their homes where it is dry and warm, so the mountains look wild and untamed, full of life, and probably teeming with yokai. Its the perfect weather right now for today’s A-Yokai-A-Day:

Tengu tsubute
天狗礫
てんぐつぶて
“stone thrown by a tengu”

Toriyama Sekien’s tengu tsubute

Tengu tsubute is a phenomenon that happens to people usually when they are walking out in the mountains alone. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a stone flies through the air and hits them!

Stories like this are found all over Japan. Mysterious objects which have no business being in the air—such as rocks—fly through the sky and hit a random person. But when you look around there is no one or nothing there that could have thrown the object. The conclusion is that a tengu, or maybe a prankster tanuki or kitsune, must have thrown it!

Why would a yokai do such a thing? Well, one answer is that many yokai are just annoying jerks who like to play jokes on people. This is precisely the type of thing that entertains them. However, because tengu are involved, another answer is common. Tengu are not usually portrayed as tricksters. Instead, they tend to be portrayed as punishers of the wicked. The person who gets hit by a random flying tengu tsubute may not be so random after all; maybe they committed some sort of crime or sin and got away with it, and this is the tengu’s way of making sure they get some form of divine punishment.

Tengu tsubute is not always just a harmless annoyance either; in some tales, the person who gets hit by the rock will become terribly ill—possible even die! Even if they don’t become sick, those who encounter this phenomenon are generally said to have some sort of misfortune (aside from being hit by a flying rock, that is).

In some instances, people don’t get hit by the rocks. They only hear the rock land next to them, but when they look, there is no rock there at all! Perhaps it is an invisible rock, or perhaps it disappears as soon as it lands, due to some tengu magic?

Tengu tsubute, upcoming in my Patreon project

 

A-Yokai-A-Day: Oshiroi Baba

When you think of Japan, one of the stronger images that comes to mind is that of the maiko or geisha, with their strikingly white makeup. Painting the skin white is not just limited to geisha of course. As it is in many cultures, lighter skin has been traditionally been viewed as a beauty standard in Japan. Thus, from ancient times onward, it has been a custom to use white powders called oshiroi in makeup over here. And just like the white powders that the ancient Romans used to lighten their skin, oshiroi often contained high quantities of lead, which could lead to symptoms of lead poisoning in heavy users. Today’s yokai is based on that kind of face powder:

Oshiroi babā
白粉婆
おしろいばば
“face powder hag”

Toriyama Sekien’s oshiroi babā

You find yourself alone on a dark road in Nara Prefecture near the end of the year… Suddenly you hear a harsh jara jara sound, almost as if someone was dragging along a mirror as they hobble through the streets. You turn around, and there is an old woman approaching, her back twisted and bent after who knows how many years of hard work. She carries a cane in one hand, and a sake bottle in the other. She looks up at you through a broken straw hat, and you see her face is caked with thick white powder and slopped-on makeup that looks somewhat reminiscent of Heath Ledger’s Joker…

You’ve just met an oshiroi babā.

Oshiroi babā doesn’t really do all that much. Her looks alone are scary enough that she doesn’t really need to do anything! According to some legends, she accosts people for makeup or even for sake, which makes her sound strikingly similar to other old hags, like amazake babā. According to others, she is a type of yuki onna who comes down from the mountains on snowy nights. In Toriyama Sekien’s description, she is a servant of Shifun Senjō, the goddess of rouge and makeup (though one would hope this goddess would teach her servants a bit more about proper application!).

As far as scary old hags go, this one may be creepy, but she’s not going to kill you. She’s almost like the yokai equivalent of that one old aunt on your family tree who wears so much perfume that she makes you queasy, and wears so much makeup that she gave you nightmares as a kid, and pinches your cheeks so hard that it hurts but your parents told you that you have to let her do it anyway. It’s scary, but the anticipation and the memory of it are far worse than the actual thing.

It’s actually fairly easy to imagine that this yokai was originally just an old woman, sick and crazy from age and possibly lead poisoning, overly madeup and wandering the streets begging for a little aid from her neighbors. In that case, she’s not really as scary as she is tragic.

Oshiroi babā

A-Yokai-A-Day: Ashiarai Yashiki

Today’s A-Yokai-A-Day comes from a famous ghost story originating in Honjō, Tokyo (a neighborhood located in Sumida Ward). It is known as one of the “Seven Wonders of Honjō.” Lots of places in Japan have their own local list of seven wonders or mysteries. We looked at the yonaki ishi the other day, which is one of Shizuoka’s “Seven Wonders.” And in fact we’ve actually looked at another one of Honjō’s Seven Wonders before on this blog: oitekebori. So here is another one to add to your checklist.

Ashiarai yashiki
足洗邸
あしあらいやしき
“foot washing mansion”

Utagawa Kuniteru’s ashiarai yashiki. Look how happy they are to receive that dirty foot!

Ashiarai yashiki is one of the few yokai stories which is relatively well known in the English-speaking world. It has been featured in a couple of English language books on yokai, and has been covered numerous times by blogs listing as many “wacky Japan” stories as they can. I’m pretty sure it gets featured on Reddit at least once a month, along with shirime. Of course you can’t blame people for coming back to it: it’s a fantastic story!

This story takes place at a certain mansion in Honjō, Edo, which belonged to Aji no Kyūnosuke, one of the shogun’s retainers. One night a thunderous, echoing voice was heard overheard:

“WASH MY FOOT!”

Then, with a splintering crack, the ceiling tore open and a big, dirty, foot covered in thick, hairy bristles descended into the mansion. The terrified inhabitants of the mansion quickly assembled and did as the voice bade, washing the foot until it was thoroughly clean. Afterwards, the giant foot ascended back up through the roof, apparently satisfied, and disappeared.

The following night, and every night thereafter, the same thing occurred: a voice would boom out “WASH MY FOOT!” and then a giant foot would crash through the roof, while the servants would scramble to wash it clean.

After a few nights of this, Kyūnosuke had had enough. He ordered his servants to ignore the foot if it came back. That night, the foot appeared as normal, crashing through the ceiling. However, when its commands were ignored, it thrashed around violently, destroying vast swaths of the mansion’s roof in the process.

Kyūnosuke was beyond frustrated with this nightly occurrence. He complained to his friends about what was happening every night, and they were very interested. One of them wanted to witness the event so badly that he offered to swap mansions with Kyūnosuke. Kyūnosuke agreed. However, as soon as his friend moved into Kyūnosuke’s mansion, the giant foot never once appeared again.

As with oitekebori, there’s no definite conclusion as to what caused this strange occurrence. It’s often blamed on a mischievous tanuki, for they have the power to create something as devastating as this, and they do love playing tricks on people. On the other hand, “washing your feet” is also a Japanese idiom for rehabilitating a criminal. A culprit whose “feet have been washed” can be said to have paid his debt to society. Is it possible that Aji no Kyūnosuke had been doing something illegal or immoral, and this yokai appeared demanding he stop? And why didn’t the foot appear again after Kyūnosuke moved out? We’ll never know…

Incidentally, the Aji mansion is no longer standing today, but we do know it’s general location. Here it is on Google maps. Not much there to see now, just a totally ordinary city block.

My ashiarayashiki, which will eventually be painted as part of my Patreon project

A-Yokai-A-Day: Kokuri Baba

Old hag yokai are not in short supply in Japanese folklore, as I’m sure you’re well aware if you’ve been reading A-Yokai-A-Day for the past few years. For some reason, folklore loves to hear the story of a beautiful, upstanding young woman transform into a hideous, murderous witch. It’s often the deep, profound love of a pure and upstanding woman which is seen as the most potent catalyst to drive a person mad with jealousy or resentment—transforming them from human into demon. There’s a saying in Japanese: onnagokoro to aki no sora—“women’s hearts and autumn skies.” At least in folklore, women are said to be as fickle as the weather in fall.

Kokuri babā
古庫裏婆
こくりばばあ
“old temple hag”

Toriyama Sekien’s kokuri baba

“Baba” or “babā” is a suffix you’ll find on lots of yokai. It just means old woman. Kokuri is made up of “ko” meaning old and “kuri” which is the priest’s quarters in a temple. So this is an old hag who haunts the living quarters of an old temple. Kokuri babā is a fine example of a creepy old hag. In fact, in Toriyama Sekien’s description of her, he says that she is even more scary than Datsueba, the old woman who flails off your skin when you reach the underworld!

The reason she haunts is actually a tragic tale of love turned sour: she is the widow of the priest who used to work at a remote, rural temple. Once, she was a wonderful wife, helping out her beloved husband to run his temple, tending to the needs of the parishioners, cooking, cleaning, washing, and taking care of the temple grounds. However, after her husband died, she retreated into the temple’s living quarters and became a shut in. To survive, she steals the offerings of food and coins left behind by people visiting the temple. Over time, she gradually changes into a yokai. She starts to acquire meat from the corpses of the recently dead. When there are no fresh corpses available, she digs up the buried and peels off chunks of their rotting skin off to gnaw on.

It’s a tragic tale not only because she was widowed and forced to live by herself in the temple, but also because none of the temple parishioners ever lifted a finger to help her. You have to wonder how long it took for her to get this bad. If they had paid her a little more attention might she have remained human?

Although, now it does seems like she could make a nice pair with this guy. They at least have a common food interest…

Kokuri babā