A-Yokai-A-Day: The Tanuki Who Summoned 25 Bodhisattvas

I was at Kyoto Toei Film Studios all day today for the KaiKai Yokai Festival, so tonight’s write-up will be brief… Thanks to everyone who came to my booth at the festival today!

Tonight’s story is for all the readers who have been outraged at all the stories about samurai killing tanuki, foxes, and snakes so far. Tonight the animals get their revenge!

The Tanuki Who Summoned 25 Bodhisattvas

In eastern Ōmi, there is a place called Sakōtō Village. Deep in the mountains, there is a temple. Whenever the priest of this temple would visit the village, a tanuki would follow him and steal his food to eat.

One time, the priest picked up a mochi-shaped stone in Yokawa and took it home, roasted it on his hearth, and waited for the sun to set. Just as he expected, a tanuki came and started searching for food in the usual places.

“If you stop stealing from now on, I will give you a present,” said the priest. Then he picked up the roasted stone with fire tongs and tossed it at the tanuki. When the tanuki grabbed it and tried to eat it, it suffered severe burns and ran away.

Afterwards, the idol on the altar would sometimes glow with a bright light. The priest thought it was a holy sign, and he became even more devout.

One night, the Buddha appeared to the priest in a dream and commanded him, “When you wake up from this dream, you should throw yourself into the fire and attain buddhahood. I will then come for you and take you away to the Western Pure Land.”

The priest woke up and, thinking it was a holy sign, told everyone around, “On an appointed day, I shall walk into the fire and leave this world. Come and witness!”

Everyone around wept and said, “Oh my, what an admirable thing.”

When the day came, a huge crowd of worshippers from all over the country gathered, all of them waiting to see the coming of the Buddha. The priest had built a 1.8 meter square stone fire pit and stacked it full of charcoal and firewood. Wearing new white robes and a kerchief, he climbed onto the pyre and began to pray. Sure enough, around noon, from the west came a procession led by the Buddha triad of Amitaba, Kannon, and Seishi, followed by 25 other bodhisattvas playing the shō and hichiriki, and giving off shining light.

“Light the fire!” said the priest.

The fire was lit, the pyre went up in flames, and the priest burned to death. Meanwhile, the procession of buddhas revealed their true form and burst out in roaring laughter. Everybody was shocked to see two or three thousand old tanuki running off into the mountains. The tanuki that was burnt by the stone got its revenge.

A-Yokai-A-Day: Retribution for Kicking a Three Trunk Cedar

Hey yokai lovers! I’ll be at Toei Kyoto Studio Park all day tomorrow for the KaiKai Yokai Festival. This is Kyoto’s greatest yokai festival of the year, and it’s come to define Kyoto’s Halloween celebrations in recent years. And it’s set in Uzumasa’s Edo period samurai film set, which puts the yokai right where they belong. You won’t want to miss this one!

Anyway, on to tonight’s story!

Retribution for Kicking a Three Trunk Cedar

A certain monk of the Tendai sect went on an ascetic pilgrimage across the country with his servant. They went from Edo to Nikkō, and on the way back his servant observed a three trunk cedar tree and said, “Is this lame cedar the one that I’ve heard so much about? There are tons of cedars just like it back in Kyōto.”

Then he kicked it and continued home.

That night, the servant began to tremble and babble all sorts of things as if he was possessed. When the monk saw this, he thought it must be the work of an evil spirit, and he performed the incantations and prayers he had learned in his Tendai training.

The servant babbled, “These prayers are so powerful that I can’t stand it! I’m leaving!”

The monk commanded, “Show yourself right away and then leave.”

The servant turned into a large stone buddha.

“No, no, show me your true form,” said the monk, and continued incanting.

The stone became a 3 meter tall priest with a single eye in its forehead.

“This is not your true form either,” said the monk, and he prayed even harder.

The giant priest became a 30 meter long snake with a single 150 centimeter long horn.

“If you won’t show me your true form, then I will show you what will happen!” said the monk. And he beat the snake with the large square bead on his rosary.

“Okay, I am leaving! But my female form has tainted his body so you must wash him!”

“Then I will perform ablutions,” said the monk, and he washed the servant’s body in hot water.

Before long, the servant said, “Alright, I’m leaving now. I won’t come back after this. It’s because he kicked me. I’m telling you, your prayers are too strong. Goodbye.”

Then the snake turned into a 16 or 17 year old girl, and she left out the back door. Immediately, the servant returned to his senses.

A-Yokai-A-Day: The Wife of Matsumotoya Kyūbei of Wakayama, Kishū

Tonight’s story is rather short, but it is one of the more disturbing ones in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. The final sentence is an example of a feature I love in Japanese foklore, and a way of ending the story that pops up from time to time in this book. It’s the way stories are presented generally without much embellishments or meandering, and get straight to the story. “I heard this from so-and-so,” or “everybody knows this fact,” add a sense of authenticity to these ghost tales — to let you know that these are not stories made up on the spot by the author just to scare you, but creepy stories that were collected and passed down as if they were factual events. The starkness of these stories contrasts a lot with English language horror, which often overflows with descriptors and adjectives that are meant to evoke a mood but don’t add much to the story. These feel stripped down by comparison, but the horror also feels more raw. I prefer it this way.

The Wife of Matsumotoya Kyūbei of Wakayama, Kishū

In Wakayama, Kishū there was a man named Matsumotoya Kyūbei. He lived an affluent life, but he unexpectedly became ill and died. His wife remarried, and her new husband succeeded Kyūbei as his heir. As the years passed, Kyūbei’s daughter grew into a young woman with beautiful features, and her step-father became obsessed with her and, against all propriety, slept with her.

The wife learned of this, but out of concern for public appearances she told nobody, despite the pain it caused her morning and night. Yet before long, everybody found out about it and mocked her husband, calling him a beast. The wife grew sick living with the thought of this, and she died.

Her daughter, glad that her mother was finally out of the way, made all of the proper funeral arrangements, and in preparation to bury her mother’s corpse at dawn, set the casket in the sitting room that night.

Around midnight, the wife got out of the casket, looked around, and then went to the room where her daughter and her husband were sleeping. She bit out her daughter’s throat, then climbed back into the coffin.

Everybody said it was an inevitable outcome. They held a combined funeral for the mother and daughter. Afterwards, the family fell into ruin and perished. A merchant who happened to be there at the time and saw everything came to Kyōto and told this story.

A-Yokai-A-Day: How Baba Kurōzu Defeated a Daija

Tonight’s yokai is another daija — a word that covers serpentine creatures all the way from large snakes to dragons. I’m always torn over how to paint these — more snake-like, or more dragon-like? The images in Shokoku hyakumonogatari tend to favor dragon-like depictions, as you can see in the original illustration for this story:

How Baba Kurōzu Defeated a Daija

In Kyūshū there was a rōnin named Baba Kurōzu. He hoped to serve Hosokawa Sansai, but so far his desire had gone unmet.

One day, he went river fishing with four or five men, and along the edge of a certain mountain they found a roughly 1.1 square kilometer marsh. They cast their nets into this and began to relax, when all of a sudden a great roar was heard from the marsh. Smoke began to billow out of it, and then some unknown thing came straight towards them. Everyone was startled and fled. Kurōzu was not the least bit afraid, and he wanted to see what it was no matter what. When he investigated, he discovered a six meter long serpent. Kurōzu thought he would catch the serpent, so he leaped at it, but the serpent coiled itself around Kurōzu and pulled him into the marsh.

The men who fled told everyone about how Kurōzu had been taken by the serpent, and everyone of high and low rank was talking about this story.

Three days later, around noon, Kurōzu came out of the marsh. All of the water in the marsh was stained with blood. When the nets were pulled out, inside of them was the six meter long uwabami, slain by Kurōzu and cut into seven or eight pieces.

Sansai saw this and declared, “Kurōzu is a real warrior.” And he awarded him a salary of 3000 koku. To this day, it is said, his descendants are still serving in Kyūshū.

A-Yokai-A-Day: The Bakemono of Himeji Castle, Banshū

Tonight’s yokai is a famous one that has appeared not only on yokai.com and A-Yokai-A-Day before, but even in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. Although she is not referred to by name in this story, Osakabe hime is the spirit who inhabits the top floor of Himeji Castle’s keep. According to legend, she appears to the lord of the keep once per year and foretells the castle’s fortune. She considers herself the lord of the castle, and demands the appropriate respect for her position.

I like this story. She seems like a pretty chill yokai, and is even kind to the novice samurai who screws up and has to come back and ask her twice — although it feels like there’s an underlying menace to her calm demeanor, like she is toying with the boy. Then she makes herself known to the lord and shows him who is the real boss. Very cool.

This story mentions the Japanese word zatō, which is a word I’ve chosen not to translate. Zatō make lots of appearances in yokai lore, so readers may be familiar with them already. But just in case, I’ll refer curious readers to this post from a previous A-Yokai-A-Day that talks about zatō in detail.

The Bakemono of Himeji Castle, Banshū

One night, Lord Hidekatsu of Himeji Castle in Harima was bored, so he gathered all of his retainers and said, “Every night, a light appears on the fifth floor of this castle. Is anyone among you willing to go and check it out?”

However, nobody would accept his challenge. Just then, a samurai of 18 years said, “I will go and see.”

“Then, I will give this to you to use as proof,” said the lord, and he handed over a paper lantern. “Light this with the light from the castle and then come back.”

The samurai took the lantern and climbed up the castle’s tower. There was a 17 or 18 year old noblewoman wearing a 12-layered kimono, alone by a lamp. She asked the samurai, “Why have you come here?”

The samurai replied, “I have come on my lord’s orders. Please light my lantern with your lamp,”

The noblewoman said, “As it was the lord’s command, I will permit you.” And she lit the lantern for him.

The samurai was pleased and left, but when he reached the third floor, the light went out. He went back a second time and said, “I’m so sorry but the light went out. Please light it again.”

The noblewoman changed the candle for him and lit the lantern, then said, “Let this be another sign of proof.” And she gave him one of a pair of two combs. The samurai was delighted. He went back to his lord and showed him the lit lantern. Hidekatsu thought this was marvelous and tried to extinguish the light, but it would not go out. When the samurai put the light out, it went out.

“Now then, did anything else strange happen?” asked Hidekatsu.

The samurai retrieved the comb. When Hidekatsu examined it, he saw that it was the comb he had placed in his armor chest. Curious, he checked inside of his armor chest and discovered one of the two combs he had placed in there was missing.

After that, Hidekatsu decided to go and see for himself, so he climbed up the castle tower alone, but all he found was a lamp and nothing else. He waited for some time, and then a zatō appeared.

“Why have you come?” asked Hidekatsu.

“I thought you would be lonely, so I came here,” replied the zatō. “I cannot open the lid of my koto box.”

“Come here and I shall open it for you,” said Hidekatsu.

When Hidekatsu placed his hands on the koto box, they became stuck to it and he could not let go.

“Curses, it was a trick!” he exclaimed, and he tried to smash the box with his feet; but his feet became stuck too.

Then the zatō turned into a kijin around three meters tall, and said, “I am the lord of this castle. If you mock me or fail to respect me, I will rip you into pieces right now!”

When Hidekatsu surrendered and made his submission abundantly clear, the box detached itself and dawn broke. What he thought was the fifth floor of the castle turned out to be Hidekatsu’s own reception chamber.

A-Yokai-A-Day: How Matsumura Sukenojō Was Taken By a Fuka

Tonight’s tale describes a sea monster called a fuka. This strange creature’s name is written 海豚魚, or sea-pig-fish. Today these kanji are used for the word iruka, or dolphin, and fuka is actually an old word for a shark. Today we know that dolphins and sharks are quite different animals, but in the Edo period the difference between them was ambiguous, and all sorts of real animals as well as sea monsters could easily be lumped under one term.

It’s a challenge to come up with the look of a monster that has no text description, as is the case with so many of the figures in Shokoku hyakumonogatari. Luckily, though, this time the original story came with an illustration that I could base my fuka off of. Here is how it looks in the original book:

For my illustration all I needed was the severed head of the fuka, and luckily this picture shows the very un-shark-like monster’s head pretty clearly.

The arrow Sukenojō fires at the fuka is described as a karimata arrow. This is a kind of arrow with a particularly deadly shaped head; it looks like a crescent moon and is designed to tear the flesh so its target bleeds to death very quickly. The bow he carries (I translated it as “greatbow”) is described as a “three man” bow in the original, meaning a bow so large that it would take three men to pull it all the way back. Sukenojō was clearly a tough samurai!

How Matsumura Sukenojō Was Taken By a Fuka

When the lord of Ōsaka Castle was rotated back to Edo, all of the cargo was loaded onto a ship and went straight to sea, with Matsumura Sukenojō serving as the baggage officer. At Kumanoura, the ship suddenly stopped moving.

The captain said, “There is one among us who has been possessed by the sea. One man alone can be responsible for the deaths of many. Everyone must go to the front of the ship and, one by one, dump everything in their pockets and purses, even their tissue paper, into the sea. The sea will take the items belonging to the possessed man, but it will not take the items belonging to the others. With that as proof, I will throw the possessed man overboard.”

The men, without fail, gathered all of their possessions and one by one threw them all into the sea. Everything floated; however, even though Sukenojō’s tissue paper was floating, a giant fish leapt out of the sea and devoured it.

The captain said, “Then it is decided. This samurai is our man. It can’t be helped, so please jump into the ocean.”

Sukenojō replied, “I have no choice. However, a samurai must not be allowed to die so easily.”

He grabbed his greatbow and a karimata arrow, went to the side of the boat, and called, “Hey, spirit! I’m coming for you! If you are real, show yourself!”

A great fuka leaped out of the sea at him, its mouth open wide.

“Let the top and bottom of my bow become one!” shouted Sukenojō, and, with a loud snap, he fired his arrow down the fuka’s throat. The fuka was knocked back and sank into the sea. Afterwards, the boat started moving again, and they made it safely to Edo. Sukenojō narrowly survived that disaster.

Three years later, Sukenojō’s master was put in charge of Nijō Castle. As usual, Sukenojō went by ship with all of the luggage. When the ship arrived at Kumanoura, the weather was poor, so the ship pulled into port and they stayed there for four or five days.

There was a shrine to Hachiman nearby, and Sukenojō paid a visit to this shrine during his free time. Among the votive offerings there was a karimata arrow. Upon close inspection, he saw it was the same arrow that Sukenojō had fired at the fuka three years earlier; the arrow had “Great Bodhisattva Hachiman” written in red on it, proving that it was his. Sukenojō was astonished and asked the chief priest about it.

The priest explained, “Once or twice every year a fish called a fuka came to this inlet to haunt boats and take peoples’ lives. This must have upset Lord Hachiman, for it seems he shot the fuka dead with this arrow. Three years ago the fuka washed ashore with the waves and this arrow was sticking out of its throat. All who saw it were certain that it was the divine judgment of Hachiman. And so, the arrow and the head of the fuka were made into votive offerings.”

After hearing this, Sukenojō told the chief priest everything that had happened, and had him retrieve the head of the fuka and show it to him.

“Well, well, you are the beast who tried to take my life!” he said. Sukenojō petted the creature’s head, and he felt something like a spine prick his hand. After that his hand began to swell. Within a day it had swollen to the size of a tatami mat, and finally Sukenojō died.

A-Yokai-A-Day: How a Woman Was Taken by a Kasha For Using Two Measuring Cups

Tonight’s yokai is something called a kasha – meaning “fire chariot.” Kasha were giant cats that interrupted funerals and robbed graves of the sinful. The cat connection comes from ancient superstitions that cats were fond of corpses; either to eat, or to control like puppets. It’s an interesting name for a yokai, because while it is often depicted as a corpse-stealing giant cat, while other times it is depicted, as its name suggests, as a flaming chariot pulled by oni. The wheel is a common symbol in Buddhism, as it symbolizes the ever-revolving cycle of reincarnation; of course it’s also useful for dragging unwilling victims to hell for punishment, and flaming chariot wheels are not uncommon imagery when it comes to Japanese hell.

Tonight’s kasha is of the flaming chariot variety and not the grave-robbing cat variety. In today’s story it is used as an example of one of the most awful forms of punishment: falling into hell while still alive. This is a state of pure, intense suffering, because you did something so bad that hell won’t wait for you to die.

In the case of this story, the unforgivably bad sin that was committed was “using two measuring cups.” The story doesn’t elaborate much on what this means, but it refers to the dishonest usage of two different cup sizes: one when buying rice, and one when selling rice. In other words, you use the big cup when you need to buy rice, and you use the small cup when you sell it. This way you cheat both the farmer and the customer, and get rich in the process.

I’m sure we can all agree that such cheating is reprehensible, but it seems a little extreme to send someone into living hell for being stingy. On the other hand, during the Edo period, rice was life. In a period when food was sometimes scarce and salaries were paid in bushels of rice, it’s easier to see why this was considered to be a serious crime.

How a Woman Was Taken by a Kasha For Using Two Measuring Cups

A pilgrim performing the Saigoku Kannon Pilgrimage visited Seiganji Temple in Kyōto to have his goshūin book stamped. In the courtyard, a woman of about 40 years old was pulled out of a flaming chariot by an ox-headed demon and a horse-headed demon, violently accosted, and then forced back onto the chariot and driven off westward.

The pilgrim was astonished. He followed the chariot all the way to a rice shop in the vicinity of Shijō Horikawa. Growing even more curious, he entered the rice shop to ask what was going on.

People told him, “The rice dealer’s wife has been suffering from a sudden illness these past four or five days. Three times a day and three times a night she complains that her body is on fire.”

The pilgrim thought to himself for a moment, and then told the rice dealer what he had seen.

The rice dealer was surprised and said, “It’s just as I thought! My wife is a greedy person, and she is constantly using two different measuring cups for her own gain. I tried to stop her but she would not listen. It seems her sins have caused her to fall into hell while still alive.”

The rice dealer quit his job, became a monk, and departed upon a pilgrimage of the provinces. His wife died shortly afterwards, and their family line died out.