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.

 

A-Yokai-A-Day: The Origin of the Surname ‘Nikurube’

Tonight’s story is another tale about romance and ghosts, although it’s not a horrific one like many that we’ve seen. Instead, this ghost story sets up an interesting false etymology for the Japanese surname Nikurube. This surname is particularly difficult to read in Japanese, and causes a lot of confusion for people who don’t know how it is read. In some rankings it is said to be the #1 most difficult name in Japanese.

There are a few different ways to write Nikurube, but one of them is 釋迦牟尼佛. Normally, those kanji are read “Shakamuni hotoke” — the name of the Buddha. Yet by some odd way, when used as a name they came to be pronounced Nikurube.

The story gives an entertaining name for why the name of the Buddha came to be a family name, but it doesn’t explain how the pronunciation actually changed from Shakamuni hotoke to Nikurube. This is also an interesting story. There are many titles and epithets used for the Buddha, buddhas, bodhisattvas. One of the common ones is Nyōrai (as in Amida Nyōrai). All of the buddhas collectively can be referred to as “the nyōrai group” or nyōraibu; -bu in this case being a suffix meaning “group.” Nyōraibu is written with the kanji 如来部. If you use an alternate pronunciation for each if the kanji in nyō-rai-bu, you get ni-kuru-be.

So, the pronunciation of the name Nikurube comes from the kanji for one of the Buddha’s epithets, but is written with the kanji for the actual name of the Buddha. It is spelled completely different from how it sounds. No wonder it’s confusing to so many people!

Now just wait until you hear why the name of the Buddha became a surname:

The Origin of the Surname ‘Nikurube’

In Nihonbashi, Edo, there was a wealthy merchant named Yorozuya Hanbei. Every year he would travel to Kyōto to make purchases, and he would stay at an inn run by a widow and her daughter. The daughter had beautiful features, and Hanbei was drawn to her and reached out to court her. She had already held affection for Hanbei for some time, and, their feelings mutual, she told her mother everything. She and Hanbei fell deeply in love with each other.

One day, Hanbei said to the girl, “My home is in Edo, and wouldn’t it be better for both you and your mother to move to Edo and live a comfortable life? I will go there first and make all of the arrangements, and then I will send for someone to bring you here. How does that sound?”

The girl was delighted and said, “I have been thinking the same thing for some time now. And, if you can’t wait until next year, I’d like to travel to Edo with you, and spend every morning and evening together.”

Hanbei was happy to hear this, but he first returned to Edo by himself. Perhaps exhausted from the journey, he fell ill upon returning home, lost track of time, and forgot about returning to Kyōto to pick up the girl.

Not knowing this, the girl waited impatiently in the capital for Hanbeti’s late arrival, and thought of nothing but him morning and night. Perhaps it was due to her worry piling up, but she soon fell ill, and finally she died. Her mother was devastated.

Meanwhile, back in Edo, Hanbei remembered the girl and thought that she must be waiting impatiently for him to come get her. He wondered how she was doing, and fondly remembered his time in the capital.

“Is this Yorozuya Hanbei’s place?” a voice asked. Hanbei looked up and saw that it was his fiance from the capital.

Hanbei was overjoyed. “Well now, how is it that you have come here? It’s like a miracle!” he said, and the two of them could not hold back their tears.

The girl lamented Hanbei’s lateness and spoke her grievances, and Hanbei made various excuses; but in the end he calmed her and welcomed her inside, introducing her to his entire family as his new wife.

“Now then, let us send for your mother in the capital to come here as well,” said Hanbei.

The girl stopped him, saying, “First let us wait two or three years.”

Hanbei didn’t see any reason to argue, and so the months and years passed. Before long, the girl became pregnant, then gave birth to a fine baby boy. When the boy was three years old, the girl’s mother came from the capital to visit Hanbei, who was delighted to see her.

The widow, sobbing, said, “Well now, just looking at you I get all choked up. It’s been three years since my daughter, whom I gave to you and who waited and waited for you to come for her, died of heartbreak when you never showed up. Since she died, I have had nobody to support me. It’s been getting harder for me to scrape by, and as you have always been a compassionate man, I thought that if I came to Edo to ask for your help you would never abandon me. So here I have come. Please help me, as you would have helped my daughter.”

Hanbei replied, “What a strange thing you say! Your daughter came down here three years ago, and now we even have a three year old child. Look, here is your grandson!” And he showed her the child.

The widow was astonished, and replied, “Then I’d like to see my daughter.”

Hanbei took her inside, but the daughter, refusing to see her mother, hid herself in the closet. When Hanbei opened the closet to speak with her, the girl was nowhere to be found; instead, there was a grave tablet. Hanbet showed the tablet to the window, who burst into tears.

“So, she was so devoted to you that her spirit came here to live with you for three years! How incredible!” cried the widow.

She withdrew a grave tablet from her breast pocket and held it next to the one Hanbei was holding. On both tablets, “Shakyamuni Buddha” was written in the same handwriting. Hanbei was also moved to tears. He performed funerary services for the girl, and he made sure that the girl’s mother was provided all that she wished for.

The child grew into a young man of superb looks and intelligence, and the provincial governor at the time heard about him and took him as an employee. Hanbei’s family name was Ōtomo, but this child was born of a ghost, so the name “Shakyamuni Buddha” which was written on the grave tablet had its reading changed, and the boy came to be known as Nikurube San’ya. Since then, this family name has been handed down from generation to generation.