Tonight’s story describes the workings of one of the most popular yokai there is: a tengu. But first, there’s a few cultural terms to talk about in this story.

First, the subject of the illustration: a kamuro. Kamuro (also sometimes kaburo, as with the yokai ōkaburo) is a word that describes several things depending on the era; a hairstyle involving a mostly-shaved head that was common in the late Edo period; a hair style that was not shaven, but instead bobbed used until the middle Edo period; the children who wore such hairstyles; and young girls employed as handmaids in high end brothels. Since this book was written in the early Edo period, kamuro would have referred to a child, who would have had a bobbed hairstyle.

Secondly, the comment “They would never let Benkei do that all by himself.” This is a reference to a massively famous legendary warrior monk about whom many stories were written. One of his most famous legends is about how he died. After the Genpei War and the destruction of the Heike, the brothers Minamoto no Yoshitsune and Minamoto no Yoritomo fought with each other over who would be the ruler of Japan. Benkei was one of Yoshitsune’s retainers, and fought by his side at the Battle of the Koromo River. When Yoshitsune’s army was encircled and all but defeated, Benkei told his master to flee, then stayed behind and single-handedly held off the enemy army by guarding a bridge. Not one of Yoritomo’s men was brave enough to cross the bridge to fight the legendary monk. Instead, they rained arrows down upon him. When dust cleared and the arrows stopped falling, they looked out and saw Benkei still standing on the other side of the bridge. Eventually, they found the courage to cross the bridge, and they discovered that the brave monk had died standing up! Talk about epic.

Now on to the yokai… Although we don’t actually see the tengu in the story — we just see the results of its magic and its personality. Tengu are famous for their disdain of prideful people, just as was the case in the tengu story we saw earlier this month. Tonight’s story is no exception. Imagine having the pride and boldness to walk on top of a child and then use the toilet right in front of their face!

The Arrogance of Ukita of Bizen Province’s Widow

In Bizen Province there was a certain woman who was known as the widow of Ukita. One night, to alleviate her boredom, she had some dancers perform for her. They performed “Takadachi,” and as she listened to them recite the part where Benkei makes his final stand, she chortled, “They would never let Benkei do that all by himself…” Then, laughing, she stepped out into the courtyard to use the outhouse.

When she opened the door of the outhouse, there was a kamuro about twelve or thirteen years old lying across the floor. The kamuro looked up at the widow and grinned. The widow was dauntless by nature, so without hesitation, she locked the door, trampled across the kamuro, and then leisurely relieved herself. Then she coolly left the outhouse and walked several meters, when she heard a dry cackle behind her that pierced right through her ears. She thought she was going to be pulled backwards, but she fell flat on her face right where she stood.

Everybody was surprised, and they ran outside to find the widow fainted. When they somehow managed to revive her, she came to her senses and told them what had happened. It is said that a tengu arranged this punishment because the widow was so arrogant.

Tonight’s story is another example of a problem caused by attachment to material things — the core sin of Buddhism. That this story takes place at a temple, and to a temple elder, serves to underline that fact. Even priests are susceptible to this most basic of human faults, and can become undead monsters as a result of it.

The last part of the story points out that everyone slandered this elder after the money was found. But it’s not simply the fact that he was attached to the money that was the problem. The key lies in the amount: one thousand ryō. You don’t have to be an Edo period accountant to imagine that this is an obscenely large amount of money. One thousand gold coins is going to be worth a lot no matter what time period or country this takes place in. The value of gold fluctuated a lot over the Edo period, and it’s hard to place the exact time for this story, but since Shokoku hyakumonogatari was published in 1677, it’s safe to say this took place probably somewhere between 1600 and 1670. Currency Museum of the Bank of Japan, at the beginning of the Edo Period, one ryō was worth approximately 100,000 yen in today’s money. So this temple elder had a secret buried stash worth one hundred million yen. That kind of money isn’t something a priest is normally going to get his hands on, so there’s a strong implication that he was doing some immoral things to gather and hide that much gold. So the slander was almost certainly deserved, although the story never tells us just what this man did to get that money.

The Elder of Saikōji in Bungo Province Who Was Attached to Gold

At a temple called Saikōji in Bungo Province, an elder who was about seventy years old fell ill, and said in his final days, “When I die, leave me as I am for seven days, and after that, cremate me.” After that, he died.

His disciples obeyed his last will, and had him washed and placed in a coffin. At around midnight on the third day, there was a rustling sound inside of the coffin. Then the lid of the coffin opened up, and the elder, wearing a black hood, crawled out of the coffin and walked into the tatami room. The disciples were amazed, and they watched to see what would happen. The elder went out to the veranda and pointed a finger towards the northwest corner of the garden. The disciples were so afraid that they ran away and hid in the kitchen. Eventually the elder went back into his coffin.

The following night, the elder did the same thing as the night before. The disciples held a meeting to discuss the matter. They dug up the northwest corner of the garden and they discovered an incredibly beautiful jar. When they looked inside, they found one thousand ryō in gold coins had been placed inside.

Afterwards, everyone disparaged the elder because of his lingering attachment to this gold.

Tonight’s story is a short and strange collection of happenings that occurred at the house of “a certain samurai” in Iga Province during the Keichō era. Iga was located on the famous Tōkaidō highway running east-west linking Kyōto with Edo, and due to its location right on the border of the capital, it was a major thoroughfare and a gateway to the east. During the Heian period it was under control of the Taira clan, but in the middle ages it changed hands many times and was owned by several different families. In 1608, after Tokugawa Iyeyasu united the country, Iga was put under the control of Tōdō Takatora.

Takatora was a skilled and clever warrior who rose rapidly from the ranks of a mere foot soldier all the way to become a daimyō. He was also a brilliant engineer and is especially known for designing twenty different castles. So why would such weird hauntings take place under his rule? The storyteller doesn’t bother to speculate, but the question lingers on my mind. One …possibility… is that it was some kind of supernatural punishment or cause-and-effect. You see, Takatora was not just a great warrior, he was also politically smart. Over his career, he changed his allegiance often, serving under several different lords until finally remaining loyal to Tokugawa Iyeyasu for the remainder of his life. Swapping sides that often might be good politics (and certainly it’s better for your health!), but that’s the kind of treachery that might just get one’s lands haunted!

The Bakemono of Iga Province During the Keichō Era

During the Keichō era (1596 – 1615 CE), strange things happened at the residence of a certain samurai in Iga Province. At dusk, a beautiful woman wearing a fine silk katsugi would walk by his front door, and sometimes she would be headless, and only her body would walk by. One time, at noon, the woman and a giant monk were up on the roof peeking out of the chimney. And once, four or five emaciated women, with disheveled hair and wearing thin white kimono, danced around.

There were so many dreadful things like this that nobody would live in this residence. Nowadays such things do not happen anymore, but people hear stories about the old days and still will not live there.

Tonight’s story features a tanuki, a yokai that is beloved by almost everyone. I have to wonder what the tanuki was thinking when it decided to do what it did… Maybe it saw how sad the samurai was and thought if it did something to cheer him up, it might get some food. Of course, as you can see by the illustration, even good intentions often end up in disaster when yokai and humans are involved.

The Old Tanuki Disguised as a Samurai’s Wife

In Bishū, there was a samurai with an income of 2000 koku who lost his beloved wife, and every night he thought only of her. One night, when he put out his lamp to go to sleep, his dead wife came to his bedchamber, looking as beautifully dressed as ever, and nostalgically pulled back the bedsheets to climb inside.

The samurai was startled and asked, “Have the dead come back to visit me?” He took his wife, pulled her to him, and stabbed her with his sword. She vanished into thin air. His retainers rushed into the room, lit lamps, and searched everywhere, but found nothing.

When dawn broke, they looked again, and there was some blood on the door hinge. They followed the mysterious blood trail to a hole beneath some bushes in the northwest corner of the estate. When they dug up the hole, they discovered an old tanuki, dead from a sword wound.