They built for her a small An-dera, or Nun's-Temple, in an empty
court where another and larger temple, called Amida-ji, had once
stood. The An-dera was also called Amida-ji, and was dedicated to
Amida-Nyorai and to other Buddhas. It was fitted up with a very
small altar and with miniature altar furniture. There was a tiny
copy of the sutras on a tiny reading-desk, and tiny screens and
bells and kakemono. And she dwelt there long after her parents
had passed away. People called her the Amida-ji no Bikuni,--which
means The Nun of the Temple of Amida.
A little outside the gate there was a statue of Jizo. This Jizo
was a special Jizo--the friend of sick children. There were
nearly always offerings of small rice-cakes to be seen before
him. These signified that some sick child was being prayed for;
and the number of the rice-cakes signified the number of the
years of the child. Most often there were but two or three cakes;
rarely there were seven or ten. The Amida-ji no Bikuni took care
of the statue, and supplied it with incense-offerings, and
flowers from the temple garden; for there was a small garden
behind the An-dera.
After making her morning round with her alms-bowl, she would
usually seat herself before a very small loom, to weave cloth
much too narrow for serious use. But her webs were bought always
by certain shopkeepers who knew her story; and they made her
presents of very small cups, tiny flower-vases, and queer
dwarf-trees for her garden.
Her greatest pleasure was the companionship of children; and this
she never lacked. Japanese child-life, is mostly passed in temple
courts; and many happy childhoods were spent in the court of the
Amida-ji. All the mothers in that street liked to have their
little ones play there, but cautioned them never to laugh at the
Bikuni-San. "Sometimes her ways are strange," they would say;
"but that is because she once had a little son, who died, and the
pain became too great for her mother's heart. So you must be very
good and respectful to her."
Good they were, but not quite respectful in the reverential
sense. They knew better than to be that. They called her
"Bikuni-San" always, and saluted her nicely; but otherwise they
treated her like one of themselves. They played games with her;
and she gave them tea in extremely small cups, and made for them
heaps of rice-cakes not much bigger than peas, and wove upon her
loom cloth of cotton and cloth of silk for the robes of their
dolls. So she became to them as a blood-sister.
They played with her daily till they grew too big to play, and
left the court of the temple of Amida to begin the bitter work of
life, and to become the fathers and mothers of children whom they
sent to play in their stead. These learned to love the Bikuni-San
like their parents had done. And the Bikuni-San lived to play
with the children of the children of the children of those who
remembered when her temple was built.
The people took good heed that she should not know want. There
was always given to her more than she needed for herself. So she
was able to be nearly as kind to the children as she wished, and
to feed extravagantly certain small animals. Birds nested in her
temple, and ate from her hand, and learned not to perch upon the
heads of the Buddhas.
Some days after her funeral, a crowd of children visited my
house. A little girl of nine years spoke for them all:--
"Sir, we are asking for the sake of the Bikuni-San who is dead. A
very large haka(1) has been set up for her. It is a nice haka.
But we want to give her also a very, very small haka because in
the time she was with us she often said that she would like a
very little haka. And the stone-cutter has promised to cut it for
us, and to make it very pretty, if we can bring the money.
Therefore perhaps you will honorably give something."
"Assuredly," I said. "But now you will have nowhere to play."
She answered, smiling:--"We shall still play in the court of the
temple of Amida. She is buried there. She will hear our playing,
and be glad."
(1) Tombstone.