Once, when Musō Kokushi, a priest of the Zen sect, was journeying alone
through the province of Mino (1), he lost his way in a
mountain-district where there was nobody to direct him. For a long time
he wandered about helplessly; and he was beginning to despair of
finding shelter for the night, when he perceived, on the top of a hill
lighted by the last rays of the sun, one of those little hermitages,
called _anjitsu_, which are built for solitary priests. It seemed to be
in ruinous condition; but he hastened to it eagerly, and found that it
was inhabited by an aged priest, from whom he begged the favor of a
night’s lodging. This the old man harshly refused; but he directed Musō
to a certain hamlet, in the valley adjoining where lodging and food
could be obtained.
Musō found his way to the hamlet, which consisted of less than a dozen
farm-cottages; and he was kindly received at the dwelling of the
headman. Forty or fifty persons were assembled in the principal
apartment, at the moment of Musō’s arrival; but he was shown into a
small separate room, where he was promptly supplied with food and
bedding. Being very tired, he lay down to rest at an early hour; but a
little before midnight he was roused from sleep by a sound of loud
weeping in the next apartment. Presently the sliding-screens were
gently pushed apart; and a young man, carrying a lighted lantern,
entered the room, respectfully saluted him, and said:—
“Reverend Sir, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am now the
responsible head of this house. Yesterday I was only the eldest son.
But when you came here, tired as you were, we did not wish that you
should feel embarrassed in any way: therefore we did not tell you that
father had died only a few hours before. The people whom you saw in the
next room are the inhabitants of this village: they all assembled here
to pay their last respects to the dead; and now they are going to
another village, about three miles off,—for by our custom, no one of us
may remain in this village during the night after a death has taken
place. We make the proper offerings and prayers;—then we go away,
leaving the corpse alone. Strange things always happen in the house
where a corpse has thus been left: so we think that it will be better
for you to come away with us. We can find you good lodging in the other
village. But perhaps, as you are a priest, you have no fear of demons
or evil spirits; and, if you are not afraid of being left alone with
the body, you will be very welcome to the use of this poor house.
However, I must tell you that nobody, except a priest, would dare to
remain here tonight.”