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_[9] 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."
[9] Tombstone.
"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."