"It has been a long time since I saw it, but I remember it was thrilling
to watch the worshipers walk barefoot over the hot coals. Come along
with me, Zura. Come on," I urged, seeking in my mind for a more
persuasive word and finding a memory of Mr. Pinkey Chalmers to help me
out, "and we'll make a night of it."
I saw nothing humorous in what I had said, but it had a curious effect
on Zura. She changed her mind so swiftly, her manner grew so gleeful, I
thought maybe I had made a promise I could not keep.
"All right, old sport," she laughed with reckless gaiety, "I'll go; you
stick to me and I'll give you the time of your young life. But make it
clear to the devotees in this house that I won't tie myself up in a
kimono; neither will I bend an inch before any of those
dropsical-looking images."
Soon we heard the rustle of the Master's silken garments. He entered,
closely followed by his mother, wife and daughter, their kimonos and
obis in colors soft and mellow as befitted older women, and each covered
with an overcoat thin of texture and rich in quality. This outer garment
was the insignia not only of rank, but of the grave importance of the
occasion.
Their greetings to me were soon over, and Zura announced that she was
going with us.
Without a glimmer of pleasure in her seeming willingness to obey, her
grandfather said, "It is well."
Had he glanced at the girl when he voiced it, he would have chosen other
words. In her very bright eyes there was a look which boded no spirit
of good will.
Kishimoto San, with his mother, led the way on our pilgrimage. We
followed behind; and bringing up the rear was an army of servants loaded
with blankets, cushions and hampers of food. It was to be a long session
of worship and festivities, and the family would need all the comforts
of home before their return.
The festival was called "Tanjo Shaka" (Buddha's Birthday), and as our
little party passed through the great gates the crowds of
holiday-makers, which thronged the enclosure, testified to the
popularity of the day. The broad avenue leading to the steps of the old
temple was lined on each side by temporary booths, from which one could
purchase anything from a hot sweet potato to a much-decorated prayer,
from false teeth to a charm to ward off the chicken-pox.
There was a man who made a dainty fan while you waited; the cook who
made a cake while you prayed; the handkerchief man and the sock man; and
ah me! the funny old codger, bald of head and shriveled of body, but
with a bit of heaven in his weary old eyes. It was the reflection of the
baby faces about him. His was the privilege of fashioning from sticky,
sweet dough wonderful flowers of brilliant hue and the children flocked
about him like birds of Paradise to a field of grain.
On every side were set up images of the infant Buddha. Around these,
worshipers crowded that they might purchase some portion of the licorice
tea poured over the image and supposed to guard against many evils.
Groups of white-garbed pilgrims from distant cities passed on to
worship, their tinkling bells keeping time to the soft pad of their
sandaled feet. Under the overhanging boughs of the ancient trees were
placed low platforms spread with bright red blankets, and thereon sat
the family groups. In these throngs very few were well off in worldly
possessions. For the masses this day meant curtailment of necessities
for many other days. It was a willing sacrifice, for, having done duty
at the temple and cheerfully contributed their hard-earned "rin," they
yielded themselves up to the enjoyment of being set free, in a space
where neither worry nor want were permitted to enter, where their poor
lives touched something higher or less sordid than themselves. The day
was a gift of the gods and they would be merry, for to-morrow was toil
and poverty. It was neither satisfying nor permanent but all so simple
and happy. Only a heartless stickler for creed and dogma would have
labeled it idolatry or banished from the garden of the temple the
participants who were childlike in their enjoyment.
It took us some time to make our way to the building where Kishimoto
guided us that he with his family might first offer their devotions.
Once there, the ceremony began. I was not expected to participate and
stood aside. It was not without anxiety that I heard the grandfather
give a stern command to Zura to approach and kneel with him before the
great bronze image, and her equally rigid refusal to do so.
With difficulty the proud old Buddhist refrained from creating a scene
before the other worshipers, but it was plain that he was stung to the
quick for the honor of his religion. From the look in his face he only
bided his time.
The girl moved nearer to me and none too quietly mocked priest and
worshiper gaily. Both maid and man seemed determined once for all to
settle the supremacy of will. They were like two warriors measuring
their strength before the final contest. The slip of a dark-eyed girl
seemed an adversary easily disposed of. Though justly angered, her
opponent had learned that if from him she had inherited tenacity of
will, the legacy from her father had been an invincible belief in her
individual right and courage to assert it.
After this clash we walked about till it was time for the evening meal.
It was served in an open tea-house. Hospitable and kind to the last
degree, both host and hostesses pressed upon me every dainty eatable,
and tried by all they knew to dispel the gathering clouds. I was touched
by their efforts and did my best to smooth the way to peace, but my
endeavors were vain. It was a conflict of conditions in which were both
wrong and right, but which not to the end of time would ever be
reconciled.
At last the family sat apart and talked in low tones. Zura moved closer
to me and, though white-lipped and restless after the many encounters
with her grandfather, her spirit was undaunted.