The Legend of the Golden Lotus
The following legend is obviously not of Japanese origin. The priests
of Buddhism in Japan knew that the success of their religion lay, not
in sweeping out the old gods of Shintō, but in adapting them with
infinite cleverness to the needs of their own teaching. In this case
Japan has borrowed from India and in a minor degree from China, if
we may look upon the dragon as originally belonging to the Celestial
Kingdom. We have followed closely Mr. Edward Greey's version, and
insert it here because it often enters into a Nippon priest's
discourse, and has a decidedly Japanese setting. We might duplicate
legends of this kind, but one will be sufficient for our purpose. The
other two legends given in this chapter are strictly Japanese.
The Lord Buddha, having concluded his holy meditations upon Mount
Dan-doku, slowly walked along a rocky pathway on his way to the city.
The dark shadows of night crept over the country, and there was
profound stillness everywhere.
On nearing his destination the Lord Buddha heard some one shout:
"_Shio-giyo mu-jiyo_!" ("The outward manner is not always an index to
the natural disposition.")
The Lord Buddha was delighted at these words, and desired to learn who
had spoken so wisely. Over and over again he heard the same words, and,
drawing to the edge of a precipice, he looked down into the valley
beneath, and perceived an extremely ugly dragon gazing up at him with
angry eyes.
[Illustration: Buddha and the Dragon.--80]
The Holy One then seated himself upon a rock, and inquired of the
dragon how he had come to learn one of the highest mysteries of
Buddhism. Such profound wisdom suggested a store of spiritual truths
yet to be revealed, and the Lord Buddha, therefore, requested that the
dragon should give utterance to other wise sayings.
Then the dragon, having coiled himself round the rock, shouted with a
great voice: "_Ze-shio metsu-po_!" ("All living things are antagonistic
to the law of Buddha!")
After uttering these words the dragon was silent for some time. Then
the Lord Buddha begged to hear yet another sentence.
"_Shio-metsu metsu-i_!" ("All living things must die!") shouted the
dragon.
At these words the dragon looked up at the Lord Buddha, and upon his
dreadful countenance there was an expression of extreme hunger.
The dragon then informed the Lord Buddha that the next truth was the
last, and so precious that he could not reveal it until his hunger had
been appeased.
At this the Holy One remarked that he would deny the dragon nothing so
long as he heard the fourth truth revealed, and inquired of the dragon
what he demanded. When the Lord Buddha heard that human flesh was what
the dragon required in exchange for his last precious fragment of
wisdom, the Master informed the dragon that his religion forbade the
destruction of life, but that he would, for the welfare of his people,
sacrifice his own body.
The dragon opened his great mouth and said: "_Jaku-metsu I-raku_!"
("The greatest happiness is experienced after the soul has left the
body!")
The Lord Buddha bowed, and then sprang into the gaping mouth of the
dragon.
No sooner had the Holy One touched the jaws of the monster than they
suddenly divided into eight parts, and in a moment changed into the
eight petals of the Golden Lotus.
The Bronze Buddha of Kamakura and the Whale[1]
"Above the old songs turned to ashes and pain,
Under which Death enshrouds the idols and trees with mist of sigh,
(Where are Kamakura's rising days and life of old?)
With heart heightened to hush, the Daibutsu forever sits."
_Yone Noguchi_.
The great bronze Buddha of Kamakura, or the Daibutsu, is undoubtedly
one of the most remarkable sights in Japan. At one time Kamakura
was the capital of Nippon. It was a great city of nearly a million
inhabitants, and was the seat of the Shōguns and of the Regents of
the Hōjō family during the troublous period of the Middle Ages.
But Kamakura, for all its devout worshippers of the Lord Buddha,
was destroyed by storm on two occasions, until it finally lost its
importance. To-day rice-fields and woods are to be seen in place of the
glory of old. Storm and fire, however, have left untouched the temple
of Hachiman (the God of War) and the bronze image of Buddha. At one
time this gigantic figure reposed in a temple, but now it stands high
above the trees, with an inscrutable smile upon its great face, with
eyes full of a peace that cannot be shaken by the petty storms of the
world.
Legend is nearly always elemental. Divinities, irrespective of their
austerity, are brought down to a very human level. It is a far cry
from the complex teaching of the Lord Buddha to the story of Amida
Butsu and the whale. One can trace in the following legend an almost
pathetic desire to veil the greatness of Buddha. The gigantic size of
the Daibutsu is not really in keeping with that curious love of little
things which is so characteristic of the Japanese people. There is a
playful irony in this story, a desire to take down the great Teacher a
peg or two--if only to take him down in stature a paltry two inches!
So many things appear to us to be done in a topsy-turvy way in Japan
that we are not surprised to find that in measuring metal and soft
goods the feet on the yardstick are not alike. For soft goods a whale
measure is used, for any hard material a metal foot. There are two
inches of difference in these measures, and the following legend may
possibly give us the reason for this apparently rather confusing
discrepancy.
The Bronze Buddha, in its sitting posture, is fifty feet high,
ninety-seven feet in circumference, the length of its face eight feet,
and as for its thumbs they are three feet round. It is probably the
tallest piece of bronze in the world. Such an enormous image naturally
created a considerable sensation in the days when Kamakura was a
flourishing city, laid out by the great General Yoritomo. The roads in
and about the city were densely packed with pilgrims, anxious to gaze
upon the latest marvel, and all agreed that this bronze image was the
biggest thing in the world.
Now it may be that certain sailors who had seen this marvel chatted
about it as they plied their nets. Whether this was so or not, a mighty
whale, who lived in the Northern Sea, happened to hear about the Bronze
Buddha of Kamakura, and as he regarded himself as being far bigger
than anything on land, the idea of a possible rival did not meet with
his approval. He deemed it impossible that little men could construct
anything that could vie with his enormous bulk, and laughed heartily at
the very absurdity of such a conception.
His laughter, however, did not last long. He was inordinately jealous,
and when he heard about the numerous pilgrimages to Kamakura and the
incessant praise evoked from those who had seen the image he grew
exceedingly angry, lashed the sea into foam, and blew down his nose
with so much violence that the other creatures of the deep gave him a
very wide berth. His loneliness only aggravated his trouble, and he
was unable to eat or sleep, and in consequence grew thin. He at last
decided to chat the matter over with a kindly shark.
The shark answered the whale's heated questions with quiet solicitude,
and consented to go to the Southern Sea in order that he might take the
measurement of the image, and bring back the result of his labour to
his agitated friend.
The shark set off upon his journey, until he came to the shore, where
he could see the image towering above him, about half a mile inland.
As he could not walk on dry land he was about to renounce his quest,
when he had the good fortune to discover a rat enjoying a scamper
along a junk. He explained his mission to the rat, and requested that
much-flattered little creature to take the measurement of the Bronze
Buddha.
So the rat climbed down the junk, swam ashore, and entered the dark
temple where the Great Buddha stood. At first he was so overcome by
the magnificence he saw about him that he was uncertain as to how to
proceed in carrying out the shark's request. He eventually decided to
walk round the image, counting his footsteps as he went. He discovered
after he had performed this task that he had walked exactly five
thousand paces, and on his return to the junk he told the shark the
measurement of the base of the Bronze Buddha.
The shark, with profuse thanks to the rat, returned to the Northern
Sea, and informed the whale that the reports concerning the size of
this exasperating image were only too true.
"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing" evidently applies equally
well to whales, for the whale of this legend, after receiving the
information, grew more furious than ever. As in a story familiar to
English children, he put on magic boots in order to travel on land as
well as he had always done in the sea.
The whale reached the Kamakura temple at night. He discovered that the
priests had gone to bed, and were apparently fast asleep. He knocked at
the door. Instead of the dismal murmur of a half-awake priest he heard
the Lord Buddha say, in a voice that rang like the sound of a great
bell: "Come in!"
"I cannot," replied the whale, "because I am too big. Will you please
come out and see me?"
When Buddha found out who his visitor was, and what he wanted at so
unearthly an hour, he condescendingly stepped down from his pedestal
and came outside the temple. There was utter amazement on both sides.
Had the whale possessed knees they would assuredly have knocked
together. He knocked his head on the ground instead. For his part,
Buddha was surprised to find a creature of such gigantic proportions.
We can imagine the consternation of the chief priest when he found that
the pedestal did not bear the image of his Master. Hearing a strange
conversation going on outside the temple, he went out to see what was
taking place. The much-frightened priest was invited to join in the
discussion, and was requested to take the measurement of the image and
the whale, and accordingly began to measure with his rosary. During
this proceeding the image and the whale awaited the result with bated
breath. When the measurements had been taken the whale was found to be
two inches longer and taller than the image.
The whale went back to the Northern Sea more utterly vain than ever,
while the image returned to its temple and sat down again, and there it
has remained to this day, none the worse, perhaps, for finding that it
was not quite so big as it imagined. Dealers in dry goods and dealers
in wood and iron agreed from that day to this to differ as to what was
a foot--and the difference was a matter of two inches.
The Crystal of Buddha[2]
In ancient days there lived in Japan a great State Minister named
Kamatari. Now Kamatari's only daughter, Kohaku Jo, extremely beautiful,
and as good as she was beautiful. She was the delight of her father's
heart, and he resolved that, if she married, no one of less account
than a king should be her husband. With this idea continually in his
mind, he steadfastly refused the offers for her hand.
One day there was a great tumult in the palace courtyard. Through
the open gates streamed a number of men bearing a banner on which
was worked a silken dragon on a yellow background. Kamatari learnt
that these men had come from the court of China with a message from
the Emperor Koso. The Emperor had heard of the exceeding beauty and
exquisite charm of Kohaku Jo, and desired to marry her. As is usual in
the East on such occasions, the Emperor's offer was accompanied with
the promise that if Kohaku Jo should become his bride he would allow
her to choose from his store of treasures whatever she liked to send to
her own country.
After Kamatari had received the envoys with due pomp and ceremony, and
put at their disposal a whole wing of the palace, he returned to his
own room and bade his servant bring his daughter into his presence.
When Kohaku had entered her father's room she bowed before him and sat
patiently on the white mats waiting for her august parent to speak to
her.
Kamatari told her that he had chosen the Emperor of China to be her
husband, and the little maid wept on hearing the news. She had been
so happy in her own home, and China seemed such a long way off. When,
however, her father foretold more happiness in the future than she had
ever had in the past, she dried her eyes and listened to her parent's
words, a little amazed to hear, perhaps, that all China's treasures
were to be laid at her own small feet. She was glad when her father
told her that she would be able to send three of these treasures to the
temple of Kofukuji, where she had received a blessing when a little
babe.
So Kohaku obeyed her father with not a little misgiving, not a little
heartache. Her girl companions wept when they heard the news, but they
were comforted when Kohaku's mother told them that some of their number
would be chosen to go with their mistress.
Before Kohaku sailed for China she wended her way to the beloved
temple of Kofukuji, and, arriving at the sacred shrine, she prayed for
protection in her journey, vowing that if her prayers were answered she
would search China for its three most precious treasures, and send them
to the temple as a thank-offering.
Kohaku reached China in safety and was received by the Emperor Koso
with great magnificence. Her childish fears were soon dispelled by
the Emperor's kindness. Indeed, he showed her considerably more than
kindness. He spoke to her in the language of a lover: "After long,
long days of weary waiting I have gathered the 'azalea of the distant
mountain,' and now I plant it in my garden, and great is the gladness
of my heart!"[3]
The Emperor Koso led her from palace to palace, and she knew not which
was the most beautiful, but her royal husband was aware that she was
far more lovely than any of them. Because of her great loveliness
he desired that it should be ever remembered throughout the length
and breadth of China, even beyond the bounds of his kingdom. "So he
called together his goldsmiths and gardeners," as Madame Ozaki writes
in describing this story, "and commanded them to fashion a path for
the Empress such as had never been heard of in the wide world. The
stepping-stones of this path were to be lotus-flowers, carved out of
silver and gold, for her to walk on whenever she strolled forth under
the trees or by the lake, so that it might be said that her beautiful
feet were never soiled by touching the earth; and ever since then, in
China and Japan, poet-lovers and lover-poets in song and sonnet and
sweet conversation have called the feet of the women they love 'lotus
feet.'"
But in spite of all the magnificence that surrounded Kohaku she did
not forget her native land or the vow she had made in the temple of
Kofukuji. One day she timidly informed the Emperor of her promise,
and he, only too glad to have another opportunity of pleasing her,
set before her such a store of beautiful and precious things that it
seemed as if an exquisite phantom world of gay colour and perfect
form had suddenly come into being at her very feet. There was such a
wealth of beautiful things that she found it very difficult to make
a choice. She finally decided upon the following magical treasures:
a musical instrument, which if one struck would continue to play for
ever, an ink-stone box, which, on opening the lid, was found to contain
an inexhaustible supply of Indian ink, and, last of all, "a beautiful
Crystal, in whose clear depths was to be seen, from whichever side you
looked, an image of Buddha riding on a white elephant. The jewel was of
transcendent glory and shone like a star, and whoever gazed into its
liquid depths and saw the blessed vision of Buddha had peace of heart
for evermore."[4]
After Kohaku had gazed for some time upon these treasures she sent for
Admiral Banko and bade him safely convey them to the temple of Kofukuji.
Everything went well with Admiral Banko and his ship until they were in
Japanese waters, sailing into the Bay of Shido-no-ura, when a mighty
tempest whirled the vessel hither and thither. The waves rolled up with
the fierceness of wild beasts, and lightning continually blazed across
the sky, to light up for a moment a rolling ship, now flung high upon a
mountain of water, now swept into a green valley from which it seemed
it could never rise again.
Suddenly the storm abated with the same unexpectedness with which it
had arisen. Some fairy hand had brushed up all the clouds and laid a
blue and sparkling carpet across the sea. The admiral's first thought
was for the safety of the treasures entrusted to him, and on going
below he discovered the musical instrument and ink-stone box just as he
had left them, but that the most precious of the treasures, Buddha's
Crystal, was missing. He contemplated taking his life, so grieved was
he at the loss; but on reflection he saw that it would be wiser to
live so long as there was anything he could do to find the jewel. He
accordingly hastened to land, and informed Kamatari of his dreadful
misfortune.
No sooner had Kamatari been told about the loss of Buddha's Crystal
than this wise minister perceived that the Dragon King of the Sea had
stolen it, and for that purpose had caused the storm, which had enabled
him to steal the treasure unperceived.
Kamatari offered a large reward to a number of fishermen he saw upon
the shore of Shido-no-ura if any of their number would venture into
the sea and bring back the Crystal. All the fishermen volunteered, but
after many attempts the precious jewel still remained in the keeping of
the Sea King.
Kamatari, much distressed, suddenly became aware of a poor woman
carrying an infant in her arms. She begged the great minister that she
might enter the sea and search for the Crystal, and in spite of her
frailty she spoke with conviction. Her mother-heart seemed to lend her
courage. She made her request because, if she succeeded in bringing
back the Crystal, she desired that as a reward Kamatari should bring up
her little son as a _samurai_ in order that he might be something in
life other than a humble fisherman.
It will be remembered that Kamatari in his day had been ambitious for
his daughter's welfare. He readily understood the poor woman's request,
and solemnly promised that if she carried out her part faithfully he
would gladly do his.
The woman withdrew, and taking off her upper garments, and tying a rope
round her waist, into which she stuck a knife, she was prepared for her
perilous journey. Giving the end of the rope to a number of fishermen,
she plunged into the water.
At first the woman saw the dim outline of rocks, the dart of a
frightened fish, and the faint gold of the sand beneath her. Then she
suddenly became aware of the roofs of the palace of the Sea King, a
great and gorgeous building of coral, relieved here and there with
clusters of many-coloured seaweed. The palace was like a huge pagoda,
rising tier upon tier. The woman swam nearer in order to inspect it
more closely, and she perceived a bright light, more brilliant than the
light of many moons, so bright that it dazzled her eyes. It was the
light of Buddha's Crystal, placed on the pinnacle of this vast abode,
and on every side of the shining jewel were guardian dragons fast
asleep, appearing to watch even in their slumber!
Up swam the woman, praying in her brave heart that the dragons might
sleep till she was out of harm's way and in possession of the treasure.
No sooner had she snatched the Crystal from its resting-place than the
guardians awoke; their great claws extended and their tails furiously
lashed the water, and in another moment they were in hot pursuit.
Rather than lose the Crystal, which she had won at so much peril, the
woman cut a wound in her left breast and forced the jewel into the
bleeding cavity, pressing her hand, without a murmur of pain, upon the
poor torn flesh. When the dragons perceived that the water was murky
with the woman's blood they turned back, for sea-dragons are afraid of
the very sight of blood.
Now the woman sharply pulled the rope, and the fishermen, sitting upon
the rocks far above, drew her to land with ever-quickening speed. They
gently laid her upon the shore, and found that her eyes were closed
and her breast bleeding profusely. Kamatari at first thought that the
woman had risked her life in vain; but bending over her he noticed the
wound in her breast. At that moment she opened her eyes, and, taking
the jewel from its place of concealment, she murmured a few words about
Kamatari's promise, then fell back dead with a smile of peace upon her
face.
Kamatari took the woman's child home and looked after him with all the
loving care of a father. In due time the boy grew to manhood and became
a brave _samurai_, and at Kamatari's death he, too, became a great
State minister. When in later years he learnt the story of his mother's
act of self-sacrifice he built a temple in the Bay of Shido-no-ura,
in memory of one who was so brave and true. It is called Shidoji,
and pilgrims visit this temple and remember the nobility of a poor
shell-gatherer to this day.
[Footnote 1: Adapted from _Fairy Tales of Old Japan_, by W. E. Griffis.]
[Footnote 2: Adapted from _Buddha's Crystal_, by Madame Yei Ozaki.]
[Footnote 3: Madame Ozaki.]
[Footnote 4: Madame Ozaki.]