The Bell of Enkakuji
Japanese bells are among the finest in the world, for in their size,
construction, and decoration the bell-maker of Nippon has reached a
high level of efficiency. The largest bell in Japan belongs to the Jodo
temple of Chion, at Kyōtō. It weighs seventy-four tons, and requires
seventy-five men to ring it in order to get the full effect from this
great mass of metal. The bell of Enkakuji is the largest bell in
Kamakura. It dates from the beginning of the thirteenth century, and is
six inches thick, four feet seven inches in diameter, and about eight
feet high. This bell, unlike our own, is the same diameter from top to
bottom, a feature common to all big Japanese bells. It is rung by means
of a beam suspended from the roof, and from the beam hangs a rope.
When the beam is set swinging with sufficient velocity it strikes a
lotus-moulding on the side of the bell, and a great note quivers forth,
"deep as thunder, rich as the bass of a mighty organ."
The Return of Ono-no-Kimi
When Ono-no-Kimi died he went before the Judgment Seat of Emma-Ō, the
Judge of Souls, and was told by that dread deity that he had quitted
earthly life too soon, and that he must at once return. Ono-no-Kimi
pleaded that he could not retrace his steps, as he did not know the
way. Then Emma-Ō said: "By listening to the bell of Enkakuji you will
be able to find your way into the world again." And Ono-no-Kimi went
forth from the Judgment Seat, and, with the sound of the bell for
guidance, once more found himself in his old home.
The Giant Priest
On one occasion it is said that a priest of giant stature was seen
in the country, and no one knew his name or whence he had come. With
unceasing zest he travelled up and down the land, from village to
village, from town to town, exhorting the people to pray before the
bell of Enkakuji. It was eventually discovered that this giant priest
was none other than a personification of the holy bell itself. This
extraordinary news had its effect, for numerous people now flocked to
the bell of Enkakuji, prayed, and returned with many a wish fulfilled.
On another occasion this sacred bell is said to have sounded a deep
note of its own accord. Those who were incredulous and laughed at the
miracle met with calamity, and those who believed in the miraculous
power of the sacred bell were rewarded with much prosperity.
A Woman and the Bell of Miidera
In the ancient monastery of Miidera there was a great bronze bell. It
rang out every morning and evening, a clear, rich note, and its surface
shone like sparkling dew. The priests would not allow any woman to
strike it, because they thought that such an action would pollute and
dull the metal, as well as bring calamity upon them.
When a certain pretty woman who lived in Kyōto heard this she grew
extremely inquisitive, and at last, unable to restrain her curiosity,
she said: "I will go and see this wonderful bell of Miidera. I will
make it sound forth a soft note, and in its shining surface, bigger and
brighter than a thousand mirrors, I will paint and powder, my face and
dress my hair."
At length this vain and irreverent woman reached the belfry in which
the great bell was suspended at a time when all were absorbed in their
sacred duties. She looked into the gleaming bell and saw her pretty
eyes, flushed cheeks, and laughing dimples. Presently she stretched
forth her little fingers, lightly touched the shining metal, and prayed
that she might have as great and splendid a mirror for her own. When
the bell felt this woman's fingers, the bronze that she touched shrank,
leaving a little hollow, and losing at the same time all its exquisite
polish.
Benkei and the Bell
Benkei,[1] the faithful retainer of Yoshitsune, may be fittingly
described as the strong man of Old Japan. His strength was prodigious,
as will be seen in the following legend.
When Benkei was a monk he very much desired to steal the bell of
Miidera, and bring it to his own monastery. He accordingly visited
Miidera, and, at an opportune moment, unhooked the great bell. Benkei's
first thought was to roll it down the hill, and thus save himself the
trouble of carrying such a huge piece of metal; but, thinking that the
monks would hear the noise, he was forced to set about carrying it
down the steep incline. He accordingly pulled out the crossbeam from
the belfry, suspended the bell at one end, and--humorous touch--his
paper lantern at the other,[2] and in this manner he carried his mighty
burden for nearly seven miles.
When Benkei reached his temple he at once demanded food. He managed
to get through a concoction which filled an iron soup-pot five feet
in diameter, and when he had finished he gave permission for a few
priests to strike the stolen bell of Miidera. The bell was struck, but
in its dying murmur it seemed to cry: "I want to go back to Miidera! I
want to go back to Miidera!"
When the priests heard this they were amazed. The abbot, however,
thought that if the bell were sprinkled with holy water it would become
reconciled to its new abode; but in spite of holy water the bell
still sobbed forth its plaintive and provoking cry. No one was more
displeased by the sound than Benkei himself. It seemed that the bell
mocked him and that arduous journey of his. At last, exasperated beyond
endurance, he rushed to the rope, strained it till the beam was far
from the great piece of metal, then let it go, hoping that the force of
the swift-rushing beam would crack such a peevish and ill-bred bell.
The whirling wood reached the bell with a terrific crash; but it did
not break. Through the air rang again: "I want to go back to Miidera!"
and whether the bell was struck harshly or softly it always spoke the
same words.
At last Benkei, now in a towering rage, shouldered the bell and beam,
and, coming to the top of a mountain, he set down his burden, and, with
a mighty kick, sent it rolling into the valley beneath. Some time later
the Miidera priests found their precious bell, and joyfully hung it in
its accustomed place, and from that time it failed to speak, and only
rang like other temple bells.
Karma
The power of Karma is one of the great Buddhist doctrines, and many
are the stories, both true and legendary, told in connection with this
theme. Of the former Lafcadio Hearn in "Kokoro" narrates the pitiful
tale of a priest who had the misfortune to attract the love of many
women. Rather than yield to their solicitations he committed suicide by
kneeling in the middle of a railway track and allowing an express train
to put an end to his temptations.
The story of "The Bamboo-cutter and the Moon-Maiden" gives us another
representation of the working out of Karma. The Lady Kaguya was
banished from her home in the moon owing to indulgence in some sensual
passion. In her exile it will be remembered that her weakness was
vanquished, and that she steadfastly resisted this particular sin
during her earthly sojourn.
Karma by no means represents exclusively the power of evil thought,
though it is most commonly applied to the human passions. In its fuller
meaning it signifies cause and effect--all thoughts, all actions that
are not spiritual, for by the working of Karma, according to Buddhist
teaching, is the world and all it contains fashioned. The desire to be
is Karma. The desire not to be is the breaking of the great wheel of
birth and re-birth, and the attainment of Nirvana.
There are Japanese lovers who, owing to circumstance, are unable to
marry; but they do not blame circumstance. They regard their misfortune
as the result of an error in a previous existence, such as breaking
their promise to wed, or because they were cruel to each other.
Such lovers believe that if they bind themselves together with an
under-girdle and spring into a river or lake they will become united in
their next birth. This suicide of Japanese lovers is called _jōshi_,
which means "love-death" or "passion-death." Buddhism is strongly
opposed to self-destruction, and no less to a love of this kind, for
in _jōshi_ there is no desire to destroy, but rather to foster, the
power of Karma. Such lovers may be united, but in the teaching of the
Lord Buddha a union of this kind is a delusion, while Nirvana alone
is worth striving for. We read in the _Ratana Sutra_: "Their old Karma
is exhausted, no new Karma is being produced: their hearts are free
from the longing after future life; the cause of their existence being
destroyed, and no new yearnings springing up within them, they, the
wise, are extinguished like this lamp."
A Bell and the Power of Karma
"There are various paths leading to the attainment of
complete happiness. When we find ourselves upon the
wrong one it is our duty to quit it."
Bakin.
Near the banks of the Hidaka there once stood a far-famed tea-house
nestling amid lovely scenery beside a hill called the Dragon's Claw.
The fairest girl in this tea-house was Kiyo, for she was like "the
fragrance of white lilies, when the wind, sweeping down the mountain
heights, comes perfume-laden to the traveller."
Across the river stood a Buddhist temple where the abbot and a number
of priests lived a simple and devout life. In the belfry of this temple
reposed a great bell, six inches thick and weighing several tons. It
was one of the monastery rules that none of the priests should eat fish
or meat or drink _saké_, and they were especially forbidden to stop at
tea-houses, lest they should lose their spirituality and fall into the
sinful ways of the flesh.
One of the priests, however, on returning from a certain shrine,
happened to see the pretty Kiyo, flitting hither and thither in the
tea-garden, like a large, brightwinged butterfly. He stood and watched
her for a moment, sorely tempted to enter the garden and speak to this
beautiful creature, but, remembering his priestly calling, he crossed
the river and entered his temple. That night, however, he could not
sleep. The fever of a violent love had come upon him. He fingered his
rosary and repeated passages from the Buddhist Scriptures, but these
things brought him no peace of mind. Through all his pious thoughts
there ever shone the winsome face of Kiyo, and it seemed to him that
she was calling from that fair garden across the river.
His burning love grew so intense that it was not long before he stifled
his religious feelings, broke one of the temple rules, and entered
the forbidden tea-house. Here he entirely forgot his religion, or
found a new one in contemplating the beautiful Kiyo, who brought him
refreshment. Night after night he crept across the river and fell under
the spell of this woman. She returned his love with equal passion,
so that for the moment it appeared to this erring priest that he had
found in a woman's charms something far sweeter than the possibility of
attaining Nirvana.
After the priest had seen Kiyo on many nights conscience began to stir
within him and to do battle with his unholy love. The power of Karma
and the teaching of the Lord Buddha struggled within his breast. It was
a fierce conflict, but in the end passion was vanquished, though, as we
shall learn, not its awful consequences. The priest, having stamped out
his carnal love, deemed it wise to deal with Kiyo as circumspectly as
possible, lest his sudden change should make her angry.
When Kiyo saw the priest after his victory over the flesh she observed
the far-away look in his eyes and the ascetic calm that now rested upon
his face. She redoubled her feminine wiles, determined either to make
the priest love her again, or, failing that, to put him to a cruel
death by sorcery.
[Illustration: Kiyo and the Priest.--146]
All Kiyo's blandishments failed to awaken love within the priest's
heart, and, thinking only of vengeance, she set out, arrayed in a white
robe, and went to a certain mountain where there was a Fudo[3] shrine.
Fudo sat, surrounded by fire, a sword in one hand and a small coil of
rope in the other. Here Kiyo prayed with fearful vehemence that this
hideous-looking God would show her how to kill the priest who had once
loved her.
From Fudo she went to the shrine of Kompira,[4] who has the knowledge
of magic and is able to teach sorcery. Here she begged that she might
have the power to turn herself at will into a dragon-serpent. After
many visits a long-nosed sprite (probably a _tengu_), who waited upon
Kompira, taught Kiyo all the mysteries of magic and sorcery. He taught
this once sweet girl how to change herself into the awful creature she
desired to be for the purpose of a cruel vengeance.
Still the priest visited Kiyo; but no longer was he the lover. By many
exhortations he tried to stay the passion of this maiden he once loved;
but these priestly discourses only made Kiyo more determined to win
the victory in the end. She wept, she pleaded, she wound her fair arms
about him; but none of her allurements had the slightest effect, except
to drive away the priest for the last time.
Just as the priest was about to take his departure he was horrified to
see Kiyo's eyes suddenly turn into those of a serpent. With a shriek
of fear he ran out of the tea-garden, swam across the river, and hid
himself inside the great temple bell.
Kiyo raised her magic wand, murmured a certain incantation, and in a
moment the sweet face and form of this lovely maiden became transformed
into that of a dragon-serpent, hissing and spirting fire. With eyes as
large and luminous as moons she crawled over the garden, swam across
the river, and entered the belfry. Her weight broke down the supporting
columns, and the bell, with the priest inside, fell with a deafening
crash to the ground.
Kiyo embraced the bell with a terrible lust for vengeance. Her coils
held the metal as in a vice; tighter and tighter she hugged the bell,
till the metal became red-hot. All in vain was the prayer of the
captive priest; all in vain, too, were the earnest entreaties of his
fellow brethren, who implored that Buddha would destroy the demon.
Hotter and hotter grew the bell, and it rang with the piteous shrieks
of the priest within. Presently his voice was stilled, and the bell
melted and ran down into a pool of molten metal. The great power of
Karma had destroyed it, and with it the priest and the dragon-serpent
that was once the beautiful Kiyo.
[Footnote 1: See Chapter II.]
[Footnote 2: Hence the Japanese saying: "Lantern and bell, which is the
heavier?"]
[Footnote 3: Fudo is not, as is generally supposed, the God of Fire,
but is identified, according to Sir Ernest Satow, with Dainichi, the
God of Wisdom. It is not quite clear why Kiyo visited Fudo, whose
sacred sword symbolises wisdom, while his fire represents power, and
the coil of rope that which binds the passions.]
[Footnote 4: Kompira was originally an Indian God, which the mediæval
Shintōists identified with Susa-no-o, brother of the Sun Goddess, who,
as we have already seen, would be only too pleased to lend himself to
mischief.]