Pathway to Japanese Literature

Along the road from Kasuga in Echigo to Imazu walked an unusual group of travelers.
The mother was a woman just past thirty who had two children with her.
The elder sister was fourteen, the younger brother twelve.
Accompanying them was a maid around forty years old, who tried to encourage the two exhausted siblings by saying, “We’ll reach the inn soon,” urging them onward.
Among the children, the elder sister dragged her feet as she walked, yet her spirit remained strong; trying not to let her fatigue show to her mother and brother, she would occasionally adopt a spring in her step as if suddenly remembering herself.
Had they been pilgrims on some brief devotional journey, this group might have seemed appropriately composed; but weighed down with hats and staffs and all manner of travel gear, their appearance struck every observer as both peculiar and pitiable.

The road wound through scattered farmhouses.
Though sand and pebbles were abundant, the autumn sun had dried them thoroughly, and with clay mixed in, the ground remained firmly compacted—unlike seaside paths where ankles sink into soft earth to trouble travelers.
They came upon a cluster of thatched-roof houses surrounded by an oak forest, the setting sun blazing upon it.

“Oh, look at those beautiful autumn leaves,” said the mother, who had been walking ahead, as she pointed and spoke to the children.

The children looked where their mother pointed but said nothing, so the maid spoke.
“Given how vividly the leaves have colored, it’s no wonder the mornings and evenings have grown colder.”

The elder sister suddenly turned to her brother and spoke.
“I want to reach where Father is soon.”

“Sister, it won’t be easy to get there yet.”
Her brother answered knowingly.

The mother said admonishingly, “That’s right. You must cross many mountains like those we’ve crossed so far and cross rivers and the sea by boat time and again before you can reach it. You must walk diligently and obediently every day.”

“But I do want to get there quickly,” said the elder sister.

The group walked in silence for a while.

From ahead came a woman carrying empty buckets.
She was a saltwater-drawing woman returning from the salt fields.

Then the maid called out to her.
“Excuse me. Is there an inn for travelers around here?”

The saltwater-drawing woman halted her steps and surveyed the party of four.
And she said this:
“Oh, how unfortunate...
“Night falls in such an ill-fated place...”
“In this land, there isn’t a single place to accommodate travelers.”

The maid said, “Is that true? Why is it so ill-reputed here?”

The two children, noticing the increasingly animated tone of the conversation, drew closer to the saltwater-drawing woman until—joined by the maid—the three of them formed a circle around her.

The saltwater-drawing woman said, “No—it’s a land with many devotees and thriving communities, but we can’t defy the provincial governor’s decree.” She broke off mid-sentence to point down the road she had come from. “You can already see them over there—official notice boards stand by that bridge. They say everything’s written in detail there, but wicked human traffickers have been prowling these parts lately. That’s why anyone letting travelers lodge gets punished.” Her voice lowered. “They say seven neighboring houses get implicated too.”

“That’s troubling,” said Ubagi. “With the children here, we cannot travel much farther tonight. Is there truly no alternative?”

The saltwater-drawing woman paused before replying, “If you were to follow me to my salt fields, darkness would overtake us before arrival.” Her calloused hands adjusted the empty buckets’ yoke as she continued, “Your only recourse lies in finding shelter hereabouts—perhaps beneath yonder bridge.” She gestured toward the stone embankment hugging the riverbank where massive timbers stood stacked like sentinels. “Those logs came downstream from the Ara River’s upper reaches. By day, children play among them, but deeper shadows linger where sunlight never touches—a windless refuge.”

Her voice softened slightly as she added practical details: “I dwell with my salt field’s master in that oak grove nearby.” The fading light etched lines of weariness around her eyes as she concluded, “When night deepens, I’ll bring straw and matting to your resting place.”

The children's mother had been standing apart listening to this conversation; now she approached the saltwater-drawing woman and spoke.
“Encountering such a kind person is our good fortune.
Let us go there and rest.
Please allow us to borrow straw and matting.
I would like to at least have the children lay them out or cover themselves with them.”

The saltwater-drawing woman agreed and returned toward the oak forest.
The party of four hurried toward where the bridge was.

――――――――――――

The group arrived at the foot of Ōke Bridge spanning the Ara River.
Just as the saltwater-drawing woman had said, a new official notice board stood there.
The decrees written by the provincial governor also matched exactly what the woman had described.

If human traffickers were prowling about, then investigating those traffickers would seem the reasonable course. Why had the provincial governor enacted decrees that—while intending to prevent travelers from lingering—left those exhausted from journeying stranded on the roadside? It was a clumsy approach to governance. Yet in the eyes of people of old, these were binding laws. The children’s mother lamented only the fate that had brought them to a land governed by such decrees; she did not consider their moral rightness or wrongness.

At the bridge’s foot lay a path used by those descending to the riverbank for laundry. From there, the group went down to the riverside. True enough, massive timbers stood propped against the stone embankment. They crawled along the embankment and slipped beneath the stacked lumber. The boy, finding it all an adventure, took the lead and eagerly pressed forward.

As they crawled deeper in, there was a place that resembled a cave.
Below, large timbers lay horizontally, so it seemed as if a floor had been laid.

The boy took the lead, climbed onto the horizontal timber, crawled to the farthest corner, and called out, “Sister, come here quickly.”

Anju timidly went to her brother’s side.

“Please wait a moment,” said the maid as she lowered the bundle she had been carrying on her back. Then she took out spare clothes from among their belongings, had the children move aside, and spread them out in the corner. She seated the mother and children there.

When the mother sat down, the two children clung to her from both sides. After departing their home in Shinobu District of Iwashiromori, during their journey here, they had slept in places that seemed more exposed than this timber shelter—even when indoors—along the way. They had gradually grown accustomed to hardship, and it no longer troubled them so much.

What had been taken from the maid’s bundle was not merely clothes. There were also food provisions they had brought as a precaution. The maid placed these before the mother and children and said: “We cannot build a fire here. For we must not be discovered by bad people. I shall go to that salt field owner’s house and fetch hot water. And I shall request straw and matting while there.”

The maid went out with dutiful haste. The children began happily eating millet cakes and dried fruit.

After a while, the sound of someone entering this timber shelter reached them.
“Ubagi?” called out the mother.
Yet in her heart, she doubted it was too soon for someone who had gone all the way to the oak forest.
Ubagi was the name of the maid.

The one who entered was a man of about forty. He had a lean frame with sturdy bones, each muscle visible beneath his skin as though they could be counted one by one—a figure so devoid of fat that his face resembled an ivory-carved doll’s, bearing a tranquil smile as he clutched prayer beads in his hand. With the ease of someone strolling through his own home, he moved toward where the mother and children hid. Then he settled himself on the edge of the timber that served as their makeshift seat.

The parent and children simply watched in surprise. Since there was no sign of hostility in his demeanor, they did not feel afraid.

The man spoke these words. “I am Yamaoka Dayu, a sailor.” “Recently, as human traffickers have been prowling this area, the provincial governor has prohibited travelers from being lodged at inns.” “Catching human traffickers seems beyond the provincial governor’s abilities.” “The ones to be pitied are the travelers.” “And so I resolved to save travelers.” “Fortunately, my house lies off the highway, so even if I secretly shelter people, there’s no one to mind.” “I have combed through forests and under bridges where people might camp out and have brought back many people so far.” “I see the children are eating sweets, but such things won’t fill their stomachs—they’ll only rot their teeth.” “At my place we don’t put on lavish spreads, but I’ll offer you some potato porridge.” “Please do come without reserve.”

The man spoke as if to himself without insisting on acceptance.

The children’s mother had listened intently and found herself deeply moved by this rare benevolence—a resolve to rescue others even at odds with worldly decrees.
Then she said:
“To accept would honor your most admirable intentions.
Yet I hesitate—by seeking shelter where lodging is forbidden under decree, might we bring hardship upon our host? Still... if only my children could eat warm porridge and rest beneath a roof through your kindness... such grace would remain unforgotten through lifetimes unending.”

Yamaoka Dayu nodded.
“Well now! You’re a most understanding lady.”
“Then I’ll guide you there straightaway.”
Having said this, he began to rise.

The mother spoke apologetically.
“Please wait a moment.
“Though it already pains me that we three should burden you with our care, I must mention—there is in fact another companion with us.”

Yamaoka Dayu cocked his ear.
“A companion with you?
“Man or woman?”

“She is the maid whom I brought along to have her look after the children.”
“She went back three or four blocks along the highway to request hot water.”
“She should be returning before long.”

“A maid, I see.”
“Then I shall wait for her.”

On Yamaoka Dayu's composed, inscrutable face, a shadow of joy somehow appeared.

――――――――――――

This was Naoetsu Bay.
The sun was still hidden behind Mount Yoneyama, and a thin mist hung over the navy-blue sea.

There was a boatman loading a group of passengers onto a boat and untying the mooring rope.
The boatman was Yamaoka Dayu, and the passengers were four travelers—a master and servants—who had stayed at Dayu’s house the previous evening.

The mother and her two children, who had encountered Yamaoka Dayu beneath Ōke Bridge, waited for their maid Ubagi to return with hot water in her chipped pitcher before being led by Dayu to seek lodging.
Ubagi followed along with an uneasy expression.
Dayu kept them in a thatched house within a pine grove south of the highway and offered potato porridge.
He then asked where they were traveling from and to.
After putting her exhausted children to bed first, Mother recounted her circumstances to the innkeeper by faint lamplight.

“I am from Iwaki Province,” she said. “Since my husband went to Tsukushi and has not returned, I am taking these two children to search for him.” She explained that Ubagi had been the maid who looked after them since my daughter’s birth and, having no family of her own, had ended up accompanying us on this long, uncertain journey.

Well, they had come this far—but when she considered the journey to Tsukushi’s distant reaches, it might as well be said they had only just left home.
Should they go by land from here?
Or would they take the sea route?
Since the master was a sailor, he surely knew about distant provinces.
“Please tell me,” entreated the children’s mother.

Dayu, as though asked about something obvious, recommended taking the sea route without the slightest hesitation.
If one traveled by land, even at the border where one would soon enter neighboring Etchu Province lay the perilous Oyashirazu Kochirazu.
At the foot of rocks as though freshly chiseled, rough waves crashed.
Travelers would enter a cave, wait for the waves to recede, then dash through the narrow path beneath the rocks.
At such times parents could not look after children, nor children after parents.
That was a perilous coastal location.
Moreover, beyond the mountains lay dangerous rocky paths where a single loose stone underfoot might send one plunging into a thousand-fathom chasm.
On the way to the western provinces, one could never know how many such perils might await.
"In contrast," he said, "the sea route is safe."
"If you entrust yourself to a reliable boatman, they can take you hundreds or even thousands of miles without your needing to move a step."
"Though I cannot journey to the western provinces myself, knowing boatmen from various regions means I can have you board here and transfer to a westward-bound vessel."
"Tomorrow morning I'll have you depart by ship at once," Dayu declared casually.

As dawn began to break, Dayu hurried the four retainers out of the house. At that moment, the children’s mother took out money from a small bag and tried to pay the lodging fee. Dayu stopped her, saying he would not take payment but would keep the bag containing the money instead—for it was customary, he explained, to entrust valuables to innkeepers when lodging or shipmasters when voyaging.

From the moment she had been permitted to stay at the lodging, the mother had fallen into a state where she could not but obey Master Dayu’s words. Though grateful he had broken protocol to shelter them, she did not trust him enough to follow his every command unquestioningly. This compulsion arose from an irresistible force in Dayu’s rhetoric that made resistance impossible—a force carrying some unnameable terror within it. Yet the mother did not believe she feared Dayu himself. She simply failed to understand her own heart.

Mother boarded the boat with the air of one compelled to do what could not be avoided.
The children, seeing the calm sea’s surface spread like a blue felt carpet, boarded with hearts throbbing at the novelty.
Only on Ubagi’s face had the look of anxiety not faded—persisting from when they left beneath the bridge yesterday until now as they stepped aboard.

Yamaoka Dayu untied the mooring rope.
With a single thrust of his pole against the shore, the boat rocked as it floated out.

―――――――――――

Yamaoka Dayu rowed southward along the shore for a time, heading toward Etchu Province's border.

The mist swiftly cleared, and the waves sparkled in the sun.

In the shadow of rocks where no houses stood, waves washed over the sand, leaving behind sea moss and kelp.
There were two boats moored there.
The boatman saw Dayu and called out.

“Well?”
“Got ’em?”

Dayu raised his right hand and bent his thumb to show.
And he also moored his boat there.
Bending only the thumb was a signal indicating there were four people.

One of the boatmen who had been there earlier was called Miyazaki Saburo from Miyazaki in Etchu Province.
He opened his left hand to show it.
Just as the right hand signaled merchandise, so the left hand indicated coinage.
This marked a bid of five kanmon coins.

"I'll raise!" declared another boatman, thrusting out his left arm. He first spread his palm wide, then raised his index finger.
This man was Sado Jiro from Sado Island, who had offered six kanmon coins.

"You swindler!" Miyazaki shouted as he lunged forward. "You're the one scheming deceit!" Sado retorted, bracing himself defensively.

The two boats tilted, their gunwales lashing the water.

Dayu coolly compared the faces of the two boatmen.
“Don’t panic.
Neither of you will leave empty-handed.
So that our honored guests may travel in comfort, I shall divide them two each between your vessels.
The fare will be divided according to the prices set later.”
Having said this, Dayu turned to the guests.
“Now, please board those boats two each.
All are ships bound for the western provinces.
A boat’s speed suffers if it’s overloaded.”

The two children were transferred to Miyazaki’s boat, while the mother and Ubagi were moved to Sado’s boat, with Dayu taking their hands to guide them aboard.
As Dayu withdrew his hand after transferring them, he pressed several kanmon coins into the palms of both Miyazaki and Sado.

“Madam—what of the bag entrusted to Master?” Ubagi asked, tugging at her mistress’s sleeve—just as Yamaoka Dayu thrust the empty vessel away.

“I take my leave here.
My duty ends only when matters pass from sure hands to sure hands.
May your journey fare well.”

The sound of oars resounded busily as Yamaoka Dayu’s boat rapidly grew distant.

Mother said to Sado, “We will be rowing along the same route and arriving at the same port, I trust?”

Sado and Miyazaki exchanged glances and laughed aloud. Then Sado said, “The boat we board is the Boat of the Great Vow; the shore we reach is the same Far Shore—or so the monk of Rengetsuji Temple says.”

The two boatmen fell silent and set out. Sado Jiro rowed northward. Miyazaki Saburo rowed southward. The parent and child, master and servant calling out “Wait! Wait!” to one another could only continue drifting further apart.

Mother desperately gripped the gunwale and strained upward.
"There’s nothing to be done now. This is goodbye. Anju, guard well the Jizō guardian Buddha statue. Zushiou, keep safe the protective dagger Father gave you. May you two never be parted."
Anju was her daughter’s name; Zushiou her son’s.

The children could only call out, "Mother! Mother!"

The boats gradually grew farther apart.
Behind them, like chicks waiting to be fed, two children stood with gaping mouths visible though their voices could no longer be heard.

Ubagi had been calling out to Sado Jiro—"Boatman! Hey there!"—but when he paid no heed she finally clung to his leg like one grasping a red pine trunk.
"Boatman!
"What does this mean?
"How can we live separated from Young Lady and Young Master?
"Madam shares this plight.
"What shall sustain us henceforth?
"Pray row toward where that boat goes.
"I implore you!"

“Shut up!” Sado kicked backward.
Ubagi collapsed into the boat’s bilge.
Disheveled hair hung over the gunwale.

Ubagi raised herself.
“Yes.
“This is where it ends, Madam.
“Madam, I beg your forgiveness.”
Having said this, she plunged headlong into the sea.

“Hey!” shouted the boatman, stretching out his arm—but too late.

Mother took off her robe and Sado laid it out before him.
“Though this is a humble thing, I offer it in gratitude for the care you have provided.”
“I shall take my leave now.”
Having said this, she placed her hands on the gunwale.

“You idiot!” Sado grabbed her hair and yanked her down.
“You think I’d let trash like you die?”
“You’re valuable cargo!”

Sado Jiro pulled out a rope, wrapped the mother tightly, and rolled her up.
And rowed on north and further north.

――――――――――――

Carrying the sister and brother who kept crying “Mother! Mother!”, Miyazaki Saburo’s boat raced south along the shore.
“Quit that wailing!” Miyazaki barked.
“Even if your screeching reaches every scaled thing in the sea’s belly, it’ll never touch that woman.”
“You brats’ll get shipped to Sado and spend your days shooing sparrows from millet fields.”

The elder sister Anju and her younger brother Zushiou held each other and wept.
They had thought that whether leaving their hometown or undertaking a distant journey, they would do so together with their mother, but now they had been unexpectedly torn apart, and the two of them did not know what to do.
Nothing but sorrow overflowed their hearts, and they could not even begin to grasp how profoundly this parting would alter their circumstances.

When noon came, Miyazaki took out rice cakes and ate.
And he gave one each to Anju and Zushiou as well.
The two of them held the rice cakes in their hands, made no move to eat, and simply looked at each other while weeping.
At night, under the mat Miyazaki had thrown over them, they fell asleep while crying.

And so the two of them spent several days living on the boat.
Miyazaki traveled through every port and inlet of Etchū, Noto, Echizen, and Wakasa peddling them.

However, since the two were still young and their bodies appeared frail, there were hardly any who wanted to buy them.
Even when buyers occasionally appeared, negotiations over the price never reached an agreement.
Miyazaki gradually grew displeased and began to strike them, saying, “How long will you keep crying?”

Miyazaki’s boat wandered aimlessly until it came to Yura Port in Tango.
There in a place called Ishiura stood the grand estate of a wealthy man named Sanshō Dayū, who had rice and wheat planted in his fields, compelled others to hunt in the mountains and fish at sea, engaged them in sericulture and weaving, and employed artisans to produce everything from metalwork and pottery to wooden vessels—indeed, anything imaginable—while purchasing people in limitless numbers.
Miyazaki had long followed the practice of bringing unsellable merchandise to Sanshō Dayū’s establishment.

The overseer of Sanshō Dayū stationed at the harbor promptly bought Anju and Zushiou for seven kanmon.

“Whew—finally got rid of those brats. What a relief,” said Miyazaki Saburo as he tucked the received coins into his pocket.
And he entered the sake shop at the harbor.

――――――――――――

In the deep recesses of a great hall constructed with pillars too thick to embrace stood a square hearth measuring one ken on each side, where a charcoal fire had been lit.
Beyond it lay three layers of cushions spread out, upon which Sanshō Dayū leaned against an armrest.
To his left and right stood his two sons Jiro and Saburo like stone guardian dogs.
Sanshō Dayū had originally fathered three sons, but when Taro was sixteen—after watching in silence as his father personally branded a recaptured runaway slave—the eldest son abruptly left home and was never seen again.
This had occurred nineteen years prior.

The overseer led Anju and Zushiou forward and ordered the two children to bow. The children seemed not to hear the overseer's command, their eyes fixed wide upon Sanshō Dayū. Now sixty years old, his face resembled painted vermilion—broad of forehead and square of jaw—with hair and beard alike gleaming silver. More curious than afraid, they stared unblinking at his countenance.

Sanshō Dayū said,
"Are these the children you bought? You claimed they were unusual—different from our usual slaves—that you couldn't figure how to use them. So I had them brought here specially, only to find pale, spindly brats. As for what use they might be—even I can't tell."

Right then Saburo cut in. Though the youngest brother, he was already thirty.
"No—Father," he said. "If you'd been watching them all along—they won't bow when told to bow. Won't give their names like proper slaves do. They may look weak as reeds, but they're stubborn brats."
"For new hands," he continued, "the rule stands—men gather firewood, women draw saltwater. Make them do just that."

“As you say, they have not told me their names either,” said the overseer.

Sanshō Dayū sneered.
“They look like fools.”
“I’ll give them names.”
“The sister shall be Kaki-e; the brother shall bear my given name Kayakusa.”
“Kaki-e shall go to the shore and draw three loads of seawater each day.”
“Kayakusa shall go to the mountains and cut three loads of firewood each day.”
“In consideration of their frail bodies, I’ll have the loads made lighter.”

Saburo said,
"That's too much coddling."
"Hey, overseer."
"Take them down quickly and give them their tools."

The overseer led the two children to the newcomers' hut and handed Anju a bucket and ladle, and Zushiou a basket and sickle.
Each had been provided with a lunchbox for their midday meal.
The newcomers' hut stood separate from the other slaves' dwellings.

By the time the overseer left, the surroundings had already grown dark.
There was not even a lamp in this hut.

――――――――――――

The following morning was bitterly cold.
The night before, because the futon provided in the hut was too filthy, Zushiou had found straw mats and laid them out like rush coverings on a boat, the two of them sleeping beneath this makeshift bedding.

As instructed by the overseer the previous day, Zushiou took the food box and went to collect their rations from the kitchen.
Frost coated the roof and straw scattered across the ground.
The kitchen was a large earthen-floored room where numerous slaves had already gathered to wait.
Though men and women received their portions in separate areas, Zushiou tried to collect both his sister's share and his own—earning him a scolding—but after promising they would each come individually starting tomorrow, he finally received two portions of salted rice gruel in a washbasin and hot water in wooden bowls alongside the food box.
The gruel had been cooked with salt.

As sister and brother ate their morning gruel, they bravely discussed that having fallen to such a state, they had no choice but to submit under fate's yoke.
And so the sister headed for the beach while the brother set off toward the mountain path.
Sanshō Dayū exited through the estate's third gate, second gate, and first gate all at once, and treading upon frost-laden ground, the two siblings parted ways left and right while glancing back repeatedly.

The mountain Zushiou climbed lay at the foot of Yuraga-take; from Ishino-ura, one would go slightly south to ascend it.
The place for cutting firewood was not far from the base.
Passing through areas where purple rocks lay exposed, he emerged onto a somewhat wide flat area.
There was a thicket of mixed trees growing there.

Zushiou stood amidst the thicket of mixed trees and surveyed his surroundings. But how was he supposed to cut this firewood? For some time he found himself unable to even lay hands on it, sitting dazedly upon the cushion-like layer of fallen leaves—where frost now melted under the morning sun—letting the hours slip by. Finally regaining his composure, as he cut one or two branches, Zushiou injured his finger. So there he sat again on the fallen leaves; even in the mountains it was this cold—how bitterly the sea wind must have chilled his sister at the shore—and alone he shed tears.

After the sun had risen quite high, another woodcutter—carrying firewood down to the foothills—passed by and asked, “Are you also one of Sanshō Dayū’s slaves? How many loads of firewood do you cut each day?”

“I was supposed to cut three loads of firewood today, but I haven’t cut any yet,” Zushiou answered truthfully.

“If your daily quota is three loads of firewood, aim to cut two by noon.”
“This is how you cut firewood.”
The woodcutter set down his own load and immediately cut one load for him.

Zushiou regained his composure and managed to cut one load by noon, then cut another load from noon onward.

Anju, who was heading to the shore, went north along the riverbank.
Having arrived at the spot for drawing seawater, she found herself equally clueless about how to draw it.
Summoning her resolve, she had barely lowered the ladle when a wave snatched it away.

The girl drawing water next to her quickly retrieved the ladle and returned it.
And then she said.
“You can’t draw water that way.”
“Here, let me show you how to draw it.”
“Scoop like this with the ladle in your right hand and catch it with the bucket in your left.”
She finally drew a full load for her.

“Thank you very much.”
“I believe I have come to understand how to draw the water, thanks to you.”
“I shall try drawing some myself.”
Anju learned to draw seawater.

The innocent Anju came to like the girl drawing water next to her.
The two of them ate their midday meal while sharing their circumstances and made a sisterly vow.
This was Kohagi of Ise, a girl who had been bought from Futami-ga-ura.

On that first day, things unfolded thus: both the sister’s assigned three loads of seawater and the brother’s assigned three loads of firewood each received assistance of one load, and by day’s end all had been successfully managed.

――――――――――――

The sister drew seawater, the brother cut firewood, and so they lived day by day.
The sister would think of her brother at the shore, the brother would think of his sister in the mountains, and when they returned to the hut at dusk, the two would clasp hands and weep as they spoke of longing for their father in Chikushi and their mother in Sado—speaking through tears, weeping through words.

In the midst of such things, ten days passed.
And then the time came when they had to vacate the newcomers' hut.
If they vacated the hut, the male slaves would enter the male group and the female slaves the female group.

The two declared they would never part, even in death.
The overseer reported to Sanshō Dayū.

Sanshō Dayū said,
“What foolish nonsense.
“Drag the male slaves to their group.
“Drag the female slaves to their group.”

When the overseer acknowledged this and made to rise, Jiro called out from beside him to halt the motion.
Then he addressed his father:
“Though it would be proper to separate the brats as you command, they claim they would sooner die than be parted.
“Being fools, they may well carry out this threat.
“However meager their gathered firewood or drawn seawater might be, wasting manpower through their deaths would prove disadvantageous.
“Allow me to handle this matter suitably.”

“That may be so.”
“I too have no taste for losses.”
“Do whatever you want with them.”
With these words, Sanshō Dayū turned aside.

Jiro had a hut built at the third gate and placed the sister and brother together there.

One evening at dusk, the two children were speaking of their parents as they always did.
Jiro happened to pass by and overheard this.
Jiro patrolled the estate, cracking down on strong slaves oppressing weaker ones, quarrels, and theft.

Jiro entered the hut and said to the two,
“Even if you long for your parents，Sado lies distant．
“Chikushi stretches farther still．
“These are no lands for children．
“Should you seek reunion，wait until full growth comes．”
With these words he departed．

After some time had passed, on another evening at dusk, the two children spoke of their parents.
This time Saburo happened to pass by and overhear them.
Saburo enjoyed catching roosting birds and patrolled each grove within the estate grounds with bow and arrow in hand.

Whenever the two spoke of their parents, overwhelmed by longing to see them, they would discuss every possible means—what to do, how to do it—even holding dreamlike consultations.
That day the sister said:
"It's only natural that one can't make a long journey until grown up."
"Yet it's precisely what can't be done that we wish to do."
"But when I think carefully, we absolutely mustn't escape from here together."
"Pay me no mind—you must flee alone."
"Then go onward toward Chikushi to meet Father and ask what we should do."
"After that you should go to Sado to bring Mother back."

Unfortunately for them, it was precisely Anju’s words that Saburo had eavesdropped on.
Saburo, holding a bow and arrow, quickly entered the hut.

“Hey! You’re plotting to escape,” Saburo said. “Those who attempt escape get branded. That’s this estate’s law. The red-hot iron burns fierce!”

The children turned deathly pale. As Saburo stepped forward, Anju spoke: “That was mere fancy-talk. Even if my brother fled alone—where could he possibly go? We only said such things from longing for our parents.” She drew a quick breath. “Why, just days ago we spoke of turning into birds and flying away—nothing but reckless daydreams.”

Zushiou said,
“It’s just as Sister says.
Whenever the two of us talk about impossible things like this, we’re only trying to ease our longing for our parents.”

Saburo looked between the two faces and remained silent for some time.

“Hmph.
“If it’s a lie, then let it be a lie.
I definitely heard the things you two were discussing while together.”
With these words, Saburo left.

That night, the two children slept while gripped by an eerie dread.
They did not know how long they had slept.
The two suddenly heard a noise and awoke.
Since arriving at this hut, they had been allowed to keep a lamp.
By its faint light, they saw Saburo standing at their bedside.
Saburo abruptly stepped forward and seized both their hands.
He dragged them out through the doorway.
Gazing up at a pallid moon, they were led along the broad horse path they had first taken when brought to the estate.
They climbed three steps.
They passed through a corridor.
Winding their way onward, they entered the hall they had seen days before.
There stood rows of people in silence.
Saburo dragged them before a furnace where charcoal burned crimson.
From the moment they were taken from the hut, they had pleaded “Forgive us! Forgive us!”—but as Saburo wordlessly hauled them onward, their voices too fell silent.
Across from the furnace lay three stacked cushions where Sanshō Dayū sat.
His ruddy face glowed like embers from torchlight reflected on either side.
Saburo drew fire tongs blazing red from the coals.
He held them aloft and stared.
The iron’s translucent glow gradually dulled to black.
Then Saburo yanked Anju close and thrust the tongs toward her face.

Zushiou clung to his elbow.
Saburo kicked him down and pinned him beneath his right knee.
At last, he pressed the fire tongs against Anju’s forehead in a cross shape.
Anju’s shriek tore through the hall’s silence.
Saburo shoved Anju aside, yanked Zushiou up from under his knee, and branded his forehead with the same cross.
Zushiou’s fresh wails tangled with his sister’s weakening voice.
Saburo threw down the tongs and grabbed both their hands again—just as he had when dragging them into this hall.
After sweeping his gaze across the assembled crowd, he marched them around the main house to the three-step stairs and flung them onto frozen ground.
The two children, teetering on the edge of consciousness from pain and terror, stumbled back to the Third Gate’s hut without knowing how they moved.
They collapsed onto their bedding and lay corpse-still until Zushiou suddenly cried, “Sister! The Buddha—hurry!”
Anju bolted upright and pulled the guardian Buddha’s pouch from her robe.
Her trembling fingers undid the cord as she placed the statue by their pillow.
They pressed their foreheads to the floor on either side of it.
The agony that no clenched teeth could withstand vanished like smoke.
When they felt their brows, not a scar remained.
With a gasp, both awoke.

The two children sat up and talked about the dream.
They had seen the same dream at the same time.
Anju took out the guardian Buddha statue and placed it by the pillow, just as she had done in the dream.
The two children bowed in worship before it, then peered by the faint lamplight to examine the guardian Buddha’s forehead.
On either side of the white curl, cross-shaped scars—as though carved with a chisel—appeared vividly.

――――――――――――

From the night Saburo eavesdropped on their conversation and they saw that terrible dream, Anju’s demeanor changed drastically.
Her face grew taut with tension, wrinkles forming at the base of her brows as her eyes fixed on some distant point.
She stopped speaking.
At dusk when returning from the shore—times she once spent awaiting her brother’s return from the mountains for lengthy talks—now even then her words grew sparse.
When Zushiou asked anxiously, “Sister, what’s wrong?” she answered, “It’s nothing—I’m fine,” forcing an unnatural laugh.

The only thing that had changed about Anju was this—her words held no errors, and her actions remained as they always were. However, Zushiou—seeing how this sister with whom he had once exchanged mutual comfort now behaved so differently—found himself unable to confide in anyone the endlessly painful feelings in his heart. The space between the two children had grown even lonelier than before.

Snow fell intermittently, and the year was drawing to a close.
Both male slaves and female slaves stopped their outdoor labor and came to work inside the house.
Anju spun thread.
Zushiou pounded straw.
Pounding straw required no training, but spinning thread was difficult.
At night, Kohagi of Ise would come to help and teach.
Anju became not only changed in her demeanor toward her brother but also terse with Kohagi and often acted aloof.
Yet Kohagi, without taking offense, continued to interact with her kindly.

Pine trees had been erected at Sanshō Dayū's estate gate too. Yet there were no festive events to mark the new year's beginning here, and with the clan's women dwelling deep within the compound—rarely coming or going—no bustle arose either. Both masters and servants drank sake, while in the slaves' huts quarrels alone broke out. Normally such disputes brought harsh punishment, but during these times the overseers overlooked them. There were moments when blood flowed yet they pretended not to see. At times they paid no mind even if someone was killed.

To the lonely hut at the Third Gate, Kohagi would occasionally come to visit.
As though bringing with her the bustle of the maidservants' quarters, while Kohagi spoke even the gloomy hut took on a springlike air, and upon Anju's face—which had changed so markedly of late—there appeared the shadow of a smile rarely seen.

After three days had passed, the indoor work began again.
Anju spun thread.
Zushiou pounded straw.
By the time night fell and Kohagi arrived, Anju had grown so accustomed to spinning the spindle that there was no need for assistance.
Even though her demeanor had changed, there was no hindrance in performing this quiet, repetitive work; moreover, the work itself seemed to scatter her increasingly troubled mind and grant it calm.
Zushiou, who could no longer speak with his sister as he once had, found it most reassuring that Kohagi was there to talk to Anju as she spun thread.

―――――――――――

The water grew warm and grasses began sprouting—the season had come anew. On what would be their last evening confined indoors before returning to field labor come dawn,Jiro visited Third Gate’s hut during estate inspections.“Well now.Will you manage fieldwork starting morrow?Some among our hands lie ill—mere overseers’ reports prove unreliable.Hence this personal survey.”

Zushiou paused mid-straw-pounding,yet ere his reply took form—contrary all recent reticence—Anju halted spindle-spinning.She stepped forth:“A petition,sir.I crave assignment matching Brother’s labors.Pray grant this boon—let mountain tasks bind us.”Color bloomed across pallid cheeks;eyes gleamed like marsh-fire.

Zushiou was astonished that his sister’s demeanor seemed to have changed for the second time, perplexed that she had not consulted him at all yet now abruptly wished to go firewood gathering—he could only stare wide-eyed, watching over her.

Jiro remained silent, staring intently at Anju’s demeanor.
Anju repeated, “There is no other—this is my one and only request. Please send us to the mountains.”

After a while, Jiro spoke. “In this estate, deciding which tasks to assign to which slaves is a weighty matter—Father determines it himself.
“Kakie—this request of yours seems to be something you’ve resolved yourself to with great conviction.
“I’ll take it upon myself to mediate and see to it you’ll be sent to the mountains.
“You can rest assured.
“Well, it’s good you two young ones made it through the winter safely.”
Having said this, he left the hut.

Zushiou put down the mallet and approached his sister.

“Sister.”
“What’s wrong?”
“That you would come to the mountains with me—I’m glad for it—but why did you make the request so suddenly?”
“Why didn’t you consult me?”

His sister’s face was radiant with joy.
“It’s only natural you’d think that, but even I hadn’t thought to make the request until I saw that man’s face.
“It just came to me suddenly.”

“I see.”
“That’s strange.”
Zushiou gazed at his sister’s face as though beholding something rare.

The overseer entered carrying a basket and sickle.
“Miss Kakie.”
“They’ve ordered you to draw saltwater and cut firewood now—I’ve brought the tools.”
“Hand over your bucket and ladle before going.”

“Thank you for your trouble.”
Anju rose lightly and produced the bucket and ladle to return them.

The overseer accepted them but made no move to leave.
A sort of bitter half-smile had surfaced on his face.
This man heeded Sanshō Dayū’s household commands as divine edicts.
Thus he performed wretched cruelties without compunction.
Yet by nature he shrank from watching people writhe or wail.
If matters proceeded smoothly without such spectacles—that suited him better.
This bitter half-smile—resigned recognition that hardship must be inflicted—appeared whenever duty compelled him to act.

The overseer turned to Anju and said,
“Now then, there’s one more matter.”
“In truth, Lord Jiro proposed to Lord Sanshō that you be sent to gather firewood.”
“Then Lord Saburo, who was present there, declared: ‘In that case, have Kakie’s hair cut short like a boy’s and send her to the mountains.’”
“Lord Sanshō laughed and called it an excellent idea.”
“Therefore I must take your hair now.”

Listening nearby, Zushiou heard these words as though his chest had been pierced.
With tears welling in his eyes, he looked at his sister.

Surprisingly, the look of joy did not vanish from Anju’s face.
“Indeed it is.
Since I’m going to gather firewood, I’m a man now.
Please cut it with this sickle.”
Anju stretched her neck before the overseer.

Anju’s long, glossy hair was cleanly severed by a single stroke of the sharp sickle.

―――――――――――

The next morning, the two children—carrying baskets on their backs and sickles at their waists—left the gate holding hands.
Since coming to Sanshō Dayū’s estate, this was the first time the two walked together.

Zushiou, unable to fathom his sister’s heart, found his chest filled with a feeling that was both lonely and sorrowful.
Even yesterday, after the overseer left, he tried asking in various ways, but his sister seemed to be pondering something alone and did not reveal it openly.

When they reached the foot of the mountain, Zushiou could no longer contain himself and spoke.
“Sister.
“I ought to be glad we’re walking together like this after so long, but I can’t help feeling sad.
“Even as I hold your hand like this, I cannot bring myself to face you and look at your shorn head.
“Sister.
“You’re hiding something from me and thinking of something, aren’t you?
“Why won’t you tell me about it?”

Anju’s forehead this morning too held a radiant joy like halo-light, her large eyes gleaming.
However, she did not answer her brother’s words.
She merely tightened her grip on their interlocked hands.

At the place where they were to climb the mountain lay a marsh.
Along the shore, dead reeds lay tangled in every direction as they had seen last year, but amidst the yellowed leaves of roadside grass, green buds had already sprouted.
When they turned right from the marsh’s edge and climbed, they found clear water welling up between rocks.
They passed through there and, keeping the rock wall to their right, ascended the winding path.

The morning sun was shining across the entire face of the rock.
Anju found a small violet blooming with its roots settled into the weathered crevices between layered rocks.
She pointed it out to Zushiou and said,
“Look.
It’s already spring.”

Zushiou silently nodded.
The sister harbored a secret in her heart, and the brother was filled with nothing but worries; thus their conversation trailed off like water seeping into sand.

When they came to the grove where last year’s firewood had been cut, Zushiou halted his steps.
“Sis—we should cut here.”

“Oh, let’s try climbing a bit higher.”
Anju took the lead and steadily climbed upward.
Zushiou followed with puzzlement.
After some time, they came to a place much higher than the mixed grove—a summit that could well be called the peak of the outer mountain.

Anju stood there, staring fixedly to the south. Her eyes traced the upstream course of the Ōun River—flowing past Ishiura into Yura Port—until they came to rest on Nakayama across the water about one ri away, where the spire of a pagoda rose from within a thick cluster of trees. And then she called out to her brother, “Zushiou,” “I’ve been lost in thought for so long now—you must have found it strange that I haven’t spoken to you as usual.” “Since you don’t need to cut firewood today, listen well.” “Kohagi was brought here from Ise—she told me the route from her homeland to this land. If you cross Nakayama there, the capital lies near.” “Reaching Tsukushi would be difficult, and turning back to Sado no easier—but you will reach the capital.” “Since leaving Iwashi with Mother, we’ve met only dreadful people—but if fortune favors us, good ones may yet appear.” “You must escape this place and go to the capital.” “With divine guidance—if you meet good people—you may learn Father’s fate in Tsukushi.” “You could bring Mother back from Sado.” “Leave the baskets and sickles—take only the snowshoes.”

Zushiou had been listening in silence, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
“And then, Sister, what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me—proceed with what you must do alone as if we were doing it together.
Once you’ve met Father and brought Mother from the island, come save me.”

“But if I disappear, they’ll make you suffer terribly.”
A terrifying dream—branded into Zushiou’s heart—arose.

“They may torment me, but I will endure it.”
“They won’t kill a slave they’ve paid money for.”
“If you disappear, they will likely make me work double.”
“At the grove you showed me, I will cut much firewood.”
“Even if I can’t manage six bundles, I’ll cut four or five.”
“Now go down there—leave the baskets and sickles behind—and I’ll see you to the mountain’s foot.”
Having said this, Anju took the lead and began descending.

Zushiou, unable to settle on any decision, followed blankly as they descended.
Though Anju had turned fifteen this year and Zushiou thirteen, a girl matures quickly—and what’s more, she had grown shrewdly wise as if guided by some spirit—so Zushiou found himself unable to disobey his sister’s words.

Descending to the grove, the two placed their baskets and sickles atop the fallen leaves.
The sister took out the guardian Buddha and handed it to her brother.
“This is a precious amulet, but I will entrust it to you until we meet again.
Think of this guardian Buddha as me, keep it together with the protective dagger, and hold onto them carefully.”

“But you won’t have an amulet.”

“No. I will entrust the amulet to you, who will face greater danger than I.
If you don’t return by evening, they will surely send pursuers after you.
No matter how fast you run, if you just flee normally, you’ll surely be caught.
If you go upstream along the river we saw earlier to a place called Wae, manage to cross over to the opposite bank without being spotted by anyone, then Nakayama will already be near.
When you reach there, enter the temple where you saw that pagoda and have them hide you.
Stay hidden there for a while, and after the pursuers have returned, escape from the temple.”

“But will the temple monks hide me?”

“Well, that’s where fate comes in.”
“If fortune smiles upon you, the monk will hide you.”

“That’s true.”
“What you’re saying today, Sister, sounds just like the words of a god or Buddha.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“I will do everything as you say.”

“There now, listen well.”
“The monk is a good person—he will surely hide you.”

“Yes.”
“It has come to seem that way to me too.”
“I can escape to the capital.”
“I can meet Father and Mother again.”
“I’ll come back to welcome you too, Sister.”
Zushiou’s eyes began shining like his sister’s.

“Now, I’ll go with you to the foothills—so hurry up.”

The two hurriedly descended the mountain. Their footsteps were different from before, as though the sister’s heated resolve had passed to her brother like some unspoken suggestion.

They came to a place where a spring welled up. The sister took out the wooden bowl fastened to her snowshoes and drew clear water.
“This is your farewell toast,” she said, taking a sip before offering it to her brother.

The younger brother drained the bowl.
“Then farewell, Sister. I will reach Nakayama without being seen by anyone.”

Zushiou dashed down the remaining slope—about ten steps left—and emerged onto the highway along the marsh.
And hurried along the Ōkumogawa riverbank upstream.

Anju stood by the spring’s edge and watched the retreating figure disappear and reappear among the row of pine trees until it grew small.
And though the sun was nearing noon, she did not even attempt to climb the mountain.
Fortunately, it seemed there were no woodcutters in this mountain today, and there was no one to question Anju standing on the slope as time passed.

Later, when pursuers from Sanshō Dayū’s household went out to search for their comrades, they found a small straw sandal at the edge of the marsh below this slope.
That was Anju’s sandal.

――――――――――――

At the three gates of Nakayama Kokubunji, the flickering light of torches swayed wildly as a large group of people crowded in.
Leading them was Sanshō Dayū’s third son Saburo, clutching a white-hafted naginata.

Saburo stood before the hall and declared in a loud voice:
“We who have come here are of Sanshō Dayū of Ishiura’s clan!
One of our master’s slaves has fled into these mountains—there are witnesses who saw him enter!
The hiding place can be nowhere but within this temple compound!
Hand him over at once!”
The crowd following him shouted in unison: “Now! Hand him over! Hand him over!”

A wide stone pavement stretched from the front of the main hall all the way to the gate.
On those stones, Saburo's men—each holding a torch in hand—now jostled against one another.
On both sides of the stone pavement, nearly every monk and layperson residing within the temple grounds had gathered in clusters.
This occurred when those from both the inner sanctum and priests' quarters came out, wondering what had happened as the group of pursuers caused a commotion outside the gate.

When the pursuers first shouted from beyond the gate demanding it be opened, many monks tried not to open it, fearing violence might ensue if they let them in.
Abbot Donmo Risshi had them open it.
Yet even as Saburo now shouted loudly for them to hand over the escaped slave, the main hall remained with its doors closed, silent for some time.

Saburo stamped his feet and repeated the same demand two or three times.
From among his men, someone called out, “Abbot, what’s taking so long?”
Short bursts of laughter mingled with it.

At long last, the main hall’s doors opened quietly.
Abbot Donmo Risshi opened them himself.
The Abbot stood atop the main hall’s steps wearing nothing but a single hempen robe and making no attempt to maintain dignity, with the dim light of the perpetual lamp at his back.
His towering, rock-like frame and stern face—with eyebrows still black—were illuminated by the flickering flames.
The Abbot was just past fifty years of age.

Abbot Donmo Risshi quietly began to speak.
The clamorous pursuers fell silent at the mere sight of the abbot, allowing his voice to reach every corner.
“You have come seeking a runaway slave.”
“At this temple, none are sheltered without my knowledge as its abbot.”
“Since I know nothing of him, he cannot be here.”
“Nevertheless, you arrive under night’s cover bearing arms with a great multitude, demanding we open our sacred gates.”
“I permitted their opening thinking perhaps rebellion gripped the province or imperial traitors had emerged.”
“What say you to this?”
“Is this your house’s inquiry after some mere bondsman?”
“This sanctuary stands by imperial decree—our gates bear the sovereign’s plaque, our seven-storied pagoda safeguards sutras inscribed in gold by His Majesty’s own hand.”
“Should you commit sacrilege here, even the provincial governor shall answer to the imperial inspector.”
“Should we petition Todaiji Temple itself, who can say what judgment might descend from the capital?”
“Ponder this well and withdraw with haste.”
“These words hold no malice.”
“They are spoken for your own preservation.”
Having spoken thus, the abbot soundlessly closed the doors.

Saburo glared at the main hall’s door and gnashed his teeth.
Yet he lacked even the courage to break down the door and storm in.
His men merely whispered among themselves like leaves rustling in the wind.

At that moment, someone shouted loudly.
“The one you’re chasing must be a twelve- or thirteen-year-old kid.”
“Then I know all about him.”

Saburo, startled, looked toward the source of the voice.
He was an old man who bore such a striking resemblance to his father Sanshō Dayū that one might mistake them for each other—the temple’s bell tower keeper.
The old man continued speaking.
“That kid—when I was watching from the bell tower around noon, he hurried south past the embankment.”
“Though he’s weak, he’s light on his feet.”
“He must’ve traveled a good distance by now.”

“Then.”
“A kid can’t have gone far in half a day.”
“Move out!” Saburo said as he turned back.

The procession of torches exited the temple gate and headed south along the embankment; watching this from the bell tower, the Bell Tower Keeper laughed uproariously.
In a nearby grove, two or three crows that had finally settled down to sleep were startled into flight once more.

―――――――――――

The next day, people were sent out from Kokubunji Temple in various directions.
Those who went to Ishiura returned having heard of Anju’s drowning.
Those who went south returned having heard that the pursuers led by Saburo had gone as far as Tanabe and turned back.

Two days later, Abbot Donmo Risshi left the temple heading toward Tanabe.
He carried an iron alms bowl the size of a washbasin and wielded a metal-ringed staff as thick as his wrist.
Following behind was Zushiou, his head closely shaven and wearing the three monastic robes.

They walked along the highway in broad daylight and stayed at various temples at night.
When they came to Suzaku Field in Yamashiro, Abbot Donmo Risshi rested at Gongendo and parted from Zushiou.
“Treasure the Guardian Buddha and go,” he instructed as he turned on his heel. “You will surely learn of your parents’ whereabouts.”
This monk speaks just like my late sister did, Zushiou thought.

Having ascended to the capital, Zushiou stayed at Kiyomizu Temple in Higashiyama, as he was still wearing priestly robes.

Having slept in the retreat hall, when he awoke the next morning, an old man wearing court-attired robes, an eboshi hat, and sashinuki trousers stood by his pillow and said:
“Whose child art thou?
If thou hast something precious, prithee show it to me.
I performed a vigil here last night to pray for my daughter’s recovery from illness.
Then I received a divine message in a dream:
‘The child sleeping in the left lattice possesses an excellent Guardian Buddha.’
The message bade me borrow it for worship.
This morning when I came to the left lattice, there thou wert.
Prithee reveal thy circumstances to me and lend me the Guardian Buddha.
I am Regent Morozane.”

Zushiou said,
“I am the child of one called Mutsu no Jo Masasada.
My father went to Anrakuji Temple in Chikushi twelve years ago and has not returned since.
That year, Mother took me—newly born at the time—and my three-year-old sister to live in Shinobu District of Iwaki Province.
When I had grown somewhat older, she took my sister and me on a journey to find our father.
Upon reaching Echigo, fearsome human traffickers captured us—Mother was sold to Sado, while my sister and I were sold to Yura in Tanba.
My sister perished in Yura.
The Guardian Buddha I carry is this Jizō statue here.”
Having said this, he produced and showed the Guardian Buddha.

Morozane took the Guardian Buddha statue in hand and bowed, first pressing it to his forehead in reverence.
He then turned it over and over, front to back, examining it carefully before saying:
"This is the precious golden statue of Hōkō-Ō Jizō Bodhisattva that I've long heard tell of."
"This came over from Baekje, and Prince Takami kept it enshrined as his personal Buddha."
"Since your family has preserved and passed this down through generations, your lineage leaves no room for doubt."
"At the start of the Eihō era when the Retired Emperor still reigned, your father Taira no Masasada was exiled to Chikushū after being implicated in a provincial governor's misconduct—you must be his rightful heir."
"If you wish to return to secular life, an official decree appointing you as provincial governor shall follow in due course."
"For now, I'll have you stay as a guest in my house."
"Come with me to the mansion."

The daughter referred to as Kanpaku Morozane’s was in fact an adopted daughter who attended upon the Retired Emperor; she was actually his wife’s niece.
Though this Empress had been ill for a long time, when she borrowed Zushiou’s Guardian Buddha to worship, she immediately recovered as if her affliction had been wiped clean.

Morozane had Zushiou return to secular life and personally placed the crown upon him.
At the same time, he sent a messenger to Masasada’s place of exile with a pardon to inquire after his well-being.
However, by the time this messenger arrived, Masasada was already dead.
Zushiou, now called Masamichi after his coming-of-age ceremony, grieved until his body wasted away.

In the autumn appointments of that year, Masamichi was made Governor of Tango Province.
This was a remotely appointed position, whereby he did not go to his province himself but instead placed a deputy to govern it.
However, as his first act as Governor, he banned the buying and selling of people throughout Tango Province.
Thereupon Sanshō Dayū also released all his slaves and decided to pay them wages.
At Sanshō Dayū’s household, they initially regarded this as a significant loss, but from this time onward, both agriculture and artisan crafts flourished more than before, and the clan grew ever more prosperous.
The governor’s benefactor, Abbot Donmo Risshi, was appointed to the rank of sōzu, and Kohagi, who had cared for the governor’s sister, was returned to her hometown.
After Anju’s death, she was tenderly mourned, and a nunnery was erected at the marsh where she had drowned herself.

Having done all this for his province, Masamichi specifically requested temporary leave and crossed over to Sado in secret.

The provincial capital of Sado was located in a place called Zōta.
Masamichi went there and had officials search the entire province, but his mother’s whereabouts could not easily be ascertained.

One day, lost in thought, Masamichi left the inn alone and walked through the town.
Before long, he left the cluster of houses behind and came upon a path cutting through farmland.
The sky was clear, and the sun blazed brightly.
As he walked, Masamichi turned these thoughts over in his mind: *Why can Mother’s whereabouts not be found? Perhaps the gods resent me for entrusting the search to officials instead of seeking her myself—could that be why they refuse to let us meet?*
When he suddenly noticed, there stood a rather large farmhouse.
The sparse hedge on the southern side of the house enclosed a square of pounded earth, and straw mats were spread completely across it.
On the straw mats, harvested millet ears were spread out to dry.
In the center sat a woman in tattered clothes, holding a long pole in her hand to chase away sparrows that came to peck.
The woman muttered something in a singsong tone.

Masamichi, not knowing why he did so, felt inexplicably drawn to this woman and stopped to peer at her.
The woman’s disheveled hair was caked with dust.
When he looked at her face, she was blind.
Masamichi was deeply moved to pity.
Gradually, the words the woman was muttering became discernible to his ears.
At the same moment, Masamichi’s body quaked as though struck by malarial fever, and tears welled up in his eyes.
The woman had been repeating and muttering these very words.

How I long for Anju—oh, my child!

How I long for Zushiou—oh, my child!

Even birds, being living creatures,

Quickly, quickly flee—even if none pursue.

Masamichi became entranced, listening spellbound to this song.
Before long, his innards churned as if boiling over; he clenched his teeth and stifled the bestial scream that threatened to burst from his throat.
In an instant, Masamichi rushed inside the hedge as if the ropes binding him had been cut.
And while trampling the millet ears underfoot, he prostrated himself before the woman.
In his right hand, he held up the Guardian Buddha, and as he prostrated himself, he pressed it against his forehead.

The woman was not a sparrow; she knew something large had come to ravage the millet. And she stopped chanting her usual lament and stared straight ahead with sightless eyes. At that moment, like dried shellfish soaking in water, moisture appeared in both eyes. The woman’s eyes opened.

“Zushiou!” The cry escaped from the woman’s lips. The two clung tightly to each other.

January of Taishō 4