Pathway to Japanese Literature

Heretical Incense Practice

"Compared to how fascinating this tale is—and I mean no disrespect—all the strange stories told until now pale into insignificance. Though saying that makes me sound like the princess from Arabian Nights with her standard refrain, I truly believe it with all my heart."

In the assembly room of the Strange Tales Club, Haruto Kaoru—who had taken position as the fifth contestant in the storytelling competition—surveyed the thirteen members' faces burning with curiosity and began his tale in this manner.
Despite his youthful appearance, he wore a white-collared dōchūgi-style surcoat and carried himself with an oddly smooth demeanor—the very picture of a tea ceremony master or haiku poetry instructor.

“I wish to speak of the Spirit-Summoning Incense.”
“When one burns a certain type of incense, the visage of their beloved appears before their eyes—that Spirit-Summoning Incense.”
“If I were to reveal the secret, this tale comes from a plot found in *Chugon Yawa*—a secret text that might be called the sutra of a heretical sect within the Way of Incense—and is neither my own experience nor that of my ancestors.”
“As for what is called *kōdō*—the Way of Incense—it has now nearly faded into obscurity, but through this tale, one may glean some understanding of how profoundly it once flourished.”
“Having said this much by way of preface, let us now promptly embark upon the main narrative.”

Haruto Kaoru’s tale proved as unusual as his appearance yet carried an uncanny aura that made even these club members—all equally voracious in curiosity—hold their breath as they awaited his next words.

Carrying the Buddhist statue on his back, the villainous thief fled.

Miyoshi the informant stood rigidly at Shōgo-in Temple’s rear gate in Nihon'en, his golden-pot eyes already gleaming for two full hours.

Last night’s thief who had infiltrated this temple stole—of all things—the principal Maitreya Bodhisattva statue before losing his escape route and hiding somewhere within the temple grounds.

There were particular circumstances—the temple had anticipated this thief's intrusion and had likely made thorough preparations for such an event. Though the thief had stolen the principal Buddha statue, with all exits secured, even this rafter-dwelling gentleman had become utterly like a rat trapped in a sack.

The front entrance had been secured by fellow informant Gonji; two temple workers kept watch over the kitchen area; while in the main hall, Constable Aizawa Hansuke directed temple staff and local residents to assist him in conducting an exhaustive search—even lifting up the tatami mats. With security this thorough, even someone versed in ninjutsu couldn’t possibly escape. As for the mysterious "Temple Raider" who had been stirring up society at the time, not a single soul doubted that this time—without fail—his true identity would be revealed.

It was an event from the spring of Kyōhō 3, when the cherry blossoms on the temple gate’s mountain pavilion had just begun to scatter softly.

“Still ain’t caught him? Goddamn hopeless.”

Miyoshi the informant leaned against the rear gate’s door and involuntarily let out a yawn.

The spring sun, now slightly higher in the sky, cast a strangely drowsy light even in the morning, as a few cherry blossom petals drifted down to settle upon the inelegant topknot of the informant.

“Your efforts are most appreciated.”

A man emerged from the temple kitchen through the waist-high sliding door—deeply carrying on his back a child wearing a red Daikoku hood—with a pale blue hand towel covering his cheeks all the while, wearing straw sandals with his hakama hitched up high, then hobbled out through the rear gate.

“Ah, wait, wait! Who the hell are you? Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

Miyoshi was stifling a yawn, yet due to his profession, when he challenged someone like this—

“I am a temple worker. With all this commotion going on, I’m heading out with this child on my back to buy tea treats for everyone.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

"In that case, may I take my leave?"

“Shut yer trap—I said it’s fine!”

“Right...”

The temple worker dashed off toward town with a lively gait unbefitting his tone and demeanor.

“Bro!”

A colleague’s voice came from the direction of the main hall.

“What?”
“Didn’t some suspicious person just head your way?”
“Ain’t no suspicious folks come through here.”

“That’s strange—carrying a child on his back and wearing a child-carrying jacket—”

“Oh! Then he did come through here—what’s happened to that bastard?”

“That’s the Temple Raider! Where did he go?”

Five or six men formed a group and rushed out through the rear gate.

“This is disastrous! He completely deceived us with that ‘buying tea treats’ ploy—”

“Where did he go?”

“That way!”

“After him!”

Under Aizawa Hansuke’s command, five or six constables, now blackened with grime, rushed out.

The Temple Raider—having lost his escape route—stole an old padded robe from the temple kitchen’s storage, placed the red hood from a sacred Jizo statue upon the Buddha image, and ended up carrying it like an infant—a terrifyingly brilliant maneuver. Even Constable Aizawa Hansuke, hearing of this while giving chase, couldn’t help but click his tongue in astonishment.

Inside the palanquin were a ceremonial surcoat and a hand box.

This "Temple Raider" was a mysterious thief who had emerged around last year’s end, targeting renowned temples and sacred sites to steal principal Buddhist images, treasures, and other celebrated religious artifacts—occasionally taking sutra desks or rosaries—all items widely known throughout society, yet showing no interest whatsoever in gold, silver, jewels, garments, or antiques.

Whether a Christian agent or a madman—regardless—to the deeply religious people of that time, these were clearly deeds of appalling atrocities committed by an enemy of Buddha, plunging all Edo into uproar. The authorities had exhausted every means in their investigation, yet as to where this culprit might be hiding, who they were, or why they committed such acts, not the faintest clue could be found.

The principal Maitreya Bodhisattva statue at Shibafutatsunoki Shōgo-in Temple—a renowned masterpiece from the imperial era—was precisely the sort of target the Temple Raider would inevitably strike. Despite risking public ridicule, Constable Aizawa Hansuke had maintained a stakeout for over ten days. Sure enough, last night past midnight, the thief came trudging in, took advantage of their exhaustion-weakened vigilance to make off with the very statue—a catastrophic blunder—and to compound matters, even Miyoshi the informant bungled his role, leaving them utterly unable to face society with dignity.

“Don’t let him escape!”

With the entire group questioning passersby about his whereabouts as they went, they jostled their way toward Meguro.

Having driven [the target] into Fudo Temple’s precincts and surrounded him from three sides—this being around 8 AM at a crowded location, with the arrest occurring in broad daylight—Constable Aizawa Hansuke was certain there was not a single chance of failure this time. He marched boldly through Fudo Temple’s main gate, bringing along Gonji who claimed to have definitely seen the Temple Raider here and Miyoshi who had let the Raider escape earlier at Shōgo-in Temple.

At that time, Meguro's Fudo Temple was unusually prosperous, but being morning, within the precincts there was just one women's palanquin with its doors deeply drawn shut, while two bearers squatted on the stone pavement smoking tobacco.

“Pardon my asking, but did a young man carrying a child on his back with a towel over his cheeks enter here?”

said Aizawa Hansuke,

“He did enter, but slipped out through the back straight away. What’s all that about?”

He pointed toward the back of the hall with a tightly wrapped pipe.

“This is a crucial arrest.”

By this point, even Aizawa Hansuke had abandoned any attempt at concealment.

“There!”

With that, they searched the temple grounds, but though there seemed nowhere to hide, the Temple Raider had vanished without trace—neither shadow nor form remained.

Disheartened, when they returned to where the women’s palanquin had been, they found a lavishly dressed young woman—likely in service to a daimyo’s household—urging the palanquin bearers to depart.

“I humbly request you wait a moment.”

Aizawa Hansuke, somewhat flustered, called to halt the palanquin that had begun moving.

“For what reason does this occur?”

The maidservant accompanying the palanquin—a refined woman who appeared to be making a proxy pilgrimage—turned her beautiful face back with a slightly chiding tone.
Behind them stood an old woman and a sandal bearer, positioned at a slight distance yet ready to act at any moment, showing not the slightest lapse in vigilance.

“Though impertinent of late, circumstances compel me to humbly request inspection of your palanquin’s interior. How might this be arranged?”

“That is out of the question.”

Though young and beautiful, the maidservant possessed formidable judgment—she would not countenance such impertinence.

“I reiterate: having lost our crucial quarry and facing grave difficulties, though ignorant of your noble station, I entreat your magnanimous aid. I am Aizawa Hansuke, constable of the Minamimachi Magistrate’s Office—this I declare plainly.”

Aizawa Hansuke inclined his upper body in a courteous bow, yet depending on their response, he assumed an uncompromising stance—fixing his eyes upon the women’s palanquin with its forbidding door studded in gold—and advanced.

“If—by any chance—the esteemed occupant within proves not to be that vile suspect of yours, how do you intend to answer for this?”

When addressed thus, even Aizawa Hansuke—having come this far—could no longer retreat.

"I shall offer whatever apologies are necessary."

"This palanquin carries Lord Eizan, who braves his chill to make pilgrimage here."
"The door must not be opened more than halfway!"

"I am fully aware of that."

Having strode up to the palanquin, Aizawa Hansuke was about to lay hands on the suspicious door when—

"Wait! Should your unclean hands as an official touch it, who knows what reprimands may follow hereafter? I must ask you to comply."

The maidservant inserted herself between the palanquin and Aizawa Hansuke while moving into the doorway.

“It is exactly as you have heard.”
“I humbly beg your patience for a moment.”

She bowed politely and placed both hands on the door.

“How dare you raise your head!”

Hah!

As he pressed his forehead to the ground, the palanquin door opened two or three inches – the occupant inside remained leaning back, their face unseen – but what fleetingly caught his eye was a handbox bearing scattered Triple Hollyhock Crests on a fully embroidered ceremonial surcoat. In the very instant Aizawa Hansuke involuntarily gasped and lowered his head, the vehicle’s door snapped shut with finality.

“Has this dispelled your doubts?”

Hah!

There was nothing else to say but this—the power of the Triple Hollyhock Crest was formidable—and since he hadn’t clearly seen the face, he couldn’t press to demand another inspection.

“Though it be your duty, having raised suspicions of impropriety against an esteemed personage, this matter cannot remain unresolved as it stands.”
“We would have duly reported this to Magistrate Ōoka Echizen-no-kami-sama—however, as this occurred during His Lordship’s pious pilgrimage, it is by His Lordship’s gracious consideration alone that we shall resolve this discreetly on this occasion.”

Exquisitely refined in speech, this maidservant—flawless in beauty, youth, and wisdom—carried herself with the bearing of one who executed her lord’s commands across all quarters without ever bringing shame.

Aizawa Hansuke could not raise his head.

…………

As he stood bowing his head in shame-filled posture, the palanquin was lifted and departed to parts unknown.

The Terrible Crime Spoken by a Man Before a Beauty

“Lord Jotaro, what could this mean?”

The young woman who had dismissed Constable Aizawa Hansuke moments earlier now gazed up at the young man’s face with sudden gentleness, one hand resting on the tatami while the other clutched at her chest—her elaborate chignon swaying as her peerlessly beautiful features came back into view.

…………

The man bowed his head and remained silent.
This was Yamatoya Jotaro, twenty-seven years old—once proprietor of a grand Chinese goods store in Honcho 3-chome, counted among the ten-thousand-ryō affluent class. But around the time his predecessor died, he had begun indulging in dissipation, utterly neglecting the family business. Thus he had collapsed in the blink of an eye, now dwelling in Meguro's lodgings where only vestiges of past glory remained—persisting in a strangely self-indulgent yet bone-deep impoverished existence.

“Lord Jotaro, please speak. No one else is listening.”

The woman's voice grew slightly tearful.

This was Osono—nineteen years old in her unlucky year—now serving as maidservant to Lord Eizan, the retired Lord Ōta Awa-no-kami. She and Jotaro were cousins, betrothed since birth—a fate their parents had decided would see them united when she turned twenty.

Jotaro was an Edo-born man of exceptional handsomeness; Osono was a beautiful girl like a fully bloomed flower. Within both their hearts, the affection that had grown with each passing year now reached a state where it could neither be uprooted nor withered.
Though Jotaro had been stripped of both parents and fortune—leaving him destitute—no force strong enough to part these two existed save death itself.
Fortunately, Osono’s parents were not ones to fail in comprehending this.

Today, having been entrusted by Lord Eizan to make proxy pilgrimage to Meguro's Fudō-sama temple while carrying even the handbox, Osono had through a sudden turn of events rescued her betrothed Jotaro from peril—yet the sight of Jotaro himself was unbearable: his face wrapped in a pale blue cloth, a filthy padded robe beneath, crowned with a red hood, bearing a Buddhist statue on his back—and being cornered by constables and informants.
In any case, having covered his head with the ceremonial surcoat and forced him into the women’s palanquin, then entrusted him with the handbox scattered with triple hollyhock crests received from Lord Eizan, Aizawa Hansuke’s eyes were deceived—yet what could not be deceived was Osono’s own heart.

Lord Eizan had granted gracious permission for her to return at leisure after the pilgrimage—whether by relaxing at her home in Shibadaimon, detouring to Saruwaka-chō to glimpse a play, or idling freely until dusk. Thus, after delivering Jotaro to his Meguro lodgings, Osono lavished threats of silence and bribes upon her attendants, dismissed them to their preferred diversions, and resolved then and there to remain—to unravel this dreadful suspicion.

“…………”

Jotaro remained bowed forward, his lips sealed tight as a freshwater snail. There he sat in antique Chinese twill that whispered of bygone splendor, a Hakata obi at his waist, pale slender hands resting on slightly parted knees. His fair-complexioned face—delicate for a man yet prematurely aged—presented such heartbreaking contrast to the freshly discarded filthy padded robe and pale blue cloth beside him. Leaning against the papered wall, the wooden statue of Maitreya Bodhisattva from Shōgo-in Temple kept watch over them with merciful eyes, its principal image still bearing the marks of having been propped there.

“That Temple Raider… could it be… could it be—”

Osono’s lips quivered with a premonition of terror.
This man beautiful as Middle Captain of the Fifth Rank—her betrothed husband whose heart she believed she knew through and through—and the "Temple Raider" who had recently thrown all Edo into uproar—that merciless bandit specializing in stealing Buddhist statues and ritual implements—how could she possibly believe they were one and the same?

However, when addressed thus, Jotaro finally raised his refined, narrow face—the slender fingers trembling on his knees, the words lingering on his lips—all betrayed an abnormal excitement impossible to conceal.

“Forgive me, Osono. I have become a man who can be called neither demon nor heretic—there are no words for what I am.”

“…………”

Although she had anticipated these words, hearing them spoken so clearly from Jotaro's lips filled Osono with a strange impulse—as if she wanted to cover her own ears—yet without urging him to continue, she found herself staring fixedly at the man's face.

“Listen, Osono—not just from all of Edo, but from every renowned temple in nearby provinces and villages—the one who stole those sacred Buddhist statues is, as you’ve guessed, this Jotaro. I smash them, carve them, burn them day and night… What depravity! The horror of destroying holy images swarms and torments me, yet by some cursed fate, I cannot stop.”

“…………”

Osono clutched her trembling chest and could only stare, as if entranced, at the man’s crimson lips from which those terrifying words were being spun.

“Since it has come to this, hiding serves no purpose. I’ll show you everything and somehow seek your wisdom. Come here.”

Jotaro stood up unsteadily and guided Osono into a single-mat room at the rear.

When he slid open the fusuma,

"Ah!"

Osono involuntarily collapsed at the threshold.

Inside lay shattered Buddhist statues; an eight-tatami-mat room with no place to set foot.

Statues adorned with gold leaf, others of blackened plain wood, still more with intricate five-colored eyes—Tathagatas, Jizos, Arhats—every conceivable Buddha form large and small lay scattered in a chaotic jumble. Arms pitifully broken, lotus pedestals shattered, forms crushed and carved away, they sprawled like flotsam washed ashore by a rising tide.

Headlong, Jotaro plunged into the depths of incense-perception hell.

Jotaro, raised as the only son of a million-ryō magnate, had immersed himself in various refined arts since childhood, but took particular pride in the Way of Incense—in this alone, even the seasoned masters of the art would bow in deference before young Jotaro.

The Way of Incense flourished from the Ashikaga era into the Tokugawa period more than tea ceremony or flower arrangement, branching into various schools—the Oie-ryū founded by Sanjōnishi Sanetaka, followed by Shino-ryū, Takebe-ryū, Yonekawa-ryū, Hachiya-ryū, Sono-ryū, Satomi-ryū, and others—with people of all stations enthusiastically engaging in the meditative pleasure of burning precious woods to appreciate their fragrances. Particularly games like Tenfold Blending Gatherings, Kumikō incense competitions, and Kōawase matching rituals flourished with diverse formats, dominating the realm for a time. Yet after the Restoration, nearly all schools apart from Oie-ryū, Shino-ryū, and Hachiya-ryū fell into decline. Now few remain who understand the profound mysteries of incense contemplation—those ineffable secrets of olfactory meditation.

Jotaro too had initially entered this pure path of incense appreciation, following the proper way of olfactory meditation, but whether due to his inherently acute sense of smell, he ultimately strayed into heresy and became tormented by an insatiable desire to smell extraordinary things.

It should be noted that Sasaki Sadoshima no Kami Dōyo Nyūdō—the renowned incense wood collector of the Ashikaga era—had reportedly burned Buddhist statues in a practice he called Tanka ("Cinnabar Haze"), ignited lotus pedestals as Butsuza ("Buddha's Seat"), and even burned such treasures as Jikaku Daishi's rosary, Ashikaga Yoshimasa's desk, Yang Guifei's chair, Chinese hats, and stone belts in his fires. Thus Jotaro's desires could hardly be called unprecedented.

Incense refers to precious woods produced in regions like China, India, and the South Seas—sandalwood that had long been submerged in water becomes sinking incense (jinkō), which bears various names depending on its age. In ancient times, people used sinking incense and other aromatic woods to carve Buddhist statues and engrave rosaries, meaning among old renowned statues one occasionally finds those made from exceptionally noble incense woods.
Indeed, it is recorded in the Chronicles of Japan and other texts that in April of the third year of Empress Suiko’s reign, when a piece of sinking incense measuring eight shaku in length washed ashore on Awaji Island, Prince Shōtoku carved it into a Buddhist statue.

There are sixty-one renowned incense varieties, thirty-three of which bear imperially inscribed names. Foremost among them is Ranjatai—the imperially sealed precious incense kept at Tōdai-ji Temple. In former times, there existed the custom whereby each shogun would have one sun and four bu cut from it during their reign to be bestowed as a gift, but in later ages even this practice disappeared.
Next are the Prince at Hōryū-ji Temple and others—when combined with Japanese incense woods, their number becomes limitless.

The Way of Incense is a refined and elegant pastime, truly commendable in its practice, but Jotaro, being a man of abnormal disposition, strayed from the proper path into an indescribable heresy.

The first was his financial ruin, leaving him without funds to procure costly incense woods; the second was succumbing to the temptation—in emulation of Sasaki Dōyo Nyūdō—to seek out renowned fragrances from ancient implements and Buddhist statues. Initially, he tried burning the rosary that was his deceased mother’s memento, and this proved to be such splendid incense wood that it wholly gratified Jotaro’s aberrant cravings.

Next, he retrieved a Buddhist statue enshrined deep within the household altar. Even he hesitated to burn this, but driven by desperation—with funds exhausted and no means to procure incense wood—he finally resolved to carve away at the back of its lotus pedestal and set it alight. As this too was an item acquired during Yamatoya’s prosperous times, it proved to be truly splendid incense wood—leaving Jotaro astonished anew.

If there was a single Buddha statue, even a small one could sustain burning for about ten days.
Once having tasted this much, there remained nothing but to plunge headlong into an inescapable olfactory hell.

Searching with hawklike intensity for any quality incense wood, various objects caught his eye.
Inkstone boxes, sutra desks, paperweights, handboxes—he carved and burned each in turn, but all proved worthless timber yielding only acrid fumes. As Jotaro hunted ever more desperately for new fragrances and exquisite aromas, his torment grew heavier with each passing day.

When these torments accumulated, he eventually began targeting time-honored Buddhist statues at renowned temples and halls. Utilizing his innate wit and physical agility, from Edo to its surrounding provinces he stole renowned Buddhist statues and ritual implements, carving and burning them one after another—nine times out of ten they were hinoki cypress or sandalwood, at best common incense, but among them were unexpectedly magnificent rare incenses.

Thus did Jotaro’s abnormal cravings, with maddening fervor, plunge ever deeper into the abyss of endless sin.

The path to salvation was but one.

“Osono, this is how it came to be—had I only possessed money, I might never have fallen this far—no—no—but now that matters stand thus, even with wealth, I could never abandon this pleasure of hunting Buddhist statues and ritual implements—”

“…………”

Osono could only tremble at Jotaro’s dreadful confession, unable to respond as she watched the man’s face.

“Your devout parents would never permit someone like me—a virtual enemy of Buddha—to be joined with you. Osono, resign yourself to the misfortune of being betrothed to such a man and withdraw from me now. This cannot remain hidden forever—once Yamatoya Jotaro is revealed as the Temple Raider, your entire life connected to me will become ruined goods.”

“Oh, Lord Jotaro… What are you saying?”
“No matter what may come to pass—I—I—”

Unable to cling to him, Osono swallowed her tears and could only bow her head girlishly.

“No—it’s not like that! I am, as you see, a man of appalling wickedness—utterly without virtue. You have parents and a master—moreover, you’re young and beautiful—”

“No—no—please say no more of such things! Rather than that, Lord Jotaro—it’s not too late even now to repent! If only you would cast off this burning of statues and implements, return to being your former self—if you permit it, I shall contrive the means for incense wood somehow.”

Osono, driven by desperate resolve, involuntarily shuffled closer and placed her hands on the man’s knees.

“Thank you, Osono—I won’t forget your devotion—but through some karmic twist, I cannot forsake this indulgence.”

Jotaro involuntarily took Osono’s hand and, without exactly pulling her close, peered into her tear-drenched face.

The girl’s face flushed crimson from desperate resolve—like double-flowered cherry blossoms newly bloomed in the garden—her tears lending an ineffable beauty that seemed to perfume the air.

“Lord Jotaro… Lord Jotaro…”

“Osono, forgive me.”

The two had unconsciously ended up clinging tightly to each other.
The first mysterious moment they had ever experienced washed away tears, remorse, anxiety, and anguish, leaving only a dreamlike intoxication—cheeks drawing near to cheeks, lips to lips, betraying both their words and will as if drawn by longing.

“No—no—I’m a man who may face the rope’s bite at any moment. Osono, step back—Osono.”

Jotaro, having reconsidered, pushed the girl’s body away—but

“Oh, Lord Jotaro—please reconsider—return to your former self—instead of burning Buddha statues, I wouldn’t mind if you burned my body inch by inch, minute by minute—Lord Jotaro—Lord Jotaro!”

The girl clung with her soft, resilient limbs and made no attempt to separate from Jotaro’s body.

"There is but one path to save me."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

“No—it’s futile to speak of it. Best I don’t mention this.”

Jotaro, seeming to have let something slip unintentionally, hurriedly tried to obscure his words with such talk, but Osono, clinging to even the faintest hope, would not let it go unasked.

“Please tell me—I’ll do anything! If there exists a cure to save your heart, I would retrieve it even from hell’s flames.”

Osono threw her slender hands over the man’s shoulders and trembled like a child.

“Even if I were to say it, it would do no good—though it’s my wish for next year—if I could experience the world’s foremost incense ‘Tōdai-ji,’ perhaps my evil thoughts would clear.”

“Huh? Wha—?”

“Tōdai-ji refers to Ranjatai incense—a fragrance beyond the reach of commoners—were I to obtain it and burn it without reservation, perhaps even I—having strayed into heretical incense practices—might scatter the clouds of delusion and return to being my former self.”

Osono, who had been silently listening to Jotaro’s earnest words all this while, now moved away from the man’s body and straightened her posture.

“Lord Jotaro, is that truly the case?”

“The might of Ranjatai—renowned as the world’s foremost incense whose fragrance carries ten ri to dispel all evil influences—is vast; scattering my delusions would be but a trifle for it.”

“In that case, there must be some stratagem or means.”

“What?”

"My master Lord Eizan has Ranjatai in his possession."

“What?!”

“It is said that after Lord Oda Nobunaga had two inches cut from Tōdai-ji’s Ranjatai incense, he distributed about two-thirds of it among his daimyos. Through military merit, Lord Ōta Awaji-no-kami’s ancestor received a portion from this allotment—a story My Lord still proudly recounts to this day.”

“Hmm.”

“I shall manage this through my own means—whether by petitioning My Lord for his benevolence, or otherwise—”

“…………”

While lingeringly seeing off the absorbed Jotaro, Osono slipped out of the room.

“Lord Jotaro—farewell. To obtain Ranjatai, no matter what becomes of me, never—never abandon me.”

Leaving a small sob behind, Osono turned her back.

“Wait! Wait!”

Jotaro stood up and chased after her, but the woman was already outside the gate.

The crimson sunset sank over Meguro Forest, a sorrowful scene for all that it was spring.

The beautiful rogue who stole Ranjatai

“You there, maid.”

“Gasp.”

“What is that you have there?”

After finishing the pre-rainy season airing of the treasure house and just as they were about to begin tidying up, the maidservant serving Lord Eizan—who had entered under pretext of His Lordship’s business—tried to slip out briskly with something hidden in her sleeve.

The one who detected this was Kobori Heiji—a samurai young in years yet entrusted with the treasure house keys, his eyes and mind never lapsing for an instant.

“Bring the Kinuta celadon incense burner—it shall remain in my custody for the time being—by His Lordship’s decree.”

The one who bowed slightly was the maidservant Osono—her beauty seeming to emit a faint fragrance even within the treasure house’s gloomy air. Kobori Heiji, with his unyielding demeanor, found himself somewhat daunted, but he regained his composure and—

“One more item—what is that beneath your sleeve?”

“…………”

“In accordance with my duties, this humble servant must inspect it before any removal is permitted. Produce it.”

“…………”

Osono shuddered and stood frozen, yet still she would not open the sleeve pressed against her bosom.

“If you will not show it, I shall have to examine it—wait! Wait!”

Kobori Heiji approached the Chinese-style chest Osono had been searching. With a practiced eye, he surveyed its contents at a glance and immediately discerned which items had been disturbed.

“Oh! What’s this?”

What had been extracted from the Chinese-style chest was a brocade bag adorned with golden orchids and fastened with a seven-shaku-long purple cord; untying it revealed what emerged from within—an incense box of Chinese rosewood with an inrō-style lid.

The cords had come undone, the bag was misshapen—even without opening it, the situation was clear—but just to be certain, when he brushed aside the lid and looked inside, the renowned Ranjatai incense that should have been stored within was nowhere to be found.

“Oh! Just as I suspected—you intended to steal the renowned Ranjatai incense and make off with it. As long as Kobori Heiji draws breath, I shall not permit it! I shall have Lord Eizan pass judgment upon you—come here, woman!”

He seized Osono by the edge of her obi and led her away.
As even slight carelessness risked exposing concealed suicide implements—for such was an apprehended woman’s recourse—Kobori Heiji maintained excruciating vigilance.

Lord Eizan was quietly reading in his study bathed in southern sunlight when, at the sound of hurried footsteps clattering down the corridor, he involuntarily furrowed his brows.

“What is all this commotion?”

He quietly glanced about. Having long passed his sixtieth year—with all affairs entrusted to Lord Tōmori Awaji-no-kami while he dwelled in communion with wind and moon—he retained an unexpected vitality unbefitting one who maintained the appearance of worldly retirement: his temples half-silvered yet cheeks ruddy, suffused with some inexplicable resurgence of youthful vigor.

“Gasp.”

As the attendant was about to stand up,

“I have captured the culprit who stole the renowned Ranjatai incense and humbly request your judgment.”

The voice of Kobori Heiji, the resolute man, resounded gallantly from the veranda without awaiting an intermediary.

“Hmm.”

Sliding open the shoji and stepping out onto the veranda, at Lord Eizan’s feet—collapsing like a great blooming flower—was Osono, the maidservant he had favored with daily attention.

“…………”

Even Lord Eizan was taken aback.

"This treasure received by our ancestors from Lord Nobunaga—something generations of lords have not laid eyes upon even once in many years—for a mere maidservant to steal it is no trivial matter. As a warning to all, I, Kobori Heiji, most humbly entreat you to cut her down with a single stroke of your blade."

As the responsible party, Kobori's terrifying vehemence left even Lord Eizan—who normally found this girl's appearance lovely—with no means to pardon her crime now that matters had escalated so dramatically.

“You there, woman—raise your face. There must be some reason for handling the Ranjatai Incense. Depending on circumstances, sparing you may not be impossible. Speak without reservation.”

Though constrained by his station as an experienced elder, Lord Eizan sought means to save this beautiful maidservant and tried to hear words of defense, but Osono—drowned in tears yet prostrate upon the veranda’s wooden planks—remained utterly silent, likely fearing that any incautious word might expose the crimes of her betrothed husband, Jotaro.

“I humbly beg your pardon, but bestowing your words upon such an unruly individual is too gracious a gesture.”
“I most humbly entreat Your Lordship to carry out the judgment without delay.”

Kobori Heiji, perhaps having grown somewhat concerned by the girl’s excessive beauty, persistently urged Lord Eizan to bring the matter to a close as swiftly as possible. If one were to stare at her for too long, it seemed one might become unable to bring the blade down upon this girl’s neck.

“It cannot be helped, woman—face it.”

Upon hearing Lord Eizan’s final words, Kobori Heiji abruptly kicked Osono down beneath the veranda.

Having adjusted the garden geta on the shoe-removal area,

He swiftly placed an execution bucket behind Osono—who was straightening her posture on the gravel—and set it down.

In Lord Eizan’s hand as he stepped into the garden was a newly forged blade—tested just days prior on two torsos—that glowed like molten gold in the sunset.

From within the smoke of the Spirit-Summoning Incense emerged the beautiful Osono’s alluring form.

Osono had been executed—

On that very day, from her parents' home, a notice also reached Jotaro, her betrothed.

“Ah—what a blunder!”

Recalling that promise from before, Jotaro ground his teeth, but there was no catching up now.

The sequence of events had apparently become clear to Jotaro.
Poor Osono had probably laid hands on the tenfold-wrapped Ranjatai incense in an attempt to save him from that heretical incense practice.

Thinking this, Jotaro found himself utterly desolate.
For a time, he forgot to indulge in his heretical incense rituals and dwelt ceaselessly upon memories of Osono’s beauty—yet strangely, no matter how much time passed, her parents refused to relinquish her corpse.
When he pressed them,

“—We disposed of it—”,

Only that—leaving him unable to hold a funeral or even glimpse her deathly visage.

As days passed, Jotaro’s grief only deepened until he thought even heresy—or anything at all—might offer distraction if he burned his favored incense. He began carving into the stolen precious wood and burning it indiscriminately when—

Someone stood at the closed doorway.

“Pray forgive my intrusion—as a mere passerby, I found myself irresistibly drawn by the fragrance of noble incense.”
“Your refined manner of appreciation is most elegant. Though it may seem presumptuous, I happen to have some incense prepared.”
“If you would deign to blend it together, I would consider it most fortunate.”

The one who spoke these words in a practiced tone was a nun—her middle-aged, voluptuous figure wrapped in black-dyed priestly robes, bowing with utmost courtesy.

“…………”

Jotaro stood at the entrance and stared fixedly at this mysterious visitor for some time.
Lately he found even having his face seen by others distasteful, so he had not the slightest inclination to engage in incense blending sessions. Yet the nun’s demeanor was too smooth, and in that brief moment he found himself unable to refuse.
Moreover, preoccupied as he was with Osono’s execution—and perhaps because even Jotaro, this demonic temple raider who took pleasure in destroying Buddhist statues, felt penitence stir within him—he invited the nun inside with the sentiment that having her perform at least a memorial service might bring some solace.

“Well then, please come in.”

And so, he ended up uttering those words.

Now, once seated—without reciting sutras or chanting prayers—the nun slowly retrieved from a damask pouch a sandalwood incense box containing ten sticks, placed charcoal pieces prepared in her school’s tradition into a single-lipped white porcelain incense burner, and set down a silver leaf.

…………

She bowed quietly once and ignited the precious wood.
Though not quite an incense-blending session, her meticulous refinement in approach held an air of elegant sophistication—Jotaro returned a nod of acknowledgment and adjusted his posture for incense appreciation.

Though this nun—clad in black-dyed priestly robes, possessing a voluptuous body and unsightly face that offered no redeeming grace—had ignited truly magnificent incense, when Jotaro perceived the fragrant smoke rising from the white porcelain incense burner, he involuntarily widened his eyes.

Jotaro, who had utterly convinced himself there was not a single variety among over sixty famous incenses he couldn’t identify, found himself unable to comprehend the nature of this particular fragrance. Though perhaps slightly too intense, its cloyingly seductive allure stirred the blood throughout the bodies of those who inhaled it.

Incense should be a thing of tranquil elegance; it should not possess such intensely stimulating allure. Though Jotaro—who had even stolen and burned sacred Buddhist statues and implements—was no stranger to heretical incense practices, the excessively alluring fragrance caused him to involuntarily raise his face and look at the nun.

“Good sir, it seems you bear some burden of care—judging by your countenance, might you be struggling to forget one who has recently passed away?”

Her words having struck true, the nun set down the incense burner and spoke thus.

“Huh?! How did you know that?!”

“If I couldn’t discern something so simple, what use would I be? Fortunately, I happen to have brought Spirit-Summoning Incense with me here. When this is burned, the figure of the departed will appear vividly before your eyes and speak just as they did in days past. Though it is a rare incense hard to find in all the world, I shall burn it for your sake.”

The nun took out another layered incense box from her sleeve.
When she brushed aside the lacquered inro lid, inside lay several blocks of black kneaded incense. The nun took one of them with an incense spoon and placed it upon the silver leaf.

As he watched—rising purple smoke,

The surroundings grew dim as twilight, enveloped in the strange incense that filled the room. Jotaro remained bowed in a dreamlike state for some time—yet soon his body and mind became clear as water, a mysterious impulse unlike anything he had ever felt coursing through every vein in his body.

When he involuntarily raised his face,

“Ah—”

The figure of the ugly nun who should have been sitting formally before him vanished—and there in the pale, pale veil of smoke rising from the incense burner sat the beautiful Osono, her hair arranged in an elaborate Taka Shimada coiffure with light makeup, appearing in the familiar style of a maidservant.

“Osono.”

Into Jotaro’s outstretched arms, Osono cast her slender frame without a word.

“Osono.”

Her beauty and fragrance were no different from the Osono of days past; her warm lips and soft cheeks—this very Osono, resurrected in Jotaro’s arms—now displayed an unimaginably alluring sensuality.

This was something the pure-hearted Osono had never done, but Jotaro’s mind—consumed by ecstasy—had no capacity to notice such things.

“Osono, Osono.”

“…………”

Instead of speaking, her lips smiled endlessly, and her eyes burned with a passion unlike any Osono had ever shown before.

How long did that endless embrace last?—When the utterly absorbed ecstasy began to fade along with the diminishing scent of incense, Osono in his arms had already vanished without notice, and before his eyes several feet away, an unsightly nun in black-dyed robes—sleeves neatly arranged—stood piously guarding the incense burner.

Jotaro felt so ashamed he wished he could crawl into a hole; without conscious thought, he adjusted his front hem and bowed his head. The nun quietly rose,
“Well then, I shall return again. Pray excuse me.”

With words laden with implication, she departed.

Amidst the wretched scene, the renowned incense burned out.

For several days thereafter, the mysterious nun visited Jotaro’s residence daily.

As soon as she arrived—before even properly settling into her seat—she would burn the Spirit-Summoning Incense, causing Osono’s beautiful form to materialize instantly.

The games between Jotaro and the Osono materializing from incense smoke gradually grew heated, realistic, serious, and grotesque.
The ecstasy of the two thus became something even stranger and more demonic than anything in this world.

When Jotaro awakened from the incense's intoxication and the nun had departed, he was tormented by terrible remorse—a shame so profound at having defiled Osono's memory that he felt as if he wanted to claw his own flesh. But that too faded with each passing day, until he even came to anxiously await the nun's visits regardless of night or day. However, this unclean, blasphemous game would not continue for much longer.

Let us briefly lay out the plot here and proceed to the dreadful conclusion.—Osono, who should have been executed by Lord Eizan—the retired governor of Awaji, Ōta Tajima-no-kami—had in truth been spared and remained alive.

In exchange for her life, Osono—who until then had shaken her head in refusal—now nodded assent to become Lord Eizan’s concubine.

Ashamed in both body and spirit, Osono had rumors of her death circulated and stayed by Lord Eizan’s side while awaiting her chance—yet through discarding her virtue, abandoning her parents, and casting aside her betrothed husband, she at last obtained the Ranjatai incense she had staked her life to acquire.

Whether she stole it or was given it remains unclear. Perhaps she had neither stolen nor been given it. In any case, once Osono obtained the renowned incense, she immediately rushed over to the Meguro residence. She tried to deliver the renowned incense—which she had exchanged for both her chastity and her life—as quickly as possible and rescue her betrothed husband from his demonic dissipation.

When she passed through the gate and approached the entrance without any particular thought, an enchantingly alluring scent of incense seeped out from within. Though Osono should have been well-acquainted with this art, she had never before smelled such a stimulating fragrance.

Ah, not again—

With such feelings, she slipped through her own home’s front entrance in the same manner and peered into Jotaro’s living room—
What in the world—?
Was it not the very Jotaro she cherished so deeply who now lay entwined in a dreamlike embrace with that unsightly middle-aged nun clad in black-dyed monastic robes?
Osono’s vision went dark; as if the very earth beneath her feet had crumbled away, she collapsed into a seated position right there, desperately averting her eyes from the loathsome sight.
No tears would come.
The sheer wretchedness of it all left her even forgetting how to weep.

Eventually, Osono regained her composure and stealthily slipped into the innermost room. Amidst the disorderly array of Buddhist statues, she cleared a small space to sit, drew a nearby incense burner toward herself, and with practiced motions lit the fire.

What she took out was the renowned Ranjatai incense—obtained by risking her life and chastity. Having lost all hope, Osono—as her final memento—resolved at least to burn this renowned incense and die amidst its fragrance.

When she placed it upon the silver leaf, purple smoke rose softly, and the extraordinary fragrance enveloping the surroundings defied all comparison. Her spirit and mind became as clear as water; now feeling all wicked thoughts and anguish vanishing like mist, Osono instinctively pressed her palms together and invoked the name of the Buddha.

To the untimely fragrance of renowned incense, Jotaro snapped back to his senses with a start.

"Oh, Ranjatai!"

When he looked, what sat upon his lap was not the beautiful Osono but an unsightly nun.

With a start, he pushed her away and followed the scent of incense deeper inside—

When he slid open the single-room partition, there sat the real Osono—a figure of profound serenity with hands pressed together in prayer before the smoke rising from the incense burner.

"O-Osono!"

“Lord Jotaro, I was still alive—solely to bring you this Ranjatai—”

The boundless resentment harbored in beautiful eyes seemed to freeze even Jotaro’s heart.

“Osono, you are the true Osono.”

Taking the hand of the speaking Osono, Jotaro sat formally in that very spot—the pure, noble dignity of the real Osono would not permit him anything further.

The rising incense smoke drew its final trail at that moment—the renowned Ranjatai incense was exhausted.

× ×

Osono and Jotaro did not leave that place and committed double suicide.
The nun’s whereabouts remained unknown, but judging from what Jotaro left behind, I think she was probably a sorceress akin to Myōshin from *The Eight Dog Chronicles*.

The Spirit-Summoning Incense that the nun burned was likely an intoxicating drug akin to opium acquired from Dutch merchants or similar sources.
That the nun—who had grown enamored of Jotaro's beauty—impersonated Osono and forged an illicit bond with him remains beyond all doubt.

My tale has reached its conclusion.

Haruto Kaoru sat down after saying this.