Pathway to Japanese Literature

The two chigo were thirteen and fifteen years old, two years apart in age.
The elder was called Senshumaru, and the younger was called Rurikōmaru.
The two had been entrusted to Mount Hiei—a mountain forbidden to women—from a tender age and raised under the guidance of the noble Holy Priest in the same manner.
Senshumaru was said to have been born into the household of a wealthy merchant in Omi Province, but due to certain circumstances, he was brought to these temple lodgings at the age of four.
Rurikōmaru, while being the young master of a certain Shōnagon, also had some circumstances that led him to leave the capital at the age of three, when he had finally been weaned from his wet nurse’s milk, and was entrusted to the sacred temple guarding the imperial capital.
Of course, they had heard such stories from various sources, but they had neither clear memories themselves nor any concrete evidence to confirm them.
They had neither father nor mother; they could only rely on the Holy Priest, who had diligently raised them until now, as a parent, and thought there was nothing to do but devote themselves to the Buddhist path.

“You must not fail to consider yourselves truly fortunate in your circumstances.”
“Though humans clinging to parents or yearning for homelands are all base acts of earthly desires, you—never having seen the world beyond these mountains, never possessing parents—have lived spared from knowing such torment.” Even as they were admonished time and again with these words from the Holy Priest, the two could not help but feel grateful for their fortunate circumstances.
Even a holy priest of such high virtue as the Holy Priest had, it was said, been tormented by every conceivable earthly desire of the secular world before fleeing to this mountain, and had accumulated long periods of ascetic practice before severing those bonds.
Moreover, it was said that there were many among the Holy Priest’s disciples who, even while listening to lectures on sutras morning and evening, lamented being still unable to rid themselves of earthly desires.
Because they knew nothing of the world, they managed to avoid contracting that dreadful disease called earthly desires.
They, having been liberated from those very earthly desires from the start—desires said to lead one to attain the fruit of enlightenment once extinguished—spent their days in anticipation, believing that once they shaved off their chigo topknots and received the precepts in the near future, they would surely become noble monks no less worthy than their master, the Holy Priest.

However, out of a childlike innocent curiosity, the two would sometimes let their imaginations wander about what kind of abhorrent land this secular world—so filled with the torments of earthly desires—might be, even if they had no wish to live there themselves.
According to the Holy Priest and many senior monks, it was said that within this defiled world, the only place that faintly conveyed the semblance of the Western Pure Land was the mountain where they resided.
That vast land spreading from the foot of the mountain in all directions, continuing into the clouds of the blue sky—it was said that this very land was the Five Defilements world vividly depicted in the sutras.
From the summit of Shimei Peak, the two would gaze down in the direction each had been told was their homeland, unable to resist indulging in idle, dreamlike fantasies.
One time, Senshumaru gazed out at Omi Province and, pointing to Lake Biwa shimmering beneath a pale purple haze,

“Rurikōmaru, they say that over there lies the secular world—but what manner of land do you imagine it to be?”

he said in a mature tone befitting an elder brother to the other chigo.

“The secular world is said to be a detestable place covered in dust and grime, but from here, the surface of that lake’s water is as clear as a mirror.”
“Does it not appear so to your eyes?”

Rurikōmaru timidly spoke, as if fearing that posing such a foolish question might invite laughter from his elder friend.

“But beneath that beautiful water dwells a fearsome dragon god, and at the lake’s edge lies Mikamiyama, where an even larger centipede than that dragon resides—things you likely know nothing about. When viewed from the mountaintop, the secular world may appear beautiful, but it must surely be true what the Holy Priest said—that once you descend, it becomes a land where you cannot let down your guard.”

Having said this, Senshumaru let escape a clever-looking smile at the corner of his mouth.

On another occasion, Rurikōmaru gazed at the distant skies of the capital and, indicating the palace roofs winding in a row across the plain that resembled an unfolded painting,

“Senshumaru, that too must be part of the secular world—but don’t you see how splendid those towering pavilions over there appear, no less grand than this temple’s Yakushi Hall or Great Lecture Hall? What do you think those dwellings are?”

he said, doubtfully knitting his brows.

“There lies the august palace of the Emperor who reigns over Japan.”
“Within the secular world, that place remains the purest and noblest abode.”
“Yet for humans to be born into the Ten Virtues’ throne—those worthy of dwelling in that palace—they must have amassed sufficient merit in past lives.”
“Therefore, we must still practice asceticism upon this mountain and sow as many virtuous roots as possible in this present life.”

Having said this, Senshumaru encouraged the younger boy.

Yet for both the encourager and the encouraged, such exchanges alone could not easily satisfy their curiosity.
According to the Holy Priest’s teachings, the secular world was said to be nothing more than an illusion.
He explained that even when scenery viewed from the mountaintop appeared beautiful, it was like moonlight reflected on water’s surface—equal to a shadow, equal to a bubble. “Look at those clouds over Onoe Ridge.
When viewed from afar, they appear as pure as snow and glisten like silver; but enter those clouds, and you find neither snow nor silver—only thick fog.
You must recall being enveloped in clouds that rise from this mountain’s valley floor.
The secular world is just like those clouds.” When explained thus, they did feel some understanding, yet remained vaguely unsatisfied.
What left them most acutely dissatisfied was having never seen those creatures called women—beings dwelling in the secular world said to be the source of all calamities.

“I was brought to this mountain at three years old, yet they say you stayed in the secular world until you were four.”
“Then you ought to remember at least something about that world.”
“Other women aside—don’t you have even a shadow of your mother’s form lingering in your mind?”

“I sometimes try hard to recall my mother’s image, but just when I feel I’m on the verge of remembering, it’s as though a thin curtain separates me from it, leaving me with a vexing sensation.”
“The things that remain dimly in my mind are the texture of breasts hanging in a lukewarm bosom and the cloying scent of milk.”
“It was certain that women’s chests had plump, swollen, ample breasts—features absent from men’s bodies.”
“Only those fragments come back to me now and then, but beyond that, everything fades into obscurity—like some event from a past life, utterly beyond imagining…”

At night, the two who slept side by side in the Holy Priest’s adjoining room would talk in hushed voices in this manner.

“They say women are demons, yet they possess such gentle breasts—isn’t that strange?”

When Rurikōmaru, having said this, looked doubtful,

“Indeed, that’s right—there’s no reason a demon would have such soft breasts.”

Senshumaru also tilted his head quizzically, as though doubting his own memory.

From their earliest years, through the sutras they had learned, the two should have known full well what ferocious creatures women were.
However, they could hardly guess by what means or of what nature women spread their poisonous harm.
“Women are foremost among evils; none surpass them in difficulty.”
Judging from phrases like “They bind and lead men into the gate of sin” from the Udayana King Sutra and “Though one may defeat enemies with drawn swords, female bandits who harm people are impossible to restrain” from the Treatise on the Perfection of Great Wisdom, women could be thought of as thieves who bind men hand and foot and drag them off to terrifying places.
Yet again, according to the words expounded in the Nirvana Sutra—“Women are a great demon king; they can devour all people”—they were likened to monstrous beasts even more enormous than tigers or lions.
“If one beholds women even once, they will surely lose the merit of their eyes.”
“If it were true what is written in the Ratnakūṭa Sūtra—‘Though you may see a great serpent, you must not look upon women’—then they must have been reptiles akin to pythons dwelling deep in the mountains, spewing poisonous vapors from their bodies.”
Senshumaru and Rurikōmaru would search through various sutras for new passages concerning women, share them with each other, and vigorously debate their interpretations.

“Both you and I have mothers who are those terrifying women, and we were once held in their laps—yet here we’ve grown up safely until today. When I think of that, women cannot be creatures that maul people to death like fierce beasts or spew poisonous vapors like giant serpents.”

“Since the Yogācāra treatises state women are envoys of hell, they must possess forms even more dreadful than fierce beasts or giant serpents. That we were not killed by women must mean our fortune was exceedingly good.”

“But,” Senshumaru cut off Rurikōmaru’s words and said, “Do you know the subsequent passages in the Yogācāra treatises? ‘Women are envoys of hell, eternally severing the seeds of Buddhahood; their exteriors resemble bodhisattvas, their innards are like yakshas’—seeing that it’s written thus, even if their hearts are like yakshas, their faces must undoubtedly be beautiful. As proof of this, not long ago a merchant who came on pilgrimage from the capital gazed enrapturedly at my face and muttered to himself, ‘What a lovely chigo, just like a young maiden.’”

“I too have been teased time and again by the senior monks—they said you resemble a young maiden.”
“There was even a time when I grew terrified, thinking my appearance resembled a demon, and burst into tears... But someone comforted me, saying there was no need to cry, for your face was as beautiful as a bodhisattva’s.”
“I still cannot tell whether I was being praised or slandered.”

The more they discussed it in this way, the more the true nature of women slipped further from their understanding.

Though called the hallowed grounds of the Great Teacher’s sacred boundary, even within this mountain there dwelled poisonous snakes and rugged beasts.
When spring came, bush warblers sang and flowers bloomed; when winter came, plants withered and snow fell—this differed not at all from the secular world.
The sole distinction lay in there being no women whatsoever.
How could women so detested by Buddha resemble bodhisattvas?
How could women so beautiful in countenance be more terrifying than giant serpents?

“If the secular world is an illusion, then women too must surely be beautiful illusions.”
“Precisely because they are illusions that mortals are led astray by them.”
“Just as a traveler in deep mountains loses their way in thin mist.”

After thinking through every possible angle, the two arrived at this judgment.
Beautiful illusions, beautiful nothingness—that was what women were, and unless they forced themselves to settle on this conclusion, their rational minds could find no satisfaction.

The younger Rurikōmaru’s curiosity was a faint, fleeting thing—like a child yearning for a fairy-tale paradise—but what lay coiled in the elder Senshumaru’s breast defied being called mere curiosity. Night after night, facing Rurikōmaru as he slept soundly with an innocent countenance, Senshumaru would gaze upon his guileless sleeping face and find himself envying this artlessness, wondering why he alone should be so tormented in mind. When he occasionally closed his eyes, there would rise within his eyelids a jumble of women’s forms—vivid and manifold—that disturbed his sleep throughout the night. At times they appeared as sacred Buddha figures adorned with the thirty-two auspicious marks, embracing him within a radiance of purified gold; at others they manifested as jailers of Avīci Hell, their eighteen horns tipped with flaming tongues that seemed poised to incinerate him in an instant. Then, harrowed by nightmares, he would wake drenched in cold sweat at Rurikōmaru’s call and leap upright from his bedding.

“You were just now uttering strange ravings and moaning. Were you attacked by some spirit?”

When asked this, Senshumaru hung his head in embarrassment.

“I was tormented by phantoms of women,”

he answered in a trembling voice.

As days passed, the childlike vivacity and simplicity gradually faded from Senshumaru’s demeanor and expression. Whenever he found a moment, he would secretly steal away from Rurikōmaru’s notice, wander through the inner sanctum of the Great Lecture Hall, fix his dreamlike gaze upon the alluring visages of Kannon and Maitreya Bodhisattva, and lose himself in vacant reverie. At such times, what filled his head was the Yogācāra treatise’s phrase “externally resembling bodhisattvas.” Even if their hearts were equal to yakshas, and even if their forms were nothing more than illusions—if there were humans in this world like the bodhisattvas enshrined in Mount Hiei’s numerous halls and pagodas, how exquisite, how majestic they would be. When he thought this way, his fear of women had vanished without notice, leaving behind only a mysterious sense of yearning. Yakushidō, Hokkedō, Kaidan-in, Sannō-in—he wandered through every temple hall across the mountain, spending his days in a daze as he gazed without satiation at the principal enshrined deities, attendant figures, and throngs of celestial beings soaring across transom spaces. By this time, he no longer even attempted to discuss rumors of women with the younger boy. To utter the two characters “women” seemed a trivial matter to Rurikōmaru, yet to him, it had come to feel strangely like a deeply sinful transgression.

"Why can’t I approach women’s matters with innocent simplicity like Rurikōmaru does?"
"Though my eyes worship noble Buddha-images, why does this base woman’s shadow haunt my heart?"

Could this be what they mean by earthly desires?
———When this thought struck him, his very hairs stood on end.

Though I rely on the Holy Priest’s words that there are no seeds of earthly desires upon this mountain, have I not unwittingly become a prisoner of those very desires? At times he even considered confessing his daily inner turmoil to the Holy Priest, but a voice whispered ceaselessly in his ear: “You must not confide in others so easily.” That anguish was painful yet sweet. It was something he simply wished to keep carefully stored away, for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate.

It was the spring of the year Senshumaru turned sixteen and Rurikōmaru turned fourteen.
In the five valleys surrounding the East Pagoda, mountain cherries bloomed profusely, and a stifling, languid warmth persisted—the kind where temple bells’ reverberations seemed to steam through fresh foliage enveloping forty-six temple lodgings.
One morning, having received the Holy Priest’s command and been sent on an errand to the Bishop of Yokawa, they sat down in the shade of a cedar tree along their return path—where few travelers passed—to rest their weariness awhile.
Senshumaru, heaving deep sighs from time to time, had been intently watching morning mist rise from Tusita Valley’s depths and flow into trailing clouds above when suddenly—

“You must surely be wondering about my recent behavior.”

Having said this, he turned to his younger friend without so much as a smile.

“………Ever since I spoke with you about the secular world, thoughts of women have plagued me, tormenting me day and night like this.”
“It’s not that I by any means wish to meet women—yet shamefully, even when kneeling before the revered image of the Tathāgata and devoting myself to prayer, the forms of women flicker before my eyes, leaving not a moment’s space to fix my thoughts on Buddha.”
“What a wretched human I’ve become.………”

Rurikōmaru looked on in surprise and saw tears streaming down Senshumaru’s cheeks.
Given that he was crying, Senshumaru must surely be sincere.
Even so, Rurikōmaru could not understand why the matter of women caused him such anguish.

“You still have a year or two before taking vows, but the Holy Priest said I am to be ordained this year. But as long as this detestable disposition remains unrectified, what good would it do me to aspire to the path of enlightenment? Even were I to practice the Six Pāramitās and observe the Five Precepts, these delusions in my head would become a lifelong obstacle—I should never escape the wheel of samsara. It may well be that women are but transient illusions, like rainbows spanning the void. Yet for base mortals such as ourselves to grasp that rainbows are phantoms—rather than heeding precious sermons—would it not be easier to simply enter the clouds and see for ourselves? That is why I have resolved to quietly descend the mountain once before taking monastic vows and behold what women truly are. Then shall I surely understand illusion’s essence, and these delusions will vanish without trace.”

“But if we do such a thing, wouldn’t the Holy Priest scold us?”

Senshumaru’s resolve to go and uncover women’s true nature in order to dispel the clouds of delusion was heartrending in its earnestness. Yet to Rurikōmaru, the act of sending his only friend into that terrifying secular world felt profoundly unsettling. What would he do if the dragon god of Lake Biwa or the giant centipede of Mount Mikami were to appear? Wouldn’t he be bound hand and foot by women and dragged into some pitch-black cavern? Even if he were to return alive—having violated the Holy Priest’s stern commandment that “you must not descend the mountain until I permit it”—would he ever be allowed to dwell upon this sacred peak again?

“Of course I am fully prepared for the countless calamities awaiting me in the secular world.”
“Is not being caught by wild beasts’ fangs or threatened by bandits’ blades also part of Buddhist practice?”
“Even if I were to lose my life, would that not be better than being tormented by earthly desires like this?”
“Moreover, the guides say it’s barely eight miles to the capital—leave at dawn and you’d return by early afternoon.”
“If the capital seems too far, they say we could even descend to Sakamoto at the foot and still see women.”
“If I can evade the Holy Priest’s notice for just half a day, my wish will be fulfilled.”
“Even if it is later exposed, if I can dispel the doubts that hinder the path to enlightenment, the Holy Priest will surely rejoice.”
“Your concern is appreciated, but please do not try to stop me.”
“My resolve is firm.”

Senshumaru declared resolutely and gazed at the sun’s disk gliding upward through the dawn mist over the surface of Lake Biwa spread out beneath his feet,

“Fortunately, today presents an unparalleled opportunity.”
“If I depart now, I shall return by the Hour of the Sheep.”
“Should I come back unscathed, tonight I shall recount to you a singular tale of the secular world.”
“Await it with eager anticipation.”

With this, he placed his hand on Rurikōmaru’s shoulder and attempted to placate him.

“If you’re going, take me with you.”

Having said this, this time Rurikōmaru wept.

“If only you can return safely—but even were this but a half-day’s journey, should any ill befall you, in what lifetime might we meet again?”
“You who would cast aside life itself—I cannot bring myself to part from you here in such cruel fashion.”
“And should the Holy Priest inquire after your whereabouts—what answer could I possibly give?”
“If I am to be chastised regardless, I would sooner leave the mountain at your side.”
“If this serves as spiritual discipline for you, then surely it must serve as mine as well.”

“No, no—my heart, shackled in darkness by delusion, differs from yours as snow differs from ink.”
“You, pure as the Mirror of Perfect Clarity, need not risk danger through such training.”
“If any harm befell you, I could never face the Holy Priest.”
“Were this an amusing excursion, I would not abandon you.”
“Should fortune let me return alive from that loathsome, dreadful realm called the secular world, this deluded dream would clear—then I could recount every detail to you.”
“Thus you’d grasp illusions’ meaning without seeing that world yourself.”
“Therefore wait here quietly.”
“If the Holy Priest inquires, say I strayed on mountain paths and vanished from your sight.”

Even so, Senshumaru lingered close to Rurikōmaru’s side and rubbed their cheeks together for a long time.
To part even briefly with his friend and the mountain—neither of whom he had ever been apart from since gaining awareness—felt both painful and strangely exhilarating.
His emotions closely resembled the excitement of a soldier going into battle for the first time.
The fear that he might actually die and the hope that he would achieve merit and return in triumph swirled within his small chest.

Two days passed, then three days passed, yet Senshumaru did not return.
Fearing he might have fallen into a ravine and died, the fellow residents divided their efforts in all directions and searched every corner of the mountain, but his figure was nowhere to be seen.

“Holy Priest-sama, I have done a terrible thing.”
“The other day, I told a lie to Holy Priest-sama.”

It was after about ten days had passed since Senshumaru’s disappearance that Rurikōmaru, with hands pressed together before the Holy Priest, confessed to having violated the precept against false speech for the first time in his life.

“What I said about losing sight of Lord Senshumaru on our way back from Yokawa was a falsehood.”
“Lord Senshumaru is no longer on this mountain.”
“Even if someone had asked me, I am at fault for telling a lie I did not mean.”
“Please grant me your forgiveness.”
“Why did I not stop Lord Senshumaru at that time?”

While saying this, Rurikōmaru prostrated himself on the tatami and writhed in bitter tears.

Where could Senshumaru—whom I had relied on as a brother—be wandering now? In what wild grasses might he lie sleeping, drenched in dew? If he were to return within half a day as he had so resolutely vowed, then those very words made clear some mishap must have occurred. Rather than vainly scouring the mountain precincts, I wanted the secular world searched thoroughly. And if by fortune he still drew breath, I wanted him rescued without delay—Rurikōmaru resolved thus and, steeling himself for reprimand, laid bare to the Holy Priest Senshumaru’s true motive for descending the mountain.

“Once one has ventured into the secular world, it is no different than casting a stone into the great sea.”
“There’s no telling what has become of Senshumaru’s body.”

The Holy Priest, to demonstrate his dignity to the boy, deliberately closed his eyes and drew in a breath as if inhaling deeply, then spoke in a thoughtful tone.

“Even so, you admirably remained on the mountain without being led astray by delusions.”
“Though younger in years, you and Senshumaru have differed in spiritual capacity since childhood——truly, blood will tell.”

Senshumaru was the son of a wealthy man who had risen from peasantry, while Rurikōmaru was of the lineage of a distinguished court noble.
The phrase “Blood will tell” had often been brought to people’s lips whenever the two were compared in talent and character, and its echoes had long since reached Rurikōmaru’s ears—but to hear it from the Holy Priest’s mouth was a first.

“To self-indulgently break the precepts and flee the mountain—what a detestable fellow—yet when I consider that he must be suffering hardships as punishment for such foolish behavior, I cannot help but feel troubled.”
“By now, he’s likely been devoured by dogs or plundered by bandits—I doubt he remains unharmed and alive.”
“Let us resign ourselves to the fact that he is no longer in this world and pray for his peaceful rest.”
“Moreover, you must never arouse earthly desires.”
“Senshumaru makes for a good lesson.”

Having said this, the Holy Priest peered into Rurikōmaru’s round-and-clear eyes that radiated intelligence and, as if silently marveling "What a clever child this is," stroked the boy’s back.

Every night, Rurikōmaru had to sleep all alone in the room adjacent to the Holy Priest’s.
The retreating figure of Senshumaru—who at their parting had declared “I’ll return straightaway,” then deliberately taken the lonely rugged mountain path toward Yase to avoid being seen—night after night grew smaller and smaller in his dreams until it vanished into the distance.
Now that he considered it fully—though even he felt guilty for failing to dissuade what was certain to cost Senshumaru his life—when imagining what calamities might have awaited him had he gone along then, Rurikōmaru could not help but bless his own good fortune.

“This too must be because I had been granted the Buddha’s divine protection.”
“I will steadfastly obey the Holy Priest’s teachings, become a saint of lofty virtue in the future, and surely hold memorial services for Senshumaru’s enlightenment.”

Repeating this to himself, Rurikōmaru made a vow in his heart.
If he truly possessed the sharp spiritual faculties praised by the Holy Priest, then he could surely endure any austerities and ascetic practices, ultimately realizing the truth of the Dharma realm and attaining the rank of supreme enlightenment.―――Merely thinking this, even his earnest mind felt as though faith’s fire had flared up within him.

Before long, autumn of that year arrived.
Half a year had already passed since Senshumaru had descended the mountain.
It was the season when the mountain-wide chorus of cicadas had given way to the mournful song of evening cicadas, and now the forest treetops were beginning to yellow uniformly throughout their crowns.
Rurikōmaru, having finished the evening service one day, was descending the stone steps before Monju-ro toward Shukuin when—

“Excuse me, excuse me—are you Lord Rurikōmaru?”

Having said this, a man called out in a hushed voice from atop the stone steps, as if wary of being overheard.

“I have come from Fukakusa Village in Yamashiro Province as my master’s messenger to seek you out.”
“I have been ordered to deliver this letter directly from myself to you without delay.”

The man, hiding himself in the shadow of the tower gate, flashed a glimpse of the letter’s edge concealed inside his sleeve as though it held some significance, all while bowing repeatedly and beckoning Rurikōmaru with urgent deference.

“Though what I’ve said alone may not make full sense, the detailed account is written here.”
“My master has instructed me to present this letter to you as discreetly as possible and to return with your reply without fail.”

Rurikōmaru had been gazing suspiciously at the face of the man in his twenties—a man with a sparse beard dressed in the garb of a lowly servant—but when he innocently took the letter and lowered his gaze to its surface,

“Oh—this is Lord Senshumaru’s hand!”

he could not help but cry out despite himself.
As if to check that shrill tone, the man continued speaking.

“Indeed it is.”
“You remembered it well.”
“The sender of this letter is Lord Senshumaru, with whom you were close—he is now my master.”
“This spring, shortly after descending the mountain, he was abducted by dreadful human traffickers and endured a long period of wretched suffering; yet perhaps because his fortune had not yet run out, approximately two months ago—having been sold as a servant to the wealthy man of Fukakusa—his gentle features caught the eye of the man’s daughter, and he has now become the son-in-law of that household, attaining an enviable position lacking nothing.”
“In accordance with the promise made some time ago, I wished to inform you of the state of the secular world and have brought this letter.”
“The secular world is neither an illusion as we had imagined atop the mountain nor a place of terror.”
“It should be written in detail that women are neither akin to wild beasts nor great serpents, but rather more resplendent than the flowers of March and as compassionate as the Buddha.”
“Lord Senshumaru is not only loved by the wealthy man’s daughter but adored by many women, gaily wandering from place to place—tomorrow Kamusaki, today Kanishima, Eguchi—attended by courtesans more splendid than the Twenty-Five Bodhisattvas, spending joyful days like butterflies madly flitting through spring fields and mountains.”
“When my master considers your lordship living in such loneliness, unaware of how delightful the secular world truly is, he finds it unbearably pitiable. Thus, if possible, he wishes to quietly bring you to Fukakusa Village and share this happiness with you in remembrance of your old friendship—this is what he declares.”
“Even as I observe you, your lordship—a chigo more beautiful and lovely than even Lord Senshumaru—it seems such a waste for you to spend your days in these mountains.”
“If someone of your lordship’s distinguished appearance were to venture into the world, how celebrated and adored you would be by all people.”
“Now, whether what I have said is false or true, please deign to read that letter.”
“And so, by all means, please come to Fukakusa with me.”
“I will now cross over to Katata Bay in Ōmi Province and return here by tomorrow’s dawn.”
“In the meantime, carefully consider this matter. Once you have reached a decision, please wait for me beneath this tower gate so that no one notices you.”
“I most certainly shall not do you any harm.”
“If I were to bring you there, how overjoyed my master would be.”

As he said this, the man’s broadly grinning visage was inexplicably terrifying to Rurikōmaru.
Without even time to fully savor the joy of unexpectedly receiving news of his friend after half a year, he—suddenly confronted with a grave matter concerning his own life’s destiny—was momentarily assailed by a sensation as though his breath were stifled and eyes dazzled, trembling as he stood rooted to the spot.

“Now then, as for the numerous events that followed thereafter—where should I set brush to paper, and where should I lay it down? Though I myself came to the mountain and thought to meet you face-to-face after this long absence to relay my account directly—being one who has broken the precepts—I find the peak of the One Vehicle too steep to approach and the valley of the single taste too deep to draw near………”.

Holding the edge of the letter that read thus, Rurikōmaru—as though doubting his own existence—merely skimmed the scattered phrases in a daze, reading them hurriedly.
“When I declared I would return within half a day yet let all this time pass, you must surely have thought me deceived—this fills me with such bitter regret and anguish.
As for my own self, from the very beginning I had not the slightest intention of such resolve—and on that evening when I was already approaching Kiraboshi Pass intending to return to the temple lodgings, suddenly figures leapt out from the shadows—shamefully gagging my mouth and covering my eyes—and I felt myself being carried away to some unknown place, believing that divine retribution had struck me instantly and that I was being sent alive to the Three Evil Realms and Eight Calamities.”
Alongside such pious phrases were also brazen passages that began with declarations like “Ah, how absurd! Ah, how absurd!”—sections that showed neither fear of gods nor buddhas.
“Ah, how absurd! Ah, how absurd! The secular world is neither dream nor illusion—verily, it is a land of bliss manifesting the Western Pure Land!
For the present-day Senshumaru, neither the Dharma gate of three thousand realms in a single thought nor the contemplative practice of the perfect fusion of the three truths feels at all necessary.
Rather than being a practitioner of the perfect and sudden teaching, being an ordinary mortal with earthly desires is far more joyful and delightful, verily.
Having stated these matters thus, you must not be perplexed by them, verily.
I urge you to swiftly change your heart and descend the mountain, verily.”——Could this truly be that Senshumaru’s tone?
Could this truly be the genuine conviction of Senshumaru—he who had been so devout, he who had cursed the very words “earthly desires”?
The blasphemous language overflowing across the entirety of the letter, its strangely buoyant tone, and a kind of forceful vigor that seemed to press upon the reader—these provoked intense antipathy in Rurikōmaru’s breast even as, with equal ferocity, the curiosity toward the “secular world” that had long lain hidden in the depths of his mind now erupted in surges.

“You have until tomorrow morning to consider this thoroughly.”
“Needless to say, you must never consult others about this.”
“What the monks of this mountain say are all outright lies.”
“To an innocent chigo like your lordship, they try to make you abandon the world by spouting these half-hearted platitudes.”
“In any case, please read the letter carefully at your leisure, then make your own decision.”
“Is that acceptable?”

The man, perceiving the doubt written across Rurikōmaru’s face, spoke as if to urge him on.
And then, bowing his head lightly two or three times in a hurried manner, he clattered down the stone steps and departed.

Still, Rurikōmaru’s trembling did not cease. The man had left within the pure-hearted boy’s chest an oppressive weight too immense to be contained. His future would be determined by whatever reply he prepared by dawn—never before had such a momentous matter been placed in his hands. Merely recognizing this made him unable to suppress the violent pounding in his chest.

Even when night fell, anxiety and excitement ruling his mind prevented him from calmly considering the problem before him. Though he meant to reread the mysterious letter—its words exposing long-sealed secrets of “women” and brimming with marvels—once his agitation subsided, he instead laid it quietly on the desk and closed his eyes, focusing his entire being on Buddha. This news from a cherished friend should have brought joy, yet he burned with resentment at how it sought to shatter his hard-won resolve—his vow to pursue ascetic practice and accumulate merit through disciplined living.

"If I read it, it will become the source of delusion."
"I wonder if I should just burn it and be done with it."

Even as he thought this, he found himself mocking his own cowardice: "I am not so weak a person as to feel such danger."
Whether I become lost or not depends solely on the Buddha’s will.
To what extent could Senshumaru’s words—that the secular world was not an illusion—be trusted, and to what extent did they tempt me?
If he could not withstand that temptation—if he had been abandoned by the Buddha—then the curiosity persistently rearing its head did not let him refrain from concocting all manner of excuses.

“...Truly, the tenderness and beauty of women defy depiction in painting or prose—to what shall I compare them? To what shall I liken them? ...Yesterday too, when I floated a boat at Yodo Port and went to a place called Eguchi, numerous courtesans from riverside houses gathered with poles in hand—their appearance so wondrous one might mistake them for Seishibosatsu descending from heaven or Willow Kannon taking mortal form. As they surrounded my boat, singing saibara songs in chorus so boisterously, I declared, ‘At least grant me one poem!’ Then one courtesan struck the gunwale and sang out—repeating over and over with a curious melody—‘Even Śākyamuni, who treads from the path of defilement to purity, they say had Rāhula’s mother!’...”

The surrounding passages were written as though Senshumaru were mustering every ounce of his strength to shatter Rurikōmaru’s religious resolve. There, the boundless joy and exaltation of a youth who—sixteen years after his birth—had been shown the secular world for the first time were proclaimed at the top of his voice. In some passages he danced about in ecstasy; in others he resented the Holy Priest who had deceived him; and in still others, pledging unchanging friendship to his childhood companion Rurikōmaru, he urged him to descend the mountain. Rurikōmaru felt he had never received so profound an impression from any scriptural passage or other source as he did from this reading.

“The Pure Land, which had been believed to lie beyond ten trillion lands, was in fact at the foot of this mountain.”
“There dwell countless living bodhisattvas, and whenever I go there, they welcome me with hospitality.”―――This astonishing fact left not a shred of room for doubt.
Though Senshumaru’s letter omitted mention of it, surely kalavinka birds, peacocks, and parrots must be singing there.
Towers of white coral and agate must have been built there, along with stairways of gold, silver, and red pearls.
Instantly before Rurikōmaru’s eyes appeared a magnificent fantasy world like those found in fairy tales.
Why would descending into such a joyful world hinder enlightenment?
Why did the Holy Priest despise that world and try to keep us away from it?
Before he could attempt to overcome the temptation, he wanted to know why he had to overcome it.

In the dim lamplight, he spread out the letter and, rereading it time and again, spent the entire night without a moment’s sleep, thinking through until dawn. He floundered about, trying to grasp some foundation from the full extent of his knowledge and understanding—something sufficient to deny the facts presented in the letter. To such an extent that even he himself thought it admirable, he listened to the voice of his conscience and even sought Buddha’s salvation. And in the end, what made him hesitate to make his final decision was nothing but lingering attachment to the life he had grown accustomed to in the monastery lodgings and a blind reverence compelled by the Holy Priest’s admonitions.

However, these two things gripped his heart with unexpected tenacity.
If he was to strive by all means not to descend the mountain, there was no alternative but to heighten these two emotions as much as possible.

"Do you believe Senshumaru's words and not the Buddha's teachings or the Holy Priest's warnings? Would it be sacrilege to call the Buddha and the Holy Priest liars? Do you think that settles it?"

In this way, he even went so far as to mutter aloud.
"The secular world must surely be as fascinating a place as Senshumaru claims.
But being drawn by that allure—was it permissible to cast away in a single morning the firm faith I had built up over fourteen years?
Had I not made a vow to endure austerities and ascetic practices all this time?
Even if I were to gain pleasures in this world, if doing so would mean incurring Buddhist retribution and falling into hell in the next life, would that not be ten or twenty times more painful?"

“Blood is something that cannot be denied...”

This phrase suddenly rose in Rurikōmaru’s mind.
I and Senshumaru have differed in spiritual capacity since childhood.
I possess Buddha’s protection.
That I have now fortuitously recalled “retribution in the next life” must surely stem from Buddha’s protection.
With such a thing as the next life existing, how could I not dread Buddhist punishment?
It was precisely because hope for the next life existed that the Holy Priest had forbidden us worldly pleasures.
Though Senshumaru may not believe it, I shall believe steadfastly in the next life and Buddhist retribution.
Only then could it truly be said—for the first time—that my spiritual capacity was superior.
When the Holy Priest praised me—surely he had meant this very point.

That thought descended upon Rurikōmaru’s head like a divine revelation.
What had first flashed like lightning gradually spread like the surging waves of the sea, soaking into his soul until it filled his entire being.
That feeling of being intoxicated by refreshing, crystalline music seemed to him a precious religious ecstasy—one only practitioners who had entered samadhi could savor.
Rurikōmaru unconsciously pressed his palms together and bowed to the unseen Buddha.
Then, deep within his chest, he began repeating these words in quick succession.

"I beseech you to forgive this foolish sin of mine—even for a brief moment, I set my heart on the splendor of this present life and tried to abandon the rewards of the next. Never again will I entertain such base thoughts as I did tonight. I beseech you to forgive me."

No matter what happens, I will never yield to others' temptations.
If Senshumaru wishes to indulge in this world's pleasures, let him indulge alone as he pleases.
Then in the next life may he be cast headlong into Avīci Hell to endure suffering through countless kalpas.
At that time I shall go to the Western Pure Land and gaze down from lofty heights upon his weeping, wailing form.
No matter what anyone says, my conviction shall not falter.
I stopped myself at the brink of disaster.
I am safe now—I am certain now.

When Rurikōmaru reached this resolution, the long autumn night paled into whiteness, and the morning service bell rang out clearly.
He, with a heart severalfold more tense than usual, reverently attended upon the Holy Priest’s study, where the priest seemed to have just awoken.

Senshumaru’s messenger had been waiting by the stone steps of Monju-ro around the hour of the Hare that morning when Rurikōmaru indeed came to that spot, but the boy’s answer was contrary to his expectations.

“The secular world may be fascinating, but due to certain circumstances, I have decided not to descend the mountain.”
“I find the Buddha’s grace more precious than the affection of women.”

“…” said Rurikōmaru.
And then, while taking out the remnants of last night’s letter from his pocket,

“I intend to enjoy peace in the next life instead of toiling in this one—please convey this to Lord Senshumaru.”
“If I keep this letter, it will only lead my heart astray. Please take this back as well.”

While the man fluttered his eyes in bewilderment and was about to speak, Rurikōmaru hurriedly threw the letter remnants to the ground and vanished toward the lodgings without looking back.

And thus, winter came that year.

“You too will turn fifteen next year. Given Senshumaru’s example, you should take vows early in spring,” said the Holy Priest to Rurikōmaru.

But once stirred by news of his old friend, his heart—though forcibly held down by a temporary passion—could not maintain its calm for long. In his chest too, earthly desires gradually began to cast their dawn-like glow. The meaning of the delusions that had once tormented Senshumaru was gradually becoming clear to him as well. He too now entered an age where he dreamed of women’s figures and felt entranced by the statues of various bodhisattvas in the temple halls. At times, he felt a sense of regret over having returned Senshumaru’s letter. There were days when he found himself vaguely waiting, wondering if perhaps the messenger from Fukakusa might come again. He was terrified of having his face seen by the Holy Priest.

However, Rurikōmaru—who still believed in the Buddha’s divine protection—did not attempt to take reckless actions like Senshumaru.

He once knelt respectfully before the Holy Priest and spoke these words.

“Holy Priest, I beseech you to have mercy on my foolishness.”
“Now I too have become someone who cannot ridicule Lord Senshumaru.”
“I beseech you to grant me the path to quell the flames of earthly desires and the method to dispel the illusions of women.”
“To enter the gate of liberation, I am prepared to endure any hardship of ascetic practice, no matter how severe.”

“You have done well to confess that to me.”
“That is an admirable resolve.”
“What an admirable chigo you are.”

“When such wicked thoughts arise,” said the Holy Priest, “there is nothing to do but rely solely on the Buddha’s mercy. For twenty-one days henceforth, take water ablutions daily without fail and seclude yourself in the Lotus Sutra Hall. If you do so, you will surely receive divine benefits and dispel those abhorrent illusions.”

The Holy Priest had taught him this.

It was precisely the night of fulfillment on the twenty-first day starting from the following day.
Rurikōmaru, leaning against a pillar inside the hall, had drowsily dozed off from days of fatigue when the figure of a noble old man appeared in his dream and seemed to be urgently calling his name.

“I have come to inform you of good news.
In your previous life, you were an official serving in the palace of a certain king in India.
At that time, there was a beautiful woman in that capital who was deeply in love with you.
However, because you were a person of steadfast devout heart even then—one who did not drown in carnal desires—the woman could not lead you astray no matter how she tried. Due to the good karma of having rejected her charms, you were raised at the Holy Priest’s knee in this life and granted precious wisdom. Yet even now, the woman who yearned for you lingers here—unable to forget you—dwelling in these mountains in altered form.
If you are tormented by illusions of women, I will let you meet her.
As retribution for the sin of trying to lead you astray, she was born into animal existence in this world. But because she made her dwelling in this noble sacred ground and heard sutras morning and evening, she will be reborn in the Western Pure Land in her next life.
And thus, at last upon the lotus of the Pure Land, together with you, she will manifest the form of a subtle bodhisattva and bathe in the radiant light of all Buddhas throughout the ten directions.
That woman is now alone on the summit of Mount Shaka in these mountains, having sustained a hand wound and trying to die.
You should go meet that woman soon.
If you do that, she will go to Amida Buddha’s land before you and silently aid your aspiration for enlightenment from the shadows.
Your delusions will surely clear without a trace—I, so deeply moved by your faith, have descended from Tusita Heaven as a messenger of Samantabhadra Bodhisattva.
To ensure your faith remains unshaken in the days to come, I give you this crystal rosary.
You must never doubt my words!”

When Rurikōmaru jolted back to his senses, though the old man’s figure was no longer visible, upon his knees lay the crystal rosary, glittering like dewdrops at dawn with crystalline clarity.

In the biting cold wind of a predawn morning near December’s end, ascending to Mount Shaka’s summit would have been an ordeal surpassing even twenty-one days of water austerities for an innocent chigo—yet Rurikōmaru, driven by his yearning to meet in her present form the woman bound to him through profound karma across three lifetimes, felt neither hardship nor hindrance as he feverishly climbed the perilous mountain path.
Even the cotton-like snow that began swirling down mid-journey served only as fuel to further ignite his unyielding will and passion.
As he pressed onward, watching sky and earth and valleys and forests become enveloped in boundless silver, he advanced while stumbling and falling time after time.

It was around the time when he finally seemed to have reached the summit. Amidst the swirling snow piling up in vortices, there lay a single nameless bird—so pure white it might have been mistaken for a manifestation of snow spirit—bearing a grievous wound beneath its wing. Like scattered crimson flowers, blood dripped in droplets as it writhed on the ground, gasping and writhing in agony. When this sight caught his eye, Rurikōmaru dashed over and, like a parent bird shielding its chick, clutched her tightly in both arms. And then, from the depths of a storm so fierce one could not raise their voice, he chanted Amida Buddha’s name loudly and placed the crystal rosary he held around her neck.

Rurikōmaru feared he might freeze to death before her.
As Rurikōmaru pressed himself over her skin, bowing his face, something indistinguishable between bird feathers and powdered snow fluttered down incessantly upon his lovely chignon—a small architectural structure of hair.

(March 1918)