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ONCE, when Musô Kokushi, a priest of the Zen sect, was journeying alone through the province of Mino, he lost his way in a mountain-district where there was nobody to direct him. For a long time he wandered about helplessly; and he was beginning to despair of finding shelter for the night, when he perceived, on the top of a hill lighted by the last rays of the sun, one of those little hermitages, called anjitsu, which are built for solitary priests. It seemed to be in a ruinous condition; but he hastened to it eagerly, and found that it was inhabited by an aged priest, from whom he begged the favor of a night's lodging. This the old man harshly refused; but he directed Musô to a certain hamlet, in the valley adjoining, where lodging and food could be obtained.
Musô found his way to the hamlet, which consisted of less than a dozen farm-cottages; and he was kindly received at the dwelling of the headman. Forty or fifty persons were assembled in the principal apartment, at the moment of Musô's arrival; but he was shown into a small separate room, where he was promptly supplied with food and bedding. Being very tired, he lay down to rest at an early hour; but a little before midnight he was roused from sleep by a sound of loud weeping in the next apartment. Presently the sliding-screens were gently pushed apart; and a young man, carrying a lighted lantern, entered the room, respectfully saluted him, and said:--
"Reverend Sir, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am now the responsible head of this house. Yesterday I was only the eldest son. But when you came here, tired as you were, we did not wish that you should feel embarrassed in any way: therefore we did not tell you that father had died only a few hours before. The people whom you saw in the next room are the inhabitants of this village: they all assembled here to pay their last respects to the dead; and now they are going to another village, about three miles off,--for, by our custom, no one of us may remain in this village during the night after a death has taken place. We make the proper offerings and prayers;--then we go away, leaving the corpse alone. Strange things always happen in the house where a corpse has thus been left: so we think that it will be better for you to come away with us. We can find you good lodging in the other village. But perhaps, as you are a priest, you have no fear of demons or evil spirits; and, if you are not afraid of being left alone with the body, you will be very welcome to the use of this poor house. However, I must tell you that nobody, except a priest, would dare to remain here tonight."
Musô made answer:--
"For your kind intention and your generous hospitality, I am deeply grateful. But I am sorry that you did not tell me of your father's death when I came;--for, though I was a little tired, I certainly was not so tired that I should have found any difficulty in doing my duty as a priest. Had you told me, I could have performed the service before your departure. As it is, I shall perform the service after you have gone away; and I shall stay by the body until morning. I do not know what you mean by your words about the danger of staying here alone; but I am not afraid of ghosts or demons: therefore please to feel no anxiety on my account."
The young man appeared to be rejoiced by these assurances, and expressed his gratitude in fitting words. Then the other members of the family, and the folk assembled in the adjoining room, having been told of the priest's kind promises, came to thank him,--after which the master of the house said:--
"Now, reverend Sir, much as we regret to leave you alone, we must bid you farewell. By the rule of our village, none of us can stay here after midnight. We beg, kind Sir, that you will take every care of your honorable body, while we are unable to attend upon you. And if you happen to hear or see anything strange during our absence, please tell us of the matter when we return in the morning."
All then left the house except the
priest, who went to the room where the dead
body was lying. The usual offerings had been
set before the corpse; and a small Buddhist
lamp
When the villagers returned next
morning, they found the priest awaiting them
at the door of the headman's dwelling. All in
turn saluted him; and when they had entered,
and looked about the room, no one expressed
any surprise at the disappearance of the dead
body and the offerings. But the master of the
house said to Musô:--
"Reverend Sir, you have probably
seen unpleasant things during the night: all of
us were anxious about you. But now we are
very happy to find you alive and unharmed.
Gladly we would have stayed with you, if it had
been possible. But the law of our village, as I
told you last evening, obliges us to quit our
houses after a death has taken place, and to
leave the corpse alone. Whenever this law has
been broken, heretofore, some great misfortune
has followed. Whenever it is obeyed, we find
that the corpse and the offerings disappear
during our absence. Perhaps you have seen the
cause."
Then Musô told of the dim and awful
Shape that had entered the death-chamber to
devour the body and the offerings. No person
seemed to be surprised by his narration; and
the master of the house observed:--
"What you have told us, reverend
Sir, agrees with what has been said about this
matter from ancient time."
Musô then inquired:--
"Does not the priest on the hill
sometimes perform the funeral-service for your
dead?"
"What priest?" the young man
asked.
"The priest who yesterday evening
directed me to this village," answered Musô.
"I called at his anjitsu on the hill yonder. He
refused me lodging, but told me the way here."
The listeners looked at each other, as
in astonishment; and, after a moment of silence
the master of the house said:--
"Reverend Sir, there is no priest and
there is no anjitsu on the hill. For the time of
many generations there has not been any
resident-priest in this neighborhood."
Musô said nothing more on the subject;
for it was evident that his kind hosts
supposed him to have been deluded by some
goblin. But after having bidden them farewell,
and obtained all necessary information as to his
road, he determined to look again for the hermitage
on the hill, and so to ascertain whether
he had really been deceived. He found the
anjitsu without any difficulty; and, this time,
its aged occupant invited him to enter. When
he had done so, the hermit humbly bowed
down before him, exclaiming:--"Ah! I am
ashamed!--I am very much ashamed!--I am
exceedingly ashamed!"
"You need not be ashamed for having
refused me shelter," said Musô. "You
directed me to the village yonder, where I was
very kindly treated: and I thank you for that
favor."
"I can give no man shelter," the
recluse made answer;--"and it is not for the
refusal that I am ashamed. I am ashamed only
that you should have seen me in my real
shape,--for it was I who devoured the corpse and
the offerings last night before your eyes....
Know, reverend Sir, that I am a jikininki,(1)--an
eater of human flesh. Have pity upon me,
and suffer me to confess the secret fault by
which I became reduced to this condition.
"A long, long time ago, I was a priest
in this desolate region. There was no other
priest for many leagues around. So, in that
time, the bodies of the mountain-folk who died
used to be brought here,
No sooner had the hermit uttered
this petition than he disappeared; and the
hermitage also disappeared at the same instant.
And Musô Kokushi found himself kneeling
alone in the high grass, beside an ancient and
moss-grown tomb, of the form called go-rin-ishi,(3)
which seemed to be the tomb of a priest.
(End.)
(1) Literally, a man-eating goblin. The
Japanese narrator gives also the Sanscrit
term, "Râkshasa;" but this
word is quite as vague as jikininki,
since there are many kinds of
Râkshasas. Apparently the word
jikininki signifies here one of the
Baramon
(2) A Ségaki-service is a
special Buddhist service performed on behalf
of beings supposed to have entered into the
condition of gaki (pretas),or hungry
spirits. For a brief account of such a
service, see my Japanese
Miscellany.
(3) Literally, "five-circle [or
'five-zone'] stone." A funeral monument
consisting of five parts superimposed,--each
of a different form,