THE MAIDEN’S TOMB

If only thou wouldst once but cast away The clouds of thy delusions, thou wouldst be Freed from thy many sins and from all ills.

Far through the country has my journey lain, Far through the country has my journey lain, And to the capital I speed my way. I, a priest, am from the country, from the Western districts coming.[9] To the capital, which hitherto my eyes have never seen. The paths along the coast are manifold, The paths along the coast are manifold, That on this journey I have traced, and oft My way has lain by boat across the sea. Over the sea and mountains stretching wide I watched the sun rise up and set again, And now I reach Ikuta which I know Only by name as in Tsu province fair, The hamlet of Ikuta now I reach.

Green shoots we gather, young green shoots of spring, And here in Ono by Ikuta blows The morning breeze so chill, so chill and strong It turns and billows out our flapping sleeves.[10]

While in the distant mountains, on the pines The snow has even yet not disappeared.

Oh, near the Capital the time has come To gather in the fields the shoots of spring. It makes our hearts glad just to think of that.

But from the Capital this place is far,

And we are country folk and therefore live A humble life here by Ikuta’s sea. Our lives and work are of the lowliest And to the field of Ono every year Without the thought of pleasure do we come.[11] The footmarks of the many village folk That go to gather the young shoots of spring Have left wide tracks across the snowy field. And tread a path, where else there would be none. And tread a path, where else there would be none. The young green shoots that grow on field and marsh We now must gather. When the snow has gone They will already have become too old— Though still the wind blows cold thro’ shady copse And on the field of Ono lies the snow, The seven herbs of early spring-time sprout In Ikuta then let us pluck the shoots, In Ikuta then let us pluck the shoots.

O good people, will you tell me if toward Ikuta I’m nearing?

As thou dost know the name of Ikuta There should have been no need to ask us that!

Dost thou not know it from the many views That scattered far and wide portray the place? First of all, dost thou not know it as the forest of Ikuta? See, the many clustered tree tops which are true to this its name.[12]

And there the stream thou hast now deigned to cross, It is the far-famed river Ikuta.

In the early breath of spring-time (like the shallows of the river) Do we gather, ’neath the snowy cloak, the young shoots of the field.

And this field, too, where little sprouts as yet Are growing, why as Ono know’st it not?[13]

The sweet wild cherry blossoms that do grow In Miyoshino and in Shiga too, The maple leaves of Tatsuta and those Of Hatsuse—they would be surely known By those who lived beside the poet’s home. But we, though living in this place know not The forest or the copse of Ikuta. So ask us not, for we know nothing here.

Ah yes. Unfolding now before my eyes The views I know—the forest, river, sea, And mist, the scenes of Ono now expand! And the far-famed tomb of Ikuta, the Maiden’s Tomb, where is it?

Ah, in truth, the Maiden’s Tomb! That is a place that I have heard of; Whereabout it is I know not, yea, I know not in the least.

But prithee, traveller, these useless things We beg thee ask us not, we prize the time[14] When we can gather these young shoots of spring.

And thou thyself, too, journeyest in haste, So wherefore dost thou tarry with us here?

Thereon an ancient poem has the words—

“A charming hindrance to the traveller Are they who pluck young shoots in Ono’s field In Ikuta.”[16] Why ask then useless things?

“Thou, Watchman of the field of Tobuhi That lies in Kasugano, go and see,” “Thou, Watchman of the field of Tobuhi That lies in Kasugano, go and see If it is not yet time to pluck the shoots.”[17] Thou, traveller, that to the capital Likewise dost haste, how many days hast thou? “For his sake do I go to the spring fields To gather the young shoots, though on my robe Cling still the cold, unmelted flakes of snow.”[18] Let us then gather, snowy though it be And on the marsh the thin ice still remains, Pushing aside the sprouting watercress, Let us then gather the green-coloured shoots Let us then gather the green-coloured shoots.

Would there be much to gather? For the spring Is very early yet—and young shoots hide.

“The spring-time comes, but as I see the snow Upon the plain, I think of the old year.”[19] The young green shoots of this year still are few So we must gather those with older leaves.

And yet, although the leaves are old and sere The young green shoots are fresh as the new year. Guard then thyself, thou field of the young spring!

To the field of spring, To the field of spring, To pluck violets He came, and then Only purple leaves Of the weeds culled he Who came gathering.

Ah, yes, the colour of affinity[20] Has brought to my sad thought the memory Of Love’s light bridge which was asunder torn.[21]

The aged stems of plants once gone to seed In Sano district still may sprout again,

And their green colour will be purple dyed.

The Shepherd’s Purse of Chōan—[22]

And the hot shepherd’s purse, a useless thing, And other herbs white rooted, like the dawn,[23] Which, hidden by the snow we may mistake And gather in the place of those we want.

The morning breeze in Ono still is cold The lower branches of the pine trees still Are weighted down with snow. Where hides the spring We cannot tell. And though the river breeze Blows cold, our billowing sleeves are colder far. Let us go home, although we leave unplucked Some of the young green shoots, let us go home.

Now there is something I would speak of unto thee if thou permittest— All the maidens who were gathering the young greens have departed Save thyself, and wherefore then art thou alone remaining with me?

For the Maiden’s Tomb but just now thou didst ask me. I will show thee.

Yes, indeed, I do desire to see it and I pray thee show me.

This way honourably follow. And the Maiden’s Tomb is this!

What its history, and why then, is the Maiden’s Tomb so calléd? Pray minutely tell the story.

Then will I the tale unfold. Once upon a time a maiden who was called Unai did live here, And two men there were, called Chinu and Sasada, and they loved her. And to her upon the same day, in the same hour, both declaring Fervent love, they sent two letters. But she thought that if she yielded Unto one, the other’s anger would be deep, and so to neither Would she yield (and then her father said the truest shot should win her). But upon Ikuta’s river did the two men’s flying arrows Pierce together but one water-fowl, and pierce the selfsame wing. And then I thought, how cruel now I am.[24] The wild fowl’s troth, though plighted deep and true Is broken for me, and the happy pair— Mandarin ducks—for my poor sake must bear The pain of separation. Piteous! So, with my life dismayed, I’d throw myself Into Ikuta river’s flowing tide[25] Here in the land of Tsu. Ikuta stands Merely a name to such a one as I.

These were her last words, as she took her way Into the river’s water. When they found They buried her beneath this mound of clay. Then the two men, her lovers, came to seek Her tomb. No longer will we live, they said, And like the stream of Ikuta, the tide Of their remorse rose up. Each with his sword Ended the other’s life. And that was too my sin! That too my sin! What can become of such a one, so full Of sins? I pray thee therefore give me help! So saying ’neath the tomb once more she sank Yea, down beneath the tomb once more she sank.

Short as a young stag’s horns in summer time[26] The night of sleep! The weeds grow on her tomb, And from their shade appears again the ghost. I’ll raise the voice of prayer. “Thou spirit soul, Awake thyself to understanding true, Enter Nirvana casting off from thee Delusions of thy life and of thy death.”[27]

Oh, the wide field, how desolate it is— My own deserted tomb and nothing else! Only wild beasts contending for the dead Which come and go in gloom, and o’er the tomb The watching spirits flying in the wind That circling ever beats upon the pines. The heaven’s lightening, and the morning dew Are still before my eyes, and symbolise The world of Earth, as transient as they. How many of the lonely tombs are those Of Youth, whose lives are so unlike the name Of Ikuta, so-called the field of life.

A man comes from the world I left long since. How thankful am I. ’Tis the voice of prayer!

O human world. How much I long for thee.

A [living] man while spending [in this world] Even a single day and single night, A [living] man while spending [in this world] Even a single day and single night, Eight billion and four thousand things has he To think about. But how much more have I, I, who left long ago the pleasant world— ’Twas in the reign of Tenchi and by now The second Horikawa holds his sway. Oh, that once more unto the pleasant world I might return. How long in shady weeds And ’neath the moss, how long I buried lie! But worse, not buried under the cool earth I suffer from a roasting heat and burn, Within a flaming dwelling-place, behold! Within a flaming dwelling-place, behold!

Alas! How truly piteous is thy state, If only thou wouldst once but cast away The clouds of thy delusions, thou wouldst be Freed from thy many sins and from all ills. “From evils all, and sins, from hells and fiends, Illnesses all and deaths, be thou set free.” Oh, quickly float thyself in buoyant thought!

Ah, grateful am I, for the voice of prayer Has reached my ears, and tho’ my sufferings Do know no intermission, in hot hell The smoke clears back a moment, and I see A little open space. How glad I am! Oh, how terrible! Who art thou? What! Of Sasada the spirit? And thou art the ghost of Chinu? And from right and left you hold me By the hands, and saying to me “Come, come, come.” Though they torment me I don’t dare to leave the shelter of my burning house; for no one, Nothing, is there to rely on. And I see another spirit Flying from afar towards me. Oh, how terrible! I see it, ’Tis the duck, and turned to iron, turned to steel it is before me! With beaks of steel like naked swords the bird Pecks at my head and feasts upon my brain. Is it because of crimes I did commit? Oh, how resentful is it, cruel bird! Oh! I pray thee, Priest, I pray thee, from these sufferings relieve me!

“The time of torment fierce has now arrived.” The spirit had not finished saying this, When o’er the tomb flew out a band of flame.

And then its light became a hellish fiend,

Who raised the torture rod, and drove at her.

Before me is a sea if I attempt But to advance

While flames are in the rear.

And on the left.

And on the right as well.

By water and by fire am I now held In double torment.

Helpless utterly.

When to the pillar of the burning house

I reach my hands, and do attempt to cling At once the column bursts out into flame— The blazing pillar must I then embrace. Oh, scorching heat! Oh, unendurable! The whole five members of my body turned Into black smoke by this fierce burning fire.

And then when I arose—

And then when I arose, a jailor fiend Applied the torture-rod, and drove me out. I left the house and wandered through eight hells And there all suffering I underwent. Now I would show thee how I blotted out My many sins. Before thee lie the scenes First in the hell of all equality,[28] Then in the hell of black rope, devil led, And driven to the hell of gathering, Where all assemble. Then the hell of cries, Of bitter cries, came next, and then of heat, Of utmost heat, and then the hell of depth, Depth infinite, into whose space I fell Feet upwards and head downwards for three years And three months more, in agony the while. And after that a little interval— The devils left me and the flames expired, I thought there was a respite to my pain, But then the darkness grew more terrible And to my burning house I would return I thought—but where then was it? To myself I asked the question in the pitchy dark. And seeking, seeking, to and fro I groped. “The Maiden’s Tomb”—I searched it everywhere, And now at last I find “The Maiden’s Tomb.” Like flying dews leaving a grassy shade, Like flying dews leaving a grassy shade, The spirit’s form has once more disappeared The spirit’s shadow has now vanished.