It was as the sun begun to set when he came across the temple precinct,
at least what remained of it, as clearly the place had seen better days. The
thick outer wall was pierced by a large ragged gap, where the earthen material
of its construction appeared to have dissolved in the rain. Broken shards of
the wall’s dark grey roof tiles lay scattered amongst the leaf litter
sheltering in its deep shadow. The bamboo forest all around was now reclaiming
the ground from where it had once been cleared, and several tall stems arched
skywards as if to try and protect the fragile-looking disheveled building that
stood in the centre of the plot. But for the insistent cawing of an unseen crow
a profound silence enveloped the whole place, adding to the overall sense of
desolation and abandonment.
Shigoto had been traveling all day from early morning and had been
looking forward to finding some food and shelter for the night. When the farmer
he had spoken to earlier had indicated that he might find a place to stay at a
nearby temple, his spirits had risen at the thought, and in his mind he was
ready to offer his services as a gardener in exchange for being allowed to stay
a few days. Now standing under the ancient wooden gate he wondered if anyone
lived here any more, there was little sign of habitation, and no scent of smoke
carried towards him in greeting. It seemed as if the land was about reclaim
what it had once been forced to give up.
“Excuse me, is there any one here?” He called out from the gateway
towards the dark gloom of the building. His call was simply swallowed by the
silence that permeated the whole place. Stepping forwards from the gateway he
approached the front of the building, the thatched roof was ragged and pieces
of straw detached by wind or animals were scattered about on the ground. By the
entrance a small bell hung on by a grimy cord, Shigoto reached up and
hesitantly shook it causing the bell to reverberate weakly. “Excuse me, is
there any one here?” He called once more into the impenetrable gloom of the
interior. He was about to turn away when he thought he heard the sound of
someone moving within the building.
‘Maybe it was an animal,’ he thought when nobody appeared. ‘The temple
seems to have been deserted. Everything is falling apart, as if no one cares
for the place any longer.’
But then from what seemed to be the dark depths of the interior a thin
voice came, “What do you want? This is but a poor temple, there is nothing to
steal here but the moon which you can see through the holes in the roof.”
Shigoto was not sure if the voice had come from a human being or from the
building itself.
“Excuse me, Sir. I am a traveler looking for lodging for the night. I
was told I might find a place to stay here tonight.” Increasingly he was unsure
if he wanted to stay after all, the whole place reeked of decay and gloom. Then
suddenly there was a diminutive figure crouching on the floor at the entry
porch before him. The priest looked as ancient and worn as the temple itself.
“You can see for yourself, there is nothing more to steal anymore.” The
priest’s voice appeared to float out from his bent over body, and Shigoto had
to lean forwards to catch the words, lest the slightest breath of wind blow
them away.
“I…I am not a thief, Sir. I am traveling through this district. I am a
gardener by trade; I am making my way to Kyoto to study at Daitoku-ji temple. I
was told I might find lodgings for the night.”
“You are not a monk or a priest then.” As the priest spoke, Shigoto
noticed that he inclined his head away from him, he was not looking toward him
at all.
“No, I am a gardener. My master was Maguro Sensei, of Mikura island. Now
I am making my way to the capital to study at Daitoku-ji.” Shigoto raise his
voice a little in case the priest was hard of hearing.
“You do not have to shout, I hear very well. I heard you coming up the
path. I knew you were arriving before you did. I may be old but there is
nothing wrong with my hearing at all. I can hear everything that I need to
know, more than you probably, you sound young from your voice. Which place are
you from?” It was then that Shigoto realized that the priest was blind. It
explained why there were no lamps lit, the priest had no need of lights in his
world.
“I lived all my life on the island of Mikura, it’s many a day’s travel
west from here. I am on my way to the capital.” Shigoto started to explain, it
was as much to put himself at ease as to satisfy any curiosity of the old man.
Having spent the time traveling alone he now found himself hungry for the
comfort and company of another human being, particularly one that offered no
threat to his wellbeing.
“A gardener you say? Not a priest then? Well, you can sleep here
tonight. You do not walk like a priest anyway,” the old man muttered waving a
claw of a hand before him, beckoning Shigoto to step out of his traveling
sandals and enter the building. Shigoto was immediately relieved that the old
man had not insisted on asking him what a gardener, a mere gardener, was doing
traveling alone in these parts, even though he had rehearsed what he was going
to say to justify his arrival at the gate. Following as close behind the priest
as he dared, he entered the thick darkness of the interior.
“Do you not use a lamp?” Shigoto asked as his foot stumbled against
something hard on the floor, as soon as the words came out he felt foolish. In
the darkness something scuttled noisily away.
“The birds tell me when the sun rises, and when it sets. I have no need
for any other light,” the priest answered simply. “You can sleep in here. When
the sun rises it will be another day.” Then without a further word he seemed to
disappear, leaving Shigoto alone with a silence that settled itself about him
as if it were a second skin.
At some point in the night he awoke, or thought that he had, but the
darkness was so complete that it was hard to tell whether his eyes were open or
not. He felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on his chest pressing his
shoulders down onto the floor. The air was filled with whispering sounds
jostling together in an abstract, haphazard fashion; each voice demanding his
attention, but the sounds were too indistinct to make out what was causing
them, or even what, if anything, they were trying to communicate to him. Just
as fear was rising like smoke in his heart, suddenly the sounds gathered
themselves together in unison and exited the room, leaving nothing but a light
breeze in their wake. ‘I must have been dreaming,’ he thought, now with the
pressure off his chest he sat up and rubbed his eyes with both hands. ‘This is
a strange place that I have found myself in,’ and he promised himself that with
the first light of day he would leave. He had just lain back again when a
brilliant light flooded into the room, radiance so bright he could not open his
eyes fully. “Who is there?” he called out.
In the centre of the room stood motionless a white heron, one tiny
sparkling black eye observing him intently. The light that illuminated the
space appeared to be emitting from the bird itself, though of the rest of the
room Shigoto could see nothing at all as it remained impenetrably dark as
before. Out of instinct he raised his hand up to his eyes to screen out the
intense luminosity, but it made no difference at all. Startled all the more, he
realised he could not see his hand immediately in front of him, though the
motionless heron he could make out clearly as if it were full daylight. The
heron lazily curved its neck back until its head and sharp beak were pointing
straight up into the air, then as it slowly lifted one thin leg from the floor
it opened its bill and emitted a cry so mournful and sad, so filled with a
longing at the edge cutting edge of pleasure and pain, that Shigoto could
hardly bear to witness it a moment longer. He screwed his eyes tight shut and
pushed his hands tight against his ears, but nothing he did could either shut
out the rising, nor could he diminish the clarity of the vision of the heron
now quivering like a leaf in a tempest. The sound rose in pitch and intensity
until Shigoto fell back to the floor as if he were but a raindrop falling into
the ocean.
When he came too again, the room he was lying in was softly illuminated
by the light of a new day. Sitting up Shigoto looked anxiously about him as if
expecting to find he still had the company of a heron. He was quite alone. He
rose quickly and gathered up his bundle of belongings. The battered and broken shoji screen was open and he
pushed it back enough so that he could step through the gap into the fresh air
of the morning. A light breeze ruffled the tall bamboo and the sounds of birds
filled the air. He took several deep breaths of the crisp clear air trying to
expunge the memory of the darkness.
“Good morning,” it was the elderly priest standing but a few paces
before him. “I trust you are well rested, you have slept well past dawn.”
Shigoto awkwardly shifted the roll in his arms, and ran his fingers through his
hair. “You are probably hungry, come and share what I have, it’s not much, but
you are welcome to it. Perhaps, being a strong, young man you could collect a
bucket of water from the well before you depart.”
"The farmers who live nearby leave me some food, and I offer
prayers for their well being,” the priest explained as they sat and chewed on
cold rice and fish. It tasted delicious to Shigoto. After he had eaten the
priest directed him to where the well was and Shigoto returned with a wooden
bucket full of water, he drank the sweet tasting water and taking some in his
cupped hands washed his face.
“I was wondering if there were any other tasks you may want me to do for
you, while I was here? Before I leave to be on my way again. To thank you for
letting me sleep here, that is.”
The priest laughed softly. “So, you are in a hurry to leave are you?”
“No. I meant maybe there are some jobs you need doing about the place.”
Shigoto shrugged. He did not want to mention the disturbed night he had passed.
“ To tidy up the garden for example. Jobs that you cannot manage to do
yourself.”
This time the priest laughed loudly. “You hear that my friends? He
thinks I need help in some way.” Shigoto looked about him, they seemed to be
quite alone. “There is something you can do while you are here. For yourself
that is. As for my needs, I have all the help I need,” again the priest
laughed. Then holding up a thin crooked finger that looked as dry as a twig he
pointed over to a thick stand of towering bamboos that had invaded the temple
precinct. “If you do not believe me, go take a look over there. Go on, take a
look for yourself.”
Slowly Shigoto got up and walked over in the direction of where the
priest had indicated. As he entered the thicket of bamboo the land rose gently
up, the ground covered by a soft bed of crisp leaves and above him the wind
rustled playfully among the fine textured bright green leaves. As soon as he
entered the area he saw them, hundreds of pieces of dark stone lay in every direction,
most of them had been set upright, though a number had toppled over and now lay
face down in the leaf litter. On each stone was carved a figure. Shigoto
recognized many as being Buddha-like figures, a crude halo framed their heads.
The carvings were simple but unmistakably filled with life. He moved deeper
into the forest, with each step he took more figures were revealed to him, soon
there were so many he could no longer count them all. Seated bodhisattvas in a
meditative posture, then other stones depicting only the heads of deities, each
figure’s face individual and unique, all of them smiling. Some of the stones
had eroded away so that only the bare traces of the craving now remained,
whereas others were very clear and distinct. Shigoto strode on through the
multitude climbing further up the slope, at the top he came upon a huge boulder
of the same dark granular stone. On one flank he could make out three figures
clearly depicting the Buddhist triad, he crouched before it and reaching out
his hand touched the cold stone surface, then after clapping his hands together
three ties he offered a prayer. He prayed for those he had left behind, and he
asked for the strength to complete the journey he was embarked upon. Standing
upright once more he walked around the stone, there directly to the rear of the
three Buddhas was another carving. It was a bird with a long neck, the body had
mainly eroded away, but he could see the distinctive S-shape of the neck
bending backwards, the small sleek head with a sharp beak open and pointing up
through the green canopy and towards the open sky above.
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