Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (5)

 

In August, I go to Koryu-ji temple at Uzumasa to shut myself up for days. I come upon two men's palanquins stopping in the road from Ichijo. They must be waiting for someone to catch up with them. When I pass by, they send an attendant with the first half of a tanka poem:

On our way to view the blossoms, we chance to see you—

A flower blooming along the path.

I am told that it would be awkward not to reply wittily with the latter half of the poem:

The flower you see is but one of thousands of wild autumn plants,

Ripening in the fields of this eighth month.

Ignoring them, I stay in the temple for seven days. I think of nothing but the route to the East and stop being lost in romantic fantasies. I pray to the Buddha, saying, "Let us meet again peacefully." I wish the Buddha should pity and grant my prayer.

It is winter. It rains all day. In the night, winds blow terribly and scatter the clouds. The winds clear the sky, and the moon becomes exquisitely bright. Seeing the pampas grasses near the house blown down by the heavy winds, I remember my sad situation:

Dead stalks of pampas grass,

Withered in midwinter depths,

Must long for the autumn days

Before the tempest blew them down.

A messenger arrives from the East. My father, Sugawara Takasue (972–?), writes:

"I made official visits to the shrines in Hitachi Province as the Governor. On my way, I passed a wide field with a beautiful river running through it. I found a beautiful grove, wishing I could show it to you. I asked the name of the grove. 'The Grove of Longing After Children' was the answer. Compared with my situation, I felt extremely sad. Alighting from my horse, I stood there for hours. I felt like this:"

Has the Grove of Longing After Children

Left its own behind, to grieve as I do?

Looking upon it,

I am filled with sorrow.

To say something in return will be sadder than to read that letter, but I reply:

Hearing how you yearn for me,

I feel the deep heartbreak

Of my father journeying East,

Leaving his child behind.

Thus, I spend days doing nothing. Why do I not think of making pilgrimages? It is because my mother is a person of an extremely antiquated mind, and she says, "Oh, it is simply terrifying to even think of visiting Hase-dera Temple in Hatsuse! What on earth would you do if you were ambushed by ruthless outlaws at Narasaka Hill? And Ishiyama-dera Temple? Heaven forbid! Crossing the Sekiyama Pass to Lake Biwa is utterly death-defying! As for Mount Kurama, it is frighteningly steep, as you well know. It would be absolute madness to take a fragile thing like you to such places! You shall not go anywhere until your father returns."

As my mother speaks this way and treats me like a nuisance, I can only go to and stay at Kiyomizu-dera Temple. However childish it might look to others, my habits of romantic indulgence are not dead yet, and I cannot fix my mind on religious thoughts as I am supposed to. It is in the equinoctial week, and there is a great tumult. It is so noisy that I am even afraid of it. When I doze off, I dream that a priest in blue garments with a loose brocade hood and brocade shoes is in the enclosure before the altar. He seems to be the intendant of the temple and says, "You are occupied with vain thoughts without knowing the unhappiness of your future," speaking indignantly before he goes behind the curtain. I awake startled, yet neither tell anyone what I have dreamt, nor think about it much.

My mother is sorry for not bringing me to Hase-dera Temple. Instead, she has a bronze mirror, one foot in diameter, cast and makes a monk take it for us to Hase-dera Temple in Hatsuse. Mother tells the monk to spend two or three days in the temple, especially praying that a dream might be vouchsafed about my future state. For that period, I am made to observe religious purity, abstaining from meat.

The monk comes back to tell the following:

"I was reluctant to return without having even a dream. I was afraid I could report nothing without a dream. After bowing many times and performing religious services, I went to sleep. There came out from behind the curtain a graceful, holy lady in beautiful garments. She, taking up the offered mirror, asked me if any letter was affixed to the mirror. I answered in the most respectful manner, 'There was no letter. I was told only to offer the mirror.' 'Strange!' she said. 'A letter is to be added. Look at what is mirrored here. It is a pity to see the image.' She wept bitterly. I saw the images of people turning over in lamentation. 'To see the images makes me sad, but to look at this.' She showed me another image. There, the bamboo screens were fresh green and many-coloured garments were revealed below the lower edges of them. Plum and cherry blossoms were in flower. Nightingales were singing from tree to tree. She said, 'It makes me happy to see the image.' I had such a dream."

I do not even listen to his story, nor question him as to how things appeared in the mirror.

I am not devout, but some people tell me to pray to the Goddess Amaterasu. At first, I used to wonder where she was, and if she was a Shinto Goddess or a Buddha. As I have grown older, I ask someone about her, and she says, "She is a goddess and is in Ise Province. The goddess is also worshipped by the Governor of Kii Province. Above all, she is worshipped at the sacred shrine within the Imperial Palace." I cannot, by any means, visit Ise. How can I bow before the Imperial shrine? I can never be allowed to go there. I have a helpless idea to pray to the celestial light.

A relative of mine becomes a Buddhist nun and enters Sugaku-in Temple. In winter, I send her a tanka poem:

Even my tears arise for your sake,

When I imagine the mountain village

Where the cold winter snowstorms

Will soon be fiercely raging.

She replies:

I seem to see your deep kindness,

As if it comes to find me

Through the dark, tangled thicket

Of the summer plants and leaves.

My father, Sugawara Takasue (972–1040?), who went down to Hitachi Province, comes back at last. He settles down temporarily at Nishiyama (West Hill) to alter the direction of his entry into Kyoto for a luckier omen according to Onmyodo, the Way of Yin and Yang, and we all go there to join him. We are filled with immense joy. As the moon shines brightly at night, we talk all through the night, and I compose:

In contrast to tonight’s pure delight,

How sorrowful was that autumn night,

When I feared our parting was for good,

And I wept in the deep solitude.

At this, my father sheds bitter tears and answers me with a tanka poem:

I once deeply disliked my life,

For my dreams had never come true.

But this joyful reunion today

Makes my fading life feel sweet anew.

My joy is boundless after waiting and waiting for the safe return of my father. Yet, my father says, "When I saw old and weak people leading their worldly lives, I found it ridiculous. Now, it is my turn to be old and to retire." As he says it with no lingering affection for the world, I feel quite helpless.

From our temporary dwelling in Nishiyama, the fields roll out wide and far toward the east. My eyes trace the sweeping crest of the distant eastern mountains, stretching from Mount Hiei in the north down to Mount Inari in the south. Bringing my gaze closer, there is Narabi Hill nearby in the foreground; its pine forest rustles so vividly it feels as if the sound is whispering right by my ear. Nestled between that hill and our dwelling, what are known as “rice fields” cascade up the hillside; the crisp clapping of the bird-scarers echoes from them, casting a lonely yet nostalgic countryside charm over me.