N THE LAND OF SUNLIGHT’S WAKING

Where the ancient kami dwell,

In the realm of the Mikado

On his Golden-Flower Throne,

At the Heian Era’s ending—

Age of courtly grace and splendour

When all arts and letters flourished

In the capital of Kyō—

Came a time of bitter battle

Pitting clans against each other

In a deathly, tragic struggle

For the primacy of power.

On one side, the noble Genji,

Also called the Minamoto,

Proud and valourous and righteous

But disgraced and scattered now

By their hated foe, the Heike,

Dreadful, crafty House of Taira,

Who took dominance by guile,

Seizing all the western lands.

Now one scion of the Genji,

Minamoto Yoshitsune,

Orphaned by his rebel father

When the Taira rose to power

Grown at long last into manhood,

Sworn to clear his family’s name,

Ventured finally to Kyoto,

Where the Heike clansmen ruled—

Hoping there to learn some secrets

Of his enemy’s position,

Gain some knowledge that could help him

In his pious, vengeful quest.

So the youthful prince of Genji

Made his way with cautious footsteps

Down the avenues of Kyoto—

Broad and spacious, straight as spear-shafts

But now only sparsely peopled

By some furtive few townspeople

Out for evening entertainment

In the dimming summer gloaming

Underneath a rising moon.

Moonlight glinted on his corslet

Wrought of finest lacquered leather

Held by cords of silk well-knotted

And with silver ornamented.

Clad in white he went a-walking

Glimmering, ghostly in the starlight

Swift and sure and light his footsteps

Straight and proud his noble posture

Like a forest spirit gliding

Out from underneath the pines.

He had heard a rumour lately

In a little wayside ryokan

Of a hothead mountain mystic

(Someone said he’d come from Hiei

But had quarrelled with his abbot)

Who had settled in the city,

Making mischief, starting squabbles,

Threatening noblemen’s retainers

Causing trouble for the Taira

In whatever ways he could.

City constables were cowards

In the face of this newcomer—

For they feared to lay a finger

On a man in holy orders

Even though he caused such chaos

Under ordered Taira rule.

Yoshitsune needed allies,

Needed men to fight beside him,

Faithful bannermen who’d follow

When he went to war at last,

And he thought this monk might aid him

Might become his sworn retainer

If approached with understanding,

Met with courtesy and cunning

And a wary, watchful eye.

As he walked, the prince of Genji

Played a bamboo flute at whiles

Softly blowing out the music

Of the wind among the branches

Bringing hints of rustic idylls

To the stern, confining sameness

Of the avenues of Kyoto—

Music learned in Hiraizumi

Where the prince had lately studied

Far away from clannish struggles

And from deadly politics.

OSHITSUNE, as he wandered,

Had no fear of recognition

Even here among the Heike—

When the foe had last beheld him,

He had been a boy of ten.

So he wandered, ever watchful,

Playing on his shakuhachi

Taking note of all he witnessed

In the quiet, darkening city.

City-dwellers gave no greeting,

Scarcely noticed him in passing,

As they went about their business—

Poets drinking in the taverns,

Nobles visiting their lovers,

Entertainers playing music

In the urban pleasure quarters—

So he paid them little mind.

Soon, he reached his destination,

Where across the Kamo River

Sturdy Gojo Bridge was settled

Arcing gently over water

Flowing lazy through the city

’Til it joined Katsuragawa

Past the southern end of town.

Here no lamplighters would venture

Since the monk had first descended

From his monastery fastness

On the slopes of Hiei’s mountain—

Come to grapple and to wrangle

With the Taira tyrant’s blades.

So with only moon- and starlight

Glancing coldly on the water

Yoshitsune strained his vision

As he sought his mountain man.

He at last descried a figure

Standing tall and broad before him

In the middle of the causeway

Moonlight shining on a forehead

Bald as any river pebble

And he knew he’d found his man!

He allowed himself a smile

As he ceased his idle fluting,

Tucking shakuhachi safely

In his belt beside his sword.

“Greetings to you, good obō-san!”

Called the youthful prince of Genji,

“I would test my blade against you

If you have the time to spare.”

UT he strode, the monk so mighty

Laughing on the bridge, and fearsome

Calling out to mock this challenge,

Mock this prince of Minamoto!

Standing like a wargod, waiting,

Towering like a gnarled cedar,

Rolling eyes and rumbled taunting,

Cried this monk on Gojo Bridge:

“Who is this who comes to meet me?

Comes to make himself my foeman?

Nine and ninety swords I’ve taken,

Won by dueling with great masters,

Hundreds more, nine hundred others

Have I taken from young striplings

Callow, foolish, mewling infants!

What’s one more to make a thousand,

Taken from another coward?

Saito Musashibo Benkei

Fears no man, nor devil hell-spawned!

What’s this pretty princeling boasting?

What hopes he to gain in fighting?

Fame and honour for his family—

Doubtless Taira scum they be!

Or a record of some victory

For to show his master then,

For to win a higher ranking

In the company of clansmen?

Folly! All these petty trifles,

Folly like the rest I’ve done with!

Unenlightened wastrel children,

Ignorant of Buddha’s teaching!”

Calmly Yoshitsune answered,

Measuring his words with care,

Showing not a sign of worry,

As he met the giant’s gaze.

“I have heard the rumours of you

Spreading through the country lately.

People say you are a goblin,

Born in wild mountain country!

All I see here is a ruffian,

Stealing swords and frightening women.

As for taking this blade from me,

I’m afraid I can’t part with it.

If you want it, try and claim it!

—But I won’t just let you have it.”

Benkei, with a fearsome bellow,

Drew his sword with sweeping gesture,

Lunging like a striking tiger,

Taking strides as long as horses’,

Closing with a dreadsome quickness

On the prince of Minamoto.

Yoshitsune drew his weapon,

Flashing in the pearly moonlight,

But assumed no warding posture

As the massive monk drew near.

Rather, swiftly darting forward,

Yoshitsune countered boldly

Running out to meet the giant

With a deft and careful blow.

Benkei sprang back, shouting, cursing,

“Even gods dare not oppose me!”

Startled by this nimble counter,

Benkei swung with graceless fury

For the prince’s crown to sunder—

But again, his foe was ready,

Ducking out beneath his blade.

With a crack the sword struck deeply

In the bridge’s wooden railing,

Fast embedded there, unyielding,

As the monk tried to dislodge it.

Yoshitsune spun and kicked him

With a strength his size belying,

Lashing out to strike the giant

With precisely measured skill.

Benkei staggered from the impact,

Reeling back, exhaling sharply,

Gasping, raging, full of wonder

At the prince of Minamoto.

Benkei’s sword flew from his fingers,

Slipped away and harmless, clattered,

To the cobblestones beneath him.

Dropping like a stone to catch it,

Yoshitsune snatched the weapon,

Shouting with a piercing focus,

Leaping back and bounding upwards,

Bounding up the wall beside them,

Swinging up to stand atop it,

There to stare down at his foe.

Benkei shook his head and, blinking,

Gazed in disbelief and anger

At the Genji prince’s vantage

High above him on the wall,

Half-suspecting him a devil

Through astonishment and pain.

“Now hear this, you lawless scoundrel!”

Yoshitsune called down to him,

“I’ll not tolerate your foolish,

Churlish tricks and petty thieving.

I should keep your sword as payment

For the trouble you have caused me,

But I’d hate for you to think that

I had need of such a trinket.”

Saying this he took the weapon,

Braced it up against the wall-top,

Bent it out of shape, and careless,

Cast it down before his foe.

ILENTLY the monk stood, seething,

Staring at his mangled weapon,

Till at last, he stooped to take it,

Bent it straight again by hand.

Sullenly he glanced above him,

Where the prince still, hawk-like, waited.

Bitterly, he swore to kill him,

When he ventured down again.

Yoshitsune smiled wryly,

From the safety of the wall-top,

Smiled cheekily at Benkei

As he taunted him in turn.

“I have heard so many stories,

Of the monks of Hiei Mountain,

How those monks are so ferocious—

Gods, or monsters, more than mortals!

I am sorely disappointed,

If indeed you hail from Hiei,

For in truth you seem no better

Than some hairy northern knave!”

With a laugh he sprang down lightly

From his high perch on the wall-top,

But the giant monk was waiting,

And he lunged with savage quickness,

Lashing out with Hiei’s cunning,

And a brutal, bestial power.

But the Genji prince perceived it,

Saw, impossibly, the danger,

When the fatal blow was striking,

When the blade was slicing toward him,

Cutting through the air, and whistling,

As it carved an arc of anger,

Splitting through the river-fog.

Just before the blade could reach him,

Genji’s prince recalled his learning,

In a flash, recalled the teachings,

Secrets of the Middle Kingdom,

Taught by tengu in the mountains,

In his boyhood in Kurama.

With a sudden cry he halted,

Midway through his earthward plummet,

Like a dragonfly he halted—

For an instant, but enough.

Out he lashed with both his feet, then,

First with one, and then the other,

Squarely striking Benkei’s face and

Leaping from him back to safety,

Kicking off as from a hillock,

Landing on his perch again.

For a moment there was silence,

As the two surveyed each other—

Benkei panting, awestruck, speechless,

Vision swimming, sounds all ringing,

Feeling more of shock than pain,

Yoshitsune only winded,

Shaken by the sudden effort

Of the strange and secret art.

There they paused, for just a moment—

Long enough for understanding.

Turning then, the prince of Genji

Disappeared into the darkness,

Running on the rooftops, laughing

With the lightness of a bird.

N the evening after Benkei

Battled with the prince of Genji,

Worshipers from many places

Came to fill Kiyomizu-dera—

Temple of the goddess Kannon

Bodhisattva of compassion—

Thronging in the hall at sunset

Listening with prayerful reverence

To the chanting of the clerics

As they sang their evening office,

Reading sutras out with care.

Benkei still was in a dudgeon

After his humiliation—

All the night and day he’d brooded,

Pacing like an angry tiger,

Scheming how to teach a lesson

To the prince of Minamoto.

Now he waited by the temple

Hoping there to see his quarry

Going in to worship there.

Though he watched each passing figure

Scowlingly, with bristling eyebrows

Taking note of height and figure

Straining to discern his foe,

Benkei never saw the swordsman

There among the temple crowd.

When at last he turned, disgusted

From the great gate of Kiyomizu,

Ready to give up his spying

And retire for the evening,

Benkei heard a distant fluting

Faint and sweet upon the breezes

Elegant and strange and winsome,

Sounding with a northern note.

“Here at last!” said Benkei, grinning,

“Surely that’s no other piper

Than the scamp from last night’s tussle—

No one else could play so well!”

Benkei paused before the gateway,

As the blood within him quickened

Muttering a prayer to Kannon

Ere he went upon his way.

“This great shrine was consecrated

By the Sakanoue shogun

To the all-compassionate Kannon—

By the truth illuminated

But to service dedicated,

Vowed to answer all petitions

While in three and thirty guises

Walking in the world of mortals,

Perfect bliss kindly deferring

In the service of mankind.

“Kannon promises good fortune

To all supplicants who enter

In the spacious temple precincts

For to call upon her name.

I don’t ask for luck, great Kannon—

Simply let me take that sword!”

Saying this, he squared his shoulders,

Wide apart his feet he planted,

Watching with renewed attention

For the coming of his foe.

Meanwhile Yoshitsune halted

On his way up to the temple—

Suddenly, and without warning

Clutched by subtle apprehension.

With a wary eye he squinted

At the hilltop temple’s gateway.

Seeing there the bulk of Benkei—

Silhouetted by the the sunset

Armed with sword and naginata,

Clad in cuirass black as onyx,

Waiting for the prince of Genji—

Yoshitsune gripped the pommel

Of his cherished heirloom sword.

“Well!” said Benkei, smiling grimly,

“If it isn’t last night’s stranger,

Whom I fought against at Tenjin!

Will you give your sword, or won’t you,

To complete my fine collection?”

“You may ask until you’re weary,”

Said the prince of Minamoto,

“But I’ll never turn it over.

If you want it, fight me for it!”

“Still, this boasting!” Benkei shouted,

Charging down the hill and roaring

Incoherent, bearish curses

As he swept his naginata

In a furious crescent arc.

Yoshitsune, deftly stepping

With discouraging adroitness

Parried Benkei’s longer weapon,

Batting it aside with ease.

Benkei grimaced as he realised

“I could never best this fellow!”

But aloud, he only growled.

“Much as I would fain continue,”

Said the Genji prince politely,

“I have made a vow to Kannon.”

With no further word to Benkei

Yoshitsune sheathed his weapon,

Stepped around and resolutely

Carried onward toward the temple.

Benkei stood alone and muddled,

In the middle of the pavement

Clutching at his naginata,

Frowning at the gateway, thinking

“I have let him slip away!”

Yoshitsune was reflecting

As he ducked within the temple,

What a bold and doughty comrade

Benkei could become if bested

And convinced to join his venture.

“Questing all alone is tiresome!”

Thought the prince of Minamoto,

“If this yamabushi tarries

Till the dawn outside the temple

I’ll disarm and lightly wound him—

Then I’ll make him swear to serve me!

I could get on so much better

With so brave a man beside me.

Glad I am I heard the rumour

Of this wild mountain monk!”

NSUSPECTING, Benkei followed,

Still intent upon the weapon.

As he passed within the Great Hall—

Filled with folk whose murmured voices

Uttered worshipful devotions,

Lit by candlelight reflected

Off the gold of many statues—

He discerned a voice familiar

That was reverently reciting

from the old, familiar prologue

Of the hallowed Lotus Sutra.

“That’s the voice of my opponent!”

Benkei thought with satisfaction.

Laying down his naginata

On the threshold of the chamber,

Rudely pushing through the people,

Saying, “Step aside, you idlers,

I’m a warden of this temple!”

Benkei strode across the floorboards

Till he reached the sutra’s source.

As he passed, the people quavered,

Saying, “What a fearsome monk!”

Benkei found himself astonished

When he stood behind the chanter,

For instead of a young warrior

Here was one dressed as a lady,

With a cloak over the head!

Now confused, but still determined,

Not to be put off so simply,

Benkei prodded at the figure

Poking deftly with his sword-sheath

As he cleared his throat to speak.

“Whether page or highborn lady,”

Benkei gruffly, stiffly started,

“I must ask that you move over—

I’m a big man, even kneeling,

And I’ve many prayers to utter

Ere this evening has its ending!”

When the figure failed to answer,

Or indeed, show any interest

In this boorish interruption,

Benkei hissed in irritation—

And then shoved with all his strength.

Yoshitsune, quick as lightning—

For the prince it was, in truth—

Rolled away with neat precision,

Causing force to dissipate

In an expert application

Of his inner martial strength.

“What a pest!” said Yoshitsune

With an air of indignation,

“Such a scruffy-looking beggar

Could as well pray in a cottage

Or beneath a spreading maple

And be heard sufficiently!

Here within Kiyomizu-dera

Pious folk and dignitaries,

Noble ministers and courtiers

From the high imperial palace

Gather humbly for devotions

And don’t like to be disturbed.

What’s the meaning of this ruckus

You’ve created by intruding?

I suggest you toddle off.”

Benkei shook his head, retorting,

“That is most unfriendly of you,

Since you’ve known me since last night!”

Saying this he sprang up nimbly—

To the crowd’s appalled displeasure—

Leaped across two mats and landed

By the side of Yoshitsune.

Seizing up the prince’s sutra,

Benkei flipped it open, saying,

“What a very handsome copy—

Is it yours, or someone else’s?”

Yoshitsune made no answer

So the monk began reciting,

Saying, “Come and read it with me!”

Benkei once had been quite famous

As the finest sutra reader

In Mount Hiei’s Western Compound.

Likewise, Genji’s prince had training

As a page on Mount Kurama.

On this night each found his equal

As the sacred words resounded

Flowing forth from each like sake—

Flowing with the Buddha’s wisdom

Flowing, like the wheel of Dharma!

Clear and sonorous and saintly.

First one read and then the other,

Sweet antiphonies creating

As the pilgrim crowd fell silent

Pious prayers no longer whispering

Little bells no longer ringing—

As they listened, struck with awe.

After reading for a while

Yoshitsune rose up, saying,

“I must speak to an acquaintance.

We shall meet again, sometime.”

Benkei shot up swift beside him

Anxious not to lose his quarry

Anxious for the sword he wanted

Not to leave his sight again.

“I was just about to hurry

Out myself—let’s go together!”

Said the giant monk abruptly—

And with that he started forward,

Pulling Yoshitsune with him

Pulling him across the floor mats

Lurching, stumbling in his hurry

As they headed toward the South Gate—

Framed with mighty cypress timbers,

Looking out on well-worn cobbles

White beneath a moon new-risen

As beneath new-fallen snow.

When they reached it, he continued:

“I’m quite earnest in my asking

For that sword you carry with you.

It’s so fine—I really want it!

Won’t you kindly give it to me?”

“I can’t do that,” came the answer

From the prince of Minamoto,

“It’s an heirloom, very ancient,

Given to me by my father,

For whose memory I battle

And whose name I strive to honour

With each stroke of that dear blade.”

“Well then, let me fight you for it!”

Fervently, the monk insisted,

“Let me win it in a contest

Fair and square, by timeworn custom,

On our sacred warrior’s honour!”

“Very well,” said Yoshitsune,

With a sigh of resignation—

Knowing well his own position,

Never fearing for his keepsake—

And the warriors drew their blades.

RISKLY now they took up stances

Circling round with wary glances

While each sought for some advantage

In their game of flashing steel.

All around them, folk were gathered

Shocked, appalled, perplexed, affronted!

Someone called in consternation

From this crowd of temple-goers,

“What’s the cause of this commotion?

Fancy, fighting in a temple—

Never mind this unfair contest!

Leave the boy alone, you brute!”

Benkei paid this no attention,

Focused fully on his target

Most unmonkishly committed

To his avaricious aim!

All at once, the Prince of Genji

Cast aside his woman’s mantle—

With a flourish let it flutter

Off his shoulders in a flash.

Now he stood, unveiled in splendour—

Burnished corselet gleaming, glorious,

Finished like a frozen fire

Silken tunic, damask-patterned,

White as snow beneath the starlight

Silver fittings finely fashioned

By the smiths of Hiraizumi

Ribbons red as Torii gateposts

Tying back his generous sleeves.

Here, revealed, stood Yoshitsune

Prince and heir to Yoshitomo

Bearer of a noble lineage,

Adept of a deep tradition

Guarded by the fearsome Tengu

High on mystic Mount Kurama

On its dreadful, dreaming slopes.

Now bystanders gasped in wonder

At this striking revelation

Crying out with fresh excitement

As they saw the scene anew.

This no longer seemed a common

Ruffian picking on a weakling,

But a strange and wondrous contest

Fought by heroes out of tales!

Ladies, children, nuns, and nobles

Scrambled now for better vantage—

Someone slipped from the veranda

In the hasty hurly-burly,

Landing sprawled out on the cobbles

In an unbecoming tumble!

Meanwhile wardens shut and bolted

All the doors into the temple

To contain the two contenders

And preserve the place from harm.

OW the prince and monk were dueling

Well in earnest, fencing ably

Trading expert blows and parries

As their steady, even footwork

Carried them across the courtyard

To Kiyomizu’s dancing platform,

Where at festivals musicians

Made the holy, ancient music

Made the songs the gods had taught them

In the mythic days of yore.

Now, as then, the throng of people

Walked around in fascination,

Walked like worshipers engaged in

Solemn circumambulation.

“Who will win?” a young man shouted,

“Will the giant gain the victory?”

“Not a chance!” called out a greybeard

With a practiced eye for swordplay,

“He’s outclassed but doesn’t know it—

He’s already getting tired.

That young fellow’s got him beaten—

He just has to wear him out!”

Hearing this outright dismissal

Uttered with such frank conviction

Benkei felt his spirit falter—

Felt his boldness start to weaken

Felt his warrior’s heart grow heavy

But he doggedly fought on!

Now his swordsmanship turned careless—

Jerking, heaving strikes like axe-blows

Chopping cordwood, clearing thickets

More than fighting with finesse.

Suddenly, the Prince of Genji

Dropped his sword and drew a fan out

From the obi at his middle—

With a crack he flashed it open,

Swiftly snapped it shut again—

Like a hummingbird he darted

Under Benkei’s hacking onslaught

Lunging with his arm extended

Drawing on the Tengu secrets

Nimbly striking with precision

At the point where lacquered plating

Left a gap in Benkei’s cuirass

Just beneath his upraised arm.

As he felt the tell-tale cracking

Of a sudden costal sundring

Benkei’s breath escaped his body

Like a rushing, furious windstorm,

Bulging eyes like Bodhidharma’s

Gazed in outrage at his rival,

Gazed with eyes uncomprehending—

In an instant he’d been beaten,

By a folding lacquer fan!

With a grunt, he dropped his weapon,

Clutched at where his rib had broken,

Sank dejectedly to kneel at

Yoshitsune’s sandaled feet.

Cheers and shouts burst from the people

Gathered round to watch the contest,

Knowing they had seen a marvel

Long to be remembered here!

Now the prince of Genji smiled,

Put away his fan with care,

Stooped to pluck his heirloom sword from

Where he’d dropped it at the last.

He regarded his opponent

With a gaze direct and cordial,

Now respectfully he nodded,

And with courtesy, he spoke.

“Ever since we met last evening,

You have had a misconception

As regards my name and family—

I should like to set it straight.

First, you thought I was a Heike,

But you never asked for my name,

Though at once you told me yours.

Let me clarify the matter

Ere our converse carries further:

I’m a loyal son of Genji—

Minamoto Yoshitsune,

Youngest son of Yoshitomo,

Murdered hero of our clan.

I assure you, worthy Benkei,

I bear no love for the Taira,

But am sworn to rid this country

Of their foul, pernicious rule.”

“What say you?” asked Yoshitsune,

“Will you follow as my liege-man?

Will you join me as retainer

In my quest against the Taira—

Serve beside me in the battle

To restore the Genji’s glory?

Serve beside me as I seek to

Make our homeland whole again?”

ENKEI’s mind was in a tangle

When the prince had started speaking

Now, illumination pierced him

Like a sudden, sharp, satōri!

Clear as sunlight now his path was,

Clear as sunlight on the meadow

Clear as sunlight chasing storm clouds

From the brilliant, endless heavens!

He would follow Yoshitsune

Through the gates of dread Jigoku—

No more quiet meditation

In a monastery cloister

Meant for meeker men than Benkei,

Not so wild or impulsive—

Here, at last, he’d found a master

In whose service he could flourish!

Now an unaccustomed smile

Crept across his wondering face,

And almost he started laughing—

But then felt his ribs, and winced.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded,

Benkei slumped down to the ground,

And from this abject position

He called up to his new lord.

“This is karma!” he said simply,

As he nodded his ascent.

“I will serve you till I perish,

Or until your quest is done.”

Soon the gathered pilgrims scattered

Since the show had reached its ending—

To their homes, or back to praying

In the lamplit temple hall.

Yoshitsune hoisted Benkei

From the place where he had fallen,

Then, before the sun had risen,

Went with him to Yamashina

Where they waited, while he mended

And together made their plans.

HAT is how, O Gentle Reader,

Yoshitsune’s bravest comrade

Came to enter in his service

At the outset of his journey.

Benkei followed his new master

Faithful as his own dear shadow,

Doing gallant deeds unnumbered

In the war against the Heike.

Three years later, at the ending

He it was who, ever loyal,

Stood and fell beside his master

By the swift Koromogawa.