Characteristics of Indian Literature

There are three observable characteristics of Indian Literature.

1. Indian literature is based on piety, a deeply  religious spirit.

• The oldest know literature in India is the Vedas. According to Hindu tradition, the Vedas are apauruṣeya “not of human agency”, are supposed to have been directly revealed, and thus are called śruti (“what is heard”). This contains hymns and prayers for gods.
• Indians believe that a knowledge of gods and a strong belief in Hinduism is necessary to save mankind.

2. Indian literary masterpieces are written in epic form, corresponds to the great epochs in the history of India.

• The Ramayana and the Mahabharata are the most important epics of India; the latter is the longest epic in the world.

3. Medieval Indian literature the earliest works in many of the languages were sectarian, designed to advance or to celebrate some unorthodox regional belief. 

• Examples are theCaryapadas in Bengali, Tantric verses of the 12th century, and the Lilacaritra (circa 1280), in Marathi

 (taken from: http://mskdjindianlit.wordpress.com/indian-literature/characteristics-of-indian-literature/)

The Japanese Tea Ceremony

The Japanese tea ceremony is called Chanoyu, Sado or simply Ocha in Japanese. It is a choreographic ritual of preparing and serving Japanese green tea, called Matcha, together with traditional Japanese sweets to balance with the bitter taste of the tea. Preparing tea in this ceremony means pouring all one’s attention into the predefined movements. The whole process is not about drinking tea, but is about aesthetics, preparing a bowl of tea from one’s heart. The host of the ceremony always considers the guests with every movement and gesture. Even the placement of the tea utensils is considered from the guests view point (angle), especially the main guests called the Shokyaku. (this post was taken from the internet)

The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (ON WORK)

Then a ploughman said, “Speak to us of Work.”
And he answered, saying:
You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life’s procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth’s furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born,
And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life,
And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life’s inmost secret.
But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.
You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.
And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge,
And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge,
And all knowledge is vain save when there is work,
And all work is empty save when there is love;
And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.
And what is it to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.
Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, “he who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet.”
But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;
And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man’s hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distils a poison in the wine.
And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man’s ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night. (this post was taken from the internet)

 

The Soul of the Great Bell by Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904)

The water-clock marks the hour in the Tachung sz’, in the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the metal monster—the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the sacred Fa–hwa–King, from the chapters of the holy Ling–yen–King! Hear the great bell responding!—how mighty her voice, though tongueless! KO–NGAI! All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas quiver with desire to speak. KO–NGAI—all the green-and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! KO–NGAI!—What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-coloured tongues! And after each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan, and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense tone faints away in broken whispers of silver, as though a woman should whisper, “Hiai!” Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh five hundred years—Ko–Ngai: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring of “Hiai!” And there is not a child in all the many-coloured ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story of the great bell, who cannot tell you why the great bell says Ko–Ngai and Hiai!

Now this is the story of the great bell in the Tachung sz’, as the same is related in the Pe–Hiao–Tou–Choue, written by the learned Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.

Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the “Illustrious” or Ming dynasty, commanded the worthy official Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred li. And he further ordained that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass, and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face and the great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should be suspended in the centre of the imperial capital to sound through all the many-coloured ways of the City of Pe-King.

Therefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for the alloy, and treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. And they laboured exceedingly, like giants neglecting only rest and sleep and the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of Heaven.

But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labour and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had rebelled one against the other—the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard and was angry, but spake nothing.

A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still the metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all the labour had to be repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written upon lemon-coloured silk and sealed with the seal of the dragon, containing these words:

“From the Mighty Young–Lo, the Sublime Tait–Sung, the Celestial and August, whose reign is called ‘Ming,’ to Kouan–Yu the Fuh–yin: Twice thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to place in thee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!”

Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness whose name—Ko-Ngai—was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home desolate by her absence; and when she had seen the awful yellow missive, sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for her father’s sake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for thinking of her parent’s danger, until she had secretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so obtained had hastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what means her father might be saved from the peril impending over him. So the astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined the signs of the Zodiac—the Hwang–tao, or Yellow Road—and consulted the table of the Five Hin, or Principles of the Universe, and the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made answer to her, saying: “Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the metals in their fusion.” So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart; but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what she had done.

At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a platform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of liquefied metal. All the workmen wrought at their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold, and the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal to cast.

But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a bird’s song above the great thunder of the fires—“For thy sake, O my father!” And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and spattered monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the earthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-coloured fires, and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders and with mutterings.

Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away, and they could bear him like one dead to his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers—the shoe of her beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad.

But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon and perfect in form, and wonderful in colour above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell, reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name, the name of Ko-Ngai.

And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “Hiai!” And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence, but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of “Hiai!” then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-coloured ways of Pe-King whisper to their little ones: “Listen! that is Ko–Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko–Ngai calling for her shoe!” (this post was taken from the internet)

The Cricket Boy

 

 

 

 

 

 Then they heard about a hunchbacked fortune teller who was visitingthe village.Cheng Ming’s wife went to see him. The fortune teller gave her apiece of paperwith a picture on it. It was a pavilion with a jiashan (rockgarden) behind it. Onthe bushes by the jiashan sat a fat male cricket. Besideit, however, lurked alarge toad, ready to catch the insect with its long,elastic tongue. When the wifegot home, she showed the paper to herhusband. Cheng Ming sprang up and jumped to the floor, forgetting the painin his buttocks.“This is the fortune teller’shint at the location where I can find aperfect cricket to accomplish my task!” heexclaimed.“But we don’t have a pavilion in our village,” his wife re mindedhim.“Well, take a closer look and think. Doesn’t the temple on the east sideof our village have a rock garden? That must be it.” So saying, Cheng Minglimpedto the temple with the support of a make shift crutch. Sure enough,he saw thecricket, and the toad squatting nearby in the rock garden at theback of thetemple. He caught the big, black male cricket just before thetoad got hold of it.Back home, he carefully placed the cricket in a jar he hadprepared for it andstowed the jar away in a safe place. “Everything will beover tomorrow,” he gavea sigh of relief and went to tell his best friends inthe village the goodnews.Cheng Ming’s nine-year-old son was very curious. Seeing his fatherwasgone, he took the jar and wanted to have a peek at the cricket. Hewasremoving the lid carefully, when the big cricket jumped out andhoppedaway. Panicked, the boy tried to catch the fleeing cricket with his hands,butin a flurry, he accidentally squashed the insect when he finally got hold of it.“Good heavens! What’re you going to say to your father when hecomesback?” the mother said in distress and dread. Without a word, the boywent outof the room, tears in his eyes.Cheng Ming became distraught when he saw thedead cricket. Hecouldn’t believe that all his hopes had been dashed in a second.He lookedaround for his son, vowing to teach the little scoundrel a good lesson.Hesearched inside and outside the house, only to locate him in a well atthecorner of the court yard. When he fished him out, the boy was already dead. The father’s fury instantly gave way to sorrow. The grieved parents laid theirsonon the kang and lamented over his body the entire night.As Cheng Ming wasdressing his son for burial the next morning, he feltthe body still warm.Immediately he put the boy back on the kang, hopingthat he would revive.Gradually the boy came back to life, but to his parents’dismay, he wasunconscious, as if he were in a trance. The parents grieved again for the loss of their son. Suddenly theyheard a cricket chirping. The couple traced the sound toa small cricket onthe door step. The appearance of the cricket, however, dashedtheir hopes,for it was very small. “Well, it’s better than nothing,” Cheng Mingthought.He was about to catch it, when it jumped nimbly on to a wall, cheepingathim. He tip toed to ward it, but it showed no sign of fleeing. Instead,whenCheng Ming came a few steps closer, the little cricket jumped onto his

 

 

chest. Though small, the cricket looked smart and energetic. Cheng Mingplanned totake it to the village head. Uncertain of its capabilities, ChengMing could not goto sleep. He wanted to put the little cricket to the testbefore sending it to thevillage head. The next morning, Cheng Ming went to a young man from a richfamilyin his neighborhood, having heard him boasting about an “invincible”cricketthat he wanted to sell for a high price. When the young man showedhiscricket, Cheng Ming hesitated, because his little cricket seemed no matchforthis gigantic insect. To fight this monster would be to condemn his dwarf todeath.“There’s no way my little cricket could survive a confrontation withyourbig guy,” Cheng Ming said to the young man, holding his jar tight. Theyoungman goaded and taunted him. At last, Cheng Ming decided to take arisk. “Well,it won’t hurt to give a try. If the little cricket is a good-for-nothing,what’s the useof keeping it anyway?” he thought.When they put the two crickets together in a jar, Cheng Ming’s smallinsect seemed transfixed. No matter how the young manprodded it to fight,it simply would not budge. The young man burst into aguffaw, to the greatembarrassment of Cheng Ming. As the young man spurredthe little cricketon, it sud denly seemed to have run out of patience. With greatwrath, itcharged the giant opponent head on. The sudden burst of actionstunnedboth the young man and Cheng Ming. Before the little creature planteditssmall but sharp teeth into the neck of the big cricket, the terrified youngmanfished the big insect out of the jar just in time and called off the contest. Thelittle cricket chirped victoriously, and Cheng Ming felt exceedingly happyandproud.Cheng Ming and the young man were commenting on thelittlecricket’s extraordinary prowess, when a big rooster rushed over to peckatthe little cricket in the jar. The little cricket hopped out of the jar in timetododge the attack. The rooster then went for it a second time, butsuddenlybegan to shake its head violently, screaming in agony. This suddenturn of events baffled Cheng Ming and the onlookers. When they took a closerlook,they could not believe their eyes: The little cricket was gnawing ontherooster’s bloody comb. The story of a cricket fighting a rooster soonspreadthroughout the village and beyond. The next day, Cheng Ming, along withthe village head, sent the cricketto the magistrate and asked for a test fight withhis master cricket, but themagistrate re fused on the ground that Cheng Ming’scricket was too small.“I don’t think you have heard its rooster-fighting story,”Cheng Mingproclaimed with great pride. “You can’t judge it only by itsappearance.”“Nonsense, how can a cricket fight a rooster?” asked themagistrate.He ordered a big rooster brought to his office, thinking that ChengMingwould quit telling his tall tales when his cricket became the bird’s snack. Thebattle between the little cricket and the rooster ended with the same result: The rooster sped away in great pain, the little cricket chirping triumphantlyon its

 

 

heels. The magistrate was first astonished and then pleased, thinking that hefinallyhad the very insect that could win him the emperor’s favor. He had agoldencage manufactured for the little cricket. Placing it cautiously in thecage, he tookit to the emperor. The emperor pitted the little cricket against all his veterancombat antcrickets, and it defeated them one by one. What amused theemperor mostwas that the little creature could even dance to the tune of hiscourt music!Extremely pleased with the magic little creature, the emperorrewarded themagistrate liberally and promoted him to a higher position. Themagistrate,now a governor, in turn exempted Cheng Ming from his levies in cashas wellas crickets.A year later, Cheng Ming’s son came out of his stupor. He satup andrubbed his eyes, to the great surprise and joy of his parents. The firstwordshe uttered to his jubilant parents were, “I’m so tired and hungry.” After ahotmeal, he told them, “I dreamed that I had become a cricket, and I fought alotof other crickets. It was such fun! You know what? The greatest fun I hadwas myfight with a couple of roosters!

The Story of the Aged Mother

 

 

Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and hisaged, widowed mother. They owned a bit of land which supplied them withfood, and their humble were peaceful and happy.Shinano was governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had agreat and cowardly shrinking from anything suggestive of failing health andstrength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entireprovince was given strict orders to immediately put to death all agedpeople. Those were barbarous days, and the custom of abandoning oldpeople to die was not common. The poor farmer loved his aged mother withtender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But no one everthought a second time about obeying the mandate of the governor, so withmany deep hopeless sighs, the youth prepared for what at that time wasconsidered the kindest mode of death. Just at sundown, when his day’s work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice which is principal food for poor, cooked and dried it, andtying it in a square cloth, swung and bundle around his neck along with agourd filled with cool, sweet water. Then he lifted his helpless old mother tohis back and stated on his painful journey up the mountain. The road waslong and steep; the narrowed road was crossed and reclosed by many pathsmade by the hunters and woodcutters. In some place, they mingled in aconfused puzzled, but he gave no heed. One path or another, it matterednot. On he went, climbing blindly upward towards the high bare summit of what is know as Obatsuyama, the mountain of the “abandoning of aged”. The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they noted the recklesshastening from one path to another, and her loving heart grew anxious. Herson did not know the mountain’s many paths and his return might be one of danger, so she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs frombrushes as they passed, she quietly dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that they climbed, the narrow path behind them was dotted atfrequently intervals with tiny piles of twigs. At last the summit was reached.Weary and heart sick, the youth gently released his burden and silentlyprepared a place of comfort as his last duty to the loved one. Gatheringfallen pine needle, he made a soft cushion and tenderly lifting his oldmother therein, he wrapped her padded coat more closely about thestooping shoulders and with tearful eyes and an aching heart said farewell. The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her lastinjunction. “Let not thine eyes be blinded, my son.” She said. “The mountain

 

 

road is full of dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path which holds thepiles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar way farther down”. Theson’s surprised eyes looked back over the path, then at the poor old,shriveled hands all scratched and soiled by their work of love. His heartsmote him and bowing to the grounds, he cried aloud: “oh, Honorablemother, thy kindness thrusts my heart! I will not leave thee. Together wewill follow the path of twigs, and together we will die!”Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed no) and hasteneddown the path, through the shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut inthe valley. Beneath the kitchen floor was a walled closet for food, which wascovered and hidden from view. There the son his mother, supplying her witheverything needful and continually watching and fearing. Time passed, andhe was beginning to feel safe when again the governor sent forth heraldsbearing an unreasonable order, seemingly as a boast of his power. Hisdemand was that his subject should present him with a rope of ashes. Theentire province trembled with dread. The order must be obeyed yet who inall Shinano could make a rope of ashes?One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hiddenmother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think. I will think” On the second day shetold him what to do. “Make rope twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch itupon a row of flat stones and burn it there on the windless night.” He calledthe people together and did as she said and when the blaze died, beholdupon the stones with every twist and fiber showing perfectly. Lay a rope of whitehead ashes. The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, buthe demanded to know where he had obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!”cried the farmer, “the truth must be told!” and with deep bows he relatedhis story. The governor listened and then meditated in silence. Finally helifted his head, “Shinano needs more than strength of youth,” he saidgravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-known saying, “With thecrown of snow, there cometh a wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law wasabolished, and custom drifted into as far a past that only legends remain

The Two Brothers

© Copyright 1997, Jim Loy

---

Note: The Two Brothers is an ancient Egyptian story. The original papyrus is in the British Museum.

---

There were once two brothers, Anpu was the older, Bata was the younger. Anpu had a wife, and owned a farm. Bata came to live with Anpu and his wife. Bata worked hard for his brother, plowing the fields, and harvesting the grain, and doing many other tasks. He was very good at his work. The animals would even speak to him.

One day Anpu announced that it was time to plow the fields and sow the seeds. And he instructed his brother to take sacks of seed out to the fields. They spent the next few days plowing and sowing seeds.

Then Anpu sent Bata back for more seeds. At Anpu’s house, Bata found Anpu’s wife fixing her hair. Bata said, “Get up and get me some seed, Anpu is waiting.”

Anpu’s wife replied, “Get the seed yourself. I’m busy with my hair.”

Bata found a large basket, and filled it with seed. And, he carried the basket through the house.

Anpu’s wife said, “What is the weight of that basket you carry.”

Bata replied, “There are three sacks of wheat and two of barley.”

She said, “How strong you are, and handsome. Stay with me and let us make love. And Anpu will never know.”

Bata replied in horror, “Anpu is like a father to me, and you are like a mother to me. I won’t tell anyone of the evil words that you have said. And never let me hear them again.” He picked up his basket, and rushed out into the fields.

When Anpu got back home, he realized that something was wrong. No fire had been lit, no food had been cooked, and his wife was in bed moaning and weeping. Her clothes were torn, and she seemed to be bruised. Anpu demanded that she tell him what had happened.

She replied, “When your brother came to fetch the seed, he saw me fixing my hair. He tried to make love to me. And I refused, saying, ‘Is not Anpu like a father to you? And am I not like a mother to you?’ And he became angry, and beat me. And he said that he would hurt me more if I told you what had happened. Oh Anpu, kill him for me, or I will surely die.”

Anpu was angry like a leopard. He took a spear, and hid behind the door of the cattle pen, waiting to kill his brother.

When the sun had gone down, Bata returned with the cattle. The first cow said to Bata, “Your brother hides with a spear, behind the door. And he plans to kill you. Run away while you can.”

Bata would not believe the cow. But the second cow gave him the same warning. Then he saw his brother’s feet behind the door. And he was afraid and ran away. Anpu chased him in great anger. As he ran, Bata called out to Ra, “O my good lord, who judges between the bad and the good, save me.”

And Ra heard Bata’s prayer, and caused a river to flow between them. The river was wide and full of crocodiles. The two brothers stood on opposite banks of the river. Bata shouted to Anpu, “Ra delivers the wicked to the just. But I must leave you. Why did you try to kill me, without giving me a chance to explain?” And Bata told his side of the story.

Then Bata took out his knife and cut himself, and he fell to the ground. And Anpu believed him, and was sick at heart. And he longed to be on the other side of the river, with his brother.

Bata spoke again, “I must go to the valley of cedars, to be healed. And I shall hide my heart in a cedar tree. And when the cedar tree is cut down, I will be in danger of dying. If your beer turns sour, you will know that I need your help. Come to the valley of cedars and search for my heart. Put my heart in a bowl of water. And I will come back to life again.

Anpu promised to obey his brother, and went home. He killed his wife, and threw her body to the dogs.

Bata traveled to the valley of cedars, and rested until his wound had healed. He hunted wild beasts and built a house for himself. And he hid his heart in the branches of a tree.

One day, the nine gods were walking in the valley. And they saw that Bata was lonely. And Ra ordered Khnum to make a wife for Bata, on his potters wheel. And when the gods breathed life into her, they saw that she was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. The seven Hathors gathered to declare her fate, and said that she would die a sudden death.

Bata loved her. And he knew that whoever saw her would desire her. Every day, as he left to hunt wild animals, he warned her, “Stay in the house, or the sea may try to carry you away. And there is little I could do to save you.”

One day, when Bata had gone out to hunt, his wife grew bored and went out for a walk. And, as she stood beneath the tree, the sea saw her, and surged up the valley to get her. She tried to flee. But the tree caught her by the hair. She escaped, leaving a lock of her hair in the tree.

The sea took the lock of hair, and carried it to Egypt, where the Nile took it. And the hair floated to where the washermen of the King were washing the King’s clothes. And the sweet-smelling hair caused the King’s clothes to smell like perfume. And the King complained of this. This happened every day.

One day the overseer of the washermen saw the lock of hair caught in the reeds. He ordered that it be brought to him. And he smelled its sweet smell.

And he took the lock of hair to the King. And the King’s advisers said, “This is a lock of hair from a daughter of Ra.” And the King wanted to make this woman his Queen.

The King sent many messengers to all lands. All returned to say that they had failed to find the woman. But one returned from the valley of the cedars to say that his companions had been killed by Bata, and that Bata’s wife was the woman that he sought.

The King sent many soldiers to fetch Bata’s wife. And with the soldiers, he sent a woman to give jewels to Bata’s wife, and to tell her that the King wanted to make her a queen. Bata’s wife told this woman that Bata’s heart was hidden in the tree, and that if the tree were cut down, Bata would die. And the soldiers cut down the tree. As the tree fell, Bata fell down dead. And the soldiers chopped up the tree and dispersed the pieces.

At the same moment that Bata died, Anpu’s beer began to bubble and turn sour. And he immediately put on his sandals, and grabbed his spear and his staff, and hastened to the valley of cedars.

There he found his brother dead, and he wept. But he remembered his brother’s instruction and searched for his heart. He searched in vain for three years. And he longed to return to Egypt. At the beginning of the fourth year, he said to himself, “If I don’t find my brother’s heart tomorrow, I will go back home.”

The next day, he searched again. And near the end of the day, he found what he thought was a seed. But it was Bata’s dried up heart. And he put it in a bowl of water, and sat down to wait. The heart grew as it absorbed water. Bata came back to life, but was very weak. Then Anpu held the bowl to Bata’s lips, and he swallowed the remaining water, and then swallowed his own heart. And his strength returned to him. And the two brothers embraced.

Bata said, “Tomorrow, I will change myself into a sacred bull. And you will ride me back to Egypt. Lead me before the King. And he will reward you. Then return to your house.”

The next day, Bata changed into a bull. And Anpu rode him to Egypt, and led him before the King. The King rewarded Anpu with gold, and silver, and land, and slaves. And there was rejoicing throughout the land. And Anpu returned to his house.

Eventually, Bata encountered his wife, who was now the Queen. And he said, “Look upon me, for I am alive.”

She asked, “And who are you?”

He replied, “I am Bata. And it was you who caused the tree to be cut down, so that I would be destroyed. But I am alive.” And she trembled in fear, and left the room.

That evening, the King sat at a feast, with his Queen. And she said to him, “Will you swear by the gods that you will give me anything that I want?” The King promised that he would. The Queen said, “I desire to eat the liver of the sacred bull, for he is nothing to you.”

The king was upset at her request. But the next day, he commanded that the bull be sacrificed. And the bull was sacrificed. And its blood splattered on each side the gate of the palace.

That night, two persea trees sprang up next to the palace gate. The King was told of this miracle, and there was much rejoicing.

One day the King and Queen were standing in the shade of one of the trees. And the tree spoke to the Queen, “False woman, you are the one who caused the cedar tree to be cut down, and you made the King slaughter the bull. But, I am Bata, I am still alive.” And the Queen was afraid.

Later, when the King and Queen were feasting, the Queen said, “Will you swear by the gods that you will give me anything that I want?” The King promised that he would. The Queen said, “It is my desire that those two persea trees be chopped down, to make furniture for me.”

The King was troubled by her request. But the next day the King and Queen watched as the trees were cut down. As the Queen stood watching, a chip of wood flew from one of the trees, and flew into her mouth, and she swallowed it. And it made the Queen become pregnant.

After many days, the Queen gave birth to a son. The King loved him, and made him heir to the throne.

In time the King died, and rejoined the gods. And his son succeeded him as King.

The new King (who was Bata) summoned his court, and told everyone the story of his life. And he judged that his wife, who had become his mother, should die for her crimes. And the court agreed. And she was led away to be killed.

Bata ruled Egypt for thirty years. Then he died. And his brother Anpu then ruled Egypt.

The Gold Harvest

Long ago in old Ayudhya, there lived a man named Nai Hah Tong who dreamed of turning copper into gold. His wife, Nang Song Sai, Had little faith in magic. She beilieved in the walth of nature and richness of the earth. When her husband boasted, “Some day, we will be the richest people in Ayudyha,”she listened patiently; however, when all their tical had been used for experiments, she decided something would have to be done about her husban’s great expectation.
She said to her husbandd, “nai Hah TOng, you have experimented with copper and a monkey’s paw, coper with lizard’s tail. You have polished copper  with a gold stripe fur of the tiger’s skin, but the copper did not turn into gold. Why dont you  give up this dream and go to work like other men?”

Her husband said, “mai chai, thats no right. With each experiments my magic has grown stronger.”

The next day, they had a dinner with his Uncle, Grandfather and Grandmother who are all good in magic, they have discussed of the dream of turning copper into gold, they husband said, “need a lot of tons of soft fuzz that comes from bananas.”

Ok, said his Uncle, I will provide a hectares of land where you will raise your banana trees. The husband smiled and said, ” i will do what shall be done.”

The next morning, they bought hectares of land this hectares of land is a one in their place, they chose that land to attract the gods who will help them raise the trees, easy and fast. They cleaned the land, prepared it, and at last, they planted the trees. The husband cared the trees as much as he cared his family. He did not let any animals that may scratch a single tree, he worked hard, day by day, night by night, he dont even sleep at night, busy praying that the trees will give fluffy fuzz that will turn copper into gold.

After months of hard work,the husband  finally raised, 200 banana trees with lots of fruits. And his Uncle said, “good work my young padawan.” Now you know how to work fair, like other men out there, they put all their strength  to work so that their family will have something to eat, and now sell those fruits and fuzz, go to the market and I am sure that you will earn bags of gold, that you have wanted. And since then, the husband start selling banana fruits in the market, he learned to work and not rely on magic.

The Spider Thread

Opening Remarks As a university student struggling with the study of Japanese language and culture I first became acquainted with the short stories of Akutagawa Ryûnosuke. Among his many stories I am particularly fond of “The Spider’s Thread.” My interest in it is twofold: as a reader, my intrigue lies in the story’s imagery and parable-like quality; on the other hand, as a translator this short and seemingly straightforward story has provided me with a number of interesting problems. In the years that have passed since first translating this story as a student I have occasionally tinkered with it, but for one reason or another always put it aside. The translation prepared for publication here bears a resemblance to my previous efforts, but has been greatly reworked.1 Although the translation may be read without them, I have appended several footnotes with the aim of justifying my choice to leave several terms in the original Japanese. In the commentary following the translation I discuss the background of “The Spider’s Thread,” Akutagawa’s sources of inspiration, and finally, argue against what might be called the common sense or Buddhist reading of the story. ________________________________________ Translation: The Spider’s Thread by Akutagawa Ryûnosuke 2 I It so happens that one day the Lord Buddha is strolling alone on the shore of the lotus pond in Paradise. All the lotus blossoms blooming in the pond are globes of the whitest white and from the golden stamen in the center of each an indescribably pleasant fragrance issues forth abidingly over the adjacent area. Day is just dawning in Paradise. In due course, the Lord Buddha pauses at the edge of the pond and beholds an unexpected sight between the lotus petals veiling the water’s surface. Since the depths of Hell lay directly below the lotus pond on Paradise, the scenery of Sanzu-no-kawa3 and Hari-no-yama4 can be clearly seen through the crystal-clear water just as if looking through a stereopticon. Then, the single figure of a man, Kandata by name, squirming there in the depths of Hell along with other sinners, comes into the Lord Buddha’s gaze. This man Kandata is a murderer, an arsonist, and a master thief with numerous robberies to his credit. Yet, the Lord Buddha recalls that he had performed a single good deed. That is to say, once when Kandata was traveling through the middle of a dense forest he came upon a spider crawling along the roadside. Thereupon, he immediately raised his foot and was about to trample it to death. But, he suddenly reconsidered, saying, “Nay, nay, small though this spider be, there is no doubt that it too is a living being. Somehow or other it seems a shame to take its life for no reason.” In the end he spared the spider rather than killing it. While observing the situation in Hell, the Lord Buddha remembers that this Kandata had spared the spider. And he decides that in return for having done just that one good deed he would, if he could, try to rescue this man from Hell. Luckily, he sees nearby a spider of Paradise spinning a beautiful silver web on a jade colored lotus petal. The Lord Buddha takes the spider’s thread gently into his hand and lowers it between the pure white lotus blossoms straight into the distant depths of Hell. II This is Chi-no-ike5 in the depths of Hell and along with other sinners Kandata is floating up to the surface and sinking back down over and over. No matter what direction one looks it is completely dark. And when one notices out there in that darkness the glow from the needles of the dreaded Hari-no-yama floating up vaguely into view, the feeling of helplessness is beyond description. Moreover, the surroundings are perfectly still, like the inside of a tomb. If a sound is to be heard, it is merely the faint sigh of some sinner. The sighs are faint because anyone who has fallen to this level of Hell is already so exhausted by the tortures of the other Hells that he or she no longer has even enough strength to cry out. Therefore, as one might expect, the master thief Kandata himself is unable to do anything but writhe, exactly like a frog caught in the throes of death, as he chokes on the blood of Chi-no-ike. One day, however, something happens. Kandata happens to raise his head and spies in the sky above Chi-no-ike a silvery spider’s thread, a thin line shimmering in the silent darkness, gently descending toward him from the distant, distant firmament as though it were afraid to be seen by the eyes of men. Upon seeing it Kandata involuntarily claps his hands for joy. If he were to cling to this thread and climb it to its end, he would surely be able to escape from Hell. No, if all went well, he would even be able to enter Paradise. And were this to come to pass, he would never ever be driven up Hari-no-yama again, nor would he ever have to sink again in Chi-no-ike. Having thought thusly, Kandata quickly takes firm hold of that spider’s thread with both hands and using all his might begins climbing up and up hand-over-hand. From long ago Kandata has been completely used to doing this sort of thing since he is a former master thief. But because the distance between Hell and Paradise is some tens of thousands of ri,6 try though he might, he is not able to ascend to the top easily. After climbing for a while, even Kandata finally tires; he is unable to continue for even one more pull on the thread. Having no other choice, he intends first to take a short rest. While hanging onto the thread he looks down on the distance below. He sees that thanks to the efforts he spent climbing, Chi-no-ike, where he had just recently been, is now already hidden at the bottom of the darkness. He also sees that the faint glow of the terrifying Hari-no-yama is below him. If he were to continue at this pace, the escape from Hell just might not be as difficult as he had expected. Wrapping his hand around the spider’s thread, Kandata laughs in a voice unused during his years in Hell, “I’m saved! I’m saved at last!” Then he suddenly notices that below him on the spider’s thread, just like a line of ants, a countless number of sinners are following him, climbing up and up for all they are worth. When Kandata sees this, he momentarily freezes from shock and fear, his mouth agape and his eyes rolling in his head like an idiot. How could it be that this slender spider’s thread, seemingly strained even under the weight of just him alone, is able to support the weight of that many? By some chance were the thread to break, he, the egotistical Kandata who at great pains had climbed this far, and everyone else would plummet headlong back into Hell. For that to happen would be a disaster. But, even as he says this, sinners, not by the hundreds, nor even by the thousands, but in swarms, continue to crawl up from the bottom of the pitch dark Chi-no-ike and climb up the thin luminous spider’s thread in single file. If he doesn’t do something right away, the thread will break in two at the center and he will surely fall. At this point, Kandata yells in a loud voice, “Hey you sinners. This spider’s thread is mine. Who the hell asked you to climb it? Get down! Get off it!” Just as he screams at the other sinners the spider’s thread, which till then had had nothing wrong with it, suddenly breaks with a snap right where Kandata is hanging. So, Kandata, too, is doomed. Without even time to cry out he goes flying through the air spinning like a top and in the wink of an eye plunges headfirst into the dark depths of Hell. Afterwards, only the shortened spider’s thread from Paradise dangles there, glittering dimly in a sky void of both moon and stars. III The Lord Buddha stands on the shore of the lotus pond in Paradise having taken in everything from start to finish. When Kandata finally sinks like a rock to the bottom of Chi-no-ike he resumes strolling, his countenance seemingly creased with sadness. Seen through divine eyes, the Lord Buddha thought it wretched that Kandata’s compassionless heart led him to attempt to escape by himself and for such a heart falling back into Hell was just punishment. The lotus blossoms in the lotus pond of Paradise, however, are not concerned in the least about what has happened. Those blossoms of the whitest white wave their cups around the divine feet of the Lord Buddha and from the golden stamen in the center of each an indescribably pleasant fragrance issues forth abidingly over the adjacent area. Noon draws near in Paradise. The End ________________________________________ Commentary 1. Background Most previous translations of “The Spider’s Thread” make no mention of the fact that it was originally published in the 1918 inaugural issue of children’s literary magazine founded by Suzuki Miekichi (1882-1936) called Akai tori (Red Bird).7 While one’s reading and enjoyment of the story itself may not be affected greatly by not knowing that the author intended it as a story for children, such a fact can hardly be overlooked in any attempt to evaluate it. Likewise, a serious discussion of this short story must consider the relationship between the text of Akutagawa’s stories and the sources he drew upon for inspiration. One of the conceits held in societies of universal or nearly universal literacy relegates stories such as parables and fables, Aesop’s Fables for example, to the realm of juvenile literature. Before widespread literacy, however, parables and fables were part and parcel of a society’s oral tradition.8 They were a social event, spoken and listened to; they were not meant to be read by individuals, child or adult. Nor were they were merely stories told for the purpose of entertainment, but rather they had some underlying point to make, usually of a moral or religious nature. The point or moral of the story was easy enough to grasp and the story itself served as a point of departure for social and moral discussion, hence, they figured in the construction and maintenance of social reality.9 Today these same stories, compiled, edited, and codified as juvenile literature seldom achieve such a grand function. Akutagawa’s “The Spider’s Thread” is a parable with enormous potential for lending itself to moral discussion or even to the discussion of human nature itself. Despite being reprinted in numerous hardback and paperback collections of his stories, and despite being read by most Japanese students in a modern Japanese literature course at school, it has little or no impact as a parable.10 2. Sources Akutagawa’s dependence upon various sources for inspiration has been seen by some critics as evidence of his lack of creativity or originality. Donald Keene notes, for example, that Akutagawa’s critics compared him to a mosaicist because of his tendency to piece materials from different sources into a single story.11 In my opinion such criticism can hardly be sustained with argumentation. That researchers or critics have discovered the roots of an Akutagawa story does not speak to the quality of the story nor should it be considered a weakness of Akutagawa as a literary artist. The story must stand or fall on its own merits or lack thereof and Akutagawa must be evaluated on the quality of his creative act, the storytelling. Furthermore, such criticism of Akutagawa and his work must be considered petty and trivial in light of the pervasiveness of the “I-novel” (fictionalized-autobiography / autobiographical-fiction) tradition and the historical fiction tradition in modern Japanese literature. In the case of “The Spider’s Thread” three separate sources served as Akutagawa’s inspiration12 : 1) a fable found in The Brothers Karamazov, 2) a captioned illustration found in The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil from the Earliest Times to the Present Day, and 3) a story titled “The Spider’s Web” in Karma: A Story of Early Buddhism.13 Simply uncovering or naming the “sources” is insufficient. In order to appreciate Akutagawa and “The Spider’s Thread” properly, these sources must be examined closely. Akutagawa read The Brothers Karamazov by the famous Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky’s (1821-1881) in English translation during the period from October 1916 through July 1917.14 The fable he gleaned from this novel is relatively short and is given here in its entirety. Once upon a time there was a woman, and she was wicked as wicked could be, and she died. And not one good deed was left behind her. The devils took her and threw her into the lake of fire. And her guardian angel stood thinking: what good deed of hers can I remember to tell God? Then he remembered and said to God: once she pulled up an onion and gave it to a beggar woman. And God said: now take that same onion, hold it out to her in the lake, let her take hold of it, and pull, and if you pull her out of the lake, she can go to paradise, but if the onion breaks, she can stay where she is. The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her: here, woman, he said, take hold of it and I’ll pull. And he began pulling carefully, and had almost pulled her all the way out, when other sinners in the lake saw her being pulled out and all began holding on to her so as to be pulled out with her. But the woman was wicked as wicked could be, and she began to kick them with her feet: ‘It’s me who’s getting pulled out, not you; it’s my onion, not yours.’ No sooner did she say it than the onion broke. And the woman fell back into the lake and is burning there to this day. The angel wept and went away.15 There is an illustration found in The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil from the Earliest Times to the Present Day16 of Buddha extending his hand to a sinner in hell. The caption reads: The goodwill that a poor wretch had shown in his former life to a spider, his only good deed, serves him in hell as a means of escape.17 It turns out that this picture is a reproduction from an illustration in Karma: A Story of Early Buddhism.18 The story accompanying the illustration, “The Spider’s Web,” is as follows: I will tell you the story of the great robber Kandata, who died without repentance and was reborn as a demon in Hell, where he suffered for his evil deeds the most terrible agonies and pains. He had been in Hell several Kalpas and was unable to rise out of his wretched condition, when Buddha appeared upon earth and attained to the blessed [state] of enlightenment. At that memorable moment a ray of light fell down into Hell quickening all the demons with life and hope and the robber Kandata cried aloud: “O blessed Buddha, have mercy upon me! I suffer greatly, and although I have done evil, I am anxious to walk in the noble path of righteousness. But I cannot extricate myself from the net of sorrow. Help me, O Lord; have mercy on me!” Now, it is the law of karma that evil deeds lead to destruction, for absolute evil is so bad that it cannot exist. But good deeds lead to life. Thus there is a final end to every deed that is done, but there is no end to the development of good deeds. The least act of goodness bears fruit containing new seeds of goodness, and they continue to grow, they nourish (the soul in its weary transmigrations) (the poor suffering creatures in their repeated wanderings in the eternal round of Samsâra) until (it reaches) (they reach) the final deliverance from all evil in Nirvâna. When Buddha, the Lord, heard the prayer of the demon suffering in Hell, he said, “Kandata, did you ever perform an act of kindness? It will now return to you and help you to rise again. But you cannot be rescued unless the intense sufferings which you endure as consequence of your evil deeds have dispelled all conceit of selfhood and have purified your soul of vanity, lust, and envy.”19 By reviewing Akutagawa’s sources we are able to see clearly for ourselves just how he “borrowed” from them in the making of his own short story. It should be quite clear that Akutagawa did not simply copy or borrow wholesale from either of the above stories. As has been claimed, we can also see that Akutagawa did indeed piece together the two stories and the illustration, employing what was useful to him and equally importantly discarding what was not. He did take the main character’s name (Kandata), his former occupation (criminal, thief), and his present whereabouts (Hell) and circumstance (suffering) from the karma story. The salvation motif, including the failure, he derived from the onion fable and the spider’s role comes from the illustration accompanying the karma story. It’s also instructive to note that Akutagawa completely cut out the heavily Buddhist flavored dialogue between Kandata and the Lord Buddha and the role of the guardian angel. Akutagawa’s version, his contribution as a literary artist, is the unique blending of the two stories. The question arising from Akutagawa’s blending of an obviously Buddhist story and equally obvious Christian fable, for me at least, concerns the nature of the product. That is to say, should Akutagawa’s “The Spider’s Thread” be read as a Buddhist story, a Christian story, neither, or both? I fully realize that this question may never have occurred to any of Akutagawa’s juvenile readership. In fact, a Japanese acquaintance recently commented that my question is not one that would likely present itself to a Japanese reader’s mind, certainly not to his. My reading of the secondary literature, while admittedly less than complete, seems to substantiate his point. 3. A Buddhist Story?? When we consider the question of whether or not “The Spider’s Thread” should be read as a Buddhist story we are confronted with two obstacles. One, on the surface there are the trappings of Buddhism: the Lord Buddha, the lotus blossoms, Paradise, Sanzu-no-kawa and so forth, all of which beg for a Buddhist reading. And second, “common sense”20 among readers, particularly Japanese readers, seems to indicate that a Buddhist reading is so natural that the question itself borders on the ridiculous; put otherwise, the very question, as my acquaintance suggested, flies in the face of common sense. These two obstacles are of course related. To refute them we must ask if the story is based on or in line with Buddhist thought and teachings? Following the salvation motif of the onion fable, the Lord Buddha of Akutagawa’s story extends to Kandata a chance to redeem himself. Is this action consistent with the Buddhist tradition? Does the historical Buddha, provide such opportunities? I don’t believe this to be the case, but would be happy to review concrete examples, should Buddhist scholars or others more knowledgeable than I be kind enough to point them out to me. Of course, the Greater Vehicle Buddhist tradition (Skt: Mahâyâna, Jpn: Daijô) is replete with examples of bodhisattva employing “skillful means” (Skt: upâya, Jpn: hôben ) in assisting sentient beings to break the cycle of rebirths (achieve extinction, Nirvâna), but the Oshaka-sama of Akutagawa’s story is Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, not one of these bodhisattva. Similarly, it must be asked if it is consistent with Buddhist thought that the cycle of rebirths can be broken by “demons” or souls consigned to suffer the consequences of their evil karma. Answering this requires that we know more about the Buddhist worldview. Of the Ten Realms (Jpn: jikkai) delineated in Mahâyâna thought, the first six are non-enlightened worlds (Jpn: rokudô, rokubon), and the latter four are enlightened worlds (Jpn: shishô). Here we will be concerned only with the non-enlightened worlds, which are: hell-being (“demon”), hungry ghost, animal, asura (“evil spirit”), human, and deva (god).21 Of these, the first three are the Three Evil Destinies (Jpn: san’akudô, san’akushu) and being reborn into any of them is the result of evil karma (Jpn: akugô). In the first seven days following death the deceased hopes to traverse these three evil destinies, which corresponds to crossing the Sanzu-no-kawa — an image appearing in “The Spider’s Web.” This Sanzu-no-kawa is a metaphorical river composed of three currents or channels. Literally, it might be translated as river of three currents. The first current is of fire (Jpn.: kazu) and the torture of the hell-beings residing in it, as one would expect, is being burned. The second current is of swords (Jpn: tôzu) and the hungry ghosts reborn here are tortured with them. The third current is of blood (Jpn: kechizu) because the animals reborn here devour each other. Presumably those reborn in any of these currents will suffer there until the effects of their evil karma expire, at which point they would be reborn and again seek liberation from the cycle of rebirths. According to this worldview, then, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to conclude that Kandata could achieve paradise directly from hell.22 Even if we disregard the above objections to Akutagawa’s story, there are other points to contest. The spider’s thread that was Kandata’s means of escape from hell, like the onion of the wretched woman in the fable, broke when the protagonist balked at others trying to make their escape. The parallel between the two stories is only too obvious. It can be argued, however, that Kandata’s failure was sealed the instant he thought he could escape. Firstly, in attempting to escape without so much as a word to the others suffering with him, Kandata did not exhibit any compassion. Considering its importance in the Buddhist tradition, would a human, let alone a demon, who lacked compassion be able to achieve paradise? Secondly, in Buddhist thought from the Age of the End of the Law (Jpn: mappô), salvation through one’s own efforts (Jpn: jiriki) is not possible.23 Kandata’s hand-over-hand efforts, then, could just not have achieved his hope of entering paradise. In this section I have presented a roughly sketched argument against reading “The Spider’s Thread” as a Buddhist story. In light of my argument I would submit that Akutagawa did not successfully blend his sources in such a way as to make the resulting story intellectually compelling. This might be somewhat mitigated by the argument that in writing the story specifically for a juvenile readership he never intended it to be consistent with the teachings of the Buddhist tradition. An appeal to a certain amount of artistic license might also help to mitigate my case against his story. In spite of the criticism I have leveled against Akutagawa and in spite of the flaws I have found in my reading of “The Spider’s Thread,” I would not hesitate in recommending it. As a story it’s finely crafted and Akutagawa’s use of simile invites the reader to reproduce graphically in his or her mind’s eye images that are from and outside of everyday experience.24 In that sense I will continue to enjoy and appreciate the story, but it would be less than honest were I not to add that for me the story has paled in significance as a result of probing into it. In the final analysis, however, readers will have to decide for themselves if the story warranted the time they spent reading and thinking about it. ________________________________________ Endnotes (Return to your place in the text by clinking on the endnote number) 1 I would like to thank Professor Laurel R. Rodd for reading and commenting on an earlier version of the translation. I would also like to extend thanks to my former graduate school colleague at the University of Tsukuba, Sugamoto Hirotsugu, for discussing the Japanese text with me on several occasions. Some of their suggestions have been incorporated in the translation, however, any mistakes or inadequacies are my sole responsibility. 2 The Japanese text upon which this translation was based can be found in Akutagawa Ryûnosuke Zenshû (Gendai Nihon Bungaku Taikei 43) Tokyo: Chikuma Shobô, 1968. 3 In four of the five English translations I’ve checked Sanzu-no-kawa was rendered as the River Styx. In so far as both are underworld rivers, this practice is not completely off mark. It is nevertheless a questionable practice because the analogy is strained and misleading. The origin of River Styx is in Greek mythology, while Sanzu-no-kawa is Buddhist. Some middle ground, like the River Sanzu or Sanzu River, might be acceptable, but as this also begs for explanation nothing is really gained. 4 Hari-no-yama is literally mountain of needles or Needle Mountain. As the nature of this image is made clear later in the story, nothing is gained in translating it. Again, some middle ground like Mt. Hari might be acceptable, but not especially helpful. 5 Chi-no-ike is literally lake of blood or Blood Lake. 6 A ri is a unit of distance equivalent to 3.9273 km. (2.44 mi.). As this unit is no longer used in Japan, it functions much like the word “league” (3 mi., 4.8 km.) does for modern speakers of English. For the purpose of the story, the exact distance is far less important than the sense that it’s a rather long distance. There being some tens of thousands of ri between Paradise and Hell serves to extend the sense of unknown distance to that of a distance so vast it borders on the inconceivable. 7 I know of eight published translations of this story. Eric S. Bell and Ukai Eiji, “The Spider’s Web” in Eminent Authors of Contemporary Japan. Tokyo: Kaitakusha, 1930-1; “The Spiderthread” in F.J. Daniel, Japanese Prose. London: Lund Humphries, 1944; Sasaki Takuma, “The Spider’s Thread” in The Three Treasures and Other Stories for Children. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1944; Glen W. Shaw, “The Spider’s Thread” in Short Stories by R. Akutagawa. Tokyo: Hokuseido Press, 1930; Kojima Takashi, “The Spider’s Thread” in Japanese Short Stories. New York: Liveright Publishing Corp., 1961, republished Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1981; Beongcheon Yu, “Spiderthread” in Akutagawa: An Introduction. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1972; Howard Norman, “The Spider’s Thread” in Cogwheels and Other Stories. Oakville, Ontario: Mosaic Press, 1982; Dorothy Britton, “The Spider’s Thread” in The Spider’s Thread and Other Stories. Tokyo: Kodansha Publishers Ltd., 1987. 8 For exposing me to the importance of orality in the understanding of the human enterprise I am indebted to the American historian of religion Sam D. Gill. 9 I mean to imply here a sociology of knowledge, my understanding of which derives from the work of American sociologist Peter L. Berger and German sociologist Thomas Luckmann. 10 For about fifty “one-liner” examples of comments made by junior high schools after reading “A Spider’s Thread,” see Shimozawa Katsui, “Kumo no ito” in Akutagawa Ryûnosuke sakuhin kenkyû; (Kindai bungaku kenkyû sôsho) (Tokyo: Yagi Shoten, 1969), p.49-52. 11 Donald Keene, Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature in the Modern Era – Fiction, (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1987), p.564. The intent in labeling Akutagawa a mosaicist was neither complimentary nor purely descriptive. Akutagawa’s literary views and his disputes with other writers of his time are beyond the scope of this paper. 12 Ibid, p.565 Keene mentions only two sources. 13 Shimada Kinji, “Akutagaw Ryûnosuke to Roshiya shôsetsu” in Akutagawa Ryûnosuke I, (Tokyo: Yûseido, 1985) p.278-9. Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov was published in 1879-80 and was his last novel. 14 Ibid, p.280. 15 Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov. Pevear and Volokhonsky, translators. (New York, Vintage Classics, 1991), p.352. 16 Op. Cit., p.278. According to Shimada the illustration is on page 136 of Paul Carus, The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil from the Earliest Times to the Present Day. (Chicago: Open Court Publishing Co., 1900). 17 As quoted in ibid. 18 Ibid, p.279. Karma: A Story of Early Buddhism was published in Tokyo in 1895 and contains five stories including one called “The Spider’s Web.” 19 As cited in ibid. 20 When I speak of common sense, I am referring to the natural attitude or state of being wide-awake that individuals exhibit in the reality of their everyday life (paramount reality). Existence in and apprehension of the reality of everyday life is natural, self-evident, taken for granted, and shared with others. See, Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge, (New York: Anchor Books, 1967), especially Chapter 1. 21 These correspond to jikoku, gaki, chikushô, ashura, jin, and ten in Japanese. 22 For the information contained in this section I have consulted Nakamura Hajime, et al. Eds, Bukkyô jiten (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1989) and an online dictionary of Buddhist terms. The correspondence between Hari-no-yama and the current of swords as well as that between Chi-no-ike and the current of blood should not be particularly surprising. It deserves mention, however, that the correspondence was revealed as a result of explicating Sanzu-no-kawa, which seems in “The Spider’s Thread” to have an existence apart from Hari-no-yama and Chi-no-ike. 23 Pure Land Buddhism flourished in East Asia in response to the Age of the End of the Law. In Japan during the late 12th century Hônen was the main proponent of Pure Land Buddhism. Its most important tenet involves placing one’s salvation in the hands of another (Jpn: tariki). Specifically, this means in the hands of the buddha Amitâbha (Jpn: Amida) who vows to save all sentient beings in his Western Paradise before achieving perfect enlightenment himself. 24 Examples of simile — as if looking through a stereopticon; like the inside of a tomb; writhe, exactly like a frog caught in the throes of death; as though it were afraid to be seen by the eyes of men; like a line of ants; like an idiot; spinning like a top. ________________________________________ ©1999 T.M. Kelly This paper was published in the Edogawa Joshi Tanki Daigaku Kiyô no.14, March 1999 (Edogawa Women’s Junior College Journal).

To whom should i speak today?

To whom should I speak today?
Brothers are evil;
The friends of today love not.
To whom should I speak today?
Hearts are covetous;
Every man plundereth the goods of his fellow.
To whom should I speak today?
The peaceful man is in evil case;
Good is cast aside everywhere.
To whom should I speak today?
Yesterday is forgotten;
Men do not as they were done by nowadays.
To whom should I speak today?
There is no heart of man
Whereon one must lean
To whom should I speak today?
The righteous are no more;
The land is given to the evil doers
To whom should I speak today?
There is a lack of confidants;
Men have recourse to a stranger to tell their troubles
To whom should I speak today?
I am laden with misery,
And am without a comforter.
~ Eric Peet

(source: internet)