THE GOBLIN of ADACHIGAHARA

THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA

Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in the province of

Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by a cannibal goblin who took

the form of an old woman. From time to time many travelers disappeared and were

never heard of more, and the old women round the charcoal braziers in the

evenings, and the girls washing the household rice at the wells in the

mornings, whispered dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to

the goblin’s cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human

flesh. No one dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all

those who could, avoided it in the daytime, and travelers were warned of the

dreaded place.

One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was a belated

traveler, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim walking from

shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave for forgiveness of sins.

He had apparently lost his way, and as it was late he met no one who could show

him the road or warn him of the haunted spot.

He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the evenings were

chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very anxious to find some

house where he could obtain a night’s lodging. He found himself lost in

the midst of the large plain, and looked about in vain for some sign of human

habitation.

At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees in the

distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer of a single ray

of light. He exclaimed with joy:

“Oh. surely that is some cottage where I can get a night’s

lodging!”

Keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as quickly

as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a miserable-looking little

cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in a tumble-down condition, the

bamboo fence was broken and weeds and grass pushed their way through the gaps.

The paper screens which serve as windows and doors in Japan were full of holes,

and the posts of the house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to

support the old thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the light of an old

lantern an old woman sat industriously spinning.

The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:

“O Baa San (old woman), good evening! I am a traveler! Please excuse me,

but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have nowhere to rest

to-night. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend the night under your

roof.”

The old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning, rose

from her seat and approached the intruder.

“I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have lost your

way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately I cannot put you up,

for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation whatsoever for a guest in

this poor place!”

“Oh, that does not matter,” said the priest; “all I want is a

shelter under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to

let me lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to walk

further to-night, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I shall have to

sleep out on the cold plain.” And in this way he pressed the old woman to

let him stay.

She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:

“Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very poor welcome

only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the night is cold.”

The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off his sandals and

entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of wood and lit the

fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.

“You must be hungry after your long tramp,” said the old woman.

“I will go and cook some supper for you.” She then went to the

kitchen to cook some rice.

After the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the

fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim thought to

himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a kind, hospitable old

woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire died slowly down he began to

shiver with cold just as he had done when he arrived.

“I see you are cold,” said the old woman; “I will go out and

gather some wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the

house while I am gone.”

“No, no,” said the pilgrim, “let me go instead, for you are

old, and I cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold

night!”

The old woman shook her head and said:

“You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest.” Then she left

him and went out.

In a minute she came back and said:

“You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens

don’t go near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell

you!”

“If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I

won’t,” said the priest, rather bewildered.

The old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. The fire had

died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim lantern. For the

first time that night he began to feel that he was in a weird place, and the

old woman’s words, “Whatever you do don’t peep into the back

room,” aroused his curiosity and his fear.

What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to see? For

some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept him still, but

at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep into the forbidden

place.

He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then the thought that

the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed her made him come

back to his place by the fireside.

As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he began to

feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful secret was in the

room behind him. He must find out.

“She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will just have

a peep before she comes back,” said the man to himself.

With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all this time

in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily crept towards the

forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back the sliding door and looked

in. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. The room was full of dead

men’s bones and the walls were splashed and the floor was covered with

human blood. In one corner skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was

a heap of arm bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The sickening smell made

him faint. He fell backwards with horror, and for some time lay in a heap with

fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. He trembled all over and his teeth

chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot.

“How horrible!” he cried out. “What awful den have I come to

in my travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind

old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will show

herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!”

With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his hat and

staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him. Out into

the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as he could from the

goblin’s haunt. He had not gone far when he heard steps behind him and a

voice crying: “Stop! stop!”

He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran he heard the

steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he recognized the old

woman’s voice which grew louder and louder as she came nearer.

“Stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden

room?”

The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the ground

faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if the goblin caught

him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his heart he repeated the

prayer to Buddha:

“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.”

And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind, and her

face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her hand she carried a

large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked after him, “Stop!

stop!”

At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and with

the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The priest now knew

that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story of whom he had often

heard but never believed to be true. He felt that he owed his wonderful escape

to the protection of Buddha to whom he had prayed for help, so he took out his

rosary and bowing his head as the sun rose he said his prayers and made his

thanksgiving earnestly. He then set forward for another part of the country,

only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him.

THE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan, a traveling

monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey and showing off the

animal’s tricks. One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to send

for the butcher the next morning. The wife was very bewildered and asked her husband: “Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?” “It’s no use taking that monkey round any longer, he’s too

old and forgets his tricks. I beat him with my stick all I know how, but he

won’t dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what

money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done.” The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for her

husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in vain, the man was

determined to sell him to the butcher. Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard every word of the

conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he said to

himself: “Barbarous, indeed, is my master! Here I have served him faithfully for

years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in peace, he

is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body is to be roasted

and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am I to do. Ah! a bright thought has

struck me! There is, I know, a wild boar living in the forest near by. I have

often heard tell of his wisdom. Perhaps if I go to him and tell him the strait

I am in he will give me his counsel. I will go and try.” There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and ran as

quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar was at home, and

the monkey began his tale of woe at once. “Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in great

trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service of my master,

and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to sell me to the butcher.

What do you advise me to do? I know how clever you are!” The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey. He

thought for a little while and then said: “Hasn’t your master a baby?” “Oh, yes,” said the monkey, “he has one infant son.” “Doesn’t it lie by the door in the morning when your mistress

begins the work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my

opportunity I will seize the child and run off with it.” “What then?” said the monkey. “Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master and

mistress know what to do, you must run after me and rescue the child and take

it home safely to its parents, and you will see that when the butcher comes

they won’t have the heart to sell you.” The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did not sleep

much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the morrow. His life

depended on whether the boar’s plan succeeded or not. He was the first

up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. It seemed to him a very long time

before his master’s wife began to move about and open the shutters to let

in the light of day. Then all happened as the boar had planned. The mother

placed her child near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house and got

her breakfast ready. The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the mats at

the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise in the porch and a

loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from the kitchen to the spot, only

just in time to see the boar disappearing through the gate with her child in

its clutch. She flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair and rushed into

the inner room where her husband was still sleeping soundly. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his wife was

making all that noise about. By the time that the man was alive to what had

happened, and they both got outside the gate, the boar had got well away, but

they saw the monkey running after the thief as hard as his legs would carry

him. Both the man and wife were moved to admiration at the plucky conduct of the

sagacious monkey, and their gratitude knew no bounds when the faithful monkey

brought the child safely back to their arms. “There!” said the wife. “This is the animal you want to

kill—if the monkey hadn’t been here we should have lost our child

forever.” “You are right, wife, for once,” said the man as he carried the

child into the house. “You may send the butcher back when he comes, and

now give us all a good breakfast and the monkey too.” When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some boar’s

meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and lived the rest of

his days in peace, nor did his master ever strike him again.