Fukuokaふくおか

This edition follows, in close detail and bound to chronology and iconography, how a single man of letters became a thunder god and then turned into the god of learning—those two transformations. Michizane's becoming a vengeful spirit did not begin immediately upon his death. In the eighth year of Engi (908) his former disciple Fujiwara no Sugane died; the next year, the ninth of Engi (909), the very author of his exile, Fujiwara no Tokihira, died at thirty-nine; and in the twenty-third year of Engi (923) the crown prince Yasuakira passed away. That year the court restored Michizane to Minister of the Right and posthumously granted him the junior first rank, absolving him of guilt—yet the calamities did not cease, and in the third year of Enchō (925) even the next crown prince, Yoshiyori-ō, left the world at only five. The process by which this chain of deaths came to be felt by the people of the capital as the curse of the innocent Michizane is the very genesis of goryō belief. Its apex was the lightning strike on the Seiryōden in the eighth year of Enchō (930). The lightning that struck the palace in the midst of a rain-prayer council killed Fujiwara no Kiyotsura, who had watched over Michizane at Dazaifu, instantly, and burned the nobles present one after another. The reading of lightning as Michizane's will became decisive here, and the spirit, surpassing a mere vengeful ghost, was exalted into a dread godhead called Karai-Tenjin, Tenman Daijizai Tenjin, and Nihon Daijō Itoku-ten—a deity who commands the thunder. The Kamakura-period Kitano Tenjin Engi Emaki depicts this scene of becoming a thunder god as the masterpiece of the scroll, and the image of Tenjin driving the thunderclouds cast its shadow even upon the later wind-and-thunder-god paintings of Tawaraya Sōtatsu and others. The iconography of Tenjin has two contrasting lineages. One is the raging Fire-and-Thunder Deity of the engi scrolls, mounted on thunderclouds and hurling lightning. The other is the composed image of a man of letters and official in court robes holding a baton (shaku), accompanied by a plum at his side—and this became the standard image of the god of learning. The "Tang-crossing Tenjin" (Totō Tenjin), clad in Chinese robes, bearing a sack and holding a sprig of plum, is a variant based on a Zen monastic tale that Michizane crossed in a single night to a Song-dynasty Zen master to receive his teaching. The shift of weight from vengeful spirit to god of learning advanced gradually. Already in the mid-Heian period he was praised in ritual prayers as a merciful god presiding over letters and honesty, and in the fourth year of Shōryaku (993) the posthumous senior first rank and the office of Chancellor were conferred, fully restoring his honor. But his popular establishment as the god of academic success came far later, in the Edo period, with the spread of terakoya schools. The image of Michizane the outstanding scholar in life was hung in the places of penmanship, and as the guardian of reading, writing, and learning, Tenjin shed the dread of the thunder god and spread to Tenmangū shrines across the land.

"Kappa" is not, in truth, the name of any single creature. It is a collective term—the word by which the whole of Japan, each region in its own dialect, has called the water spirits that dwell in rivers and ponds. In southern Kyushu it is the Garappa; in Tōhoku, the Medochi; in Shikoku, the Enko; in Chūbu, the Kawaranbe; in Kinki, the Gataro; in Kyushu again, the Hyosube. From place to place the name and the form shift a little, and the total is said to exceed eighty. Some are close to monkeys, some shaggy with fur, some moving in troops. Yet all share a common core: they live by the water, hold water in the dish on their heads, and drag away people and horses. The kappa, in other words, is the shared name of a vast clan into which all the water spirits of the land have gathered. It is the reading of folklore studies that binds these many variants into one. Yanagita Kunio and Orikuchi Shinobu held that the kappa was originally a god who governed water—a water deity—who declined into a yokai as belief in it faded. The fact that in the komahiki legends the kappa always tries to pull a horse or ox into the water may itself be a memory of festivals in which horses and oxen were offered to a water deity in prayer for a good harvest. In Kappa Komahiki Kō (1948), Ishida Eiichirō compared this bond between horse and water deity with myths from across Eurasia. Precisely because it is a god of water, the kappa draws water to the fields, grants fish, and even hands down bone-setting remedies—while also drowning people and pulling out their shirikodama. Its twin aspects, blessing and curse, are the two sides of a fallen water deity. Traces of the water deity show even in the turning of the seasons. Across western Japan it is widely told that at the autumn equinox the kappa goes up into the mountains to become a yamawaro, and at the spring equinox comes down again to the river to return to being a kappa. The field god who descends from the mountains to the villages in spring, the mountain god who returns to the peaks in autumn—that idea of coming and going maps exactly onto the exchange between kappa and yamawaro. In this way the clan’s variants, too, are bound to one another as a single continuous terrain. The clan even has its legend of a chieftain. On the Kuma River in Kyushu the tale survives of Kusenbō, a kappa general who crossed over from the continent at the head of nine thousand kindred. Having drawn the wrath of Katō Kiyomasa, he was driven from the region, moved to the Chikugo River, and became one of the retainers of the Suitengū shrine in Kurume. That a kappa was imagined not as a lone monster but as a clan linked from river to river is plainly expressed in this tale of a boss. Places tied to the kappa are found all over the country. At Tōno in Iwate there is a "Kappa Pool" (Kappa-buchi) where kappa are said to appear, and at Jōken-ji temple, in honor of a kappa that put out a fire with the water from its head-dish, stand "kappa guardian lions" whose heads are shaped like a dish. At Lake Ushiku in Ibaraki the painter Ogawa Usen, who depicted kappa all his life, was called "Usen of the Kappa," and Tanushimaru in Fukuoka styles itself "the birthplace of the kappa clan." In the Kappabashi district of Tokyo a legend tells of Sumida River kappa who came each night to help a merchant pressing ahead with flood-control works. To this day kappa festivals are held in many places, and the kappa lends its name to sake brands and town mascots alike—remaining the most beloved of all Japan’s water yokai.

This edition is not about a single seat on a particular sacred mountain, but a general treatise that thoroughly unravels "what a tengu is" from the history of its iconography and types. The individual traditions of each seat are left to the page of each great tengu. The form of the tengu is not uniform. The first type is the long-nosed tengu—ruddy face and high nose, clad in the ascetic's headcloth (tokin) and the suzukake robe, a feather fan in hand and one-toothed high clogs on the feet. The second is the crow tengu, with a crow's beak and wings, grasping a sword or a vajra staff. The third are the lesser tengu called leaf tengu and wood-chip tengu, held to be weak and numerous kin. Rather than a fixed classification, these reflect the breadth of the tengu image across eras and regions. The iconography shifted over time. The Heian-period tengu was first conceived as a bird like a black kite, and the image of the crow tengu retains that vestige. The long nose grows prominent only from the late Kamakura period; the Zegaibō Emaki depicts a scene in which a tengu that had disguised itself as a human has its nose lengthen as it returns to bird form. As for the origin of the long nose, there are theories that derive it from the high-nosed Jidō mask of gigaku and link the crow tengu to the Karura (Garuda) mask, and a view that sees the long nose as an iconographic vestige of a bird's beak—but none can be called settled doctrine. It was overlaid with the god Sarutahiko, described in the Nihon Shoki as having a nose seven hand-spans long, and the custom arose of using a tengu mask for the role of Sarutahiko in festivals. The tengu's dual nature is rooted in the Buddhist notion of the way of the tengu. Because it studies the Buddhist path it does not fall into hell, and because it handles heterodox arts it cannot reach paradise either—an intermediate state, and the one who falls there was held to be the arrogant monk. The Tengu Zōshi depicts this notion as satire of the monks of the seven great temples, yet Chigiri Kōsai too warns that the simplification "only arrogant monks become tengu" goes too far. Demon though it is, once subdued it turns to guardianship, and it was held that if a Shugendō practitioner recites the Tengu Sutra he may summon the tengu of the various provinces to grant his wishes—this amplitude between guardian and demon is the very core of the tengu. The certain medieval source for the grouping called the "Eight Great Tengu" lies in the libretto of the Muromachi-period Noh play Kurama Tengu. The passage in which the great tengu calls up the tengu of the provinces he commands in geographical order—"In Tsukushi, Buzenbō of Hiko-san; in the four provinces of Shikoku, Sagamibō of Shiramine; Hōkibō of Ōyama; Saburō of Iizuna… the host of Zenki of Ōmine, Takama of Katsuragi"—shows that the Eight Great Tengu were rooted in medieval belief and performing arts, not an Edo invention. Still, the composition wavers by source, with a variant that adds Hōkibō of Ishizuchi-san; it is no fixed roster.

The key to reading Hiko-san Buzenbō lies in Hikosan—the vast sacred site that is one of the three great centers of Shugendō in Japan—and in the tengu's character of two faces, reward and punishment. The history of Hikosan Shugendō issues from the Nara-period monk Hōren. Taking as founder this monk, whom the Shoku Nihongi records as having been granted forty chō of field in Buzen Province in the third year of Taihō (703), Hikosan grew into a great center of Shugendō ranking with the Dewa Sanzan and Ōmine. The name of Buzenbō appears with certainty in the Kamakura-period engi the Hikosan Ruki (1213). This work likens the forty-nine grottoes bored into the peaks of Hikosan to Miroku's Tosotsu Heaven and made the eighteenth the "Buzen-kutsu," the seat of Buzenbō. This very system of grottoes is the matrix of the faith in Buzenbō as chief of the tengu of Kyūshū. The Edo-period scale of the "Three Thousand Eight Hundred Bō of Hikosan" tells of this sacred site's prosperity. What characterizes the tengu Buzenbō is the sternness of his reward and punishment. As the history of Takasumi Shrine transmits, upon those of greedy and evil heart he carries off children and sets fire to houses in chastisement. Conversely, the wishes of the upright and deeply devout he hears and grants, and them he guards. These two faces of reward and punishment symbolize, as a tengu's judgment, the strict precepts that a Shugendō mountain imposes and the grace shown to those who keep them. The dread of a child-snatching tengu and the faith of parents praying for their children's safety were the front and back of one and the same Buzenbō. The separation of Shintō and Buddhism in the first year of Meiji and the prohibition of Shugendō in Meiji 5 (1872) scattered the yamabushi of Hikosan and dismantled the world of the three thousand eight hundred bō. The institution of Shugendō was lost, but the tengu faith of Buzenbō lives on at Takasumi Shrine; chanted in the Muromachi Noh play Kurama Tengu and standing among the forty-eight tengu of the Tengu-kyō as the great tengu of Kyūshū, he is still feared as one who sits upon the peak of Hikosan. Chigiri Kōsai of tengu scholarship, too, placed him within the system of the great tengu of the many mountains.

Invisible to the eye yet felt as a solid wall, this form matches northern Kyushu tales of travelers led astray. It does little harm and specializes in halting progress. The obstruction spreads from ankle to shoulder height, denying head-on passage. Stepping to the side, pausing to rest, or probing the ground and roadside with a stick weakens it. It is understood as a road spirit that tests those who travel.

Seen along seashores and riverbanks as a woman with long wet hair. Depending on the region, she either lures victims by making them hold a baby and then immobilizes them, or appears as a menacing aquatic entity evocative of a serpent’s body and a massive tail. Edo-period yokai art often depicts a serpentine woman, though narrative sources offer scant confirmation. In Iwami she is classed as a water spirit linked to the gyuki, with advice to never hold her burden barehanded. She is sometimes conflated with the iso-onna, and both name and traits vary by locale.

The standard image presented by Sekien in Hyakki Tsurezure Bukuro. A Chikushi koto, abandoned for many years, acquires spiritual power from its lament at being unheard and appears under the cover of night. Its torso is the old koto itself, with cracks and chips forming a mouth and its nodes read as eyes. The strings hang in disarray like hair and will produce a damp, mournful tone at the slightest pluck. In the illustration, it is paired on the same spread with the biwa tsukumogami “Biwa Bokuboku,” highlighting a nexus of instrument yokai. No firm ties to specific famed sites or historical figures are attested, and it is best understood as an allegorical being grounded in beliefs about tool-spirits.

Based on records from various regions, in places where it shows itself only a pair of red feet jut from the roadside, startling passersby and throwing off their pace. Where it remains unseen, a dry, cottony or cobweb-like touch clings to the shins, shortening strides and increasing fatigue. It is not lethal, yet it is feared for causing falls and leading people off the road. Its relation to the Red-Hand Child is noted in sources but not assumed to be identical. Encounters are told at crossroads, mountain paths, and brush edges in sparsely peopled spots, most often from dusk to midnight. As remedies, some regions pass down practical measures: breathe deeply and steady your steps, sit to retie sandal thongs, brush aside the roadside grass, though details vary locally and remain uncertain.

A traditional reading of the Tsurube-bi based on Edo-period ghost tales and Sekien’s imagery. Told across Japan as a tree-born will-o’-wisp, its bluish-white fire-orbs dangle from branch tips and bob up and down like a well bucket’s pulley, misleading travelers. The flame is weaker than it looks and is said not to catch on clothes or vegetation. Early-modern accounts cite fire apparitions around Saiin in Kyoto, and later yokai encyclopedias file it as a will-o’-wisp akin to Tsurube-otoshi or as a separate kind. Sightings are said to peak on moonless or misty nights; when approached it slips away, when left it drifts back. A shadowed face sometimes appears, causing confusion with hitodama, yet it is remembered as a local, earthbound fire spirit.