Tengu

ten-goo

📖 Detailed Description

Kakukai-bō of Yokogawa is said to be a tengu variant who turned from human monk to winged guardian of the Dharma from the late Heian into the early Kamakura era. Once a virtuous priest of deep Shingon lineage, he ran himself ragged settling mountain disputes until he grasped a boundary no worldly rule could protect, becoming a winged keeper of sacred law. In Kōya’s inner precincts, they tell how one night a gale whirled through a hall and the middle gate shuddered, then its doors shed their hinges, unfurled as twin feathers, and split the black clouds to fly off. Those doors became Kakukai-bō’s wings. Ever since, he appears with the comings and goings at temple gates, raising a fierce wind before those who disturb the rule and presenting a single line of precept. He resembles a karasu-tengu, yet his face keeps the gaunt trace of an old monk and his long nose curves like a mountain ridge. His feathered robe echoes priestly vestments, layered in cinnabar and ink, its cuffs frayed like the edges of ancient sutras. He carries a feather fan akin to a monk’s staff, and when he sweeps it, seed-syllables rise like chaff off paper, racing along the ground as ropes of warding. He speaks sparingly, but his words hang like a bell’s aftertone, stopping the feet of those who have strayed. He guards the mountain’s thresholds—the shrine and temple gates, the bends of approach paths, the joins of ridge and valley—where human law brushes mountain law, serving as their mediator. When a practitioner keeps purity, he lets fall a single white feather from the cloudbreak as a sign of safe passage. But if pride sprouts, the vigil lamp flickers once and a cold wind runs down the back. Feeling this thrice, one must follow his guidance to descend the mountain or doff one’s robe and return to first intent. He also teaches the ‘Doctrine of Drying’: to clear the heart, remove needless damp—a metaphor tied on the mountain to drying beans for stores and keeping offerings pure. Though unproven, it stands as a sign of turning the mountain’s rigor into daily sustenance. Late at night when mist pools in the valleys, he patrols with a train of crows. They are his eyes and ears, giving short signals to those swayed by rumor. Read rightly, the signs lead one off the wandering path, read wrongly, one circles the same ground three times. This is called Kakukai’s Rounds, and on the third turn, if one straightens the crook in the heart, the eastern ridge pales and the path opens naturally to the main gate.