A tragic woman and her cat, now Shinto deities

Down a narrow road beside the Naka River in rural Tokushima Prefecture, a two-meter-tall Maneki Neko cat statue beckons all passersby to visit the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine, お松大権現.

I was one of those beckoned.

I followed cat footprints up the steps through the torii entrance gate and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of cat statues.

Cats were everywhere. Instead of traditional komainu lion-dogs guarding the shrine, there were cats. Instead of shachihoko fish-tigers guarding the roof against fire, there were cats.

Why all the cats?

To answer that question, we turn to a story that takes place during the iron rule of the Tokugawa shoguns during the Edo era (1603-1867).

The tragic tale of Omatsu

In the late 17th century, the village of Kamo in what is now Tokushima Prefecture was struggling. Years of bad harvests had taken their toll on the people, and their tax burden had become unbearable.

The village headman, a kind-hearted man named Sobee, wanted to help his people. He borrowed money from a wealthy neighbor, Nogami. As collateral, Nogami was granted use of several of Sobee’s rice paddies.

All seemed well. The money helped the struggling villagers, and Sobee was recouping what he needed to repay his debt.

As the agreed-upon date to repay the loan drew near, Sobee noticed Nogami along the road by his fields. He grabbed the cash and brought it out to Nogami, who assured him he would send him a receipt when he got home.

Unfortunately, within days, Sobee fell ill and passed away. His lovely wife, Omatsu, was left to tend the fields alone.

Omatsu visited Nogami and asked him for a certificate of repayment for the loan. Nogami insisted Sobee had not paid. Omatsu knew her husband had, and she repeatedly asked Nogami for the receipt.

Nogami, angered by her persistence, shouted that he had never received the money. He sent his men to collect on the collateral by taking Omatsu’s remaining rice fields.

Now desperate, Omatsu appealed to the local magistrate. He agreed to help her — that is, as long as she would be his lover.

Omatsu had no idea that the magistrate was receiving money on the sly from Nogami. When she turned down his advances, he dismissed her, refusing to honor her claim.

Desperation

Then Omatsu did something very few in the Edo era dared do. She risked her life to appeal to higher authority.

On a cold winter day in 1686, Tsunanori, the lord of Awa Domain, was passing through Omatsu’s town. His procession of samurai vassals was long and intimidating. In the center was Tsunanori’s palanquin.

Omatsu held in her hand a petition. Suddenly, the vassals saw what seemed to be a white shadow break through their ranks near the palanquin. Confusion broke out with yells and cries. Samurai unsheathed their swords.

Then a quiet voice stilled them, “Stop.”

It was the voice of Tsunanori as he peeked out of his palanquin. He saw the lovely Omatsu, dressed all in white, bowed to the ground in humility.

Tsunanori allowed Omatsu to approach. She handed him the letter she had written, her heartfelt, desperate appeal for truth and justice. The daimyo gazed upon her face, pitiful, yet full of such mysterious beauty that he couldn’t help but lose his breath.

When he regained his composure, Tsunanori read her appeal.

He announced, “I will consider this,” and Omatsu’s beautiful eyes filled with tears.

The procession continued on. Omatsu’s appeal had taken but an instant.

The Tokugawa shogunate maintained absolute control. Nearly all crimes were punishable by death. One such capital offense was appealing directly to any daimyo or the shogun.

No matter how worthy the cause, simply appealing to a daimyo was punishable by death.

Thus, Omatsu was taken to the jail behind Tokushima castle to await her execution.

The execution was to be carried out three months hence. Forlorn and alone, the lovely Omatsu had only her beloved cat to comfort her. The sympathetic cat never left her side, patiently listening to her troubles and tears. Only this calico cat knew the true depth of the tragedy that befell her beloved Omatsu.

On the day appointed, Omatsu was taken to a dry riverbed. She was dressed in white, her long hair hanging free. A sudden breeze blew Omatsu’s robes and lifted her hair, causing it to reflect like an eerie halo in the evening light. The men preparing her execution cried, “She is a Bodhisattva!” How could they dare to kill such a one?

But if they did not do their job, they themselves would be killed.

As the executioner raised his sword, all present joined the weeping Omatsu in praying to Amida Nyorai for salvation, Namu Amida Butsu, “I take refuge in Amida Buddha.” From their hiding places in the woods, villagers joined in, bidding a sad farewell to the tragic Omatsu.

In mercy, the executioner’s sword also fell upon the neck of Omatsu’s calico cat, allowing her to remain together with her beloved owner in the afterlife.

Soon, the villagers began to quietly honor Omatsu as a deity for those seeking justice. They told the story of her courage to their children and grandchildren, keeping her memory alive yet secret from the authorities who would punish them for honoring one who was a criminal in their eyes.

The vengeful cat

Not long after Omatsu’s execution, in the pitch black of night, the corrupt magistrate who had refused Omatsu was awakened by what sounded like a cat. Looking all around, he saw nothing and heard only the faint sound of running water. Yet he was sure he had heard the scream of an angry cat.

Then, another cry reached his ears. This one seemed to be a woman’s voice. He turned to see what he thought was a maidservant lighting a lantern. When the light fell upon her face, he saw it was that of a terrible cat.

He ran to fetch his guards, but when they inspected his room, only a lantern quietly burned.

That fateful night marked the end of the magistrate. He soon lost his job, fell ill, and died.

Next, the ghostly cat sought out Nogami, and mysterious deaths followed. His family line was soon extinguished.

The locals saw these deaths as the result of a curse put on those men by Omatsu and her feline friend. To appease the kaibyō, 怪猫, “monster cat,” they built a shrine to honor Omatsu and her loyal companion.

Omatsu was deified as the god of victorious triumph and her cat, her avenger. The Omatsu Daigongen shrine became a mecca for those praying for the tenacity to triumph, be it in business, competitions, or in passing entrance examinations.

A custom developed where people who visited the shrine to pray for success would bring a cat statue back home with them. When their prayer was answered, they returned the cat and donated another.

After decades of this, there are more than 10,000 cat statues on the grounds of the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine. There are fanciful statues of Buddhist deities merged into cat bodies, beckoning Maneki Neko statues, and several traditional Buddhist statues.

Sasuri Neko for healing

In front of the main shrine building is a special cat statue called the Sasuri Neko. Visitors with ailments rub the cat’s body to receive healing. For sore knees, they rub the cat’s tiny knees. For headaches, the cat’s head.

Beside the shrine, a trail leads through another torii gate, between ancient, sacred inumaki yew plum pine trees, past a small pool and waterfall, and further up stone steps. All around this path and the entire shrine grounds are mind-boggling numbers of cat statues. A separate building dedicated solely to Maneki Neko statues is filled with thousands of beckoning cats.

After about 50 minutes of wandering through this wonderland, I was ready to continue my hike along the Henro, the 88 Temple Pilgrimage of Shikoku.

No matter how you feel about cats, I’m sure you will agree that this is an extraordinary place. If you ever visit Tokushima, please allow yourself to be beckoned into the shrine of Omasu and her beloved Neko Kami-San, 猫神さん, Cat God.

References:

Japanese Lucky Charms, Omatsu Daigongen Shrine

The post Omatsu Daigongen—The Amazing Cat Temple of Shikoku first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Poet, Scholar, Vengeful Ghost, God of Learning — Michizane is Remarkable!

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I introduce you to Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

Sugawara no Michizane is my favorite of Japan’s three most vengeful ghosts. He was the most noble, then the most frightening, and today, he is the most honored.

Vengeful Ghost #3 — Sugawara no Michizane

Sugawara no Michizane was born into a family of mid-level aristocrats in Kyoto in 845. Both his grandfather and his father were scholars of classical Chinese literature and history, taught at the Kyoto school of higher learning, and were private tutors to emperors. Michizane was destined to surpass them.

He began reading classical Chinese poetry at age five and composed his first poem at the age of eleven. As a child, Michizane could often be found in the garden of his father’s estate, gazing at the plum trees and admiring their ephemeral, delicate blossoms while he composed poetry, a habit he continued throughout his life. Michizane grew to be the greatest composer of classical Chinese poetry in the history of Japan and the epitome of scholarship.

He began his service to the imperial court when he was 25, and quickly advanced through the court ranks. By age 33, Michizane had attained the highest level of scholarship in Kyoto.

Michizane, Friend of the Emperor

Michizane was not only respected by Emperor Uda for his scholarship, but he became family when Uda chose Michizane’s oldest daughter to be one of his concubines. Closer still, when Uda’s third son married Michizane’s third daughter.

In 901, Emperor Uda named Michizane Minister of the Right, elevating him to the second highest court rank. Soon thereafter, Uda retired, turning over control of the government to his eldest son, Emperor Daigo.

A man with whom Michizane had been on friendly terms, Fujiwara Tokihira — who held the higher position of Minister of the Left — along with many of the nobility, were not happy with Michizane’s quick advancement. Remembering his daughter’s marriage to Uda’s son, they devised a scheme to get rid of him.

False Allegations

Nobles, mainly of the Fujiwara family, accused Michizane of conspiring to make his son-in-law, Uda’s third son, emperor in place of Daigo. The accusations carried such weight that, in spite of Michizane’s innocence, he was banished to Dazaifu, a fortified governmental base in northern Kyushu.

One of the conspirators was Fujiwara Sugane, a close associate of Michizane and one of his former students. When Uda heard of the travesty of Michizane’s banishment, he sought an audience with Daigo, but Sugane would not permit him to see the emperor without an invitation. Uda sent a message to Daigo through Sugane, but Sugane never delivered it.

Misery and Death in Dazaifu

Michizane had to pay his way to Dazaifu, and once there, was provided with no attendants or salary. He was given a broken down, abandoned house in which to live. Although holding an official title, he was forbidden to work or even step foot into the government offices. He could not teach. His writings were censored.

His heart was grieved that his family shared in his punishment for his perceived disloyalty to the emperor and had been scattered. He dearly missed them.

He yearned for his life in Kyoto, his evening poetry parties, and his books. He longed for the fine food, beautiful clothes, and refined culture. He wished to sit again in his garden and gaze at his beloved plum tree, with its delicate and fragrant blossoms. So great was his yearning, legend tells us, that one night Michizane’s plum tree uprooted itself from its home in Kyoto and came to rest in Dazaifu. It is still there.

Nothing but misery, crime, and harassment befell him in Dazaifu. The local situation was so full of corruption that Michizane felt it was beyond hope. People murdered and stole without compunction or fear of retribution.

Curious onlookers came to gawk at his misery. Tokihira’s spies hounded him. The colors of his once-lovely kimonos gradually faded as they turned to rags.

As the months passed, Michizane’s money ran out. He could no longer afford food, clothing, or even a place to live. He died heartbroken and in abject poverty in 903, just two years after arriving in Kyushu.

The Fujiwara scheme to banish him from Kyoto and his work was, in effect, a slow, drawn out, and depressing death sentence.

Michizane Becomes a Vengeful Ghost

After Michizane’s death, unexplained troubles began to shake Kyoto. There were cycles of floods and droughts, plagues and earthquakes.

• In 908, Fujiwara Sugane, Michizane’s former student who had plotted against him and refused to deliver Uda’s message to Emperor Daigo, was struck by lightning and died.
• The next year, the main conspirator, Fujiwara Tokihira, inexplicably fell ill and died.

Rumors spread among aristocracy and commoners alike that Michizane’s ghost had returned to seek revenge.

The troubles continued.

• The man who replaced Michizane as Minister of the Right fell into a swamp and died while out hunting.
• Daigo’s second son died. The historical record, Nihon Kiryaku, attributed his death to Michizane’s curse-like, malevolent feelings towards the emperor. Later that year, a fearful Daigo had Michizane reinstated as the Minister of the Right.
• Before another three years had passed, the eldest son of Daigo’s recently deceased son also died.
• Next, Tokihira’s oldest son died.

Again, fingers pointed to the avenging spirit of Michizane. Anxiety and fear grew.

• In 930, a meeting was held in the great hall of the imperial palace with Emperor Daigo in attendance, along with his highest court nobles. Suddenly, a bright fork of lightning split the sky and struck the imperial hall, causing a devastating fire that killed many important government officials. Daigo, traumatized by the disaster, fell ill and died three months later.

The vengeful ghost of Michizane, embodied in lightning, had made his most powerful attack.

This had to stop.

From Vengeful Ghost to Shinto God

Daigo’s son, the emperor Murakami, ordered the building of Kyoto’s Kitano Shrine to house the spirit of Michizane and had him deified as the kami, or Shinto god, Tenjin, “god of the heavens.” This was the first of many Tenmangu Shrines, specifically dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane.

During the Edo era (1603–1867), the story of Michizane’s life became a popular subject of puppet and kabuki plays. In fact, the most famous of those plays, Sugawara Denju Tenarai Kagami (Sugawara and the Secrets of Calligraphy) is considered one of Japan’s Three Great Kabuki Plays. (I told you Japan loves threes.)

Outside the fanciful world of theater, Michizane came to be worshipped as the god of learning. Students prayed to him in their small temple classrooms, and samurai made offerings for his help in improving their martial arts’ skills.

Today, Michizane is known as the god of scholarship, the god of honesty and sincerity, the god of the performing arts, the god of dispelling false accusations, and even the god of agriculture.

There are approximately 12,000 Tenmangu Shrines dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane in Japan. Each year, thousands of students flock to his shrines to pray for his help in passing entrance exams as well as regular folk hoping to improve their abilities or knowledge.

I wrote about the other two great vengeful ghosts here: Taira no Masakado and Emperor Sutoku.

Sources:

https://news.mynavi.jp/article/20210930-1978876/, https://kitanotenmangu.or.jp/, https://www.dazaifutenmangu.or.jp/about/michizane

The post Sugawara no Michizane —Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 3 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Hell Hath no Fury like an Emperor Scorned

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I introduce you to Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

Vengeful Ghost #2 — Emperor Sutoku

The central Heian government in Kyoto was beginning to fall apart by the 12th century. A succession dispute in 1156, known as the Hogen no Ran, turned into a fierce battle between the younger Emperor Go-Shirakawa and his older brother, the retired Emperor Sutoku.

This ended badly for Sutoku, and he was banished in disgrace as a criminal to Sanuki (Kagawa Prefecture) on the island of Shikoku.

While under house arrest in Sanuki, Sutoku applied himself to Buddhist study. He made offerings for the souls of those who had died in battle. He reflected on his life and prayed for his rebirth in the Buddhist Pure Land. And he spent months diligently writing out the five main Buddhist texts, or sutras. Some accounts claim that these sutras were written in his blood, so dedicated was he to the purifying of his soul.

Sutoku sent these painstakingly prepared sutras to Kyoto as an offering for a temple. First, though, they were presented at the Imperial Court.

The suspicious Emperor Go-Shirakawa took one look at them and wondered aloud, “Has Sutoku sent us a curse?!” Without even opening them, he had the sutras returned to Sutoku.

This blatant disrespect sent Sutoku into a rage. “If it’s a curse you want, a curse you shall get!” He gnawed his tongue, and with his blood he wrote this curse, “I shall become a mighty demon! I shall cause the Emperor to be made low, and the lowly peasant to be exalted!”

After this, Sutoku changed. He fell into a deep melancholy. His hair, beard, and nails went untrimmed, and he lived out his life in lonely exile away from his beloved Kyoto. Many say he came to appear more like a goblin of the mountains than the once mighty emperor of Japan.

Back in the capital, Emperor Go-Shirakawa retired in 1158, but he continued to keep a tight grip on power through the reigns of the next five emperors — each of whom was one of his sons or grandsons.

In 1164, Sutoku died.

As a final insult, Go-Shirakawa paid no respects and held no funeral services for his older brother, the former Emperor Sutoku. No royal tomb was built for him in Kyoto. He was banished even in death.

The governor of Sanuki Province saw to Sutoku’s funeral.

Birth of a Vengeful Ghost

Twelve years after Sutoku’s death, bad things started happening in the capital.

In 1176, Go-Shirakawa was shaken by the sudden deaths of four of his closest allies in the court. They had died one after the other.

The following year, the powerful warrior monks of Mount Hiei raised their heads, threatening the authority of the emperor. A brazen plot to overthrow the influential Taira clan was exposed. Worse, a massive fire reduced one third of the city of Kyoto to ashes.

A prominent court noble recorded in his diary that all these events were surely the work of the disrespected and banished ghost of Emperor Sutoku.

From that time on, the name Sutoku appeared often in the writings of the aristocracy in connection with any unfortunate event.

At last, the fearful and superstitious nobles pressured Go-Shirakawa to allow Buddhist memorial services to be held for the comfort of Sutoku’s spirit.

He acquiesced.

A mausoleum was built for Sutoku on the site of the Hogen no Ran battle. This was later incorporated into Hirano Shrine, which still stands in Kyoto today.

“Emperors Made Low”

While the nobles in Kyoto were enjoying their sophisticated culture, fine clothing, and poetry, the samurai in the countryside were gradually gaining power. Wars were fought between rival clans, and in 1184, the victorious warlord Minamoto no Yoritomo set up his shogunate in Kamakura. This marked the beginning of the feudal age that lasted until the mid-19th century.

For nearly 700 years, the emperor was reduced to a mere figurehead, cloistered in his palace in Kyoto. All power was held by the shogun.

Sutoku Becomes a Guardian Deity

In the early 13th century, Go-Shirakawa’s great grandson, the retired Emperor Tsuchimikado, was banished to Shikoku Island. He made a point to visit Sutoku’s grave to commiserate with his spirit, and to comfort him by playing his lute. Like Sutoku before him, Tsuchimikado was troubled and lonely, far from his loved ones in Kyoto.

That night, Sutoku appeared to Tsuchimikado in a dream, consoling him and promising that he would look after and protect his family.

Although Tsuchimikado’s family lost power after his exile, about 20 years later through an unexpected turn of events, the baby that Tsuchimikado was forced to leave behind in Kyoto became the emperor Go-Saga. Sutoku’s promise was remembered.

In the 14th century, the powerful samurai Hosokawa Yoriyuki also paid a visit to Sutoku’s grave on Shikoku and made offerings for his happiness in the afterlife. He then prayed for Sutoku’s guidance and help in conquering the island. He succeeded in subjugating Shikoku, and thereafter Sutoku became the guardian deity of the Hosokawa clan.

Sutoku’s Spirit Lives On

In 1868, Emperor Meiji took the throne, ending feudalism and long centuries of samurai rule. Power was restored to the emperor.

The teenage emperor, not wanting any trouble from unappeased angry ghosts, sent an imperial envoy to Sanuki to bring the spirit of Sutoku to Kyoto. Back in his former capital, Sutoku was deified and enshrined at Shiramine Shrine.

On the 800th anniversary of Sutoku’s death, just prior to the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, Emperor Hirohito sent emissaries to Sutoku’s tomb in Kagawa Prefecture. On the emperor’s orders, they honored Sutoku with an imperial memorial service and prayed for the repose of his spirit. Like his grandfather the emperor Meiji, Hirohito wanted no trouble from an aggrieved Sutoku.

The 1964 Olympics were a milestone in post-war Japan, bringing the country to the world stage as a peaceful, progressive, and prosperous nation.

Perhaps Sutoku’s spirit finally was at peace.

Here is part one of this series about Taira no Masakado, the ghost who haunted Tokyo.

Part three is the story of my favorite ghost, Sugawara no Michizane.

The post Emperor Sutoku — Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 2 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Wreaking Havoc in Tokyo from the 10th Century

Japan loves threes. Three Great Beautiful Places. Three Great Night Views. Three Great Mountains. In this three article series, I will introduce to you Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts.

The Japanese people have long believed in ghosts, hauntings, and spiritual realms. People generally will not move into a house or apartment where someone has died, and there is at least one website that lists such haunted residences to warn potential buyers. Television shows that recount ghost stories are a standard of prime-time viewing.

So please allow me to introduce you to the most famous ghost in Japan, who just happens to haunt Tokyo.

Vengeful Ghost #1 — Taira no Masakado

In the early 10th century, the powerful samurai warlord, Taira no Masakado, staged various uprisings near the northern border of the Japanese state. Far away in the capital of Heian-kyo, now Kyoto, the emperor yawned and turned back to his tea. No need for the son of heaven to bother with petty local skirmishes.

A few years later, though, the situation became more serious. Masakado had captured the governor of Hitachi Province (Ibaraki Prefecture) and taken over Shimotsuke and Kōzuke (Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures). He then proclaimed himself the “New Emperor.”

Time to put down that teacup.

Emperor Suzaku placed a bounty on his head and sent an army to hunt down the arrogant Masakado.

The wily Masakado was hard to corner, but after weeks of pursuit and battles, the final showdown came.

With a strong north wind on his back, Masakado held the advantage. Nevertheless, the imperial forces felt confident in their superior numbers and launched a surprise attack on Masakado’s center. An intense battle raged. Masakado’s samurai repelled the enemy with horses racing, arrows flying, and spears thrusting. Men and horses scattered, and 2,900 of the emperor’s samurai were forced to retreat. Just 300 of their elite warriors remained.

Proud of his victory against a much larger force, Masakado was making his way back to camp when he felt the wind change. He readied himself for another battle.

Using the south wind to their advantage, the remaining imperial samurai quickly regrouped and sprang to the attack.

Masakado charged to meet them, but his fleet-footed horse lost its footing on the uneven ground. In that one moment of Masakado’s distraction, an arrow pierced through the middle of his forehead.

The imperial samurai severed Masakado’s head and brought it back to the capital to present to the emperor. Setting a new precedent in criminal law, Masakado’s head was put on public display in Kyoto’s marketplace as a grisly warning. Worse, the emperor expressly forbade that his remains be given a Buddhist burial or memorial service, condemning his spirit to wander this earthly realm with no hope of redemption.

This is when the rumors started.

Birth of a Vengeful Ghost

Some people reported seeing Masakado’s eyes open while his head was displayed.

A poet recorded he saw Masakado’s head turning left and right, groaning and looking for his body, whereupon his head broke away and flew off north in search of it.

Masakado’s head came to rest in the tiny fishing village of Shibazaki, later to become Edo, then Tokyo. The locals cleaned it and provided it with a proper burial at Kanda Shrine, inscribing his gravestone with prayers to keep Masakado’s troubled spirit appeased.

Yet each time unexplained trouble occurred, the villagers believed it was caused by the angry spirit of Masakado.

During the Edo era (1603–1867), Taira no Masakado grew in fame as Kabuki theater, woodblock prints, and books for the masses grew in popularity. Masakado’s ghost became a recurring theme in entertainment for the superstitious public, and even his daughter came to the fore. A famous Kabuki play portrayed her as a powerful sorceress, fighting off imperial pursuers with witchcraft.

Trouble at the Ministry of Finance

In the late 1800s, Kanda Shrine moved to its present location. The Ministry of Finance took over its former area, sharing its grounds with Masakado’s tomb. Each year, Masakado was treated with ceremonies as befitted a lord. A portable shrine was carried from Kanda Shrine, and priests prayed for the repose of his spirit. Masakado seemed pleased.

During the devastating Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 and its resultant fires, the Ministry of Finance building burnt to the ground. Remarkably, although reduced to a bald mound of earth, Masakado’s underground tomb remained intact. Archeologists discovered that his tomb was built in the ancient keyhole style of the Kofun era (300–600 AD) and were keen to preserve it.

Sadly, there were no laws in place to protect historical properties, and within two years, the land was leveled. A temporary building to house the Ministry of Finance was constructed in its place.

That couldn’t be good.

Before two more years had passed, 14 people in the finance ministry had died under mysterious circumstances. Even the Vice-Minister of Finance, Hayashi Seiji, passed away after a brief and unexplained illness. People who worked above the former grave sight complained of pains in their feet.

Their disrespect for Masakado was deemed the cause of all these troubles.

Apology to a Ghost

“Even in this modern age of progress and science, bureaucrats apologize to Taira no Masakado,” reported the Yomiuri Newspaper in 1926.

The building that had been constructed upon Masakado’s tomb was torn down. Shinto priests were called in to perform a purification ceremony and to pray for the repose of Masakado’s soul. A hedge, a stone lantern, and a monument were erected in the hopes of appeasing his troublesome spirit.

Perhaps he would like the little garden offering?

Lightning Strike

In 1940, one thousand years after Masakado’s death, fires caused by lightning destroyed the Ministry of Finance and nine other adjacent government buildings. Kawada Isao, the Minister of Finance, hoping to undo the damage, erected a monument upon the exact spot of Masakado’s tomb that had been so thoughtlessly destroyed after the 1923 earthquake. A Shinto ceremony marking the 1,000th anniversary of Masakado’s death was held to comfort his spirit.

WWII and its Aftermath

During the firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945, the area around Masakado’s tomb was again burnt to the ground, but the monument remained relatively unscathed.

After the war, the Americans, unaware of the danger posed by angering the spirit of Masakado, bulldozed the area to make a parking lot. According to records at the Kanda Shrine, the bulldozer flipped over, killing the driver.

Members of the local community were appalled at the Americans’ actions. Fearing further retribution from Masakado, the community leader petitioned the Occupation Forces to allow them to preserve “the grave of an ancient great chieftain.” Their request was granted and the local people adopted the gravesite, keeping it clean and offering flowers and prayers.

From Vengeful Ghost to Shinto God

In 1984, Taira no Masakado’s reputation took a turn, and he became one of the three kami, or deities, enshrined at the Kanda Shrine in Tokyo.

The Bank of Tokyo-Mitsubishi UFJ, located in the building beside Masakado’s grave, opened an account in his name. Money placed into the donation box at his gravesite — to the tune of 800,000 yen per year ($7,000) — is kept there to be used for gravesite maintenance and care.

Although the monument — built in 1940 upon the spot where Masakado’s head was buried so many years before — today occupies prime real estate in downtown Tokyo, it is still carefully preserved, honored, and respected. You can find it near Otemachi Station, a stone’s throw from the Imperial Palace.

Why not stop by and pay your respects on your next visit to Japan?

P.S. Frogs

Until its 2020 renovation, Taira no Masakado’s grave was surrounded by many frog statues. In Japanese, both “frog” and “return home” are pronounced kaeru. Masakado’s head came to rest there because of his quest to “return home” to his body. People wishing for the safe return of missing loved ones, and people going on trips who wanted Masakado to bring them back home safely, placed frog statues around his grave as an offering of prayer.

Today, to keep the gravesite tidy, those frog statues have been moved to Kanda Shrine and can no longer be viewed by the public, nor can any more be given as offerings. A spokesman for the shrine said, “In these days of increased concern about hygiene, please refrain from leaving things at the shrine.”

Links to the stories of the other two great vengeful ghosts:

Ghost #2, Emperor Sutoku, and ghost #3, Sugawara no Michizane.

Sources:

https://skawa68.com/2021/06/16/post-74501/, https://mag.japaaan.com/archives/102341, https://sakamichi.tokyo/?p=15968, https://www.goshuinbukuro.com/entry/2017/08/16/233000, https://bit.ly/34fTakP

The post Taira no Masakado—Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts, part 1 first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.