Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [440]
“What if we have another heavy rain?”
“We’ll fix it so the water doesn’t come this way. We’ll lay a dam from here all the way to that hill over there.”
“That’s an awful lot of work.”
“You seem to forget that this is our dōjō. I’m not giving up a foot of this land until I see barley growing on it.”
Musashi carried on his stubborn struggle throughout the winter, into the second month of the new year. It took several weeks of strenuous labor to dig ditches, drain the water off, pile dirt for a dike and then cover it with heavy rocks.
Three weeks later everything was again washed away.
“Look,” Iori said, “we’re wasting our energy on something impossible. Is that the Way of the Sword?” The question struck close to the bone, but Musashi would not give in.
Only a month passed before the next disaster, a heavy snowfall followed by a quick thaw. Iori, on his return from trips to the temple for food, inevitably wore a long face, for the people there rode him mercilessly about Musashi’s failure. And finally Musashi himself began to lose heart.
For two full days and on into a third, he sat silently brooding and staring at his field.
Then it dawned on him suddenly. Unconsciously, he had been trying to create a neat, square field like those common in other parts of the Kanto Plain, but this was not what the terrain called for. Here, despite the general flatness, there were slight variations in the lay of the land and the quality of the soil that argued for an irregular shape.
“What a fool I’ve been,” he exclaimed aloud. “I tried to make the water flow where I thought it should and force the dirt to stay where I thought it ought to be. But it didn’t work. How could it? Water’s water, dirt’s dirt. I can’t change their nature. What I’ve got to do is learn to be a servant to the water and a protector of the land.”
In his own way, he had submitted to the attitude of the peasants. On that day he became nature’s manservant. He ceased trying to impose his will on nature and let nature lead the way, while at the same time seeking out possibilities beyond the grasp of other inhabitants of the plain.
The snow came again, and another thaw; the muddy water oozed slowly over the plain. But Musashi had had time to work out his new approach, and his field remained intact.
“The same rules must apply to governing people,” he said to himself. In his notebook, he wrote: “Do not attempt to oppose the way of the universe. But first make sure you know the way of the universe.”
Mountain Devils
“Let me make myself clear. I don’t want you to go to any trouble on my account. Your hospitality, which I appreciate greatly, is quite sufficient.”
“Yes, sir. That’s very considerate of you, sir,” replied the priest.
“I’d just like to relax. That’s all.”
“By all means.”
“Now I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness,” said the samurai, stretching out casually on his side and propping his graying head on his forearm.
The guest who’d just arrived at the Tokuganji was Nagaoka Sado, a high-ranking vassal of Lord Hosokawa Tadaoki of Buzen. He had little time for personal matters, but he invariably came on such occasions as the anniversary of his father’s death, usually staying overnight, since the temple was some twenty miles from Edo. For a man of his rank, he traveled unostentatiously, accompanied this time by only two samurai and one young personal attendant.
To get away from the Hosokawa establishment even for a short time, he had had to trump up an excuse. He rarely had the chance to do as he pleased, and now that he did, he was fully enjoying the local sake while listening to the croaking of frogs. Briefly he could forget about everything—the problems of administration and the constant need to be attuned to the nuances of daily affairs.
After dinner, the priest quickly cleared the dishes and left. Sado was chatting idly with his attendants, who were seated next to the wall, only their faces showing in the light of the lamp.
“I could just lie