GUARDIAN KINGS AND THE
OXCART: A COMIC INTERLUDE,

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE
ORIGIN OF HANIWA

THE JAPANESE WARRIOR USED THE horse from very early times, as is clear from the haniwa figures which have been found in great numbers in and around the old giant tombs for ancient emperors and other people of importance; some are horses decked out militarily. There has even been a theory that Japan was overrun by the equestrian tribe of the Tungus of Siberia from the early fourth to the fifth century A.D. This intriguing theory was put forward by the historian Egami Namio during the brief period after the Second World War, when, as another historian, Inoue Mitsusada, puts it, the sense of liberation from the oppressive rule under the militarists and jingoists pervaded the nation. The theory hasn’t so far won over the majority.

Yet the Japanese men of war never developed the one type of equipment anyone would first think of in picturing in his mind ancient Greek heroes such as Achilles and Hector and some of the more imposing nation-building warriors of old China: the chariot. This explains the unsoldierly embarrassment experienced by three of Minamoto no Raik’s “Four Guardian Kings,” as recounted in the following episode from Konjaku Monogatari Shu (vol. 28, sec. 2).

The occasion was the day after the Kamo Festival, held in the fourth month, when the vestal of Kamo Shrines, accompanied by an imperial messenger, returned to her place of residence in Murasakino. The festive procession was most extravagant in those days and attracted huge crowds, including ladies and gentlemen of the aristocracy. The festival, now called Aoi Matsuri and held on May 15, is regarded as one of the three greatest festivals in Japan today.

Like the episode about Sakanoue no Haruzumi, pp. 59-60, this story also shows how completely the samurai in those days subordinated themselves to the aristocracy. In addition, it shows the way the warriors from the East, like these three, were regarded as hicks who spoke a barely intelligible rural dialect.

Among Governor of Settsu Minamoto no Raik’s soldiers were three outstanding men: Taira no Hidemichi, Taira [Urabe] no Suetake, and Sakata no Kintoki. All these men were sparklingly attractive in appearance and quick with their hands. They had strong minds and were wise in thinking and plotting. There was nothing clumsy about them. Their military exploits in the East were numerous, and people feared them as warriors. The Governor of Settsu himself treated them with special regard and kept them in close attendance.

Once, on the day following the Kamo Festival these three warriors discussed how to view the procession.

“All of us could ride our horses to Murasakino, but that would be extremely unsightly,” they agreed. “On the other hand, we couldn’t walk there, trying to hide our faces. We’re dying to see the show, but don’t know what to do.”

“How about borrowing our monk friend’s oxcart?” one of them ventured. “We could see the show riding in it.”

“We aren’t allowed to ride in an oxcart,” said another. “If the guards of the noblemen found out, they’d pull us out and kick us. They might even kill us.”

“How about keeping the blinds down, pretending we’re women? The third one suggested.

“That’s a great idea!” chorused the other two.

At once they borrowed their monk friend’s cart and brought it out. Then these three warriors lowered its blinds, put on weird-looking indigo formal jackets, and climbed in. Since they pulled their shoes inside and didn’t even let their sleeves out, the carriage looked perfectly like one in which ladies rode.

As the cart rumbled toward Murasakino, however, these men, who had never ridden in a vehicle like this, were tossed about as if shaken in a lidded box. They tumbled against each other, their heads bumped against the side boards, they banged cheek against cheek, or they fell right on their backs. They finally collapsed and rolled on the floorboards. It was unbearable. As they were carried forward like this, besides, the men became very sick. They vomited all over the cart’s steps and dropped their headgear in their confusion.

The ox happened to be a superb specimen, though, and didn’t let up as it pulled the carriage quickly forward. So the men cried out in their heavy accent, “Not so fast, not so fast!” This mystified the people in the carriages moving near them, as well as the lowly attendants walking behind their carts.

“What kind of people are riding in this ladies’ cart? They cry out just like Eastern geese, don’t they?” they said to one another in bafflement. “Could it be some daughters of Eastern people are going to see the procession?”

Still, the voices they heard were loud and no doubt men’s, so it was all a mystery to them.

They finally arrived in Murasakino and their carriage was parked, with the ox unharnessed. Theirs was among the first carts to get there, and they had plenty of time to wait for the procession. But as though seasick, these men felt extremely ill. Their eyes rolled and everything looked upside down. So in their sickness all three fell asleep, their asses high up in the air.

The procession came and passed. But fast asleep as if dead, they missed all of it. They stirred and awoke only when everything was over and people made a good deal of noise harnessing the oxen back to their carriages. Still feeling ill and realizing they had missed the procession while asleep, they were angry with themselves and bitter.

“If we let our cart fly again on our way back, we are sure to die,” they said. “None of us is afraid of dashing into the middle of a thousand enemy soldiers on horseback, for that’s all routine for us. But there’s no point in putting ourselves at the mercy of a miserable, snotty ox-boy and shaming ourselves like this. If we return on this cart, we can’t be sure we’d make it back alive. We’ll sit around a while and walk back along the boulevard when everybody’s gone.”

With this agreement, they came out of their carriage only when people had dispersed. After they sent back the oxcart, they put on their shoes, pulled their headgear low down to their noses, and, hiding their faces with their fans, returned to the mansion of the Governor of Settsu, which was in Ichij.

Suetake said later: “We are brave warriors, sure. But we have no use for fighting on an oxcart. After that horrible experience, we never even went close to one again.”

Here I might as well recount the story of the origin of haniwa.

As the portions of the Nihon Shoki (History of Japan) translated below tell it, these clay figures, which Picasso once praised for their pristine beauty, began to be made during the reign of the eleventh emperor, Suinin, to substitute for the live human sacrifices buried at the funeral of an important person.

However, the accounts about the practice of burying live human beings given in the Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters) and Nihon Shoki conflict with each other. The Kojiki says that “human fences” for sacrificial burial began to be built with the death of Prince Yamato Hiko–the very person whose death and the accompanying human burials, the Nihon Shoki says, prompted Suinin to consider the discontinuation of the practice. But the Nihon Shoki also makes the same emperor describe the practice as “an ancient custom.” The conflict may never be resolved because old records describing that period are very limited. If, at any rate, Suinin made such a decision, it was a noble one.

During the winter of the twenty-eighth year [of Suinin’s reign], on the fifth of the tenth month, Prince Yamato Hiko, a brother of the Emperor’s mother, died.

On the second of the eleventh month, Prince Yamato Hiko was buried at Tsukisaka, in Musa. On that occasion the people who had served him closely were assembled, and all of them were buried alive as they stood along the rim of his tomb. For days they did not die but cried and groaned. When they finally died, they decayed and rotted. Dogs and crows gathered and ate them. The emperor, when he heard them cry and groan, thought it was all too painful. He said to his ranking courtiers, “To force people to follow someone in death because he loved them while he was alive is all too painful. It may be an ancient custom, but there is no reason why we should follow it if it is not a good one. Discuss among yourselves how to discontinue forcing people to follow someone in death….”

During the autumn of the thirty-second year [of his reign], on the sixth of the seventh month, Princess Hibasu, one of his consorts, died. The day of her burial was some time away. The emperor said to his ranking courtiers, “I learned earlier that it was no good to allow people to follow a dead person. What shall we do at the time of the coming funeral?”

“It is not wise to bury living people in the tomb of an imperial person,” Nomi no Sukune said. “If we do that, how can we tell the following generations about him? With your permission, I wish to devise a plan and report it to you.”

He sent a messenger and summoned one hundred potters from Izumo Province. Then he himself supervised them in obtaining clay and making figures of a variety of people, horses, and other things with it. Bringing the figures so made to the emperor, he said, “From now on these clay figures should be made to substitute for living people by erecting them in the tomb. This should become the rule for future generations.”

The emperor was greatly pleased by this. He said to Nomi no Sukune, “Your plan fulfills my wishes perfectly.”

And these clay figures were erected for the first time in Princess Hibasu’s tomb…. Then an imperial edict was issued, which said: “From now on make it a rule to erect clay figures and not to hurt people.”