Five Mongol envoys knelt on the beach at Kamakura
and stretched out their necks. Their time had come, and a clear target for
the executioner’s sword would at least ensure it was painless. They gazed out over the deep blue of the Pacific
Ocean, waves lapping slowly. How they wished their last sight could have
been an Ocean of grass swaying softly in a steppe breeze. Their hearts were calm as the blades descended
upon their naked necks. They would be revenged. This execution of ambassadors was how Hojo
Tokimune, the Shiken - head of the Shogun’s government - and ruler of Japan, gave his
definitive answer to Kublai Khan, Emperor of China, Son of Heaven, Great Khan of the
Mongols. He would not submit. Not now. Not ever. Mt. Fuji’s shining peak loomed over the headless
Mongol warriors. Soon after, Kublai sent another five men. This time there would be no negotiations. They came to announce one thing. Invasion. It would be the biggest seaborne attack the
world had ever seen. The new envoys met the same end, but were
not granted the honor of dying in Mount Fuji’s blessed shadow. Their blood stained the western beaches where
their compatriots had tried to land in Kyushu a year before. The first invasion had come in November 1274. Great Korean ships replete with Mongol battle
regalia and tipped with grotesque figureheads - still-living Japanese islanders from the
outlying domains of Tsushima and Iki were nailed, screaming hideously, to the prows. The armada, stretching to the horizon, obscured
the waters - and made land in Hakata Bay, northern Kyushu. Tight ranks of soldiers descended from the
ships into the water, and marched in formation, shields held high, up on to the beach. This phalanx warfare was unfamiliar to the
defending samurai. They were confused. When were they supposed to shout their challenge? To whom? How would they know if opponents were of appropriate
rank? One of the defenders made up his mind, lifted
his great bow, took aim at a mounted officer, and let fly. Hojo Tokimune, insecure in his recent tenure,
presiding over a crumbling realm beset with woes, lay in his concubine’s lap as she
stroked his long hair. His realm was an ancient one, even if the
house of Tokimune were merely backwater warriors turned recent usurpers of the strings of national
power. The Mongol threat focused his mind, the first
full-scale invasions his country had ever known. For the first time in his young life he wondered
- how had Japan got here? Tokimune became drowsy, and slipped into a
light sleep. He dreamed slowly, vividly, and fitfully of
a Japan, not now, as it was, but as it had been, back into the mists of forgotten time. Hereupon, regretting the errors in the old
words, and wishing to correct the misstatements in the former chronicles, Her Highness Empress
Regnant Genmei, on the 18th day of the 9th moon of the 4th year of Wado (November 3,
711) commanded me, Yasumaro, to select and record the old words, and dutifully to lift
them up to Her. ... I, Yasumaro, with true trembling and true
fear, bow my head, bow my head. Court Noble, Futo no Yasumaro, Upper Division,
First Class, Fifth Rank, Fifth Order of Merit, paused in his writing, shifted his knees ever
so slightly to render his kneeling position a little more comfortable, dipped his fine
brush into the pitch-black ink, and started his great endeavor. A work to last for all time. Yasumaro went on to render the fables, legends,
and vaguely understood myth of ancient times as fact. Creating a divine fable to legitimize, and
deify, the rule of his, very human, imperial masters, and the right of his people, the
Yamato, to dominate all the other tribes and peoples of the land we now know as Japan. He described how Izanagi and Izanami first
created the islands, mountains, rivers, herbs and trees with drops of water from a coral
spear. Then they begat the Lord of the universe the
Sun Goddess Amaterasu, the greatest of their divine children. She sent her Grandson, Ninigi no Mikoto to
Earth as the first Ruler of the Land. But it was not only Ningi who descended to
earth, his father - Susa-no-o, God of Storms, uncouth and brash, was banished from heaven
for his foul and evil behavior. While Susa-no-o’s people conquered and flourished
in Izumo, in the west of the island of Honshu, Ningi’s people also prospered, and multiplied
in the south. Within three generations they had grown powerful
enough to thrust north to central Honshu, battling foes to establish a new power base. Its names were myriad, but most know it as
.... Yamatai. Yamatai was ruled over by an Emperor, Jimmu. The first of a line that was to last forever. Of course, it was probably not quite as Yasumaro
told it. For Yasumaro to serve a deity, the Imperial
Line required divine blood. And so, Yasumaro wove the myriad myths of
the Yamato people into a solid story, and in doing so ‘discovered,’ a royal lineage
that stretched back to the Sun herself. The Amaterasu of his story was probably based
upon the legendary great 3rd century shaman queen Himiko. Susa-no-o,[a] her brother, and his fight with
her, may have represented a royal disagreement as much as a heavenly battle. His was a work of propaganda, akin to the
Roman Aeneid, which wove together vaguely remembered myth, heroic legend, and outright
fabrications to legitimize the rule of Augustus Caesar in Rome or The Secret History of the
Mongols, which did the same for Genghis Khan. The original settlers of Japan, however, came
in a far more human guise. They first crossed land bridges from the Asian
mainland tens of thousands of years before, and continued to arrive in small groups from
all directions for eons afterwards. The population was small, perhaps 160,000
at its height, and so these people, called Jomon after the rope patterns they left on
their pottery, are thought to have lived a life of hunting and gathering the plentiful
resources they found around them. They did not know of ... war ... until a new
people began to make landfall. These were the people whose myths Yasumaro
wrote as fact. The ‘many-fenced palace’ of the God of
Storms was copied across the islands by a new and acquisitive, ambitious people, who
coveted the land, and protected a newly engineered resource – the rice field. These are known as the Yayoi peoples, and
Japan would never be the same again. The ancient Chinese Kingdom of Wu, where Shanghai
now stands, was believed by the ancient Japanese to be where their ancestors came from. Refugees from that kingdom, which was destroyed
around the time that the Yayoi are believed to have migrated to Japan. Descriptions of the Wu and the ‘Wo,’ as
the Japanese were originally known in Chinese, their tattoos and warlike nature certainly
seem to bear more than a passing resemblance. The archaeological and DNA record shows that
a large body of the Yayoi period Japanese came from the north, Siberia, through Mongolia
and Manchuria, down the Korean Peninsula and across the seas. Some modern research also suggests that material,
and cultural similarities with civilizations on Java and other parts of South East Asia
may exist. What is certain is that the Yayoi peoples
were not the final pre-Japanese history humans to migrate to the Japanese isles. Sometime in the first few centuries of the
Common Era, a time of turmoil and war on the continent, a massive wave of people came from
northern China, bringing with them material wealth, and knowledge to improve just about
every facet of human life on the islands. Some became nobles, had their names recorded,
and entered the chronicles. Place and family names connecting modern Japan
with these ancient settlers can be found to this day, but the exact details of early Japan
can still be said to be lost in the linguistic and cultural mists of time. Which leaves us with the mystery of just who
are the Japanese? The country formerly had a man as ruler. For some seventy or eighty years after that
there were disturbances and warfare. Thereupon the people agreed upon a woman for
their ruler. Her name was Himiko. She occupied herself with magic and sorcery,
bewitching the people. Though mature in age, she remained unmarried. She had a younger brother who assisted her
in ruling the country. After she became the ruler, there were few
who saw her. She had one thousand women as attendants,
but only one man. She resided in a palace surrounded by towers
and stockades, with armed guards in a state of constant vigilance. When Himiko passed away, a great mound was
raised, more than a hundred paces in diameter. Over a hundred male and female attendants
followed her to the grave. Kofun.
162,000 of these burial mounds have been identified across Japan. They vary in shape and size, but the ‘classic’
kofun is shaped like a keyhole, or bell. The longest is over 400 metres. The burial chambers are of stone. Un-looted ones have been found to be adorned
with paintings of court life and filled with useful accessories for the afterlife. The pre-historic, semi-legendary age recorded
in the Chinese classic, Sanguo Zhi, 'Record of the Three Kingdoms,' not only told of the
enthronement of Queen Himiko, her spinning of spells to pacify the realm, and an influx
of people from lands over the seas. It saw the dawn of these massive megalithic
engineering projects. Despite her pure white robe of mulberry fiber,
the warm evening, and the flaming torches, a shiver of pure ice rent the girl’s heart
as she saw the mound which would be her resting place. But she steeled herself, the magatama charms
which adorned her body rattling while she danced towards her destiny as a heavenly lady
in waiting to her deceased mistress, Ruler of Yamatai, Queen of Wa, Friend of Wei Dynasty
China. Himiko. Despite her fear and misgivings, the young
girl’s heart brimmed with pride to fulfill this duty. There never would be another such as her dead
Queen. Himiko had woven a spell over Yamatai, with
kido magic. The sorcery had wrought peace where once there
had been war, prosperity where once there had been none. The people loved her, yet none could set their
eyes upon her, even the 1,000 maidens who served her were ignorant of her face. The Queen would admit only onfe person to
her presence, her brother. This man served her food and wine, and communicated
laws and judgements to her flock. Himiko’s most astonishing achievement had
been sending four diplomatic missions to far-off China with gifts of slaves, and the highly
prized fine, strong cloth for which the Queen’s land was justly famous. In return, treasures, the likes of which had
never been seen before. Beads, bronze mirrors, and most prized of
all, swords, military banners and an official seal pronouncing her ‘Friend and Ally of
the Wei Dynasty’. Himiko and her chief envoys were symbolically
appointed to the highest ranks in the Wei Chinese military. Her magic had extended across the oceans,
and bewitched the Chinese ruler into giving her his greatest honour. With China’s recognition, all bowed before
her, and Yamatai came to dominate the Japanese islands. But, as is the way of things, the Great Queen
breathed her last, and the people of Yamatai raised a great mound, a kofun, over her burial
chamber. 100 youths and maidens were selected to serve
her until the end of time, and the young girl shivering in the summer evening heat was one. She danced on past the crackling flames into
the kofun mound, and on ... to the eternal afterlife. Himiko and her serving-maidens are believed
to be at eternal peace at the Hashihaka kofun in Nara Prefecture. “Assassination and murder followed; more
than one thousand were thus slain. A relative of Himiko named Iyo, a girl of
thirteen, was then made queen and order was restored. (Zhang) Zheng, an ambassador from Wei, issued
a proclamation to the effect that Iyo was the ruler.” This set a pattern in Japan. Throughout ancient times, women’s status
was high, and female monarchs repeatedly enter the chronicles. Some like Empress Jingu, beat the drums of
war, others seem to have followed Himiko and Iyo in fostering a land at peace with itself. This doctrine is amongst all doctrines the
most excellent, but it is hard to explain and hard to comprehend. Even the Duke of Zhou and Confucius could
not attain a knowledge of it. This doctrine can create religious merit and
retribution without measure and without bounds, and so lead on to a full appreciation of the
highest wisdom. Every prayer is fulfilled and naught is wanting. The people who made the Japanese islands their
home did not forget about the lands their ancestors had come from, nor about the Gods
of those lands, which they brought with them to become the Gods of the religion we now
know as Shinto. Long before the myths of Amaterasu and her
descendants were written, Shinto was a living breathing religion of nature spirits. Mountains, rivers, trees, stones, fire, water. But, the small kingdoms of the Japanese isles
had remained intimately connected to those on the Korean Peninsula, trading, exchanging,
learning, marrying, and warring. Embassies were exchanged, noble and royal
marriage alliances forged, technology transferred, and missionaries sent. There was a relationship of deep respect,
and so in the middle of the 6th century, when King Seong of Baekje, a kingdom in the western
part of the peninsula, sent his letter sharing the peace of the Buddha with Emperor Kinmei,
his Imperial highness’s chief advisor, Soga no Iname, stroked his beard and smiled behind
a ceremonial fan, a recently imported fad from Korea. His time had come at last. The long years of scheming with his Korean
kin and continental-minded allies in the Yamato court had resulted at last in this mission’s
arrival. It seemed sudden, heaven-sent, but it was
nothing of the sort. Soga and his family had spent years, perhaps
even decades, arranging it all. This was not the first time Buddha’s teachings
had reached Japan, a number of the common people had been preached to by monks in generations
past, some of the holy men even claimed to have come from as far away as the land of
the Buddha’s birth. But such common bare-foot migrant priests
received no patronage, and even less aristocratic interest. Soga no Iname’s family had been aware, perhaps
even secret followers, of the teachings for generations. He knew both that Buddhism was salvation for
his sovereign, and a way of concentrating power in his own hands. He would be the first noble of consequence
to take up Buddha’s banner. He and his clan would hold it aloft in battle,
claiming the divine power to smite and confound their foes. But nature, or maybe the old Shinto gods,
it seemed, did not agree with Soga’s new religion. Plague broke out, and Soga’s enemies at
court seized upon this proof that the true gods of the land were insulted. Emperor Kinmei, in a fearful rage and in mortal
fear for his life and kingdom, ordered Buddhist temples destroyed. It would be left to Soga no Iname’s descendants
to reclaim the Buddhist mandate. The army of the Imperial Princes and the troops
of the Ministers were timid and afraid, and fell back three times. At this the Imperial Prince [Shotoku], his
hair being tied on the temples, followed in the rear of the army. He pondered in his own mind, saying to himself:
“Without prayer we cannot succeed.” So he cut down a tree, and swiftly fashioned
images of the Four Heavenly Kings. Placing them on his top-knot, he uttered a
vow: “If we are now made to gain the victory
over the enemy, I promise faithfully to honor the four Heavenly Kings, guardians of the
world, by erecting to them a temple with a pagoda.” And so, Prince Shotoku swept to victory. When he was appointed head of government under
his aunt, Japan’s first and longest reigning female Empress Regnant, Suiko, he made Buddhism
the state religion. Together they established temples, sent embassies
to Sui China, established a calendar to understand the heavens, and a constitution to enshrine
both Buddhism and Chinese Confucian order as the guiding principles of life – at least
for aristocrats - in the new nation - which within a century would become generally known
by a term he is said to have invented, ‘The Land of the Rising Sun.’ Nihon, or, Japan. From the chaos and tribal infighting of the
fifth century, Shotoku and Suiko established the roots of a stable state, which would in
time come to dominate the three main islands, Honshu, Kyushu and Shikoku, and impose semi-vassal
status on wild tribes of the north, and the tattooed Amami island peoples of the far south. Future religious and secular leaders would
claim that he came to them in visions and dreams, inspiring them to great deeds and
profound spiritual understanding. In his vision, his accomplishments, and the
recognition granted him down the ages, Prince Shotoku can justly claim to be the Father
of the Nation we now know as Japan. The farm boy stood in a simple tunic, rusty
knife in his belt, a tall spear at his side. He was feeling strong. The gathering cold of late autumn did not
bother him one bit. Instead the blue sky gave him hope and strength. The conscript reflected on the fact that he
was a peasant no more. He was now a great warrior for his lord and
king. He watched excitedly as the eagerly anticipated
great flotilla of ships entered the mouth of the Baengma River, on the East coast of
Korea. Tens of thousands of men bent to the oars,
chanting in unison as the small vessels, which had successfully made the treacherous crossing
from Kyushu, made their way up the river. Astride each ship, stood proud warriors, clan
banners held high, swords punching the air amid deafening cheers. Drums rang out. They were late in the season, and had been
lucky not to get caught in the autumn storms, but it mattered not. They were now here. Baekje, the kingdom from which Buddha’s
peace had entered Japan, was an ancient Japanese ally on the Korean Peninsula, but had fallen
to an alliance of Tang China and another Korean kingdom, Silla, in 660. Following that defeat, those who could had
fled to Japan to plan their comeback with the help of the Japanese. This vast army and armada of boats was the
result. It was a moment of pure joy for the young
conscript as he stood on the riverbank, ready to welcome the Japanese reinforcements, and
the returning Baekje refugees, and above all his rightful lord, the new King Pungjang. The King would stamp the seal of peace on
their lives, and coat it with the blood of the wretched oppressors. The river was filling up. It had become almost impossible to see the
water flowing beneath the sleek vessels, they were so numerous. 800 his commander had told him. All the conscript knew was that with such
a host, they were sure of victory. Everyone was in good spirits. The moment for revenge had arrived. It was October 4th 663. The motherland was on the cusp of being restored
to its former glory. The flotilla got larger and larger as more
and more ships entered the estuary and started to head upstream. But there came a point when they were so jammed
together, that movement all but ceased. This was the moment the hidden Tang Chinese
ships had been waiting for. 170 of them sprung the trap, speeding downriver
from inland harbors, raining flaming arrows down on the unprepared Japanese and Baekje
Korean vessels. The young conscript watched in horror as his
kingdom’s salvation floundered and died before his eyes. Then from the hills behind him came the sound
of shouts, a conch shell rang high, then low, ... echoed eerily through the valley – the
order for cavalry to form up. Hwarang! Silla’s renowned cavalry. Trained by warrior monks from childhood to
revere the law, obey all orders, to love and fight to the death for their comrades, and
to exterminate their foes. They were said to sooner die than retreat. The young Baekje conscript now saw himself
for what he was. No great warrior. A mere mountain peasant dressed in hemp clothing,
armed only with a simple spear. It was now he knew fear in his heart. Behind Baekje’s dwindling forces, the Tang
ships had closed in, and hand-to-hand fighting covered the floating battlefield. Surviving Japanese warriors from sunken ships
climbed the muddy river banks, and joined the rear of the conscript’s formation, there
was nowhere to run from the circling Hwarang, the only hope was the ever-smaller mass of
men around their king. Then they broke. The few remaining men headed for the safety
of the hills as the Hwarang swarmed around them, impaling the fleeing runners on razor-sharp
lances. They held out, fighting a low-key guerilla
war for years in the mountains. But after a decade, the dwindling band of
freedom fighters knew that all was truly lost, there was to be no Baekje resurrection. Japanese ships again made the dangerous voyage
to the continental peninsula to perform the evacuation of their Korean allies and kin. The Minister Yeo Jasin, the Minister Gwisil
Jipsa, and others, men and women, to the number of over 700 persons, were removed and settled
in the district of Kamafu in the province of Omi. As Baekje fell, all those who could, perhaps
many thousands in all, escaped to the Japanese islands with the retreating Japanese troops,
and the decades following, they were welcomed, and integrated into society and national political
systems. Their traces survive to this day in place
names, culture, and family surnames. This was a pivotal moment for Japan. No longer would it be intimately entwined
with the continent. From now, it would turn inwards, concentrating
on its own affairs, staying well away from continental politics and conflicts. Silla, who soon conquered the whole peninsula,
never forgot that the Japanese had supported their Baekje enemies. The relationship between the Japanese isles
and the Koreas had soured, never to regain its former warmth. In ancient times, the kings of the Yin Dynasty
restored their country after transferring the capital five times. The sovereigns of the Zhou Dynasty ensured
peace in their country after establishing the capital three times. Today, as for the site of Heijo-kyo, the layout
of the four animals is in accord with the model, mountains guard the site in three directions,
and the divinations suggest good fortune. We should build a new capital at this site. Materials for construction, as the need arises,
should be listed and reported. Construction of streets and bridges should
be started after the autumn harvest so that the people who are willing to render services
would not be disturbed. Plans should be carefully worked out so that
they would not be changed subsequently. Bodhisena had traveled the world, over icebound
mountains, through parched desert, across lush farmland, and upon the deepest seas in
his quest to find Manjusri, a long-dead enlightened one, a Bodhisattva of wisdom, who had appeared
to him in a dream as a youth in India. It had taken him years, but now he was reaching
his journey’s end. Gyoki, the Japanese monk who walked beside
him WAS Manjusri reincarnated - he was sure of it. They had met before in another time and place
– another life – in the presence of the Buddha himself. Gyoki solemnly led Bodhisena on to his, their,
destiny, the great city of Heijo-Kyo, Japan’s new capital city. Nothing like this had been seen before. The land had been unified, no longer was it
merely the statelet of Yamato, it was now The Land of the Rising Sun, Japan. It was no longer appropriate or dignified
for the Court to up sticks and be loaded on to the back of ox wagons every few years. China had long ago built an established capital. It was high time that Japan should join the
civilized world in this matter, just as it had so many other ways over the last centuries. Foreign states needed to understand the full
dignity and civilization of the city’s inhabitants and its rulers. Needed to know where to send diplomatic missions,
and tribute. What is more, Heaven needed to know where
Human Power lay on earth - moving had surely confused the gods, caused them to look less
favorably on the realm. The time had come. On the day of Jia-Zi in the eleventh month,
the cabinet offered a proposal to the emperor as follows; We hear that, in ancient times,
lives were so simple that people lived in caves in winter and nests in summer. In recent years, the noble people live in
palaces instead. We also have the capital for the residence
of the emperor. Since the capital is visited by people from
remote provinces and foreign countries, how can we express the virtue of the emperor if
the capital lacks magnificence? We offer a proposal to decree that the authorities
should instruct noblemen and wealthy commoners to equip their houses with tiled roofs, vermilion
pillars and white walls. Heijo-Kyo was the answer to all these problems,
desires, and prayers. A city of 100,000. Nobles, commoners, and slaves alike lived
within its numerous precincts. Peasants delivered food and other supplies
from the hinterland, pretty girls arrived to make their fortune in the pleasure districts,
criminals slunk by in the shadows, hoping to grab a tiny slither of the glorious riches
for themselves. Imperial councilors and civil servants also
came from much further afield - from as far away as Persia, a land lost in the haze of
the vast sand and grass desert which was known to exist beyond China. Chinese scholars, merchants, engineers and
architects from Great Tang roamed the streets and haunted the halls of learning in their
flowing robes, sporting their long status marking nails - work with one’s hands and
fingers was left to mere illiterate peasants and the servile classes. A grand Imperial repository called Shosoin
was established to exemplify the permanence of the new city. The Royal Treasures, tribute and gifts from
neighboring states, some emanating from further even than the most exotic of inhabitants - the
extreme wilds of lands in the far west whose names were unknown - would no longer be subject
to rude upheaval. They would rest in peace, as symbols of Imperial
legitimacy, international recognition, and Power, in the sacrosanct precincts of the
brand-new Todaiji Temple. Prince Shotoku’s reforms had woven their
logical path to this point. The loss of allies and bases on the continent,
no longer a buffer zone, had led to this point. Japan’s establishment as a state had led
to this point. Of all the people who roamed the wide boulevards
of the new capital, Bodhisena truly stood out. He was by far the darkest-skinned, and perhaps
close to one of the most learned men to have ever walked the winding mountain roads of
Japan. A Tamil man from the deep south of what is
now southern India, he had traveled the world seeking Buddhist truth, and his search had
eventually ended here. He was only in his twenties. The Imperial court was thrilled to have a
guest from lands so close to those of Buddha’s birth, and granted Bodhisena land for a temple,
encouraging him to share his deep knowledge and saintly aura. However, Bodhisena did not simply settle for
a quiet temple life. He was granted the honour of putting the final
touch to the greatest devotional work of construction that Japan, and most of the world, had ever
seen. In 741, Emperor Shomu, desiring to show the
magnificence of his state, demonstrate the protection of the Lochana Buddha’s universal
order, and having heard that Tang China had already completed such a project, ordered
the erecting of a Great Buddha statue in Heijo-kyo. It was to be the center piece of a great institution
of religion and learning, 16 meters high, 500 tons, cast entirely of bronze, and housed
in a great wooden temple hall, 50 by 86 meters with 84 massive cypress pillars – Todaiji. The world had never seen the like in wood
before – nor would ever again. Half of the population, around 2,600,000 people
donated, food, money or labour to the cause, and specialist craftsmen hired from throughout
the known world toiled for over a decade to realize the Imperial Dream. In 752, it was time for the final act. The eye-opening ceremony – to dedicate the
statue, to awaken the living Buddha within. Before dignitaries from Tang China, all the
Korean kingdoms, 10,000 guests, and 4,000 dancers moving to the dignified and majestic
sounds of hichiriki oboes, fue flutes, koto, biwa lutes, and myriad drums which formed
the new Imperial Music brought by Bodhisena and Foche, the Tamil priest himself painted
the Buddha’s eyes. It must have been a profound moment of holiness
and spirituality. With the painting of his eye, the Buddha lived. In Nara. In Japan. The Great Buddha’s love and protection now
emanated from the Japanese capital city, to warm and protect the world with its light
and sanctity. The brush the Bodhisena used is still preserved
in the Shosoin treasury today. It took several decades for the luster to
wear off. For while the munificence of the great statue
undoubtedly protected the realm’s spiritual health, the financial and social cost took
a long-term toll. Furthermore, the great centers of learning
became great centers of Buddhist power and influence over the state. This was not how the new Emperor Kammu saw
his reign’s future when he ascended the throne in 781, and became determined to break
from this monster of religious control created by his predecessors. There was only one thing for it. The ‘eternal’ capital of Heijo-kyo would
have to be moved. The Buddhists could be left to twiddle their
thumbs and chant their sutras away from secular power. Nagaoka was the site chosen in 784. But it was not a success. A decade later, in 794, Heian-kyo was eventually
founded and over the next decades, blossomed into a glorious and fitting capital city to
truly rule the land in harmony. This new city grew in size with the building
of the vast sprawling mansions of the 1182 noble families of the land, a third who traced
their lineage to Chinese and Korean families, a testament to the global draw of the polity
which had been built over the last two centuries in central Japan. The economy thrived, and the libraries became
the world’s envy, with over 1,500 Chinese classics available for the reference of ministers,
scholars, engineers, craftspeople and soothsayers. Over the next few hundred years, Chinese book
collectors even visited to copy volumes of ancient literature that had been lost in China
itself. Kyoto as it later became, was to remain the
Imperial Capital until 1869. But it was on Japan´s borders where the real
battles were being held. Emishi from the two provinces of Mutsu and
Echigo, their wild hearts as yet untamed, have repeatedly harmed Our imperial subjects. Accordingly, We have dispatched an officer
and have ordered the provinces to mobilize their regiments. They are to go forth... and punish the emishi. The villages of sturdy wooden huts were small,
but warm and secure. Nestled in the cozy confines of tree-bound
valleys, they were virtually hidden until you stumbled upon them. The villagers, called Emishi by their would-be
invaders from the south, led hard but hardy lives, hunting, trapping, gathering, and reaping
the grains of their half-wild paddy fields. Food was plentiful, the gods and spirits of
their northern mountains and forests provided abundant resources of every kind. And so why then should they bow to foreigners
- pay the fruits of their labor to men and women who lived in far-off palaces? What would the foreigners give them in exchange
for this? What more could they need? These people controlled their own destiny,
paid tribute to none, acknowledged no overlord but their own chiefs. Amongst the Eastern savages the emishi are
the most powerful, their men and women live together promiscuously, there is no distinction
of father and child. In winter they dwell in holes, in summer they
live in nests. Their clothing consists of furs, and they
drink blood… In ascending mountains they are like flying
birds; in going through the grass they are like fleet wolves. …
What we now think of as Japan, was not always Japan. In fact, the remote borders in the north,
the west and the south are still unfixed and disputed to this day. In the 8th and 9th century, the wild border
was far closer to the capital, so close in fact, that even the marches to the north of
what is now Tokyo were a hazy no man's land, a vague realm of independent and warlike peoples
known as Emishi. The ancient Japanese Court did not engage
in anthropological study to determine exactly who these people were, simply classing these
unsubjugated - free - peoples as barbarians. But modern research has led us to believe
that they were farmers and hunters of mixed ethnicity, composed of peoples similar to
those who had settled in the south, but perhaps with a stronger dose of blood from the people
we know now as the Ainu of modern-day Japan's extreme north. Periodically, tribes of these Emishi people
bowed to their powerful southern neighbours, begged admittance to the tax role, and were
resettled within the burgeoning Japanese imperium. Whether this resettlement resembled the relatively
peaceful settlement of Goths and other non-subject tribes as farmers in Roman territory, or represented
a more sinister ethnic cleansing is unclear, but it is thought at least some of the settlers
were captive women and children, who’s still resisting husbands and fathers were then enticed
to surrender and join them in exile. However, in the main, the north remained beyond
the pale, and the Court at Heijo-kyo decided that something must be done about it. In the early 8th century, several punitive
expeditions consisting mainly of infantry conscripts set out, but the skill of the enemy
horsemen, cumbersome supply lines and deep winter snows meant little was achieved. And so in 774, the Emperor decided to do something
more definitive. He declared the commencement of THE GREAT
PACIFICATION ERA. Because [military action] brings hardship
to the people, We have long valued the broad virtue that embraces the myriad things [and
have eschewed war]. But a report from Our generals makes it clear
that the barbarians have not amended their wild hearts. They invade Our frontiers and ignore the instructions
of the Sovereign. What must be done cannot be avoided ....
The Heijo-kyo Court were conscripts, mainly from provinces adjoining the barbarian-territories. Non-professional peasant serving as part of
their tax duty, providing their own weapons and armour and not expecting to be in the
field for long. Those who commanded them were chosen for their
noble titles as much as their leadership prowess. The Emishi, whose own recorded testimony is
lost to time, seem to have been warriors born, and despite their numerical and equipmental
inferiority, could as with the Viet Min in Vietnam, attack swiftly from nowhere, before
melting back into the dense, dark, forests of their homeland. While the huge Yamato armies did score some
wins, in the main, they stumbled around in territory they did not know, losing men to
ambush, getting hungrier and hungrier as their supply lines grew ever longer. An age old story. The Emishi chieftain, Aterui sat atop his
fleet horse, his bow as yet unstrung. It was the fifth month of 789. He gazed at the vast enemy force arrayed before
him in the valley. Behind the marching Yamato troops sent by
Emperor Kammu, smoked 800 of his people's homes. Razed as the slow moving infantry progressed
towards their doom. Because the flaming homes had been sacrificed
to a grand plan. This advance guard had been lured over the
Koromo River by easy pickings, and the promise of a seemingly small and easily defeatable
Emishi skirmish force of a mere few hundred. The Emishi stood their ground at first. Let the attackers think it was the main force,
earnestly defending their homes. They then feigned retreat, withdrawing while
keeping up a running battle with the 4,000 Yamato troops. The invader's plan was for the remainder of
the massive invasion force, nearly 50,000 men, to cross the river now, with no Emishi
defenders to threaten and thwart their passage. Now was Aterui's moment. He and his thousand warriors sounded their
battle cry. Blood-curdling roars echoed through the hills
and thickly treed valleys, magnifying their volume to a storm. The tramping army below them on the valley
floor hesitated, a sharp intake of breath sounded, and a proud Chinese-style war banner
drooped slightly as its bearer looked around, spooked and afraid. Aterui sounded his conch horn. It rang through the valleys and hills of his
homeland. The cavalry started slowly down the forested
mountain, as yet the enemy could not see them, they could simply hear the cries and shouts
of a large host approaching fast. The men on the valley floor’s imaginations
ran wild. It seemed as if a great horde of riders was
bearing down upon them. It was too much for the peasant levies. They broke and ran. Trampling their once proud war banners beneath
their freezing, sandled, feet. Those that managed to reach the river began
to wade outwards. Towards the safety of the far bank, and the
troops yet to cross. But these were treacherous waters. They flowed fast, and furious. Over 1,000 men succumbed to the depths. 1,250 more survived only by discarding their
weapons. A sacrifice to the goddess of this forsaken
northern waterway. The army did not attempt another crossing. The commander, Ki no Kosami, issued his report
to the emperor: My staff and I have discussed this and concluded
that our best course is to disband the army, return the provisions, and prepare for emergencies.... Thus we have sent orders to the various armies
to disband and withdraw. More campaigns followed, but in the face of
mounting opposition among the population, it was clear that something had to change. And so, after the death of Emperor Kammu,
who had invested so much time and energy in this GREAT PACIFICATION, the Court came up
with a cunning plan. In 811, victory was declared. Nothing had changed. The Emishi simply continued their wild and
free ways in the way they saw fit. It would be another 400 years before the north
was fully integrated into Japan, and it would be cultural assimilation rather than conquest. However, for now a conch shell of freedom
rang through the mountains and valleys of the Emishi’s northern homeland. A western houri beckons with her white hand
Inviting the stranger to intoxicate himself with her white hand
That western houri with features like a flower She stands by the wine warmer, and laughs
with the breath of spring Laughs with the breath of spring,
Dances with a dress of gauze! “Will you be going somewhere, milord, now,
before you are drunk?” The young embassy member, Abe no Nakamaro,
had caught a glimpse of the girl with the golden hair in the crowd as the Japanese embassy
paraded into the Tang Chinese capital of Chang-an through the great eastern gate of the city
and proceeded to the diplomatic quarters where they would be accommodated during their stay
in the Chinese capital. It had been a grueling odyssey from Heijo-kyo
in that year of 717. The thought of setting sail from the port
of Naniwa, with his mother’s farewell poem ringing in his ears, brought tears even now,
thousands of miles away at journey’s end. Of the four ships which set sail, only two
had made it across the raging seas south of Kyushu. Island hopping until the specs of land ran
out and the ships were forced to brave the great expanse of ocean before China appeared
on the horizon as a grey haze. He knew that former missions had sailed a
safer route via Korea, but Baekje’s fall and Silla’s belligerence had put a stop
to that. Now the young diplomat, only 19, had seen
Chinese ships, he knew he would never set foot in a Japanese one again. He also swore that should he survive to return
home, he would inform his superiors in no uncertain terms that Japanese shipbuilding
was a skill that required more refinement. Once in China though, a thing of true wonder
had revealed itself - the road and relay station network which stretched unhindered to the
farthest borders of the realm with standardized systems and in great order. In China, all roads lead to the capital Chang-an! The embassy had ridden in official carriages,
as guests of state, crossing great rivers on stone bridges or regular, river-worthy
ferries, staying each night in comfortable relay stations, and contemplating the vastness
of the countryside as the oxen plodded their weary way on the hard road. And now the young embassy member was here
in the centre of the world, a city of more than one million from all corners of the earth,
inside the awe-inspiring fortifications... and all he could think of was the revealing
dress of gauze, the curve of the body revealed beneath, and the outlandish yet oh-so-enticing
hair, like fine golden strands woven through silken cloth. He wondered what type of barbarian she was,
whether she had come from the end of the world as he had? Although, if that was so, it must be a different
end, because no one like her graced his homeland. This truly was a city of wonders, where all
the peoples of the world gathered to bask in the Chinese emperor, the Son of Heaven’s,
divine effervescence. He knew he would be spending months, perhaps
years as a guest of the government, in special facilities, afforded little movement, a gilded
confinement. But he would somehow evade the guard. To stroke those long golden locks, and discover
what lay beneath the gauze dress. This truly was a city of wonders. He would discover the World in Chang-an, and
return to Heijo-kyo to recount stories of his epic adventures. Of that he was certain. Between 607 and 839AD, 21 missions were dispatched
to China. The first mission infuriated the Chinese Emperor,
and nearly led to war, by insinuating that the two nations were equal. "The heavenly sovereign of the east respectfully
addresses the emperor of the west." 東天皇敬白西皇帝
However, his forces were indisposed at the time, engaged in trying to dominate the northern
Korean Kingdom of Goguryo, and he settled for a polite, but haughty, letter to be delivered,
to place the mere 'sovereign' of this barbarian nation, below himself, the 'Son of Heaven' The Emperor greets the sovereign of Yamato. Your chief envoy, has come and stated in detail
your good intentions. We have been graced with reception of the
heavenly mandate to rule the universe and will extend the influence of our virtue to
all beings. In our concern to nurture and edify the people,
we do not distinguish between near and far. I have heard that the sovereign resides beyond
the sea and treats his people with benevolence, that peace reigns within his country, that
people's customs are harmonious, and that they are of an honest nature. You have come from afar to bring tribute. We are delighted with this splendid demonstration
of your sincerity. The chief envoy, Ono no omi Imoko, reported
that Sui China was “an admirable country, whose laws are complete and fixed,” and
set the scene for the next two centuries of exchange, during which Japan acquired knowledge
of religion, laws, technology, cuisine, agriculture, industry, culture, fine Chinese manufactures,
and perhaps most importantly, respect on the world stage and senior rank in the hierarchy
of nations. It, however, had to grit its teeth and accept
the barbarian status which the Chinese bestowed. The ship he was attempting to return home
aboard ran aground in Annam, modern-day northern Vietnam, and Abe no Nakamuro never did return
home, dying in Chang-an aged 72 in 770. To this day, he remains deeply respected,
a symbol of peace and mutual friendship, in both China and Japan. When I look up into the vast sky tonight,
is it the same moon that I saw rising from behind Mt. Mikasa at Kasuga Shrine
all those years ago? In the breeze
Scatter soft snow flurries So brief that
Its intermittent Fall is sad, indeed… It was the end of 10th century, a time of
weak central rule and chaos in the countryside. Not only in Japan - for the past century or
more the entire world had been in turmoil. The Vikings were ravaging Europe, the Mayan
Kingdoms of central America were in swift decline, China was divided by conflict and
epidemics raged throughout the globe. Over the past centuries, conflict with Silla
on the Korean Peninsula and the danger of travel in war-torn China had meant that the
once glorious diplomatic missions ceased. Immigration similarly dried up, trade faltered,
and the all-important intellectual exchange on which earlier development had been based,
faded into distant memory. The court lost control of the provinces, and
retreated within itself. Despite this calamity, however, a great flowering
of culture was occurring in the, now almost ancient, two hundred-year-old capital, Kyoto. Great volumes of poetry were declaimed for
posterity. Gorgeous clothing recorded in immortal artworks. Music and dance of great sophistication composed
to be handed down the generations for a thousand years. Perhaps most wonderful of all, a great literary
tradition came into being. The world’s first ever novel, Murasaki Shikibu’s
Tale of Genji, was written in serial form in the early 11th century, and other women,
especially those of the court, brushed their witticisms and ironic reflections into diaries
which are still enjoyed to this day. Prime among these female authors, somewhat
akin to trend-setting celebrity influencers of our modern world, was Sei Shōnagon
Fine then! How to be hard-hearted, from me
You have learned! But to promise, then not come-
Who taught you that, I wonder! As far as Sei was concerned, the common people
were little better than worms. One occasionally caught a glimpse of them
as one traveled through a village, their clothes threadbare, unperfumed, and untrammeled by
color of rank, their children naked and gaping. Once, she had seen a small boy, no doubt abandoned
by his commoner mother, much as animals leave their young to fend for themselves, standing
and gaping at her from the side of a road. He did not move, simply stared at her carriage
the whole time, gawping. Could anything have been more rude? Sei Shonagon, lady in waiting, court chronicler,
diarist and social commentator had reflected on this and other events. As far as the courtier was concerned, it all
went to show just why the court should be kept apart as far as possible from what lay
without. She had heard that the common people mated
without even attempting poetic courting first. The noble lady simply imagined it to be a
free for all in their hovels. The males did exhibit a modicum of decency
by living with their lover's parents and their begotten offspring, at least until he had
had enough and wandered elsewhere, or succumbed to one of the diseases which were of course
rampant among the servile masses. Perhaps most astonishingly, however, the females
fed offspring with milk from their own breasts, not even having the wherewithal to hire a
team of wet nurses to suckle their young. Sei herself, who had left a good-for-nothing
husband behind when she entered court, had a more refined approach to woo, or reject
her many lovers and courtiers. Exchanges of poetry, perfumed letters, half-feigned
modesty, well planned coquettishness, and the disposal and scorning of favours calculated
at just the right moment. But even Sei, the master of the game of love
did not always get it right To be abandoned
Is my fate I know so well;
Uncomprehending Do my tears fall. The razor-sharp sword slashed downwards towards
the unmounted Onda Hachiro Moroshige’s neck, To finish the job, the rider grabbed the unhelmeted
head by its hair and twisted, ripped the head from its body. The victorious killer threw away the prize
as if it were nothing, and galloped proudly away. As she rode off the field of war into the
distant mountains, Tomoe Gozen, removed her helmet, and shook her long jet-black hair
free, it billowed in the wind behind her like a battle standard, announcing to all that
one of history’s greatest women warriors had fought her last battle, and fought it
well. While Sei Shonagon and her noble kin lived
their closeted existence in Kyoto, over in the east events that would have repercussions
reaching to the modern-age were evolving. A class of clans, connected by hereditary
service to a military commander were emerging. As they served only one lord, they became
known by a word which means to serve. Samurai. Within 100 years, in the 11th century, at
about the same time as the age of chivalry was dawning in Europe, powerful samurai warrior
clans were exerting great control over the Imperial Court. One in particular, the Taira, seemed to be
in the ascendancy, and the leader of the clan: Kiyomori managed to have his three-year-old
grandson installed on the Chrysanthemum throne as Emperor Antoku. All seemed to be going very well. In the east, Taira’s ancient foe who had
been thought vanquished, the Minamoto clan lead by Yoritomo raised a host, and marched
west. When the Taira generals perceived their resurrected
foe’s strength, they retreated swiftly back to Kyoto without engaging. The next few years saw the east and north
fall to Minamoto forces, while the Taira lands suffered natural disaster, famine and pestilence. However, they remained undefeated and safe
in their Kyoto base, biding their time to strike. In 1184, the Taira felt their time had come. A huge force of 100,000 was levied, and the
men of the Capital region made a leisurely progress north to combat the Minamoto in their
mountain lairs. On June 2. 1184, battle was joined at Kurikara. It took place in the old honorable samurai
fashion. Melees were fought between picked champions,
warriors called out their lineage before engaging, and all the proper protocols were observed. Until night fell. The heavily outnumbered Minamoto sent flaming
bulls, enraged and in mortal panic running through the Taira troops. In the chaos, the camp was abandoned, and
it is said Thus did seventy thousand horsemen of the
Taira perish, buried in this one deep valley; the mountain streams ran with their blood
and the mound of their corpses was like a small hill. The Taira fled Kyoto, taking the young Emperor
Antoku, his treasury, the Imperial regalia, and anything else they could grab. They fled still further west until they could
flee no more. Final battle was enjoined at a place called
Dannoura. The fighting took place with ships' decks
forming a treacherous, swaying battlefield. One wrong step, and heavily armored warriors,
unused to fighting on the sea, would fall to watery deaths. Emperor Antoku, 6 years old, was placed on
an insignificant looking boat, so that while the Minamoto concentrated their arrow fire
on the flag-ship, he remained safe. But a traitor, Taguchi Shigeyoshi, defected
and revealed the ruze. Arrows rained down on the rough-hewn boat
which formed the last few feet of Emperor Antoku's once glorious realm. As the Taira realized there was no further
to flee, the Emperor's grandmother held him in her arms. Finally, she jumped. "In the depths of the Ocean, we have a capital"
The Taira were destroyed for all time. Minamoto Yoritomo was granted the title of
Shogun, and his warrior-ruled samurai administration swiftly removed political power from Kyoto's
hands. Henceforth, true power would be wielded from
Kamakura in the east. Samurai power, largely based in the East at
Kamakura, and later Edo would last 700 years until 1868 when the last Shogun resigned,
and the Emperor also moved East from Kyoto to his new capital of Tokyo. Monks and priests today are fawning and devious,
and they confuse the people and lead them astray. Not a single person in the entire population
will possess a heart of goodness; there will be nothing but binding and enslaving, killing
and injuring, anger and contention. ...
Pestilence will become rampant, comets will appear again and again, two suns will come
forth side by side, and eclipses will occur with unaccustomed frequency. Black arcs and white arcs will span the sky
as harbingers of ill fortune, stars will fall, the earth will shake, and noises will issue
from the wells. Torrential rains and violent winds will come
out of season, famine will constantly occur, and grains and fruits will not ripen. Marauders from many other regions will invade
and plunder the nation, the people will suffer all manner of pain and affliction, and no
place will exist where one may live in safety. The priest Nichiren placed down his pen, knelt
on the hard, earthen floor of his hut and gazed, through the open door, down his green,
pine-covered valley. He had said his piece. Rulers do not generally like to be told they
are evil and mistaken, especially young, rash ones who live in fear of invasions predicted
by raving holier-than-thou priests. Rival priests with the ruler’s ear, do not
like to be described as fawning and devious. And no one likes to think that marauders from
beyond the sea will appear over the horizon to slaughter the men, rape the women, and
enslave the children. Nichiren was condemned to death, and dragged
out of town to the execution grounds at Katase. In the dark of night, he frantically threw
his holy vestments on the branch of a tree to avoid them being soiled by his blood. The calm sea shimmered in the light of the
moon, and soft waves bathed the beach with their gentle ebb and flow. As the executioner’s sword hovered above
his neck, awaiting the order to strike Nichiren raised his face, and despite himself, he swiftly
composed a prayer to the God of the Moon. Suddenly, the sky was rent in two by a brilliant
light. Nichiren heard the dull yet sonorous sound
as the sword fell from his would-be killer’s grasp, and the patter of running feet on the
sandy beach. The execution corps fled. Soon, the holy man was alone with the sea,
the stars, ... and the moon. His saviour. The priest let two handfulls of sand seep
slowly through his fingers, got slowly to his feet, walked up to where the grass met
the sand, retrieved his vestments from the branch where they still hung, and then sank
to the ground once more. The divine being had vouched for his virtuosity,
saved him from death, ... to continue his mission on earth. And Nichiren was right: after the relative
stability of the Shogunate’s early years, environmental catastrophe, natural disasters,
and weakening government were leading to social breakdown, starvation - and appeared to be
ushering in the end of days. But that was nothing. As Nichren had predicted, the Horsemen of
the Apocalypse were about to descend on the Japanese isles. Mongols. We by the Grace and decree of Heaven, Emperor
of Great Mongolia, present a letter to the King of Japan. We have pondered that from ancient times,
even the princes of small states have striven to cultivate friendly intercourse with those
of adjoining territories. We beg that hereafter you, O King, will establish
friendly relations with us so that the sages may make the four seas their home. Is it reasonable to refuse intercourse with
each other? It will lead to war, and who is there who
likes such a state of things! Think on this, O King! The first letter had arrived in 1266. Ignoring these communications, and general
ignorance in Japan of just how powerful and large the Mongol Empire was – which stretched
from Manchuria to Poland – led to Mongol troops storming through the surf at Hakata
bay in 1274. The defender’s arrow flew sure. The Mongol toppled from his horse, and waves
closed around him. Then the enemy paused. As one, the men in the rear ranks raised strange
looking short bows, a great wave of arrows darkened the sky, shield-less as was their
way, the defending samurai fell in droves. Suddenly, thunder roared a short way off. Not in the clear, pale autumn sky, but on
the ground! Blood and flesh of samurai flew everywhere. Then the thunder pealed again, and again. These Mongol devils seemed somehow to have
enlisted the very heavens to fight on their side. The samurai turned and fled. They would fight men to the death, but dueling
with deities was a very different proposition. The enemy advanced up the wet beach slowly,
letting loose wave after wave of arrows, and propelling their grenade-like bombs asunder. The samurai continued a fighting retreat throughout
that terrible day. But the enemy came on. Unstoppable. Invincible. Burning, pillaging, killing. Night fell. And in the morning, they were gone. By the time news of the landing reached the
young shogun Hojo Tokimune on the other side of the country a heaven-sent typhoon had consigned
many of the enemy’s ships to the bottom of the ocean, and the rest scuttling for the
safety of Korean harbours. Japan had been lucky this time. No one knew why, but after that first day
of battle on Kyushu, the enemy had returned to their great ships and sailed away. Perhaps they were looking for an easier landing
place, maybe it had only been a reconnaissance mission. Either way, the typhoon had put paid to whatever
devilry they had kept in store. All knew they would return, and Shiken Hojo
Tokimune ordered a frenzy of defensive measures. All along the eastern coast walls were to
be built, look outs to be permanently posted, troop numbers multiplied, even weapons to
be redesigned to counter the new threat. Kublai smashed his fist into the floor. These snakes, those worms, these Dwarvish
Barbarians of the East. They had performed relatively well against
one puny reconnaissance mission in the previous year, and now they thought they could behead
his peace envoys with impunity! No action could be more heinous - greater
nations had been pulverised, entire cities put to the sword for less. They would pay dearly. A people should know when they have met their
match. Kublai’s generals, flush from having re-united
China under his rule with their recent victory over the southern provinces, now turned their
faces eastwards. Lacking knowledge of the sea, and remembering
the storms that had plagued the first exploratory expedition in 1274, they turned to two Yangtze
river pirates Zhu Qing and Zhang Xuan for their expertise. Two fleets would sail for Japan. One, of 900 ships, from Korea, and one of
3,500 ships from southern China. They would carry 142,000 men, the biggest
invasion force in history, not to be exceeded until the Allied invasions of Normandy in
1944, nearly 700 years later. Shiken Hojo Tokimune was petrified. He knew what his fate would be should the
Mongols reach his capital city of Kamakura. It was well known that the Mongols refused
to spill monarch’s blood, but Tokimune, although a ruler, was in truth merely a regent. Not of royal blood. His family had usurped both Emperor and Shogun. His end would not be swift and after his behaviour
towards the envoys, he knew the Mongols would enjoy a degree of creativity in their disposal
of him. Wild riders chased him down in his dreams. For once the young, hot-headed Shogunal regent
knew fear. To calm him, Tokimune’s spiritual counselor,
a recent refugee from southern China, the Zen Master, Mugaku Sogen, told him the story
of when the stinking barbaric nomads had reached his temple in China. Mugaku had knelt unmoving on the floor, the
only monk who had not fled. The flames of Mongol devastation crackled
around him as a lone rider approached, dismounted and drew his sword for the mortal blow. Mugaku, ignoring the stench of horse and human
sweat, raised his voice to a little over a whisper, and looked the rough-looking rider
in the eye: I searched the universe, and found the answer. People are empty, even Buddha’s teachings
a void. Your great sword,
will be as lightening cutting the spring breeze. The warrior paused, bowed low, and left the
monk to live. Mugaku had made his way eastwards to the land
where the Sun Rose, and Buddha’s Law was still revered. Quietly the aged Chinese monk advised the
young Japanese ruler to meditate, to find the source of his cowardice and fear within. Having done so, Tokimune screamed, “Katsu!” “VICTORY.” Mugaku smiled. “It is true that the son of a lion roars
as a lion!” Tokimune sent messengers to the Court to request
that all temples and shrines pray for victory. Japan was on high alert. Kikuchi Takefusa, mounted atop a fine steed,
bound in purple armor, crimson cape billowing in the fresh sea breeze watched the water
boil with enemy ships. 600 years before, his family had been placed
on this border after the fall of Baekje to guard against invasion from what had once
been their Korean homeland. That attack had never come, and countless
generations had lived in peace. Until now. The Mongols had brought their Korean, Jurchen,
and Chinese vassals to subjugate and add yet another realm to their vast empire. Would they never be satisfied? The Korea-based fleet had ravaged the outer
islands of Tsushima and Iki again. And on June 21st 1281 the enemy had appeared
off the Kyushu horizon. The fighting was fierce in Hakata Bay. But all attempts at landing had been foiled
by the samurai forces. The great ships remained, threatening, massive,
darkening the ocean, awaiting the massive but severely delayed reinforcements from China
which would undoubtedly deal a mortal blow. The defenders did not sit idle. Small boats put out in the dead of each night. Mongol ships were boarded, their crews put
to the sword, vessels were fired and set loose to cause panic. A pandemic broke out. Thousands of the invaders perished. The ships started to rot. Then the China fleet arrived. Months late, but glorious in its great multitude. There was little hope for the defenders. They knew their time had come. The retired Emperor Kameyama sent an offering
to his divine ancestor, Amaterasu, in her chief shrine at Ise, imploring her to intervene
to save her children. That very same evening, a storm exploded from
the blue August skies. The wind roared, and the waves rose higher
than the enemy ships’ mastheads. Susa-no-o, God of Storms, was doing his sister
Amaterasu’s bidding at last. When the Susa-no-o had had enough, the Great
Khan and Son of Heaven’s vast army and armada were nothing more than throngs of forlorn
bodies, and an abundance of driftwood gentling lapping against the quiet Kyushu shores in
Amaterasu’s bright, soft, summer radiance. When the wicked invaders again arrived in
1281 and all persons, believing that the expulsion of the enemy could be effected only by divine
will and never by human power... reverently looked up to heaven, and a divine storm rose
in mighty force and scattered the enemy ships, and the enemy perished all at once. In China, The Mongols never totally recovered
from the massive material and morale seeping defeat, and although their Chinese domination
would struggle on until 1368, it had been in truth dealt a mortal blow. Against all the odds, Japan’s ancient, Mythical
Mother – Amaterasu, with a helping hand from her good-for-nothing storm god brother,
had won the day. A new Japanese unity was forged in the Mongol
fire. The island country of rival clans, competing
power centres, and riven factions that had disintegrated into banditry and disunity four
hundred years before, and only in the last century found an uneasy balance and firm borders
forged in civil war, had, under threat of foreign invasion, established a feeling that
it had never full enjoyed before, that of One Nation united against a common enemy. Japan would remain Japan.
