Heirinji -
The Last Wood at the End of Tokyo

What makes Heirinji famous nowadays is the patch of green in which it stands, a rarity in the sprawling metropolis of Tokyo. It is the only spot where the memory of Musashino, as the area was called in the past, still survives in the form of a small forest of pine, spruce and mixed trees in the quiet temple grounds.

The fame of Heirinji's wood does not mean that the temple itself is without interest. The small but well-proportioned Sanmon gate, where the two guardian king statues almost seem to burst out of their confinement, and the square main hall, where in the dusk a Shaka triad can be vaguely discerned, are characteristic examples of seventeenth century local temple architecture. The rustic aspect is all the more brought home by the beautiful thatch that crowns both gateway and main hall.

Thatched roofs are rare nowadays: they are expensive, it is difficult to find the thatch, and artisans are becoming scarce. In Heirinji, the roof covering the hall looks so heavy, that one wonders how the low walls have been able to withstand its load for all those centuries.

Originally Heirinji stood much further east, in the castle town of Iwatsuki, but after its destruction during one of the local wars that plagued Japan in the sixteenth century, it was rebuilt on the present site as the family temple of Matsudaira Nobutsuna, the feudal lord of nearby Kawagoe and member of the Tokugawa family. Nobutsuna had already made his mark in the area because he had an irrigation ditch constructed to bring water to the farms in the district. Called the Nobidome Josui, a branch (ironically dry at the time of my visit) runs through the temple precincts.

Heirinji's Main Hall

A Country Temple
In the days of Nobutsuna the wide plain of Musashino where Heirinji was established, was a remote, rural area. The farmland was interspersed with stretches of mixed wood. Nothing is left now of this pastoral setting. Musashino has been thoroughly urbanized, in the usual haphazard and ruthless fashion, that leaves everything to private initiative and results in a chaotic jumble of apartment buildings, family houses, farms with leftovers of vegetable plots, and perpetually choked narrow roads. With a little bit of sensible planning, it could have been an ideal park-like suburb, I think regretfully.

Heirinji lies wedged between two busy commuter lines running through Saitama Prefecture. When coming by bus from either of these lines, you can't miss the temple, because it is the only place where the road runs alongside a forest. In the grounds the Sanmon gate and main hall are popular objects for nostalgic photos, especially in the season of red and yellow foliage.

The gate houses the usual, large statues of the Deva kings, fierce protectors of Buddhism. The left one opens his mouth to pronounce the first syllable of the Sanskrit alphabet, and the one to the right closes it on the last syllable. In this way they symbolically encompass all of creation.

On a straight line behind these buildings stands the real temple, that is closed to the public, because Heirinji is still a living Zen temple of the Rinzai school. Young monks are subjected to a strict regime of instruction and meditation. As a board next to the entrance announces, they must rise at three in the morning, and spend the day practicing mediation and doing menial tasks till bedtime at ten in the evening. The three meals they receive are three times the same menu of rice, one vegetable dish and miso soup. While reading the board, I hear the sound of a wooden clapper and bell from the closed hall, which makes me feel the severe discipline that reigns inside.

A path leads around the building complex to the graveyard at the back where several generations of Matsudaira lords and their families have been laid to rest. In all, there are about 170 gravestones. Rows of impressive stone lanterns, decked out with the Tokugawa symbol, proclaim the exalted position they occupied during life. Now, they are only dust under stone. To the side is also the grave of Kinyu'eimon, the engineer who built the irrigation system for Nobutsuna. Two elderly women in old-fashioned country clothes are burning dead leaves, and the billowing smoke of the fire they make seems to speak of the evanescence of life.

Heirinji's Graveyard

A Walk in the Woods
The path continues in a wide circle through the wooded grounds. It is shorter than I expected, as it takes only half an hour to return to my point of departure. The wood is never very thick and sometimes I see housing developments shine through the trees. In the center of the park, some land has been eaten away by a modern cemetery. Selling grave sites is lucrative temple business in modern Japan, and I hope the monks will be morally strong enough to withstand the lure of commerce. Otherwise the last vestige of Musashino woodland will soon be depleted.

When I return to the main hall, the group of photographers with tripods and heavy cameras, that had first haunted it, has vanished, and I have the place to myself. It is quiet now and the majestic thatched roof of the temple glows in the late afternoon sun. My feet rustle through the fallen leaves, that fortunately have not been swept away yet by the industrious monks.

The rays of the low sun strike the side of the gate, lighting up the strong arm, neck and ferocious face of one of the guardian king statues. It seems as if any moment he can break out of his mesh-wire cage and give forth the shout that has been forming for centuries in his open mouth.

Billowing Smoke