Tendaiji -
The Soul of the Trees

A Buddhist mountain in the snowy north of Japan... Wondrous images sculpted from ancient trees... All could be perfect, were it not for the depredations of human beings. The thousand year-old trees, which gave birth to both temple and statues, were destroyed for shortsighted profit, leaving the mountain a bare scalp. On the empty stumps small Jizo statues have been placed and they seem to cry for the souls of the trees.

I am traveling in Iwate Prefecture to visit the hidden Buddha's of northern Japan. One day I come to the farthest point in the prefecture, Ninohe, one hour by express from the capital Morioka. Soon after the train has entered the rugged mountains north of Morioka, snow starts falling. Mountains, trees, roads, all lie shrouded in white. Under the low snow clouds, the light fails, although it is still in the middle of the morning. The mountains stand silent and cold. But then the train descends from a pass and when I reach my destination, Ninohe, the sun has appeared again and is shining down on the glittering snow.

At Ninohe I board a bus bound for Joboji, which lies far in the mountains again. I drive along the old Kazuno Highway, in the valley of the river Appi, that leads to northern Akita prefecture. Small villages, hamlets, deeply buried in the snow, glide by. Tall trees, mostly evergreens, stand stately on the hills, but later I notice that there are many places where they have been cut away and replaced by mixed forest. Occasionally there is a bare hill, proof of recent devastation. Apparently, even the mighty forests of the deep north fall victims to the shortsighted urge for profit.

After forty minutes, I alight at the Tendaiji bus stop. From here, a road with a well maintained footpath along it, leads away to the left. With careful steps I cross the ice-covered bridge that spans the Appi river, then pass through a tunnel under a highway. The path has been beautified by two modern statues of Guardian Kings. My eyes fall on a tall katsura or Judas tree standing to the left, and forming the start of the path up the mountain. At the base of the tree is a well, called Katsura Shimizu, the "Pure Water of the Katsura Tree." Today snow has covered all traces. The mountain itself is called Yachozan, Eight Leaf Mountain, because it is formed like a lotus leaf with eight petals.

The long staircase to the temple

A Ravaged Forest
The path proves easy going, but after a few meters I suddenly halt my steps. A sad circumstance strikes my eyes. After the one, big katsura tree at the entrance to the path, there are no large trees anymore. Instead, rows of dead stumps line the path. On the thick stumps, small stone Buddha's have been placed as a prayer for the souls of the murdered trees.

I learn later that in the years after the war, the mighty forest was cut down and sold by rapacious hands, at a time when the temple itself was temporarily abandoned. Since then, new trees have been planted on the mountainside, but they belong to the mixed type that I saw on other ravaged hills from the bus. Never, even after a thousand years, will these trees reach to the splendor of the murdered forest of Katsura trees.

The path turns into a stone staircase, I pass a large wooden gate, and then stand in front of the main hall of Tendaiji. According to the temple's own tradition, Tendaiji was founded in 728 by priest Gyogi, following an order of Emperor Shomu. Gyogi had been sent to northern Japan by the emperor to spread Buddhism. When he came to this area, he sculpted a Kannon image and established a hall for it. This hall was later in 893 rebuilt by another famous priest, Ennin, who traveled extensively in the north. Recent excavations have proved that at least in the tenth century there was a temple here. The present Main Hall was built in 1657 by the locally powerful Nambu clan, who in their turn undertook a major restoration of the temple.

Jizo statue on a tree stump

The Kannon Statues
The statues I have come to see are in one of the two concrete storehouses behind the Main Hall. They are arranged on a low dais behind glass. The storehouse is so narrow that I stand literally face to face with them. In the middle stand two finely carved statues of Kannon, a Sho Kannon to the right, and an Eleven-headed Kannon to the left. The Sho Kannon is the main image of the temple, cut from one block of a katsura tree. The carving is delicate, although in the long dress of the upright standing image the rough lines of the chisel are on purpose still visible. The face and arms, though, have been smoothened. The deep chisel cuts impart strength and uncouthness to the statue, something one associates with the north, but as the statue is only 116.5 centimeters tall, and the face has been molded very finely, at the same time there is an impression of refinement. This combination of force and sophistication is representative of Tendaiji, and especially of the Kannon of the Holy Mountain, the Katsura Shimizu Kannon.

The Eleven-headed Kannon is slightly larger, and also made from one block of katsura wood, but here all the hatchet marks have been smoothed over, so that the impression is very different. Only the fact that the eleven heads in the crown of the Kannon are just rough stumps, instead of showing faces with various impressions as usual, points to the same rugged style. Both statues may be from the same period (tenth or eleventh century), probably even from the same sculptor, a surmise that is supported by the likeness of both Kannon's faces.

The hands and one foot of the Eleven-headed Kannon are missing, but she can still be called lucky: most other statues in the store house are much more fragmentary, proof of the rough history of Tendaiji. There are two Shaka Nyorai statues with such human faces that they must have been made after real models. The expressive faces are dominated by strong lips. After the refinement of the Kannon statues, these Nyorai look firmly rooted in their locality. The same can be said of Komoku-ten and Tamon-ten, two guardian king statues, and finally - above all - of the lovable Kissho-ten. This goddess of good fortune looks as if she has just run away from one of the neighboring villages and taken her stand on the dais to tease me. The flower pattern of the dress that has been painted on the wood, is still faintly visible. As she has no arms anymore, she very much resembles that popular product of northern Japan, a kokeshi doll.

There are more statues, some only fragments, just the cores and faint outlines of what was once a great temple. I turn again to the Kannon statues, made from the katsura trees that used to grow in profusion on this mountain. The katsura wood has a reddish color, as if the trees from which the statues have been cut are still alive. It is in these statues that the dead forest still lives on. The faint red glow makes you think of blood flowing under the skin.

Perversely, it was the incident of cutting down the forest, that revived interest in the temple. At local initiative, the temple's fortune was once more revived, the grounds were cleaned, and later the famous nun and author Setouchi Jakucho became head priest. Although the trees are gone, Tendaiji is here to stay.

When I descend again over the path among the tree stumps, fine snowflakes flutter down. Faintly, the sad face of the Sho Kannon seems to glide along with me, through her dead forest, lamenting the fact that even in one of the most outlying corners of Japan nature is not safe from human depredation.