THE STORY OF O-TEI

A long time ago, in the town of Niigata, in the province of Echizen,

there lived a man called Nagao Chōsei.

Nagao was the son of a physician, and was educated for his father’s

profession. At an early age he had been betrothed to a girl called

O-Tei, the daughter of one of his father’s friends; and both families

had agreed that the wedding should take place as soon as Nagao had

finished his studies. But the health of O-Tei proved to be weak; and in

her fifteenth year she was attacked by a fatal consumption. When she

became aware that she must die, she sent for Nagao to bid him farewell.

As he knelt at her bedside, she said to him:—

“Nagao-Sama, (1) my betrothed, we were promised to each other from the

time of our childhood; and we were to have been married at the end of

this year. But now I am going to die;—the gods know what is best for

us. If I were able to live for some years longer, I could only continue

to be a cause of trouble and grief for others. With this frail body, I

could not be a good wife; and therefore even to wish to live, for your

sake, would be a very selfish wish. I am quite resigned to die; and I

want you to promise that you will not grieve... Besides, I want to tell

you that I think we shall meet again.”...

“Indeed we shall meet again,” Nagao answered earnestly. “And in that

Pure Land (2) there will be no pain of separation.”

“Nay, nay!” she responded softly, “I meant not the Pure Land. I believe

that we are destined to meet again in this world,—although I shall be

buried to-morrow.”

Nagao looked at her wonderingly, and saw her smile at his wonder. She

continued, in her gentle, dreamy voice,—

“Yes, I mean in this world,—in your own present life, Nagao-Sama...

Providing, indeed, that you wish it. Only, for this thing to happen, I

must again be born a girl, and grow up to womanhood. So you would have

to wait. Fifteen—sixteen years: that is a long time... But, my promised

husband, you are now only nineteen years old.”...

Eager to soothe her dying moments, he answered tenderly:—

“To wait for you, my betrothed, were no less a joy than a duty. We are

pledged to each other for the time of seven existences.”

“But you doubt?” she questioned, watching his face.

“My dear one,” he answered, “I doubt whether I should be able to know

you in another body, under another name,—unless you can tell me of a

sign or token.”

“That I cannot do,” she said. “Only the Gods and the Buddhas know how

and where we shall meet. But I am sure—very, very sure—that, if you be

not unwilling to receive me, I shall be able to come back to you...

Remember these words of mine.”...

She ceased to speak; and her eyes closed. She was dead.

Nagao had been sincerely attached to O-Tei; and his grief was deep. He

had a mortuary tablet made, inscribed with her _zokumyō;_[1] and he

placed the tablet in his _butsudan_,[2] and every day set offerings

before it. He thought a great deal about the strange things that O-Tei

had said to him just before her death; and, in the hope of pleasing her

spirit, he wrote a solemn promise to wed her if she could ever return

to him in another body. This written promise he sealed with his seal,

and placed in the _butsudan_ beside the mortuary tablet of O-Tei.

Nevertheless, as Nagao was an only son, it was necessary that he should

marry. He soon found himself obliged to yield to the wishes of his

family, and to accept a wife of his father’s choosing. After his

marriage he continued to set offerings before the tablet of O-Tei; and

he never failed to remember her with affection. But by degrees her

image became dim in his memory,—like a dream that is hard to recall.

And the years went by.

During those years many misfortunes came upon him. He lost his parents

by death,—then his wife and his only child. So that he found himself

alone in the world. He abandoned his desolate home, and set out upon a

long journey in the hope of forgetting his sorrows.

One day, in the course of his travels, he arrived at Ikao,—a

mountain-village still famed for its thermal springs, and for the

beautiful scenery of its neighborhood. In the village-inn at which he

stopped, a young girl came to wait upon him; and, at the first sight of

her face, he felt his heart leap as it had never leaped before. So

strangely did she resemble O-Tei that he pinched himself to make sure

that he was not dreaming. As she went and came,—bringing fire and food,

or arranging the chamber of the guest,—her every attitude and motion

revived in him some gracious memory of the girl to whom he had been

pledged in his youth. He spoke to her; and she responded in a soft,

clear voice of which the sweetness saddened him with a sadness of other

days.

Then, in great wonder, he questioned her, saying:—

“Elder Sister (3), so much do you look like a person whom I knew long

ago, that I was startled when you first entered this room. Pardon me,

therefore, for asking what is your native place, and what is your

name?”

Immediately,—and in the unforgotten voice of the dead,—she thus made

answer:—

“My name is O-Tei; and you are Nagao Chōsei of Echigo, my promised

husband. Seventeen years ago, I died in Niigata: then you made in

writing a promise to marry me if ever I could come back to this world

in the body of a woman;—and you sealed that written promise with your

seal, and put it in the _butsudan_, beside the tablet inscribed with my

name. And therefore I came back.”...

As she uttered these last words, she fell unconscious.

Nagao married her; and the marriage was a happy one. But at no time

afterwards could she remember what she had told him in answer to his

question at Ikao: neither could she remember anything of her previous

existence. The recollection of the former birth,—mysteriously kindled

in the moment of that meeting,—had again become obscured, and so

thereafter remained.