On a beautiful spring morning, a young monk-in-training named Takamaru, still a child at eleven, left Myôsen Temple with a big monk named Kanryô. They planned to pick herbs and flowers in Araizaka, but the boy slipped on an old bridge and plunged into the icy, roating river, which was swollen with snowmelt and runoff from Iizuna Mountain.
Hearing the boy’s screams for help, Kanryô dashed down the bank, but there was nothing he could do. Takamaru’s head bobbed up, then disappeared. A hand rose above the raging water. But soon his cries grew as faiunt as the high buzz of mosquitoes, and the young monk vanished in the river, nothing left but his image engraved forever on Kanryô’s eyes.
On into the evening, torches flared along the bank as people searched for Takamaru. Finally, he was found, his body wedged between boulders, too late for anyone to help.
When someone found…