The Forty Seventh

[This story is based on a true episode of Japanese history. The events occurred in 1701 and concluded on the fourth day of February 1702. For those who know the true story, the event and place coordination has been purposefully altered.]

The breeze at Sengakuji has a constant fragrance of incense burning.

The breeze at Matsu no Oroka always smells of pinewood. We called it the corridor of pines. But that morning I smelt something else in the air.
Blood.

“They come! They come!”
Immediately, the townspeople took shelter in their homes, clearing the street for the convoy from Edo castle. They arrived in splendor. Armor glittering in the Honshu sunlight, the familiar sheathe of the katana by their side. The wakizashi resting in their breastplates. Truly, they looked fit to be envoys of the Emperor.
The two who were selected to welcome them were both mighty samurai. Kamei and Asano, two of the bravest warriors in our little town. Welcoming gestures, smiles and bows were exchanged.
We walked into court.
Kirai Yoshinaka was the official who had arrived from the Edo shogunate. An influential member of Tokugawa’s party. I had heard that he was a vain and arrogant man, disliked even by his own family.
The conversation was going fruitfully, when suddenly, Kirai became angry.
“These are the gifts you wish to give the shogunate? These meager trinkets for the great Tokugawa? You expect me to let you live after this insult? I have no use for your sentimental pieces of useless artifacts. Where is my money? I want gold and I want it now!”
The outburst had incredible impact. A direct request for bribery was unheard of. It went against all the laws one could remember. And yet, he was the law. There would be no penalty for him, although the same words could cause anyone else instant death.
I saw Asano’s face redden. He checked himself, pretending he had not heard. He was a noble man. He would not give bribes, even if he was sentenced for his disobedience. Kamei, although a great warrior, lacked grid iron personality. He too was angry, but he decided to comply with Kirai’s request. He offered money.
His lust temporarily quenched, he turned to Asano.
“Insolent cur. Where is your money?”
Asano did not answer. I saw his fist clench the hilt of his katana. I stood helplessly, merely playing out the scene in my head. If he drew the blade…
My worst nightmare came true. Kirai finally broke his resilience. A short comment on his parentage made Asano erupt instantly. His fury unleashed, he drew his sword and slashed.
I could hear the rush of water in the next valley. People ceased breathing. Everyone supported Asano, mutely. Each drop of blood that fell from Kirai’s face fell with an audible splatter.
A grating noise broke the silence. Asano’s wakizashi had missed. It had hit the pillar to his right, chipping a bit of stone. His katana had merely slashed the face of the official, no more. No death yet.
There would only be one death for sure. Asano.

The following day, Asano was asked to commit seppuku. The art of ritual suicide. The re-attainment of lost honour in death. It was the most gruesome part of our history.
The perpetrator had a choice. He could either commit seppuku without complaint, or he could choose not to. In the latter case, his lands would be destroyed, his family exiled and he would be degraded to a ronin. A wanderer.
In short, his entire existence would be confiscated.
Few chose the latter.

Asano was allowed one final meal. His favourite meal. Then he was robed in white. He was asked to choose a second. In case he felt too much pain to endure when driving his dirk into his spleen, his second could be signaled to chop off his head. The ultimate test of friendship.
Distorted irony.
I did not watch him in the end.
I was already far away.
Lighting the fires of revenge.

A few weeks later.
We were ready. Arms had arrived in the castle secretly. All the preparations were complete. Oishi was our leader. Revenge was our cause.
Kirai would pay for our master’s death.
Remaining inactive for such a long time would mean that we were too weak to avenge our master, Asano. Kirai would have realized that by now. He would have lowered his defenses. He would have made the worst mistake in his life.
When we reached the forest surrounding Edo castle, it was midnight. No guards were visible at the front gate. Only the frightening glitter of steel in the moonlight gave away our presence. But no one seemed to notice. No alarms were raised.
I remember it was snowing. Heavily. But so heated up were we with the inferno of vengeance, the snow seemed to melt under our very stares.

Morning came with a mist. Camouflaged in nature, we sneaked across the open field circumventing the fort. Then we attacked.
No one died that day who did not deserve death. It was not a massacre. It was a ritual. It was Kirai’s hara-kiri. We were doing it for him.
Oishi found him, cowering in his bed clothes in the Pine Corridor. He would not accept who he was so we merely sliced his head off his shoulders and left the fort.
Silence followed us, but in their hearts I knew we were the heroes of that day. Kirai had deserved what he had received. He should have died a long time ago.

We laid Kirai’s head in front of our lord’s tomb in Sengokuji. We could feel his presence lingering.
He was avenged.

That month, we were all asked to commit seppuku.
We agreed.

Forty six men died for what they believed in that day. Forty-six men who had changed the laws of bushido forever.
Bushido states that it is one’s duty to avenge one’s master’s death. It also states killing a man above your own rank as sacrilege.
We were the blasphemers of a confused society.
We were also their heroes.

Forty seven graves under the Honshu sun.

The breeze at Sengokuji has a constant fragrance of incense burning.
But I still long for the scent of pinewood.