thought,
Dreaming of my beloved so far away.
â Anonymous
The Palace of Light
M AHOROBA DERIVED ITS NAME from its location at the center of the lands of Toyoashihara. From here a road had once led to heaven. According to legend, the long valley, running north to south, was formed by the foot of the God of Light when he returned to his celestial home, and it did indeed resemble a huge footprint, as though someone had stepped in the middle of the mountains. Within this imprint nestled the extensive buildings of the Palace of Light and a multitude of lesser manors that housed the palace subjects, together comprising the capital.
The journey had lasted many days, during which time Saya had become accustomed to horse and saddle. She had even ridden on a ferry with the horses. What surprised her most as she crossed the mountain wall was the orderliness of the mountains hemming the capital; that and the way their vivid green slopes crowded in on every side, cutting off the sky. Comparing Mahoroba to her childhood home in the east, and to the countless mountains and rivers they had crossed in between, was like comparing a smooth bowl produced upon a potterâs wheel to a rough-hewn wood carving. Here one would find no reedy marshes that took half a day to cross, no precipitous cliffs of red rock rising sudden and sheer in oneâs path. Everything was delicate and orderly, as if cradled tenderly within the palm of a giant hand. The vengeful gods of the earth do not reside in this land. Thatâs what makes it Mahoroba, Saya thought.
Nature wielded no power here; rather, power was vested in human hands. The roads, the cultivated fields, the buildings of men, which usually appeared insignificant before the creations of wind and water, had reached their zenith in Mahoroba. They rode past irrigated rice paddies, the water levels of which were carefully regulated. The pale green of the young rice seedlings and the dark purple of the irises along the embankments seemed to melt into the humid haze. A fine silken rain fell continuously, though it did not hinder their progress. Despite the heavy clouds hanging overhead, the sky was bright and glowed like dull nickel. The capital, which Saya saw for the first time in her life, was clad mysteriously in a light robe of early summer rain. Several times they passed local people wearing straw rain cloaks who, as soon as they caught sight of the procession, scrambled off the road and knelt in the mud, not daring to raise their heads until the horsesâ hooves had passed.
Finally a huge gate set in a tall stockade came into view through the misty white haze. The gate was roofed, sufficiently large to house many people, and heavily guarded. Saya, expecting to see the main hall once she passed through the gate, was surprised to enter a large square from which the road stretched still farther before them. Countless lofty buildings, each enclosed behind its own walls, lined the road.
âWell,â she muttered to herself, âhow many layers will it take to satisfy them? Mahoroba is just like a set of nested boxes.â
They passed through two or three more gates. All she could see were earthen walls, pillars painted cinnabar red, and guards; the place seemed unnaturally still. It was so imposing that Saya, who was nervous anyway, was overwhelmed. When they passed through the last gate, however, the surroundings suddenly brightened. Despite the fact that it was midday, wood burned in metal brackets. The enormous plaza in which they stood was the courtyard of the palaceâs main hall, an immense structure with two stately wings extending to either side and behind which soared a high wooden tower. People thronged the main steps and crowded along both wings, waiting to welcome them.
Sayaâs eyes were drawn to a resplendent figure standing at the top of the main steps. Her hair was fastened in many loops through which were thrust long golden hairpins, and the delicate
Dreaming of my beloved so far away.
â Anonymous
The Palace of Light
M AHOROBA DERIVED ITS NAME from its location at the center of the lands of Toyoashihara. From here a road had once led to heaven. According to legend, the long valley, running north to south, was formed by the foot of the God of Light when he returned to his celestial home, and it did indeed resemble a huge footprint, as though someone had stepped in the middle of the mountains. Within this imprint nestled the extensive buildings of the Palace of Light and a multitude of lesser manors that housed the palace subjects, together comprising the capital.
The journey had lasted many days, during which time Saya had become accustomed to horse and saddle. She had even ridden on a ferry with the horses. What surprised her most as she crossed the mountain wall was the orderliness of the mountains hemming the capital; that and the way their vivid green slopes crowded in on every side, cutting off the sky. Comparing Mahoroba to her childhood home in the east, and to the countless mountains and rivers they had crossed in between, was like comparing a smooth bowl produced upon a potterâs wheel to a rough-hewn wood carving. Here one would find no reedy marshes that took half a day to cross, no precipitous cliffs of red rock rising sudden and sheer in oneâs path. Everything was delicate and orderly, as if cradled tenderly within the palm of a giant hand. The vengeful gods of the earth do not reside in this land. Thatâs what makes it Mahoroba, Saya thought.
Nature wielded no power here; rather, power was vested in human hands. The roads, the cultivated fields, the buildings of men, which usually appeared insignificant before the creations of wind and water, had reached their zenith in Mahoroba. They rode past irrigated rice paddies, the water levels of which were carefully regulated. The pale green of the young rice seedlings and the dark purple of the irises along the embankments seemed to melt into the humid haze. A fine silken rain fell continuously, though it did not hinder their progress. Despite the heavy clouds hanging overhead, the sky was bright and glowed like dull nickel. The capital, which Saya saw for the first time in her life, was clad mysteriously in a light robe of early summer rain. Several times they passed local people wearing straw rain cloaks who, as soon as they caught sight of the procession, scrambled off the road and knelt in the mud, not daring to raise their heads until the horsesâ hooves had passed.
Finally a huge gate set in a tall stockade came into view through the misty white haze. The gate was roofed, sufficiently large to house many people, and heavily guarded. Saya, expecting to see the main hall once she passed through the gate, was surprised to enter a large square from which the road stretched still farther before them. Countless lofty buildings, each enclosed behind its own walls, lined the road.
âWell,â she muttered to herself, âhow many layers will it take to satisfy them? Mahoroba is just like a set of nested boxes.â
They passed through two or three more gates. All she could see were earthen walls, pillars painted cinnabar red, and guards; the place seemed unnaturally still. It was so imposing that Saya, who was nervous anyway, was overwhelmed. When they passed through the last gate, however, the surroundings suddenly brightened. Despite the fact that it was midday, wood burned in metal brackets. The enormous plaza in which they stood was the courtyard of the palaceâs main hall, an immense structure with two stately wings extending to either side and behind which soared a high wooden tower. People thronged the main steps and crowded along both wings, waiting to welcome them.
Sayaâs eyes were drawn to a resplendent figure standing at the top of the main steps. Her hair was fastened in many loops through which were thrust long golden hairpins, and the delicate
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