The White Pheasant

Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

So the year 649 was so bad that they went and changed the whole calendar to forget about it! In 650 a white pheasant is brought to the court, and they sieze on that as a chance to rename the era from Taika to Hakuchi. That should make things better, right?

This episode we talk about this event--their reasoning, as well as what is recorded as having happened. We also take a look at the completion of the Ajifu no Miya and how it was renamed to the Naniwa no Toyosaki no Nagara no Miya, or the Toyosaki Nagara Palace of Naniwa. This is thought to be what we know today as the Early Naniwa Palace, and it was a real change, and, in many ways, the physical manifestation of the Taika era reforms.

For photos and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-113

Rough Transcript:

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 113: The White Pheasant.

The officials of the court stood sentinel at the palace gates, a formidable line of authority draped in flowing, vibrant robes that signified their rank. Each step down the line revealed a cascade of colors, a living tapestry of power and prestige. Only the envoys from distant shores stood apart, their unique uniforms adding an exotic flair to the proceedings, as well as a certain legitimacy as outside witnesses.

The air crackled with anticipation as the crowd waited, their breath held, until four figures emerged, bearing aloft a magnificent litter adorned with intricate decorations that shimmered as they caught the sun’s rays.

Upon that litter rested a cage, and within it,a dazzling white pheasant, plucked from the untamed wilds of Anato. Whispers rippled through the throng; some questioned the significance of this fragile creature, while others dared to see it as a divine omen. Was this bird as pure as the tales had promised? The capital had buzzed with rumors ever since its unexpected arrival, and those in the back stretched their necks, desperate for a glimpse of this rare marvel.

The past year had cast a shadow over the Yamato court, leaving the air thick with uncertainty. Yet, this ethereal bird, shimmering with the promise of renewal, seemed to herald a shift—an opportunity for rebirth that everyone craved. At the very least it was a much needed distraction from everything that had previously occurred.

As the litter glided past, the courtiers bowed deeply in reverence, forming two disciplined lines that followed through the grand gates. Together, they marched into the palace, hearts pounding with hope. They were not just entering a building; they were stepping into a new era, one that, with a whisper of fate, could rise above the struggles of the past.

This episode we kick off the start of a new era—the Hakuchi era, or the era of the White Pheasant. It followed the Taika era, and it does have a different feel. It is less about new edicts and more about how things were shaking out and coming together. And one of the things that was coming together was the Nagara no Toyosaki palace, which is believed to be the same one known to archaeologists as the “Early Naniwa Palace” unearthed in Ohosaka and dated to the mid-7th century. We’ll actually start with a look at this palace, continuing our discussion from last episode, as our sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, seems to have been a bit crazy about all of his palaces, and figuring out just which is which can be an issue in and of itself.

We’ll also touch on the start of this new era, and look at why and what it meant to come up with a new era name—a new “nengou”—in the middle of a reign like this.

And so we catch ourselves at the start of the year 650, still, technically, in the Taika era. The year started well enough, with the sovereign celebrating the new year at the Ajifu palace and then coming straight back—the Ajifu palace was apparently yet another new palace and it seems construction had only recently begun.

Now, There is some confusion between the Ajifu palace and the Toyosaki palace. The Ajifu palace is traditionally thought to have been located on the opposite side o f the Yodo river, in the area of modern Settsu city, on the site of what became the Ajifu Shrine. Others have suggested that it was actually on the Kanimachi plateau, which is where the Toyosaki palace was. Notably the “Toyosaki” palace is not located anywhere near the modern area of “Toyosaki” with which it seems to share a name. From what little information we have, it seems to have been quite the complex. As to why he would need yet another palace, I could not say. And yet, later we see that the Ajifu Palace is eventually named the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. So are they one and the same? Did they move the Toyosaki Palace? Or did they build the Toyosaki Palace and then *rebuild* it as the Ajifu Palace—aka the Nagara Toyosaki Palace?

At this point the way that the Chronicles talk about it, the Ajifu palace site seems to have been almost purely conceptual, while previous accounts seem to indicate that the Toyosaki Palace was already in use. That would have made for an interesting New Year’s celebration, probably in temporary buildings erected quickly amongst the grass and fields, with some nearby tomb mounds that would need to be leveled or moved to make room, we are later told. It seems they were still surveying the site, but I guess Karu really was looking for a change. And so he celebrated the new year at the Ajifu palace, but quickly returned back to wherever the work of the government was actually occurring.

As to where that was, well, we talked last episode about all of Karu’s meanderings from one palace to the other. The Nihon Shoki text itself is not exactly clear, as I read it. It doesn’t help that the term for palace, or “miya”, appears to refer to both a complex and a single residence, without a clear distinction given between the two. And so, though I mentioned it last episode, let’s recap what we know about the palaces this reign.

So in 645, we are told that Karu decided upon Naniwa and we are told that this is the “Toyosaki” palace. Then in 646, Karu took up residence in the “detached” palace of Koshiro in Sayabe, Naniwa. This was likely him repurposing the Miyake, the government offices with the royal granaries. He was only there for about two months, though, before he returned. Then, in the third month of 646, he issues an amnesty claiming to have taken up residence in the new palace—but we aren’t told which one.

In 647, two years into the reign, the government offices at Wogohori are torn down and a palace was built there. Now this is somewhat confusing because there appear to be two government districts: Wogohori and Ohogohori. You’ll probably notice how similar these two sound, though it may have been more like “wogopori” and “opogopori”. Back in the day. Wo-gohori, or the “Small District”, is mentioned once, but mainly just as a place name. Ohogohori, or the “Big District” has previously shown up as the place with government offices for the envoys from overseas. Confusing matters, in a later entry, Karu eventually moves out of the palace at Oho-gohori and into the palace that would be known as the Nagara Toyosaki palace. So was he at Wogohori and then later at Ohogohori? Or was there some scribal error such that the two got confused?

And then in 648 we are told that Karu moved into the Toyosaki palace in Naniwa. Two years later, in 650, and he is now celebrating New Year’s at the Ajifu palace, which may refer to a location on the other side of the Yodo river, but is likely in the spot we now think of as the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. We then know that in 651 they were still building a palace. And it isn’t until the last day of 651 that Karu would formally move from Ohogori into the Ajifu palace, which we are told was then renamed the Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya---the Nagara Toyosaki Palace.

I have several thoughts on all of this. One, is that there may have been two “Toyosaki” palaces—there was the Toyosaki palace that he first moved into, and then there is the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. “Nagara” appears to mean something like “Long Handle”, but other than that, I don’t know that there is a good translation. It may refer to the fact that it was meant to last longer, or that it was even larger than the previous palace. It may even be that the original Toyosaki Palace was just a few of the buildings, and that eventually it grew into the larger Nagara Toyosaki Palace, but if that is the case, what is up with term “Ajifu”? Was that just one building in the larger palace? Or are earlier mentions of “Toyosaki” anachronistic, and perhaps it wasn’t until the entire thing was complete that they gave it that name? Many modern accounts appear to conflate the Toyosaki palace with the Nagara no Toyosaki Palace, saying it just took that long to build. That would imply that the Ajifu palace really was there on the Kamimachi plateau, at the known Naniwa palace site. Alternatively, “Nagara” could possibly have been a reference to the fact that the Ajifu palace was an extension of the larger Toyosaki complex, possibly built out of the government offices of either Wogohori or Ohogohori.

For all that we don’t know exactly what was happening here, we have a pretty good idea in the archaeological record about at least one of the palace sites on the Kamimachi plateau. This site has been identified as the Toyosaki palace of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, and it would actually be reused at a later date. Sure enough, there are remains of at least two palace complexes on the site, with the one from our period known as the “Early Naniwa Palace” site.

Based on its size and layout, this Early Naniwa palace was the first of its kind. Previous palaces in Asuka had not dissimilar designs in terms of the general arrangement, but this clearly made use of the structure of continental style palace complexes, and was likely intended to be a new, permanent capital.

The north of the palace complex consisted of a rectangular, walled section 185 meters east to west and 200 meters north to south, making up the “dairi”. That’s almost 10 acres of enclosed space, set aside as the sovereign’s personal living quarters. South of that was a smaller area with the front hall, one of the largest for its time. It was 36 meters east to west and 19 meters north to south. This would have been the hall called the “Daigokuden” in later palaces, where official rituals would take place. There was a gate between it and the Dairi, to the north, as well as a gate to the south, flanked by two octagonal buildings, which led to the Chodoin, the main working area of the court complex.

This is part of what sets this palace apart from others, and why it likely took a while to build. It may also explain all the different palace names as there was probably a lot of construction for a long time. In previous instances, as far as we can tell, the sovereign’s palace was both their home and the building where state business was conducted. Think, perhaps, of the White House, in the US, and then imagine that the White House, the Capitol Building, and the Supreme Court were all part of the same compound, with only the barest of concessions to privacy between them. In this new layout, the dairi was reserved to the sovereign, there was a small area for the official throne room, and then south of that was the Chodoin, the court hall complex.

This was a huge change to how things had operated in the past. While the main audience hall was still nominally part of the dairi, so the “private” areas of the palace weren’t entirely “private”, it was still leaps and bounds more separated than in the previous palaces we’ve uncovered. Sure, the idea of lining up buildings from the front gate to the larger buildings towards the back, making people approach successively larger and more impressive buildings, generally seems to have been a thing as far back as the Makimuku Palace near Mt. Miwa, back in the third century, but even then, there is no clearly defined separation between the public and private spaces of the sovereign. There does seem to have been restrictions on who could enter what parts of the compound, with the sovereign’s personal quarters being the most restricted, but now there were walls and gates and guards separating one area from another.

The Chodoin itself, the main “business” or “public” area of the court, appears to have been about 262.8 meters north to south and 233.6 meters east to west—a little over 15 acres. Most of that was open space between the 14 “choudou” halls lined up symmetrically, 7 on either side. These were the individual buildings where the various government officials were to meet and conduct business, as well as conduct rituals, feasts, etc. There was a southern gate that provided the entrance to the Chodoin and led to another large area with the Choshuden, the buildings where officials could change into and out of their formal court uniforms, and otherwise prepare for or close out the day. South of that was the main gate for the entire compound, the Suzaku gate, named for Suzaku, the red bird of the south, one of the four directional guardian spirits.

We know the buildings largely from their post holes. They were made of wood, and it is likely that most of them were thatched. They may have been painted white, vermillion, and green—classic paints that were based on continental styles and which were said to help prevent the wooden pillars from rotting too quickly. It is unsurprising that this would have taken years—but it is also possible that they built some quarters for the sovereign and then built out from there. This also would have been key to a lot of the governmental reforms, providing an actual location for the work that the reforms were directing.

Of course, there was a lot of work to be done, and the halls in the palace were limited, so two areas to the east and west of the complex were set aside and appear to have been built up with other government offices, suitable for carrying out the day to day minutiae that was required.

There is still a question of whether or not they also instituted the larger grid system city layout around the palace complex. Currently we have no evidence for that, though perhaps they were considering it, eventually. Unfortunately, with all of the construction in Osaka over time, I don’t know if we could be able to find or discern such a layout if we did find it. For now, we will stick with what we know: an absolute unit of a court complex that took them several years to build.

Getting back to the Chronicles: Our next entry in the Nihon Shoki, after the New Years celebration, tells us that in the second month, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato Province, brought a white pheasant to the court. The report claimed that it had been caught by Nihe, a relative of Obito, the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Anato, on the 9th day of the first month, on Mt. Wonoyama.

For reference, the land of Anato was at the far western end of Honshu, part of the San’yodo, itself a designation for the lands along the Seto Inland Sea coast from Harima, modern Hyogo prefecture, out to Anato, modern Yamaguchi prefecture. It was on the Honshu side of the Shimonoseki strait, which was the main entrance from the Korean Strait and the Japan Sea to the Seto Inland Sea. The area would later be known as Nagato, which would eventually be called Choshu, an area which any students of the fall of the Tokugawa shogunate are sure to recognize.

We discussed back in Episode 94 how white or albino animals—assuming they weren’t normally white—were considered particularly auspicious. So in 598, the land of Koshi sent a white deer they had found to the court of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say Suiko Tenno.

And so the white pheasant from Anato was clearly seen as an omen—but was it truly auspicious. Here we see the court investigating this, and how exactly they go about that is somewhat enlightening as to how the court thought in general.

First, they made inquiry of the lords of Baekje—I would suspect this referred to those recognized as Baekje nobility residing in the archipelago, rather than sending a correspondence to the peninsula and back. That they went to someone from Baekje would seem to indicate the importance they placed on Baekje as a conduit for continental learning. Indeed, the answer they got back—whether from a single, unnamed individual or a group of Baekje nobility—was that White Pheasants were recorded in the 11th year of Yongping, which would be 68 CE to us, during the reign of Ming of the later Han dynasty. Han Mingdi, aka Emperor Ming of Han was born Liu Yang and also known as Liu Zhang, reigned from 57 to 75 CE. Ming and his son, Emperor Zhang oversaw a period of particular prosperity for the Eastern Han dynasty. On the other hand, there was an attempt to curse Emperor Ming in 67 CE, which ended with the death of the ambitious Prince Jing of Guanglin. Then, in 70, Prince Ying of Chu was also convicted of using magic to try and secure blessings while he fomented revolution against the emperor, and he was exiled, where he committed suicide. So I don’t know if this marks the pheasant as particularly auspicious or not.

Asking the Buddhist priests, who frequently studied not just Buddhist canon, but other continental texts, they mostly drew a blank—at least on the specifics of a white pheasant. They did recommend that a general amnesty would not be amiss, as it would bring joy to the people. I guess if you aren’t sure about the nature of an omen you can certainly do something to help it out.

And while they weren’t specifically sure about a white pheasant in Buddhist scripture, a couple of priests did have suggestions. The Priest Doutou recounted a story from Goguryeo, when the court there wished to build a new Buddhist temple, but could not divine a suitable and auspicious site. When someone witnessed a white deer, they chose that spot for the temple, which was then called the Temple of the Park of the White Deer. According to Doutou, this temple established Buddhism in Goguryeo.

Furthermore, he recounted, when a white sparrow was seen on the farmstead of another temple, or when a dead crow with three legs had been brought back from the Tang dynasty, the people had proclaimed both of these to be good omens. So given all of that, Priest Doutou concluded, a white pheasant must be especially auspicious.

The Priest Bin agreed. Bin, you may recall, had been heavily relied upon for his knowledge in setting up the new governmental structure, which would seem to indicate that he was quite well-versed in continental ideas, and he had even traveled there himself. He provided the court several different reasons that a white pheasant might appear.

First, it might appear when a ruler extended his influence to all four quarters.

Second, it might appear when the sovereign’s sacrifices are appropriate, and when his banquets and clothing are in due measure.

Third, it might appear when the sovereign cultivates frugality.

Finally, it might appear when the sovereign was humane.

He didn’t provide any specific examples of how he arrived as his conclusions—at least nothing was recorded—and so he may have been relying on his own expertise. However, he did recount one tale in particular. It was a story from the time of Emperor Cheng Wang of the Zhou dynasty. Cheng Wang is said to have reigned in the 11th century BCE, from 1042 to 1021, and so take that how you will. Important to us is not what happened so much as what the Yamato court believed had happened—what was the historical truth that they were workin with at the time?

According to Bin, during Cheng Wang’s reign, the Yuehshang family brought a white pheasant to the court. Apparently it had been three years without any exceptional storms or rains, and neither the rivers nor seas had flooded. Apparently the old men found this an extremely long time to go without some kind of disaster, indicating that the pheasant was clearly an auspicious omen in deed.

Priest Bin also mentioned other accounts, but the Chroniclers omitted them from the record.

Whatever they were, the court had heard enough. The White Pheasant was declared auspicious, and a new era was declared: the Hakuchi, or White Pheasant, era. They let the white pheasant loose in the royal garden, presumably with clipped wings or otherwise kept from flying off, and then preparations were made immediately to officially inaugurate the new era 6 days later, on the 15th day of the 2nd month of 650.

Before we get into that, though, I want to pause and take a look at something here: The authority of precedent. Time, as conceived of in the continental model, was cyclical. There was the cycle of day and night. The cycle of the year and the repeating seasons. Likewise the planets and heavens all had their own cyclical periods. In addition, there was the idea that the Yin and Yang forces in the universe likewise cycled through predictable patterns—the sexagenary cycle, or cycle of 60 years, being an example of a longer term cycle. And then there was the Buddhist cycle or death and rebirth, at least as long as one remained tied to this mortal plane of existence.

If time is cyclical, then one can look to the past to predict the present. Stories of the past were seen as holding authority over similar events in the present. Understanding these historical stories and being able to pull from them provided its own kind of power and authority. Rather than attempting to reason from first principles, precedent was often a more convincing argument.

Being able to read and write and recall all of these stories gave scholars the ability to influence events. Of course, who had time to do all that other than people like Buddhist priests or the doctors of the court?

This is also one of the reasons that people would have had to write down histories and, eventually, to keep diaries and accounts of what happened. Those accounts would, over time, become essential records to invoke for moments like this—and even a record like the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki would have similar significance. In many ways, it is propaganda, but not just in how it describes the past as the Chroniclers wished it to be, but it set the precedent for succeeding eras to look back on. While we may challenge that view, today, for many from the 8th century onward the events described in the Nihon Shoki were considered the gospel truth in more ways than one.

Of course, all that aside, we’ve had plenty of auspicious events before, but why, now, would they be enough to trigger a new era? Why not just note them and move on?

Well, to start with, let’s face it, nobody is likely to name 649 as the greatest year ever, any time soon, and certainly not the Yamato court. The Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, had been tricked into thinking that his co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, was a traitor. To be fair, Maro had been more than complicit in the murderous takedown of his own relatives to set up the current government, and history has time and again suggested that those who put someone on the throne can just as easily take them off it. That’s why they are often either brought deeper into the inner circle, or removed—either physically or more euphemistically. In this case, though, it seems that fears of Naka no Oe and others were unjustified, and they sent the royal troops after an innocent man; or at least a man as innocent as any of the other elites at that time. After all, the wealth of the elites came from the rice fields that they owned—or that were at least designated for their stipends—and they certainly weren’t working those fields themselves, so make of that what you will.

All of that had led to the death of Maro, his family, and the rest of his household. That, in turn, led to the death of his daughter, Miyatsuko Hime, who was married to Naka no Oe himself. When they finally did realize what had happened, the best justice they could figure out was to send the scandal-mongering Soga no Musa out to Tsukushi in a form of luxurious banishment. Demotion by promotion, as he was made the Viceroy of Tsukushi, the top man of the court at the edge of the archipelago.

To say that the year 649 had been a bust is an understatement. Don’t get me wrong, it was a far cry from the worst year that the archipelago had ever experienced—or would in the future, for that matter. But that was scant comfort to the folks living in it.

And so it was with some relief, I suspect, that the court welcomed news from the far flung land of Anato, because they really needed a distraction.

With that in mind, let us move on to the events of the 15th day of the 2nd month of the year 650, describing how they inaugurated the new era. Now, if the Chronicles are to be believed, this is not the first time they inaugurated a new era—we are told that year 645 was considered the first year of Taika, or Great Change. But, assuming that did happen, and that it wasn’t just named after the fact, the era would have started at the same time as a new reign. Previously, from everything we can tell, dates were based regnal years. Things are recorded as happening in the X year of Y sovereign. Some of the oldest accounts seem to even note it more as X year of the sovereign who reigned from the Y palace, as the palace was likely more distinct a feature than the names and titles that they used, and the posthumous names, like “Koutoku Tennou” were not actually used until the end of the 7th or early 8th century.

It is possible that Hakuchi is actually the first true nengo—or era name—and the first one that appears in the middle of a reign—though even here some say that the instantiation of “Hakuchi” is anachronistic.

Personally, I see no harm in taking it at face value, at least for now, while acknowledging that everything in the Nihon Shoki is suspect. Still, we are approaching a time when the events being written down may have still been in the living memory of people alive at that time. 720 is only 70 years away, and the project started even before then, so unless there are obvious discrepancies or supernatural events, we can probably assume that the Chronicles at this point are largely truthful, if possibly embellished.

And so it is we are told of what happened. To begin with, the court lined the ministers of the left and right and all of the functionaries in four lines outside the “purple” gate, as they would during a New Year’s reception, like the one they had just had at the Ajifu palace. The “Purple” gate was probably a reference to the southern gate

The fact that the courtiers lined up at the south gate in the same way that they would have during a New Year’s reception would seem to indicate that this was seen as the start of a new year. It was no longer a Taika year—starting on that day it was now the first year of Hakuchi. The month and day would not change, however, so it was still the 15th day of the 2nd month. That means that technically the first year of Hakuchi would only have ten and a half months in the year—maybe eleven and a half, if there was an extranumerary month. Likewise, the last year of Taika would only have one and a half months. And if you are thinking that must make Japanese dates really tricky around the start or end of year, you don’t know the half of it. Sometimes events will get placed in the wrong “era” because they happened a few months before or after the change, and people forget that when they are translating to and from western dates. It also means era names can’t just give you the years of the era, but really need to give you the month and date it starts and ends. Fortunately, most people are quite understanding about the occasional mistake.

But anyway, I digress.

The courtiers were lined up as though for new years, and then they watched as Ahata no Omi no Ihimushi and three others bore a litter with the pheasant on it and went ahead through the gates. The others followed in rank order—with the Ministers of the Left and Right leading the various functionaries. The Baekje prince Pungjang and his uncle, Sesyeong Chyungseung, whom we mentioned back in Episodes 105 and 107, as well as Mochi, the physician to the King of Goguryeo, a scholar attached to the court of Silla, along with other important persons all advanced as well into the Central court of the palace.

The pheasants litter was taken up by Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, Wina no Kimi no Takami, Miwa no Kimi no Mikaho, and Ki no Omi no Maro, who brought it to the front of the hall. There, the ministers of the left and right then took the front of the litter, while the Prince of Ise, Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, and Kura no Omi no Woguso took hold of the rear. Together, they placed it in front of the throne. The sovereign, Kura, and the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, examined the pheasant together.

The Crown Prince then backed away, and the new Minister of the Left, Kose no Omi, presented a congratulatory address. He gave thanks to the sovereign and claimed that the pheasant was a sign that the sovereign would rule for one thousand autumns and ten thousand years across the Great Eight Islands—the Ohoyashima—of the archipelago and the four quarters of the earth. Effectively, this is a long-winded version of “Banzai”, the congratulatory wish of ten thousand years of life for an emperor.

Karu responded to this address by quoting auspicious times that white animals had been omens of good rule. He then gave credit to the ministers and functionaries, and urged them to continue to provide good service. Then he declared a general amnesty, forgiving various offenses, and noted that the era name would change to “Hakuchi”.

Karu then directed presents to be handed out to the Ministers, the Daibu, the officials of lower rank, all the way down to the clerks. Each received gifts commensurate with their rank. Finally, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato, was commended, and granted the rank of Daisen along with what we are told were a goodly number of presents. In addition, the commuted taxes and corvees of Anato were remitted for three years, meaning that Anato would be allowed to keep all of the rice and product for themselves—something that was likely quite significant, though it is unclear whether this means that it was felt down at the level of basic workers or it just meant that the governor was able to keep what he taxed from the people for himself.

And with that, we enter a new era. Forget the unfortunate bloodshed and regrettable decisions of the previous year, this was a new start. And that is often how these eras were seen. Whether it was a new reign or things were just going so poorly that the court felt there needed to be a new start, future nengo would often follow a similar pattern. And there was no set time for how long an era would last. In fact, here’s a little trivia for you: The shortest nengo in Japanese history was “Ryakunin”, and it lasted just under two and a half months from late 1238 to the start of 1239. It really shows how important it was to come up with a good name of these eras, as “ryakunin”, which seems to mean something like “humane period”, could also be written with characters meaning “abbreviated person”. So they decided to abbreviate the era, instead, changing the era name again.

This first year of the new era of Hakuchi continued relatively normally. In the fourth month there were envoys from Silla—another source, according to the Nihon Shoki, claimed that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla sent envoys every year from this reign onward. Then, in the tenth month, we see more work being done on the palace—presumably the Ajifu palace. We are told that presents were given out in respect to tombs that had been demolished to make room for the new construction, as well as for the people who had been moved off their land. Then Aratawi no Atahe no Hirafu was sent to place the boundary posts, no doubt marking out the outer extremities of the new palace precincts.

In addition, that month work began—no doubt at the court’s direction—on a giant tapestry, or mandala, with a sixteen foot tall Buddha image, attendant Boddhisatvas, and figures of all eight classes of beings according to the Buddhist cosmology. That includes Heavenly beings, such as Devas; dragons; demonic Yaksha, Gandharva, and Asura; the bird-like Garuda and Kimnara; and the snake-like Mahoraga. All told, there were some 46 figures. It doesn’t seem to say where it was to be installed, though it may have been made for the new palace complex.

Also in that year we are told that the court ordered Aya no Yamaguchi no Atahe no Ohoguchi to carve one thousand images of Buddha—but once again, we aren’t told where they resided. We do know that the 16 foot tall embroidered Buddha was completed in the 3rd month of 651: it had taken them approximately five months. The day after they were completed, the Dowager Queen, Takara no Himemiko, aka the former sovereign, Kougyoku Tennou, who had stepped down in 645, invited ten Buddhist teachers and prepared a feast and entertainment, likely to bless and show off the completed images.

At the end of 651, the palace itself was finally complete. We are told that over 2100 priests were invited to the Ajifu palace to read the Issaikyo on the last day of the year. The Issaikyo is the entirety of the Buddhsit canon, and so this was probably done in the abbreviated tendoku style, with priests just reading the chapter headings and flipping through the sutras, though with 2100 it is possible they just each red a different portion, all at the same time. As it grew dark, the palace courtyard was kept bright with 2700 lights while we are told that the Antaku and Dosoku sutras were read.

Aston notes that these “sutras” of Antaku and Dosoku don’t appear to reference any actual sutras that we know of, and posits that they may simply be rituals for home safety and the like. Given what we know about the fate of so many of these old wooden palaces, it makes sense.

After the sutras were read, the sovereign, Karu, formally moved from his residence in Ohogohori into the new palace, which was called Naniwa no Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya. As I noted at the beginning, it is unclear if this was the Ohogohori or Wogohori, and it is even somewhat murky as to whether or not it was considered a palace. Not to mention that after the New Year’s ceremonies were completed, the royal chariot—which would have been carrying the sovereign—went back to Ohogohori. I guess things weren’t quite ready yet. He would return on the 9th day of the third month, and even then we don’t see a note that the palace was completed until the 9th month of 652..

There is a lot here where we see things that appear to be scheduled so that they can occur on auspicious days, even if everything else isn’t quite ready. So, for example, reading the sutras and formally “moving” into the palace on the last day of the year so that one could host the New Year’s celebration there the next day. That seems like something that was done purely for ceremonial purposes. You may recall that in 650 they did the same thing.

There are a few more references to the palace. On the 15th of the 4th month of 652, the Buddhist ascetic E’on was invited into the Dairi to explain the Muryouju Sutra, also known as the Sukhavati Vyuha sutra. E’on was made a lecturer, and there were said to be 1,000 ascetics in the audience, listening to his teachings. That apparently went on for five days, being discontinued on the 20th day. And the power of the sutras, and E’on’s teachings, is shown in the weather, because the Chronicles claim that large rains began to fall in a monsoon that lasted for nine days. This wasn’t a gentle “water your crops” kind of rain. This was more like a “demolish your buildings and destroy your fields” kind of rain. There must have been massive flooding as men, horses, and cattle were caught up in the water and drowned.

Given the way this is written, I’m not entirely certain of the takeaway. Were the sutras that powerful that they brought rain, and E’on didn’t understand his own strength? Or was it a punishment for stopping E’on from continuing his lecture? Or was it the rains that caused the lectures to stop, perhaps making it untennable for people to sit out in the courtyard and listen as the rains came down? My rational brain suspects the latter, but I’m not sure how it was read by the people of the 8th century.

On the last day of 652, priests and nuns from around the country were invited to the dairi, to the interior of the palace, and entertained and given a feast. Alms were given and lights kindled to celebrate the new year.

But that’s the last entry I really see for the palace, as such. There was plenty more happening through the era, and we’ll touch on that. We start to see Silla and Tang dynasty getting chummy, and we also see some of the reforms still working their way across the land. We also have Yamato’s own expeditions out to the Great Tang dynasty. But we’ll save that for the next episode, as we continue to dive into the Hakuchi era.

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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.