Blind Ho-ichi longed for light. Light dawned with the village storyteller.

“One morning my father called me, ‘Ho-ichi!’ ‘Hai! Papa-san!’ I replied. ‘Ho-ichi, take my hand and come with me to the market.’

“I held out my hand and felt my father’s strong, warm hand take mine. Off we walked hand-in-hand to the village.

“When we reached the market my father said, ”Ho-ichi, sit here.’ Papa lifted me unto the top of a wooden barrel next to the door of the potter’s house. ‘Stay here while I buy oil for our lamps and rice for our meals.’ ‘Yes, papa-san,” I said, as I settled myself on the barrel top.

“I could hear the whirl of the potter’s wheel. I tried to imagine what he might be shaping. A pot? A bowl? A cup? Little did I know that I was about to be shaped by what I heard.

Music captured my ear. It was the biwa of the village storyteller. He was playing as he recited the tales of the mighty Heike clan of Japan. Jumping off the barrel I followed the sound of the music and the storyteller’s voice to the edge of the crowd that surrounded him. I wiggled my way through several pairs of legs and sat at the teller’s feet.

As the storyteller spoke and played I saw in my mind’s eye the great and noble Heike family parading through the streets to and from their great manor. I watched the mighty Heike samurai practicing their martial arts. I was there at the last ferocious battle of the Heike against the Genji clan in the waters off Dan-no-ura. The village storyteller brought light to my darkness.”

Next Time: “Ho-ichi Learns His Craft”