# drama cd # fujiwara yuuki # milky chain # tsujisaki gakuen seitokai no himitsu # koakuma # younger love interest # r18 drama cd # dummy head mic # margarine tengu Yanero 2 Aisuru ga Yue ni CV: Hiiragi Santa (Ono Yuuki, apparently). Voiced by: Margarine Tengu (PC & Xbox 360) The second Black Knight to be slain. Killed by Kakeru, a slimly muscular male with predatory slanted red eyes and is armed with syths embedded on his fore arms. He is specialized in Chinese martial art. He is actually an apostle of Index and at the same time a subordinate of George of the Rainbow.
Tengu are legendary Japanese creatures. It is generally said that the Tengu is clothed as a Yamabushi monk, has a red face and long nose, and flies on wings through the air. The Tengu are commonly said to be devils that lead people to the path of evil, and are also called Geho-sama.
Emperor Go-Shirakawa was also called Tengu.
Origin in China
The Tengu were originally Chinese monsters; correspondingly, the way a shooting star or a comet tail passes looked like a canine, which was called 'Tengu,' meaning a canine of the sky. As Chapter Gazan in Volume 3, 'Seizankyo,' of 'Sankaikyo,' a Chinese curiosa mentions, 'There is a beast. It looks like a raccoon dog (this is considered to indicate a wildcat) with a white neck, whose name is Tengu. Its voice is like that of a wildcat. It's good to prevent misfortune,' and they are also compared to a fox of the sky or a badger.
As for Buddhism, the Pali Canon with Sutra, Discipline and Special Teachings didn't originally contain the word 'Tengu.' However, 'Shohonengyo,' Volume 19, mentions, 'Flames were burning brightly from all over the body. Everybody who saw this said, 'Ulkā came down.' It means 'Tengu came down in Chinese,' and this Tengu was translated from Ulkā (憂流迦 in Chinese characters), a name for a comet in the Sanskrit of ancient India.
In Japan, the word 'Tengu' was seen in 'Nihon Shoki' for the first time, and it mentions that, in 634, a person from Tang said of something flying in the sky with a strange noise (it might be a shooting star, which fell fairly close to the ground), 'It is not a shooting star, it is Tengu-Amakitsune.' Tengu from the Nara period to the early Heian period meant a fox of the sky as the shape described in 'Sankaikyo,' so ultimately it is considered to indicate a comet or a shooting star.
Stretching and Superstition
After Kukai and Enchin introduced esoteric Buddhism to Japan, it was extended to the worship of the constellations on the Womb World Mandala, and was also combined with mountain worship, having been performed by Ennogyoja since the Nara period. During the Kamakura period, the Yamabushi monks of Shugendo were also called Tengu. This is because their appearance and training were unique, and the existing religious schools called them so with contempt. A Yamabushi monk was supposed to be worldly minded, arrogant and self-centered, and was supposed to transmigrate after death, but some people assumed and interpreted the realm of Tengu as a sort of devildom. Meanwhile, among the public, people living in flatlands were in awe of the mountains as a different world, and they associated the mysterious phenomena happening there with the image of Tengu. This brought forth a tendency to consider Tengu as a mountain god, and in some regions the aspect regarding the image of various Tengu as 'Guhin,' 'Yamando' or 'a mountain god' still exists.
Therefore, the characteristics that have generally been passed on till today--a long nose and red face, wearing the attire of a Yamabushi monk, and wearing wooden clogs with single support, flying freely in the sky with a leaf fan and having evil design--have been interpreted since the middle ages, and it is considered to be the superstitious blending of originally quite different characteristics.
In fact, the figure of the Tengu of the period was not fixed; most often it would resemble a monk, but some had the figure of a child or a goblin. Since they flew through the air, they were often perceived in the image of a kite. However, the one that transmigrated from a nun was sometimes called 'Ama Tengu.' 'Tales of Times Now Past,' written during the late Heian period, described many tales of Tengu, such as a devil called 'Hawk' that would fly through the sky and possess people, and one having the face of Tengu with a human body and a pair of wings. This was created and described as 'Tengu-zoshi' in 1296. The corrupted image of the monks of the seven major temples of the day, including Kofuku-ji Temple and Todai-ji Temple, is depicted as a satire. Gohomao-son, or Kurama Tengu of Kurama-dera Temple, in 'Otogi-zoshi, Tengu no Dairi,' allegedly created during the Muromachi era, was the first model of the appearance of these Tengu, but it is considered to have probably changed after the early Muromachi period.
The Tale of the Heike describes, 'It's a human but not a human, a bird but not a bird, a dog but not a dog, and it has human arms and legs, a dog's head and a pair of wings, and it flies'; moreover, in the Kamakura period Tendai monks flaunting miraculous efficacy made it an objective to prove the transcendence of Buddhism, and some books, including 'Zegaibo Emaki,' mention stories that Tengu challenged a Tendai monk to a fight and was defeated miserably. Also, 'Comments on Tengu' in 'A Study on Shrines,' by Razan HAYASHI, and 'A Study on Monsters of All Ages,' by Atsutane HIRATA, describe the souls that appeared in 'Taiheiki,' including Sanuki-in (the Retired Emperor Sutoku) having turned into a gold kite as the god enshrined in 'Shiramine jingu Shrine' in Kamigyo Ward, Kyoto City, the Retired Emperor Gotoba having turned into a shamon with long wings, and Emperor Go-Daigo driving Ryusha (an Emperor's car), as Tengu.
Margarine Tagalog
Tengu is the personification of conceit, as represented by its long nose. By extension, 'becoming Tengu' means being excessively boastful. Generally, they seek to teach. In the Middle Ages there was the realm of Tengu other than the six realms of Buddhism, which was assumed and interpreted as Avici for those who were not going to fall into Hell because they had learned Buddhism but were not going to Heaven either because they had done wrong.
Types of Tengu
Margarine Englisch
As described above, there is more than one stream contributing to the formation of the Tengu, so they vary in type and appearance. Generally, they look like Shugendo practitioners with red faces and long noses. They are supposed to have wings that enable them to fly through the sky. Among them, the ones with long noses are called 'Great Tengu' and the ones with sharp noses are called 'Small Tengu' or 'Crow Tengu.'
As for types, some are interpreted as 'Hajun,' which try to regain human form after living in infamy as Tengu; or as 'Maen,' which gather together, linked by pride and arrogance.
Its folklore has been handed down in many regions, but among the more rare are 'Kujin (flying god),' which wears white clothing like a Yamabushi monk and flies freely in the sky, as described in Kishu; and 'Suneka' in southern Iwate Prefecture, 'Nagomi' or 'Nagomitakuri' in northern Iwate Prefecture, which appears in order to rip a spot that is believed to appear on a lazy person's shin on the fifteenth day of the new year. 'Anmo,' which flies from the Pacific Ocean and arrives unseen on the moonlit night of May 15th, is also of this sort, and it is said to come and rip the skin with a brown spot which a lazy child simply warming himself at the hearth will have on his shin. It is said that Anmo helps weak children and that praying for it can cure a bedridden child. 'Shokoku Satobitodan' mentions, in the Oi-gawa River, Shizuoka Prefecture, 'Konoha Tengu' also known as 'Sakaidori,' having eyes on the front of the face like a human, 180cm long wings when spread, and a size and appearance similar to a human, but with a beak, and describes it as flying over the river late at night, catching fish. The famous 'Crow Tengu,' with its bird's beak and wings, is strongly influenced by the shape of an avian Tengu. The famous Zegaibo Tengu is also of this sort, and its figure can be found in numerous picture scrolls. There were also the 'female Tengu,' having transmigrated from a nun and a Tengu in the shape of a wolf called Guhin.
Tengu as a god
The major Tengu that became objects of religion as gods have names, and famous ones include Tarobo of Mount Atago, Sojobo of Mount Kurama (Kurama Tengu) and Jirobo of Mount Hira, as well as Hoshobo of Mount Hiei, Buzenbo of Mount Ehiko, Tarobo of Mount Fuji and Sagamibo of Mount Shiramine. The one in Takashima City, Shiga Prefecture, is called 'Guhinsan' and is said to have flown through the sky and visited a festival. It is said that it went to Omizo, Takashima Cho in order to set a fire but failed because there was no space. In Amamioshima, Kagoshima Prefecture, the one well-known as 'Tengonukami' lives in a mountain, and it is said that a master carpenter gave life to straw men by blowing forth in order to have them work to build a house with 60 mats for his bride in a day, and had 2,000 men go back to the mountain and another 2,000 to the sea. At Mount Ishizuchi, Ehime Prefecture, a six-year-old boy got lost at the mountaintop, but after people looked for him everywhere and didn't find him and gave up and went back home, it was discovered that the boy was already back home. When asked, he explained that while he was urinating at the back of the shrine on the mountaintop, a 'big, inky man' came out and reproved him, saying, 'I will take you home, so close your eyes,' whereupon he found himself standing in the backyard of his own home.
Tengu as a mountain god
Tengu has often been depicted as a shiny bird and has also been called Taimatsumaru or Maen. This is why the Retired Emperor Sutoku turned into a ghost and was depicted as a golden eagle as the Tengu king. It is deeply related to the mountain god, and sacred mountains are always supposed to have Tengu (thus they are considered to be in the shape of a Yamabushi monk); moreover, various regions in fact have Tengu (daiba) as mountain gods. Even in the present time, the Tengu in the folklore in Mogami Gun, Yamagata Prefecture is an old man with white hair. Worship of the Tengu, mainly among Yamabushi monks, is connected with local Buddhism, as well as with the mysteriousness of mountains and mountain worship, and various legends of Tengu explain the depth of mountain worship.
In Yamagata Prefecture, they adore a mossy or sandy area of about 40 square meters in the bushes in mountains in summer as 'the sumo ring of Tengu,' and in mountain villages in Kanagawa Prefecture they regard the mysterious sound of cutting trees at midnight or one of cutting a big tree on a mountain called 'Tengu's felling' and a hut's shaking without wind as a trick of the mountain Tengu. It is also said that firing three shots will make this mysterious sound stop. Besides these, in Tone Gun, Gunma Prefecture, there is some folklore: with 'Tengu's laugh,' a laughter comes out of nowhere, and the laughter becomes louder if you go further, then it becomes much louder than before if you laugh back; 'Tengu's stones (it is said to be a path of Tengu),' as when you walk in the mountain a gust blasts and big stones fly over with the rumbling of the mountain; and 'Tengu's rice field'; 'Tengu's nail-polishing rock'; 'Tengu's mountain'; 'Tengu's valley' and 'Tengu's domain,' where Tengu lives; as well as 'Guhin's home.' In Owari Cho, downtown Kanazawa City, it is said that people saw 'Tengu's pebbles' in 1755. In Mount Ogasa, Shizuoka Prefecture, there is a mysterious occurrence called 'Tengu's music' in which music is heard from the mountain in summer, which is said to be a trick of the Tengu of Ogasa Shrine. Also, on Sadogashima Island (Sado City, Nigata Prefecture) there is a mysterious happening called 'Yama Kagura,' where music like Kagura is heard from the mountain; this is considered to be a trick of the Tengu. In Tokuyama Mura, Ibi Gun, Gifu Prefecture (the present Ibigawa Cho), a sound like a drum, called 'Tengu's drum,' heard from the mountain, is considered a sign of impending rain.
Particularly, there is folklore with Tengu flying through the sky like a bird, or that the Tengu pine (or cedar), on which they say the Tengu sits, exists all over Japan, thus providing a good example to show the correlation between the mountain worship of the Yamabushi monks and the tengu. Because trees were supposed to be dwellings of spirits, and Tengu was believed to be a mountain god, the Tengu were believed to live in trees. It is said that the flapping of Tengu's wings can be heard, or that the wind roars around such trees. It is believed that the roaring of the wind was the voice of the Tengu. Near the trunk of a big pine in Hoi Gun, Aichi Prefecture, there is a big cave called 'Tengu's Nest,' where it is said that some people in fact saw the Tengu. In Kodama Gun, Saitama Prefecture, someone who tried to cut down a Tengu pine fell off a branch and was seriously injured; this is believed to have happened because Tengu kicked him out of the tree. Trees that are called Tengu trees are mostly big trees with widespread branches and trees with an extremely strange shape such as one branched into two and put back together having a window-like shape, or one with a branch in the shape of a bump.
Margarine Tengu
Animals named after Tengu
Tengu sometimes appears as the Japanese name of a creature. As for animals, most references are related to those having a prominent nose or a similar organ.
Mammals - Tengu zaru, Tengu komori
Fish - Tengu hagi, Umi Tengu
Insects - Tengu cho
Plants - Tengu kuwagata, Harigiri
Fungi - Tengu take
Creation with Tengu Motif
'Dainihon Tengu To Ekotoba' (cartoon by Io KURODA)
Tactics (cartoon by Sakura KINOSHITA and Kazuko HIGASHIYAMA)
Child of Tengu Rumored in Town (cartoon by Nao IWAMOTO)
Parade by Hiromi Kawakami translated by Allison Markin Powell Soft Skull Press, 2019
Hiromi Kawakami’s latest work begins with a pen-picture of contentment. An older man and a younger woman have just finished a meal on a Saturday afternoon. The glass doors of their tatami room have been flung open, and as they sip barley tea and lie together, surrounded by a choral warmth, the sound of cicadas filters into the room. After a time, the somnolent shimmer of the insects’ cries and the woman’s postprandial drowsiness flow together, easing her into sleep. When she wakes, the man asks her to tell him a story, preferably one from long ago. Casting back into her childhood, she settles on a tale, and begins to tell it.
You don’t really need to be aware that Parade is a loose sequel to Kawakami’s previous novel, 2017’s Strange Weather in Tokyo, to enjoy the former, since it stands on its own as an enrapturing display of writerly grace and restraint. The protagonists of Parade are Tsukiko and Sensei, the star-crossed lovers at the center of Strange Weather, though the new book isn’t really an elaboration of their relationship so much as a breathy aside, a glimpse into the quieter, unlimned moments that constitute their relationship. Consequently, there’s a slow sensuality at the core of Parade, a product of Kawakami’s relaxed faith in the blessedness of the quotidian. Time unfolds on a human scale, marked by minor intimacies.
You often get the impression, reading Parade, that time has been loosened somehow, as though Kawakami were stringing it up leisurely on a washing line, careful to place her clothespins just so. At only seventy-nine pages, the book is an alchemical feat of miniaturization, a distillation and bottling-up of the essence of a summer afternoon; her slight, subtle prose turns so casually away from excess detail that the resulting image of reality is imbued with a curious weightlessness. We’re left with an ash-skeleton of sorts, or whatever remains after a lazy afternoon has burned away—the fibrous weave of a rotted-through leaf, say, or the hollow lambency of a cicada shell.
The book’s framing narrative—a midday lunch—quickly gives way to Tsukiko’s story, an airy medley of folktale and allegory. As a child, we learn, she was awoken one night in her room by a clamorous tussling of colors: “Something dark red and something pale red were arguing with each other.” The forms in question, she discovers, aretengu—mythical beasts typified by “human bodies, red faces with long noses, and wings.” The tengu begin to follow Tsukiko around, and their presence, as far as everyone else is concerned, is unremarkable. At breakfast, they get excited by the margarine spread on a piece of bread, and Tsukiko worries that her mother will lose her temper, but her mother simply admonishes her, explaining that the tengu only want to lick the margarine.
At school, Tsukiko notices that most of her classmates have their own spirit companions—a badger, a sand-throwing hag, and “a rokurokubi woman with a very long neck.” Eventually, a restlessness kicks in among the spirits—they wander about the classroom, and begin to fall ill, a fate that seems connected to the ostracizing of Yuko, a young girl in the class:
It must have been during the second school term when the one with the pale red face seemed to fall ill. She looked thin, and even lost all interest in licking the margarine. She wasn’t drinking any flower nectar either. Both of the tengu liked nectar. When the azaleas by the side of the road were in bloom, the tengu would cling to the base of the shrubs, slurping up the nectar from the flowers greedily. They wouldn’t pluck a flower to taste the nectar, the way you and I might—they knew how to extract it deftly while leaving the blossoms intact on the branches.
Tsukiko’s story is ultimately inscrutable, but in a distant, melancholy way—its intent seems to be hidden behind a milky fog. The curious method of nectar extraction employed by the tengu—characterized by a supremely light touch, which hardly disturbs the flower itself—is mirrored in the sensitive way they bestow their touch on Yuko, so that “the spot on Yuko’s body where they had touched her would sparkle,” like “a nighttime parade.”
The portal of touch, and the curious gestures through which we reveal our thinnest intentions and gauziest emotional velleities, are Kawakami’s real subjects in Parade. Enigmatic motions abound, as when Tsukiko burns her fingertips while preparing lunch and, in a superstitious cure, brings them to her earlobe to soothe them. Later, after waking from sleep, Sensei examines Tsukiko’s palm for wit lines and taps at the skin. “It was the same kind of tapping that one might do while singing a lullaby,” Tsukiko observes. “A certain warmth spread through me from the spot where he was tapping.” Throughout Parade, the wilful, refractory flow of emotional states is interrupted by these concretizing moments of touch—a dab of skin, in Kawakami’s vision, is a site of transmutation and magnification.
Kawakami’s no stranger to the urge to revisit and update previous fictions. After the 2011 Fukushima nuclear disaster, for instance, she folded the catastrophe into the overall plot of her first short story, “Kamisama.” Similarly, Parade isn’t really a sequel to Strange Weather in Tokyo, but rather an offshoot, a fictional waiting room where her characters interact outside of the confines of their more carefully constructed home novel. In a brief afterword, Kawakami justifies her writing of Parade, explaining that she was nagged at by the question of what life was like for her characters in the narrative interstices of Strange Weather: “I wonder how Tsukiko and Sensei really spent their time, day by day.”
“The world that exists behind a story is never fully known, not even to the author,” Kawakami explains. There’s a joyful sense of liberation in this sentiment, an affirmation from an expert that our basest fictional hope—that the written life goes on beyond the final word—is grounded in truth, but there’s also a fine sadness in it, as delicate as an autumn rain. In a sense, Kawakami’s admitting that the world of the story is inbent as well, that it contains, fractal-like, a constellation of hidden moments that we can never know, actions and incidents that might have bloomed in the isabelline infinities lying between the chapters and sentences we do possess. The nested dreaminess of the text—its air of rapt involution—is partly a result of this desire to transcend narrative time.
Kawakami has always been interested in the quotidian, a fact that, along with the peculiar mission of Parade, helps to explain the book’s fascination with the liquid amber of wasted days—with the phenomenon of time slipping by, unremarked and unmourned, so pointless would be its mensuration—and its situation in the île joyeuse of a summer afternoon. The crepuscular pathos of the in-between drives the book forward, but what redeems Parade from the accusation of preciousness is the sense of sacred mystery that surrounds Kawakami’s descriptions of contact, an essential reverence that allows a finger tapped upon a palm to burst into a circlet of flame. Kawakami’s depictions of haptic connection are stones dropped into a pool, reverberations in the empty vase of the self which, though they fade and leave us with no definite image of our desires, are enough, for a time, to fill the hollow vessel of the flesh, and to restore to the spindly architecture of the novel some measure of the sonority of being.