はるか昔、奥州の安達が原と呼ばれる荒れ果てた野原を、ひとりの旅の僧侶が通りかかった折のことである。秋の日はとうに沈み、辺りには冷たい風が吹きすさんで、宿となるべき家はおろか、人影さえ見当たらなかった。
Long ago, a wandering monk happened to cross the desolate plain of Adachigahara in the old Oshu region. The autumn sun had long since set; a cold wind howled across the field, and not only was there no inn to be found — there was not even a human shadow in sight.
途方に暮れつつ歩き続けるうちに、はるか前方にポツリと一軒の小屋の明かりが見えてきた。近づいてみると、それは粗末で今にも崩れそうな造りではあったものの、僧侶にとっては地獄に仏というほかなかった。
As he trudged on at a loss, the faint light of a tiny hut at last came into view far ahead. Drawing nearer, he saw a wretched dwelling on the verge of collapse — yet to him, in his state, it might as well have been salvation itself.
戸を叩くと、中から年老いた女が顔を出した。僧侶が「ご無礼を承知の上で申し上げますが、一晩だけ軒先をお貸しいただけないでしょうか」と頼み込むと、老婆はしばしためらう様子であったが、気の毒に思ったのか、ようやく中へ招き入れてくれた。
He knocked at the door, and an old woman appeared. "Forgive my presumption, but could you let me shelter under your eaves for just one night?" he pleaded. The old woman hesitated for a long moment, but, seeming to take pity on him, she at last waved him inside.
中はひどく寒く、囲炉裏の火だけがわずかに揺れていた。老婆は粥のような薄い食事を出してくれたものの、ほとんど口を開こうとせず、何やら思い詰めたような顔をしていた。僧侶も、長旅の疲れもあって、深く詮索することなく黙々と箸を運ぶばかりであった。
Inside, it was bitterly cold; the fire in the sunken hearth flickered only faintly. She set out a thin, gruel-like meal for him, but barely opened her mouth the whole time, her face wearing a brooding, distant look. Weary from his long journey, the monk asked no probing questions and simply worked his chopsticks in silence.
夜も更けてきた頃、老婆はおもむろに立ち上がり、「すきま風が冷たくてかなわないので、裏山へ薪を拾いに行ってまいります」と告げた。立ち去り際に老婆は声を低くして、「ただし、私が留守の間、決してあの奥の部屋を覗いてはなりませぬ。もし覗こうものなら、恐ろしいことが起きるでしょう」と念を押した。
When the night had grown deep, the old woman rose abruptly and said the drafts were unbearable — she would go up to the back hills to gather firewood. As she stepped out, she lowered her voice and pressed him: "While I am away, you must on no account look into that inner room. If you so much as peek, something terrible will happen."
妙な言いつけではあったが、僧侶は深く考えるどころではなく、ただ一晩ぐっすり眠れることばかりを願って、火のそばに腰を下ろした。やがて、外で枯れ枝を踏む足音が遠ざかり、家の中は不気味なほどの静けさに包まれた。
It was an odd warning, but the monk was in no state to brood over it; longing only for one good night's sleep, he settled himself by the fire. Soon the sound of dry branches snapping underfoot faded into the distance, and the hut filled with an eerie silence.
しかし、待てども待てども、老婆は戻ってこなかった。次第に、僧侶の胸の奥では、最初はわずかな不安にすぎなかったものが、抑えがたい好奇心へと変わりつつあった。「あの奥の部屋には、いったい何があるのだろうか」と、気になってならないのである。
But wait as he might, the old woman did not return. Little by little, what had at first been only the faintest unease swelled in his chest into an irresistible curiosity. "What on earth could be in that inner room?" — he simply could not stop wondering.
「覗くまい、覗くまい」と幾度も自分に言い聞かせたものの、誘惑はいよいよ強まるばかりであった。とうとう抑えきれなくなった僧侶は、足音を忍ばせて奥の襖の前まで歩み寄り、ほんのわずかに開けて中を覗いてしまった。
He told himself again and again, "I shall not look, I shall not look," yet the temptation only grew stronger. At last unable to hold himself back, the monk crept on muffled steps to the sliding door of the inner room, slid it open just a crack, and peered inside.
そこに広がっていた光景は、およそ言葉に尽くしがたいものであった。床一面には、白骨化した遺骸や、まだ新しい人間の死体が、まるで薪のように積み上げられていたのである。生臭い空気が一気に鼻を突き、僧侶は思わず後ずさった。
The sight that met his eyes was beyond anything words could describe. The entire floor was piled high — like so much firewood — with bleached skeletons and the freshly slain corpses of human beings. The reek of blood and rot struck his nose, and he staggered back without thinking.
「あの老婆は、噂に聞く安達が原の鬼婆に相違ない」と、僧侶はその場で悟った。恐怖のあまり全身が震え、しばらくは立ち上がることさえできなかった。
"That old woman — she must be the very demon hag of Adachigahara that the rumors speak of." He understood it on the spot. His whole body shook so violently with fear that for some time he could not even rise to his feet.
それでも、ここに留まっていてはいずれ自分も餌食になりかねないと思い直し、僧侶は背中の荷物だけを掴むと、転がるようにして小屋から飛び出した。月のない夜道を、ただひたすら振り返ることなく走り続けるほかなかった。
Even so, telling himself that to remain there was to invite becoming her next meal, he seized only his pack and tumbled out of the hut. Down the moonless road he had no choice but to run, never once daring to look back.
ところが、老婆もまた、ほどなくして異変に気づいたらしかった。「おのれ、よくもあの部屋を見たな」という、地の底から響くような叫び声がしたかと思うと、背後には、もはや老婆とは似ても似つかぬ、髪を振り乱した恐ろしい鬼の姿が現れていた。
But the old woman, too, soon realized that something was amiss. From behind came a roar like a voice rising from the depths of the earth — "How dare you look into that room!" — and when he glanced over his shoulder, what stood there was no longer the old woman at all, but a fearsome demon with wild, streaming hair.
鬼婆は凄まじい速さで野を駆け、見る見るうちに僧侶との距離を縮めてきた。逃げ続ける僧侶もすでに息は切れ、足はもつれ、もはや絶体絶命の境地に追い込まれつつあった。
The demon hag tore across the plain at a terrifying speed, closing the gap between them by the moment. The monk, already out of breath, his legs tangling beneath him, found himself driven to the very edge of doom.
このままでは食い殺されるばかりだと覚悟を決めた僧侶は、最後の頼みにと、肌身離さず持ち歩いていた観音菩薩の像を背中から取り出した。膝をつくなり地に額を擦りつけ、声を限りに経を唱え始めたのである。
Resigned to being devoured if he did nothing more, the monk drew from his pack, as a last resort, the image of the Bodhisattva Kannon that he had always carried close to his body. The instant he had it in hand, he fell to his knees, pressed his forehead to the ground, and began to chant the sutra with all the strength of his voice.
すると、不思議なことに、観音像から目もくらむような白い光が放たれた。その光に貫かれた鬼婆は、断末魔の悲鳴を上げて野原に倒れ、二度と起き上がることはなかった。
Then, miraculously, a blinding white light burst forth from the figure of Kannon. Pierced by that light, the demon hag let out a death cry, crumpled onto the plain, and never rose again.
僧侶が命拾いをしたのは、ひとえに仏の加護にほかならなかった。その後、僧侶はかつて鬼婆の犠牲となった人々のためにと、近くの寺にしばらく留まり、ねんごろに供養を続けたという。
That the monk escaped with his life was owed to nothing other than the protection of the Buddha. He afterward remained for some time at a nearby temple, holding careful memorial services for those who had once fallen victim to the demon hag.
安達が原に旅人が消えるという話は、それ以来ぴたりとやんだそうである。
From that day on, it is said, the tales of travelers vanishing on the plain of Adachigahara stopped abruptly, never to be told again.