Ukarikeru waga minasoko o ōkata wa kakaru chigiri no nakaramashikaba

English Translation

How wretched it was
this water-floor of mine — if
only, from the first
there had been no such promise
no such binding at all, then

Meaning

How wretched it was, this water-floor of mine. If only, from the first, there had been no such promise at all.

Commentary

147 The River of Ikuta

Long ago there was a woman living in the province of Tsu. Two men courted her: one of the same province, of the Ubara family, and one from Izumi, of the Chinu family. In age, in looks, in bearing and in character they were exactly alike. She meant to give herself to whichever loved her more, and they loved her exactly alike. At dusk both came; when they sent gifts, the gifts were the same. Neither could be said to be the better, and she was at a loss. Her parents said that if she chose one the other's hopes would end; she answered that it was because their feelings were so exactly alike that she was troubled. They had set up an awning by the river Ikuta, and there her parents called the two men and said that the matter should be settled that day: let them shoot at the waterfowl swimming on the river, and whichever hit it should have the daughter. They shot; one pierced the bird's head, the other its tail. Since neither could be declared the winner, the girl in her distress composed a poem and, the awning standing over the water, threw herself in. While her parents were crying out, both suitors leapt in after her; one seized her foot and one her hand, and so all three died. The parents wept and buried them. When the men's graves were being made beside the girl's, the father of the Tsu man objected that his own son, of that province, should lie beside her, and that a man of another province had no business defiling its soil; so the father of the Izumi man brought earth from Izumi by boat and buried his son in that. And so, with the woman's grave in the middle, the two men's graves stand to left and right to this day.
All this, which had happened long ago, was painted in pictures and given to the late empress; and a company assembled and composed poems on the old story, speaking in the persons of the dead. Ise, the Lady of the Bedchamber, the First Princess, the empress herself, the Lady of the Palace Guards and the Superintendent of the Weaving Office each took the part of one of the three, and the ten poems that follow are theirs.
As for the man who had composed poems: his people cut lengths of bamboo with long joints for a fence, and buried with him a hunting robe, a skirt, a cap and a belt, and a bow, a quiver and a sword. The other man's parents, being perhaps careless, buried nothing of the kind with him. The graves are now called the Maiden's Mound. A traveller once took lodging near them, and hearing the sound of men fighting sent his servant to look; the servant returned saying there was nothing. As he slept, a man covered in blood knelt before him and said that he was hard pressed by his enemy and asked the loan of what hung at the traveller's waist, that he might have his revenge. Afraid as he was, the traveller lent it. When he woke the sword was gone, and presently the sound of fighting came again. After a while the man returned, saying that thanks to him he had killed the enemy he had hated for years and would serve him ever after as his guardian spirit; and he told the story from the beginning. By dawn no one was there; and going out in the morning the traveller found blood flowing at the foot of the mound, and blood on the sword he had lent. That is the whole of the section.
The two suitors were the Ubara man of Tsu and the Chinu man of Izumi. The river Ikuta flows through what is now Kobe, in Settsu. Of the company at the poem-making, Ise is the woman poet of the first section, one of the thirty-six poetic immortals; the First Princess was an imperial daughter; the empress was the consort of Emperor Uda; the Lady of the Palace Guards and the Superintendent of the Weaving Office were women in court service. The Maiden's Mound is the name of the three graves together.
The setting is the same poem-making.
What prompted it is the poem before, asking why she did not promise herself to him alone. This is her reply.
One further poem in the first man's person follows, and the ten are complete.

The first word carries both wretchedness and floating.
The water-floor is where she sank, and where the three of them came to rest together.
The third line means at bottom, in the first place: it turns the matter back from particulars to the root of it.
The closing is a condition contrary to fact, and its consequence is never stated. Asked whom she should have promised, she answers that it would have been better had there been no promise at all: being sought equally by two men is itself what she names as the cause of the whole misfortune.

Source

Yamato Monogatari

Other