Long ago in a mountain temple there was a priest who really liked botamochi. Families that supported the temple would bring botamochi to the temple and say, "Here, this is for the equinox," or "Here, this is for mid-winter." However, the priest never gave a single piece to his acolyte, but ate it all himself. The acolyte wanted to eat some so much he could hardly stand it. However, one day a parishioner brought some botamochi just as the priest had to leave for the village. So he hurriedly ate a few pieces, shut the rest up in a cupboard and started down the mountain.
The acolyte, who was left behind, really wanted some botamochi. He thought it would be all right at least to look at it, so he opened the cupboard and took a peep. And then, oh! it looked so delicious. He couldn't help it-- he had to try just one. If he just had one, the priest would never know. With that in mind, he picked up one piece and ate it. It tasted as good as it looked. But there was no way he could be satisfied with one piece. Two pieces still wouldn't be noticed, he thought, and he picked up a second piece. Talk about delicious-- it tasted even better than the first piece. He tried to stop then, but he just couldn't. Well, he picked up a third piece. Then he swallowed the third one in a single bite.
That's how it went. Soon the acolyte had eaten every bit of the mountain of botamochi that had been on the large platter. When it was all eaten, he realized how terrible that was. What could he do now? When the priest returned, he was sure to say, "Hey, acolyte! What happened to the botamochi that was in here?"
And the acolyte would have to say, "Yessir. I ate it."
"Idiot! Who told you to eat it?"
"Yessir. No one told me. I said it."
"You said what?"
"Yessir. I just felt sorry for myself. Every month you eat 20 or 30 pieces of botamochi. But you never give me half a piece, or even a little scrap. Just now you were out. 'You'd better eat it before the mice do.' That's what I said to myself."
"You idiot!" the priest would say.
The acolyte ran through that. Dialogs of that sort often took place in the temple. Then the two would discuss it in Buddhist terms to see who won the argument and who lost. The acolyte always lost. Consequently, he thought very carefully about today's incident, and finally he had a good idea. First he took what anko was left on the platter into the main worship hall. There were two statues of buddhas in the main hall-- one made of wood and one made of metal. He smeared the anko around the mouth of the metal buddha. Almost as soon as he finished, the priest came back.
"Acolyte, I'm home."
"Yessir, welcome back."
As expected, the priest went straight to the cupboard. He discovered immediately that the botamochi was gone.
"Acolyte! What happened to the botamochi that was in here?"
"Yessir! I don't know what happened to the botamochi.
"You say you don't know, but it's all gone, isn't it?"
"Is that right? In that case, someone must have eaten it."
"You say someone must have eaten it, but weren't you the only person in the temple? A cat or mouse couldn't open the cupboard, so who could have eaten it other than you?"
Things were getting hot. The priest's face was deep red, and he picked up the long door bolt that was close at hand. He may have intended to hit the acolyte with it. So the acolyte said, "Yessir! I was the only person, there are things that eat that aren't people."
"Who do you think ate it that isn't human?"
"The buddha ate it!"
"What! The buddha ate it?"
"That's right. The metal buddha from the main hall opened the cupboard and ate the botamochi. If you think I'm lying, please ask the buddha."
And it came to pass that the priest and the acolyte went into the main worship hall of the temple. They could see that the metal buddha was standing there with anko on its mouth.
"Osho-sama," the acolyte said, "It was this buddha. There's anko on its mouth. This buddha ate it."
The priest went up to the statue of the buddha and questioned it. "Hotoke-sama, hotoke-sama! Was it you who opened the cupboard and partook of the botamochi while I was out?"
But the buddha didn't say "boo," much less "yes" or "no." The priest was increasingly irritated, and spoke louder.
"Hotoke-sama! Was it you who opened the cupboard and ate the botamochi while I was out?"
The buddha remained silent.
"Hotoke-sama!!" The priest yelled at the top of his voice, but the buddha still didn't answer. The priest was getting angrier and angrier. "Hotoke-sama!! Even if you don't speak, there's anko all over your mouth!"
The priest couldn't stand it any longer and, not waiting for an answer, smote the buddha on the shoulder with the door bolt he was holding. The metal statue rang with a loud "Kuwa--n."/2
"What? Didn't the buddha just say he didn't eat it?" Just to be sure, the priest gave the metal buddha a hard smack on its backside.
"Kuwa--n."
"It said 'kuwan.' No question-- the buddha says it didn't eat anything," the priest said. "Acolyte, the buddha says it didn't eat."
But the acolyte said, "Osho-sama, you mustn't hit the buddha. But if it's put in water it will tell the truth."
"Really? In that case, please put the buddha in water."
And so they took the metal buddha out to the temple grounds and put it in the spring there. When they did, the water bubbled up through a hole in the foot of the statue, making a "kutta, kutta, kutta" sound.
"You hear that, Osho-sama? 'Kutta, kutta, kutta!' The buddha says it did eat it!"
Notes
1. Botamochi is a soft mochi, covered with anko, which is a sweet jam made of azuki beans. For that reason it is also called azukimochi. Some people think anko makes a good topping for ice cream, but my wife isn't one of them. In fact, she doesn't really like it on mochi, but then she doesn't care much for mochi without it either.
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2. The plainest verb for "eat" is kuu, of which the past tense is kutta and the negative form is kuwanai (or kuwanu or kuwan).
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