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Tokyo, Japan

Senso-ji Temple Audio Guide

Two fishermen, one tiny statue, and Tokyo's oldest temple. Six illustrated chapters, about 12 minutes. Pick your narrator.

The Statue in the Fishing Net
Chapter 1: The Statue in the Fishing Net
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Storyteller tone · 12:25 · voice: en-GB-RyanNeural

Chapter 1: The Statue in the Fishing Net

Dawn on a wide river, more than fourteen hundred years ago. Mist lies on the water. Two brothers, Hinokuma Hamanari and Hinokuma Takenari, row out to fish, as they do every morning. They cast their net. They haul it in. And caught in the mesh is not a fish, but a small statue, gleaming, of a figure with a gentle face. The temple dates that morning to the eighteenth of March, in the year 628. The river was the Sumida. The place was a small fishing village called Asakusa, at the edge of a wide, wild plain. Some tellings say the brothers returned the statue to the water, only to find it in their net again. Whether or not that is so, they understood that something extraordinary had come to them. They carried it to their village headman, Haji no Nakatomo. He recognized the figure: Kannon, the bodhisattva of compassion, who hears the cries of the world. Moved, he devoted himself to the Buddhist faith, turned his own home into a temple, and spent the rest of his life in worship of the statue. Seventeen years later, in 645, a priest named Shokai came to the village and built a hall for Kannon. Then, after a revelation in a dream, he made a decision that echoes to this day. The statue would be hidden from human eyes. Remember that. It is the secret at the heart of this place. Over the centuries, the village grew into a city, and the city grew into Edo, and Edo became Tokyo. Shoguns came to pray here, poets and merchants, samurai and farmers. Today, according to the temple, some thirty million people visit each year, all of them, in a way, following two fishermen up from the river. Ahead of you, now, stands a great red gate. A lantern hangs at its center, and in its shadows wait two fierce guardians: one who carries the wind, and one who carries the thunder.

Chapter 2: Wind, Thunder, and a 700 kg Lantern

Stand before Kaminarimon, the Thunder Gate. Its lantern hangs above you, a great red globe nearly four meters high, weighing about seven hundred kilograms, according to Japan's tourism ministry. It sways very slightly in the wind, as if breathing. To one side stands Fujin, god of the wind, a bag of storms slung over his shoulders. To the other, Raijin, god of thunder, ringed by the drums he beats to shake the sky. They were set here to guard the temple from disaster: fire, storm, flood. They are fierce, and they are meant to be. Their fierceness is a kind of protection. Step beneath the lantern and look up. On its base, a dragon is carved, coiled and watchful. Many visitors never notice it. The gate's story is one of loss and return. A gate stood here, in various forms, from the tenth century, and it burned more than once. After a great fire in the 1860s, no permanent gate rose for almost a century. Then, in 1960, Konosuke Matsushita, founder of the company we now know as Panasonic, paid for it to be rebuilt. It is said he had prayed here during an illness, and recovered, and this was his gratitude made visible. On the night of a festival, when the lantern must make way for portable shrines carried through the crowds, it is folded up, like a paper lantern on a summer evening, and raised again when the procession has passed. At night, after the temple closes, the gate is illuminated, glowing in the dark streets of Asakusa. If you can, come at first light, when the gate stands nearly alone, or at night, when it seems to float in its own glow. Now pass beneath the lantern. Before you stretches a narrow street, lined with stalls, alive with the smell of sweet cakes and the chatter of a thousand voices, a street that has welcomed pilgrims for hundreds of years.

Chapter 3: Snack Street

This is Nakamise-dori, the street of shops between the Thunder Gate and the temple. It runs for about two hundred and fifty meters, lined with close to ninety small stalls. The temple counts it among the oldest shopping streets in Japan. Its beginnings, it is said, lie in the Edo period, when local people were permitted to open stalls here in return for keeping the temple grounds clean. Walk slowly. Watch the hands of the sweet-makers pouring batter into iron molds, turning out ningyo-yaki, little cakes filled with sweet red bean paste, shaped like lanterns and pagodas and doves. Look for kaminari okoshi, crisp cakes of puffed rice named for the Thunder Gate, and for age-manju, buns fried until golden and filled with bean paste. The air smells of sugar, soy and warm oil. There is a gentle etiquette here. In Japan, eating while walking is often thought a little impolite, and many stalls ask you to enjoy your treat right where you bought it. So pause. Stand by the stall. Taste. Then walk on. In this way, Nakamise becomes a string of small, unhurried moments. The stalls also sell fans and hairpins, wooden toys and paper charms, little treasures for pilgrims to carry home. For centuries, people have walked this street on their way to pray, and bought something to remember the journey. There are few rubbish bins in Japan, so carry a small bag for wrappers, or ask the stall to take them back. In the middle of the day, the crowds can be dense. Most shops open around mid-morning and close in the early evening. In the very early morning, before the shutters rise, the street is quiet, and you can see the painted scenes on the closed shopfronts. At the end of the street rises a second gate, taller than the first. And on its back hang a pair of sandals so immense that only a giant could wear them.

Chapter 4: Sandals for a Giant

This is Hozomon, the Treasure House Gate. On its upper floor, it holds treasures of the temple, among them precious sutras. The first gate here was raised in the tenth century; the one you see was rebuilt in 1964, a gift from Yonetaro Otani, the founder of the Hotel New Otani. On its front, two mighty guardians stand watch: the Nio, protectors of the Buddhist law. One opens his mouth, one keeps it closed, said to stand for the first and last sounds of the Sanskrit alphabet, the beginning and the end of all things. Now walk around to the back of the gate and look up. Hanging there is a pair of waraji, straw sandals, each about four and a half meters tall. They are woven by the people of Murayama City, in Yamagata Prefecture, far to the north, and offered to the temple. According to the temple, the current pair, given in 2018, is the eighth since 1941, and needed some two and a half tons of straw. Why sandals for a giant? The old belief holds that demons, seeing them, will imagine a guardian of enormous size somewhere inside, and flee. Protection, once again, through a kind of wonder. To the left rises the Five-Story Pagoda, some fifty-three meters tall. The first was built here in 942. The pagoda you see was raised in 1973, after its predecessor was destroyed in the Second World War. According to the temple, it enshrines relics of the Buddha, a gift from a royal temple in Sri Lanka. Look up along its stacked roofs, each one lifting toward the sky like a wing. Stand here for a moment. Around you, prayers are being spoken in quiet voices. Ahead, beyond the gate, lies the Main Hall, and before it, a cloud of fragrant smoke drifts upward from a great bronze vessel. People step into that smoke, gather it in their hands, and draw it over themselves. And nearby, others shake a metal box, waiting to learn their fortune.

Chapter 5: Smoke, Fortunes, and the Secret Statue

Before the Main Hall stands the jokoro, a great bronze incense burner. Pilgrims buy bundles of incense, light them, and set them in the ash. Then they cup the rising smoke in their hands and draw it over their bodies, toward an aching knee, a tired back, a troubled head. The smoke is believed to bring healing and good health. Step into it, and you will smell the faint sweetness that has hung over this place for centuries. Nearby are the omikuji stands. Drop a small coin into the box, a hundred yen at our last check, and shake a metal cylinder until a single numbered stick slips out. Find the matching drawer, and draw out your fortune, written in Japanese and in English. Senso-ji is known for its honesty. It is often said that about three in every ten fortunes here foretell bad luck. If yours is one of them, do not despair. Fold it and tie it to the racks nearby, leaving the misfortune with the temple. If your fortune is good, keep it close. Now climb the steps of the Main Hall and look into the dim interior. Somewhere within, in a miniature shrine sealed with many locks, rests the statue the fishermen drew from the river in 628. According to the temple, since the priest Shokai hid it away in 645, it has never been unveiled, not even to the temple's chief priests. It is a hibutsu, a hidden Buddha. The most treasured image in Tokyo is one that no living person has seen. Its presence is felt, not looked upon. In the ninth century, a revered priest named Ennin carved a likeness of it, so that the faithful might have a glimpse, rarely, of the form they pray to. The temple invites visitors to place their palms together and offer a quiet prayer to Kannon. You may do so, or simply stand in silence. But the hall you stand in is younger than it looks. One night in 1945, fire fell from the sky.

Chapter 6: Fire, Rebirth, and Tokyo at Night

The night of the tenth of March, 1945. American bombers attacked Tokyo with incendiary bombs, in one of the most destructive air raids in history. Fire swept through wooden neighborhoods; across the city, a vast number of people died in a single night. Senso-ji's Main Hall, a national treasure raised by the third Tokugawa shogun, burned. So did the Five-Story Pagoda. Yet the temple rose again. The Main Hall was rebuilt in 1958, paid for by donations from people across Japan, and the pagoda followed in 1973. The new hall is made of concrete and steel, but it keeps the old form: its roof sweeping upward, tall and steep, as if the building itself were lifting its arms. Just to the right of the Main Hall stands Asakusa Shrine, a Shinto shrine that honors, among others, the three men of our story: the two fishermen brothers and the headman who received their statue. Each May, it holds the Sanja Matsuri, one of Tokyo's great festivals, when portable shrines are carried through the streets on the shoulders of shouting, joyful crowds. Look east now, across the Sumida. Rising above the rooftops is Tokyo Skytree, six hundred and thirty-four meters tall, completed in 2012. From this plaza, you can see both at once: a temple whose story began in 628, and a tower of the twenty-first century. Few places hold so many centuries in a single view. For your visit: the temple grounds are free and open at all hours. The Main Hall opens early in the morning and closes around five in the evening. Come at dawn, when locals stop to pray on their way to work, or at night, when the buildings glow against the dark and the crowds have gone. Move gently in the halls, and leave space for those who come to pray. Thank you for walking with me through Senso-ji. The river still flows nearby. In another city, another story waits.