Continuation of Part 1:

Talks about her remarriage and many proposals came up after the fourth year of her first marriage. Her father, out of respect, left this topic aside and never discussed it. However, being in charge of a temple, he had a lot of tasks to do. He would often go to pray at the Buddhist altar for his deceased son and regretted his choices in life. For Nobu, this was very painful to watch.

Normally, samurai retired at the age of sixty, but her adoptive father was 65 and still performing his duties, and with no successor, it made it even harder. One day she sat and talked to him. “Father, life is short. There is no telling when something may happen to us. After thinking it over carefully, I decided I have no choice but to marry again.” He cried, and these words felt like welcome words. He said, “You may not be my blood, but you are still my only daughter, and I'm proud of you. I shouldn’t say such things, but when your real father died, deep down I was relieved. I knew then I’d never have to give you up.” Tears fell from his eyes, and this was the first time seeing him crying for Nobu. She agreed to marry and carry on the Otagaki name.

But the only condition was that if her next husband should die, that very day she would shave her head and wish to become a nun to serve Buddha. "Would you allow me that?" Of course, her father replied. "If that dreadful thing happens, I too will renounce the world and become a priest."

This time, the adoptive father was set to find a good man for Nobu, and he succeeded. The man was Ishikawa Jujiro from the daimyo of Hikone. Jujiro turned out to be very kind, as her father had hoped. He was of delicate and gentle, also modest in all things. People around were happy to see Nobu marrying a good man. For the first time in her life, she experienced the joy of married life. She soon gave birth to a little girl. One chilly spring, in her fourth year of marriage, when they went to see the cherry blossoms in Higashiyama, her husband took a bad cold. He took medicine and saw a doctor, but his condition did not improve and he finally took to his bed. Nobu never left his side and cared for him night and day. She made up her mind to renounce the world while her husband was still conscious. Kneeling before him, she began to cut off her hair and wanted him to know she would devote the rest of her life to praying for his soul.

Later she composed poems about her husband cremation:

Smoke rises
Till the sky turns dark
And I weep
Feeling as though the end
Will bring me so surcease

Standing below
Higashimaya Hills
where together we saw
the cherry blossoms,
I feel sadness

Grief and sadness could not linger long. She had an infant and a 5-year-old daughter, plus her old father to care for. In the meantime, the adoptive father took Jujiro's younger brother to become the head of the Otagaki family until Nobu’s son reached adulthood. In samurai families, a grandson could follow the grandfather as the head of the family. If the grandson was too young, an adoption would take place. This type of arrangement was very common in those days. By doing this, he ensured that the Otagaki surname would not die out. After securing the family's future, he requested permission to enter the priesthood. He became the chief priest of the sub-temple Makuzugahara. In this beautiful place, the monk-poet Saigyo composed his iconic poem.

Let me die
Under the cherry blossoms
In the springtime
Around the time of the full moon
In the second lunar month

Taking the first character of Saigyo’s name, the Chion-in chief priest gave the adoptive father the Buddhist name "Saishin," meaning "Saigyo's mind," and to Nobu, he gave the name "Rengetsu," meaning "Lotus Moon." The father and daughter moved into Makuzu-an with the two small children, and it felt strange that a nun had kids. But the Chion-in was very relaxed about it.

She felt peace when she started to live in this temple. The gardens were beautiful, and her grandfather, now named Saishin, was playing with her toddlers; they were at peace. But these days were cut short when first the little girl died, and then two years later, her boy died too. All of Rengetsu's five children were now dead. The loss of his grandchildren and the discontinuation of the Otagaki surname made the grandfather hopeless. He died quietly at the age of 78, five years later.

Nobu was now lost again. Since Makuzu-an wasn’t a nunnery, she couldn’t take her father’s position. There was no place for nuns to stay in this temple, so she had nowhere to go. She packed her bags, dressed in black, and went to the cemetery. She would stay there until late at night and decided to live there. The temple staff talked to her, explaining that cemeteries are not places for the living.

She then rented a hut at the foot of a hill and needed to find a means of livelihood. Martial arts were out of the question; a nun teaching martial arts was as incompatible as it was to teach how to take a human life. Dancing was inappropriate too. So the only possibility was poetry, and she decided to take on students, but it wasn’t lucrative. Men would come to her door claiming they wanted to learn poetry. She was fed up with this. The Buddha's teaching was "Shikisoku Zeku," meaning "form is emptiness." So she thought if she did not look the way she did, maybe these men would not bother her. So she got the idea to remove her eyebrows, but of course, this action did not make things worse; it rather highlighted her beauty even more.

Rumors spread, and men still harassed her, taunting, “You know you’re lonely, let me in.” She felt repulsed by their advances, and it discouraged her to think that she still possessed a woman’s body. Eventually, she was driven to drastic measures. One man approached her, saying, “If you marry me, I swear I will make you happy.” She replied, “I have sworn to devote my life to Buddha. Wait here.” She went inside, and soon a muffled noise was heard. The man slid the door open and was met with a horrific sight; she was pulling out her teeth one by one, in excruciating pain, her mouth filled with blood. The man screamed, pleading for her to stop, but Rengetsu continued, unfazed.

Now unable to teach poetry, she was left destitute. She began to beg for food, and one day an elderly woman saw her and suggested she try pottery. “I’ll give you clay and show you how to mold it. Write your poems on the pieces. Perhaps you’ll earn something,” she said. Rengetsu learned pottery with great zeal, discovering a kind of magic in the craft. She created beautiful vessels from the clay provided. Thus, she began making small teapots, known as 'kibisho'. Once a month, she would go to the market to sell them, but success was elusive. Many shops rejected her work until finally, one agreed to stock it. Shopkeepers spoke poorly of her when she was not around. One was particularly cruel, gossiping, “That’s by the nun named Rengetsu. She used to be a prostitute in Gion. Gorgeous. They say she's insatiable; even after becoming a nun, she’ll pull a man into bed.”

Photo Credit: http://www.zuzu.bz/ownerblog/2009/02/2_1.html

The spread of rumors, as unsavory as they were, paradoxically boosted her sales. When Rengetsu learned of the gossip and how her reputation was being leveraged for profit, she didn't express dismay but rather a detached amusement, remarking, “I’m glad people can make a living from the kind of pottery I make.” It was a testament to her practice of 'paratmasamata'—seeing oneself and others as equals. This philosophy also brought a transformation to her craft; she began incorporating lotuses into her designs, symbolizing salvation through the pure flower emerging from the murky waters, much like her teapots from the soiled clay.

As her work grew popular, some merchants capitalized on her rising fame by selling counterfeits. When they approached her for assistance in writing poems for their imitation pieces, she agreed, extending her help with characteristic equanimity.

For over four decades, she crafted 'Rengetsu-yaki', the pottery that bore her name and became a staple in Japanese households. With fame, however, came the inconvenience of public curiosity. People sought her out, desiring to meet the artist behind the celebrated pottery. Rengetsu, living true to her monastic vows, led a nomadic life, her only possessions being her potter’s wheel and a writing desk.

When she passed away in December 1875, she left behind no worldly belongings. In preparation for her departure, she penned her final poem on the white cotton cloth meant to drape over her coffin, a parting gift of words in the absence of material wealth. Her poem:

My one wish
For the afterworld
Is to sit upon a lotus flower
And gaze upon the moon
Unhindered by any clouds

The life story of Otagaki Rengetsu is both profoundly moving and deeply inspirational. Her resilience in the face of staggering personal tragedies, including the loss of her father, five children, and two husbands, is remarkable. Equally impressive is her wisdom in overcoming societal challenges. Rengetsu's transformative journey from profound loss to artistic triumph eloquently reflects the depth of her character, as well as her spiritual and artistic pursuits. Her legacy is not just in the pottery and poetry she left behind, but also in the lessons of perseverance, creativity and more that continue to resonate with many.

Thank you for reading these two part stories. Her narrative certainly stands as a testament to the endurance of the human spirit and the potential for art to heal and inspire.

Rengetsu Cemetery, photo credit http://www.zuzu.bz/ownerblog/2009/02/2_1.html