Welcome to Karuta

It had been a year since the invasion. The smokey air had descended, the smell of destruction cleared as Chiyo’s family arose from the rubble to rebuild their lives. Hida-Takayama was now a ruin, a once picturesque city, filled with serene shrines and old fashioned Japanese charm had been demolished. But the people of Hida-Takayama pulled together like all good communities do, taking turns to feed each other, learn, teach and support each other.

Chiyo’s Mama cooked for the survivors the night the ‘Battle of Karuta’ tournament took place. The contributors would go head to head for the chance to win their families freedom or face certain death. The tournament was judged by their ruthless leader Mazuko, a man who destroyed their homes and now used the people of Japan for his own polluted entertainment. Every year he held a ceremony announcing the eight contributions. The final battle would be played against Mazuko himself who of course was undefeated.

“It’s starting! It’s starting!” Chiyo shouted with excitement.

The crackles from the TV became silent as the opening music began. Everyone was sat around listening, for the elders there was a real sense of hate and hope that surrounded Karuta but for twelve year old Chiyo it was happiness and memories. The reciter introduced the first two contributors, Chiyo reached for Papa Osamu’s little black notebook, holding it close to his chest, remembering the wisdom and love his Papa gave him. Papa Osamu had died peacefully in his sleep just before the invasion, his love for Karuta lived on through Chiyo and Osamu knew that one day Chiyo would too make his distinguished mark on the game.

Osamu was a talented poet, he loved to read and perform poetry to family and friends. He and Chiyo would sit playing Karuta for hours, reciting the cards and racing each other to find its match. Chiyo was four years old when he first saw Papa playing Karuta, he watched him hit the stopwatch and scribble things down in a little black notebook.

“Papa, why do you keep writing in that book?” Asked Chiyo. Osamu looked at Chiyo as he held the book out for him to see.

“Life is a series of decisions, reactions and knowledge. Karuta consists of all three of these things in which to win you must use all of them quicker than your opponent and for that Chiyo, I always like to be prepared.” Osamu explained as he turned to the front of the book, he read out. “The weak are meat; the strong eat.”

Chiyo turned to his Papa confused and asked. “What does that mean?”

“Survival of the fittest, in this case it’s fitness of the mind, the mind for poetry and speed. I train myself by memorising the card images and the poems in this notebook. I have written every Tanka poem there in these pages.”

“But why write when you have the books?” Chiyo asked. Osamu smiled at Chiyo enjoying his naive mind.

“My boy! To write is a practice, a feeling, it touches the soul of a reader with the memory of its writer. My father started this book and when I read his pages I hear him and it leads me to victory.”

He turned seven when Papa Osamu became the Karuta champion, they called him ‘Fasutohando’ meaning ‘fasthand’ as he could clear his territory quicker than anyone. But the games were different then, Mazuko was not in power and entering Karuta was a choice not an order.

Chiyo was sixteen when he discovered the truth of Mazuko’s warped tournament. Papas beloved game was now tainted with desperation and an immoral competitive nature. Chiyo knew that Mazuko could choose him at any given moment and if he was to survive he would need to be prepared. Charging his mind with the poetry in Papa’s little black notebook. His reaction strikes got faster and he could sound out a poem from the first syllable.

April 1st arrived. The whole of Japan gathered round their TV’s anxiously. The ceremony was filled with robotic slaves dressed in extravagant costumes all forced to love their master. Mazuko stood to address the country.

“My people.. It is time! The eight have been selected and for one freedom awaits! As always I thank you for your contribution.”

Dictated cheers permeated the air. A brown wooden box containing the names of the chosen was handed to the Speaker as he took the stand.

“SILENCE! Welcome to the 6th anniversary of the Battle of Karuta! In Mazuko’s name the contributions are: Maki Kato, home of Osaka. You have been chosen. Emiko Otsuka, home of Kanazawa. You have been chosen.”

Chiyo watched in anticipation as the names were called out. He held his notebook to his chest, heat was radiating from the it and through the seams of its leather edges Papa’s scent emerged.

“Papa” he whispered. Chiyo embraced the little black notebook that carried his Papa’s spirit as the Speaker announced.

“Chiyo Sano, home of Hida-Takayama. You have been chosen!”

Time stopped. Chiyo could see the room and everyone in it moving towards him in slow motion. Their despair wrapped around him like a giant squid seizing its pray before devouring him whole. As Chiyo sat in a energy sphere of dejection he was smiling, he had trained for this moment since he was a child and now he was ready to eat!

Within a matter of days Chiyo had been striped from his home and dragged to Mazuko’s temple buried deep within the hills of Takayama. It was here where the tournament took place. Five days, thirty three games, one hundred poems and one survivor. The contributors were seated, dressed in the finest Yakata’s provided by Mazuko. Fifty cards selected, twenty five handed to each player and laid in three rows within their territory, Chiyo and his opponent memorised the cards and practiced their reaction strikes. The reciter opens the tournament with a poem.

“Naniwa Bay, now the flower blooms, but for winter. Here comes the spring, now the flower blooms ~ wani ~ In Mazuko’s name. Let’s the battle begin”

Each contributor struck with power and precision round after round until only one remained. They were held in separate rooms, before and after each game and the victor would never see their opponent again. The isolation was created to break the contributors spirits and lights were left blazing constantly depriving them of sleep. Mazuko had watched Chiyo, he resented his confidence and determination as he conquered the other contributions with ease. Mazuko knew he would have to break Chiyo. The finale arrived and Mazuko sent his men to collect him.

“Wake up.” The guards enter the room, hosed Chiyo down and dressed him. “Move” The guards pushed Chiyo out of the room and lead him towards the Finale arena.

As he walked through the arena it felt different, cocooned in guards and haunting gates. Mazuko stepped onto the platform, Chiyo couldn’t believe it was him, his ruler took his seat and Chiyo’s stomach twisted. His hands dripped with sweat as he reached into his pocket to touch Papa’s notebook, hoping to gain relief but it was gone. His hands searched frantically.

Mazuko watched Chiyo search, smugly enjoying his distress, Mazuko turned to the crowds and waved as Chiyo tried to remain calm. The reciter approached the table and dealt the cards to each player. They bowed to each other.

“Looking for this?” Mazuko whispered as he secretly held the black notebook in front of Chiyo.

“Yes” Chiyo gulped.

Mazuko smirked at Chiyo and ordered the reciter to start. The traditional opening poem was read and the obedient crowd repeated;

“IN MAZUKO’S NAME, LET THE GAMES BEGIN.”

“Go and catch a falling..” The reciter barely finished.

Mazuko took the first win. Chiyo played with despair and allowed Mazuko another two wins. Twenty two cards remained for Mazuko. Chiyo needed to focus and control his emotions quickly because they were leading him towards failure.

Reciter shouts. “Foul, Chiyo Sano that was the wrong card.”

Mazuko gloated, he enjoyed being the victor and took great pleasure adding another card to Chiyo’s territory. Chiyo felt powerless, he had never played a single game without the notebook, it was luck in his pocket, his Papas support and without it he was sure to lose.

“My people” Mazuko announced as he stood. “I hope you are enjoying the tournament so far, well better than Chiyo that is” Nervous laugher filled the arena. “My spirits today are monumental so, I have decided to—up the stakes! If Chiyo wins, I will give him his freedom and 2,124,730 YEN ($20,000) but if I win, he and his family will be banished to Lato island and left to starve!”

The game was five to twelve in Mazuko’ favour, Chiyo would need a miracle if he was going to win. He closed his eyes and calmed his mind. Time froze, he imagined he was 4 years old again watching his Papa playing Karuta on the porch. He’d watch his pen gliding across the pages of the notebook, his handwriting was so unique the pages imprinted in is mind. How could he forget. He visualised holding the notebook, feeling the leather that even after all these years still felt and smelt like his Papa. Turning to the first page he read;

“The weak are meat, the strong eat.”

Chiyos opened his eyes, the look of fearlessness returned to his face. Mazuko still high from the crowds didn't recognise Chiyo’s return and the reciter was signalled to continue. The two shook hands to agree the new terms.

“You’ll never see your family again.” Uttered Mazuko.

“We’ll see” replied Chiyo.

The tournament commenced and the crowds cheers transformed into true applause! Chiyo was closing the gap on Mazuko’s lead, the 2,124,730 YEN and his freedom. Thirty three games, one hundred poems and only three cards remained.

Mazuko was furious, he noticed the crowd cheering. Chiyo was giving them hope, he was a dangerous beacon that needed to be crushed immediately. Mazuko clicked his fingers and ordered his guards to violently beat Chiyo in front of everyone. They punctured his ears and what felt like hours of unconsciousness was merely minutes. Chiyo’s consciousness returned as a sea of anger engulfed the arena. His ears ringing as he looked around confused whilst chaos took place.

“SILENCE.” The reciter shouted as the guards restored order back into the arena.

Chiyo was lost, he stared intently at the reciters mouth but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He saw Mazuko laughing at him, knowing that he would not succeed without his hearing and that the game was as good as over. The reciter began to read the card, Chiyo tried hard to read his lips but before he could solve the first word Mazuko striked and took the win. Two cards remained and the reciter continued.

Just as Chiyo prepared to admit defeat, his Papa’s voice appeared in his head, reciting the final poem.

“For thy precious sake, once my life itself. Was not dear to me.”

“But ‘tis now my heart desire. It may long, long years endure!” Chiyo completed the poem.

He lifted his head. He striked the winning card! Victory! Mazuko attempted to attack Chiyo but was stopped. The crowd formed a wall around him, the guards tried to break through them but their fear has disappeared. Mazuko was no longer a threat in their eyes, he had been defeated. Chiyo bowed in gratitude to the crowd for his protection and the crowd bowed in gratitude to Chiyo for giving them hope. A change filled the air, Chiyo stood still for a moment, taking in all that he had been through to get here until, he noticed a Karuta card fall to the ground and that’s when he saw it. His Papa Osamu’s little black notebook.