The VHS Tape and Himeji Castle

The room is shrouded in darkness, with the only source of light coming from the flickering screen of an old CRT television. From the video tape you play with naïve curiosity, the image of a well emerges, deep and cold as the abyss of oblivion. The faint hum of the recording morphs into sinister whispers, and from within the well, a figure slowly rises—long-haired, twisted with hatred, drenched to the bone. It is Sadako, the icon of contemporary Japanese horror. Yet, her story didn’t begin in 1998 with the release of The Ring—it began much earlier, rooted in Himeji Castle during the Muromachi era (1336–1573). Yes, the inspiration for Sadako’s tale is already over 600 years old.

Let us journey back to the late Muromachi period and the beginnings of Sengoku—a dark and tumultuous medieval Japan marked by samurai intrigues and bloody betrayals of the 15th century. Within the formidable walls of Himeji Castle, which rises majestically above the Harima Plain, lies a certain well... a place where a young maid, Okiku, met her untimely death, wrongfully accused and condemned by a lustful samurai. At night, her spirit would rise from the dark depths to count the porcelain plates that led to her tragedy. Okiku's voice—haunting, filled with sorrow and anger—echoed through the castle corridors, bringing despair and bloody madness in its wake.

This ancient tale, known as Banshū Sarayashiki (播州皿屋敷—“The Dish Mansion of Banshu”), is one of the darkest kwaidan (Japanese ghost stories) that has captivated the imagination of the Japanese for centuries. It is from this heartbreaking tale of Okiku that the creators of The Ring (Ringu, リング) and the entire J-horror genre drew inspiration. So let us delve deeper into the well of this story—of love, lust, wounded pride, hatred, and despair—to discover how Okiku became the prototype for Sadako and how this ancient legend still thrives in modern J-horror culture.

When "The Ring" First Unfolded – Medieval Japan of the Muromachi Era

A World of Wars

In the latter half of the Muromachi period (室町時代, 1336–1573), Japan was a land torn apart by ambition, betrayal, and incessant conflict. The emperor in Kyoto wielded only symbolic power, while real control over the country lay in the hands of the Ashikaga shōgun (足利). However, the authority of the shogunate, weakened by internal disputes and rebellion from the daimyō, was gradually eroding. The outbreak of the Ōnin War (応仁の乱, 1467–1477), which devastated Kyoto, plunged Japan into the chaos of the Sengoku era—a time of “everyone fighting everyone.”

Tanbo, rice fields that had sustained the population for centuries, were drenched in the blood of constant battles. Rural communities, inhabited by hyakushō (peasants), struggled to survive, hiding their harvests from raids by neighbors. In the towns, markets flourished, but chōnin (merchants) had to tread carefully, balancing allegiances with various daimyō—a misstep with a losing lord could mean not just financial ruin but the loss of life itself.

The Japanese archipelago was dotted with formidable castles, such as Himeji-jō, which served both as fortresses and symbols of their lords’ power. Within their walls lived samurai ready to give their lives for the honor and strength of their daimyō. Meanwhile, castle servants—from cooks to maids like Okiku, whom we will soon meet—performed their daily duties under the strict and often capricious rule of their masters. In feudal Japan, samurai held the power of life and death over common folk.

Life in the Shadow of Samurai Ambition

In these turbulent times, samurai were raised with one purpose—to kill or be killed (you can read more about samurai education here: What skills a Samurai Must Have – Skilled Assassin, Sensitive Poet, Disciplined Philosopher?). Additionally, they were encouraged to adhere to a code of honor, which centuries later would be known as bushidō (武士道). In practice, however, the wars of the Sengoku era were governed by more pragmatic rules: survival required vigilance and adaptability (if you want to uncover the true image of the samurai, you’ll find it here: 10 Facts About Samurai That Are Often Misunderstood: Let's Discover the Real Person Behind the Armor).

Despite the chaos, Japanese culture continued to flourish. This period saw the development of the tea ceremony chanoyu (茶の湯), pioneered by master Sen no Rikyū (千利休). This ritual was not only an aesthetic experience but also a means of strengthening political alliances among samurai, meditating on spiritual matters, and engaging in religious contemplation.

Women of the Sengoku Era

Sengoku Japan was a harsh place for women—already their autonomy, access to education, and decision-making power had been significantly restricted, and by the 15th century, their subjugation became even more severe and painful (although there were numerous exceptions, including female warriors—onna-musha, and powerful female rulers—nyōbō—you can read more about them in the book "Silne kobiety Japonii").

The famed porcelain, which plays a key role in the tale of Banshū Sarayashiki, was a symbol of luxury. Plates and bowls, often imported from China or crafted by Japanese artisans, such as those from the Arita (有田) region, were meticulously preserved and treated with near-religious reverence. Losing such items could spell disaster for an entire family.

Amid the struggles of survival in a politically charged landscape, medieval Japan was a land where life and death, beauty and violence, intertwined in a stormy narrative. It was in this setting, within the courtyards of Himeji Castle, that the young Okiku lived—a tragic figure whose sorrowful story survived centuries to haunt us even today on the screens of our televisions and smartphones.

Let us now delve into the details of the legend of The Dish Mansion of Banshu—the heartbreaking tale of young Okiku.

Banshū Sarayashiki
播州皿屋敷

- folklore tales, Muromachi period

The Duty of Young Okiku

Rising above the plains of Harima, Himeji Castle of the Muromachi era stood as one of the grandest symbols of samurai power. Its white walls, covered with fire-resistant plaster, gleamed in the sunlight like the face of a dignified kami. Surrounded by deep moats and reinforced with mighty walls, Himeji dominated the landscape, a reminder of stability in a world filled with chaos. Wooden towers, housing weaponry and provisions, and intricately designed gates built with masugata-mon technology served not only as defense but also as a testament to the architectural craftsmanship of the time. Beneath these majestic walls, daily life thrummed to the rhythm of the servants’ work, prayers in the castle shrine, and the clang of katana and yari as samurai trained in the courtyard. Known as the "White Giant" of its era, Himeji was more than a fortress—it was the stage for generations of birth, life, and death, from samurai warriors and minor officials to impoverished servants.

In the shadow of these great walls worked a young maid named Okiku (お菊), a modest yet graceful girl whose diligence, conscientiousness, and gentle nature earned the favor of Lady Aoyama. Lady Aoyama entrusted young Okiku with one of the castle’s most symbolically and materially valuable treasures—the family’s heirloom porcelain of the samurai clan Aoyama. These ten exquisite and precious porcelain plates, sourced from various provinces, were the legacy of one of the most prominent samurai of Himeji Castle, Aoyama Tessan (青山鉄山). They symbolized his noble lineage and the history of the Aoyama clan, rich in valor and loyal service to the castle’s daimyō.

The plates, beautiful yet delicate like snowflakes, adorned with intricate patterns of Chinese dragons and waves, were symbols of the family's power and wealth. Losing them would mean dishonor, even political ruin. Okiku took her duties with the utmost care, storing the plates in silk-lined cases, checking daily to ensure they were intact.

The Predator and His Prey

At Himeji Castle, under the watchful gaze of the guard towers and within the shadow of its imposing walls, life seemed deceptively tranquil. Among the staff, Okiku stood out—a young, graceful maid with an exceptionally gentle disposition. Her delicate hands meticulously cared for the Aoyama clan’s most prized possession—ten porcelain plates that embodied their pride and status. Every morning, before the first rays of sunlight graced the castle’s white walls, Okiku would carefully polish the plates, tracing the dragons and waves etched into their surfaces. To her, this ritual was almost sacred—a duty she carried out with reverence but also unease, aware of the immense responsibility it entailed.

However, danger lurked in the castle’s corridors. Aoyama Tessan, an ambitious and ruthless samurai whose family had served the local daimyō for generations, watched Okiku with a mix of desire and disdain. Known for his brutality and ambition, Tessan was consumed by dark cravings. Over time, as Okiku matured from a graceful girl into a beautiful woman, she caught Tessan’s predatory gaze—a predator who, to her misfortune, was also her master and the head of the Aoyama family.

His advances were at best intrusive and at worst aggressive and domineering. Okiku feared him greatly—she knew that Tessan could strip her of everything—her dignity, health, and life—with a single gesture. Yet her heart belonged to another—a young samurai from a modest family who had secretly promised her love and protection. She knew she was trapped.

Wounded Pride

One evening, after Tessan had consumed several bottles of sake, he encountered Okiku quietly making her way through the castle corridors. His advances turned even more aggressive, bordering on outright violence. The encounter escalated. It’s unclear how it might have ended had Tessan not been so drunk. Okiku, taking advantage of her assailant’s inebriation, managed to free herself and fled into the night, terrified and panicked.

The following morning, when Tessan sobered up and realized what had happened, he was furious. He wasn’t about to let the incident go. His pride had been wounded, and his anger boiled over. Objects crashed against the walls of his chambers, and frightened servants fled as far as they could from their master’s wrath. Perhaps, in his initial rage, Tessan would have grabbed his katana and killed Okiku on the spot had he not been held back by reason. Okiku was a favorite of the lady of the house, the daughter of a powerful daimyō into whose family Tessan had married. Besides, how could he explain himself? That he tried to force himself on a maid, only for her to escape because he was drunk? No, Tessan needed to compose himself and find a way to punish Okiku without jeopardizing his position or honor.

The Punishment

Tessan's Plan

Tessan spent the next few days in silence, his anger simmering into something far more sinister. He knew that a direct attack would lead to scandal, so he decided to strike at Okiku’s most vulnerable points—her duty and honor as the trusted servant of the lady of the house. Despite her humble status, Okiku possessed something Tessan could never understand—unwavering loyalty to the castle and the family she served. Her devotion to the porcelain plates bordered on religious. This would be the foundation of his vile plan.

Tessan instructed one of his trusted men to secretly remove one of the ten priceless plates during the night. “Hide it well,” he ordered, handing over a plate adorned with the delicate dragon motif, a symbol of the Aoyama clan’s power. “No one must find it.” Tessan knew that Okiku would never dare approach the lady of the house without first attempting to recover the missing plate herself. This would give him the time he needed to set his next move into motion.

The Lost Plate

As she did every day, early in the morning while the rest of the castle’s residents were still asleep, Okiku began cleaning the priceless plates. When she discovered what had happened, her heart froze. The cold glow of an indifferent winter moonlight fell upon the gleaming surface of the stand where the tenth plate should have been. But there were only nine. Nine plates! Nine!! Panic quickly consumed her heart and mind. She searched the entire zashiki, then another, and yet another. She ventured into storage rooms, the kitchen, and the servants’ quarters. Her trembling hands rummaged through cabinets and chests, ignoring the quiet stares of other servants, who watched her desperation with muted curiosity.

Her eyes were already bloodshot, her face soaked with tears, and her body aching from frantic movements fueled by panic and fear. She knew she could never have lost a plate—they were sacred to her. There was only one explanation: revenge for what had happened a few nights earlier in the castle’s dark corridors… She realized she had no choice but to face Tessan. When she knocked on the door of his zashiki, her heart pounded like a war drum.

Tessan’s Ultimatum

Tessan sat comfortably at a low table, as if waiting. His face, though calm, betrayed a glimmer of satisfaction.

- "Tessan-sama, my lord,” Okiku began softly, kneeling on the tatami and bowing deeply in the dogeza (土下座) position, her forehead touching the mat. Her body trembled, and her voice was almost a whisper. “Please forgive me… One of the precious plates has disappeared. I don’t know how it happened. I swear on everything that I’ve done all I could to find it. It’s my fault. I beg for mercy.” She hoped that if she showed enough remorse, Tessan would take pity on her and quietly return the plate without informing the lady of the house. She thought this was her punishment—a situation where she had to humble herself before the samurai. She was mistaken.

Tessan raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.

-“Lost? A plate?” His voice was quiet but piercing. “This is a serious matter, Okiku. The plates are the symbols of our family. Do you understand what their loss means?”

Okiku nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

-“Yes, my lord. I take full responsibility. Please forgive me.”

Tessan smiled coldly.

-“Forgiveness? It’s not that simple.” He leaned closer, his voice becoming a whisper that sent shivers down her spine. “There is a way to make this right. Strip. And stay kneeling. And every morning, come to me like this. And don’t let me see reluctance, or you’ll regret it! You must crave it, every day. Do this, and… all will be forgotten.”

Okiku felt the ground vanish beneath her. Her body went numb, and her heart stopped. Time froze; all she could hear was the thunderous rush of blood in her ears. Tessan waited for her response. In the fevered chaos of despair and racing thoughts, she saw the face of her beloved.

“I can’t do this…” she replied quietly. Her voice echoed through the room. Tessan stood up abruptly, overturning a cup of sake, its contents spilling across the tatami.

-“You can’t?!” he growled angrily. “Do you understand what you just said? You’ve condemned yourself to death! Foolish, worthless servant!” His voice was now icy, devoid of emotion. Grabbing her by the arm, he dragged the sobbing girl out of the zashiki.

The Tragic Finale

The morning was still early, and the moon cast a pale light on the courtyard. Tessan led Okiku toward the well, its black abyss seeming to swallow all light. “This is your place, Okiku,” he said, shoving her toward the edge. The girl looked down. The water in the well was still, cold, and dark. Her body trembled with fear. “Please… I beg you… my lord…” she whispered, but Tessan was relentless.

-“There is no mercy for you,” he said, louder now, so that his stern words echoed through the castle walls. “You lost a family treasure by neglecting your duties to the noble house that took you in and cared for you. You betrayed the trust of the lady of the house and caused the Aoyama clan great harm through your carelessness. Your place is there—in the depths below. Perish!” He growled, shaking the defenseless, weak, and distraught Okiku as he dragged her back and forth.

In a single moment, everything ended. Tessan pushed her, and a terrible scream tore through the crisp morning air, only to be silenced suddenly as Okiku’s body, hitting the sides of the well, disappeared into the impenetrable darkness. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

The Curse

Tessan had no difficulty explaining the incident. A servant who had deceitfully earned the trust of a noble house had failed—through her negligence, lack of loyalty, and disregard for tradition, she had lost a family heirloom. The punishment for such an offense could only be death. History is full of such silent tales, stories no one ever mentions—Okiku’s story, too, would have been forgotten were it not for the terrible, unrelenting pain, the sense of injustice, and the helplessness that accompanied her death…

It didn’t take long before the castle’s inhabitants began hearing strange sounds emanating from the depths of the well. In the middle of the night, when the castle was shrouded in silence, a woman’s voice could be heard counting porcelain plates: “Ichi-mai… ni-mai… san-mai…” The voice always stopped at “kyū-mai”—nine plates—followed by a heart-wrenching wail. Some claimed to hear footsteps in the corridors; others saw a white figure with long, wet hair wandering the castle walls. No one felt at ease. By day, the residents felt uneasy, as if being watched. At night, the drawn-out sobbing and wailing ensured no one slept well. The castle’s atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive.

Okiku’s curse hung over Himeji Castle like fog on a ghostly night. Tessan, once a confident samurai, had become a shadow of his former self, nervously looking over his shoulder at the slightest sound. Every night, just before dawn, Okiku’s spirit would appear in his zashiki. Just as he wanted—she came every morning. Her long, wet hair concealed her face and trailed on the floor. Her voice, soft as a whispering wind but filled with grief and anger, counted the plates: “Ichi-mai… Ni-mai… San-mai…”—up to nine, and then… Tessan was forced to witness horrific visions, day after day. His emaciated body and hollow eyes were evidence that the spirit was slowly draining his life.

The castle, once a symbol of order and power, descended into chaos. Servants whispered that Okiku’s ghost didn’t limit itself to Tessan. Several swore they saw her pale figure wandering the moonlit courtyard, while others heard her weeping from the well. Tessan, isolated and terrified, withdrew from everyone, but even the walls of his zashiki, guards at the entrance, and countless bottles of sake couldn’t shield him from her vengeance. The castle’s atmosphere became funereal—there weren’t enough hands to work, as many servants left, fearing the curse.

Tessan eventually committed suicide. What his soul experienced after death, when it fell into Okiku’s grasp, remains unknown.

Banshū Sarayashiki – The Legend Itself

The name "Banshū Sarayashiki" (播州皿屋敷) already provides some insight into the story. "Banshū" is the historical name of Harima Province, whose capital was Himeji—a city now best known for its mighty Himeji-jō Castle, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The name Harima dates back to Japan’s administrative divisions during the Nara period (8th century), while "Banshū" is an abbreviation commonly used during the Edo period, often appearing in literature and art.

"Sarayashiki" (皿屋敷) can be translated as "The Mansion of Plates." It directly refers to the central motif of the legend—a set of ten porcelain plates that become the pivot of dramatic events and the cause of tragedy. In Japanese culture, plates were not merely utilitarian objects—in affluent households, they symbolized status, family heritage, and sometimes held almost ritualistic significance.

The story of "Banshū Sarayashiki" unfolds within Himeji Castle, also known as Shirasagi-jō (白鷺城, "The White Egret Castle")—not because of egrets but due to its snow-white, smooth walls resembling the outstretched wings of this bird. The castle has been a strategic stronghold since its construction in 1333, passing through the hands of various clans, including the Ikeda and Aoyama families. It is on these grounds that the Well of Okiku (Okiku Ido, お菊井戸) is located—the site where the unjustly accused servant met her tragic end, according to legend.

The Origins of the Legend

The earliest dramatic adaptations of "Banshū Sarayashiki" appeared in joruri (浄瑠璃), a narrative puppet theater art form. In 1741, Banshū Sarayashiki was performed as a bunraku play in Osaka, authored by Tamenaga Tarobei and Asada Itchō. This play solidified the legend in the cultural consciousness of Edo-period Japan.

The legend quickly spread to other regions of Japan. The Bancho Sarayashiki version moved the setting to Edo (modern-day Tokyo), specifically to the Bancho district near Edo Castle. Meanwhile, in Miyazu, Kyoto Prefecture, the story adopted a local variant tied to the Aoyama clan and the ruins of their castle in the area.

"Banshū Sarayashiki" gained immense popularity during the Edo period (1603–1868), becoming one of the most prominent themes in kabuki and bunraku theater. It was performed repeatedly across the country, attracting audiences fascinated by the tragic character of Okiku—a symbol of a woman unjustly wronged.

In visual art, the tale of Okiku found its reflection in numerous ukiyo-e prints. Masterpieces by artists such as Katsushika Hokusai and Yoshitoshi Tsukioka depicted Okiku as a specter emerging from the well, sometimes surrounded by flickering hitodama (spirit flames). The most famous depiction, Yoshitoshi’s The Ghost of Okiku at the Well (1890), cemented her image as both a tragic and terrifying figure.

By the late 20th and early 21st centuries, "Banshū Sarayashiki" had become one of the cornerstones of Japanese horror, inspiring contemporary creators. Its elements—Okiku’s ghost, the well, and the theme of vengeful yūrei—found their way into numerous horror films, most notably Ringu. The motif of a restless spirit seeking revenge was reimagined as Sadako, a ghost whose curse and deadly influence spread through VHS tapes (a now-obsolete analog video medium preceding DVDs and SSDs).

Okiku’s Scream in The Ring

The silence disrupted by the static buzz of a television screen, flickering images filled with dread, and a dark voice emerging from the depths of a well—Sadako Yamamura, the iconic figure of Ringu (リング), left an indelible mark on modern horror culture.

Like Okiku, Sadako is a victim of injustice. Both were betrayed and abandoned, their deaths the result of cruel intrigues. For Okiku, it was Tessan’s scheme and subsequent murder that birthed a vengeful spirit. Sadako, on the other hand, as a young girl with supernatural powers, was brutally murdered by her stepfather and thrown into a well. Both characters share a connection with water—a symbol of transience, purification, but also chaos—and the well, which serves as the site of their tragedies and later the source of their bloody vengeance.

The creators of Ringu transformed Okiku’s legend, adapting its motifs to modern fears. In our era, Okiku’s curse, originally confined to Himeji Castle, in the film spreads far and becomes far more elusive. Sadako becomes a spirit whose wrathful fury is transmitted through VHS tapes—a medium that symbolized technological progress in the 1990s.

The symbolism of counting also found its place in Ringu. While Okiku counted the missing plates, stopping at nine, Sadako gives her victims seven days to live after watching the cursed tape. These numbers serve a similar purpose—they build tension and underscore the inevitability of tragedy. Like Okiku, Sadako does not forget her suffering, and her curse affects not only her wrongdoers but anyone who dares to enter her world.

The difference between Okiku and Sadako also lies in their motivations. Okiku’s ghost, though terrifying, embodies justice—her vengeance is directed solely at Tessan and his family. Sadako, however, becomes a symbol of unbridled destruction. Her anger is chaotic and indiscriminate, and her victims are random.

The creators of Ringu skillfully utilized the aesthetics of yūrei (幽霊), the traditional Japanese ghosts characterized by long black hair, white garments, and sorrowful yet terrifying expressions, which originated in the Edo period (learn more about this here: The Painting "Ghost of Oyuki" – How One Night Three Centuries Ago Began the Yūrei of Modern Horror). In this sense, Okiku was the archetype of yūrei, whose visual and emotional elements were carried over into Sadako’s character.

The film Ringu reminds us that Japanese horror stories, though they evolve over the centuries, still draw on the same universal emotions—fear, anger, and a sense of injustice.

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"Strong Japanese Women"

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    未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

  Mike Soray

   (aka Michał Sobieraj)

未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

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