The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 3

by Unknown

  “Master, you shouldn’t pity them,” said Pilgrim. “For I fear that they may become great fiends later, and then they will bring much harm to humans.” Our Idiot thus decided to work his rake some more and toppled the pine, cypress, juniper, and bamboo as well. Only after that did they help their master to mount up and all proceeded along the main road to the West once more. We do not know what the future holds for them, and you must listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Fiends set up falsely the Small Thunderclap;

  The four pilgrims all meet a great ordeal.

  This chapter’s karmic import

  Is to persuade man to do good

  And to shun all evil works.

  Even a single thought

  Is known to all the gods,

  Do whatever you will.

  Folly or cleverness, how would you learn?

  No-mind is still the cure for both of these.

  While yet alive, the Way you should cultivate;

  Don’t drift or roam.

  Recognize your source

  And cast your shell.

  To seek long life,

  You must catch it.

  Be ever enlightened;

  Let ghee1 annoint you.

  Pump through Three Passes2 to fill the dark sea

  Will make the virtuous ride the phoenix and crane.

  Then compassion will with mercy unite

  As you reach ecstasy.

  We were telling you about Tripitaka, who was most single-minded in his piety and sincerity. We need not mention how he was protected by the gods above; even such spirits as those of grass and wood also came to keep him company. After one night of elegant conversation on the arts, he was delivered from the thorns and thistles, no longer encumbered by vines or creepers. As he and his three disciples journeyed westward, they traveled for a long time, and it was again the end of winter. This was, in truth, a day of spring:

  All things thrive and flourish

  For the Dipper’s handle returns to yin.3

  Young grasses cover the earth with green,

  And verdant willows line the banks.

  A ridge of peach blossoms red like brocade;

  Half a stream of silky water like green jade.

  How rain and wind persist

  To one’s endless feelings!

  The sun enhances the flowers’ grace;

  The swallows fetch light mossy buds.

  Like Wang Wei painting’s4 the mountain’s dark and light;

  Birds chatter with the sharp tongue of Jizi.5

  No one’s here to joy in such fancy fineries

  Save dancing butterflies and singing bees.

  Master and his disciples proceeded with the slow trotting of the horse, enjoying themselves all the while by searching out the fragrant flowers and treading on the green meadows. As they walked along, they came upon a tall mountain which, from a distance, seemed to touch the sky. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, pointing with his whip, “I wonder how tall that mountain is. It seems that it is actually touching the blue sky, or it may have even punctured the azure heavens!” Pilgrim said, “I remember two lines of an ancient poem that say:

  Only the sky remains high above;

  No mountain can equal its height.

  These two lines are trying to describe the extreme height of one particular mountain, such that no other mountain could be compared with it. But how could a mountain actually touch the sky?”

  “If it did not,” said Eight Rules, “then why did people call Mount Kunlun ‘the pillar of Heaven’?” Pilgrim replied, “Don’t you know the old adage,

  Heaven was not filled in the northwest.

  Now, Mount Kunlun is located in the northwest, at the position of qian, and that’s why it is commonly thought to be a mountain that can hold up the sky by filling the void. Hence the name, Pillar of Heaven.” “Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, laughing, “don’t give him all these nice explanations! When he hears them, he will try to outsmart someone else. Let’s get moving. When we’ve climbed the mountain, then we’ll know how tall it is.”

  Our Idiot tried to lunge at Sha Monk to smack him, and as the two of them tangled while proceeding, the old master urged the horse into a gallop. In a moment, they drew near to the mountain cliff. As they ascended the mountain step by step, what they saw was

  A forest where the wind was howling,

  A brook where the water was gurgling.

  No crow or bird flew over this mountain;

  Even immortals might say, “It’s hard!”

  Ten thousand cliffs and ravines,

  A million twists and turns.

  No man reaching this place of churning dust;

  No end the sight of strange, ghostly rocks.

  Clouds at some spots seemed like shimmering pools;

  Trees every where filled with birds’ raucous calls.

  Deer left, holding agaric;

  Apes returned, bearing peaches.

  Foxes and badgers jumped about the ledge;

  Antelopes played on the mountain peak.

  A sudden roar of the tiger made one cringe

  As striped leopards and grey wolves barred the road.

  The moment that Tripitaka caught sight of this, he was terrified, but Pilgrim Sun displayed his vast magic powers. Look at him with his golden-hooped rod! He gave one shout and all those wolves, tigers, and leopards scattered. Opening up a path, he led his master straight up the tall mountain. After they passed the summit, they descended westward until they reached a plateau, where they suddenly came upon rays of divine light and strands of colored mists. There was in the distance a magnificent building, from which the faint, harmonious sounds of bells and sonorous stones could be heard. “Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “take a look and see what kind of place that is.” Shading his eyes with his hand, Pilgrim lifted his head to stare at the building. It was a good place indeed! Truly

  A bejewelled edifice,

  A noble monastery.

  An empty valley that augments the music of earth;

  A quiet place that diffuses nature’s fragrance,

  Verdant pines, rain-soaked, shroud the tall towers;

  Green bamboos, cloud-wrapped, guard the lecture hall.

  Lights radiate from this distinctive dragon palace;

  Colors flutter around this Buddhist domain.

  Scarlet rails and jade portals;

  Painted pillars and carved beams.

  Sūtras explained, incense fills the seats.

  Mysteries exposed, the moon lights up the screens.

  Birds sing within the scarlet trees;

  Cranes drink at the pebbled brook.

  Flowers bloom every where in this Jetavana park;

  On three sides Śrāvastī light spills through open doors.

  Doors of rugged buildings face the mountain range.

  Hollow bells and stones strike languidly and long.

  The opened windows in a gentle breeze,

  The rolled up screen in curls of smoke.

  With monks here the life’s ascetic,

  A peace not marred by things profane.

  Truly a place divine which the world can’t touch:

  A quiet monastery, a good field of rites.

  After Pilgrim had looked over the place, he turned to Tripitaka, saying, “Master, that is a monastery over there. I don’t know why, however, within the aura of Chan and the auspicious lights there seems to be an air of violence as well. When I look at this scenery, it reminds me greatly of Thunderclap, but the road just does not seem right. When we reach the building, don’t walk in immediately, for I fear that some sinister hand may bring us harm.”

  “If this place reminds you of Thunderclap,” said the Tang Monk, “could it be verily the Spirit Mountain? You’d better not slight my sincerity and delay the very purpose of my journey.” “No! No!” said Pilgrim. “I have traveled on the way to the Spirit Mountain several times before. How could it be this one?” “Eve
n if it is not,” said Eight Rules, “there must be a good person staying here.” Sha Monk said, “We don’t have to be so suspicious. This road has to take us right past that door. Whether it is Thunderclap or not, one look will tell us.” “What Wujing says,” said Pilgrim, “is quite reasonable.”

  Urging his horse with the whip, the elder soon arrived before the monastery gate, on top of which he saw the three words, The Thunderclap Monastery. He was so astonished that he rolled off the horse and fell to the ground. “You wretched ape!” he scolded. “You’ve just about killed me! It is The Thunderclap Monastery, and you still want to deceive me!” Attempting to placate him with a smile, Pilgrim said, “Don’t get upset, Master. Take another look. There are four words on the gate of the monastery, and you have only seen three of them. And you still blame me?” Trembling all over, the elder scrambled up and took another look. There were indeed these four words: The Small Thunderclap Monastery.

  “If it’s only The Small Thunderclap Monastery,” said Tripitaka, “there must be a Buddhist patriarch inside. The sūtras mentioned some three thousand Buddhas, but I suppose they can’t be all in one place. Guanyin, after all, is in South Sea, Viśvabhadra is located at Mount Emei, and Mañjuśrī lives on the Mountain of Five Platforms. I wonder which Buddhist patriarch presides over this field of rites. The ancients said,

  With Buddhas there are scriptures;

  Without temples there are no treasures.

  We should go inside.”

  “You shouldn’t,” said Pilgrim. “This place portends more evil than good. If you run into calamity, don’t blame me.” “Even if there’s no Buddha,” said Tripitaka, “there must be his image. This disciple has made avow that I shall bow to Buddha whenever I encounter him. How could I blame you?” Whereupon he ordered Eight Rules to take out his cassock. After he changed into his clerical cap and tidied his clothing, Tripitaka strode forward.

  As they walked inside the monastery gate, they heard a loud voice saying, “Tang Monk, you came all the way from the Land of the East to seek an audience with our Buddha. How dare you be so insolent now?” On hearing this, Tripitaka at once prostrated himself; Eight Rules, too, kowtowed as Sha Monk went to his knees. Only the Great Sage, however, led the horse and remained behind, picking up the luggage. When they went inside the second door, they came upon the great hall of Tathāgata. Outside the great hall door and beneath the treasure throne stood in rows the five hundred arhats, the three thousand guardians of the faith, the Four Great Diamond Kings, the mendicant nuns, and the upāsakas, along with countless sage monks and workers. Truly, there were also glamorous fragrant flowers and auspicious rays in abundance. The elder, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk were so overcome that they touched their heads to the ground with each step they took, inching their way toward the spirit platform. Only Pilgrim remained boldly erect.

  Then they heard another loud voice coming from the top of the lotus throne, saying, “You, Sun Wukong! How dare you not bow down before Tathāgata?” Little did anyone expect that Pilgrim would look up and carefully scrutinize the one who spoke. When he recognized that it was a specious Buddha, he at once abandoned the horse and the luggage. Gripping the rod in his hands, he shouted, “You bunch of accursed beasts! You are audacious! How dare you take in vain the Buddha’s name and soil the pure virtue of Tathāgata! Don’t run away!” Wielding the rod with both his hands, he attacked at once.

  With a loud clang a pair of golden cymbals dropped from midair; falling on Pilgrim, they had him enclosed completely from head to foot. Zhu Eight Rules and Sha Monk were so aghast that they reached for their rake and staff, but they were overwhelmed at once by those arhats, guardians, sage monks, and workers who surged forward to surround the three pilgrims. Tripitaka, too, was thus caught, and all three of them were then firmly bound by ropes.

  The one who appeared as the Buddhist patriarch sitting on the lotus throne, you see, was actually a monster-king, and those arhats were all little fiends. After they put away their Buddha appearances, they revealed again their fiendish forms and hauled the elder and his two disciples to the rear so that they could be locked up. Pilgrim was to remain sealed in the golden cymbals and never to be released. With the cymbals placed on the jewelled platform, he was expected to be reduced to pus and blood in the period of three days and nights. Thereafter the other pilgrims were to be steamed in an iron cage and eaten. Truly

  Green-eyed Monkey knew the false from the real.

  Chan Mind bowed low on gold form’s appeal.

  Yellow Dame paid homage like a blind mule,

  And Wood Mother conversed, too, like a fool.

  A fiend, growing strong, oppressed one’s true self—

  The natural man duped by a wicked elf.

  Dao had little but the demon, big gain.

  A wrong turn to Side Door,6 their work was vain!

  At the time, the various fiends shut up the Tang Monk and his two disciples in the rear, and there they tied the horse also. After they placed his cassock and his clerical cap inside the luggage wrap, they hid these also in a guarded place. We shall leave them for the moment.

  We tell you now about that Pilgrim, who had been enclosed within the golden cymbals. It was pitch black inside, and he became so exasperated that he perspired all over. He tried pushing left and shoving right, but he could not get out. Then he struck madly at the cymbals with his iron rod, but he could not dent them even one whit. With no further alternative, he wanted to break the cymbals by sheer brute force. Making a magic sign with his fingers, he at once grew to thousands of feet tall, but the cymbals also grew with him. There was not even the slightest crack to let in a ray of light. He made the magic sign again and at once his body diminished in size until he became as small as a mustard seed. The cymbals grew smaller, too, with his body, so that there was not the tiniest hole. Gripping the iron rod, Pilgrim blew on it a divine breath, crying, “Change!” It changed into a flagpole, which he used to hold up the cymbals. Then he selected two of his longer hairs behind his head and pulled them off, crying, “Change!” They changed immediately into a plum-flower-like, five-pointed drill; along the base of the rod, he drilled away for over a thousand times. There were loud scraping noises from the drill, but he could not puncture the cymbals at all.

  In sheer desperation, Pilgrim made the magic sign again and recited the spell:

  Let Oṁ and Ram purify the dharma realm.

  Key: Primary Reception Beneficial for Determination.7

  With this he summoned the Guardian of Five Quarters, the Six Gods of Light and the Six Gods of Darkness, and the Eighteen Guardians of Monasteries, who gathered outside the golden cymbals, saying, “Great Sage, we were all giving protection to your master so that the demons could not harm him. Why did you summon us?”

  “That master of mine,” said Pilgrim, “refused to listen to me! It’s no big loss even if he were put to death! But what I want you to do is think of some way quickly to pry open these cymbals and let me out. Then we can take care of other matters. Right now, there’s not a bit of light inside, and I’m so hot that I’m about to suffocate.” The various deities indeed tried to pry open the cymbals, but they were so tightly closed up that they seemed to have grown together. The gods could not even budge them. “Great Sage,” said the Golden-Headed Guardian, “we don’t know what sort of treasure this pair of cymbals is, but from top to bottom, they have become one whole piece now. Your humble deities are too weak to pry them loose.” “I don’t know how much magic power I’ve used inside,” said Pilgrim, “but I can’t budge them either.”

  On hearing this, the Guardian told the Six Gods of Light to protect the Tang Monk and the Six Gods of Darkness to watch over the golden cymbals. As the various other Guardians of Monasteries took up positions of patrol front and back, he mounted the auspicious luminosity and, in a moment, went straight through the South Heaven Gate. Without waiting for further summons, he went up to the Hall of Divine Mists and prostrated himself before the Jade Emperor. “My lord
,” he said, “your subject is the Guardian of Five Quarters. I commend to you the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, who is accompanying the Tang Monk to acquire scriptures. Passing through a mountain, they came upon The Small Thunderclap Monastery. By mistake the Tang Monk thought it was the Spirit Mountain and he entered the monastery to worship. It was actually an edifice set up by a fiendish monster to ensnare the master and his disciples. At this moment, the Great Sage is imprisoned within a pair of golden cymbals, from which he cannot be extracted at all. He is about to die, and that’s why I’ve come here especially to memorialize to you.” The Jade Emperor at once gave this decree: “Let the Twenty-Eight Constellations go quickly to subdue the fiends and bring deliverance to the pilgrims.”

  Not daring to linger, the Constellations followed the Guardian to leave the Heaven gate and arrived inside the monastery. It was about the time of the second watch at night; those monster-spirits, both great and small, having been rewarded by the old fiend for capturing the Tang Monk, had all gone to sleep. Without disturbing them, the Constellations gathered outside the cymbals and reported: “Great Sage, we are the Twenty-Eight Constellations sent here by the Jade Emperor to rescue you.”

  Exceedingly pleased by what he heard, Pilgrim said immediately, “Use your weapons and break the thing. Old Monkey will be out at once.” “We dare not do so,” replied the stars. “This thing is of metallic substance. If we strike at it, there’ll be noises and the demon will be awakened. Then it’ll be hard for us to rescue you. Let us use our weapons instead and see if we can puncture it. Wherever you detect even the faintest speck of light, you’ll be able to escape.” “Exactly,” said Pilgrim.