The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 3

by Unknown

  “Your affair today,” said the Preceptor of State-King, “indeed concerns the prosperity of our Buddhist religion, and I should go with you in person. But this is early summer, a time when the River Huai threatens to overflow. It was only recently that I brought to submission the Great Sage Water Ape.7 That fellow, however, tends to grow restless whenever he comes into contact with water. I fear that my departure from this place will lure him into mischief, and there’s no other god who can bring him under control. Let me ask my young disciple and four other warriors under his command to go with you. They’ll assist you in capturing this demon.” Pilgrim gave thanks before mounting the clouds with Prince Little Zhang and the four warriors to return to the Little Thunderclap Monastery.

  Prince Little Zhang used a mulberry-white lance while the four warriors all wielded red-steel swords. When they went forward with the Great Sage Sun to provoke battle, the little fiends again went inside to report. Leading the rest of the monsters, the fiendish king came roaring out and cried, “Monkey! What other persons have you brought here this time?” Ordering the four warriors forward, Prince Little Zhang shouted, “You lawless monster-spirit! You have no flesh on your face and no pupils in your eyes, and that’s why you can’t recognize us.”

  “Where are you from, little warrior,” said the fiendish king, “that you dare come here to give him assistance?” “I’m the disciple of the Preceptor of State-King Bodhisattva,” replied the prince, “the Great Sage of Sizhou. These are the four divine warriors under my command, who have been ordered here to arrest you.”

  With a laugh, the fiendish king said, “What sort of martial prowess does a little boy like you possess that you dare to be so insulting?” “If you want to know about my martial prowess,” said the prince, “listen to my recital:

  The state, Flowing Sand, was my ancestral home.

  My father was Flowing Sand Kingdom’s king.

  Illness plagued me at the time of youth,

  A victim of a baleful natal star.

  For long life I sought a teacher far away;

  I was lucky to meet him and be giv’n a cure.

  Half a pellet and my ailments dispelled,

  I left my princeship to follow his way

  And acquired the art of ne’er growing old.

  My features are those of eternal youth!

  I have attended Buddha’s Birthday Feast.

  I have trod the clouds to reach his great hall.

  I’ve caught a water fiend with the wind and fog;

  I’ve tamed tigers and dragons on the mount.

  The grateful race built me a pagoda tall,

  And śarī light illumed the deep, calm sea.

  My mulberry lance is quick to bind a fiend;

  My cleric sleeve can a monster subdue.

  In Bincheng now a peaceful life I lead;

  The earth resounds with fame of Little Zhang.”

  When the fiendish king heard what was said, he smiled scornfully, saying, “Prince, what method of longevity did you manage to cultivate, when you left your own country and followed that Preceptor of State-King Bodhisattva? Good enough, I suppose, to capture a water fiend of the River Huai! How could you allow those false and specious words of Pilgrim Sun to goad you across a thousand hills and ten thousand waters and into surrendering your life here? You think you still have long life without growing old when you look me up!”

  Enraged by what he heard, Little Zhang picked up the lance and stabbed at his opponent’s face, while the four great warriors also joined in the attack at once. The Great Sage Sun, too, struck with his iron rod. Dear monster-spirit! Not the least daunted, he wielded his short, pliant, wolf-teeth club and parried the blows left and right, charging forward and sideways. This was another fierce battle!

  The youthful prince,

  His mulberry-white lance,

  And four even stronger red-steel swords.

  Wukong, too, used his golden-hooped rod

  To encircle together the fiendish king,

  Who, in truth, possessed vast magic powers.

  Not daunted at all, he charged left and right.

  The wolf-teeth club being a Buddhist prize

  Could not be harmed by blows of spear and sword.

  You could only hear the howl of violent gale;

  You could only see the dark, baleful air.

  That one in worldly lust would show his ability;

  That one steadfastly sought Buddha for the holy writ.

  They dashed about a few times;

  They battled now and again.

  Belched out cloud and fog

  Concealed the Three Lights.8

  Their anger and wrath would do each other ill.

  All for the Three Vehicles’9 perfect law

  A hundred arts engaged in bitter strife.

  The multitude fought for a long time but no decision could be reached. Once more the monster-spirit untied his wrap, and again Pilgrim cried out, “Be careful, all of you!” The prince and the rest of the warriors, however, did not comprehend what Pilgrim meant by “be careful”! With a loud whoosh, the fiend also wrapped up the prince and the four great warriors. Only the prescience of Pilgrim enabled him to escape. Returning in triumph to the monastery, the fiendish king again had his prisoners bound with ropes and sent to be locked up in the underground cellar, where we shall leave them for the moment.

  Mounting his cloud somersault, our Pilgrim rose to midair, and he lowered his auspicous luminosity only after he saw the fiend had withdrawn his troops and shut the gates. As he stood on the west mountain slope, he wept dejectedly, saying, “Oh, Master!

  Since I entered by faith the grove of Chan,

  When from my ordeal Guanyin set me free,

  I squired you westward to seek the great Way,

  And, by mutual help, hoped Thunderclap to see.

  We thought our twisted path would smooth out at last,

  Not knowing such fiendish seige there would be.

  A thousand plans seem hard to have you saved.

  Vain efforts east and west had stalked my plea.”

  As the Great Sage was thus grieving, he suddenly saw toward the southwest a colored cloud descending to earth as torrential rain fell on the mountain. “Wukong,” someone called out, “do you recognize me?” Running forward to have a look, Pilgrim came upon a person with

  Huge ears, jutting jaw, and a squarelike face;

  Broad shoulders, large belly, and stoutish grace.

  His complexion was filled with joys of spring;

  Two autumnal pools were his eyes sparkling.

  His wide sleeves flapped and fluttered with good luck;

  In smart straw sandals he looked full of pluck.

  The first among the blissful ones of worth,

  All hail to Matireya, the monk of mirth!

  On seeing him, Pilgrim quickly kowtowed, saying, “Buddhist Patriarch coming from the East, where are you going? Your disciple has improperly barred your way! I’m guilty of ten thousand crimes!”

  “I came,” replied the Buddhist patriarch, “especially on account of the fiend in the Little Thunderclap.” “I’m grateful for the profound grace and virtue of the holy father,” said Pilgrim. “May I ask from what region did that fiend originate? What sort of treasure is that wrap of his? I beg the holy father to reveal it to me.”

  The patriarch said, “He happens to be a yellow-browed youth in charge of striking the sonorous stone before me. On the third day of the third month, I went to attend a festival of Original Commencement and left him to guard my palace. He stole several treasures of mine and, disguising himself as Buddha, became a spirit. That wrap is my fertility bag, its common name being ‘The Bag of Human Seed.’ That wolf-teeth club is the mallet for striking the sonorous stone.”

  On hearing this, Pilgrim raised his voice to a shout: “Dear laughing monk! You let this boy escape to give himself the false name of Buddhist patriarch and to ensnare old Monkey. Aren’t you guilty of negligence in domestic go
vernance?” “It is my negligence in the first place,” said Maitreya, “but it is also because you and your master have yet to pass through all your mara hindrances. That is why a hundred deities must descend to earth to inflict upon you your fated ordeals. I’ve come now to bring this fiend to submission for you.” “But the monster-spirit,” said Pilgrim, “has vast magic powers. You don’t even have a weapon. How could you bring him to submission?”

  Laughing, Maitreya said, “I’ll set up below this mountain slope a grass hut and a huge melon field. You go to provoke battle, but you are not permitted to win when you fight with him. Lure him to my melon field. All my melons, however, will be raw, but you yourself will change into a large, ripe melon. When he arrives, he will certainly want to eat some melon, and I’ll present you for him to eat. When he swallows you into his stomach, you may do whatever you please with him. By then, I should be able to retrieve that wrap from him and take him back inside it.”

  “Although this is a marvelous plan,” said Pilgrim, “I wonder how you would be able to recognize the ripe melon that will be my transformation. Moreover, how would he be willing to follow me here?” Laughing again, Maitreya replied, “I’m the Worthy who governs the world. How could my percipient eyes of wisdom not recognize you? You may change into whatever you like and I’ll recognize you. But fearing that the fiend might not want to pursue you, I’ll teach you some magic.”

  “What he most certainly wants to do,” said Pilgrim, “is to catch me with that wrap of his. He won’t chase me here! What sort of magic do you have that will make him come here?” Smiling, Maitreya said, “Stretch forth your hand.”

  Pilgrim stretched out his left palm; dipping his right index finger into his mouth, Maitreya wrote on his palm the word, restrain, with the divine saliva. Pilgrim was told to hold his left hand in a fist and open it only toward the face of the monster-spirit. Then the monster-spirit would certainly follow him.

  Holding fast his fist and obeying amiably these instructions, Pilgrim wielded his iron rod with a single hand and went before the monastery gate. “Fiendish demon,” he cried, “your Holy Father Sun’s here again! Come out quickly so that we may decide who’s the stronger!”

  Those little fiends again dashed inside to make the report. “How many warriors has he brought with him this time?” asked the fiendish king. “There are no other warriors,” replied one of the little fiends. “He’s the only one.” “That little monkey has used up all his plans and exhausted his strength,” said the fiendish king, laughing. “He has nowhere to go to ask for help, and he has just come to give up his life for sure.”

  After he had put on his armor properly, the fiend took his treasure and held up his light and soft wolf-teeth club to walk out of the door. “Sun Wukong,” he cried, “you can’t struggle anymore this time!” “Brazen fiend!” scolded Pilgrim. “What do you mean that I can’t struggle anymore?” “I see that you have used up all your plans and exhausted your strength,” said the fiendish king. “You have nowhere to go for help, and you’ve forced yourself here to do battle. There won’t be any divine warriors to assist you this time, and that’s why I say you can’t struggle anymore.”

  Pilgrim said, “This fiend doesn’t know what’s good for him! Stop bragging! Have a taste of my rod!” When the fiendish king saw that he was wielding the rod with only one hand, he could not refrain from laughing. “This little ape!” he said. “Look how mischievous he is! Why are you fooling around with only one hand?” “My son,” said Pilgrim, “you can’t stand up to the attack of both my hands! If you don’t use your wrap, even if there are three or five of you, you won’t be able to overcome this one hand of old Monkey.”

  On hearing this, the fiendish king said, “All right, all right! I won’t use my treasure. I’ll fight in earnest with you this time, and we’ll see who’s the stronger.” Thereupon he raised his wolf-teeth club to rush into battle. Aiming directly at his face, Pilgrim let loose his fist before gripping the iron rod with both his hands. The monster-spirit was immediately bound by the spell; with no thought at all for retreat or for using the wrap, he only had in mind using the club to attack his opponent. After delivering a weak blow with his rod, Pilgrim immediately retreated, and the monster-spirit chased him all the way to the west mountain slope.

  When Pilgrim saw the melon field, he rolled right into it and changed at once into a huge melon, both ripe and sweet. The monster-spirit stood still and glanced everywhere, but he did not know where Pilgrim had gone to. When he ran up to the grass hut, he cried, “Who’s the planter of these melons?” Having changed himself into a melon farmer, Maitreya walked out of the hut, saying, “Great King, I’m the one who has planted them.” “You have any ripe ones?” asked the fiendish king. “Yes,” replied Maitreya. “Pick a ripe one for me to relieve my thirst,” cried the fiendish king.

  Maitreya at once presented with both hands the melon into which Pilgrim had changed himself. Without even examining it, the fiendish king took it and began to bite at it. Using this opportunity, Pilgrim somersaulted at once down his throat, and without waiting for another moment, he began to flex his limbs. He grabbed the intestines and bent the stomach; he did handstands, cartwheels, and whatever he felt like doing at the time. The pain was so intense that the monster-spirit clenched his teeth and opened wide his mouth as big drops of tears welled up in his eyes. He rolled so hard on the ground that the patch of melon field was completely flattened like a plot of land for pounding grain. “Finished! Finished!” he could only mutter. “Who will save me?”

  Changing into his original form, Maitreya giggled loudly and said, “Cursed beast! You recognize me?” When the fiend raised his head and saw the figure before him, he went hurriedly to his knees. Hugging his stomach with both hands and pounding his head on the ground, he cried, “My lord! Please spare my life! Please spare my life! I’ll never dare do this again!” Maitreya strode forward and grabbed the fiend. After he had untied the bag of fertility and taken away the mallet for striking the sonorous stone, he cried, “Sun Wukong, for my sake, please spare him.” Pilgrim, however, was so bitter that he started punching and kicking left and right, madly pounding and scratching inside. Unable to bear the terrible pain, the fiend slumped to the ground.

  “Wukong,” cried Maitreya again, “he has had enough! Spare him!” Only then did Pilgrim cry, “Open wide your mouth, and let old Monkey come out.” Though that fiend had been racked by sharp pains in his stomach, his heart had not yet been hurt. As the proverb says,

  Before the heart breaks a person can’t die;

  Flowers fade and leaves drop when roots are dry.

  When he heard that he should open wide his mouth, he did so at once, trying desperately to endure the pain. Pilgrim leaped out, and, as he changed back into his original form, he wanted immediately to strike with his rod. The monster-spirit, however, had already been stuffed into the wrap by the Buddhist patriarch and fastened to his waist. Picking up the sonorous stone mallet, the patriarch said, “Cursed beast! Where are the stolen cymbals?”

  Having only concern for his life, the fiend in the bag of fertility moaned, “The gold cymbals were smashed by Sun Wukong.” “If they have been smashed,” said the Buddhist patriarch, “return my gold.” The fiend said, “The gold fragments are piled on the lotus throne in the hall.”

  Holding the bag and the mallet, the Buddhist patriarch said, giggling, “Wukong, I’ll go look for my gold with you.” When Pilgrim saw this kind of dharma power, he did not dare tarry another moment. He had no other alternative, in fact, than to lead the Buddha up the mountain to return to the monastery, where they found the gates tightly shut. The Buddhist patriarch pointed his mallet at them and at once the gates flew open. When they went inside, all the little fiends were just in the process of packing and fleeing, having learned already that the old fiend had been captured. When Pilgrim ran into them, he struck them down one by one, until some seven hundred of them were slain. As they revealed their original forms, they were all spi
rits of mountains and trees, the monsters of beasts and fowl. After the Buddhist patriarch had gathered the gold fragments together, he blew at them a mouthful of divine breath and recited a spell. Immediately they changed back into their original form of a pair of gold cymbals. He then took leave of Pilgrim and mounted the auspicious clouds to return to the world of ultimate bliss.

  Thereafter our Great Sage untied the Tang Monk, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk from the rafters. Having been hung for several days, our Idiot was so hungry that he did not even bother to thank the Great Sage. His torso bent low, he dashed into the kitchen to try to find rice to eat. The fiend, you see, was just preparing lunch, but he was interrupted when Pilgrim came to provoke battle. When Idiot saw the rice, he ate half a pot first before taking two large bowls to his master and brother. Then they thanked Pilgrim and asked about the defeat of the fiend. Pilgrim gave a thorough account of how he went first to solicit the help of the Taoist patriarch and his two warriors, turtle and serpent, how he went next to see the Great Sage and the prince, and finally how Maitreya brought the fiend to submission. When Tripitaka heard this, he could not make an end of his thanksgiving for all the devas. “Disciple,” he said afterwards, “where are these gods and sages imprisoned?” “The Day Sentinel told me yesterday that they had all been sent to an underground cellar,” replied Pilgrim. “Eight Rules, you and I must go and free them.”