The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 3

by Unknown

  “Bodhisattva,” cried Pilgrim, exceedingly pleased, “it’s marvelous! Just marvelous! Let’s find the needle! Let’s find the needle!” “Isn’t this it?” asked Pralambā as she held out her palm. Pilgrim dropped down from the clouds with her and walked inside the Abbey, where they found that Daoist sitting there with tightly shut eyes and unable to move. “You brazen fiend!” scolded Pilgrim. “You’re pretending to be blind!” He whipped out the rod from his ear and wanted to strike, but Pralambā tugged at him, saying, “Don’t hit him, Great Sage. Let’s go see your master first.”

  Pilgrim went directly back to the guest chambers, where the three pilgrims were still lying on the ground and foaming at their mouths. “What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” cried Pilgrim, shedding tears.

  “Please don’t grieve, Great Sage,” said Pralambā. “Since I came out the door today, I might as well accumulate some secret merit. I’m going to give you three tablets which will serve as an antidote to the poison.” As Pilgrim bowed quickly to receive them, the Bodhisattva took out from her sleeve a small, punctured paper wrap. Inside were three red pills that she handed over to Pilgrim, telling him to put one in each of the pilgrim’s mouths. Prying open their teeth, Pilgrim stuffed the pills into their mouths; in a little while, as the medicine reached their stomachs, they began to retch. After the poisonous substance had been thrown up, they regained consciousness. Our Eight Rules was the first to scramble up, crying, “This nausea’s killing me!” Tripitaka and Sha Monk also woke up, both crying, “I’m so dizzy!” “You’ve all been poisoned by the tea,” said Pilgrim, “and you should now thank the Bodhisattva Pralambā for rescuing you.” Tripitaka arose and tidied his clothes to thank her.

  Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, where is that Daoist? Let me question him why he wants to harm us in this manner.” Pilgrim at once gave a thorough account of what the spider spirits had done. More and more incensed, Eight Rules said, “If this fellow has formed a fraternal alliance with spider spirits, he, too, must be a monster-spirit.” “There he is now,” said Pilgrim, pointing with his finger, “standing outside the Abbey and pretending to be blind.” Eight Rules took up his rake and tried to rush out, but he was stopped by Pralambā, who said to him, “Heavenly Reeds, please calm yourself. The Great Sage knows that there’s no other person at my cave. I would like to take the Daoist back and make him guard my door.”

  Pilgrim said, “We are all indebted to your great kindness. How could we not comply? But please make him change back into his original form for us to see.” “That’s easy,” replied Pralambā, who went forward and pointed at the Daoist. Immediately, he fell to the dust and appeared in his true form: a huge centipede some seven feet long. Lifting him up with her small finger, Pralambā at once mounted the auspicious clouds to head for the Thousand Flowers Cave. Raising his head to stare after her, Eight Rules said, “This Mama is quite formidable! How could she overpower such a vicious creature just like that?” Smiling, Pilgrim said, “I asked her whether she needed any weapon to break up the golden beams, and she told me that she had a tiny embroidery needle, a product cultivated in the eyes of her son. When I asked for his identity, she said that it was Star Lord Orionis. Now, the Star Lord is a rooster; so this Mama, I suppose, must be a hen. Chickens are the deadliest foes of centipedes, and that’s why she could bring him to submission.”

  On hearing this, Tripitaka kowtowed some more before saying, “Disciples, let’s pack up and leave.” Sha Monk found some rice and grain inside, with which he prepared a meal. After master and disciples ate their fill, they led the horse and poled the luggage out. Once his master walked out the door, Pilgrim started a fire in the kitchen, which reduced the entire Abbey to ashes in no time at all. Truly

  Thanks to Pralambā, the Tang Monk came to life;

  Enlightened nature destroyed the Many-Eyed Fiend.

  We do not know what will happen to them as they proceed; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Long Life reports how vicious the demons are;

  Pilgrim displays his transformation power.

  Desires and feelings come from the same cause;

  It’s natural to have feelings and desires.

  For all ascetics in the Gate of Sand,

  Chan is desires gone and feelings severed.

  You must take care

  To persevere,

  Like the bright moon, spotless, high in the sky.

  Make no mistake as work and merit advance;

  Perfection yields a great enlightened god.1

  We were telling you about Tripitaka and his disciples, who broke through the web of desires and leaped clear of the stronghold of passions. Urging the horse, they journeyed to the West, and soon it was the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, when the fresh cool permeated their bodies. You see

  The rains the waning heat assail

  As one Paulownia leaf turns pale.

  Fireflies dot the sedged path at night;

  Crickets chirp in the moon’s bright light.

  The mallows unfurl in the dew;

  Red smartweeds the sandbars endue.

  Rushes are first to decline

  When cicadas sadly repine.

  As they walked along, Tripitaka suddenly saw a tall mountain whose summit pierced the green void, truly touching the stars and blocking the sun. Alarmed, the elder called out to Wukong, “Look at the mountain ahead of us! It’s so tall, I wonder if there’s a road to take us through it.” “What are you talking about, Master?” asked Pilgrim, chuckling. “As the proverb says,

  The tall mountains will have their passageways;

  The deep waters will have their ferry boats.

  How could there be no road to take us through! You may proceed without worry.” On hearing this, the elder smiled in delight and urged his horse to go straight up the tall ridge.

  They had not traveled more than a few miles when they came upon an old man with flowing white hair all tousled and sparse whiskers like swaying silver threads. He had a string of beads around his neck and held a dragon-headed staff. Standing far up the mountain slope, he cried out in a loud voice, “The elder going to the West, you must stop your horse and pull back the reins. There is a group of fiendish demons in this mountain who have devoured all the mortals in the world. You can’t proceed!”

  On hearing these words, Tripitaka paled with fright. The road was already none too level, and the announcement made him even more insecure on the saddle, so much so that he fell down at once from the horse with a thud and lay moaning in the grass, hardly able to move. Pilgrim went over to raise him up, saying, “Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! I’m here.” “Just listen to that old man on the tall cliff,” said the elder. “He said that there is a group of fiendish demons in this mountain who have devoured all the mortals of the world. Who is courageous enough to go question him and learn the truth of the matter?”

  “You sit on the ground first,” said Pilgrim, “and let me go question him.” Tripitaka said, “But your looks are hideous and your words, vulgar. If you offend him, I fear that you’ll not be able to get to the truth.” Laughing, Pilgrim said, “I’ll change into someone more attractive to go question him.” “You change first for me to see,” said Tripitaka.

  Dear Great Sage! Making the magic sign with his fingers, he shook his body and changed at once into a neat young priest, truly with

  Lovely eyes and clear brow,

  A round head and a square face.

  When he moved, he acted like a gentleman;

  When he spoke, he used no vulgar language.

  Shaking loose his silk shirt, he ran up to the Tang Monk and said, “Master, is this a good transformation?” “It is, indeed!” said Tripitaka, exceedingly pleased. “How could it not be!” remarked Eight Rules. “But he has put all of us down! Even if old Hog rolled around for two, three years, he couldn’t change into someone this attractive!”

  Dear Great Sage! Slipping away from th
em, he walked right up to the old man and bowed, saying, “Dear Gonggong, this humble cleric salutes you.” When the old man saw how young the priest was, though most attractive in looks, he hesitated a little before returning his salute halfheartedly. Patting the head of Pilgrim with his hand, the old man giggled and said, “Little priest, where did you come from?” “We came from the Great Tang in the Land of the East,” replied Pilgrim, “on our way specially to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures from Buddha. When we arrived here, we heard your announcement about the fiends. My master was quite frightened, and he asked me to come question you to learn exactly who these monster-spirits are who dare cut short our way. May I trouble you to tell me in detail, so that I can send them into exile.”

  With a laugh, the old man said, “You are so young a priest that you don’t know any better. That’s why you mouth these inappropriate words. The magic powers of those demons are enormous. How dare you say that you would send them into exile?” “The way you put the matter,” said Pilgrim, laughing also, “seems to indicate that you feel rather protective toward them. You must be a relative of theirs, or at least an intimate neighbor. Otherwise, why would you exalt their intelligence, magnify their virtues, and refuse to disclose thoroughly their background?” Nodding his head, the old man smiled and said, “You are a priest who knows how to wag your tongue! You must have followed your master as a mendicant into the world and picked up a little magic here and there. You can summon a ghost or bind a spirit, I suppose, and exorcise a few houses for someone. But you haven’t run into those truly vicious fiends!”

  “How vicious?” asked Pilgrim. The old man said, “One letter of those monster-spirits to the Spirit Mountain, and all five hundred of those arhats will come to meet them. One tiny card sent to the Celestial Palace, and each of the Eleven Great Luminaries will honor it. The dragons of the Four Oceans have been their friends, and the immortals of the Eight Caves have met with them frequently. The Ten Kings of Hell address them as brothers, and all the deities of major shrines and cities regard them as friends.”

  When he heard this, the Great Sage could not restrain his loud guffaws. Tugging at the old man with his hand, he said, “Stop talking! Stop talking! If those monster-spirits were the servants and houseboys, the brothers and friends of mine, then what they are about to do would not be so significant. Let me tell you this: when they see this young priest coming, they’ll move to someplace else this very night. They won’t even wait for the morning!”

  “Little priest, you’re babbling!” said the old man. “That’s blasphemy! Which gods or sages are your servants and houseboys?” Laughing, Pilgrim said, “To tell you the truth, the ancestral home of this young priest used to be the Water-Curtain Cave of the Flower-Fruit Mountain, located in the Aolai Country. My surname is Sun, and my name is Wukong. Some years ago, I was also a monster-spirit who performed great deeds. During a party with some other demons, I drank a few cups of wine too many and fell asleep. In my dream two men took me to the Region of Darkness with a summons, and I was so riled that I used my golden-hooped rod to beat up the spirit judge and terrify King Yama. I almost overturned, in fact, the entire Hall of Darkness. Those presiding judges were so frightened that they brought out papers, on which the Ten Kings of Hell affixed their signatures, declaring that if I spared them a beating, they would serve me as my servants and houseboys.”

  “Amitābha!” cried the old man, on hearing this. “This monk has told such a tall tale that he will never grow any taller!” “Sir,” replied Pilgrim, “I’m tall enough now!” “How old are you?” asked the old man. “Give it a guess,” said Pilgrim. The old man said, “Seven or eight perhaps.” With a chuckle, Pilgrim said, “I am about ten thousand times seven or eight years old! Let me bring out my old features for you to see. But you must not be offended.” “How could you have some other features?” said the old man. “This young priest,” said Pilgrim, “has in truth seventy-two features.”

  As that old man was somewhat dim-witted, he kept urging the Great Sage, who gave his own face a wipe and changed back into his original form. With protruding fangs and a gaping mouth, with two bright red buttocks half-covered by a tiger skin kilt, and with a golden-hooped rod in his hands, he stood verily like a living thunder god below the ledge. When the old man saw him, he paled with fright as his legs turned numb. Unable to stand up, he fell down with a thud, and when he scrambled up, he stumbled once more. “Venerable Sir,” said the Great Sage, approaching him, “don’t be afraid of nothing. I’m ugly but kindly disposed. Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! I am grateful to you for informing us of the demons. Just how many are there, tell me the whole truth, so that I can thank you properly.” Trembling all over, the old man could not utter a word; pretending also to be deaf, he refused to reply.

  When Pilgrim saw that he would not talk, he turned and went back down the slope. “Wukong,” said the elder, “have you returned? Did you find out anything?” “It’s nothing! It’s nothing!” answered Pilgrim, laughing. “There is, to be sure, a handful of monster-spirits near the Western Heaven. The people here, however, are quite timid, and they worry about them. It’s nothing! It’s nothing. I am here!” “Have you asked him,” said the elder, “what mountain this is, what kind of a cave there is in it, how many fiends there are, and which road can take us to Thunderclap?”

  Eight Rules spoke up, saying, “Master, don’t be offended by what I have to say. If we are interested in waging a contest in transformations, in playing hide-and-seek, and in pulling pranks on people, even five of us are no match for Elder Brother. But if you consider honesty, then even a column of him cannot rival me.” “Exactly! Exactly!” said the Tang Monk. “You are more honest.” “I don’t know,” said Eight Rules, “why it is that he always takes care of the head but disregards the tail. He has only asked a couple of questions, and then he runs back lamely. Let old Hog go now and find out the truth.” “Wuneng,” said the Tang Monk, “do be careful.”

  Dear Idiot! He stuffed the muckrake into his belt and tidied his shirt before swaggering up the mountain slope and calling out to the old man, “Gonggong, I’m bowing to you.” After the old man had seen Pilgrim walking off, he managed to struggle up with the help of his staff and, still trembling all over, was about to leave. When he caught sight of Eight Rules, however, he became more terrified than ever. “Holy Father!” he cried. “What sort of nightmare is this, that I have to meet up with this bunch of nasty people? That monk who left just now was hideous all right, but he had at least three percent human looks. But just look at the pestle mouth, the rush-leaf fan ears, the sheet iron face, and the bristled neck of this monk! He doesn’t even look one percent human!”

  “This old Gonggong,” said Eight Rules, chuckling, “is not too pleasant, for he loves to criticize people. How do you regard me, really? I may be ugly, but I can stand scrutiny. Just wait a moment, and I’ll look more attractive.” When the old man heard him speaking at least in a human fashion, he had no choice but to ask him, “Where did you come from?”

  Eight Rules said, “I’m the second disciple of the Tang Monk, and my religious name is Wuneng Eight Rules. Just now the priest who questioned you was called Wukong Pilgrim, my Elder Brother. Because my master blamed him for offending you and for not being able to obtain the truth, he sent me specially to question you again. We would like to know what mountain this is, what’s the name of the cave in the mountain, how many fiends there are in the cave, and which is the main road to the West. May we trouble you to point these out to us?” “Are you being truthful with me?” asked the old man. Eight Rules said, “There has never been the teeniest fakery in my whole life.” “You are not,” said the old man, “putting on a highfalutin show like the priest before.” “No, I’m not like him,” said Eight Rules.

  Leaning on his staff, the old man said to Eight Rules, “The mountain is called the Lion-Camel Ridge of eight hundred miles, and in it there is a Lion-Camel Cave where you will find three archdemons.” “Pshaw!” cried
Eight Rules. “You’re too fussy an old man! Only three demons, and you have to take all that trouble to announce them to us!” “Aren’t you afraid?” asked the old man. “To tell you the truth,” replied Eight Rules, “one blow of my Elder Brother’s rod will kill one of them, and one blow of my rake will kill another; I have a younger brother, too, and one blow of his fiend-routing staff will kill the third one. When all three of the demons are slain, my master will cross this ridge. What’s so difficult about that?”

  Smiling, the old man said, “This monk is completely ignorant! The magic powers of those three archdemons are vast indeed! Moreover, those small fiends under their command number five thousand on the south summit, and five thousand also on the north summit. Those stationed to guard the road leading east number ten thousand, and another ten thousand are guarding the road leading west. There must be five thousand on the patrol teams, and those guarding the cave entrance must run to another ten thousand. There are countless fiends tending the fires and gathering firewood. All in all, they must have some forty-seven or forty-eight thousand troops, each equipped with a nameplate. They devote themselves to devouring humans in this place.”

  When our Idiot heard these words, he ran back, trembling all over. As he approached the Tang Monk, he dropped his rake and, instead of giving his report, began to evacuate his bowels. “Why aren’t you giving us a report?” snapped Pilgrim. “Why are you squatting there?”

  “I’m so scared,” replied Eight Rules, “that even my shit has come out! There’s no further need for me to talk. Let’s scatter while there’s still time to save our lives!”

  “This root of idiocy!” said Pilgrim. “I never was frightened when I asked the questions. How is it that when you go, you lose your mind?” “What is in fact the matter?” asked the elder.

  Eight Rules replied, “The old man told me that this mountain is named the Lion-Camel Mountain. In it there is a Lion-Camel Cave, where three old fiends and forty-eight thousand little fiends reside and devote themselves to devouring humans. The moment we put one step on the side of their mountain, we’ll become food in their mouths. We can’t ever proceed!” On hearing this, Tripitaka began to shake all over as his hairs stood on end, saying, “Wukong, what shall we do?”