by Unknown
After the elder had appeared in his original body, he recovered sufficiently to open his eyes and recognize Pilgrim, whom he took hold of with his hands immediately. “Wukong,” he cried, “where did you come from?” Standing to one side, Sha Monk gave a thorough account of what had taken place, and Tripitaka was filled with gratitude, saying, “Worthy disciple, I owe you everything! I owe you everything! Let’s hope that we’ll reach the West soon. When we return to the Land of the East, I’ll report to the Tang emperor that yours is the highest merit.” “Don’t mention it! Don’t mention it!” said Pilgrim with laughter. “Just don’t recite that little something, and your living kindness will be most appreciated.” When the king heard this, he also gave thanks to all four of them before preparing a huge vegetarian banquet for them in the Eastern Palace. After they had enjoyed these royal favors, master and disciples took leave of the king and headed for the West. The king led all his ministers through great distance to send them off. So it was that
The king returned to the palace, his empire secured;
The monk went to worship Buddha at Thunderclap.
We do not know what took place thereafter or when they would reach the Western Heaven; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.
THIRTY-TWO
On Level-Top Mountain the sentinel brings a message;
At Lotus-Flower Cave Wood Mother meets disaster.
We were telling you about the Tang Monk, who acquired again the service of Pilgrim Sun; master and disciples thereupon embarked on the road to the West, united once more in heart and mind. After they had rescued the princess of the Precious Image Kingdom and been sent off by its king and officials, they journeyed without ceasing, taking food and drink when they hungered and thirsted, resting by night and traveling by day. Soon it was again the time of Triple Spring, a season when
Light breezes blow on willow green as silk,
A lovely scene most fit for verse.
The times hasten bird songs;
The warmth kindles flowers,
Fragrant blooms all around.
A pair of swallows comes to the apple court,1
Just in time to enjoy spring:
Red dust on purple paths,2
Strings, pipes, and the silk gowns,
Games and passing the wine cups.3
As master and disciples walked and enjoyed the scenery, they found another mountain barring their way. “Disciples,” said the Tang Monk, “please be careful. We have a tall mountain before us, and I fear that tigers and wolves might be here to obstruct us.” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “a man who has left the family should not speak as those who remain in the family. Don’t you remember the words of the Heart Sūtra4 given to you by that Crow’s Nest Priest: ‘No hindrances, and therefore, no terror or fear; he is far removed from error and delusion’? Only you must
Sweep away the filth of your mind,
And wash off the dust by your ears.
Not tasting the most painful of pain,
You’ll never be a man among men.
You mustn’t worry, for if you have old Monkey, everything will be all right even if the sky collapses. Don’t be afraid of any tiger or wolf!”
Pulling in the reins of his horse, the elder said, “Since I
Departed Chang’an that year by decree,
My sole thought fixed on Buddha in the West—
That bright, golden image in Śārī-land,
Those jade-white brows in the pagoda blessed.
I searched through this world’s waters without name;
I climbed all the mountains unscaled by man.
Fold upon fold the mists and waves extend,
When can I myself true leisure attain?”
When Pilgrim heard what he said, he roared with laughter, saying, “If Master wants true leisure, it’s not that difficult! When you achieve your merit, then all the nidānas5 will cease and all forms will be but emptiness. At that time, leisure will come to you most naturally.” Hearing these words, the elder had to be content to put aside his anxiety and urge his horse on. Master and disciples began to ascend the mountain, which was truly rugged and treacherous. Marvelous mountain!
The tall, rugged peak;
The sharp, pointed summit.
Within the deep, winding brook—
Beside the lone, rugged cliff—
Within the deep, winding brook
You hear water loudly splashing as a serpent turns;
Beside the lone, rugged cliff
You see the big mountain tiger wagging its tail.
Look above:
The jutting peaks stab through the green sky.
Turn your eyes:
The canyon’s deep and dark as the empyrean.
Start climbing:
It’s like a ladder, a stair.
Walk down there:
It’s like a moat, a ditch.
It’s truly a weird, hillocked range;
It’s indeed a steep-banked precipice.
On top of the hillocked range
The herb-picker is wary of walking;
Before the precipice
The woodsman finds it hard to move an inch!
Foreign goats and wild horses madly gallop;
Wily hares and mountain bulls seem to form in ranks.
The mountain’s height does hide the sun and stars;
One often meets strange creatures and white wolves.
Through dense grassy path the horse can hardly pass.
How could one see Buddha at Thunderclap?
As the elder pulled back his horse to survey this mountain, which was so difficult to ascend, he saw a woodcutter standing on the green slope above. “How was he dressed?” you ask.
His head wore an old rain hat of blue felt;
He had on him a monk-robe of black wool.
The old rain hat of blue felt:
Indeed a rare thing to ward off sunlight and mists;
The monk-robe of black wool:
A sign of utter contentment rarely seen.
His hands held a steel ax polished highly;
He tied his machete-cut firewood firmly.
The spring hues at the ends of his pole
Quietly overflowed in all four seasons;
His carefree life as a recluse
Had always been blessed by the Three Stars.6
He resigned himself to grow old in his lot.
What glory or shame could invade his world?
That woodcutter
Was just chopping firewood before the slope,
When the elder came abruptly from the East.
He stopped his ax to go out of the woods
And walked with big strides up the rocky ledge.
In a severe voice, he cried out to the elder, “The elder who is going toward the West, please stop for a moment. I have something to tell you. There is a bunch of vicious demons and cruel monsters in this mountain devoted to eating travelers who come from the East and go toward the West.”
When the elder heard what he said, his spirit left him and his soul fled. He shook so violently that he could hardly sit on the saddle. Turning around quickly, he shouted to his disciples, “Did you hear what the wood-cutter said about the vicious demons and cruel monsters? Which of you dare go and ask him in greater detail?”
“Master, relax!” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey will go and question him thoroughly.”
Dear Pilgrim! He strode up the mountain and addressed the woodcutter as “Big Brother” before bowing to him with folded hands. The woodcutter returned his greeting, saying, “Elder, why did you people come here?” “To tell you the truth, Big Brother,” said Pilgrim, “we were sent from the Land of the East to go acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven. That one on the horse is my master. He is rather timid; when he heard just now what you said about vicious demons and cruel monsters, he asked me to question you. For how many years have there been demons and monsters? Are they real professionals, or are they just amateurs? Let Big Brothe
r take the trouble to tell me, so that I may order the mountain god and the local spirit to send them away in custody.” When the woodcutter heard these words, he faced the sky and roared with laughter, saying, “So, you are really a mad monk!” “I am not mad,” said Pilgrim, “and this is the honest truth.” “If you are honest,” said the woodcutter, “how dare you talk about sending them away in custody?” Pilgrim said, “The way you are magnifying their power, the way you have stopped us with your foolish announcement and silly report, could it be that you are somehow related to these monsters? If you are not a relative, you must be a neighbor; if not a neighbor, you must be a friend.”
“You mad, impudent monk!” said the woodcutter, laughing. “You are so unreasonable! My intentions were good and that was why I made a special effort to bring this message to you, so that you could take precaution at all times when you journey. Now you are blaming me instead. Let’s not say just yet that I don’t know anything about the origin of those monsters. But suppose you have found that out, how would you dispose of them? Where would you send them away in custody?”
“If they are demons from Heaven,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll send them to see the Jade Emperor. If they are demons of Earth, I’ll send them to the Palace of Earth. Those of the West will be returned to Buddha; those of the East will be returned to the sages; those of the North will be returned to Zhenwu;7 those of the South will be returned to Mars.8 If they are dragon spirits, they will be sent to the Lords of Oceans; if they are ghosts and ogres, they will be sent to King Yama. Every class has its proper place and direction, and old Monkey is familiar with all of them. All I need to do is to issue a court order, and they will be sent off in a hurry. Even at night!”
The woodcutter could hardly stop his scornful laughter, saying, “You mad, impudent monk! You must have made a pilgrimage to some place and learned some paltry magic of drawing up charms and casting spells with water. You may be able to drive away demons and suppress ghosts, but you have never run into such vicious and cruel monsters.” “In what way are they vicious and cruel?” asked Pilgrim. The woodcutter said, “The length of this mountain range is about six hundred miles, and it’s called the Level-Top Mountain. In the mountain is a cave by the name of Lotus-Flower Cave. There are two old demons in the cave who had portraits made with the intent to catch the priests, and who had names and surnames written down because they insisted on eating the Tang Monk. If you have come from another region, you might get by, but if you are in any way associated with the word ‘Tang’ you’ll never pass here.” “We are exactly those who have come from the Tang court,” said Pilgrim. The woodcutter said, “And they specifically want to devour you.”
“Lucky! Lucky!” said Pilgrim. “How would they like to eat us?” “Why do you ask?” said the woodcutter. “If they want to eat me headfirst,” said Pilgrim, “it’s still manageable, but if they want to eat me feetfirst, it’ll be more bothersome.” The woodcutter asked, “What’s the difference between eating you headfirst and feetfirst?”
“You haven’t experienced this,” replied Pilgrim. “If he eats me headfirst, one bite will kill me, of course. Even if he were to fry, saute, braise, or boil me thereafter, I wouldn’t know the pain. But if he eats me feetfirst, he can start by munching on my shanks and then proceed to gnaw on my thighs. He can devour me up to my pelvic bones, and I still might not die in a hurry. Will I not be left to suffer bit by bit? That’s why it is bothersome.”
“Monk,” said the woodcutter, “he is not going to spend all that effort on you. All he wants is to catch you and have you bound in a large steamer. Once you are cooked, he’ll eat you whole!” “That’s even better! That’s even better!” said Pilgrim, chuckling. “There won’t be pain; I have to endure a little stuffiness, that’s all.” “Don’t be so sassy, monk,” said the woodcutter, “for those monsters have with them five treasures which possess tremendous magic powers. Even if you happen to be the jade pillar that holds up the sky, or the golden bridge that spans the ocean, if you want to protect the priest of the Tang court and pass this place safely, you will have to become a little mad.”
“For how many times?” asked Pilgrim. “At least three or four times,” replied the woodcutter. Pilgrim said, “That’s nothing! Throughout a year, we must have become mad for seven or eight hundred times. These three or four—what’s that to us? A little madness and we are through.”
Dear Great Sage! He was not at all afraid. Eager only to accompany the Tang Monk, he abandoned the woodcutter and returned with big strides to where the horse was standing before the mountain slope. “Master, it’s nothing serious,” he said. “There are a couple of puny monster-spirits, to be sure, but people around here are rather timid and overly concerned. You have me, so why worry? Let’s get going! Let’s get going!” When the elder heard what he said, he had no choice but to proceed. As they walked, the woodcutter vanished. The elder said, “Why did that woodcutter who brought us the message disappear all at once?” “Our luck must be rather poor,” said Eight Rules, “we have met a ghost in broad daylight.” “He must have crawled back into the forest to find firewood,” said Pilgrim. “Let me take a look.”
Dear Great Sage! He opened wide his fiery eyes and diamond pupils to scan the mountain far and near, but there was no trace of the woodcutter. He raised his head and suddenly saw the Day Sentinel on the edge of the clouds. Mounting the clouds, he gave chase immediately, shouting several times, “Clumsy devil!” When he caught up with the deity, he said, “If you had something to say, why didn’t you present yourself and speak plainly? Why did you have to put on all that transformation to make fun of old Monkey?” The sentinel was so frightened that he bowed before he said, “Great Sage, please do not take offense at my tardiness in bringing you the news. Those fiends do have great magic powers, and they know many ways of transformation. It’s up to you to use all your cleverness, to exercise all your divine intelligence to guard your master carefully. If you are the slightest bit negligent, you can’t get through this road to reach the Western Heaven.”
When Pilgrim heard this, he drove away the sentinel, though the words he kept firmly in his mind. Lowering the direction of his cloud, he returned to the mountain. As he saw the elder proceeding with Eight Rules and Sha Monk, he thought to himself, “If I give an honest account of what the sentinel said to Master, he will weep for sure. He’s so weak! If I don’t tell him the truth, I can put something over him and lead him forward. But as the proverb says, ‘Wading suddenly into a swamp, you can’t tell if it’s deep or shallow.’ If Master indeed were to be taken by the monsters, won’t old Monkey be asked to expend his energy again? Let me take good care of Eight Rules instead. I’m going to make him go and wage a battle with those monsters first and see what happens; if he wins, we will consider that to be his merit. If his abilities are no good and he is caught by the monsters, there will still be time for old Monkey to go rescue him. I can display my powers then and further spread my fame.”
Using the mind to question the mind, he was thus deliberating with himself: “I fear that Eight Rules is so lazy that he will refuse to volunteer his service. Master, moreover, is so protective toward him. I’ll have to use some gimmick.”
Dear Great Sage! Look at the chicanery he’s resorting to! Rubbing his eyes for awhile, he managed to squeeze out some tears as he walked back facing his master. When Eight Rules saw that, he cried out at once, “Sha Monk, put down your pole. Bring the luggage over here and we two will divide it up.” “Second Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “Why divide it up?” “Divide it!” said Eight Rules. “You can then go back to the River of Flowing Sand and become a monster again. Old Hog will return to the Old Gao Village to see how my wife is doing; we can sell the white horse and buy a coffin for Master in preparation for his old age. All of us can scatter. Why bother about going to the Western Heaven?”
When the elder heard this on the horse, he said, “This coolie! We are still journeying. What’s all this babble?” “Only your son babbl
es!” said Eight Rules. “Don’t you see that Pilgrim Sun is weeping over there as he walks toward us? He’s a stalwart warrior who’s not afraid of hacking by the ax, burning by fire, or even a pot of boiling oil, one who can penetrate Heaven and pierce the Earth. Now he has put on a cap of sorrow and arrived gushing tears. It has to be that the mountain is rugged, and that the monsters are truly vicious. How then do you expect weaklings like us to proceed?” The elder said, “Stop this nonsense! Let me question him and see what he says.”
He therefore asked, “Wukong, if you have something to say, let’s discuss the matter face to face. Why are you so distressed all by yourself? Are you trying to frighten me with that tearful face of yours?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “just now the one who brought us the message happened to be the Day Sentinel. He said that the monster-spirits were most vicious, making this place a difficult one to pass through. It is indeed a treacherous road through a tall mountain. I don’t think we can go through it now; we may as well wait for another time.” When the elder heard these words, he was greatly shaken. Tugging at Pilgrim’s tiger-skin kilt, he said, “Disciple, we have covered almost half the journey. Why are you speaking such discouraging words?”
“I’m not undevoted to our cause,” said Pilgrim, “but I fear that the demons are many and my strength is limited if I have no help. As the saying goes, ‘Even if it’s a piece of iron in the furnace, how many nails can you beat out of it?’” “Disciple,” said the elder, “you have a point there. It is difficult for a single person to handle this matter, for as the military book says, ‘The few cannot withstand the many.’ But I have Eight Rules and Sha Monk here, both my disciples. I permit you to command and use them as you wish, so that they can serve as your helpers, someone to protect your flank. Only you should work together to clear up a path and lead me across this mountain. Will we not then be attaining the right fruit?”
