The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2

by Unknown

  The Tang Monk requested that Sha Monk go with him below the steps, while a few of the guards dragged Eight Rules by the ears up to the cauldron. Facing it, the Tang Monk offered the following invocation:

  “My dear disciple, Sun Wukong!

  Since taking precepts at the grove of Chan,

  What love you showed me on our westward way.

  We hoped jointly to perfect the Great Dao.

  How could I know you would perish this day!

  You lived for finding scriptures when alive;

  In death your mind from Buddha must not stray.

  Your gallant soul afar should wait to rise

  To Thunderclap as ghost from Hades’ dark sway.”

  On hearing this prayer, Eight Rules said, “Master, that’s not the proper invocation. Sha Monk, hold up the rice offering for me. Let me pray!” Bound and pinned to the ground, Idiot gasped out these words:

  “You brazen, disaster-courting ape!

  You ignorant BanHorsePlague.

  You brazen, death-deserving ape!

  You deep-fried BanHorsePlague!

  Monkey is bumped off!

  HorsePlague’s uprooted!”

  Pilgrim Sun was, of course, still in the bottom of the cauldron. When he heard these castigations from Idiot, he could no longer restrain himself and at once changed back into his original form. Standing up stark naked in the cauldron, he shouted, “You overstuffed coolie! Whom are you castigating?” “Disciple,” said the Tang Monk when he saw Pilgrim, “you almost frightened me to death!” Sha Monk said, “Elder Brother simply loves to play dead!” The civil and military officials all rushed up the steps to report: “Your Majesty, that priest did not die. He has emerged again from the cauldron.” Fearing that he might be found guilty of making a false report to the throne, the officer in charge of execution said, “He is dead all right. But today happens to be a rather inauspicious day and the ghost of that young priest is now manifesting itself.”

  Maddened by what he heard, Pilgrim leaped out of the cauldron, dried himself from the oil, and threw on his clothes. Dragging that officer over, he whipped out his iron rod and one blow on the head reduced him to a meat patty. “What ghost is this who’s manifesting itself?” he huffed. Those officials were so terrified that they freed Eight Rules at once and knelt on the ground, pleading, “Pardon us! Pardon us!” The king, too, wanted to leave his dragon throne, but he was caught by Pilgrim, who said, “Your Majesty, don’t walk away. Tell your third Preceptor of State to go into the cauldron also.” Trembling all over, the king said, “Third Preceptor of State, save our life. Go into the cauldron quickly so that the monk won’t hit us.” Goat-Strength went down the steps from the hall and took off his clothes like Pilgrim. Leaping into the cauldron of boiling oil, he began to cavort and bathe himself.

  Letting go of the king, Pilgrim approached the cauldron and told the fire tenders to add more wood while he put his hand into the oil. Aha! That boiling oil felt ice cold. He thought to himself: “It was very hot when I took the bath, but feel how cold it is now that he’s washing in there. I know. It has to be some dragon king who is giving him protection here.” Leaping into the air, he recited a spell that began with the letter Oṁ and instantly summoned the Dragon King of the Northern Ocean to his side. “You horn-growing earthworm!” said Pilgrim to him. “You scaly lizard! How dare you assist that Daoist by coiling a cold dragon around the bottom of the cauldron? You want him to display his power and gain the upper hand on me?”

  Terribly intimidated, the Dragon King stammered out his answer: “Aoshun dares not do that! Perhaps the Great Sage has no knowledge of this: this cursed beast did go through quite an austere process of self-cultivation, to the point where he was able to cast off his original shell. He has acquired the true magic of the Five Thunders, while the rest of the magic powers he has are all those developed by heterodoxy, none fit to lead him to the true way of the immortals. The performance of this right now is also part of the Great Ripoff, which he has learned in the Little Mao Mountain,1 but the magic of his two associates had already been destroyed by the Great Sage and they had to reveal their original forms. This cold dragon which he has managed to cultivate by himself may deceive worldly folks, but how could it ever deceive the Great Sage? I shall arrest that cold dragon at once, and you can be certain that he will be deep-fried—bones, skins, and all!” “Take him away,” said Pilgrim, “and you’ll be spared a whipping!” Changing into a violent gust of wind, the Dragon King swooped down to the cauldron and dragged the cold dragon back to the ocean.

  Pilgrim dropped down from the air and stood again before the steps with Tripitaka, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk. They saw that the Daoist was bobbing up and down in the oil, but his desperate efforts to get out were all to no avail. Every time he climbed up the wall of the cauldron, he would slip back down; in no time at all, his flesh dissolved, his skin was charred, and his bones left his body. “Your Majesty,” another officer in charge of execution went forward to report, “the Third Preceptor of State has passed away!” As tears streamed from his eyes, the king clutched at the imperial table before him and sobbed uncontrollably, crying:

  “The human form is hard, hard indeed, to get!

  Make no elixir when there’s no true guide.

  You have charms and water to send for gods

  But not the pill to make your life abide.

  If perfection’s undone,

  Could Nirvāṇa be won?

  Your life’s precarious, your efforts are vain.

  If you knew before such hardships you’d meet,

  Why not stay safely in the mount? Abstain!”2

  Truly

  To touch gold, to smelt lead—of what use are they?

  To summon wind, to beckon rain—still all is vain!

  We do not know what will happen to master and disciples; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The holy monk’s blocked at night at Heaven-Reaching River;

  Metal and Wood, in compassion, rescue little children.

  We were telling you that the king, who was leaning on his dragon table, wept without ceasing until night fell, his tears gushing forth like a stream. Finally Pilgrim went up to him and shouted, “How could you be so dimwitted? Look at the corpses of those Daoists: one happens to be that of a tiger and the other, a deer. Goat-Strength was, in fact, an antelope. If you don’t believe me, let his bones be bailed out for you to see. How could humans have skeletons like that? These three Daoists were all mountain beasts which had become spirits, united in their efforts to come here and plot against you. When they saw that your nodal fate was still in strong ascendancy,1 they dared not harm you as yet. After two or more years when your nodal fate declines, they would have taken your life and your entire kingdom would have been theirs. It was fortunate that we came in time to exterminate these deviates and save your life. And you are still weeping? What for? Bring us our rescript at once and send us on our way.” Only when he had heard this from Pilgrim did the king return to his senses. The civil and military officials also went forward to report to him, saying, “The dead indeed turn out to be a white deer and a yellow tiger, while bones in the cauldron do belong to an antelope. It is unwise not to listen to the words of the holy monk.” “In that case,” said the king, “we are grateful to the holy monk. It’s late already. Let the Grand Preceptor escort the holy monks back to Wisdom Depth Monastery to rest. During early court tomorrow, we shall open up the Eastern Pavilion and command the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare a huge vegetarian banquet to thank them.” The priests were escorted back to the monastery.

  At the time of the fifth watch the following morning, the king held court for many officials. He at once issued a decree to summon the Buddhist monks to return to the city, and this decree was to be posted on every road and on all four gates. After also giving the order for the preparation of a huge banquet, he sent his imperial chariot to the Wisdom Depth Monastery to invite
Tripitaka and followers back to the Eastern Pavilion for the feast, and we shall speak no more of that.

  We tell you now instead about those monks who succeeded in escaping with their lives. When they heard of the decree that was promulgated, every one of them was delighted and began to return to the city to search for the Great Sage Sun, to thank him, and to return his hairs. Meanwhile, the elder, after the banquet was over, obtained the rescript from the king, who led the queen, the concubines, and two rows of civil and military officials out the gate of the court to see the priests off. As they came out, they found many monks kneeling on both sides of the road, saying, “Father Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, we are the monks who escaped with our lives on the beach. When we heard that Father had wiped out the demons and rescued us, and when we further heard that our king had issued a decree commanding our return, we came here to present to you the hairs and to thank you for your Heavenly grace.” “How many of you came back?” asked Pilgrim, chuckling. They replied, “All five hundred. None’s missing.” Pilgrim shook his body once and immediately retrieved his hairs. Then he said to the king and the lay people, “These monks indeed were released by old Monkey. The cart was smashed after old Monkey moved it beyond the double passes and through the interlocking spinal ridge, and it was Monkey also who beat to death those two perverse Daoists. After such pestilence has been exterminated this day, you should realize that the true way belongs to the gate of Chan. Hereafter you should never believe foolishly in any doctrine that comes along. I hope you will honor the unity of the Three Religions: revere the monks, revere also the Daoists, and take care to nurture the talented. Your kingdom, I assure you, will be secure forever.” The king gave his assent and his thanks repeatedly before he escorted the Tang Monk out of the city.

  And so, their journey had as its purpose

  A diligent search for the three canons;

  A strenuous quest for the primal light.

  As they proceeded, they walked by day and rested by night; they drank when they were thirsty and ate when they were hungry. Spring ended, summer waned, and soon it was again the time of autumn. One day toward evening, the Tang Monk reined in his horse and said, “Disciples, where shall we find shelter for the night?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “a man who has left the family should not speak as one who remains in the family.” Tripitaka said, “How would a man in the family speak? And how would a man who has left the family speak?” “In this time of the year,” said Pilgrim, “a man who remains in the family will enjoy the benefits of a warm bed and snug blankets; he has his children in his bosom and his wife next to his legs. That’s how comfortably he will sleep! Now, how could we who have left the family expect to enjoy such things? We must be cloaked by the stars and wrapped by the moon; we must dine on the winds and rest by the waters. We move on if there’s a road, and we stop only when we come to its end.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you know only one thing, but you can’t see its implications. Look how treacherous is this road we’re walking on! I have such a heavy load on me that I find it difficult even to walk. Please find some place where I can have a good night’s rest and regain my strength. By morning, I can face the load once more. Otherwise, I’ll die of fatigue!” “Let’s move on a little further then in this moonlight,” said Pilgrim, “and we can stop when we reach some place where there are houses.” Master and disciples had no choice but to follow Pilgrim forward.

  They did not journey long before they heard the sound of rushing water. “Finished!” said Eight Rules. “We’ve come to the end of the road!” “We are blocked by a torrent of water,” said Sha Monk. The Tang Monk asked, “How could we get across?” “Let me test it to discover how deep it is first,” said Eight Rules. Tripitaka said, “Wuneng, don’t speak such nonsense! How could you test the depth or shallowness of water?” “I’ll find an egg-shaped pebble,” said Eight Rules, “and throw it in: if it splashes and foam comes up, it’s shallow; if it sinks down with a gurgling sound, then it’s deep.” “Go and test it,” said Pilgrim. Our Idiot groped on the ground and found a stone, which he threw into the water; all they heard was a gurgling sound as if fishes were releasing bubbles as the stone sank down to the bottom. “Deep! Deep! Deep!” he said. “We can’t cross it!” “Though you may have discovered its depth,” said the Tang Monk, “you may not know how wide it is.” “Indeed not! Indeed not!” said Eight Rules. Pilgrim said, “Let me have a look.” Dear Great Sage! He somersaulted at once into the air and fixed his gaze on the water. He saw

  The moon soaked in vast sheens of light;

  The sky’s image drenched in the deep;

  A spirit branch gulping mountains;

  A long river feeding hundred streams;

  A thousand foaming layers churn;

  Ten thousand folds of mountlike waves;

  (No fisher-fires lit up the banks

  But egrets rested by the beach.)

  An oceanlike vast expanse,

  With no boundaries in sight.

  He dropped down quickly from the clouds to the bank of the river, saying, “Master, it’s very wide! Very wide! We can’t get across! These fiery eyes and diamond pupils of old Monkey can discern good and evil up to a thousand miles during the day, and even at night, they can cover a distance of four or five hundred miles. Just now I couldn’t even see the other shore. How could I tell the width of the river?”

  Horrified, Tripitaka could not say a word for a long time. Then he sobbed out, “O Disciple! What shall we do?” “Master, please don’t cry,” said Sha Monk. “Look over there! Isn’t that a man standing by the water?” Pilgrim said, “He could be a fisherman lowering his nets, I suppose. Let me go and ask him.” Holding his iron rod, he sprinted forward to have a closer look. Ah! It was not a man, but only a stone monument, on which were written three large words in seal script and two rows of smaller words down below. The three large words were: Heaven-Reaching River. The two rows of smaller words read:

  A width of eight hundred miles

  Which few, from days of old, have crossed.

  “Master,” Pilgrim called out, “come and look.” When Tripitaka saw the monument, tears rolled down his cheeks, saying, “O Disciple! When I left Chang’an that year, I thought that the way to the Western Heaven was quite easy. How could I know of the obstacles of demons and monsters, the long distance over mountains and waters!”

  “Master,” said Eight Rules, “listen for a moment. Isn’t that the sound of drums and cymbals coming from somewhere? It must be that some family is feasting the monks. Let’s go over there and beg for some vegetarian food and make inquiry concerning the possibility of finding a boat to take us across tomorrow.” Cocking his ears as he rode, Tripitaka indeed heard the sound of drums and cymbals. “These are not the musical instruments of Daoists,” he said. “It has to be some religious service conducted by us Buddhists. Let us go over there.” Pilgrim led the horse in front and all of them proceeded toward where the music was coming from. There was actually no road for them to walk on, only a rolling sandy beach. Presently, they saw a group of well-built houses, about four or five hundred of them altogether. They saw that these houses were

  Close by the hill and the roads,

  Next to the shores and the stream.

  Every where the wooden fences were shut;

  The bamboo yard of each house was closed.

  Egrets resting on sand dunes had peaceful dreams;

  Birds nesting on willows voiced their chilly tunes.

  The short flutes were silent;

  The washing flails had no rhythm.

  Red smartweed twigs quaked in moonlight;

  Yellow rush leaves battled the wind.

  A village dog barked through sparse field fences;

  An old fisher slept on his ford-moored boat,

  Where lights were low,

  And human bustles, quiet.

  The bright moon seemed a mirror hung in the air,

  The scent of duckweed blossoms all at once

  Wa
s sent by the west wind from the far shore.

  As Tripitaka dismounted, he saw a house at the head of a path; before the house was erected a pole with a banner flying, while the inside was ablaze with lamps and candles and filled with fragrant incense. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “what we have here is certainly better than either the fold of the mountain or the edge of the river. At least the eaves of the roof can provide some shelter from the night mists, and we can rest without fears. You, however, should stay behind first, and let me go up to that patron’s door to make known our request. If he is willing to let us stay, I’ll call for you; but if he’s unwilling, all of you are not to let loose any mischief. You are, after all, quite ugly in your appearances, and I fear that you may frighten them. Offending these people may mean that we shall have nowhere at all to stay.” “What you say is quite right,” said Pilgrim. “Please go first, Master, and we’ll wait for you here.”