by Wu Cheng-En
“You are quite right, abbot,” Sanzang replied. “I could never have got here alone. I have three disciples who clear my way across the mountains and build me bridges over rivers. It is only because they have protected me that I have been able to reach your monastery.”
“Where are your three distinguished disciples?” the lama asked.
“Waiting outside the gates of the monastery,” Sanzang replied.
“Father,” said the lama with alarm, “you don't realize that there are dangerous tigers, wolves, evil bandits, ghosts and demons here. We don't dare roam far even by day and we shut the gates before nightfall. How can you leave people outside this late?” He then told his disciples to ask them in at once.
Two young lamas hurried outside. At the sight of Monkey they fell over, and then fell over again when they saw Pig. Scrambling to their feet they ran back in as fast as they could and said, “My lord, your luck is out. Your disciples have disappeared. There are only three or four evil monsters standing outside the gates.”
“What do they look like?” Sanzang asked.
“One has a face like a thunder god,” the young lamas replied, “one has a face like a tilt-hammer, and one has a green face and terrible fangs. There is a girl with them too-she has oiled hair and a powdered face.”
“You would not know who they are,” replied Sanzang with a smile. “The three ugly ones are my disciples and the girl is someone I rescued in the pine forest.”
“My lord,” the lama said, “how can a master as handsome as you have found yourself such ugly disciples?”
“Ugly they may be,” Sanzang replied, “but they are all useful. Ask them in straight away. If you take any longer the one who looks like a thunder god is a bit of a trouble-maker. He was not born to a mother and father and he will fight his way in.”
The young lamas then hurried outside again and fell to their knees, shivering and shaking, as they said, “My lords, Lord Tang invites you in.”
“Brother,” said Pig, “if he's invited us, that's that. Why are they shivering and shaking?”
“They're scared because we're so ugly,” Monkey replied.
“Rubbish,” said Pig. “We were born that way. None of us is ugly from choice.”
“Make yourself look a bit less ugly,” said Monkey, and the idiot really did tuck his snout into his tunic and keep his head down as he led the horse while Friar Sand carried the pole and Brother Monkey brought up the rear, holding his cudgel in his hand and dragging the girl along. They went past the ruined buildings and cloisters and in through the third part of gates. When they had tethered the horse they went into the abbot's lodgings to meet the lama and take their seats in order of precedence. The lama then went inside to lead seventy or eighty young lamas to greet them, tidy their rooms, give them a vegetarian meal and look after them. Indeed:
In storing up achievement be mindful of mercy;
When the Buddha's Dharma flourishes monks admire each other.
If you do not know how they left the monastery, listen to the explanation in the next installment.
Chapter 81
The Mind-Ape Recognizes a Monster in the Monastery
The Three Search for Their Master in Black Pine Forest
The story tells how Sanzang and his disciples came to the Meditation Monastery where they met the lamas and were given a vegetarian meal. When the four of them had eaten the girl was also fed. By now night was gradually falling and the lamp was lit in the abbot's lodgings. The lamas, who wanted to ask the Tang Priest about why he was going to fetch the scriptures and were also eager for a look at the girl, stood packed together in rows under the lamp. “Abbot,” said Sanzang to the lama he had first met, “when we leave your monastery tomorrow what will the road West be like?” Before answering, the lama fell to his knees. Sanzang quickly helped him up and said, “Stand up, please. Why do you greet me in this way when I ask about the road?”
“When you travel West tomorrow, reverend sir, you will find that the road is level,” the lama replied. “There is no need to worry. There is just one thing at present that is rather awkward. I wanted to tell you about it as soon as you came in, but I was afraid that it would offend your distinguished self. I only venture to tell you now that the meal is over that you will be most welcome to spend the night in the young lamas' room after your long, hard journey from the East. But it would not be right for the lady Bodhisattva to do so. I don't know where I should invite her to sleep.”
“Your suspicions are not called for, abbot,” Sanzang replied, “and you should not suppose that my disciples and I have wicked ideas. When we were coming through Black Pine Forest this morning we found this girl tied to a tree. My disciple Sun Wukong refused to save her, but out of my enlightened heart I rescued her and have brought her here for you to put up, abbot.”
“As you have been so generous, reverend Father,” the abbot replied, “we can set out a straw mattress behind the devarajas in the Devaraja Hall for her to sleep on.”
“That's splendid,” Sanzang said, “splendid.” After this the young lamas took the girl to sleep in the back of the hall while in the abbot's lodgings Sanzang urged the officials of the monastery to put themselves at their ease, whereupon they all dispersed.
“We have had a hard day,” Sanzang said to Brother Monkey. “We must go to bed early and be up early in the morning.” They all slept in the same room, guarding the master and not daring to leave him. Later that night
The moon rose high and all was peaceful;
The Street of Heaven was quiet and nobody moved.
Bright was the Silver River; the stars shone clearly;
The drum in the tower hastened the changing watch.
We will say nothing more of the night. When Monkey rose at first light he told Pig and Friar Sand to get the luggage and the horse ready then urged the master to start out. But Sanzang wanted to sleep longer and would not wake up, so Monkey went up to him to call, “Master.”
The master raised his head but still could make no reply. “What will you say, Master?” Monkey asked.
“Why is my head spinning,” Sanzang replied, “why are my eyes swollen, and why an I aching all over from my skin to my bones?”
When Pig heard this he stretched out his hand to feel the master's body. It was feverish. “Now I understand,” said the idiot with a grin. “He had several bowls too many of last night's free rice and went to sleep head-down. It's indigestion.”
“Nonsense,” shouted Monkey, “Let me ask the master what's really the matter.”
“When I got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself,” Sanzang replied, “I did not put my hat on. I think I must have caught a chill in the wind.”
“I'm sure you're right,” said Monkey, “Can you travel now?”
“I cannot even sit up,” Sanzang replied, “let alone mount the horse. The journey will have to wait.”
“What a thing to say, Master,” said Monkey, “As the saying goes, 'A teacher for a day is one's father for life.' As your disciples we are like your sons. There's another saying that
A son does not have to shit silver or gold;
As long as be can do what's needed he'll be fine.
If you're not feeling well you shouldn't be worrying about the journey being delayed. There'll be no problem about waiting for a few days.” The three brother-disciples all looked after their master. The morning was followed by midday and dusk, and after a good night dawn returned. Time fled, and three days had soon passed.
The morning after that Sanzang tried to sit up, calling, “Wukong, as I have been very ill these last couple of days I have not asked you before: have people been giving food to the lady Bodhisattva we rescued?”
“What are you bothering about her for?” laughed Monkey, “What you should be concerned with is your own illness.”
“Yes, yes,” said Sanzang. “Help me up and fetch me paper, brush and ink. Borrow an inkstone here in the monastery.”
“What do you want
them for?” Monkey asked.
“I want to write a letter,” Sanzang replied. “I shall seal it up with our passport and ask you to deliver it for me to His Majesty Emperor Taizong in Chang'an.”
“Easy,” said Monkey, “I may not be much good at anything else, but when it comes to delivering letters I'm the champion of the whole world. So wrap the letter up and give it to me. I'll take it to Chang'an in a single somersault, give it to the Tang Emperor, and come back with another somersault before your brush and inkstone have dried up. But why do you want to write a letter? Tell me what you want to say in the letter-you can write it down later.”
“This is what I will write,” said Sanzang, weeping:
“Your subject beats his head three times upon the ground,
With a triple shout of 'Long live Your Majesty' as I bow to my lord.
The civil and military officials ate all present,
And four hundred courtiers all listen to what is said.
Years ago I left the East on your command,
Hoping to see the Buddha on the Vulture Peak.
But on my journey I have met with obstructions;
And been delayed by unexpected disaster along the way.
My illness is grave; I cannot move one step;
The gate to Buddha is as distant as the gate to heaven.
I will not live to bring back the scriptures;
I submit with respect that a new envoy should be sent.”
When Monkey heard this he could not help bursting out into uproarious laughter. “You're hopeless, Master,” he said, “thinking that sort of thing after just a touch of illness. If you were seriously ill you'd only have to ask me to find out whether you were going to live or die. I have my own special way of dealing with it. I'd ask, 'Which king of the Underworld dared think of this? Which of the judges issued the warrant? Which demon messenger is coming to fetch him?' If they make me angry I'll lose my temper the way I did when I made havoc in Heaven, smash my way into the Underworld with my cudgel, capture the ten kings and rip the sinews out of every one of them. I'll show them no mercy.”
“Stop that boasting, disciple,” Sanzang replied. “I am very ill.”
“Brother,” said Pig, going up to him, “it's very awkward to have the master saying he's in a bad way and you insisting he isn't. Let's settle things as quickly as we can, sell the horse, pawn the luggage, buy a coffin to bury the master in and split up.”
“You're talking out of turn again, you idiot,” Monkey replied. “What you don't realize is that the master used to be our Tathagata Buddha's second disciple. His original name was the Venerable Golden Cicada. This is great hardship he has to endure because he once slighted the Buddha's Dharma.”
“But, brother,” Pig replied, “even if the master did slight the Buddha's Dharma he was exiled to the East and born into another body amid the sea of right and wrong and the battlefield of tongues. He swore an oath to go to the Western Heaven, worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Every time he's met an evil spirit he's been tied up; and every time he's come across a monster he's been hung up. He's had to put up with every kind of agony. That should be enough. Why has he had to be ill as well?”
“This is something you wouldn't know about,” Monkey replied. “The master once dropped off to sleep instead of listening to the Buddha teaching the Dharma, and as he drowsed he trod on a grain of rice with his left foot. That is why he has to be ill for three days in the lower world.”
“So goodness only knows how many years someone who eats as messily as I do will have to be ill,” replied a shocked Pig.
“Brother,” Monkey replied, “the Buddha will spare ordinary creatures such as you. There's something else you don't know. As the poet said,
Hoeing millet in the noonday sun;
Sweat drops on the ground beneath the millet.
Who understands that of the food that's in the bowl,
Every single grain was won through bitter toil?
The master will only be ill today. Tomorrow he'll be better.”
“I am feeling different today from how I did yesterday,” said Sanzang. “My throat is absolutely parched. Go and find some cold water somewhere for me to drink.”
“Fine,” Monkey replied. “If water's what you want, Master, that means you're better. I'll go and fetch some.”
Monkey at once took the begging bowl and went to the kitchen at the back of the monastery, where he came across all the monks red-eyed and sobbing with grief. The only thing was that they dared not cry aloud.
“Don't be so petty, little monks,” said Brother Monkey. “Before we leave we'll thank you for the days we've spent here, and we'll pay for our cooking fuel and lighting by the day. You really shouldn't be such pustules.”
“We wouldn't dare accept it,” the lamas said at once, falling to their knees, “we wouldn't dare.”
“What do you mean, you wouldn't dare?” said Monkey. “It must be that long-snouted monk of ours who has an enormous appetite. He'd eat you out of house and home.”
“My lord,” the lamas replied, “there are over a hundred senior and junior lamas in this monastery. If each of us kept you for a single day we could afford to support you for over a hundred days. We're not the sort of skinflints who'd calculate what you will cost us in food.”
“If you're not working out the cost then why are you sobbing?” Monkey asked.
“Lord,” the lamas replied, “there's an evil monster in the monastery. We don't know which mountain it's from. Last night we sent two junior lamas to strike the bell and beat the drum. We heard the sound of the bell and the drum but the lamas never came back. When we looked for them the next day all we found were their monk's hats and shoes lying in the courtyard at the back and their skeletons. They had been eaten. In the three days you have been here six lamas have disappeared from the monastery. That's why we can't help being frightened and grieved. When we realized that your venerable master was ill we couldn't stop these tears stealing out even though we kept the news to ourselves.”
“Say no more,” said Brother Monkey, who was both shocked and delighted by what he heard. “It must be an evil monster who's killing people here. I'll wipe it out for you.”
“My lord,” the lamas replied, “any evil spirit worthy of the name has magical powers. It's bound to be able to ride clouds, come out of the underworld and disappear again. As the ancients put it so well, 'Trust not the straightest of the straight; beware of the inhuman human.' Please don't take offence, my lord, when we say that if you can rid our monastery of this scourge that would be a great happiness for us. But if you can't catch it things will be pretty difficult.”
“What do you mean by things being pretty difficult?” Monkey asked.
“We will be honest with you, my lord,” the lamas replied. “Although there are only a hundred or so of us lamas in this monastery we all became monks as children:
When our hair grows we have it shaved off;
Our clothes are patched with rags.
We rise in the morning to wash our faces,
Then bow with hands together
In submission to the Great Way.
At night we tidy up, burn incense,
And piously pray,
Chanting the name of Amitabha.
When we look up we see the Buddha
On his ninefold lotus throne
Well-versed in the Three Vehicles,
Riding in his mercy on clouds of dharma,
And we long to see the Sakyamuni in the Jeta park.
Looking down we see into our hearts,
Accept the Five Prohibitions,
Pass through a thousand aeons,
And live each life amid the countless dharmas,
Hoping to understand emptiness and the impermanence of matter.
When the benefactors come,
Old, young, tall, short, fat, thin,
We each beat wooden fish,
Strike bronze chimes,
Slowly and deliberately,<
br />
With the two rolls of the Lotus Sutra
And the short Litany of the Emperor of Liang.
When the benefactors do not come,
New, old, strange, familiar, rustic, smart,
We put our hands together,
Eyes shut,
Silent,
Entering meditation on the rush mats,
Firmly closing the gates under the moon.
Let the orioles sing and other birds chirp in idle strife:
They cannot mount our expeditions and compassionate chariot of dharma.
This is why we cannot subdue tigers and dragons,
Or recognize monsters and spirits.
If, my lord, you provoked the evil monster,
To which we hundred and more lamas would be but a single meal,
All of us living creatures would fall to the wheel of rebirth,
This ancient monastery of meditation would be destroyed,
And finally there would be no light at the Tathagata's assembly.
This would cause great troubles.”
When Brother Monkey heard the lamas say this anger surged up from his heart and hatred from his gall. “What a stupid lot you lamas are!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Are you only aware of those evil spirits? Do you know nothing of what I've done?”
“Really we don't,” the lamas replied in very quiet voices.
“Then I'll tell you briefly about it,” Monkey said.
“I used to subdue tigers and dragons on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit;
I once went up to Heaven and made great havoc in its palace.
When I was hungry I nibbled just two or three
Of Lord Lao Zi's elixir tablets;
When I was thirsty I sipped six or seven cups
