The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 4

by Unknown

  Without doors to fence in the house.6

  We have also a testimonial poem that says:

  A very old temple in disrepair:

  Decayed, declining—no one seems to care.

  The fierce wind fractures the guardians’ faces,

  And heavy rain the buddha-heads defaces.

  The arhats have fallen, they’re strewn about;

  Homeless, a local spirit sleeps without.

  Two sorry sights for one to look upon:

  The bronze bell’s grounded for the belfry’s gone.

  Forcing himself to be bold, Tripitaka walked through the second-level door and found that the belfry and the drum tower had both collapsed. All there was left was a huge bronze bell standing on the ground: the upper half was white as snow and the lower half was blue-green like indigo. It had been there for many years, you see: rain had whitened the upper part of the bell and the dampness of the earth had coated the lower part with copperas. Rubbing the bell with his hand, Tripitaka cried out: “O bell! You used to

  Make thunderous peal, on a tow’r hung high,

  Or boom carved-beam tones to the distant sky,

  Or ring in the dawn when the roosters crow,

  Or send off the twilight when the sun dropp’d low.

  The bronze-melter, I wonder where he is,

  And whether the smith who forged you still exists.

  These two, I think, are now for Hades bound:

  They have no traces and you have no sound!”

  As the elder loudly lamented in this manner, he unwittingly disturbed a temple worker who was in charge of incense and fire. When he heard someone speaking, he scrambled up, picked up a piece of broken brick, and tossed it at the bell. The loud clang so scared the elder that he fell to the ground; he struggled up and tried to flee, only to trip over the root of a tree and stumble a second time. Lying on the ground, the elder said, “O bell!

  While this humble cleric laments your state,

  A loud clang suddenly reaches my ears.

  No one takes the road to Western Heav’n, I fear,

  And thus you’ve become a spirit o’er the years.”

  The temple worker rushed forward and raised him up, saying, “Please rise, Venerable Father. The bell has not turned into a spirit. I struck it, and that is why it clanged.”

  When he raised his head and saw how ugly and dark the worker looked, he said, “Could you be some sort of goblin or fiend? I’m no ordinary human, but someone from the Great Tang. Under my command are disciples who can subdue the dragon and tame the tiger. If you run into them, it won’t be easy to preserve your life!”

  Going to his knees, the temple worker said, “Don’t be afraid, Venerable Father. I’m no fiend, only a temple worker in care of the fire and incense in this monastery. When I heard your virtuous lament just now, I was about to step out and receive you. Then I was afraid you might be some kind of perverse demon knocking at our door, so I picked up a piece of brick to toss at the bell—just to calm my own fears before I dared come out. Venerable Father, please rise.”

  Only then did the Tang Monk collect his wits and say, “Keeper, you nearly frightened me to death! Please take me in.” The worker led the Tang Monk straight through the third-level door, the inside of which he found to be quite different from the outside. He saw

  Walls of cloud-patterns built by bluish bricks,

  And a main hall roofed in green glazed tiles.

  Yellow gold trimmed the saintly forms;

  White jade slabs made up the steps.

  Green light danced on the Great Hero Hall;

  Zealous airs rose from the Pure Alcove.

  On Mañjuśrī Hall

  Colorful designs soared like clouds;

  On the Transmigration Hall

  Painted flowers heaped up elegance.

  A pointed vase tipped the triple-layered eave;

  A brocade top lined the Five-Blessings Tower.

  A thousand bamboos rocked the priestly beds;

  Ten thousand green pines lit up the Buddhist gate.

  Golden light shone within the Jade-Cloud Palace;

  Auspicious hues fluttered in the purple mists.

  With dawn a fragrant breeze blew to all four quarters;

  By dusk the painted drum rolled from a tall mountain.

  If one could face the sun to mend a cloak,

  Would he not by moonlight finish the Book?

  They saw, too, lamplight glowing on half the backyard wall

  And scented mists flooding the whole of central mall.

  When Tripitaka saw all this, he dared not enter. “Worker,” he called out, “from the front, your place looks so run down, but it’s so nicely maintained back here. How can this be?”

  With a laugh the worker said, “Venerable Father, there are many perverse fiends and bandits in this mountain. In fair weather they used to rob and plunder all over the region, but they would seek shelter in this monastery when the skies were grey. They took down holy images and used them for seat cushions, and they pulled up shrubbery and plants for starting fires. As the monks in our monastery are too weak to contend with them, the ruined buildings up front have been turned over to the bandits as their resting place. New patrons were found to build another monastery in the back, so that the pure and the profane could remain distinct. That’s how things are in the West!” “I see!” replied Tripitaka.

  As they walked inside, Tripitaka saw on top of the monastery gate these five words written large: Sea-Pacifying Chan Grove Monastery. Hardly had they crossed the threshold when they saw a monk approaching. How did he look, you ask?

  He wore a cap of wool-silk pinned to the left;

  A pair of copper rings dangled from his ears.

  He had on himself a robe of Persian wool;

  Like silver his two eyes were white and clear.

  His hand waving a rattle from Pamirs,

  He chanted some scripture barbaric and queer.

  Tripitaka could in no way recognize

  This lama cleric of the Western sphere.

  Coming through the door, the lama priest saw what lovely, refined features Tripitaka possessed: broad forehead and a flat top, shoulder-length ears, hands that reached beyond the knees—so handsome, in fact, that he seemed verily an incarnate arhat. Walking forward to take hold of him, the lama priest, full of smiles, gave Tripitaka’s hand and leg a couple of pinches; he also rubbed Tripitaka’s nose and pulled at his ear to express his cordial sentiments.

  After taking Tripitaka into the abbot’s chamber and greeting him, he asked, “Where did the venerable master come from?” “This disciple,” replied Tripitaka, “is someone sent by imperial commission of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go to the Great Thunderclap Monastery of India in the West to seek scriptures from the Buddha. As we arrive in your precious region at this late hour of the day, I come especially to ask for one night’s lodging in your noble temple. Tomorrow we’ll set out once more. I beg you to grant us this request.”

  “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” said the priest, laughing. “People like you and me didn’t leave the family with noble intentions. It’s usually because the times of our births happened to have offended the Floriate Canopy.7 Our families were too poor to rear us, and that gave us the resolve to leave home. Since we have all become the followers of Buddha, we should never speak fraudulent words.”

  “But mine were honest words!” replied Tripitaka.

  “What a distance it is to travel from the Land of the East to the Western Heaven!” said the priest. “There are mountains on the road, there are caves in the mountains, and there are monsters in the caves. You are all by yourself and you seem so young and gentle. You don’t look like a scripture seeker!”

  “The abbot’s perception is quite correct,” said Tripitaka. “How could this poor cleric reach this place all by himself? I have three other disciples who are able to open up a road in the mountains and build a bridge across the waters. It is their protection that has enabl
ed me to reach your noble temple.”

  “Where are your three worthy disciples?” asked the priest.

  “Waiting outside the monastery gate,” replied Tripitaka.

  “Master,” said the priest, growing alarmed, “you probably have no idea that there are tigers and wolves, fiendish thieves, and weird goblins out to harm people in this region. Even in daytime we dare not travel very far, and we shut our doors before it gets dark. How could you leave people outside at this hour? Disciples, ask them to come in quickly!”

  Two young lamas ran out, but at the sight of Pilgrim they immediately fell down in fright; when they saw Eight Rules, they stumbled again. Scrambling to their feet, they dashed to the rear, crying, “Holy Father, you’ve rotten luck! Your disciples have disappeared. There are just three or four fiends standing outside the gate.”

  “What do they look like?” asked Tripitaka. One of the young priests said, “One had a thundergod beak, another a pestlelike snout, and a third had a blue-green face with fangs. By their side there was a girl, rather heavily made up.”

  “You could not possibly know that those three ugly creatures happen to be my disciples,” said Tripitaka, smiling. “The girl, however, is someone whose life I saved back in a pine forest.” “O Holy Father!” cried the young priest. “Such a handsome master like yourself, why did you find such ugly disciples?”

  “They may be ugly,” replied Tripitaka, “but they are all useful. You’d better hurry and invite them inside. If you wait a while longer, that one with the thundergod beak, being no human offspring, loves to cause trouble and he may want to fight his way in.”

  The young priest hurried out, trembling all over, fell to his knees, and said, “Venerable Fathers, Father Tang asks you to enter.” “O Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, giggling, “all he has to do is to invite us to enter. Why is he shaking so hard?” “Because he’s afraid,” replied Pilgrim, “seeing how ugly we are.”

  “How absurd!” said Eight Rules. “We were born like this! We don’t look ugly just for the fun of it!”

  “Let’s try to fix up the ugliness somewhat,” said Pilgrim. Our Idiot indeed lowered his head to hide his snout in his bosom; while he led the horse and Sha Monk toted the luggage, Pilgrim herded the girl with his rod in the rear as all of them walked inside. Going through the ruined buildings and three levels of doors, they reached the inside, where they tethered the horse and set the luggage on the ground before entering the abbot’s chamber to greet the lama priest. When they had taken their proper seats, the priest led out some seventy young lamas who also greeted the pilgrims. Then they began preparing a vegetarian meal to entertain the guests. Truly

  Merit must start with a merciful thought;

  A priest lauds a monk when Buddhism thrives.

  We do not know how they will leave the monastery; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  At Sea-Pacifying Monastery Mind Monkey knows the fiend;

  In the black pine forest three pupils search for their master.

  We were telling you how Tripitaka and his disciples arrived at the Sea-Pacifying Chan Grove Monastery, where they had a vegetarian meal prepared by the local monks. After the four had eaten, and the girl too had received some nourishment, it was getting late and lamps were lit in the abbot’s chamber. Because they wanted to ask the Tang Monk the reason for seeking scriptures, and because they coveted a glimpse of the girl, the various monks all crowded into the chamber and stood in rows beneath the lamps. Tripitaka said to the lama he had met earlier, “Abbot, when we leave your treasure temple tomorrow, what’s the rest of the journey to the West like?”

  At once the priest went to his knees, so startling the elder that he hurriedly tried to raise him, saying, “Please rise, abbot. I am asking you about the journey. Why are you performing ceremony instead?”

  “Your journey tomorrow, Master,” replied the priest, “should proceed along a smooth and level path, and you need not worry. But at this very moment there is a small but rather embarrassing matter. I wanted to tell you the moment you entered our gate, but I feared that I might offend you. Only after we have served you a meal do I make so bold as to tell you. Since the venerable master has come from such a long way in the East, you must be tired, and it is perfectly all right that you should rest tonight in the room of this humble cleric. But it will not be convenient for this lady bodhisattva, and I wonder where I should send her to sleep.”

  “Abbot,” said Tripitaka, “you needn’t suspect that we master and disciples are harboring some perverse intentions. We passed through a black pine forest earlier and found this girl bound to a tree. Sun Wukong, my disciple, refused to rescue her, but I was moved by my Buddhist compassion to have her released and brought here. Wherever the abbot now wishes to send her to sleep is all right with me.”

  “Since the master is so kind and generous,” said the priest gratefully, “I’ll just ask her to go to the Devarāja Hall. I’ll make a bed of straw behind Holy Father Devarāja, and she can sleep there.” “Very good! Very good!” said Tripitaka. Thereupon the young priests led the girl to go to sleep at the back of the hall.

  After the elder had bidden the other priests good night, everyone left. “You all must be tired,” said Tripitaka to Wukong. “Let’s rest now so that we may rise early.” All of them thus slept in the same place, for they wanted to guard their master and dared not leave his side. Gradually the night deepened. Truly

  All sounds had ceased as the moon rose high;

  The temple1 grew silent for no one walked by.

  The silver stream glistened with astral showers

  When tower-drums hastened the change of hours.

  Leaving them to rest through the night, we tell you now about Pilgrim, who rose by dawn and at once told Eight Rules and Sha Monk to pack and ready the horse, so that they might ask their master to set out again. The elder, however, was still sleeping at that moment. Pilgrim walked up to him and called out, “Master.”

  The master raised his head slightly but did not answer. “Master,” asked Pilgrim, “what’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t know why,” replied the elder with a groan, “but my head seems light, my eyes feel puffy, and I ache all over!” On hearing this, Eight Rules touched him and found him feverish. “I know,” said Idiot, giggling. “You saw last night that the rice was free, and you ate one bowl too many and then went to sleep with a blanket over your head. You’ve got indigestion!”

  “Rubbish!” snapped Pilgrim. “Let me find out from master what is the true reason.”

  “I got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself, and I forgot to put on my cap,” said Tripitaka. “I must have been chilled by the wind.”

  “That’s more like it,” replied Pilgrim. “Can you travel at all?”

  “I can’t even sit up,” said Tripitaka. “How could I mount the horse? But then, I don’t want to delay our journey either!”

  “You shouldn’t speak like that, Master!” said Pilgrim. “As the proverb says,

  Once a teacher,

  Always a father.

  Since we have become your disciples, we are like your sons. The proverb also says:

  You need not rear your children with silver and gold;

  That they treat you kindly is good to behold.

  If you don’t feel well, you needn’t mention anything about delaying our journey. Stay here for a few days. What’s wrong with that?” Thus the brothers all ministered to their master, hardly realizing that

  The dawn passed, the noon came, and dusk set in;

  The good night withdrew at the break of day.

  Time went by swiftly, and two days had passed before the master sat up on the third day and called out, “Wukong, I was so sick these last two days that I did not think of asking you: that lady bodhisattva who got back her life, did anyone send her some rice to eat?”

  “Why worry about her?” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “You should be concern
ed with your own illness.”

  “Indeed! Indeed!” said Tripitaka. “Please help me get up, and bring out my paper, brush, and ink. Go and borrow an inkstand from the monastery.”

  “What for?” asked Pilgrim.

  “I want to write a letter,” said the elder, “in which I’ll also enclose the travel rescript. You may take that up to Chang’an and ask for an audience with Emperor Taizong.”

  “That’s easy,” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey may not be very able in other matters, but I’m the best postman in the whole wide world. When you finish your letter, I’ll send it to Chang’an and hand-deliver it to the Tang emperor with one somersault. Then I’ll come back here with another somersault—before your brush and inkstand are dry! But why do you want to send a letter? Tell me a little of its contents, and then you may write.” Shedding tears, the elder said, “This is what I intend to write:

  Three times your priestly subject bows his head

  To greet my sage ruler, long may he live!

  By lords civil and martial let this be read,

  Let four hundred nobles hear what is said:

  When I left the East that year by decree,

  Buddha on Spirit Mount I had hoped to see.

  I did not such ordeals anticipate

  Or in midway such afflictions foresee.

  This monk, now gravely ill, cannot proceed,

  And Buddha’s gate seems far as Heaven’s gate.

  I’ve no life for scriptures, my toil is vain;

  Some other seeker I beg you ordain.”

  When Pilgrim heard these words, he could not refrain from breaking into uproarious laughter. “Master,” he said, “you’re just too weak! A little illness, and you already entertain such thoughts! If you get any worse, if it truly becomes a matter of life and death, all you need is to ask me. Old Monkey has ability enough to pose the following questions: ‘Which Yama king dares make this decision? Which judge of Hell has the gall to issue the summons? And which ghostly summoner would come near to take you away?’ If I’m the least bit annoyed, I may well bring out that temperament that greatly disturbed the Celestial Palace and, with my rod flying, fight my way into the Region of Darkness. Once I catch hold of the Ten Yama Kings, I’ll pull their tendons one by one, and even then I’ll not spare them!”