by Unknown
“O Disciple!” said Tripitaka. “I am gravely ill! Please don’t talk so big!”
Walking up to them, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, Master says the situation is not good, and you insist that it is. That’s awfully embarrassing! We should make plans early to sell the horse and hock the luggage so that we can buy a coffin for his funeral before we scatter.”
“You’re babbling again, Idiot!” said Pilgrim. “You don’t realize that Master was the second disciple of our Buddha Tathāgata, and originally he was called Elder Gold Cicada. Because he slighted the Law, he was fated to experience this great ordeal.”
“O Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “even if Master did slight the Law, he had already been banished back to the Land of the East where he took on human form in the field of slander and the sea of strife. After he made his vow to worship Buddha and seek scriptures in the Western Heaven, he was bound whenever he ran into monster-spirits and he was hung high whenever he met up with demons. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Why must he endure sickness as well?”
“You wouldn’t know about this,” replied Pilgrim. “Our old master fell asleep while listening to Buddha expounding the Law. As he slumped to one side, his left foot kicked down one grain of rice. That is why he is fated to suffer three days’ illness after he has arrived at the Region Below.”
Horrified, Eight Rules said, “The way old Hog sprays and splatters things all over when he eats, I wonder how many years of illness I’d have to go through!”
“Brother,” said Pilgrim, “you have no idea either that the Buddha is not that concerned with you and other creatures. But as people say:
Rice stalks planted in noonday sun
Take root as perspiration runs.
Who knows of this food from the soil
Each grain requires most bitter toil?
Master still has one more day to go, but he’ll be better by tomorrow.”
Tripitaka said, “I feel quite different from yesterday, for I’m terribly thirsty. Could you find me some cool water to drink?” “That’s good!” remarked Pilgrim. “When Master wants to drink, it’s a sign that he’s getting better. Let me go fetch some water.”
Taking out the almsbowl, he went immediately to the incense kitchen at the rear of the monastery to fetch water. There, however, he came upon many priests who were sobbing, their eyes all red-rimmed, though they dared not weep aloud. “How could you priests be so petty?” asked Pilgrim. “We stay here for a few days, but we fully intend to thank you and pay you back for the rice and firewood when we leave. Why do you behave in such a low-class manner?”
Greatly flustered, the priests knelt down to say, “We dare not! We dare not!” “What do you mean by you dare not?” said Pilgrim. “I suppose the big appetite of the priest with a long snout has hurt your assets.”
“Venerable Father,” replied one of the priests. “Even in this desolate temple of ours, there are altogether over a hundred monks, old and young. If one of us were to feed one of you for one day, we could still manage to take care of all of you for over a hundred days. Would we dare be so niggardly and particular about your upkeep?”
“If not,” asked Pilgrim, “why are you crying?”
“Venerable Father,” said another priest, “we don’t know what sort of perverse fiend has invaded this monastery of ours. Two nights ago two young priests were sent to toll the bell and beat the drum, but they never came back. When we searched for them in the morning, we found their caps and sandals abandoned in the rear garden; their skeletons remained, but their flesh was eaten. You have all stayed in our monastery for three days and we have lost six priests. That is why we brothers cannot help fretting and grieving. Since your venerable master is indisposed, however, we dare not make this known to you, though we can’t refrain from shedding tears in secret.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim was both startled and delighted, saying, “No need to say any more. There must be a fiendish demon here causing harm to people. Let me exterminate it for you.”
“Venerable Father,” said a priest, “the monster who is not a spirit will not possess spiritual powers. But those who are will undoubtedly have the ability to soar on the cloud and fog and to penetrate and leave the Region of Darkness. The ancients have put the matter quite well:
Don’t believe the honesty of the honest;
Be wary of the unkindness of the kind.
Venerable Father, please forgive me for what I’m about to say: if you could catch this monster for us and rid our desolate temple of this root of calamity, it would indeed be our greatest fortune. But if you cannot catch him, there’ll be quite a few inconveniences.”
“What do you mean by quite a few inconveniences?” asked Pilgrim.
“To tell you the truth, Venerable Father,” replied the priest, “though there are some one hundred monks in our rustic temple, they all left their homes in childhood.
They find knives to cut hair grown long;
They patch often their unlined garments.
Once they rise at dawn and wash their faces,
They bow with pressed palms
To embrace the Great Way;
At night they take pains to burn incense,
Sincere and earnest,
To chant Buddha’s name.
Raising their heads to gaze at Buddha’s form
On the ninth-grade lotus,
The Triyāna means,2
And the vessel of mercy afloat on the dharmamega,3
The world-honored Śākya of Jetavana they vow to see.
Lowering their heads to search their hearts.
Having received the five prohibitions,
Having transcended the world,
Amid the myriad creatures and phenomena
The stubborn void and formless form they would perceive.
When the dānapatis4 are present,
The old and the young,
The tall and the short,
The fat and the thin—
Each one will beat the wooden fish
And strike the golden stone,
Hustling and bustling,
To chant two scrolls of the Lotus Sūtra
Or a book of the Water Litany of King Liang.5
When the dānapatis are absent,
The new and the old,
The unfamiliar and the familiar,
The rustic and the urbane—
Each one will press his palms together
And close his eyes,
In silence and darkness,
To meditate on the rush mat
And bolt the gate beneath the moon.6
We leave those orioles and birds to chatter and bicker by themselves:
They don’t belong in our convenient, merciful Mahāyāna.
That is why
We are not able to tame tigers,
Nor are we able to subdue dragons;
We have no knowledge of fiends,
Nor can we recognize spirits.
If you, Venerable Father, manage to annoy that fiendish demon,
He may find a hundred of us priests barely sufficient for one meal.
Then we’ll all fall upon the Wheel of Transmigration;
Second, our Chan grove and old temple will be destroyed;
And third, at Tathāgata’s assembly
We’ll not enjoy even half a mite of glory.
These are some of those inconveniences!” When Pilgrim heard the priest delivering a speech like that,
Anger flared up from his heart,
And wrath sprouted by his bladder.
“How stupid can you monks be?” he shouted. “All you know is about the monster-spirit. Haven’t you any idea of old Monkey’s exploits?”
“In truth we do not,” replied the priests softly.
“I’ll give you only a brief summary today,” said Pilgrim. “Listen to me, all of you!
I did tame tigers and subdue dragons on Mount Flower-Fruit;
I did ascend to Heaven’s Palace to cause great havoc.
>
In hunger I picked up Lord Lao’s elixir
And chewed up—not many—just two or three pellets!
In thirst I took up the Jade Emperor’s wine
And drank—so lightly—six or seven cups!
When my gold-pupil eyes, not black or white, flare wide open,
The sky will pale
And the moon darken;
When I hold up one golden-hooped rod, not too long or short,
I’ll come and go
Without a trace.
Why mention big spirits or small fiends!
Who’s afraid of their hex or devilry!
The moment when I give chase,
The fleeing will flee,
The shaking will shake,
The hiding will hide,
And the fearful will fear;
The moment when I catch them,
They will be sawed,
They will be burned,
They will be ground,
And they will be pounded.
Something like Eight Immortals crossing the sea,
Each revealing magic ability.
Monks and priests,
I’ll seize this monster-spirit for you to see.
Only then will you realize I’m old Monkey!”
When those various monks heard this, they all nodded and said to themselves, “There has to be some basis for this burglar bonze to open his big mouth and utter these big words!” Each of them, therefore, responded to Pilgrim agreeably, but the lama priest spoke up: “Wait a moment! Since your master is indisposed, you shouldn’t feel so eager to catch this monster-spirit. As the proverb says,
A prince at a banquet
Will either be drunk or fed;
A hero on the field
Will either be hurt or dead.
If the two of you engage in battle, you may well involve your master in some difficulty, and that’s not too appropriate.”
“Right you are!” replied Pilgrim. “Let me take some cold water to my master first and then I’ll return.” Picking up the almsbowl and filling it with water, he left the incense kitchen and went directly back to the abbot’s chamber. “Master,” he cried, “drink some cold water.”
Racked by thirst, Tripitaka raised his head, held the water to his mouth, and took a mighty draught. Truly
In thirst one drop of liquid’s like sweet dew;
The true cure arrives and the illness heals.
When Pilgrim saw that the elder was gradually regaining his strength and that his features seemed to brighten, he asked, “Master, can you take some rice soup?”
“This cold water,” replied Tripitaka, “is so much like an efficacious elixir that at least half of my illness is gone. If there is any rice soup, I can eat some.” At once Pilgrim shouted repeatedly, “My master’s well. He wants some soup and rice.” His cries sent those monks scampering to wash the rice, cook it, make noodles, bake biscuits, steam breads, and make rice-noodle soup. They brought in, in fact, four or five tables of food, but the Tang Monk could take only half a bowl of rice soup. Pilgrim and Sha Monk managed to finish one tableful, while the rest all went into Eight Rules’s stomach. After they had cleared away the utensils and lighted the lamps, the monks retired.
“How many days have we stayed here?” asked Tripitaka.
Pilgrim said, “Three whole days. By dusk tomorrow, it’ll be the fourth day.” “How much have we fallen behind in our journey?” asked Tripitaka again. “Master,” said Pilgrim, “you can’t make that sort of calculation. Let’s leave tomorrow.” “Exactly,” said Tripitaka. “Even if I’m still not quite well, I’d better get going.”
“In that case,” said Pilgrim, “I’d better catch a monster-spirit tonight.”
“What sort of monster-spirit do you want to catch this time?” asked Tripitaka, growing alarmed.
“There’s a monster-spirit in this monastery,” said Pilgrim. “Let old Monkey catch it for them.”
“O Disciple!” said the Tang Monk. “I’m not even recovered yet, and you want to start something like this already! Suppose that fiend has great magic powers and you can’t catch it. Wouldn’t you put me in jeopardy?”
“You do love to put me down!” said Pilgrim. “As old Monkey goes about subduing fiends everywhere, have you ever seen him an underdog? I may not move my hands, but the moment I do, I’ll win.” Tugging at him, Tripitaka said, “Disciple, the proverb puts the matter well:
Do someone a favor when you have that favor;
Spare a person when you can afford to spare.
Can restiveness compare with contentedness?
Is tolerance nobler than belligerence?”
When the Great Sage Sun heard his master pleading so passionately with him, refusing to let him subdue a fiend, he had little choice but to tell the truth, saying, “Master, I don’t want to hide this from you, but the fiend has devoured humans at this place.”
Horrified, the Tang Monk asked, “What humans has the fiend devoured?” “We have stayed in this monastery for three days,” replied Pilgrim, “and six young priests of the monastery have been devoured.”
The elder said, “‘When a hare dies, the fox grieves; for a creature will mourn its own kind.’ If a fiend has devoured the priests of this monastery, I, too, am a priest. I’ll let you go, but you must be careful.” “No need to tell me that,” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey will eliminate it the moment he raises his hands.”
Look at him! In the lamplight he gave instructions for Eight Rules and Sha Monk to guard their master, and then leaped out of the abbot’s chamber jubilantly. When he reached the main Buddha hall to look around, he found that there were stars in the sky though the moon had not yet risen. The hall was completely dark, so he exhaled some immortal fire from within himself to light the crystal chalice; then he went to strike the bell on the east and toll the bell on the west. Thereafter with one shake of his body he changed into a young priest no more than twelve or thirteen years of age. Draped in a clerical robe of yellow silk and wearing a white cloth shirt, he chanted scriptures as his hand struck a wooden fish. He waited there in the hall till about the hour of the first watch and nothing happened. By the hour of the second watch, when the waning moon had just risen, he heard all at once a loud roar of the wind. Marvelous wind!
Its black fog blotted out the sky;
Its somber clouds bedimmed the earth.
All four quarters seemed splashed with ink
Or coated with some indigo paint.
At first it lifted up dust and sprayed dirt;
Afterwards it toppled trees and felled forests.
Though stars glistened through lifted dust and sprayed dirt,
The moon paled as trees toppled and forests fell.
It blew till Chang’e tightly hugged the suoluo tree,7
The jade hare spinning searched for its dish of herbs;
Nine Star Officials all shut their doors,
Dragon Kings of Four Seas all closed their gates;
City gods looked for young demons in their shrines,
But midair divines could not soar on clouds.
Yama of Hades sought to find horse-faces,
As judges dashed madly to run down their wraps.
It rocked the boulders on Kunlun summit
And churned up the waves in rivers and lakes.
When the wind subsided, he immediately felt the fragrance of orchids and perfumes and he heard the tinkling of girdle jade. He rose slightly and raised his head to look. Ah! It was a beautiful young girl, walking straight up the hall.
“Oo-li, oo-la!” chanted Pilgrim, pretending to recite scriptures. The girl walked up to him and hugged him, saying, “Little elder, what sort of scriptures are you chanting?” “What I vowed to chant!” replied Pilgrim. “Everyone’s enjoying his sleep,” said the girl. “Why are you still chanting?”
“I made a vow!” replied Pilgrim. “How could I not do so?”
Hugging him once more, the girl kissed him and said, “Let’s go out bac
k and play.” Turning his face aside deliberately, Pilgrim said, “You are kind of dumb!”
“Do you know physiognomy?” asked the girl.
“A little,” replied Pilgrim. “Read my face,” said the girl, “and see what sort of a person I am.” “I can see,” said Pilgrim, “that you are somewhat of a slut or debauchee driven out by your in-laws!” “You haven’t seen a thing!” exclaimed the girl. “You haven’t seen a thing!
I am no slut or debauchee
Whom my in-laws compelled to flee.
By my former life’s poor fate
I was given too young a mate,
Who knew nothing of marriage rite
And drove me to leave him this night.
But the stars and the moon, so luminous this evening, have created the affinity for you and me to meet. Let’s go into the rear garden and make love.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim nodded and said to himself, “So those several stupid monks all succumbed to lust and that was how they lost their lives. Now she’s trying to fool even me!” He said to her, “Lady, this priest is still very young, and he doesn’t know much about lovemaking.”
“Follow me,” said the girl, “and I’ll teach you.” Pilgrim smiled and said to himself, “All right! I’ll follow her and see what she wants to do with me.”
They put their arms around each other’s shoulders, and, hand in hand, the two of them left the hall to walk to the rear garden. Immediately tripping Pilgrim up with her leg so that he fell to the ground, the fiend began crying “Sweetheart” madly as she tried to pinch his stinky root.8
“My dear child!” exclaimed Pilgrim. “You do want to devour old Monkey!” He caught her hand and, using a little tumbling technique, flipped the fiend on to the ground. Even then, the fiend cried out, “Sweetheart, you certainly know how to make your old lady fall!”
Pilgrim thought to himself, “If I don’t move against her now, what am I waiting for? As the saying goes,
Strike first and you’re the stronger;
Delay and you won’t live longer!”
Hands on his hips, he snapped his torso erect and leaped up to change into the magic appearance of his true form. Wielding his golden-hooped iron rod, he struck at the girl’s head.
The fiend, too, was somewhat startled, thinking to herself, “This young priest is quite formidable!” She opened her eyes wide to take a careful look and found that her opponent was in fact the disciple of Elder Tang, the one with the surname of Sun. She was, however, not the least intimidated. What kind of spirit was she, you ask? She has
