The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 1

by Unknown

  “Though you may be a Tang man,” the old man said, “that nasty character is certainly no Tang man!” “Old fellow!” cried Wukong in a loud voice, “you really can’t see, can you? The Tang man is my master, and I am his disciple. Of course, I’m no sugar man8 or honey man! I am the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven! The members of your family should recognize me. Moreover, I have seen you before.”

  “Where have you seen me before?” “When you were young,” said Wukong, “didn’t you gather firewood before my eyes? Didn’t you haul vegetables before my face?” The old man said, “That’s nonsense! Where did you live? And where was I, that I should have gathered firewood and hauled vegetables before your eyes?” “Only my son would talk nonsense!” said Wukong. “You really don’t recognize me! Take a closer look! I am the Great Sage in the stone box of this Mountain of Two Frontiers.” “You do look somewhat like him,” said the old man, half recognizing the figure before him, “but how did you get out?” Wukong thereupon gave a thorough account of how the Bodhisattva had converted him and how she had asked him to wait for the Tang Monk to lift the tag for his deliverance.

  After that, the old man bowed deeply and invited Tripitaka in, calling for his aged wife and his children to come out and meet the guests. When he told them what had happened, everyone was delighted. Tea was then served, after which the old man asked Wukong, “How old are you, Great Sage?” “And how old are you?” asked Wukong. “I have lived foolishly for one hundred and thirty years!” said the old man. “You are still my great-great-great-great-grandson!” said Pilgrim. “I can’t remember when I was born, but I have spent over five hundred years underneath this mountain.” “Yes, yes,” said the old man. “I remember my great-grandfather saying that when this mountain dropped from the sky, it had a divine ape clamped underneath it. To think that you should have waited until now for your freedom! When I saw you in my childhood, you had grass on your head and mud on your face, but I wasn’t afraid of you then. Now without mud on your face and grass on your head, you seem a bit thinner. And with that huge piece of tiger skin draped around your waist, what great difference is there between you and a demon?”

  When the members of his family heard this remark, they all roared with laughter. Being a rather decent fellow, that old man at once ordered a vegetarian meal to be prepared. Afterwards Wukong said, “What is your family name?” “Our humble family,” said the old man, “goes by the name of Chen.” When Tripitaka heard this, he left his seat to salute him, saying, “Old Patron, you and I share the same illustrious clan.”9 “Master,” said Pilgrim, “your surname is Tang. How can it be that you and he share the same illustrious ancestors?” Tripitaka said, “The surname of my secular family is also Chen, and I come from the Juxian Village, in the Hongnong District of Haizhou in the Tang domain. My religious name is Chen Xuanzang. Because our Great Tang Emperor Taizong made me his brother by decree, I took the name Tripitaka and used Tang as my surname. Hence I’m called the Tang Monk.” The old man was very pleased to hear that they had the same surname.

  “Old Chen,” said Pilgrim, “I must trouble your family some more, for I haven’t taken a bath for five hundred years! Please go and boil some water so that my master and I, his disciple, can wash ourselves. We shall thank you all the more when we leave.” The old man at once gave the order for water to be boiled and basins to be brought in with several lamps. As master and disciple sat before the lamps after their baths, Pilgrim said, “Old Chen, I still have one more favor to ask of you. Can you lend me a needle and some thread?” “Of course, of course,” replied the old man. One of the amahs was told to fetch the needle and thread, which were then handed over to Pilgrim. Pilgrim, you see, had the keenest sight; he noticed that Tripitaka had taken off a shirt made of white cloth and had not put it on again after his bath. Pilgrim grabbed it and put it on himself. Taking off his tiger skin, he sewed the hems together using a “horse-face fold”10 and fastened it round his waist again with the strand of rattan. He paraded in front of his master saying, “How does old Monkey look today compared with the way he looked yesterday?” “Very good,” said Tripitaka, “very good! Now you do look like a pilgrim! If you don’t think that the shirt is too worn or old, you may keep it.” “Thanks for the gift!” said Wukong respectfully. He then went out to find some hay to feed the horse, after which master and disciple both retired with the old man and his household.

  The next morning Wukong arose and woke up his master to get ready for the journey. Tripitaka dressed himself while Wukong put their luggage in order. They were about to leave when the old man brought in washing water and some vegetarian food, and so they did not set out until after the meal. Tripitaka rode his horse with Pilgrim leading the way; they journeyed by day and rested by night, taking food and drink according to their needs. Soon it was early winter. You see

  Frost-blighted maples and the wizened trees;

  Few verdant pine and cypress still on the ridge.

  Budding plum blossoms spread their gentle scent.

  The brief, warm day—

  A Little Spring gift!11

  But dying lilies yield to the lush wild tea.

  A cold bridge struggles against an old tree’s bough,

  And gurgling water flows in the winding brook.

  Gray clouds, snow-laden, float throughout the sky.

  The strong, cold wind

  Tears at the sleeve!

  How does one bear this chilly might of night?12

  Master and disciple had traveled for some time when suddenly six men jumped out from the side of the road with much clamor, all holding long spears and short swords, sharp blades and strong bows. “Stop, monk!” they cried. “Leave your horse and drop your bag at once, and we’ll let you pass on alive!” Tripitaka was so terrified that his soul left him and his spirit fled; he fell from his horse, unable to utter a word. But Pilgrim lifted him up, saying, “Don’t be alarmed, Master. It’s nothing really, just some people coming to give us clothes and a travel allowance!” “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “you must be a little hard of hearing! They told us to leave our bag and our horse, and you want to ask them for clothes and a travel allowance?” “You just stay here and watch our belongings,” said Pilgrim, “and let old Monkey confront them. We’ll see what happens.” Tripitaka said, “Even a good punch is no match for a pair of fists, and two fists can’t cope with four hands! There are six big fellows over there, and you are such a tiny person. How can you have the nerve to confront them?”

  As he always had been audacious, Pilgrim did not wait for further discussion. He walked forward with arms folded and saluted the six men, saying, “Sirs, for what reason are you blocking the path of this poor monk?” “We are kings of the highway,” said the men, “philanthropic mountain lords. Our fame has long been known, though you seem to be ignorant of it. Leave your belongings at once, and you will be allowed to pass. If you but utter half a no, you’ll be chopped to pieces!” “I have been also a great hereditary king and a mountain lord for centuries,” said Pilgrim, “but I have yet to learn of your illustrious names.”

  “So you really don’t know!” one of them said. “Let’s tell you then: one of us is named Eye That Sees and Delights; another, Ear That Hears and Rages; another Nose That Smells and Loves; another, Tongue That Tastes and Desires; another, Mind That Perceives and Covets; and another, Body That Bears and Suffers.” “You are nothing but six hairy brigands,” said Wukong laughing, “who have failed to recognize in me a person who has left the family, your proper master. How dare you bar my way? Bring out the treasures you have stolen so that you and I can divide them into seven portions. I’ll spare you then!” Hearing this, the robbers all reacted with rage and amusement, covetousness and fear, desire and anxiety. They rushed forward crying, “You reckless monk! You haven’t a thing to offer us, and yet you want us to share our loot with you!” Wielding spears and swords, they surrounded Pilgrim and hacked away at his head seventy or eighty times. Pilgrim stood in their midst and behaved as
if nothing were happening.

  “What a monk!” said one of the robbers. “He really does have a hard head!” “Passably so!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “But your hands must be getting tired from all that exercise; it’s about time for old Monkey to take out his needle for a little entertainment.” “This monk must be an acupuncture man in disguise,” said the robber. “We’re not sick! What’s all this about using a needle?” Pilgrim reached into his ear and took out a tiny embroidery needle; one wave of it in the wind and it became an iron rod with the thickness of a rice bowl. He held it in his hands, saying, “Don’t run! Let old Monkey try his hand on you with this rod!” The six robbers fled in all directions, but with great strides he caught up with them and rounded all of them up. He beat every one of them to death, stripped them of their clothes, and seized their valuables. Then Pilgrim came back smiling broadly and said, “You may proceed now, Master. Those robbers have been exterminated by old Monkey.”

  “That’s a terrible thing you have done!” said Tripitaka. “They may have been strong men on the highway, but they would not have been sentenced to death even if they had been caught and tried. If you have such abilities, you should have chased them away. Why did you slay them all? How can you be a monk when you take life without cause? We who have left the family should

  Keep ants out of harm’s way when we sweep the floor,

  And put shades on lamps for the love of moths.

  How can you kill them just like that, without regard for black or white? You showed no mercy at all! It’s a good thing that we are here in the mountains, where any further investigation will be unlikely. But suppose someone offends you when we reach a city and you perpetrate violence again, hitting people indiscriminately with that rod of yours—would I be able to remain innocent and get away scot-free?”

  “Master,” said Wukong, “if I hadn’t killed them, they would have killed you!” Tripitaka said, “As a priest, I would rather die than practice violence. If I were killed, there would be only one of me, but you slaughtered six persons. How can you justify that? If this matter were brought before a judge, and even if your old man were the judge, you certainly would not be able to justify your action.” “To tell you the truth, Master,” said Pilgrim, “when I, old Monkey, was king on the Flower-Fruit Mountain five hundred years ago, I killed I don’t know how many people. I would not have been a Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, if I had lived by what you are saying.” “It’s precisely because you had neither scruples nor self-control,” said Tripitaka, “unleashing your waywardness on Earth and spreading outrage in Heaven, that you had to undergo this ordeal of five hundred years. Now that you have entered the fold of Buddhism, if you still insist on practicing violence and indulge in the taking of life as before, you are not worthy to be a monk, nor can you go to the Western Heaven. You’re wicked! You’re just too wicked!”

  Now this monkey had never in all his life been able to tolerate scolding. When he heard Tripitaka’s persistent reprimand, he could not suppress the flames leaping up in his heart. “If that’s what you think,” he said. “If you think I’m not worthy to be a monk, nor can I go to the Western Heaven, you needn’t bother me further with your nagging! I’ll leave and go back!” Before Tripitaka had time to reply, Pilgrim was already so enraged that he leaped into the air, crying only, “Old Monkey’s off!” Tripitaka quickly raised his head to look, but the monkey had already disappeared, trailed only by a swishing sound fading fast toward the East. Left by himself, the priest could only shake his head and sigh, “That fellow! He’s so unwilling to be taught! I only said a few words to him. How could he vanish without a trace and go back just like that? Well, well, well! It must be also that I am destined not to have a disciple or any other companion, for now I couldn’t even call him or locate him if I wanted to. I might as well go on by myself!” So, he was prepared to

  Lay down his life and go toward the West,

  To be his own master and on none rely.

  The elder had little alternative but to pack up his bag and put it on the horse, which he did not even bother to mount. Holding his staff in one hand and the reins in the other, he set off sadly toward the West. He had not traveled far when he saw an old woman before him on the mountain road, holding a silk garment and a cap with a floral design. When Tripitaka saw her approach, he hastened to pull his horse aside for her to pass. “Elder, where do you come from,” asked the old woman, “and why are you walking here all by yourself?” Tripitaka replied, “Your child was sent by the Great King of the Land of the East to seek true scriptures from the living Buddha in the Western Heaven.” “The Buddha of the West,” said the old woman, “lives in the Great Temple of Thunderclap in the territory of India, and the journey there is one hundred and eight thousand miles long. You are all by yourself, with neither a companion nor a disciple. How can you possibly think of going there?” “A few days ago,” said Tripitaka, “I did pick up a disciple, a rather unruly and headstrong character. I scolded him a little, but he refused to be taught, and disappeared.” The old woman said, “I have here a silk shirt and a flower cap inlaid with gold, which used to belong to my son. He had been a monk for only three days when unfortunately he died. I have just finished mourning him at the temple, where I was given these things by his master to be kept in his memory. Father, since you have a disciple, I’ll give the shirt and the cap to you.” “I’m most grateful for your lavish gifts,” said Tripitaka, “but my disciple has left. I dare not take them.” “Where did he go?” asked the old woman. Tripitaka replied, “I heard a swishing sound heading toward the east.” “My home is not too far away in the east,” said the old woman, “and he may be going there. I have a spell which is called the True Words for Controlling the Mind, or the Tight-Fillet Spell. You must memorize it secretly; commit it firmly to your memory, and don’t let anyone learn of it. I’ll try to catch up with him and persuade him to come back and follow you. When he returns, give him the shirt and the cap to wear; and if he again refuses to obey you, recite the spell silently. He will not dare do violence or leave you again.”

  On hearing these words, Tripitaka bowed his head to thank her. The old woman changed herself into a shaft of golden light and vanished toward the east. Then Tripitaka realized that it was the Bodhisattva Guanyin who had taught him the True Words; he hurriedly picked up a few pinches of earth with his fingers and scattered them like incense, bowing reverently toward the East. He then took the shirt and the cap and hid them in his bag. Sitting beside the road, he began to recite the True Words for Controlling the Mind. After a few times, he knew it thoroughly by heart, but we shall speak no more of him for the time being.

  We now tell you about Wukong, who, having left his master, headed straight toward the Eastern Ocean with a single cloud somersault. He stopped his cloud, opened up a path in the water, and went directly to the Water Crystal Palace. Learning of his arrival, the Dragon King came out to welcome him. After they had exchanged greetings and sat down, the Dragon King said, “I heard recently that the ordeal of the Great Sage had been completed, and I apologize for not having congratulated you yet. I suppose you have again taken occupancy in your immortal mountain and returned to the ancient cave.” “I was so inclined,” said Wukong, “but I became a monk instead.” “What sort of a monk?” asked the Dragon King. “I was indebted to the Bodhisattva of South Sea,” said Pilgrim, “who persuaded me to do good and seek the truth. I was to follow the Tang Monk from the Land of the East to go worship Buddha in the West. Since entering the fold of Buddhism, I was given also the name ‘Pilgrim.’” “That is indeed praiseworthy!” said the Dragon King. “You have, as we say, left the wrong and followed the right; you have been created anew by setting your mind on goodness. But if that’s the case, why are you not going toward the West, but are returning eastward instead?”

  Pilgrim laughed and said, “That Tang Monk knows nothing of human nature! There were a few ruffians who wanted to rob us, and I slew them all. But that Tang Monk couldn’t stop nagging m
e, telling me over and over how wrong I was. Can you imagine old Monkey putting up with that sort of tedium? I just left him! I was on my way back to my mountain when I decided to come visit you and ask for a cup of tea.” “Thanks for coming! Thanks for coming!” exclaimed the Dragon King. At that moment, the Dragon sons and grandsons presented them with aromatic tea. When they finished the tea, Pilgrim happened to turn around and saw hanging behind him on the wall a painting on the “Presentation of Shoes at Yi Bridge.” “What’s this all about?” asked Pilgrim. The Dragon King replied, “The incident depicted in the painting took place some time after you were born, and you may not recognize what it was—the threefold presentation of shoes at Yi Bridge.” “What do you mean by the threefold presentation of shoes?” asked Pilgrim.

  “The immortal in the painting,” said the Dragon King, “was named Huang Shigong,13 and the young man kneeling in front of him was called Zhang Liang.14 Shigong was sitting on the Yi Bridge when suddenly one of his shoes fell off and dropped under the bridge. He asked Zhang Liang to fetch it, and the young man quickly did so, putting it back on for him as he knelt there. This happened three times. Since Zhang Liang did not display the slightest sign of pride or impatience, he won the affection of Shigong, who imparted to him that night a celestial manual and told him to support the house of Han. Afterwards, Zhang Liang ‘made his plans sitting in a military tent to achieve victories a thousand miles away.’15 When the Han dynasty was established, he left his post and went into the mountains, where he followed the Daoist, Master Red Pine,16 and became enlightened in the way of immortality. Great Sage, if you do not accompany the Tang Monk, if you are unwilling to exercise diligence or to accept instruction, you will remain a bogus immortal after all. Don’t think that you’ll ever acquire the Fruits of Truth.”