by Unknown
Next morning, Pilgrim arose and said, “Master, that old caretaker promised last night to give us the harness. Ask him for it. Don’t spare him.” He had hardly finished speaking when the old man came in with a saddle, together with pads, reins, and the like. Not a single item needed for riding a horse was lacking. He set them down in the corridor, saying, “Master, I am presenting you with this harness.” When Tripitaka saw it, he accepted it with delight and asked Pilgrim to try the saddle on the horse. Going forward, Pilgrim took up the accoutrements and examined them piece by piece. They were indeed some magnificent articles, for which we have a testimonial poem. The poem says:
The carved saddle shines with studs of silver stars.
The precious seat glows with bright threads of gold.
The pads are stacks of fine-spun woolen quilts.
The reins are three bands of purple cords of silk.
The bridle’s leather straps are shaped like flowers.
The flaps have gold-etched forms of dancing beasts.
The rings and bit are made of finest steel.
Waterproof tassels dangle on both sides.
Secretly pleased, Pilgrim put the saddle on the back of the horse, and it seemed to have been made to measure. Tripitaka bowed to thank the old man, who hastily raised him up, saying, “It’s nothing! What do you need to thank me for?” The old man did not ask them to stay any longer; instead, he urged Tripitaka to mount. The priest came out of the gate and climbed into the saddle, while Pilgrim followed, hauling the luggage. The old man then took a whip out from his sleeve, with a handle of rattan wrapped in strips of leather, and the strap knitted with cords made of tiger ligaments. He stood by the side of the road and presented it with hands uplifted, saying, “Holy Monk, I have a whip here that I may as well give you.” Tripitaka accepted it on his horse, saying, “Thanks for your donation! Thanks for your donation!”
Even as he was saying this, the old man vanished. The priest turned around to look at the Lishe Shrine, but it had become just a piece of level ground. From the sky came a voice saying, “Holy Monk, I’m sorry not to have given you a better reception! I am the local spirit of Potalaka Mountain, who was sent by the Bodhisattva to present you with the harness. You two must journey to the West with all diligence. Do not be slothful in any moment.” Tripitaka was so startled that he fell off his horse and bowed toward the sky, saying, “Your disciple is of fleshly eyes and mortal stock, and he does not recognize the holy visage of the deity. Please forgive me. I beseech you to convey my gratitude to the Bodhisattva.” Look at him! All he could do was to kowtow toward the sky without bothering to count how many times! By the side of the road the Great Sage Sun reeled with laughter, the Handsome Monkey King broke up with hilarity. He came up and tugged at his master, saying, “Master, get up! He is long gone! He can’t hear you, nor can he see your kowtowing. Why keep up this adoration?” “Disciple,” said the priest, “when I kowtowed like that, all you could do was to stand snickering by the side of the road, with not even a bow. Why?” “You wouldn’t know, would you?” said Pilgrim. “For playing a game of hide-and-seek like that with us, he really deserves a beating! But for the sake of the Bodhisattva, I’ll spare him, and that’s something already! You think he dares accept a bow from old Monkey? Old Monkey has been a hero since his youth, and he doesn’t know how to bow to people! Even when I saw the Jade Emperor and Laozi, I just gave them my greeting, that’s all!” “Blasphemy!” said Tripitaka. “Stop this idle talk! Let’s get going without further delay.” So the priest got up and prepared to set off again toward the West.
After leaving that place, they had a peaceful journey for two months, for all they met were barbarians, Muslims, tigers, wolves, and leopards. Time went by swiftly, and it was again early spring. You could see jade green gilding the mountain forest, and green sprouts of grass appearing. The plum blossoms were all fallen and the willow-leaves gently budding. As master and disciple were admiring this scenery of spring, they saw the sun sinking westward again. Reining the horse, Tripitaka peered into the distance and saw at the fold of the hill the shadow of buildings and the dark silhouette of towers. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “look at the buildings over there. What sort of a place is that?” Stretching his neck to look, Pilgrim said, “It has to be either a temple or a monastery. Let’s move along and ask for lodging over there.” Tripitaka was glad to follow this suggestion and urged his dragon-horse forward. We do not know what took place thereafter; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.
SIXTEEN
At Guanyin Hall the monks plot for the treasure;
At Black Wind Mountain a monster steals the cassock.
We were telling you about the disciple and master, who urged the horse forward and arrived at the front gate of the building. They saw that it was indeed a monastery with
Tiers of towers and turrets,
And rows of quiet chambers.
Above the temple gate
Hung the august panoply of colored nimbus;
Before the Hall of Five Blessings
Whirled a thousand strands of bright red mists.
Two rows of pines and bamboos;
One grove of juniper and cypress;
Two rows of pines and bamboos
Revealed their fair virtue unspoiled by time;
One grove of juniper and cypress
Displayed its chaste beauty in comely hues.
They saw also the tall bell tower,
The pagoda rugged,
Monks in silent meditation
And birds on trees gently cooing.
A dustless seclusion was the real seclusion,
For the quiescence of Dao was truly quiescent.
The poem says:
This temple, like Jetavana, hides in a jade-green grove.
Its beauty surpasses even the Ṣaḍ-varṣa.1
Pure land among mankind is rare indeed:
This world’s famed mountains are mostly held by monks.
The priest dismounted, and Pilgrim laid down his load. They were about to walk through the gate when a monk came out. “How does he look?” you ask.
He wore a hat pinned to the left
And a robe most spotlessly pure.
Two brass rings hung from his ears;
A silk sash was wrapped round his waist.
His straw sandals moved sedately;
His hands carried a wooden fish.
His mouth recited constantly
The Wisdom he sought most humbly.
When Tripitaka saw him, he stood waiting by the gate and saluted with his palms pressed together in front of him. The monk returned the greeting at once and said laughing, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you!” He then asked, “Where do you come from? Please come in for some tea.” “Your disciple,” said Tripitaka, “has been sent by royal decree from the Land of the East to go to seek scriptures from Buddha in the Temple of Thunderclap. It was getting late when we arrived here, and we would like to ask for a night’s lodging in your fair temple.” “Please take a seat inside,” said the monk. Only then did Tripitaka call Pilgrim to lead the horse inside. When the monk caught sight of Pilgrim’s face, he became somewhat afraid and asked, “What’s that thing leading the horse?” “Speak softly!” said Tripitaka. “He’s easily provoked! If he hears you referring to him as a thing, he’ll get mad. He happens to be my disciple.” With a shiver, the monk bit his finger and said, “Such a hideous creature, and you made him your disciple!” Tripitaka said, “You can’t tell by mere appearance. He may be ugly, but he is very useful.”
That monk had little choice but to accompany Tripitaka and Pilgrim as they entered the temple gate. Inside, above the main hall’s entrance, the words “Guanyin Chan Hall” were written in large letters. Highly pleased, Tripitaka said, “This disciple has repeatedly benefited from the holy grace of the Bodhisattva, though he has had no opportunity to thank her. Now that we are at this Chan hall, it is as if we are meeting the Bodhisattva personally, and it is
most proper that I should offer my thanks.” When the monk heard this, he told one of the attendants to open wide the door of the hall and invited Tripitaka to worship. Pilgrim tied up the horse, dropped his luggage, and went with Tripitaka up the hall. Stretching his back and then flattening himself on the ground, Tripitaka kowtowed to the golden image as the monk went to beat the drum, and Pilgrim began to strike the bell. Prostrating himself before the seat of the deity, Tripitaka poured out his heart in prayer. When he finished, the monk stopped the drum, but Pilgrim continued to strike the bell without ceasing. Now rapidly, now slowly, he persisted for a long time. The attendant said, “The service is over. Why are you still striking the bell?” Only then did Pilgrim throw away the hammer and say, laughing, “You wouldn’t know this! I’m just living by the proverb: ‘If you are a monk for a day, strike then the bell for a day!’”2
By then, the monks young and old of the monastery and the elders of upper and lower chambers were all aroused by the unruly sound of the bell. They rushed out together crying, “Who is the maniac fooling with the bell?” Pilgrim leaped out of the hall and shouted, “Your Grandpa Sun sounded it to amuse himself!” The moment the monks saw him, they were so frightened that they tumbled and rolled on the ground. Crawling around, they said, “Father Thunder!” “He’s only my great-grandson!” said Pilgrim. “Get up, get up! Don’t be afraid. We are noble priests who have come from the Great Tang Nation in the east.” The various monks then bowed courteously to him, and when they saw Tripitaka, they were even more reassured. One of the monks, who was the abbot of the monastery, said, “Let the holy fathers come to the living room in the back so that we may offer them some tea.” Untying the reins and leading the horse, they picked up the luggage and went past the main hall to the back of the monastery, where they sat down in orderly rows.
After serving tea, the abbot prepared a vegetarian meal, although it was still rather early for dinner. Tripitaka had not finished thanking him when an old monk emerged from the rear, supported by two boys. Look how he was attired:
He wore on his head a Vairocana hat
Topped by a precious, shining cat’s-eye stone;
He wore on his body a brocaded woolen frock,
Piped brilliantly in gold and kingfisher feathers.
A pair of monk shoes on which Eight Treasures were set,
And a priestly staff encased with starry gems.
His face full of wrinkles,
He looked like the Old Witch of Li Mountain;
His eyes were dim-sighted,
Though he seemed a Dragon King of the Eastern Ocean.
Wind stabbed his mouth for his teeth had fallen,
And palsy had made crooked his aged back.
The various monks made the announcement: “The Patriarch is here.” Tripitaka bowed to receive him, saying, “Old Abbot, your disciple bows to you.” The old monk returned the gesture, and they were both seated. “Just now I heard the little ones announcing,” said the old monk, “that venerable fathers from the Tang court have arrived from the east. I came out specifically to meet you.” “Without knowing any better,” said Tripitaka, “we intruded into your esteemed temple. Please pardon us!” “Please, please!” said the old monk. “May I ask the holy father what the distance is between here and the Land of the East?” “Since leaving the outskirts of Chang’an,” said Tripitaka, “I traveled for some five thousand miles before passing the Mountain of Two Frontiers, where I picked up a little disciple. Moving on, we passed through the Hamil Kingdom of the western barbarians, and in two months we had traveled another five or six thousand miles. Only then did we arrive at your noble region.” “Well, you have covered the distance of ten thousand miles,” said the old monk. “This disciple truly has spent his life in vain, for he has not even left the door of the temple. I have, as the saying goes, ‘sat in the well to look at the sky.’ A veritable piece of dead wood!”
Then Tripitaka asked, “What is the honorable age of the Old Abbot?” “Foolishly I have reached my two hundred and seventieth year,” said the old monk. When Pilgrim heard this, he said, “You are only my descendant of the ten-thousandth generation!” “Careful!” said Tripitaka, looking at him sternly. “Don’t offend people with your brashness!” “And you, Elder,” asked the old monk, “how old are you?” “I dare not tell,” said Pilgrim. That old monk thought it was just a foolish remark; he paid no further attention, nor did he ask again. Instead, he called for tea to be served, and a young cleric brought out a tray made of milk-white jade on which there were three cloisonné cups with gold edges. Another youth brought out a white copper pot and poured three cups of scented tea, truly more colorful than camellia buds and more fragrant than cassia flowers. When Tripitaka saw these, he could not cease making compliments, saying, “What marvelous things! What marvelous things! A lovely drink, indeed, and lovely utensils!” “Most disgraceful stuff!” said the old monk. “The holy father resides in the heavenly court of a great nation, and he has witnessed all kinds of rare treasures. Things like these are not worthy of your praise. Since you have come from a noble state, do you have any precious thing you can show me?” “It’s pathetic!” said Tripitaka. “We have no precious thing in the Land of the East; and even if we had, I could not bring it with me because of the distance.”
From the side, Pilgrim said, “Master, I saw a cassock the other day in our bag. Isn’t that a treasure? Why not take it out and show it to him?” When the other monks heard him mentioning a cassock, they all began to snicker. “What are you laughing at?” asked Pilgrim. The abbot said, “To say that a cassock is a treasure, as you just did, is certainly laughable. If you want to talk about cassocks, priests like us would possess more than twenty or thirty such garments. Take the case of our Patriarch, who has been a monk here for some two hundred and fifty years. He has over seven hundred of them!” He then made the suggestion: “Why not take them out for these people to see?” That old monk certainly thought it was his show this time! He asked the attendants to open up the storage room and the dhūtas to bring out the chests. They brought out twelve of them and set them down in the courtyard. The padlocks were unlocked; clothes racks were set up on both sides, and ropes were strung all around. One by one, the cassocks were shaken loose and hung up for Tripitaka to see. It was truly a roomful of embroidery, four walls of exquisite silk!
Glancing at them one by one, Pilgrim saw that they were all pieces of fine silk intricately woven and delicately embroidered, splashed with gold. He laughed and said, “Fine! Fine! Fine! Now pack them up! Let’s take ours out for you to look at.” Pulling Pilgrim aside, Tripitaka said softly, “Disciple, don’t start a contest of wealth with other people. You and I are strangers away from home, and this may be a mistake!” “Just a look at the cassock,” said Pilgrim, “how can that be a mistake?” “You haven’t considered this,” said Tripitaka. “As the ancients declared, ‘The rare object of art should not be exposed to the covetous and deceitful person.’ For once he sees it, he will be tempted; and once he is tempted, he will plot and scheme. If you are timid, you may end up yielding to his every demand; otherwise, injury and loss of life may result, and that’s no small matter.” “Relax! Relax!” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey will assume all responsibility!” Look at him! He did not permit any further discussion! Darting away, he untied the bag, and brilliant rays at once came flashing through the two layers of oil-paper in which the garment was wrapped. He discarded the paper and took out the cassock. As he shook it loose, a crimson light flooded the room and glorious air filled the courtyard. When the various monks saw it, none could suppress the admiration in his heart and the praise on his lips. It was truly a magnificent cassock! It has hanging on it
Sparkling pearls—marvelous in every way—
And Buddha’s treasures in each aspect rare.
Up and down spreads grapevine3 weave on gorgeous silk;
On every side are hems of fine brocade.
Put it on, and goblins will then be slain.
Step in it, and demons will flee to Hell.
It’s made by those hands of gods incarnate;
He who’s not a true monk dares not wear it.
When the old monk saw a treasure of such quality, he was indeed moved to villainy. Walking forward, he knelt down before Tripitaka, and tears began to fall from his eyes. “This disciple truly has no luck,” he said. “Old Abbot,” said Tripitaka, raising him up, “what do you mean?” “It was already getting late,” he said, “when the venerable father spread this treasure out. But my eyes are dim and I can’t see clearly. Isn’t this my misfortune?” “Bring out the lamps,” said Tripitaka, “and you can take a better look.” The old monk said, “The treasure of the father is already dazzling; if we light the lamps, it will become much too bright for my eyes, and I’ll never be able to see it properly.” “How would you like to see it?” asked Pilgrim. “If the venerable father is inclined to be gracious,” replied the old monk, “please permit me to take it back to my room, where I can spend the night looking at it carefully. Tomorrow I shall return it to you before you continue your journey to the west. How would that be?” Startled, Tripitaka began to complain to Pilgrim, saying, “It’s all your doing! It’s all your doing!” “What are you afraid of ?” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Let me wrap it up and he can take it away. If there’s any mishap, old Monkey will take care of it.” Tripitaka could not stop him; he handed the cassock over to the monk, saying, “You may look at it, but you must give it back tomorrow morning, just as it is. Don’t spoil or damage it in any way!” The old monk was very pleased. After telling the young cleric to take the cassock inside, he gave instructions for the various monks to sweep out the Chan hall in front. Two rattan beds were sent for and the bedding was prepared, so that the two travelers could rest. He gave further instructions for sending them off with breakfast in the morning, after which everyone left. Master and disciple closed up the hall and slept, and we shall say no more of that.
