by Unknown
We shall now tell you about the old monk, who had got hold of the cassock by fraud. He took it beneath the lamps in the back room and sat in front of it, bawling. The chief priest of the monastery was so startled that he dared not retire first. The young cleric, not knowing the reason for the weeping, went to report to the other monks, saying, “The aged father has been crying, and it’s now the second watch and he still hasn’t stopped.” Two grand disciples, who were his favorites, went forward to ask him, “Grand master, why are you crying?” “I’m crying over my ill luck,” replied the old monk, “for I cannot look at the treasure of the Tang Monk.” One of the little monks said, “The aged father is becoming a little senile! The cassock is placed right before you. All you have to do is to untie the package and look at it. Why do you have to cry?” “But I can’t look at it for long,” said the old monk. “I’m two hundred and seventy years old, and yet I have bargained in vain for those several hundred cassocks. What must I do to acquire that one cassock of his? How can I become the Tang Monk himself?” “The grand master is erring,” said the little monk. “The Tang Monk is a mendicant who had to leave his home and country. You are enjoying the benefits of old age here, and that should be sufficient. Why do you want to be a mendicant like him?” The old monk said, “Though I’m relaxing at home and enjoying my declining years, I have no cassock like his to put on. If I can put it on for just one day, I’ll die with my eyes shut, for then I shall not have been a monk in vain in this World of Light.” “What nonsense!” said another monk. “If you want to put it on, what’s so difficult about that? Tomorrow we will ask them to stay for one more day, and you can wear it the whole day; if that’s not enough, we’ll detain them for ten days so that you can wear the cassock all that time. That will be the end of the matter. Why do you have to cry like this?” “Even if they were to be detained for a whole year,” said the old monk, “I would only be able to wear it for one year. That’s not long-lasting! The moment they want to leave, we will have to return it. How can we make it last?”
As they were speaking, one of the little monks, whose name was Great Wisdom, spoke up: “Aged Father, if you want it to last, that’s easy too!” When the old monk heard that, he brightened up. “My son,” he said, “what profound thoughts do you have?” Great Wisdom said, “The Tang Monk and his disciple are travelers and are subjected to a lot of stress and strain. So they are fast asleep now. I suppose a few of us who are strong could take up knives and spears, break open the Chan hall, and kill them. We could bury them in the backyard, and only those of us within the family would know about it. We could also take over the white horse and the luggage, but the cassock could be kept as an heirloom. Now isn’t this a plan made to last through posterity?” When the old monk heard this, he was filled with delight. Wiping away his tears, he said, “Good! Good! Good! This plan is absolutely marvelous!” He asked at once for knives and spears.
There was in their midst another little monk, whose name was Big Plan, who was the younger classmate of Great Wisdom. Coming forward, he said, “That plan is no good! If you want to kill them, you must first assess the situation. It’s easy to take care of the one with the white face, but the hairy face presents more difficulty. If for some reason you are unable to slay him, you might bring disaster upon yourselves. I have a plan that does not call for knives or spears. How do you feel about this?” “My son,” said the old monk, “what sort of plan do you have?” “In the opinion of your little grandson,” said Big Plan, “we can call up all the resident heads, both senior and junior, in the eastern wing of this monastery, asking each person and his group to bring a bundle of dried firewood. We’ll sacrifice the three rooms of the Chan hall and set fire to them; the people inside will be barred from all exits. Even the horse will be burned with them! If the families who live in front of the temple or behind it should see the fire, we can say that they caused it by their carelessness and burned down our Chan hall. Those two monks will surely be burned to death, but no one will know any better. After that, won’t we have the cassock as our heirloom?” When the monks heard this, they were all delighted. “Better! Better! Better! This plan is even more marvelous! More marvelous!” they all said. They sent for the resident heads at once to bring firewood. Alas, this single plan will have the result of
A venerable old monk ending his life,
And the Guanyin Chan Hall reduced to dust.
That monastery, you see, had over seventy suites and some two hundred monks resided there. Hordes of them went to fetch firewood, which they stacked around the Chan hall until it was completely surrounded. They then made plans to light the fire, but we shall say no more of that.
We must now tell you about Tripitaka and his disciple, who had already gone to rest. That Pilgrim, however, was a spiritual monkey; though he lay down, he was only exercising his breath to preserve his spirit, with his eyes half-closed. Suddenly he heard people running around outside and the crackling of firewood in the wind. “This is a time for quietness,” he said to himself, his suspicion fully aroused, “so why do I hear people walking about? Could they be thieves plotting against us?” Whirling around, he leaped up, and would have opened the door to look outside, had he not been afraid of waking his master. Look at him display his abilities! With one shake of his body he changed into a bee. Truly he had
A sweet mouth and vicious tail;
A small waist and light body.
He cut through flowers and willow like a dart;
He sought like a meteor the scented pollen.
His light, tiny body could bear much weight.
His thin wings buzzing could ride the wind.
Descending from rafters and beams,
He crawled out to get a clear view.
He then saw that the various monks were hauling hay and carrying firewood; surrounding the Chan hall, they were about to light the fire. “What my master said has really come true!” said Pilgrim, smiling to himself. “Because they wanted to take our lives and rob us of our cassock, they were moved to such treachery. I suppose I could use my rod to attack them, but I’m afraid they wouldn’t be able to withstand it. A little beating, and they would all be dead! Then Master would blame me for acting violently again. O, let it be! I shall lead the sheep astray conveniently and meet plot with plot, so that they won’t be able to live here anymore.” Dear Pilgrim! With a single somersault, he leaped straight up to the South Heaven Gate. He so startled the divine warriors Pang, Liu, Gou, and Bi that they bowed, and so alarmed Ma, Zhao, Wen, and Guan that they bent low. “Good Heavens!” they cried. “That character who disrupted Heaven is here again!” “No need to stand on ceremony, all of you!” said Pilgrim, waving his hand. “And don’t be alarmed! I came to find Virūpākṣa, the Broad-Eyed Devarāja.”
Before he had finished speaking, the Devarāja arrived and greeted Pilgrim, saying, “It’s been a long time! I heard some time ago that the Bodhisattva Guanyin asked the Jade Emperor for the services of the Four Sentinels, the Six Gods of Light and Darkness, and the Guardians to protect the Tang Monk as he goes in quest of scriptures in the Western Heaven. She also said that you had become his disciple. How do you have the leisure to be here today?” “Don’t mention leisure!” said Pilgrim. “The Tang Monk met some wicked people on his journey, who are about to have him burned up. It’s an extreme emergency, and that’s why I’ve come to borrow your Fire-Repelling Cover to save him. Bring it to me quickly; I’ll return it the moment I’m finished with it.” “You are wrong,” said the Devarāja. “If wicked people are starting a fire, you should go find water to save him. Why do you want the Fire-Repelling Cover?” Pilgrim said, “You have no idea what’s behind this. If I find water to save him, the fire won’t burn, and that will benefit our enemies instead. I want this cover so that only the Tang Monk will be protected from harm. I don’t care about the rest! Let them burn! Quickly! Quickly! A little delay, and it may be too late! You will botch up my affairs down below!” “This monkey is still plotting with an evil mind
,” said the Devarāja, laughing. “After looking out for himself, he is not worried about other people.” “Hurry!” said Pilgrim. “Stop wagging your tongue, or you’ll upset my great enterprise!” The Devarāja dared not refuse and gave Pilgrim the cover.
Pilgrim took it and descended through the clouds to the roof of the Chan hall, where he covered up the Tang Monk, the white horse, and the luggage. He himself then went to sit on the roof of the back room occupied by the old monk in order to guard the cassock. As he saw the people lighting the fire, he pressed his fingers together to make a magic sign and recited a spell. Facing the ground to the southwest, he took a deep breath and then blew it out. At once a strong wind arose and whipped the fire into a mighty blaze. What a fire! What a fire! You see
Rolling black smoke;
Vaulting red flames.
With rolling black smoke
All the stars vanish from the vast sky;
With vaulting red flames
The earth’s lit up, made crimson for a thousand miles.
At the beginning,
What gleaming snakes of gold!
Soon thereafter,
What imposing bloody horses!
The Three Southern Forces display their might.
The Great God of Fire reveals his power.
When dried wood burns in such fire intense,
Why speak of Suiren4 drilling fire from wood ?
When colored flames shoot out of hot-oiled doors,
They match even the opened oven of Laozi.
This is how fire rages ruthlessly,
Though no worse than such intended fraud
As not suppressing misdeeds
And abetting violence.
The wind sweeps the fire
And flames fly up for some eight thousand feet;
The fire’s helped by the wind,
So ashes burst beyond the Ninefold Heaven.
Ping-ping, pang-pang,
They sound like those firecrackers at year’s end.
Po-po, la-la,
They’re like the roar of cannons in the camps.
It burns till the Buddha’s image cannot flee from the scene,
And the Temple Guardians have no place to hide.
It’s like the Red Cliff Campaign in the night,5
Surpassing the fire at Epang Palace.6
As the saying goes, “One little spark of fire can burn ten thousand acres.” In a moment, the strong wind and the raging fire made the entire Guanyin Hall glowing red. Look at all those monks! They began to bring out the chests and carry out the drawers, to grab for tables and snatch up pots. A loud wailing filled the whole courtyard. Pilgrim Sun, however, stood guard at the back while the Fire-Repelling Cover securely screened off the Chan hall at the front. The rest of the place was completely lit up; truly the sky was illuminated by brilliant red flames, and bright gold light shone through the walls.
No one knew, however, that when the fire had begun, it had caught the attention of a mountain monster. For about twenty miles due south of this Guanyin Hall there was a Black Wind Mountain, where there was also a Black Wind Cave. A monster in the cave, who happened to turn over in his sleep, noticed that his windows were lit up. He thought that dawn had broken, but when he arose and took another look, he saw instead the brilliant glow of fire burning in the north. Astonished, the monster said, “Good Heavens! There must be a fire in the Guanyin Hall. Those monks are so careless! Let me see if I can help them a little!” Dear monster! He rose with his cloud and went at once to the place of fire and smoke, where he discovered that the halls front and back were entirely empty while the fire in the corridors on both sides was raging. With great strides he ran inside and was about to call for water when he saw that there was no fire in the back room. Someone, however, was sitting on the roof whipping up the wind. He began to perceive what was happening and ran quickly inside to look around. In the living room of the old monk, he saw on the table colorful radiance emitted by a package wrapped in a blue blanket. He untied it and discovered that it was a cassock of silk brocade, a rare Buddhist treasure. Thus it is how wealth moves the mind of man! He neither attempted to put out the fire nor called for water. Snatching up the cassock, he committed robbery by taking advantage of the confusion and at once turned his cloud back toward the mountain cave.
The fire raged on until the time of the fifth watch before burning itself out. Look at those monks: weeping and wailing, they went with empty hands and naked bodies to rummage about in the ashes, trying desperately to salvage a scrap or two of metal or valuables. Some attempted to erect a temporary shelter along the walls, while others amid the rubble tried to build a makeshift oven so that rice could be cooked. They were all howling and complaining, but we shall say no more about that.
Now we shall tell you about Pilgrim, who, taking the Fire-Repelling Cover, sent it up to the South Heaven Gate with one somersault. He handed it back to the Broad-Eyed Devarāja, saying, “Thanks so much for lending it to me!” The Devarāja took it back and said, “The Great Sage is very honest. I was a little worried that if you did not return my treasure, I would have a hard time finding you. I’m glad you brought it right back.” “Do you think that old Monkey is the sort of person who steals openly?” asked Pilgrim. “As the saying goes, ‘Return what you borrow, and again you may borrow!’” “I haven’t seen you for a long time,” said the Devarāja, “and I would like to invite you to spend some time at my palace. How about it?” Pilgrim said, “Old Monkey can’t do what he did before, ‘squatting on a rotted bench and dispensing lofty discourse.’ Now that I have to protect the Tang Monk, I haven’t a moment’s leisure. Give me a rain check!” He took leave of the Devarāja quickly and dropped down from the clouds. As the sun arose, he arrived at the Chan hall, where with one shake of his body he changed again into a bee. When he flew inside and resumed his original form, he saw that his master was still sleeping soundly.
“Master,” cried Pilgrim, “it’s dawn. Get up.” Only then did Tripitaka awake; he turned around, saying, “Yes, indeed!” Putting on his clothes, he opened the door and went out. As he raised his head, he saw crumbling walls and seared partitions; the towers, the terraces, and the buildings had all disappeared. “Ah!” he cried, greatly shaken. “How is it that the buildings are all gone? Why are there only scorched walls?” “You are still dreaming!” said Pilgrim. “They had a fire here last night.” “Why didn’t I know about it?” asked Tripitaka. “It’s old Monkey who safeguarded the Chan hall,” replied Pilgrim. “When I saw that Master was sound asleep, I did not disturb you.” “If you had the ability to safeguard the Chan hall,” said Tripitaka, “why didn’t you put out the fire in the other buildings?” “So that you may learn the truth,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “just as you predicted it yesterday. They fell in love with our cassock and made plans to have us burned to death. If old Monkey had been less alert, we would have been reduced to bone and ashes by now!” When Tripitaka heard these words, he was alarmed and asked, “Was it they who set the fire?” “Who else?” said Pilgrim. “Could it be,” asked Tripitaka, “that they mistreated you, and you did this?” Pilgrim replied, “Is old Monkey the sort of wretch that would indulge in such sordid business? It really was they who set the fire. When I saw how malicious they were, I admit I did not help them put the fire out. I did, however, manage to provide them with a little wind!”
“My God! My God!” said Tripitaka. “When a fire starts, you should get water. How could you provide wind instead?” “You must have heard,” said Pilgrim, “what the ancients said: ‘If a man has no desire to harm a tiger, a tiger has no intention of hurting a man.’ If they hadn’t played with fire, would I have played with wind?” “Where’s the cassock?” asked Tripitaka. “Has it been burned?” “Not at all!” replied Pilgrim. “It hasn’t been burned, for the fire didn’t reach the living quarters of the old monk where the cassock was placed.” “I don’t care!” exclaimed Tripitaka, his resentment rising. “If there’s the slightest damage, I’m going
to recite that little something and you’ll be dead!” “Master!” cried Pilgrim with alarm, “don’t start your recitation! I’ll find the cassock and return it to you, and that’ll be the end of the matter. Let me go fetch it so that we can start on our journey.” Tripitaka led the horse while Pilgrim took up the load of luggage. They left the Chan hall and went to the room at the rear.
We now tell you about the monks, who were still grieving when they suddenly saw master and disciple approaching with the horse and the luggage. Scared out of their wits, they all said, “The wronged souls have come to seek vengeance!” “What wronged souls are seeking vengeance?” shouted Pilgrim. “Give back my cassock quickly!” All the monks fell to their knees at once, saying as they kowtowed, “Holy Fathers! Just as a wrong implies an enemy, so a debt has its proper creditor! If you seek vengeance, please understand that we had nothing to do with this. It was the old monk who plotted with Big Plan against you. Don’t make us pay for your lives!” “You damnable beasts!” cried Pilgrim angrily. “Who wants you to pay with your lives? Just give me back the cassock and we’ll be going.” Two of the monks who were less timid said to him, “Father, you were supposed to be burned to death in the Chan hall, and yet now you come to demand the cassock. Are you indeed a man, or are you a ghost?” “This bunch of accursed creatures!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Where was the fire? Go to the front and look at the Chan hall. Then you can come back and talk.” The monks got up and went to the front to look; not even half an inch of the door, the window, or the screen outside the Chan hall was scorched. One and all were awestruck and became convinced that Tripitaka was a divine monk, and Pilgrim a celestial guardian. They all went forward to kowtow to them, saying, “We have eyes but no pupils, and therefore we did not recognize True Men descending to Earth. Your cassock is at the residence of the old Patriarch at the back.” Tripitaka was deeply saddened by the rows of crumbling walls and damaged partitions they went past before arriving at the Patriarch’s chambers, which were indeed untouched by fire. The monks dashed in, crying, “Aged Father, the Tang Monk must be a god. He hasn’t been burned to death, though we have hurt ourselves. Let’s take the cassock quickly and give it back to him.”
