The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 3

by Unknown

  To nourish one’s nature, a few pine trees.

  The ground’s flower-strewn, but no guests pass by;

  The eaves are amply screened by spider webs.

  Drums mounted in vain;

  Bells hung up unused;

  The walls are dust-covered, the murals blurred.

  The lectern’s so quiet for no monk is seen;

  The Chan Hall’s silent, only birds you’ll meet.

  Such lamentable plight!

  Such endless, lonely pain!

  Though incense urns are before the Buddhas placed,

  The ashes cool, the petals wilt, and all are vain.

  Grief-stricken, Tripitaka could not restrain the tears welling up in his eyes. Wearing the cangues and locks, the monks pushed open the door to the main hall and invited our elder to worship the Buddha. After he entered the hall, the elder could only offer the incense of his heart, though he touched his face to the ground three times. Then they went to the back, where they found another six or seven young priests chained to the pillar before the abbot’s hall, an intolerable sight for Tripitaka. When they reached the abbot’s hall, the monks leading the way all came to kowtow, and one of them asked, “The features of our Venerable Fathers are not all the same. Do you happen to be those who have come from the Great Tang in the Land of the East?”

  “You monks must know the magic of foreknowledge without divination,” said Pilgrim, laughing. “We’re indeed such persons. But how did you recognize us?” “Father,” said the monk, “what sort of foreknowledge without divination do you think we really possess? It’s just that we’ve been grievously wronged, and there’s nowhere for us to turn for justice except to call on Heaven and Earth day in and day out. We must have disturbed the gods, I suppose, for each of us had a dream last night, where we were told that a holy monk arriving from the Great Tang in the Land of the East would be able to save our lives. Our grievances, too, would be rectified. When we came upon the strange appearances of you Venerable Fathers today, we were thus able to recognize you.”

  Highly pleased by these words, Tripitaka said, “What is the name of your region here? What sort of grievances do you have?” The monks all knelt down again, and one of them said, “Holy Father, this city is called the Sacrifice Kingdom, and it is a major city in the Western Territories. In years past, barbaric tribes of all four quarters came to pay us tribute: to the south, the Yuetuo Kingdom, to the north, the Qoco Kingdom; to the east, the State of Western Liang; and to the west, the Benbo Kingdom. They brought annually fine jade and lustrous pearls, beautiful girls, and spirited horses. Without our use of arms or expeditionary forces, all of them would of their own accord venerate us as the superior state.” “If they do that,” said Tripitaka, “it must be because you have an upright king, worthy civil officers, and noble military officers.”

  “Holy Father,” said the monk, “neither our civil officers are worthy, nor our military officers noble. And the king is not upright either. It has to do with this Golden Light Monastery of ours, which from the beginning had auspicious clouds covering our treasure pagoda and hallowed mists rising from our whole edifice. At night beams of light flashed from the building and people as far away as ten thousand miles had seen them; by day, colored airs sprouted and all four of our surrounding nations had witnessed them. This is why we have been regarded as the divine capital of a Heavenly prefecture, and why we have enjoyed the tributes of the four barbaric tribes. But three years ago, during the first day of the first month of winter, a rainstorm of blood descended upon us at the hour of midnight. By morning every household was fearful; every home was grief-stricken. The various ministers made haste to memorialize to the king, with all sorts of speculation on why such chastisement was sent by the Heavenly Lord. At the time, Daoists were summoned to say their mass and Buddhists their scriptures in order to pacify Heaven and Earth. Who would have suspected, however, that, since our treasure pagoda of gold had been defiled by that rainstorm, the foreign nations would stop coming to pay tribute these last two years? Our king wanted to send out expeditionary forces, but he was restrained by the ministers, who accused the monks of this monastery of stealing the treasure in the pagoda. That was the reason they gave for the disappearance of the auspicious clouds and hallowed mists and for the cessation of tribute on the part of the foreign nations. The dim-witted ruler never gave the matter another thought; at once those venal officials had us monks arrested and inflicted on us endless tortures and interrogations. There were altogether three generations of monks in this monastery; two of them, unable to withstand such terrible treatments, died. The rest of us are now locked up in cangues and locks, still accused of this crime. Think of it, Venerable Father—how could we dare be so bold as to steal the treasure in the pagoda? We beg you in your great compassion to have regard for the special affinity of our kind. Vouchsafe your great mercy and exercise your mighty dharma power to save our lives.”

  When Tripitaka heard this, he nodded his head and sighed, saying, “There are certainly hidden aspects to this matter that have not yet come to light. For one thing, the court has been remiss in its rule, and for another, all of you may be faced with a fated calamity. But if it was the shower of blood sent by Heaven that had defiled the treasure pagoda, why didn’t you people at the time prepare a memorial to present to your ruler, so that you would be spared such affliction?” “Holy Father,” said the monk, “we are only common folks. How could we know the will of Heaven? Moreover, if our senior colleagues could not determine what to do, how would we be able to settle the matter?”

  “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “what time is it now?” “About the hour of shen,”7 replied Pilgrim. “I would like to have an audience with the ruler,” said Tripitaka, “so that our travel rescript may be certified. But we have not yet fully understood what has happened to the monks here, and it’s hard for me to speak to the ruler about this matter. After I left Chang’an, I made a vow in the Temple of the Law Gate that on my journey to the West, I would burn incense in every temple, I would bow to Buddha in every monastery, and I would sweep a pagoda whenever I came across a pagoda.8 Today we have met you monks who have been grievously wronged because of a treasure pagoda. Why don’t you people fetch me a new broom? Let me bathe first, and then I’ll go up there to sweep it clean. Let me see if I can discover exactly what has caused the defilement and the loss of the pagoda’s brilliance. Once we determine that, we can memorialize to their ruler and deliver them from this affliction.”

  When they heard this, some of those monks carrying the cangues and locks dashed into the kitchen and picked up a kitchen knife to hand over to Eight Rules, saying, “Father, please take the knife and see if you can sever the chains on the pillar over there, so that those young priests can be freed. They can then go to prepare a meal and a scented bath for the holy fathers here. We’ll go to the streets to beg a new broom for him to use to sweep the pagoda.” “It’s so easy to open locks!” said Eight Rules, chuckling. “There’s no need for a knife or an ax. Ask that hairy-faced father. He’s a seasoned lock-picker.”

  Pilgrim indeed went forward and, using the lock-opening magic, gave the shackles a wipe with his hand. Immediately, all the chains and locks fell to the ground. Those young priests ran into the kitchen to scrub the pots and pans and prepare a meal. After Tripitaka and his disciples ate, it was gradually turning dark when some of these monks still cangued and locked came in with two brooms. Tripitaka was very pleased.

  As he spoke with them, another young priest came in with a lamp to invite him to go take his bath. By then, the moon and the stars were shining brilliantly outside as the sound of bamboo drums started from the watchtowers. Truly

  At four walls the cold wind arose;

  In every house the lamps burned bright.

  Shutters in all six lanes went up;

  Doors of three markets were shut tight.

  Fishing boats retired to the woods;

  Ploughmen their short ropes forsook.

  The w
oodcutter’s ax now rested;

  A student recited his book.

  After he finished bathing, Tripitaka put on a short-sleeve undershirt, which he tied with a sash. He changed into a pair of soft-soled shoes and picked up a new broom. “You should all go to sleep,” he said to the monks, “and let me go sweep the pagoda.” “If the pagoda had been defiled by a bloody rainstorm,” said Pilgrim, “and if it had grown dark for such a long time already, some vicious things might have been bred up there. If you go up all by yourself in this cold, windy night, you may run into something unexpected. How about letting old Monkey be your companion?” “Very good! Very good!” replied Tripitaka.

  Each of them thus took up a broom. They went first to the main hall and lit the glass chalice and burned fresh incense. Tripitaka went to his knees before the Buddha image and prayed, saying, “Your disciple, Chen Xuanzang, by the decree of the Great Tang in the Land of the East, was sent to worship our Buddha Tathāgata in the Spirit Mountain and to ask for scriptures. Arriving here at the Golden Light Monastery of the Sacrifice Kingdom, I was told by the monks of this monastery that the treasure pagoda had been defiled. The king suspected that the monks had stolen the treasure, and they were wrongly charged with a crime, the cause of which no one, in fact, had knowledge. In all earnestness, therefore, your disciple has decided to sweep this pagoda. I beg our Buddha to reveal quickly by his mighty spirit the true source of the pagoda’s defilement, so that the innocence of these mortal men can be established.” After his prayer, he and Pilgrim opened the door of the pagoda and began to sweep it, beginning with the lowest tier. Truly this pagoda

  Leans ruggedly toward the sky

  And rises, towering, in the air.

  It’s justly called a pagoda of five-colored glass,

  A śārī-peak of a thousand gold;

  Its stairs winding like a tunnel;

  An open cage when its doors unfold.

  Its treasure vase reflects the moon in the sky;

  Its golden bells ring with the wind of the sea.

  You can see the empty eave saluting the stars

  And the lofty top detaining the clouds.

  The empty eave saluting the stars

  Creates a phoenix piercing strange rocks and flowers;

  The lofty top detaining the clouds

  Brings forth a pagoda-dragon fog-entwined.

  Your gaze on top will reach a thousand miles;

  Up there it’ll feel like the Ninefold Heaven.

  In glass lamp at the door of each tier,

  There’s dust but no fire;

  On white-jade railings before every eave

  Gather dirt and flying insects.

  Inside the pagoda,

  Above the votive tables,

  Smoke and incense all extinguished;

  Outside the windows,

  Or before the images,

  Cobwebs opaque and widespread.

  There’s more rat dung in the urns

  Than there’s oil in the chalice.

  Because a treasure was in secret lost,

  Priests have been killed, their lot made bitter and vain.

  Since Tripitaka wills to sweep it clean,

  The pagoda’s old form will, of course, be seen.

  The Tang Monk used his broom to sweep clean one tier before going up to another tier. By the time he reached the seventh tier, it was already the hour of the second watch, and the elder began to tire. “You’re getting tired,” said Pilgrim. “Sit down, and let old Monkey do the sweeping for you.”

  “How many tiers are there on this pagoda?” asked Tripitaka. Pilgrim replied, “I’m afraid there are at least thirteen tiers.” Attempting to endure his fatigue, the elder said, “I must finish sweeping it to fulfill my vow.” He swept three more tiers, and his torso and legs ached so badly that he had to sit down on the tenth tier. “Wukong,” he said, “you sweep clean the rest of the three tiers for me and then come back down.”

  Rousing his energy, Pilgrim went up to the eleventh tier, and in a moment, he ascended to the twelfth tier. As he swept the floor, he heard someone speaking on the top of the pagoda. “That’s strange! That’s strange!” said Pilgrim. “It has to be about the hour of the third watch now. How could there be anyone speaking on the pagoda top? This has to be some sort of deviant creature. Let me go and have a look.”

  Dear Monkey King! Stealthily he picked up the broom and put it under his arm; hitching up his clothes, he crawled out of the door and rose into the clouds to look around. There in the middle of the thirteenth tier of the pagoda were seated two monster-spirits, and before them were placed a basin of coarse rice, a bowl, and a wine pot. They were drinking and playing the finger-guessing game.9 Using his magic, Pilgrim abandoned the broom and whipped out the golden-hooped rod. He stood at the doorway and shouted, “Dear fiends! So you stole the treasure on the pagoda!” Terrified, the two fiendish creatures quickly got up and pelted Pilgrim with the pot and the bowl, but he blocked the blows with his iron rod and said, “If I slay you, there’ll be no one to make the confession.” With the rod, he backed them against the wall until they could not move at all, and all they could say was, “Spare us! Spare us! It has nothing to do with us. Someone else took the treasure.”

  Using the magic of seizure, Pilgrim grabbed them with one hand and went back to the tenth tier. “Master,” he announced, “I have caught the thieves who stole the treasure.” Tripitaka was just dozing: when he heard this, he was both startled and pleased. “Where did you catch them?” he asked. Pilgrim pulled the two fiends forward and made them kneel down. “They were having fun on top of the pagoda,” he said, “drinking and playing the finger-guessing game. When old Monkey heard all that noise, I mounted the cloud to leap up there and block their escape with no effort at all. But I feared that if I killed them with one blow of the rod, no one would make the confession. That’s why I brought them here. Master, you can take their testimony and see where they came from and where they have stashed the treasure.”

  Trembling all over, the two fiends could only utter, “Spare us!” Then one of them made this honest confession: “We have been sent here to patrol the pagoda by the All Saints Dragon King of the Green Wave Lagoon in the Scattered-Rock Mountain. He is called Busy Bubble, and I am called Bubble Busy. He’s a sheatfish spirit, and I’m a black fish spirit. This all came about because our All Saints Old Dragon once gave birth to a daughter by the name of Princess All Saints, who was blessed with the loveliest features and the most extraordinary talents. She took in a husband by the name of Nine-Heads, who also had vast magic powers. Year before last, he came here with the Dragon King and, exerting great divine strength, sent down a rainstorm of blood to have the treasure pagoda defiled. Then he stole the śarīra Buddhist treasure10 from the building. Thereafter the princess also went up to the great Heaven where she stole the nine-leaved agaric, which the Lady Queen Mother planted before the Hall of Divine Mists. The plant and the Buddhist treasure are both kept now at the bottom of the lagoon, lighting up the place with their golden beams and colored hues night and day. Recently we received the news that there was one Sun Wukong on his way to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures. We are told not only that he has vast magic powers, but also that he loves to meddle with the faults of others. That’s why we’ve been sent here frequently to patrol the area, so that we’ll be prepared when that Sun Wukong arrives.”

  Laughing scornfully at what he heard, Pilgrim said, “How audacious are these cursed beasts! No wonder he sent for the Bull Demon King the other day to attend their banquet! So, he was in league with this bunch of brazen demons who specialize in evil deeds!”

  Hardly had he finished speaking when Eight Rules and a few young priests holding two lanterns walked up from below. “Master,” he said, “why haven’t you gone to bed after you finished sweeping the pagoda? Why are you still sitting here and talking?” “Brother,” said Pilgrim, “it’s a good thing you’ve come, The treasure on the pagoda was stolen by the All Saints Old Drago
n. He was the one who sent two little fiends to patrol the pagoda here and to spy on our movements, but they were caught by me just now.” “What are their names,” asked Eight Rules, “and what sort of monster-spirits are they?”

  “They just gave us a confession,” said Pilgrim. “One of them is called Busy Bubble, and the other is called Bubble Busy. One is a sheat fish spirit, and the other is a black fish spirit.” Whipping out his rake, Eight Rules wanted to strike at them, saying, “If they are monster-spirits who have made their confession, why not beat them to death? What are we waiting for?” Pilgrim said, “You haven’t thought about this. If we keep them alive, it’ll be easier for us to go speak to the king about this matter, and they can be used as informants too, for catching the thieves and recovering the treasure.”

  Dear Idiot! He indeed put away the rake; he and Pilgrim then each picked up a fiend and pulled him down the pagoda. All the fiends could say was “Spare us!” Eight Rules said to them, “We were just looking for some sheat fish and black fish like you, so that we could make some soup for those wronged priests.”

  The several young priests, in great delight, held their lanterns high to lead the elder down the pagoda. One of them ran ahead to report to the other monks, crying, “It’s great! It’s great! We’ve finally seen the day! The fiends who stole our treasure have been caught by the fathers.” Pilgrim gave this order: “Bring us some iron chains, pierce their lute bones, and lock them up here. You people stand guard over them and we’ll go to sleep. We’ll dispose of them tomorrow.” Those monks indeed watched over the fiends with great care while Tripitaka and his disciples rested.

  Soon it was dawn, and the elder said, “I’ll go into the court with Wukong to have our travel rescript certified.” Whereupon he changed into his brocaded cassock and put on his Vairocana hat. In full clerical attire, he strode forward, accompanied by Pilgrim, who also tightened his tiger-skin kilt and straightened out his silk shirt after he took out the travel rescript. “Why aren’t you bringing along the two fiendish thieves?” asked Eight Rules. “Let us inform the king first,” said Pilgrim, “and there will be royal summoners sent here to fetch them.”