The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2

by Unknown

  Embarrassed as well as enraged, the monster king picked up his lance and stabbed at Pilgrim’s chest, who also lifted his iron rod to parry and return the blow. They fought for four or five rounds when Pilgrim, still making a fist, retreated with his rod trailing behind him. The monster king stood still before the mountain and said, “I’m going to wash and scrub the Tang Monk instead.” “My dear boy,” said Pilgrim, “Heaven is watching you! Won’t you come?” When the monster-spirit heard these words, he grew even more enraged. With a yell, he dashed before Pilgrim and attempted to stab him with the lance once more. Our Pilgrim wielded his iron rod and fought with him for several rounds before retreating again. “Monkey,” scolded the monster king, “you were able to fight before for at least twenty or thirty rounds. Why are you running away now when we are just sett ling down to do battle? Why?” “Worthy child,” said Pilgrim, chuckling, “your old man is afraid that you will start a fire!” The monster-spirit said, “I’m not going to start the fire. You come up here.” “If you are not,” said Pilgrim, “step over here. A gallant fellow should not beat up people in front of his own house.” The monster-spirit, of course, did not know that this was a trick; he lifted his lance and gave chase once more. Dragging his rod, Pilgrim opened up his left fist and the monster king was completely deluded; all he had in mind was to give chase to his adversary. The one running ahead was like a falling meteor; the one chasing from behind was like an arrow leaving the bow.

  In less than a moment, they saw the Bodhisattva. Pilgrim said, “Monster-spirit, I’m scared of you. Let me go. You have chased me to the South Sea, the residence of the Bodhisattva Guanyin. Why aren’t you turning back?” The monster king refused to believe it; gritting his teeth, he persisted in his chase. Pilgrim, with one shake of his body, slipped into the divine luminosity that surrounded the body of the Bodhisattva and disappeared. When the monster-spirit suddenly discovered that Pilgrim was gone, he walked up to the Bodhisattva with bulging eyes and said to her, “Are you the reinforcement Pilgrim Sun brought here?” The Bodhisattva did not reply. Rolling the lance in his hands, the monster king bellowed, “Hey! Are you the reinforcement Pilgrim Sun brought here?” Still the Bodhisattva did not reply. The monster-spirit lifted his lance and jabbed at the heart of the Bodhisattva, who at once changed herself into a beam of golden light and rose into the air. Pilgrim followed her on her way up and said to her, “Bodhisattva, you are trying to take advantage of me! The monster-spirit asked you several times. How could you pretend to be deaf and dumb and not make any noise at all? One blow of his lance, in fact, chased you away, and you have even left behind your lotus platform.”

  “Don’t talk,” said the Bodhisattva, “let’s see what he will do.” At this time, Pilgrim and Mokṣa both stood in the air shoulder to shoulder and stared down; they found the monster-spirit laughing scornfully and saying to himself, “Brazen ape, you’re mistaken about me! What sort of person do you think that I, Holy Child, happen to be? For several times you could not prevail against me, and then you had to go and fetch some namby-pamby Bodhisattva. One blow of my lance now has made her vanish completely. Moreover, she has even left the treasure lotus platform behind. Well, let me get up there and take a seat.” Dear monster-spirit. He imitated the Bodhisattva by sitting in the middle of the platform with hands and legs folded. When he saw this, Pilgrim said, “Fine! Fine! Fine! This lotus platform has been given to someone else!”

  “Wukong,” said the Bodhisattva, “what are you mumbling again?”

  “Mumbling what? Mumbling what?” replied Pilgrim. “I’m saying that the lotus platform has been given to someone else. Look! It’s underneath his thighs. You think he’s going to return it to you?”

  “I wanted him to sit there,” said the Bodhisattva. “Well, he’s smaller than you,” said Pilgrim, “and it seems that the seat fits him even better than it fits you.” “Stop talking,” said the Bodhisattva, “and watch the dharma power.”

  She pointed the willow twig downward and cried, “Withdraw!” All at once, flowers and leaves vanished from the lotus platform and the auspicious luminosity dispersed entirely. The monster king, you see, was sitting actually on the points of those swords. The Bodhisattva then gave this command to Mokṣa: “Use your demon-routing cudgel and strike back and forth at the sword handles.” Dropping from the clouds, Mokṣa wielded his cudgel as if he were demolishing a wall: he struck at the handles hundreds of times. As for that monster-spirit,

  Both his legs were pierced till the points stuck out;

  Blood spouted in pools as flesh and skin were torn.

  Marvelous monster! Look at him! Gritting his teeth to bear the pain, he abandoned the lance so that he could use both hands to try to pull the swords out from his body.

  “O Bodhisattva,” said Pilgrim, “that fiendish creature is undaunted by the pain. He’s still trying to pull out the swords.” When the Bodhisattva saw this, she said to Mokṣa, “Don’t harm his life.” She then pointed downward again with her willow twig and recited a spell beginning with the letter, Oṁ. Those Swords of Constellations all changed into inverted hooks, sharp and curved like the teeth of wolves, which could not be pulled out at all. Only then was the monster-spirit overcome by fear. Holding onto the points of the swords, he pleaded pitifully in pain, “Bodhisattva, your disciple has eyes but no pupils, and he could not perceive your vast dharma power. I beseech you to be merciful and spare my life. I’ll never dare practice violence again. I’m willing to enter the gate of dharma to receive your commandments.”

  When the Bodhisattva heard these words, she lowered her golden beam and approached the monster-spirit with her two disciples and the white cockatoo. “Are you willing to receive my commandments?” she asked. Nodding his head as tears fell, the monster king said, “If you spare my life, I’m willing to receive the commandments.” The Bodhisattva asked, “You wish to enter my fold?” “If you spare my life,” replied the monster king, “I’m willing to enter the dharma gate.” “In that case,” said the Bodhisattva, “I’ll touch your head and give you the commandments.” She took out from her sleeve a golden razor and approached the fiend. With a few strokes, she shaved his hair off and turned it into the style of the Tai Mountain Crowning the Head: the top was completely bald, but three tufts of hair were left around the edge so that they could be knotted together into three tiny braids. Grinning broadly on one side, Pilgrim said, “How unfortunate for this monster-spirit! He looks like neither boy nor girl! I don’t know what he looks like!” “Since you have received my commandments,” said the Bodhisattva, “I won’t treat you lightly. I’ll call you the Boy Skilled in Wealth. How’s that?” The fiend nodded his head in agreement, for all he hoped for was that his life be spared. The Bodhisattva pointed with her finger and called out, “Withdraw!” The Swords of Constellations dropped to the ground, and the boy did not bear even a single scar on his body.

  Then the Bodhisattva said, “Hui’an, you take the swords back to Heaven to return them to your Father King. You needn’t return here to meet me, but go back to the Potalaka Peak to wait for me with the other devas.” Mokṣa obeyed and sent the swords back to Heaven before returning to the South Sea, and we shall speak no more of him.

  We tell you now that the wildness in that boy had not been wholly removed. When he saw that his pains were gone and that his thighs had healed and, moreover, that the hair on his head had been made into three tiny braids, he picked up the lance and said to the Bodhisattva, “You don’t have any true dharma power to subdue me! It’s a kind of chicanery, that’s all! I won’t take your commandments! Watch the lance!” He lunged at the face of the Bodhisattva, and Pilgrim was so mad that he wielded his iron rod and was about to strike. “Don’t hit him,” the Bodhisattva cried. “I have my punishment for him.” She took out from her sleeve a golden fillet, saying, “This treasure used to belong to our Buddha, who gave it to me when he sent me to search for the scripture pilgrim in the Land of the East. There were three fillets altogether: the Golde
n, the Constrictive, and the Prohibitive. The Constrictive Fillet was given to you first to wear, while the Prohibitive Fillet was used to make the guardian of my mountain submit.9 I have been unwilling to part with this Golden Fillet. Now that this fiend is so audacious, I’ll give it to him.”

  Dear Bodhisattva! She took the fillet and waved it at the wind once, crying, “Change!” It changed into five fillets, which she threw at the body of the boy, crying, “Hit!” One fillet enveloped the boy’s head, while the rest caught his two hands and two feet. “Stand aside, Wukong,” said the Bodhisattva, “and let me recite for a while the Golden-Fillet Spell.” Horrified, Pilgrim said, “O Bodhisattva, I asked you to come here to subdue a fiend. Why do you want to cast that spell on me?” “This spell,” said the Bodhisattva, “is not the Tight-Fillet Spell, which is the spell cast on you. It is the Golden-Fillet Spell, reserved especially for that boy.” Greatly relieved, Pilgrim stood to one side of her to listen to the Bodhisattva’s recital. Making the magic sign with her fingers, she went through her recitation several times, and the monster-spirit scratched his ears and clawed at his cheeks; he curled himself into a ball and rolled all over the ground.

  Truly One word could reach the whole region of sand,

  This dharma power so vast, boundless, and deep.

  We do not know how that boy manages to make his submission; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.

  FORTY-THREE

  An evil demon at Black River captures the monk;

  The Western Ocean’s dragon prince catches the iguana.

  We were telling you about the Bodhisattva, who went through her recitation several times before she stopped. As the pain subsided, the monster-spirit collected himself and sat up to discover that there were golden fillets clasped tightly around his neck, his wrists, and his ankles. He wanted to take them off, but he could not even move them one whit. The treasure, you see, had taken root in the flesh, and the more he tried to loosen the fillets, the more painfully tight they felt. Laughing, Pilgrim said, “Darling boy! The Bodhisattva fears that you can’t be reared. That’s why she has made you wear a necklace and some bracelets!” Enraged by this remark, the youth picked up the lance once more and stabbed madly at Pilgrim. Dashing immediately behind the back of the Bodhisattva, Pilgrim cried, “Recite the spell! Recite the spell!”

  The Bodhisattva dipped her willow twig in the sweet dew and sprinkled it at the youth, crying, “Close!” Look at him! He dropped the lance all at once, and his two hands were pressed together so tightly before his chest that he could not move them apart at all. This is thus the origin of the “Guanyin Twist,” a posture assumed by the attendant of the Bodhisattva which you can see in portraits and paintings to this day. When the youth found that he could not use his hands nor could he pick up the lance, he realized at last how deep and mysterious the dharma power was. He had no alternative but to bow his head in submission. The Bodhisattva then recited some magic words as she tilted the immaculate vase to one side; the oceanful of water was retrieved entirely and not half a drop was left behind. She said to Pilgrim, “Wukong, this monster-spirit is vanquished, but his unruliness has not been completely eliminated. Let me make him take a bow with each step of the way—all the way back to the Potalaka Mountain—before I call off my power. Go quickly now into the cave to rescue your master.” Turning to kowtow to her, Pilgrim said, “I thank the Bodhisattva for taking the trouble of traveling for so great a distance. Your disciple should escort you for part of the journey.” “No need for that,” said the Bodhisattva, “for I don’t want to jeopardize master’s life.” When Pilgrim heard these words, he was delighted and kowtowed again to take leave of the Bodhisattva. The monster-spirit thus returned to the right fruit; with fifty-three bows, he made submission to Guanyin.

  We tell you no more about the Bodhisattva’s making a disciple of the youth. Instead, we speak of Sha Monk, who sat in the woods for a long time and waited in vain for Pilgrim to appear. At last, he put the luggage on the back of the horse, and with one hand holding the reins and the other the fiend-routing treasure staff, he left the pine forest to look toward the south. Momentarily, he found a happy Pilgrim approaching. Sha Monk went forward to meet him, saying, “Elder Brother, why did it take you until now to return from your trip to seek assistance from the Bodhisattva? I almost died from the anxious waiting!” “You are still dreaming!” said Pilgrim. “Old Monkey has not only brought the Bodhisattva here, but she has also subdued the fiend already.” Then he gave a thorough account of the Bodhisattva’s exercise of her dharma power, and Sha Monk was exceedingly pleased, saying, “Let’s go then to rescue Master!”

  The two of them leaped across the stream and dashed up to the cave entrance. After tying up the horse, they lifted their weapons together and broke into the cave to exterminate all the fiends. They then lowered the leather bag to free Eight Rules. “Elder Brother,” said Idiot after having thanked Pilgrim, “where is that monster-spirit? Let me rake him a few times, just to relieve my feelings!” Pilgrim said, “Let’s find Master first,” The three of them went to the rear and found their master bound in the courtyard, all naked and weeping. Sha Monk hurriedly untied the ropes and Pilgrim brought forth clothes for him to wear. The three of them then knelt down and said, “Master, you have suffered!” Tripitaka thanked them, saying, “Worthy disciples, you’ve worked hard! How did you manage to subdue the demon?” Pilgrim again gave a thorough account of how the Bodhisattva came to make submission of the youth, and when Tripitaka heard this, he quickly knelt down to bow toward the south. Pilgrim said, “No need to thank her, for we also have been instrumental in providing her with the blessing of making submission of a young boy.” This is thus the basis of the story that we hear even today, about the boy who gave fifty-three bows to Guanyin,1 and who was given the vision of Buddha after three bows.

  Thereafter, Sha Monk was told to pick up all the treasures stored in the cave, while the rest of the disciples found some rice to prepare for their master. That elder

  Retained his life,

  All because of the Great Sage Sun;

  And acquired true scriptures,

  Helped by the Handsome Monkey-Spirit.

  Master and disciples, after leaving the cave, found their way again and headed steadfastly toward the West. They had traveled for more than a month when all at once the sound of flowing water filled their ears. “O disciples!” cried Tripitaka, highly startled, “where is this sound of water coming from?” “You old Master!” said Pilgrim, chuckling, “you are so full of worries! There are four of us altogether, but only you happen to hear some sort of water sound. You have quite forgotten again the Heart Sūtra.” “The Heart Sūtra,” said the Tang Monk, “was imparted to me orally by the Crow’s Nest Zen Master of the Pagoda Mountain.2 It has fifty-four sentences, all in all, two hundred and seventy characters. I memorized it at the time and up till now, I have recited it often. Which sentence do you think I have forgotten?”

  Pilgrim said, “Old Master, you have forgotten the one about ‘no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind.’ Those of us who have left the family should see no form with our eyes, should hear no sound with our ears, should smell no smell with our noses, should taste no taste with our tongues; our bodies should have no knowledge of heat or cold, and our minds should gather no vain thoughts. This is called the extermination of the Six Robbers.3 But look at you now! Though you may be on your way to seek scriptures, your mind is full of vain thoughts: fearing the demons you are unwilling to risk your life; desiring vegetarian food you arouse your tongue; loving fragrance and sweetness you provoke your nose; listening to sounds you disturb your ears; looking at things and events you fix your eyes. You have, in sum, assembled all the Six Robbers together. How could you possibly get to the Western Heaven to see Buddha?” When Tripitaka heard these words, he fell into silent thought for a long time before he said, “O disciple!

  Since I left our sage ruler that year,

  I’ve moved most diligen
tly night and day:

  My sandals sweep open the mountain mists;

  My coir hat bursts through the summit clouds.

  At night the apes wail to make me sigh;

  I grieve to hear in moonlight the bird cries.

  When will I end the work of Double Three4

  And acquire Tathāgata’s wondrous scripts?”

  When Pilgrim heard this, he could not refrain from clapping his hands and roaring with laughter, saying, “So Master just can’t get rid of his homesickness! If you want to complete the work of Double Three, there’s no difficulty! The proverb says, ‘Success will come when meritorious service is done.’” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “if we have to face all these evil barriers and wicked miasmas, we’ll never finish our meritorious service even after a thousand years!” Sha Monk said, “Second Elder Brother, you and I are very much alike, and we shouldn’t rub Big Brother the wrong way with our foolish tongues and stupid mouths. Just concentrate on carrying the loads on our backs; there will be a day when the service is completed.”

  As master and disciples conversed, they proceeded steadily when they saw before them all at once a huge body of surging black water blocking the path of the horse. Standing at the shore, the four of them stared at the water carefully and they saw

  Tiers of dense billows;

  Layers of turbid waves;

  Tiers of dense billows like dark sap spilling;

  Layers of turbid waves like black oil rolling.