The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2

by Unknown

  Taking off his broad-brimmed bamboo hat, the elder shook the dirt from his clerical robe and went up to the door of the house, holding the priestly staff in his hands. He found the door half-closed; not daring to enter without permission, the elder stood still and waited for a brief moment, when an old man, with some beads hanging around his neck, emerged from the house, chanting the name of Buddha as he walked. Seeing that the old man was about to shut the door, however, the elder hurriedly pressed his palms together and cried out, “Old Benefactor, this humble priest salutes you.” Returning his greeting, the old man said, “You are too late, monk.” “What do you mean?” said Tripitaka. “I mean that you won’t get anything because you are late,” said the old man. “If you had come earlier, you would have found that we were feasting the monks. After you have eaten your fill, you would then be given an additional three ounces of cooked rice, a bale of white cloth, and ten strings of copper pennies. Why do you come at this hour?”

  “Old Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, bowing, “this humble priest is not here to be feasted.” “If you are not,” said the old man, “then why have you come here?” Tripitaka said, “I am someone sent by imperial decree of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven. It was late when we arrived at your region. When we heard the sound of drums and cymbals from your house, we came to ask you for one night’s lodging. We’ll leave by morning.” “Monk,” said the old man, waving his hand gently, “a man who has left the family should not lie. The distance between our place here and your Great Tang in the Land of the East happens to be fifty-four thousand miles. A single person like you, how could you come here all by yourself?” “That’s an exceptionally accurate observation, Old Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, “but I am not alone. I have three disciples, who have opened up a path through the mountains and built bridges when we came upon the waters. It was because of their being my escorts that I could arrive here today.” “If you have disciples,” said the old man, “why haven’t they come with you? Please invite them forth at once! My house has enough room for all of you.” Turning around, Tripitaka said, “Disciples, come here.” Now, Pilgrim was by nature rather impulsive, Eight Rules was born without manners, and Sha Monk, too, happened to be very impetuous. The moment the three of them heard their master beckoning, they rushed like a cyclone toward the house, dragging the horse and the luggage along. When the old man caught sight of them, he was so terrified that he fell on the ground, crying repeatedly, “Monsters are here! Monsters are here!” Raising him with his hands, Tripitaka said, “Don’t be afraid, Benefactor. They are not monsters. They are my disciples.” Trembling all over, the old man said, “Such a handsome master! Why did you take such ugly disciples?” “Though they are not good to look at,” said Tripitaka, “they are quite knowledgeable in taming tigers and subduing dragons, in seizing monsters and capturing fiends.” Not fully believing what he heard, the old man supported himself on the Tang Monk and walked slowly with him inside.

  We tell you now about those three rogues, who dashed into the hall, where they dropped their luggage and tied up the horse. There were at that time several priests in the hall reciting sūtras. Sticking out his long snout, Eight Rules shouted at them, “Hey monks! Which sūtra are you reciting?” On hearing this, those monks raised their heads and all at once

  They saw a visitor,

  With long snout and huge ears,

  A thick frame and wide shoulders,

  A voice that boomed like thunder.

  But Pilgrim and Sha Monk

  Were in looks e’en uglier.

  Of those priests in the hall

  None was not in terror.

  They tried to keep reciting

  But were stopped by their leader.

  They left their stones and bells

  And forsook the graven Buddhas.

  The lamps were all blown out,

  And torches all smothered.

  They scrambled and they stumbled,

  The doorsills falling over.

  Like gourds when props were down,

  Their heads bumped one another.

  A pure, serene plot of ritual

  Became a cause of great laughter!

  When the three brothers saw how those priests stumbled and fell all over, they clapped their hands and roared with laughter. More terrified than ever, those priests banged into one another as they fled for their lives and deserted the place. Tripitaka led the old man up the hall, but the lights and lamps were completely out, while the three of them were still in guffaws. “You brazen creatures!” scolded the Tang Monk. “You are so wicked! Haven’t I taught you every day, admonished you every morning? The ancients said,

  To be virtuous without instruction,

  Is this not sagacity?

  To be virtuous after instruction,

  Is this not nobility?

  To be virtueless even after instruction,

  Is this not stupidity?

  The way you have perpetrated mischief has just shown you to be people of the greatest baseness and stupidity! You barged into someone’s door without any manners! You have frightened the old Benefactor and scattered the priests reciting the sūtras, completely spoiling the good works of others. Wouldn’t I be blamed for all this?” He spoke with such vehemence that they dared not utter a word in reply, and only then did the old man become convinced that they were his disciples. He turned quickly to bow to Tripitaka, saying, “Venerable Father, it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter! They were putting out the lights just now because the ceremony was almost done anyway.” “If it’s over,” said Eight Rules, “bring out the end-of-service feast so that we can enjoy it and sleep.” “Bring out the lights! Bring out the lights!” cried the old man. Some of the members of his household, when they heard him, began to complain to themselves, “There are enough candles already in the hall for the religious service. Why is he calling for lights?” A few houseboys came out to see for themselves and they found the hall in complete darkness. Returning hurriedly with torches and lanterns, they suddenly saw the forms of Eight Rules and Sha Monk. So terrified by the sight they were that they dropped their torches and dashed inside, slamming shut the mid-level door and shouting all the time, “There are monsters here! There are monsters here!”

  Picking up one of the torches, Pilgrim relit the lamps and the candles before he pulled a chair to the middle of the hall for the Tang Monk to sit on. Then he and his brothers sat down on both sides and the old man took a seat in front of all of them. As they sett led into their seats, they heard the inner door open and another old man walked out, supporting himself on a staff. “What kind of perverse demons are you,” he said, “that you dare enter the door of a virtuous family in the dark of night?” The old man, who was seated, quickly arose and met him behind the screens, saying, “No need to clamor, Elder Brother. They are no perverse demons, but arhats sent to acquire scriptures by the Great Tang in the Land of the East. Though they look vicious, they are actually quite gentle.” Only then did the other old man put down his staff and bow to greet all four of the visitors, after which, he also took a seat in the front of the hall. “Bring out the tea,” he cried, “and prepare us some vegetarian food.” He had to call several times before several houseboys, still trembling, emerged, though they still did not dare walk near the visitors.

  Unable to contain himself, Eight Rules said, “Old man, why are your servants milling about on both sides?” “I told them to bring out some vegetarian food to serve to the Venerable Fathers,” said the old man. Eight Rules asked, “How many are there to serve us?” “Eight of them,” said the old man. “Which of us are they going to serve?” said Eight Rules. “Why, all four of you!” said the old man. Eight Rules said, “That pale-faced master requires only one person to serve him; the one with the hairy face and thunder-god beak needs only two. But the one with the gloomy complexion will have to have eight persons, and, as for me, nothing less than twenty attendants will do.” “If I understand you
correctly,” said the old man, “you are trying to tell me that you have a large appetite.” “It’s passable, passable,” said Eight Rules. “Well,” said the old man, “there are plenty of people here.” Young and old, he managed to summon thirty servants to come out.

  As the two old men spoke amiably with the monks, the rest of the household felt more at ease. A table was set up in the middle of the hall and the Tang Monk was asked to take the honored seat. Three other tables were set up on both sides for the disciples, while the two old men were seated at another table facing all of them. Fruits and vegetables were presented first, after which they brought out glutenous rice, plain rice, side dishes, and soup with vermicelli. After the food was laid out properly, the elder Tang lifted his chopsticks and recited the Fast-Breaking Sūtra. Our Idiot, however, was an impulsive eater for one thing, and he was hungry for another. Without waiting for the Tang Monk to finish his recitation, he grabbed one of the red lacquered wooden bowls and hurled a whole bowl full of rice into his mouth. Every grain of it immediately vanished! One of the young attendants on the side said, “This Venerable Father is not very smart! If you want to snatch something and hide it in your sleeve, why don’t you take some steamed buns? Why do you snatch a bowl of rice instead? Won’t it soil your clothing?” “I didn’t put it in my sleeve,” said Eight Rules, chuckling. “I ate it!” “You have hardly moved your mouth,” said the young man. “How could you have eaten it?” “Only your son would lie!” said Eight Rules. “Of course I ate it! If you don’t believe me, I’ll eat some more for you to see!” The young man indeed picked up the bowl, filled it with rice once more, and handed the bowl to Eight Rules. Idiot took it, and instantly he gulped it all down with a flick of his hand. When the houseboys saw this, they cried, “O Father! You must have a throat lined with polished bricks! It’s so level and smooth!” Before the Tang Monk had finished reciting one sūtra, Idiot had downed five or six bowls of rice. After that, they raised their chopsticks to enjoy the other kinds of food. Without regard for whether they were fruits, rice, glutenous rice, or side dishes, Idiot simply scooped them all up with his hands and stuffed them into his mouth, calling all the time, “More rice! More rice! Where are you all disappearing to?” “Worthy Brother,” said Pilgrim, “please don’t eat so much! We are already much better off than trying to endure hunger in the fold of the mountain. It’s good enough if you are half-filled.” “Never mind,” said Eight Rules. “As the proverb says,

  The priest half-fed

  Is worse than dead!”

  “Take away the housewares,” said Pilgrim. “Don’t mind him!” Bowing, the two old men said, “To tell you the truth, there is no problem whatever if it is during the day, for we can easily feed over a hundred priests like our big-bellied elder here. But it’s late now. We have put away the leftovers, and we have managed to steam only one stone of glutenous rice and five barrels of plain rice together with a few tablefuls of vegetarian food. We were about to invite a few neighbors to disperse the blessings with the priests. When all of you arrived, the priests became frightened and left, and we dared not even ask our neighbors or kin to come here. Everything that had been prepared was already presented to you. But if you are not yet filled, we can steam some more.” “Steam some more! Steam some more!” said Eight Rules.

  After they finished eating, the tables and dishes were put aside. Tripitaka stood up and bowed to the two old men to thank them for the feast. Then he asked, “Old Benefactors, what is your honored name?” One of them said, “Our surname is Chen.” Pressing his palms together, Tripitaka said, “We share the same illustrious ancestors.” “So the Venerable Father also has the surname of Chen?” asked one of the old men. “Yes,” said Tripitaka, “that is the name of my secular home. May I ask what kind of religious service was held just now?” “Why do you ask, Master?” said Eight Rules, laughing. “Can’t you guess? It has to be a service for harvest, or for peace, or for the completion of a building. Nothing more!” “No, no,” said the old man. “Truly, what was it for then?” asked Tripitaka again. The old man replied, “It’s a preparatory mass for the dead.” Laughing so hard that he could hardly remain seated, Eight Rules said, “Grandpa, you aren’t very perceptive! We are experts in half-truths, masters of humbug! How could you hope to deceive us with that fraudulent title? You think that monks are ignorant of masses and religious services? You may hold a preparatory mass for the transference of merit, or for the presentation of a votive offering. Since when was there ever a preparatory mass for the dead? There is no one in your house who has died. How could you have a mass for the dead?”

  When Pilgrim heard these words, he was secretly pleased and thought to himself, “This Idiot is getting smarter!” Then he said, “Old Grandpa, you must have been mistaken. What is this preparatory mass for the dead?” Instead of replying at once, the two old men bowed and said, “How did all of you turn from the main road to acquire scriptures and arrive at our place?” Pilgrim said, “We were walking along the main road, but it was barred by a torrent of water and we could not cross it. Then we heard the sound of cymbals and drums, and that led us here to ask you for a night’s lodging.” “When you reached the edge of the water,” said the old man, “did you see anything?” “Only a stone monument,” said Pilgrim, “with the three-word inscription, Heaven-Reaching River. Below it, there were the words:

  A width of eight hundred miles

  Which few, from days of old, have crossed.

  There was no other thing.”

  “If you had gone about a mile inland from the monument,” said one of the old men, “you would have come upon a temple of the Great King of Numinous Power. But you didn’t see it?” “We did not,” said Pilgrim. “Tell us, old Grandpa, what is this Numinous Power?”

  At once the two old men began to shed tears as they said, “O Venerable Father! That Great King was

  Potent to move one place to build his shrine;

  Numinous to bless people far and near.

  He sends us sweet rains from month to month,

  And auspicious clouds from year to year.”

  Pilgrim said, “Sending sweet rains and auspicious clouds indicate good intentions, but you are so sad and dejected. Why?” Beating their chests and stamping their feet, the old men sighed deeply and said, “O Venerable Father!

  Though favors abound, there’s also spite.

  He would hurt life even when he is kind.

  For his love to eat virgin boys and girls,

  He is no patent god of righteous mind!”

  “So he likes to devour virgin boys and girls?” asked Pilgrim. “Yes,” said the old men. Pilgrim said, “I suppose it’s your family’s turn now?” “Indeed it is,” said one of the old men. “Our village here consists of over one hundred families, and it belongs to the Yuanhui County of the Cart Slow Kingdom. The name of this village of ours is the Chen Village. Every year this Great King requires the sacrifice of a virgin boy and a virgin girl in addition to the offering of various kinds of livestock like hogs and sheep. When he has devoured all of these to his satisfaction, he would bless us with wind and rain in due season. If there is no such sacrifice for him, he will inflict upon us all kinds of calamity.” “How many esteemed sons do you have in your family?” asked Pilgrim. “Alas! Alas!” said the older of the two men, beating his breast. “Why mention ‘esteemed sons’? The term would only embarrass us to death! This is my brother, Chen Qing, and I am called Chen Cheng.2 He is fifty-eight and I am sixty-three, both badly off for children. Since I had no children even when I was fifty, friends and relatives urged me to take a concubine. I had no choice but to do so and a girl was born later. Her name is One Load of Gold, and she is barely eight this year.” “What an expensive name!” said Eight Rules. “Why was she given it?” The old man said, “Since I was childless for so many years, I persisted in repairing bridges and roads, in erecting temples and stūpas, and in the feasting of monks. I kept a record of all I spent—a few ounces here and a few ounces there—a
nd by the time my daughter was born, I had spent exactly thirty pounds of gold. Thirty pounds make one load, and that was how she got her name.”

  “And does he have a son?” asked Pilgrim. The old man said, “He has, indeed, a son born also of a concubine. He is only seven years old, and his name is Chen Guanbao.”3 “Why such a name?” asked Pilgrim, and the old man said, “Because our family worships the Holy Father Guan, and the child was conceived after prayers were offered to the Holy Father. That’s why he has such a name. The joint age of my brother and me is over one hundred and twenty, but we have only these two children to perpetuate our families. How could we ever anticipate that the turn to provide the victims would fall on us! We dare not, of course, refuse, but it is difficult to give up our precious children. It was for the welfare of their souls that we established this plot of ritual in advance, and that was the reason I named it the preparatory mass for the dead.”

  When Tripitaka heard these words, he could not restrain the tears from rolling down his cheeks and he said, “Truly it’s like what the proverb says:

  Instead of yellow plums only green plums drop.

  Old Heaven’s doubly harsh to a childless man!”

  Pilgrim, however, smiled and said, “Let me question him a bit more. Old Grandpa, how much property do you have?” The two old men said together, “Quite a bit. We have at least some seven hundred and fifty acres of paddy fields and over a thousand acres of dry fields. There must be some ninety pasture fields, three hundred water buffalos, some thirty horses and mules, and countless numbers of hogs, sheep, chickens, and geese. There is more grain in our warehouses than we can consume and more clothing in our houses than we can wear. Our property and our wealth, as you can see, are quite sizable.” “If you own so much,” said Pilgrim, “it’s pathetic that you are so stingy!” “How did you come to that conclusion?” said one of the old men. Pilgrim said, “If you are so well-off, how could you permit your own children to be sacrificed? Throw away fifty ounces of silver and you can buy a virgin boy; throw away another hundred ounces and you can buy a virgin girl. You need spend no more than two hundred ounces of silver for all expenses and you will preserve posterity for you and your family. Isn’t that much better?”