by Wu Cheng-En
“You lay brothers really need more flogging,” said the abbot. “I've already said they can squat under the eaves, so why report again? Next time it will be twenty strokes.”
“But, reverend sir,” said the lay brother, “this is a different monk. He looks thoroughly vicious, and he's got no backbone either.”
“What's he like?” the abbot asked.
“Round eyes, pointed ears, hair all over his cheeks, and a face as ugly as a thunder god,” said the lay brother. “He's got a cudgel in his hand and he's gnashing his teeth in fury. He must be looking for someone to kill.”
“I'll go out and see him,” said the abbot. No sooner had he opened his door than Monkey charged in. He really was ugly: an irregular, knobbly face, a pair of yellow eyes, a bulging forehead, and teeth jutting out. He was like a crab, with flesh on the inside and bone on the outside. The old monk was so frightened that he fastened the doors of his quarters.
Monkey, who was right behind him, smashed through the doors and said, “Hurry up and sweep out a thousand nice clean rooms for me. I want to go to sleep.”
The abbot, hiding in his room, said to the lay brother, “It's not his fault he's so ugly. He's just talking big to make up for that face. There are only three hundred rooms in the whole monastery, even counting my lodgings, the Buddha Hall, the drum and bell towers and the cloisters, but he's asking for a thousand to sleep in. We can't possibly get them.”
“Reverend sir,” said the lay brother, “I'm terrified. You had better answer him, however you will.”
“Venerable sir,” called the abbot, shaking with fear, “you ask for lodging, but our little monastery would be most inconvenient, so we won't be able to entertain you. Please spend the night somewhere else.”
Monkey made his cudgel as thick as a rice-bowl and stood it on its end in the courtyard outside the abbot's cell. “If it would be inconvenient, monk,” he said, “you'd better move out.”
“But I've lived here since I was a boy,” the abbot said, “my master's master passed the monastery on to my master, who passed it on to my generation, and we'll hand it on in turn to our successors and our successors' successors. Goodness only knows what he's up to, charging in here and trying to move us out.”
“No problem at all, reverend sir,” said the lay brother. “We can go. He's already brought his pole into the yard.”
“Stop talking nonsense,” said the abbot. “There are four of five hundred of us monks, old and young, so where could we go? If we went there would be nowhere for us to stay.”
“If there's nowhere you can move to,” said Monkey, who had heard the conversation, “you'll have to send someone out to take me on in a quarterstaff fight.”
“Go out and fight him for me,” the abbot ordered the lay brother.
“Reverend Sir,” the lay brother protested, “you can't ask me to fight with a staff against a caber that size.”
“You must,” the abbot replied, adding, “'An army is built up for many years to be used in a single morning.'”
“Never mind him hitting you with that caber,” said the lay brother, “it would squash you flat if it just fell on you.”
“And even if it didn't fall on you and squash you,” said the abbot, “with it standing out there in the yard you might be walking around at night, forget it was there, and give yourself a dent in the head just by bumping into it.”
“Now you realize how heavy it is, reverend sir, how can you expect me to go out and fight him with my staff?” said the lay brother. This was how the monks quarreled among themselves.
“Yes,” said Monkey, hearing all this, “you're no match for me. But if I were to kill just one of you with this cudgel my master would be angry with me for committing murder again. I'd better find something else to hit as a demonstration for you.” Looking and seeing a stone lion outside the doors to the abbot's room, he raised his cudgel and smashed it to smithereens with a single resounding blow. When the abbot saw this through the window the fright turned his bones and muscles to jelly. He dived under the bed.
The lay brother climbed into the cooking-stove and kept saying, “Sir, sir, that cudgel's too heavy, I'm no match for you. I beg you, I beg you.”
“I won't hit you, monk,” said Monkey. “I've just got a question for you: how many monks are there in the monastery?”
“We have two hundred and eighty-five cells all told,” replied the abbot, shaking with fear, “and five hundred monks holding official ordination licenses.”
“I want you to draw those five hundred monks up on parade,” said Monkey, “get them dressed in long habits, and receive my master. Then I won't hit you.”
“If you won't hit me, sir,” said the abbot, “I'd gladly carry him in.”
“Hurry up then,” said Monkey.
“I don't care if the fright breaks your gallbladder, or even if it breaks your heart,” said the abbot to the lay brother. “Go out and tell them all to come here and welcome His Grace the Tang Priest.”
The lay brother had no choice but to take his life in his hands. Not daring to go through the front door, he squirmed out through a gap in the back wall and went straight to the main hall, where he struck the drum that was to the East and the bell that was to the West. The sound of the two together startled all the monks young and old in the dormitories on both sides.
They came to the main hall and asked, “Why are the drum and bell sounding now? It's too early.”
“Go and change at once,” said the lay brother, “then get yourselves into your groups under the senior monk and go outside the main gates to welcome His Grace from the land of Tang.” All the monks then went out through the gates in a most orderly procession to greet him. Some wore full cassocks, and some tunics; those who had neither wore a kind of sleeveless smock, and the poorest of all who had no proper garment draped the two ends of their loin-cloths over their shoulders.
“Monks, what's that you're wearing?” demanded Monkey.
“Sir, don't hit us,” they said, seeing his ugly and evil face, “let us explain. This is cloth we beg for in town. We don't have any tailors here, so these are paupers' wrappers we make ourselves.”
Monkey laughed inside at this, then escorted them all out through the gates to kneel down. The abbot kowtowed and called out, “Your Grace of Tang, please take a seat in my lodgings.”
Seeing all this, Pig said, “Master, you're completely useless. When you went in you were all tears and pouting so much you could have hung a bottle from your lips. How come that only Monkey knows tow to make them welcome us with kowtows?”
“Ill-mannered idiot,” said Sanzang. “As the saying goes, even a devil's afraid of an ugly mug.” Sanzang was most uncomfortable at the sight of them all kowtowing and bowing, so he stepped forward and invited them all to rise. They all kowtowed again and said, “Your Grace, if you would ask your disciple to show some mercy and not hit us with that caber we'll gladly kneel here for a month.”
“You must not hit them, Wukong,” said the Tang Priest.
“I haven't hit them,” said Monkey. “If I had, I'd have wiped the lot of them out.” Only then did all the monks rise to their feet. Leading the horse, shouldering the shoulder-poles with the luggage, carrying the Tang Priest, giving Pig a piggyback, and supporting Friar Sand they all went in through the main gates to the abbot's lodgings at the back, where they took their seats in due order.
The monks all started kowtowing again. “Please rise, lord abbot,” Sanzang said. “There is no need for any more kowtows, which are oppressive for a poor monk like me. We are both followers of the Buddhist faith.”
“Your Grace is an Imperial Commissioner,” the abbot replied, “and I failed to greet you properly. You came to our wretched monastery, but when I met you my mortal eyes did not recognize your illustrious status. May I venture to ask, Your Grace, whether you are eating a vegetarian or a meat diet on your journey? We would like to prepare a meal.”
“Vegetarian food,” replied Sanzang.
“No,” said Monkey. “We are vegetarians, and have been all our lives.”
“Good Heavens,” exclaimed the abbot, “can even creatures like these be vegetarians?”
Then a very bold monk came forward to ask, “Sirs, as you eat vegetarian food, how much rice should we cook for you?”
“Mean little monks,” said Pig, “why ask? Cook us a bushel.” The monks then moved as fast as they could to clean the stoves and the cauldrons and serve food and tea in all the cells. The lamps were hung high and tables and chairs brought to entertain the Tan Priest.
When master and disciples had eaten their supper the monks cleared the things away. Sanzang thanked the abbot: “Lord abbot, we have put your illustrious monastery to great trouble.”
“No, no,” the abbot protested, “we have entertained you very poorly.”
“May my disciples and I spend the night here?” Sanzang asked.
“Don't worry, Your Grace,” the abbot replied, “we will arrange things.” Then he called out, “Are there any lay brothers on duty over there?”
“Yes, reverend sir,” a lay brother replied.
“Then send a couple of them to see to the fodder for His Grace's horse,” the abbot instructed, “and have some sweep out and clean up the front meditation hall. Put beds in there for these venerable gentlemen to sleep in.” The lay brothers did as they had been told and arranged everything, then invited the Tang Priest to go to bed. Master and disciples led the horse and carried their baggage out of the abbot's quarters to the meditation hall. Looking in through the doors they saw the lamp burning brightly and four rattan beds set up at the ends of the room. Monkey told the lay brother who was looking after the fodder to carry it inside, lay it in the meditation hall, and tie up the white horse; the lay brothers were then all dismissed. Sanzang sat in the middle, right under the lamp, while the five hundred monks stood in their two divisions waiting upon him, not daring to leave.
“You may now leave, gentlemen,” said Sanzang, bowing to them from his chair, “as we would like to go to sleep.” But the monks dared not withdraw.
The abbot stepped forward and said to them, “Help Their Graces to bed, then leave.”
“You have done that already,” said Sanzang, “so you may all now go.” Only then did they disperse.
On going outside to relieve himself the Tang Priest saw the moon shining in the sky. He called his disciples, Monkey, Pig and Friar Sand, who came out to stand in attendance. He was moved by the brightness and purity of the moon as it shone from high in the jade firmament, making all in heaven and on earth clearly visible. He recited a long poem in the ancient style in the moonlight with a nostalgic feeling. It went:
A white soul hangs, a mirror in the sky,
Reflected whole in the mountain stream.
Pure light fills the towers of jade,
Cool air swirls round the silver bowls.
The same pure light shines on a thousand miles;
This is the clearest night of the year.
It rises from the sea like a frosty disk,
Hang in the heavens as a wheel of ice.
Sad the lonely traveler by the inn's cold window;
The old man goes to sleep in the village pub.
In the Han garden one is shocked by graying hair;
In the Qin tower the lady prepares herself for bed.
Yu Liang's lines on the moon are recorded by history;
Yuan Hong lay sleepless under the moon in a river boat.
The light that floats in the cup is cold and weak;
The purity shining in the court is strong and full of magic.
At every window are chanted poems to the snow,
In every courtyard the icy crescent is described.
Tonight we share quiet pleasure in the cloister;
When shall we ever all go home together?
Having heard the poem, Monkey went up to him and said, “Master, you only know about the moon's beauty, and you're homesick too. You don't know what the moon's really about. It's like the carpenter's line and compasses-it keeps the heavenly bodies in order. On the thirtieth of every month the metal element of its male soul has all gone, and the water element of its female soul fills the whole disk. That is why it goes black and has no light. That's what is called the end of the old moon. This is the time, between the last day of the old moon and the first of the new, when it mates with the sun. The light makes it conceive. By the third day the first male light is seen, and on the eight day the second male light. When the moon's male and female souls each have half of it, the moon is divided as if by a string. That is why it is called the first quarter. On the fifteenth night, tonight, all three male lights are complete, and the moon is round. This is called the full moon. On the sixteenth the first female principle is born, followed on the twenty-second by the second. At this stage the two souls are matched again and the moon is again divided as if by a string. This is what is called the third quarter. By the thirtieth the three female principles are complete, and it is the last day of the old moon. This is what is meant by 'prenatal absorption and refinement'. If we are all able gently to raise the 'double eight' and achieve it in nine by nine days, it will be easy to see the Buddha and easy to go home again too. As the poem goes:
After the first quarter and before the third,
Medicines taste bland, with all pneuma signs complete.
When it is gathered and refined in the furnace,
The achievement of the will is the Western Heaven.”
On learning this the venerable elder was instantly enlightened and he fully comprehended the truth, and as he thanked Monkey his heart was filled with happiness. Friar Sand laughed as he stood beside them. “What my brother says is true, as far as it goes,” he commented. “In the first quarter the male is dominant, and after the third quarter the female. When male and female are half and half the metal element obtains water. But what he did not say was this:
Fire and water support each other, each with its own fate;
All depend on the Earth Mother to combine them naturally.
The three meet together, without competing;
Water is in the Yangtze River, and the moon on the sky.”
Hearing this removed another obstruction from the venerable elder's mind. Indeed:
When reason fathoms one mystery, a thousand are made clear;
The theory that breaks through non-life leads to immortality.
Whereupon Pig went up to his master, tugged at his clothes, and said, “Pay no attention to all that nonsense, Master. We're missing our sleep. As for that moon, well:
Soon after it's defective the moon fills up again,
Just as at birth I too was incomplete.
They complain my belly's too big when I eat,
And say that I drool when I'm holding a bowl.
They are all neat and blessed by cultivation;
I was born stupid and have a baser fate.
You'll achieve the Three Ways of existence by fetching the scriptures,
And go straight up to the Western Heaven with a wag of your tail and your head.”
“That will do,” said Sanzang. “Disciples, you've had a hard journey, so go to bed. I have to read this sutra first.”
“You must be wrong, Master,” said Monkey. “You became a monk when you were very young and know all the surras of your childhood by heart. Now you are going to the Western Heaven on the orders of the Tang Emperor to fetch the true scriptures of the Great Vehicle, but you haven't succeeded yet. You haven't seen the Buddha or got the scriptures. So what sutra will you read?”
“Ever since leaving Chang'an,” Sanzang replied, “I have been travelling in such a rush every day that I have forgotten the scriptures of my youth. As I have some free time tonight I shall relearn them.”
“In that case we'll turn in first,” said Monkey. Each of the three of them went to sleep on
his rattan bed while their master closed the door of the meditation hall, turned up the silver lamp, and opened out the scroll of scripture, which he silently read. Indeed:
When the first drum sounds in the tower the people are all silent.
In the fishing boat by the bank the fires have been put out.
If you don't know how the venerable elder left the temple, listen to the explanation in the next installment.
Chapter 37
The Royal Ghost Visits the Tang Priest at Night
Wukong's Magic Transformation Lures the Boy
Sanzang sat in the meditation hall of the Precious Wood Monastery reading the Litany of Emperor Wu of Liang and the Peacock Sutra until the third watch, when he finally put the scriptures back into their bags. Just when he was about to go to bed he heard a rushing noise and the whistling of a fiendish wind. Fearing that it would blow out his lamp, the venerable elder shielded the lamp with his sleeve as quickly as he could. To his consternation the lamp kept going on and off. By now he was so tired that he pillowed his head on the reading desk and took a nap. Although he had closed his eyes and was dozing, his mind stayed wide awake as he listened to the howling of the devil wind outside the window. It was a splendid wind. Indeed, there were
Soughs and whistles,
Much scudding away.
It soughs and whistles, carrying the fallen leaves,
Blows the clouds scudding away.
All the stars in the sky go dark,
And the earth is covered with flying dust.
Sometimes fierce,
Sometimes gentle.
When it blows gentle, pine and bamboo sound clear;