by Unknown
Then the king ascended his dragon couch once more as the officials returned to standing in ranks. The king said, “Let those who have any business leave their ranks to present their memorials; if there is no further business, let the screen be rolled up so that the court may retire.” From the ranks of military officials the city patrol commander stepped out, and from the ranks of the civil officials the east city warden walked forward. Both came up to the steps to kowtow and say, “By your sage decree your subjects were on patrol last night, and we succeeded in recovering the stolen goods of one cupboard and one white horse. Your lowly subjects dare not dispose of these by our own authority, and we beg you to render a decision.” Highly pleased, the king said, “Bring us both horse and cupboard.”
As soon as the two officials went back to their offices, they immediately summoned their troops to haul out the cupboard. Locked inside, Tripitaka became so terrified that his soul was about to leave his body. “Disciples,” he said, “what do we say once we appear before the king?”
Laughing, Pilgrim said, “Stop fussing! I have made the proper arrangements! When they open the cupboard, they’ll bow to us as their teachers. Just tell Eight Rules not to wrangle over seniority!” “To be spared from execution,” said Eight Rules, “is already boundless blessing! You think I dare wrangle?” Hardly had they finished talking when the cupboard was hauled to the court; the soldiers carried it inside the Five-Phoenix Tower and placed it before the vermilion steps.
When the subjects asked the king to inspect the cupboard, he immediately commanded that it be opened. The moment the cover was lifted, however, Zhu Eight Rules could not refrain from leaping out, so terrifying the various officials that they were all struck dumb. Then they saw the Tang Monk emerging, supported by Pilgrim Sun, while Sha Monk brought out the luggage. When Eight Rules caught sight of the commander holding the horse, he rushed forward and bellowed, “The horse is ours! Give it to me!” The commander was so scared that he fell backward head over heels.
As the four of them stood on the steps, the king noticed that they were all Buddhist priests. Hurrying down from his dragon couch, the king asked all his consorts of the three palaces to join his subjects in descending from the Treasure Hall of Golden Chimes and bowing with him to the clerics. “Where did the elders come from?” the king asked.
Tripitaka said, “We are those sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go to India’s Great Thunderclap Monastery in the West to seek true scriptures from the living Buddha.”
“If the Venerable Master had come from such a great distance,” said the king, “for what reason did you choose to rest in a cupboard?”
“Your humble cleric,” replied Tripitaka, “had learned of Your Majesty’s vow to slaughter monks. We therefore dared not approach your superior state openly. Disguising ourselves as laymen, we came by night to an inn in your treasure region to ask for lodging. As we were afraid that people might still recognize our true identity, we chose to sleep in the cupboard, which unfortunately was stolen by thieves. It was then recovered by the commander and brought here. Now that I am privileged to behold the dragon countenance of Your Majesty, I feel as if I had caught sight of the sun after the clouds had parted. I beg Your Majesty to extend your grace and favor wide as the sea to pardon and release this humble cleric.”
“The Venerable Master is a noble priest from the heavenly court of a superior state,” replied the king, “and it is we who have been remiss in our welcome. The reason for our vow to slaughter monks stems from the fact that we were slandered by certain priests in years past. We therefore vowed to Heaven to kill ten thousand monks as a figure of perfection. Little did we anticipate that we would be forced to become monks instead, for all of us—ruler and subjects, king and consorts—now have had our hair shorn off. We, in turn, beg the Venerable Master not to be sparing in your great virtue and accept us as your disciples.”
When Eight Rules heard these words, he roared with laughter, saying, “If you want to be our disciples, what sort of presentation gifts do you have for us?”
“If the Master is willing,” said the king, “we would be prepared to offer you the treasures and wealth of the state.”
“Don’t mention treasures and wealth,” said Pilgrim, “for we are the sort of monks who keep to our principles. Only certify our travel rescript and escort us out of the city. We promise you that your kingdom will be secure forever, and you will be endowed with blessings and long life in abundance.”
When the king heard that, he at once ordered the Court of Imperial Entertainments to prepare a huge banquet. Ruler and subjects, meanwhile, prostrated themselves to return to the One. The travel rescript was certified immediately, and then the king requested the masters to change the name of his kingdom. “Your Majesty,” said Pilgrim, “the name of Dharma Kingdom is an excellent one; it’s only the word ‘Destroying’ that’s inadequate. Since we have passed through this region, you may change its name to Dharma-Honoring Kingdom. I promise that you will
Prosper a thousand years in calm rivers and seas,
With rain and wind in season and in all quarters peace.”
After thanking Pilgrim, the king asked for the imperial cortege and the entire court to escort master and disciples out of the city so they could leave for the West. Then ruler and subjects held fast to virtue to return to the truth, and we shall speak no more of them.
We tell you now about the elder, who took leave of the king of the Dharma-Honoring Kingdom. As he rode along, he said in great delight, “Wukong, you’ve employed an excellent method this time, and you’ve achieved a great merit.”
“O Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “where did you find so many barbers to shave off so many heads during the night?” Thereupon Pilgrim gave a thorough account of how he underwent transformations and exercised magic powers. Master and disciples laughed so hard they could hardly get their mouths shut. In that very moment of gaiety, they suddenly saw a tall mountain blocking their path. Reining in his horse, the Tang Monk said, “Disciples, look how rugged that mountain is. We must be careful!”
“Relax! Relax!” said Pilgrim with a laugh. “I guarantee you there’s nothing to be afraid of!”
“Stop saying there’s nothing!” replied Tripitaka. “I can see how precipitous the mountain peak is, and even from a great distance there appear to be violent vapors and savage clouds soaring up from it. I’m getting more and more apprehensive; my whole body’s turning numb, and I’m filled with troubled thoughts.”
Still laughing, Pilgrim said, “And you’ve long forgotten the Heart Sūtra of the Crow’s Nest Zen Master.” “I do remember it,” said Tripitaka. “You may remember the sūtra,” said Pilgrim, “but there are four lines of gāthā which you have forgotten.” “Which four lines?” asked Tripitaka. Pilgrim said,
Seek not afar for Buddha on Spirit Mount;
Mount Spirit lives only inside your mind.
There’s in each man a Spirit Mount stūpa;
Beneath this stūpa you must be refined.1
“Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “you think I don’t know this? According to these four lines, the lesson of all scriptures concerns only the cultivation of the mind.”
“Of course, that goes without saying,” said Pilgrim. “For when the mind is pure, it shines forth as a solitary lamp, and when the mind is secure, the entire phenomenal world becomes clarified. The tiniest error, however, makes for the way to slothfulness, and then you’ll never succeed even in ten thousand years. Maintain your vigilance with the utmost sincerity, and Thunderclap will be right before your eyes. But when you afflict yourself like that with fears and troubled thoughts, then the Great Way and, indeed, Thunderclap seem far away. Let’s stop all these wild guesses. Follow me.” When the elder heard these words, his mind and spirit immediately cheered up as all worries subsided.
The four of them proceeded, and a few steps brought them into the mountain. This was what met their eyes:
The mountain’s
truly a good mountain.
Look closely, it’s mixed colors show!
On top the clouds wander and drift;
Tree shades are cool before the cliff.
Birds screechy and shrill;
Beasts savage and fierce.
A thousand pines in the forest;
A few bamboos on the summit.
Those snarling are grey wolves fighting for food;
Those growling are tigers struggling for feed.
Wild apes wail long as they search for fresh fruits;
The deer climb o’er flowers to reach the peak.
A soughing breeze
And gurgling stream,
Where oft you hear the coos of birds unseen.
In a few places creepers pull and tug;
By the brook orchids mix with fine grasses.
Strange rocks sharply etched;
Hanging cliffs sheer and straight.
Foxes and raccoons dash by in packs;
Badgers and gibbons frolic in bands.
The traveler, troubled by such ruggedness,
Can do little with an old path’s curviness!
Wary and cautious, master and disciples walked along, and all at once they heard the howling of a strong gust. Becoming fearful, Tripitaka said, “A wind has risen!”
Pilgrim said, “Spring has a temperate wind, summer a warm one. Autumn has a west wind, and winter has a north wind. There are winds in all four seasons. Why fear a gust of wind now?”
“But this wind has blown up so quickly,” replied Tripitaka, “that it cannot possibly be a natural wind.” “From ancient times,” said Pilgrim, “wind has risen from the ground and clouds have emerged from mountains. How could there be such a thing as a natural wind?” Hardly had he finished speaking when they also saw fog rising. That fog truly
Spreads out to make the sky opaque
As darkness the earth overtakes.
The sun wholly loses its light;
All singing birds vanish from sight.
It seems like Chaos returning,
Like dust both flying and churning.
When summit trees all disappear,
Could one an herb-picker go near?
Becoming more alarmed than ever, Tripitaka said, “Wukong, the wind has hardly subsided. Why is there such fog rising?”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusion,” replied Pilgrim. “Let our master dismount, and the two brothers can stand guard here. I’ll go see whether the situation is evil or auspicious.” Dear Great Sage! One snap of his torso shot him up to midair: shading his brows with his hand, he opened wide his fiery eyes to peer downward and at once discovered that there was, indeed, a monster-spirit sitting by a hanging cliff. Look how he appears:
A burly body swathed in colored hues,
Stalwart and tall, he seems most spirited.
His fangs push through his mouth like drills of steel;
His nose in the center’s a hook of jade.
His golden eyes flaring, fowl and beasts take fright.
His silver beard bristling, god and ghosts grow sad.
Perched firmly by the ledge he flaunts his might;
By belching wind and fog he plies his wiles.
Standing in rows to the left and right of him were some thirty or forty little fiends, all watching his magic exercise as he belched out wind and spat out fog.
Chuckling to himself, Pilgrim said, “My master does have a little prescience! He said it was no natural wind, and indeed it was a stunt of this monster’s that brought it forth. If old Monkey uses his iron rod now to deliver a blow downward, it will be nothing but a ‘Garlic Pounder.’ I’ll strike him dead, but it’ll also ruin old Monkey’s reputation.” Valiant all his life, Pilgrim never quite knew how to stab people in the back. He said to himself instead, “I’ll go back and give some business to Zhu Eight Rules. Let him come first to do battle with this monster-spirit. If Eight Rules is capable of defeating this monster, it’ll be his good fortune. If he’s not strong enough and gets himself captured, then I’ll go rescue him. That’s the proper way to enlarge my fame. But wait! Usually he’s quite lazy and refuses to take the initiative in anything. Nonetheless he’s hoggish and loves to eat. Let me trick him a little and see what he’ll say.”
Instantly dropping down from the clouds, he went before Tripitaka, who asked, “Wukong, how’s the situation in the wind and fog?” “It seems to have cleared up right now,” replied Pilgrim, “for there’s hardly any wind or fog.”
“Yes,” said Tripitaka, “they do seem to have subsided.”
“Master,” said Pilgrim with a chuckle, “my eyesight is usually quite good, but this time I’ve made a mistake. I had thought that there might be a monster in the wind and fog, but there wasn’t.” “What is it then?” asked Tripitaka.
“There’s a village not too far ahead,” said Pilgrim, “and the families there are quite devoted to good works. They are steaming white-grain rice and bleached-flour buns to feed the monks. The fog, I suppose, could have been the steam coming from their steamers, a sure sign of their good works.”
When Eight Rules heard this, he thought it was the truth. Pulling Pilgrim aside, he said softly, “Elder Brother, did you take a meal with them before you came back?”
“I didn’t eat much,” said Pilgrim, “for the vegetable dishes were a bit too salty for my taste.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Eight Rules. “No matter how salty they might be, I would have eaten until my stomach was filled. If I’m too thirsty, I’ll come back and drink water.”
“Do you want to eat?” asked Pilgrim.
“Of course,” replied Eight Rules, “because I’m just feeling a little hungry! I would like very much to go and eat something. What do you think?”
“Brother,” said Pilgrim, “you shouldn’t mention this. An ancient book said, ‘When the father is present, the son should not act on his own.’2 If Master remains here, who dares go there first?”
“If you don’t speak up,” said Eight Rules, giggling, “I’ll be able to go.”
“I won’t,” said Pilgrim. “I’d like to see how you manage to get away.” That Idiot, you see, was peculiarly endowed with gluttonish intelligence. Walking forward, he bowed deeply and said, “Master, just now Elder Brother told us that there are families in the village ahead who are feeding the monks. Our horse here, however, is bound to bother people once we get there. Won’t it be a nuisance when we have to find feed or hay for him? It’s a good thing that the sky is now cleared of wind and fog. Why don’t you sit here for a while and let me go find some nice, tender grass to feed the horse? Then we may proceed to beg for our meal from those households.”
“Marvelous!” said a delighted Tang Monk. “How is it that you’re so industrious today? Go, and return quickly!” Chuckling to himself, that Idiot left at once, only to be pulled back by Pilgrim, saying, “Brother, those families there will feed only handsome monks, not ugly ones.”
“If you put it that way,” said Eight Rules, “it means I have to undergo transformation again.”
“Exactly,” said Pilgrim, “you’d better change a little.” Dear Idiot! He too had the ability of thirty-six transformations. After he walked into the fold of the mountain, he made the magic sign and recited a spell; with one shake of his body he changed into a rather thin and short priest. His hand striking a wooden fish, he began to mutter something as he walked. He knew nothing of chanting scriptures, of course, and all he could mumble was “Noble Eminence!”
We tell you now about that fiend who, after he had retrieved the wind and fog, ordered the various fiends to form a circle at the entrance of the main road and wait for the travelers. Our Idiot had the misfortune to walk right into the circle. The various fiends at once had him surrounded; some tugged at his clothes while others pulled at his sash. As they surged around him, Eight Rules said, “Stop pulling! I’ll eat from you, house by house!”
“Monk,” said the fiends, “what do you want to eat?”
“Yo
u people want to feed the monks,” said Eight Rules, “and I have come to take my meal.”
“So, you think we’re feeding the monks,” said one of the monsters. “You don’t know that we specialize in eating monks here. Since we are monstrous immortals who have attained the Way in the mountain, we are particularly fond of catching monks and bringing them into our house to have them steamed in steamers. And you want to eat our meals instead!”
On hearing this, Eight Rules was so horrified that he began to castigate Pilgrim, saying, “This BanHorsePlague is such a rogue! He lied to me about the feeding of monks in this village. What village is there, and what feeding of monks? These are monster-spirits!” Exasperated by their pulling, our Idiot at once changed back into his original form and took out his muckrake from his waist. A few wild blows sent those little monsters retreating. They dashed back, in fact, to report to the old fiend: “Great King, disaster!” “What sort of disaster?” asked the old fiend. One of the little monsters said, “From the front of the mountain arrived a monk who looked quite neat. I said that we should take him home to be steamed, and if we couldn’t finish him immediately, we could have parts of him cured and left for bad weather. I didn’t expect him to know how to change.”
“What did he change into?” asked the old monster.
“Nothing that looks human!” said the little monster. “Long snout, huge ears, and a tuft of hair behind his head. Wielding a muckrake with both his hands, he delivered blows madly at us. We were so scared that we ran back to report to the great king.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said the old fiend. “Let me go look.” He held up an iron club and walked forward, only to discover that Idiot was ugly indeed. This was how he appeared:
A snout, pestlelike, over three feet long
And teeth protruding like silver prongs.
Bright like lightning a pair of eyeballs round,