by Unknown
“It is, it is!” said the old fiend, laughing. “What the vanguard says makes perfect sense!” The order was immediately given that the Tang Monk would be brought into the back garden, where he was bound to a tree with a rope. Then the little fiends all went back to the front to wait on the old monster.
Look at that elder! Enduring most bitterly the tight fetter and the restraint of ropes, he could not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. “O disciples!” he cried. “In which mountain are you trying to capture fiends, and on what road are you chasing monsters? I have been brought by a brazen demon to suffer here. When will we ever meet again? The pain’s killing me!” As tears streamed from both his eyes, he heard someone calling from a tree opposite him, saying, “Elder, so you, too, have entered here!”
Calming down, the elder said, “Who are you?”
The man said, “I’m a woodcutter from this mountain who was captured by that mountain lord and brought here. I have been bound for three days, and I imagine that they want to eat me.”
“O woodcutter!” said the elder, as tears began to flow once more. “If you die, you are all by yourself and you don’t have any worries. I, however, cannot die in such a carefree manner.”
“Elder,” said the woodcutter, “you are someone who has left home. You have neither parents above you nor wife and children below you. If you die, you die. What cares or concerns do you have?”
The elder said, “I am someone sent by the Land of the East to seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. By the decree of Emperor Taizong of the Tang court, I am to bow to the living Buddha and acquire from him the true scriptures, which will be used for the redemption of those orphaned lost souls in the Region of Darkness. If I lose my life here, would that not have dashed the expectation of the emperor and the high hopes of his ministers? Would that not grievously disappoint those countless mistreated souls in the City of Wrongful Death? They would never be redeemed, and all this attempt at meritorious fruit would be reduced to wind and dust! How could I die carefree and without concern?”
When the woodcutter heard these words, he too began to shed tears as he said, “Elder, if you must die in this manner, then my death is even more grievous. I lost my father in childhood, and I have lived all my life with my widowed mother. We have no other livelihood except my gathering fire-wood. My old mother is now eighty-three and I’m her sole support. If I lose my life, who will take care of her or bury her? O misery! O misery! This pain is killing me.” On hearing this, the elder wailed aloud, crying, “How pitiful! How pitiful!
If mountain rustics still long for their kin,
This poor monk’s been trained to chant sūtras in vain.
To serve the ruler or to serve one’s parents follows the same principle. You live by the kindness of your parents, and I do by the kindness of my ruler.” Truly it is that
The tearful eye beholds a tearful eye;
A broken heart escorts a broken heart!
We shall leave for the moment Tripitaka in suffering and confinement. We tell you instead about Pilgrim Sun, who, having defeated the little monster beneath the grassy knoll, hurried back to the side of the main road. His master had vanished; only the white horse and the luggage remained. He was so horrified that he began searching toward the summit at once, leading the horse and poling the luggage. Alas! This is how
Woe-beset River Float keeps meeting more woes!
The demon-routing Great Sage is by demons plagued!
We do not know whether he finally succeeds in locating his master; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.
EIGHTY-SIX
Wood Mother, lending power, conquers the fiendish creature;
Metal Squire, using his magic, extirpates the deviates.
We were telling you about the Great Sage Sun who, as he led the horse and toted the luggage, was searching and calling for his master all over the summit. It was then that he saw Zhu Eight Rules run up to him, panting hard and saying, “Elder Brother, why are you hollering?”
“Master has disappeared,” replied Pilgrim. “Have you seen him?”
“Originally,” said Eight Rules, “I followed the Tang Monk to be a priest. But you have to make fun of me again, telling me to play the general! I took enormous risk to fight with that monster-spirit for quite some time before I came back here with my life. You and Sha Monk, however, were supposed to be guarding Master. How is it that you’re asking me instead?”
Pilgrim said, “Brother, I’m not blaming you. Perhaps you were a little dazed and didn’t realize that you had allowed the monster-spirit to slip back here to seize Master. I went to strike at the monster-spirit, relying on Sha Monk to guard Master. Now even Sha Monk has disappeared!”
“Sha Monk,” said Eight Rules with a giggle, “must have taken Master somewhere to drop his load!” Hardly had he finished speaking when Sha Monk appeared. “Sha Monk,” asked Pilgrim, “where has Master gone?”
“Both of you must have been seeing double,” said Sha Monk, “and that’s why you allowed the monster-spirit to slip back here to try to seize Master. Old Sand took off to fight with him, but Master should be sitting by himself on the horse.” All at once Pilgrim became so enraged that he jumped up and down as he cried, “We’ve fallen for their plan! We’ve fallen for their plan!”
“What sort of a plan?” asked Sha Monk.
“This,” replied Pilgrim, “is called ‘The Plan of Plum Blossoms with Parted Petals,’ which they used to split us brothers apart before they dashed right into our midst to haul Master away. Heavens! Heavens! Heavens! What shall we do?” As he spoke, he could hardly hold back the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Don’t cry!” said Eight Rules. “Once you cry, you turn into a namby-pamby! He can’t be very far, for he has to be somewhere in this mountain. Let’s go search for him.” With no better alternative, the three of them had to enter the mountain to begin their search. After they had journeyed some twenty miles, they reached a cave-dwelling beneath a hanging cliff, with
Steep summits half appearing,
And strange rocks so rugged;
Rare blossoms and plants most fragrant,
Red apricots, green peaches most luscious.
The old tree before the ledge,
Its skin, forty spans, is frost-white and rain-resistant;
The hoary pine beyond the door,
Its jade-green hues rise skyward two thousand feet.
Wild cranes in pairs
Come oft before the cave to dance in the breeze;
Mountain fowl in twos
Would perch on the boughs to sing in the sun.
Clusters of yellow vines like hanging ropes;
Rows of misty willows like dripping gold.
A square pond storing up water—
A deep cave close to the mountain—
A square pond storing up water
Conceals an aged dragon which has yet to change;
In a deep cave close to the mountain
Lives one man-eating old fiend of many years.
In truth no less than an immortal’s lair,
This place that gathers in the wind and air.
On seeing the cave-dwelling, Pilgrim in two or three steps bounded right up to the door to examine it more closely. The stone door was tightly closed, but across the top of the door was a slab of stone bearing this inscription in large letters: The Mist-Concealing Mountain; the Broken-Peak, Joined-Ring Cave.
“Eight Rules,” said Pilgrim, “let’s move! This is where the monster-spirit lives, and Master has to be in the house.” Strengthened by the presence of his companions, our Idiot unleashed his violence and delivered as hard a blow as he could on the stone door, making a huge, gaping hole in it. “Fiend,” he cried, “send my master out quickly, lest this muckrake tear down the door and finish off your entire household!”
Those little monsters guarding the door hurried inside to report: “Great King, we’ve brought on a disaster!”
“What disa
ster?” asked the old fiend.
“Someone has broken through our front door,” replied one of the little monsters, “yelling for his master.” Astounded, the old fiend said, “I wonder whoever could have found his way here.”
“Don’t be afraid!” said the vanguard. “Let me go out and have a look.” This little fiend dashed up to the front door and stuck his head out sideways through the hole to look around. When he saw the huge snout and large ears, he at once turned back and called out, “Great King, don’t be afraid of him! This is Zhu Eight Rules, who has not much ability and won’t dare be unruly. If he does, we’ll open our door and take him in here to be prepared and steamed. The only person we need fear is the monk with a hairy face and a thundergod beak.”
When he heard this through the door, Eight Rules said, “O Elder Brother! He’s not afraid of me but only of you. Master has to be in his house. You go forward quickly.”
“Lawless cursed beast!” shouted Pilgrim. “Your Grandpa Sun is here! Send out my master and I’ll spare your life!”
“Great King,” said the vanguard, “it’s bad! Pilgrim Sun has found his way here!” The old fiend began to reprehend him, saying, “It’s all because of that so-called ‘Parted Petals’ plan of yours that disaster has descended on our door! How will this end?”
“Please relax, Great King,” said the vanguard, “and don’t find fault with me. I recall that Pilgrim Sun happens to be a kind and forbearing ape. Though he may possess vast magic powers, he also loves flattery. Let us take out a fake human head to deceive him a little, and flatter him a little, too, with a few words. Just tell him that we have devoured his master. If we can deceive him, the Tang Monk will be ours for enjoyment. If we can’t, we’ll try something else.” “Where shall we find a fake human head?” asked the old fiend. The vanguard said, “Let’s see if I could make one.”
Marvelous fiend! Using a steel ax, he cut off a lump of willow root, shaped it into a skull, and threw some human blood on it. In this gory fashion the head was taken out to the door on a lacquered tray by a small fiend, who called out: “Holy Father Great Sage, please calm your anger and allow me to report to you.”
Pilgrim Sun was indeed susceptible to flattery; when he heard the ‘Holy Father Great Sage,’ he stopped Eight Rules, saying, “Let’s not move yet and see what they have to say.”
“After your master had been taken into the cave by our Great King,” said the little fiend holding the tray, “those uncouth young fiends of ours did not know any better than to try to swallow him at once. Some tore at him, while others gnawed at him. Your master was thus devoured, and all we have left here is his head.”
“It’s all right if he’s been devoured,” said Pilgrim, “but show me the head and let me see if it’s real.” The little fiend threw out the head through the hole in the door. The moment Zhu Eight Rules saw it, he began to weep, saying, “How pitiful! We had one kind of master entering through this door, but now we have this kind of master coming out.”
“Idiot,” said Pilgrim, “why don’t you try to determine whether this is a real human head before you start weeping?” “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” said Eight Rules. “Could there be a false human head?”
“This happens to be a false one,” replied Pilgrim. “How can you tell?” asked Eight Rules. “If you threw down a real human head,” said Pilgrim, “it would fall on the ground with a dull thud, whereas a false head would make a loud rattle. If you don’t believe me, let me throw it down for you to hear.” He took it up and hurled it against a boulder, and it produced a loud clang.
“Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, “it rattles, all right.”
“If it rattles,” said Pilgrim, “it’s a false one. Let me bring out its true form.” Whipping out his golden-hooped rod, he cracked it open with one blow. Eight Rules looked more closely and discovered that it was only a lump of willow root. Unable to contain himself, Eight Rules began to utter a string of abuses, crying, “You bunch of hairy clods! You have already hidden my master in the cave, and yet you dare use a lump of willow root to deceive your Ancestor Hog! Could my master have been a willow spirit?”
The little fiend who held the tray was so horrified that he shook all over as he ran back to report: “Hard! Hard! Hard! Hard! Hard! Hard!”
“Why so many hards?” asked the old fiend.
The little fiend said, “Both Zhu Eight Rules and Sha Monk were deceived, but Pilgrim Sun happens to be an antique dealer who knows his stuff! He recognized the fact that it was a false human head. If you could find a real head for him, you might be able to send him away.”
“Where could I find one?” said the old fiend. “Ah, I know! In our skinning pavilion we still have several human heads that haven’t been eaten yet. Go pick one out for us.” A few of the fiends went immediately to the pavilion and selected a fresh head, which they then gnawed at until it was slick and smooth. The little fiend carried it out to the front again on a tray, crying, “Holy Father Great Sage, the previous one was indeed a false head. This one, however, is the true head of Father Tang. Our Great King has kept it as a talisman for the house, but we’re presenting it to you now.” With a thud, the head was thrown out through the hole in the door, and it rolled all over, still dripping blood.
When Pilgrim Sun saw that it was a real human head, he had no choice but to weep. Eight Rules and Sha Monk, too, joined in the loud wailing. As he tried to hold back his tears, Eight Rules said, “Elder Brother, let’s not cry just yet. The weather isn’t so good right now, and I fear that it may stink. Let me take it somewhere to have it buried while it’s still fresh. Then we can cry some more.” “You’re quite right,” replied Pilgrim.
Not revolted, our Idiot hugged the head to his bosom and ran up the mountain ledge. Having found a spot facing the sun where the wind and air would be collected, he used his rake to dig a hole to try to bury the head. Then he built a grave mound, and called out to Sha Monk, “You and Elder Brother can stay here and weep. Let me go find something to use for offering.” Going over to the side of the brook, he selected several large twigs of willow and picked up some egg-shaped pebbles, which he brought back to the graveside. The willow twigs were planted on both sides, and the pebbles were placed in a pile in front.
“What do you mean by this?” asked Pilgrim.
“We can pretend that these twigs are pines and cypresses,” replied Eight Rules, “so that Master will have a bit of shade on top. The pebbles may be taken as pastries, so that Master will enjoy a small offering.”
“Coolie!” snapped Pilgrim. “The man’s dead! And you still want to offer him pebbles?” Eight Rules said,
Mere sentiment of the living
To show our filial feeling.
“Let’s stop this horseplay!” said Pilgrim. “Sha Monk can remain here to guard the grave, the horse, and the luggage. You and I will go and tear down the cave-dwelling. When we capture the fiendish demon, we’ll cut him into ten thousand pieces to avenge our master.”
“What Elder Brother says is perfectly right,” said Sha Monk, still shedding tears. “The two of you should put your hearts to this. I’ll stand guard here.”
Marvelous Eight Rules! He took off his black silk shirt and tightened his undergarment before lifting his rake high to follow Pilgrim. Striding forward, the two of them, without waiting for further discussion, smashed down the stone door. “Give us back a living Tang Monk!” they thundered so loudly that the heavens shook.
Those various fiends inside the cave, old and young, were so terrified that they all cast their blame on the vanguard as the old fiend asked him, “These monks have smashed their way inside our door. What shall we do?” The vanguard replied, “The ancients have put the matter well:
Put your hand in the fish basket
And you can’t avoid the stink!
Never retreat once you start something! Let’s call up the left and right commanders to lead our soldiers out to slaughter those monks!”
As he had no better pl
an than what he heard, the old fiend thereupon gave the order: “Little ones, be of one mind and pick up your best weapons. Follow me out to battle.” With a roar, they stormed out of the cave.
Our Great Sage and Eight Rules quickly retreated a few steps down to a level spot in the mountain. As they faced the various fiends, they shouted, “Who is the leader who has a name? Who is the fiend who has captured our master?”
The various fiends pitched camp immediately and unfurled an embroidered floral banner. Grasping an iron club, the old fiend answered the call in a loud voice, saying, “Brazen monk, don’t you recognize me? I am the Great King of South Mountain, and I have held this place in my sway for several centuries. I’ve captured and devoured your Tang Monk. What do you propose to do about that?”
“You audacious hairy clod!” scolded Pilgrim. “How many years have you lived that you dare assume the title, South Mountain? Old Lord Li happens to be the patriarch of creation, but he still sits to the right of Supreme Purity. The Buddha Tathāgata is the honored one who governs the world, and yet he still sits beneath the great roc. Kong the Sage is the founder of Confucianism, but he assumes the mere title of Master. And you, a cursed beast, dare call yourself some Great King of South Mountain, holding this place in your sway! Don’t try to escape! Have a taste of your Grandfather’s rod!”
Stepping aside to dodge the blow, the monster-spirit wielded his club to parry the iron rod and said, his eyes glowering, “Your features are those of an ape, and yet you dare insult me with so many words! What abilities do you have that you dare behave in such a rowdy manner in front of my door?”
“You nameless cursed beast!” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Of course, you don’t know anything of old Monkey! Stand still, be brave, and listen to my recital:
At Pūrvavideha, my ancestral home,
Through thousands of years conceived of Heav’n and Earth
One stone egg immortal on Mount Flower-Fruit
Did break and beget me, its progeny.
By birth I thus was not of mortal stock,