by Unknown
“That Steer Hermit,” said the old man, “is a wild bull spirit; the Mountain Lord, a bear spirit; and General Yin, a tiger spirit. The various ogres are all demons of mountains and trees, spirits of strange beasts and wolves. Because of the primal purity of your nature, they cannot devour you. Follow me now, and I shall lead you on your way.” Tripitaka could not be more thankful. Fastening the bundles on the saddle and leading his horse, he followed the old man out of the pit and walked toward the main road. He tied the horse to the bushes beside the path and turned to thank the aged father. At that moment a gentle breeze swept by, and the old man rose into the air and left, riding on a white crane with a crimson head. As the wind subsided, a slip of paper fluttered down, with four lines of verse written on it:
I am the Planet Venus from the West,
Who came to save you by special request,
Some pupils divine will come to your aid.
Blame not the scriptures for hardships ahead.
When Tripitaka read this, he bowed toward the sky saying, “I thank the Gold Star for seeing me through this ordeal.” After that, he led his horse off again on his lonely and melancholy journey.
On this ridge truly you have
Cold and soughing, the wind of the rainforest;
Purling and gurgling, the water of the brooklets;
Fragrant and musky, wildflowers in bloom;
In clutters and clumps, rough rocks piled high;
Chattering and clattering, the apes and the deer;
In rank and file, the musk and the fallow deer.
Chirping and cooing, birds frequently call.
Silent and still, not one man is in sight.
That master
Shivers and quivers to his anxious mind.
This dear horse,
Scared and nervous, can barely raise his legs.
Ready to abandon his body and sacrifice his life, Tripitaka started up that rugged mountain. He journeyed for half a day, but not a single human being or dwelling was in sight. He was gnawed by hunger and disheartened by the rough road. In that desperate moment, he saw two fierce tigers growling in front of him and several huge snakes circling behind him; vicious creatures appeared on his left and strange beasts on his right. As he was all by himself, Tripitaka had little alternative but to submit himself to the will of Heaven. As if to complete his helplessness, his horse’s back was sagging and its legs were buckling; it went to its knees and soon lay prostrate on the ground. He could budge it neither by beating nor by tugging. With hardly an inch of space to stand on, our Master of the Law was in the depths of despair, thinking that certain death would be his fate. We can tell you, however, that though he was in danger, help was on its way. For just as he thought he was about to expire, the vicious creatures began to scatter and the monstrous beasts fled; the fierce tigers vanished and the huge snakes disappeared. When Tripitaka looked further ahead, he saw a man coming over the mountain slope with a steel trident in his hands and bow and arrows at his waist. He was indeed a valiant figure! Look at him:
He had on his head a cap
Of leopard skin, spotted and artemisia white;
He wore on his body a robe
Of lamb’s wool with dark silk brocade.
Around his waist was tied a lion king belt,7
And on his feet he wore tall boots of suede.
His eyes would bulge like those of someone hung.
His beard curled wildly like a fierce god’s!
A bow and poisoned arrows hung on him.
He held a huge trident of finest steel.
His voice like thunder appalled mountain cats,
And wild pheasants quaked at his truculence.
When Tripitaka saw him draw near, he knelt at the side of the path and called out, his hands clasped in front of him, “Great king, save me! Great king, save me!” The fellow came up to Tripitaka and put down his trident. Raising up the monk with his hands, he said, “Don’t be afraid, Elder, for I’m not a wicked man. I’m a hunter living in this mountain; my surname is Liu and my given name is Boqin. I also go by the nickname of Senior Guardian of the Mountain. I came here to find some animals to eat, not expecting to run into you. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“Your poor monk,” said Tripitaka, “is a cleric who has been sent by his Majesty, the Tang emperor, to seek scriptures from Buddha in the Western Heaven. When I arrived here a few moments ago, I was surrounded by tigers, wolves, and snakes, so that I could not proceed. But when the creatures saw you coming they all scattered, and you have thus saved my life. Many thanks! Many thanks!” “Since I live here and my livelihood depends on killing a few tigers and wolves,” said Boqin, “or catching a few snakes and reptiles, I usually frighten the wild beasts away. If you have come from the Tang empire, you are actually a native here, for this is still Tang territory and I am a Tang subject. You and I both live off the land belonging to the emperor so that we are in truth citizens of the same nation. Don’t be afraid. Follow me. You may rest your horse at my place, and I shall see you off in the morning.” Tripitaka was filled with delight when he heard these words, and he led his horse to follow the hunter.
They passed the slope and again heard the howling of the wind. “Sit here, Elder,” said Boqin, “and don’t move. The sound of that wind tells me that a mountain cat is approaching. I’ll take him home so that I can make a meal of him for you.” When Tripitaka heard this, his heart hammered and his gall quivered and he became rooted to the ground. Grasping his trident, that Guardian strode forward and came face to face with a great striped tiger. Seeing Boqin, he turned and fled. Like a crack of thunder, the Guardian bellowed, “Cursed beast! Where will you flee?” When the tiger saw him pressing near, he turned with flailing claws to spring at him, only to be met by the Guardian with uplifted trident. Tripitaka was so terrified that he lay paralyzed on the grass. Since leaving his mother’s belly, when had he ever witnessed such violent and dangerous goings-on? The Guardian went after that tiger to the foot of the slope, and it was a magnificent battle between man and beast. You see
Raging resentment,
And churning whirlwind.
In raging resentment
The potent Guardian’s hair pushed up his cap;
Like churning whirlwind
The striped prince belched dust, displaying his might.
This one bared its teeth and wielded its paws;
That one stepped sideways, yet turning to fight.
The trident reached skyward, reflecting the sun.
The striped tail stirred up both fog and cloud.
This one stabbed madly at the breast of his foe;
That one, facing him would swallow him whole.
Stay away and you may live out your years.
Join the fray and you’ll meet Yama, the king!
You hear the roar of the striped prince
And the harsh cries of the Guardian.
The roar of the striped prince
Shook mountains and streams to frighten birds and beasts;
The harsh cries of the Guardian
Unlocked the Heavens to make the stars appear.
The gold eyeballs of this one protruded,
And wrath burst from the bold heart of that one.
Lovable was Liu the Mountain Guardian;
Praiseworthy was this king of the wild beasts.
So tiger and man fought, each craving life—
A little slower, and one forfeits his soul!
The two of them fought for about an hour, and as the paws of the tiger began to slow and his torso to slacken, he was downed by the Guardian’s trident stabbing him through the chest. A pitiful sight it was! The points of the trident pierced the heart, and at once the ground was covered with blood.
The Guardian then dragged the beast by the ear up the road. What a man! He hardly panted, nor did his face change color. He said to Tripitaka, “We’re lucky! We’re lucky! This mountain cat should be sufficient for a day’s food for the elder.” Applauding him
unceasingly, Tripitaka said, “The Guardian is truly a mountain god!” “What ability do I have,” said Boqin, “that I merit such acclaim? This is really the good fortune of the father. Let’s go. I’d like to skin him quickly so that I can cook some of his meat to entertain you.” He held the trident in one hand and dragged the tiger with the other, leading the way while Tripitaka followed him with his horse. They walked together past the slope and all at once came upon a mountain village, in front of which were
Old trees soaring skyward,
Roads filled with wild creepers.
In countless canyons the wind was cool;
On many ridges came strange sounds and sights.
One path’s wild blooms, their scent clung to one’s body;
A few poles of bamboo, what enduring green!
The portal of grass,
The wattle-fenced yard—
A picture to paint or sketch.
The stone-slab bridge,
The white-earth walls—
How charming indeed, and rare!
Now in the wistful face of autumn,
The air was cool and brisk,
By the wayside yellow leaves fell;
Over the peaks the white clouds drifted.
In thinly-grown woods the wild fowls twittered,
And young dogs yelped outside the village gate.
When Boqin reached the door of his house, he threw down the dead tiger and called, “Little ones, where are you?” Out came three or four houseboys, all looking rather unattractive and mean, who hauled the tiger inside. Boqin told them to skin it quickly and prepare it for the guest. He then turned around to welcome Tripitaka into his dwelling, and as they greeted each other, Tripitaka thanked him again for the great favor of saving his life. “We are fellow countrymen,” said Boqin, “and there’s little need for you to thank me.” After they had sat down and drunk tea, an old woman with someone who appeared to be her daughter-in-law came out to greet Tripitaka. “This is my mother, and this my wife,” said Boqin. “Pray ask your parent to take the honored seat,” said Tripitaka, “and let your poor monk pay his respects.” “Father is a guest coming from great distance,” said the old woman. “Please relax and don’t stand on ceremony.” “Mother,” said Boqin, “he has been sent by the Tang emperor to seek scriptures from Buddha in the Western Heaven. He met your son just now at the ridge. Since we are fellow countrymen, I invited him to the house to rest his horse. Tomorrow I shall see him on his way.”
When she heard these words, the old woman was very pleased. “Good! Good! Good!” she said. “The timing couldn’t be better, even if we had planned to invite him. For tomorrow happens to be the anniversary of your late father’s death. Let us invite the elder to perform some good deeds and recite an appropriate passage of scripture. We shall see him off day after tomorrow.” Although he was a tiger slayer, a so-called “Guardian of the Mountain,” our Liu Boqin had a good deal of filial feeling for his mother. When he heard what she said, he immediately wanted to prepare the incense and the paper money, so that Tripitaka might be asked to stay.
As they talked, the sky began to darken. The servants brought chairs and a table and set out several dishes of well-cooked tiger meat, steaming hot. Boqin invited Tripitaka to begin, telling him that rice would follow. “O dear!” said Tripitaka, his hands folded. “To tell you the truth, I have been a monk since leaving my mother’s womb, and I have never eaten any meat.” Hearing this, Boqin reflected awhile. He then said, “Elder, for generations this humble family has never kept a vegetarian diet. We could, I suppose, find some bamboo shoots and wood ears and prepare some dried vegetables and bean cakes, but they would all be cooked with the fat of deer or tigers. Even our pots and pans are grease-soaked! What am I to do? I must ask the elder’s pardon.” “Don’t fret,” said Tripitaka. “Enjoy the food yourself. Even if I were not to eat for three or four days, I could bear the hunger. But I dare not break the dietary commandment.” “Suppose you starve to death,” said Boqin, “what then?” “I am indebted to the Heavenly kindness of the Guardian,” said Tripitaka, “for saving me from the packs of tigers and wolves. Starving to death is better than being food for a tiger.”
When Boqin’s mother heard this, she cried, “Son, stop such idle talk with the elder. Let me prepare a vegetarian dish to serve him.” “Where would you get such a dish?” said Boqin. “Never mind. I’ll fix it,” said his mother. She asked her daughter-in-law to take down a small cooking pan and heat it until much of the grease had burned off. They washed and scrubbed the pan again and again and then put it back on the stove and boiled some water in it. Taking some elm leaves from the mountain, they made soup with it, after which they cooked some rice with yellow millet mixed with Indian corn. They also prepared two bowls of dried vegetables and brought it all out to the table. “Elder,” the aged mother said to Tripitaka, “please have some. This is the cleanest and purest food that my daughter-in-law and I have ever prepared.” Tripitaka left his seat to thank her before sitting down again. Boqin removed himself to another place; dishes and bowls full of unsauced and unsalted tiger meat, musk deer meat, serpent meat, fox flesh, rabbit, and strips of cured venison were set before him. To keep Tripitaka company, he sat down and was about to pick up his chopsticks when he saw Tripitaka fold his hands and begin to recite something. Startled, Boqin dared not touch his chopsticks; he jumped up instead and stood to one side. Having uttered no more than a few phrases, Tripitaka said to him, “Please eat.” “You are a priest who likes to recite short scriptures,” said Boqin. “That was not scripture,” said Tripitaka, “only a prayer to be said before meals.” “You people who leave your families,” said Boqin, “are particular about everything! Even for a meal you have to mumble something!”
They ate their dinner and the dishes and bowls were taken away. Evening was setting in when Boqin led Tripitaka out of the main hall to go for a walk at the back of the dwelling. They passed through a corridor and arrived at a straw shed. Pushing open the door, they walked inside, where they found several heavy bows and some quivers of arrows hanging on the walls. Two pieces of tiger skin, stinking and bloodstained, were draped over the cross beams, and a number of spears, knives, tridents, and rods were stuck into the ground at one corner. There were two seats in the middle of the shed, and Boqin invited Tripitaka to sit for a moment. Seeing that the place was so gruesome and putrid, Tripitaka dared not linger. They soon left the shed and walked further back to a huge garden, where there seemed to be no end of thick clumps of chrysanthemum piling their gold and stands of maple hoisting their crimson. With a loud rustle, more than a dozen fat deer and a large herd of musk deer jumped out. Calm and mild-mannered, they were not at all frightened at the sight of human beings. Tripitaka said, “You must have tamed these animals.” “Like the people in your city of Chang’an,” said Boqin, “where the affluent store up wealth and treasures and the landlords gather rice and grain, so we hunters must keep some of these wild beasts to prepare against dark days. That’s all!” As they walked and conversed, it grew dark, and they returned to the house to rest.
As soon as the members of the family, young and old, arose next morning, they went to prepare vegetarian food to serve to the priest, who was then asked to begin his recitations. Having first washed his hands, the priest went to the ancestral hall with the Guardian to burn incense. Only after he had bowed to the house shrine did Tripitaka beat on his wooden fish and recite first the true sentences for the purification of the mouth, and then the divine formula for the purification of mind and body. He went on to the Sūtra for the Salvation of the Dead, after which Boqin requested him to compose in writing a specific prayer for the deliverance of the deceased. He then took up the Diamond Sūtra and the Guanyin Sūtra, each of which was given a loud and clear recitation. After lunch, he recited several sections from the Lotus Sūtra and the Amitāyus Sūtra, before finishing with the Peacock Sūtra and a brief recounting of the story of Buddha healing a bhikṣu.8 Soon it was evening again. All kinds
of incense were burned together with the various paper horses, images of the deities, and the prayer for the deliverance of the deceased. The Buddhist service was thus completed, and each person retired.
We shall now tell you about the soul of Boqin’s father, verily a ghost redeemed from perdition, who came to his own house and appeared to all the members of his family in a dream. “It was difficult,” he said, “for me to escape my bitter ordeals in the Region of Darkness, and for a long time I could not attain salvation. Fortunately, the holy monk’s recitations have now expiated my sins. King Yama has ordered someone to send me to the rich land of China, where I may assume my next incarnation in a noble family. All of you, therefore, must take care to thank the elder, and see that you are not negligent in any way. Now I leave you.” So it is that
There is, in all things, a solemn purpose:
To save the dead from perdition and pain.
When the whole family awoke from the dream, the sun was already rising in the east. The wife of Boqin said, “Guardian, I dreamed last night that father came to the house. He said that it was difficult for him to escape his bitter ordeals in the Region of Darkness, and that for a long time he could not attain salvation. Fortunately, the holy monk’s recitations have now expiated his sins, and King Yama has ordered someone to send him to the rich land of China where he may assume his next incarnation in a noble family. He told us to take care to thank the elder and not be negligent in any way. After he had finished speaking, he drifted away, despite my plea for him to stay. I woke up and it was all a dream!”
“I had a dream also,” said Boqin, “one exactly like yours! Let’s get up and talk to mother about this.” The two of them were about to do so when they heard the old mother calling, “Boqin, come here. I want to talk to you.” They went in and found the mother sitting up in bed. “Son,” she said, “I had a happy dream last night. I dreamed that your father came to the house saying that, thanks to the redemptive work of the elder, his sins had been expiated. He is on his way to the rich land of China, where he will assume his next incarnation in a noble family.” Husband and wife laughed uproariously.