by Unknown
Wukong listened to these words and fell silent for some time. The Dragon King said, “Great Sage, you must make the decision yourself. It’s unwise to allow momentary comfort to jeopardize your future.” “Not another word!” said Wukong. “Old Monkey will go back to accompany him, that’s all!” Delighted, the Dragon King said, “If that’s your wish, I dare not detain you. Instead, I ask the Great Sage to show his mercy at once and not permit his master to wait any longer.” When Pilgrim heard this exhortation to leave, he bounded right out of the oceanic region; mounting the clouds, he left the Dragon King.
On his way he ran right into the Bodhisattva of South Sea. “Sun Wukong,” said the Bodhisattva, “why did you not listen to me and accompany the Tang Monk? What are you doing here?” Pilgrim was so taken aback that he saluted her on top of the clouds. “I’m most grateful for the kind words of the Bodhisattva,” he said. “A monk from the Tang court did appear, lifted the seal, and saved my life. I became his disciple, but he blamed me for being too violent. I walked out on him for a little while, but I’m going back right now to accompany him.” “Go quickly then,” said the Bodhisattva, “before you change your mind again.” They finished speaking and each went on his way. In a moment, our Pilgrim saw the Tang Monk sitting dejectedly at the side of the road. He approached him and said, “Master, why are you not on the road? What are you doing here?” “Where have you been?” asked Tripitaka, looking up. “Your absence has forced me to sit here and wait for you, not daring to walk or move.” Pilgrim replied, “I just went to the home of the old Dragon King at the Eastern Ocean to ask for some tea.”
“Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “those who have left the family should not lie. It was less than an hour since you left me, and you claim to have had tea at the home of the Dragon King?” “To tell you the truth,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “I know how to cloud somersault, and a single somersault will carry me one hundred and eight thousand miles. That’s why I can go and return in no time at all.” Tripitaka said, “Because I spoke to you a little sharply, you were offended and left me in a rage. With your ability, you could go and ask for some tea, but a person like me has no other prospect but to sit here and endure hunger. Do you feel comfortable about that?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “if you’re hungry, I’ll go beg some food for you.” “There’s no need to beg,” said Tripitaka, “for I still have in my bag some dried goods given to me by the mother of Guardian Liu. Fetch me some water in that bowl. I’ll eat some food and we can start out again.”
Pilgrim went to untie the bag and found some biscuits made of unrefined flour, which he took out and handed over to the master. He then saw light glowing from a silk shirt and a flower cap inlaid with gold. “Did you bring this garment and cap from the Land of the East?” he asked. “I wore these in my childhood,” said Tripitaka nonchalantly. “If you wear the hat, you’ll know how to recite scriptures without having to learn them; if you put on the garment, you’ll know how to perform rituals without having to practice them.” “Dear Master,” said Pilgrim, “let me put them on.” “They may not fit you,” said Tripitaka, “but if they do, you may wear them.” Pilgrim thereupon took off his old shirt made of white cloth and put on the silk shirt, which seemed to have been made especially for him. Then he put on the cap as well. When Tripitaka saw that he had put on the cap, he stopped eating the dried goods and began to recite the Tight-Fillet Spell silently.
“Oh, my head!” cried Pilgrim. “It hurts! It hurts!” The master went through the recitation several times without ceasing, and the pain was so intense that Pilgrim was rolling on the ground, his hands gripping the flower cap inlaid with gold. Fearing that he might break the gold fillet, Tripitaka stopped reciting and the pain ceased. Pilgrim touched his head with his hand and felt that it was tightly bound by a thin metal band; it could be neither pulled off nor ripped apart, for it had, as it were, taken root on his head. Taking the needle out of his ear, he rammed it inside the fillet and started prying madly. Afraid that he might break the fillet with his prying, Tripitaka started his recitation again, and Pilgrim’s head began to hurt once more. It was so painful that he did cartwheels and somersaults. His face and even his ears turned red, his eyes bulged, and his body grew weak. When the master saw his appearance, he was moved to break off his recitation, and the pain stopped as before. “My head,” said Pilgrim, “the master has put a spell on it.” “I was just saying the Tight-Fillet Sūtra,” said Tripitaka. “Since when did I put a spell on you?” “Recite it some more and see what happens,” said Pilgrim. Tripitaka accordingly began to recite, and the Pilgrim immediately started to hurt. “Stop! Stop!” he cried. “I hurt the moment you begin to recite. How do you explain that?” “Will you listen now to my instructions?” asked Tripitaka. “Yes, I will,” replied Pilgrim. “And never be unruly again?” “I dare not,” said Pilgrim.
Although he said that with his mouth, Pilgrim’s mind was still devising evil. One wave of the needle and it had the thickness of a rice bowl; he aimed it at the Tang Monk and was about to slam it down on him. The priest was so startled that he went through the recitation two or three more times. Falling to the ground, the monkey threw away the iron rod and could not even raise his hands. “Master,” he said, “I’ve learned my lesson! Stop! Please stop!” “How dare you be so reckless,” said Tripitaka, “that you should want to strike me?” “I wouldn’t dare strike you,” said Pilgrim, “but let me ask you something. Who taught you this magic?” “It was an old woman,” said Tripitaka, “who imparted it to me a few moments ago.” Growing very angry, Pilgrim said, “You needn’t say anything more! The old woman had to be that Guanshiyin! Why did she want me to suffer like this? I’m going to South Sea to beat her up!”
“If she had taught me this magic,” said Tripitaka, “she had to know it even before I did. If you go looking for her, and she starts her recitation, won’t you be dead?” Pilgrim saw the logic of this and dared not remove himself. Indeed, he had no alternative but to kneel in contrition and plead with Tripitaka, saying, “Master, this is her method of controlling me, allowing me no alternative but to follow you to the West. I’ll not go to bother her, but you must not regard this spell as a plaything for frequent recitation either! I’m willing to accompany you without ever entertaining the thought of leaving again.” “If that’s so,” said Tripitaka, “help me onto the horse and let’s get going.” At that point, Pilgrim gave up all thoughts of disobedience or rebellion. Eagerly he tugged at his silk shirt and went to gather the luggage together, and they headed again toward the West. We do not know what is to be told after their departure; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.
FIFTEEN
At Serpent Coil Mountain, the gods give secret protection;
At Eagle Grief Stream, the Horse of the Will is reined.
We were telling you about Pilgrim, who ministered to the Tang Monk faithfully as they advanced toward the West. They traveled for several days under the frigid sky of midwinter; a cold wind blew fiercely, and slippery icicles hung everywhere. They traversed
A tortuous path of hanging gorges and cliffs,
A parlous range tiered with summits and peaks.
As Tripitaka was riding along on his horse, his ears caught the distant sound of a torrent. He turned to ask: “Wukong, where is that sound coming from?” Pilgrim said, “The name of this place, I recall, is Serpent Coil Mountain, and there is an Eagle Grief Stream in it. I suppose that’s where it’s coming from.” Before they had finished their conversation, they arrived at the bank of the stream. Tripitaka reined in his horse and looked around. He saw
A bubbling cold stream piercing through the clouds,
Its limpid current reddened by the sun.
Its splatter in night rain stirs quiet vales;
Its colors glow at dawn to fill the air.
Wave after wave seems like flying chips of jade,
Their deep roar resonant as the clear wind.
It flows to join one vast stretch of smoke and
tide,
Where gulls are lost with egrets but no fishers bide.
Master and disciple were looking at the stream, when there was a loud splash in midstream and a dragon emerged. Churning the waters, it darted toward the bank and headed straight for the priest. Pilgrim was so startled that he threw away the luggage, hauled the master off his horse, and turned to flee with him at once. The dragon could not catch up with them, but it swallowed the white horse, harness and all, with one gulp before losing itself again in the water. Pilgrim carried his master to high ground and left the priest seated there; then he returned to fetch the horse and the luggage. The load of bags was still there, but the horse was nowhere to be seen. Placing the luggage in front of his master, he said, “Master, there’s not a trace of that cursed dragon, which has frightened away our horse.” “Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “how can we find the horse again?” “Relax! Relax!” said Pilgrim. “Let me go and have a look!”
He whistled once and leaped up into the air. Shading his fiery eyes and diamond pupils with his hand, he peered in all four directions, but there was not the slightest trace of the horse. Dropping down from the clouds, he made his report, saying, “Master, our horse must have been eaten by that dragon. It’s nowhere to be seen!” “Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “how big a mouth does that creature have that he can swallow a horse, harness and all? It must have been frightened away instead, probably still running loose somewhere in the valley. Please take another look.” Pilgrim said, “You really have no conception of my ability. This pair of eyes of mine in daylight can discern good and evil within a thousand miles; at that distance, I can even see a dragonfly when it spreads its wings. How can I possibly miss something as big as a horse?” “If it has been eaten,” said Tripitaka, “how am I to proceed? Pity me! How can I walk through those thousand hills and ten thousand waters?” As he spoke, tears began to fall like rain. When Pilgrim saw him crying, he became infuriated and began to shout: “Master, stop behaving like a namby-pamby! Sit here! Just sit here! Let old Monkey find that creature and ask him to give us back our horse. That’ll be the end of the matter.” Clutching at him, Tripitaka said, “Disciple, where do you have to go to find him? Wouldn’t I be hurt if he should appear from somewhere after you are gone? How would it be then if both man and horse should perish?” At these words, Pilgrim became even more enraged. “You’re a weakling! Truly a weakling!” he thundered. “You want a horse to ride on, and yet you won’t let me go. You want to sit here and grow old, watching our bags?”
As he was yelling angrily like this, he heard someone calling out in midair: “Great Sage Sun, don’t be annoyed. And stop crying, Royal Brother of Tang. We are a band of deities sent by the Bodhisattva Guanyin to give secret protection to the scripture pilgrim.” Hearing this, the priest hastily bowed to the ground. “Which divinities are you?” asked Pilgrim. “Tell me your names, so that I can check you off the roll.” “We are the Six Gods of Darkness and the Six Gods of Light,” they said, “the Guardians of Five Points, the Four Sentinels, and the Eighteen Protectors of Monasteries. Every one of us waits upon you in rotation.” “Which one of you will begin today?” asked Pilgrim. “The Gods of Darkness and Light,” they said, “to be followed by the Sentinels and the Protectors. We Guardians of Five Points, with the exception of the Golden-Headed Guardian, will be here somewhere night and day.” “That being the case,” said Pilgrim, “those not on duty may retire, but the first Six Gods of Darkness, the Day Sentinel, and the Guardians should remain to protect my master. Let old Monkey go find that cursed dragon in the stream and ask him for our horse.” The various deities obeyed. Only then did Tripitaka feel somewhat relieved as he sat on the cliff and told Pilgrim to be careful. “Just don’t worry,” said Pilgrim. Dear Monkey King! He tightened the belt around his silk shirt, hitched up his tiger-skin kilt, and went straight toward the gorge of the stream holding the golden-hooped iron rod. Standing halfway between cloud and fog, he cried loudly on top of the water, “Lawless lizard! Return my horse! Return my horse!”
We now tell you about the dragon, who, having eaten the white horse of Tripitaka, was lying on the bottom of the stream, subduing his spirit and nourishing his nature. When he heard someone demanding the horse with abusive language, however, he could not restrain the fire leaping up in his heart and he jumped up quickly. Churning the waves, he darted out of the water, saying, “Who dares to insult me here with his big mouth?” Pilgrim saw him and cried ferociously, “Don’t run away! Return my horse!” Wielding his rod, he aimed at the beast’s head and struck, while the dragon attacked with open jaws and dancing claws. The battle between the two of them before the stream was indeed fierce. You see
The dragon extending sharp daws:
The monkey lifting his rod.
The whiskers of this one hung like white jade threads;
The eyes of that one shone like red-gold lamps.
The mouth beneath the whiskers of that one belched colored mists:
The iron rod in the hands of this one moved like a fierce wind.
That one was a cursed son who brought his parents grief;
This one was a monster who defied the gods on high.
Both had to suffer because of their plight.
They now want to win, so each displays his might.
Back and forth, round and round, they fought for a long time, until the dragon grew weak and could fight no longer. He turned and darted back into the water; plunging to the bottom of the stream, he refused to come out again. The Monkey King heaped insult upon insult, but the dragon only pretended to be deaf.
Pilgrim had little choice but to return to Tripitaka, saying, “Master, that monster made his appearance as a result of my tongue-lashing. He fought with me for a long time before taking fright and running. He’s hiding in the water now and refuses to come out again.” “Do you know for certain that it was he who ate my horse?” asked Tripitaka. “Listen to the way you talk!” said Pilgrim. “If he hadn’t eaten it, would he be willing to face me and answer me like that?” “The time you killed the tiger,” said Tripitaka, “you claimed that you had the ability to tame dragons and subdue tigers. Why can’t you subdue this one today?” As the monkey had a rather low tolerance for any kind of provocation, this single taunt of Tripitaka so aroused him that he said, “Not one word more! Let me go and show him who is master!”
With great leaps, our Monkey King bounded right to the edge of the stream. Using his magic of overturning seas and rivers, he transformed the clear, limpid water of the Eagle Grief Stream into the muddy currents of the Yellow River during high tide. The cursed dragon in the depth of the stream could neither sit nor lie still for a single moment. He thought to himself: “Just as ‘Blessing never repeats itself, so misfortune never comes singly!’ It has been barely a year since I escaped execution by Heaven and came to bide my time here, but now I have to run into this wretched monster who is trying to do me harm.” Look at him! The more he thought about the matter, the more irritated he became. Unable to bear it any longer, he gritted his teeth and leaped out of the water, crying, “What kind of monster are you, and where do you come from, that you want to oppress me like this?” “Never mind where I come from,” said Pilgrim. “Just return the horse, and I’ll spare your life.” “I’ve swallowed your horse into my stomach,” said the dragon, “so how am I to throw it up? What are you going to do if I can’t return it to you?” Pilgrim said, “If you don’t give back the horse, just watch for this rod. Only when your life becomes a payment for my horse will there be an end to this matter!” The two of them again waged a bitter struggle below the mountain ridge. After a few rounds, however, the little dragon just could not hold out any longer; shaking his body, he changed himself into a tiny water snake and wriggled into the marshes.
The Monkey King came rushing up with his rod and parted the grass to look for the snake, but there was not a trace of it. He was so exasperated that the spirits of the Three Worms in his body exploded1 and smoke began to appear f
rom his seven apertures. He recited a spell beginning with the letter oṃ and summoned the local spirit and the mountain god of that region. The two of them knelt before him, saying, “The local spirit and the mountain god have come to see you.”
“Stick out your shanks,” said Pilgrim, “and I’ll greet each of you with five strokes of my rod just to relieve my feelings.”
“Great Sage,” they pleaded, “please be more lenient and allow your humble subjects to tell you something.” “What have you got to say?” said Pilgrim. “The Great Sage has been in captivity for a long time,” said the two deities, “and we had no knowledge of when you were released. That’s why we have not been here to receive you, and we beg you to pardon us.” “All right,” said Pilgrim, “I won’t hit you. But let me ask you something. Where did that monstrous dragon in the Eagle Grief Stream come from, and why did he devour my master’s white horse?” “We have never known the Great Sage to have a master,” the two deities said, “for you have always been a first-rank primordial immortal who submits neither to Heaven nor to Earth. What do you mean by your master’s horse?” Pilgrim said, “Of course you didn’t know about this. Because of my contemptuous behavior toward Heaven, I had to suffer for this five hundred years. I was converted by the kindly persuasion of Bodhisattva Guanyin, who had the true monk from the Tang court rescue me. As his disciple, I was to follow him to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures from Buddha. We passed through this place, and my master’s white horse was lost.”
“So, that’s how it is!” said the two deities. “There has never been anything evil about this stream, except that it is both broad and deep, and its water is so clear that you can see right to the bottom. Large fowls such as crows or eagles are hesitant to fly over it; for when they see their own reflections in the clear water, they are prone to mistake them for other birds of their own flock and throw themselves into the stream. Hence the name, the Steep Eagle Grief Stream. Some years ago, on her way to look for a scripture pilgrim, Bodhisattva Guanyin rescued a dragon and sent him here. He was told to wait for the scripture pilgrim and was forbidden to do any evil or violence. Only when he is hungry is he permitted to come up to the banks to feed on birds or antelopes. How could he be so ignorant as to offend the Great Sage!”