by Unknown
But the fact of the matter is that the old monk could not find the cassock. In addition, most of the buildings in his monastery had been ruined, and he was, of course, terribly distressed. When he heard the monks calling, how could he have the courage to reply? Feeling utterly helpless and incapable of solving his dilemma, he bent forward, took several great strides, and rammed his head into the wall. How pitiful! The impact made
The brain burst, the blood flow, and his soul disperse;
His head stained the sand as his breathing stopped.
We have a poem as a testimony, which says:
So lamentable is this blind old monk!
In vain he lives among men to such old age.
He wants the cassock forever to keep,
Not knowing how uncommon is Buddha’s gift.
If you think what endures can come with ease,
Yours will be sure failure and certain grief.
Big Plan, Great Wisdom, of what use are they?
To gain by others’ loss—what empty dreams!
Shocked to tears, the monks cried, “The Patriarch has killed himself. And we can’t find the cassock. What shall we do?” “It must have been you who stole it and hid it,” said Pilgrim. “Come out, all of you! Give me a complete list of your names and let me check you off the roll one by one.” The head residents of all the upper and lower chambers made a thorough accounting of all the monks, the dhūtas, the young novices, and the Daoists in two scrolls, and presented Pilgrim with some two hundred and thirty names. Asking his master to take a seat in the middle, Pilgrim went through the roll and examined the monks one by one. Every person had to loosen his clothes to be searched thoroughly, but there was no cassock. They then went to hunt through the trunks and chests that had been salvaged from the fire, but again there was not the slightest trace of the garment. In dismay, Tripitaka became more and more embittered toward Pilgrim until he began reciting the spell as he sat there. Falling at once to the ground, Pilgrim gripped his head with his hands, hardly able to bear the pain. “Stop the recitation! Stop the recitation!” he cried. “I’ll find the cassock.” Terrified by what they saw, the various monks went forward and knelt down to plead with Tripitaka, who only then stopped his recitation. Pilgrim leaped straight up and whipped out his rod from his ear. He would have struck at the monks, had not Tripitaka shouted for him to halt, crying, “Monkey! Aren’t you afraid of your headache? Do you still want to behave badly? Don’t move, and don’t hurt people! Let me question them further.” The monks kowtowed and begged Tripitaka, saying, “Father, please spare us. Truly we did not see your cassock. It was entirely the fault of that old devil! After he got your cassock last night, he started crying until very late; he didn’t even bother to look at it, for all he had on his mind was how he might keep it permanently as an heirloom. That was why he made plans to have you burned to death, but after the fire started, a violent wind arose also. Every one of us was only concerned with putting out the fire and trying to save something. We have no idea where the cassock has gone.”
Angrily, Pilgrim walked into the Patriarch’s room, pulled out the corpse of the old man rammed to death, and stripped him naked. The body was examined carefully, but the treasure was nowhere to be seen. Even if they had dug up three feet of the ground in that room, there would have been not a trace of it. Pilgrim thought silently for awhile and then asked, “Is there any monster around here who has become a spirit?” “If father hadn’t asked,” said the abbot, “he would have never known about this. Southeast of us there is a Black Wind Mountain, in which there is a Black Wind Cave. In the cave is a Black Great King, with whom this deceased old fellow of ours used to discuss the Dao frequently. He is the only monster spirit around here.” “How far is the mountain from here?” asked Pilgrim. “Only twenty miles,” said the abbot. “The peak that you can see right now is where it is.” Pilgrim laughed and said, “Relax, Master! No need for further discussion; it must have been stolen by the black monster.” “That place is about twenty miles away,” said Tripitaka. “How can you be so sure that it was he?” “You didn’t see last night’s fire,” said Pilgrim, “when its light illuminated great distances, and its brightness penetrated the Threefold Heaven. Not just for twenty miles, but for two hundred miles around it could be seen. I have no doubt that he saw the brilliant glow of the fire and used that opportunity to come here secretly. When he saw that our cassock was a treasure, he grabbed it in the confusion and left. Let old Monkey go find him.” “Who will care for me while you are gone?” asked Tripitaka. “You can relax,” said Pilgrim. “You have in secret the protection of the gods; and in the open, I shall make sure that the monks wait on you.” He then called the monks over, saying, “A few of you can go and bury that old devil, while the others can wait on my master and watch our white horse.” The monks at once agreed. Pilgrim said again, “Don’t give me any casual reply now, only to grow slack in your service after I’m gone. Those who wait on my master must be cheerful and pleasant; those who look after the white horse must take care that water and hay are fed in proper proportions. If there’s the slightest mistake, you can count on meeting this rod. Now watch!” He whipped out his rod and aimed it at the seared bricked wall: with one stroke, not only did he pulverize the wall, but the impact was so great that it caused seven or eight more walls to collapse. When the various monks saw this, they were all paralyzed with fear. They knelt to kowtow with tears flowing from their eyes and said, “Father, please be assured that we shall be most diligent in caring for the holy father after you are gone. We wouldn’t dream of slacking in any way.”
Dear Pilgrim! He swiftly mounted the cloud somersault and went straight to the Black Wind Mountain to look for the cassock. Thus it was that
Truth-seeking Gold Cicada left Chang’an.7
With gifts he went westward, passing blue-green hills.
There were wolves and tigers as he walked along,
Though merchants or scholars were rarely seen.
One foolish monk’s envy abroad he met;
His refuge solely was the Great Sage’s might.
The fire grew; the wind came and wrecked the Chan hall.
A Black Bear at night stole the embroidered robe.
We do not know whether Pilgrim found the cassock or not, or whether the outcome of his search was good or bad. Let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.
SEVENTEEN
Pilgrim Sun greatly disturbs the Black Wind Mountain;
Guanshiyin brings to submission the bear monster.
We now tell you that when Pilgrim Sun somersaulted into the air, he so terrified the monks, the dhūtas, the young novices, and the attendants at the Guanyin Hall that every person bowed to the sky, saying, “O, Father! So you are actually an incarnate deity who knows how to ride the fog and sail with the clouds! No wonder fire cannot harm you! That ignorant old carcass of ours—how despicable he was! He used all his intelligence only to bring disaster on his own head.” “Please rise, all of you,” said Tripitaka. “There’s no need for regret. Let’s hope that he’ll find the cassock, and everything will be all right. But if not, I would fear for your lives; for that disciple of mine has a bad temper, and I’m afraid that none of you will escape him.” When the monks heard this, they were all panic-stricken; they pleaded with Heaven for the cassock to be found so that their lives would be preserved, but we shall say no more about them for the moment.
We were telling you about the Great Sage Sun. Having leaped up into the air, he gave one twist of his torso and arrived at once at the Black Wind Mountain. Stopping his cloud, he looked carefully and saw that it was indeed a magnificent mountain, especially in this time of spring. You see
Many streams potently flowing,
Countless cliffs vying for beauty.
The birds call but no man is seen;
Though flowers fall, the tree’s yet scented.
The rain passes, the sky’s one moist sheet of blue;
The wind comes, the pines
rock like screens of jade.
The mountain grass sprouts,
The wildflowers bloom
On hanging cliffs and high ranges.
The wisteria grows,
The handsome trees bud
On rugged peaks and flat plateaus.
You don’t even meet a recluse.
Where can you find a woodsman?
By the stream the cranes drink in pairs;
On the rocks wild apes madly play.
Augustly the branches spread their luscious green,
Basking their splendor in bright mountain mist.
Pilgrim was enjoying the scenery when suddenly he heard voices coming from beyond a lovely grass meadow. With light, stealthy steps, he inched forward and hid himself beneath a cliff to have a peep. He saw three monsters sitting on the ground: a swarthy fellow in the middle, a Daoist to the left, and a white-robed scholar to the right. They were in the midst of an animated conversation, discussing how to establish the tripod and the oven, how to knead the cinnabar and refine the mercury, the topics of white snow and yellow sprout,1 and the esoteric doctrines of heterodox Daoism. As they were speaking, the swarthy fellow said, laughing, “The day after tomorrow will be the date of my mother’s labor. Will you two gentlemen pay me a visit?” “Every year we celebrate the Great King’s birthday,” said the white-robed scholar. “How could we think of not coming this year?” “Last night I came upon a treasure,” said the swarthy fellow, “which may be called a brocaded robe of Buddha. It’s a most attractive thing, and I think I’m going to use it to enhance my birthday. I plan to give a large banquet, starting tomorrow, and to invite all our Daoist friends of various mountains to celebrate this garment. We shall call the party the Festival of the Buddha Robe. How about that?” “Marvelous! Marvelous!” said the Daoist, laughing. “First I’ll come to the banquet tomorrow, and then I’ll bring you good wishes on your birthday the day after.”
When Pilgrim heard them speaking about a robe of Buddha, he was certain that they were referring to his own treasure. Unable to suppress his anger, he leaped clear of his hiding place and raised high the golden-hooped rod with both hands, shouting, “You larcenous monsters! You stole my cassock. What Festival of the Buddha Robe do you think you are going to have? Give it back to me at once, and don’t try to run away!” Wielding his rod, he struck at their heads. In panic, the swarthy fellow fled by riding the wind, and the Daoist escaped by mounting the clouds. The white-robed scholar, however, was killed by one stroke of the rod, and he turned out to be the spirit of a white-spotted snake when Pilgrim pulled his body over for closer examination. He picked up the corpse again and broke it into several pieces before proceeding deep into the mountain to look for the swarthy fellow. Passing pointed peaks and rugged ridges, he found himself in front of a hanging cliff with a cave dwelling below it. You see
Mist and smoke abundant,
Cypress and pine umbrageous.
Mist and smoke abundant, their hues surround the door;
Cypress and pine umbrageous, their green entwines the gate.
Flat, dried wood supports a bridge.
Wisterias coil round the ridge.
Birds carrying red petals reach the cloudy gorge.
And deer tread on florets to comb the rocky flats.
Before that door
The flowers bloom with the season
As the wind wafts their fragrance.
Atop the dyke-shading willows orioles sing;
O’er the bank’s sweet peaches butterflies flit.
This rustic spot, though no cause for much praise,
Still rivals the3 beauty of Mount Penglai.2
Pilgrim went to the door and found that the two stone doors were tightly closed. On top of the door was a stone tablet, on which was plainly written in large letters, “Black Wind Mountain, Black Wind Cave.” He lifted his rod to beat at the door, crying, “Open the door!” A little demon who stood guard at the door came out and asked, “Who are you, that you dare beat at our immortal cave?” “You damnable beast!” scolded Pilgrim. “What sort of a place is this, that you dare assume the title of ‘immortal’? Is the word ‘immortal’ for you to use? Hurry inside and tell that swarthy fellow to bring out your venerable father’s cassock at once. Then I may spare the lives of the whole nest of you.” The little demon ran swiftly inside and reported: “Great King! You won’t have a Festival of the Buddha Robe. There’s a monk with a hairy face and a thunder-god mouth outside demanding the cassock.”
That swarthy fellow, after being chased by Pilgrim from the grass meadow, had just managed to reach the cave. He had not even been able to sit down when he again heard this announcement, and he thought to himself: “I wonder where this fellow came from, so arrogant that he dared show up making demands at my door!” He asked for his armor, and, after putting it on, he walked outside holding a lance with black tassels. Pilgrim stood on one side of the gate, holding his iron rod and glaring. The monster indeed cut a formidable figure:
A bowl-like helmet of dark burnished steel;
A black-gold cuirass that shone most bright.
A black silk robe with wide wind-bagging sleeves,
And dark green sashes with long, long tassels.
He held in his hands a black-tasseled lance.
He wore on his feet two black-leather boots.
His eyes’ golden pupils like lightning flashed.
He was thus in this mountain the Black Wind King.
“This fellow,” said Pilgrim, smiling to himself, “looks exactly like a kiln worker or a coal miner. He must scrub charcoal here for a living! How did he get to be black all over?” The monster called out in a loud voice, “What kind of a monk are you that you dare to be so impudent around here?” Rushing up to him with his iron rod, Pilgrim roared, “No idle conversation! Return the cassock of your venerable grandfather at once!” “What monastery are you from, bonze?” asked the monster, “and where did you lose your cassock that you dare show up at my place and demand its return?” “My cassock,” said Pilgrim, “was stored in the back room of the Guanyin Hall due north of here. Because of the fire there, you committed robbery by taking advantage of the confusion; after making off with the garment, you even wanted to start a Festival of the Buddha Robe to celebrate your birthday. Do you deny this? Give it back to me quickly, and I’ll spare your life. If you but mutter half a ‘no,’ I’ll overturn the Black Wind Mountain and level the Black Wind Cave. Your whole cave of demons will be pulverized!”
When the monster heard these words, he laughed scornfully and said, “You audacious creature! You yourself set the fire last night, for you were the one who summoned the wind on top of the roof. I took the cassock all right, but what are you going to do about it? Where do you come from, and what is your name? What ability do you have, that you dare mouth such reckless words?” Pilgrim said, “So you don’t recognize your venerable grandfather! He is the disciple of the Master of the Law, Tripitaka, who happens to be the brother of the Throne in the Great Tang Nation. My surname is Sun, and my given name is Wukong Pilgrim. If I tell you my abilities, you’ll be frightened out of your wits and die right on the spot!” “I won’t,” said the monster. “Tell me what abilities you have.” “My son,” said Pilgrim, laughing, “brace yourself! Listen carefully!3
Great since my youth was my magic power;
I changed with the wind to display my might.
Long I trained my nature and practiced Truth
To flee the wheel of karma with my life.
With mind sincere I always sought the Way;
Seedlings of herbs I plucked on Mount Lingtai.4
There was in that mountain an old immortal.
His age: one hundred and eight thousand years!
He became my master most solemnly
And showed me the way to longevity,
Saying that in my body were physic and pills
Which one would work in vain to seek outside.
He gave me those high secrets of the g
ods;
With no foundation I would have been lost.
My inner light relumed, I sat in peace
As sun and moon mated within myself.5
I thought of nothing—all my desires gone,
My body strengthened, my six senses cleansed.
From age back to youth was an easy boon;
To join transcendents was no distant goal.
Three years without leaks6 made a godlike frame,
Immune to sufferings known to mortal men.
Playing through the Ten Islets and Three Isles,
I made the rounds at Heaven’s very edge.
I lived like that for some three hundred years,
Though not yet ascended to the Ninefold Heaven.
Taming sea dragons brought me treasure true:
The golden-hooped rod I did find below.
As field marshal at the Flower-Fruit Mount,
Monsters I gathered at Water-Curtain Cave.
Then the Jade Emperor gave to me the name,
Equal to Heaven—such, the rank most high.
Thrice I caused havoc in Divine Mists Hall;
Once I stole peaches from the Mother Queen.
Thus came a hundred thousand men divine
To curb me with their rows of spears and swords.