by Ilyon
Kim Hyon felt alarmed and shamed. “How can I kill my lover even though she is not human?” He replied. “I'll not sell the life of my love for gold or title.” And he chided her gently for wanting him to commit so inhuman an act.
“Do not say so,” she responded. “My death in the prime of life is heaven's will, your happiness, my family blessing and the nation's joy. Please listen to me! If you build a temple for me after my death and pray for my soul, you will do me a great favor.” When he saw that nothing would avail, the youth embraced his lovely mistress and gave her a long farewell kiss, as tears rained down her cheeks.
The following day a large tigress appeared in the marketplace, roaring and tearing at people, and everybody screamed and ran about the streets crying “Tiger! Tiger!” The King was alarmed and ordered a tiger hunt, offering as a prize the second order of nobility. But there was nobody brave enough to face the tigress.
Kim Hyon then came and prostrated himself before the King, swearing to execute his command and free the people of the tiger. The King was highly pleased and conferred the title on him in advance.
The young man girded on his sword and ran swiftly into the forest, where the tigress maid awaited him. She saw him and ran to meet him. Taking his hands in hers she pressed them to her breast and said, “Last night when we said farewell I asked you to come and meet me here today, and my heart is bright with joy to take your last embrace. Now I may die in peace. I wish you long life and happiness. I am sorry to have scratched some people, but if they will anoint their wounds with the soy sauce of Hungnyun-sa while listening to the bell of that temple, the sores will heal.” (This remedy for tiger bites and scratches is still in use, Hyon says.) As quick as lightning she snatched her lover's sword and plunged it deep into her throat.
Kim Hyon stood aghast over the body swimming in blood, but when his eyes cleared he saw that it was no longer a maiden but a beautiful tigress. Soon a large crowd gathered, shouting “Long live Kim Hyon!” They brought him to the palace and presented the tigress' skin to the King to spread upon his throne. Highly pleased, the King gave Kim Hyon additional rewards of gold and silver and promoted him to an official position.
Kim Hyon was sad at heart, for though he had gained honor and riches, he had lost his beautiful lover. He could not forget her gentle love or the manner in which she had given her life to bring him happiness. He had a temple built on the spot where she had died near the western stream, and there he chanted passages from the Buddhist sutra Pommang-gyong. The temple was named Howon-sa, the Temple of the Tigress' Wishes. He knelt in prayer for many days and nights for the repose of her soul.
Just before he died Kim Hyon wrote down the story of his adventure with the beautiful tigress, and it filled the world with wonder. People called the grove of trees where she had loved Nonhorim (Tiger Forest).
There is a similar Chinese story which has a different tone. In the ninth year of Chen-yuan (793) a yellow-cap (commoner) named Shen Tao-cheng started on a long journey to Hanchow to assume his new post as deputy magistrate of Shihfang-hsien. Climbing mountains and crossing valleys he came to a place ten li east of Chenfu-hsien and there, as night came on, he lost his way. Worse still, it began to snow heavily. He was glad to halt his horse at a humble cottage and ask for a night's hospitality. He was led into a warm-floor room where he saw an aged couple and a young girl seated around a charcoal brazier in the faint light of an oil lamp.
The girl was fourteen or fifteen years old. Though she wore dirty clothes her tender skin was smooth and white as snow, her face was as lovely as a peony under her unkempt hair, and her movements were as graceful as a fairy's.
“My honored guest, you must be very cold,” his host said. “Come near the fire and warm yourself.”
“The night is dark and snow is falling,” he replied, “and my destination in the western prefectural office is far off. Suffer me to rest here.”
“We have only one room, and it is too humble,” the old man said. “But if you don't mind that we will obey you.”
Shen unsaddled his horse and spread his bedding in the room. As he was doing this the girl washed her face and changed into fresh clothing. As she appeared from behind the rosy curtain her elegant figure was like that of an Oriental bride coming to her husband on her wedding night.
“Your daughter is bright and intelligent,” he said to his host. “If she is not yet engaged, I should like to act as my own go-between.”
“If our honored guest wishes to have her for his wife, it will be a great honor,” the man replied.
Shen passed the night with the girl, and on the morrow he took her on his horse with him and proceeded on his journey to his post in a country office. He had only a small salary there, but he was happy with his young wife.
Moons waned and flowers scattered, but love remained. A son and a daughter were born to them, and he loved them all with adoration. One day he gave his wife the following poem:
“When I became an official I made Mei-fu blush;
In three years I made Meng-Kuang envy.
What can be compared to my happiness?
We are like a pair of mandarin ducks swimming in a silvery stream.”
(Mei-fu was a celebrated official during the Han dynasty, and Meng-Kuang, a woman, figured in a sort of proverbial symbol of marital happiness, like the English Darby and Joan.)
His wife recited this poem to herself constantly and intended to write an answer, but kept it in her heart. Eventually Shen quit his official post and returned to his native place with his wife and children to enjoy a quieter life in his own fields and gardens. But his wife grew suddenly sad, and one day she said to him, “I will answer the poem which you gave me. Listen! Even though our married love is dear, I long to see my maiden home in the deep forest. My heart grows heavier with the changing seasons as I think of the burden of a hundred years' love with you!”
Shen sympathized with his wife, and so he took her to her maiden home in the green forest. But the house was empty, and she cried all day long, thinking of her parents. But then she spied a tigress' skin hanging on the wall and burst out laughing. “I didn't know it was still here,” she said. She took the skin from the wall and draped it around her body, and instantly she was transformed into a tigress which leaped through the door and disappeared into the forest. Shen clutched his children to him in consternation. He searched the forest for many days calling her name loudly, but she returned no more.
The heroes of both these stories fell in love with tigresses in human shape, but one wrote a disloyal poem to her husband and deserted him with roars and scratches, whereas the other hurt people only unwillingly and even so gave her man a good remedy for tiger bites. If even beasts of prey can be so kind hearted, why are so many human beings inferior to beasts?
Attracted by the man who prayed at the pagoda and moved by heaven's call for punishment of evil, the loving tigress redeemed the sins of all tigers, bequeathed a remedy to save human lives, and inspired her lover to build a temple and recite the Buddha's commandments. This miracle occurred not merely because of the beast's good nature, but by the universal benevolence of Buddha, who thus rewarded Kim Hyon and the tigress with eternal blessings in the life to come.
Song in Praise of the Tigress
Unable to bear the cruelties of her three brothers in the forest,
The dying orchid breathed a fragrant promise:
Since so many lives lacked righteousness,
She gave her own life for ten thousand deaths.
When she lay stretched out beneath the green trees,
Falling flowers scattered over her bleeding body.
122. Priest Yungch'on Banishes a Comet
During the reign of King Chinp'yong (579-632), three Hwarang named Koyollang, Silch'o-rang and Podong-nang once decided to go on a picnic in P'ung-ak (Maple Mountains, another name for the Diamond Mountains because of the autumn foliage). But they interrupted their journey in foreboding when they saw a comet in the constellat
ion called Simtae-song. It was not until the priest Yungch'on composed a Hyang-ga and sang it loudly that the mysterious star disappeared and the invading Japanese soldiers ran away. Thus the power of his music turned a misfortune into a blessing.
The King was highly pleased and sent the Hwarang to P'ung-ak to enjoy their picnic without having to worry about war or heavenly calamity, at which times the Hwarang were obliged to take arms to protect the throne and defend the country.
The Song of the Comet
Long ago there was a castle on an eastern beach where grandma Kondalpa played;
When the Wai (Japanese) soldiers came, she raised a signal torch toward the castle.
Now when the three Hwarang climb the mountain in sport
Lady moon gives her light early to show them their way
And a broom-star sweeps the path of her light.
Yet people look on that star and call it a comet.
The moon has sailed down over the hill;
What comet could there be?
123. The Monk Chongsu Saves a Freezing Woman
During the reign of King Aejang (800-809) a monk named Chongsu lived at Hwangnyong Temple. One snowy winter night as he was returning from Samnang-sa, he saw a beggar woman who had just been delivered of a child lying uncovered outside the gate of Ch'onom-sa, all but frozen to death. The monk took her in his arms and warmed her with his body until she regained consciousness. Then he covered her with his robe and underclothes and returned to his temple, where he covered his own nakedness with some rice-straw.
At midnight a heavenly voice rang out over the royal palace, saying, “Chongsu, the monk of Hwangnyong Temple, ought to be awarded the title of Wang-sa (Royal Priest).” The King sent servants to the temple to find out what it was all about, and they soon returned and reported to him the noble deed of the monk. The King donned his dragon robe and received the good monk in audience in the inner palace, where he bestowed upon him the title of National Priest for his uncommonly virtuous deed.
VIII. Seclusion
124. Nangchi, the Cloud-Riding Monk
On Yongch'u-san (Holy Eagle Mountain) a strange monk once lived in a hermitage for many years. Nobody in that remote area knew who he was or even what his name was. He was always reciting the Buddhist scripture Pophwa-gyong, and he possessed wonderworking powers.
In the first year of Lung-shuo (661) there lived a novice (Sramana in Sanskrit) whose name was Chit'ong, who had been a slave in the house of Iryang-kong. When he left his master's house to become a monk at the age of seven, a crow flew up to him and cawed, “Go to Yongch'u-san and become a disciple of Nangchi.”
Chit'ong accordingly went to the mountain, and as he was resting under a tree a strange man appeared before him and said, “I am Po-hyon Taesa (a Bodhisattva) and I have to give you Buddha's commandments.” He taught the laws of Buddha to the child and disappeared into the mist. Chit'ong was mature and perfectly intelligent from that time forward.
Continuing his journey, he met a monk, and asked him, “Where can I find Nangchi Popsa?”
“Why do you wish to see him?” the monk retorted. Chit'ong recounted the message of the divine bird. The monk smiled on him and said, “I am he. The crow just flew into my hermitage and said, 'A holy child is coming to see you. Go and meet him.' So here I am.” And he took Chit'ong by the hand in admiration, saying, “Today's miracle is a gift of the mountain spirit.” (Ilyon says there was a legend that this spirit was Pyonjae Ch'onnyo, Talking Spirit, originally an Indian goddess of eloquence and intelligence, who came to live on the Holy Eagle Mountain in Silla.)
Chit'ong was choked with emotion, but as Nangchi was about to give him Buddha's commandments he said, “I have already received the formal law from Pohyon Taesa under a tree at the entrance to this mountain village.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Nangchi. “From my birth I have wished to meet a great sage, and have prayed to Buddha morning and evening to fulfill my wish. Today my wish has been granted. You are far superior to me.” And he bowed to the child, and called the tree “Pohyon.”
Chit'ong asked the old monk, “How many years have you been living on this mountain?”
“I first came here in the year of the goat during the reign of King Pophung (527),” Nangchi replied. “It was a long time ago and I don't know how many years have passed since then.”
As Chit'ong came to the mountain in the year of the cock, when King Munmu ascended the throne (661), 135 years had passed since Nangchi arrived at his hermitage.
Later Chit'ong visited Uisang and saw many mysterious things in his hall. These things were the source material for his book Ch'u dong-gi. When Wonhyo was living at Panko Temple he visited Nangchi, who asked him to compose two essays, Ch'ojang Kwan-mun and Ansin-Sasim-non. When Wonhyo had finished the work he sent the two volumes to Nangchi by courtesy of Munson, a hermit. Nangchi wrote an epilogue to these books with an ode in Gatha (Sanskrit) which may be interpreted as follows:
The low monk in the western vale bows low and salutes
The high priest on the eastern hill far above the rock;
He blew little particles of dust and heightened the Holy Eagle Peak;
He sprinkled tiny drops of water and swelled the Dragon's Pool.
Taehwa Stream, which flows to the east of Holy Eagle Mountain, was called Dragon's Pool in honor of the blessing dragon of Tahuo pool in China.
Chit'ong and Wonhyo both became disciples of Nangchi, which shows the high standard of his teaching. Nangchi made a daily round trip on the clouds to Chingliang-shan in China to attend a series of Buddhist lectures together with a multitude of others. The Chinese monks thought him one of their fellows from a neighboring mountain, but none knew where he lived. One day each member of the audience was asked to bring a celebrated flower and a rare plant from his home place and present them in the auditorium.
On the following morning Nangchi picked a branch from a rare mountain plant and presented it to the presiding monk, who said, “This plant is 'Talcheka' from India, called Red Tree in China. It grows only on the two Holy Eagle Mountains in India and in Silla. These two mountains belong to the tenth Buddhist heaven, inhabited by Bodhisattvas, so the man who picked this branch must be a saint.” Finally it was seen from his appearance that Nangchi came from the Holy Eagle Mountain. His fame spread throughout the world, and his countrymen named his hermitage Hyokmok, Red-Tree Temple. Its ruins are still visible on its northern hill.
According to the annals of Yongch'u Temple. Nangchi once said “This temple is built on the ruins of Kasop Buddha,” and dug two lanterns out of the ground then and there.
When we examine the passage in the Hwaom scripture concerning the Tenth Heaven, it is seen that Nangchi's riding on the clouds resembles Buddha's counting on his ring finger and Wonhyo's division of his hundred bodies.
Song in Praise of Nangchi
Though he lived a hundred years in meditation on a high rock,
His fame did not ring out in the low world;
Only the idle mountain birds twittered in endless talk
Where he sailed on the clouds in the boundless skies.
125. Yonhoe and the Munsujom
Yonhoe, a high monk, led a hermit life on the mountain of the Holy Eagle, where he studied the Yonhwa-gyong (Book of the Lotus), cultivated wisdom and meditated on the virtues of the Pohyon Bodhisattva. In his garden pond two lotuses bloomed throughout the four seasons, never fading or losing their petals. The Yongjang-jon or Dragon Palace at the Holy Eagle Temple is the old residence of Yonhoe.
The reigning King, Wonsong (785-799), heard of Yonhoe's auspicious and wonderful deeds and wished to summon him to court in order to confer the title of National Priest upon him. When Yonhoe heard of this he abandoned his hermitage and fled toward the rocks of the Western Peak. On the way an old man who was ploughing a field saw him and said, “How far are you going on your flying feet, my good monk?”
“The King wants to tie me to his court by giving me a high post,” Yon
hoe said, “and so I am making haste to escape and hide myself in a distant place.”
“I see,” said the old man. “That is a good market for your trade. Why take the trouble of fleeing to a distant place? Men like you take pleasure in selling their names.”
Yonhoe considered this an insult, and sped on without heeding the old man. Some miles further on he encountered an old woman on the bank of a stream, and she too asked him where he was going. He made the same reply as before, and she asked, “Did you meet an old man on your way here?”
“Yes,” Yonhoe said, “and he insulted me, so I am traveling in great vexation.”
“That was Munsu Buddha,” the old woman said. “Why did you not heed his warning?”
Yonhoe was surprised. He retraced his steps in haste and prostrated himself before the old man. “I am sorry that I did not recognize you,” he said, “and I repent my attempt to escape. By the way, who was the old woman I saw by the mountain stream?”
“That was Pyonjae Ch'onnyo, the talking fairy,” the old man said, and vanished from sight. (For Pyonjae Ch'onnyo see previous section.)
With a light heart and light footsteps Yonhoe returned to his hermitage. When the royal messenger once more summoned him to court, he felt that he must obey. He was received at the palace and given the title of Kuksa (National Priest). The place where he met Munsu was thereafter called Munsujom, and the place where he met the old woman was called Anijom.