We were telling you about Pilgrim, who lowered the direction of his cloud and presented to his master a thorough account of how the Bodhisattva requested for the youths and how Laozi took back his treasures. Tripitaka was deeply grateful; he redoubled his efforts and determination to go to the West at all costs. He mounted the horse once more; while Zhu Eight Rules poled the luggage, Sha Monk took hold of the bridle, and Pilgrim Sun took up his iron rod to lead the way down the tall mountain. As they proceeded, we cannot tell you in full how they rested by the waters and dined in the wind, how they were covered with frost and exposed to the dew. Master and disciples journeyed for a long time and again they found a mountain blocking their path.
“Disciples,” said Tripitaka loudly on the horse, “Look how tall and rugged is that mountain. We should be most careful, for I fear that there may be some demonic miasmas coming to attack us.” Pilgrim said, “Stop thinking foolish thoughts, Master. Compose yourself and keep your mind from wandering; nothing will happen to you.”
“O Disciple,” said Tripitaka, “why is it so difficult to reach the Western Heaven? I remember that since leaving the city Chang’an, spring has come and gone on this road several times, autumn has arrived to be followed by winter—at least four or five years must have gone by. Why is it that we still haven’t reached our destination?”
“It’s too early! It’s too early!” said Pilgrim, roaring with laughter. “We haven’t even left the main door yet!” “Stop fibbing, Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules. “There’s no such big mansion in this world.” “Brother,” said Pilgrim, “we are just moving around in one of the halls inside.” Laughing, Sha Monk said, “Elder Brother, stop talking so big to scare us. Where could you find such a huge house? Even if there were, you wouldn’t be able to find cross beams that were long enough.” “Brother,” said Pilgrim, “from the point of view of old Monkey, this blue sky is our roof, the sun and moon are our windows, the five sacred mountains our pillars, and the whole Heaven and Earth is but one large chamber.” When Eight Rules heard this, he sighed, “We’re finished! We’re finished! All right, move around some more and we’ll go back.” “No need for this kind of silly chatter,” said Pilgrim. “Just follow old Monkey and move.”
Dear Great Sage! Placing the iron rod horizontally across his shoulders, he led the Tang Monk firmly up the mountain road and went straight ahead. As the master looked around on the horse, he saw some lovely mountain scenery. Truly
The rugged summits touch the dipper stars,
And treetops seem to join the sky and clouds.
Within piles of blue mist
Ape cries oft arise from the valley;
In the shades of riotous green
You hear cranes calling beneath the pines.
Howling mountain sprites rear up in the streams
To mock the woodsman;
Aged fox spirits sit beside the cliff
To frighten the hunter.
Marvelous mountain!
Look how steep it is on all sides,
How precipitous every where!
Strange knotty pines topped by green canopies;
Dried, aged trees dangling creepers and vines.
The stream surges,
Its piercing cold chills e’en the hairs of man;
The peak shoots up,
Its eye-smarting clear wind makes one skittish.
Frequently you listen to big cats roar;
Now and then you hear mountain birds call.
Flocks of fallow deer cut through the brambles,
Leaping here and there;
Hordes of river deer seeking food of the wilds
Stampede back and forth.
Standing on the meadow,
One can’t see any traveler;
Walk in the canyons
And there are wolves on all sides.
It’s no place for Buddha to meditate,
Wholly the domain of darting birds and beasts.
With fear and trembling, the master entered deep into the mountain. Growing more melancholy, he stopped the horse and said, “O Wukong! Once
I was resolved3 to make that mountain4 trip,
To send me from the city the king did not wait.
I met on the way the three-cornered sedge;
I pushed hard my horse decked with bridle bells.
To find scriptures I searched steep slopes and streams;
To bow to Buddha’s spirit I scaled the peaks.
If myself I guard to complete my tour,
When may I go home to bow to the court?”
When the Great Sage heard these words, he roared with laughter, saying, “Master, don’t be so anxious and impatient. Relax and push forward. In due time, I assure you that ‘success will come naturally when merit’s achieved.’” As master and disciples enjoyed the mountain scenery while they walked along, the red orb soon sank toward the west. Truly
No traveler walked by the ten-mile arbor,
But stars appeared in the ninefold heavens.
Boats of eight rivers returned to their piers;
Seven thousand towns and counties shut their gates.
The lords of six chambers and five bureaus all retired;
From four seas and three rivers fish-lines withdrew.
Gongs and drums sounded on two tall towers;
One orb of bright moon filled the universe.
As he peered into the distance on the back of the horse, the master saw in the fold of the mountain several multistoried buildings. “Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “it’s getting late now and we are fortunate to find some buildings over there. I think it must be either a Daoist abbey or a Buddhist monastery. Let’s go there and ask for lodging for the night, and we can resume our journey in the morning.” Pilgrim said, “Master, you are right. Let’s not hurry, however; let me examine the place first.” Leaping into the air, the Great Sage stared intently and found that it was indeed a Buddhist monastery. He saw
Eight-word brick wall5 painted muddy red;
Doors on two sides studded with nails of gold;
Rows of tiered-terrace sheltered by the peak;
Buildings, multistoried, hidden in the mount.
Buddhas Alcove6 faced the Tathāgata Hall;
The Morning-Sun Tower met the Great Hero7 Gate.
Clouds rested on a seven-tiered pagoda,
And glory shone from three honored Buddhas.8
Mañjuśrī Platform faced the monastic house;
Maitreya Hall joined the Great Mercy Room.
Blue light danced outside the Mount-Viewing Lodge;
Purple clouds bloomed above the Void-Treading Tower.
Pine retreats and bamboo courts—fresh, lovely green.
Abbot rooms and Zen commons—clean every where.
Gracefully, quietly services were held.
Solemn but joyful priests walked the grounds.
Chan monks lectured in the Chan classrooms,
And instruments blared from music halls.
Udumbara petals dropped from the Wondrous-Height Terrace;
Pattrag leaves grew beneath the Law-Expounding Platform.
So it was that woods sheltered this land of the Three Jewels,
And mountains embraced this home of a Sanskrit Prince.
Half a wall of lamps with flickering lights and smoke;
A row of incense obscured by fragrant fog.
Descending from his cloud, the Great Sage Sun reported to Tripitaka, saying, “Master, it’s indeed a Buddhist monastery. We can go there to ask for lodging.”
The master urged his horse on and went straight up to the main gate. “Master,” said Pilgrim, “what monastery is this?” “The hoofs of my horse have just come to a stop, and the tips of my feet have yet to leave the stirrups,” said Tripitaka, “and you ask me what monastery this is? How thoughtless you are!” Pilgrim said, “You, your venerable self, have been a monk since your youth, and you must have studied the Confucian classics before you proceeded to lecture on the dharma sūtras. You must have mastered both literature and philosophy before you received such royal favors from the Tang Emperor. There are big words on the door of this monastery. Why can’t you recognize them?” “Impudent ape!” snapped the elder. “You mouth such senseless words! I was facing the west as I rode and my eyes were momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun. There might be words on the door, but they are covered by grime and dirt. That’s why I can’t make them out.” When Pilgrim heard these words, he stretched his torso and at once grew to over twenty feet tall. Wiping away the dirt, he said, “Master, please take a look.” There were seven words in large characters: “Precious Grove Monastery Built by Imperial Command.” After Pilgrim changed back into his normal size, he said, “Master, which one of us should go in to ask for lodging?” “I’ll go inside,” said Tripitaka, “for all of you are ugly in your appearance, uncouth in your speech, and arrogant in your manner. If you happen to offend the local monks, they may refuse our request, and that won’t be good.” “In that case,” said Pilgrim, “let Master go in at once. No need for words anymore.”
Abandoning his priestly staff and untying his cloak, the elder straightened out his clothes and walked inside the main gate with folded hands. There he found behind red lacquered railings a pair of Vajra-guardians,10 whose molten images were fearsome indeed:
One has an iron face and steel whiskers as if alive;
One has bushy brows and round eyes that seem real.
On the left, the fist bones like raw iron jut out;
On the right, the palms are cragged like crude bronze.
Golden chain armor of splendid luster;
Bright helmets and wind-blown sashes of silk.
Offerings in the West to Buddha are bounteous:
In stone tripods the incense fires glow red.
When Tripitaka saw this, he nodded and gave a lengthy sigh, saying, “If in our Land of the East there are enough people who would mold such huge bodhisattvas with clay and worship them with fires and incense, this disciple would have no need to go to the Western Heaven.” As he was saying this to himself, he reached the second gate, where he discovered inside the images of the Four Devarājas: Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Vaiśravaṇa, Virūḍhaka, and Virūpākṣa. Each of them, stationed according to his position in the east, north, south, and west, was also symbolic of his powers to make the winds harmonious and the rains seasonal. After he entered the second gate, he saw four tall pines, each of which had a luxuriant top shaped like an umbrella. As he raised his head, he discovered that he had arrived before the Precious Hall of the Great Hero. Folding his hands with complete reverence, the elder prostrated himself and worshipped; afterwards, he arose and went past the Buddha platform to reach the rear gate. There he found the image of the reclining Guanyin, who proffered deliverance to the creatures of South Sea.11 On the walls were carvings—all done by skillful artisans—of shrimps, fishes, crabs, and turtles; sticking out their heads and flapping their tails, they were frolicking in the billows and leaping over the waves. The elder again nodded his head four or five times, sighing loudly, “What a pity! Even scaly creatures would worship Buddha! Why is it that humans are unwilling to practice religion?”
As he was thus speaking to himself, a worker emerged from the third gate. When he saw the uncommon and handsome features of Tripitaka, he hurried forward and bowed, saying, “Where did the master come from?” “This disciple,” said Tripitaka, “was sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go to the Western Heaven and seek scriptures from Buddha. It was getting late when we arrived at your honored region, and I came to ask for lodging for one night.” “Please do not be offended, Master,” said the worker, “but I can’t assume responsibility here. I’m just a manual laborer in charge of sweeping the grounds and tolling the bell. There’s an old master inside who is the head of the household. Let me go in and report to him; if he wishes to ask you to stay, I’ll come out to give you the invitation; if not, I dare not detain you.” Tripitaka said, “Sorry for all that inconvenience.”
The worker hurried to the abbot chamber and reported, “Venerable Father, there’s someone outside.” The monk-official arose immediately, changed his clothes, adjusted his Vairocana hat, and put on a cassock before he went to open the door to receive his visitor. “What man has arrived?” he asked the worker, who pointed with his finger and replied, “Isn’t that a man there behind the main hall?” Bald-headed, wearing a Bodhidharma gown that was in shreds and a pair of sandals muddy and wet, Tripitaka was reclining by the door. When the monkofficial saw him, he became enraged, saying, “Worker, you deserve to be flogged! Don’t you know that a monk-official like me would come out and receive only the gentlemen from the cities who come here to offer incense? For this sort of a monk, why did you give me a phony report and ask me to receive him? Just look at his face! He can’t be an honest man! He has to be some kind of mendicant who wants to sleep here now that it’s getting late. You think I’m going to permit him to mess up our abbot chamber? Tell him to squat in the corridor. Why bother me?” He turned around and left immediately.
When the elder heard these words, tears filled his eyes and he said, “How pitiful! How pitiful! Truly ‘a man away from home is cheap!’ This disciple left home from his youth to become a monk. I did not
Do penance while eating meat with wicked glee,
Or read scriptures in wrath to soil the mind of Chan.
Nor did I
Cast tiles and stones to damage Buddha’s hall,
Or rip down the gold from an arhat’s face.
Alas, how pitiful! I don’t know which incarnation it was that I had offended Heaven and Earth, so that I have to meet unkind people so frequently in this life. Monk, if you don’t want to give us lodging, that’s all right. But why must you say such nasty things, telling us to go and squat in the corridors? I’d better not repeat these words to Pilgrim, for if I did, that monkey would come in and a few blows of his iron rod would break all your shanks. All right! All right! The proverb says, ‘Man must put propriety and music first.’ Let me go inside and ask him once more and see what he really intends to do with us.”
Following the tracks of the monk-official, the master went up to the door of the abbot chamber, where he found the monk-official who, having taken off his outer garments, was sitting inside, still panting with rage. He was not reciting the sūtras, nor was he drawing up any service for a family; all the Tang Monk could see was a pile of papers on a table beside him. Not daring to walk inside abruptly but standing instead in the courtyard, Tripitaka bowed and cried out, “Old Abbot, this disciple salutes you.” Somewhat annoyed by the fact that Tripitaka followed him inside, the monk only pretended to return the greeting, saying, “Where did you come from?”
“This disciple,” replied Tripitaka, “has been sent by the Throne of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to go to the Western Heaven and seek scriptures from the Living Buddha. I passed through your honored region, it was getting late, and I came to ask for lodging for one night. Tomorrow, I’ll leave before daybreak. I beseech the Old Abbot to grant me this request.” Only then did the monk-official get up from his seat and say, “Are you that Tripitaka Tang?” Tripitaka said, “Yes.” “If you are going to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures,” said the monk-official, “how is it that you don’t even know your way?” Tripitaka said, “Your disciple has never passed through your honored region and that’s why he doesn’t know the way here.” “Due west of here,” he said, “about four or five miles is a Thirty-Mile Inn, in which there is also someone selling food. It will be convenient for you to stay there, whereas it’s not convenient here for me to entertain a monk like yourself who has come from a great distance.”
“Abbot,” said Tripitaka with hands folded, “the ancients declared that ‘A Daoist abbey or a Buddhist monastery all may be considered a lodge for a priest, who has a claim for three percent of the food the moment he sees the temple gate.’ Why do you refuse me?” “You mendicant monk!” shouted the monkofficial angrily. “All you know is how to cajole and wheedle!” Tripitaka said, “What do you mean by cajole and wheedle?” The monk-official said, “Remember what the ancients said?
A tiger comes to town;
Each house will shut the door.
Though no one is bitten,
Its name’s already poor!”
“What do you mean by ‘Its name’s already poor’?” asked Tripitaka.
“A few years ago,” said the monk-official, “there was a group of mendicants who arrived and sat in front of our monastery gate. I took pity on their hardship when I saw how destitute they were, every one of them bald-headed and barefooted, shoeless and in rags. So I invited them into the abbot chamber, gave them honored seats, and fed them a vegetarian meal. Moreover, I even gave each of them an old suit of clothes to wear and asked them to stay for a few days. How would I know that they could become so greedy for easy food and clothing that they would remain for seven or eight years, never giving a thought to leaving again? I didn’t mind even their staying, but they indulged in all sorts of shabby activities.”
“What kind of shabby activities?” asked Tripitaka. The monk-official said, “Just listen to my tale:
Idle, they threw tiles by the pale;
Bored, they pulled nails off the wall.
In winter they fed fires with ripped window panes,
Leaving torn doors, when hot, on the road.
They pulled banners to make leggings;
Gluttonous, they stole our turnips.
From glass vases they often poured our oil,
Gaming by grabbing bowls and dishes!”12
When Tripitaka heard these words, he said to himself, “How pitiful! Is this disciple that kind of spineless monk?” He was about to cry, but he feared also that the old monk in the monastery would laugh at him. Swallowing his pride and his annoyance while wiping away his tears secretly with his robe, he walked out quickly and met his three disciples. When Pilgrim saw how angry his master looked, he went forward to ask, “Master, did the monks in the monastery strike you?” “They didn’t,” said the Tang Monk. “They must have done so,” said Eight Rules, “for if they haven’t, why is your voice cracking?” “Have they scolded you?” asked Pilgrim. The Tang Monk said, “They haven’t either.” “If they haven’t struck you,” said Pilgrim, “or scolded you, why are you upset? You must be getting homesick.” “Disciples,” said the Tang Monk, “they say that it’s not convenient here.” “They must be Daoists here, then?” said Pilgrim, laughing. “Only a Daoist abbey has Daoists,” said the Tang Monk, raging. “There are only monks in a monastery.” Pilgrim said, “You are useless! If there are monks here, they are the same as we. The proverb says,
Gathered in Buddha’s assembly
Are all men of affinity.
You sit here, and let me go inside to look around.”
Dear Pilgrim! Giving the fillet on his head a squeeze and tightening the skirt around his waist, he went straight up to the Precious Hall of the Great Hero, holding his iron rod. There he pointed at the statues of the three Buddhas and said, “You are actually idols molded with clay and adorned with gold. You don’t possess one whit of efficacy inside! Or do you? Old Monkey, who is accompanying the Tang Monk to go to the Western Heaven and seek the true scriptures from Buddha, has come here tonight specially to ask for lodging. You’d better hurry and announce my arrival. If you don’t put us up, my rod will smash the golden bodies and reveal your original forms of mud!”
As the Great Sage was making his threats and intimidations, a worker in charge of vespers arrived with several sticks of lighted incense to be placed in the urn before the images of Buddha. One snarl of Pilgrim sent him tumbling; when he scrambled up and saw the face, he fell down again. Stumbling all over, he fled into the abbot chamber and made the report, saying, “Holy Father, there’s a monk outside.”
“All of you workers deserve to be flogged!” said the monk-official. “I told you people before that they should be sent to squat in the corridors up front. Why make another announcement? One more word and I’ll give you twenty lashes!” “Holy Father,” said the worker, “this monk is not the same as the other one; he’s mean and fierce looking.” “How does he look?” asked the monkofficial. The worker replied, “He’s someone with round eyes, forked ears, a face full of hairs, and a beak like the thunder god’s. He has a rod in his hands, furiously grinding his teeth to find someone to beat.” “Let me go out and have a look,” said the monk-official.
The moment he opened the door, he saw Pilgrim barging in. It was a hideous sight indeed! A bumpy, scabrous face, a pair of yellow eyeballs, a sunken forehead, and long, protruding fangs—he seemed virtually an overcooked crab with meat inside and cartilage outside! So panic-stricken was the old monk that he slammed shut the door of the abbot chamber at once. Pilgrim, however, rushed up to it and smashed it to pieces, crying, “Hurry up and clean out one thousand rooms! Old Monkey wants to take a nap!”
As he attempted to hide in the room, the monk-official said to the worker, “No wonder he’s so ugly! Talking big has caused him to end up with a face like that! Our place here, including abbot chambers, Buddha halls, bell-and-drum towers, and the two corridors, has barely three hundred rooms. He wants a thousand for him to take a nap. Where are we going to get these rooms?” “Master,” said the worker, “I’m a man whose gall has been busted by fear. I’ll let you answer him any way you please.” Trembling all over, the monk-official said in a loud voice, “The elder who wants lodging, please hear me. It’s truly inconvenient for this small, humble monastery of ours to entertain you. Please go somewhere to stay.”
Pilgrim transformed his rod until it had the circumference of a basin’s; then he stuck it straight up in the courtyard. “Monk,” he said, “if it’s inconvenient, you move out.” The monk-official said, “We have lived here since our youth; our grand-masters passed the place on to our masters, and they in turn to us. We want to give it to our heirs. What sort of a person is he that he would so rashly ask us to move?” “Venerable Father,” said the worker, “we can’t muddle through like this. Why not move out? That pole of his is going to come smashing in!” “Stop babbling!” said the monk-official. “We have altogether five hundred monks here, old and young. Where are we going to move to? Even if we do move out, we have no other place to stay.” Hearing this, Pilgrim said, “Monk, if you have no place to move, one of you must come out and be caned.”
The old monk said to the worker, “You go out and take the caning for me.” Horrified, the worker said, “O Father! With that huge pole, and you ask me to take the caning!” The old monk said, “As the proverb says, ‘It may take a thousand days to feed an army, but only one day to use it.’ Why don’t you go out?” “Don’t speak of being caned by that huge pole,” said the worker. “Even if it just falls on you, you’ll be reduced to a meat patty.” “Yes,” said the old monk, “let’s not speak of falling on someone. If it remains standing in the courtyard, one can crack his head bumping into it at night if one forgets it’s there.” “Master,” said the worker, “if you know that’s how heavy it is, why do you ask me to go out and take the caning for you?” After he asked this question, the two of them began to quarrel between themselves.
Hearing all that noise, Pilgrim said to himself, “They really can’t take it. If I kill each of them with one blow of my rod, Master will accuse me again of working violence. Let me find something to strike at and show them what I can do.” He lifted his head and discovered a stone lion outside the door of the abbot chamber. Raising up the rod, he slammed it on the lion and reduced it to powder. The monk caught sight of the blow through a tiny hole in the window and, almost paralyzed with fear, began crawling under the bed while the worker tried desperately to creep into the opening of the kitchen range, yelling all the time: “Father! The rod’s too heavy! The rod’s too heavy! I can’t take it! It’s convenient! It’s convenient!” Pilgrim said, “Monk, I won’t hit you now. I’m asking you, how many monks are there in this monastery?” Shaking all over, the monk-official said, “There are two hundred and eighty-five chambers back and front, and we have altogether five hundred certified monks.” “Go quickly and call up every one of those five hundred monks,” said Pilgrim. “Tell them to put on their long robes and receive my master in here. Then I won’t hit you.” “Father,” said the monk-official, “if you won’t hit us, we’ll be glad even to carry him inside.” “Go now!” said Pilgrim. The monk-official said to the worker, “Don’t tell me that your gall has been busted by fear. Even if your heart is busted, you still have to go and call up these people to welcome the Holy Father Tang.”
With no alternative at all, the worker had to risk his life. He dared not, however, walk out the door, but crawled out instead in the back through the dog hole from where he went to the main hall in front. He began striking the bell on the west and beating the drum on the east. The sounds of these two instruments soon aroused all the monks living in their quarters along the two corridors. They arrived at the main hall and asked, “It’s still early. Why do you beat the drum and strike the bell?” “Change your clothes quickly,” said the worker, “and line yourselves up to follow Old Master to go out of the gate in order to welcome a Holy Father from the Tang court.” The various monks indeed arranged themselves in order to go out of the gate for the reception; some of them put on their cassocks, while others put on their togas. Those who had neither wore long, bell-shaped gowns, while the poorest ones folded up their skirts and draped them over both their shoulders. When Pilgrim saw them, he asked, “Monks, what kind of clothes do you have on?” When the monks saw how fierce and ugly he looked, they said, “Father, don’t hit us. Let us tell you what we have on. The cloth was donated to us by the families in the city. As we don’t have any tailor around here, we have to make our own clothes. The style is called A Wrap of Woe.”
Smiling silently to himself when he heard these words, Pilgrim guarded the monks and saw to it that each one of them walked out of the gate and kneeled down. After he kowtowed, the monk-official cried out: “Venerable Father Tang, please go to the abbot chamber and take a seat.” When Eight Rules saw what was happening, he said, “Master is so incompetent! When you walked inside just now, you returned not only with tears, but you were pouting so much that you looked as if two flasks of oil had been hung on your lips. Now, what sort of cunning does Elder Brother have that makes them kowtow to receive us?” “You Idiot!” said Tripitaka. “You don’t know what’s going on! As the proverb says, ‘Even ghosts are afraid of nasty people.’”
When the Tang Monk saw them kowtowing, he was very embarrassed and he approached them, saying, “Please rise, all of you.” The various monks continued to kowtow, saying, “If the Venerable Father could speak on our behalf to your disciple and ask him not to hit us with that pole, we would be willing to kneel here for a whole month.” “Wukong,” cried the Tang Monk, “don’t hit them.” “I haven’t,” said Pilgrim, “for if I did, they would have been exterminated.” Only then did those monks get up; some went to lead the horse while others took up the pole of luggage. They lifted up the Tang Monk, carried Eight Rules, and took hold of Sha Monk—all crowded inside the monastery gate and headed for the abbot chamber in the back.
After the pilgrims took their seats, the monks came again to do obeisance. “Abbot, please rise,” said Tripitaka. “There’s no need for you to go through such ceremony anymore, or your poor monk will find it much too burdensome. You and I, after all, are all disciples within the gate of Buddha.” “The Venerable Father,” said the monk-official, “is an imperial envoy of a noble nation, and this humble monk has not properly welcomed you when you reached our desolate mountain. Our vulgar eyes could not recognize your esteemed countenance, though it was our good fortune that we should meet. Permit me to ask the Venerable Father to tell me whether he was eating meat or vegetarian food on the way. We can then prepare your meal.” “Vegetarian food,” said Tripitaka. “Disciples,” said the monk-official, “this Holy Father prefers vegetarian food.” Pilgrim said, “We, too, have been eating vegetarian food. We have maintained such a diet, in fact, even before we were born.”
“O Father!” exclaimed that monk. “Such violent men would eat vegetarian food, too?” Another monk, who was slightly more courageous, drew near and asked again, “If the Venerable Fathers prefer vegetarian food, how much rice should we cook?” “You cheapskates!” said Eight Rules. “Why ask? For our family, cook a picul of rice.” The monks all became frightened; they went at once to scrub and wash the pots and pans and to prepare the meal. Bright lamps were brought in as they set the table to entertain the Tang Monk.
After master and disciples had eaten the vegetarian dinner, the monks took away the dishes and the furniture. “Old Abbot,” said Tripitaka, thanking him, “we are greatly indebted to you and your hospitality.” “Not at all, not at all,” said the monk-official, “we haven’t done anything for you.” Tripitaka asked, “Where should we sleep?” “Don’t be impatient, Venerable Father,” said the monkofficial. “This humble cleric has everything planned.” He then asked, “Worker, do you have some people there who are free to work?” “Yes, Master,” said the worker. The monk-official instructed them, saying, “Two of you should go and get some hay to feed the horse of Venerable Father Tang. The rest can go to the front and clean up three of the Chan halls; set up bedding and mosquito nets so that the Venerable Fathers can take their rest.”
The workers obeyed and each of them finished the preparation before returning to invite the Tang Monk to go take his rest. Master and disciples led the horse and toted the luggage; they left the abbot chamber and went to the door of the Chan halls, where they saw inside brightly lit lamps and four rattan beds with bedding all laid out. Pilgrim asked the worker who brought the hay to haul it inside the Chan halls, where they tied up the white horse also. The workers were then told to leave. As Tripitaka sat down beneath the lamps, two rows of monks—all five hundred of them—stood on both sides and waited upon him, not daring to leave. Tripitaka got up and said, “Please go back, all of you. This humble cleric can then rest comfortably.” The monks refused to retire, for the monk-official had given them this instruction: “Wait upon the Venerable Father until he retires. Then you may leave.” Only after Tripitaka said, “I’m all cared for, please go back,” did they dare disperse.
The Tang Monk stepped outside the door to relieve himself, and he saw a bright moon high in the sky. “Disciples,” he called out, and Pilgrim, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk all came out to wait on him. Moved by the bright, pure light of the moon—a round orb loftily hung to illumine the great Earth—and filled with longing for his homeland, Tripitaka composed orally a long poem in the ancient style. The poem said:
The bright soul, mirror-like, hangs in the sky,
Her radiance pervades the whole, vast world:
Pure light fills jasper towers and jade halls;
Crisp air swaths an ice tray, a silver pan.
Ten thousand miles are all made luminous;
Her beams tonight are this year’s brightest—
Like a cake of frost leaving dark blue sea,
Or an ice-wheel hung on the jade-green sky.
When one guest pines by an inn’s cold transoms,
Or an old man sleeps in a mountain lodge,
She comes to the Han court to shock grey hair13
And hastens late makeup, reaching towers of Qin.14
For her Yu Liang15 has verse for History of Jin,
And Yuan Hong16 stays up to sail his river skiff.
Floating on cup rims she’s a cold, weak gleam;
Lighting the yard, she’s brilliant as god.
By each window one can sing of white snow17
And press in every house the icy strings.18
Now her pleasure comes to a monastery.
When will she join me to return back home?
When Pilgrim heard these words, he approached him and said, “Master, all you know is that the moonlight fills you with longing for home, but you don’t understand that the moon may symbolize the rules and regulations of nature’s many modes and forms.19 When the moon reaches the thirtieth day, the metal [phase] in its yang spirit is completely dissolved, whereas the water [phase] of its yin soul is filled to the brim of the orb. This is the reason for the designation of that day with the term Obscure,20 for the moon is completely dark and without light. It is at this moment also that the moon copulates with the sun, and during the time of the thirtieth day and the first day of the month, it will become pregnant by the light of the sun. By the third day, one [stroke]21 of the yang will appear, and two [strokes] of the yang will be born by the eighth day. At this time, the moon will have half of its yang spirit in the middle of its yin soul, and its lower half is flat like a rope. That is the reason why the time of the month is callled the Upper Bow. By the fifteenth day, all three [strokes] of the yang will be ready, and perfect union will be achieved. That is why this time of the month is called To Face.22 On the sixteenth day, one [stroke] of the yin will be born, and the second stroke will make its appearance on the twenty-second day. At that time half of the yin soul will be in the middle of the yang spirit, and its upper half is flat like a rope. That is the reason why this time of the month is called the Lower Bow. By the thirtieth day, all three [strokes] of the yin will be ready, and the moon has then reached the state of obscurity once more. All this is the symbol of the process of cultivation practiced by nature. If we can nourish the Two Eights23 until we reach the perfection of Nine Times Nine,24 then it will be simple for us at that moment to see Buddha, and simple also for us to return to our home. The poem says:
After the First Quarter and before the Last:
Medicine well-blended, the outlook’s perfect.
What you acquire from picking, smelt in the stove—
Determination’s fruit is Western Heaven.”25
When the elder heard what he said, he was immediately enlightened and understood completely these words of realized immortality. Filled with delight, he thanked Wukong repeatedly.
On one side, Sha Monk smiled and said, “Though Elder Brother spoke most appropriately concerning how the first quarter of the moon belonged to the yang and the last quarter belonged to the yin, and how in the midst of yin and in the middle of yang one could obtain the metal of water, he did not mention
Water and fire mixed—each to the other drawn—
Depend on Earth Mother to make this match.
Three parties thus fused face no war or strife:26
Water’s in Long River, the moon’s in the sky.”
When the elder heard that, his dull mind was again opened up. Thus it was that
Truth, grasped by the heart’s one hole, clears up a thousand.
Once you solve the riddle of no birth, you are a god.
Then Eight Rules walked up to the elder and tugged at him, saying, “Master, don’t listen to all their babblings and delay your sleep. This moon,
After it wanes, will soon grow round again.
Like me it was born none too perfectly!
At meals I’m disliked for too large a maw;
I drool too much, they say, on bowls I hold.
They have their blessings earned through cleverness;
I have affinity stocked by foolishness.
I tell you that
Fetching scriptures will end your three karmic paths.
Wagging head and tail you’ll go up to Heav’n!”
“All right, Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “you must be tired from all this journeying. You may go to sleep first, and let me meditate on this roll of scripture.”
“Master, you must be mistaken,” said Pilgrim. “You left the family in your youth to become a monk. How could you not be completely familiar with all the scriptures you studied when you were young? Then you received the command from the Tang emperor to go to the Western Heaven and see Buddha for the True Canon of Mahāyāna. But at this moment, your merit has not been perfected, you have not seen the Buddha, and you have not yet acquired the scriptures. Which roll of scripture do you want to meditate on?” Tripitaka said, “Since I left Chang’an, I have been traveling day and night, and I fear that the scriptures I learned in my youth might slip away from me. Tonight there’s a little time, and I want to do some reviewing.” “In that case,” said Pilgrim, “we’ll go to sleep first.” The three disciples indeed lay down on three of the rattan beds. Closing the door of the Zen hall and turning up the lamp, the elder opened his roll of scripture and began to read and meditate in silence. Truly it was that
First watch struck from a tower, human bustle ceased,
When fishing-boat fires by wild banks went out.
We don’t know how that elder will depart from the monastery; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.