This chapter’s karmic import
Is to persuade man to do good
And to shun all evil works.
Even a single thought
Is known to all the gods,
Do whatever you will.
Folly or cleverness, how would you learn?
No-mind is still the cure for both of these.
While yet alive, the Way you should cultivate;
Don’t drift or roam.
Recognize your source
And cast your shell.
To seek long life,
You must catch it.
Be ever enlightened;
Let ghee1 annoint you.
Pump through Three Passes2 to fill the dark sea
Will make the virtuous ride the phoenix and crane.
Then compassion will with mercy unite
As you reach ecstasy.
We were telling you about Tripitaka, who was most single-minded in his piety and sincerity. We need not mention how he was protected by the gods above; even such spirits as those of grass and wood also came to keep him company. After one night of elegant conversation on the arts, he was delivered from the thorns and thistles, no longer encumbered by vines or creepers. As he and his three disciples journeyed westward, they traveled for a long time, and it was again the end of winter. This was, in truth, a day of spring:
All things thrive and flourish
For the Dipper’s handle returns to yin.3
Young grasses cover the earth with green,
And verdant willows line the banks.
A ridge of peach blossoms red like brocade;
Half a stream of silky water like green jade.
How rain and wind persist
To one’s endless feelings!
The sun enhances the flowers’ grace;
The swallows fetch light mossy buds.
Like Wang Wei painting’s4 the mountain’s dark and light;
Birds chatter with the sharp tongue of Jizi.5
No one’s here to joy in such fancy fineries
Save dancing butterflies and singing bees.
Master and his disciples proceeded with the slow trotting of the horse, enjoying themselves all the while by searching out the fragrant flowers and treading on the green meadows. As they walked along, they came upon a tall mountain which, from a distance, seemed to touch the sky. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, pointing with his whip, “I wonder how tall that mountain is. It seems that it is actually touching the blue sky, or it may have even punctured the azure heavens!” Pilgrim said, “I remember two lines of an ancient poem that say:
Only the sky remains high above;
No mountain can equal its height.
These two lines are trying to describe the extreme height of one particular mountain, such that no other mountain could be compared with it. But how could a mountain actually touch the sky?”
“If it did not,” said Eight Rules, “then why did people call Mount Kunlun ‘the pillar of Heaven’?” Pilgrim replied, “Don’t you know the old adage,
Heaven was not filled in the northwest.
Now, Mount Kunlun is located in the northwest, at the position of qian, and
that’s why it is commonly thought to be a mountain that can hold up the sky by filling the void. Hence the name, Pillar of Heaven.” “Elder Brother,” said Sha Monk, laughing, “don’t give him all these nice explanations! When he hears them, he will try to outsmart someone else. Let’s get moving. When we’ve climbed the mountain, then we’ll know how tall it is.”
Our Idiot tried to lunge at Sha Monk to smack him, and as the two of them tangled while proceeding, the old master urged the horse into a gallop. In a moment, they drew near to the mountain cliff. As they ascended the mountain step by step, what they saw was
A forest where the wind was howling,
A brook where the water was gurgling.
No crow or bird flew over this mountain;
Even immortals might say, “It’s hard!”
Ten thousand cliffs and ravines,
A million twists and turns.
No man reaching this place of churning dust;
No end the sight of strange, ghostly rocks.
Clouds at some spots seemed like shimmering pools;
Trees every where filled with birds’ raucous calls.
Deer left, holding agaric;
Apes returned, bearing peaches.
Foxes and badgers jumped about the ledge;
Antelopes played on the mountain peak.
A sudden roar of the tiger made one cringe
As striped leopards and grey wolves barred the road.
The moment that Tripitaka caught sight of this, he was terrified, but Pilgrim Sun displayed his vast magic powers. Look at him with his golden-hooped rod! He gave one shout and all those wolves, tigers, and leopards scattered. Opening up a path, he led his master straight up the tall mountain. After they passed the summit, they descended westward until they reached a plateau, where they suddenly came upon rays of divine light and strands of colored mists. There was in the distance a magnificent building, from which the faint, harmonious sounds of bells and sonorous stones could be heard. “Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “take a look and see what kind of place that is.” Shading his eyes with his hand, Pilgrim lifted his head to stare at the building. It was a good place indeed! Truly
A bejewelled edifice,
A noble monastery.
An empty valley that augments the music of earth;
A quiet place that diffuses nature’s fragrance,
Verdant pines, rain-soaked, shroud the tall towers;
Green bamboos, cloud-wrapped, guard the lecture hall.
Lights radiate from this distinctive dragon palace;
Colors flutter around this Buddhist domain.
Scarlet rails and jade portals;
Painted pillars and carved beams.
Sūtras explained, incense fills the seats.
Mysteries exposed, the moon lights up the screens.
Birds sing within the scarlet trees;
Cranes drink at the pebbled brook.
Flowers bloom every where in this Jetavana park;
On three sides Śrāvastī light spills through open doors.
Doors of rugged buildings face the mountain range.
Hollow bells and stones strike languidly and long.
The opened windows in a gentle breeze,
The rolled up screen in curls of smoke.
With monks here the life’s ascetic,
A peace not marred by things profane.
Truly a place divine which the world can’t touch:
A quiet monastery, a good field of rites.
After Pilgrim had looked over the place, he turned to Tripitaka, saying, “Master, that is a monastery over there. I don’t know why, however, within the aura of Chan and the auspicious lights there seems to be an air of violence as well. When I look at this scenery, it reminds me greatly of Thunderclap, but the road just does not seem right. When we reach the building, don’t walk in immediately, for I fear that some sinister hand may bring us harm.”
“If this place reminds you of Thunderclap,” said the Tang Monk, “could it be verily the Spirit Mountain? You’d better not slight my sincerity and delay the very purpose of my journey.” “No! No!” said Pilgrim. “I have traveled on the way to the Spirit Mountain several times before. How could it be this one?” “Even if it is not,” said Eight Rules, “there must be a good person staying here.” Sha Monk said, “We don’t have to be so suspicious. This road has to take us
right past that door. Whether it is Thunderclap or not, one look will tell us.”
“What Wujing says,” said Pilgrim, “is quite reasonable.”
Urging his horse with the whip, the elder soon arrived before the monastery gate, on top of which he saw the three words, The Thunderclap Monastery. He was so astonished that he rolled off the horse and fell to the ground. “You
wretched ape!” he scolded. “You’ve just about killed me! It is The Thunderclap
Monastery, and you still want to deceive me!” Attempting to placate him with a smile, Pilgrim said, “Don’t get upset, Master. Take another look. There are four words on the gate of the monastery, and you have only seen three of them. And you still blame me?” Trembling all over, the elder scrambled up and took another look. There were indeed these four words: The Small Thunderclap Monastery.
“If it’s only The Small Thunderclap Monastery,” said Tripitaka, “there must be a Buddhist patriarch inside. The sūtras mentioned some three thousand Buddhas, but I suppose they can’t be all in one place. Guanyin, after all, is in South Sea, Viśvabhadra is located at Mount Emei, and Mañjuśrī lives on the Mountain of Five Platforms. I wonder which Buddhist patriarch presides over this field of rites. The ancients said,
With Buddhas there are scriptures;
Without temples there are no treasures.
We should go inside.”
“You shouldn’t,” said Pilgrim. “This place portends more evil than good. If you run into calamity, don’t blame me.” “Even if there’s no Buddha,” said Tripitaka, “there must be his image. This disciple has made avow that I shall bow to Buddha whenever I encounter him. How could I blame you?” Whereupon he ordered Eight Rules to take out his cassock. After he changed into his clerical cap and tidied his clothing, Tripitaka strode forward.
As they walked inside the monastery gate, they heard a loud voice saying, “Tang Monk, you came all the way from the Land of the East to seek an audience with our Buddha. How dare you be so insolent now?” On hearing this, Tripitaka at once prostrated himself; Eight Rules, too, kowtowed as Sha Monk went to his knees. Only the Great Sage, however, led the horse and remained behind, picking up the luggage. When they went inside the second door, they came upon the great hall of Tathāgata. Outside the great hall door and beneath the treasure throne stood in rows the five hundred arhats, the three thousand guardians of the faith, the Four Great Diamond Kings, the mendicant nuns, and the upāsakas, along with countless sage monks and workers. Truly, there were also glamorous fragrant flowers and auspicious rays in abundance. The elder, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk were so overcome that they touched their heads to the ground with each step they took, inching their way toward the spirit platform. Only Pilgrim remained boldly erect.
Then they heard another loud voice coming from the top of the lotus throne, saying, “You, Sun Wukong! How dare you not bow down before Tathāgata?” Little did anyone expect that Pilgrim would look up and carefully scrutinize the one who spoke. When he recognized that it was a specious Buddha, he at once abandoned the horse and the luggage. Gripping the rod in his hands, he shouted, “You bunch of accursed beasts! You are audacious! How dare you take in vain the Buddha’s name and soil the pure virtue of Tathāgata! Don’t run away!” Wielding the rod with both his hands, he attacked at once.
With a loud clang a pair of golden cymbals dropped from midair; falling on Pilgrim, they had him enclosed completely from head to foot. Zhu Eight Rules and Sha Monk were so aghast that they reached for their rake and staff, but they were overwhelmed at once by those arhats, guardians, sage monks, and workers who surged forward to surround the three pilgrims. Tripitaka, too, was thus caught, and all three of them were then firmly bound by ropes.
The one who appeared as the Buddhist patriarch sitting on the lotus throne, you see, was actually a monster-king, and those arhats were all little fiends. After they put away their Buddha appearances, they revealed again their fiendish forms and hauled the elder and his two disciples to the rear so that they could be locked up. Pilgrim was to remain sealed in the golden cymbals and never to be released. With the cymbals placed on the jewelled platform, he was expected to be reduced to pus and blood in the period of three days and nights. Thereafter the other pilgrims were to be steamed in an iron cage and eaten. Truly
Green-eyed Monkey knew the false from the real.
Chan Mind bowed low on gold form’s appeal.
Yellow Dame paid homage like a blind mule,
And Wood Mother conversed, too, like a fool.
A fiend, growing strong, oppressed one’s true self—
The natural man duped by a wicked elf.
Dao had little but the demon, big gain.
A wrong turn to Side Door,6 their work was vain!
At the time, the various fiends shut up the Tang Monk and his two disciples in the rear, and there they tied the horse also. After they placed his cassock and his clerical cap inside the luggage wrap, they hid these also in a guarded place. We shall leave them for the moment.
We tell you now about that Pilgrim, who had been enclosed within the golden cymbals. It was pitch black inside, and he became so exasperated that he perspired all over. He tried pushing left and shoving right, but he could not get out. Then he struck madly at the cymbals with his iron rod, but he could not dent them even one whit. With no further alternative, he wanted to break the cymbals by sheer brute force. Making a magic sign with his fingers, he at once grew to thousands of feet tall, but the cymbals also grew with him. There was not even the slightest crack to let in a ray of light. He made the magic sign again and at once his body diminished in size until he became as small as a mustard seed. The cymbals grew smaller, too, with his body, so that there was not the tiniest hole. Gripping the iron rod, Pilgrim blew on it a divine breath, crying, “Change!” It changed into a flagpole, which he used to hold up the cymbals. Then he selected two of his longer hairs behind his head and pulled them off, crying, “Change!” They changed immediately into a plum-flower-like, five-pointed drill; along the base of the rod, he drilled away for over a thousand times. There were loud scraping noises from the drill, but he could not puncture the cymbals at all.
In sheer desperation, Pilgrim made the magic sign again and recited the spell:
Let Oṁ and Ram purify the dharma realm.
Key: Primary Reception Beneficial for Determination.7
With this he summoned the Guardian of Five Quarters, the Six Gods of Light and the Six Gods of Darkness, and the Eighteen Guardians of Monasteries, who gathered outside the golden cymbals, saying, “Great Sage, we were all giving protection to your master so that the demons could not harm him. Why did you summon us?”
“That master of mine,” said Pilgrim, “refused to listen to me! It’s no big loss even if he were put to death! But what I want you to do is think of some way quickly to pry open these cymbals and let me out. Then we can take care of other matters. Right now, there’s not a bit of light inside, and I’m so hot that I’m about to suffocate.” The various deities indeed tried to pry open the cymbals, but they were so tightly closed up that they seemed to have grown together. The gods could not even budge them. “Great Sage,” said the Golden-Headed Guardian, “we don’t know what sort of treasure this pair of cymbals is, but from top to bottom, they have become one whole piece now. Your humble deities are too weak to pry them loose.” “I don’t know how much magic power I’ve used inside,” said Pilgrim, “but I can’t budge them either.”
On hearing this, the Guardian told the Six Gods of Light to protect the Tang Monk and the Six Gods of Darkness to watch over the golden cymbals. As the various other Guardians of Monasteries took up positions of patrol front and back, he mounted the auspicious luminosity and, in a moment, went straight through the South Heaven Gate. Without waiting for further summons, he went up to the Hall of Divine Mists and prostrated himself before the Jade Emperor. “My lord,” he said, “your subject is the Guardian of Five Quarters. I commend to you the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, who is accompanying the Tang Monk to acquire scriptures. Passing through a mountain, they came upon The Small Thunderclap Monastery. By mistake the Tang Monk thought it was the Spirit Mountain and he entered the monastery to worship. It was actually an edifice set up by a fiendish monster to ensnare the master and his disciples. At this moment, the Great Sage is imprisoned within a pair of golden cymbals, from which he cannot be extracted at all. He is about to die, and that’s why I’ve come here especially to memorialize to you.” The Jade Emperor at once gave this decree: “Let the Twenty-Eight Constellations go quickly to subdue the fiends and bring deliverance to the pilgrims.”
Not daring to linger, the Constellations followed the Guardian to leave the Heaven gate and arrived inside the monastery. It was about the time of the second watch at night; those monster-spirits, both great and small, having been rewarded by the old fiend for capturing the Tang Monk, had all gone to sleep. Without disturbing them, the Constellations gathered outside the cymbals and reported: “Great Sage, we are the Twenty-Eight Constellations sent here by the Jade Emperor to rescue you.”
Exceedingly pleased by what he heard, Pilgrim said immediately, “Use your weapons and break the thing. Old Monkey will be out at once.” “We dare not do so,” replied the stars. “This thing is of metallic substance. If we strike at it, there’ll be noises and the demon will be awakened. Then it’ll be hard for us to rescue you. Let us use our weapons instead and see if we can puncture it. Wherever you detect even the faintest speck of light, you’ll be able to escape.” “Exactly,” said Pilgrim.
Look at them! Wielding spears, swords, scimitars, and axes, they began to pry at the pair of cymbals and stab at them, hauling them back and forth. They did this until about the time of the third watch, but the cymbals could not be loosened at all. The pair seemed to be like a wonton that had been forged together. Pilgrim inside was looking this way and that; he crawled over here and rolled to the other side, but he could not detect even the faintest speck of light.
“Oh, Great Sage,” said Gullet the Gold Dragon,8 “please be more patient. As I see it, this treasure must be a compliant thing which knows transformation also. Try to feel with your hands inside along the edges where the cymbals come together. I’m going to use the tip of my horn and see if I can wedge it inside. Then you can use some kind of transformation and escape through the spot where it comes apart.” Pilgrim agreed and started to use his hands to feel along the edges. Meanwhile, this Constellation made his body smaller until his horn became like a pointed needle. At the top of the cymbals where they were joined, he tried to stick the horn through. Alas, he had to use every ounce of his strength before he managed to reach inside. Then he caused his body and his horn to take on the dharma form, crying, “Grow! Grow! Grow!” The horn grew to the thickness of a rice bowl. The edge of the cymbals, however, did not behave like any metallic object at all; instead, they seemed to have been made of skin and flesh, which had the horn of Gullet the Gold Dragon in a viselike grip. There was not the slightest crack anywhere around the horn. When Pilgrim felt the horn with his hands, he said, “It’s no use! There’s no crack above or below! I have no choice. You must bear a little pain and take me out.” Marvelous Great Sage! He changed the golden-hooped rod into a steel drill and drilled a hole on the tip of the horn. Transforming his body into the size of a mustard seed, he stuck himself inside the hole and yelled, “Pull the horn out! Pull the horn out!” Again, the Constellation exerted who knows how much strength before he yanked it out and fell exhausted to the ground.
As soon as Pilgrim crawled out from the hole he drilled in the tip of the Constellation’s horn and changed back into his true form, he whipped out the iron rod and slammed it down with a crash on the cymbals. It was as if a copper mountain had been toppled, a gold mine blown open. What a pity! An instrument belonging to the Buddha was instantly reduced to a thousand fragments of gold! The Twenty-Eight Constellations were terrified and the Guardian of Five Quarters’ hair stood on end. All those various fiends, old and young, were roused from their dreams, and even the old monster-king was startled in his sleep. He scrambled up, and as he put on his clothes, he ordered a roll of drums to assemble the rest of the fiends and arm them. It was about dawn at this time when they rushed beneath the treasure throne. There they saw Pilgrim Sun and the various Constellations hovering over the pieces of the golden cymbals. Paling with fright, the monster-king gave this order: “Little ones! Shut the front door quickly and don’t let anyone out.”
On hearing this, Pilgrim led the star spirits to mount the clouds and rose into the air. After the monster-king had put away the gold fragments, he ordered his troops to line up in formation outside the monastery gate. Nursing his anger, the monster-king hurriedly put on his armor and picked up a short, pliant wolf-teeth clubg to walk out of his camp, crying, “Pilgrim Sun, a brave man shouldn’t run away! Step forward quickly and fight three rounds with me!” Unable to contain himself, Pilgrim led the star spirits to lower their clouds and to take a good look at that monster-spirit. They saw he had
Disheveled hair,
Strapped down by a thin and flat gold band;
Glowering eyes,
Topped by thick, bushy yellow brows;
A gall-like nose
With nostrils flaring;
A four-square mouth
With sharp, pointed teeth.
He wore a cuirass of chain mail.
Tied with a sash spun with raw silk.
His feet were shod in calfskin boots;
His hands held up a wolf-teeth club.
His form was beastlike, though he was no beast;
With looks nonhuman, still he seemed like man.
Sticking out his iron rod, Pilgrim shouted, “What kind of fiendish creature are you, that you dare play the Buddhist patriarch, occupy this mountain, and falsely set up the Small Thunderclap Monastery?”
“So, the little monkey doesn’t know my name!” replied the monster-king, “and that’s why you’ve transgressed the territory of this divine mountain! This place is called the Little Western Heaven. By my self-cultivation I have attained the right fruit, and thus Heaven bestowed on me these treasure bowers and precious towers. My name is the Old Buddha of Yellow Brows, but the people of this region, ignorant of that, address me as the Great King Yellow Brows or Holy Father Yellow Brows. I have known all the while that you are on your way to the West, and that you have some abilities. That’s why I displayed my powers and set up the image to lure your master to enter. I want to make a wager with you. If you can withstand me, I’ll spare you all, master and disciples, so that you, too, can perfect the right fruit. If you can’t, I’ll slay all of you, and I’ll go myself to
see Tathāgata for the scriptures, so that I can attain the right fruit for China.”
“Monster-spirit,” said Pilgrim with a laugh, “no need to brag! If you want this wager, come up quickly and receive the rod!” Very amiably the monster-king met him with the wolf-teeth club, and this was some battle!
The club and rod
Are not the same.
To speak of them, they have their own form and shape!
One is a short and pliant Buddhist arm;
One is a deep-sea treasure stiff and hard.
Both can transform according to one’s wish;
They join this time and each strives to be strong.
The short, pliant wolf-teeth’s jewel bedecked;
The sturdy golden-hooped is dragonlike.
They can turn thick or thin, how marvelous!
They can grow long or short with perfect ease.
Demon and ape
Together fight
A hot, furious battle—that’s not a lie!
The ape tamed by faith Mind Monkey becomes;
The fiend mocks Heaven in his image false.
Raging and fuming, they both turn cruel;
Vicious and violent they both look the same.
This one aims at the head and refuses to quit;
That one stabs at the face with no let up.
Spat-out clouds darken the sun;
Belched-out fog cover the mount.
Rod and club, as they join, swing back and forth;
For Tripitaka they slight life or death.
Look at the two of them! They closed in for more than fifty times, but no decision could be reached. Before the gate of the monastery, those various monster-spirits began to shout their encouragements, beating their drums and gongs at the same time and waving their banners. On this side, the Twenty-Eight Constellations, the Guardian of Five Quarters, and the other sages immediately uttered a cry and, each wielding his weapon, had the demon surrounded. The fiends before the monastery were so terrified that they could no longer beat the drums; trembling all over, they could hardly sound the gongs.
The old fiendish demon, however, was not in the least afraid. With one hand he used his wolf-teeth club to fence off all those weapons; with his other hand he untied from his waist a little wrap made of old white cloth. He flung the wrap skyward and, with a loud whoosh, the Great Sage Sun, the Twenty-Eight Constellations, and the Guardian of Five Quarters were all wrapped up inside it. Retrieving the wrap, the monster swung it on his shoulder and turned to stride back to his camp, while all those little fiends were elated by this sudden triumph.
Asking his little ones to fetch him several dozen ropes, the old fiend told them to untie the wrap: as each of the prisoners was fished out, he was immediately bound. All of the deities were weak and numb, and even their skin seemed to be wrinkled and their appearance emaciated. After they were bound, they were hauled to the rear of the monastery and thrown to the ground. Then the monsterking ordered a large banquet for himself and his subjects, and they drank until dusk before scattering to retire. We shall thus leave them for the moment.
We tell you now about the Great Sage Sun, who was tied up along with the other deities. By about midnight there suddenly came to them the sound of someone weeping. When the Great Sage listened closely, he discovered that it was the voice of Tripitaka, who wailed, “Oh, Wukong!
I loathe myself for not not giving you heed,
Thus landing us all in such dire need!
Now you are hurt in the cymbals of gold.
I am rope bound, which person had been told?
Most bitter fate caused what we four had met;
Merits, three thousand, have been all upset.
What will grant us from this bondage reprieve
That we may reach smoothly the West and leave?”
On hearing this, Pilgrim was moved to compassion, saying to himself, “Though that master refused to believe my words and landed in this calamity, he nonetheless does think of old Monkey when he is in such straits. Since the night is quiet and the fiend is sleeping, I may as well make use of this unguarded moment and go free the rest of them.”
Dear Great Sage! Using the Magic of Body-Vanishment, he caused his body to shrink and immediately became free of the ropes. He approached the Tang Monk and whispered, “Master!” Recognizing his voice, the elder said, “How did you get here?”
Softly Pilgrim gave him a thorough account of what had happened, and the elder was exceedingly pleased. “Disciple,” he said, “please rescue me quickly! Whatever happens hereafter I’ll listen to you. I won’t ever overrule you again.” Then Pilgrim raised his hands and freed his master, after which he untied Eight Rules, Sha Monk, the Twenty-Eight Constellations, and the Guardian of Five Quarters. Dragging the horse over, he told them to hurry out the door. Just as they stepped outside, however, he remembered the luggage and wanted to go back inside to search for it.
“You really value things more than the person!” said Gullet the Gold Dragon. “Isn’t it enough that you have saved your master? Why must you look anymore for luggage?” “The person’s important, of course,” said Pilgrim, “but the cassock and the bowl are even more important. In our wrap are the imperial travel rescript, the brocaded cassock, and the almsbowl of purple gold, all superior Buddhist treasures. How could we not want them?” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you go look for them, and we will wait for you by the road.”
Look at those star spirits who had the Tang Monk surrounded! Using the Magic of Displacement, they called up a gust of wind and had themselves taken clear out of the high walls. After they reached the main road, they headed straight down the mountain slope until they arrived at a level region. There they waited.
It was about the hour of the third watch that the Great Sage Sun walked slowly and stealthily inside. The doors at every level, you see, were tightly shut. When he climbed to the tallest tower to take a look, he found that even the windows and casements were completely closed. He wanted, of course, to go inside down below, but afraid that windows or the shutters might make a noise, he dared not push at them. Making the magic sign with his fingers, therefore, he shook his body once and changed into a divine mouse, commonly called the bat. How does he look, you ask?
A pointed head like a rat’s,
Like it his eyes shine, too.
With wings he comes out at dusk;
Sightless he sleeps in the day.
He hides in hollow tiles
To find mosquitoes for food.
He loves most the bright, fair moon
And knows when to fly and soar.
Through the space that was not sealed up between the rafters and the roof tiles, he crawled inside. Passing through several doors, he reached the very center of the building, where under the third-level casement he came upon something glowing. It was not the light of lamps or fireflies, neither the glow of twilight nor the blaze of lightning. Half leaping and flying, he went near there to have another look and found that it was the wrap of their luggage that was emitting the glow. That monster-spirit, you see, had stripped the Tang Monk of his cassock, and instead of folding it properly, he merely stuffed it inside the wrap again. The cassock was, after all, a Buddhist treasure which had on it compliant pearls, Mani pearls, red cornelian beads, purple coral, relics, and the nightluminescent pearls. That was why it glowed.
Exceedingly pleased by this discovery, Pilgrim changed back into his own form and picked up the luggage. Without even bothering to check whether the ropes were properly attached to the pole or not, he threw the load on his shoulder and began to walk out. One end of the luggage unexpectedly slipped off the pole and fell with a thud to the floor. Alas! This was what had to happen! The old monster-spirit was sleeping on the floor immediately down below, and he was wakened by that loud thud. Jumping up, he screamed, “Someone’s here! Someone’s here!” Those various fiends, old and young, all arose and lit torches and lamps. In a noisy throng, they rushed about to inspect the front and rear. One of them arrived to say, “The Tang Monk has escaped!” Another came to report: “Pilgrim and the rest are gone, too!” The old fiend immediately gave this order: “Guard all the doors!” When he heard this, Pilgrim feared that he might fall into their net again. Abandoning his load of luggage, he mounted the cloud somersault and leaped clear of the building through a window.
The monster-spirit led a thorough search for the Tang Monk at the front and back of the monastery but they failed to turn up anyone. When he saw that it was almost light, he took his club and led his troops to give chase. Beneath the mountain slope, still shrouded by cloud and fog, were the Twenty-Eight Constellations, the Guardian of Five Quarters, and the other deities. “Where do you think you’re going?” shouted the monster-king. “Here I am!” “Brothers!” cried Horn the Wood Dragon, “the fiendish creature’s here!”
Whereupon Gullet the Gold Dragon, Woman the Earth Bat, Chamber the Sun Hare, Heart the Moon Fox, Tail the Fire Tiger, Winnower the Water Leopard, Dipper the Wood Unicorn, Ox the Gold Bull, Base the Earth Badger, Barrens the Sun Rat, Roof the Moon Swallow, House the Fire Hog, Wall the Water Porcupine, Straddler the Wood Wolf, Harvester the Gold Hound, Stomach the Earth Hog, Mane the Sun Rooster, Net the Moon Crow, Beak the Fire Monkey, Triaster the Water Ape, Well the Wood Hound, Ghost the Gold Ram, Willow the Earth Antelope, Star the Sun Horse, Spread the Moon Deer, Wing the Fire Serpent, and Axeltree the Water Earthworm led the Golden-Headed Guardian, the Silver-Headed Guardian, the Six Gods of Light and Darkness, the Guardians of Monasteries, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk to meet their pursuers. Abandoning the Tripitaka Tang and forsaking the white dragon horse, they rushed into battle, each with weapon in hand.
When this monster-king saw them, he laughed scornfully and gave a loud whistle. Immediately some four or five thousand monster-spirits, old and young, surged forward, all strong and sturdy, and they began a terrific battle on the west mountain slope. Marvelous fight!
The vile, vicious demon mocks the true Self.
The true Self’s so gentle, what could it do?
A hundred plans used up, they can’t escape their pain.
A thousand schemes cannot achieve their peace.
The gods lend their protection;
The sages help with their arms.
Wood Mother may still be kind,
But Yellow Dame has made up its mind.
Their brawl stirs Heaven and shakes the Earth;
Their fight expands like a net spread out.
On this side, banners wave and soldiers shout;
On that side, they roll drums and beat gongs.
A mass of swords and spears coldly gleaming;
Thick rows of halberds veiled in dealthy pall.
The fiendish troops are so fierce and brave,
What could those divine fighters do?
Wretched clouds hide both sun and moon;
Grievous fog shroud mountains and streams.
They strain and struggle in a bitter row,
All for to Buddha Tang Monk’s faulty bow.
Growing more fierce all the time, the monster-spirit led his troops to charge again and again. Just at that moment when neither side proved to be the stronger, they heard the roar of Pilgrim: “Old Monkey’s arrived!”
Eight Rules met him and asked, “Where’s the luggage?” “Old Monkey almost lost his life already,” answered Pilgrim. “Don’t mention any luggage!” Gripping his precious staff, Sha Monk said, “Stop talking now! We must go fight the monster-spirit!” The star spirits and those Gods of Darkness and Light by now were encircled completely by the various fiends, and the old fiend wielded his club to attack the three of them. Pilgrim, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk opened up their rod, staff, and rake to meet him head-on. They fought till truly the Heaven grew dim and the Earth darkened, but they could not prevail against the demon. They fought some more until the sun sank down in the west and the moon arose in the east.
When the fiend saw that it was getting late, he signaled his subjects to be on guard by whistling loudly; then he took out his treasure. When Pilgrim saw clearly that the fiend had untied his wrap and held it in his hand, he cried, “Look out! Let’s run!” Without further regard for Eight Rules, Sha Monk, and the other dēvas, he somersaulted all the way up to the Ninefold Heaven. The gods and his companions, however, were not quick enough to understand why he fled, and they were all captured once more inside the wrap after the monster-spirit had thrown it in the air. Only Pilgrim thus managed to escape.
After the monster-king and his troops returned to the monastery, he asked for ropes again and ordered the prisoners to be tied up as before. The Tang Monk, Eight Rules, and Sha Monk were to be hung up high on the rafters, while the white horse was to be tied up in the back. After the deities had been trussed up, they were to be thrown into the cellar and the entrance would be covered and sealed. The little fiends obeyed each of his instructions, and we shall leave them for the moment.
We tell you now about Pilgrim, who had leaped up to the Ninefold Heaven and succeeded in preserving his life. When he saw the withdrawal of the fiendish troops with banners lowered, he knew that his companions had been captured. Lowering his auspicious luminosity onto the eastern slope of the mountain,
He hated, teeth grinding, the fiend;
He thought of the monk, shedding tears.
Lifting his face to stare skyward,
He sighed sadly and voiced his fears.
“O, Master!” he cried. “In which previous incarnation did you incur such ordeals of bondage, that you must in this life face monster-spirits every step of the way! It’s so hard now to rid you of your sufferings. What shall we do?” He lamented like that all by himself for a long time, and then he began to calm himself and think, allowing the mind to question the mind. “I wonder what sort of wrap this fiendish demon has,” he thought to himself, “that can hold so many things. Now he has even hauled away all those celestial warriors! I would go seek the Jade Emperor for assistance, but I fear he might take offense. I recall, however, that there’s a True Warrior of the North,10 whose style is the Demon-Conquering Celestial Worthy, and who lives in the Wudang Mountain11 of the South Jambūdvīpa Continent. Let me go fetch him here to rescue Master from this ordeal. Truly it is that,
The immortal way undone, ape and horse disperse;
Five Phases dry up when mind and spirit are lost.
We do not know what is the result of his journey; let’s listen to the explanation in the next chapter.