Now the Pilgrim waited upon the Tang monk as they pressed westward. They traveled for several days, and it was the twelfth month, the season of cold: the north wind biting, ice slick and glazed. They walked sheer cliffs and precipitous walls, rugged roads and mountains of stacked ridges and layered peaks.
From horseback Sanzang heard, faint but grating on the ear, the sound of rushing water, and turned to call: "Wukong, where is that water sounding?"
The Pilgrim said: "As I recall, this place is called Serpent-Coil Mountain, Eagle Sorrow Ravine. It must be the water sounding in the ravine." Scarcely had he spoken when the horse reached the ravine's edge, and Sanzang drew rein to look. Just look:
A chilly vein of purling water threads the clouds; The deep clear waves reflect the sun's red glow. Its sound shakes the night rain in the secluded valley; Its colors flare from dawn clouds, dazzling the sky. From a thousand fathoms the spray flies, spattering broken jade; One deep pool roars its water into the fresh wind. It flows away into ten thousand acres of misty waves, Where gulls and herons, forgetful, vanish from the angler's sight.
As master and disciple stood gazing, there came a crash from the middle of the ravine, and out of the water bored a dragon, heaving the waves, shouldering up over the cliff, and it made straight for the elder. In terror the Pilgrim dropped the luggage, snatched his master from the horse, turned, and ran. The dragon, unable to catch them, swallowed the white horse whole, saddle and bridle and all, and sank back into the water without a trace.
The Pilgrim set his master down to sit on the high bank, then went to lead the horse and carry the load—but only the one load of luggage remained; the horse was gone.
He carried the luggage to his master: "Master, that wicked dragon has vanished without a trace, and he's scared off our horse too."
Sanzang said: "Disciple, how ever are we to find the horse?" The Pilgrim said: "Easy, easy—let me go and see."
He gave a whistle and leapt into the air. With his fiery eyes and golden pupils he shaded his brow with his hand and looked in every direction—but there was no trace of the horse.
He pressed down his cloud and reported: "Master, our horse has most certainly been eaten by that dragon. Nowhere in sight does he appear."
Sanzang said: "Disciple, how big a mouth could that fellow have, to swallow a great horse entire, saddle and bridle and all? More likely he took fright, snapped the reins, and bolted into some fold of the mountains. Look again, carefully." The Pilgrim said: "You don't know my powers either. These eyes of mine, by daylight, commonly read good and evil fortune a thousand li off. Within that thousand li, if a dragonfly so much as spreads its wings, I see it—do you think I could miss a great horse!" Sanzang said: "If he has eaten it, how am I to go forward! Alas! These thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers—how am I ever to walk them!" And as he spoke his tears fell like rain.
Seeing him weep, the Pilgrim could not contain his temper; he let out a great shout: "Master, don't be such a whimpering weakling! You sit here! Sit here! Let Old Sun go find that fellow and make him give back our horse!"
Sanzang only then caught hold of him: "Disciple, where will you look for him? What if he comes sneaking out of the dark again—and finishes me off as well? Then horse and man would both be lost—what would we do!" At this the Pilgrim grew more angry still, and shouted like thunder: "You are hopeless! Hopeless! You want a horse to ride, yet you won't let me go—then let's just sit here watching the luggage till we're old and gray!"
He was still bawling, his wrath barely cooling, when they heard voices in the air, calling: "Great Sage Sun, do not rage; Imperial Brother of Tang, do not weep. We are the guardian deities of the road, dispatched by the Bodhisattva Guanyin, come in secret to protect the scripture-seeker."
Hearing this, the elder hastened to bow in worship.
The Pilgrim said: "Which of you are there? Give your names, that I may call the roll."
The deities said: "We are the Six Dings and Six Jias, the Protectors of the Five Quarters, the Duty Officers of the Four Seasons, and the eighteen Guardian Sangha protectors, each taking his turn of duty and awaiting orders." The Pilgrim said: "Who's on first today?" The Protectors said: "The Dings, Jias, Duty Officers, and Guardian Protectors take their turns in rotation; but we Protectors of the Five Quarters—the Gold-Headed Protector never leaves your side, day or night." The Pilgrim said: "In that case, let those not on duty withdraw, and let the six Ding generals, the Duty Officer of the Day, and the Protectors remain to guard my master. Old Sun will go find that wicked dragon in the ravine and make him give back my horse." The deities obeyed the order.
Only then did Sanzang's heart ease. He sat down upon the rock cliff, saying: "Take care, Pilgrim." The Pilgrim said: "Set your mind at rest." What a Monkey King! He bound up his padded cloth robe, tucked up his tiger-skin skirt, gripped his gold-banded iron rod, and strode straight to the ravine. Half in cloud and half in mist above the water, he called out in a great voice: "You slimy loach! Give me back my horse! Give me back my horse!"
Now that dragon, having eaten Sanzang's white horse, lay at the bottom of the ravine, nursing his spirit and cultivating his nature.
Hearing someone call him names and demand the horse, he could not hold down his anger; he sprang up at once, leaping the waves, and jumped out: "Who dares slander me here?"
The moment the Pilgrim saw him, he shouted: "Don't run! Give me back my horse!" and wheeled his staff and struck at his head. The dragon bared teeth and spread claws to seize him. The two fought their duel there at the ravine's edge, truly a battle of champions. Just look:
The dragon spreads his talons; the monkey raises the gold band. That one's whiskers hang like threads of white jade; This one's eyes flash like lamps of red gold. Beneath that one's whiskers, bright pearls spew colored mist; In this one's hand the iron rod dances a raging wind. That one is a wicked son who bewildered his parents; This one is a demon sprite who bullied Heaven's generals. Both alike have met with tribulation and torment; Today, to win success, each shows his power.
Back and forth they fought a long while, wheeling and circling a long time, until the dragon's strength went slack and his sinews numb, unable to withstand; he wheeled about, plunged back into the water, and hid deep at the ravine's bottom, never showing his head again. Though the Monkey King cursed him without cease, he merely played deaf.
The Pilgrim, having no other recourse, could only return to Sanzang and report: "Master, that monster was cursed out by Old Sun till he came forth; he fought me a long time, then fled the fight and hid himself in the water, and he won't come out again."
Sanzang said: "But is it truly he who ate my horse?" The Pilgrim said: "Listen to yourself! If he hadn't eaten it, would he have come out to answer and cross swords with Old Sun?" Sanzang said: "The other day, when you killed the tiger, you claimed the power to subdue dragons and tame tigers—how is it you can't subdue him today?" Now that monkey could never bear being pressed.
Hearing Sanzang fling this taunt at him, he flared into his divine fury: "Say no more! Say no more! Let me match him once again, high and low!"
The Monkey King spread his stride, leapt to the ravine's edge, and unleashed the magic that overturns rivers and churns seas, stirring that Eagle Sorrow ravine's water, clear to the very bottom, into billows like the Yellow River's nine bends in flood.
The wicked dragon in the deep ravine could neither sit nor lie at ease, and thought in his heart: "Truly it is said: blessings never come in pairs, and misfortunes never come alone. I had scarcely escaped the death penalty of Heaven's code, and not a year has passed—just long enough to drift through my days here—when I run into this savage fiend, who has come to do me in!"
Watch him: the more he brooded the angrier he grew, unable to stomach the humiliation; he gritted his teeth, sprang out, and cursed: "Where do you come from, you savage fiend, to bully me like this!" The Pilgrim said: "Never mind where I come from—just give back the horse, and I'll spare your life!" The dragon said: "Your horse I have swallowed into my belly—how should I spit it out? I won't give it back—what will you do about it!" The Pilgrim said: "If you don't give back the horse, taste my staff! I'll only beat you to death, and that will pay for my horse's life!" And the two fought bitterly again beneath the mountain cliff.
After but a few rounds, the little dragon found himself truly overmatched; he shook his body, changed into a water snake, and slid away into the grass.
The Monkey King, staff in hand, hurried forward, parting the grass in search of the snake—but not a hint or shadow of it could he find.
He was so vexed that his Three Corpse Spirits jumped and smoke poured from his seven apertures. He recited the spell-word "Om," and at once summoned the local earth god and the mountain god of the place, who came together and knelt: "The mountain god and the earth god present themselves." The Pilgrim said: "Stick out your ankle-bones, and take five strokes apiece as an introduction—that will ease Old Sun's temper!" The two deities knocked their heads and pleaded: "We beg the Great Sage's forbearance; allow us humble deities to explain." The Pilgrim said: "What have you to say?" The two said: "The Great Sage has long been confined; we humble deities knew not when you would come out, and so failed to receive you. We beg you ten thousand times to pardon our offense." The Pilgrim said: "Since that is so, I'll not beat you for now. I ask you: this dragon in Eagle Sorrow Ravine—a fiend dragon from where? How came he to seize and eat my master's white horse?" The two deities said: "The Great Sage never had a master before; you were originally an Unmoved True One of primal chaos, obeying neither Heaven nor earth—how should you have a master's horse?" The Pilgrim said: "You don't know. For that business of deceiving my betters I suffered a full five hundred years of torment. Now, thanks to the Bodhisattva Guanyin's urging me to goodness, a true monk of the Tang court brought me out and took me as his disciple, to go to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing this place, we lost my master's white horse." The two deities said: "So that is how it is. This ravine has never held an evil thing; it is only deep, sheer, and broad, its water clear to the very bottom, so clear that crows and magpies dare not fly across: seeing their own reflections in the water, they take them for birds of their own flock, and again and again hurl themselves in. Hence the name 'Eagle Sorrow Steep Ravine.' But some years ago the Bodhisattva Guanyin, passing on her search for the scripture-seeker, saved a jade dragon and placed him here, bidding him await that scripture-seeker and forbidding him to do evil. He has only come up on the bank when hungry, to pounce on crows and magpies, or to catch river-deer and deer for food. We know not how, in his ignorance, he has today given offense to the Great Sage." The Pilgrim said: "The first time, he crossed hands with Old Sun and wheeled through several rounds; the second time, I called and cursed, and he would not come out. So I used a river-churning, sea-turning trick and muddied his ravine water, and then he came bursting up, wanting to fight on. But he could not withstand Old Sun's heavy staff; he turned into a water snake and slid into the grass. I hunted him, but he left no trace." The earth god said: "The Great Sage does not know: this ravine's thousand and ten thousand hollows all interconnect, and that is why its waters run so deep and far. There must be some opening here through which he has gone down. There is no need for the Great Sage to rage and search here; to take this creature, you need only send for Guanyin, and he will submit of himself."
Hearing this, the Pilgrim called the mountain god and earth god to come see Sanzang, and told him the whole affair.
Sanzang said: "If we are to go ask the Bodhisattva, when will she ever come back? How can this poor monk bear hunger and cold!"
Scarcely had he spoken when they heard, from the unseen air, the Gold-Headed Protector calling: "Great Sage, you need not go yourself; this humble deity will go ask the Bodhisattva here." The Pilgrim was overjoyed: "Much trouble to you! Much trouble! Make haste! Make haste!" The Protector sprang onto his cloud and went straight to the Southern Sea. The Pilgrim instructed the mountain god and earth god to guard his master, and the Duty Officer of the Day to go seek food for the fast, while he himself went to patrol round the ravine—but of this no more.
Now the Gold-Headed Protector, with one drive of his cloud, soon reached the Southern Sea. Pressing down his auspicious light, he went straight to the Purple Bamboo Grove on Mount Potalaka, and asked the gold-armored devas and Mucha Hui'an to convey his message. He was granted an audience with the Bodhisattva.
The Bodhisattva said: "What brings you here?" The Protector said: "The Tang monk has lost his horse at Serpent-Coil Mountain, at the Steep Ravine of Eagle Sorrow, and the Great Sage Sun is at his wits' end. The local deities, when asked, said the wicked dragon whom the Bodhisattva placed there has swallowed it; so the Great Sage sent this humble deity to beg the Bodhisattva to subdue the wicked dragon and make him give back the horse." Hearing this, the Bodhisattva said: "That fellow is the son of Ao Run of the Western Sea. Because he set a fire that burned the bright pearl in the palace hall, his father accused him of unfilial rebellion, and he was condemned to death in the courts of Heaven. It was I who went in person before the Jade Emperor and begged him down, to be the Tang monk's mount. How could he turn around and eat the Tang monk's horse? If that is how it stands—let me come."
The Bodhisattva descended from the lotus terrace, left the immortal grotto at once, and with the Protector rode the auspicious light across the Southern Sea.
There is a poem in proof:
The Buddha preached the Heart Sutra of the Three Baskets' store; The Bodhisattva spread such goodness through the Great Wall's realm. Mahakasyapa's wondrous words reach Heaven and Earth; Prajna's true sayings deliver ghosts and spirits. Thus the Golden Cicada could shed his shell once more, And Xuanzang take up his cultivation again. Only because the road was blocked at Eagle Sorrow Ravine Did the dragon's son return to truth and take a horse's form.
The Bodhisattva and the Protector, in no long time, reached Serpent-Coil Mountain, and there in mid-air they stayed their auspicious cloud and looked down: there was Sun the Pilgrim, cursing and shouting at the ravine's edge. The Bodhisattva bade the Protector summon him.
The Protector pressed down his cloud, and without going by way of Sanzang, went straight to the ravine and said to the Pilgrim: "The Bodhisattva is come." Hearing this, the Pilgrim sprang at once into the air, and shouted at her: "You teacher of seven Buddhas, you compassionate Lord of the Teaching! What scheme was this, to do me such harm!" The Bodhisattva said: "You reckless macaque! You red-rumped village fool! I did everything in my power to find a scripture-seeker, and charged him earnestly to save your life—and instead of coming to thank me for your deliverance, you come brawling and clamoring at me?" The Pilgrim said: "What a fix you've put me in! Since you had me let out, you might have left me to roam free and enjoy myself. When you met me over the sea that day, you hurt me with your words, telling me to serve the Tang monk with all my heart and strength—well and good. But why did you send him a flowered cap, to trick me into wearing it on my head and suffering? You've planted this band on Old Sun's head, and taught him a 'Band-tightening Spell' besides, so that that old monk recites it over and over, and my head aches and aches. If that isn't your doing me harm, what is it?" The Bodhisattva laughed: "You monkey! You will neither keep the rules nor seek the true fruit. If you were not tied down like this, you'd be deceiving your betters and bullying Heaven again—what do you know of good and bad? If you went crashing into calamities as before, who would ever take you in hand? It was only by such a demon-curb that you would ever enter my gate of yoga!"
The Pilgrim said: "Very well—let this affair be my demon-curb. But why did you also send that guilty wicked dragon here to become a spirit, and let him eat my master's horse? That is letting a wicked creature run loose to do evil—most unkind!"
The Bodhisattva said: "That dragon I myself memorialized to the Jade Emperor and begged down to this place, expressly to serve as mount for the scripture-seeker. Consider: how could a common horse from the Eastern Land ever endure these ten thousand waters and thousand mountains? How could it reach the Buddha-land of the Vulture Peak? Only with this dragon-horse can the journey be made." The Pilgrim said: "But if he's so scared of Old Sun, lurking in hiding and never coming out, what then?" The Bodhisattva called to the Protector: "Go to the ravine and call out: 'Jade Dragon, Third Prince of the Dragon King Ao Run, come out—the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea is here.' And he will come out." The Protector went to the ravine and called it out twice.
The little dragon, leaping wave and breaker, sprang out of the water, changed into human form, trod the cloud, and in midair bowed to the Bodhisattva: "I have long been grateful to the Bodhisattva for freeing me and sparing my life, and have waited here all this while, yet never heard word of the scripture-seeker."
The Bodhisattva pointed at the Pilgrim: "Is this not the scripture-seeker's senior disciple?" The little dragon looked, and said: "Bodhisattva, this is my adversary. Yesterday my belly was starving, and indeed I ate his horse. Relying on his strength, he fought me till my courage failed and I fled; then he cursed me till I shut my door and dared not come out. But never once did he breathe the word 'scriptures.'" The Pilgrim said: "You never asked my name—how was I to say it?" The little dragon said: "I never got the chance to ask where you came from, you savage fiend—you were bawling, 'Never mind where! Just give me back my horse!' Not half a word of 'Tang' did you ever utter!" The Bodhisattva said: "That monkey head relies wholly on his own strength—when would he ever speak well of another? Yet ahead on this journey there are still more who will submit to you. When you meet them, first raise the words 'seeking the scriptures,' and without any trouble at all, they will bow and yield of themselves."
The Pilgrim gladly took the lesson. The Bodhisattva stepped forward, took the bright pearl from beneath the little dragon's throat, dipped her willow branch in sweet dew, flicked it once over his body, blew a breath of immortal air upon him, and cried: "Change!" And the dragon changed into the very coat and form of the horse he had been. She further instructed him with these words: "You must repay your debt of karma with a devoted heart; when the work is done, you shall transcend the common dragons, and I will restore to you a golden body and the true fruit." The little dragon, the cross-bone still held in his mouth, took the command to heart.
The Bodhisattva bade Wukong lead him to see Sanzang: "I return to the sea." But the Pilgrim seized hold of her and would not let go: "I'm not going! I'm not going! The road west is all such rugged country—protecting this common monk, when will we ever arrive? With such endless troubles and setbacks, Old Sun's very life will hardly be safe—what merit will ever come of it? I'm not going! I'm not going!" The Bodhisattva said: "In the years before you attained human form, you were willing to cultivate with all your heart; today, escaped from Heaven's punishment, how can you have grown lazy? In my school one attains truth through stillness and extinction; you must hold faith and seek the true fruit. If you come to places where body is wounded and torment bitter, I promise you: call on Heaven and Heaven will answer, call on Earth and Earth will respond. And if you come at last to a pass from which there is no escape, I will come myself to save you. Come here—I will add one more gift of power to your store." The Bodhisattva plucked three willow leaves and set them at the back of the Pilgrim's head, crying: "Change!"—and they became three life-saving hairs. "If ever you come to a pass with no help and no refuge," she said, "you may use them as the moment requires, to deliver you from desperate peril." Only after hearing all these kind words did the Pilgrim thank the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion.
Then the Bodhisattva, fragrant winds wreathing round her, colored mists floating and streaming, turned and went back to Potalaka.
The Pilgrim pressed down his cloud at last, seized the dragon-horse by the mane, and came before Sanzang: "Master, we have our horse."
Sanzang saw it and rejoiced: "Disciple—why is this horse sleeker and fatter than before? Where did you find it?" The Pilgrim said: "Master, you're still dreaming! The Gold-Headed Protector went and asked the Bodhisattva here, and she changed the dragon of the ravine into our white horse. Same coat, same markings—only it lacks saddle and bridle; Old Sun dragged it here by force." Sanzang said in amazement: "Where is the Bodhisattva? Let me go thank her." The Pilgrim said: "By now the Bodhisattva is back in the Southern Sea; she hadn't time to wait." So Sanzang gathered up earth for incense and bowed toward the south.
When the bows were done he rose, and with the Pilgrim packed to go forward. The Pilgrim dismissed the mountain god and earth god, gave his instructions to the Protectors and the Duty Officer, and begged his master to mount.
Sanzang said: "A horse with no saddle or bridle—how can one ride it? Let us first find a boat to ferry us over the ravine, and then see what's to be done."
The Pilgrim said: "What a master, so ignorant of the world! In this wild open country, where would a boat come from? This horse has lived here a long time; he must know the water. Just ride him across as if he were a boat." Sanzang had no choice but to comply, and mounted the bare-backed horse; the Pilgrim shouldered the bag and bundle, and they came down to the ravine.
There, from upstream, came a fisherman, punting a raft of dry logs down with the current.
The Pilgrim saw him and hailed him with his hand: "Old fisherman! Come here, come here! We're bound from the Eastern Land to seek the scriptures. My master can't get across here—come ferry him over."
Hearing this, the fisherman punted over at once. The Pilgrim begged his master to dismount, and supported him on either side. Sanzang stepped onto the raft, they led the horse aboard, and stowed the luggage. The old fisherman pushed off, and swift as wind or arrow, before they knew it they had crossed the Steep Ravine of Eagle Sorrow and landed on the western bank. Sanzang bade the Pilgrim open the bundle, take out a few coins of Great Tang money, and give them to the old fisherman.
The fisherman gave the raft one shove of his pole: "No money, no money."
And off he went into midstream, dim and distant. Sanzang, most uncomfortably in his debt, could only press his palms together in thanks.
The Pilgrim said: "Master, never mind the courtesies. Don't you know him? He is the water god of this ravine. He failed to come receive Old Sun—Old Sun had a mind to beat him for it. That he escapes a beating is enough for him; how would he dare take money!"
The master, half believing, half not, could only mount the bare-backed horse again, and following the Pilgrim took the great road, pressing westward. Truly: Vast and true Suchness mounts to the farther shore; with sincere heart and perfected nature one climbs the Vulture Peak. As master and disciple pressed on together, before they knew it the red sun sank west and the light of day faded. Just look:
Pale clouds in disarray, the mountain moon dim. Frost light fills the sky with cold; the sound of wind pierces the body on every side. A lone bird departs—the gray sandbars wide; Where the sunset glows bright, the distant mountains low. A thousand trees howl in the sparse woods; One gibbon cries on the empty ridge. On the long road, no print of travelers; Ten thousand li from home, the boat puts in at nightfall.
Gazing ahead from horseback, Sanzang suddenly saw beside the road a steading. Sanzang said: "Wukong, that house ahead—we can lodge there, and go on tomorrow morning." The Pilgrim looked up: "Master, that's no farmstead." Sanzang said: "Why not?" The Pilgrim said: "A farmstead hasn't roof-ridges with flying fish and steady beasts upon them. This is a temple or a hermitage, or my eyes are no good."
Talking as they went, master and disciple were soon at the gate. Sanzang dismounted, and saw upon the gate three great characters: "The Shrine of the Village God." He entered, and within was an old man, a rosary at his throat, who pressed his palms together in welcome, saying: "Master, pray be seated." Sanzang hastily returned the bow, went up to the hall, and paid reverence to the sacred images. The old man called a boy to serve tea.
When the tea was done, Sanzang asked the old man: "Why is this temple called 'the Village Shrine'?"
The old man said: "This humble place is on the border of the Western kingdom of Habi. Behind this temple is a hamlet whose people, in common devotion, erected this shrine. 'Village'—li—means the land of one neighborhood; 'shrine'—she—means the god of the local soil. At each of the seasons—spring plowing, summer weeding, autumn harvest, winter storing—every family prepares the three sacrificial offerings, flowers, and fruit, and comes here to sacrifice to the god of the soil, that the four seasons may pass clean and auspicious, the five grains ripen abundantly, and the six kinds of livestock flourish." Hearing this, Sanzang nodded and praised: "Truly, 'three li from home, another village's ways.' In my country the people have no such goodness." The old man asked: "And where is the Master's immortal home?" Sanzang said: "This poor monk is from the Great Tang empire of the Eastern Land, bearing the imperial command to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and seek the scriptures. Passing your honored shrine, I found the day far gone, and have come especially to beg a night's lodging; at first light we shall be gone." The old man was delighted beyond measure, said several times "forgive our failure to welcome you," and called the boy to prepare a meal.
When Sanzang had eaten, he gave his thanks.
The Pilgrim, sharp-eyed, spied under the eaves a line for drying clothes; he walked over, snapped it off in one pull, and tied the horse's leg with it.
The old man laughed: "Where did you steal this horse?"
The Pilgrim flared up: "You old fellow talk without sense of what's high or low! We are holy monks going to worship the Buddha—would we steal a horse!" The old man laughed: "If you didn't steal it, why has it no saddle, bridle, or reins, that you come snapping my clothesline to tether it?" Sanzang made apologies for him: "This scamp is only hasty of temper. If you wanted to tether the horse, why not properly ask an elder for a cord—why snap his clothesline? Good sir, forgive him, forgive him. And as for the horse, I'll hide nothing from you: it was not stolen. Coming eastward yesterday to the Steep Ravine of Eagle Sorrow, I had a white horse to ride, fully saddled and bridled. We did not know that in that ravine a wicked dragon had become a spirit, and he swallowed my horse, saddle and bridle and all, in one gulp. Luckily my disciple had some powers, and moreover the Bodhisattva Guanyin was moved to come to the ravine and seize that dragon, and bade him change into the very white horse I had ridden, same coat and markings, to carry me to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha. We crossed the ravine barely a day ago, and so have only now reached your honored shrine—we have not yet managed to get saddle and bridle." The old man said: "Master, forgive me; I old man was only joking—who knew your noble disciple would take it seriously? In my youth I too had a few coppers, and liked to ride a fine horse; but years of misfortune, losses, and fire brought me down to this—no prospects left—and so I serve as shrine-keeper, tending the incense and candles. I get by on alms from the donor families of the hamlet behind. Now I happen to have a saddle and bridle, a thing my heart has treasured all these years; even in such poverty I could not bear to sell it. But hearing your words just now, reverend master—that the Bodhisattva herself saved the divine dragon and made him turn horse to carry you—how could I old man fail to give a little help? Tomorrow I shall fetch that saddle and bridle and gladly present them to you, reverend master, to buckle on your horse as you go. I beg you accept them with a smile." Hearing this, Sanzang thanked him beyond all measure.
Soon the boy brought the evening meal. When it was eaten, lamps were lit, bedding laid, and all retired to rest.
Early the next morning the Pilgrim rose and said: "Master, that old shrine-keeper promised us a saddle and bridle last night. Ask him for it—let's not let him off."
Before he had finished speaking,
they saw the old man indeed come bearing a saddle and bridle, with saddle-cloth, reins, halter, and all—everything a horse could need, complete—and set them down in the corridor: "Master, I present the saddle and bridle."
Sanzang saw them and received them with joy. He bade the Pilgrim take them and saddle the horse, to see if they fitted. The Pilgrim stepped up, took up each piece and examined it: truly fine things. There is a poem in proof:
The carved saddle gleams with colors, studded with silver stars; The saddle flaps flash light, golden threads a-shining. The saddle-cloth, fold on fold of floss; The leading reins, three strands of purple silk cord. The bridle's headstall, banded flowers brilliant; The crupper, gold-traced beasts in dancing forms. The bit and rings, forged and hammered iron; The double breast-straps, tassels knotted of dipped horsehair.
The Pilgrim rejoiced in his heart, and set saddle and bridle on the horse—and they fitted as though measured and made for him.
Sanzang bowed his thanks to the old man, who hurriedly lifted him up: "I am mortified! Mortified! What thanks are needed?"
The old man pressed them no longer to stay, but begged Sanzang to mount. The elder came out the gate, set his foot in the stirrup, and mounted; the Pilgrim shouldered the luggage.
The old man drew from his sleeve a whip as well—a handle of fragrant rattan bound in leather studs, its lash knotted from tiger sinew—and, standing at the roadside with folded hands, presented it: "Holy monk, I have also a riding whip—let me send it along with the rest."
Sanzang received it on horseback: "Most generous alms! Most generous alms!"
Even as he raised his hands in salutation, the old man was gone; and when they looked back at the Shrine of the Village God, there was nothing but a stretch of bare ground.
They heard a voice in midair saying: "Holy monks, forgive our poor entertainment. We are the mountain god and earth god of Mount Potalaka, sent by the Bodhisattva to deliver the saddle and bridle to you. Press on westward with all your strength, and do not slacken for a moment."
In haste Sanzang rolled from the saddle, bowed toward the sky, and said: "Your disciple's eyes are fleshly, his body common; I knew not the honored faces of the honored gods—pray pardon my offense. Pray convey to the Bodhisattva my deep gratitude for her grace and protection." And watch him: he knocked his head toward heaven, bow after bow, past all counting.
Beside the road the Great Sage Sun laughed himself nearly to death, and the Handsome Monkey King was tickled beyond bearing; he came forward, caught the Tang monk's arm, and said: "Master, get up. He's far away by now—he can't hear your prayers and can't see your kowtows. What's the use of going on bowing?"
The elder said: "Disciple, here am I knocking my head to the ground, and you won't so much as bow to him once—just stand there at the side snickering. What sort of behavior is that?" The Pilgrim said: "What do you know? A fellow like that, hiding his head and showing his tail, deserves a good thrashing on principle. Only for the Bodhisattva's sake I spared him the beating—more than enough generosity—and he dares accept Old Sun's bow? Ever since I was young Old Sun has been a hero, and I've never learned to bow to anyone. Even before the Jade Emperor or Lord Lao Zi himself, Old Sun gives no more than a how-do-you-do." Sanzang said: "Shame on you! None of these empty boasts! Get up quickly—don't delay the road." Only then did the master rise, gather their things, and press westward.
From here they traveled two months of peaceful road, meeting only Tartars and Hui folk, wolves, serpents, tigers, and leopards. Time flew, and soon it was early spring again. Just look: the wooded mountains in colors of brocade and jade, grass and trees pushing green buds; the plum blossoms all fallen, the willow eyes just opening. Master and disciple strolled enjoying the spring light, and again they saw the sun sink west. Sanzang drew rein and gazed afar: in the fold of the mountains, faintly, towers and terraces, halls and pavilions looming dim.
Sanzang said: "Wukong, what place is that yonder?"
The Pilgrim looked up: "If it's not a palace, then it's a monastery. Let's hurry along and seek a night's lodging there." Sanzang gladly agreed, gave the dragon-horse its head, and pressed straight forward.
But what sort of place this proved to be—listen to the explanation in the next chapter.