The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2 (12 page)

Smiling broadly, the girl quickly tried to placate him with more clever words. “Master,” she said, “my husband is at the northern fold of this mountain, leading a few workers to plow the fields. This happens to be the lunch I prepared for them to eat. Since now is the busy season of farm work, we have no servants; and as my parents are getting old, I have to run the errand myself. Meeting you three distant travelers is quite by accident, but when I think of my parents’ inclination to do good deeds, I would like very much to use this rice as food for monks. If you don’t regard this as unworthy of you, please accept this modest offering.”

“My goodness! My goodness!” said Tripitaka. “I have a disciple who has gone to pick some fruits, and he’s due back any moment. I dare not eat. For if I, a monk, were to eat your rice, your husband would scold you when he learns of it. Will it then not be the fault of this poor monk?” When that girl saw the Tang Monk refuse to take the food, she smiled even more seductively and said, “O Master! My parents, who love to feed the monks, are not even as zealous as my husband. For his entire life is devoted to the construction of bridges and the repairing of roads, in reverence for the aged and pity for the poor. If he heard that the rice was given to feed Master, his affection for me, his wife, would increase manyfold.” Tripitaka, however, simply refused to eat, and Eight Rules on one side became utterly exasperated. Pouting, our Idiot grumbled to himself, “There are countless priests in the world, but none is more wishy-washy than this old priest of ours! Here’s ready-made rice, and three portions to boot! But he will not eat it. He has to wait for that monkey’s return and the rice divided into four portions before he’ll eat.” Without permitting further discussion, he pushed over the pot with one shove of his snout and was about to begin.

Look at our Pilgrim! Having picked several peaches from the mountain peak in the south, he came hurtling back with a single somersault, holding the alms bowl in his hand. When he opened wide his fiery eyes and
diamond
pupils to take a look, he recognized that the girl was a monster. He put down the bowl, pulled out his iron rod, and was about to bring it down hard on the monster’s head. The elder was so aghast that he pulled his disciple back with his hands. “Wukong,” he cried, “whom have you come back to hit?”

“Master,” said Pilgrim, “don’t regard this girl in front of you as a good person. She’s a monster, and she has come to deceive you.”

“Monkey,” said Tripitaka, “you used to possess a measure of true discernment. How is it that you are talking nonsense today? This Lady Bodhisattva is so kind that she wants to feed me with her rice. Why do you say that she’s a monster?”

“Master,” said Pilgrim with a laugh, “how could you know about this? When I was a monster back at the Water-Curtain Cave, I would act like this if I wanted to eat human flesh. I would change myself into gold or silver, a lonely building, a harmless drunk, or a beautiful woman. Anyone feeble-minded enough to be attracted by me I would lure back to the cave. There I would enjoy him as I pleased, by steaming or boiling. If I couldn’t finish him off in one meal, I would dry the leftovers in the sun to keep for rainy days. Master, if I had returned a little later, you would have fallen into her trap and been harmed by her.” That Tang Monk, however, simply refused to believe these words; he kept saying instead that the woman was a good person.

“Master,” said Pilgrim, “I think I know what’s happening. Your worldly mind must have been aroused by the sight of this woman’s beauty. If you do have the desire, why not ask Eight Rules to cut some timber and Sha Monk to find us some grass. I’ll be the carpenter and build you a little hut right here where you can consummate the affair with her. We can each go our own way then. Wouldn’t that be the thing to do? Why bother to undertake such a long journey to fetch the scriptures?” The elder, you see, was a rather tame and gentle person. He was so embarrassed by these few words that his whole bald head turned red from ear to ear.

As Tripitaka was struck dumb by his shame, Pilgrim’s temper flared again. Wielding his iron rod, he aimed it at the monster’s face and delivered a terrific blow. The fiend, however, had a few tricks of her own. She knew the magic of Releasing the Corpse.
³
When she saw Pilgrim’s rod coming at her, she roused her spirit and left, leaving behind the corpse of her body struck dead on the ground. Shaking with horror, the elder mumbled, “This ape is so unruly, so obdurate! Despite my repeated pleadings, he still takes human life without cause.” “Don’t be offended, Master,” said Pilgrim, “just come see for yourself what kind of things are in the pot.” Sha Monk led the elder near to take a look. The fragrant rice made from wine cakes was nowhere to
be
found; there was instead a potful of large maggots with long tails. There was no fried wheat gluten either, but a few frogs and ugly toads were hopping all over the place. The elder was about to think that there might be thirty percent truthfulness in Pilgrim’s words, but Eight Rules would not let his own resentment subside. He began to cast aspersions on his companion, saying, “Master, this woman, come to think of it, happens to be a farm girl of this area. Because she had to take some lunch to the fields, she met us on the way. How could she be deemed a monster? That rod of Elder Brother is quite heavy, you know. He came back and wanted to try his hand on her, not anticipating that one blow would kill her. He’s afraid that you might recite that so-called Tight-Fillet Spell, and that’s why he’s using some sort of magic to hoodwink you. It’s he who has caused these things to appear, just to befuddle you so that you won’t recite the spell.”

This single speech of Eight Rules, alas, spelled disaster for Tripitaka! Believing the slanderous suasion of our Idiot, he made the magic sign with his hand and recited the spell. At once Pilgrim began to scream, “My head! My head! Stop reciting! Stop reciting! If you’ve got something to say, say it.” “What do I have to say?” asked the Tang Monk. “Those who have left the family must defer to people every time, must cherish kindness in every thought. They must

    
Keep ants out of harm’s way when they sweep the floor,

    
And put shades on lamps for the love of moths.

And you, you practice violence with every step! Since you have beaten to death this innocent commoner, what good would it do even if you were to go acquire the scriptures? You might as well go back.” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “where do you want me to go back to?” The Tang Monk said, “I don’t want you as my disciple.” “If you don’t want me as your disciple,” said Pilgrim, “I fear that you may not make it on your way to the Western Heaven.” “My life is in the care of Heaven,” said the Tang Monk. “If it’s ordained that I should be food for the monster, even if I were to be steamed or boiled, it’s all right with me. Furthermore, do you think really that you have the power to deliver me from the great limit? Go back quickly!” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “it’s all right for me to go back, but I have not yet repaid your kindness.” “What kindness have I shown you?” asked the Tang Monk. When the Great Sage heard this, he knelt down immediately and kowtowed, saying, “Because old Monkey brought great disruption to the Celestial Palace, he incurred for himself the fatal ordeal of being clamped by Buddha beneath the Mountain of Two Frontiers. I was indebted to the Bodhisattva Guanyin who gave me the commandments, and to Master who gave me freedom. If I don’t go up to the Western Heaven with you, it will mean that I

    
Knowing
kindness without repaying am no princely man.

    
Mine will be forever an infamous name.”

Now the Tang Monk, after all, is a compassionate holy monk. When he saw Pilgrim pleading so piteously with him, he changed his mind and said, “In that case, I’ll forgive you this time. Don’t you dare be unruly again. If you work violence again as before, I’ll recite this spell over and over twenty times.” “You may recite it thirty times,” said Pilgrim, “but I won’t hit anyone again.” Helping the Tang Monk to mount the horse, he then presented the peaches that he picked. The Tang Monk indeed ate a few of the peaches on the horse to relieve his hunger momentarily.

We now tell you about the monster who escaped by rising into the sky. That one blow of Pilgrim’s rod, you see, did not kill her, for she fled by sending away her spirit. Standing on top of the clouds, she gnashed her teeth at Pilgrim, saying spitefully to herself, “The last few years I have heard nothing but people talking about his abilities, but I’ve discovered today that his is not a false reputation. Already deceived by me, the Tang Monk was about to eat the rice. If he had just lowered his head and taken one whiff of it, I would have grabbed him and he would have been all mine. Little did I anticipate that this other fellow would return and bust up my business. What’s more, I almost received a blow from his rod. If I had let this monk get away, I would have labored in vain. I’m going back down there to make fun of him once more.”

Dear monster! Lowering the direction of her dark cloud, she dropped into the fold of the mountain further ahead and changed with one shake of her body into a woman eighty years old, having in her hands a bamboo cane with a curved handle. She headed toward the pilgrims, weeping each step of the way. When Eight Rules saw her, he was horrified. “Master,” he said, “it’s terrible! That old Mama approaching us is looking for someone.” “Looking for whom?” asked the Tang Monk. Eight Rules said, “The girl slain by Elder Brother has to be the daughter. This one must be the mother looking for her.” “Stop talking nonsense, Brother,” said Pilgrim. “That girl was about eighteen, but this woman is at least eighty. How could she still bear children when she was sixty-some years old? She’s a fake! Let old Monkey go have a look.” Dear Pilgrim! In big strides he walked forward to look at the monster, who

    
Changed falsely into an old dame,

    
With temples white as snow.

    
She walked ever so slowly

    
With steps both small and sluggish.

    
Her frail body was most slender;

    
Her face, a leaf dried and wilted.

    
Her
cheek bones jutted upward;

    
Her lips curled downward and out.

    
Old age is not quite like the time of youth:

    
The whole face is wrinkled like lotus leaves.

Recognizing the monster, Pilgrim did not even bother to wait for any discussion; he lifted up the rod and struck at the head at once. When the monster saw the uplifted rod, she again exercised her magic and her spirit rose into the air, leaving behind once more the corpse of her body struck dead beside the road. The sight so frightened the Tang Monk that he fell from his horse. Lying on the road, he did not speak another word except to recite the Tight-Fillet Spell back and forth exactly twenty times. Alas, poor Pilgrim’s head was reduced to an hourglass-shaped gourd! As the pain was truly unbearable, he had to roll up to the Tang Monk and plead, “Master, please don’t recite anymore. Say what you have to say.”

“What’s there to say?” asked the Tang Monk. “Those who have left the family will listen to the words of virtue to avoid falling into Hell. I have tried my best to enlighten you with admonition. Why do you persist in doing violence? You have beaten to death one commoner after another. How do you explain this?”

“She’s a monster,” said Pilgrim. The Tang Monk said, “This monkey is babbling nonsense. You tell me that there are that many monsters! You are a person lacking any will to do good, one who is only bent on evil. You’d better go.”

“Master,” said Pilgrim, “are you sending me away again? All right, I’ll go back. But there’s something which I find disagreeable.” “What do you find disagreeable?” asked the Tang monk. “Master,” said Eight Rules, “he wants you to divide up the luggage with him! You think he wants to go back empty-handed after following you as a monk all this time? Why don’t you see whether you have any old shirt or tattered hat in your wrap there and give him a couple of pieces.”

When Pilgrim heard these words, he became so incensed that he jumped up and down, crying, “You loud-mouthed overstuffed coolie! Ever since old Monkey embraced the teachings of complete poverty, he has never displayed the least bit of envy or greed. What are you talking about, dividing up the luggage?”

“If you show neither envy nor greed,” said the Tang Monk, “why don’t you leave?” “To tell you the truth, Master,” said Pilgrim, “when old Monkey lived at the Water-Curtain Cave of the Flower-Fruit Mountain five hundred years ago, he was hero enough to receive the submission of the demons of seventy-two caves and to command forty-seven thousand little fiends. I was quite a man then—wearing on my head a purple gold cap, putting on my
body
a red and yellow robe, tying around my waist a jade belt, having on my feet a pair of cloud-treading shoes, and holding in my hands the compliant golden-hooped rod. But ever since Nirvā
ṇ
a delivered me from my sins, when with my hair shorn I took the vow of complete poverty and followed you as your disciple, I had this gold fillet clamped on my head. If I go back like this, I can’t face the folks at home. If Master doesn’t want me anymore, please recite the Loose-Fillet Spell so that I may get rid of this thing from my head and return it to you. I’ll find that most pleasant and agreeable then. After all, I have followed you all this time; surely you would not deny me this bit of human kindness!”