The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2 (14 page)

    
The tide rises in salvos

    
Like the clap of thunder in Triple Spring;

    
The water engulfs the bays

    
As violent gales that blow in late summer.

    
Those old, blessed dragon-drivers
¹

    
Would travel no doubt with knitted brows;

    
Those young, immortal crane-riders

    
Would surely pass by anxious and tense.

    
No village appears near the shore;

    
Few fishing boats hug the water.

    
Waves roll like a thousand year’s snow;

    
Wind howls as if autumn’s in June.

    
Wild birds can come and go at will;

    
Water fowls may stay afloat or dive.

    
There’s no fisher before your eyes;

    
Your ears hear only the sea gulls.

    
Deep in the sea fishes frolic;

    
Across the sky wild geese languish.

With a bound, our Pilgrim leaped across the Great Eastern Ocean and soon arrived at the Flower-Fruit Mountain. Lowering the direction of his cloud, he stared all around. Alas, that mountain had neither flowers nor plants, while the mist and smoke seemed completely extinguished: cliffs and plateaus had collapsed and the trees had dried and withered. How had it all become like this, you ask. When Pilgrim disrupted Heaven and
was
taken captive to the Region Above, this mountain was burned to total ruin by the Illustrious Sage, Erlang God, who was leading the Seven Bond-Brothers of Plum Mountain. Our Great Sage became more grief stricken than ever, and he composed the following long poem in ancient style as a testimony. The poem says:

    
I view this divine mountain and tears fall;

    
I face it and my sorrows multiply.

    
The mountain, I thought then, would not be harmed;

    
Today I know this place has suffered loss.

    
Hateful was that Erlang who vanquished me,

    
That heinous Little Sage who oppressed me.

    
In violence he dug up my parental tombs;

    
With no cause he broke up my ancestral graves.

    
All Heaven’s mists and fog are now dispersed;

    
The whole land’s wind and clouds both dissipate.

    
None can hear a tiger’s roar on eastern peaks;

    
Who sees a white ape howling on western slopes?

    
The northern gorge has no trace of fox or hare;

    
All deer have vanished from the southern glen.

    
Green rocks are burned to form a thousand bricks;

    
The bright sand’s changed to a pile of dirt.

    
Tall pines outside the cave have fallen down;

    
Green cedars before the cliff are thin and scarce.

    
Chun, shan, huai, kui, li,
and
tan
²
all are scorched;

    
Peach, pear, prune, plum, almond, and date are gone.

    
How could silkworms be fed with no mulberry?

    
Midst few bamboos and willows birds cannot live.

    
Well-formed rocks on the peak have turned to dust;

    
The brook’s water has dried up—all is grass.

    
No orchid grows on parched earth below the cliff;

    
Creepers o’erspread the brown mud by the road.

    
To what region have birds of past days flown?

    
To which mountain have the beasts of old retired?

    
This gutted spot that snakes and leopards loathe!

    
This blasted place that cranes and serpents shun!

    
It must be for evil deeds in former times

    
That I should this day suffer so much pain.

As the Great Sage was thus expressing his grief, seven or eight small monkeys suddenly leaped out with a cry from among the tall grass and bushes on the slope. They rushed forward to surround him and kowtow, shouting, “Father Great Sage! You’ve come home today?” “Why aren’t you
all
having a little fun?” asked the Handsome Monkey King. “Why is everyone in hiding? I’ve been back for quite a while, and I haven’t seen even the shadow of one of you! Why is that?” When the several monkeys heard these words, every one of them began to weep. “Since the Great Sage was taken captive to the Region Above,” they said, “we have been suffering from the hands of hunters, truly an unbearable affliction. How could we withstand those sharp arrows and strong bows, those yellow hawks and wicked hounds, those ensnaring nets and sickle-shaped spears! To preserve our lives, none of us dares come out to play; instead, we conceal ourselves deep in the cave dwelling or take refuge in some distant lairs. Only in hunger do we go steal some grass on the meadow for food, and in thirst we drink the clear liquid from downstream. Just now we heard the voice of our Father Great Sage, and that was why we came to receive you. We beg you to take care of us.”

When the Great Sage heard these words, he became more distressed. He then asked, “How many of you are there still in this mountain?” “Young and old,” said the monkeys, “altogether no more than a thousand.” The Great Sage said, “In former times, I had forty-seven thousand little monsters here. Where did they go?” The monkeys said, “When Father left, this mountain was burned by the Bodhisattva Erlang, and more than half of them were killed by the fire. Some of us managed to save our lives by squatting in the wells, diving into the brook, or hiding beneath the sheet iron bridge. When the fire was extinguished and the smoke cleared, we came out to find that flowers and fruits were no longer available for food. The difficulty in finding sustenance drove another half of the monkeys away, leaving those of us to suffer here in the mountain. These two years saw our number dwindle even further by more than half when hunters came to abduct us.”

“For what purpose?” asked Pilgrim. “Talk about those hunters,” said the monkeys, “they are truly abominable! Those of us who were shot by arrows, pierced by spears, or clubbed to death they took away for food to be served with rice. The dead monkeys would be skinned and boned, cooked with sauce and steamed with vinegar, fried with oil, and sauteed with salt. Those of us who were caught by the net or the trap would be led away live; they would be taught to skip ropes, to act, to somersault, and to do cartwheels. They would have to beat the drum and the gong on the streets and perform every kind of trick to entertain humans.”

When the Great Sage heard these words, he became terribly angry. “Who is in charge in the cave now?” he asked. “We still have Ma and Liu, the two marshals,” said the little fiends, “Peng and Ba, the two generals: they are in charge.” “Report to them at once,” said the Great Sage, “and say that I’ve returned.” Those little fiends dashed inside the cave and cried, “Father Great
Sage
has come home!” When Ma, Liu, Peng, and Ba heard the report, they rushed out of the door to kowtow and to receive him inside the cave. The Great Sage took a seat in the middle as the various fiends all lined up before him to pay homage. “Father Great Sage,” they said, “we heard recently that you had regained your life so that you could protect the Tang Monk on his journey to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures. Why are you not heading toward the West? Why do you come back to this mountain?”

“Little ones,” said the Great Sage, “you have no idea that the Tang Monk is wholly ignorant of who is worthy and who is foolish. For his sake, I caught fiends and overcame demons throughout the journey, using all my abilities. Several times I slew a monster, but, accusing me of doing evil and violence, he disowned me as his disciple and banished me back here. He even wrote me a formal letter of banishment as proof that he would never want to use me again.”

Clapping their hands and roaring with laughter, the monkeys said, “Lucky! Lucky! What do you want to be a monk for? Come home and you can lead us to have a few years’ fun. Quick! Let’s bring out the coconut wine for the reception of Father.” “Let’s not drink wine just yet,” said the Great Sage. “Let me ask you, how often do those hunters come to our mountain?” “Great Sage,” said Ma and Liu, “there’s no telling of time. They are here every day to make trouble.” The Great Sage asked, “Why aren’t they here today?” Ma and Liu replied, “Just wait and you’ll see them come.”

The Great Sage gave this order: “Little ones, go up to the mountain and bring me the rocks that have been burned to small pieces. Pile them up around here in piles of thirty or sixty pieces. I have use for them.” Those little monkeys were like a cloud of bees; they swarmed all over the mountain and brought back the rock pieces and piled them together. When the Great Sage saw that, he said, “Little ones, go hide in the cave. Let old Monkey exercise his magic.” Our Great Sage went straight up to the peak to look around, and he saw over a thousand men and horses approaching from the southern half of the mountain. Beating drums and striking gongs, they were holding spears and swords, leading hawks and hounds. When the Monkey King stared carefully at them, they appeared to be most ferocious indeed. Dear men! Truly fierce! He saw

    
Fox skins covered their heads and backs;

    
Silk brocades wrapped around their torsos;

    
Quivers full of wolf-teeth arrows;
³

    
And carved bows hung on their thighs.

    
The men seemed mountain-prowling tigers;

    
The horses, like brook-leaping dragons.

    
The whole group of men led their hounds,

    
As
hawks perched on all their shoulders.

    
They hauled fire cannons
⁴
in baskets.

    
They had also eagles most fierce,

    
And hundreds of poles with birdlimes,

    
And thousands of forks to catch rabbits;

    
Dragnets like those used by bullheads,

    
And lassos tossed by King Yama.

    
They yelled and shrieked altogether,

    
Causing confusion far and near.

When the Great Sage saw those men swarming up his mountain, he became terribly angry. Making the magic sign with his fingers and reciting a spell, he drew in a breath facing the southwest and blew it out. At once a violent wind arose. Marvelous wind!

    
It threw up dust and scattered dirt;

    
It toppled trees and cut down forests.

    
The ocean waves rose like mountains;

    
They crashed fold upon fold on the shore.

    
The cosmos grew dim and darkened;

    
The sun and the moon lost their light.

    
The pine trees, once shaken, roared like tigers;

    
The bamboos, hit abruptly, sang like dragons.

    
All Heaven’s pores let loose their angry breaths

    
As rocks and sand flew, hurting one and all.

The Great Sage called up this mighty wind that blew up and scattered those rock pieces in every direction. Pity those thousand-odd hunters and horses! This was what happened to every one of them:

    
The rocks broke their dark heads to pieces;
⁵

    
Flying sand hurt all the winged horses.

    
Lords and nobles confounded before the peak,

    
Blood stained like cinnabar the earth.

    
Fathers and sons could not go home.