The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2 (71 page)

    
A diligent search for the three canons;

    
A strenuous quest for the primal light.

As they proceeded, they walked by day and rested by night; they drank when they were thirsty and ate when they were hungry. Spring ended, summer waned, and soon it was again the time of autumn. One day toward evening, the Tang Monk reined in his horse and said, “Disciples, where shall we find shelter for the night?” “Master,” said Pilgrim, “a man who has left the family should not speak as one who remains in the family.” Tripitaka said, “How would a man in the family speak? And how would a man who has left the family speak?” “In this time of the year,” said Pilgrim, “a man who remains in the family will enjoy the benefits of a warm bed and snug blankets; he has his children in his bosom and his wife next to his legs. That’s how comfortably he will sleep! Now, how could we who have left the family expect to enjoy such things? We must be cloaked by the stars and wrapped by the moon; we must dine on the winds and rest by the waters. We move on if there’s a road, and we stop only when we come to its end.” “Elder Brother,” said Eight Rules, “you know only one thing, but you can’t see its implications. Look how treacherous is this road we’re walking on! I have such a heavy load on me that I find it difficult even to walk. Please find
some
place where I can have a good night’s rest and regain my strength. By morning, I can face the load once more. Otherwise, I’ll die of fatigue!” “Let’s move on a little further then in this moonlight,” said Pilgrim, “and we can stop when we reach some place where there are houses.” Master and disciples had no choice but to follow Pilgrim forward.

They did not journey long before they heard the sound of rushing water. “Finished!” said Eight Rules. “We’ve come to the end of the road!” “We are blocked by a torrent of water,” said Sha Monk. The Tang Monk asked, “How could we get across?” “Let me test it to discover how deep it is first,” said Eight Rules. Tripitaka said, “Wuneng, don’t speak such nonsense! How could you test the depth or shallowness of water?” “I’ll find an egg-shaped pebble,” said Eight Rules, “and throw it in: if it splashes and foam comes up, it’s shallow; if it sinks down with a gurgling sound, then it’s deep.” “Go and test it,” said Pilgrim. Our Idiot groped on the ground and found a stone, which he threw into the water; all they heard was a gurgling sound as if fishes were releasing bubbles as the stone sank down to the bottom. “Deep! Deep! Deep!” he said. “We can’t cross it!” “Though you may have discovered its depth,” said the Tang Monk, “you may not know how wide it is.” “Indeed not! Indeed not!” said Eight Rules. Pilgrim said, “Let me have a look.” Dear Great Sage! He somersaulted at once into the air and fixed his gaze on the water. He saw

    
The moon soaked in vast sheens of light;

    
The sky’s image drenched in the deep;

    
A spirit branch gulping mountains;

    
A long river feeding hundred streams;

    
A thousand foaming layers churn;

    
Ten thousand folds of mountlike waves;

    
(No fisher-fires lit up the banks

    
But egrets rested by the beach.)

    
An oceanlike vast expanse,

    
With no boundaries in sight.

He dropped down quickly from the clouds to the bank of the river, saying, “Master, it’s very wide! Very wide! We can’t get across! These fiery eyes and diamond pupils of old Monkey can discern good and evil up to a thousand miles during the day, and even at night, they can cover a distance of four or five hundred miles. Just now I couldn’t even see the other shore. How could I tell the width of the river?”

Horrified, Tripitaka could not say a word for a long time. Then he sobbed out, “O Disciple! What shall we do?” “Master, please don’t cry,” said Sha Monk. “Look over there! Isn’t that a man standing by the water?” Pilgrim said, “He could be a fisherman lowering his nets, I suppose. Let me
go
and ask him.” Holding his iron rod, he sprinted forward to have a closer look. Ah! It was not a man, but only a stone monument, on which were written three large words in seal script and two rows of smaller words down below. The three large words were: Heaven-Reaching River. The two rows of smaller words read:

    
A width of eight hundred miles

    
Which few, from days of old, have crossed.

“Master,” Pilgrim called out, “come and look.” When Tripitaka saw the monument, tears rolled down his cheeks, saying, “O Disciple! When I left Chang’an that year, I thought that the way to the Western Heaven was quite easy. How could I know of the obstacles of demons and monsters, the long distance over mountains and waters!”

“Master,” said Eight Rules, “listen for a moment. Isn’t that the sound of drums and cymbals coming from somewhere? It must be that some family is feasting the monks. Let’s go over there and beg for some vegetarian food and make inquiry concerning the possibility of finding a boat to take us across tomorrow.” Cocking his ears as he rode, Tripitaka indeed heard the sound of drums and cymbals. “These are not the musical instruments of Daoists,” he said. “It has to be some religious service conducted by us Buddhists. Let us go over there.” Pilgrim led the horse in front and all of them proceeded toward where the music was coming from. There was actually no road for them to walk on, only a rolling sandy beach. Presently, they saw a group of well-built houses, about four or five hundred of them altogether. They saw that these houses were

    
Close by the hill and the roads,

    
Next to the shores and the stream.

    
Every where the wooden fences were shut;

    
The bamboo yard of each house was closed.

    
Egrets resting on sand dunes had peaceful dreams;

    
Birds nesting on willows voiced their chilly tunes.

    
The short flutes were silent;

    
The washing flails had no rhythm.

    
Red smartweed twigs quaked in moonlight;

    
Yellow rush leaves battled the wind.

    
A village dog barked through sparse field fences;

    
An old fisher slept on his ford-moored boat,

    
Where lights were low,

    
And human bustles, quiet.

    
The bright moon seemed a mirror hung in the air,

    
The
scent of duckweed blossoms all at once

    
Was sent by the west wind from the far shore.

As Tripitaka dismounted, he saw a house at the head of a path; before the house was erected a pole with a banner flying, while the inside was ablaze with lamps and candles and filled with fragrant incense. “Wukong,” said Tripitaka, “what we have here is certainly better than either the fold of the mountain or the edge of the river. At least the eaves of the roof can provide some shelter from the night mists, and we can rest without fears. You, however, should stay behind first, and let me go up to that patron’s door to make known our request. If he is willing to let us stay, I’ll call for you; but if he’s unwilling, all of you are not to let loose any mischief. You are, after all, quite ugly in your appearances, and I fear that you may frighten them. Offending these people may mean that we shall have nowhere at all to stay.” “What you say is quite right,” said Pilgrim. “Please go first, Master, and we’ll wait for you here.”

Taking off his broad-brimmed bamboo hat, the elder shook the dirt from his clerical robe and went up to the door of the house, holding the priestly staff in his hands. He found the door half-closed; not daring to enter without permission, the elder stood still and waited for a brief moment, when an old man, with some beads hanging around his neck, emerged from the house, chanting the name of Buddha as he walked. Seeing that the old man was about to shut the door, however, the elder hurriedly pressed his palms together and cried out, “Old Benefactor, this humble priest salutes you.” Returning his greeting, the old man said, “You are too late, monk.” “What do you mean?” said Tripitaka. “I mean that you won’t get anything because you are late,” said the old man. “If you had come earlier, you would have found that we were feasting the monks. After you have eaten your fill, you would then be given an additional three ounces of cooked rice, a bale of white cloth, and ten strings of copper pennies. Why do you come at this hour?”

“Old Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, bowing, “this humble priest is not here to be feasted.” “If you are not,” said the old man, “then why have you come here?” Tripitaka said, “I am someone sent by imperial decree of the Great Tang in the Land of the East to acquire scriptures in the Western Heaven. It was late when we arrived at your region. When we heard the sound of drums and cymbals from your house, we came to ask you for one night’s lodging. We’ll leave by morning.” “Monk,” said the old man, waving his hand gently, “a man who has left the family should not lie. The distance between our place here and your Great Tang in the Land of the East happens to be fifty-four thousand miles. A single person like you, how could you come here all by yourself?” “That’s an exceptionally accurate observation,
Old
Benefactor,” said Tripitaka, “but I am not alone. I have three disciples, who have opened up a path through the mountains and built bridges when we came upon the waters. It was because of their being my escorts that I could arrive here today.” “If you have disciples,” said the old man, “why haven’t they come with you? Please invite them forth at once! My house has enough room for all of you.” Turning around, Tripitaka said, “Disciples, come here.” Now, Pilgrim was by nature rather impulsive, Eight Rules was born without manners, and Sha Monk, too, happened to be very impetuous. The moment the three of them heard their master beckoning, they rushed like a cyclone toward the house, dragging the horse and the luggage along. When the old man caught sight of them, he was so terrified that he fell on the ground, crying repeatedly, “Monsters are here! Monsters are here!” Raising him with his hands, Tripitaka said, “Don’t be afraid, Benefactor. They are not monsters. They are my disciples.” Trembling all over, the old man said, “Such a handsome master! Why did you take such ugly disciples?” “Though they are not good to look at,” said Tripitaka, “they are quite knowledgeable in taming tigers and subduing dragons, in seizing monsters and capturing fiends.” Not fully believing what he heard, the old man supported himself on the Tang Monk and walked slowly with him inside.

We tell you now about those three rogues, who dashed into the hall, where they dropped their luggage and tied up the horse. There were at that time several priests in the hall reciting sūtras. Sticking out his long snout, Eight Rules shouted at them, “Hey monks! Which sūtra are you reciting?” On hearing this, those monks raised their heads and all at once

    
They saw a visitor,

    
With long snout and huge ears,

    
A thick frame and wide shoulders,

    
A voice that boomed like thunder.

    
But Pilgrim and Sha Monk

    
Were in looks e’en uglier.

    
Of those priests in the hall

    
None was not in terror.

    
They tried to keep reciting

    
But were stopped by their leader.

    
They left their stones and bells

    
And forsook the graven Buddhas.

    
The lamps were all blown out,

    
And torches all smothered.

    
They scrambled and they stumbled,

    
The doorsills falling over.

    
Like gourds when props were down,

    
Their
heads bumped one another.

    
A pure, serene plot of ritual

    
Became a cause of great laughter!

When the three brothers saw how those priests stumbled and fell all over, they clapped their hands and roared with laughter. More terrified than ever, those priests banged into one another as they fled for their lives and deserted the place. Tripitaka led the old man up the hall, but the lights and lamps were completely out, while the three of them were still in guffaws. “You brazen creatures!” scolded the Tang Monk. “You are so wicked! Haven’t I taught you every day, admonished you every morning? The ancients said,

    
To be virtuous without instruction,