Monkey (19 page)

‘Your Little Vehicle,’ said Kuan-yin, ‘cannot save the souls of the dead, and only leads to general misapprehension and confusion. I have three sections of Great Vehicle teaching, called the Tripitaka or Three Baskets. These can carry the souls of the dead to Heaven, can save all those that are in trouble, can add immeasurably to life’s span, and can deliver those that trust in it from the comings and goings of Incarnation.’

At this point one of the ushers rushed to the Emperor and announced that two shabby priests had interrupted the Master, pulled him down from the dais, and started some nonsensical argument with him. The Emperor ordered them
to be seized and brought to him. On appearing before the Emperor they did not prostrate themselves or even salute him, but merely asked what he wanted of them.

‘Are you not the priest who gave me the cassock the other day ?’ said the Emperor.’ I am,’ said Kuan-yin.

‘You had a perfect right,’ said the Emperor, ‘to come here and listen to the preaching, eat with the other priests, and go away quietly. But you have no business to interrupt the preaching and disturb the whole proceedings.’

‘Your preacher,’ Kuan-yin said, ‘knows only about the Little Vehicle, which cannot save souls. We possess the Tripitaka of the Big Vehicle, which saves the souls of the dead and succours those that are in peril.’

The Emperor was delighted at this news, and asked at once where it was.

‘It is in India,’ said Kuan-yin, ‘at the temple of the Great Thunder Clap, where the Buddha Tathagata dwells.’

‘Do you know these teachings by heart?’ asked the Emperor.

‘I do,’ said the Bodhisattva.

‘Then Hsiian Tsang shall retire,’ said the Emperor, ‘and you shall mount the dais and expound them to us.’ But instead of doing so Kuan-yin floated up into the sky and revealed herself in all the glory of her true form, holding the willow-spray and the sacred vase, while Moksha stood at her left side, holding his staff.

The Emperor hastened to prostrate himself, and all his ministers knelt down and burned incense, while the audience, priests, nuns, officers, craftsmen and merchants, bowed down, crying, ‘The Bodhisattva, the Bodhisattva!’

The Emperor’s joy was so great that he forgot his rivers and hills, his ministers in their excitement broke every rule of etiquette, and all the multitude murmured again and again ‘Glory be to the Great Bodhisattva Kuan-yin.’ His Majesty decided to have a picture of the Bodhisattva painted by a skilful artist, in full colours. His choice fell upon Wu Tao-tzu, that genius of the brush, that prodigy of portraiture, that fabulous embodiment of vision and inspiration. It was this painter who afterwards made the portraits of the heroes of the
dynasty in the Tower of Rising Smoke. He now wielded his magic brush and rendered every detail of these sacred forms. Presently the figures began to recede farther and farther into the sky, and finally their golden effulgence could be seen no more.

At this point the Emperor dismissed the assembly, and declared that the next thing to do was to find a traveller who would go to India and fetch the Scriptures. An inquiry was made in the temple, and Hsiian Tsang immediately came forward and bowing low said, ‘I am a humble cleric, devoid of any capacity; but I am ready to undertake the quest of these Scriptures, be the fatigues and difficulties what they may, if by doing so I may promote the security of your Majesty’s streams and hills.’ The Emperor was delighted, and raising him from his knees with his royal hand,’ Reverend Sir,’ he said, ‘if indeed you are willing to do me this loyal service, undeterred by the length of the journey and all the mountains and rivers that you will have to cross, I will make you my bond-brother.’ And true to his word, in front of the Buddha image in that temple, he bowed four times to Hsiian Tsang and addressed him as ‘Holy Priest, my brother.’ Hsiian Tsang on his side, burning incense before the Buddha, swore to do all that lay in his power to reach India. ‘And if I do not reach India and do not bring back the Scriptures, may I fall into the nethermost pit of Hell, rather than return empty-handed to China.’

When Hsiian Tsang rejoined the other priests, they pressed round him, asking whether it was indeed true that he had sworn to go to India. ‘For I have heard,’ one of them said, ‘that it is a very long way and that on the road there are many tigers, panthers and evil spirits. I fear you will not come back to us alive.’ ‘I have taken my oath,’ said Hsiian Tsang,’ and I must faithfully fulfil it. I know well enough that the hazards of such a journey are great.’ And presently he said, ‘My disciples, I may be away for two or three years, or five, or seven. If you see the branches of the pine-tree at the gate turning eastward, you will know I am coming back. If not, it will mean that I shall never return.’

Early nextday, in the presence of all his ministers, the
Emperor signed a rescript authorizing Hsiian Tsang’s quest, and stamped it with the seal of free passage. The astrologers announced that the posture of the heavens made the day particularly favourable for the start of a long journey. At this point, Hsiian Tsang himself was announced. ‘Brother,’ said the Emperor, ‘I am told that this would be a lucky day for you to start. Here are your travelling papers, and here is a golden bowl for you to collect alms in during your journey. I have chosen two followers to go with you, and a horse for you to ride. It only remains for you to start.’ Hsiian Tsang was ready enough, and taking the Emperor’s present set out towards the gates of the city, accompanied by the Emperor and a host of officials. When they reached the gates, they found that the priests of the Hung-fu temple were waiting there with a provision of winter and summer clothing. When it had been added to the luggage, the Emperor told a servant to bring wine, and raising the cup he asked Hsiian Tsang if he had a by-name.

‘Being a priest,’ said Hsiian Tsang, ‘I have not thought it proper to assume a by-name.’

‘The Bodhisattva mentioned,’ said the Emperor, ‘that the Scriptures in India are called the Tripitaka. How would it be if you took “Tripitaka” as your by-name ?’

Hsiian Tsang accepted with thanks, but when he was offered the wine-cup, he declined, saying that abstinence from wine was the first rule of priesthood, and that he never took it. ‘This is an exceptional occasion,’ said the Emperor, ‘and the wine is not at all strong; just drink one cup to speed you on your journey.’ Tripitaka dared not refuse; but just as he was going to drink, die Emperor stooped down and with his royal fingers scooped up a handful of dust and threw it into the cup. At first Tripitaka could not make out why he had done this, but the Emperor said laughing, ‘Tell me, brother, how long do you expect to be away ?’

‘I hope,’ said Tripitaka,’ to be back in three years.’

“That’s a long time,’ said the Emperor, ‘and you have a long way to go. You would do well to drink this cup, for are we not told that a handful of one’s country’s soil is worth more than ten thousand pounds of foreign gold ?’

Then Tripitaka understood why the Emperor had thrown the dust into the cup, drank it down to the last dregs, and set out upon his way. And if you do not know how he fared upon that way, listen to what is told in the next chapter.

I
T
was three days before the full moon, in the ninth month of the thirteenth year of Cheng Kuan, when Tripitaka, seen off by the Emperor and all his ministers, left the gates of Ch’ang-an. After a day or two of hard riding, he reached the Temple of the Law Cloud. The abbot and some five hundred priests, drawn up in two files, ushered him into the temple. After supper, sitting by lamplight, they discussed questions of religion and the purpose of Tripitaka’s quest. Some spoke of how wide the rivers were that he must cross and how high the mountains that he must climb. Some spoke of the roads being infested by panthers and tigers, some of precipices hard to circumvent and demons impossible to overcome. Tripitaka said nothing, but only pointed again and again at his own heart. The priests did not understand what he meant, and when at last they asked him to explain, he said, ‘It is the heart alone that can destroy them. I made a solemn vow, standing before the Buddha’s image, to carry through this task, come what may. Now that I have started I cannot go back till I have reached India, seen Buddha, got the Scriptures, and turned the wheel of the Law, that our holy sovereign’s great dynasty may forever be secure.’

‘A loyal, a valiant cleric,’ they all cried in chorus, as they escorted Hsiian Tsang to his bed.

Next morning Tripitaka rose early, eager to be on his way again. It was now far on into the autumn, and if he had waited till cockcrow, it would have been the fourth watch before he started. A bright moon glistened on the frosty ground as he and his two followers set out. They had not gone ten leagues when they came to a mountain range. The path they had been following vanished and the going became excessively difficult. It seemed only too probable that they had missed their way. They were discussing the position, when suddenly the ground gave way under their feet and they fell into a deep pit, the horse floundering along with them. They
had hardly recovered from their first astonishment when they heard voices calling ‘Seize them! Seize them!’ and looking up they saw fifty or sixty ogres crowding round the hole. The three travellers were hauled to the surface, and Tripitaka, when he could summon enough courage to look round, saw a demon king, of the most terrifying aspect, who was obviously the leader of the gang. He gave orders that the captives should be bound, and a band of lesser ogres had already trussed them up, and were about to prepare them for eating, when there was a bustle outside and someone announced that My Lord of the Bear-Mount and the Steer Hermit had arrived. Looking up, Tripitaka saw a swarthy fellow followed by a great hulking fellow. The demon king hastened to welcome them, as they came lurching and swaggering along.

‘General Yin,’ said the one, ‘you are looking very pleased with yourself. I congratulate you.’

‘General Yin,’ said the other, ‘you’re looking in very fine form. You may congratulate yourself!’

‘How have you two been getting on?’ asked the demon king.

‘Just managing to exist,’ said the one.

‘Just jogging on somehow,’ said the other.

While they were talking one of Tripitaka’s followers, who had been trussed very tight, screamed with pain.

‘Where did you find these three?’ asked the swarthy fellow.

‘I didn’t find them,’ said the demon, ‘they just came here of their own accord.’

The Hermit laughed. ‘May we venture to impose on your hospitality ?’ he asked.

‘If you will do me the favour,’ said the demon.

‘There is more than we should get through at one meal,’ said the lord of the Bear Mountain. ‘How about eating two, and keeping one ?’

The demon accordingly gave orders that the two followers should be carved up at once; the heads, hearts, and livers were to be offered to the guests. He himself bespoke the arms and legs. The other odds and ends were to go to the sundry lesser ogres. A frightful scrunching ensued, for all
the world like a tiger devouring its prey. By the time the meal was over, Tripitaka was almost dead with horror and fright.

It was now beginning to grow light, and the two guests retired. Tripitaka was in the depths of despair, and had lost all hope of escaping with his life, when suddenly an old man appeared, carrying a heavy staff. Coming forward, he pulled at Tripitaka’s ropes, which fell away at the first touch. Then he blew into his face, with the result that Tripitaka suddenly revived and, falling upon his knees, profusely thanked his rescuer.

‘That’s all right,’ said the old man.’ Pray get up. And tell me, have you lost anything ?’

‘My two followers,’ said Tripitaka, ‘have been devoured by ogres. What has become of my luggage and horse I have no idea.’

‘I see a horse over there,’ said the old man, ‘and two saddle-packs. I don’t know whether by any chance they belong to you.’

Tripitaka looked in the direction in which the old man was pointing with his staff, and there, sure enough, was the horse, saddle-packs and all, quite unharmed. ‘What place is this,’ asked Tripitaka, brightening a little, ‘and what are the three ogres that haunt it ?’

‘It is called the Two Forked Ridge,’ said the old man, ‘and is a place much infested by tigers and wolves; you would have done well to keep clear of it. As for the ogres, the Hermit is a buffalo-spirit, the lord of the Bear Mountain is a bear-spirit, and General Yin is a tiger-spirit. The other lesser ogres are all animal-spirits of one kind and another. The purity of your inner nature made it impossible for them to eat you. Follow me and I will put you on to the proper path.’

Full of gratitude, Tripitaka adjusted the saddle-packs, and pulling the horse by its halter, succeeded in getting it out of the hole. When they were back on the right track, Tripitaka tied up the horse at the path-side and turned to thank the old man, only to discover that he was already rapidly disappearing into the sky, on the back of a white crane. Presently there came fluttering down from
the
sky
a
paper-strip on
which was written, ‘I am the spirit of the Planet Venus. I came to earth on purpose to rescue you. During the course of your journey you will at all times enjoy the assistance of spiritual beings, who will see to it that you do not succumb to the perils that will beset you on your path.’

Tripitaka bowed in the direction whence the strip had come, and then set off alone. He travelled over difficult country for half a day, without seeing any sign of human habitation. He was now very hungry, and the road was extremely precipitous. He was at the height of his difficulties when he heard two tigers roaring just ahead of him and saw behind him several huge serpents twisting and twining. To make matters worse, on his left was some species of deadly scorpion, and on his right a wild beast of unknown species. To cope single-handed with such a situation was clearly impossible, and there was nothing for it but to resign himself to his fate. Soon his horse sank quivering on to its knees and refused to budge. Suddenly a medley of tigers and wolves, with other wild and fearful creatures, set upon him all together. He would have been utterly lost, had there not at this very moment appeared a man with a three-pronged spear in his hand and bow and arrows at his waist. ‘Save me, save me!’ cried Tripitaka. The man rushed forward and throwing aside his spear, raised Tripitaka from his knees. ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said. ‘I am a hunter, and I came out to find a couple of mountain creatures to eat for my supper. You must forgive me for intruding upon you so unceremoniously.’ Tripitaka thanked the hunter, and explained what brought him to this place. ‘I live near here,’ said the hunter, ‘and spend all my time in dealing with tigers and serpents and the like, so that such creatures are afraid at the sight of me and run away. If you indeed come from the Court of T’ang we are fellow-countrymen, for the frontier of the empire is a little way beyond here. Do not be afraid, but follow me back to my house, where you and your horse can rest. Tomorrow I will put you on your way.’