Journey to the West (vol. 1)

Chapter 36

When the Mind-Ape Stands Correct All Evil Causes Submit

When the Side-Gate Is Smashed the Moon Appears in Its Brightness

The story tells how Sun the Novice brought his cloud down to land and told the master and his fellow-disciples all about the Bodhisattva borrowing the two servant lads and Lord Lao recovering his treasures. Sanzang expressed his thanks at great length, then with great determination and pious sincerity prepared to head West for all he was worth. As he climbed into the saddle, Pig shouldered the luggage, Friar Sand held the horse's bridle, and Monkey cleared a path straight ahead down the mountainside with his iron cudgel. We can give no full account of how they slept in the rain, dined off the wind, were wrapped in frost and exposed to the dew. When they had been travelling for a long time they found the way forward blocked by another mountain.

“Disciples,” shouted Sanzang from the back of his horse, “just look at how high and craggy that mountain is. You must be very careful and on your guard; I'm afraid that monsters may attack us.”

“Stop your wild imaginings, Master,” replied Monkey, “and calm yourself. Of course nothing will happen.”

“But why is the journey to the Western Heaven so hard, disciple?” asked Sanzang. “As I recall I have been through four or five years of springs, summers, autumns and winters since leaving the city of Chang'an. Why haven't I got there yet?”

The question made Monkey chuckle: “It's early yet. We're not even out of the front door.”

“Stop lying, brother,” said Pig. “There's no such front door on earth.”

“But we're still wandering around in the hall,” said Monkey.

“Don't try to intimidate us by talking so big,” said Friar Sand. “There couldn't possibly be a hall as large as this: there's nowhere you could buy roof-beams big enough.”

“If you look at it my way, brother,” said Monkey, “the blue sky is the roof tiles, the sun and the moon are the windows, and the Four Mountains and Five Peaks are the pillars and beams. Heaven and earth are just like a big hall.”

“That's enough of that,” said Pig. “Why don't we just stroll around for a while then go back?”

“Don't talk nonsense,” said Monkey. “Keep going with me.”

The splendid Great Sage shouldered his iron cudgel, calmed the Tang Priest down, and cleared their way forward through the mountains. As the master gazed at it from his horse he saw that it was a splendid mountain view. Indeed:

The towering peak touches the Dipper's handle;

The tops of the trees seem to reach the clouds.

From banked-up mists of blue

Comes the cry of the ape in the valley-mouth;

Deep in the turquoise shadows

Cranes call among the pines.

As the wind howls mountain sprites appear in the gullies,

Playing tricks on the wood-cutters;

Crafty foxes sit on the edge of rock-faces,

To the terror of hunters.

A splendid mountain,

Its every face towering and sheer.

Strange-shaped pines spread their bright green canopies;

From withered old trees hang vines of wisteria.

As spring waters fly through the air

The cold breeze cuts through and chills.

Where the crag towers aloft

A pure wind strikes the eye and startles the dreaming soul.

Sometimes the roar of the tiger is heard,

And often the songs of the mountain birds.

Herds of deer and muntjac make their way through the brambles,

Leaping and jumping;

River-deer and roebucks look for their food,

Rushing and scurrying.

Standing on the grassy slope,

No traveler can one see;

Walking deep in the hollows,

All around are jackals and wolves.

This is no place for a Buddha's self-cultivation,

But a haunt of birds and beasts.

The master trembled as he advanced deep into these mountains, his heart gripped with terror. Reining in his horse, he called out,

“After I grew in wisdom and took my vows,

His Majesty escorted me from the capital.

On my journey I met three wayward ones

To help me along as I rode in the saddle.

Over Hillside and gully I seek the scriptures,

Climbing many mountains to worship the Buddha.

Guarding myself as if behind a fence,

When will I return to visit the royal palace?”

Monkey's reaction to hearing this was to say with a mocking laugh, “Don't worry, Master, and don't be so anxious. Just take it easy and carry on. Besides, you're bound to succeed because you're such a trier.” Master and disciples strode forward, enjoying the mountain scenery. Before they realized it the sun had sunk in the West. Indeed:

From the ten-mile pavilion no travelers leave,

In the ninefold heavens the stars appear,

On the eight streams the boats are all in harbor,

In seven thousand cities the gates have been shut.

From the six palaces and five departments the officials have gone;

On the four seas and three rivers the fishing lines rest.

In the two towers the drum and bell sound;

One bright moon fills the earth and sky.

Looking into the distance the venerable elder saw many lines of towers and great halls, one behind another. “Disciples,” said Sanzang, “it's getting late now. Luckily there are those towers and halls nearby. I think they must belong to a Buddhist or Taoist monastery or convent. Let's spend the night there and be on our way again in the morning.”

“You're right, Master,” said Monkey, “but be patient. Wait till I've had a look to see whether it's a good or an evil place.” The Great Sage leapt up into the air and examined it very closely. It was indeed a Buddhist monastery. He could see

A tiled wall plastered with red,

Golden studs on both the gates.

Line behind line of towers, amid the hills,

Hall upon hall concealed within the mountains.

The Building of Ten Thousand Buddhas faces the Tathagata Hall,

The Sunshine Terrace opposite the Hero Gate.

The seven-storied pagoda gathers night mists,

The three Buddha statues show their glory.

The Manjusri Tower next to the monks' dormitory,

The Maitreya Pavilion beside the Hall of Mercy.

Outside the Mountain Tower the green lights dance,

Purple clouds rise from the Void-pacing Hall.

The green of the pines joins the green of the bamboo,

All is purity in the abbot's meditation hall.

In quiet elegance the music is performed,

And all the streams rejoice as they return.

In the place of meditation dhyana monks teach;

Many instruments play in the music room.

On the Terrace of Wonder the epiphyllum flower falls,

Before the preaching hall the palm of scripture grows.

The place of the Three Treasures is shaded by the woods;

The mountains guard the Indian prince's palace.

Along the walls the burning lamps shine bright;

The air is thick with smoke from incense sticks.

Bringing his cloud down to land, Sun the Great Sage reported to Sanzang, “Master, it's a Buddhist monastery, and it will be a good place to spend the night. Let's go there.” The venerable elder let his horse go forward again, and they went straight on till they were outside the monastery gate. “Master,” asked Monkey, “what monastery is this?”

“It's most unreasonable to ask that,” Sanzang replied, “when my horse has only this moment stopped and I haven't even had the time to take my foot out of the stirrup.”

“But you've been a monk since childhood, venerable sir,” said Monkey. “You were taught Confucian books before you studied the sutras and the dharma. You're very widely educated and on top of that you've been shown great kindness by the Tang Emperor. So how come you can't read those great big letters over the gate?”

“You stupid macaque,” cursed the venerable elder, “you don't know what you're talking about. I was urging my horse Westwards and had the sun in my eyes. Besides, the letters are hidden by the dust. That's why I didn't see them.” At this Monkey bowed, made himself over twenty feet tall, wiped the dust away with his hand, and invited his master to read them. There were five words written large: IMPERIALLY FOUNDED PRECIOUS WOOD MONASTERY. Monkey resumed his normal size and asked the master which of them was to go into the monastery to ask for lodging.

“I will,” said Sanzang. “You are all so ugly, coarsely spoken, abrasive and overbearing that you might give the monks here such a fright that they refused to shelter us. That would be no good.”

“In that case, Master,” replied Monkey, “enough said. Please go in.”

Sanzang laid down his monastic staff, removed his cape, neatened up his clothes, put his hands together and went in through the monastery gates. Behind red lacquered railings on either side two vajrapani guardian gods sat on high. These statues were both majestic and hideous:

One's iron face and steel whiskers seemed to be alive,

The other's scorched brow and bulging eyes were exquisitely carved.

On the left were fists knobbly like pig iron,

To the right were hands as rough as copper ore.

Their golden chainmail gleamed in the light,

Helmet and embroidered sash floated in the breeze.

Many worship the Buddha in the West;

Red glows the incense in stone tripods.

When Sanzang saw these statues he nodded, sighed and said, “If we had people in the East who could make big statues like these to burn incense to and worship I'd never have needed to go to the Western Heaven.” With more sighs he went through the inner gates of the monastery, where could be seen statues of Four Heavenly Kings, Dhrtarastra, Vaisravana, Virudhaka and Yirupaksa, set to the East, North, South and West to ensure the proper amounts of wind and rain. Once inside the inner gates he saw four lofty pines, each with a spreading canopy shaped like a parasol. He suddenly looked up to see the main Buddha hall. Placing his hands together in homage he prostrated himself before the images, then rose, walked round the platform on which the Buddha statues sat, and went out by the back door. He saw that at the back of the Buddha statues was one of the Bodhisattva Guanyin saving all beings in the Southern Sea. The craftsmanship was superb: there were figures of shrimps, fish, crabs, and turtles with heads and tails emerging from the composition as they leapt and played in the ocean waves.

The venerable elder nodded several more times, and sighed over and over again, “Oh dear! If all the creatures of scale and shell worship the Buddha, why is it that man alone will not live virtuously?”

As he sighed a monk came out through the innermost gate. Seeing Sanzang's remarkable and distinguished appearance he hurried up to him, greeted him courteously, and said, “Where are you from, reverend sir?”

“I have been sent by His Majesty the Tang Emperor,” Sanzang replied, “to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and fetch the scriptures. As we have reached your illustrious monastery at evening I request that we be allowed to spend the night here.”

“Reverend Sir,” said the monk, “please don't be angry with, me, but it's not for me to decide. I'm just a lay brother who sweeps and strikes the bell and does menial duties. We have a reverend abbot inside who is in charge here and I'll have to report to him. If he allows you to stay I'll come out again with an invitation, but if he doesn't then I'm afraid I won't be able to waste any more of your time.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” said Sanzang.

The lay brother hurried inside to report to the abbot, who was also the superintendent of ecclesiastical affairs, “There's someone outside, sir.” The abbot rose, dressed himself in his miter and his vestments, and quickly opened the doors to let him in.

“Where is he?” he asked the lay brother.

“Can't you see him over there, behind the main hall?” the lay brother replied.

Sanzang, who was leaning against the gateway, was bareheaded and wearing a monastic habit made of twenty-five strips of cloth and a pair of dirty, water-stained Bodhidharma sandals. At the sight of him the abbot said to the lay brother, “You need a lot more floggings yet, brother. Don't you realize that I hold high office in this monastery and only receive the gentry who come from town to burn incense here? How could you be so empty-headed as to ask me to receive a monk like that? Just look at his face. You can see he isn't honest. He's probably a wandering mendicant monk asking for lodging here because it's late. Our lodgings are not to be disturbed by the likes of him. He can spend the night squatting under the eaves. Why tell me about him?” With that he turned and walked away.

Sanzang, who heard all this, had tears running down his face. “Alas,” he said, “alas. How true it is that 'a man away from home is dirt.' I have been a monk since I was a boy. I have never

'Absolved the dead when eating meat

Or thought of doing harm,

Or read the Sutras angrily,

Or reflected without calm.

Nor have I

Thrown roof tiles, or heaved a brick

To harm a temple building,

Or ever scraped from arhat's face

The very precious gilding.

Oh dear! Goodness only knows in what existence I did such harm to Heaven and Earth that I should always be meeting evil people in this one. Even if you will not give us a night's lodging, monk, why did you have to say such disgraceful things, and tell us to squat under the front eaves? It's a good thing you said nothing like that to Wukong. If you had he would have come in here and smashed your feet with his iron cudgel.”

“Oh well, never mind,” thought Sanzang. “As the saying goes, manners maketh man. I'll go in, ask him and see what he decides.”

The Master walked in through the gate to the abbot's lodgings, where he saw the abbot sitting with his outer clothes off and seething with fury. Sanzang did not know from the pile of paper on his table whether he was reading scripture or writing out Buddhist pardons for somebody.

Not venturing to go any further in, Sanzang stood in the courtyard, bowed, and called aloud, “My lord abbot, your disciple pays his respects.”

The monk, apparently very irritated that he had come in, barely acknowledged his greeting and asked, “Where are you from?”

To this Sanzang replied, “I have been sent by His Majesty the Great Tang Emperor to worship the living Buddha in the Western Heaven and fetch the scriptures. It was because I have reached your illustrious monastery at nightfall that I have come to ask for lodging. I'll leave before first light tomorrow. I beg, venerable abbot, that you will show me kindness.”

Only then did the abbot make a slight bow and ask, “Are you Tang Sanzang?”

“Yes, I am.”

“If you are going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures, how is that you don't know the way?”

“I've never been here before,” said Sanzang.

“About a mile and a half to the West is Ten Mile Inn,” said the abbot, “where they sell food and you can put up for the night. It would not be convenient for you monks from far away to stay here.”

“There is a saying, abbot,” replied Sanzang, “that 'Buddhist and Taoist monasteries and convents are all rest-houses for us monks; the sight of the temple gate is worth a big helping of rice.' You can't refuse us. What do you mean by it?”

“You wandering monks,” roared the abbot in fury, “you've all got the gift of the gab, haven't you?”

“Why do you say that?” asked Sanzang, to which the abbot replied, “There's an old saying that goes,

When the tiger came to town,

Every household shut its door.

Although he'd bitten no one yet,

Tiger's name was bad before.”

“What do you mean, 'Tiger's name was bad before?'“ asked Sanzang.

“Some years ago,” the other replied, “a group of itinerant monks came and sat down at our gates. Seeing how wretched they were-their clothes all torn, barefoot and bareheaded-I was sorry for them being so ragged. So I asked them into my quarters, gave them the best places to sit, provided them with a meal, lent each of them an old habit, and let them stay for a few days. Little did I imagine that the free food and the free clothing would put all thought of leaving out of their minds. They stayed for seven or eight years. Staying wasn't so bad, but it was all the terrible things they did.”

“What terrible things?” asked Sanzang. “Listen while I tell you,” replied the abbot,

“When idle or bored they threw bricks around,

Or tore out the studs from the monastery walls.

On cold days they burnt all the window-frames up,

Slept outside in summer on dismantled doors.

“They ripped up the banners to make themselves foot-cloths,

Traded our incense and ivory for turnips,

Stole oil from the lamp that never goes out,

And gambled away all our cauldrons and dishes.”

“Oh dear,” thought Sanzang on hearing this, “I'm not a spineless monk like them.” He was on the point of tears, but then thought that the abbot might mock him, so he discreetly dried them with his clothes, held back his sobs, and hurried out to see his three disciples.

At the sigh of his master's angry expression Monkey asked him, “Master, did the monks in there beat you up?”

“No,” replied Sanzang.

“They must have,” said Monkey, “or why else did I hear sobbing? Did they tell you off?”

“No,” said Sanzang. “They did not tell me off.”

“If they didn't beat you or reproach you, why look so upset?” asked Monkey. “Don't tell me it's because you're homesick.”

“This is not a good place,” said the Tang Priest.

“They must be Taoists here,” said Monkey with a grin.

“You only get Taoists in a Taoist temple,” retorted Sanzang angrily. “In a Buddhist monastery there are Buddhist monks.”

“You're hopeless,” said Monkey. “If they're Buddhist monks they're like us. As the saying goes, 'All in the Buddhist community are friends.' You sit here while I take a look around.”

The splendid Monkey touched the gold band round his head, tightened his kilt, went straight into the main shrine-hall, pointed at the three Buddha statues and said, “You may only be imitations made of gilded clay, but you must have some feeling inside. I'm here this evening to ask for a night's lodging because I'm escorting the holy Tang Priest to worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures in the Western Heaven. Announce us this instant. If you don't put us up for the night I'll smash you gilded bodies with one crack of this cudgel and show you up for the dirt that you really are.”

While Monkey was indulging in this bad temper and bluster a lay brother responsible for burning the evening incense had lit several sticks and was putting them into the burner in front of the Buddhas. An angry shout from Monkey gave him such a fright that he fell over. Picking himself up he saw Monkey's face, at which he collapsed again, then rolled and staggered to the abbot's cell, where he reported, “Reverend sir, there's a monk outside.”

“You lay brothers really need more flogging,” said the abbot. “I've already said they can squat under the eaves, so why report again? Next time it will be twenty strokes.”

“But, reverend sir,” said the lay brother, “this is a different monk. He looks thoroughly vicious, and he's got no backbone either.”

“What's he like?” the abbot asked.

“Round eyes, pointed ears, hair all over his cheeks, and a face as ugly as a thunder god,” said the lay brother. “He's got a cudgel in his hand and he's gnashing his teeth in fury. He must be looking for someone to kill.”

“I'll go out and see him,” said the abbot. No sooner had he opened his door than Monkey charged in. He really was ugly: an irregular, knobbly face, a pair of yellow eyes, a bulging forehead, and teeth jutting out. He was like a crab, with flesh on the inside and bone on the outside. The old monk was so frightened that he fastened the doors of his quarters.

Monkey, who was right behind him, smashed through the doors and said, “Hurry up and sweep out a thousand nice clean rooms for me. I want to go to sleep.”

The abbot, hiding in his room, said to the lay brother, “It's not his fault he's so ugly. He's just talking big to make up for that face. There are only three hundred rooms in the whole monastery, even counting my lodgings, the Buddha Hall, the drum and bell towers and the cloisters, but he's asking for a thousand to sleep in. We can't possibly get them.”

“Reverend sir,” said the lay brother, “I'm terrified. You had better answer him, however you will.”

“Venerable sir,” called the abbot, shaking with fear, “you ask for lodging, but our little monastery would be most inconvenient, so we won't be able to entertain you. Please spend the night somewhere else.”

Monkey made his cudgel as thick as a rice-bowl and stood it on its end in the courtyard outside the abbot's cell. “If it would be inconvenient, monk,” he said, “you'd better move out.”

“But I've lived here since I was a boy,” the abbot said, “my master's master passed the monastery on to my master, who passed it on to my generation, and we'll hand it on in turn to our successors and our successors' successors. Goodness only knows what he's up to, charging in here and trying to move us out.”

“No problem at all, reverend sir,” said the lay brother. “We can go. He's already brought his pole into the yard.”

“Stop talking nonsense,” said the abbot. “There are four of five hundred of us monks, old and young, so where could we go? If we went there would be nowhere for us to stay.”

“If there's nowhere you can move to,” said Monkey, who had heard the conversation, “you'll have to send someone out to take me on in a quarterstaff fight.”

“Go out and fight him for me,” the abbot ordered the lay brother.

“Reverend Sir,” the lay brother protested, “you can't ask me to fight with a staff against a caber that size.”

“You must,” the abbot replied, adding, “'An army is built up for many years to be used in a single morning.'”

“Never mind him hitting you with that caber,” said the lay brother, “it would squash you flat if it just fell on you.”

“And even if it didn't fall on you and squash you,” said the abbot, “with it standing out there in the yard you might be walking around at night, forget it was there, and give yourself a dent in the head just by bumping into it.”

“Now you realize how heavy it is, reverend sir, how can you expect me to go out and fight him with my staff?” said the lay brother. This was how the monks quarreled among themselves.

“Yes,” said Monkey, hearing all this, “you're no match for me. But if I were to kill just one of you with this cudgel my master would be angry with me for committing murder again. I'd better find something else to hit as a demonstration for you.” Looking and seeing a stone lion outside the doors to the abbot's room, he raised his cudgel and smashed it to smithereens with a single resounding blow. When the abbot saw this through the window the fright turned his bones and muscles to jelly. He dived under the bed.

The lay brother climbed into the cooking-stove and kept saying, “Sir, sir, that cudgel's too heavy, I'm no match for you. I beg you, I beg you.”

“I won't hit you, monk,” said Monkey. “I've just got a question for you: how many monks are there in the monastery?”

“We have two hundred and eighty-five cells all told,” replied the abbot, shaking with fear, “and five hundred monks holding official ordination licenses.”

“I want you to draw those five hundred monks up on parade,” said Monkey, “get them dressed in long habits, and receive my master. Then I won't hit you.”

“If you won't hit me, sir,” said the abbot, “I'd gladly carry him in.”

“Hurry up then,” said Monkey.

“I don't care if the fright breaks your gallbladder, or even if it breaks your heart,” said the abbot to the lay brother. “Go out and tell them all to come here and welcome His Grace the Tang Priest.”

The lay brother had no choice but to take his life in his hands. Not daring to go through the front door, he squirmed out through a gap in the back wall and went straight to the main hall, where he struck the drum that was to the East and the bell that was to the West. The sound of the two together startled all the monks young and old in the dormitories on both sides.

They came to the main hall and asked, “Why are the drum and bell sounding now? It's too early.”

“Go and change at once,” said the lay brother, “then get yourselves into your groups under the senior monk and go outside the main gates to welcome His Grace from the land of Tang.” All the monks then went out through the gates in a most orderly procession to greet him. Some wore full cassocks, and some tunics; those who had neither wore a kind of sleeveless smock, and the poorest of all who had no proper garment draped the two ends of their loin-cloths over their shoulders.

“Monks, what's that you're wearing?” demanded Monkey.

“Sir, don't hit us,” they said, seeing his ugly and evil face, “let us explain. This is cloth we beg for in town. We don't have any tailors here, so these are paupers' wrappers we make ourselves.”

Monkey laughed inside at this, then escorted them all out through the gates to kneel down. The abbot kowtowed and called out, “Your Grace of Tang, please take a seat in my lodgings.”

Seeing all this, Pig said, “Master, you're completely useless. When you went in you were all tears and pouting so much you could have hung a bottle from your lips. How come that only Monkey knows tow to make them welcome us with kowtows?”

“Ill-mannered idiot,” said Sanzang. “As the saying goes, even a devil's afraid of an ugly mug.” Sanzang was most uncomfortable at the sight of them all kowtowing and bowing, so he stepped forward and invited them all to rise. They all kowtowed again and said, “Your Grace, if you would ask your disciple to show some mercy and not hit us with that caber we'll gladly kneel here for a month.”

“You must not hit them, Wukong,” said the Tang Priest.

“I haven't hit them,” said Monkey. “If I had, I'd have wiped the lot of them out.” Only then did all the monks rise to their feet. Leading the horse, shouldering the shoulder-poles with the luggage, carrying the Tang Priest, giving Pig a piggyback, and supporting Friar Sand they all went in through the main gates to the abbot's lodgings at the back, where they took their seats in due order.

The monks all started kowtowing again. “Please rise, lord abbot,” Sanzang said. “There is no need for any more kowtows, which are oppressive for a poor monk like me. We are both followers of the Buddhist faith.”

“Your Grace is an Imperial Commissioner,” the abbot replied, “and I failed to greet you properly. You came to our wretched monastery, but when I met you my mortal eyes did not recognize your illustrious status. May I venture to ask, Your Grace, whether you are eating a vegetarian or a meat diet on your journey? We would like to prepare a meal.”

“Vegetarian food,” replied Sanzang.

“And I imagine that these reverend gentlemen,” said the abbot, “like to eat meat.”

“No,” said Monkey. “We are vegetarians, and have been all our lives.”

“Good Heavens,” exclaimed the abbot, “can even creatures like these be vegetarians?”

Then a very bold monk came forward to ask, “Sirs, as you eat vegetarian food, how much rice should we cook for you?”

“Mean little monks,” said Pig, “why ask? Cook us a bushel.” The monks then moved as fast as they could to clean the stoves and the cauldrons and serve food and tea in all the cells. The lamps were hung high and tables and chairs brought to entertain the Tan Priest.

When master and disciples had eaten their supper the monks cleared the things away. Sanzang thanked the abbot: “Lord abbot, we have put your illustrious monastery to great trouble.”

“No, no,” the abbot protested, “we have entertained you very poorly.”

“May my disciples and I spend the night here?” Sanzang asked.

“Don't worry, Your Grace,” the abbot replied, “we will arrange things.” Then he called out, “Are there any lay brothers on duty over there?”

“Yes, reverend sir,” a lay brother replied.

“Then send a couple of them to see to the fodder for His Grace's horse,” the abbot instructed, “and have some sweep out and clean up the front meditation hall. Put beds in there for these venerable gentlemen to sleep in.” The lay brothers did as they had been told and arranged everything, then invited the Tang Priest to go to bed. Master and disciples led the horse and carried their baggage out of the abbot's quarters to the meditation hall. Looking in through the doors they saw the lamp burning brightly and four rattan beds set up at the ends of the room. Monkey told the lay brother who was looking after the fodder to carry it inside, lay it in the meditation hall, and tie up the white horse; the lay brothers were then all dismissed. Sanzang sat in the middle, right under the lamp, while the five hundred monks stood in their two divisions waiting upon him, not daring to leave.

“You may now leave, gentlemen,” said Sanzang, bowing to them from his chair, “as we would like to go to sleep.” But the monks dared not withdraw.

The abbot stepped forward and said to them, “Help Their Graces to bed, then leave.”

“You have done that already,” said Sanzang, “so you may all now go.” Only then did they disperse.

On going outside to relieve himself the Tang Priest saw the moon shining in the sky. He called his disciples, Monkey, Pig and Friar Sand, who came out to stand in attendance. He was moved by the brightness and purity of the moon as it shone from high in the jade firmament, making all in heaven and on earth clearly visible. He recited a long poem in the ancient style in the moonlight with a nostalgic feeling. It went:

A white soul hangs, a mirror in the sky,

Reflected whole in the mountain stream.

Pure light fills the towers of jade,

Cool air swirls round the silver bowls.

The same pure light shines on a thousand miles;

This is the clearest night of the year.

It rises from the sea like a frosty disk,

Hang in the heavens as a wheel of ice.

Sad the lonely traveler by the inn's cold window;

The old man goes to sleep in the village pub.

In the Han garden one is shocked by graying hair;

In the Qin tower the lady prepares herself for bed.

Yu Liang's lines on the moon are recorded by history;

Yuan Hong lay sleepless under the moon in a river boat.

The light that floats in the cup is cold and weak;

The purity shining in the court is strong and full of magic.

At every window are chanted poems to the snow,

In every courtyard the icy crescent is described.

Tonight we share quiet pleasure in the cloister;

When shall we ever all go home together?

Having heard the poem, Monkey went up to him and said, “Master, you only know about the moon's beauty, and you're homesick too. You don't know what the moon's really about. It's like the carpenter's line and compasses-it keeps the heavenly bodies in order. On the thirtieth of every month the metal element of its male soul has all gone, and the water element of its female soul fills the whole disk. That is why it goes black and has no light. That's what is called the end of the old moon. This is the time, between the last day of the old moon and the first of the new, when it mates with the sun. The light makes it conceive. By the third day the first male light is seen, and on the eight day the second male light. When the moon's male and female souls each have half of it, the moon is divided as if by a string. That is why it is called the first quarter. On the fifteenth night, tonight, all three male lights are complete, and the moon is round. This is called the full moon. On the sixteenth the first female principle is born, followed on the twenty-second by the second. At this stage the two souls are matched again and the moon is again divided as if by a string. This is what is called the third quarter. By the thirtieth the three female principles are complete, and it is the last day of the old moon. This is what is meant by 'prenatal absorption and refinement'. If we are all able gently to raise the 'double eight' and achieve it in nine by nine days, it will be easy to see the Buddha and easy to go home again too. As the poem goes:

After the first quarter and before the third,

Medicines taste bland, with all pneuma signs complete.

When it is gathered and refined in the furnace,

The achievement of the will is the Western Heaven.”

On learning this the venerable elder was instantly enlightened and he fully comprehended the truth, and as he thanked Monkey his heart was filled with happiness. Friar Sand laughed as he stood beside them. “What my brother says is true, as far as it goes,” he commented. “In the first quarter the male is dominant, and after the third quarter the female. When male and female are half and half the metal element obtains water. But what he did not say was this:

Fire and water support each other, each with its own fate;

All depend on the Earth Mother to combine them naturally.

The three meet together, without competing;

Water is in the Yangtze River, and the moon on the sky.”

Hearing this removed another obstruction from the venerable elder's mind. Indeed:

When reason fathoms one mystery, a thousand are made clear;

The theory that breaks through non-life leads to immortality.

Whereupon Pig went up to his master, tugged at his clothes, and said, “Pay no attention to all that nonsense, Master. We're missing our sleep. As for that moon, well:

Soon after it's defective the moon fills up again,

Just as at birth I too was incomplete.

They complain my belly's too big when I eat,

And say that I drool when I'm holding a bowl.

They are all neat and blessed by cultivation;

I was born stupid and have a baser fate.

You'll achieve the Three Ways of existence by fetching the scriptures,

And go straight up to the Western Heaven with a wag of your tail and your head.”

“That will do,” said Sanzang. “Disciples, you've had a hard journey, so go to bed. I have to read this sutra first.”

“You must be wrong, Master,” said Monkey. “You became a monk when you were very young and know all the surras of your childhood by heart. Now you are going to the Western Heaven on the orders of the Tang Emperor to fetch the true scriptures of the Great Vehicle, but you haven't succeeded yet. You haven't seen the Buddha or got the scriptures. So what sutra will you read?”

“Ever since leaving Chang'an,” Sanzang replied, “I have been travelling in such a rush every day that I have forgotten the scriptures of my youth. As I have some free time tonight I shall relearn them.”

“In that case we'll turn in first,” said Monkey. Each of the three of them went to sleep on his rattan bed while their master closed the door of the meditation hall, turned up the silver lamp, and opened out the scroll of scripture, which he silently read. Indeed:

When the first drum sounds in the tower the people are all silent.

In the fishing boat by the bank the fires have been put out.

If you don't know how the venerable elder left the temple, listen to the explanation in the next installment.