The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2 (62 page)

    
Star caps crowned their heads;

    
Brocades draped their bodies;

    
Luminous star caps crowned their heads;

    
Colorful brocades draped their bodies.

    
Cloud-headed boots
³
held up their feet;

    
Fine silk sashes tied up their waists.

    
Like full moons their faces were handsome and bright;

    
They had the fair forms of jade-Heaven gods.

When the monks saw the two Daoists, they were terrified; every one of them redoubled his effort to pull desperately at the cart. “So, that’s it!” said
Pilgrim,
comprehending the situation all at once. “These monks must be awfully afraid of the Daoists, for if not, why should they be tugging so hard at the carts? I have heard someone say that there is a place on the road to the West where Daoism is revered and Buddhism is set for destruction. This must be the place. I would like to go back and report this to Master, but I still don’t know the whole truth and he might blame me for bringing him surmises, saying that even a smart person like me can’t be counted on for a reliable report. Let me go down there and question them thoroughly before I give Master an answer.”

“Whom would he question?” you ask. Dear Great Sage! He lowered his cloud and with a shake of his torso, he changed at the foot of the city into a mendicant Daoist of the Complete Truth order, with an exorcist hamper hung on his left arm. Striking a hollow wooden fish with his hands and chanting lyrics of Daoist themes, he walked up to the two Daoists near the city gate. “Masters,” he said, bowing, “this humble Daoist raises his hand.” Returning his salute, one of the Daoists said, “Sir, where did you come from?” “This disciple,” said Pilgrim, “has wandered to the corners of the sea and to the edges of Heaven. I arrived here this morning with the sole purpose of collecting subscriptions for good works. May I ask the two masters which street in this city is favorable toward the Dao, and which alley is inclined toward piety? This humble Daoist would like to go there and beg for some vegetarian food.” Smiling, the Daoist said, “O Sir! Why do you speak in such a disgraceful manner?” “What do you mean by disgraceful?” asked Pilgrim. “If you want to
beg
for vegetarian food,” said the Daoist, “isn’t that disgraceful?” Pilgrim said, “Those who have left the family live by begging. If I didn’t beg, where would I have money to buy food?”

Chuckling, the Daoist said, “You’ve come from afar, and you don’t know anything about our city. In this city of ours, not only the civil and military officials are fond of the Dao, the rich merchants and men of prominence devoted to piety, but even the ordinary citizens, young and old, will bow to present us once they see us. It is, in fact, a trivial matter, hardly worth mentioning. What’s most important about our city is that His Majesty, the king, is also fond of the Dao and devoted to piety.” “This humble cleric is first of all quite young,” said Pilgrim, “and second, he is indeed from afar. In truth I’m ignorant of the situation here. May I trouble the two masters to tell me the name of this place and give me a thorough account of how the king has come to be so devoted to the cause of Dao—for the sake of fraternal feelings among us Daoists?” The Daoist said, “This city has the name of the Cart Slow Kingdom, and the ruler on the precious throne is a relative of ours.”

When Pilgrim heard these words, he broke into loud guffaws, saying, “I suppose that a Daoist has become king.” “No,” said the Daoist. “What happened
was that twenty years ago, this region had a drought, so severe that not a single drop of rain fell from the sky and all grains and plants perished. The king and his subjects, the rich as well as the poor—every person was burning incense and praying to Heaven for relief. Just when it seemed that nothing else could preserve their lives, three immortals suddenly descended from the sky and saved us all.”

“Who were these immortals?” asked Pilgrim.

“Our masters,” said the Daoist.

“What are their names?” asked Pilgrim. The Daoist replied, “The eldest master is called the Tiger-Strength Great Immortal; the second master, the Deer-Strength Great Immortal; and the third master, Goat-Strength Great Immortal.” “What kinds of magic power do your esteemed teachers possess?” asked Pilgrim. The Daoist said, “Summoning the wind and the rain for my masters would be as easy as flipping over one’s palms; they point at water and it will change into oil; they touch stones and change them into gold, as quickly as one turns over in bed. With this kind of magic power, they are thus able to rob the creative genius of Heaven and Earth, to alter the mysteries of the stars and constellations. The king and his subjects have such profound respect for them that all of us Daoists are claimed as royal kin.”

Pilgrim said, “This ruler is lucky, all right. After all, the proverb says, ‘Magic moves ministers!’ He certainly can’t lose to claim kinship with your old masters, if they possess such powers. Alas! I wonder if I had even the tiniest spark of affinity, such that I could have an audience with the old masters.” Chuckling, the Daoist replied, “If you want to see our masters, it’s not difficult at all. The two of us are their bosom disciples. Moreover, our masters are so devoted to the Way and so deferential to the pious that the mere mention of the word ‘Dao’ would bring them out of the door, full of welcome. If we two were to introduce you, we would need to exert ourselves no more vigorously than to blow away some ashes.”

Bowing deeply, Pilgrim said, “I am indebted to you for your introduction. Let us go into the city then.” “Let’s wait a moment,” said one of the Daoists. “You sit here while we two finish our official business first. Then we’ll go with you.” Pilgrim said, “Those of us who have left the family are without cares or ties; we are completely free. What do you mean by official business?” The Daoist pointed with his finger at the monks on the beach and said, “Their work happens to be the means of livelihood for us. Lest they become indolent, we have come to check them off the roll before we go with you.” Smiling, Pilgrim said, “You must be mistaken, Masters. Buddhists and Daoists are all people who have left the family. For what reason are they working for our support? Why are they willing to submit to our roll call?”

The
Daoist said, “You have no idea that in the year when we were all praying for rain, the monks bowed to Buddha on one side while the Daoists petitioned the Pole Star on the other, all for the sake of finding some food for the country. The monks, however, were useless, their empty chants of sūtras wholly without efficacy. As soon as our masters arrived on the scene, they summoned the wind and the rain and the bitter affliction was removed from the multitudes. It was then that the court became terribly vexed at the monks, saying that they were completely ineffective and that they deserved to have their monasteries wrecked and their Buddha images destroyed. Their travel rescripts were revoked and they were not permitted to return to their native regions. His Majesty gave them to us instead and they were to serve as bondsmen: they are the ones who tend the fires in our Abbey, who sweep the grounds, and who guard the gates. Since we have some buildings in the rear that are not completely finished, we have ordered these monks here to haul bricks, tiles, and timber for the construction. But for fear of their mischief, indolence, and unwillingness to pull the cart, we have come to investigate and make the roll call.”

When Pilgrim heard that, he tugged at the Daoists as tears rolled from his eyes. “I said that I might not have the good affinity to see your old masters,” he said, “and true enough I don’t.” “Why not?” asked the Daoist.

“This humble Daoist is making a wide tour of the world,” said Pilgrim, “both for the sake of eking out a living and for finding a relative.” “What sort of relative do you have?” asked the Daoist. Pilgrim said, “I have an uncle, who since his youth had left the family and shorn his hair to become a monk. Because of famine some years ago he had to go abroad to beg for alms and hadn’t returned since. As I remembered our ancestral benevolence, I decided that I would make a special effort to find him along the way. It’s very likely, I suppose, that he is detained here and cannot go home. I must find him somehow and get to see him before I can go inside the city with you.” “That’s easy,” said the Daoist. “The two of us can sit here while you go down to the beach to make the roll call for us. There should be five hundred of them on the roll. Take a look and see if your uncle is among them. If he is, we’ll let him go for the sake of the fact that you, too, are a fellow Daoist. Then we’ll go inside the city with you. How about that?”

Pilgrim thanked them profusely, and with a deep bow he took leave of the Daoists. Striking up his wooden fish, he headed down to the beach, passing the double passes as he walked down the narrow path from the steep ridge. All those monks knelt down at once and kowtowed, saying in unison, “Father, we have not been indolent. Not even half a person from the five hundred is missing—we are all here pulling the cart.” Snickering to himself, Pilgrim thought, “These monks must have been awfully abused
by
the Daoist. They are terrified even when they see a fake Daoist like me. If a real Daoist goes near them, they will probably die of fear.” Waving his hand, Pilgrim said, “Get up, and don’t be afraid! I’m not here to inspect your work, I’m here to find a relative.” When those monks heard that he was looking for a relative, they surrounded him on all sides, every one of them sticking out his head and coughing, hoping that he would be claimed as kin. “Which of us is his relative?” they asked. After he had looked at them for awhile, Pilgrim burst into laughter. “Father,” said the monks, “you don’t seem to have found your relative. Why are you laughing instead?”

Pilgrim said, “You want to know why I’m laughing? I’m laughing at how immature you monks are! It was because of your having been born under an unlucky star that your parents, for fear of your bringing misfortune upon them or for not bringing with you additional brothers and sisters, turned you out of the family and made you priests. How could you then not follow the Three Jewels and not revere the law of Buddha? Why aren’t you reading the sūtras and chanting the litanies? Why do you serve the Daoists and allow them to exploit you as bondsmen and slaves?” “Venerable Father,” said the monks, “are you here to ridicule us? You must have come from abroad, and you have no idea of our plight.” “Indeed I’m from abroad,” said Pilgrim, “and I truly have no idea of what sort of plight you have.”

As they began to weep, the monks said, “The ruler of our country is wicked and partial. All he cares for are those persons like you, Venerable Father, and those whom he hates are us Buddhists.” “Why is that?” asked Pilgrim. “Because the need for wind and rain,” said one of the monks, “caused three immortal elders to come here. They deceived our ruler and persuaded him to tear down our monasteries and revoke our travel rescripts, forbidding us to return to our native regions. He would not, moreover, permit us to serve even in any secular capacity except as slaves in the household of those immortal elders. Our agony is unbearable! If any Daoist mendicant shows up in this region, they would immediately request the king to grant him an audience and a handsome reward; but if a monk appears, regardless of whether he is from nearby or afar, he will be seized and sent to be a servant in the house of the immortals.”

Pilgrim said, “Could it be that those Daoists are truly in possession of some mighty magic, potent enough to seduce the king? If it’s only a matter of summoning the wind and the rain, then it is merely a trivial trick of heterodoxy. How could it sway a ruler’s heart?” The monks said, “They know how to manipulate cinnabar and refine lead, to sit in meditation in order to nourish their spirits. They point to water and it changes into oil; they touch stones and transform them into pieces of gold. Now they are in the process of building a huge abbey for the Three Pure Ones,
⁴
in which they
can
perform rites to Heaven and Earth and read scriptures night and day, to the end that the king will remain youthful for ten thousand years. Such enterprise undoubtedly pleases the king.”

“So that’s how it is!” said Pilgrim. “Why don’t you all run away and be done with it?” “Father, we can’t!” said the monks. “Those immortal elders have obtained permission from the king to have our portraits painted and hung up in all four quarters of the kingdom. Although the territory of this Cart Slow Kingdom is quite large, there is a picture of monks displayed in the marketplace of every village, town, county, and province. It bears on top the royal inscription that any official who catches a monk will be elevated three grades, and any private citizen who does so will receive a reward of fifty taels of white silver. That’s why we can never escape. Let’s not say monks—but even those who have cut their hair short or are getting bald will find it difficult to get past the officials. They are everywhere, the detectives and the runners! No matter what you do, you simply can’t flee. We have no alternative but to remain here and suffer.”

“In that case,” said Pilgrim, “you might as well give up and die.” “Venerable Father,” said the monks, “many of us have died. There were altogether some two thousand monks caught and brought here: some six or seven hundred of them have perished because they could not bear the suffering and the persecution, or because they could not endure the cold or adjust to the climate. Another seven or eight hundred committed suicide. Only we five hundred failed to die.” “What do you mean by that?” asked Pilgrim. The monks said, “When we tried to hang ourselves, the ropes snapped; when we tried to cut ourselves, the blades were blunt; when we hurled ourselves into the river, we floated back up instead; and when we took poison, nothing happened to us.” Pilgrim said, “You are very lucky! Heaven must be desirous of prolonging your lives!” “The last word is not quite right, Venerable Father,” said the monks, “for surely you mean prolonging our torments! Our daily meals are thin gruel made of the coarsest grains, and at night, we have nowhere to rest but this exposed piece of sandy beach. When we close our eyes, however, there will be deities here to protect us.” “You mean the hard work during the day,” said Pilgrim, “causes you to see ghosts at night.” “Not ghosts,” said the monks, “but the Six Gods of Darkness and the Six Gods of Light, together with the Guardians of Monasteries. When night falls, they will appear to protect us and, in fact, prevent those who want to die from dying.”