Chapter 93

At the Garden of the Provider for the Lonely They Ask of Old Times and Speak of Causes; In the Kingdom of India They Attend the King and Meet a Match

Rouse a thought, and love is surely there; linger in feeling, and calamity must be born. Why should the spirit’s light busy itself sorting the Three Terraces? When the work is full, it returns of itself to the sea of the origin.Whether one becomes immortal or becomes Buddha, it must be arranged from within this. Clean and pure, cut off from dust; the fruit made true, one soars aloft to the upper bounds.

When day broke and the monks of the monastery found the Tang monk and his disciples gone, they all said: “We never kept him, never said farewell, never begged him to stay—we let a living bodhisattva slip clean away.” As they spoke, several great households arrived from the southern outskirts to invite them, and the monks clapped their hands: “Last night we failed to watch for it; tonight they have all ridden off on clouds.” The whole company looked up to the sky and bowed in thanks. Once this was told, every official and person in the city came to know of it, and those great households were called upon to prepare the five sacrificial animals, flowers, and fruit, and go to the living shrine to offer sacrifice and give thanks—but no more of that.

Now the Tang monk and his party fed on the wind and slept by the water, the road even and peaceful, half a month and more. Then one day they saw a high mountain ahead. The Tang monk was again seized with dread: “Disciples, those ridges ahead are steep and sharp—we must be careful.” Pilgrim laughed: “On this stretch of road we are nearing the Buddha’s land; there can be no demons or devils here. Set your mind at rest, master, and do not worry.” The Tang monk said: “Disciple, though the Buddha’s land is near, the monks at that monastery said it is two thousand li to the capital of India—how much farther still, who can say?” Pilgrim said: “Master, you seem to have forgotten the Chan Master of the Nest in the Trees and his Heart Sutra again.” Tripitaka said: “The Heart of Prajna is the robe and bowl I carry with me; since the Chan Master of the Nest in the Trees taught it to me, what day have I not recited it? What hour could I forget it? I can even recite it backwards—how could I forget it?” Pilgrim said: “Master, you can only recite it; you never asked that master to explain it.” Tripitaka said: “Monkey-head, why say again that I have not understood it? Can you explain it?” Pilgrim said: “I can explain it, I can explain it.” From then on, Tripitaka and Pilgrim said not another word. At the side, Bajie collapsed laughing and Sha Monk was delighted, and Bajie said: “You glib tongue—you and I rose from being demons in the same way; you are no Chan hand who has sat through scripture lectures, no chanting monk who has watched sermons given. Making a show, striking a pose—what is all this ‘I know it,’ ‘I can explain it’? Why then do you fall silent? Let us hear the lecture—please explain.” Sha Monk said: “Second brother, do you believe him? Elder brother spins out his talk to beguile master into walking on. He knows how to swing a staff, that is all—when did he ever learn to expound the scriptures?” Tripitaka said: “Wuneng, Wujing, say no more. What Wukong understands is beyond words and letters, and that is the true understanding.”

While they were talking they had, in truth, covered a good stretch of road and left several ridges behind, and by the roadside there now appeared a great monastery. Tripitaka said: “Wukong, there is a monastery ahead. Look at it—truly:

Not big, not small, yet roofed with glass-green tiles; half new, half old, yet walled with a red wall flung wide like the character “eight.” Dimly you see gray pines spreading their canopies—who knows in what year of some thousand years past those ancient things arrived where they stand today; murmuring, you hear running water twanging its strings, and cannot tell in what dynasty, in what season of time, the mountain was opened and this left behind. Over the mountain gate, in great letters: “Chan Monastery of the Bestowed Gold”; on the hanging tablet, an inscription: “A Relic of High Antiquity.””

Pilgrim saw that it read “Chan Monastery of the Bestowed Gold,” and Bajie too said it read “Chan Monastery of the Bestowed Gold.” Tripitaka pondered in the saddle: “‘Bestowed gold’… ‘bestowed gold’… Can this be the borders of Sravasti?” Bajie said: “Master, how strange! I have followed you these years and never once known the road, and today I know it?” Tripitaka said: “No. I have often read the scriptures and recited the classics, and they tell how the Buddha preached in the Jeta Grove, the Garden of the Provider for the Lonely, at the city of Sravasti. The garden, they say, was bought from the prince by the Elder Provider for the Lonely, so that the Buddha might be invited to preach. The prince said: ‘My garden is not for sale. If he wants to buy it, then only on condition that gold be laid over every span of the ground.’ The Elder Provider for the Lonely, hearing this, took gold at once, cast it into bricks, and covered every span of the garden, and only so bought the prince’s Jeta Grove, and only so brought the World-Honored One to preach. I was thinking: can this Bestowed Gold Monastery be that very story?” Bajie laughed: “What luck! If it is that very story, let us go pry up a brick or two to give away.” They all laughed a while longer before Tripitaka got down from his horse.

Passing through the mountain gate, they saw under it those carrying shoulder-loads, those with packs on their backs, those pushing carts, all sitting at their ease: some sleeping where they could sleep, some talking where they talked. Suddenly they spied these four travelers of theirs—the handsome ones so handsome, the ugly ones so ugly—and everyone felt some fear, yet they edged out of the way. Tripitaka, dreading trouble, kept crying without pause: “Gently, gently, mind your manners.” At this they all composed themselves. Rounding the Hall of the Guardian Kings, out came a Chan monk, of dignified bearing and no common air. Truly:

A face like the full moon’s light; a body like the bodhi tree.He hugs his staff, sleeves adrift in the wind; straw sandals on the stony road.

Tripitaka saluted him. The monk hastily returned the courtesy: “From where does your masterhood come?” Tripitaka said: “I am Chen Xuanzang, sent by order of the emperor of the great Tang of the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Passing through your precious land, I have ventured this call, and beg a night’s lodging; tomorrow we go on.” The monk said: “This humble mountain is a hostel for monks from all quarters, open to every pilgrim; and you, elder, are a holy monk of the Eastern Land—grant us the happiness of offering you hospitality.” Tripitaka thanked him and at once called the other three to come along. Past the cloisters and the kitchen they went, straight into the abbot’s quarters. When the courtesies of meeting were done, host and guest sat down, and the three, Pilgrim’s party, sat too with hands hanging.

Now when the monastery heard that monks come from the great Tang of the Eastern Land for the scriptures had arrived, great and small of the monastery—the permanent residents, the lodgers, the elders, the novice boys—came one and all to pay their respects. When tea was done the meal was laid. The elder was still opening the fast, reciting the verse, when Bajie, in haste, was already sending down buns, vegetarian dishes, and vermicelli soup in one great swallow. There were many people in the abbot’s quarters just then: the discerning praised Tripitaka’s dignified bearing; the fun-loving all watched Bajie eat. Now Sha Monk’s eyes were quick: seeing how things stood, he pinched Bajie secretly and said: “Manners.” Bajie, flustered, cried out: “Manners, manners—my belly is empty!” Sha Monk laughed: “Second brother, you do not know. Of all the polite men in the world, if you look into their bellies, they are just like you and me.” Only then would Bajie stop. Tripitaka said the closing verse for the meal, the tables were cleared to left and right, and Tripitaka gave his thanks.

The monastery monks asked why they had come from the Eastern Land, and when Tripitaka came to the ancient site and asked the origin of the monastery’s name, Bestowed Gold, the monk answered: “This monastery was originally the Jeta Grove Garden Monastery of Sravasti, also called the Jeta Grove. Because the Elder Provider for the Lonely invited the Buddha to preach and laid the ground with bricks of gold, the name was later changed to the present one. One broad glance before this monastery of ours was the kingdom of Sravasti. In those days the Elder Provider for the Lonely lived in Sravasti, and this humble mountain was the elder’s Jeta Grove; hence the name, the Bestowed Gold Monastery of the Provider for the Lonely. Behind the monastery the foundations of the Jeta Grove remain. In recent years, when the season’s rains come pelting down, gold and silver and pearls are still washed out of it; the fortunate often pick them up.” Tripitaka said: “The tale is no idle rumor—it is true.” He asked again: “On entering your precious mountain I saw, under the gate and along the cloisters, many traveling merchants with mules, horses, carts, and loads. Why do they lodge here?” The monks said: “This mountain of ours is called Hundred-Foot Mountain. In earlier years it was entirely peaceful; but lately, with the seasons turning, some centipede spirits have sprung up, no one knows how, and often injure people on the road. They do not take lives, it is true, but in fact no one dares travel. At the foot of the mountain there is a pass called Cockcrow Pass; only when the cock crows dare people go through. Those travelers, arriving too late and fearing the worst, borrowed a night’s lodging at our humble monastery, and will go on after the cock crows.” Tripitaka said: “Then let us wait, and go after the cock crows too.” While master and disciples were speaking, the meal was brought up again, and the Tang monk and the rest ate their fill.

The moon was now in its first quarter and bright. Tripitaka and Pilgrim strolled at ease in the moonlight, when a lay brother came to report: “Our old teacher wishes to see the men of China.” Tripitaka turned at once and saw an old monk, bamboo staff in hand, coming forward to salute: “Is this the master come from China?” Tripitaka returned the courtesy: “I dare not claim it.” The old monk praised him without end, and asked: “How old are you, teacher?” Tripitaka said: “I have idled through forty-five years. May I ask the reverence of the prior?” The old monk laughed: “One full sexagenary cycle your senior.” Pilgrim said: “A hundred and five this year. Now guess my age.” The old monk said: “Your features are ancient and your spirit clear, teacher, and my eyes swim on a moonlit night—I truly cannot tell.” They talked a while, then went to look at the back cloisters. Tripitaka said: “You spoke just now of the foundations of the Garden of the Provider for the Lonely—where do they truly lie?” The old monk said: “Just outside the back gate.—Quick, have the gate opened.” They saw a stretch of empty ground, with the footing of a wall piled of broken stones. Tripitaka pressed his palms together and sighed:

“I remember of old the donor Sudatta, who spent his gold and treasure to relieve the poor and ailing.The Jeta Grove keeps its name through a thousand ages—but where does the elder dwell today, companion to the Awakened One?”

They all enjoyed the moon, walking slowly on. Nearing the back gate, they came up onto the terrace and sat a while, when suddenly they heard the sound of weeping. Tripitaka listened with a still and earnest heart: the weeping was of one lamenting to father and mother in her suffering. His own heart was touched to bitterness, and tears fell before he knew it. He turned and asked the monks: “Who is grieving, and where?” At the question the old monk ordered the monks off to brew tea. When no one was left, he bowed down before the Tang monk and Pilgrim. Tripitaka raised him: “Prior, why this ceremony?” The old monk said: “Your disciple is past a hundred years and knows something of the world; in the stillness of meditation I have seen visions more than once. Of you, master and disciples, your disciple can guess a little—it is otherwise with other men. As for this grieving matter, none but this teacher could judge it clearly.” Pilgrim said: “Tell us: what is it?” The old monk said: “On this day last year, your disciple was at the very moment of illuminating the moon of his nature when he heard the rush of a wind, and with it a sound of sorrow and grievance. Your disciple got down from his couch and went to look among the Jeta Grove foundations, and found a beautiful and modest young woman. I asked her: ‘Whose daughter are you, and why have you come to this place?’ The young woman said: ‘I am the princess of the king of India. Watching the flowers by moonlight, I was snatched away by the wind.’ I locked her in an empty shed, building the room up like a prison cell, leaving only a small hole in the door, just wide enough to pass a bowl through. That day I told the monks: ‘It is a demon, and I have bound it.’ But we monks are people of mercy and would not take her life. Every day I gave her two meals of coarse tea and coarse rice to keep her alive. The young woman was clever and understood my meaning at once; fearing she might be defiled by the monks, she feigned madness and made herself monstrous—sleeping in her water, lying in her filth. All day she babbled nonsense, dazed and dull; only when the night was quiet did she think of her father and mother and weep. I went into the city time and again to ask after the princess, and found her wholly unharmed. So I kept the lock fast and never let her out. Now that you, teacher, have come to this country, I beg you, when you reach the capital, to use your powers widely and make the matter clear: first to rescue the innocent, and second to display the divine powers.” Tripitaka and Pilgrim heard it, and took it deep to heart.

As he finished, two young monks came to invite them to tea and bed, and so the company went back. Bajie and Sha Monk in the abbot’s quarters were muttering and grumbling: “We must march at cockcrow tomorrow, and still no bed at this hour.” Pilgrim said: “What is the Idiot muttering now?” Bajie said: “Let us sleep—it is deep in the night; what scenery is left to see?” So the old monk dismissed the company, and the Tang monk went to rest. And so it was:

Men hushed, the moon sunk low, the flower-dreams still; a warm wind faintly through the gauze of window and wall.On the bronze clepsydra, drop by drop, watch the third drawing; the Silver River clearly lights the ninefold blossoms.

They had not been asleep long that night when the cock crowed. The merchants in front rose in a body, lighting lamps and cooking their rice. The elder woke Bajie and Sha Monk; they buckled the horses and packed the gear; Pilgrim called for lamps. The monastery monks had risen even earlier and set out tea, soup, and refreshments, waiting behind to offer them. Bajie was delighted, ate a plate of buns, and led out the luggage and the horses. Tripitaka and Pilgrim took leave of the company. The old monk said again to Pilgrim: “The matter of the grieving—in your heart, in your heart.” Pilgrim laughed: “Understood, understood. In the city I shall read the sound and find the sense, see the face and tell the color.” The merchants, in a happy uproar, took the highroad along with them. It was nearing the hour of the tiger when they passed Cockcrow Pass, and only at the hour of the snake did they see the city walls—truly an iron cauldron and golden city, a paradise among the blest lands. The city:

Tiger crouching, dragon coiling, the lie of the land stands high; phoenix towers and unicorn pavilions sway with shining color.The imperial moat’s running water girds it like a sash; the blessed land, leaning on its hills, plants its bannered crest.The dawn sun lights the banners on the imperial road; spring winds carry flutes and drums to every brook and bridge.The king walks in the Way, his robes and caps resplendent; the five grains swell the granaries, showing forth the heroes of the land.

That day they entered the Eastern Market Street, where the merchants went each to his inn. As the master and his disciples came into the city they came upon the Lodge of United Assembly, the state guesthouse, and Tripitaka and the rest went straight in. The steward of the lodge reported to the lodge marshal: “Outside there are four strange monks leading in a white horse.” Hearing of the horse, the marshal knew them for an official mission and came out to the hall to welcome them. Tripitaka saluted: “This poor monk is the envoy sent by imperial order from the Tang of the Eastern Land to Vulture Peak, the Great Thunderclap Monastery, to see the Buddha and seek the scriptures. I carry my rescript of passage with me, to be verified at court. I beg the loan of your honored office for a rest, and when the business is done we go on.” The marshal returned the courtesy: “This office was established to receive envoys and guests; it is only right to welcome you. Enter, enter.” Tripitaka, delighted, called his disciples in to be presented. The marshal, seeing their ugly faces, was secretly alarmed, not knowing whether they were men or ghosts, and trembling could only set out tea and the meal. Tripitaka, seeing his fright, said: “Do not be afraid, sir. Our three disciples, ugly as they look, are all of them good at heart. As the common saying goes, ‘A fierce face, a kind man’—what is there to fear?”

At these words the marshal’s heart settled, and he asked: “Your Reverence, in what quarter lies the Tang?” Tripitaka said: “In the land of China, in the southern continent of Jambudvipa.” He asked again: “When did you leave home?” Tripitaka said: “In the thirteenth year of Zhenguan; fourteen years have passed, through ten thousand waters and a thousand mountains of hardship, before we reached this place.” The marshal said: “A holy monk, a holy monk!” Tripitaka asked: “How many years has this noble country stood?” The marshal said: “My poor land is the great kingdom of India. From the Founder Emperor and the Successor Emperor down to today it is more than five hundred years. The sovereign on the throne loves hills and waters and flowers; he is styled the Emperor Yizong, his reign title Jingyan, now in its twenty-eighth year.” Tripitaka said: “Today this poor monk must present himself at court to have his rescript of passage countersigned. Might we find him still at morning court?” The marshal said: “Good, good, just the time. Of late, because the king’s daughter the princess has reached her twentieth spring, a painted tower has been raised high at the crossroads, where she will throw the embroidered ball, seeking her mate from Heaven; today is the very thick of the excitement. I take it the king has not yet risen from court; if you would have the rescript countersigned, now is the time to go.” Tripitaka gladly made to go, but the meal was just then laid, and he ate with the marshal, Pilgrim, and the rest.

It was already past noon. Tripitaka said: “I must go now.” Pilgrim said: “I will escort master.” Bajie said: “I will go.” Sha Monk said: “Enough, second brother—with that face of yours, do not go playing the fat man outside the palace gates. Let elder brother go.” Tripitaka said: “Wujing says well: the Idiot is coarse and clumsy, while Wukong has some delicacy.” The Idiot, pouting, said: “Leaving master aside, the three of our faces are much of a muchness.” Tripitaka put on the cassock, Pilgrim took up the letter-satchel, and they went together. In the streets, gentlemen and farmers, artisans and merchants, scholars and lettered idlers, fools and common folk, all cried with one accord: “Come see the throwing of the embroidered ball!” Tripitaka stood at the roadside and said to Pilgrim: “The people here—their dress, their palaces and utensils, their speech and conversation—are all just like our great Tang. It comes to my mind that my own mother in my secular life was matched by a thrown embroidered ball, met with an old affinity, and so they became husband and wife. Here too they keep such customs.” Pilgrim said: “Shall we go and watch too?” Tripitaka said: “No, no. Our dress would be improper; there might be suspicion.” Pilgrim said: “Master, have you forgotten what the old monk of the Bestowed Gold Monastery of the Provider for the Lonely said? First, to see the painted tower; second, to tell true from false. In such a bustle the king will surely be hearing the happy report of his princess—when would he hold court and attend to business? Let us go and be done with it.” Tripitaka, hearing this, truly went along with Pilgrim, and saw all manner of people gathered there watching for the thrown ball. Ah! Who could have known that this errand was:

The fisherman casts his hook and his line, and from this day fishes up trouble.

Now the king of India, because he loved hills and waters and flowers, had two years before taken his consorts and the princess into the imperial garden to enjoy them by moonlight, and so stirred up a demon, who carried off the true princess and transformed herself into a false one. Knowing that the Tang monk would reach this place in this year, this month, this day, and this hour, she availed herself of the wealth of the state to raise the painted tower, meaning to take the Tang monk for her mate, to draw off his primal yang, his true essence, and so become a Highest Immortal of the Great One.

It was just the third quarter of the hour of noon. Tripitaka and Pilgrim slipped into the crowd and came near beneath the tower, where the princess had just taken up the incense and lit it, praying to Heaven and Earth. At her side stood fifty or seventy rouged and lovely maids, and those in attendance held the embroidered ball ready. The tower had eight latticed windows, delicate and open; the princess rolled her eyes over the crowd, and seeing the Tang monk come closest, took up the ball and threw it with her own hand straight at the Tang monk’s head. The Tang monk, startled, knocked his Vairocana cap askew and caught the ball in both hands; the ball tumbled and rolled inside his sleeve. From the tower rose a single shout: “She has struck a monk! She has struck a monk!” Ah! At the crossroads the merchants and the crowd came pressing and jostling, every man rushing to snatch the ball. Pilgrim gave a shout, bared his teeth, bowed his back, rose to a mighty presence three zhang tall, and made an ugly face. The people tumbled and scrambled away, not daring to come near, and in a moment the crowd scattered. Pilgrim then showed his true form again.

The maids and palace girls on the tower, with the eunuchs great and small, all came and knelt to the Tang monk: “Noble one, noble one, pray enter the palace to receive congratulations.” Tripitaka hastily returned their courtesy, raised them up, and turned to reproach Pilgrim: “You monkey-head, up to your tricks with me again.” Pilgrim laughed: “The ball struck your head and rolled into your sleeve—what business is that of mine? Why reproach me?” Tripitaka said: “What is to be done now?” Pilgrim said: “Master, set your mind at ease. Go in and see the king; I will go back to the lodge and tell Bajie and Sha Monk to wait. If the princess will not take you, very well—have the rescript countersigned and go on. If she is resolved to take you, say to the king: ‘Summon my disciples, that I may give them a word of instruction.’ Then, when the three of us are called to court, I can tell true from false among them. This is the plan of leaning on the marriage to bring down the fiend.” The Tang monk could do no other than follow the words, and Pilgrim turned back to the lodge.

The elder was hustled by the palace girls to the foot of the tower. The princess came down, took his hand in her jade fingers, and mounted the jeweled carriage with him; the retinue was drawn out, and they turned back toward the palace gates. The yellow-gate officer had already reported: “Your Majesty, the princess is holding a monk by the hand—struck by the ball, I take it—and awaits your decree outside the Meridian Gate.” The king, hearing this, was much displeased; he wanted to drive them off, but not knowing the princess’s mind, could only, with feeling, proclaim them in. The princess and the Tang monk came then below the Golden Chime Hall: one wedded pair hailed with “ten thousand years”; two doors, the fiendish and the true, bowing through a thousand autumns. When the ceremony was done he was summoned up into the hall, and the king opened his mouth and asked: “Where do you come from, monk, that you met my daughter’s thrown ball and won?” The Tang monk fell prone and memorialized: “This poor monk was sent by the emperor of the great Tang in the southern continent of Jambudvipa to the Great Thunderclap Monastery of the Western Heaven, to worship the Buddha and seek the scriptures. Because I carry a rescript of passage for the long road, I have come specially to court to have it countersigned. Passing beneath the painted tower at the crossroads, the princess threw her embroidered ball unlooked-for, and it struck this poor monk on the head. This poor monk is a man gone out of the household, of another calling—how dare he be mated to jade leaves and golden branches? I beg you, pardon this poor monk his capital offense, countersign the rescript, and send him on early to Vulture Peak, to see the Buddha and seek the scriptures and return to my own land, and let your Majesty’s heavenly grace be recorded forever.” The king said: “You are the holy monk of the Eastern Land, and truly ‘a thread draws together a match a thousand li apart.’ My daughter has reached her twentieth year unwed, and because this day was chosen for its lucky year, month, day, and hour, the painted tower was raised and the ball thrown to seek her a fine mate. That you should come just so and be struck—though I am not pleased, I do not know the princess’s mind.” The princess knocked her head: “Father king, the common saying runs, ‘Marry a cock, follow the cock; marry a dog, follow the dog.’ Your daughter made a vow beforehand: when this ball was tied, she told it to Heaven and Earth and the gods, to cast it and let Heaven make her match. Today it has struck the holy monk; this is the affinity of a former life, met with in this life—how dare she change it? She begs to take him for her consort.” The king then rejoiced and summoned the officials of the Directorate of Astronomy to choose the day. On one side the trousseau was got ready; on another a proclamation went out to all under Heaven.

Hearing this, Tripitaka did not so much as thank the sovereign for the honor, crying only: “Pardon, pardon!” The king said: “How unreasonable this monk is. With the wealth of a whole kingdom I offer you my daughter’s hand—why will you not stay and enjoy it, prattling only of fetching the scriptures? Refuse again, and I will have the guards in brocade push you out and behead you.” The elder’s soul left his body with fright; he could only knock his head, trembling, and plead: “I am grateful for your Majesty’s heavenly grace. But this poor monk’s party is four, and three disciples are still outside. I would accept the match now, only I have not given them a word of instruction. I beg you summon them here, have the rescript countersigned, and let them go early, that the intent of our coming west be not defeated.” The king granted the memorial: “Where are your disciples?” Tripitaka said: “All at the Lodge of United Assembly.” He then sent officials to summon the holy monk’s disciples to take the rescript and go west, the holy monk remaining as consort. The elder could only rise and stand in attendance. There is a poem to prove it:

The great elixir, to leak no more, wants all three made whole; bitter practice is hard to perfect—hate the evil tie.The Way is handed down by sages, but the cultivation is one’s own; goodness is heaped by men, and blessing comes from Heaven.Let the six roots not run loose in craving and desire; let the one nature open at a stroke upon its original ground.Without love, without thought, one is pure of oneself, and freed and delivered, one rises beyond the world.

Then the officials went to the Lodge of United Assembly to summon the Tang monk’s disciples—but no more of that.

Now Pilgrim, having left the Tang monk below the painted tower, walked two steps and laughed twice, and came back to the lodge in high glee. Bajie and Sha Monk met him: “Elder brother, why so merry? And where is master?” Pilgrim said: “Master is in luck.” Bajie said: “We have not reached journey’s end, nor seen the Buddha and brought back the scriptures—what is there to be glad of?” Pilgrim laughed: “Master and I had only walked to beneath the painted tower at the crossroads when, just so, the princess of the realm threw her embroidered ball and struck master. Master was hustled to the tower by palace girls, painted maids, and eunuchs, mounted the carriage with the princess, and rode into the palace to be taken as the king’s son-in-law. Is that luck or not?” Bajie, hearing it, stamped his feet and beat his breast: “Had I known, I should have been the one to go—it is all that lazy Sha Monk’s fault. If you had not stopped me, I would have run straight beneath the tower, and if the ball had struck this old pig, and the princess had taken me—would that not have been fine and wonderful? Handsome, dashing, just right: we would all have shared the luck and had our fun—what sport that would have been!” Sha Monk came up and smeared his face with a wipe: “Shame, shame—a fine jawbone you have. Three coppers buys an old donkey, and you boast you can ride it. If the ball had struck you, they would have burned the exorcism papers that very night and still called it too late—who would dare let such bad luck in the door?” Bajie said: “You blackamoor, you know nothing. Ugly I may be, but there is flavor in me. The old saying goes: ‘Coarse of hide, strong of bone—each has his merit to prize.’” Pilgrim said: “Idiot, no more prattle. Pack the luggage. If master is pressed, he will send for us, and we can go to court and protect him.” Bajie said: “Elder brother, you have it wrong again. Master has become the king’s son-in-law; he will be in the palace enjoying the emperor’s daughter—not climbing hills and tramping roads, meeting fiends and monsters. What does he want with your protection? A man of his years—does he not know the business of the quilt, that he needs you to lend a hand?” Pilgrim seized him by the ear, raised his fist, and cursed: “You blockhead whose lust never ends! What filth is that out of your mouth?”

While they were brawling, the lodge marshal came to report: “His Majesty has issued a decree, and sent officials to invite the three holy monks.” Bajie said: “What do they want with us, truly?” The marshal said: “The holy elder had the good fortune to be struck by the princess’s embroidered ball and is taken as the king’s son-in-law; that is why officials are sent to invite you.” Pilgrim said: “Where are these officials? Let them come in.” The official saluted Pilgrim, and when the courtesy was done dared not look up, only muttering to himself: “Is it a ghost, a fiend? A thunder god, a yaksha?” Pilgrim said: “Sir official, if you have words, speak them—why mutter?” The official, trembling all over, raised the sacred edict in both hands and babbled: “My princess invites to meet her kin, my sovereign meets kin and invites.” Bajie said: “We have no instruments of torture here and will not beat you; speak slowly, and do not be afraid.” Pilgrim said: “As if he feared your beating! It is your face he fears. Pack the load quickly, lead the horse, and into the palace to see master, and take counsel.” And this was truly:

Meeting on a narrow road, there is no turning aside; love and favor are doomed to turn to enmity.

But what words would pass when they came before the king? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

At the Garden of the Friend of the Poor They Ask About Its History; At the Tianzhu Court They Meet a Prospective Spouse

When desire arises, love is sure to follow; when you hold on to affection, trouble will come. Why should a clear mind seek to distinguish the three heavenly terraces? When its journey is done, it returns to the original sea.Whether you become an immortal or a Buddha, you must settle matters within yourself. Clear away every speck of dust and keep yourself pure. With your achievement complete, you will rise to heaven.

At dawn the monastery's monks discovered that Tripitaka and his disciples were gone. “We couldn't keep them, say goodbye, or ask a favor. We simply let a living bodhisattva slip away!” Just then several wealthy households from the southern suburb arrived to invite them to meals. The monks clapped their hands. “We didn't guard them last night. They flew away on clouds!” Everyone bowed toward the sky in thanks. Word spread throughout the city, to officials and ordinary people alike. The wealthy households prepared offerings of five kinds of animal, flowers, and fruit at the shrine built for the travelers, in gratitude for their help.

The four traveled peacefully for more than half a month, eating on the road and sleeping wherever they found water. One day they saw a high mountain. Tripitaka grew afraid. “Disciples, that ridge ahead is steep. Be careful.” Pilgrim smiled. “We're nearing the Buddha's land. There surely won't be monsters now. Don't worry, Master.” “Even if the Buddha's land is close,” Tripitaka said, “the monks told us it was two thousand li to the capital of Tianzhu. Who knows how much farther it is from there?” “Master, you've forgotten the Heart Sutra that the Zen master of Crow's Nest taught you.” Tripitaka replied, “The Heart Sutra is always with me. I've recited it every day since he taught it to me. I could recite it backward! How could I have forgotten?” “You know how to recite it, but you didn't ask the teacher what it meant.” “You monkey! Are you saying I don't understand it? Do you?” “I do, I do,” said Pilgrim. After that, neither spoke. Bajie laughed, and Sha Monk was delighted. Bajie said, “What a braggart! You're a former monster like me, not a meditation monk who's studied the scriptures or a temple monk who's heard a sermon. You put on airs and claim to understand. Why have you gone quiet? Explain it to us.” Sha Monk said, “Why believe him, Brother? He was talking to pass the time and get Master moving. He knows his staff, not the scriptures.” But Tripitaka said, “Wuneng, Wujing, don't talk like that. Wukong's understanding goes beyond words and writing. That is true understanding.”

As they talked they covered considerable ground and passed several hills. A large monastery appeared by the road. “Look, Wukong,” said Tripitaka. “That monastery is quite a sight:

It was neither large nor small, with green glazed tiles, and neither new nor old, with red walls flanking its gate. Ancient pines spread their canopies, relics from centuries past; running water sounded like strings, flowing from a spring opened long ago. Large letters above the gate read ‘Gold-Paved Monastery,’ and a plaque declared it ‘A Relic of Ancient Times.’”

Pilgrim and Bajie both read its name as “Gold-Paved Monastery.” On horseback, Tripitaka thought it over. “Gold-Paved... Could this be the area of Shravasti?” Bajie said, “Amazing! In all the years I've followed you, you've never known the way, but you know it today?” “No,” said Tripitaka. “I often read that the Buddha taught at Prince Jeta's grove, the Garden of Anathapindika, in Shravasti. Anathapindika, the friend of the poor, asked to buy the garden from the prince for the Buddha to preach in. The prince said, ‘I won't sell unless he covers the whole garden with gold.’ Anathapindika laid down gold bricks to cover it, bought Jeta's garden, and invited the Buddha to teach there. Could this monastery take its name from that story?” Bajie laughed. “If that's the place, let's find a brick or two to give away.” They laughed and Tripitaka dismounted.

Inside the gate were people carrying loads or packs, pushing carts or seated beside them. Some slept, while others talked. Seeing the four travelers, one handsome and the others ugly, they grew uneasy and made room. Afraid of trouble, Tripitaka kept urging his disciples to behave politely. Everyone calmed down. Past the hall of guardian gods, a dignified Buddhist monk came out:

His face shone like a full moon; he stood like a bodhi tree.His sleeves fluttered around his staff, and straw sandals carried him along the stony road.

Tripitaka greeted him and he returned the greeting. “Where do you come from, teacher?” “I'm Chen Xuanzang. The Tang emperor sent me from the lands of the east to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures in the Western Heaven. We happened to pass your monastery. May we stay for the night and leave tomorrow?” “Everyone is welcome to stay at our modest monastery. We'd be especially fortunate to host a holy monk from the east.” Tripitaka thanked him and called his three disciples. They passed through the corridor by the kitchen and entered the abbot's rooms. After greetings, host and guests sat down, and the disciples sat respectfully too.

News that monks seeking scriptures from Tang had arrived spread through the monastery. Everyone came to meet them: senior and junior, residents and visitors, abbots and novices. After tea, a vegetarian meal was served. While Tripitaka recited a verse before eating, Bajie had already begun stuffing himself with steamed buns, vegetables, and noodle soup. The room was crowded. Serious observers admired Tripitaka's bearing; others watched Bajie eat. Sha Monk noticed their looks, pinched Bajie, and whispered, “Mind your manners.” Startled, Bajie cried, “Manners, manners—but my stomach's empty!” Sha Monk laughed. “Brother, you don't understand. Plenty of polite people have stomachs just as empty as ours.” Bajie finally slowed down. Tripitaka recited the verse at the end of the meal, and after the dishes were cleared, he thanked their hosts.

Asked why he had come from the east, Tripitaka mentioned the old story and asked about the monastery's name. The monk explained, “This was once Anathapindika's Garden Monastery, also called Jeta's Grove, in Shravasti. Since Anathapindika covered the ground with gold bricks to invite the Buddha to teach here, its name was changed to this. The land in front was Shravasti, where he lived. This mountain was his grove. Behind the monastery you can still find its foundations. After heavy rain in recent years, small bits of gold and silver have washed out. Lucky people sometimes find them.” “So the story is true,” said Tripitaka. “When we arrived, I saw many merchants with mules, horses, carts, and loads resting under the gate and in the corridors. Why are they staying here?” “This mountain is called Hundred-Leg Mountain,” the monks answered. “It was safe until recently, when several centipede spirits appeared. They hurt travelers, though they don't kill them. Now people dare not cross. Below the mountain is a pass called Cockcrow Pass. Travelers wait until the rooster crows before passing. The merchants arrived late and are staying here tonight to cross at dawn.” “We'll go after the rooster crows too,” Tripitaka said. As they spoke, more food arrived for the four travelers.

The waxing moon shone brightly. Tripitaka and Pilgrim went for a walk by moonlight, and a monk came to tell them that their elder wished to meet the visitors from China. An old monk approached with a bamboo staff. “Are you the teacher from China?” They greeted each other. The elder praised Tripitaka and asked his age. “I've spent forty-five years in this world,” Tripitaka answered. “And how old are you?” “One sixty-year cycle older,” the elder said with a smile. “That makes you a hundred and five,” Pilgrim said. “How old do you think I am?” “You have an ancient face and a lively spirit, but my eyes are poor in moonlight. I can't tell.” After some conversation they walked toward the rear corridor. “Where exactly are the foundations of the garden?” Tripitaka asked. “Outside the back gate. Open it!” the elder ordered. Beyond lay empty ground with the remains of a wall built of broken stones. Tripitaka joined his palms and sighed:

“I remember the donor Sudatta, who used his wealth to help the poor in their suffering.Jeta's Grove has kept his name alive for ages; where is the elder now, to be with the Awakened One?”

They walked slowly in the moonlight and sat for a while on a terrace outside the rear gate. Suddenly Tripitaka heard someone weeping. Listening carefully, he heard her speak of her parents and her pain. Moved to tears, he asked who was crying and where she was. The old monk sent the others back to prepare tea. When they had gone, he bowed to Tripitaka and Pilgrim. Tripitaka helped him up. “Why are you bowing?” “I'm more than a hundred years old and know something of the world. In meditation I've seen a few remarkable things. I know a little about you and your disciples, who aren't like other people. Only this master with you can judge the matter of that weeping girl.” Pilgrim said, “Tell us what happened.” The elder explained, “On this day last year I was meditating when I heard a sudden wind and a sorrowful voice. I rose and found a beautiful young woman on the old foundations. I asked who she was and why she was there. She said, ‘I'm the princess of Tianzhu. A wind carried me here while I was looking at flowers by moonlight.’ I locked her in an empty room, walled it like a cell, and left only a small hole in the door, just large enough to pass a bowl through. I told the monks she was a monster I had captured. But we're monks and couldn't bring ourselves to kill her. We give her two simple meals each day. She's clever and understood why I did this. Afraid the other monks might harm her, she pretends to be mad: she sleeps in filth and talks nonsense all day. But in the quiet night she cries for her parents. Several times I've gone into the city to inquire about the princess, but there's no sign that anything has happened to her. That's why I still keep this girl locked away. Now that you're going to the capital, please use your powers to find the truth, save an innocent person, and show what you can do.” Tripitaka and Pilgrim took his request to heart.

Two young monks arrived to invite them to tea and bed, and they returned. In the abbot's rooms Bajie and Sha Monk grumbled, “We have to leave at cockcrow. Why aren't they back in bed?” “What are you complaining about, Idiot?” Pilgrim asked. “It's late. Go to bed instead of looking at the scenery,” Bajie answered. The old monk withdrew and Tripitaka went to sleep. As the poem says:

People slept, the moon sank, and flowers dreamed in silence; a warm breeze slipped through the window gauze.Drops marked the third watch in the bronze water clock; the Milky Way shone brightly over the land.

Not long after they fell asleep, a rooster crowed. The merchants rose noisily, lit lamps, and made breakfast. Tripitaka woke Bajie and Sha Monk to prepare the horse and baggage, while Pilgrim called for a lamp. The monks were already up with tea and snacks. Bajie gladly ate a plate of steamed bread and brought out their baggage and horse. Tripitaka and Pilgrim thanked everyone. The old monk reminded Pilgrim, “Remember the sad affair.” “I will,” Pilgrim replied. “When we reach the city, I can listen to what's said and recognize the truth from people's faces.” With the crowd of merchants they set out on the main road. They crossed Cockcrow Pass at about the hour of the tiger and saw the city walls by the hour of the snake. The city was strongly fortified and splendid:

Its high ground curved like a crouching tiger and coiled dragon; its fine towers gleamed with color.The water in the royal canal wound around it like a belt; decorated banners rose from its hills.Morning sunlight lit the flags along the royal road; spring wind carried flutes and drums across the bridges.Under a just king the well-dressed people flourished; abundant grain harvests showed the prosperity of the land.

They entered through the eastern market. The merchants went to their inns, but the travelers found an official guesthouse and went inside. A steward told its superintendent, “Four unusual-looking monks have come with a white horse.” Knowing the horse might mean they were official envoys, he came to greet them. “I'm an envoy of the Tang emperor,” Tripitaka explained, “going to the Great Thunderclap Monastery at Vulture Peak to worship the Buddha and get scriptures. I have travel documents for the king to stamp. May we rest here until that is done?” “This guesthouse was built for envoys. You're welcome.” Tripitaka introduced his disciples. Their ugly faces frightened the superintendent, who couldn't tell whether they were men or ghosts. Trembling, he offered tea and a meal. “Please don't be afraid,” Tripitaka told him. “My three disciples look ugly, but they're good people. As they say, someone can look fierce yet be kind.”

Reassured, the superintendent asked where Tang lay. “In China on the continent of Jambudvipa,” Tripitaka replied. “When did you leave?” “In the thirteenth year of the Zhenguan reign. Fourteen years have passed, and we've crossed countless mountains and rivers to get here.” “You're truly a holy monk!” the man exclaimed. Tripitaka asked about the kingdom's history. “This is Great Tianzhu. More than five hundred years have passed since its first emperors. Our present king loves mountains, streams, and flowers, and is called Emperor Yizong. This is the twenty-eighth year of his Jingyan era.” “Could I see him today to have my documents stamped?” Tripitaka asked. “Yes, this is an excellent time. The princess is twenty and is throwing an embroidered ball from a decorated tower at the crossroads to choose a husband by chance. Everything is lively today, so I expect the king is still holding court. You should go now.” Tripitaka wanted to leave at once, but a meal was served, so he ate with the superintendent and disciples.

After noon, Tripitaka said it was time to go. Pilgrim offered to accompany him, and Bajie offered too. Sha Monk said, “Brother, your face is hardly suited to showing off outside the palace. Let our eldest brother go.” “Wujing is right,” Tripitaka said. “Bajie is clumsy; Wukong is more careful.” Bajie pouted. “Apart from Master, all three of us look much the same.” Tripitaka put on his robe, and Pilgrim carried the bag of documents. In the streets, farmers, craftsmen, merchants, scholars, and ordinary people were all hurrying to see the princess throw her embroidered ball. Tripitaka stopped and told Pilgrim, “The people, clothes, buildings, tools, and language here are like Tang's. My mother also threw an embroidered ball, which brought her together with the man she was destined to marry. They have the same custom here.” “Shall we go and watch?” Pilgrim asked. “No. In these clothes we'd draw suspicion.” “Have you forgotten what the elder at Gold-Paved Monastery said? We can see the tower and find out whether the princess is genuine. With this commotion, the king must be waiting for news of her choice instead of conducting ordinary business. Let's go.” Tripitaka followed him into the crowd gathered to watch. Neither knew the trouble ahead:

The fisherman has cast his line and hook;From now on he'll pull up trouble with them.

Two years earlier, the king of Tianzhu, who loved flowers and gardens, had taken his queen and daughter to admire the royal garden by moonlight. A monster had carried away the real princess and taken her place in her shape. The false princess knew that the Tang monk would arrive on this very day and hour. Using the kingdom's wealth, she had the decorated tower built. She planned to select Tripitaka as her husband and take the vital energy of his pure body to become a high immortal.

At forty-five minutes past noon, Tripitaka and Pilgrim joined the crowd beneath the tower. The princess had just lit incense and prayed to heaven and earth. Fifty to seventy attendants stood around her, and some held the embroidered ball. From among the tower's eight windows she saw Tripitaka approaching. She took the ball herself and threw it at his head. Startled, he reached to steady his Vairocana hat, which the ball had knocked askew. The ball rolled down into his sleeve. Above him everyone shouted, “It hit a monk!” The merchants and others at the crossroads surged forward to seize the ball. Pilgrim shouted, bared his teeth, and bent his body until he stood thirty feet tall with a frightening face. People fell over each other in terror and scattered. Pilgrim returned to his ordinary size.

The ladies and eunuchs from the tower came down and bowed to Tripitaka. “Congratulations, honored sir! Come into the palace.” Tripitaka bowed back and helped them up. “You monkey,” he complained to Pilgrim, “you've caused me more trouble.” Pilgrim laughed. “The ball struck your head and rolled into your sleeve. How is that my fault?” “What shall I do?” “Don't worry. Go in and see the king. I'll return to the guesthouse and tell Bajie and Sha Monk to wait. If the princess doesn't insist on marrying you, get the documents stamped and we'll leave. If she does insist, tell the king, ‘Summon my disciples. I need to speak to them.’ Once all three of us are at court, I can tell who the real princess is. We'll use this marriage to defeat the monster.” Tripitaka had little choice but to agree. Pilgrim went back to the guesthouse.

The attendants escorted Tripitaka to the foot of the tower. The princess came down, took him by the hand, and rode with him in a royal carriage to the palace. An officer hurried ahead to tell the king, “Your Majesty, the princess is outside the palace gates with a monk. Her ball must have struck him.” The king was displeased and wanted to send the monk away, but did not know his daughter's wishes, so he admitted them. They bowed in the throne hall and were summoned closer. “Where are you from, monk?” the king asked. “How did my daughter's ball strike you?” Tripitaka bowed low. “The Tang emperor sent me from Jambudvipa to the Great Thunderclap Monastery in the Western Heaven to worship the Buddha and seek scriptures. I came to have my travel documents stamped. As I passed the tower at the crossroads, the princess's ball unexpectedly hit my head. I'm a religious man who has left ordinary life. How could I marry a royal princess? Please pardon me, stamp my papers, and let me go to Vulture Peak. I will always be grateful to Your Majesty.” The king said, “You are a holy monk from the east. Perhaps this is a marriage destined across a thousand li. My daughter is twenty and unmarried. We chose this favorable date to let her throw the ball and find a husband. Although I'm not happy that it struck you, I must ask what she wants.” The princess bowed. “Father, a woman must follow the husband she marries. I swore before heaven and earth to accept whoever the ball chose. Since it struck the holy monk, this must be a bond from a past life. I will not change my mind. I want him as my husband.” The king was pleased. He ordered his astronomers to choose a wedding date and began preparing the dowry and announcing the marriage throughout the kingdom.

Tripitaka did not thank him. “Please release me!” he pleaded. “You have no manners,” the king answered. “I offer you the wealth of a kingdom and my daughter. Why keep thinking of scriptures instead of enjoying life here? If you refuse again, I'll have the guards execute you.” Terrified, Tripitaka bowed and said, “I thank you for your generosity. But there are four in my party, and my three disciples are outside. Before I accept, please summon them so I can give them instructions. Stamp our travel documents and let them go west, so they can finish the mission.” The king agreed and asked where they were. “At the official guesthouse.” He sent an officer to summon the disciples to collect the documents and go west, while their master stayed to marry the princess. Tripitaka stood beside the throne. A poem explains:

To preserve the medicine of immortality, all three parts must remain whole; difficult practice can be ruined by a painful attachment.The sages pass down the Way, but each person must practice it; people build up good deeds, and heaven grants blessings.Do not let the six senses chase their many desires; open your true nature and return to its source.Free from love and troubled thoughts, your mind is clear; then you can be released and rise beyond the world.

The officer went to the guesthouse to summon the Tang monk's disciples.

After leaving Tripitaka at the tower, Pilgrim returned to the guesthouse, laughing to himself. Bajie and Sha Monk met him. “Why are you so happy? Where's Master?” “Something wonderful has happened to him.” Bajie said, “We haven't reached our destination or seen the Buddha and brought back scriptures. What's wonderful about that?” Pilgrim explained how the princess's ball had hit Tripitaka beneath the tower, and her attendants had taken him in a carriage to the palace to become the king's son-in-law. Bajie stamped his feet and beat his chest. “If I'd known, I'd have gone! It's all Sha Monk's fault for stopping me. I'd have stood under the tower and caught the ball, and the princess would have married me. What a fine, lovely bit of luck that would have been!” Sha Monk rubbed his face. “Have you no shame? You've bought an old donkey for three coins and now boast about the fine riding. If the ball struck you, they'd burn offerings to drive off the bad luck before you even got through the door.” “You don't understand,” Bajie said. “I may be ugly, but I have my charms. As the saying goes, ‘Rough skin, strong bones: everyone has something worth having.’” “Stop talking nonsense and pack,” Pilgrim said. “Master may be frightened and send for us. We'll need to protect him at court.” Bajie replied, “He's marrying the emperor's daughter, not crossing mountains or fighting monsters. Why protect him? He's old enough to know what to do in bed. He doesn't need you to help him.” Pilgrim grabbed his ear and raised a fist. “You lustful fool! Stop talking like that!”

While they argued, the guesthouse superintendent arrived. “The king has sent an officer to summon you three holy monks.” Bajie asked why. “Your master was fortunate enough to be chosen by the princess's ball, so he has invited you.” “Where is the officer?” asked Pilgrim. When the man entered, he bowed but did not dare look up. He muttered to himself, “Is it a ghost, a monster, a thunder god, or a yaksha?” “Why don't you say what you came to say?” Pilgrim asked. Trembling, the man held up the royal command. “Our princess invites her family to meet. Our king invites... the family... to meet!” Bajie said, “We don't have any torture devices here. We won't hit you. Calm down and tell us.” Pilgrim replied, “It's your face that scares him. Pack the baggage and bring the horse. We must see Master at court and decide what to do.” It was as the saying goes:

When you meet on a narrow road, neither can avoid the other;Love and affection will turn into hatred.

What would they say to the king? Listen to the next chapter to find out.