Journey to the West

44

Evil in the Heart's Centre Crosses the Backbone Pass

There is a poem that goes:

They travel West escaping dangers to seek the scriptures; Nor can they stop at all the famous mountains. They press on night and day, starting crows and hares; The seasons turn amid falling blossom and bird−song. In the dust under one's eyes are three thousand worlds; Four hundred prefectures rest on the head of a staff. Sleeping in dew and dining on wind they climb the purple slope; Never knowing when they will be able to start back.

The story tells how after the dragon prince had subdued the demon and the God of the Black River had divided the waters, master and disciples crossed the Black River and took the main trail West. They faced wind and snow, and traveled under the moon and the stars. After they had been going for a long time it was early spring again.

The sun returns; All comes back to life. The sun returns;

Beauty fills the sky like an opened scroll. All comes hack to life,

As flowers cover the earth with embroidered cushions. A few snowflakes of plum blossom remain, While the wheat spreads like a sea of cloud. In the gentle thaw the mountain spring now flows, The new shoots grow and cover the burnt−out stubble. Tai Hao governs the East, The Wood God rules the dawn.

Above the fragrance and the warming breeze The clouds disperse and the sun shines anew. Willows spread their green beside the path, Enriching rain brings spring to all that lives.

Master and disciples were ambling along enjoying the view when all of a sudden they heard a mighty shout like a war−cry from a thousand throats. Sanzang was terrified. He reined in his horse, unable to take another step forward. "Wukong," he said, looking back at him, "where is that noise from?"

"It sounded like an earthquake or a landslide," said Pig. "Or thunder," said Friar Sand.

"Or people shouting and horses neighing," said Sanzang. "You're all wrong," laughed Monkey. "Just wait a moment while I go and take a look."

Splendid Monkey. With one bound he was on a cloud and up in the air looking all around. In the distance he could make out a walled city, and when he went close he could see that it had a haze of auspicious light over it with no sign of any evil emanations. "It's a good place," he sighed to himself, "but why was there that terrible noise? I can't see war banners or spears there, and there's no sound of cannon. So why was there a noise like shouting and neighing?"

Just as he was debating all this with himself he noticed a big crowd of Buddhist monks on a sandbank outside the city gates, pulling a cart. The noise that had startle Sanzang was them all shouting. "King Powerful Bodhisattva."

When he slowly lowered his cloud for a better look he saw that the cart was loaded with kiln bricks, tiles, wood and adobe bricks. Above the sandbank was a high ridge, along the top of which ran a narrow track between two great gates. Below the gates the paths all went straight down the steep sides of the ridge: the cart could not possibly be pulled up there. Although the weather was so mild and pleasant the monks were all dressed in rags and looked thoroughly poverty−stricken.

"I suppose they must be building a monastery," thought Monkey, "and are having to do the work themselves because it's harvest−time here and they can't hire any labor." He was still not sure when he saw two young Taoist priests come swaggering out through the city gates. Just see how they were dressed:

Star crowns on their heads, Brocade and embroidered clothes. The star crowns on their heads shine bright, The brocade and embroidered clothes float like sunset clouds. On their feet are cloud−treading shoes, Round their waists are silken belts. Handsome and clever faces, round as the moon; Bodies as elegant as the immortals in Heaven.