老母贈衣 The Old Woman on the Road
那長老只得收拾行李,捎在馬上,也不騎馬,一隻手拄著錫杖,一隻手揪著韁繩,淒淒涼涼,往西前進。行不多時,只見山路前面有一個年高的老母,捧一件綿衣,綿衣上有一頂花帽。三藏見他來得至近,慌忙牽馬,立於右側讓行。那老母問道:「你是那裡來的長老,孤孤恓恓獨行於此?」三藏道:「弟子乃東土大唐奉差往西天拜活佛求真經者。」老母道:「西方佛乃大雷音寺天竺國界,此去有十萬八千里路。你這等單人獨馬,又無個伴侶,又無個徒弟,你如何去得?」三藏道:「弟子日前收得一個徒弟,他性潑兇頑,是我說了他幾句,他不受教,遂渺然而去也。」老母道:「我有這一領綿布直裰、一頂嵌金花帽,原是我兒子用的,他只做了三日和尚,不幸命短身亡。我才去他寺裡哭了一場,辭了他師父,將這兩件衣、帽拿來,做個憶念。長老啊,你既有徒弟,我把這衣帽送了你罷。」三藏道:「承老母盛賜,但只是我徒弟已走了,不敢領受。」那长老只得收拾行李,捎在马上,也不骑马,一只手拄着锡杖,一只手揪着缰绳,凄凄凉凉,往西前进。行不多时,只见山路前面有一个年高的老母,捧一件绵衣,绵衣上有一顶花帽。三藏见他来得至近,慌忙牵马,立于右侧让行。那老母问道:「你是那里来的长老,孤孤恓恓独行于此?」三藏道:「弟子乃东土大唐奉差往西天拜活佛求真经者。」老母道:「西方佛乃大雷音寺天竺国界,此去有十万八千里路。你这等单人独马,又无个伴侣,又无个徒弟,你如何去得?」三藏道:「弟子日前收得一个徒弟,他性泼凶顽,是我说了他几句,他不受教,遂渺然而去也。」老母道:「我有这一领绵布直裰、一顶嵌金花帽,原是我儿子用的,他只做了三日和尚,不幸命短身亡。我才去他寺里哭了一场,辞了他师父,将这两件衣、帽拿来,做个忆念。长老啊,你既有徒弟,我把这衣帽送了你罢。」三藏道:「承老母盛赐,但只是我徒弟已走了,不敢领受。」
逐句解 Line by line
The elder could only gather up the baggage, load it on the horse — riding not at all — and, staff in one hand and bridle-rope in the other, press on westward in wretched loneliness.
Look at what he is doing: not riding, but walking beside the horse with the luggage piled on it, staff in one hand and rope in the other. The picture is doing the work of a paragraph of self-pity. 那長老 reads 那 as nà and 長 as zhǎng; 只得 takes 得 as dé; 拄著 and 揪著 both use the ongoing-action 著 (zhe).
He had not gone far when he saw, on the mountain road ahead, an aged woman bearing a padded garment, and upon the garment a flowered cap.
An old woman on an empty mountain road, carrying a padded coat with a cap sitting on top of it. She is carrying exactly what the situation requires, which is the first sign to the reader that this is not a chance meeting at all. 行不多時 reads 行 as xíng.
Seeing her come very near, Sanzang hastily led his horse aside and stood at the right to let her pass.
Even wretched, he remembers his manners and stands aside to let her pass. 三藏 reads 藏 as zàng; 來得 takes 得 as de; 讓行 reads 行 as xíng.
The old woman asked, "Where do you come from, reverend, walking here so utterly alone?"
Her first question goes straight to the sore spot: why are you walking here entirely alone? 那裡來的 reads 那 as the asking-word nǎ, 'where', while 那老母 reads the same character as nà, 'that'.
Sanzang said, "Your disciple is one sent from the Eastern Land of Great Tang to the Western Heaven, to worship the living Buddha and seek the true scriptures."
The standard account of himself again. 奉差, 'sent by command', reads 差 as chāi; 活佛 reads 佛 as fó.
The old woman said, "The Buddha of the West is at the Temple of Great Thunderclap, within the bounds of the country of India — a hundred and eight thousand li from here.
She supplies the canonical geography: the Buddha sits at the 大雷音寺, the Temple of Great Thunderclap, inside the bounds of India, and it is a hundred and eight thousand 里 away. The number is not random — it is the exact distance one somersault of Wukong's cloud covers, as he will boast a few passages from now. The whole journey is one jump for the disciple the monk has just lost. 西方佛 reads 佛 as fó.
With but a single man and a lone horse, no companion and no disciple, how can you ever get there?"
And then the knife: one man, one horse, no companion, no disciple — how do you propose to get there? 你如何去得 reads 得 as dé, the 'can you manage it' sense.
Sanzang said, "Your disciple did, some days ago, take on a disciple; but he was of a wild and violent temper, and because I spoke a few words to him he would not take correction, and went off out of sight."
He tells the truth, including the part that reflects badly on him: I said a few words and he would not take correction. That admission is the opening she came for. 三藏 reads 藏 as zàng; 收得 takes 得 as de; 不受教 reads 教 as jiào.
The old woman said, "I have here a padded cloth tunic and a gold-inlaid flowered cap, which were once my son's. He was a monk only three days before, alas, his life was cut short and he died.
The provenance she gives the clothes is heartbreaking and entirely invented: they belonged to her son, who was a monk for three days before he died. 兒子 takes the light 子 (zi).
I have just now been to his temple to weep for him, taken leave of his master, and brought these two things — the garment and the cap — away, to keep as a remembrance.
Weeping at the temple, taking leave of his master, carrying the things home as keepsakes — the detail is laid on thickly, because these are not keepsakes. They are a leash. 將這兩件 reads 將 as jiāng.
Reverend, since you have a disciple, let me make you a gift of them."
Note the condition she attaches: since you have a disciple, take them. She is pressing the gift on exactly the ground he is about to deny. 長老 reads 長 as zhǎng.
Sanzang said, "I thank you, old mother, for your generous gift; but my disciple has already gone, and I dare not accept it."
And he refuses, honestly, for the honest reason — my disciple has gone. Which is precisely the objection she has come to demolish. 三藏 reads 藏 as zàng.
With Wukong gone, the story turns to Guanyin's intervention, staged as a chance meeting on a lonely road. The desolate picture of the abandoned monk — on foot beside his own horse, staff in hand, heading west alone — is answered at once by an old woman coming the other way with a spare coat and cap, which is the first hint that this is the bodhisattva in disguise, out to mend what the quarrel broke.
The exchange also does quiet groundwork. Her reply fixes the scale and the destination of the whole pilgrimage — the living Buddha at the Temple of Great Thunderclap in India, a hundred and eight thousand 里 off — and her question about his solitude draws out the confession of the lost disciple that gives her gift its opening. The dead-son story lends the robe and cap a tender human colour that hides what they are for.
Sanzang's honest refusal — he cannot take a disciple's clothes when his disciple has run away — is exactly the objection the disguised Guanyin came to sweep aside. The scene is poised for her real purpose, which is not the garment but the spell that goes with it: the means of compelling the very disciple the monk believes he has lost.