The story tells how the Tang Monk and his three disciples, having come through their ordeal, pressed on ahead; in less than a day they had passed Yellow Wind Ridge, and going westward came upon a stretch of level, open plain. Time sped swiftly on; summer passed and autumn came, and they saw cold cicadas shrilling among the withered willows while the Great Fire star slid toward the west.
Just as they were going along, there appeared a great sweep of raging water, its muddy billows heaving and surging. Sanzang, upon his horse, cried out in haste, “Disciples, see how broad the water is up ahead, and yet not a boat is to be seen plying it — however are we to cross over?”
Bajie looked and said, “It is a raging flood indeed, and there is no boat to ferry us across.”
The Pilgrim sprang up into the air, raised a hand to shade his eyes like an awning and looked; and he too took fright. “Master, it is hard indeed, hard indeed! As for this river, if it were a question of old Sun's own crossing, I need only give my waist a twist and I'd be over; but for the Master, it is truly a thousandfold hard to ford, ten thousand years hard to traverse.”
“From here I gaze out and see no bound,” said Sanzang. “Just how wide is it, in truth?”
“Reckoning by the crossing, it is some eight hundred lǐ across.”
“Elder brother, how can you fix the figure of its breadth so exactly?”
“I'll not deceive you, worthy brother — with this pair of eyes old Sun can, in broad daylight, make out fortune and disaster a thousand lǐ down the road. Just now, looking down from the air, I could not tell how far the river runs upstream and down; but I could see that at this crossing it is a full eight hundred lǐ.”
The elder, sighing in his vexation, reined his horse around, and of a sudden saw upon the bank a stone tablet. When the three came together to look, they saw three seal-script characters upon it, reading: The River of Flowing Sands. And on its face were four small lines of regular script, which ran:
Eight hundred lǐ — the realm of Flowing Sands;
three thousand lǐ — the Weak Water's deep.
A goose-down feather will not drift atop it;
a reed-flower, cast, sinks straight to the bed.
As master and disciples were reading the inscription, they suddenly heard the waves welling up like mountains, the breakers tumbling like ridges, and out from the very middle of the river, with a slithering rush, bored a monster, hideous in the extreme:
A head of flame-red hair, matted and wild;
a pair of round eyes gleaming bright as lamps.
A face not black, not green, but indigo-dark;
a voice like thunder, like a drum — an old dragon's roar.
About him a cloak of goose-yellow hung;
at his waist twin bound coils of bare white rattan.
From his neck nine skulls dangled in a string;
in his hand a precious staff, most grimly tall.
The monster, in a single whirlwind, rushed up the bank and made straight for the Tang Monk. In alarm the Pilgrim caught the master up in his arms, hurried him to high ground, and turning, got him clear. Bajie set down the luggage, whipped out his muckrake, and struck at the monster with a downward thrust; the monster brought up his precious staff to parry, and the two of them, on the bank of the Flowing Sands, each displayed his prowess. It was a fine fight:
The nine-toothed rake, the demon-quelling staff —
the two closed as foes upon the river's bank.
This one, the grand Marshal Tianpeng who once held all command;
that one, the Curtain-Raising General, cast down from grace.
In years gone by they had met in the Hall of Divine Mists;
today they grappled, staking all their fierce brute force.
This one's rake struck out like a dragon baring its claws;
that one's staff parried like a tusk-grinding elephant.
Now spread wide in the Great Four-Square guard;
now boring in against the very thrust of the wind.
This one clawed with never a thought for head or face;
that one loosed his blows with never a wasted swing.
The one, a man-devouring fiend long lord of the Flowing Sands;
the other, a general keeping the faith and holding to his vows.
The two of them went back and forth, and having fought some twenty rounds, neither could gain the upper hand.
The Great Sage, guarding the Tang Monk, led the horse and kept watch over the luggage. Seeing Bajie locked in combat with the monster, he ground his teeth in vexation, rubbed his palms and clenched his fists, and could not hold back from joining the fray. He drew out his rod and said, “Master, sit tight and have no fear. Wait while old Sun goes and has a bit of sport with him.”
The master could by no means hold him back. He gave a whistle and bounded to the front. Now the monster and Bajie were just then at the height of their contest, so evenly matched that neither could break free; then the Pilgrim swung up his iron rod and brought it down full on the monster's head. The monster spun about in haste, dodged clear in a fluster, and dived straight down into the River of Flowing Sands.
This so angered Bajie that he hopped about, crying, “Brother! Who told you to come? The monster was flagging by degrees, hard put to fend off my rake; in three or five more rounds I'd have had him fast. Now that he has seen how fierce you are, he has broken off and fled — however are we to manage?”
The Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Brother, I'll tell you the plain truth: ever since I subdued the Yellow Wind fiend and we came down the mountain, I've not had my cudgel out to play for a good month; seeing you and him going at it so prettily, I couldn't keep my feet from itching, and so I bounded over for a bit of sport. How was I to know the monster couldn't take a joke, and off he went.”
The two of them, hand in hand and laughing together, turned back to see the Tang Monk, who asked, “Did you manage to catch the monster?”
“That monster couldn't stand the fight,” said the Pilgrim. “He fell back and bored down into the water.”
Sanzang said, “Disciples, this creature has long dwelt here and knows its shallows and depths. With Weak Water as boundless as this, and no boat or oar to be had, we simply must get someone who knows the water to lead us across before all will be well.”
“Just so,” said the Pilgrim. “As the old saying goes: near cinnabar one turns red; near ink one turns black. This monster, living here, must surely know the water. Let us seize him now — but not beat him to death; only make him ferry the master across, and then we'll settle the rest.”
Bajie said, “Elder brother, no need to dither — you go and take him first, and let old Hog stand guard over the master.”
The Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Worthy brother, this is one thing I dare not boast of — old Sun isn't too greatly skilled in doings under the water. If I go simply through it, I must still make the finger-signs and keep muttering a water-repelling spell before I can move at all; otherwise I must change myself into some fish or shrimp, crab or turtle, and only then can I go. If it's a matter of matching skills — up on high mountains, among the clouds, whatever strange and cunning feats you like — old Sun can do it all; it's only this business in the water that gives me some trouble.”
Bajie said, “In my day old Hog was Grand Marshal of the Heavenly River, with command over eighty thousand marine troops, and so I did pick up some knowledge of the water. My only fear is that down in the water he may have kinsfolk, young and old — the whole brood of seven nests and eight generations coming at once — and then I'd be no match for him. Might I not, for once, be dragged off by him?”
“When you get down into the water and close with him,” said the Pilgrim, “don't get drawn into a long fight — you may lose, but you mustn't win; lure him out, and wait for old Sun to lend a hand.”
“Rightly spoken — I'll go.”
With a word he was off: he stripped off his blue brocade cassock, kicked off his shoes, brandished his rake in both hands, and parted a path through the water; and calling up the old skills of former days, he leapt the billows and churned the waves, plunged straight in, went down to the very bed of the river, and pressed forward.
Now the monster, having lost the bout and withdrawn, had just caught his breath when he heard again someone thrusting through the water with a splash. He rose up of a sudden to look, and it was Bajie, rake in hand, driving through the water. The monster raised his staff and cried out to his face, “You monk, where do you think you're going? Watch out for a beating!”
Bajie brought up his rake to parry and said, “What sort of monster are you, that you dare block the road here?”
“So you don't know me,” said the fiend. “I am no ordinary demon or goblin, nor one of mean surname and no name.”
“If you're no demon or goblin,” said Bajie, “then how is it you take lives here? Tell me truly your name and surname — out with it plainly — and I'll spare your life.”
The monster said, “I —”
From my youth I was born with a vigorous spirit;
ten thousand lǐ through Heaven and Earth I roamed at large.
A hero, I made my dread name known through all the world;
a gallant, I set the mould that bold men copied.
Through the myriad realms and Nine Provinces I went as I pleased;
over the Five Lakes and Four Seas I barged where I would.
All because, to learn the Way, I wandered to the sky's edge;
only to seek a master, I roved earth's wide reaches.
Year on year, robe and bowl I kept close to my side;
day upon day my heart and spirit I let not stray.
Along the land I cloud-wandered some scores of times;
everywhere I ambled a hundred journeys and more.
And thus at last I came to meet a Perfected One,
who opened for me the Great Way's bright golden light.
First I gathered in the Infant and the Fair Maid;
then I set loose the Wood-Mother and the Metal-Duke.
From the Hall of Light the kidney-water flowed to the Flowery Pool;
up the Storied Tower the liver-fire was cast to the heart.
My three thousand merits complete, I bowed before Heaven's face;
with steadfast heart I paid court, turned toward the radiance.
The Jade Emperor then advanced me in rank,
and with his own mouth enfeoffed me Curtain-Raising General.
Within the Southern Heaven's Gate I stood honoured;
before the Hall of Divine Mists I was styled among the highest.
At my waist hung the tiger-head tally;
in my hand I gripped fast the demon-quelling staff.
On my head a golden helm flashed back the sun;
over me armour shone bright as glowing sunset-cloud.
Coming and going, I led the van that guarded the carriage;
in and out at court I attended, and stood above the rest.
It was only because the Queen Mother sent down her peaches,
and spread a feast at the Jasper Pool, inviting the generals,
that by mischance I let fall and shattered a crystal of jade,
and every god of Heaven was struck aghast with dread.
The Jade Emperor straightway flew into wrath,
and charged the Left Assistant Minister then in office:
to strip my cap, my armour and my rank,
and thrust my person out upon the killing-ground.
I owed it all to the Great Bare-Foot Immortal,
who stepped from his rank to petition, and had me set free.
Spared from death and brought back to life, no punishment set upon me,
I was banished to the eastern bank of the Flowing Sands.
When full, I lie drowsing here within this mountain;
when hungry, I go churning the waves to hunt for food.
The woodcutter who meets me keeps his life no longer;
the old fisherman who sees me loses his body outright.
Back and forth I have devoured men in plenty;
over and over I have wrought a plague of slaughter.
You dare bring your violence to my very door;
today my belly has something to look for.
Don't tell me you're too coarse and rank to taste:
once I hold you fast, at my leisure I'll mince you into paste.
Bajie, hearing this, flew into a rage and cursed, “You filthy thing! You've not a scrap of discernment. Why, old Hog can still wring the water-froth out of himself — how dare you call me coarse and mean to mince me into paste? It seems you've taken me for some old dried-out hide. Mind your manners — and take this rake from your grandsire!”
The monster, seeing the rake come, ducked it with a “phoenix nodding its head,” and the two, fighting, drove up from the water to its surface, each treading the billows and mounting the waves. This bout was unlike the last — behold:
The Curtain-Raising General, Marshal Tianpeng —
each showed his powers, a marvel to behold.
That one's demon-quelling staff came whirling down at the head;
this one's nine-toothed rake flew quick as the hand could move.
Leaping the waves, they shook the hills and streams;
heaving the swells, they darkened the very world.
Fierce as the Year-God ramming the banners;
grim as the Mourning-Gate lifting the jewelled canopy.
This one, red-hearted and stern, guards the Tang Monk;
that one, steeped in crime, has become a water-fiend.
One rake-blow claws nine gashes;
when the staff strikes home, the very souls give way.
Straining with a will, they grapple with relish;
setting their hearts on it, each means to win the match.
Reckon it up: it is all for the scripture-seeker's sake
that their wrath surges to Heaven past all bearing.
They churn the water till carp and perch shed their bright scales,
and turtles and terrapins bruise their tender shells;
red shrimp and purple crabs all lose their lives,
and the gods of the water-palace bow upward in dread.
One hears only the waves rolling and tumbling like thunder-claps,
sun and moon gone lightless, Heaven and Earth aghast.
The two fought a full two double-hours without either gaining the day. It was, in truth, a bronze basin meeting an iron broom, a jade chime answering a golden bell.
Now the Great Sage, guarding the Tang Monk and standing close at his side, watched with staring eyes as the two contended upon the water, only he could not well lend a hand. Then he saw Bajie feint with his rake, make a show of losing, turn tail and head for the eastern bank. The monster came chasing after, and had all but reached the bank, when the Pilgrim, unable to hold back, left the master, drew his iron rod, sprang to the riverside, and struck straight down at the monster's head. The fiend dared not stand and meet him, and with a whoosh dived once more into the river.
Bajie bawled, “You Ban-Horse-Plague, you're an out-and-out impatient monkey! If you'd only hold off a bit longer — wait till I've lured him up to high ground, then bar the riverside so he can't turn back — wouldn't we have him then? Now that he's gone back in, when will he ever be willing to come out again?”
The Pilgrim said with a laugh, “Idiot, stop your bawling, stop your bawling. Let's go back and see the master for now.”
So Bajie, together with the Pilgrim, came up onto the high bank and saw the Tang Monk. Sanzang rose a little and said, “You have had a hard time of it, disciples.”
“Never mind the toil,” said Bajie. “Only when we've subdued the monster and got you across the river will the plan be truly safe and sound.”
“How did your fight with the monster go just now?”
“That fiend's skill makes him a fair match for old Hog. At the very height of the fight I feigned a defeat, and he came chasing up onto the bank. But seeing elder brother raise his cudgel, off he ran.”
“Then what is to be done?” said Sanzang.
“Set your mind at ease, Master, and don't fret,” said the Pilgrim. “It's growing late now; sit here on the bank a while, and wait for old Sun to go and beg some vegetarian fare; then you'll eat and sleep, and we'll deal with it again tomorrow.”
“Well said,” said Bajie. “Go quickly and come back quickly.”
The Pilgrim quickly leapt up on a cloud, made straight for a household to the due north, begged a bowl of vegetarian fare, and brought it back to offer the master. The master, seeing how quickly he had come and gone, called out, “Wukong, this household where you begged the food — wouldn't it be better to go and ask them for a way across the river than to keep grappling with this monster?”
The Pilgrim said with a laugh, “That house is a fearful distance off — five or seven thousand lǐ away. How would they know anything of the water? What use would it be to ask them?”
“Elder brother's spinning yarns again,” said Bajie. “Five or seven thousand lǐ, and how did you come and go so fast?”
“What would you know of it? Old Sun's somersault cloud carries a hundred and eight thousand lǐ at a single bound. A mere five or seven thousand lǐ — I need only nod my head a couple of times and bend my waist once, and there and back it is. What difficulty in that?”
“Brother!” said Bajie. “If it's as easy as all that, then take the master on your back, give a nod or two, bend your waist, and just leap across — why go to all this bitter trouble of fighting the monster?”
“Can't you ride a cloud yourself?” said the Pilgrim. “Why don't you carry the master over?”
“The master's mortal frame of flesh and bone is heavy as Mount Tai; this cloud-riding of mine — how could it bear the weight? It must be your somersault cloud that could do it.”
“My somersault, when all's said, is only cloud-riding too,” said the Pilgrim. “It just covers more ground, or less. If you can't carry him, how am I to carry him either? As the old saying has it: to move Mount Tai is as light as a mustard seed, but to bear a mortal is to be unable to escape the red dust. Now a vile fiend like this may use his snatching arts and conjure a gust of wind, but that is a matter of dragging and hauling — going along the ground; he cannot bear a man off through the air. Tricks of that sort old Sun can use and work too; and the arts of invisibility and of shrinking the ground — old Sun knows every one. But the master is bound to pass through every strange land, and cannot yet transcend the sea of suffering — and so he cannot advance a single step by such means. You and I can only serve as his escort, keeping his body and life secure; we cannot undergo these torments in his stead, nor can we fetch the scriptures for him; and even if one of us had the power to go ahead and see the Buddha, that Buddha would not readily hand the scriptures over to you or me. It is just as they say: what is got too easily is held too lightly.”
The Idiot, hearing this, murmured his assent and took it in. So they ate a little plain vegetarian food without relish, and master and disciples took their rest below the eastern cliff of the River of Flowing Sands.
Early next morning Sanzang said, “Wukong, how are we to manage today?”
“There's no particular plan,” said the Pilgrim. “Bajie must go down into the water again.”
“Elder brother, you just want to keep yourself clean, and put all the water-work off on me.”
“Worthy brother, this time I won't be so hasty — I'll just let you draw him up, and I'll block the riverbank so he can't get back. We must be sure to take him.”
The good Bajie wiped his face, roused his spirits, gripped his rake in both hands, went to the riverside, parted a path through the water, and once more descended to the demon's lair. The monster had only just woken when he heard the splash of someone thrusting through the water; he turned his head sharply, opened his eyes wide to look, and saw Bajie coming, rake in hand. He sprang out, barred the way head-on, and shouted, “Not so fast, not so fast — mind the staff!”
Bajie brought up his rake to parry and said, “What sort of funeral-cudgel is that, that you'd bid your grandsire mind it?”
“You wretch, how little you know. This staff of mine —”
This precious staff is one of great renown;
its very stock is a branch of the moon's sala tree.
Wu Gang hewed a limb of it down;
Lu Ban wrought it with unequalled craft.
Within runs a core of gold true to the heart;
without, ten thousand strands of pearl-thread and jade.
Its name is the Precious Staff, apt to subdue demons;
forever it warded the Hall of Divine Mists and could quell fiends.
Because I was appointed Grand General,
the Jade Emperor bestowed it for me to bear at my side.
Now long, now short, it answers to my will;
thick or thin, it follows my very mood.
It has guarded the throne at the Peach Banquet;
it has attended court and dwelt in the upper realm.
On palace duty it was saluted by all the sages;
raising the curtain, it saw the immortals bow.
Nurtured to a numinous nature, a divine weapon;
no common implement of the mortal world.
Since I was banished down through the Gate of Heaven,
it has ranged at will, roaming beyond the seas.
It is no rash boast to praise it so:
no spear or blade under Heaven could match it in contest.
Look at that rusty rake of yours —
fit only to hoe fields and tamp down cabbage-beds!
Bajie said with a laugh, “You under-thrashed rascal, never mind your talk of tamping cabbage. I'm only afraid that one swipe would leave you nowhere to stick a plaster, with all nine holes running blood at once. And even if it didn't kill you, you'd have lockjaw to the end of your days.”
The monster threw open his guard and, down beneath the water, fought Bajie up once more to the surface. This bout was indeed more furious than the last — behold:
The precious staff whirls, the nailed rake tamps;
their speech not shared, they are no kin.
It is only because the Wood-Mother overcomes the knife-and-spatula
that the two are brought to clash and grapple.
No winning or losing, no give and take;
churning the waves, they are all discord.
This one, in his wrath, how could he forbear?
That one, cut to the heart, could scarce brook the shame.
Rake comes, staff parries — each plays the hero;
the water boils the Flowing Sands, fierce and venomous.
Spirits high, toiling hard —
all because Sanzang journeys toward the Western Regions.
The nailed rake is mighty fierce;
the precious staff is thoroughly skilled.
This one grips to haul him up onto the bank;
that one claws to drag him and douse him in the water.
The din, like a thunder-clap, stirs the fish and dragons;
clouds darken, the sky dims, gods and ghosts cower.
This bout went back and forth, and when they had fought some thirty rounds with nothing to choose between them, Bajie once more played his feint of defeat and dragged his rake away in flight. The monster came chasing after, riding the surge and gripping the waves, and pursued him to the very foot of the cliff. Bajie cursed, “You vile monster — come on up here, where the ground is firm underfoot and I can give you a proper drubbing.”
The fiend cursed back, “You wretch, you're coaxing me up so that your helper can come at me again. You come down here, and we'll fight it out in the water.”
The fiend, you see, had grown wary; he would not come up onto the bank again, but only wrangled with Bajie at the river's edge.
Now the Pilgrim, seeing that he would not come up onto the bank, grew so frantic that his temper blazed, and he longed to snatch the demon up in a single grab. “Master, sit you down,” he said, “and let me give him a hungry hawk snatching its prey.” He turned a somersault, sprang into mid-air, and came dropping down with a rush to seize the fiend. But the fiend, just then wrangling with Bajie, heard of a sudden the rush of wind, turned his head sharply, and saw the Pilgrim dropping down out of the cloud; so he drew in his staff again, plunged headlong into the water, hid every trace, and vanished utterly.
The Pilgrim stood on the bank and said to Bajie, “Brother, this fiend has grown slippery too — he won't come up on the bank again. What's to be done?”
“Hard, hard, hard,” said Bajie. “I can't beat him. Even if I put out the strength I sucked in at the breast, I'd only fight him to a draw.”
“Let's go and see the master, then.”
The two came up again onto the high bank, saw the Tang Monk, and told him in full how hard the demon was to catch. The elder, his eyes brimming with tears, said, “With such difficulty as this, how are we ever to cross?”
“Master, don't distress yourself,” said the Pilgrim. “This creature lies deep at the bottom of the water — there's truly no getting at him. Bajie, you just stay here and guard the master, and don't fight him any more; wait while old Sun makes a trip to the Southern Sea.”
“Elder brother, what will you do at the Southern Sea?”
“This whole business of fetching the scriptures was Guanyin's doing in the first place; and it was Guanyin, too, who delivered and released us. Today our road is blocked at the River of Flowing Sands, we cannot go forward; without him we cannot manage it — so how are we to deal with it? Let me go and invite her — better that than brawling with this monster.”
“True, true,” said Bajie. “Elder brother, when you go, do be sure to convey a word for me: my thanks for all her past instruction.”
“Wukong,” said Sanzang, “if you are going to invite the Bodhisattva, then don't dither — go quickly and come back quickly.”
The Pilgrim at once mounted his somersault cloud and went straight for the Southern Sea. Ai! In less than half a double-hour he had already caught sight of the region of Mount Potalaka. In an instant he dropped from his somersault, arrived outside the Purple Bamboo Grove, and saw the deva-guardians of the Twenty-Four Quarters come forward to meet him, saying, “What brings the Great Sage here?”
“My master is in peril, and I have come expressly to seek audience with the Bodhisattva.”
“Please be seated, and allow us to announce you.”
The deva on duty that day went straight to the mouth of the Tide-Sound Cave and reported, “Sun Wukong is here on business, seeking audience.” The Bodhisattva was just then with the pearl-bearing Dragon Maiden by the Precious Lotus Pool, leaning on the rail to look at the flowers; hearing the report, she turned from the cloud-cliff, opened her door, and called him in. The Great Sage, grave and reverent, made his obeisance and did homage.
The Bodhisattva asked, “Why are you not guarding the Tang Monk? On what business have you come to see me again?”
The Pilgrim reported, “Bodhisattva, at Old Gao's Manor my master took on another disciple, called Zhu Bajie, and by your grace he was given the religious name Wuneng. We have just passed Yellow Wind Ridge, and now we have reached the eight-hundred-lǐ River of Flowing Sands, which is three thousand of Weak Water — already too hard for the master to cross; and in the river there is besides a monster, mighty in the martial arts. It was much thanks to Wuneng that we fought him three times on the water's face, only we could not win, and being barred by him, we cannot cross the river. And so I come expressly to inform you, Bodhisattva, hoping you will show compassion and help us across.”
“You monkey,” said the Bodhisattva, “showing off your conceit again — you wouldn't come out and say you were guarding the Tang Monk, would you?”
“We only meant to take him and make him ferry my master across,” said the Pilgrim. “As for doings in the water, I'm not too deft at them. It was only Wuneng who found his lair and had words with him; I suppose he never told him about the scripture-quest.”
“That monster of the Flowing Sands is the Curtain-Raising General come down to the mortal world, and he too is a convert I won over, whom I bade await and protect the scripture-pilgrims. If you had only been willing to say you were the scripture-seekers from the Eastern Land, he would never have fought you, but would surely have submitted.”
“That monster now shrinks from fighting,” said the Pilgrim, “and won't come up on the bank, but only lurks hidden in the water. How are we to get him to submit? And how is my master to cross the Weak Water?”
The Bodhisattva at once summoned Hui'an, took from her sleeve a little red gourd, and instructed him: “Take this gourd, go with Sun Wukong to the surface of the River of Flowing Sands, and just call his name, Wujing — he will come out at once. First bring him to take refuge with the Tang Monk; then string his nine skulls together in one place, set them out in the pattern of the Nine Palaces, and put this gourd in the middle, and it becomes a dharma-boat, able to ferry the Tang Monk across the bounds of the Flowing Sands.”
Hui'an, hearing this, reverently obeyed his mistress's command, and bearing the gourd with the Great Sage, went out of the Tide-Sound Cave; obedient to the dharma-decree, they took their leave of the Purple Bamboo Grove. There is a poem to prove it:
The Five Agents, rightly matched, accord with Heaven's truth;
and one comes to know again the old master of before.
Refining the self and laying the base for its marvelous working,
one discerns false from true and sees the first cause.
Metal returns to its nature and rejoins its kind;
Wood goes to seek its feeling, and together they are made whole again.
The Two Earths, their work complete, come to stillness;
harmonizing water and fire, without a mote of dust.
The two of them, in no long while, brought down their clouds and were soon at the bank of the River of Flowing Sands. Zhu Bajie recognized Mokṣa the Pilgrim and led the master forward to receive him; and when Mokṣa had exchanged courtesies with Sanzang, he greeted Bajie as well.
“It was by your guidance, reverend one, that I once came to see the Bodhisattva,” said Bajie. “Old Hog has indeed followed the dharma-teaching, and now happily bows within the gate of the śramaṇa. All this while, busy on the road, I have had no chance to thank you — forgive me, forgive me.”
“Never mind exchanging old news,” said the Pilgrim. “Let's go and call that fellow out.”
“Call whom?” said Sanzang.
“When old Sun saw the Bodhisattva, I laid the whole matter before her. The Bodhisattva said this monster of the Flowing Sands is the Curtain-Raising General come down to the mortal world, who, having committed an offence in Heaven, fell to this river and, forgetting his form, took to demon's ways. He was once won over by the Bodhisattva, and vowed to follow the master to the Western Heaven. It was only that we never told him about the scripture-quest, and so we fought each other so bitterly. Now the Bodhisattva has sent Mokṣa with this gourd, to make a dharma-boat with the fellow's help and ferry you across.”
Hearing this, Sanzang bowed his head in endless reverence, and did obeisance to Mokṣa, saying, “I earnestly beg you, reverend one, to make the trip at once.”
Mokṣa, holding the gourd fast, half in cloud and half in mist, went straight to the surface of the River of Flowing Sands and called out in a stern, loud voice, “Wujing! Wujing! The scripture-seekers have long been here — why do you still not submit?”
Now the monster, in dread of the Monkey King, had gone back to the bottom of the water and was resting in his lair, when he heard someone call his religious name. He knew at once it was the Bodhisattva Guanyin, and heard besides the words “The scripture-seekers are here.” Fearing no axe or halberd now, he swiftly stirred the waves, thrust out his head, and saw that it was Mokṣa the Pilgrim. See how, all smiles, he came forward and made his bow: “Reverend one, forgive my not receiving you. Where is the Bodhisattva now?”
“My mistress has not come,” said Mokṣa. “She sent me ahead to tell you to follow the Tang Monk at once and become his disciple. She bids you take the skulls hung at your neck, together with this gourd, and bind them by the Nine Palaces into a dharma-boat, to ferry them across this Weak Water.”
“And where are the scripture-seekers?” said Wujing.
Mokṣa pointed with his hand. “Isn't that them, seated on the eastern bank?”
Wujing looked and, seeing Bajie, said, “I don't know where that vile creature came from — he battled me these two whole days, and never once uttered a single word about fetching scriptures!” Then, catching sight of the Pilgrim, he said, “That master there is his helper — terribly fierce; I won't go.”
“That is Zhu Bajie, and this is Sun Wukong,” said Mokṣa, “both disciples of the Tang Monk, and both converts of the Bodhisattva — why fear them? Come, let me take you to meet the Tang Monk.”
Only then did Wujing put away his precious staff, straighten his yellow brocade robe, spring up onto the bank, and kneel on both knees before the Tang Monk, saying, “Master, your disciple had eyes but no pupils, and did not know your honoured face; I gave much offence, and earnestly beg forgiveness.”
“You wash-out,” said Bajie, “why didn't you take refuge sooner instead of insisting on fighting me? What sort of talk is that?”
“Brother, don't blame him,” said the Pilgrim with a laugh. “It was only that we never told him about the scripture-quest or who we were.”
“Are you truly willing, with a sincere heart, to take refuge in my teaching?” said the elder.
“Your disciple was long ago instructed and converted by the Bodhisattva, who pointed to the sand as my surname and gave me a religious name, calling me Sha Wujing. So how could there be any question of my not obeying you, Master?”
“If that is so —” said Sanzang, and called, “Wukong, fetch the ordination-knife and shave his head.”
The Great Sage did as he was told and shaved his head with the knife. Then Wujing bowed to Sanzang, bowed to the Pilgrim and Bajie, and took his place by seniority; and seeing how his bows had the true bearing of a monk, Sanzang gave him the further name of Sha the Monk.
“Since he has now taken the vows,” said Mokṣa, “there's no need for more ado — let us make the dharma-boat at once.”
Wujing, not daring to be slow, took down the skulls that hung at his neck, bound them with cords into the Nine Palaces, set the Bodhisattva's gourd in the middle, and invited the master down to the bank. The elder then stepped onto the dharma-boat and sat upon it, and indeed it was as steady as a light skiff. On the left Bajie steadied it, on the right Wujing bore it up; Sun Wukong came behind leading the dragon-horse, following half in cloud and half in mist; and directly overhead Mokṣa kept watch.
The master then, borne lightly and steadily, crossed the bounds of the Flowing Sands; the waves stilled and the wind fell as they passed the Weak River. Truly it was as swift as a flying arrow, and in no long while he set foot on the farther shore, delivered from the mighty flood; and without so much as trailing mud or water, dry of foot and hand — pure and unstriving — master and disciples set their feet on solid ground.
Mokṣa then brought down his auspicious cloud and took back the gourd; and behold, the skulls at once dissolved into nine streams of dark wind, and were silently gone. Sanzang bowed his thanks to Mokṣa and did reverence toward the Bodhisattva. It is aptly said:
Mokṣa went straight back to the Eastern Ocean;
Sanzang mounted his horse and turned again toward the west.
In the end, there is no knowing when they will at last attain the true fruit and win the scriptures; so listen to the next chapter for the explanation.