The venerable elder nodded several more times, and sighed over and over again, “Oh dear! If all the creatures of scale and shell worship the Buddha, why is it that man alone will not live virtuously?”
As he sighed a monk came out through the innermost gate. Seeing Sanzang's remarkable and distinguished appearance he hurried up to him, greeted him courteously, and said, “Where are you from, reverend sir?”
“I have been sent by His Majesty the Tang Emperor,” Sanzang replied, “to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven and fetch the scriptures. As we have reached your illustrious monastery at evening I request that we be allowed to spend the night here.”
“Reverend Sir,” said the monk, “please don't be angry with, me, but it's not for me to decide. I'm just a lay brother who sweeps and strikes the bell and does menial duties. We have a reverend abbot inside who is in charge here and I'll have to report to him. If he allows you to stay I'll come out again with an invitation, but if he doesn't then I'm afraid I won't be able to waste any more of your time.”
“Thank you for your trouble,” said Sanzang.
The lay brother hurried inside to report to the abbot, who was also the superintendent of ecclesiastical affairs, “There's someone outside, sir.” The abbot rose, dressed himself in his miter and his vestments, and quickly opened the doors to let him in.
“Where is he?” he asked the lay brother.
“Can't you see him over there, behind the main hall?” the lay brother replied.
Sanzang, who was leaning against the gateway, was bareheaded and wearing a monastic habit made of twenty-five strips of cloth and a pair of dirty, water-stained Bodhidharma sandals. At the sight of him the abbot said to the lay brother, “You need a lot more floggings yet, brother. Don't you realize that I hold high office in this monastery and only receive the gentry who come from town to burn incense here? How could you be so empty-headed as to ask me to receive a monk like that? Just look at his face. You can see he isn't honest. He's probably a wandering mendicant monk asking for lodging here because it's late. Our lodgings are not to be disturbed by the likes of him. He can spend the night squatting under the eaves. Why tell me about him?” With that he turned and walked away.
Sanzang, who heard all this, had tears running down his face. “Alas,” he said, “alas. How true it is that 'a man away from home is dirt.' I have been a monk since I was a boy. I have never
'Absolved the dead when eating meat
Or thought of doing harm,
Or read the Sutras angrily,
Or reflected without calm.
Nor have I
Thrown roof tiles, or heaved a brick
To harm a temple building,
Or ever scraped from arhat's face
The very precious gilding.
Oh dear! Goodness only knows in what existence I did such harm to Heaven and Earth that I should always be meeting evil people in this one. Even if you will not give us a night's lodging, monk, why did you have to say such disgraceful things, and tell us to squat under the front eaves? It's a good thing you said nothing like that to Wukong. If you had he would have come in here and smashed your feet with his iron cudgel.”
“Oh well, never mind,” thought Sanzang. “As the saying goes, manners maketh man. I'll go in, ask him and see what he decides.”
The Master walked in through the gate to the abbot's lodgings, where he saw the abbot sitting with his outer clothes off and seething with fury. Sanzang did not know from the pile of paper on his table whether he was reading scripture or writing out Buddhist pardons for somebody.
Not venturing to go any further in, Sanzang stood in the courtyard, bowed, and called aloud, “My lord abbot, your disciple pays his respects.”
The monk, apparently very irritated that he had come in, barely acknowledged his greeting and asked, “Where are you from?”
To this Sanzang replied, “I have been sent by His Majesty the Great Tang Emperor to worship the living Buddha in the Western Heaven and fetch the scriptures. It was because I have reached your illustrious monastery at nightfall that I have come to ask for lodging. I'll leave before first light tomorrow. I beg, venerable abbot, that you will show me kindness.”
Only then did the abbot make a slight bow and ask, “Are you Tang Sanzang?”
“Yes, I am.”
“If you are going to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures, how is that you don't know the way?”
“I've never been here before,” said Sanzang.
“About a mile and a half to the West is Ten Mile Inn,” said the abbot, “where they sell food and you can put up for the night. It would not be convenient for you monks from far away to stay here.”
“There is a saying, abbot,” replied Sanzang, “that 'Buddhist and Taoist monasteries and convents are all rest-houses for us monks; the sight of the temple gate is worth a big helping of rice.' You can't refuse us. What do you mean by it?”
“You wandering monks,” roared the abbot in fury, “you've all got the gift of the gab, haven't you?”
“Why do you say that?” asked Sanzang, to which the abbot replied, “There's an old saying that goes,
When the tiger came to town,
Every household shut its door.
Although he'd bitten no one yet,
Tiger's name was bad before.”
“What do you mean, 'Tiger's name was bad before?'“ asked Sanzang.
“Some years ago,” the other replied, “a group of itinerant monks came and sat down at our gates. Seeing how wretched they were-their clothes all torn, barefoot and bareheaded-I was sorry for them being so ragged. So I asked them into my quarters, gave them the best places to sit, provided them with a meal, lent each of them an old habit, and let them stay for a few days. Little did I imagine that the free food and the free clothing would put all thought of leaving out of their minds. They stayed for seven or eight years. Staying wasn't so bad, but it was all the terrible things they did.”
“What terrible things?” asked Sanzang. “Listen while I tell you,” replied the abbot,
“When idle or bored they threw bricks around,
Or tore out the studs from the monastery walls.
On cold days they burnt all the window-frames up,
Slept outside in summer on dismantled doors.
“They ripped up the banners to make themselves foot-cloths,
Traded our incense and ivory for turnips,
Stole oil from the lamp that never goes out,
And gambled away all our cauldrons and dishes.”
“Oh dear,” thought Sanzang on hearing this, “I'm not a spineless monk like them.” He was on the point of tears, but then thought that the abbot might mock him, so he discreetly dried them with his clothes, held back his sobs, and hurried out to see his three disciples.
At the sigh of his master's angry expression Monkey asked him, “Master, did the monks in there beat you up?”
“No,” replied Sanzang.
“They must have,” said Monkey, “or why else did I hear sobbing? Did they tell you off?”
“No,” said Sanzang. “They did not tell me off.”
“If they didn't beat you or reproach you, why look so upset?” asked Monkey. “Don't tell me it's because you're homesick.”
“This is not a good place,” said the Tang Priest.
“They must be Taoists here,” said Monkey with a grin.
“You only get Taoists in a Taoist temple,” retorted Sanzang angrily. “In a Buddhist monastery there are Buddhist monks.”
“You're hopeless,” said Monkey. “If they're Buddhist monks they're like us. As the saying goes, 'All in the Buddhist community are friends.' You sit here while I take a look around.”