Before the Hall of Five Blessings
Coil a thousand wisps of red mist.
Two rows of pine and bamboo,
A forest of locust and cypress trees.
The two rows of pine and bamboo
Are ageless in their elegant purity;
The forest of locust and cypress trees
Has color and beauty.
See how high the drum and bell towers are,
How tall the pagoda.
In peaceful mediation the monks make firm their natures,
As birds sing in the trees outside.
Peace beyond mortal dust is the only true peace;
Emptiness with the Way is the real emptiness.
As the poem goes,
A supreme Jetavana hidden in a green valley,
A monastery set in scenery unbeaten in the world.
Such pure lands are rare on earth;
On most of the famous mountains dwell monks.
Sanzang dismounted, Monkey laid down his burden, and they were just on the point of going in when a crowd of monks came out. This is how they were dressed:
On their heads they wore hats pinned on the left,
On their bodies were clothes of purity.
Copper rings hung from their ears,
And silken belts were tied around their waists.
Slowly they walked on sandals of straw,
As they held wooden clappers in their hands.
With their mouths they were always chanting
Their devotion to the Wisdom.
When Sanzang saw them he stood respectfully beside the gate and greeted them. A monk hastily returned his greeting and apologized for not noticing them before.
“Where are you from?” he asked, “please come to the abbot's rooms and have some tea.”
“I have been sent from the East on an imperial mission to worship the Buddha in the Thunder Monastery and ask for the scriptures,” Sanzang replied, “and as it is almost night we would like to ask for a night's lodging now that we are here.”
“Come inside and sit down, come inside and sit down,” the monk said. When Sanzang told Monkey to lead the horse over, the monk was frightened at the sudden sight of him and asked, “What's that thing leading the horse?”
“Keep your voice down,” Sanzang urged, “keep your voice down. He has a quick temper, and if he hears you referring to him as 'that thing,' he'll be furious. He's my disciple.”
The monk shuddered and bit his finger as he remarked, “Fancy taking a monstrously ugly creature like that for a disciple.”
“He may not look it,” Sanzang replied, “but ugly as he is, he has his uses.”
The monk had no choice but to go through the monastery gate with Sanzang and Monkey, and inside they saw the words CHAN MONASTERY OF GUANYIN written in large letters on the main hall. Sanzang was delighted.
“I have often been the grateful beneficiary of the Bodhisattva's divine mercy,” he exclaimed, “but I have not yet been able to kowtow to her in thanks. To worship her in this monastery will be just as good as seeing her in person.” On hearing this, the monk, ordering a lay brother to open the doors, invited Sanzang to go in and worship. Monkey tethered the horse, put the luggage down, and went up into the hall with Sanzang, who prostrated himself and put his head on the floor before the golden statue. When the monk went to beat the drum, Monkey started striking the bell. Sanzang lay before the image, praying with all his heart, and when he had finished the monk stopped beating the drum. Monkey, however, was so engrossed in striking the bell, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, that he went on for a very long time.
“He's finished his devotions,” a lay brother said, “so what are you still beating the bell for?”
Monkey threw down the bell hammer and said with a grin, “You're ignorant, aren't you? 'Whoever is a monk for a day strikes the bell for a day': that's me.” By then all the monks in the monastery, senior and junior, as well as the abbot and his assistant, had been so startled by the wild noises from the bell that they all came crowding out to ask what savage was making such a din with the bell and drum. Monkey jumped out and cursed them: “Your grandfather Sun Wukong was having some fun.”
All the monks collapsed with shock at the sight of him and said as they knelt on the ground, “Lord Thunder God, Lord Thunder God.”
“The Thunder God is my great grandson,” Monkey replied. “Get up, get up, you've nothing to fear. I'm a lord from the land of the Great Tang empire in the East.” The monks all bowed to him, and could not feel easy until Sanzang appeared.
“Please come and drink tea in my rooms,” said the abbot of the monastery. The horse was unloaded and led off, while they went round the main hall to a room at the back where they sat down according to their seniority.
The abbot gave them tea and arranged for food to be brought, and after the meal it was still early. As Sanzang was expressing his thanks, two servant boys appeared behind them supporting an aged monk. This is what he looked like:
A Vairocana miter on his head
Topped with a gleaming cat's-eye jewel.
On his body a gown of brocade,
Edged with gold-mounted kingfisher feathers.
A pair of monkish shoes studded with the Eight Treasures,
A walking stick inlaid with Clouds and stars.
A face covered with wrinkles,
Like the Old Goddess of Mount Li;
A pair of purblind eyes,
Like the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea.
His mouth can't keep out the wind as his teeth have gone;
His back is bent because his muscles are stiff.
“The Patriarch has come,” the monks all said. Sanzang bowed low to him in greeting and said, “Your disciple pays his respects, venerable abbot.” The aged monk returned his greeting and they both sat down.
“The youngsters have just told me that gentlemen have come from the Tang Empire in the East,” he said, “so I have come out to see you.”
“Please forgive us for blundering into your monastery so rudely,” Sanzang replied.
“Don't put it like that,” the aged monk said, going on to ask, “How long a journey is it from the Eastern lands to here?”
“It was over sixteen hundred miles from Chang'an to the Double Boundary Mountain, where I took on this disciple,” Sanzang replied. “We traveled on together through the land of Kami, and as that took two months we must have covered getting on for another two thousand miles before reaching here.”
“Over three thousand miles,” said the aged monk. “I have spent a life of piety and have never been outside the monastery gates, so you could really say that I have been 'looking at heaven from the bottom of a well,' and call mine a wasted life.”
“How great is your age, venerable abbot?” Sanzang asked.
“In my stupid way I have lived to be two hundred and seventy,” the old monk replied.
“Then you're my ten-thousandth-great grandson,” put in Monkey.
“Talk properly,” said Sanzang, glaring at him, “Don't be so disrespectful and rude.”
“How old are you, sir?” the aged monk asked.
“I don't venture to mention it,” Monkey replied. The aged monk then thought that he must have been raving, so he put the matter out of his mind, said no more about it, and ordered tea to be brought for them. A young page brought in three cloisonne teacups on a jade tray the color of mutton fat, and another carried in a white alloy teapot from which he poured out three cups of fragrant tea. It had a better color than pomegranate blossom, and its aroma was finer than cassia. When Sanzang saw all this he was full of praise.
“What splendid things,” he said, “what splendid things. Wonderful tea in wonderful vessels.”
“They're not worth looking at,” the old monk replied. “After all, sir, you come from a superior and heavenly court, and have seen many rare things in your wide travels; so how can you give such exaggerated praise to things like that? What treasures did you bring with you from your superior country that I could have a look at?”