“But, brother,” Pig replied, “even if the master did slight the Buddha's Dharma he was exiled to the East and born into another body amid the sea of right and wrong and the battlefield of tongues. He swore an oath to go to the Western Heaven, worship the Buddha and fetch the scriptures. Every time he's met an evil spirit he's been tied up; and every time he's come across a monster he's been hung up. He's had to put up with every kind of agony. That should be enough. Why has he had to be ill as well?”

“This is something you wouldn't know about,” Monkey replied. “The master once dropped off to sleep instead of listening to the Buddha teaching the Dharma, and as he drowsed he trod on a grain of rice with his left foot. That is why he has to be ill for three days in the lower world.”

“So goodness only knows how many years someone who eats as messily as I do will have to be ill,” replied a shocked Pig.

“Brother,” Monkey replied, “the Buddha will spare ordinary creatures such as you. There's something else you don't know. As the poet said,

Hoeing millet in the noonday sun;

Sweat drops on the ground beneath the millet.

Who understands that of the food that's in the bowl,

Every single grain was won through bitter toil?

The master will only be ill today. Tomorrow he'll be better.”

“I am feeling different today from how I did yesterday,” said Sanzang. “My throat is absolutely parched. Go and find some cold water somewhere for me to drink.”

“Fine,” Monkey replied. “If water's what you want, Master, that means you're better. I'll go and fetch some.”

Monkey at once took the begging bowl and went to the kitchen at the back of the monastery, where he came across all the monks red-eyed and sobbing with grief. The only thing was that they dared not cry aloud.

“Don't be so petty, little monks,” said Brother Monkey. “Before we leave we'll thank you for the days we've spent here, and we'll pay for our cooking fuel and lighting by the day. You really shouldn't be such pustules.”

“We wouldn't dare accept it,” the lamas said at once, falling to their knees, “we wouldn't dare.”

“What do you mean, you wouldn't dare?” said Monkey. “It must be that long-snouted monk of ours who has an enormous appetite. He'd eat you out of house and home.”

“My lord,” the lamas replied, “there are over a hundred senior and junior lamas in this monastery. If each of us kept you for a single day we could afford to support you for over a hundred days. We're not the sort of skinflints who'd calculate what you will cost us in food.”

“If you're not working out the cost then why are you sobbing?” Monkey asked.

“Lord,” the lamas replied, “there's an evil monster in the monastery. We don't know which mountain it's from. Last night we sent two junior lamas to strike the bell and beat the drum. We heard the sound of the bell and the drum but the lamas never came back. When we looked for them the next day all we found were their monk's hats and shoes lying in the courtyard at the back and their skeletons. They had been eaten. In the three days you have been here six lamas have disappeared from the monastery. That's why we can't help being frightened and grieved. When we realized that your venerable master was ill we couldn't stop these tears stealing out even though we kept the news to ourselves.”

“Say no more,” said Brother Monkey, who was both shocked and delighted by what he heard. “It must be an evil monster who's killing people here. I'll wipe it out for you.”

“My lord,” the lamas replied, “any evil spirit worthy of the name has magical powers. It's bound to be able to ride clouds, come out of the underworld and disappear again. As the ancients put it so well, 'Trust not the straightest of the straight; beware of the inhuman human.' Please don't take offence, my lord, when we say that if you can rid our monastery of this scourge that would be a great happiness for us. But if you can't catch it things will be pretty difficult.”

“What do you mean by things being pretty difficult?” Monkey asked.

“We will be honest with you, my lord,” the lamas replied. “Although there are only a hundred or so of us lamas in this monastery we all became monks as children:

When our hair grows we have it shaved off;

Our clothes are patched with rags.

We rise in the morning to wash our faces,

Then bow with hands together

In submission to the Great Way.

At night we tidy up, burn incense,

And piously pray,

Chanting the name of Amitabha.

When we look up we see the Buddha

On his ninefold lotus throne

Well-versed in the Three Vehicles,

Riding in his mercy on clouds of dharma,

And we long to see the Sakyamuni in the Jeta park.

Looking down we see into our hearts,

Accept the Five Prohibitions,

Pass through a thousand aeons,

And live each life amid the countless dharmas,

Hoping to understand emptiness and the impermanence of matter.

When the benefactors come,

Old, young, tall, short, fat, thin,

We each beat wooden fish,

Strike bronze chimes,

Slowly and deliberately,

With the two rolls of the Lotus Sutra

And the short Litany of the Emperor of Liang.

When the benefactors do not come,

New, old, strange, familiar, rustic, smart,

We put our hands together,

Eyes shut,

Silent,

Entering meditation on the rush mats,

Firmly closing the gates under the moon.

Let the orioles sing and other birds chirp in idle strife:

They cannot mount our expeditions and compassionate chariot of dharma.

This is why we cannot subdue tigers and dragons,

Or recognize monsters and spirits.

If, my lord, you provoked the evil monster,

To which we hundred and more lamas would be but a single meal,

All of us living creatures would fall to the wheel of rebirth,

This ancient monastery of meditation would be destroyed,

And finally there would be no light at the Tathagata's assembly.

This would cause great troubles.”

When Brother Monkey heard the lamas say this anger surged up from his heart and hatred from his gall. “What a stupid lot you lamas are!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Are you only aware of those evil spirits? Do you know nothing of what I've done?”

“Really we don't,” the lamas replied in very quiet voices.

“Then I'll tell you briefly about it,” Monkey said.

“I used to subdue tigers and dragons on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit;

I once went up to Heaven and made great havoc in its palace.

When I was hungry I nibbled just two or three

Of Lord Lao Zi's elixir tablets;

When I was thirsty I sipped six or seven cups

Of the Jade Emperor's own wine.

When I glare with my golden eyes that are neither black nor white,

The sky turns deathly pale

While the moon is hidden in cloud.

When I wield my gold-banded cudgel that's the right length,

It strikes unseen

And leaves no trace behind.

What do I care about big or little monsters,

However rough or vicious they may be?

Once I go for them

They may run away, nimble about, hide or panic.

Whenever I grab one

They'll be filed down, cooked, ground to bits or pulverized in a mortar.

I'm like one of the eight immortals crossing the sea,

Each of whom gives a unique display of his magical powers.

Lamas, I'll catch that evil spirit and show it to you:

Then you'll know what sort of person this Monkey is.”

When the lamas heard this they nodded and said quietly, “From the way this damned baldy is shooting his mouth off and talking big there must be something behind it all.”