Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 2)

“Amitabha Buddha!” said Sanzang. “This habit of mine was begged piece by piece, a bit of cloth from one family and a needle from another. If you take it you will be killing me. If you act as tough guys in this life you'll be reborn as animals in the next.”

One of the bandit chiefs was so infuriated by this remark that he started to wave his cudgel about and went up to Sanzang to strike him. Unable to speak, Sanzang could only think, “Poor man, you may think you've got a cudgel: wait till you find out about my disciple's.” The bandit was in no mood for argument as he raised his cudgel and started to lay about Sanzang. Sanzang, who in all his life had never told a lie, in this desperate crisis had to make one up now: “Don't hit me, Your Majesties. I have a young disciple following behind me who'll be here soon. He has several ounces of silver that he'll give to you.”

“Don't hurt the monk,” said one of the bandit chiefs. “Tie him up.” The crowd of bandits then fell upon him, roped him up, and suspended him high from a tree.

The three disaster-bringing spirits were still following behind. Pig was chuckling aloud as he said, “The master's been going very fast. I don't know where he's waiting for us.” Then he saw Sanzang in the tree and said, “Just look at the master, He could have just waited if he'd wanted to, but he was in such high spirits he had to climb a tree and make a swing out of creepers.”

“Stop talking nonsense,” said Monkey when he saw what had happened. “The master's been hung up there, hasn't he? You two wait for a moment while I go up and look around.”

The splendid Great Sage then rushed up the slope to look around and saw the bandits. “I'm in luck,” he thought with glee, “I'm in luck. Business has brought itself to my front door.” With that he turned round, shook himself, and turned into a trim little novice of only sixteen wearing a black habit and carrying a bundle wrapped in blue cotton cloth on his shoulder. Then he stepped out until he was by the master and called, “Master, what's been happening? Who are these wicked people?”

“Rescue me, disciple,” said Sanzang, “and stop asking so many questions.”

“What's it all about?” Monkey asked.

“These highwaymen blocked my way and demanded money,” Sanzang replied. “As I don't have any they hung me up here. I'm waiting for you to work something out. If you can't you'll just have to give them the horse.”

“You're hopeless, Master,” laughed Monkey. “Of all the monks in the world there can be few as soft as you. When the Tang Emperor Taizong sent you to worship the Buddha in the Western Heaven he never told you to give that dragon horse away.”

“Whatever was I to do when they hung me up here and were hitting me as they demanded things?” said Sanzang.

“What did you say to them?” Monkey asked.

“I was so desperate when they beat me that I had no choice: I had to tell them about you,” Sanzang replied.

“Master,” said Monkey, “you're useless. Why ever did you squeal on me?”

“I told them that you were carrying some money,” said Sanzang. “I only did it in desperation to stop them beating me.”

“Great,” said Brother Monkey, “great. Thanks for the recommendation. That just how to squeal on me. You can do that seventy or eighty times a month if you like, and I'll do more business than ever.”

When the bandits saw Monkey talking to his master they spread out to surround them and said, “Little monk, get out the money your master told us you're carrying inside your belt and we'll spare your life. But if you even try to say no, you're dead.”

“Don't shout, gentlemen,” said Monkey, putting his bundle down. “I've got some money in here, but not much-only twenty horseshoe ingots of gold and twenty or thirty ingots of frosted silver, not counting the smaller pieces. If you want it I'll get the whole packet out as long as you don't hit my master. As the ancient book has it, 'Virtue is the root, and wealth is only the tip of the branch'. This is just the tip of the branch. We men of religion can always find a place to beg. When we meet a benefactor who feeds monks there'll be plenty of money and clothes for us. We don't need much at all. As soon as you've let my master down I'll give you it all.”

When the bandits heard this they were delighted, and they all said, “The old monk is stingy, but this little monk is very generous. Let him down.” Now that his life had been spared the venerable elder leapt on the horse and galloped back the way he had come, making good use of the whip and not giving Monkey another thought.

“You've gone the wrong way,” Monkey called out in alarm, then picked up his bundle and started to run after him, only to find his way blocked by the bandits.

“Where do you think you're going?” they asked. “Give us your money or we'll have to torture you.”

“Now we're on that subject,” said Monkey, “we'll have to split the money three ways.”

“You're a bit of a rascal, aren't you, little monk?” said one of the bandit chiefs. “You want to keep something without letting your master know. All right then. Bring it all out and we'll have a look at it. If there's a lot we'll let you keep a bit to buy fruit with on the side.”

“That's not what I mean at all, brother,” said Monkey. “I haven't got any money. What I mean is that you've got to give me a cut of the gold and silver you two have stolen from other people.”

This infuriated the bandit chief, who shouted abusively, “You're asking for it, little monk. Wanting ours instead of giving us yours! Stay where you are and take this.” He lifted his knotted rattan cane and brought it down on Monkey's head six or seven times.

Monkey pretended not to notice, and his face was wreathed in smiles as he said, “Brother, if you can only hit me like that you could still be hitting me at the end of next spring and you wouldn't really have hit me at all.”

“You have a very hard head,” exclaimed the shocked bandit.

“No, no, you overpraise me: I just get by with it,” Monkey replied. With that the discussion was cut short as two or three of the bandits rushed at Monkey and started lashing out at him.

“Keep your tempers, gentlemen,” said Monkey, “while I get it out.”

The splendid Great Sage then felt in his ear and pulled out an embroidery needle. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we monks really don't carry money with us. All I can give you is this needle.”

“What lousy luck,” said one of the bandits. “We've let the rich monk go and kept this bald donkey who's not got a penny to his name. I suppose you do tailoring. A needle's no use to us.” On hearing that they did not want it Monkey held the needle in his hand, waved it, and turned it into a cudgel as thick as a rice bowl.

“Young you may be, little monk,” said the terrified bandits, “but you certainly have some magical powers.”

Monkey then thrust the cudgel into the ground and said, “If any of you gentlemen can move it it's yours.” The two bandit chiefs rushed up to grab it, but they could no more move it than a dragonfly can move a stone pillar: it did not shift a fraction of an inch. How could those bandits have known that the gold-banded As-You-Will cudgel had been weighed on the scales of Heaven at 13,500 pounds? Then Monkey stepped forward, lifted it effortlessly, spun it in a writhing python movement, pointed it at the robbers and said, “You're all out of luck: you've met Monkey.”

The bandit chief rushed at him again and hit him another fifty or sixty times. “Your hands must be getting tired,” said Monkey. “Let me hit you one now, but don't think this is the real thing.” Watch him as he swings his cudgel, shakes it, and makes it as thick as the top of a well and seventy or eighty feet long. A single blow of it struck one bandit chief to the ground. He bit the dust and said no more.