Читать книгу Adventures of the Mad Monk Ji Gong - Guo Xiaoting - Страница 9

CHAPTER 1

Military Finance Officer Li visits Buddha and begs for a son; an immortal lohan descends to earth and begins anew the cycle of reincarnation

THE patchwork robe made for Guang Liang, the newly elected superintendent of the monks at the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat at Linan, was placed on display before daybreak. It was arranged on a high-backed armchair placed on a low platform to the west of the altar before the huge statue of the boddhisatva Guan Yin. In the morning when the sun shone through the door, it illuminated each scrap of precious brocade and every bit of exquisite embroidery with the unusually fine stitching that made the robe a dazzling ceremonial vestment.

The monks had begged for these scraps at the gate of every great family in Linan, the twelfth-century capital of the Southern Song Dynasty of China.The monastery was the most important temple in the empire and, as the monks explained, Guang Liang would some day almost certainly become its abbot when the old abbot was no more. People had gladly contributed not only material, but also money for the sewing, which was done at the finest shop in Linan.

In the first two hours of its showing, most of the monks, with the exception of the abbot, had seen the robe. Soon wealthy matrons would be pointing out their bits of brocade to their friends, but before that could happen, the robe suddenly disappeared. No one knew where it had gone, but all the monks guessed that Dao Ji, the Chan (Zen) monk, had taken it, and he was missing.

Who was this Dao Ji? He was the son of a military officer, Li Maoqun. Li was usually addressed as Li Yuanwai. Most respected gentlemen were called yuanwai in the time of the Southern Song Dynasty. In the fourth year of that dynasty (1131 C.E.), Li was living not far from the capital Hangzhou, more commonly called Linan in those times.

Li was registered as a native of the Tiantai district in Taizhoufu, a prefecture in the east-central portion of the province of Zhejiang. His wife was called Wang Shi, meaning a wife from the Wang family, since women usually continued to be called by their maiden names after marriage.

This couple loved the virtuous life. Li Yuanwai was extremely kind to others and not unduly severe toward the soldiers he commanded. Because of this, his reputation as a good officer was widespread. At home he was pleasant and generous, and outside his home he helped those in danger and relieved those in distress with padded clothing in winter and draughts of medicine in summer. When Li Yuanwai walked along the street, people generally called him Virtuous Li, but a few among them disagreed, saying, “If he is truly virtuous, why is there not a son?”

Li Maoqun overheard this talk, so later, when his wife saw him come home sad and dejected, she asked why he was unhappy. Her husband said, “When I was strolling in the street, almost everyone was calling me Virtuous Li, but among them there were some who said privately, but so that I could hear, that, if I were truly good it would not be possible for me to be without a son. I think that heaven has its spirits and the Buddha has his spirits, and if we ask, it is in their power to permit us to have a child.”

“Why not take a second wife or buy two concubines and have a son and a daughter?” urged his wife.

Her husband said, “Oh, my wife, it is wrong to say such words. How could I do such a stupid thing! My wife, you are only approaching forty. You can still give birth to sons or daughters. You and I will purify ourselves by fasting and bathing for three days and then go to the Guojing temple on Tiantai mountain, beyond Yongning village. There we will worship Buddha and beg for a son. If heaven above has eyes, you and I, husband and wife, may still have a child.”

“Very good,” said Wang Shi.

Li Yuanwai selected a date, and with his wife riding in a cart while he rode a horse, they and their party of servants reached the foot of Tiantai mountain. They looked up at the mountain rising up to meet the clouds, its peaks standing erect, the dense forests and the Guojing temple halfway to the top. When they reached the outside of the temple, they saw how large and high the monastery gate appeared. Inside there were two towers, one for the drum and one for the bell. Just beyond was the purification hall for the guests, the hall for reading the sutras or scriptures of Buddhism, and a large building with twenty-five rooms for storing the complete religious library of Buddhism, the Tripitaka.

Li Yuanwai got down from his horse. From within, the monks came out to greet the couple. At the great hall they were offered tea. The master of the temple, old Abbot Gong, came himself to welcome them and took them to each place where they were to burn incense. Husband and wife first went to the imposing Hall of Treasures and prayed. They knelt to ask the immortal Buddha to bless them, saying, “As we renew the incense, teach us a thousand times ten thousand times that we may have a son. If Buddha, the founder, will manifest his spirit, we will make extensive repairs to an old temple and fashion a golden image. This is our prayer.” On they went, burning incense at each place.

When they reached the Lohan Hall, containing images of lohan (disciples of Buddha), they also burned incense. When they were standing in front of the fourth lohan, they saw the image slip from its pedestal. Since the words “fall to earth” when used by Buddhists also means “be born into the world,” the senior priest Gong said, “Your prayer is an swered! Your prayer is answered! You will certainly have an honorable son. When the day comes, I will come to wish you happiness.”

Li Yuanwai returned home with his wife and servants. Without knowing it, his wife became pregnant and after some months gave birth to a boy. At the time of the birth, a red light seemed to fill the courtyard and there was a strong odor of a strange perfume. Li Yuanwai was extremely happy, even though the newborn cried continuously, never ceasing straight through to the third day.

On this third day, just as the relatives and friends in the community came to offer congratulations, some neighbors came in to say that Abbot Gong of the Guojing monastery had come personally to give the official his kind regards and offer his good wishes.

Li Yuanwai went to welcome him and Abbot Gong said, “I can see that you are very happy. Is your son well?”

“From the time he was born, he has cried without ceasing,” Li Yuanwai replied.“I feel very anxious about this. Does the revered monk have some subtle way to cure this?”

Abbot Gong said, “It is easily managed. If you will go into the house and carry your son outside, I will take a look, and then I will understand the cause.”

Li Yuanwai said uneasily, “The child is not yet a full month old. I am afraid it will not be right to carry him outside.”

Abbot Gong said, “There will be no harm. Simply wrap him loosely in a robe. The three lights of the sun, moon, and stars will not harm him.”

As soon as Li Yuanwai heard this reasonable suggestion, he went quickly and carried the child out. The boy, who was born with an attractive face, clear-cut features, and a pleasant personality, was still crying without stopping. As soon as Abbot Gong came over and looked at him, his crying mouth stretched into a smile.

The old monk stroked the top of the child’s head with his hand and said, “Do not smile. Do not smile. I know your past history, you coming and I going. How can the great provincial families be so confident of their futures?”

The child immediately stopped crying, and the monk said, “May I take a disciple’s name and give it to him as a remembrance? He would be called Li Xiuyuan—meaning ‘Li who restores those harmed by malevolent influences, either from their own previous incarnations or from the wrongful acts of others.’”

Li Yuanwai assented and carried the child inside. A little later the father came out, saying that food was prepared for the monk.

The relatives and friends scattered and soon senior monk Gong also left.

Li Yuanwai hired a wet nurse to assist in caring for the child. The child grew and became strong.

Light is like an arrow, the days and months like a weaver’s shuttle. The years passed with the parents hardly aware of them, and Li Xiuyuan reached the age of seven. They had never intended that he should simply gather with the village boys, idly talking and laughing. So his parents decided that his studies should begin. An old graduate, Du Qunying, was hired to teach the boy at the instructor’s home. There were two others in the class. One was Han Wenmei, the son of Han Wenzheng, a military man, filial and upright, from Yongning village. The other was Wang Shi’s nephew, Wang Zhuan, who lived in Jiuning village. He was the son of Wang Anshi, the commander of a military unit. Wang Zhuan was eight years old.

The three boys studied together and truly enjoyed one another’s friendship. Li Xiuyuan was the youngest, but he never forgot what had once passed before his eyes. He advanced rapidly as he studied, and surpassed ordinary students in talent. Master Du thought this remarkable, and often said to people that he had waited long for such a talent as that of Li Xiuyuan.

When he reached the age of fourteen, Li Xiuyuan had great skill in reciting passages from the Four Books of the philosopher Confucius, as well as the Five Classics, and numerous works of other ancient Chinese philosophers discussing Confucianism. Together with the two others, Wang and Han, he was constantly composing poems and reciting them in a loud voice.

That year they were thinking of taking the provincial examinations as degree candidates. But Xiuyuan’s father fell sick and could not get out of bed. He was in a serious condition, too ill to be aware of what other people were doing. Someone sent for Wang Anshi, his wife’s younger brother, to come to his bedside.

Li Yuanwai said, “My dear brother, I will not be long in the world of men. Your nephew and your older sister will need you to take care of them. Xiuyuan cannot always be a student. I have made arrangements for him to marry a girl of the Liu family in the Village of the Thousand Gates. She has no one living in her immediate family. I depend upon you, younger brother, to manage everything regarding this.”

Wang Anshi said, “Husband of my older sister, let your heart be at rest and take care of your illness. You need not instruct me further. I will take care of the matter myself.”

Li Yuanwai also said to Wang Shi, “Dear wife, I am fifty-five years old now and so cannot be said to be dying young. After I die, above all things take care of our boy and teach him to become famous. Even though my soul is beneath the dreadful Yellow Springs, I will be joyous.”

Finally he gave Xiuyuan several sentences of instruction, but alas, his heart was in turmoil and his mouth and eyes closed in death. As soon as Li Yuanwai died, the family wept together.

Officer Wang helped with all the details of the bereavement. Since Xiuyuan remained in mourning, he could not take part in the examinations. That year Wang Zhuan and Han Wenmei both obtained their Xiucai, or bachelor’s degrees, and both families were congratulated.

In the home of Wang Shi there was an upper room that the family called the meditation tower. There, a record was kept of the family’s financial and other affairs up to each year’s end. This would be written in the form of a table and offered up to heaven together with the bills of account, without hiding the truth and keeping nothing back. There Li Xiuyuan began to develop an interest in the study of Daoism. The practice of this religion often included elements of herbal medicine, alchemy, numerology, exorcism, and black magic. Whenever he saw one of the Daoist scriptures, he would read it through without stopping.

Two years passed, and his mother fell sick and died. Li Xiuyuan wept for her alone. Officer Wang helped and managed the funeral arrangements.

Until the age of eighteen Li Xiuyuan continued to like Daoist books. When in that year his mourning was completed, he changed from his mourning clothes and immediately left home. He had been contemplating the red dust of mortality, his broken world, and his various problems. All the affairs at home were being taken care of by his uncle and did not need his attention. Li Xiuyuan went to the family grave, burned some sheets of paper spirit money, left a note for Officer Wang, and then immediately went away.

When Officer Wang had not seen him for two days, he sent a man to look for him. The man did not find the nephew, but he did find the note. Officer Wang opened the note and read, “Xiuyuan has left. You need not look for him. In some other year we will meet and you will know the result.”

Because Officer Wang knew that his nephew had recently been going to the Anguan temple in the neighborhood to study Buddhism and Daoism, he sent someone there to look for the boy. However, the people at the temple had not seen him. Wang also sent men to put up white placards in various places. On them he had written that any person who came with Li Xiuyuan to his home would be given one hundred ounces of white silver in reward; and any person who knew where the boy actually was and sent a letter about him would be given fifty ounces of silver. After three months, Uncle Wang and his people still had no idea where Xiuyuan had gone.

After Li Xiuyuan had broken contact with his home, he wandered aimlessly to nearby Linan. When he had spent all his money, he went into a temple and asked to leave the world. The monks there, however, did not dare to keep him because he was obviously a runaway from a good family.

Li Xiuyuan next went to the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat that occupied a large tract of ground facing the city from across the West Lake, considered to be one of the most beautiful spots in China. There he asked to see the master of the temple.

The abbot, Yuan Kong, a Buddhist of the ninth degree, was aged and feeble, but his mind was still strong and his understanding profound. When Xiuyuan was brought before him, the old monk knew at once that the youth was the reincarnation of the golden-bodied lohan who subju-gates tigers and dragons. Lohan were commonly believed to be powerful spirits of former teachers of Buddhism, filled with infinite compassion. However, in order to enter Nirvana, the state of having attained enlightenment and the freeing of the self, these lohan had to pass through countless reincarnations because of the burden of their human faults.

The abbot could not change the direction of the boy’s destiny, but he could help him with his teaching. The abbot was master of nine different schools of Buddhism. He, therefore, was able to train a disciple in whichever of these denominations seemed most suitable. After observing Xiuyuan’s natural gifts and disposition, the old man decided that the boy should become a Chan monk, “Chan” being the Chinese pronunciation of “Zen” in Japanese. The abbot named him Dao Ji, meaning “salvation through Buddhist wisdom.” He would no longer use the name Xiuyuan.

Chan Buddhism stressed meditation, but it also laid great emphasis on using insight and rational thinking to solve problems and find practical solutions. Chan monks during the Song dynasty had already earned a reputation for challenging Buddhist rules and ignoring conventional social behavior.

Even in tranquil courtyards bright with flowers,

You dare not say all’s well. Though walls and gates

Be higher than the tallest tall man’s head,

Malicious spirits that may hear such words

Will fly like locusts to invade each quiet spot.

Confucian duties, Daoist spells

And Buddha’s promise of release from karma’s chains

Together share the minds of thoughtful folk.

Both heaven and hell with countless gods and demons

Mirror the earth in all its vast complexity.

Souls of the dead roam ceaselessly

Until they may be born on earth once more.

On earth among the living, wandering monks of Chan

Respect what seems the best in every discipline,

Yet mock pretense and all external trappings

And work mysteriously to gain their ends.

The prevailing practice in the Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat was more conservative, however, and many of the monks felt that this Chan novice was pursuing ideas contrary to their own. It was inevitable that he should be criticized, and even taunted. Once, while meditating, he remained so long in concentration that he became confused and disoriented. As a result, some of the others began to call him Ji Dian, meaning “Mad Ji.” Thereafter the rumor persisted, and even spread beyond the monastery, that he was indeed insane.

In spite of efforts to destroy his reputation, he afterward became known as Ji Gong by many people outside the monastery. During some earlier dynasties, “Gong” had been the title of a duke. Thus, when people called him Ji Gong, it was very much like calling him High and Noble Lord Ji. It was a title reserved for those most revered and appreciated.

As for the young Dao Ji, he passed through his three years of training, ignoring the taunts. He received his certificate and became a full-fledged monk. Even then, however, he was not accepted by the other monks, and his isolation from them grew.

Here and there about the monastery Dao Ji observed that individuals had little hoards of money that they had kept from the offerings of the visiting faithful. This all too common practice of subtracting a percentage of everything that fell into one’s hands was called a “squeeze.” The monks used their squeeze for new robes or sandals, or for some extra food beyond the day’s single meal.

Every few days Dao Ji would take the money from one or two of the little hoards and disappear from the monastery. He would spend the money in restaurants dining on dishes made with meat and fish and drinking wine, all of which he particularly loved. When people used to say to him that monks should eat only vegetarian meals, he responded with half-concealed mockery, saying, “The founder of Buddhism left us a verse which goes, ‘Some improve their hearts but neglect their mouths; others help their mouths but neglect their hearts.’ If I only improve my heart but neglect my mouth, then I would be failing to maintain my body and so be ungrateful to Guang Liang, the superintendent of the monks, who is like my father and mother who gave me this body.”

After a day or two in the city, he would return and, except for attending the noon meal, he would usually spend his time studying alone in the upper part of the Great Memorial Pagoda.

Shortly before this period, the superintendent of monks was transferred to another temple. The monks chose one of their group, Guang Liang, to be the new superintendent. He ranked next to the abbot in authority. Guang Liang was just a little bit fat from the tidbits he snatched between meals, and his smooth, moon-shaped face had a look of calm and benign authority. However, Dao Ji knew that the new superintendent was a man without learning and that there was certainly nothing holy about him. Dao Ji could see nothing in him except an ambitious desire to control the great Monastery of the Soul’s Retreat.

The old abbot who had been Dao Ji’s teacher was a wise and saintly man. The thought that Guang Liang would one day take the place of the abbot was intolerable to Dao Ji. When the costly silk patchwork robe was placed on display before being presented to Guang Liang by the monks, Dao Ji waited for his chance. When no one was watching, he stole the robe and pawned it. That night he feasted in the city. In the morning he returned and pasted the pawn ticket high on the monastery gate.

When Superintendent Guang Liang saw that the robe was gone, he sent the monks looking for it everywhere. The monks were not permitted to paste announcements or anything else on the monastery gate, so when some of them saw the piece of paper pasted high on the gate, they removed it. When they saw what it was, they took it to redeem the robe. Guang Liang meanwhile went to the master of the temple, the abbot, and complained: “The crazy monk in this temple is not peaceful and virtuous according to our rules. He constantly steals all the monk’s clothing, money, and other things. These actions call for severe measures! We must control him now and punish him for his offenses!”

The master of the temple, Yuan Kong, countered: “Dao Ji has no stolen goods in his possession; he cannot be punished. What you should do is carry out a secret investigation and, if there is evidence of theft, bring him to me.”

Superintendent Guang Liang dispatched two acolytes to keep Ji Gong under secret observation. Ji Gong was sleeping in the Hall of Great Treasures with his head on the altar table. The two little monks, Zhi Ching and Zhi Ming, exercising great caution, watched him each day. One day they saw him come out stealthily from the great hall and go around looking everywhere for some time. Afterward he looked in at the hall, went back inside, and came out again, walking furtively. He was holding close to his chest an old mat wrapped around something. Just as he was walking along the center of an old alley between some buildings in the temple grounds, he saw Zhi Ching and Zhi Ming, who said, “Good Ji Dian, what did you steal now? You can stop thinking about getting away.” Going over and thrusting out their arms, they caught Ji Gong and went at once to the rooms of the master of the temple.

The superintendent of the monks first said to the abbot, “The temple master knows that here in an eminent temple Ji Dian has failed to obey the regulations. Since he has stolen temple property, he must be punished according to our laws.”

When the master of the temple, Yuan Kong, heard this, he thought to himself: “Dao Ji, if you have stolen temple property, I cannot ask them to accept this. Even though I would like to give you sanctuary, there is nothing I can say.” Then he said to the others, “Just have the people bring him forward.”

When Ji Gong came into the front room of the master of the temple he said, “Oh, there you are, Elder Monk. I have been meditating.” Whenever he saw the senior monk, Ji Gong spoke in this manner. Yuan Kong for his part did not require him to kneel and touch his forehead to the ground in the traditional kowtow.

The abbot said to him, “Dao Ji, you have not been keeping the temple rules. You have stolen temple property. How shall you be punished?”

“Destroy his garments, his rice bowl, and the certificate of his Buddhist vow! Send him out of the temple! Do not authorize him to be a monk!” exclaimed the superintendent of the monks.

The old master of the temple said to himself, “I will simply censure him severely.” He then said to Ji Gong, “Dao Ji, take out the things that you have stolen and show them to us.”

“Teacher, they are truly taking advantage of me. I have been sleeping in the Hall of the Great Treasures. While I was sweeping the floor, I noticed that there was no trash container, so I was carrying everything out in my arms. Wait and I’ll show you.” Having said this, Ji Gong loosened the flat silken cords that tied the matting, and with a thunderous noise the dirt and dust from inside fell to the floor.

The master of the temple, in an extremely angry voice, said, “Superintendent Guang Liang, you have maliciously accused a good person of stealing. This merits severe censure. Beat the sounding board and call the monks together. Instruct them that the entire temple must be thoroughly swept.”

The monks all assembled hurriedly, each one paying no attention to anyone else and each making a great deal of noise. In the confusion, Ji Gong walked out of the temple unnoticed. He went out through the monastery gate, down the mountainside, and into the forest near the West Lake.