Journey to the West (vol. 2) Read online

  “But how long does human life last?” the officials asked. “How is it that he won't get better even in a thousand years?”

  “He's a sick ruler now,” said Monkey. “When he dies he'll be a sick ghost, and whenever he's reincarnated he'll be a sick man again. That's why he won't get better even in a thousand years.”

  “You've got no sense of respect at all,” the infuriated officials replied. “How dare you talk such nonsense!”

  “It's not nonsense,” Monkey laughed. “Listen and I'll explain:

  “Mysterious indeed are the principles of medicine;

  Flexibility of mind is a quality required.

  Use eyes and ears, ask questions, take the pulses:

  Omit but one and the examination's incomplete.

  First look for outward signs of the patient's vital energy.

  Dried? Smooth? Fat? Thin? Active? Does he sleep well?

  Secondly, listen to whether the voice is clear or harsh:

  Determine if the words he speaks are true or crazed.

  Third, you must ask how long the disease has lasted,

  And how the patient eats, drinks and relieves himself.

  Fourth, feel the pulses and be clear about the veins:

  Are they deep, shallow, external or inside?

  Should I not look and listen, ask questions, and take the pulses,

  Never in all his days will the king be well again.”

  In the ranks of the civil and military officials there were some fellows of the Royal College of Medicine who when they heard these words praised Monkey publicly: “The monk is right. Even a god or an immortal would have to look, listen, ask questions and take the pulses before treating a patient successfully with his divine gifts.”

  All the officials agreed with these remarks, then went up to the king and submitted: “The reverend gentleman wishes to look, listen, ask questions and take the pulses before he can prescribe properly.”

  “Send him away,” the king said over and over again as he lay on his dragon bed. “We cannot bear to see any strangers.”

  His attendants then came out from the inner quarters and announced, “Monk, His Majesty commands that you go away. He cannot bear to see a stranger.”

  “If he won't see a stranger,” Monkey replied, “I know the art of taking the pulses with hanging threads.”

  “That is something of which we have only heard,” exclaimed all the officials, concealing their delight, “but that we have never seen with our own eyes. Please go back in and submit another report.”

  The personal attendants then went back into the inner quarters and reported, “Your Majesty, the Venerable Sun can take your pulses with hanging threads: he does not need to see Your Majesty's face.”

  At this the king reflected, “In the three years we have been ill we have never tried this technique. Send him in.”

  At once the courtiers in attendance announced, “His Majesty has consented to pulse-taking by the hanging threads. Send the Venerable Sun to the inner quarters at once to make his diagnosis.”

  Monkey then entered the throne hall, where the Tang Priest met him with abuse: “Wretched ape! You will be the death of me!”

  “My good master,” Monkey replied with a smile, “I'm bringing you credit. How can you say I'll be the death of you?”

  “In all the years you've been with me,” Sanzang shouted, “I have never seen you cure a single person. You know nothing about the nature of drugs, and you have never studied medical books. How can you be so reckless and bring this disaster on us?”

  “You don't realize, Master,” said Monkey with a smile, “that I do know the odd herbal remedy and can treat serious illnesses. I guarantee I can cure him. Even if the treatment kills him I'll only be guilty of manslaughter through medical incompetence. That's not a capital offence. What are you afraid of? There's nothing to worry about, nothing. You sit here and see what my pulse diagnosis is like.”

  “How can you talk all this rubbish,” Sanzang asked, “when you have never read the Plain Questions, the Classic of Difficulties, the Pharmacopoeia and the Mysteries of the Pulses, or studied the commentaries to them? How could you possibly diagnose his pulses by hanging threads?”

  “I've got golden threads on me that you've never seen,” Monkey replied, putting out his hand to pull three hairs from his tail, hold them in a bunch, call, “Change!” and turn them into three golden threads each twenty-four feet long to match the twenty-four periods of the solar year. Holding these in his hand he said to the Tang Priest, “These are golden threads, aren't they?”

  “Stop talking, reverend gentleman,” said the eunuchs in attendance on the king. “Please come inside and make your diagnosis.” Taking his leave of the Tang Priest Monkey followed the attendants into the inner quarters to see his patient. Indeed:

  The heart has a secret prescription that will save a country;

  The hidden and wonderful spell gives eternal life.

  If you do not know what illness was diagnosed or what medicines were used and wish to learn the truth listen to the explanation in the next installment.

  Chapter 69

  The Heart's Master Prepares Medicine in the Night

  The Monarch Discusses a Demon at the Banquet

  The story tells how the Great Sage Sun went with the eunuchs in attendance on the king to the inner quarters of the palace and stood outside the doors of the royal bed-chamber. Handing the three golden threads to the eunuchs to take inside he gave them these instructions:

  “Tell the queens and consorts of the inner palace or the eunuchs in personal attendance to fasten these threads to His Majesty's left wrist at the inch, the bar and the cubit, then pass them out of the window to me.” The eunuchs did as he said, asking the king to sit on his dragon bed while they fastened one end of the golden threads to the inch, the bar and the cubit and passed the other ends outside.

  Monkey took these ends and first held the end of one between the thumb and the forefinger of his right hand and felt the pulse at the inch point. He held the next against his middle finger and felt the pulse at the bar, and then pressed his thumb against his third finger and felt the cubit pulse. Next he regulated his own breathing to examine the four functions, the five depressions, the seven exterior and eight interior symptoms, the nine tempers, the deep pulses within the floating ones and the floating ones within the deep ones. He thus determined the insufficiencies and excesses of the functioning of organs, then told the eunuchs to take the threads off the king's left wrist and fasten them to the same points on the right wrist. He felt the threads one by one with the fingers of his left hand.

  With a shake he put the golden threads back on his body and shouted at the top of his voice, “Your Majesty, the inch pulse on your left wrist is strong and tense, the bar pulse is sluggish and tardy, and the cubit is hollow and deep. On your right wrist the inch is floating and slippery, the bar is slow and knotted, and the cubit is frequent and firm. The left inch being strong and tense means that you have an internal emptiness and pains in the heart. The left bar being sluggish and tardy shows that you sweat and that your muscles feel numb. The hollowness and depth of the cubit suggest red urine and bloody stools. The floating, slippery inch pulse on the right wrist shows internal accumulations and blocked channels. The bar being slow and knotted is from indigestion and retained drinking. The frequency and wiriness of the cubit shows a chronic opposition of irritable fullness and empty coldness. My diagnosis of Your Majesty's ailment is that you are suffering from alarm and worry. The condition is the one known as the 'pair of birds parted.'”

  When the king heard this inside his chamber he was so delighted that his spirits revived and he shouted in reply, “You have understood my illness through your fingers. That is indeed my trouble. Please go out and fetch some medicine.”

  Monkey walked slowly out of the inner palace, by when the eunuchs watching him had already given the news to everyone. When Monkey emerged a moment later the Tang Priest asked him how it
had gone. “I made a diagnosis from his pulses,” Monkey said. “I now have to prepare the medicine for his condition.”

  All the officials then came forward to ask, “Holy monk, reverend sir, what is the 'pair of birds parted' condition of which you spoke just now?”

  “It's when a cock bird and a hen who were flying together are suddenly separated by a violent storm,” replied Monkey with a smile. “The hen misses the cock and the cock misses the hen. Isn't that 'a pair of birds parted?'“ At this the officials all cried out over and over again in admiration. “He really is a holy monk! He really is a divine doctor!”

  “You have diagnosed the condition,” said one of the fellows of the Royal College of Medicine, “but what drugs will you use to treat it?”

  “There's no need to stick to prescriptions,” said Monkey. “I'll choose the drugs when I see them.”

  “According to the medical classic, “There are 808 varieties of medicine and 404 varieties of sickness,'“ said the fellows of the Royal College of Medicine. “How can it be right to use all the medicines when one person does not have all the ailments? You can't just choose your drugs on sight.”

  To this Monkey replied, “The ancients said, 'In preparing medicines do not stick rigidly to the formulae; use them as appropriate.' That's why I've asked for the full range of pharmaceutical materials so that I can make adjustments as I need to.”

  The fellows of the Royal College could say no more to this, but went out through the palace gates and sent those of the college's staff who were on duty to tell all the pharmacies in the city, whether selling raw materials or prepared drugs, to send three pounds of each to Monkey.

  “This is no place for preparing medicine,” said Monkey. “All the medicines and a set of pharmacist's utensils must be sent to the Hostel of Meeting and handed over to my two fellow disciples.” The fellows did as they were told. Three pounds of each of the 808 ingredients of medicine together with pharmacist's rollers, hand-mills, sieves, mortars, bowls, pestles and the like were all sent to the hostel, handed over and received.

  Monkey went back into the throne hall and asked his master to return to the hostel with him while he prepared the medicine. Sanzang was just getting up to go when the king sent a command from the inner quarters that the Master of the Law was to stay behind and spend the night in the Hall of Literary Splendor; the next morning, after taking the medicine and recovering from his illness, the king would reward them, inspect the passport and send them on their way. Sanzang was horrified.

  “Disciple,” he said, “he means to keep me here as a hostage. If he is cured he will be happy to send us on our way, but if the treatment fails my life is over. You must be very careful and pay full attention when preparing the medicine.”

  “Don't worry, Master,” Monkey said with a smile, “Enjoy yourself here. I'm a superb doctor.”

  Taking his leave of Sanzang and of all the officials the splendid Great Sage went straight back to the hostel where Pig welcomed him with a grin. “Brother,” he said, “I know what you're up to.”

  “What?” Monkey asked.

  “If fetching the scriptures doesn't come off you'll be left without any capital to start up a business.” Pig replied. “Now you've seen how prosperous this place is you're planning to open a chemist's shop here.”

  “Don't talk nonsense,” shouted Monkey. “When I've cured the king I'll use my success to leave the court and be on our way. I'm not going to be running a chemist's.”

  “Well,” said Pig, “if you're not opening a shop, why get three pounds of each of 808 different ingredients to treat one man? How much of it will you need? How many years will it take for him to finish the lot?”

  “He'll never finish that much,” Monkey replied. “The fellows of their Royal College of Medicine are a load of idiots. The only reason why I sent for so many ingredients was to baffle them and stop them knowing which ones I'm going to use. Then they won't be able to find out what my miraculous prescription is.”

  As they were talking two of the hostel staff came in and fell to their knees before them to say, “We beg the holy monks and reverend gentlemen to partake of their evening repast.”

  “This morning you treated us rather differently,” said Monkey, “so why go on your knees to invite us now?”

  “When you first came, my lords,” the hostel orderlies replied, “we were too blind to recognize your illustrious faces. Now we have heard how you are using your outstanding medical powers to treat our king. If His Majesty recovers his health he will share the kingdom with you, so we'll all be your subjects. So it's only proper for us to kowtow to you and to invite you politely to eat.” On hearing this Monkey cheerfully took the place of honour while Pig and Friar Sand sat to his left and right.

  As the vegetarian meal was served Friar Sand asked, “Where's our master, brother?”

  “The king's kept him as a hostage,” Monkey replied. “When the king's cured he'll regard us and send us on our way.”

  “Is he being well looked after?” Friar Sand continued.

  “His host's a king,” Monkey replied, “so of course he's in luxury. When I went there he had three senior ministers looking after him and he was invited into the Hall of Literary Splendor.”

  “In that case,” said Pig, “the master's still doing much better than us. He's got ministers looking after him, and we've only got a couple of hostel orderlies to serve us. So I'm going to forget about him and eat a good meal.” Thus the three of them enjoyed their meal at ease.

  It was now late. “Tidy the dishes away,” Monkey said to the hostel orderlies, “and fetch me plenty of oil and candles. The best time for us to make up the medicine will be in the quiet of the night.”

  The orderlies brought oil and candles as instructed and were then dismissed. In the still silence of the middle of the night Pig asked, “Brother, what, medicines are we going to make? Let's get on with it. I need my shut-eye.”

  “Get an ounce of rhubarb and grind it to a fine powder with a roller,” said Brother Monkey.

  “Rhubarb has a bitter taste and a cold nature and isn't noxious,” said Friar Sand. “Its nature is deep, not superficial; it's an active medicine, not a defensive one. It removes stagnations and clears obstructions, settles disorder, and brings about peace, and they call it 'the general'. It's a cathartic drug. But perhaps it's wrong for someone in an empty, weakened state after a long illness.”

  “There's something you don't know, brother,” Monkey said. “This drug helps phlegm, makes the vital forces travel smoothly, and calms the heat and cold that become congested in the stomach. Just leave me alone and fetch me an ounce of croton seeds. Shell them, peel them, hammer the poisonous oil out of them, then grind them to a fine powder with a roller.”

  “Croton seed is acrid, hot by nature and poisonous,” said Pig. “It cuts away hard accumulations, deals with submerged cold in the lungs and bowels, and clears obstructions. It smooths the way for water and grain. It's a warrior for storming passes and gates. You must be very careful how you use it.”

  “Brother,” Monkey replied, “what you don't understand is that this is a drug that destroys knots, opens the intestine and can cure swelling of the heart and dropsy. Hurry up and get it ready. And I'll want an adjuvant to back it up.”

  The two of them started work on grinding the two drugs to a fine powder. “You'll need dozens more, brother,” they said, “so which'll they be?”

  “That's all,” Monkey replied.

  “But you've got three pounds of each of 808 different medicinal ingredients,” Pig said. “If all you're going to use is two ounces you've been making a fool of these people.”

  Monkey then produced a patterned porcelain dish and said, “Stop talking, brothers. Take this dish and fill it half full with soot scraped from a cooking pot.”

  “Whatever for?” Pig asked.

  “I need it for the medicine,” Monkey replied. “I never heard of soot from a cooking pot being used in medicine,” said Friar Sand.<
br />
  “It's called 'frost on the flowers,'“ said Monkey, “and it helps treat all kinds of illness. Didn't you know that?” The idiot then scraped off half a dishful and ground it up to a fine powder.

  Monkey then handed him another dish and said, “Now fetch me half a dishful of our horse's piss.”

  “What for?” Pig asked.

  “To make the medicine up into pills with.” Monkey replied.

  “Brother,” said Friar Sand with a smile, “this is no joking matter. Horse piss stinks. You can't use it in medicine. I've only seen vinegar paste, old rice paste, refined honey and clean water used for making pills. Who ever heard of horse piss used to make pills? It's got a terrible stink. Anyone with a weak spleen would throw up at the first sniff. If he goes on and takes the rhubarb and croton seeds he'll be vomiting at one end and having the runs at the other. That'll be no joke.”

  “You don't know the inside story,” said Monkey. “That horse of ours is no ordinary horse. He used to be a dragon in the Western Ocean. If he'll give us some of his piss it'll cure any illness you could have. My only worry is that he might refuse.” When Pig heard this he went and stood beside the horse, who was lying down asleep. The idiot kicked the horse till he got to his feet then pressed himself against the horse's stomach for a very long time but without seeing any sign of piss. He ran back to Monkey to say, “Brother, never mind about treating the king. Hurry up and cure the horse. He's done for: he's dried right up. There's no way we're going to get a drop of piss out of him.”

  “I'll go with you,” smiled Monkey.

  “I'll come and have a look too,” said Friar Sand.

  When the three of them reached the horse he started to jump about and shout in human language at the top of his voice, “How can you be so ignorant, brother? I used to be a flying dragon in the Western Ocean. The Bodhisattva Guanyin saved me after I'd offended against the Heavenly Code. She sawed off my horns, removed my scales and turned me into a horse to carry the master to the Western Heaven to fetch the scriptures. This way I'll be able to redeem my crimes. If I pissed into any river I was crossing the fish in the water would drink it and turn into dragons. The grass on any mountain we were going over that got a taste of it would become magic fungus for immortal boys to gather and give themselves eternal life. So of course I can't casually drop it in a vulgar, worldly place like this.”