Journey to the West: The Crown that Hurt

Journey to the West.  The Crown that Hurt

Hello, you’re listening to Jana, and I’m here with the next in our Chinese series, The Journey to the West. A Buddhist Monk called Tripitaka is on a long and dangerous journey to India. His body guard is a monkey warrior named Sun Wukong. The problem is, Sun Wukong has not given up his mischievous ways.

In this episode we hear what happens when Tripitaka and Sun Wukong quarrel. 

The Monk and the Monkey continued on their way through the lawless lands. It was not long before a gang of bandits stepped out from behind the bushes.

“Your money or your lives!” declared their leader, a brute of a man, waving an evil-looking blade.

The Monk was so frightened that he fell off his horse. The horse, who was no braver, bolted into the woods.

But the Monkey was not the least bit concerned. He stood in front of the bandit, cupped one hand behind his ear, and said, “Pardon, good sir. I am a touch hard of hearing. What did you say?”

The bandit obliged him by shouting again, even louder and more ferociously.

“Hand over your gold and jewels, now!”

“And what exactly are you selling?” asked the Monkey politely.

“Listen well,” snarled the bandit, “If you want your ugly, hairy head to stay attached to your body, hand over all your money this instant.”

“Well now,” said the Monkey, “there is no need to shout or lose your head. I don’t have any money, seeing as I was only released from prison yesterday. And this poor monk does not have a single coin to his name. He does, however, carry a begging bowl. If you fill his bowl with rice and cooked vegetables, you will earn merit for your next life. Perhaps you will come back as a superior being –  a monkey, for instance.”

The bandit lost his temper completely and began to hit the Monkey over the head with his sword. But the blade clanged and bounced off the Monkey’s skull as if it had struck a rock.

The bandit had just enough time to look astonished before the Monkey’s fist sent him flying to the other end of the forest.

Then the Monkey took the pin from behind his ear, turned it into a great iron staff, and chased after the fleeing bandits, beating them along the way.

When the job was done, he shrank the staff back down to the size of a pin, and tucked it behind his ear. He returned to the good Monk. He expected praise.

Instead he got a ticking-off.

“Was it strictly necessary to be so violent?” asked Tripitaka. “Heaven does not smile on those who let anger get the better of them.”

The Monkey’s eyes blazed red.

“You ungrateful old monk!” he cried. “A moment ago you were trembling for your life. I saved you, and this is the thanks I get? What did you expect me to give that bandit –  a kiss?”

And before Tripitaka could reply, the furious Monkey leapt onto a cloud and somersaulted across the sky. He plunged into the Eastern sea, and swam to the underwater palace of the Dragon King.

The Dragon King of the Eastern Sea welcomed Sun Wukong into his palace, where they sat among the corel, sipping green tea.

“What gives us the honour of your visit?” asked the Dragon King. “We haven’t seen you for at least… let me think…”

“Five hundred years,” replied the Monkey. “I rebelled against Heaven, and Lord Buddha imprisoned me under a mountain. But now I am free. The terms of my release are that I must protect a foolish old monk on his journey to India.”

“Then what are you doing here sipping tea? Delightful though your company is, shouldn’t you be watching over your monk?”

“Well, I was watching over him,” replied the Monkey. “But he is an irritating fellow, and he was getting on my nerves. Everyone needs a break now and then.”

“Indeed,” said the Dragon King. “How long have you been serving this annoying monk?”

“About half a day,” said the Monkey, “and already I can’t stand him.”

“All the same, hadn’t you better go back before he runs into danger. Tigers, bandits, demons  – it’s a wicked old world for a feeble old monk, however irritating he might be.”

He quickly drained the teapot by the spout, grabbed a bowl of peaches, and stuffed them into his mouth.

“See you on the way back,” he said, spraying peach juice as he spoke. “Bye Bye Monkey!”

Then he somersaulted through the air in the reverse direction and landed in the forest just in front of Tripitaka.

The Monk was sitting cross-legged on the ground. His eyes were closed, and he was muttering to himself.

“I never thought a monkey could be so touchy. Now I shall never find my way out of this forest. It will not be long before a tiger eats me, or bandits come and do me in.”

The Monkey’s gaze moved from the Monk’s miserable face to something far more interesting. A little way off, a golden crown sat glinting on a rock.

The bandits must have dropped the crown when they fled. The Monkey’s eyes had been so blurred with rage that he had not noticed it.

Well, he noticed it now.

He bounded over, picked it up, and tried it on his big hairy head.

“It’s a perfect fit!” he declared. “Hey, Monk! How do you like my new hat?”

Only then did Tripitaka wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Why, it’s you, Monkey. You’re back.”

“Of course I’m back,” said the Monkey. “But there is no time to sit around and moan. What a cry baby. We have to get to India.”

The Monk began to weep all over again.

“Woe is me. My horse has run off, and now I shall have to walk ten thousand miles to India. I am an old man. I shall never make it.”

“Is this how monks achieve Nirvana?” snapped the Monkey. “By complaining without stopping?”

“In all my lives,” replied Tripitaka, rising slowly to his feet, “I have never met anyone so rude.”

“The Buddha commanded me to take you to India,” said the Monkey. “He did not say I had to be polite.”

As soon as he said this, a terrible pain seized his head. He rolled about on the ground, clutching at the golden crown.

Never had he felt such pain –  not even when bandits and heavenly warriors had struck him with axes and swords.

“Help! Help!” he screamed. “Make it stop!”

Suddenly the pain vanished.

“What happened?” gasped the Monkey.

He felt the crown on his head and tried to lift it off. But however hard he pulled, it would not move.

“Help me! I cannot get this wretched thing off!”

Tripitaka stood over him and smiled.

“While you were absent without leave,” said the Monk, “Bodhisattva Guanyin brought this golden headband. She knew you would not be able to resist trying it on. She also gave me a magic mantra. All I have to do is whisper a few words, and you will be rolling on the ground in agony.”

“Oh,” said the Monkey.

“Would you like me to try the mantra again?” asked Tripitaka.

“No, thank you,” said the Monkey.

“Then from now on,” said Tripitaka, “you may speak and act politely.”

The Monkey bowed very low.

“Yes, Your Reverence,” he said. “I live only to serve.”

And that was The Crown that Hurt, from our ancient Chinese series The Journey to the West.

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