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For September 2007

Sūtra Extract.

From the Bhadramāyākāravyākaran a Sūtra.  P.102

…Rely on the meaning not the letter.
Rely on the Teaching not the teacher…

Stories from the Old Silk Road.

Introduction

          Most of these stories have been drawn from the tales contained in Buddhist sūtra texts.  Others come from collections of legends in Chinese and Indian popular literature, e.g. items 3 and 9 or from ancient commentaries on canonical material, e.g. items 2 and 5.  All of them travelled along the Old Silk Road which ran between China and north-west India and through central Asia during the first 500 years CE.  They travelled along the route either as written texts being carried into china from India by Buddhist monk teachers, or in the heads of Buddhist sūtra specialists who were en-route to china to avoid repeated invasions by the nomad hordes which ravaged their homeland.
          In the course of time these stories became the stock-in-trade of itinerant storytellers, who journeyed with the caravans in both directions.  They would entertain the travellers by re-telling tales of this kind around the camp fires in the desert wilderness or in the caravanserais.
          Of course, when the tales were told by the storytellers they would be shorn of their scriptural context (unless told by monks) and the details would be embellished and embroidered in time-honoured fashion.  Although the essential point of the story was rarely lost in the telling.
          Such is the case here.  All the stories in this collection were related in popular fashion to members of the London or Luton Zen Centre, and also to assemblies of the Buddhist Society’s summers schools during the period 1980 to 1990.  Such traditional story telling continued to be given, by request, when this writer visits the Luton Zen Centre, up to the present time.
          Apart from the traditional mix of a hero’s exploits and of wondrous events, these stories display an extraordinary degree of warmth and humour, e.g. in items 2, 3, 5 and 21.  It needs to be stressed that such humour is not part of the customary embellishment; it is an integral part of the original scriptural text.  Humour of this kind in scripture is rarely to be found in the major religions other than Buddhism.
          There is not particular sequence to this collection of stories, except for stories numbers 12 and 13.  They have been taken at random from the sources and strung together much as an ancient storyteller would.
          It is to be hoped that the reader will derive as much pleasure and gentle instruction from these stories as this writer did when finding them and re-telling them to others.

Eric Cheetham, June 2005 ©

4

(No. 9 of the original sequence from Eric Cheetham’s Book).

The Wizard of Ch’ang-an.

       The story of the Wizard at the Court of Hsuan-Tsung, the first of the T’ang Emperors of china, actually starts in the marketplace of the imperial capital, Ch’ang-an.  For it was there that, one day, a wizard appeared.  He was a professional, a specialist in all the magical arts, one who was good enough to earn a living from them.  He entertained the crowds with fanciful tricks that left them confused and amazed and in the process, he enjoyed himself immensely.

          The news that there was a very skilled wizard in the capital soon reached the ears of the Emperor.  So one day as the magician was setting out his stall, preparing to earn his wherewithal for the day, an armed escort arrived, always a reason for great foreboding in Imperial China or anywhere else), and summoned his immediately to the Emperor’s presence.  To be summoned off the streets to the Emperor’s presence in those days usually meant a sorry time was in store.  No explanations were given.  “The Emperor demands your presence,” was the way it was put, “immediately.”  So the poor wizard was naturally all a tremble.  Who gets called to face the Emperor of China every day of the week?  Not even wizards!

          The Emperor, it transpired, was out of sorts.  He was bored, fed up with jugglers, played out with his games, tired of his thousand women (or was it two thousand) – though that could change rapidly.  But for the moment he was bored.  So when he heard the stories about this new and expert wizard, he invited all the nobility to his evening soiree and sent the guards for the entertainment.

          There in the Great Hall of Audience was the Duke of This, and the Marquis of That, and the Duchess of This, That and the Other.  There was also the Captain of the Left Hand and the Captain of the Right Hand and all the Officers of the Court.  Into this splendour was brought the poor shaking wizard, brought before the Emperor enthroned with his screen, and he kow-towed.

          The Emperor plaintively said to him, “I am rather out of sorts today.  I have got my friends around me and we thought we would have a little evening’s entertainment.  I have called you here because I have heard the tales of your prowess in the magical arts.  And,” he said, “Frankly, Wizard, I would like you to make me laugh.”

          Make him laugh!  Imagine it.  Here’s a poor chap just brought off the street to the Emperor of China and all his Court and, first thing, he’s ordered to make them laugh.  There was never a more shaken and apprehensive wizard.  He knew that if he failed to hear roars of laughter by the end of the night, he wouldn’t leave the room alive.  The Emperor was all smiles now, but an Emperor’s smile is dangerous stuff.

          The Emperor then said: “First of all, Wizard, we’ll pass the cup a few times.”  The wizard was not surprised.  This was quite the usual thing in Chinese society.  So the wine cup was passed round several times but unfortunately the Emperor still looked a bit severe, still out of sorts.  Indeed, an ominous frown now hovered about the imperial visage.

          “I must cheer this lot up,” the wizard fretted to himself, “or I lose my head!”

          The cup was passed several times more.  Finally, the Emperor said, “Right, Wizard.  Now what are you going to do for us?”

          The wizard replied, “Well, if Your Majesty will permit – well, I have a very dear friend who  - I think – will entertain Your Majesty and His Court – if Your Majesty will just allow me a few minutes?”

          “Carry on,” replied the emperor brusquely.  “But don’t take too long.  I am waiting.”

          The wizard went into a corner of the great room.  The Hall of Audience was filled with beautiful works of art and in its various corners were large porcelain jars.  He approached one of these and, taking out his brush and ink, rapidly drew some ideographs on a piece of paper.  He then made a few magic passes, secrets of his trade of course, and pasted the paper to one of the jars.

          In seconds, there walked out from the corner, a little old monk wearing a great wide-brimmed hat of a Taoist and also wearing a huge smile of enjoyment.  The wizard led this little man right up to the Emperor and said, “May I introduce a friend, Your Majesty?  As renowned as I am for magic, so is my friend, the Taoist, for drinking wine!”

          Ah, thought the Emperor.  This is more like it.

          So they passed the cup again and again while the little Taoist drank and entertained the whole gathering with witty stories.  After a while, The Duke of This turned his cup upside down; the Duchess of That turned her cup upside down – they’d had enough.  The Emperor was only having little sips of one thing or another anyway, as he wasn’t really very fond of drinking bouts.

          But the little monk, well, he was very keen to drink anything.  No sooner had he drunk one cup than he placed it down on the table and kept his hand there - that meant: “More!”  The servants came right away and filled his cup and so it went.  The party got livelier and livelier, as parties do when wine is flowing.  The wizard, meanwhile, happily took a back seat (where he could keep an eye on the door.)  He was pleased for his friend to be up front and have all the attention.  So the cup went round and round until everyone was full – everyone but the little monk, that is.  He kept holding his cup on the table and the servants kept filling it up and he was drinking and drinking and drinking and the guests were getting more and more apprehensive.  The little old man was really taking more drink than was suitable in the presence of the Emperor, they feared.  They began to fidget and worry that he might land them all in real trouble.

          “What’s this little chap going to do, any minute now?” said one duke to another.  “I mean, he’s having a lot of wine.”

          “Perhaps he doesn’t realise the circumstances here.” whispered a marquis.  “He’s an out-of-towner – doesn’t really belong.”

          “If he does the wrong thing”, hissed the duchess, “We might all end up in prison.”

          But the monk was enjoying himself.  “More! More!” And so it went. At last, he turned his cup upside down and went to speak to his friend the wizard.

          The sighs of relief from the Emperor’s guests were almost audible.  Yet, at the same time, they were all wondering why he’d stopped.  There was more wine left.  They’d really expected him to keep on drinking until it was all gone.

          They couldn’t hear the Taoist saying to the wizard “I’ve had enough of this.  This is very poor wine!”  And the wizard replying, “You can’t say things like that!”  And the Taoist rejoining, “It’s rough wine.  I don’t see why I should carry on having any more of this stuff.”

          At this, the wizard stepped forward to the Emperor and made an obeisance.  “Your Majesty,” he said, “I am deeply ashamed that my friend is behaving like this.”

          The Emperor was puzzled.  “Why whatever is the matter?  I think this is going quite well, don’t you?  Alright, he’s had enough wine, but he’s been telling lovely stories.”

          “Ah, but Your Majesty,” said the wizard, “What Your Majesty didn’t hear just then, and I hesitate to repeat…”

          “What did he say?” demanded the Emperor.

“The wizard told him.  “I’m sorry to say so, Your Majesty, but he said that your wine wasn’t fit to drink.

          A deathly hush fell.  Something awful was bound to happen.  But after a moment the Emperor said, “Well, perhaps he’s used to other sorts of wine, not the kind we have here in the palace.”  The wizard went on. “Oh, no, Your Majesty, I can’t allow my friend to insult Your Grace with remarks like this.  We can’t allow such a thing.  I’d be ashamed to leave Your Majesty’s presence having heard such a gross insult take place in front of Your Majesty.  I feel, and I hope you will agree, that he deserves to be executed, and executed immediately!  Lese-majeste, of course!”

          The Emperor didn’t seem to care one way or the other, but he said to the wizard, “Oh, well, all right, if you feel like that.  Yes, yes.  I am not too bothered but – all right, we’ll have him executed.  Shall we, everybody?”

          And everybody answered “Oh, yes, yes!”

          The Chief Executioner drew his sword and with one stroke beheaded the poor little Taoist monk, hat and all, right in front of His Majesty and all His Court.

          But even as the guests gasped in shock and horror, the very moment the head hit the ground, didn’t it turn into the cap of a jar!  And didn’t the monk’s body turn into a great jar – full to the brim with wine!  Not one more drop could have fitted inside.

          The gasps turned to roars of laughter.  And a laughing emperor cried out, “That is a wonderful trick!  I feel much better!  Jewels; jewels for the wizard.

Copyright © Eric Cheetham 2005     

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