“Down you get, Master,” said Pig, “while I look round here for a village to beg some food in.” At this Sanzang dismounted, while the idiot went up into the air on a cloud and took a good look all around. All he could see were mountains: there was no hope of spotting a human house. Bringing the cloud back down Pig said to Sanzang, “There's nowhere to beg from here. I couldn't see a single farm when I looked around.”
“In that case,” said Sanzang, “fetch us some water to quench our thirst.”
“I'll get some from the stream on that mountain to the South,” said Pig, and Friar Sand handed him the begging bowl. While Pig carried it off on his cloud the master sat and waited beside the path for a very long time, getting more and more unbearably thirsty, and there was no sign of Pig. There is a poem to prove it that goes,
Preserve the true spirit and nourish the breath, for this is called essence.
Feeling and nature originally shared the same form.
When spirit and heart are disordered all illness arises;
If essence and form both decline the primal will crash.
Without the three contemplations all effort is wasted;
Should the four elements be too wretched there's no point in contending.
Without earth and wood there can be no more metal or water;
How can the dharma body be won through idleness?
Seeing his master in agony from thirst as Pig was not back with the water, Friar Sand put the luggage down, tethered the white horse, and said, “Master, make yourself comfortable. I'm going to hurry him up with that water.” Sanzang, too tearful to speak, nodded his head in agreement, whereupon Friar Sand headed by cloud for the mountain to the South.
Sanzang was left by himself to endure his excruciating pain. In his deep misery he was alarmed by a noise that made him sit up and look. It was Monkey kneeling by the side of the path holding a porcelain cup and saying, “Without me you can't even have water to drink, Master. Drink this cup of lovely cold water while I go to beg you some food.”
“I won't drink water you give me,” said Sanzang. “I'd rather die of thirst right here. I want no more of you. Go away.”
“But you'll never get to the Western Heaven without me,” said Monkey. “Whether I get there or not is none of your business,” the Tang Priest replied. “Wicked ape! Why do you keep pestering me?” At that Monkey turned angry and started shouting abusively, “You've been lousy to me, you cruel, vicious old baldy.” With that he threw the bowl aside and swung his cudgel, hitting Sanzang on his back. Sanzang fell to the ground, barely conscious and unable to speak, as Monkey took the two bundles wrapped in blue felt in his arms and disappeared without trace on a somersault cloud.
As Pig was hurrying to the mountain to the South with the bowl in his hand he noticed a thatched cottage in a hollow. He had not spotted it when first he looked because it had been hidden in a fold of the mountain. Realizing that it was a house now he was close to the idiot thought, “If I show them my ugly mug they'll be so scared they won't possibly give me any food. It'd all be wasted effort. I'd better turn into something a bit better-looking.”
The splendid idiot then made a spell with his hands, said the magic words, shook himself seven or eight times, and turned himself into a consumptive monk with a fat, sallow face who was mumbling something as he went up to the door and called out, “Benefactor, have you any leftover rice in the kitchen for starving travelers? I'm from the East and I'm on my way to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven. My master is back at the road, hungry and thirsty. If you have any left-over rice stuck to the bottom of your pan I beg you to give me some to save our lives.”
As it happened the men of the house were all out transplanting rice and sowing millet, and the only people in were two women who had just cooked the rice for the midday meal and had filled two platters with it that they were preparing to take to the fields. There was some rice left at the bottom of the pan. Seeing how sickly he looked they took what he said about going from the East to fetch the scriptures from the Western Heaven as delirious ravings. Afraid he might collapse and die in the doorway, they made a great to-do as they filled his bowl with rice from the bottom of the pan. The idiot took it from them, reverted to his true form, and went back the way he had come.
As he was going along he heard a shout of “Pig!” and looked up to see Friar Sand standing on the top of a precipice yelling, “Over here, over here.” Friar Sand came down and walked straight towards him, asking, “Why didn't you take some of the fresh water from this stream? Why did you go over there?”
“After I got here I saw a cottage in a hollow, so I went and begged this bowlful of rice.”
“We could certainly use it,” said Friar Sand, “but the master is terribly thirsty, so how are we going to carry some water back?”
“That's easy,” said Pig. “Carry this rice in the fold of your habit while I go and fetch some water in this bowl.”
The two of them were feeling very cheerful as they went back to the path, only to find Sanzang lying face downwards in the dirt. The white horse had slipped its bridle and was running to and fro beside the path, whinnying. There was not a sigh of the baggage. Pig stumbled and beat his breast with horror, “Don't tell me,” he shouted, “don't tell me. The survivors of the gang Monkey drove away have come back, killed the master and stolen the baggage.”
“Tether the horse,” said Friar Sand. “Whatever shall we do? We've failed halfway along our journey. Master!” Tears poured down his face as he sobbed bitterly.
“Don't cry, brother,” said Pig. “As this is what's happened we'll just have to forget about fetching the scriptures. You look after the master's body. I'll take the horse till I get to some town, village, market or inn where I can sell it for a few ounces of silver to buy a coffin to bury him in. Then we'll split up and go our separate ways.”
Friar Sand, unable to bear the loss of his master, turned the body over to warm the face with his own. “Poor, poor master,” he cried, then noticed hot breath coming from his master's nose and felt warmth in his chest. “Come here, Pig,” he shouted, “the master's still alive.” Pig came over and helped Sanzang to sit up.
As Sanzang came to he groaned and said bitterly, “That evil macaque tried to murder me.”
“What macaque?” the other two asked. The venerable elder sighed and said nothing.
Only when he had asked for and drunk a few mouthfuls of water did he reply, “As soon as you'd gone Wukong came to pester me again. When I still refused to take him back he hit me with his cudgel and stole the bundles wrapped in blue felt.” At this Pig ground his teeth as the fury rose higher and higher in him.
“Damn that monkey,” he said. “How could he do such a terrible thing? Look after the master,” he continued, addressing Friar Sand, “I'm going to his house to get back the bundles.”
“Don't lose your temper,” said Friar Sand. “Let's help the master over to that cottage in the hollow to ask for hot tea. Then we can heat up the rice you've begged already, and get the master better before we go after Monkey.”
Accepting this suggestion Pig helped the master back on the horse. Carrying the bowl of water, and with the rice in Friar Sand's habit, they headed straight back for the door of the cottage. There was only an old woman at home, and at the sight of them she hid herself as fast as she could. Friar Sand put his hands together in front of his chest and said, “Good lady, we've been sent by the Tang court in the East to the Western Heaven. As our master is not very well I have come to ask you for some hot tea to warm his rice with.”