(Twenty-one)
Once in the past there was a king who kept strict watch over the women in his palace. The queen said to the crown prince, “I am your mother, yet I have never seen the sights of the city and wish to go out to take a look. You may tell the king.” After requesting again and again, the crown prince told the king, and the king then permitted it. The crown prince himself drove the chariot for the queen to leave the palace. The ministers lined the roadside, bowing in farewell. The queen reached out her hand and lifted the curtain of the chariot so that people could see her. Seeing this, the crown prince feigned a stomach ache and wished to return to the palace. The queen said, “You have shamed me greatly!” The crown prince thought to himself: My mother is already like this—how much more so would other women be! So under cover of night he left the capital and went into the mountains to wander.
At that time, there was a tree by the roadside, and beneath it a spring. The crown prince climbed up the tree and saw a brāhmaṇa coming alone, entering the pool to bathe. After bathing he ate, performed a spell, and spat out a jar. From within the jar came forth a woman, and together with the brāhmaṇa they set up a dwelling in a secluded spot; then the brāhmaṇa slept with the woman. The woman then likewise performed a spell and spat out a water jar; from within the jar came forth a handsome man, and she slept with him as well. Afterwards, the woman swallowed the jar. After a short while, the brāhmaṇa arose, placed the woman into the jar, swallowed the jar, took up his staff, and departed.
The crown prince returned to the country and reported what he had seen to the king. The king summoned that brāhmaṇa and the ministers to the palace hall. The crown prince first prepared food for three people and set it aside. When the brāhmaṇa arrived, he said, “I am alone.” The crown prince said, “You should let that woman come out and eat with you.” The brāhmaṇa, having no choice, spat out the woman. The crown prince said to the woman, “You should let that man come out and eat with you.” Thus he requested three times, and having no choice, the man came out and ate together. After finishing the meal, they departed. The king asked the crown prince, “How did you know this?” The crown prince replied, “My mother wished to see the local customs of the city, and I drove her there. My mother extended her hand to lift the curtain so that people could see her. I thought to myself: the desires of women are too strong, and so I feigned a stomachache to return. When I reached the mountains, I saw an ascetic hide a woman in his belly and commit fornication with her. With such women, how could lustful acts be stopped? I wish that the great king would pardon the palace women and return to them their freedom.” Thus the king ordered that any who wished to leave might be released from the palace.
The teacher said, “The women of the world are not to be trusted.”
(Twenty-two)
Once in the past there were two people who followed a teacher to study the Way, and they went together to another country. On the road they discovered the tracks of an elephant. One of them said, “This is a female elephant, carrying a female calf; this elephant is blind in one eye; upon the elephant there sits a woman, and this woman is carrying a girl.” The other said, “How do you know this?” His companion replied, “This is the conclusion reached through careful thought. If you do not believe me, up ahead you will see the elephant.” Indeed the two of them soon caught up with the elephant, and everything was exactly as he had said. Later, the offspring of the female elephant and the woman’s child were also just as the predictor had foretold. The companion thought to himself: I have studied with him under the same teacher, yet only I fail to grasp the essentials. When they returned, he said to the teacher, “The two of us traveled together and saw the tracks of an elephant; he could discern the various circumstances of this elephant, yet I could not. I hope the teacher will also explain it to me, and not be partial.”
Then the teacher summoned that disciple and asked him, “How did you know the circumstances of the elephant?” He replied, “Because I often listen to the teacher’s words. When I saw the elephant’s urine, I judged it to be a female elephant. Seeing that the right forefoot pressed the ground deeper, I knew she was carrying a female calf. Seeing that the grass on the right side of the path had not been touched, I knew the elephant was blind in the right eye. Seeing that in the place where the female elephant had stopped there was a woman’s urine, I knew there was a woman. Seeing that the woman’s right footprint was deeper, I knew she was carrying a girl. I merely employed a careful and meticulous mind to think it over.” The teacher said, “In learning, one must use the subtle and perceptive nature of the mind to contemplate in order to penetrate the principles of things. Rashness cannot reach the principles of things. That you did not perceive it is not the teacher’s fault.”
(Twenty-three)
Once in the past there was a woman, wealthy in gold and silver, who committed adultery with a certain man. She took all her gold and silver and clothing, and eloped with this man. When they came to the bank of a rushing river, the man said, “Give me the valuables, I will first cross the river, then come back to take you across.” The man crossed the river and went away, never to return. The woman stood alone on the riverbank and saw a fox that first caught an eagle, but then abandoned the eagle to go after a fish; in the end, it obtained neither the fish nor the eagle. The woman said to the fox, “Why are you so foolish! You chased two things, and gained neither of them.” The fox replied, “My foolishness is nothing—your foolishness is greater than mine.”
(Twenty-four)
Once in the past, the daughter of the Dragon King went out for a stroll and was bound and beaten by a cowherd. The king, traveling to the border of his country, happened upon the dragon girl and rescued her, letting her go back. The Dragon King asked his daughter, “Why are you weeping?” The daughter said, “The king beat me for no reason.” The Dragon King said, “This king is usually benevolent—why would he act violently and beat people?” That night, the Dragon King transformed into a serpent and hid beneath the king’s bed to overhear him speaking. The king said to his queen, “When I was traveling, I saw a girl being beaten by a cowherd; I rescued her and let her go.” The next day, the Dragon King appeared in human form to meet the king, saying, “The king has bestowed a great favor upon me. Yesterday my little daughter went out, was beaten by someone, and you rescued her. I am the Dragon King—whatever you wish, just say it.” The king said, “I have plenty of treasures; I only wish to understand the speech of all animals.” The Dragon King said, “You must fasting for seven days. After seven days, you will be able to hear them—only be sure never to tell anyone.”
After this, when the king and his queen were eating together, the king heard a female moth say to a male moth, “Bring me some food.” The male moth said, “Take it yourself.” The female moth said, “My belly is large, it is inconvenient.” The king could not help but laugh. The queen asked, “Why does the king laugh?” The king remained silent. Later, the king and the queen were sitting together when they saw two moths meet along the wall, quarrel, fight together, and both fall to the ground. Again the king could not help but laugh. The queen asked, “Why do you laugh?” She asked three times, but he only said, “I will not tell you.” The queen said, “If the king does not tell me, I will kill myself.” The king said, “Wait until I return from my travels, then I will tell you.” Having said this, the king went away.
The Dragon King transformed into several hundred sheep crossing a river. A pregnant ewe called to a ram, “Come and help me across.” The ram said, “I am utterly tired and cannot help you across the river.” The ewe said, “If you do not help me across, I will kill myself. Do you not see the king willing to die for his wife?” The ram said, “That king is truly foolish—to die for a woman! If you die, do you think I will have no other ewes?” When the king heard this, he thought to himself, I am the ruler of a nation—am I not even as wise as a sheep?
The king returned, and the queen said, “If the king does not tell me the reason for his laughter, I will kill myself!” The king said, “Then kill yourself! There are many women in the palace, and losing you will not matter.”
The teacher said, “Only a foolish man dies to fulfill a woman’s desire.”
(Twenty-five)
Once in the past there was a country where the five kinds of grain flourished in abundance, the people were at peace, and there was no illness. Day and night the people sang and danced, having no worries or sorrows. The king asked his ministers, “I have heard that in the world there is something called ‘calamity.’ I do not know what calamity is like.” The ministers replied, “Your servants have never seen it either.” The king then dispatched an envoy to a neighboring country to buy calamity.
A deva transformed into a man and was selling “calamity” in the marketplace. The appearance of calamity was like that of a pig, bound with iron chains. The envoy asked, “What is this?” The deva replied, “The mother of calamity.” The envoy asked again, “How much is it?” The deva replied, “Ten million.” The envoy examined it carefully and asked again, “What does it eat?” The deva replied, “It eats one liter of needles each day.” The envoy bought the mother of calamity and then went from house to house searching for needles. Thus the people meet and ask each other for needles. Those sent out to collect needles disturbed the people everywhere they went, and wherever they reached, the people could not live in peace.
The ministers reported to the king, “The mother of calamity disturbs the people, the common folk are losing their livelihoods; we wish to kill it and throw it away.” The king said, “Do it.” Thus the ministers dragged the mother of calamity outside the city, but stabbing could not pierce it, chopping could not harm it, and beating could not kill it. They piled firewood and grass to burn it. It was burned until its whole body was red-hot like a mass of blazing fire, then it ran off—burning villages when it met villages, burning markets when it met markets, entering cities and burning cities. In this way it ran about, throwing the country into disorder, and the people suffered from hunger and hardship. This is the result of being discontent with peaceful joy and bringing calamity upon oneself.
(Twenty-six)
Once in the past there was a parrot that flew into a great mountain. In that mountain, all the birds and beasts were affectionate toward one another, loving each other and not harming one another. The parrot thought to itself, ‘Although this place is good, I cannot stay long. I must return home.’ So it flew away. Several months later, the great mountain caught fire, and the flames burned on all sides. The parrot saw this from afar, then dove into the water to wet its wings; it flew into the air and sprinkled the water from its feathers, trying to put out the fire. In this way, it went back and forth again and again to fight the fire.A deva saw this and said, “Hey, parrot! Why are you so foolish? The fire covers a thousand miles. How can it be extinguished by the water carried on your two wings?” The parrot said, “I know it cannot be extinguished. But I once stayed as a guest on this mountain, and all the birds and beasts here were benevolent and kind, like brothers. I cannot bear to see them burned!” The deva was moved by its sincerity, and so sent down rain to extinguish the fire.
(Twenty-seven)
The Buddha once traveled together with the bhikṣus and hid in a patch of grass. Ānanda asked the Buddha, “Why do we not walk on the main road, but hide in the grass?” The Buddha said, “Ahead there are bandits; the three brāhmaṇas behind us will be captured by them.”
The three brāhmaṇas came from behind, and seeing a heap of gold by the roadside, they stopped and gathered it together. They had one person return to the village to buy food. The one who went to buy food put poison in it, thinking, ‘If I kill the other two, I can have the gold all to myself.’ The other two also harbored treacherous thoughts. When the food-buyer returned, they killed him together. After killing him, they ate the poisoned food and died. All three harbored evil intentions, killing each other in turn, and none met with a good result.
(Twenty-eight)
Once in the past there was a man of castes who hid his wife away so that no one could see her. The wife ordered a maidservant to dig a tunnel and committed adultery with a silversmith. Her husband discovered it. The wife said, “I have never gone out. You do not speak nonsense.” The husband said, “I will take you to the god of tree to make a judgment.” The wife said, “Very well.” So the husband went into a fasting chamber and observed purity for seven days. The wife secretly told the silversmith, “What will you do? You must pretend to be mad. You run about everywhere, and when you meet people, seize them and pull at them.”
When the fasting was complete, the husband took his wife out. The wife said, “In my whole life I have never seen the marketplace—take me to the marketplace.” When they reached the marketplace, the silversmith seized her, threw her to the ground, and took his pleasure as he wished. The wife cried out to her husband, “Why do you let someone seize me?” The husband said, “That man is mad.” The husband and wife then came to the god, and the wife bowed her head, saying, “In my life I have done no evil—only was I seized by that madman.” In this way, the wife escaped with her life, and the husband remained silent, feeling ashamed in his heart. The deceit of women can go so far as this.
(Twenty-nine)
Once in the past there was a woman who was about to be married. Many women gathered upstairs to bid her farewell, drinking and feasting together. An orange fell to the ground, and all her friends saw it. Someone said, “Whoever go downstairs to fetch the orange, we will all prepare good food for her.” The bride-to-be went downstairs and saw that a boy had already picked up the orange and was about to leave. She said to the boy, “Give me the orange.” The boy said, “Before you marry, you must first come to me. Promise me this, and I will return the orange to you; otherwise, I will not.” The bride-to-be said, “Agreed.” The boy then gave her the orange, and she returned upstairs holding it. Everyone together prepared fine food for her and then sent her off to her husband’s home.
The bride said to her husband, “I have a great vow and promise, that I must first see a certain boy and then return to be your wife.” The husband allowed her to go. Leaving the city, she met bandits; she begged them, “I have a great vow, and I must fulfill it.” The bandits released her and let her go. Further on, she met a man-eating demon; the woman bowed her head and begged to be released to fulfill her vow, and the demon let her go. She arrived at the boy’s home, and he invited her to sit. The boy did not violate her; he offered her food and gave her a piece of gold.
The teacher said, “It seems the husband, the bandits, the demon, and the boy were all kind, yet their kindness was not the same. Some say the husband was the most kind, for he was eager to take a wife. Some say the bandits were the most kind, for they were eager to take wealth. Some say the demon was the most kind, for it was eager for food. Some say the boy was the most kind, for he was by nature a gentleman.”
(Thirty)
Once in the past there was a woman who constantly said, “I have lost nothing.” Her son took his mother’s ring and threw it into the water. Afterwards he asked his mother, “Where is the gold ring?” The mother said, “I have lost nothing.”
The next day, the mother was preparing a meal to offer to Maudgalyāyana, Ānanda, and Mahākāśyapa, and she needed fish. She sent someone to the market to buy fish. When the fish was bought and cut open, they found the gold ring in its belly. The mother said to her son, “I have lost nothing.” The son was overjoyed and went to the Buddha, asking, “Why does my mother have the good fortune of losing nothing?”
The Buddha said, “Once in the past there was a sage living in the cold and shady northern mountains. In winter, all the people would go to the southern side of the mountain. At that time there was a solitary widow, poor and unable to leave, who remained alone to guard and keep the possessions of all. In the spring, when the people returned, the old woman returned each item to its original owner, and everyone was greatly pleased.” The Buddha said, “That solitary old mother of the past is now your mother. Because in a past life she guarded the possessions of all people, in this life she has obtained the blessing of losing nothing.”
(Thirty-one)
Once in the past there was a man of castes who built for Revata a small dwelling, just large enough to contain the body, and also built for him a place for walking meditation. Later, when the life span of that man of the four castes came to an end, he was reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, where he obtained a mansion adorned with precious jewels, two thousand miles in extent. His mind was completely satisfied, his joy was boundless, and he scattered heavenly flowers upon Revata’s dwelling. This deva said, “What I built was only a small clay hut, yet now I have obtained such a fine palace. Out of gratitude for the kindness, I have come to scatter these heavenly flowers.”
(Thirty-two)
Once in the past there were three ascetics who asked each other, “How did you attain the Way?” One said, “In the capital city of a kingdom, I saw grapevines growing luxuriantly. Near dusk, people came to pick them, tearing and destroying the vines until branches and leaves lay scattered all over the ground. Seeing this, I awoke to the truth that all things are impermanent, and thus I attained the Way.” Another said, “I was sitting by a river and saw a woman washing vessels. Her bracelets struck together, and by the combination of causes and conditions, they made a sound. From this I attained the Way.” The third said, “I was sitting beside a lotus pond and saw the lotuses flourishing and beautiful. In the evening, dozens of carriages arrived, and people and horses bathed in the pond, picking all the flowers. All things are impermanent in this way, and realizing the principle within, I attained the Way.”
(Thirty-three)
Once in the past there was a brāhmaṇa of great talent and vast learning. When refuting others in debate, his arguments lacked a basis; he often attacked the true principles, took the false as true, and borrowed analogies from things, yet none could overcome him in argument. Thus the kingdoms all venerated him as a teacher. Later he came to Śrāvastī. In the daytime he lit a torch and walked through the city. Someone asked, “Why do you do this?” He said, “The country is in darkness and without light, so I light a torch.” The king felt this to be a great humiliation, and he hung a drum at the city gate, seeking a wise person to defeat him.
At that time there was a śramaṇa who entered the city and asked, “Why has this drum been set up?” Someone replied, “The king considers it a great humiliation to be challenged by that brāhmaṇa, and if any person of superior wisdom comes forth, they may strike the drum to accept the challenge.” The śramaṇa lifted his foot and stepped over the drum. The king, hearing of this, was greatly pleased and invited the śramaṇa together with the brāhmaṇa to the palace to eat. The śramaṇa said to the king, “Ah, this brāhmaṇa—he is truly intelligent and penetrating, indeed a man who has attained the Way. He is not a servant, not a soldier, and not of the lowly caste that carries corpses.” The brāhmaṇa remained silent, unable to respond. At that moment the music and dancing began; the king seized the brāhmaṇa, placed him in a dustpan, swept him out the door, expelled him from the country, and had the matter proclaimed to the people.
(Thirty-four)
Once in the past there was a śramaṇa who, after finishing his meal, tidied up his bowl and utensils, groomed his face, arranged his robes, and looked about here and there. Ānanda said to the Buddha, “This bhikṣu is truly acting without observing proper conduct.” The Buddha said, “This is because he has just been reborn from the body of a woman, and the nature of a woman has not yet been completely removed.” That bhikṣu then manifested the attainment of an arhat and entered nirvāṇa.
(Thirty-five)
Once outside the city of Śrāvastī there was a householder’s wife who was a faithful lay devotee, pure and perfect in observing the precepts and cultivating practice. One day, the Buddha himself came to her door to beg for alms. The householder’s wife placed food into his bowl and stepped back to pay her respects. The Buddha said, “By planting one wholesome cause, one obtains ten wholesome rewards; by planting ten wholesome causes, one obtains a hundred wholesome rewards; by planting a hundred wholesome causes, one obtains a thousand wholesome rewards. In this way, one can give rise to ten thousand, to a hundred million, and thereby awaken to the true path.”
Her husband did not believe in the Dharma, and quietly listened behind her to the Buddha’s words of blessing, saying, “Gautama śramaṇa, why do you speak with such exaggeration? By giving a single bowl of food, one can obtain so much merit, even awaken to the true path?”
The Buddha asked, “Where have you come from?”
He replied, “From within the city.”
The Buddha asked, “Did you see that nyagrodha tree? How tall is it?”
He replied, “Twenty miles in height.”
The Buddha asked, “In one year it produces tens of thousands of buckets of fruit, and its seeds are as small as mustard seeds, are they not?”
He replied, “The seeds are very small.”
The Buddha asked, “Is there a liter of them?”
He replied, “Just a single seed.”
The Buddha said, “Why do you speak with such exaggeration? By planting a seed as small as a mustard seed, there grows a tree twenty miles tall, producing tens of thousands of fruits each year.”
He replied, “It is trully so.”
The Buddha said, “The earth is without consciousness, yet it only returns the power of what is planted. How much more so when, with joy, one offers a single bowl of food to the Buddha—its merit is beyond measure.”
Husband and wife both had their delusions removed and attained Srotāpanna.
(Thirty-six)
Once in the past there was a śramaṇa who had already attained the fruition of a Anāgāmin. He was on a mountain boiling plants to dye his robes. At that time a man who had lost a cow was searching everywhere. Seeing firelight and smoke on the mountain, he went to look, and found a pot filled with cow bones, the śramaṇa’s alms bowl transformed into a cow’s head, and his kāṣāya robe transformed into cowhide. The man tied the cow bones to the śramaṇa’s head and paraded him through the streets of the capital, where all the people saw.
The sāmaṇera, seeing that the sun was already in mid-sky and his master had not yet returned, struck the signal instrument, but when the master still did not appear, he entered the room to meditate. In deep contemplation, he saw his master being humiliated, so he hurried there, prostrated himself at his feet, and asked, “Why is this so?” The master said, “This is the retribution for an offense committed long ago.” The sāmaṇera said, “Please return and eat first.” Then the two of them used their supernormal powers to depart together.
The sāmaṇera had not yet attained the path, and the anger and hatred in his heart had not been removed. Thinking of the householders and the people of the country, he thought, “The people have treated my master like this. There should be a nāga who will rain down sand and stones, shake the entire city, and make them afraid.” As soon as this thought arose, sand rained down from all sides, destroying the city walls and buildings. The master, seeing this, said, “In a past life I engaged in the trade of slaughtering cattle, and thus I suffer this retribution. Why have you committed such a crime? Go now, and do not follow me any longer.”
The teacher said, “The retribution for good and evil is thus so clear—how could one not be cautious?”
(Thirty-seven)
Once in the past there was a king and five ministers. One of the ministers repeatedly invited the Buddha, but could not bring him, so the minister returned and requested the king to personally extend the invitation. The Buddha said, “This minister will die today. Tomorrow, who will come again to invite the Buddha and create merit?”
This minister had once asked a physiognomist to read his fate, and the physiognomist said, “You will die by weapons.” Knowing this, the minister always used troops to strengthen his guard and always kept a sword in his hand. When it was late at night and he was about to sleep, he would hand the sword to his wife to hold. One night, the wife fell asleep, and the sword slipped down, severing her husband’s head.
The wife cried out, “My husband is dead!” The king immediately summoned the other four ministers and asked them, “You were responsible for protecting him, yet you schemed to murder him. His wife had always been with him—how could she suddenly commit such a crime? Who was beside the dead man at that moment?” Then he cut off the right hands of the four ministers.
Ānanda asked the Buddha, “What karmic cause from the past brought about such a result?” The Buddha said, “In a former life, the woman’s husband was a shepherd, and the wife was a white ewe. The four ministers were, in that life, bandits. When they saw the shepherd, they called out to him, and together they raised their right hands, pointing to the white ewe, intending to kill it and cook it for the five of them to eat. The shepherd, grieved and in tears, had no choice but to kill the sheep for the bandits to eat. Thus, through the cycles of birth and death, they are brought together in this life, and their past karma is brought to completion.”
(Thirty-eight)
Once in the past there was a great family of wealth, possessing riches worth hundreds of millions, and they delighted in giving to others, responding to every request. Later they had a son, born without hands or feet, his body like that of a fish; therefore he was named “Fish Body.” After his parents passed away, Fish Body inherited and managed the family estate, lying in his room every day, never seen by outsiders.
At that time there was a strong man who lived on the food bestowed from the king’s kitchen, yet often endured hunger and want. He could, by himself, pull sixteen carts of firewood to sell for his living, and still it was not enough to support himself. So he went to that family of castes and asked for what he lacked, saying, “Year after year I depend on the king’s food, yet it is insufficient for my needs; I often endure hunger and want. I have heard that your household possesses wealth in the hundreds of millions, so I have come to beg.”
Fish Body then invited him in for an audience, showing him his body. When the strong man withdrew, he thought to himself, “I have strength beyond measure and can lift huge boulders, yet I am not as well off as one without hands or feet, who easily obtains wealth.” So he went to the Buddha and asked what puzzled him: “In this world there are indeed the wealthy and honored, like kings, who to the end of their lives have no hands or feet, yet accumulate so much wealth. In this country, there is probably no one whose body and strength can compare to mine, yet I endure hunger and my food is insufficient. Why is this so?”
The Buddha said, “In the past, during the time of the Buddha Kāśyapa, Fish Body, together with the king, offered food to the Buddha. At that time you were poor, and were sent to help. Fish Body made the preparations and was about to set out together with the king, but said to the king, ‘Today I have urgent business and cannot go. Not going is no different from cutting off my hands and feet.’ Thus, the one who went at that time is now the king; the one who spoke those words and did not go is now Fish Body; and the one who, in poverty, came to help is your former self.”
Upon hearing this, the strong man was suddenly awakened, became a śramaṇa, and attained the fruition of an arhat.
Dharma Torch 