Dharma Torch

Translated by the Tripiṭaka Master Kang Senghui from Sindhu of the Wu Country

(Thirty-nine)

When the Buddha was expounding the sūtra for his disciples, there came a hunter carrying a crossbow and bearing over ten dead birds on his back, seeking to visit the Buddha. His intention was pure, his mind was eager to advance, wishing to hear the Buddha’s discourse and to receive the Dharma. Yet the Buddha paused and did not preach the sūtra for him. After the hunter left, he said to himself, “If I were to become a Buddha, I would certainly expound the Dharma to the whole world and would not refuse anyone.”

Ānanda asked the Buddha, “This man single-mindedly wished to hear the Buddha’s teaching — why did you refuse him?” The Buddha said, “This man is a great Bodhisattva whose aspiration to seek the Dharma is profoundly deep. In a former life he was a king, and because he treated the palace maidens with partiality and inequity, the maidens who was not favored poisoned him with wine, thus ending his life. The king was then reborn into the family of a hunter, and all the palace maidens were reborn as birds and beasts. Now the karmic retribution from past lives has already been concluded; in the future he will achieve great accomplishment. If I were to preach the sūtra for him now, I fear he might give rise to a mind of fear and thus fall into the path of the Arhat; therefore I do not expound the Dharma for him.”

(Forty)

In the past, there was a golden cauldron in a Buddhist monastery, used to cook food of five flavors for the monks. At that time a layman came to tour the monastery, and upon seeing the golden cauldron, wished to steal it, yet found no opportunity. Therefore he disguised himself as a śramaṇa, donned the robes of a monk, and mingled among the community of monks. He heard an elder expounding the sūtra, explaining the essential meaning of various karmic retributions of good and evil, and of the cycle of birth and death — how the consequences of actions follow a person as the shadow follows the body, and as an echo responds to a sound. The one intent on theft became suddenly awakened, feeling shame and repentance, and with a sincere mind realized the Dharma. Reflecting on the cause of this matter, he regarded the cauldron as his own teacher, and specially bowed to it first, circumambulating it three times as a sign of respect, then told the community of śramaṇas the entire origin of the affair.
In awakening to the Dharma, each has their own causes and conditions; as long as the mind is focused and single, there is none who cannot be enlightened.

(Forty-one)

In former times, the venerable Aniruddha, had already attained the fruit of an Arhat, and among the bhikṣus his appearance was the most handsome, resembling that of a woman. Once, as he walked alone on a grassy plain, a frivolous young man saw him and, thinking him a woman, gave rise to lustful thoughts and intended to violate him. Suddenly realizing he was a man, that frivolous youth then looked upon himself and found he had transformed into the body of a woman. Ashamed and regretful, he fled deep into the mountains, not daring to return home. After several years, his wife at home, not knowing where her husband was, thought him already dead, and in grief and sorrow cried out unceasingly, restless day and night.

Aniruddha, while begging for alms, came to their home. The woman was weeping and said her husband had not returned, begging Aniruddha to bestow a blessing so that her husband might live.

Aniruddha remained silent and did not answer, yet in his heart felt pity and compassion. Therefore he went into the mountains to seek a meeting with the young man. The youth repented and reproached himself, and his body reverted to that of a man. At last he was able to return home and be reunited with his family.

One who has attained the Way must not be treated with malicious intent; otherwise one will bring disaster upon oneself.”

(Forty-two)

In former times there was a bhikṣu meditating and cultivating under a broad, serene tree, realizing the Dharma. In that tree there was a monkey. When it saw the bhikṣu eating, it would come down and stand beside him, and the bhikṣu would give it his leftover food. When the monkey had received the food, it would depart and fetch water for the bhikṣu to bathe. In this manner they lived for several months. Later, one day, the bhikṣu was careless and forgot to leave food for the monkey.

When the monkey did not receive any food, it became furious, seized the bhikṣu’s kāṣāya robe and climbed up the tree, tearing it to pieces. The bhikṣu, angered like a beast, struck at it with a staff, and by mischance hit it so that the monkey fell to the ground and died.

Many monkeys came clamoring, carrying the dead one to the Buddhist monastery. The presiding bhikṣu of the monastery knew there must be a cause behind it, and so gathered the monks to inquire into the matter. The bhikṣu who had killed the monkey explained the course of events in full detail. Thereupon a precept was established: from this day forth, whenever a bhikṣu eats, he must always reserve a portion to give to crawling creatures and wild beasts, and must not consume it all. The practice among monks of acting as benefactors by giving food to animals began from this origin.”

(Forty-three)

In former times there was a turtle that, in a drought, found its lake dried up and was unable to reach any place where food could be found. At that time there was a swan that alighted beside it. The turtle entreated the swan to help it through this hardship. The swan took the turtle in its beak and flew over a city. The turtle, unable to bear the loneliness, asked, “What place is this?” and would not stop asking. The swan answered it, but as soon as the turtle opened its mouth, it fell to the ground. When people found it, they killed and cooked it for food.

If a person is foolish, without deep thought or foresight, and speaks without caution, he will meet with an end like this parable.”

(Forty-four)

In former times there was a śramaṇa who had a layman shave his hair and beard. When it was finished, the layman touched his head to the ground in salutation and said, “May I in future lives have a pure mind, and be wise like you, Master.” The śramaṇa said, “May your wisdom surpass mine.” The layman again saluted and departed. Later, at the end of his life, he was reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven. When his heavenly life came to an end, he was born in the human realm as the son of a great family. Later still, he became a śramaṇa, wise and awakened to the Dharma. This was indeed the fruit of sincere intention.

(Forty-five)

In former times there was a brāhmaṇa who came to the king to beg for food. The king was about to go out hunting and told the brāhmaṇa to remain in the palace, saying, “Wait a moment, I will return shortly.” He then went out hunting, pursuing wild beasts, and became separated from his ministers. The king entered a mountain valley and encountered a demon, who sought to eat him. The king said, “Hear me for a moment. This morning at the city gate I met an ascetic who begged from me. I told him, ‘Wait in the palace until I return.’ Now, please allow me to return for a while. When I have given alms to the ascetic, I will come back for you to eat me.” The demon said, “I wish to eat you. Will you truly return?” The king said, “Exactly! If I were one who did not keep faith, would I still be thinking of the ascetic?” Thus the demon released the king.

The king returned to the palace, took out goods to give in alms to the ascetic, entrusted the kingdom to the crown prince, and then returned to the demon. When the demon saw that he had returned, it was moved by his faithfulness, bowed to him, and dared not eat him.

The teacher said, “The king, by relying on faithfulness, preserved his life and saved the kingdom. How much more, then, for a virtuous person who upholds the five precepts and devotes himself to giving — his blessings are beyond measure.”

(Forty-six)

In former times King Aśoka often delighted in the practice of giving, offering food to śramaṇas, and even having the crown prince personally serve the soup and rice and arrange the meal. The crown prince secretly harbored resentment, thinking to himself, “When I become king, I will kill all the ascetics.” A certain ascetic perceived the prince’s resentment and said to him, “I will not remain long in this human world.” The crown prince was greatly startled and thought, “Ascetics are so perceptive that they can know my very thoughts!” Thereupon he changed his mind, thinking, “If I become king, I will certainly support ascetics even more than my father does.” Having thought thus, his mind became calm, and he returned from evil to the right path. The ascetic said, “By the time you become king, I will already have been reborn in the heavens.” The crown prince said, “How sagely, O śramaṇa!” Later, when the crown prince became king, he governed the country according to the five precepts and the ten wholesome deeds, bringing about peace and prosperity in the realm.

(Forty-seven)

In former times there was a man of castes who had taken two wives. The elder wife daily offered fine food to a śramaṇa, and the śramaṇa came each day to receive it. The younger wife grew jealous. One day, when the śramaṇa came again, the younger wife took his alms bowl, put excrement and urine into it, and placed food on top, then gave it to the śramaṇa. The śramaṇa took the bowl and, in the mountains, was just about to eat when he saw the filth, and so washed and rinsed the bowl, and thereafter dared not go to her house again. After this, the younger wife’s mouth and whole body gave off a foul stench, and all people avoided her. Later she died and fell into the Boiling Excrement Hell. Thus she was reborn again and again in the three evil destinies for tens of millions of years; only after her karmic offenses were exhausted was she reborn as a human. Yet she constantly longed to eat excrement, and when she could not obtain it, her belly would ache. Later she became another man’s wife, and at night she would rise to secretly eat excrement, doing so again and again. Her husband, perplexed, decided to observe her closely, and happened to see his wife eating filth. This indeed was the result of evil deeds from her former life.

(Forty-eight)

There are four things that are not easy for a person to accomplish: the first is to build a stūpa; the second is to construct a caturdeśa monastery; the third is to offer food to the community of bhikṣus; the fourth is to renounce the household life to become a śramaṇa. To accomplish these four deeds is to gain blessings that are beyond measure. Why is this so? In the three realms, there is often this situation: one has already been reborn as a human, and also possesses wealth, yet to remove the nature of stinginess and greed, to promptly extend kindness to others, and thereby to establish merit — this too is difficult. Who can know how great are the blessings from accomplishing these four things? Only the Buddha.

(Forty-nine)

The Buddha said: “A bhikṣu does not become close to another because of mutual invitations for meals, but only through mutually expounding and discussing the sūtra and Dharma. When bhikṣus exchange delicious food and drink with one another, they may gain a good reputation in the present life, yet in future lives they will not obtain wholesome reward, and the Buddha will also incur reproach. Why is this so? When ascetics of other paths see the bhikṣus, they will imitate them, saying, ‘The disciples of the Buddha merely exchange food and clothing with one another. Who taught them to do this? It was the Buddha.’ Thus the Buddha gains an ill name. But when bhikṣus exchange the sūtra, the precepts, and the Dharma with one another, this is what truly manifests deep and genuine affection. Why is this so? When ascetics of other paths see the bhikṣus, they will say, ‘The disciples of the Buddha exchange only the sūtra, the precepts, and the Dharma, and do not give one another other things.’ In this way, bhikṣus not only gain a good name in the present life, but also attain liberation in future lives, and the Buddha likewise gains a good name. Why is this so? Because the Buddha is the teacher of the bhikṣus, teaching his disciples to draw near to one another through the Dharma. Therefore, do not regard the exchange of meals as an act of kindness, but only mutual encouragement with wholesome words.”

(Fifty)

The Buddha said: “One who has renounced the household life should know contentment. How is one said to know contentment? To know contentment means to seek only one robe and one meal, to walk and meditate often, to gather in and restrain the mind, not letting it seek outward, and to maintain concentration, single-minded and undistracted — this is knowing contentment. At the same time, there is also what should not be contentment: one should not be content with the sūtras and precepts that have been received, nor with having attained the four dhyānas, the four formless concentrations, the fruit of Srotāpanna, or the fruit of Sakadāgāmin. This is what is meant by what should not be contentment.”

(Fifty-one)

Once there was a bhikṣu begging for alms who, midway, felt the need and stopped to hastily relieve himself. Passersby saw this and ridiculed him, saying, “The disciples of the Buddha walk with decorum, wear their robes with dignity, yet this bhikṣu stands in the road to urinate — how laughable!” At that time there was an ascetic of the Nirgrantha sect who, seeing the people mocking the bhikṣu, thought to himself, “We Nirgrantha ascetics go about naked and no one says anything, yet when a disciple of the Buddha stops to urinate, people mock him. It is evident that the conduct of our own teachers has no rules, and so people do not criticize us; but the conduct of the Buddha’s disciples is pure and full of propriety, and therefore it is easily spoken of.” Thus he took refuge in the Buddha’s teaching, became a śramaṇa, and attained the fruit of Srotāpanna.
A bhikṣu is like a lion, king of all beasts, and among humans a guide and teacher. His speech should accord with the Dharma, and his walking, sitting, and lying down should be dignified in deportment. He should be a model for others to emulate, and must not demean or belittle himself; for to belittle oneself is to bring shame upon the former sages.

(Fifty-two)

The Heavenly Lord Śakra, together with the Four Heavenly Kings of the first heaven of the Desire Realm, on the fifteenth day of the month inspect the world three times to see who is able to uphold the fasting observance. When they see someone upholding the fasting observance, the gods are greatly pleased. On the fifteenth day, the Heavenly Lord Śakra sat in the main hall, pondering alone, and then said, “If there is anyone in the world who can uphold the fasting observance three times within the fifteenth day, after the end of his life he will obtain my position.” The gods nearby, upon hearing this, were greatly astonished, saying, “By observing the fasting three times on the fifteenth day, one can obtain so lofty a position as that of the Heavenly Lord Śakra!

There was a bhikṣu who had already attained the fruition of an Arhat, and at once he knew the thought in the mind of the Heavenly Lord Śakra. He asked the Buddha, “Could it truly be as the Heavenly Lord Śakra has said?” The Buddha said, “The words of the Heavenly Lord Śakra are not trustworthy; it is an untrue statement. Why is this? If one upholds the fasting observance three times on the fifteenth day and practices diligently, such a person can transcend the mundane world—how could he remain on the position of Heavenly Lord Śakra? Therefore, that is an untrue statement and not worthy of belief. Who can know the measure of the blessings brought by the fasting observance? Only the Buddha alone.”

(Fifty-three)

In the ocean there is a great dragon. The dragon wishes to bring rain to Jambudvīpa, yet fears that the great earth may be unable to bear the rainfall. The dragon reflects, “I fear the land cannot withstand so much rain. I will instead cause rain within the ocean.” A wise disciple of the Buddha, possessing great power and virtue, wished to exert his skills upon the ninety-six kinds of ascetics of outside paths, yet feared they could not bear it. Thus, the disciple of the Buddha, in turn bestowing kindness upon himself and others, was like the dragon returning to the ocean to cause rain.

(Fifty-four)

In former times there was a brāhmaṇa who had already lived for one hundred and twenty years. In his youth he had never taken a wife and had no impure thoughts of lust. He dwelt in deep mountains where no people were found, using thatch for his hut, grass for his mat, and springs, melons, and fruits as his food and drink, storing up no treasures. When the king invited him, he did not go, choosing instead to remain alone in purity and non-activity in the mountains. For thousands of years, each day he sported and amused himself with birds and beasts.

There were four beasts: the first was a fox, the second a monkey, the third an otter, and the fourth a rabbit. These four beasts came daily to the ascetic to hear him expound the Dharma and the precepts. After a long time, all the edible melons and fruits were exhausted. The ascetic then wished them to move elsewhere. The four beasts were greatly sorrowful and unhappy, and they consulted together, saying, “Let us each seek food to offer to the ascetic.”

The monkey went to another mountain and brought back sweet fruits, presenting them to the ascetic, saying, “Please remain, do not leave.” Then the fox also went out, transforming into a human to beg for food, and obtained a bag of roasted flour, saying, “This can provide a month’s sustenance; please remain.” The otter also went into the water and caught a great fish, offering it to the ascetic, saying, “This can provide a month’s sustenance; please remain.” The rabbit thought to itself, “What shall I offer to the ascetic?” It considered that it ought to offer itself to the ascetic. So it gathered firewood to serve as fuel, then went to the ascetic and said, “Now, as a rabbit, my body is slight and my strength small. Please allow me to throw myself into the fire to roast, offering my body to you as food for a single day.” Having spoken, the rabbit leapt into the fire, but the fire did not burn. The ascetic, seeing what the rabbit had done, was moved by its benevolence and righteousness, and feeling sorrow and compassion for it, resolved to remain.

The Buddha said, “At that time the brāhmaṇa was the Buddha Dīpaṃkara; at that time the rabbit was I; the monkey was Śāriputra; the fox was Ānanda; and the otter was Maudgalyāyana.”

(Fifty-five)

In former times, there were five ascetics traveling together. On the way they encountered wind and snow, and passing by a temple of spirits, they entered to stay the night. Inside the temple were wooden statues of spirits, worshiped by the officials and common people of that country. Four of them said, “It is cold tonight; we can burn the wooden statues to cook our food.” One of them said, “These wooden statues are objects of people’s veneration; they must not be burned.” So they left them there and did not chop them up. In that building there were often ghosts that ate people. The ghosts discussed among themselves, saying, “Since we must eat one person, we can eat the one who fears us; as for the other four, they are fierce and not to be provoked.” The one who had stopped them and had not dared to chop the statues heard the ghosts saying this in the night. He awoke his companions and said, “Why not chop these wooden statues to make a fire for cooking?” He then picked up the wooden statues and burned them for firewood. The man-eating ghosts fled in haste. Those who study the Way must always keep their resolve firm; their will must not be timid, allowing ghosts to have their way.

(Fifty-six)

In former times there was a king who renounced his kingdom and left to become a śramaṇa. In the mountains he diligently contemplated, using grass and thatch for his dwelling, wormwood for his sleeping mat, and believing himself to have attained his wish, he laughed greatly and said, “How delightful!” An ascetic nearby asked him, “You say you are happy, but now you sit alone in the mountains studying the Way. From where comes your joy?” The śramaṇa said, “When I was king, there were many matters of worry—perhaps I feared that the king of a neighboring land would invade my territory; perhaps I feared that others would seize my treasures; perhaps I feared that some, out of greed, would plot against me; perhaps I feared that my ministers, coveting my riches, would at some unknown time rebel. Now that I am a śramaṇa, no one will scheme against me because of greed. My joy is beyond words; therefore I say I am happy.”

(Fifty-seven)

In former times there was a king who greatly cherished the Dharma. Once, he circumambulated a stūpa in veneration of the Buddha for one hundred rounds. Before he had completed them, the king of a neighboring country led his army to invade, intending to seize his kingdom. His close ministers, in fear, immediately rushed to report to the king: “Enemy troops have invaded. We beg the great king to stop the circumambulation and return to confer on how to repel the foe.” The king said, “Let the enemy come. I will not stop the circumambulation.” His mind remained unchanged. Before the circumambulation was completed, the enemy troops had already withdrawn. If a person is single-minded, there is no calamity that cannot be dispelled.

(Fifty-eight)

In former times there was a king who, when traveling abroad, once encountered the Buddha. He bowed to the Buddha without avoiding the mud or the rainwater. His close ministers, fearing trouble, murmured among themselves, saying, “Why does the king set his attention upon such trivial matters?” These words reached the king’s ears. The king returned to the palace and ordered his subordinates to procure one hundred animal heads and one human head. The ministers reported to the king, “They are ready.” The king ordered them to take them to the marketplace for sale. The hundred animal heads were sold, yet the human head remained unsold. The ministers said to the king, “All one hundred animal heads have been sold; only this human head has rotted, and no one will buy it.” The king said to the close ministers, “You do not understand. Formerly, when I passed by the Buddha and bowed to Him, you said, ‘Why does the king set his attention upon such trivial matters?’ You must know that my head is just like this head—unclean. I seek blessings so that after death I may be born in the heavens. You are foolish and do not know the principle within, and instead you speak of trifles.” The close ministers said, “It is indeed as the great king has spoken,” and prostrated to confess their offense, saying, “We ministers have been foolish.” Thereafter, when the king went out again, the ministers all dismounted to bow to the Buddha—this was in emulation of the king.

(Fifty-nine)

In former times there was a king who, when traveling, would dismount upon seeing a śramaṇa and bow to him. The ascetic said, “The great king need not do this. Please do not step down.” The king said, “I am up, not down. The reason I say ‘I am up, not down’ is because now, bowing to an ascetic, after death I will be reborn in the heavens. Therefore I say I am up, not down.”

(Sixty)

In former times there was a man who, after death, his spirit returned to caress his own bones. A bystander asked him, “You have died, why do you still caress these withered bones?” The spirit said, “This was once my body. My body never killed living beings, never stole, never engaged in sexual misconduct, double-tongued speech, harsh speech, false speech, or frivolous talk; it was not jealous, not wrathful, and not deluded. After death, I was able to be reborn in the heavens; my long-cherished vow has been fulfilled, and my joy is without limit—therefore I cherish it and caress it.”

(Sixty-one)

In former times there was a śramaṇa from a foreign land cultivating in the mountains. A ghost transformed into a man without a head and came before the śramaṇa. The śramaṇa said to it, “You have no affliction of headache. Eyes are for seeing colors, ears for hearing sounds, the nose for smelling fragrances, and the mouth for tasting flavors—yet you have no head. How delightful indeed!” The ghost vanished and changed into a being with only hands and feet but no body. The śramaṇa said, “Without a body you feel no pain or itching, have no internal organs, and give rise to none of the hundred illnesses—how delightful indeed!” The ghost vanished again and transformed into a being without hands or feet, rolling in from the side like a wheel. The śramaṇa said, “Truly delightful! Without hands or feet you will not steal others’ possessions—how delightful indeed!” The ghost said, “This śramaṇa’s mind is unwavering.” Thus the ghost transformed into a man of dignified appearance, performed prostrations, and said, “You, ascetic, hold your mind and guard your intent with such firmness; the attainment is already not far off.” Having spoken, he again bowed his head to the ascetic’s feet in reverence and departed.

(Sixty-two)

In former times, there was a śramaṇa cultivating in the mountains. His inner garment slipped to the ground, and he looked to the left and right, then slowly bent down to pick it up and put it on. The mountain spirit appeared and said to the ascetic, “Here there is no one. Why must you crouch down to put on your clothing when it falls to the ground?” The śramaṇa said, “The mountain spirit can see me, I myself can see me, and moreover, in the heavens there are the sun, the moon, and all the gods watching me. From the standpoint of the Dharma, one must not be naked. If there is no sense of shame, then one is not a disciple of the Buddha.”

(Sixty-three)

In former times, there were six companions who together fell into hell, suffering boiling in the same cauldron, each wishing to speak of his original offense. The first person uttered only “ṣa,” the second only “na,” the third only “te,” the fourth only “ce,” the fifth only “ku,” and the sixth only “dhara.” The Buddha saw this and smiled. Maudgalyāyana asked the Buddha, “Why do You smile?” The Buddha said, “There are six companions who together fell into hell, suffering boiling in the same cauldron, each wishing to speak of his original sin. The water in the cauldron boiled and churned, and they had no chance to speak in full—each only uttered a single word before following the swirling of the boiling water downwards. The first said ‘ṣa,’ meaning, ‘Six trillion years in the human realm amount to but one day in hell—who knows when I shall be freed?’ The second said ‘na,’ meaning, ‘There is no fixed limit; I know not when I shall be freed.’ The third said ‘te,’ meaning, ‘Alas! I ought to have lived well in the past; thus unable to control my mind, I seized the offerings and wealth of the Three Honored Ones, foolishly greedy, not knowing contentment—what use is there in regretting now?’ The fourth said ‘ce,’ meaning, ‘I conducted my household affairs without honesty, so that my own property came to belong to others, ending in this painful plight.’ The fifth said ‘ku,’ meaning, ‘Whoever can rescue me from hell, I shall never again violate the Buddha-Dharma or the precepts; thus I could be reborn in the heavens and have joy without bound.’ The sixth said ‘dhara,’ meaning, ‘At the start I had not thought things through—like a man driving a carriage astray into a wrong path, breaking the axle and regretting too late.’”