Collected by Bhikṣu Dao Lüe
Translated by the Tripiṭaka Master Kumārajīva of the Yao Qin Dynasty
(Translator’s Note: Although this sūtra is attributed to Kumārajīva in the Taishō Canon, in some other editions of the Buddhist canon it is listed as ‘unknown translator.’ The style of the Chinese translation of this sūtra does not resemble Kumārajīva’s. Some stories are almost word-by-word copy from other parable collections)
(One)
A wise man realizes that people cannot forever possess wealth. It is just like a household that has caught fire: the clever master of the house, who can clearly see the blaze, will move the valuables out in time before the great fire reaches them. Thus, although the house is burned down, the precious wealth is preserved. In later days, the house may be rebuilt, and the family enterprise restored. The wise man, who widely sows the field of blessings and diligently cultivates giving, also follows this same principle. Being able to realize that human life is short, that life is fragile, that wealth is impermanent and will not forever belong to oneself, one then accumulates virtue and cultivates blessings, and promptly gives away one’s wealth. It is just like the master of the house whose home has caught fire, who rescues the treasures from the fire and afterward enjoys happiness; or just like the master of the house whose home has caught fire, who rebuilds his household and thereby himself obtains benefit. The foolish man, however, only knows to begrudge the house. After the fire breaks out, he rushes in confusion to save it, panic-stricken and alarmed. He does not realize that the fire, fanned by the wind, burns fiercer and fiercer, the house becomes scorched earth, and in but a short moment everything utterly vanishes. Not only is the house not preserved, but the wealth is also lost. Thus afterward he lives in hunger and cold, spending his whole life in sorrow and suffering. Those who begrudge wealth are just like this. They do not realize that life is impermanent, and cannot be safeguarded even for a short moment. Thus they amass wealth and guard it with miserliness. But death is impermanent, descending at any time. Suddenly life is lost, the body is no more than wood and earth, and the wealth is also entirely gone. It is just like a foolish man who has failed in his reckoning and therefore suffers sorrow and affliction. The wise man, however, can awaken in time, knowing that the body is like an illusion, that wealth cannot be preserved, that all things are impermanent. Only by relying upon cultivating blessings and accumulating virtue can one cause beings to escape suffering and to accomplish the Way.
(Two)
The Bodhisattva, in saving and delivering beings, does not spare even his own life, just as in former days King Śibi gave his body to an eagle in order to save a dove. Śakra, the lord of the gods, came to test him, to see whether he truly had the resolve of a Bodhisattva. Śakra spoke to the deva Vishvakarman: “You transform into a dove, and I shall transform into an eagle to pursue you. You should appear in a terrifying form, and hide beneath the arm of the king.” Immediately Vishvakarman transformed into a dove, and Śakra transformed into an eagle. The eagle flew swiftly in pursuit of the dove, and the dove flew into the king’s armpit, trembling all over. At this time, the eagle perched upon a tree and said to the king: “Return my dove to me. This is my food, not yours.” The king said: “I had from the beginning set my mind on saving and delivering all beings from suffering.” The eagle said: “The king saves all beings; I too am a living being. Why do you not pity me, and instead deprive me of my food?” The king answered: “What food do you require?” The eagle said: “I have made a vow: I must eat fresh flesh and blood.” The Bodhisattva said: “I too have made a vow: all beings who come to take refuge in me, I must wholeheartedly save and protect, not allowing them to suffer calamity. Since you require food, I will give it to you.” The eagle said: “What I eat is fresh flesh and blood.” The king thought: “This is difficult indeed. If I do not kill living beings, then it cannot be obtained. But how could I, for the sake of one creature, kill another creature?” After thinking thus, he immediately ordered that with a knife flesh be cut from his own thigh and given to the eagle. The eagle said to the king: “Since you are giving me flesh, the weight must equal that of the dove. Only then will it be just. Do not deceive me.” The king said: “Bring scales to make the weight of the two equal.” Then the body of the dove became heavy, while the flesh of the king became light. The king then had flesh cut from both thighs, yet it was still not equal. Then flesh was cut from both hips, both breasts, and both shoulders and back, until all the flesh of the body had been cut away, and still the dove was heavier. At this time the king rose up and placed his whole body upon the scale, and then the weight became equal with the dove. The eagle said to the king: “Great King, this matter is impossible to accomplish. Why must you go to such extremes? Return the dove to me.” The king replied: “The dove has come to take refuge in me. I cannot give it to you. In past times I have many times given away my body, when I had not yet awakened to the Dharma and still cherished attachment to myself. But now, in seeking to attain Buddhahood, placing my own body upon the scale, I already have no regret or resentment.” The devas, nāgas, yakṣas, and all people praised, saying: “For the sake of one small dove, he did not spare his very life. Such a thing is truly rare in the world.” The earth shook in response. The deva Viśvakarman praised, saying: “Indeed, the Bodhisattva is genuine and not false, spreading wide the virtuous deeds of delivering all beings.” Śakra and Vishvakarman then resumed their original forms, and immediately restored the king’s body as it had been before. Only through cultivation such as this can one attain the fruit of Buddhahood.
(Three)
Long ago there was a man who, entrusted by others, went out on a distant journey. At night he stayed alone in an empty house. At midnight there came a ghost, carrying a corpse into the empty house. Soon after another ghost came rushing, angrily scolding the first ghost: “This corpse is mine, why did you carry it here?” The two ghosts each seized one hand of the corpse and struggled over it. The first ghost said: “Here is someone we can ask, let him say who carried the corpse.” The man thought to himself: “These two ghosts both have great strength. If I tell the truth I will be killed, if I tell a lie I will also be killed. Whether truth or falsehood, I cannot avoid death. Why should I tell a lie?” So he said: “It was the first ghost who carried it.” The later ghost was enraged, and tore off one of the man’s arms, throwing it to the ground. The first ghost saw this, and used one of the corpse’s arms to replace it. Then the later ghost tore off the man’s two feet, head, and two sides of his ribs. The first ghost in each case replaced them with parts of the corpse’s body. Then the two ghosts together ate the body parts they had torn from the man, wiped their mouths clean, and departed.
The man thought to himself: “My father and mother gave birth to my body, and I saw it eaten away by two ghosts. Now my body is entirely the body of a dead man. From now on, do I have a body or not have a body? If I do have, then all is the body of another; if I do not have, yet here I am with such a body as now.” Thinking thus again and again, his mind was greatly bewildered, like a madman. At daybreak this man continued on his road, going toward the country ahead. He saw a stūpa and a gathering of monks, and without asking any other matters, only asked: “Is my body existent or not existent?” The monks asked him: “What kind of man are you?” He replied: “I do not even know whether I am a man or not a man.” Then he told in detail to the monks the entire matter of his experience. The monks, having heard, said: “This man knows the teaching of non-self in all things, he is easy to transform and deliver.” So they told him: “Your body has always been changeful and without self, not only now is it thus. The body is but the coming together of the four great elements, arising through the power of causes and conditions.” When the man heard this, he immediately awakened, cut off all afflictions, and realized the fruit of Arhatship. This shows that if one can contemplate the principle of non-self, then one is not far from attaining the Way.
(Four)
One who upholds precepts can obtain everything, while one who violates precepts loses everything. It is like a man who constantly made offerings to the devas. Though he was poor and reduced to begging everywhere, still he persisted in making offerings for twelve years. His resolve to seek a noble and prosperous life never changed. The deva took pity on this man, and manifested before him, asking: “What is it that you seek?” The man replied: “I seek prosperity and honor, I wish that all my aspirations may be fulfilled.” The deva gave him a precious vessel called the “Virtue Vase,” and said to him: “All your wishes may be obtained from this vase.” This poor man, having obtained the vase, could get whatever he wished, nothing was lacking. He obtained houses, elephant chariots, horse carriages, all kinds of jewels and treasures, everything in abundance, and used them to provide for his guests, with nothing deficient. The guests asked him: “You were poor before, why are you now so wealthy?” He answered: “I obtained a precious vase given to me by the deva, and from the vase I have received all kinds of wealth, and therefore I became prosperous.” The guests said: “Please bring forth the vase and let us see it.” The man then brought out the vase, and from the vase produced all manner of treasures. Carried away with pride and delight, he lifted the vase and began to dance. Unexpectedly, in a moment of carelessness, he let it fall and break. Instantly all the wealth disappeared.
Those who uphold precepts enjoy every kind of delight and happiness, and no wish of theirs cannot be fulfilled. If someone violates precepts, growing arrogant and careless, he will be like this man who broke the vase and lost all his wealth. Therefore, if one would enjoy the delights of the devas and the pure states, one should persist in keeping the precepts, and never destroy those precepts one has received. If one destroys the precepts one has received, one will forever fall into the three evil destinies, suffering bitterly, with no day of deliverance. If people wish to pursue good retribution, they should cultivate a wholesome mind without ceasing. At the end of life they will then be able to avoid evil retribution and enjoy good results. The reason is this: if one does not first cultivate a wholesome mind, then when life ends, hoping to gain the fruit of a wholesome mind will not be as one wishes.
For example, in the western regions there was once a king who formerly had no horses. He took money from the treasury to purchase everywhere, and bought five hundred horses to defend against the invasion of external enemies and to protect the safety of the kingdom. For a long time he kept the horses, but no wars arose within or without. The king thought: “Five hundred horses consume much fodder, to raise them is laborious and exhausting, and useless for the state.” He ordered that their eyes be blindfolded and that they be used to turn the millstone. Thus they could continue to be kept without consuming the treasury’s wealth. Long accustomed to turning in circles, the horses became habituated to circling about. Suddenly a neighboring country sent forth troops to invade. At this time the king ordered saddles to be readied, and commanded the officers to mount them as cavalry and go into battle. The officers raised whips and struck the horses, intending to charge the enemy ranks. But the horses, when whipped, only circled round and round, and did not know to rush against the enemy. The enemy, seeing this, knew that these cavalrymen had no power of battle, and at once advanced in full force, greatly defeating the king’s army.
Therefore it is known: if one would obtain good retribution, then when life comes to its end, the horse of the mind must not be in confusion, and all will accord with one’s wish. In ordinary times one must first train well the horse of the mind. If one does not first train well the horse of the mind, then when death arrives, the horse of the mind will circle round and round, and in the end one’s wish will not be fulfilled. It is just like the king’s horses, unable to slay the enemy in battle and protect the state. Therefore, the doctrine of cultivating a wholesome mind should never fail to be remembered constantly within the heart.
(Five)
When a poor man cuts off and gives away the wealth by which he sustains his own life, using it for giving, he may obtain boundless merit and virtue. For example, in the past there was once a king who held a Dharma assembly, making offerings of all kinds of goods to the Buddhas and to the Saṅgha. At that time there was a poor old woman, who owned nothing at all, and who often survived by begging for food. She heard that the king was holding a Dharma assembly and inviting the Buddha, and in her heart she rejoiced and wished to go attend. The old woman thought to herself that she had no other wealth, so she could only bring the little bit of beans she had. But when she arrived, the guards at the Dharma assembly would not let her enter. The Buddha saw the old woman’s kind heart, and immediately by means of supernormal power made it so that the beans she carried were scattered throughout the food of the entire assembly.
When the king saw the beans in the food, he at once scolded the cook: “How can there be beans in this food?” The Buddha said to the king: “This is not the fault of the cook. Outside the gate there is a poor old woman who, hearing that the king held a Dharma assembly, yet had no wealth to contribute, so she gave the only small bit of beans she had, and therefore the food contains beans.” The Buddha said to the king: “Although the old woman’s gift was meager, the merit she obtained exceeds that of the king.” The king said: “Why is it that I offered so many fine and delicious foods, and yet my merit is less, while this old woman gave only a few beans, and her merit is greater?” The Buddha said to the king: “Though the king made offerings of many things, they all came from the people, and cost the king nothing at all. But this old woman was poor, and had only this little bit of beans, and she gave them all away. Therefore she has gained greater merit, while the king has gained less.”
The Buddha then explained to the king the essential meaning of the Dharma. The king and the old woman both realized the Way. Thus it is shown that in cultivating blessings and accumulating virtue, what is precious is sincerity of heart. Once one comprehends the marks of Dharma, why need one worry about not attaining the fruit?
(Six)
Once in the past there was a Brāhmaṇa, whose household was poor and possessed only a single milk cow. Each day he would live by milking one measure of milk. He heard that making offerings of food for fifteen days to the bhikṣus would bring great merit, so he decided not to milk the cow each day, but to wait for a whole month and then milk it all at once, hoping to obtain thirty measures of milk to offer to the bhikṣus. When a month had passed, he invited the monks to his house. Then he went to milk the cow, but obtained only one measure of milk. Though the cow had not been milked for so many days, the milk had not increased. People laughed at him and scolded him, saying: “You foolish man, why did you not milk daily, but waited a whole month, still hoping to gain more?”
Today worldly people are also like this. When they have wealth, whether little or much, they do not give it away promptly. They think to themselves that when they have accumulated more, they will then give. But they do not know that floods and fires may at any instant threaten life, and if such a disaster comes, all wealth in but a moment will vanish into nothing, and nothing will be gained. Wealth that endangers life is like a man encountering a poisonous serpent, it cannot be greedily grasped.
It is like in the past, when the Buddha was in Śrāvastī, and saw treasures hidden underground. The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Do you see the poisonous serpent?” Ānanda said: “I see it.” At that time a man was walking just behind the Buddha. Hearing this, he went forward to look, and saw many treasures. He thought the Buddha’s words absurd, and said to himself: “This is obviously treasure, why does he call it a poisonous serpent?” He then led his whole family to dig up the treasure, and his household suddenly became very rich. Someone reported to the king: “This man found treasure from the earth, but has not given it to the state.” The king immediately ordered that it be confiscated, and commanded the man to hand it all over. The king never believed the man’s explanation of the source of the treasure, and subjected him to harsh torture. The man suffered intensely, but would not confess guilt. The king grew enraged and ordered his entire clan executed. When he was taken out to be beheaded, the king secretly sent men to follow him, to hear whether he would say anything.
The man was heard to say: “The words of the Buddha were indeed utterly true. The treasure hidden in the ground truly was a poisonous serpent, but at that time I did not believe. Now, struck down by this poisonous serpent, I finally understand the meaning. Even if bitten by a serpent and killed, only I myself would be harmed, but now my entire family faces destruction. Indeed it is just as the Buddha said.” The men who were sent reported these words to the king. The king, on hearing this, at once ordered that the man be brought back. He said to him: “The Buddha is a man of great virtue, and you could still recall the words he spoke.” The king rejoiced greatly, returned the treasures to him, and released him home. This was because the king was moved by his remembrance of the Buddha’s words, and so he escaped death. Therefore, the words of the Buddha must not fail to be remembered always in the heart.
(Seven)
One who upholds precepts would rather lose life itself than violate the teachings of the Buddha. For example, in the past there were merchants traveling by ship across the sea. At that time two ascetics also wished to journey by ship to another land. While the vessel was sailing, it encountered a violent storm, and the ship was broken apart. The merchants quickly grasped whatever objects they could to save their lives. At that time a young ascetic obtained a plank. An elder ascetic said: “The Buddha has taught that one must respect those who are senior. You should give the plank to me, so that you will not transgress the precepts.” The young ascetic, hearing this, thought to himself: “What is most important? To uphold the precepts is what is most important.” In his heart he said: “I would rather die in order to preserve the precepts of the Buddha.” At once he presented the plank to the elder ascetic, and then he was submerged beneath the waves.
The god of the sea, seeing how the young ascetic upheld the precepts with such sincerity, willing to die rather than break the Buddha’s teaching, bore him safely to the shore. Moreover, because this ascetic with utmost sincerity kept the precepts, all the merchants on the ship were also spared from disaster, and none perished. The god of the sea praised the young ascetic, saying: “You are truly one who upholds the precepts.” This story demonstrates that it is better to die while upholding precepts than to live while breaking them, because the merit of the precepts can be relied upon, and can deliver beings from the suffering of birth and death.”
(Eight)
All living beings crave to indulge in worldly pleasures, never reflecting on the arrival of impermanence and the immense suffering brought by great calamities. For example, in the past there was a man who committed a crime deserving death, and was imprisoned. Fearing execution, he escaped. According to the law of the land, if a condemned prisoner escaped, mad elephants would be released to trample him to death. Thus the officials released a furious elephant, which pursued the fugitive. Seeing that the elephant was about to overtake him, the man quickly hid himself inside an abandoned well. But at the bottom of the well was a venomous nāga, opening its mouth upward. Around the sides of the well were four poisonous serpents. From the rim of the well hung down a single root of grass. In terror, the fugitive clutched at this root to hold himself. Yet there were also two white rats gnawing away at the root without ceasing. Above the well there happened to be a tree, in which was honey. Once a day a drop of honey fell, and when it dropped into the man’s mouth, he tasted it. Having obtained this drop of honey, he remembered only its sweetness, and forgot all the surrounding perils. He thought no more of escaping the well.
The sages set forth this story as a parable. The prison is the three realms, in which lives are confined. The mad elephant is impermanence. The well is the dwelling-place of beings. The venomous nāga at the bottom is hell. The four serpents are the four great elements. The root of grass is the root of human life. The two white rats are the sun and the moon. Human life is diminished with every sunrise and sunset, decreasing daily without pause even for a moment. Yet people, attached to worldly pleasures, do not reflect upon the immense suffering of human existence. Therefore the ascetic should contemplate impermanence, and in so doing escape from all suffering.
(Nine)
Long ago there was a miserly elder, whom the Buddha wished to deliver. First the Buddha sent Śāriputra to explain to him the blessings of giving and the various merits, but the elder was extremely stingy and had no intention at all of giving. Seeing that it was already near midday, he said to Śāriputra: “Why do you not go back? I have no food to offer you.” Śāriputra, knowing that he could not be taught, at once returned to the Buddha. Then the Buddha sent Maudgalyāyana, who by means of his miraculous power went to the elder’s house to explain the Dharma to him. The elder said: “You only want to obtain my wealth, and that is why you use magic arts.” Maudgalyāyana, knowing that he could not be taught, at once returned to the Buddha.
Therefore, in order to break the elder’s stinginess, the Buddha himself went personally to his house. When the elder saw that the Buddha himself had come, he bowed in reverence and invited the Buddha to be seated. The Buddha, using various skillful means, spoke Dharma for him, and then said to him: “Can you cultivate the five great givings?” He replied: “I cannot even manage a small giving, how could I possibly do great givings?” Then he asked the Buddha: “What are the five great givings?” The Buddha said: “The five great givings, first, are abstaining from killing. Can you do that?” The elder thought: “To abstain from killing requires none of my wealth, and causes me no loss.” So he said to the Buddha: “I can.” The Buddha then asked him in turn until he came to abstaining from intoxicants, and he said each one he could do. Then the Buddha immediately explained to him the meaning of the five precepts: “If you can uphold the five precepts, that is to accomplish the five great givings.”
The elder, hearing this, rejoiced greatly, and wished to give the Buddha a lesser piece of cloth. So he went to the storehouse to look, but found no lesser cloth, and had no choice but to take one at random and give it to the Buddha. At this time, all the remaining cloths in the storehouse followed after one another and arrived before the Buddha. The Buddha, knowing that the elder’s mind for giving was not yet firm, said to him: “Śakra once fought with the Asuras, and because his mind was not firm, he failed three times to succeed. Later, because his mind was fixed and resolute, he utterly defeated the army of the Asuras.” The elder, having heard this, knew that the Buddha was holy and wise, profoundly understanding the hearts of men. Thus he gave rise to pure faith. The Buddha then explained the Dharma to him, and the elder at once realized the fruit of Srotāpanna.
The next day Māra knew the elder’s mind, and at once transformed himself into the form of the Buddha, wishing to destroy it. He came to the elder’s house. Since the elder had not yet obtained the power of knowing others’ thoughts, he did not recognize Māra, and joyfully welcomed him and invited him to be seated. Māra, in the form of the Buddha, said to the elder: “What I spoke to you yesterday was not the Dharma. You should quickly abandon it.” The elder, hearing this, was deeply puzzled, and thought: “This man’s outward appearance is that of the Buddha, yet his words are not the Dharma. It is like a donkey clad in the skin of a lion: its form may resemble a lion, but its mind is still that of a donkey.” The elder did not believe his words. Māra, seeing that his faith was firm, revealed his original form and said: “I purposely came to test you, and now your mind cannot be overturned.”
Thus the sūtras say: “One who has realized the truth does not blindly believe even the words of the Buddha, how much less the words of outsiders? For the meaning must be deeply examined.” Therefore disciples of the Buddha must profoundly understand the meaning of the Dharma. Then, whether it be Māra’s words or the Buddha’s words, they should be able to discern. For this reason, the meaning must not be neglected in study, and giving must not be neglected in practice.
(Ten)
An ascetic who seeks the Way must not be attached to sensual beauty, for lust destroys the very root of merit and virtue. For example, in the past there was an Arhat who often went in and out of the nāga palace, receiving offerings and expounding the Dharma to the nāgas. Once, after returning from the nāga palace to the monastery, he handed his alms bowl to a sāmaṇera to be washed. The sāmaṇera ate the grains of rice that remained in the bowl, and found them to be exceedingly delicious. Then he secretly hid himself beneath the rope-bed on which his master traveled to the nāga palace, grasping tightly with both hands the legs of the bed, so that when the master sat upon it and flew to the nāga palace, he was carried along as well.
When the nāga saw him, she said to the master: “This one has not realized the Way—why have you brought him?” The master replied: “I did not perceive it, I did not know he had followed me.” The sāmaṇera received the food of the nāga palace, and also saw the nāga girl, whose form was upright and lovely, and whose body gave forth a subtle fragrance, wondrous beyond compare. A mind of lust arose, and he secretly vowed: “I must seize this nāga’s dwelling and live in his palace.” The nāga became aware, and said to the master: “Do not bring this sāmaṇera again.”
After returning to the monastery, the sāmaṇera diligently practiced giving and upheld the precepts, single-heartedly praying that he might soon be transformed into a nāga body. One day, as he circumambulated the monastery, he saw water appear beneath his feet, and knew that he must certainly become a nāga. He then went straight to the great lake by which his master passed to reach the nāga palace. Covering his head with his robe, he leapt into the water, and immediately died, reborn as a nāga. Because of the great merit from his cultivation, he killed the nāga king, and the waters of the entire lake were dyed red with the blood of the nāga king. Before he leapt into the lake, the master and other monks had all rebuked him. Yet the sāmaṇera said: “My resolve is already fixed, and all the signs have already appeared.” Then he led the monks to the lake shore to bear witness.
Because of such a cause and condition, it is taught that one should not be attached to beauty and fragrance, lest one lose the good roots and fall into the evil destinies.
(Eleven)
In the past there was a deva whose blessings were exhausted. Seven signs revealed it to him: the first, the flowers of his crown withered; the second, the halo about his neck vanished; the third, his body grew thin; the fourth, sweat appeared beneath his arms; the fifth, flies landed upon him; the sixth, his garments gathered dust; the seventh, he departed from his former seat. He knew himself that his blessings were finished, and that he was to be reborn in the human realm, in the household of a poor man, as the offspring of a mangy sow. Therefore he was filled with grief.
Another deva asked him: “Why are you not joyful?” He replied: “My lifespan is ending, and I am to be reborn in the human world, as a piglet to a mangy sow. Therefore I grieve.” The other deva said: “Śākyamuni Buddha is now in Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, expounding the Dharma for his mother. You should go at once to take refuge, and also take refuge in the community of bhikṣus, so that you may escape from suffering.”
The deva then went to the dwelling of the Buddha, and with utmost sincerity took refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha. After seven days his lifespan ended, and he was reborn in the household of a great elder. When his mother was pregnant, she daily heard the recitation of the Threefold Refuge. After ten full months he was born, and at birth he knelt, placed his palms together, and recited refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha. His mother was greatly astonished, and feared that it was an inauspicious omen, and thought to kill him. Yet she thought again: “Since this is the son of an elder, I cannot do this; surely his father would reproach me.” So she carried the child to the elder and told him what had happened. The elder said: “Some people live out their whole lives in this world and never know to take refuge in the Three Treasures. Yet this child, at the very moment of birth, already knows the Three Treasures. Surely he will become a divine man. We must raise him with care, without negligence.” Because of his former blessings, the child was extraordinarily intelligent, and his parents cherished him deeply.
When he was five years old, while playing by the roadside with other children, Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana happened to pass by. The boy went forward and bowed respectfully. Śāriputra said: “Never have I seen a child bow thus.” The boy said: “Do you not recognize me?” Śāriputra at once entered meditation and observed past causes, and knew that this was that very deva. The boy bowed to Maudgalyāyana and Śāriputra, and said: “I hope that you venerable ones will invite the Buddha and the bhikṣus, and tomorrow come to my home for alms.” Maudgalyāyana and Śāriputra consented.
The boy returned home and said to his parents: “Just now I asked Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana to invite the Buddha. Tomorrow we must prepare a great feast for them.” His parents rejoiced, and used all they had to prepare abundant and delicious food. The next day, the Buddha and the bhikṣus came at the invitation. The boy and his parents reverently bowed and welcomed the Buddha. The Buddha at once sat down, and after finishing the meal, spoke Dharma to them. The parents and the boy realized the patience of the unarisen Dharma. Hundreds and thousands of devas gave rise to the aspiration for the unsurpassed, true, and perfect Way. The scriptures say ‘exhaust all strength, and cherish compassion in the heart’, this is how it would be.
(Twelve)
Formerly, there was a cowherd, who in a great marsh saw golden-colored lotus flowers, bright with radiance and exceedingly beautiful. He then gave rise to the thought: “The Buddha is not far from here, I should gather flowers and go to make offering.” Immediately he gathered several lotus flowers, bore them upon his shoulders, and departed. Before he reached the road, he was gored to death by a cow. Because his mind was directed toward the Buddha, he was at once reborn in the second level of the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven. The palace he enjoyed was vast and spacious, adorned and wondrously marvelous, and upon the four sides of the palace, golden-colored lotus flowers arose from the ground, radiantly bright and shining. According to the principles of the heavenly realms, when first born in heaven one observes the destiny of the former life, and knows the origin of one’s heavenly blessings. At that time this deva himself observed his former destiny, and clearly saw that while gathering flowers he was struck and killed by a cow. Rejoicing, he exclaimed: “The immeasurable blessings of the Buddha! Before I had time to present my offering in return, already I attained such lofty reward. How much more so those who cultivate long-lasting merits!” Therefore he again gathered the lotus flowers around the palace, and took up various other offerings, wishing to follow his original vow. The multitude of devas, seeing him gathering flowers, all came and asked him: “You have only just arrived to enjoy blessings, you should enjoy the five desires and seek pleasures yourself, why do you gather flowers?” The deva replied: “When I was among men, I intended to go to the Buddha and make offering with flowers, but in the end I could not fulfill my vow, yet even so I was reborn in this heaven. How much more so for those who truly fulfill their vow! Now the reason I gather flowers is to follow my original intent and increase future blessings.” At that time the multitude of devas all gave rise to wholesome minds. There were eighty-four thousand devas who all descended together, playing celestial music, scattering heavenly flowers, and burning heavenly incense, performing various kinds of offerings. In the various stupas and monasteries, before yet seeing the Buddha, there was a senior bhikṣu who had attained the Way and spoke Dharma for them. When the multitude of devas heard the Dharma, their hearts rejoiced, increasing in many merits, and thus they were able to behold the Buddha. They beat drums, played music, plucked strings, sang songs, and scattered various precious flowers, making many offerings to the Buddha and the Saṅgha. The Buddha proclaimed for them the pure and wondrous Dharma. This man together with the eighty-four thousand devas all obtained the purity of the Dharma-eye. This deva and the eighty-four thousand devas were all good friends from former times, now enlightening one another, and at the same moment all attained the Way.
(Thirteen)
Formerly, in a foreign land, there was a great elder, exceedingly wealthy, who had only one son, whom he cherished with unequaled love. Later the son fell gravely ill, beyond cure, and finally passed away. At the time of death he held the Buddha single-mindedly in thought. The Buddha appeared before him, and with mind pacified and settled he was reborn in heaven. The parents longed for their son, grieving with sorrow and affliction, wishing to take their own lives, unable to resolve their pain. Therefore they burned his body with fire, took the bones, placed them in a silver jar, and on each fifteenth day of the month, they offered a hundred flavors of food before the jar, crying aloud in grief, rolling upon the ground. The son, dwelling in heaven, beheld their actions, and thought: “If I do not manifest a transformation body, their knot of mind will never be untied.” Then he descended to the human realm, transforming into a boy of eight or nine years, who herded cattle by the roadside. A cow suddenly died and lay upon the ground. The boy stuffed grass into the mouth of the dead cow, lifted a stick and struck the cow, shouting: “Rise up and eat!” The parents and those around, seeing the boy’s action, all laughed together at him, came forward and asked: “Whose child are you? How can you be so foolish? The cow is already dead, stuffing grass into its mouth, how could it eat?” The boy instead laughed and said: “My cow, though now dead, still has its head and mouth. If I put grass there and it does not eat, how much less so your son, who has been dead already long, and was burned with fire so that only charred bones remain. Yet you place a hundred flavors of food before him and still weep aloud—how could he eat?” At once the father’s knot of mind was untied, and he asked: “Who are you?” The boy said: “I am in truth the son of the elder. Now by the Buddha’s grace I have been reborn in heaven. Seeing my parents grieving in sorrow and distress too heavily, I have come merely to give you awakening!” The father’s knot was untied, and he was greatly joyous, no longer grieving. The deva then suddenly vanished from sight. After returning home, the parents made great gifts in charity, upheld the precepts, read scriptures and cultivated practice, and attained Srotāpanna.
(Fourteen)
Formerly, countless lives ago, there was a monastery, in which there dwelt more than several thousand śramaṇas. They dispatched several hundred sāmaṇeras to go outside begging alms in order to supply the multitude of monks. Each day they were required to hand over one bucket of rice, and their master further required them to recite one verse by heart. There was one sāmaṇera, who, while passing through the marketplace, recited scriptures as he walked. At that time in the marketplace there was a virtuous one, who, seeing the sāmaṇera reciting as he walked, saluted him and asked: “Master, as you walk, what is it that you are reciting?” He replied: “I am begging alms to supply the Saṅgha, and at the same time I recite one verse.” The virtuous one again asked: “If you had no business to attend to, how many verses could you recite?” He replied: “I could recite more than ten verses.” Again he asked: “How many days must you go out for alms?” He said: “Ninety days. I must hand over ninety buckets of rice.” The virtuous one then said to the reciting sāmaṇera: “You may return and recite in peace, I shall provide the rice for you.” The sāmaṇera was overjoyed. The virtuous one gave him ninety buckets of rice, and after the sāmaṇera reported back to his master, he was able to devote himself entirely to reciting scriptures. After three months he had mastered one thousand four hundred verses, and reported to his master: “I have completed the recitations, I should go to the donor’s house to verify them.” The master permitted it. When he arrived at the house of the virtuous one, he declared: “By your great favor I was able to recite in peace. Now I have completed the recitations and come especially to recite them for you.” The sāmaṇera recited the scriptures fluently, without the least obstruction. The virtuous one rejoiced, bowed his head and paid homage, saying: “May I in my future lives be intelligent, learned, with strong memory, never forgetting.” Because of this meritorious vow, throughout his rebirths he was always wise and possessed strong memory. When the Buddha appeared in the world, he was born as a disciple, named Ānanda, who constantly attended upon the World-Honored One, surpassing all others in eloquence and learning. The master said: “That virtuous one of that time is now Ānanda. To encourage and assist learners, to establish vows and aspirations—such merit does not fall into emptiness. The blessings obtained according to one’s vow are just like this!”
(Fifteen)
On the southern side of Mount Sumeru there is a great tree, two thousand miles in height. Various pakṣa birds roost upon this tree, yet the tree never shakes or quivers. There was a small bird, in form like a quail, that alighted upon the tree, and at once the tree trembled and shook. The pakṣa birds said to the tree spirit: “Our bodies are so heavy and yet you do not move, but when the small bird alights you tremble—why is this so?” The tree spirit replied: “Although this bird is small, it comes from the bottom of the sea, and eats only vajra. Vajra is such a substance that wherever it falls there is nothing it does not break, therefore I am greatly afraid and cannot be at ease.” The sūtra uses this as a parable: if there is an ordinary man who understands even a single sentence of profound scripture, reciting it by mouth and keeping it in mind, then the three poisons, the four māras, and the roots of eighty thousand afflictions within the body cannot remain stable, how much more so when one extensively studies the many Dharmas of the Buddha and becomes a bridge in the world!
(Sixteen)
The Buddha said to Maudgalyāyana: “Your foe is coming.” Maudgalyāyana said: “I possess divine power. I can leap over Mount Sumeru. If he comes from the east I shall go west, if from the north I shall go south—how could he find me?” The Buddha told Maudgalyāyana: “The retribution of sins and blessings comes naturally, it cannot be avoided.” Maudgalyāyana fled unceasingly afar, but at last he fell into a mountain. At that time there was an old man making cart-wheels, and Maudgalyāyana fell right before him, his form appearing like a ghost. The old man thought he was a monster, lifted up a wheel-spoke and struck him, breaking his body at once. Maudgalyāyana, in extreme pain, shame, and regret, completely forgot his original consciousness. The Buddha pitied him, bestowed divine power, and only then did he recover his mind and return to his original form. This old cart-maker was Maudgalyāyana’s father in a former life. Maudgalyāyana once quarreled with his father, and in his heart thought: “If only I could beat this old man to death, and break his bones—that would be satisfying!” Therefore he received this retribution of sin. Never should one commit the crime of unfiliality. Thus, while living in the world, one must be cautious in heart and speech, and must be filial and nourish one’s father and mother.
(Seventeen)
Formerly, there was a śramaṇa walking amidst the grasses, when a great serpent said: “Venerable ascetic!” The ascetic was frightened, looking around on all sides. The serpent said: “Ascetic, do not fear, do not be startled. I wish you would speak Dharma for me, so that I may escape this body of retribution.” The serpent said: “Ascetic, have you heard of King Agnidatta?” He replied: “I have heard.” The serpent said: “That is I.” The ascetic said: “King Agnidatta established stupas and monasteries, and his meritorious offerings were lofty and great. He should have been born in heaven—why has he become thus?” The serpent said: “At the time of my death, one beside me dropped a fan upon my face, and it caused anger to arise in me, therefore I received this serpent-body.” The ascetic then spoke Dharma for it. The serpent listened with one mind and delight, and for seven days took no food nor drink. When it died it was reborn in heaven. After several months it descended, holding flowers to scatter before the Buddha. The multitude marveled, and a voice came forth from the sky: “I am King Agnidatta. By the grace of the ascetic I heard the Dharma and was reborn in heaven. Now I have come to present flowers in gratitude for the Buddha’s favor!” Therefore, for those at the end of life, attendants must not fail to protect the mind of the sick and dying.
(Eighteen)
In a foreign land there was a man who managed his livelihood and amassed several thousand pounds of gold and silver, which he valued greatly. He wished to hide it in the ground, but feared that mole-crickets and rats would damage or steal it. He wished to hide it in the marshes and grasses, but feared that foxes and wild beasts would take it away. He did not trust the inner or outer family, include his brothers or his wife. So he carried it upon his bosom as he went in and out, always fearful of losing it. At that time it was the month of long fasting, and the four assemblies of disciples all went to the stupas and monasteries to burn incense and scatter flowers. This man saw the entire process. He also saw before the stupa a great bowl, around which the four assemblies circumambulated, holding gold, silver, money, and precious things, casting them into the bowl. The man asked: “Why do they cast treasures into this bowl?” An ascetic answered: “This is called dāna. The second name is called ‘firm treasury.’ The third name is called ‘free from decay.’” The man thought: “It is indeed just as people say, this accords with my needs.” Then he cast all his gold and silver into the bowl. The ascetic for him made vows and said again: “The meaning of firm is that water cannot submerge it, fire cannot burn it, thieves or enemies cannot invade it, the treasures deposited will not rot or perish, and in the future one shall receive recompense a hundred thousand times in return—this is what is called dāna.” The man’s heart was opened and released, rejoicing without measure, and there before the stupa he attained the fruit of Srotāpanna. Therefore, the meritorious deeds and virtues done with sincere heart are never wasted in vain, but naturally lead to attainment of the Way.
(Nineteen)
Once upon a time, in the Cakir Monastery, there was a venerable bhikṣu who had already attained the fruition of Arhatship. One day, he brought along a sāmaṇera and went on alms-round into the city. The robe and alms-bowl were heavy, so he let the sāmaṇera carry them and follow behind him. On the road the sāmaṇera gave rise to such a thought: “Life in the world, nowhere is it free from suffering. If one wishes to escape suffering, what kind of Dharma should one contemplate and awaken to?” Thus he thought, “The Buddha often praises the Bodhisattva as lofty and sublime; I should now establish the vow to seek the Bodhisattva path.” While he was thinking thus, his master, through the divine penetration of knowing others’ minds, discerned his thought, and said to the sāmaṇera: “Give me the robe and bowl.” The sāmaṇera brought the robe and bowl and handed them to his master. The master then said to the sāmaṇera: “You walk in front.” The sāmaṇera had just walked ahead when again a thought arose in him: “The practice of the Bodhisattva path is too arduous. When beings demand his head, he must give his head; when they demand his eyes, he must give his eyes. This is too difficult, not something I am able to accomplish. It is better to quickly attain the fruition of Arhatship, and more swiftly depart from suffering.” The master, discerning his thought, said to the sāmaṇera: “Take the robe and bowl, and return behind me.” In this way, back and forth three times, the sāmaṇera was perplexed and did not know what it meant. When they arrived at a resting place ahead, the sāmaṇera joined his palms and made obeisance, asking his master what it was all about. The master replied: “Three times you wished to practice the Bodhisattva path, so three times I let you walk in front; three times you retreated from it, so three times I let you walk behind me. The reason I acted thus is because establishing the vow to seek the Bodhisattva path, its merit surpasses all the merit of attaining the fruition of Arhatship throughout the three thousand great-thousandfold worlds, unable to be compared.”
(Twenty)
Once when Kāśyapa Buddha was in the world, there were two brothers who both left home to become śramaṇas. The elder delighted in keeping precepts and sitting in meditation, wholeheartedly seeking the path, but did not delight in giving. The younger delighted in giving and cultivating merit, but constantly violated the precepts. When Śākyamuni appeared in the world, the elder encountered the Buddha, left home, cultivated the path, and attained the fruition of Arhatship, but because his merit was meager, he often suffered shortage of food and clothing. When going on alms-round together with his companions, he alone would often return with an empty stomach. The younger was reborn as an elephant, powerful and able to defeat enemies, and beloved by the king. The king adorned its body with the finest gold, silver, precious gems, and strings of jewels, and many times conferred upon it fiefs of a hundred households, supplying it according to its needs. At that time, the elder who was a bhikṣu encountered famine, and going on alms-round for seven days obtained nothing. At last he received a little coarse and inferior food, and only thus preserved his life. The elder already knew that this elephant was his younger brother of former life, so he went before the elephant, grasped its ear, and said to it: “I and you both have offenses.” The elephant then pondered the bhikṣu’s words, and at once knew his past life, and beheld the old karmic causes and conditions of former existence. The elephant furrowed its brow and no longer ate or drank. The elephant’s keeper was alarmed, and went to report to the king, saying: “The elephant will not eat or drink, I do not know for what reason.” The king asked the keeper: “Before this, was there anyone who approached this elephant?” The keeper replied: “There was no unusual person, only that a śramaṇa came near the elephant, stayed for a short while, and then departed.” The king immediately sent men to search everywhere for this śramaṇa. Someone found him in the forest, seized him, and brought him before the king. The king asked the śramaṇa: “What did you say by the ear of my elephant?” The śramaṇa answered the king: “I did not say much, I only told the elephant: ‘I and you both have offenses.’” Then the śramaṇa explained in detail to the king the karmic causes and conditions of their former life. The king was awakened, released the śramaṇa, and let him go back. Therefore, the ones who cultivate merits should practice both keeping percepts and giving charity, and should not be too biased and fail to accumulate merits and virtues completely.
(Twenty-one)
Once there was a bhikṣu who was expelled from the monastery. He grieved in distress and sorrow, lamenting with tears as he walked along the road. On the way he met a ghost. This ghost too had transgressed the law and was expelled by Vaiśravaṇa, the Heavenly King. At that time the ghost asked the bhikṣu: “For what reason do you weep as you go along the road?” The bhikṣu answered: “I violated the precepts and was expelled by the community of monks. All the offerings from benefactors are gone, and I have gained an evil reputation, infamous far and wide. For this reason I am troubled, I lament, I weep.” The ghost said to the bhikṣu: “I can cause you to lose your evil reputation and obtain many offerings. You may stand upon my left shoulder; I will carry you, walking in the air. People will see you, but they will not see me. If you receive abundant offerings, you must first give them to me.” Then the ghost bore the bhikṣu upon his shoulder and flew in the sky above the monastery from which he had been expelled. At that time the villagers saw this sight and were greatly astonished, thinking that this bhikṣu had attained the path, and spreading the word from one to another: “The community of monks has no propriety, they have wrongly cast out a man who has attained the path.” Then the villagers all came to that monastery, reproaching the monks. Immediately they welcomed the bhikṣu back into the monastery, and let him receive abundant offerings. This bhikṣu, according to his agreement, whenever he obtained food, clothing, and such things, always gave first to that ghost, not violating his promise. On another day the ghost again carried the bhikṣu, traveling in the air, when suddenly they encountered the officers of Vaiśravaṇa, the Heavenly King. The ghost, beholding the officers, was stricken with terror, threw down the bhikṣu, and fled with all his might. The bhikṣu fell to the ground and died, his body and his head crushed and shattered. This story is a parable: the one who cultivates should rely upon his own strength to uphold the Buddha Dharma, and should not rely upon power and influence. Otherwise, when those in power collapse, the outcome will be the same as that of the expelled bhikṣu.
(Twenty-two)
Once, Maudgalyāyana together with his disciples descended from Gṛdhrakūṭa Mountain and went into Rājagṛha city to beg for alms. On the way, Maudgalyāyana looked up at the sky and suddenly laughed. His disciples asked him: “Why do you laugh?” Maudgalyāyana answered: “If you wish to know, you can go to the Buddha and ask again.” After the alms-round was finished, they returned to the Buddha. The disciples again asked Maudgalyāyana why he had laughed before. Maudgalyāyana answered: “I saw in the sky a hungry ghost, its body extremely long, its appearance ugly and fierce. There were seven hot iron balls, swallowed into its mouth, piercing through its body. Piercing through the body, again swallowed into the mouth. Its whole body was burning with blazing fire, the suffering unbearable. It struggled without rest, falling down and rising up, rising up and falling down again. Seeing this, I laughed. Not only I saw it, the Buddha also saw it.” The disciples asked: “For what cause does he suffer such torment?” Maudgalyāyana answered: “You yourselves should ask the Buddha.” The disciples at once approached the Buddha and asked him the causes and conditions. The Buddha answered: “This hungry ghost was in a former life a sāmaṇera. At that time there was a famine, and they lived on beans. This sāmaṇera divided the food for the monks. When it came to his master, he was partial, and gave to his master seven beans more. Because of this offense he was reborn as a hungry ghost, and suffers such torment.” The Buddha said: “I also often see such scenes, yet I do not speak of them, for fear that people will not believe, and instead they will incur very great karmic guilt.” In this parable, the sāmaṇera gave his teacher a little more of the beans and does not use them for himself, his sin is still so great. If when the Buddha speaks of Prajñā people do not believe, and even slander it, such a sin is heavier than the five rebellious crimes, and one must suffer the greatest torment in hell.
(Twenty-three)
Once there was a householder, and his wife was pregnant. He invited the Buddha to his home, and after the offering of food was completed, he requested the Tathāgata to foretell what kind of child his wife would give birth to, wishing to know whether it would be a boy or a girl. The Buddha said: “In the future she will give birth to a boy, handsome in appearance, and when he grows up he will enjoy in the human world the pleasures of the heavens. In the future he will attain the path of Arhatship.” When the householder heard this, he doubted and did not believe, so he again invited the six heretical masters. After offering them food, he once more asked for divination. The householder said to the six masters: “Previously I invited the śramaṇa Gautama, and he said that it would be a boy. I do not know whether it is truly a boy?” The six masterssaid: “It will be a girl.” Those six heretical masters hated the Dharma of the Buddha, and only wished to oppose the Buddha. Afterward, they thought: “If indeed a boy is born, then the householder will abandon us and serve Gautama.” So they deceived the householder, saying: “Your wife was originally to give birth to a boy. After giving birth to the boy, great calamity will arise, and you yourself together with your relatives will perish for seven generations. Because this is inauspicious, I earlier falsely said it was a girl.”
When the householder heard this, he was terrified in his heart, not knowing what to do. Then those six heretical masters said to the householder: “If you wish to obtain auspiciousness, there is only one way, to get rid of this child.” The six masters then pressed upon the belly of the householder’s wife, seeking to cause miscarriage. They pressed unceasingly upon her belly, and in the end the householder’s wife perished, but the fetus did not die—this was due to the blessings and virtues from his past lives. The householder abandoned her, placing the corpse at the place of the dead, heaping up firewood to burn it. When the fire was blazing, the Buddha, together with his disciples, went to look. The body of the householder’s wife had broken open, and then it was seen that her son sat upon a lotus flower, handsome and beautiful, with a countenance like snow. The Buddha commanded Jīvaka to take the child in his arms. Jīvaka took him up and returned him to the householder. The householder then raised him until he became grown. When the child reached the age of sixteen, he was outstanding in talent and appearance.
Then the householder set out a great and abundant banquet, inviting the six masters. When the six masters sat down, before long they could not restrain themselves and laughed. The boy asked: “Why do you laugh?” The six masters replied: “We see twenty thousand miles away there is a mountain, and beneath the mountain there is water, and there is a monkey that has fallen into the water, therefore we laughed.” The boy knew it was baseless, so he placed various fine dishes into a bowl, then put rice on top, and had someone carry and offer it to the six masters. In the bowls of the others, the rice was below and the dishes were above. Everyone else ate, but only the six masters, angry, did not eat. The boy asked: “Why do you not eat?” The six masters replied: “There are no dishes, how can we eat?” The boy said: “Your eyes can see a monkey fall into water twenty thousand miles away, yet how can they not see the dishes beneath the rice?” Then the six masters grew furious, and in anger did not eat but left. The householder and and his son stopped serving them and took refuge in the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. The Buddha taught them various Dharmas and they attained enlightenment.
This parable has very profound meaning, which cannot all be fully spoken in detail, therefore only a concise outline is given here.
Dharma Torch 