Translated by śramaṇas Hui Jue etc. from Liangzhou of the Yuan Wei Dynasty in Gaochang Commandery
Section Twenty-Two: The Upāsikā Mahāsenā (This section does not appear in the Tanjur version)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the Jeta Grove of Śrāvastī, with the great bhikṣus reverently surrounding him. At that time, the Buddha praised the practice of wisdom: “One who wishes to accomplish the path of Buddhahood ought to take joy in the sūtras and Dharma, constantly reciting and proclaiming them. Even if a layman expounds the Dharma, all the devas, humans, spirits, and ghosts will come to listen—how much more so when it is those who have gone forth. When one who has gone forth even recites sūtras or verses while walking, devas will follow along to listen. Therefore, one should constantly recite and uphold the sūtras and Dharma.” How is this truth known?
When the Buddha had just arrived at the Jeta Grove, his merits already widely spread, and there was no one who did not know. At that time, those virtuous people who heard of the Buddha’s virtues felt joyful in their hearts, deeply revering and praising him. Why was it so? In this world, evil men, when hearing the names of virtuous men, give rise to jealousy and hatred, but when they hear that evil men exist in the world, they are gladdened. As for the wise and virtuous, they despise evil and exalt goodness, wishing for good deeds to spread widely. When they see others doing evil, they know it arises from afflictions, and they respond with pity and forgiveness. In this way, when virtuous people heard that the Buddha had appeared in the world, they proclaimed and spread it, causing the news to pervade all countries.
At that time, within the realm governed by King Prasenajit, there was a borderland country called Viṣṇukātyāyana. In that land and among those villages, there were many who clung to wrong views; there was no Buddha, Dharma, or Saṅgha. At that time, in this village there was a woman named Mahā-Upasena. Because she had matters to attend to in Śrāvastī with King Prasenajit, after her affairs were concluded, she associated with those upāsakas who had deep faith in the Three Jewels. When she heard of the Buddha’s virtues, she wished to see the Buddha, and thus she went to the Jeta Grove. Seeing the Buddha’s appearance—upright, noble, and wondrously adorned—she paid homage by bowing her head and placing it at his feet, and then stood to one side. At that time, the World-Honored One was teaching the assembly about the Five Precepts, namely: abstaining from killing results in long life; abstaining from stealing results in great wealth; abstaining from sexual misconduct results in being respected and cherished by others; abstaining from false speech results in one’s words being trusted by others; abstaining from intoxicants results in wisdom, clarity, and understanding.
When Upasena heard this Dharma, she rejoiced greatly. Stepping forward, she said to the Buddha: “I beseech the World-Honored One to confer upon me the Five Precepts. I will purely uphold them throughout my life. I would rather lose my life than transgress or abandon them. Just as the hungry cherish food, the thirsty cherish water, and the sick cherish life, so too shall I cherish and guard these precepts.” Thereupon, the Buddha bestowed upon her the Five Precepts. Having received the precepts, she said to the Buddha: “World-Honored One, the place where I dwell is remote and secluded. I must now return there. I hope the World-Honored One may bestow upon me some Dharma, and I shall receive and uphold it with reverence.”
In the past, the immeasurable Buddhas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges River all expounded the Dharmapada. In the future, immeasurable Buddhas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges River will also proclaim this scripture. At that time, the World-Honored One transmitted the Dharmapada to Upasena, instructing her to recite and uphold it. After receiving the scripture, Upasena paid homage, circumambulated the Buddha three times, and departed. Returning to her village, she recollected the scripture the Buddha had bestowed.
At that time, in the middle of the night, she ascended to the upper part of her house, and while reflecting on the Buddha’s virtues, she recited the Dharmapada. At that very moment, Vaiśravaṇa, the Heavenly King, was on his way to the dwelling of Virūḍhaka in the south, leading one thousand yakṣas. As they passed above Upasena’s dwelling, they heard the sound of her reciting scripture and all stopped in the air to listen to her recitation, praising: “Excellent! Excellent! Sister, you are skilled in reciting and expounding the essentials of the Dharma. Now, if I were to bestow upon you heavenly treasures, that might not be fitting. I shall instead bestow upon you one excellent utterance.The venerable Śāriputra and the venerable Mahāmaudgalyāyana, having come from Śrāvastī, will dwell in this grove. Tomorrow you should go invite them and offer them alms within your house. When they pronounce their blessings, at that time also mention my name.”
Upon hearing these words, Upasena raised her gaze toward the sky but could not see his form, just like a blind person in the darkness of night who can see nothing. She then asked: “Who are you?” Although she could not see any trace of him, a voice answered from the sky: “I am the Lord of Ghosts, the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa. I have stopped here in order to listen to your Dharma.” The Upāsikā said: “Heavenly beings do not speak in jest. You are a Heavenly King and I am but a mortal woman. There is no connection between you and me. Why do you call me sister?” The Heavenly King replied: “The Buddha is the Dharma King and also the Father of men and devas. I am an upāsaka, and you are an upāsikā. We partake of the same taste of the Dharma. Therefore, I call you sister.”
At that time, the upāsikā’s heart filled with joy, and she asked: “Heavenly King, what benefit will there be if I recite your name at the time of offering?” The Heavenly King replied: “I am a Heavenly King. With my heavenly ear I can hear very far. Whenever someone recites my name, I can hear it. Because they recite my name, my power, prestige, and retinue increase. I also, by my spiritual power, command the ghosts and spirits to protect that person, increase that person’s fortune, and cause them forever to be free from decline and afflictions.” Having spoken these words, he departed.
At that time, the upāsikā was overwhelmed with joy and thought: “The Buddha, for a hundred kalpas, practiced diligently and strenuously only for my sake. Because of the Buddha’s grace, the Lord of Ghosts calls me sister.” She did not go to sleep, and as dawn approached, she only briefly dozed.
At that time, her household often sent servants into the forest to gather firewood. Now the servant had gone early into the forest and climbed a tree to collect firewood. From afar, he saw the venerable Śāriputra, the venerable Maudgalyāyana, and five hundred bhikṣus in that grove. Among them, those who were diligent and strenuous in practice were seated in meditation reciting sūtras; among them, those who were indolent lay reclining upon the sandy grass. This servant had once accompanied others to Śrāvastī and thus from a great distance recognized the two venerables. He thought to himself: “Those whom my mistress reveres are in this grove. She does not yet know. If I wait to finish chopping firewood and only then return to report it, someone else might first invite the two venerables for alms. If that happens, it will be my fault and also cause loss in this matter. It would be better to first accomplish this important matter and only then return to chop firewood. This will cause no harm.”
Thus he climbed down from the tree, went to where the venerables were, and bowed with his head at their feet. He said to the venerables: “My mistress Upasena bows with reverence and inquires after your health.” The venerables replied: “May Upasena dwell in peace and stability, enjoy happiness, and be liberated from the sufferings of birth and death.” He then said: “Venerables, my mistress Upasena has prepared food today and respectfully invites you to grace her house.” The venerables answered: “Go back to your house and tell Upasena: ‘Excellent, Upāsikā! You have acted knowing the time and knowing what is fitting. The Buddha has praised that those who accomplish the five givings obtain immeasurable merit. These are: giving to those who come from afar, giving to those who go on long journeys, giving to the sick and emaciated, giving food and drink to others at the time of hunger, and giving to those who know the Dharma. Accomplishing the five givings brings blessings and merit in this very life.’”
After hearing the venerables’ teaching, the servant took his leave, departed from the grove, and hurried back home. Upon arrival, he asked the maidservant: “Where is my mistress?” The maidservant replied: “She is on the upper story of the house. Through the first and middle parts of the night she did not sleep. Only just now has she lain down.” The servant said: “Wake her.” The maidservant said: “I dare not.” The servant said: “If you dare not, then I will go and wake her myself.” The maidservant replied: “As you wish.”
The servant then went inside the house, snapped his fingers to awaken her. The mistress awoke and asked: “What do you wish to report?” The servant said: “Mistress, the venerables Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana are now in the forest.” Upasena rejoiced greatly, and at once removed two golden earrings to reward him. After a while, the servant said: “The venerables also have good words for the mistress.” Upasena immediately said: “What good teaching? Speak quickly.” He then conveyed to her the venerables’ words concerning the five kinds of giving.
When the upāsikā heard this, she rejoiced even more than before, just as the lotus, upon seeing the sun, opens in bloom. Such was the awakening and liberation she attained at that moment. Immediately she removed the jeweled necklace and ornaments she wore upon her neck and again rewarded the servant. The servant said: “Mistress, now arise, wash your hands, and arrange all the vessels and foods for the offering. I shall now, following your command, go and invite the two venerables and the five hundred disciples to come today for the meal. I hope that by that time everything will be fully prepared.”
Upon hearing this, the upāsikā rejoiced even more and said: “What I wished to do, you have already accomplished for me. This gladdens me greatly. I now release you, granting you freedom. From this day onward you are no longer my servant. One such as you, with a heart so kind, whether staying at home or having gone forth, whether dwelling in a village or in a city, will everywhere have success.””
Afterward, Upasena rose, washed her hands, and instructed her household and neighbors: “You shall be responsible for preparing the food.” “You shall be responsible for lighting the fire.” “You shall be responsible for fetching the water.” “You shall be responsible for arranging the seats and beds.” “You shall be responsible for gathering fresh flowers.” Having divided the various tasks, she herself took herbs, ground them into powder, and blended them well. When all preparations for the offering were completed, she then sent the servant back, saying: “The time has come, the vessels are prepared. We only await to know the proper moment.”
Then the two venerables together with the bhikṣus, having put on their robes and carrying their bowls, went to her house. Upon arrival, they sat down. Upasena herself brought water for the venerables and the bhikṣus to wash, and then she presented the various foods. The foods she offered were complete in color, fragrance, and taste. When all the procedures of offering were fulfilled, then, according to the differing karmic causes, different merits were received. Because she gave to the venerables and others food of beautiful color, she thereby obtained a beautiful appearance; because the food had good fragrance, she thereby gained a good name spread afar; because the food had perfect taste, she thereby attained the ability to accomplish her wishes; because she gave food to the venerables and others, she thereby received the merit of great strength.
When the assembly had finished eating, the venerable Śāriputra gave her his blessing. At the moment of the blessing, Upasena said: “Venerable, please also recite the name of the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa.” Then Śāriputra, having completed the blessing, asked her: “What condition or cause do you have with the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa that you wish his name to be invoked?” She replied: “Venerable, there is a most unusual matter. Last night, while I was reciting the Dharmapada, the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa remained in the sky, listening to my recitation, and he praised me: ‘Excellent! Excellent! This sister well expounds the wondrous Dharma.’ I then raised my head and asked: ‘Who are you? Why is it that I do not see your form but only hear your voice?’ He replied: ‘I am the Lord of Ghosts, Vaiśravaṇa. Because I heard you reciting scripture, I stopped to listen. I wished to give you heavenly treasures, but I considered that it would not be suitable for you, so instead I bestow good words.’ I then asked him: ‘What is it that you wish to tell me?’ He then said: ‘Tomorrow the venerables Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana will go to such and such a grove. You may invite them to your house to make offerings, and at the time of their blessing you should recite my name.’ I asked him: ‘What benefit is there in reciting your name?’ He then answered me. It is because of this event, because of this condition, that today I asked to have his name recited.” Śāriputra said: “Truly, this is most marvelous. You are a human, he is a Heavenly King, yet he condescended to speak with you and even called you sister.”
The Upāsikā said: “I have still another marvelous matter. Within this very house there is a deity who is most friendly toward me. Whenever any woman associates with me, when I am making offerings, this deity tells me: ‘This one is an Arhat, this one is an Anāgāmin, this one is a Sakṛdāgāmin, this one is a Srotāpanna, this one is a common worldling, this one is one who upholds precepts, this one is one who breaks precepts, this one is a wise person, this one is a foolish one.’ Though I hear this, I bear no prejudice toward anyone. To the common worldling and to the breaker of precepts I act just the same as toward an Arhat.” Śāriputra said: “You indeed are most marvelous, able to give rise to an equal mind among all these.”
Mahāsenā said: “I still have something more marvelous. Though I am a woman, and moreover still a laywoman, yet I have eradicated the twenty kinds of views of self and attained the fruit of a Srotāpanna.” Śāriputra said: “Sister, this is truly marvelous—that with the body of a woman you have attained the fruit of a Srotāpanna.”
The Upāsikā said: “I have yet another matter more marvelous. I have four sons, and all of them hold minds of wicked wrong views. My husband’s wrong views are even worse. Toward the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha he has no correct understanding and shows no reverence. When I make offerings to the Three Jewels or give alms to the poor, they give rise to jealousy and resentment, and all say: ‘The household wealth that we have labored so hard to establish is being wasted by you on such useless matters.’ Yet although they say this, my mind that seeks the true path and my intention to cultivate good and practice giving has never retreated, nor have I borne any resentment toward them.”
Śāriputra said: “Women, throughout their lives, often do not obtain freedom. In childhood they are under the guardianship of their parents, when grown they are under the guardianship of their husbands, and in old age they are under the guardianship of their sons. Yet you are not constrained by your husband, and you are able to act according to your own wish, cultivating goodness and accumulating merit. Sister, I now give you this teaching, and you should listen carefully. What good matter is there? It is that the Tathāgata, the World-Honored One, this very evening will go to the Viṣṇukātyāyana grove. Let this news serve as the return for your offering to me.” Having spoken thus, he departed and returned to the grove where they were dwelling.
The upāsikā said: “What the venerable has told me is truly excellent! After the venerable departs, we must prepare offerings anew and wait for the coming of the World-Honored One.”
In this way the World-Honored One arrived at that grove. Mahāsenā was filled with great joy, and gathering the upāsikās, she went before evening to where the Buddha was. From afar she saw the World-Honored One, his form radiating light, dignified, and wondrous in appearance. At once her sense faculties were gladdened, her joy beyond measure. Approaching the Buddha, she first bowed, then offered various fragrant flowers. Having made her offerings, she sat to one side of the Buddha. The Buddha then expounded to her the teaching on giving, the teaching on precepts, the teaching on birth in heaven, the teaching on the abandoning of desire, and the teaching on Nirvāṇa.
When she had heard the Dharma, and as she was about to return home, she joined her palms and said to the Buddha: “In our grove the people for the most part hold wrong views. They do not recognize the Dharma, or virtue of the Buddha, nor do they delight in giving. Therefore, when śramaṇas and brāhmaṇas enter this village to beg, they often come only to my house. I only hope that, however long the World-Honored One resides in this village, both the Buddha and the disciples will constantly accept my invitation, so that I may offer the four requisites in support.”
Having spoken thus, she bowed to his feet and withdrew. As she was leaving, she passed by and looked at the dwellings of the bhikṣus one by one, until finally she saw one sick bhikṣu lying in a hut of grass. She asked: “Venerable master, what sort of suffering and illness are you afflicted with?” The bhikṣu replied: “On the journey here my four great elements became imbalanced, bringing me hardship unbearable, leaving me weary and weak.” The Upāsikā asked: “Venerable master, what kind of nourishment is suitable for your illness?” He replied: “The doctor’s prescription says I should take freshly prepared hot meat broth.” The Upāsikā said: “Do not seek it elsewhere. Tomorrow I will bring it to you.” The bhikṣu said: “It is well.”
Thus the upāsikā bowed with her head at his feet, took her leave, and returned home. She thought to herself in secret: “I have gained great benefit, having seen the World-Honored One, Śāriputra, and the other great venerables. ” This thought brings forth joy from the depths of her heart. Yet she did not consider that tomorrow will be the fifteenth day. At that time, the law of the country decreed that on the fifteenth day of each month no living being should be killed. Whoever violated this law would be punished with death.
The next morning, she sent a servant with money to purchase freshly killed hot meat. The servant, carrying out her order, searched throughout the market, but nowhere could it be found, and he had to return empty-handed. When he came back he said to the mistress: “Today is the fifteenth day. In the market no animals are slaughtered.” The Upāsikā then said to the servant: “Take one thousand coins and offer them for meat worth only one hundred coins. Out of greed for profit, perhaps someone will sell it to you.” The servant, taking the money, went searching again. But because the king’s law was exceedingly severe, no one dared to sell him any. He returned and reported the matter truthfully to her. The upāsikā, hearing this, felt troubled in her heart, and said: “Take the gold coin, and whatever weight of meat you buy, give them that same weight of gold.” The servant, carrying the gold, went again to search according to his mistress’s words. Yet though the butchers were greedy for the great profit, still the king’s law was strict, and they feared for their lives, so no one dared sell him any. Thus the servant went back and forth seeking, but in the end still obtained nothing.
At that time the upāsikā’s afflictions multiplied, and she thought: “That sick bhikṣu has already accepted my promise. If I now fail to provide him the fresh meat broth he requires, he might lose his life. That would be my fault. What means can I devise?”
Thinking thus, she further reflected: “In former times, the Bodhisattva, for the sake of saving even a single dove, went so far as to cut apart his own body, sparing nothing of his flesh. How much more so now, when I am to save a bhikṣu? Even if it were only for a dove, I ought not, for the sake of cherishing my own body, refuse to save it!” Having thought thus, she took with her a trusted maidservant, one whom she often employed, and entered a quiet chamber. She first cleansed her body thoroughly, then sat cross-legged upon her bed, and commanded the maidservant: “Now cut the flesh from the inside of my thigh.” The maidservant, obeying her words, took a sharp knife and cut it. At the moment of cutting, the pain was unbearable, and she fainted, falling to the ground. The maidservant then bound the wound with fine white cotton cloth. Having cut the flesh, she cooked it together with various herbs, making a broth, and brought it to the sick bhikṣu. That bhikṣu, receiving such faith and sincerity, ate the fresh meat broth offered by the donor, and his illness was healed.
When this matter took place, her husband was not at home. At that time, as he returned from afar, he asked: “Where is Mahāsenā?” Someone answered that she was in such and such a room. The husband went to see her, and finding that her countenance had greatly changed, unlike before, he asked: “Why are you so haggard today?” She answered: “I am now afflicted with illness.” Her husband grew greatly troubled, and summoned many doctors to examine her, to know what illness she had. The doctors came and asked: “What are your symptoms? How long has this sickness endured? Are there times of respite?” She replied: “My symptom is constant pain, without any interruption.” The doctors took her pulse, yet still did not know why she was in pain, and they left in silence. Her husband, weeping, asked: “What illness is this? For the sake of the affection between us, tell me truly.” The wife answered: “Even such learned doctors do not know. How then could I know?”
Then the brāhmaṇa asked the members of the household: “Do you know what illness Mahāsenā suffers?” The servants replied: “Master, we do not know. You should ask her trusted maidservant.” The brāhmaṇa then summoned the maidservant privately, and asked her: “Why has my wife fallen ill?” The maidservant thereupon told him the truth: “Master should know—she cut flesh from her own body to save a sick bhikṣu.”
When the husband heard this, he gave rise to hatred toward the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha. In the streets and alleys he cried out loudly: “The śramaṇa, the disciple of the Śākyas, eats human flesh, just like King Stain-Feet who fed on human meat!”
At that time, the upāsakas who devote to the Three Jewels, upon hearing that the brāhmaṇa reviled the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, grew worried and unhappy. They went to the dwelling of the World-Honored One, bowed with their heads at his feet. The World-Honored One asked: “Why are you anxious and unhappy?” They replied: “World-Honored One, there is a brāhmaṇa who in the midst of a crowd loudly proclaims abuse of the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, saying: ‘In the past, King Stain-Feet ate human flesh. Now the śramaṇa, the son of the Śākyas, also eats human flesh.’ May the World-Honored One admonish the bhikṣus not to eat human meat.”
At that time, because of this matter, the World-Honored One summoned the assembly of bhikṣus and also called for the sick bhikṣu. That sick bhikṣu, upon hearing that the World-Honored One called for him, rejoiced greatly, thinking: “The World-Honored One is of great compassion, and therefore his grace extends even to me.” Thus, though his body was weak and emaciated, he struggled and managed to come. When he arrived, he bowed and sat to one side.
The Buddha asked: “Noble son, what suffering are you afflicted with?” The bhikṣu answered: “I have been harassed by illness, but today having seen the World-Honored One, my sickness has lessened somewhat.” The Buddha then asked: “What did you eat today?” The bhikṣu replied: “Today I ate meat broth.” The Buddha said: “Was it fresh meat or dried meat?” The bhikṣu answered: “It was fresh meat.” In the Sindhu, hot meat does not keep overnight. The Buddha again asked: “Virtuous man, when you ate the meat, did you inquire whether it was pure meat?” He replied: “World-Honored One, I had been long afflicted by illness. When I received the meat, I ate it at once. Truly I did not inquire.”
The Buddha said: “Bhikṣu, why did you accept impure food? The rule for bhikṣus is this: When a donor offers meat, one should first ask: ‘What meat is this?’ If the donor says, ‘This is pure meat,’ then the bhikṣu should carefully re-examine. If what the donor says is credible, then it may be eaten; if not credible, it should not be eaten.” Then the World-Honored One admonished the bhikṣus, saying: “All kinds of impure meat should not be eaten. If the meat is heard of or suspected to fall within the three kinds of impure meat, then it must not be eaten. One should thus discern whether it ought to be eaten or not.”
At that time the upāsikā, hearing that “it was precisely on account of me that the Buddha has now established the rule that the bhikṣus must not eat meat,” became deeply troubled, thinking in her heart that it was due to her own cause that the bhikṣus would forever be forbidden to eat meat. Therefore she said to her husband: “If you can, for my sake, invite the Buddha and the Saṅgha tomorrow to our house to set forth an offering, that would be excellent. But if you cannot, then I shall cast away my life. I have been willing to give even my own body’s flesh to others—what then is there for you to regret, that such a matter has arisen?”
This brāhmaṇa husband ordinarily had no faith or reverence whatsoever for the Three Jewels. But hearing the words of his wife, for her sake he went into the grove to find the Buddha. When he reached the place where the Buddha was, he said: “Śramaṇa Gautama and all your disciples, please come tomorrow to my house for the meal.” The Buddha silently accepted the invitation. The brāhmaṇa, knowing that the Buddha had accepted, returned home and told his wife: “Śramaṇa Gautama has accepted your invitation.”
So the upāsikā commanded her household to prepare various foods, flowers, and seats. On the following day, when the time of the meal had come, she sent a messenger to the grove to tell the World-Honored One: “The food and vessels are prepared; may the Holy One remember the time.”
The Buddha and the bhikṣus, putting on their robes and carrying their bowls, went to her house. When they were seated, the Buddha asked the brāhmaṇa: “Where is Mahāsenā now?” The brāhmaṇa replied: “She is in such and such a room, lying sick upon her bed.” The Buddha said: “Call her here.” The brāhmaṇa went and told Mahāsenā: “Your master calls you to come.” She replied: “I, Mahāsenā, paid the fullest reverence to the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, holding them in deepest respect. But now being afflicted with illness, I cannot rise and go before the Buddha.” Her husband then went back to the Buddha and said: “Upasena has already shown utmost reverence to the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, but because of her illness she cannot rise from her bed to come before the Buddha.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Go and tell Upasena: ‘You rise from your bed and come before the Buddha.’” Ānanda then went and said to Upasena: “The World-Honored One summons you to come before him.” At that time Upasena, from upon her bed, joined her palms and said: “Now my wish is to reverence the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha, my wish is to see the World-Honored One, and that longing is like a hungry person who urgently craves food, like a thirsty person who longs greatly for water, like one shivering in cold who yearns for warmth, like one suffering in heat who longs for cool shade, like one lost upon the road who finds again the right path. My wish to see the Buddha is just so. Though my heart longs to go, my body cannot move.” Ānanda returned and told the Buddha what Upasena had said. The Buddha then told Ānanda: “Bring her together with her bed.” Ānanda, following the Buddha’s words, had people carry Upasena together with her bed before the Buddha.
At that time the Tathāgata’s body radiated great light, and all those upon whom the Buddha’s light shone—those who were mad became sane, those who were deluded became settled, those who were ill were healed. At that time, when Upasena encountered the Buddha’s radiance, all her pains were extinguished. Then the household deity of her dwelling poured water upon her wounds and applied medicines, so that her wound was healed and restored as before. With her illness cured, Upasena immediately rose from her couch, took a golden vessel, and with her own hands presented water for washing, and then set forth various foods, complete in color, fragrance, and taste.
After the Buddha had taken the meal, and had washed his hands and bowl, he expounded for Mahāsenā subtle Dharma, namely: giving, keeping precepts, the fruits of birth among men and devas, the perils of saṃsāra, the harm of desire, the joy of release and cessation, and the revolving of the twelve causes and conditions.
Hearing the wondrous Dharma spoken by the Buddha, Upasena cut off miserly and jealous thoughts, and attained the fruit of the Anāgāmin. All the members of her household received the five precepts. Her husband also abandoned his wrong views, generated faith and reverence toward the Three Jewels, and received the upāsaka precepts. Among the fourfold assembly who were present, some attained the fruit of Srotāpanna, some attained the fruit of Sakṛdāgāmin, some attained the fruit of Anāgāmin, some attained the fruit of Arhat, and some aroused the mind of the Way. In short, whether adults or youths, all were filled with joy.
At that time, many people who feared death thought thus: “Today this woman has accomplished such a deed—cutting her own flesh to offer to a śramaṇa. This is most marvelous indeed! For us to abandon village, home, and field, what difficulty is there in that?” Thus each one abandoned village and family, went forth to seek the Way, practiced diligently, became ever more strenuous, cut off all the bonds and outflows, and attained Arhatship. At that time, in that village, faith in the Buddha Dharma was widely established and spread.
Because of these causes and conditions, those of firm resolve—even women—who recite the scriptures and Dharma and who do not begrudge their very flesh, are able to obtain the various fruits of the path. If men, striving earnestly in cultivation of the Way, do not gain great accomplishment, how could it be so? Therefore, virtuous men, you should diligently cultivate good Dharma. Those who fear birth and death can cause afflictions to grow ever lighter, and at last transcend beyond birth and death. Even if in this last Dharma age they cannot be delivered, yet by such merit they will enjoy boundless blessings among men and devas. When the World-Honored Maitreya, in five billion and six hundred and seventy million years, descends to this world to accomplish Buddhahood, he will broadly proclaim the Dharma for all beings. At that time, according to your wishes, you will be able to attain the paths of the Three Vehicles, and all will gain liberation.
Let this be respectfully upheld and practiced.
Section Twenty-Three: The Merit of Srīvṛddhi’s Renunciation (In the Tanjur version this section is in the seventh scroll, as Section Thirty-Three)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was in Magadha, in Rājagṛha, at the Kalandaka Bamboo Grove. At that time, the World-Honored One praised that renunciation accumulates great merit. Because of this cause and condition, later one can obtain abundant blessings. Whether it is permitting men or women to renounce, or allowing the slaves of one’s household to renounce, or permitting the people of one’s country to renounce, or renouncing oneself—so long as one renounces and enters into the Buddha Path, the merit is immeasurable. One who practices giving can obtain blessings for ten lives, revolving ten times in rebirth among the six heavens and among human beings, yet this still does not equal the immense merit of allowing another to renounce, or of renouncing oneself. Why is this so? The blessings obtained through giving are limited, whereas the merit accumulated through renunciation is without limit. The fruit of keeping precepts can lead one to become an immortal endowed with the five supernormal powers, enjoying heavenly blessings up to the Brahmā heavens. But in the Buddha Dharma, the reward of renunciation is Inconceivable: one can attain Nirvāṇa, and one’s blessings will never be exhausted.
Suppose someone builds a stūpa made of the seven precious substances, its height reaching to the Thirty-Three Heavens, yet the merit obtained from that still does not equal that of renunciation. Why is this so? A stūpa of the seven treasures can be destroyed by the greedy, the wicked, or the foolish, but the benefit of the Buddha Dharma obtained through renunciation can never be destroyed. When one seeks the good Dharma, nothing surpasses the Dharma of the Buddha.
If there were one hundred blind men, and a skilled physician were able to cure their eyes so that they could see, and if there were also one hundred men who had committed crimes deserving the plucking out of their eyes, and there was one person who could absolve their offenses and save their eyes—though the blessings of these two persons would be said to be immeasurable, still they do not equal the vast blessings of allowing another to renounce or of renouncing oneself. Why is this so? Though such persons may give to those people the benefit of clear vision, they can only grant benefit for a single life. Moreover, the function of fleshly eyes may still be destroyed. But to allow others to renounce, or to renounce oneself, is to repeatedly awaken and guide beings to obtain the eternal and unsurpassed Dharma-eye. The Dharma-eye will never be destroyed. Why is this so? Because through renunciation one may gain blessings among men and devas, fully enjoying immeasurable pleasures, and finally accomplish Buddhahood.
The reason one can obtain such results is because through renunciation and cultivation one can annihilate the retinue of those who follow the path of Māra, increase the seed of the Buddha, destroy all the influences of evil dharmas so that wholesome dharmas always remain within one’s mind, remove the defilements of all evil karma, and establish unsurpassed meritorious deeds. Therefore the Buddha said: the merit of renunciation is higher than Mount Sumeru, deeper than the ocean, and vaster than the expanse of space.
If there is one who obstructs or hinders another from renouncing, preventing that person from fulfilling the wish of renunciation, then this person’s sin is grave indeed. It is like one wandering in the darkness of night, unable to see anything—so too the retribution of such a person will be thus, falling into the hell of unfathomable depth, in utter darkness, unable to see anything. It is like the hundred rivers flowing into the ocean—so too all evil retribution will flow into him. It is like Mount Sumeru when consumed by the fire of the kalpa, where everything is burned away—so too this person must undergo such a kalpa, burned by hell-fire without end. It is like the most bitter kanakalohini medicine compared with crystal sugar of equal weight—such is the comparison of the retribution of good and evil.
To allow others to renounce, or to renounce oneself, is the greatest of merits. For one who renounces, the Sūtras serve as water to wash away the dust and defilements of afflictions, removing the sufferings of birth and death, and preparing for Nirvāṇa. The Vinaya serves as the feet, to tread upon the pure ground of precepts. The Abhidharma serves as the eyes, to behold good and evil of the world. One may then walk freely upon the Eightfold Path, arriving at the realm of Nirvāṇa. From this perspective, whether young or old, allowing others to renounce or renouncing oneself, one attains the greatest of blessings.
At that time the World-Honored One was in Rājagṛha, in the Kalandaka Bamboo Grove. In the city of Rājagṛha there was then a certain elder named Srīvṛddhi (in Jin language is called “Merit-Increase”), who was already one hundred years old. Having heard that the merit of renunciation is so great, he secretly thought to himself: “Could I today, under the Dharma of the Buddha, renounce the household life and cultivate the Way?” Thereupon he took leave of his wife, children, slaves, and all, saying: “I wish to renounce.” But being already advanced in years, the members of his household, both great and small, had grown weary of him, and paid little regard to his words, thinking him to be of no further use. When they heard that he wished to renounce, they all laughed and said: “You should have renounced long ago. Why only now do you think of it? Yet even now, going forth is just the right time.” Thus Srīvṛddhi left his home and went to the Bamboo Grove, wishing to see the World-Honored One and request the Dharma of renunciation.
When he arrived at the grove, he asked the bhikṣus there: “Where is the Buddha, the World-Honored One, the Great Sage of boundless compassion who widely benefits beings?” The bhikṣus answered: “The Tathāgata, the World-Honored One, has gone forth to teach and transform beings. You cannot see him now.” Srīvṛddhi asked again: “Among those whose wisdom is second only to the Buddha’s, who is the great master?” The bhikṣus told him: “It is the venerable Śāriputra.”
He then leaned upon his staff and went to the abode of Śāriputra. Putting aside his staff, he bowed in reverence and said: “Venerable master, please permit me to renounce.” At that time, Śāriputra looked at this man and thought to himself: “This person is so extremely old, deficient in all three matters: he can no longer study and ask, he cannot sit in meditation, he cannot assist in the affairs.” Therefore he said to him: “You may go. You are old and advanced in years. You cannot renounce.”
Then Srīvṛddhi went to Mahākāśyapa, to Upāli, to Aniruddha, and others, requesting to renounce, but was not permitted. He then went to five hundred great Arhats with the same request. They all asked him: “Before coming to us, did you ask anyone else?” He replied: “I first sought the World-Honored One, but he was not present. I then found Śāriputra.” These Arhats asked: “What did Śāriputra say to you?” He replied: “Śāriputra told me: ‘You are old and advanced in years; you cannot renounce.’”
These bhikṣus then said: “Śāriputra is foremost in wisdom, and yet he does not permit you to renounce. How then could we permit it? This is like a skilled physician abandoning an incurable patient—then all the lesser physicians, too, refuse, for they know that such a patient must surely die.” Since even one such as Śāriputra, possessed of wisdom, did not allow him to renounce, so too the other bhikṣus did not permit him.
Having requested the bhikṣus without obtaining permission, Srīvṛddhi left the Bamboo Grove and sat upon the threshold. At first he was grieved and wept softly; then he raised his voice and cried aloud, saying: “From my birth until now, I have committed no great offenses. Why, then, am I not allowed to renounce? Upāli was originally but a lowly barber who shaved others’ heads; Niti was one who cleaned filth for others; Aṅgulimāla once slew countless beings; Dānasaji was once a great thief and an evil man. Such people have been able to renounce—what crime have I committed that I alone am not allowed to renounce?”
As he spoke these words, the World-Honored One suddenly appeared before him, radiating great light. The Buddha’s form was dignified, like the seven-jeweled chariot of Śakra, Lord of the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven. The Buddha asked Merit-Increase: “Why are you weeping?”
At that time the elder, hearing the Brahmā-voice of the Buddha, rejoiced in his heart, like a son who beholds his father. He prostrated with his five limbs at the Buddha’s feet and, weeping, said to the Buddha: “Among beings, there are those who have killed and stolen, those who have lied and slandered, those who have done the most base and lowly tasks—and they have all been permitted to renounce. What offense have I committed that I alone am not permitted to renounce? In my household they think me old and useless; now the Dharma of the Buddha too will not allow me to renounce. If I return home, my family will surely not let me come again. Where can I go? I may as well die here on this spot.”
At that time, the Buddha said to Srīvṛddhi: “Who is there who can raise his hand in the sky and make such a fixed declaration: ‘This man may renounce, and this man may not’?” The elder then said to the Buddha: “World-Honored One, it was the foremost son of the Dharma King, the one of supreme wisdom, second only to the Buddha, the second great teacher of the world—Śāriputra—who did not permit me to renounce and cultivate the Dharma.”
Then the World-Honored One, moved by great compassion and pity, comforted Merit-Increase as a loving father comforts a devoted son, and said: “Do not grieve. I shall now allow you to renounce. Śāriputra has not for three asaṃkhyeya kalpas practiced with strenuous diligence; Śāriputra has not for a hundred kalpas cultivated blessings. Śāriputra has not, through countless lives, endured sufferings, giving away his head split open, his eyes plucked out, his marrow, skull, flesh, skin, bones, hands, feet, ears, and nose in alms. Śāriputra has not cast himself into the mouth of a starving tigress, has not thrown himself into a pit of fire, has not endured nails driven a thousand times into his body, nor cut flesh from his body to hollow out a thousand lamps. Śāriputra has not given away kingdoms, cities, wives, sons, slaves, elephants, horses, and the seven treasures in generosity. Śāriputra has not, in the first asaṃkhyeya kalpa, made offerings to eighty-eight thousand Buddhas; in the middle asaṃkhyeya kalpa, made offerings to ninety-nine thousand Buddhas; in the last asaṃkhyeya kalpa, made offerings to one hundred thousand Buddhas, thereby entering renunciation, keeping precepts, and perfecting the Pāramitā of Śīla. Śāriputra has not within the Dharma attained unobstructed mastery. How, then, could he decide: ‘This man may renounce, that man may not’? It is I alone who within the Dharma am unhindered. I alone ride the jeweled chariot of the Six Pāramitās. I wear the armor of patience. I sat beneath the Bodhi Tree upon the vajra seat, subdued Māra, and alone attained Buddhahood, without equal. Follow me, and I shall allow you to renounce.”
Thus the World-Honored One by various means comforted him. Srīvṛddhi cast off his afflictions, rejoiced greatly in his heart, and followed behind the Buddha, entering the Buddha’s monastery.
The Buddha then said to Mahāmaudgalyāyana: “Permit Srīvṛddhi to renounce. Why so? Beings all receive deliverance according to their causes and conditions. There are those who, having conditions with the Buddha, can be delivered by the Buddha; others cannot. There are those who, having conditions with others, the Buddha cannot deliver them. If they have conditions with Śāriputra, or with Maudgalyāyana, Kāśyapa, Aniruddha, Kimbila, and the other disciples, the Buddha cannot deliver them. Thus, turning in this way according to conditions, those without conditions cannot be delivered.”
At that time Maudgalyāyana thought: “This man is old and aged. He lacks the ability to recite sūtras, to practice meditation, or to assist in the affairs of the community. Yet the Dharma King, the Buddha, commands that he be allowed to renounce—this must not be disobeyed.” Therefore he permitted him to renounce and conferred upon him the full precepts.
This man, from past lives, had already planted the causes and conditions for liberation. Just as a fish swallows a hook, he swallowed the hook of Dharma and would surely be pulled out. Already he had cultivated and accumulated all manner of meritorious virtues, and now, applying himself day and night with diligence, he studied and recited the Sūtras, Vinaya, and Abhidharma, and thus came to be widely versed in the Dharma store. Yet because of his old age, he was unable at all times to pay reverence, to rise in greeting, or to inquire after the well-being of the senior monks. The younger bhikṣus, because they had renounced before him and so held seniority, often spoke harsh words toward him: “This old bhikṣu, leaning on his age, and proud of his skill in sūtra-recitation and knowledge, is arrogant and lacking in reverence.”
At that time, the old bhikṣu thought to himself: “When I was a householder, I was detested and scolded by both the elders and the young ones at home. Now that I have renounced and become a śramaṇa, I had hoped to find rest and peace, yet I am again despised by the young bhikṣus. What evil deeds have I committed that led me to such a state today?” Thus his affliction grew even deeper. He then thought again: “I would rather die.”
At that time, beside the bamboo grove there was a great river, deep and swift. So he went to its bank, took off his light outer robe and hung it on a tree branch, knelt respectfully toward the saṅghāṭi, and with flowing tears made this vow: “Today I do not abandon the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha; I only wish to abandon my life. I dedicate this saṅghāṭi I wear as a gift to those who uphold the precepts, are vigorous, and recite the scriptures. If there is any retribution for this, may I, after discarding this body, be reborn in a rich and noble family, a joyful family, with harmonious relatives. May I attain wholesome dharmas, without obstruction or difficulty. May I constantly encounter the Three Jewels, be able to renounce and cultivate the path, meet a good spiritual teacher who instructs and guides me, and enable me to reach Nirvāṇa.” After making this vow, he sought to throw himself into the river’s raging torrent.
At that time,Maudgalyāyana, with his divine eye, observed: “What is my old disciple doing?” Suddenly he saw his disciple about to abandon his body and plunge into the water. Just before he entered the water, in that critical moment, Mahāmaudgalyāyana, by his supernatural power, caught him and set him back on the bank. He asked: “Son of the Dharma, what are you doing?” Śrīvṛddhi was deeply ashamed and thought to himself: “How should I answer? I should not deceive my Master with false speech. If I deceive my Master, I will incur offenses for countless lifetimes and be without a tongue. Moreover, my Master’s spiritual powers are profound and wondrous; he penetrates all things. Even if I wished to deceive him, he would know. In the world, if there is someone who possesses both wisdom and an upright, honest nature, even the devas should revere him. If one lacks wisdom but harbors deceit, such a person, if he becomes a teacher, others may still honor and make offerings to him. If one lacks wisdom but is honest and sincere, though not possessing both, this is sufficient for him to perfect himself. But if one is foolish and also harbors deceit, then among all living beings, this type is the most base and inferior. Everything he says, people know to be deceptive words. All will say: ‘This person constantly speaks falsely; he is not truthful.’ As a result, even when he speaks truthfully, people do not believe him. Therefore, if I were to deceive this Master, it is something I cannot do. I should explain truthfully.” Thereupon he said to his Master: “I was unwilling in the household life and therefore renounced, hoping to find rest. But now I find no joy, so I wished to abandon my life.”
Hearing this, Maudgalyāyana thought: “If this person does not develop fear and dread toward the terrors of birth and death, he will be unable to attain the benefits of renunciation.” So he told him: “Now focus your mind single‑pointedly, grasp the corner of my robe, and do not let go midway.” He followed his Master’s instruction and, like dust or a blade of grass caught in the wind, rose up into the empty sky. Mahāmaudgalyāyana employed his supernatural powers, flying through the sky; carrying the old bhikṣu was as light as holding a single feather, and he could go anywhere at will. At that time, Mmaudgalyāyana, like a fierce eagle carrying a small bird in its beak, bore Śrīvṛddhi through the air. He exercised his supernatural powers and in an instant arrived at the edge of the great sea.
By the seashore there was a woman who had recently died. Her features were comely and her body beautiful, but a worm was seen coming out from her mouth, then entering again through her nose; then it came out from her eyes and went in through her ears. Mahāmaudgalyāyana stood watching, and after observing, he left. Śrīvṛddhi said: “Master, what is this woman, and how did she come to such a condition?” Mahāmaudgalyāyana told him: “When the time comes, I will tell you.”
After walking forward for a while, a woman carrying a bronze cauldron on her back. She set it down, filled it with water, lit a fire beneath it, and blew upon the flames until they blazed fiercely. The water soon boiled, and she took off her clothes and leapt into the cauldron. Within the boiling water, her hair and nails were the first to fall off. When her flesh was cooked, it separated from her bones. The boiling water caused the bones to leap out of the cauldron, but as the wind blew upon them, they reassembled into a human form again. The woman then reached into the cauldron and scooped out her own cooked flesh to eat. Seeing this, Merit-Increase was terrified, his heart pounding and his hair standing on end. He said, “Master, what kind of person is this, who eats her own flesh?” Maudgalyāyana replied, “When the time comes, I will tell you.”
After walking forward for a while, they saw a great body, completely surrounded and bitten by countless insects, so much so that even the joints of the bones were filled with worms. The whole body was densely covered with insects, like countless needles piercing the flesh. Constantly there arose miserable cries and wailing, echoing far and near, sounding as though coming from the hells. Srīvṛddhi said, “Master, these sorrowful cries—what kind of person is making them?” Maudgalyāyana replied, “When the time comes, I will tell you.”
Then they saw a giant man surrounded by many evil spirits with beast heads and human bodies. In their hands they held bows, crossbows, and tridents tipped with poisoned arrows, the arrowheads burning with fire. All at once they shot at the man, and his body was scorched and blackened. Srīvṛddhi asked, “Master, what kind of person suffers such pain? Is there nowhere he can escape?” The Master said, “Do not ask yet. When the time comes, I will tell you.”
Walking forward again for some time, they saw a great cliff. Beneath the cliff stood countless sharp weapons—swords, halberds, spears, and lances. They saw a man throwing himself down from the cliff, and as he fell, the swords, halberds, and lances pierced his body. He then pulled out the blades from his flesh, set them upright again in their original places, climbed back up the cliff, and leapt down once more, repeating the same cycle endlessly without rest. Having witnessed this scene, Srīvṛddhi again said to his Master, “What kind of person is this, who endures such suffering here?” Maudgalyāyana said, “Do not ask yet. When the time comes, I will tell you.”
Walking further ahead, they saw a great mountain made of piled-up bones, seven hundred yojanas high, blocking the sky and sun, and making the sea beneath appear black. At that time, Maudgalyāyana was walking back and forth upon one of the great ribs on that mountain of bones.
The disciple followed behind, thinking to himself: “Now that the Master seems to have nothing urgent, why should I not ask him about what we saw just now?” Having thought this, he said, “May the Master explain to me the scenes we have just witnessed.” Maudgalyāyana said, “Now is the proper time.” The disciple then asked, “Master, who was the first woman we saw?” Maudgalyāyana answered, “She was the wife of a great merchant of Śrāvastī. She was very beautiful, and her husband cherished and respected her deeply. When the merchant wished to go upon the ocean, he could not bear to part with his beloved wife, so as he was about to set sail, he brought her along with five hundred traders aboard the ship. While at sea, this woman would often place a mirror upon three pieces of wood and gaze at her own reflection. Seeing her own beauty, she gave rise to arrogance and self-admiration. At that time, a giant turtle struck the ship with its feet, breaking it apart. The ship sank to the bottom of the sea, and the merchant, his wife, and the five hundred traders all drowned. The law of the ocean is that it does not accept corpses; when the waves return to shore, the yakṣas and rākṣasas cast the dead bodies upon the coast.”
“After sentient beings come to the end of their lives, according to the place they had in mind before death, they are born there after death. Some may raise an objection, saying: ‘If one’s rebirth follows what one thinks of before dying, then who in life would delight in hell and yet be born in hell after death?” The answer is this: “If a person steals the property of the Three Jewels or of his parents, or commits great crimes such as killing, he will fall into the hell of blazing fire. Such a person, being tormented by wind, cold, and fever, constantly thinks of fire and wishes to enter it. Having such thoughts, when his life ends, he falls into that hell.
If someone steals lamps or offerings of the Buddha, or steals Saṅghas’ lamps, candles, firewood, or grass; or destroys and tears down Saṅghas’ monastic dwellings, houses, or lecture halls; or strips others of their clothing during the cold of winter; or, relying on his own power, pours water upon servants or others in freezing weather; or robs others of their garments—such people, as the retribution for their offenses, fall into the hell of frozen ice. These are people who, being afflicted by heat-disease, constantly think of cold places, and as they entertain such thoughts, they are born in these hells. Those who fall into the utpala, padma, kumuda, or puṇḍarīka hells are of the same kind. In those hells, the bodies of the condemned freeze and split open like roasted beans bursting apart; their brains burst out, their skulls shatter into thousands and millions of pieces, and the bones of their bodies are cleaved open like arrows being split.
If a person is greedy and miserly, cutting off the daily food and sustenance of others, after death he falls into hell and becomes a hungry ghost, afflicted with the disease of inverted breath, unable to swallow any food. Those who attend upon him, knowing his illness, try by various means to persuade him, saying: “This is sweet, this is sour, this one is delicious and easy to digest; you should force yourself to eat.” Hearing this, he gives rise to disgust and says, “When will I no longer have to see food before my eyes?” At that time he dies and is born among the hungry ghosts.
If a person is ignorant and foolish, without faith or reverence for the Three Jewels, and slanders or defames the Buddha’s teaching, he will be reborn among the animals. When such a person is stricken with illness, he can only lie face-down upon his bed, unable to lie on his back or on his side, unwilling to listen to good words. Those around him, knowing that he is certain to die, do their utmost to exhort him, saying: “You should listen to the Dharma, receive vegetarian vows and precepts, look upon the image of the Buddha, visit the bhikṣus, and make offerings.” But this person feels displeased; because others are pressing him to do good, he gives rise to an evil thought: “May I be born in a place where the good names of the Three Jewels are never heard—there I shall be joyful beyond measure.” When he dies with such a thought, he is born among the animals.
If there is a person who cultivates good deeds and plants causes leading to rebirth among humans or devas, such a person will not be afflicted by severe illness, and at the time of death his mind will not be confused. Those close to him, knowing that he is about to die, encourage him, saying: “Do you wish to hear the Dharma? Do you wish to look upon the image of the Buddha? Do you wish to hear the bhikṣus recite sūtras and verses? Do you wish to receive vegetarian vows or make offerings of wealth to Buddha images?” To all this he agrees. Then they tell him: “By making offerings to the image of the Buddha, you will attain the Buddha Path; by making offerings to the Dharma, you will, wherever you are reborn, gain wisdom and understanding of the Dharma’s nature; by making offerings to the Saṅgha, you will, wherever you are reborn, obtain abundant treasures, freely enjoy them, and never be exhausted.” Hearing this, the dying man joyfully says: “May I, wherever I am reborn, always encounter the Three Jewels, hear the Buddha’s teaching, and thereby attain awakening and understanding.” At that moment he dies, and is reborn among human beings.
If there is a person who broadly cultivates the wholesome causes leading to rebirth among the heavens—who gives with purity, upholds precepts, delights in hearing the Dharma, and practices the Ten Wholesome Deeds—then at the time of death, he will lie peacefully and steadily upon his bed, see the image of the Buddha, celestial palaces, and heavenly maidens, and hear heavenly music. His countenance will be serene, his hands raised upward; when he passes away, he will be reborn in the celestial palace.’
“The wife of that merchant, being self-cherishing and full of attachment to herself, after her death was reborn, and her former body turned into worms. When she lose the worm-body, she then fell into the great hells, suffering boundless torment.”
Srīvṛddhi said, “Master, who was that woman who ate her own flesh?” Maudgalyāyana told him, “She was the maidservant of a upāsikā in Śrāvastī. That upāsikā had invited a pure and precept-abiding bhikṣu, and for the ninety days of the summer retreat, she supplied him with all necessities. Beside her own home, she built a lodging and made arrangements for his residence, personally preparing various fragrant, delicious, and sweet foods. When the time came to eat, she sent her maid to deliver the meal to the bhikṣu. The maid took the food, and when she reached a place where no one was around, she picked out the tastiest portions and ate them first, leaving the rest to deliver to the bhikṣu. The mistress noticed that her maid’s complexion looked bright and well-nourished, as if she had just eaten, and asked, ‘Have you defiled the bhikṣu’s offering?’ The maid replied, ‘Mistress, I am an honest and trustworthy person, not one of false or corrupt mind—how could I eat first? It was after the bhikṣu had eaten that he left some remains for me, and only then did I eat a little. If I have eaten first and stolen from the bhikṣu’s food, may I in every life hereafter eat the flesh of my own body.’ Because of this vow, she first received a lighter retribution in this very life, and after death she fell into the great hells, suffering endless torment as the result of her deed.”
Merit-Increase then said, “The one we saw before, the great body being bitten by countless insects and crying out in agony—who was that?” Maudgalyāyana told Merit-Increase, “That was the laulya bhikṣu of manager of affairs. Because he had authority over the monastery’s provisions, he gave away countless monastic goods, flowers, fruits, and foods to laypeople. For this he now suffers the retribution of this very life; at the end of his life he fell into the great hells. The insects that bite and devour him are those very people who once received those goods.”
Merit-Increase said, “Master, and the man who cried out in great anguish, whose body was pierced and burned by the many arrows—who was he?” Maudgalyāyana replied, “That man, in a former life, was a great hunter who harmed and killed many birds and beasts. Because of that crime he now endures such suffering; after death he fell into the great hells, remaining there for a long, long time without escape.”
Then he asked again, “Master, the one who threw himself down from the cliff, whose body was pierced and slashed by swords, spears, and halberds, and who, after falling, climbed back up only to leap again—who was that person?” Maudgalyāyana told him, “He was a mighty general in Rājagṛha, a man of great strength and valor, always charging ahead in battle as the vanguard. Often he killed others with swords, spears, and halberds; therefore he suffers this retribution. After death he fell into the great hells, where he endures long and unending suffering.”
Merit-Increase then said again, “And this great mountain of bones before our eyes—whose bones are these?” Maudgalyāyana told him, “If you truly wish to know, these are the bones of your former body.” When Srīvṛddhi heard these words, his heart quaked with terror, his hair stood on end, and sweat poured down from his body. He said, “While my heart has not yet broken apart, please tell me the beginning and end of this karmic cause.” Maudgalyāyana told him, “The cycle of birth and death is without end; the retribution of good and evil deeds is never false. Whatever karma one creates, one will surely follow it and receive its result.”
Maudgalyāyana further said: “In a past age of this Jambudvīpa there was a king named Dharmavṛddhi (in the language of Qin meaning Dharma-Increase). He delighted in giving, upheld the precepts, listened to the Dharma, was compassionate, and had a nature entirely free from anger and cruelty. He did not harm living beings and possessed all the marks of a king. For twenty years he governed his country according to the Dharma. In moments of leisure after completing affairs of state, he would amuse himself with contests and games.
“At that time there was a man guilty of murder. The ministers reported to the king: ‘Outside there is a criminal. What punishment shall be given?’ The king, absorbed in play, spoke offhandedly: ‘Judge him according to the law of the land.’ According to the law then, murderers were sentenced to death. So that man was executed.
“When the king finished his play, he asked his ministers, ‘Where is the criminal just now? I wish to pronounce judgment.’ The ministers replied to the king, ‘According to the law of the land, he has already been executed.’ Hearing this, the king fainted upon the ground. The ministers sprinkled cold water upon his face. After a long while he revived, and with tears streaming he said, ‘Where will the palace women, courtesans, elephants, horses, and the seven treasures all go? Only I alone will be in hell enduring all kinds of suffering. Before I became king there was already a king ruling in this palace; when I soon die, there will again be a king ruling in this palace. Though I am king, I have harmed human life. I know this is like King Caṇḍāla—who knows where I shall be reborn in future lives? I now resolve never again to be king.’ So he renounced the throne and withdrew into the mountains and forests.”
“Later, when the king died, he was reborn in the ocean as a makara fish, seven hundred yojanas in length. The petty kings and ministers, relying upon their power, devoured the people like fish, estranged from the populace and making light of human life. After death most of them became great makara fish. They were constantly bitten by various insects upon their bodies, as if itching from fine hairs. The insects clinging to them were of the same kind. Because the itching upon their bodies was unbearable, they rubbed themselves against the Glass Mountain, thereby killing the insects. The blood of the insects polluted the ocean, turning a forty miles of water blood-red. Because of this sin, when their lives ended they fell into the great hells.
“At that time the makara fish slept for a hundred years. Feeling hungry and thirsty, it opened its great mouth, and the seawater rushed into it like a great river. Just then five hundred merchants entered the sea to seek treasures. By chance, as the fish opened its mouth, their ship sped directly toward it. Seeing this, the merchants were terrified and wailed loudly, saying, ‘Today we surely face death. Each of us should now recollect those whom we most revere.’ Thus some recollected the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha; some recollected the gods, the spirits of mountains and rivers, and the names of their fathers, mothers, wives, children, and brothers. They said, ‘Today is the last time we shall see Jambudvīpa; after this we shall see it no more.’
“At that moment, as the ship was about to enter the makara fish’s mouth, the merchants all together recited ‘Namo Buddha.’ When the fish heard the sound of ‘Namo Buddha,’ it immediately closed its mouth, the sea water ceased pouring in, and the merchants escaped from death. Because the fish was tormented by hunger, it died then and was reborn in Rājagṛha. The yakṣas and rākṣasas of the sea cast its body upon the shore. Exposed to sun and rain, the flesh of the fish decayed away by the wind, but its bones remained. That mountain of bones you saw is this.”
“Merit-Increase! You should know, at that time King Dharma-Increase was you. Because of the killing you committed, you fell into the sea and became a makara fish. Now you have regained a human body, yet you do not grow weary of birth and death. If you die now, you will fall into hell, and to come forth again will be difficult indeed.”
At that time, Srīvṛddhi saw his own former body, and after hearing Maudgalyāyana’s words, he became fearful of birth and death. Right there he began to cultivate the Buddha’s teaching. Contemplating step by step the causes and conditions, he concentrated his mind and contemplated his former existence, and he came to understand the truth of impermanence. He developed detachment to birth and death. All defilements were extinguished, and he attained Arhatship.
Maudgalyāyana rejoiced and said to him, “Son of the Dharma, all that you ought to have done has now been done. You came here by relying upon my power; now you may return by relying upon your own.” Then Maudgalyāyana rose into the air, and Srīvṛddhi followed after him, like a small bird following its mother, flying back together to the Bamboo Grove.
At that time, the young bhikṣus, not knowing that Srīvṛddhi had already attained the Way, still spoke to him as before, mocking him with irreverent words. But now Srīvṛddhi’s mind was calm and gentle, his appearance dignified, his demeanor serene; he remained silent without reply. The Buddha, knowing this matter, out of compassion for the assembly of bhikṣus and protect them from commit unwholesome acts , and wishing also to reveal the virtue of the elder bhikṣu, called out before the assembly, saying: “Merit-Increase, come here. Did you go to the seashore today?” Merit-Increase replied, “I did, World-Honored One.” The Buddha said, “Now, you may tell what you have seen.” Merit-Increase then recounted to the World-Honored One all that he had witnessed. The Buddha said, “Excellent! Excellent! Bhikṣu Merit-Increase, just as you have seen, you are now freed from the suffering of birth and death, and have attained the bliss of Nirvāṇa. You are worthy of offerings from devas and humans. The tasks a bhikṣu ought to accomplish—you have all completed.”
When the young bhikṣus heard the Buddha’s words, they were filled with deep shame and remorse. They thought, “Toward such a wise and virtuous one, we, in our ignorance, gave rise to evil minds and slandered him—why should we deserve such karmic retribution?” Then all the young bhikṣus rose from their seats, went before Merit-Increase, and bowed to the ground with the five parts of their bodies, saying, “All virtuous men are born together with compassion. Great Venerable One, in this life too you should dwell together with great compassion. We earnestly beg that the Venerable One show pity toward us and accept our repentance.”
Merit-Increase said, “I harbor no unkind thought toward you all; I accept your repentance.” Seeing that the young bhikṣus were fearful and uneasy, he expounded the Dharma for them. Hearing his teaching, the bhikṣus detached from birth and death, became diligent and zealous, cultivated virtue, severed all afflictions, and attained Arhatship.
The story of Merit-Increase’s cause and conditions thereafter spread widely throughout Rājagṛha. Everyone said, “How wondrous! How extraordinary! This venerable elder, who was old and feeble in this very city and had no accomplishments—now, having renounced the world in the Buddha’s Dharma, has attained the Way and revealed such marvelous and rare teachings.” Then the people of the city all gave rise to pure minds; some granted freedom to their male and female servants and permitted others to renounce; some themselves renounced and entered the Path. The populace rejoiced greatly, exhorting one another to renounce. From this cause it is known that the merit of renouncing the household life is boundless and inexhaustible.
Merit-Increase, though he renounced the world after a hundred years of age, yet accomplished such great merit. Therefore, for those who, in the prime of their lives, wish to attain the great fruits, it is all the more fitting that they should diligently cultivate the Dharma and renounce to pursue the Way.
Let this be respectfully upheld and practiced.
Dharma Torch 