Translated by śramaṇas Hui Jue etc. from Liangzhou of the Yuan Wei Dynasty in Gaochang Commandery
Section Twenty-Four: Sāmaṇera Upheld the Percept and Abandoned Life (In the Tanjur version this section is in the Seventh Scroll, as Section Thirty-Four)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the country of Ayodhyā. Then, the World-Honored One earnestly praised those who uphold the precepts—those who protect and maintain discipline, who would rather abandon their body or even their life than violate the precepts. Why is this so?
The precepts are the foundation for entering the path, the wondrous road that leads to the exhaustion of defilements, the smooth and direct way toward the serene joy of Nirvāṇa. If one can uphold pure precepts, the resulting merit and virtue are boundless and immeasurable. Just as the ocean is vast and immeasurable, so too is the ocean of precepts.
It is like how in the ocean dwell many mighty beings such as asuras, tortoises, turtles, and makara fish; so too in the ocean of precepts dwell the great multitudes of beings of the three vehicles. Just as the ocean contains many treasures—gold, silver, beryl, and the like—so too the ocean of precepts contains many wholesome dharmas: the four impermanences, the thirty-seven factors of enlightenment, the various dhyānas and samādhis, all these precious jewels. Just as the ocean has adamantine vajra as its base and is surrounded by the adamantine mountains, and the four great rivers flow into it without increasing or decreasing its waters, so too the ocean of precepts has the Vinaya as its foundation, is encircled by Mount Abhidharma, and the four Āgama rivers flow into it—yet it always remains deep and clear, neither increasing nor decreasing. Why is this so? Because the flames of the Avīci hell below rise upward toward the ocean, thereby causing its waters not to increase; yet the great rivers continually flow into it, and so its waters do not decrease. Likewise, the ocean of the Buddha’s precepts does not increase because it is free from indulgence and distraction, and it does not decrease because it is endowed with merit and virtue. Thus it is known that those who can uphold the precepts possess great virtue indeed.
After the Buddha’s parinirvāṇa, there was in the country of Ayodhyā a bhikṣu who begged for his food. He delighted in dwelling alone in secluded places, and his bearing was most dignified. The Buddha praised bhikṣus who live by alms, not those who dwell among the multitude. Why? Because the bhikṣu who lives by alms is one of few desires and contentment, not hoarding or storing up possessions. He begs from house to house, sits in the open wherever he may be, and his attitude toward his single meal and three robes is worthy of respect and reverence. But those who dwell among the multitude of bhikṣus harbor endless desires; they accumulate possessions, are greedy, miserly, and envious of others, and thus cannot gain a good reputation. That bhikṣu who begged for his food was virtuous and accomplished in conduct. He attained the fruit of a śramaṇa, possessed the six superknowledges and the three knowledges, abided in the eight liberations, his demeanor was majestic, and his fame spread far and wide.
At that time in the country of Ayodhyā there was an upāsaka who revered and had faith in the Three Jewels. He upheld the five precepts—abstaining from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, and intoxicants. He practiced giving everywhere and cultivated virtue diligently, so that throughout the whole kingdom and its cities his good reputation was known. Therefore, he respectfully invited that bhikṣu who begged for his food and made offerings to him for life.
The merit gained from making offerings differs according to the cause. If one invites the community of Saṅghas to one’s home to make offerings, it hinders their cultivation; the Saṅghas must travel far, enduring cold and heat, and thus when the donor receives the reward of that offering, he too must think and travel before he can enjoy it. But if one personally goes to make the offering, then when the time comes to enjoy the reward, he can freely partake of it. Therefore, that upāsaka prepared many kinds of exquisite food, complete in color, fragrance, and taste, and sent people personally to deliver them day by day, without fail.
There are four kinds of śramaṇas, good and bad, which are difficult for people to discern clearly, just as it is difficult to tell whether an āmra fruit is ripe or unripe. There are bhikṣus whose appearance is dignified, whose gait is slow and graceful, whose sight and hearing are keen and alert, yet inwardly they harbor greed, desire, anger, doubt, and all defilements that destroy the precepts and contradict the Dharma—these are like the āmra fruit that is ripe on the outside but raw within. There are bhikṣus whose outward behavior appears improper and not in accordance with decorum, yet inwardly they possess the śramaṇa’s virtues, concentration, and wisdom—these are like the āmra fruit that is ripe within but raw on the outside. There are bhikṣus whose appearance is coarse, who violate the precepts, create evil deeds, and whose hearts are full of greed, anger, doubt, stinginess, and jealousy—these are like the āmra fruit that is raw both within and without. And there are bhikṣus whose bearing is dignified and graceful, who uphold the precepts firmly, and who inwardly are fully endowed with the śramaṇa’s virtues, concentration, and wisdom—these are like the āmrā fruit that is ripe through and through, inside and out. That bhikṣu who begged for his food was perfect both inwardly and outwardly, just like the fully ripened āmrā fruit. His virtue was complete, and therefore he was revered and honored by all.
At that time, within that country there was an elder who had deep faith and reverence for the Three Jewels. He had a son, and thus he thought to himself: “I wish for him to renounce and go forth; therefore, I must seek a worthy teacher to entrust him to. The reason is that by approaching a virtuous spiritual friend, one increases wholesome dharmas; by approaching an evil companion, one gives rise to unwholesome dharmas. This is like the nature of the wind—it is originally empty and without substance, yet if it blows from a sandalwood or a campaka forest, it carries a wondrous fragrance; but if it blows from dung or a decaying corpse, it becomes foul. Again, it is like a clean garment: if placed in a box of perfume, when taken out it is fragrant; but if placed in a filthy, stinking place, it becomes foul as well. If one draws near good and virtuous friends, one’s wholesome mind will gradually flourish; conversely, if one draws near wicked friends, one’s evil mind will increase day by day. Therefore, I shall entrust my son to this venerable one so that he may renounce the household life.”
Then he went to see the bhikṣu and said: “I have a son, and I now wish for him to renounce. I only hope that you, venerable one, will compassionately accept him and deliver him. If you do not accept him, I shall have to take him home again.” At that time, the bhikṣu looked upon him with the eye of wisdom and thought, “After renouncing, this one will surely be able to uphold the precepts and increase the Buddha Dharma.” Therefore, he accepted him and gave him the tonsure, ordaining him as a sāmaṇera.”
At that time, the upāsaka had a lay friend who was close to him. That layman invited the upāsaka, together with his wife and all the household servants, to be guests at his home on the following day. Early in the morning, the upāsaka said: “Today we are to be guests at another’s house, but who will guard our home? If I force someone to remain, though it is within his duty, it would still be unfair; if anyone voluntarily stays behind, when I return I shall surely reward them.” The upāsaka’s daughter then said: “May my father, mother, and all the household servants set their minds at ease and attend the gathering; I will remain to guard the house.” Her father was delighted and said: “Excellent, excellent! You guard the house—it is no different from your mother and me being here. We have no worries for the gain or loss of the household possessions.” Thus, the entire household went to the gathering, and the daughter securely closed all doors and windows, remaining alone at home.
That day, the upāsaka went in haste and forgot to send the meal. At that time, the venerable one thought: “It is already growing late, and worldly people, burdened with many affairs, may have forgotten to send food. I shall simply send someone to fetch it.” He then said to the sāmaṇera: “Go and fetch the meal. Your conduct should be dignified, as the Buddha has said: ‘When entering a village for alms, do not give rise to greed; like the bee that gathers the flavor of flowers, it takes only the essence without harming the flower’s color or fragrance.’ You too must be like this today. When you go to the house for food, be sure to restrain the sense faculties; do not become attached to forms, sounds, scents, tastes, or tactile sensations. If you can uphold the precepts, you will certainly accomplish the Buddha Path.
There are some, such as Devadatta, who often recited sūtras and Dharma verses, yet because they committed evil deeds and destroyed the precepts, they fell into the Avīci Hell. Some, like Kokālika, slandered others and broke the precepts, and thus also fell into the hell. Some, such as Śuddhipanthaka, though reciting only a single verse, because of upholding the precepts attained the fruit of Arhatship. Moreover, by steadfastly keeping the precepts, one enters the gate of Nirvāṇa and thereby gains true happiness.
Some people who, during a long fast of three or four months, invited many brāhmaṇas who upheld the precepts. This was a selective invitation, not a general one. At the time of invitation, they sealed the bowls with honey as a mark. One brāhmaṇa, though also reciting the scriptures, was of impure nature and greedy for sweetness; he licked away all the honey that sealed his bowl. The next day, when they came to the assembly, each brāhmaṇa had to show his honey seal in order to enter. He, having no seal, wished to go in. The steward asked, ‘Do you have the seal?’ He replied, ‘I did, but the honey was sweet, so I licked it all.’ The steward said, ‘Then you have already eaten enough.’ Because of his craving for a small sweetness, he lost the fine, fragrant meals of the four-month fast and the many treasures bestowed at the conclusion of the dakṣiṇā offering.
You today must be the same: do not covet the petty desires of the world and thereby destroy the precepts, losing the delightful pleasures of the five desires of men and devas, as well as the boundless treasures of the thirty-seven factors free from defilements and the bliss of Nirvāṇa. Do not destroy the precepts upheld by the Buddhas of the three times, nor defile the Three Jewels, nor bring impurity to your parents and teachers.””
The sāmaṇera received the instruction, made obeisance, and departed. When he arrived at their house, he knocked on the door. The girl within asked, “Who is it?” He replied, “A sāmaṇera come to receive food for my preceptor.” Hearing this, joy arose in her heart, and she thought, “Now my wish will be fulfilled.” She opened the door. That girl had a graceful form and a lovely countenance. She was sixteen years of age and was consumed by the fire of desire. Before the sāmaṇera she displayed all kinds of seductive gestures—swaying her shoulders, glancing back at her own shadow, her movements full of longing and temptation.
When the sāmaṇera beheld this, he thought to himself, “Is this woman afflicted with a wind illness, madness, or the falling-sickness? Will this woman, through lust, destroy my pure cultivation?” He immediately restrained his deportment and kept his expression unchanged. Then the girl prostrated herself with her five limbs on the ground and said to the sāmaṇera, “That which I have long desired has now come to me today. I have always wished to speak with you, but there was never an opportunity. Surely you too must have some thought of me. In my room there are many treasures of gold and silver, like the precious stores in the palace of Vaiśravaṇa, yet they are without a master. You may deign to become their master, and I shall be your wife. Whatever you desire, whatever commands you give, I shall never disobey, so long as you fulfill my wish.”
The sāmaṇera thought, “What offense have I committed to encounter such an evil condition? Today I would rather abandon this body and life than destroy the precepts established by the Buddhas of the three times. In the past, there was a bhikṣu who went to the house of a lewd woman and chose to throw himself into a pit of fire and die rather than violate the precept of chastity. Another bhikṣu, captured and bound by robbers with ropes of grass, refused to break those bindings even though he suffered under the blazing sun, tormented by wind, insects, and snakes—this was for the sake of keeping the precepts. Again, a bhikṣu once saw a goose swallow a precious gem, but fearing to take its life, he endured great pain and did not speak of it—this too was for the sake of keeping the precepts. Again, when a ship at sea was wrecked and no refuge could be found, the junior bhikṣu gave the plank of escape to the senior, himself sinking beneath the waves—this also was for the sake of keeping the precepts. Many such ones have upheld the precepts; are they alone disciples of the Buddha’s teaching, and am I not also a disciple of the Buddha? Can I not uphold them as they did? Is the Tathāgata the teacher of them alone, and not my teacher as well? It is like extracting oil from campaka flowers or from sesame—if the flowers are fragrant, the oil will be fragrant; but if the flowers are foul, the oil too will be foul. Now that I have encountered a virtuous spiritual friend, why should I today commit evil and break the precepts? I would rather give up my life than violate the discipline and defile the Buddha, the Dharma, the Saṅgha, or my parents and teachers.”
He thought again, “If I flee, this woman, possessed by lust and lacking shame, will surely come to the door to seize me or to slander me; if people in the street were to see, my defilement would be nearly the same. Therefore, I must abandon my life here.” Then he said to her, “Close the doors and windows tightly. I shall first go into a room to do what I must, and then you may come.” The girl closed the doors and windows. The sāmaṇera entered the room, shut the doors, and took up a razor. His heart was filled with joy. He removed his robe and hung it upon a stand, joined his palms, knelt facing toward Kuśinagara—the place of the Buddha’s Nirvāṇa—and made this vow: “Now I do not abandon the Buddha, the Dharma, or the Saṅgha; I do not abandon my ācārya; I do not abandon the precepts. Only for the sake of upholding pure conduct do I relinquish my body and my life. I pray that in a future birth I may again renounce the world, cultivate the Way, purely practice the holy life, be freed from all afflictions, and accomplish the Way.” Then he cut his own throat and died. Blood flowed profusely, covering his body.
At that time, the girl, finding him slow to respond, went to see what had happened. She found the door unopened and, calling out without reply, she opened it herself. Seeing the corpse, her countenance lost all color; the fire of lust at once was extinguished. Overcome by shame and remorse, she tore out her hair, clawed at her own face, rolled upon the ground, weeping in grief and crying aloud until she was nearly dead.
Just then, her father returned home. He knocked on the door and called out, but there was only silence—no reply came. Finding the stillness strange, he sent someone to climb over the wall and open the gate. When they entered and saw his daughter in such a condition, he asked, “What has happened to you? Has someone violated or harmed you?” The girl remained silent. In her heart she thought, “If I tell the truth, it would be too shameful; yet if I say that the sāmaṇera defiled me, I would be slandering a virtuous person and surely fall into hell to suffer boundless torment. Therefore, I must not deceive or lie.” Then she said, “When I was alone guarding the house, the sāmaṇera came to receive food for his preceptor. My mind was inflamed with lust, and I sought to entice him, wishing that he would yield to me. But that sāmaṇera was unmoved; he went inside the house and took his own life. With this impure body I sought to defile a pure vessel—such sin leaves me utterly without joy.”
Hearing his daughter’s words, the father felt no fear or alarm. Why? Because he understood the nature of afflictions and knew that such dharmas are as they are. Then he said to her, “All dharmas are not fixed or permanent; you need not grieve or be afraid.” He went into the room and saw the sāmaṇera’s body covered in blood, looking like a pit filled with sandalwood. He stepped forward, made reverent obeisance, and praised him, saying, “Excellent indeed! You have protected the Buddha’s precepts and abandoned your own life.”
At that time, according to the law of the country, if a śramaṇa or layperson took their own life, a fine of one thousand gold coins was to be paid into the royal treasury. The upāsaka therefore placed one thousand gold coins in a bronze tray, brought them to the palace, and said, “Great King, I am to be fined one thousand gold coins to be given to the royal treasury; I ask that you accept them.” The king replied, “You are the only person in this land who sincerely venerates the Three Jewels, who is faithful and upright, whose words and conduct are without fault. What crime could you have committed to deserve punishment?” The upāsaka then recounted everything in detail—how his daughter had acted wrongly and how the sāmaṇera, steadfast in keeping the precepts, had given up his life.
When the king heard this, his heart was shaken with awe and reverence, and his faith in the Buddha Dharma grew ever deeper. He said, “The sāmaṇera protected the precepts and gave up his life; you are innocent and need not be punished. Take the money back home. Today I myself will go to your house and make offerings to the sāmaṇera.” Then he ordered the golden drum to be struck and issued a proclamation throughout the kingdom. With attendants leading and following, he went to the upāsaka’s home.
When the king entered, he saw that the sāmaṇera’s body was red and radiant like sandalwood. He stepped forward, made obeisance, and praised his virtue. He then had a splendid carriage adorned with many jewels prepared, placed the sāmaṇera’s body upon it, and brought it to a broad, level place where heaps of fragrant wood were gathered. There he performed the jhāpita offering. He also adorned that girl, making her appear more resplendent than any woman in the world, and seated her upon a high platform visible to all who attended the assembly. Then he addressed the multitude, saying, “This woman’s beauty is rare in the world; who among those not yet free from desire does not harbor lust when seeing such a form? Yet this sāmaṇera, though not having attained enlightenment, was able to uphold the precepts and give up his very life—such a thing is exceedingly rare.”
The king then sent attendants to respectfully invite the sāmaṇera’s preceptor to come and widely expound subtle and wondrous Dharma for the assembled multitude. When all those present at the great gathering learned of this event, some resolved to renounce the world and uphold the precepts, while others gave rise to the unsurpassed mind of Bodhi. None were without boundless joy, and the entire assembly reverently received and practiced the teaching.
Section Twenty-Five: The Elder without Ears, Eyes, and Tongue (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Thirty-Five)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the Jeta Grove of Śrāvastī, expounding the Dharma to many bhikṣus and a great assembly. In that country there was a great elder whose wealth was beyond measure. He possessed gold, silver, and the seven treasures; elephants, horses, cattle, and sheep; servants and attendants; and storehouses filled to overflowing—so much that it could not be reckoned. Yet he had no sons, only five daughters, all of whom were beautiful in appearance, intelligent, and graceful. When his wife became pregnant, the elder passed away.
At that time, the law of the country decreed that if an elder died leaving no male heir, all his possessions should be taken into the royal treasury. The king therefore sent ministers to register his property. The daughters thought, “Our mother is pregnant; we do not yet know whether the child is a boy or a girl. If it is a girl, then the property should indeed belong to the palace. But if it is a boy, then he ought to become the master of the estate.” Thus they went to the king and said, “Our father has passed away, and since there is no male heir, the property should be offered to the Great King. Yet our mother is with child; if she gives birth to a girl, it will not be too late for the property to enter the palace. But if she gives birth to a boy, he should rightfully inherit the estate.” At that time, King Prasenajit, who was upright and just in enforcing the law, agreed with their words.
Not long after, their mother gave birth to a child whose body was like a lump of flesh—without ears, without eyes, without mouth or tongue, without hands or feet. Yet he possessed male organs, and thus they named him Mandavīrya.
Then the daughters went to report everything to the king. The king thought to himself, “One cannot determine a male heir merely by the presence or absence of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, hands, and feet. Yet since he possesses male organs, he may be regarded as a male and thus the rightful heir.” Therefore, he said to the elder’s daughters, “The estate belongs to your younger brother. I do not desire it.”
At that time, the elder’s eldest daughter was already married. She was humble, reverent, and cautious in serving her husband—she brushed his bedding, prepared his meals, greeted him when he returned, saw him off when he departed, paid respects and inquired of his well-being, attending to him in every way, just as a maidservant would serve her master. A neighboring elder saw this and was puzzled. He asked, “The way between husband and wife is the same in every household, yet only you act differently. Why is that so?”
The woman replied, “When my father passed away, he left behind immeasurable wealth. Though he had five daughters, none could inherit, and all was to be taken into the royal treasury. At that very time, my mother gave birth to a younger brother who had no eyes, ears, tongue, hands, or feet, yet because he possessed male organs, he became the heir to the property. From this I see that even many daughters are not equal to one son. Therefore, I conduct myself in this way.””
Hearing this, the elder felt deeply astonished and went together with her to where the Buddha was. He asked, “World-Honored One, for what causes and conditions was that elder’s son born without eyes, ears, tongue, hands, and feet, yet in this life is born into a wealthy household and becomes a rich man?”
The Buddha told the elder, “Excellent question! Listen attentively and bear it well in mind, and I shall explain the causes and conditions to you.” The elder replied, “Yes, I am willing to listen.”
The Buddha said to the elder: “In a past life, there was a great elder who had two brothers. The elder brother was named Dānaśreṣṭhin, and the younger was named Śīlaśreṣṭhin. From a young age, the elder brother was faithful and honest, constantly giving alms to living beings and relieving the poor and suffering. His sincerity and kindness were praised throughout the entire country. The king then appointed him as the judge of the nation. Whenever there were disputes over property or matters of right and wrong, they were all entrusted to him for judgment. Those who lent or borrowed money did not even need written contracts, as they all relied on Judge Dānaśreṣṭhin as their witness.
At that time, a merchant planned to go overseas for trade and borrowed a large sum of money from Śīlaśreṣṭhin to fund his voyage. The younger elder had only one son, who was still a child. The younger brother brought his son along, carrying the money, and came to the judge’s residence, saying: ‘Elder brother, this merchant is going to trade across the sea and has borrowed money from me. When he returns, he will repay what he owes. I ask you, brother, to act as a witness. If I should die before his return, let this debt be received by my son.’ The elder brother replied, ‘It shall be as you say.’ Not long after, the younger elder passed away. The merchant, sailing upon the sea, met with great winds and violent waves. His ship sank into the ocean, but he clung to a plank of wood and narrowly escaped with his life, finally returning to his country.
“The younger elder’s son, upon hearing that the ship had been destroyed, knew that the man had returned empty-handed. He thought to himself, ‘Though he owes me money, he is now utterly destitute. How could I possibly recover the debt from him? I will wait until a later time to collect it.’
The merchant then took the little money he had left and once again went to sea for trade. This time he obtained countless jewels and treasures and returned safely. Then he thought to himself: ‘That elder’s son did not demand repayment when he saw me before. At the time of the loan, he was still a child and may not remember it. But perhaps he saw that I was poor and spared me for the moment. Today I should test him.’
He then adorned a fine horse, dressed himself in splendid and luxurious garments, and rode into the marketplace. The elder’s son, upon seeing him, thought: ‘This man seems to have become wealthy; I should try to reclaim the debt.’ He sent someone to say: ‘You once borrowed money from me. Now you may repay it.’ The man replied, ‘Very well, I will consider how to settle it.’”
The merchant thought to himself, ‘The debt I owe is great, and with interest it is endless. I must devise a plan.’ He then took a precious pearl and went to the residence of the judge’s wife, saying: ‘Madam, I once borrowed a small amount of money from Śīlaśreṣṭhin, and now his son is demanding repayment. Here is a pearl worth one hundred thousand. I hope you will persuade the judge not to act as witness in this case.’ The wife replied, ‘The elder is a man of integrity and will surely not agree, but I will try to arrange it for you.’ She then accepted the precious pearl.”
“That evening when the judge returned, his wife told him about this matter. The elder said, ‘How can such a thing be done? It is precisely because I am loyal, trustworthy, and do not deceive others that the king appointed me to the position of judge. This matter must absolutely not be done.’ Later, the merchant again came to his house. The woman explained the situation in detail and returned the precious pearl. At this time, the merchant offered another precious pearl, worth two hundred thousand, and said, ‘I hope you will urge him just once. This is a trivial matter; merely speaking one word could yield two hundred thousand. If you succeed, even if your nephew receives nothing, it would still be reasonable.’ At that time, this woman, coveting the jewels, accepted them.
That evening, she again said to her husband, ‘The matter I discussed with you yesterday is also reasonable. I hope you will agree.’ The elder replied, ‘This is absolutely unreasonable. It is because of my honesty and trustworthiness that I hold the position of judge. If I were to speak one word contrary to the truth, not only would I not be trusted by people in this present life, but I would also endure suffering for immeasurable kalpas in later lives.’ At that time, the elder had a young son who could not yet walk. His wife wept and said, ‘You and I are husband and wife. Even if you told me to die, I would not disobey you. Yet I am urging you about this small matter, requiring just one word from you. If you still refuse, why should I remain alive? If you do not agree, I will first kill the child and then kill myself.’
After hearing this, the elder felt as if he were choking, unable to swallow or spit it out. He thought, ‘I have only one son. If he dies, my property will have no one to entrust to. If I agree, then not only will I not be trusted by people in this life, but I will certainly endure incalculable suffering in the life to come.’ After hesitating for a long time, he finally had to agree. The woman joyfully said to the merchant, ‘The elder has agreed.’”
Hearing this, the merchant happily returned home, adorned an elephant with numerous jewels, put on splendid garments, and rode the elephant into the marketplace. The elder’s nephew saw this and thought with delight, ‘This person rides an elephant and wears clothes so magnificent; he must be wealthy. I can obtain money from him.’ Thereupon, he stepped forward and said, ‘Sārthavāha! In the past, you owed me money; you should repay it today.’ The merchant said in surprise, ‘I do not remember this matter. When did I borrow money? And who is the witness?’ The elder’s nephew replied, ‘In such-and-such month of such-and-such year, my father and I gave money to you. The witness was the judge. How can you deny it?’ The merchant said, ‘I truly do not remember. If this is indeed true, I will certainly repay.’ So the two of them went together to the judge’s residence.
The elder’s nephew then said, ‘In the past, on a certain year and month, this man borrowed a certain amount of money from my father. Uncle was the witness, and I was also present at the time. Is this not the case?’ The judge replied, ‘I do not know.’ The nephew said in astonishment, ‘Uncle clearly knew about this matter at the time, yet now you say you do not know, making it as if it never happened. You do not even consider our kinship; is it for the sake of money?’ He replied, ‘No.’ The nephew said angrily, ‘It is because you are loyal, honest, and trustworthy that the king ordered you to be judge, and the people universally trust you. Yet I, your own nephew, you treat with such an unlawful act. Then for outsiders, how could the injustices they suffer be few? The truth and falsity of this matter will be clear in the afterlife.’
The Buddha told the elder, “Do you wish to know who the judge elder was at that time? He was the one without ears or eyes, Mandavīrya. Because he spoke falsehood at that time, he fell into the great hells and underwent countless sufferings. From the time he emerged from the hells, for five hundred lifetimes, he was always born as a mere lump of flesh. However, because he was fond of giving, he was often reborn in wealthy households as a rich man. Thus, good and evil have their retribution; even after a long time, they are not extinguished. Therefore, all of you should diligently cultivate, guard your body, speech, and mind, and do not commit evil deeds.”
At that time, the assembly, hearing the Buddha’s words, some attained the first fruition up to the fourth fruition, and some brought forth the unsurpassed bodhi mind. Everyone rejoiced and reverently took faith in the Dharma.
Section Twenty-Six: The Poor Couple Who Offered a Blanket and Received Reward in This Life (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Thirty-Six)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling at the Jeta Grove in Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park in Śrāvastī, expounding the Dharma while being surrounded by a great assembly of bhikṣus. In that country there was an elder whose wife, after completing her term of pregnancy, gave birth to a girl. The child was exceptionally beautiful and without equal in the world. When she was born, her body was wrapped in a fine, soft piece of white blanket. Her parents found this strange and summoned an astrologer to divine whether it was auspicious or not. The astrologer said, “It is extremely auspicious; she possesses great fortune and virtue.” Thus they named her Śuddha (in the language of Qin means white).
Śuddha grew day by day, and the white blanket that covered her grew along with her body. She became so beautiful that men from near and far sought to take her as a wife. Her parents thought, “Our daughter is now grown; she should be married.” They therefore called craftsmen to forge ornaments and jewels. Śuddha asked her father, “Why are you smelting gold and silver?” The father replied, “You have grown up, and we wish to arrange a marriage for you, so we are having bracelets and ornaments made.” Śuddha said, “I wish to renounce the household life and do not wish to marry.” Her parents loved her deeply and did not go against her will.
Not long after, they took out some cloth to make the five monastic robes. Seeing this, the daughter asked, “What do you intend to do with this?” They replied, “We wish to make you five robes for renunciation.” She said, “What I already wear is sufficient; there is no need to make more. I only hope you will listen to me.” Then she went to where the Buddha was, bowed her head to his feet in reverence, and requested to renounce the world. The Buddha said, “Come.” Immediately, her hair fell off by itself, and the soft white blanket that wrapped her body transformed into the full set of the five robes. The Buddha entrusted her to Mahāprajāpatī, and she thus became a bhikṣuṇī. Not long after practicing, she attained the fruition of an Arhat.”
Ānanda then asked the Buddha, “What past merits had the bhikṣuṇī Śuddha accumulated so that she was born into an elder’s household, clothed in white at birth, and soon after renunciation attained the Arhat fruit?”
The Buddha said to Ānanda, “Listen carefully and reflect well, and I shall tell you the causes and conditions.” Ānanda said, “I am willing to hear.”
The Buddha then said: “In the distant past, there was a Buddha named Vipaśyin, who, together with many disciples, broadly delivered all beings. At that time, the king, ministers, and citizens all made offerings of food and performed the pañca-vārsika ceremony. There was a bhikṣu who constantly exhorted beings to have faith in the Buddha-Dharma, guiding them to visit the Buddha and listen to his teachings.
“At that time, there was a woman named Dānika, who lived in great poverty. She and her husband shared a single wool blanket. When the husband went out, he would wrap himself in it, and the wife would remain at home naked, sitting upon a grass mat. When the wife went out, the husband would in turn sit naked upon the grass mat. One day, the bhikṣu came to their home to teach and saw the wife. He said to her, ‘It is most rare to encounter a Buddha appearing in the world; it is difficult to hear the Sūtra and Dharma; and it is also rare to be born as a human being. Therefore, you should go and listen the Dharma, and you should practice giving.’ He then went on to explain the retribution of those miserly ones who are unwilling to give.
“The woman said, “Venerable one, please wait a moment.” Then she went into the house and said to her husband, “Outside there is a śramaṇa who exhorts me to visit the Buddha, to listen to the Dharma, and to make offerings. It is because we did not practice giving in our former lives that we now live in such poverty. What means do we have now to plant the causes for our future lives?” The husband replied, “Our household is so destitute that even if we wished to give, what could we possibly offer?” The wife said, “It was because we failed to give in the past that we are poor in this life. If we still do not accumulate merit now, what can we hope for in future lives? You should listen to me—I have already resolved to give.” The husband thought, “Perhaps she has some small private possession; I will let her do as she wishes.” So he said, “If you wish to give, then give.” The wife continued, “I intend to offer the wool blanket we share.” The husband said, “We both rely on that one wool blanket. When we go out begging, it is the only thing that allows us to survive. If we give it away, we can only wait for death. What are you thinking?” The wife said, “People will die sooner or later. Even if I do not give, I will die all the same. It is better to give now and die after the act of giving, placing my hope in future lives. If I die without having given, the poverty of my next life will surely be even deeper.” Hearing this, the husband rejoiced and said, “Good! Better to die, yet make an offering.”
“Then the wife came out and said to the bhikṣu, “Venerable one, please remain outside; I have decided to make my offering.” The bhikṣu said, “If you wish to give, you should do it before me, that I may bless you.” The woman said, “I have only this one wool blanket and no other garments beneath it. My body is unclean and it is not proper to expose.” Then she went back inside, removed the blanket from her body, and offered it to the bhikṣu. After chanting a blessing, the bhikṣu took the blanket to the Buddha’s dwelling.
“The Buddha said, “Bhikṣu, bring me that wool blanket.” The bhikṣu handed it to the Buddha, and the Buddha received it with his own hands. At that time, all those present in the assembly secretly despised the Buddha for accepting such a filthy and defiled offering. Knowing the thoughts in their minds, the Buddha said to them, “In my eyes, among all the offerings made in this great assembly, there is none purer than this one.” Hearing this, the assembly was filled with astonishment.
“The queen, overjoyed beyond measure, removed her own jeweled robe adorned with ornaments and gave it to Dānika. The great king was also greatly pleased and took off his robe and gave it to her husband, ordering that they both take seats among the assembly. The Buddha Vipaśyin then expounded subtle and wondrous Dharma teachings widely to all beings, and many of those attained liberation at that gathering.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda, “Would you like to know who that poor woman Dānika was at that time? She is the present bhikṣuṇī Śuddha. Because she gave with a pure heart on that occasion, throughout ninety-one kalpas wherever she was born, a fine, soft woolen cloth always accompanied her, and she was never lacking in necessities—whatever she wished for would appear at will. Moreover, because she heard the profound Dharma at the feet of that Buddha and aspired to liberation, in this life she has encountered me and thus attained Arhatship. Therefore, you all should diligently cultivate, listen to the Dharma, and practice giving.”
As the Buddha spoke such, many attained the Path, and the whole assembly rejoiced exceedingly and reverently accepted and followed the teaching.
Section Twenty-Seven: Kātyāyana Teaches an Old Woman to Sell Her Poverty (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Thirty-Seven)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was in the country of Avanti. In that land there was an elder whose wealth and treasures were beyond number, yet he was miserly, greedy, and cruel, utterly lacking compassion. At that time, there was a maidservant in his household who, from morning to night, was driven to labor without rest. For even the slightest mistake, she would be beaten with whips and sticks. Her clothing could not cover her body, her food could not fill her stomach, and as she grew old and frail, her body became exhausted. She wished to die but could not.
One day, as she carried a jar to the river to fetch water, she thought upon all the sufferings she endured and could not help but weep bitterly. Just then, Kātyāyana came to that place and asked, “Old woman, why are you weeping in such sorrow and distress?” She replied, “Venerable one, I am already old and feeble, yet I must still perform heavy labor. Moreover, I am poor and helpless, without food or clothing, wishing to die yet unable to do so. Therefore I cry in grief.”
Kātyāyana said, “If you are poor, why not sell your poverty?” The old woman said, “How could poverty be sold? And who would buy poverty?” Kātyāyana said, “Indeed, poverty can truly be sold.” He said this three times. The old woman thought to herself, “If poverty really can be sold, I shall ask how it is done.” Then she said, “Venerable one, how can I sell my poverty?” Kātyāyana said, “If you wish to sell your poverty, then do exactly as I instruct.” The old woman agreed.
Kātyāyana said, “First, you should bathe and cleanse yourself.” After she had bathed, he said again, “You should make an offering.” The old woman said, “Venerable one, I am extremely poor. At present I have nothing to give you. Even this water jar belongs to my master. With what could I make an offering?” Kātyāyana then handed her his alms bowl and said, “Take this bowl and fetch a little clean water.” The old woman did as instructed, drew clean water, and offered it to Kātyāyana. Kātyāyana accepted it and recited blessings for her. Then he taught her how to observe the precepts and explained to her the practice of recollecting the Buddha’s various virtues.
Afterward he asked, “Do you have a place to stay?” She replied, “I do not. When grinding rice, I sleep beneath the millstone; when pounding grain or cooking, I lie there; and when I have no work, I stay in the dung heap.” Kātyāyana said, “Continue to keep your former mind—be respectful and diligent in serving your master, without giving rise to hatred or resentment. When all others have fallen asleep, quietly open the door, spread clean grass at the corner by the doorway, sit there, and think of seeing the Buddha. Do not give rise to any evil thoughts.”
The old woman returned and did exactly as she had been instructed. That very night, in the latter part of the night, she passed away and was reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.
The next morning, her master arose and, seeing that the old maid had died there, grew angry and said, “This servant never entered the house, so why has she died here today?” He ordered someone to tie her feet with a straw rope and drag her body to the charnel ground.
At that time, in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven there was a deva who had five hundred devas as his attendants and resided in a splendid celestial palace. When the lifespan and blessings of that deva came to an end, the old woman took his place and was reborn as a deva in his stead.
Those who are born in heaven—if their faculties are keen—can know the causes and conditions of their former lives; but if their faculties are dull, they only enjoy the present blessings and pleasures without knowing their past. This old woman, upon being reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, enjoyed pleasures together with the five hundred devas, yet she did not know the causes and conditions of her former existence.
At that time, Śāriputra was in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, and he knew the causes and conditions of that deva’s former life. He asked, “Deva, through what merits and virtues have you been born in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven?” The deva replied, “I do not know.” Then Śāriputra lent him the divine eye, allowing him to see the causes and conditions of his birth, and he saw that it was due to Kātyāyana. Thus the deva, together with the five hundred attendant devas, went to the charnel ground, scattered flowers, burned incense, and made offerings to the corpse.
The light radiating from those devas shone upon the entire village and forest. The old woman’s former master saw this marvel and, greatly astonished, ordered the people from near and far to go to the forest to look. They saw the devas making offerings to the corpse and asked, “This old servant was filthy and ugly. When she was alive, people despised even the sight of her—how much more now that she is dead? Why then do the devas offer her such reverence?”
Then the deva spoke in detail of the causes by which she had been reborn in heaven. Afterward, he and his retinue returned to Kātyāyana’s dwelling. There Kātyāyana expounded the Dharma for the devas, teaching on the practice of giving, the observance of precepts, the way to be born in heaven, the impurity of sensual desires, and the joy of renunciation.
At that time, the deva and his five hundred companions were freed from defilements and attained the purity of the Dharma eye, then flew back to their celestial palace.”
The many beings who had gathered for the Dharma assembly, after hearing the teaching, each attained the Path, even up to the fourth fruit. The great assembly rejoiced with utmost delight, paid reverent homage, and faithfully practiced as instructed.
Section Twenty-Eight: Golden Deva (In the Tanjur version this section is in the Fifth Scroll, as Section Twenty-Five)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in Śrāvastī, in the Jeta Grove, Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park. In that country there was a certain elder, exceedingly wealthy, possessing treasures beyond measure and count. Not long after, a son was born to him, whose body was of golden color. The elder rejoiced greatly and held a great feast of giving, inviting many physiognomists to examine the child’s auspicious and inauspicious signs. Those masters of physiognomy took the child in their arms, observed his extraordinary marks in detail, and were filled with delight beyond measure. They then gave him the name Suvarṇadeva(which in the language of the Jin country means Golden Deva).
This boy was endowed from birth with exceedingly pure and abundant blessings. On the very day of his birth, a natural well appeared in his home, eight feet in length, width, and depth. The water drawn from it could fulfill all human needs: when one desired garments, garments appeared; when one wished for food, food appeared; gold, silver, jewels, and all precious things—whatever one wished for—would manifest accordingly.
As the boy gradually grew up, he became both learned and skillful in various arts. The elder loved him dearly and never opposed his will. The elder thought to himself: “My son’s appearance is upright, his form unsurpassed. I must find for him a maiden from a noble family, one whose countenance and demeanor are outstanding, and whose body, too, is of golden hue, so that she may match my son. Should such a person exist, I shall go to seek her in marriage.” Thus, he gathered many merchants and sent them forth to search far and wide.
At that time, in the country of Campā, there was a great elder whose daughter was named Suvarṇaprabhā (which in the language of the Jin country means Golden Radiance). She was extraordinarily graceful, and her body, too, was golden—bright and radiant, smooth and lustrous. On the day of her birth, a natural well also appeared in her house, eight feet in length, width, and depth; from that well, various treasures, garments, and foods could arise, satisfying every human need.
That elder thought in his heart: “My daughter is exceedingly fair and incomparable among humans. If there should be a virtuous man whose radiance equals that of my daughter, I shall join them in marriage.” At that time, the fame of the maiden was known throughout Śrāvastī, and likewise, the name of Golden Deva was known to her family. Thus, both elders, rejoicing in their hearts, sent envoys to inquire and arrange the marriage. The wedding was concluded, and the couple returned to Śrāvastī.”
“Then, the family of Golden Deva arranged a meal and invited the Buddha and the Saṅgha for a day’s offering. The Buddha accepted the invitation and came to the house for the meal. After eating, he expounded in detail the subtle Dharma to the elder Golden Deva and his wife, opening and enlightening their minds. The couple, together with their parents, at once destroyed two billion of burning annoyances, their hearts were liberated, and they attained the fruit of Srotāpanna.
After the World-Honored One returned to the monastery, Golden Deva and his wife spoke together with their parents, saying that they wished to renounce and go forth into the Path. Their parents consented, and together they went to the Buddha. They bowed at his feet, circumambulated him once, and requested permission to renounce. The Buddha assented and praised them, saying, “Come, bhikṣus!” At once their hair and beards fell away by themselves, and the robes of Dharma were upon their bodies and they became śramaṇas.
Thus, Golden Deva joined the assembly of bhikṣus, and Golden Radiance was entrusted to Mahāprajāpatī. Gradually, through instruction and cultivation, both were transformed and attained the state of Arhat, possessing the Three Knowledges, the Six Supernormal Powers, the Eight Liberations, and all virtue qualities.”
Ānanda then asked the Buddha: “World-Honored One, I do not know what previous merits Golden Deva and his wife had accumulated that caused them to be born endowed with immeasurable wealth and treasures, with bodies of golden hue, upright and wondrous beyond all others in the world, and even with a well that produced whatever things they desired. I pray that the Tathāgata will explain this in detail.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “In a past time, ninety-one kalpas ago, there was a Buddha named Vipaśyin. After he entered parinirvāṇa, his Dharma remained in the world. Many bhikṣus upheld the Buddha’s teachings and traveled about, teaching and transforming living beings. When they came to a certain village, the villagers, together with the wealthy and virtuous elders, upon seeing the saṅgha arrive, all competed eagerly to make offerings of robes, bedding, and food, so that the bhikṣus were never in want of anything.
“At that time, there was a poor and hungry couple who thought to themselves: ‘When our father was alive, our household was filled with treasure, so much that it could not be measured. But now we are extremely destitute, sitting and lying upon grass mats, our bodies unclothed, and not even a single peck of rice remains in our house—how bitter this is! In those days, though we were rich and possessed uncountable wealth, we never encountered such noble monks; yet now, though we are fortunate to meet them, we have no money to make offerings.’ When this thought arose, sorrow and regret filled their hearts, and tears fell from the husband’s eyes, dropping upon his wife’s arm.”
“The wife, seeing her husband weeping, asked him: ‘Are you unwell? Why are you so grieved?’ He replied: ‘Do you not know? Now that the venerable monks have come to this village, many noble householders are making offerings to them. But our home is so poor that we do not even have a single peck of rice. We truly have no good affinity with these monks. Poor in this life, we shall be even poorer in the next. Thinking of this, I cannot help but weep.’ The wife said: ‘Then what shall we do? We wish to give, yet have no treasures. Having only this heart of faith, our wish cannot be fulfilled.’ She then said: ‘You may go into the house and search among the old belongings. If you find anything, we shall offer it.’
“The husband did as she said, and found a single gold coin. He brought it to his wife. The wife also had a bright mirror, and together they took the coin and the mirror to offer to the monks. They filled a new bottle with pure water, placed the gold coin within it, and set the mirror atop it. Then, carrying it with utmost sincerity, they went to the dwelling of the monks and made their offering. The monks accepted the gift, using the water to wash their bowls or to drink. The couple’s hearts were filled with great joy, and after performing this meritorious act, they fell ill and died, being reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.”
The Buddha told Ānanda: “That poor couple who once offered a bottle of pure water to the saṅgha are now the present Golden Deva and his wife. Because in their past life they offered a single gold coin, a mirror, and a bottle of pure water to the monks, they have, life after life, been incomparably handsome, their bodies of golden hue, their countenances radiant and marvelous beyond compare. Thus it has been for ninety-one kalpas. Because they had faith and reverence in that former life, they have now been able to end birth and death and attain the fruit of Arhatship. Ānanda, you should understand: every deed that can accumulate merit and virtue must not be neglected. Just as that poor couple, by giving only a small alms, obtained such vast and immeasurable blessings.”
At that time, Ānanda and all those assembled who heard the Buddha’s words gave rise to the mind of generosity, diligently practiced giving, and joyfully received and upheld the teaching.
Section Twenty-Nine: The One with Two Surnames (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Twenty-Six)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in Śrāvastī, in the Jeta Grove, Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park. In that country there was a wealthy elder, possessing treasures beyond measure, yet he had no son. Because of this he became sorrowful and depressed, and he prayed earnestly to the deities for blessings that he might have a son, showing utmost sincerity. Then, his wife indeed conceived, and when her term was fulfilled, she gave birth to a boy of extraordinary beauty, such as was rarely seen in the world.
The parents’ families and their relatives gathered together to celebrate with a feast. They went to the great river, drinking wine and making merry. The father, delighted with his son, held him in his arms, dancing with joy; then the mother too took the boy and danced. They passed the child around in turns, each lifting him up with happiness and laughter. When they came close to the riverbank, a sudden startle came over them, and the mother’s hands slipped—the child fell into the river. They searched for a long time but could not find him. The parents, filled with grief and love, fainted and revived again, overcome by sorrow. Yet that boy, being one of great merit and virtue from birth, did not die but drifted upon the waves of the river. “
At that time, a fish swallowed him, but though he was within the belly of the fish, he did not perish. Downstream there was a small village, where lived another wealthy household, but they too were without a child. They had prayed to the gods in many ways for a son, yet none was granted. That household often sent a servant to catch fish and sell them for the family’s use. One day, that servant caught a large fish. When he cut it open, he found within a boy of most handsome appearance. Seeing this, he rejoiced greatly and went to report it. The household members, upon seeing the child, exclaimed joyfully: “We have long prayed to the deities for a son; it seems that our sincere devotion has borne fruit, and Heaven has sent us this boy.” Thus, they adopted him and nursed him with milk.
When the parents in the upstream village heard that the elder of the downstream village had found a boy within a fish, they came to claim him, saying, “This is our son. We lost him by accident at the riverbank, and now that you have found him, we ask that you return him to us.” The elder replied, “Our household has long prayed to the gods for a son, and now our prayers have been answered—he has been bestowed upon us. How could the child you lost have come to be here?”
The two sides quarreled and could not resolve it, so they went before the king to request a judgment. Each presented their case. The parents said, “This is our own child; at such and such a time, we accidentally dropped him into the river.” The other elder said, “We found him inside the belly of a fish in the river; he is the result of our prayers to the deities, not their child.”
The king, after hearing both accounts, could not determine the truth and said, “Both elders claim the boy as their own. If I give judgment to one side, it would seem unjust to the other. You may therefore both raise him together. When he grows up, each of you shall provide him with a wife and establish him in your household. He shall reside alternately between the two homes. The sons born of the wife from one house shall belong to that family, and the sons born of the wife from the other house shall belong to the other family.” The two elders followed the king’s decision and did accordingly.
When the son grew up, each set of parents gave him a wife, and he was never lacking in any necessity. Then the son said to his two fathers and mothers: “Since the time of my birth, I have met with suffering and hardship—I fell into the river, was swallowed by a fish, and nearly died before being saved. Now my greatest wish is to renounce and go forth into the Path. I hope my parents will permit it.” The two sets of parents, loving their son dearly, did not refuse him.
The son then bade farewell to his parents, went to the abode of the Buddha, bowed at the Buddha’s feet, and requested to enter the Path. The Buddha consented and praised him, saying, “Well come, bhikṣu!” At once, his hair and beard fell off by themselves, and he became a śramaṇa. His name was then called “The One with Two Surnames.” The Buddha expounded to him the subtle Dharma, freeing him from all sufferings, and right there upon his seat he attained the fruit of Arhatship.
Ānanda then said to the Buddha: “World-Honored One, I do not know what kind of practice or wholesome roots this bhikṣu with two surnames cultivated in the past, that in this life he fell into the water and was swallowed by a fish yet did not die from such great peril?”
The Buddha said: “Listen carefully. In a long past age, there was a Buddha, the World-Honored One, named Vipaśyin, who gathered living beings and preached the profound Dharma. At that time, there was an elder who came to that assembly. Hearing the Tathāgata teach the great Dharma concerning the blessings of giving and the blessings of keeping precepts, he rejoiced greatly, his faith becoming strong and fervent. From the Buddha he received the Three Refuges and the precept of non-killing, and he offered one coin as alms to the Buddha. Because of this cause, he received blessings through many lives, possessing treasures without measure, never knowing want.
The Buddha told Ānanda: “Know that the elder of that time is now this bhikṣu with two surnames. Because he gave a single coin as alms in that former life, he has, through ninety-one kalpas, been endowed with abundant wealth. In this present life, he has two families of parents providing him with all that he needs. Because he upheld the precept of non-killing, though he fell into the water and was swallowed by a fish, he did not die. Because he took refuge in the Three Jewels, he has now encountered my appearance in the world, received my instruction, and attained Arhatship.”
At that time, Ānanda and the entire assembly, having heard the Buddha’s words, respected and practiced them, held the Buddha’s teaching in reverence, and joyfully accepted and followed it with devotion.
Section Thirty: Sandhanā (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Twenty-Seven)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in Śrāvastī, in the Jeta Grove, Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park. At that time, the World-Honored One was together with one thousand two hundred and fifty disciples. In that country there were five hundred beggars who often relied upon the Tathāgata, following the community of monks wherever they went, begging for alms. After several years had passed, weariness arose in their hearts, and they said to one another: “Though we have received the blessings of the Saṅgha and have thus prolonged our lives, yet our days remain filled with hardship.” They all thought to themselves: “Now it would be better for us to renounce the household life and follow the Buddha.”
Then they all went to where the Buddha was and said to him: “It is difficult to encounter a Tathāgata appearing in the world. We, who are of lowly birth, have survived only through your compassion and blessing. Now we all wish to go forth into the Path. We do not know if this is permissible.”
The World-Honored One said to the beggars: “My Dharma is pure and undefiled; within it there is no distinction of high or low, noble or base. It is like pure water used to wash away all defilements—whether precious or common, beautiful or ugly, man or woman—whatever is washed becomes clean and pure. It is like fire: wherever it burns, whether upon great mountains, rivers, or stone cliffs, among all things in heaven and earth, large or small—none that it touches fails to be consumed. My Dharma is like empty space: all who enter it—man or woman, old or young, rich or poor, noble or humble—shall have their wishes fulfilled.”
When the beggars heard these words of the Buddha, they rejoiced greatly, their faith doubling, and with sincere hearts they again requested to enter the Path. The World-Honored One said, “Well come, bhikṣus!” At once, their hair and beards fell away of themselves, and the robes of Dharma were upon their bodies; they became śramaṇas. The Buddha then expounded Dharma to them. As they listened, their minds opened and their understanding was liberated; they completely severed all afflictions and attained the fruit of Arhatship.
At that time, the noble elders and common folk of the country, upon hearing that the Buddha had allowed the beggars to enter the Path, gave rise to arrogance and pride. They said among themselves: “Why does the Tathāgata allow these lowly beggars to dwell among the community of monks? We have diligently cultivated merit, respectfully invited the Buddha and the Saṅgha, and prepared offerings of food. How can it be fitting that these base-born people should sit upon our seats and handle our vessels?”
At that time, Prince Jeta was arranging the implements for a feast of giving, intending to invite the Buddha and the Saṅgha. He sent a messenger to the Buddha, saying: “I wish only for the World-Honored One and the bhikṣu community to accept my invitation. As for those beggars who have become bhikṣus, I do not wish to invite them. Please see that they do not come.” The Buddha accepted the invitation.
When the time came for the meal on the following day, the Buddha and the Saṅgha said to the bhikṣus who had formerly been beggars: “We have been invited, but you are not included among those invited. Now you may go to Uttarakuru and obtain the naturally ripened rice there. Go to that household and take your seats as you wish, and have the rice.”
Then those bhikṣus received the instruction, and with the supernormal powers of the Arhats they traveled to that world, gathered the rice until their bowls were full, and returned. Their bearing was majestic and dignified; one after another they came gliding through the air like kings of geese, descending upon Prince Jeta’s house and sitting down in order according to seniority to eat their meal.
When the prince beheld these bhikṣus—noble in form, radiant in countenance, possessing great virtue and immense blessing—he felt deep reverence and joy, marveling that he had never seen such monks before. He then asked the Buddha: “World-Honored One, I do not know from where these venerable and virtuous bhikṣus, so majestic and complete in their marks, have come. Truly, they inspire admiration and respect. I earnestly request that the Tathāgata explain to us the causes and conditions of these bhikṣus’ former lives.”
The Buddha said to Jeta: “If you wish to know, then listen carefully and consider well, and I shall tell you. These bhikṣus are precisely those whom you did not invite yesterday. When I and the community of monks accepted the prince’s invitation, these bhikṣus, since they had not been included among those invited, flew to Uttarakuru to obtain naturally ripened rice for themselves to eat.”
When Jeta heard this, deep shame and regret arose in his heart. He reproached himself, saying: “How deluded and foolish I was, unable to distinguish light from darkness!” He then said further: “The World-Honored One’s merit and virtue are truly Inconceivable. These beggars were once the most lowly people in the land, yet now they have been transformed by pure teaching and blessed with the Dharma’s moisture. They enjoy the peace and happiness of this present life, and moreover they have attained the eternal bliss of the unconditioned. The Tathāgata’s appearance in the world today is solely for the sake of such people—there is no other purpose.”
Then he asked: “World-Honored One, I do not know what wholesome deeds or merit and virtue practices these bhikṣus cultivated in their former lives, that they now receive your special teaching and grace in this life; nor what evil deeds or faults they committed, that from birth they have depended upon begging to survive and have lived in such hardship. I pray that the World-Honored One, out of compassion, will teach and explain this to me.”
The Buddha said to him: “If you wish to know all of this, you should listen carefully. I shall now explain in detail the causes and conditions from beginning to end.”
Then the World-Honored One said to Jeta: “In the distant past, beyond measureless, boundless, asaṃkhyeya kalpas, within this very Jambudvīpa, there was a great kingdom named Benares. In that country there was a mountain called Ṛṣi (which in the language of the Jin country means Sage). From ancient times, many Buddhas had stayed there. When there was no Buddha in the world, Pratyekabuddhas dwelled there; and when there were no Pratyekabuddhas, there were numerous sages possessing the five supernormal powers, along with their disciples. Thus, it was never empty.
“At that time, more than two thousand Pratyekabuddhas were dwelling upon that mountain. In those days, within the kingdom, there appeared an ominous star of fire in the heavens, foretelling a great calamity. After that star appeared, for twelve years the land was scorched by fierce heat—no rains fell, crops could not grow, and the country faced certain destruction.
In that land there was an elder named Sandhanā, exceedingly wealthy, possessing stores of grain and treasure beyond measure. He continually made offerings to ascetics and those who practiced the Path.
“At that time, a thousand accomplished ones came to his house to seek alms and said: ‘We dwell in that mountain. Now the country suffers a great drought—fields are parched, and wherever we go to beg for food, none can be obtained. If the elder is willing to provide for us, we shall remain here; if not, we shall go elsewhere.’
The elder asked the steward in charge of the granary, ‘Is there enough grain in my storehouses to supply these great beings with food? I wish to make offerings to them.’ The steward replied, ‘You may certainly invite them. The grain is abundant, more than sufficient for their use.’ So the elder made offerings to those one thousand Pratyekabuddhas.
“The remaining one thousand also came to the elder’s house to seek alms. The elder again asked the keeper of the granary, ‘How much grain remains in storage? Another thousand are asking for offerings—can we manage it?’ The keeper replied, ‘There should be more than enough. If you wish to make offerings, you may certainly provide for them.’ Then the elder invited them as well, appointing five hundred attendants to prepare and serve food. These five hundred attendants brought meals daily, year after year, until weariness arose in their hearts. They complained, saying, ‘It is because of those beggars that we must labor so hard every day.’
“At that time, the elder would always send one man to announce to the Pratyekabuddhas when it was time to eat. This man kept a dog that accompanied him every day. One day, the man forgot his duty, but when the appointed hour came, the dog went alone to the usual place, facing the Pratyekabuddhas and barking loudly. Hearing the barking, the Pratyekabuddhas knew it was the call to the meal and came to the elder’s house to eat. They said to the elder, ‘Today rain will fall; it is a good time for planting.’ The elder immediately instructed his household to take up their tools and work diligently in the fields. Then barley, wheat, and all kinds of grains were sown.
“After some time, the plants that grew turned into gourds. The elder, finding this strange, asked why it had happened. The great ones said, ‘There is no problem; simply tend them well and water them regularly.’ Following their instruction, the gourds gradually ripened—enormous and abundant. When they were split open, each contained full and clean grains of the same kind as what had first been sown. The elder rejoiced greatly, and when his household storehouses were filled with grain, he distributed it among his relatives and kin. The entire country shared in his blessings.
“Then the five hundred attendants who had prepared the food thought, ‘All these results have arisen from the virtue of these great ones. How could we have spoken such sinful words against them?’ They went to the Pratyekabuddhas’ dwelling to repent. The great ones accepted their repentance. Having repented, the attendants made this vow: ‘May we, in future lives, encounter sages and saints and thereby attain liberation.’ Because of this, they were born as beggars for five hundred lifetimes; yet because they repented and made a vow, they have now met the Buddha in this world and attained deliverance.
“Prince, you should know: that great and wealthy elder Sandhanā of that time—was he anyone else? He was myself. The keeper of the granary at that time is now Sudatta. The one who each day went to announce the meal time is now King Udayana. And that dog, because of its barking, gained a good voice through many lives and is now the elder of Beautiful Voice. The five hundred who prepared the food then are now the five hundred Arhats of today.”
At that time, Prince Jeta and all those present at the assembly, having witnessed the supernormal powers of the Arhats and having felt the virtue of the Buddha, diligently cultivated the Path. Some attained the first fruit, others the fourth fruit; some devoted themselves to the path of the Pratyekabuddha; others gave rise to the aspiration for the Buddha Path. Each one practiced earnestly, attaining fulfillment of their own original vows, filled with joy beyond measure, leaping with delight, and reverently upholding and practicing the teaching.
Dharma Torch 