Translated by śramaṇas Hui Jue etc. from Liangzhou of the Yuan Wei Dynasty in Gaochang Commandery
Section Thirty-Six: Mahā Kapphiṇa (In the Tanjur version this section is in the Fourth Scroll, as Section Eighteen)
Thus have I heard:
At one time the Buddha was staying in the country of Śrāvastī, in the Jetavana, Anāthapiṇḍika’s Grove; at that time the king of that country was called Pasenadi. In the south there was a kingdom called Golden Land, whose king was named Kapphiṇa. The king had a crown prince called Mahā Kapphiṇa. After his father’s passing, the crown prince succeeded to the throne. The prince was of keen intelligence, mighty in strength and bravery; the territory he governed numbered thirty-six thousand, his soldiers were numerous, there was no one who could match him, his might and prestige reached far and wide, there was nothing he could not crush and subdue, yet he had no relations with the central kingdoms.
Later a merchant came to the Golden Land and presented to the king four bolts of finely woven cotton cloth. After the king took them, he asked the merchant, “These goods are excellent — where are they produced?” The merchant replied, “They are produced in the central kingdoms.” The king asked further, “What are the names of those central kingdoms?” The merchant answered, “One is called Rājagṛha. There is also a country called Śrāvastī. There are others too, too many to enumerate in detail.” The king then asked, “Why do the kings of those central kingdoms not come to pay homage and bring tribute to me?” The merchant answered, “Each of them holds sway in his own place; their prestige and fame are about the same, and therefore they do not come to pay homage and bring tribute.” The king thought to himself, “With my present strength and momentum I could intimidate all the countries under the sun — why do the kings of the central lands not come to pay homage and bring tribute? It seems I must exert pressure on them so that they will all submit to me.” He asked the merchant, “Among the kings of the central kingdoms, which one is greatest?” The merchant answered, “The king of Śrāvastī is the greatest.”
Thereupon the Golden Land king sent envoys to the country of Śrāvastī, bearing a royal letter as a reprimand; the envoy’s words were fully elaborated and complete. He addressed King Prasenajit of Śrāvastī: “The prestige of my Golden Land is heard throughout Jambudvīpa. You, relying on certain supports, have failed to send envoys and tribute; now I have specially dispatched emissaries to inform you. If you are lying down when you hear my voice, rise at once; if you are sitting, stand up at once; if you are eating, instantly spit out the food in your mouth; if you are bathing, immediately grasp your hair and rub yourself dry; if you are staying quietly in your realm, at once set out and come. On the seventh day thereafter, present yourself before me. If you do not comply, I shall raise arms and break through your borders.”
Prasenajit, upon hearing this, was exceedingly alarmed and anxious; he went and paid homage to the Buddha and related the matter in full. The Buddha said to King Prasenajit, “Go back and tell the envoy, ‘I am not great; there is a greater king.’ ” The king followed the Buddha’s instruction and told the envoy, “There is a more sage and splendid king not far from here; you may go to him and convey your monarch’s command.” The envoy then proceeded to Jetavana.
At that time, the World-Honored One transformed Himself into a Wheel-Turning King and made Maudgalyāyana appear as the minister in charge of the army. The seven treasures and all attendants were completely present. Moreover, He transformed Jetavana into a jeweled city. Around the city there were seven layers of celestial moats, and between each pair of moats stood rows of trees made of the seven treasures. Innumerable lotus flowers of various colors shone forth, their radiance spreading in all directions, bright and resplendent. Within the city, the palaces were also filled with all kinds of precious jewels. The Wheel-Turning King sat in the palace, possessing incomparable majesty and inspiring awe and reverence.
Then the envoy entered this transformed city, and upon seeing the great king, he was stricken with fear and alarm. He thought to himself, “Our ruler has indeed brought disaster upon himself without cause.” Yet he had no choice but to present the royal letter to the king. The transformed king, after receiving the letter, trampled it beneath His feet and said to the envoy, “I am the Great King, who rules the four quarters of the world. Your king is obstinate and deluded, and dares to defy and resist Me. Go back at once and proclaim My words: ‘On the very day the envoy returns, your king must hasten to come and pay homage. If he hears this while lying down, he must rise; if sitting, he must stand; if standing, he must immediately set forth upon the road. The time limit is seven days; no delay is permitted. Should he dare to disobey this decree, he shall surely be guilty and will not be pardoned.’”
The envoy, having received these instructions, immediately returned to his country and reported in full detail all that he had seen and heard to the king of the Golden Land. When the king received this summons, he felt deep remorse within himself and at once gathered all the lesser kings under his rule, ordering the chariots and horses to be prepared in perfect order, ready to go and pay homage to the Great King. Yet he still had some doubts and therefore did not depart immediately; he first sent an envoy to ask the Great King, “Among the thirty-six thousand lesser kings I command, should all go to pay homage, or should only half go?” The Great King replied, “Let half remain and bring only half with you.”
Then the king of the Golden Land led eighteen thousand lesser kings together to come and, after they all bowed down and paid homage to the transformed Great King, the king of the Golden Land thought within himself, “Though the Great King’s form and appearance surpass mine, surely his strength cannot match mine.” The Great King thereupon ordered the minister of arms to hand him a bow. The king of the Golden Land lacked the strength and could not draw it. The Great King took it back, bent the bow open with His fingers, handed it to him again, and told him to hold it drawn. The king of the Golden Land could not even hold it. The Great King again took it back, plucked the bowstring, and the Three-Thousand Great-Thousand World quaked and trembled. Then He took an arrow, bent the bow, and shot. When the arrow left His hand, it turned into five arrows, each arrowhead emitting a bright and radiant light. At the tip of each beam of light there appeared a lotus flower as large as a chariot wheel. Upon each lotus flower there sat a Wheel-Turning King, with the seven treasures complete, shining with incomparable brilliance, illuminating the Three-Thousand Great-Thousand World. All beings within the five realms were universally illumined by this light.
The beings in the heavenly realms, upon seeing the radiance and hearing the exposition of the Dharma, became pure in body and mind. Some attained the second and third fruits; some aroused the aspiration for the unsurpassed true path; and some abided in the state of non-retrogression. The beings in the human realm, upon seeing the radiance and hearing the Dharma, were filled with joy and exaltation; among them were those who attained the first, second, and third fruits; among the renunciants were those who attained the fruition of Arhatship; there were also those who aroused the aspiration for the unsurpassed true path and attained the stage of non-retrogression, their number beyond reckoning.
The beings in the realm of hungry ghosts, upon seeing the radiance and hearing the Dharma, became full and nourished in body, pure in body and mind, and free from all afflictions. They all gave rise to hearts of compassion and reverence toward the Buddha, and each of them thereby attained liberation, being reborn in the heavenly or human realms. The beings in the realm of animals, upon seeing the Buddha’s radiance, had the poisons of greed and anger eradicated, and those whose minds were clouded by delusion became awakened and clear. All were joyful and happy, full of faith and reverence toward the Buddha, and thus attained liberation, being reborn in the heavenly or human realms. The beings in the hell realms, upon seeing the Buddha’s radiance, those suffering from cold gained warmth, and those tormented by heat gained coolness; in places of pain they found rest and ease. Their bodies and minds were gladdened, and they gave rise to hearts of kindness and reverence toward the Buddha; thus they too attained liberation and were reborn in the heavenly or human realms.
At that time King Mahā Kapphiṇa and the kings of the Golden Land, having seen this miraculous transformation, gave rise to faith and reverence in their hearts, became freed from defilements, and attained the pure Dharma-eye. All the eighteen thousand minor kings were likewise transformed at once. Soon after, the Buddha withdrew His miraculous power and returned to His original appearance, surrounded before and behind by the bhikṣus. The king of the Golden Land and the other minor kings requested to renounce and enter homelessness, and the Buddha consented. Instantly, their hair fell off by itself, and robes were draped upon their bodies. Contemplating the wondrous Dharma, they all attained the fruition of Arhatship.
Ānanda then asked the Buddha, “What past merits and virtues had this king of the Golden Land accumulated that he was able to be born into a noble and wealthy family, possess great power and virtue, encounter the appearance of a Buddha in the world, and accomplish liberation from outflows?”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “All sentient beings receive their due retributions according to their own actions. In the past, when Kāśyapa Buddha had entered parinirvāṇa, there was an elder who built a stūpa and temple for Him, constructing halls and pavilions, and providing offerings in all four seasons without lack. As time went on, the stūpa collapsed, and the supplies of beds, clothing, and food were no longer maintained. That elder who had been the sponsor had a son who was a bhikṣu. He exhorted the people of that land to cut back their own expenses in order to rebuild the stūpa, and to again prepare food, bedding, and all other requisites. All the people joined together with one heart to make offerings to the divine Buddha, and they also made this vow: ‘May we in future lives be wealthy and long-lived, encounter the arising of a Buddha in the world, hear His Dharma, and attain realization accordingly.’ The law of cause and effect never fails; the karma they created then has now brought them to accomplishment in right fruition.”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “That bhikṣu son of the elder at that time is now the king of the Golden Land, Mahā Kapphiṇa; and those people who were persuaded and inspired are now these eighteen thousand minor kings.”
When the Buddha had spoken these words, all those who heard them attained realization and made firm their resolve never to regress. All received this supreme teaching with joy and faithfully put it into practice.
Section Thirty-Seven: Ṛddhimat’s Seventh Son (In the Tanjur version this section is in the Fourth Scroll, as Section Twenty)
Thus have I heard:
At one time the Buddha was staying in the country of Śrāvastī, in the Jetavana, Anāthapiṇḍika’s Grove. At that time, King Prasenajit had a minister named Ṛddhimat. His household was exceedingly wealthy. He had seven sons, and the first six had already been married; only the seventh son remained unmarried, and it was time to seek him a wife. Ṛddhimat thought to himself, “I am already old and weak. Only this youngest son remains for whom I must seek a wife. I must find one who is truly exceptional.”
Then a Brāhmaṇa who was on friendly and intimate terms with him came to visit. Ṛddhimat said to him, “I am now about to seek a marriage for my youngest son, but I do not yet know where to find a suitable match. You have traveled among many kingdoms; I would like to trouble you to search widely for me. If you find a young woman who is proper and dignified, virtuous and intelligent, with a temperament harmonious and fitting to my son’s heart, then you may propose marriage on my behalf.”
The brāhmaṇa immediately agreed and began searching everywhere. When he arrived in the country of Takṣaśilā, he saw five hundred maidens walking and playing together, picking beautiful flowers to adorn themselves. The brāhmaṇa stood to one side and watched. As they went on, they came to a shallow stream. The maidens all removed their leather shoes before stepping into the water, but only one among them did not remove hers and entered the water with her shoes on.
Further ahead, they came to another river. The other maidens lifted their garments before crossing, but this one woman entered the water with her clothes properly arranged. When they reached a grove, the other maidens climbed up the trees to pick flowers, but this one did not climb; she asked others to give her some, and she obtained many flowers that way.
The brāhmaṇa then asked the young woman, “I have a few small questions I wish to ask you.” The maiden replied, “Ask, and I shall answer.” The brāhmaṇa said, “Just now, before entering the water, all the other maidens removed their leather shoes, but you did not. Why was that?” The young woman replied, “You are truly ignorant! Shoes are made precisely to protect the feet. On dry land the eyes can see thorns, shards, and stones, so one may avoid them; but when they are hidden beneath the water, the eyes cannot see them. If there are thorns or venomous creatures, they could wound a person’s feet. That is why I did not remove my shoes.”
The brāhmaṇa asked again, “Why did you enter the river without lifting your garments?” The woman replied, “The bodies of women differ in appearance — some fair, some not. If one lifts her garments to enter the water, others may see her body. If it happens to be beautiful, that is fine, but if not, she becomes the object of ridicule. Therefore, I did not lift my garments.”
The brāhmaṇa then asked, “And why did you alone not climb the tree?” The woman replied, “To climb trees is to risk harm from their branches; thus, I did not climb.”
This maiden was the daughter of Dharmahasa, the younger brother of King Prasenajit. Dharmahasa had once incurred punishment and fled in exile, taking refuge in that distant country. There he settled, took a wife, and had this daughter, whose name was Vaiśālī.
When the brāhmaṇa heard the young woman’s words, he knew at once that she must be virtuous and capable. He then asked her, “Are your parents at home?” The young woman replied, “They are.” So he followed her to the doorway of her house and requested an audience with her parents. The maiden entered the house and said to her father, “Outside there is a Brāhmaṇa who wishes to see you.” Dharmahasa then went out to meet him. After they had exchanged courteous greetings, the brāhmaṇa said, “Just now, this young woman — she is your daughter, is she not?” He replied, “Yes.” “Has she been betrothed to anyone yet?” “Not yet,” he replied. The brāhmaṇa said, “In the country of Śrāvastī there is a great minister named Ṛddhimat. You know of him, do you not?” Dharmahasa answered, “I knew him in the past.” The brāhmaṇa said, “This Ṛddhimat has a youngest son who is virtuous and intelligent, and he wishes to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Would you grant permission?” Dharmahasa replied, “Their family is noble and distinguished, a proper match for ours. If he wishes for marriage, I will not oppose his will.” Having obtained his consent, they then discussed and decided upon an auspicious date.
At that time, one of the brāhmaṇa’s companions was returning to Śrāvastī, so the brāhmaṇa wrote a letter to Ṛddhimat explaining all that had transpired. When the elder Ṛddhimat received the letter, he prepared gifts and carriages and, accompanied by attendants, journeyed to the country of Takṣaśilā to escort the bride. Dharmahasa received him with respect and courtesy, arranged a feast for the guests, and gave his daughter in marriage. After all was settled and the ceremonies completed, they prepared to return to Śrāvastī. In the presence of everyone, the young woman’s mother instructed her daughter, saying, “From this day onward, you must always wear fine garments, eat delicious food, and look into a mirror every day without fail.” The young woman knelt and reverently received her mother’s instruction. Ṛddhimat, hearing these words, became inwardly displeased and thought to himself, “In human life, joy and suffering are uncertain; how can one always enjoy fine clothing and good food? And as for gazing into a mirror every day — that too makes no sense.” Though such thoughts arose in his heart, he did not voice them aloud.
After bidding farewell, the host and guests departed together, and the entire retinue of servants and attendants set forth on the journey home. Along the way they came to a travelers’ lodge, with windows on all four sides, quiet and cool. The servants who went ahead entered the lodge and rested inside. When the daughter-in-law arrived later, she said to her father-in-law, “This place is not safe to stay in; we should quickly go outside.” The elder heeded her advice and went out into the open air, but several others refused to leave. At that moment, an elephant, its body itching, rubbed itself against one of the pillars, and the entire lodge collapsed, crushing and killing those beneath it. Ṛddhimat thought to himself, “Today I have escaped death thanks to my daughter-in-law.” His respect and admiration for her grew all the more.
Then they again mounted their horses and carriages and continued on their way. They came upon a large water channel, with abundant grass and clear, pure water. The people halted their carriages and horses and rested beside the stream. When the daughter-in-law arrived, she said to them, “It is not safe to rest here; quickly go up onto the bank.” Following her words, everyone moved away from the water and rested higher up. Before long, dark clouds gathered, thunder roared, and heavy rain poured down in torrents; the water in the channel overflowed its banks. Ṛddhimat again thought to himself, “We have once more escaped death today, all because of this daughter-in-law — it is she who has preserved our lives.” Then he ordered the carriages and horses prepared, and they continued on their way.
After returning to their own country, relatives and neighbors all came to offer congratulations and inquire after their well-being. The elder was exceedingly joyful and prepared a banquet with wine, food, and entertainment. They feasted and enjoyed themselves for an entire day. When the guests had taken their leave, the elder summoned all his daughters-in-law and said to them, “I am now old and weary of worldly affairs. The household implements and utensils here — I wish to entrust their management to one among you. Who among you can take charge of these matters and keep the keys to the storehouses?” The six elder daughters-in-law all declined, saying they could not do it, but the seventh daughter-in-law said that she could. The elder thereupon entrusted her with the keys to all the storerooms and treasuries.
The youngest daughter-in-law, having received the charge, was diligent and cautious, never negligent. Each day she rose early, swept and cleaned the courtyard and rooms, and when the food was prepared, she first served her father-in-law and mother-in-law, then the other men and women of the household, and afterward the servants and attendants. When all had eaten and gone to their respective tasks, only then did she herself eat. This she continued as her daily practice.
The elder, seeing that she was faithful and dutiful, unlike the others, felt curious about her disregard for her mother’s instruction before marriage. He asked her, “When you came here, your mother instructed you to wear fine garments, eat delicious food, and look into a mirror every day. What was the meaning of her words? Explain them to me.” The daughter-in-law knelt down and respectfully explained in detail: “When my mother told me to wear fine garments, she meant that I should cherish the clothes I wear and keep them always clean and neat, so that when meeting guests, my garments would be fresh and proper. When she told me to eat delicious food, she did not mean that I should seek only fine flavors, but that I should eat later, after hunger arises; then whether the food be good or plain, it will taste delicious. The ‘bright mirror’ she mentioned is not a mirror made of copper or iron, but meant that I should rise early, sweep and clean within and without the house, arrange the beds and mats properly, and make everything orderly and pure. These are the teachings my mother gave me.”
When the elder heard this, he recognized her deep wisdom and virtue. His trust and respect for her increased even more than before. He entrusted her with all matters of the household, rejoicing and feeling at ease, having no more worries.”
At that time, a flock of wild geese flew to an island in the sea and ate of fine rice grains. After they had eaten their fill, they carried rice ears in their beaks and flew away. As they flew over the royal palace, the ears of rice fell down and landed before the hall. The people who saw it picked them up and presented them to the king. The king, seeing that the grains were large and full, thought them strange and marvelous, and believed they must have medicinal properties. He therefore ordered that they be kept and sown, and not be discarded or lost. He distributed the seeds among his ministers, instructing each to cultivate them separately. At that time Ṛddhimat also received some and took them home to be sown.
The daughter-in-law took charge of them. Accompanied by servants, she plowed the fields and sowed the seeds, which grew exceedingly well and yielded a most abundant harvest. The other ministers, however, had not sown according to the proper seasons, and none of their seeds had sprouted.
Then the king’s consort suddenly fell gravely ill. The king summoned physicians to treat her. One physician said, “She should eat rice prepared from the grains grown from that island’s seed; only then can she recover.” The king thought, “I once distributed those seeds among my ministers. I should now check whether they have any remaining.” He summoned all the ministers and asked, “The rice I commanded you to plant before — has it ripened? Now I urgently need that rice to prepare medicine.” The ministers one by one explained their circumstances — some said the seeds had not sprouted, others said they had been eaten by rats.
Ṛddhimat returned home and asked, “Has the rice we planted yielded harvest? It is now needed as an offering to the king, to cure the queen’s illness.” The daughter-in-law replied, “We have plenty in our household. If it is to be used as medicine, it can cure the illnesses of the entire nation, not merely save one person.” Ṛddhimat then presented the rice to the king, who immediately had it cooked for the queen. When the queen ate it, her illness was healed. The king was greatly delighted and bestowed upon him many rich rewards.
At that time there was some discord and tension between the kingdoms of Takṣaśilā and Śrāvastī, and they were often not at peace. The king of Takṣaśilā wished to test whether there were any wise and discerning people in the land of Śrāvastī. So he sent an envoy bearing two horses — a mare and her colt — that were completely identical in form and color, without the slightest difference. He declared that if anyone could distinguish between them, such a person would truly be remarkable. The king of Śrāvastī and his ministers could not tell them apart.
At that time Ṛddhimat returned home from the palace, and his daughter-in-law asked, “Is there some matter of concern today?” The elder recounted to her what had taken place. The daughter-in-law said, “This matter is easily resolved. Why should there be any worry? Simply take some fine grass and place the two horses side by side. The mare will push the grass toward her foal, and the foal will surely snatch it away to eat.” Ṛddhimat immediately went to tell the king. The king, following this advice, brought forth grass to test them, and indeed, as she had said, the mare and the colt were instantly distinguished. The king said to the envoy, “This one is the mare, and that one is her foal.” The envoy replied, “Just as you have said — there is no mistake.” The king was greatly pleased and rewarded Ṛddhimat with double honors and gifts.
When the envoy returned to his own country, he reported all these details to the king of Takṣaśilā. The king then sent another envoy, this time bearing two snakes identical in thickness and length, saying that whoever could distinguish their sexes would be truly extraordinary. Again, King Prasenajit and his ministers were unable to discern the difference. Ṛddhimat went home and asked his daughter-in-law, “How should this be understood?” The daughter-in-law replied, “Lay a piece of fine cotton cloth flat upon the ground and place the two snakes upon it. The female will remain still and motionless, while the male will be restless and uneasy. Why is this so? The nature of females is that they delight in soft and fine; when something gentle touches them, they are content to be still. The nature of males is firm and unyielding; thus, they turn and twist in agitation. By analogy, one can distinguish them clearly.”
The elder, hearing this, went to report it to the king. The king followed this counsel and performed the test, and it turned out just as she had said — the difference between male and female was plainly revealed. The king told the envoy, “This one is male, and that one is female.” The envoy immediately confirmed, “Your words are exactly right.” The king rejoiced all the more and rewarded Ṛddhimat with many treasures.”
The king of Takṣaśilā then sent yet another envoy, this time with a log of wood one zhang in length, its root and top of equal thickness, without any knots or marks of axe or knife. He said, “If someone can distinguish which end is the root and which is the top, that person’s wisdom must truly be beyond measure.” The king and his ministers again could not determine it. Ṛddhimat asked his daughter-in-law, and she replied, “This is simple. Place the log upon water — the root will sink, and the top will float.” The elder, hearing this, went again to tell the king. The king carried out the test exactly as instructed, and it was precisely as she had said: one end sank while the other floated. The king said to the envoy, “The floating end is the top, and the sinking end is the root.” The envoy answered, “Indeed, it is just as you have said.” The king rejoiced greatly and bestowed even more generous rewards upon Ṛddhimat.
When the envoy returned to his own country, he reported everything in full detail. The king of Takṣaśilā, upon hearing it, was deeply convinced in his heart. He not only sent envoys again but also offered precious treasures, saying, “Truly, within the great king’s realm there are wise and virtuous people. From this day onward, our two countries shall live in harmony.”
King Prasenajit was filled with immense joy and summoned Ṛddhimat, asking, “In those earlier matters, how did you come to know the solutions?” Ṛddhimat replied, “It was not I who knew — it was entirely through the clever discernment and wisdom of my daughter-in-law.” When the king heard this, he was deeply moved with admiration and reverence, and he honored Ṛddhimat’s daughter-in-law with the title of Royal Sister.
Before long, the daughter-in-law conceived, and when her term was fulfilled, she gave birth to thirty-two eggs. From each egg emerged a boy, all possessing upright and handsome forms, strong and well-built bodies. As they grew in years, they became valiant and powerful beyond compare; the strength of one was equal to that of a thousand men. Their parents cherished them deeply, and the entire kingdom held them in awe and respect. Later, wives were found for each of them — all women from families of great wealth, virtue, and wisdom within the realm.
At that time, Vaiśālī gave rise to a heart of faith. She invited the Buddha and the community of monks to her home for offerings. The Buddha expounded the Dharma for her, and all the members of her household attained the fruition of Srotāpanna, except for the youngest son, who had not yet realized the path. One day he rode upon a white elephant, intending to go out for a pleasure excursion. Outside the gate there was a deep and wide moat, across which lay a large wooden bridge. Just as the youth reached the head of the bridge, a minister’s son approached from the other side, driving his carriage. The two met upon the bridge, and each, proud of his noble birth, refused to yield to the other.
Filled with anger, Vaiśālī’s son leaned down from his elephant, seized the minister’s son along with his carriage, and hurled them into the moat. The minister’s son’s body was bruised and his joints ached in pain; he went home weeping and said to his father, “Vaiśālī’s son, without reason, insulted and harmed me, injuring my body so that I suffer thus.” His father, upon hearing this, was greatly angered, yet comforted his son, saying, “That man is strong, and being kin to the king, it would be difficult to contend with him by force. I must devise a secret plan to avenge this wrong.”
He therefore had thirty-two whips made of the seven treasures, and within each whip he concealed a blade of the finest steel. He gave one to each of the thirty-two youths, saying to them, “You are all young and fond of play. I have made these whips especially for you — please accept them. If you would always keep them in your hands, I would take it as a great honor.” The youths, delighted, received them eagerly.
Now, according to the law of the kingdom, anyone who appeared before the king was forbidden by decorum to carry a weapon. The minister, knowing that the thirty-two sons of Vaiśālī now carried these whips with hidden blades, went before the king and spoke maliciously, saying, “The thirty-two sons of Vaiśālī are in the vigor of youth, each with the strength of a thousand men. Now they harbor evil intentions and plot to harm the king.” The king, though hearing this, did not at first believe it. The minister further said, “This is no falsehood — there is proof. They have each made sharp blades, hidden within their whips. From this it is clear what they intend.” The king then had the whips brought and examined, and indeed it was just as the minister had said. The king, believing it to be true, thought, “This matter cannot be ignored.”
He then selected strong and valiant men, stationed them within the palace, and summoned the sons of Vaiśālī one by one to enter. As each came in, they were slain within the palace. Their thirty-two heads were placed together in a single box, bound with rope and sealed with the royal seal, then sent to the king’s sister.
That very day, Vaiśālī had invited the Buddha and the community of monks to her home to make offerings. When she saw the king’s messenger bring a box, she thought it was a contribution to her offering and wished to open it and look inside. The World-Honored One said to her, “Stop — do not open it yet. Wait until after the meal.”
After the meal was finished, the Buddha bade her sit down and preached the Dharma to her, saying: “This body is impermanent, suffering, emptiness, and non-self. As long as there is life, there will be countless dangers and fears. One cannot preserve this life for long; all kinds of suffering entangle and distress it, and sorrows beyond measure arise. Affection and attachment, the grief of parting and the yearning to remain together — all these are futile burdens that weary the body and trouble the heart, and they bring no benefit to the path of the Buddha. Only the wise can free themselves from this confusion.”
At that moment Vaiśālī suddenly awakened to understanding and attained the fruit of the Anāgāmin. Filled with joy, she joined her palms and said to the World-Honored One, “Please, out of great compassion, allow me to make four vows.
The first is this: I vow that for all bhikṣus who fall ill, I shall provide them with sufficient medicinal broth and proper nourishment during their illness.
The second: for bhikṣus who tend to the sick, I vow to provide them with food as well.
The third: for bhikṣus who come from afar, I vow to offer them sustenance in advance.
The fourth: for bhikṣus who are about to travel to distant places, I vow to supply them with provisions and necessary expenses.
Why do I wish to do these? Those bhikṣus who fall ill — if they have no medicine or good nourishment, their sickness will be hard to cure, and some may even die. Those who care for the sick — if they have no food, they must leave the patients to beg for alms, and since the hours of morning and evening are uncertain, what the patients require may be delayed or mistaken. When their wishes are frustrated, anger may arise, and thus the illness becomes even harder to heal. Therefore, I wish to provide them food.
As for those bhikṣus who come from distant lands, when they first arrive in a new place, they know nothing of the people or the ways. If they go out to beg, they might encounter fierce dogs or wicked men. Should anger arise, they might be harmed or humiliated. Therefore, I wish to give them food in advance.
Those bhikṣus who travel afar need companions, yet if they lack provisions, they may find none to join them. The roads are long and perilous, with many venomous snakes and fierce beasts. If one travels alone, danger may befall him. For this reason, I wish to supply them.”
Then the World-Honored One, having heard Vaiśālī make these four great vows, praised her, saying, “Excellent, excellent! The vast vows you have made are of boundless merit and virtue, equal to making offerings to the Buddha Himself.” Afterward, the Buddha and the community of monks returned to Jetavana.
When the World-Honored One had departed, Vaiśālī opened the box and saw that within it were the thirty-two heads of her sons. Yet because her heart of attachment had already been severed, she felt no grief or anger. She merely said, “Alas, alas! All beings must die and cannot live long. To be driven to and fro through the five destinies — heavens, hells, and among men, hungry ghosts, and animals — how bitter and painful it is!”
The kinsmen and clansfolk of the thirty-two daughters-in-law, hearing of this matter, were filled with wrath and cried out together, “The great king is unjust! He has slain the innocent!” They gathered soldiers and horses to avenge them. The troops assembled like clouds and surrounded the royal palace. The king was seized with great fear and fled for refuge to where the Buddha was staying. When the people heard this, they led their armies and surrounded Jetavana.
At that time Ānanda, hearing that King Prasenajit had slain Vaiśālī’s thirty-two sons and that their in-laws sought to avenge them, knelt upon the ground for a long time, joined his palms, and said to the World-Honored One, “What karmic cause and retribution led to this — that her thirty-two sons were slain by the king?”
The World-Honored One said, “Vaiśālī’s thirty-two sons were not slain by the king only today. In ages long past they too were killed together, all thirty-two at once. Now listen carefully and keep this in mind, and I shall tell you.” Ānanda replied, “Aye.”
The Buddha said, “In a time long, long ago, these thirty-two were kinsmen and companions. Together they conspired to steal a cattle belonging to another. In that land there was an old woman who was childless, poor, and alone. These thieves came to her house to kill the cow. The old woman, delighted, helped them by preparing firewood, water, and utensils for cooking the meat. When they were about to strike and kill it, the cattle knelt down and begged for its life. But the thieves, intent on their pleasure, refused to spare it. The cattle then made a vow, saying: ‘You who kill me today — in future lives I shall not let you go. Even should you attain the path, still I will not release you.’ Having sworn thus, it was slaughtered. The men boiled the meat and ate greedily. The old woman also ate her fill and, rejoicing, said, ‘Of all the guests who have ever come to my house, you are the best today!’”
The Buddha said to Ānanda, “That cattle of long ago is now King Prasenajit; those who stole and slew it are now Vaiśālī’s thirty-two sons; and the old woman of that time is now Vaiśālī herself. Because of those past deeds, throughout five hundred lives they have been repeatedly slain, again and again, until this very day. And that old woman, because of her glad assistance, was reborn as their mother for those five hundred lives, ever afflicted with grief and sorrow. Only now, encountering me, has she attained realization of the fruit.”
Ānanda joined his palms and again addressed the Buddha, saying, “What meritorious deeds did they cultivate in the past that in this life they were born into wealth and nobility, strong and courageous beyond compare?”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “In the time of the Buddha Kāśyapa, there was an old woman who had deep faith and reverence for the Three Jewels. Her household was exceedingly rich, and she had gathered a great quantity of fragrant substances, which she mixed with oil, intending to anoint the Buddha’s stūpa. On her way there, she encountered thirty-two men and advised them, saying, ‘I am now going to anoint the Buddha’s stūpa with oil. If you will assist me, you will gain great merit. In life after life, you will be born with dignified and proper features and possess strength beyond measure.’ The thirty-two men were delighted and all went together with her to anoint the stūpa.
When they had finished, each of them said, ‘Through this old mother we have been able to plant the roots of merit. May she, in future lives, be born into noble and honored families and continue to be our mother; and may we always be her sons, never separated from her. When we meet the Buddha and hear the Dharma, may we swiftly attain the true fruition of the Buddha path.’ The old woman rejoiced greatly and agreed to their vow. From that time onward, through five hundred lifetimes, they were all reborn into noble families. The old woman of that time is now Vaiśālī; and those thirty-two men are now her thirty-two sons.”
Then the soldiers, upon hearing the Buddha’s words, let go of their anger; their hearts were calmed. They all said, “The punishment carried out by the great king was not without cause — these men brought it upon themselves through the evil they had sown. For killing even a single cattle there can be such retribution; moreover, King Prasenajit is our sovereign — how could we harbor evil thoughts and plan harm against him?” Then they laid down their weapons, knelt before the king, and entreated him for compassion and forgiveness of their offense. The king, greatly relieved, pardoned them without pursuing their guilt.
At that time the World-Honored One expounded the Dharma widely for the fourfold assembly, teaching them to cultivate wholesome deeds and refrain from unwholesome, and he spoke in detail of the wondrous truth of the Four Noble Truths. All those who heard attained realization, each receiving the Dharma with joy and faithfully putting it into practice.
Section Thirty-Eight: Śārdūlakarṇa (In the Tanjur version this section is Section Twenty-One)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in the Bamboo Grove Monastery at Rājagṛha. At that time, the Venerable Ānanda rose from his seat, arranged his robe, joined his palms, and knelt on the ground before the Buddha, saying: “Ājñāta Kauṇḍinya and the other four — what good causes and karmic conditions did they cultivate in their past lives that, at the very moment when the Buddha first appeared in the world and the drum of the Dharma was first sounded, they were able to be the first to hear it, the first to taste the nectar of the Dharma? I wish the Buddha would show compassion and sympathy and explain this to me in detail.”
Then the World-Honored One said to Ānanda: “Those five persons, in their previous lives, once ate my flesh first and thereby obtained peace and safety. Therefore, in this life, they are also the first to receive the food of the Dharma and attain liberation.”
Ānanda again said to the Buddha: “What was the cause and condition for eating flesh in their past lives? May you kindly explain and reveal it in detail.”
The Buddha said: “In the distant past, countless, immeasurable, inconceivable asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, within Jambudvīpa there was a great king named Śārdūlakarṇa. He ruled over eighty-four thousand small kingdoms, sixty thousand mountains and rivers, eight billion villages, and had twenty thousand queens and maidservants. The king was compassionate and kind, full of sympathy and concern for all beings; none of his people failed to receive his beneficence.
“At that time, a fire star appeared in the kingdom. The astrologers, having observed it, immediately went to the king and said: ‘When a ominous star appears, there will be a great drought, and for twelve years no rain will fall. Now that this omen has arisen, how should it be dealt with?’ The king, hearing this, became deeply sorrowful and said: ‘If such a calamity comes to pass, what will become of the people and all living things? If the people’s lives cannot be preserved, the kingdom itself will perish.’ He immediately summoned his ministers for consultation. All the ministers said: ‘We should go to every kingdom, record the number of people, and then count the grain stored in the granaries to see how many bushels and pecks there are, so we may know how much each person can receive during twelve years.’ The king accepted their counsel and at once issued orders for the calculation to be made quickly. After all was computed, they found that even if each person received but one litre of grain per day, the supply would still be insufficient. From then on, the people fell into hunger; many fled or died.
“The king thought to himself: ‘What method can I devise to save and preserve my people?’ Then, together with his queens and maidservants, he went out to the royal gardens to stroll and view the scenery. Afterward, all rested; when the king and others had fallen asleep, he rose from his seat, saluted toward the four directions, and made a solemn vow: ‘Now the people of this country are starving and without food. I am willing to give up my body and transform into a great fish, that with the flesh of my body I may save and nourish all beings.’ Immediately he climbed to the top of a tree, cast himself down, and died instantly. He was then reborn in the great river as a gigantic fish, about five hundred yojanas in length.
“At that time, in the kingdom there were five carpenters, each carrying an axe, who came to the riverside to cut timber. The fish saw them and spoke in human language, saying: ‘If you are hungry and wish to eat, come and take flesh from my body. After eating your fill, you may also take some with you. Now, eat my flesh to fill your bellies, and in the future, when I attain Buddhahood, I will save you with the food of the Dharma. Go and tell all the people of the kingdom: whoever wishes to eat may come here to take nourishment.’
“The five men rejoiced greatly. Each then took his axe and cut some flesh from the fish, ate their fill, and brought some back with them. They told everyone in the country what had happened. Thus, the people passed the news from one to another, until the whole Jambudvīpa knew of it and gathered there to eat the fish’s flesh. When the flesh on one side was eaten away, the fish turned itself over so they might eat the flesh on the other side. When that was gone, flesh grew back again where it had been eaten. Thus, turning itself over and over, the fish continued to offer its flesh to sustain all beings for twelve years. All those who ate its flesh gave rise to minds of compassion, and when they died, they were reborn in the heavens.”
“Ānanda, know that the king Śārdūlakarṇa of that time was myself. Those five carpenters who first ate my flesh are now the five bhikṣus headed by Ājñāta Kauṇḍinya. And all the people who later ate the flesh are today the eighty thousand devas and disciples who have been liberated. In that time, I first gave my bodily flesh to those five men to relieve their hunger and keep them alive; therefore, in this life, when I first expounded the Dharma, I liberated those five persons by giving them a little of the flesh of my Dharma body, thereby removing their suffering from the three poisons and the torment of hunger.”
When the Venerable Ānanda and all the assembled multitude heard what the Buddha had said, they were both sorrowful and joyful, and they received and upheld it with reverence.
Dharma Torch 