Translated by śramaṇas Hui Jue etc. from Liangzhou of the Yuan Wei Dynasty in Gaochang Commandery
Section Sixty: Five Hundred Wild Geese Hear the Buddha’s Teaching and Are Reborn in Heaven (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the country of Benares. Then, in the forest grove, the World-Honored One, was expounding the subtle Dharma to devas and humans, as well as to the fourfold assembly of disciples. At that moment, in the sky above, there were five hundred wild geese who, upon hearing the Dharma sound of the Buddha, gave rise to deep joy and love in their hearts. They circled and soared in the air, wishing to descend to the residence of the World-Honored One. At that very time, a hunter spread out his net, and those five hundred wild geese fell into it and were killed by the hunter. Because of this, they were reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, and upon the knees of their heavenly parents, they suddenly grew up into the form of eight-year-old children, with dignified and beautiful bodies, their appearance exceedingly wondrous, pure and radiant like a mountain of gold.
They each thought to themselves: “By what cause and condition have I been born into this heavenly realm?” Heavenly beings possess sharp wisdom and can discern thoughts by divine insight. Immediately, they recollected their former lives — that because they once heard the sound of the Dharma and gave rise to hearts of joy and love, they thus attained the karmic reward of heavenly birth. Therefore, they should repay the kindness of the Buddha. Then they all took heavenly flowers and incense, and descended to Jambudvīpa, to the country of Benares, arriving at the abode of the World-Honored One. The light of the devas shone brilliantly, resembling a forest of jeweled trees. They all bent their bodies and bowed at the feet of the World-Honored One, joined their palms together, and said: “Because we heard the voice of the World-Honored One expounding the Dharma, we were born into such a wondrous place. We sincerely beseech you once again to extend your compassionate pity and instruct us in the subtle Dharma of liberation.”
At that time, the World-Honored One then expounded to them the profound Dharma of the Four Noble Truths. As a result, those devas awakened and attained the fruit of Srotāpanna. They then returned to the heavenly realm, never again to fall into the three evil paths, and after seven further rebirths, they would attain liberation from all outflows.
Then Ānanda spoke to the World-Honored One, saying: “Last night, heavenly light shone forth, and beings came to bow before the World-Honored One. I do not know what the cause and condition were; I wish to receive your explanation.” The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Attend carefully to this matter, and I shall tell you. Yesterday, while the World-Honored One was in the forest grove, expounding the wondrous Dharma for devas, humans, and the fourfold assembly, there were five hundred wild geese who, because they admired the sound of the Dharma, gave rise to joy and delight, and came flying toward me. Yet they fell into the hunter’s net, and at that time, the hunter killed them. Because of that wholesome thought, they were reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, and recalling their former lives, they came here to repay the gratitude.”
Then Ānanda, hearing what the Buddha had said, was filled with joy and delight, and praised, saying: “How marvelous indeed is the appearance of the Tathāgata in the world! You widely bestow the rain of the Dharma, and all beings receive its moistening grace. Even birds and beasts, upon hearing the sound of the Dharma, can obtain such great blessings. How much more so for human beings who, with faith, receive and uphold the Buddha’s teaching! Their reward must surpass that of the birds by hundreds of thousands and millions of times, beyond all comparison.” The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Excellent, excellent! It is just as you have said. When the Tathāgata appears in the world, he brings vast benefit to all beings, universally bestowing the sweet dew of the Dharma to nourish every living being. Therefore, all should single-mindedly have faith in and revere the Buddha and the Dharma.”
At that time, Ānanda and the entire assembly, having heard the words of the Buddha, rejoiced with great happiness and faithfully practiced accordingly.
Section Sixty-One: The Lion Firm-Vow (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-One)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling at Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa in Rājagṛha. At that time, Devadatta always harbored malicious intent toward the World-Honored One, seeking to harm the Tathāgata and proclaiming himself to be a Buddha. He incited Prince Ajātaśatru to kill his own father and usurp the throne, saying: “A new Buddha and a new king ruling the world—how delightful that would be!” The prince believed his words, killed his father, and declared himself king. Thereupon, people in the world generally gave rise to evil thoughts and bore resentment toward the bhikṣus. When the bhikṣus entered the city to beg for alms, the townsfolk were angered and refused to speak with them, so the bhikṣus returned to the mountains with empty bowls. They reported this matter to the World-Honored One, saying: “Devadatta has done unwholesome deeds, causing the fourfold assembly of disciples to give rise to evil thoughts toward the śramaṇas.”
The World-Honored One then said to Ānanda: “If sentient beings give rise to evil thoughts toward śramaṇas who wear dyed robes, you should know that this is equivalent to harboring evil thoughts toward all Buddhas, Pratyekabuddhas, and Arhats of the past, toward all Buddhas, Pratyekabuddhas, and Arhats of the present, and toward all Buddhas, Pratyekabuddhas, and Arhats of the future. Because they have conceived evil thoughts toward the Worthies and Sages of the three times, they will incur immeasurable karmic retribution. Why is this so? Because the dyed robe is the mark of the Worthies and Sages of the three times. Any being who shaves off hair and beard and dons the dyed robe will, before long, be freed from all suffering, attain wisdom free from outflows, and become a great protector of all beings. If sentient beings can give rise to faith in those who have renounced the household life and wear the dyed robe, the blessings they obtain will be beyond measure.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “It was because in past ages I deeply believed in, revered, and honored those who had renounced the household life and wore dyed robes that I was able to accomplish the path of Buddhahood.”
Ānanda said to the Buddha: “World-Honored One, you say that in the past you profoundly revered those who wore dyed robes—how did this come about? We wish to hear it.” The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Listen attentively and I shall tell you.”
“Yes, World-Honored One, we are eager to hear.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “In the distant past, countless asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, in this Jambudvīpa, there was a great king named Deva. He ruled over eighty-four thousand subordinate kings. At that time, there was no Buddha Dharma in the world, yet there was a Pratyekabuddha who dwelt in the mountains and forests, meditating in seclusion. He possessed the ability to fly and transform, using their merits and virtues to guide beings. Then, even wild beasts would come to approach him with respect. Among the beasts was a lion named Dṛḍhavrata (which in the language of Jin means ‘Firm-Vow’). Its body was golden and radiant, shining with extraordinary brilliance. It ate only fruits and wild grasses and never harmed other beings.
“At that time, there was a hunter who had shaved his head, wore a kāṣāya robe, and carried bow and arrows hidden in his bosom while walking in a marshland. Seeing the lion, he was overjoyed and thought: ‘Today I have truly found great fortune! If I kill this wild beast, take its skin, and offer it to the king, I shall be freed from poverty.’ At that time, the lion happened to be asleep, and the hunter shot it with a poisoned arrow. The lion awoke startled, and as it was about to leap forth to kill the hunter, it saw that he was wearing a kāṣāya robe. Then it thought: ‘A person such as this will not remain long in the world of men; he will surely attain liberation and be freed from all suffering. Why is this so? Because the dyed robe is the emblem of the Worthies and Sages of the past, future, and present. If I harm him, it would mean I have conceived evil toward the Worthies and Sages of the three times.’ Having contemplated thus, the lion’s intention to kill subsided.
The poison from the arrow spread through its body, and its life was nearing its end. Then it uttered this verse:
‘yalala vaśasa svāhā.’
“When these words were spoken, heaven and earth quaked violently; though there were no clouds, rain began to fall. The gods felt shocked and sorrowful, and immediately looked down upon the world with their divine eyes. Seeing that the hunter had slain the Bodhisattva Lion, they scattered heavenly flowers from the sky as an offering to the lion’s body. The hunter then flayed the lion, brought its skin home, and presented it to King Deva, asking for a reward.
At that time, the king thought: “The scriptures record, ‘If an animal has golden hair, it must be a great Bodhisattva.’ How could I possibly reward this man? If I were to reward him, it would be no different from participating in the killing myself.” Yet seeing that the hunter was poor and seeking aid, the king took pity on him and gave him some wealth. He then asked the hunter: “When the lion died, were there any auspicious signs or strange occurrences?” The hunter replied: “As it died, it uttered eight syllables, and heaven and earth trembled; though there were no clouds, rain fell everywhere, and countless flowers descended from the sky.”
Hearing this, the king was overcome with both grief and joy, and his faith grew even firmer. He immediately summoned all ministers, elders, and wise men to explain the meaning of those words, but none could understand.
“At that time, in a secluded forest and marshland, there lived a sage named Śama. He was well-versed in letters and meanings, keenly intelligent, deeply learned, and comprehensively wise. When the king’s envoys reported this to him, the king invited the sage to his court. The sage then carefully explained the meaning of the eight syllables to the king, saying: “The meaning of ‘yalala’ is that only those who shave their heads and wear the dyed robe can swiftly attain liberation from the cycle of birth and death. The meaning of ‘vaśasa’ is that shaving the head and wearing the dyed robe are marks of the Worthy and the Holy, drawing near to Nirvāṇa. The meaning of ‘svāhā’ is that those who shave their heads and wear the dyed robe shall be revered by all gods and humans.”
When the sage had finished his explanation, King Deva was filled with joy. He immediately gathered together all eighty-four thousand subordinate kings and assembled them in one place. He had a lofty chariot made of the seven precious substances, spread the lion’s skin upon it, and proclaimed it to all his subjects, urging everyone to venerate it. They burned incense and scattered flowers, offering their most sincere devotion. The king then had a golden coffin cast, placed the lion’s skin within it, and erected a stūpa to enshrine it. Because of this act of pure faith, the people of that time, when their lives ended, were all reborn in heavenly realms.
The Buddha said to Ānanda and the fourfold assembly: “At that time, the lion, because he gave rise to a wholesome mind toward one who wore the dyed robe, for ten billion kalpas crowned as Wheel-Turning Sage King, fulfilling the needs of beings and cultivating vast merit and virtue, and in the end attained Buddhahood. The one who was then called Dṛḍhavrata—was he anyone else? He is now myself. The King Deva of that time, because he made offerings to the lion’s skin, for ten billion kalpas enjoyed the most honored state among gods and humans, cultivating all forms of wholesomeness—he is now the Bodhisattva Maitreya. The sage of that time is now Śāriputra. And the hunter of that time is now Devadatta.”
Then the fourfold assembly, having heard from the Buddha the account of these past causes and conditions, were filled with joy, yet also remorse and sorrow. They lamented, saying: “How foolish we are! We failed to recognize the wise and holy ones and even gave rise to evil thoughts. May the Tathāgata, out of compassion, pity our ignorance and allow us to repent of our past offenses.”
The World-Honored One, with great and boundless compassion, thereupon expounded to them the subtle Dharma of the Four Noble Truths. According to their individual karmic affinities, they each attained various fruits: some attained the fruit of Srotāpanna, some the fruit of Sakṛdāgāmin, some the fruit of Anāgāmin, and some the fruit of Arhatship; some aroused the aspiration for the unsurpassed true Path. At that time, Ānanda and the fourfold assembly, having heard the Buddha’s words, all rejoiced and faithfully put them into practice.
Section Sixty-Two: A Brāhmaṇa Offers Cloth to the Buddha for Mending His Robe and Receives a Prophecy (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Two)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the Jeta Grove, Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park, in the country of Śrāvastī. At that time, the World-Honored One, accompanied by his attendant Ānanda, entered the city to beg for alms. The robe that the World-Honored One wore had become slightly worn and torn, and he intended to use this occasion as a means to teach and transform beings. After completing the alms round, the Buddha prepared to return to his abode.
Then, a Brāhmaṇa came to the Buddha’s dwelling and bowed before him. Seeing the wondrous radiance and dignity of the Buddha’s countenance, and also noticing that the robe of the World-Honored One was somewhat damaged, he gave rise to the thought of generosity. He saved from his household a small piece of white cotton cloth and offered it to the Buddha, saying: “May the Tathāgata accept this piece of cloth to mend his robe.” The Buddha immediately accepted it. When the Brāhmaṇa saw that the Buddha had accepted his offering, his heart was filled with joy and delight. Out of compassion, the Buddha then bestowed a prophecy upon him, saying: “After two hundred asaṃkhyeya kalpas, you shall become a Buddha, endowed with the marks and signs of great power and perfection, possessing all ten epithets complete.” Having received this prophecy, the Brāhmaṇa rejoiced greatly and departed.
At that time, the nobles, elders, and laypeople of the kingdom all gave rise to the same thought: “Why did the World-Honored One accept such a meager offering from him and yet bestow upon him such vast reward?” Having thus reflected, they each cut fine cloth, fashioned various kinds of robes, and made offerings of them to the Buddha.
Then Ānanda asked the Buddha: “World-Honored One, what meritorious deeds did you perform in the past to cause all people now to delight in offering robes to you? May the Buddha please explain this to us, so that we may understand and gain clarity.” The World-Honored One said: “Listen carefully, attend well to my words, and I shall tell you of the causes and conditions of the past.” Ānanda replied: “Yes, World-Honored One, I will listen attentively.”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “In the inconceivably distant past, countless asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, there was a Buddha named Vipaśyin who appeared in the world, accompanied by ninety thousand disciples. At that time, there was a king named Paṇḍu. One of his ministers invited the Buddha and the Saṅgha to receive offerings for three months, and the Buddha accepted his invitation. After obtaining the Buddha’s consent, the minister returned home to prepare all the necessary offerings.
“At that time, King Paṇḍu also wished to make offerings to the Buddha and the Saṅgha, so he came to the Buddha’s abode and said to him: ‘May I offer alms to the Tathāgata and the bhikṣu Saṅgha for three months?’ The Buddha said to King Paṇḍu: ‘I have already accepted the invitation of that minister. This is the custom among the noble ones—it would not be proper to break a promise midway.’
“The king then returned to his palace and said to his ministers: ‘The Buddha is now in my country, and I wish to make offerings to him, but you have already invited him first. If you would yield to me, allowing me to offer first, then after I have finished, you may invite him again.’ The minister replied: ‘If the great king can guarantee my life’s safety, ensure that the Tathāgata will remain in this country forever, and make the kingdom peaceful and free from calamities forever—if the king can guarantee these things, then I will withdraw my request and allow you to offer first.’ The king thought, ‘Such matters are difficult to accomplish,’ and then said again: ‘You may offer one day, and I shall offer the next.’ The minister agreed. Thus they alternated days, each making offerings in turn, and both of their wishes were fulfilled.
“Ānanda, at that time the minister prepared three full robes for the Tathāgata, all complete and excellent, and for the ninety thousand bhikṣus he made seven-pieces cloth for each. Ānanda, you should know: the one who, at that time, offered those fine robes to the Buddha and the Saṅgha—was he another? He was none other than myself. Through lifetime after lifetime I have diligently cultivated merit and never grown weary, and now all these blessings have ripened upon me. Such merit is never in vain.”
When Ānanda and the others heard these words, they were filled with great joy. They diligently cultivated wholesome deeds, accumulated merit and virtue, and with hearts full of happiness, they revered the teaching and earnestly put it into practice.
Section Sixty-Three: The Cause and Condition of When the Buddha First Arose the Mind of Compassion (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Three)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the Jeta Grove, Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park, in the country of Śrāvastī. At that time, the bhikṣus, having completed the summer retreat, went to the place where the Buddha was staying to bow and pay their respects to him. Out of great compassion, the Buddha comforted them, saying: “You did not suffer while residing there, did you?” The Buddha’s heart of loving-kindness was deep and filled with mercy. When Ānanda saw this, he said to the Buddha: “World-Honored One, your compassion and mercy are exceedingly profound. I wonder, did the World-Honored One develop such a heart from long ago, or only recently?”
The Buddha said to Ānanda: “If you wish to know, I shall tell you. In the distant past, countless and immeasurable asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, there were two sinners together in a hell. The wardens of hell drove them to pull an iron cart; they flayed off their skin to make straps, and beat them with iron rods, forcing them to run back and forth ceaselessly, without the slightest rest.
“At that time, one of them was weak in body. The wardens pressed him harshly; he fell to the ground, then struggled to rise again. Exhausted and in utter torment, he hovered between death and life. His companion, seeing him in such misery, gave rise to a heart of compassion and pity toward him, and turned to the wardens saying: ‘I beg you, please allow me to pull this cart alone in his place!’ When the wardens heard this, they were enraged, and beat him to death with their clubs. Upon dying, he was reborn in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.
“Ānanda, you should know—he who, at that time in hell, gave rise to a compassionate heart, was myself. It was then, while undergoing torment in hell, that I first aroused this mind of compassion and pity. From that time onward, through all existences, I have never turned away nor abandoned this heart toward any being. Therefore, I delight in cultivation and extend compassion to all sentient beings.”
At that time, when Ānanda heard what the Buddha had said, his heart was filled with joy, and he faithfully practiced the teaching.
Section Sixty-Four: The King Born from the Head (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Four)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park in Śrāvastī, together with a great assembly of one thousand two hundred and fifty great bhikṣus. At that time, the World-Honored One saw that the bhikṣus were greedy for adornments, attached to fame and profit, and that they accumulated and hoarded possessions without restraint, their greed ever increasing and insatiable. Seeing this, the Buddha spoke to the bhikṣus about the harm of desire, saying: “Those who are greedy for desires bring harm to their body and life in the present, and in the end they will fall into the three evil destinies, suffering immeasurable pain. Because of this, I myself recall that in past lives, due to the cause of greed, I too once fell and endured all kinds of suffering and distress.”
Then Ānanda rose from his seat, knelt with joined palms, and addressed the Buddha: “World-Honored One! You said that in the past, because of greed, you fell into suffering—how was that?” The World-Honored One said: “In the distant past, beyond measure, beyond count, beyond thought, beyond reckoning—through innumerable, boundless, inconceivable asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago—there was in this Jambudvīpa a great king named Uposatha, who ruled over the entire world and governed eighty-four thousand smaller kingdoms. He had twenty thousand consorts and attendants and ten thousand ministers.
“At that time, a swelling suddenly arose upon the top of the great king’s head, shaped like a cocoon, pure, clean, and transparent, and it caused him no pain. Later it gradually grew larger until it was the size of a gourd. When it was split open and examined, a boy was found within, exceedingly handsome, his hair of deep blue color, his body of purple-gold hue. The king immediately summoned an astrologer to divine the auspiciousness or inauspiciousness of this event. The astrologer, after examining the signs, said to the king: ‘This child possesses virtue and extraordinary bearing; surely he will become a holy king who will rule over the four quarters of the world.’ Therefore, the king gave him the name Mūrdhagata (which in the language of Jin means ‘Born from the Head.’)
“When the boy grew up, his heroic virtue gradually became manifest, and the great king bestowed upon him one kingdom as his domain. Later, the king became gravely ill, and the vassal kings all came to visit him, but he could not avoid death, and thus passed away. The kings of all the tributary states came to Mūrdhagata and petitioned him, saying: ‘The great king has passed away; may you now inherit the throne!’ Mūrdhagata replied: ‘If I possess the merit and fortune to become king, then surely the Four Heavenly Kings and Śakra shall come to welcome and enthrone me; only then will I ascend the throne.’
“As soon as he made this vow, the Four Heavenly Kings immediately descended, each holding a precious vase filled with fragrant water, and poured it upon the crown of his head. Then the Lord of the Devas, Śakra, came bringing a jeweled crown to place upon him and proclaimed his praises. The other kings urged him, saying: ‘You should go to the land ruled by the great king and take your seat upon the throne.’ Mūrdhagata again said: ‘If I truly possess the fortune to be a king, the kingdom itself should come to me; I shall not go to the kingdom.’ As soon as this vow was spoken, all the palaces, gardens, and bathing ponds of the great realm came to the place of the king. The golden wheel, the elephants and horses, the jeweled maidens, the divine pearls, the treasuries, and the armies all assembled together. Thus the king ruled over the four continents and became a Wheel-Turning King.
“The king once went on a tour along the borders of his realm and saw that the people were plowing the land and tilling the fields. The king asked his ministers, ‘What do these beings wish to do?’ The ministers replied to the king, ‘All beings with form live by means of food. Therefore they plant grains, wishing to use them to sustain their lives.’ The king then made a vow, saying: ‘If I possess the merit and fortune to be a true king, there should naturally appear a hundred flavors of food and drink, sufficient to fill and nourish all, so that none shall suffer from hunger or thirst.’ As soon as he finished making this vow, food and drink immediately appeared.
“The king again went out to tour his land and saw the people spinning and weaving cloth. The king asked, ‘For what purpose are these being made?’ The people replied, ‘Food now arises naturally, yet there is nothing to adorn or cover our bodies. Therefore we spin and weave cloth, to make garments and ornaments.’ The king then made another vow, saying: ‘If I possess the merit and fortune to be a true king, fine and wondrous garments should naturally appear, to relieve and provide for all the people, so that none shall suffer from poverty or want.’ As soon as he made this vow, in an instant the trees of all kinds throughout the land bore forth garments of various colors and exquisite beauty, and all the people freely took what they wished, with no end or exhaustion.
“The king once more went out on tour and saw many people crafting musical instruments. The king asked them, ‘For what purpose are these being made?’ The people replied, ‘Food and clothing are already abundant, yet music is still lacking. Therefore we make these instruments to bring joy to ourselves.’ The king again made a vow, saying: ‘If I possess the merit and fortune to be a true king, all kinds of delightful musical instruments should naturally appear.’ As soon as the vow was spoken, instantly, on the branches of all the trees, countless kinds of musical instruments appeared hanging in great numbers. Whoever wished to play them could take them down and play, and the sounds were harmonious and flowing; all who heard them experienced joy and delight without exception.
“The king’s virtue was exceedingly profound, and countless good deeds gathered together. From the heavens, as if rain were falling, the seven precious treasures descended, covering all the lands. The king asked his ministers, ‘By whose virtue has this come to be?’ The ministers replied, ‘This is due to the great king’s virtue and also to the blessings of the people.’ The king then made another vow, saying: ‘If this is due to the blessings of the people, the treasures should descend everywhere; but if it is solely due to my own virtue, then they should fall evenly only within my palace.’ As soon as he finished this vow, in all other places the rain of treasures ceased, and only within the palace did they continue to fall from the sky like rain, for seven days and seven nights.
“This King Mūrdhagata in Jambudvīpa indulged himself in the five desires and enjoyed his own pleasures for eighty-four thousand years. At that time, a yakṣa appeared before the palace and cried out loudly: ‘In the eastern quarter there is a land called Pūrva-Videha. It is abundant and joyful, full of pleasure and delight beyond compare. The great king may go there to tour and behold it.’ The king consented and, desiring to travel, his golden wheel began to turn once more. Ascending through the air, he proceeded forward, accompanied by his ministers and the seven treasures. When he arrived in that land, all the minor kings came to pay homage and offer congratulations, and the king there freely indulged in the pleasures of the five desires.
“After eight hundred million years had passed, the yakṣa again cried out: ‘In the western quarter there is a land called Godānīya, equally blissful. The great king may go there.’ The king at once agreed and went to that land, enjoying the fortune of food and delight.
“After one billion four hundred million years had passed, the yakṣa again cried out: ‘In the northern quarter there is a land called Uttara. That land is peaceful, abundant, and prosperous, its people many and flourishing. The great king may go there.’ The king then went to that place, stayed there, and dwelt among them, freely and unrestrainedly enjoying the most subtle pleasures of the five desires.
“After one billion and eight hundred million years had passed, the yakṣa again cried out: ‘There is a realm where the Four Heavenly Kings dwell; the pleasures there are beyond measure. The great king may go and behold it.’ The king, along with his ministers and the four kinds of armies, ascended into the sky. When the Four Heavenly Kings saw him coming from afar, they were greatly terrified. They gathered their forces to resist him, but in the end they could not overcome him and had no choice but to withdraw to their own abodes. King Mūrdhagata thus remained among the Four Heavenly Kings, dwelling at ease and enjoying delight.
“After many billions of years, he thought to himself, ‘I wish to ascend to the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.’ At once he and his retinue stepped into the sky and went upward. At that time, five hundred sages dwelt halfway up Mount Sumeru. The urine and dung of the king’s elephants and horses fell down upon them, defiling their bodies. The sages asked each other, ‘For what cause has this defilement fallen upon us?’ Among them, one wise ṛṣi said to the rest, ‘I have heard that King Mūrdhagata intends to ascend to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three; this must surely be the filth discharged by his elephants and horses.’ The sages became angry and resentful, and by reciting divine spells they caused King Mūrdhagata and his retinue to be halted midway. When the king perceived this, he immediately made a vow, saying: ‘If I possess the merit and fortune to be a true king, these sages should all come to serve and attend upon me, obeying my command.’ The king’s virtue was vast and boundless, capable of inspiring response; thus the five hundred sages came to him, holding the wheels of his chariot and guiding the horses, and together they reached the heaven.
“Before they arrived, from afar they saw the heavenly city, named Joyful Vision. Its color was pure and white, lofty and magnificent, most extraordinary. This city of Joyful Vision had one thousand and two hundred gates. The devas, struck with fear, closed all the gates and fastened them with threefold iron bars. Yet the host of King Mūrdhagata advanced straight forward without hesitation. The king took out a conch and blew it, drew his bow and fitted an arrow; instantly all one thousand two hundred gates opened at once. Śakra, Lord of the Devas, then came forth to meet him, invited him to enter the palace, and they sat together side by side. The appearance of Śakra and the king of men was of the same kind; those who saw them for the first time could not distinguish them, knowing only by the slight difference in the blinking of their eyes. The king enjoyed the pleasures of the five desires in heaven through the reigns of thirty-six different Śakras, the last of whom was the Great Kāśyapa.
“At that time, the king of the Asuras raised his army to the heavens and battled with Śakra. Śakra was defeated and withdrew his troops within the city. Then King Mūrdhagata came forth, blew the conch, drew his bow, and loosed an arrow; immediately the king of the Asuras was shattered and fell. King Mūrdhagata thought to himself, ‘My power is such that none can compare with it. Why should I now share this throne equally with Śakra? Better would it be to destroy him and alone rule the heavenly realm—that would be true joy!’ As soon as this evil thought arose, he at once fell down from heaven, dropping before the gates of his own palace. Weakened, exhausted, and near death, people came and asked him, ‘If, in the future, men inquire as to how King Mūrdhagata died, what should be said?’ The king told them, ‘If anyone should ask, you may answer thus: “King Mūrdhagata died because of greed. He ruled over the four continents for forty billion years; treasures rained from heaven for seven days, and he enjoyed pleasures even in the heavenly realms, yet he never knew contentment. Therefore he fell.”
“Thus, bhikṣus, know that gain and profit are truly a great calamity. You should contemplate this deeply and seek to distance yourselves from them, pursuing earnestly the true essence of the Path.”
Ānanda then said to the Buddha, “World-Honored One, what kind of merit and virtue did this King Mūrdhagata cultivate in his past lives to obtain such boundless and vast rewards?”
The Buddha replied, “In the inconceivably distant past, countless kalpas ago, there was a Buddha named Puṣya, who traveled through the world teaching the Dharma with his assembly of disciples. At that time, there was a brāhmaṇa’s son who was about to take a wife. In his hand he held beans, which he intended to scatter toward his bride, as was the custom of worldly people then. On his way, he encountered the Buddha, and feeling joy in his heart, he took those beans and scattered them toward the Buddha. Four of the beans fell into the Buddha’s alms bowl, and one bean rested upon the Buddha’s crown. Because of this cause and condition, he received immeasurable blessings: the four beans that entered the bowl became the cause for his ruling as king over the four continents, and the one that rested upon the crown became the cause for his enjoying pleasures in the heavens of the Four Heavenly Kings and the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.”
At that time, the disciples who heard what the Buddha had spoken, some attained the first fruit, some the second, some the third, and some the fruit of Arhatship. Their number beyond reckoning. All of them faithfully received and practiced the Buddha’s teaching, joyfully upholding and carrying it out.
Section Sixty-Five: Maiden Sumanā and the Ten Sons (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Five)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park in Śrāvastī. At that time, the youngest daughter of the elder Sudatta was named Sumanā. Her appearance was dignified, and her countenance exceedingly beautiful. Her father loved her especially, more than his other children. Whenever he went out to visit or travel, he often took her along.
One day, the elder came to the place where the Buddha was dwelling. When Sumanā saw the Buddha, her heart was filled with joy and delight beyond measure. She said, “I wish to obtain fine incense to anoint the chamber where the Buddha resides!” At that time, the maiden held in her hand a bimba fruit. The Buddha asked her for it, and she, following his instruction, offered it to him. The Buddha then wrote upon that fruit the words “Fragrant Seed,” and returned it to her. After Sumanā and her father went back to the city, she began to purchase all kinds of exquisite incense, preparing them one by one according to what the Buddha required. She herself pounded and blended them by hand, doing so each day without ceasing.
At that time, the king of the country of Takṣaśilā sent one of his sons to Śrāvastī. When this prince arrived in that foreign land for the first time, he roamed widely, sightseeing in every direction. Gradually, by chance, he came to the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park and saw the maiden Sumanā grinding incense. The prince, beholding her beauty, gave rise to love and wished to take her as his wife.
He then returned to the city and reported to King Prasenajit, saying, “There is a maiden who pleases my heart; I wish the king to grant her to me and not oppose my desire.” The king asked, “Whose daughter is she?” The prince replied, “She is the daughter of the elder Sudatta.” The king said, “Then go and seek her yourself. I shall not interfere.” The prince again petitioned, saying, “If the king permits, I wish to go personally to ask for her.” The king said, “You may go.”
So the prince sent his attendants, carriages, treasures, and followers back to his own country, keeping only himself and one elephant. He then went to the Jeta Grove and seized the maiden Sumanā by force, mounted the elephant, and departed. When Sudatta heard this, he immediately sent people to pursue them, but the elephant ran swiftly, and they could not catch up. After they arrived in the land of Takṣaśilā, Sumanā was taken as wife. Later she conceived and gave birth to ten eggs. In time, the eggs split open, and ten sons were born. Their appearance was handsome and striking, unlike ordinary men.
As they grew up, they became brave and strong, surpassing common people, but they delighted in hunting and harming living beings. Their mother pitied them and admonished them not to act in such a way. The sons said to their mother, “Hunting is the greatest joy. Now you forbid us from it—this means you dislike us.” The mother said again, “It is precisely because I love you that I restrain you. If I hated you, I would never speak in this way. Why? Because killing living beings brings grievous sin. One will fall into hell, suffer immeasurable torments for tens of millions of years, and become the prey of wardens in hell who bear the heads of deer, sheep, rabbits, and various birds and beasts. They will chase, pierce, and hunt you without end. Through countless ages, seeking to escape such suffering, how could that ever be accomplished?”
The sons asked their mother, “Are these things you say born of your own thoughts, or did you hear them from another?” The mother replied, “I personally heard this spoken by the Buddha in former days.” The sons then asked, “Who is this Buddha? We beg mother to explain to us in detail.”
The mother told her sons, “Have you not heard? In the land of Kapilavastu there was the son of King Pure-Rice, whose countenance shone with radiance and dignity. He was destined to become a holy king, yet he grew weary of old age, sickness, and death, and thus renounced the world to seek the Path. He made vows and cultivated practice, perfected merit and virtue, and attained the supreme fruit. His body stands sixteen feet tall, his marks are peerless; he is endowed with the Three Knowledges and the Six Supernormal Powers, and his wisdom is boundless. He knows the future without end, knows the past without limit, and contemplates the three times as clearly as a jewel held in the palm of the hand.”
Hearing this, the sons rejoiced in their hearts and asked again, “Where is the Buddha now? Is he near or far? May we see him?” The mother replied, “The Buddha now resides in Śrāvastī.” The sons then pleaded with their mother, saying, “We wish to go and pay homage to the Buddha.” The mother consented.
“The ten sons all set forth together toward Śrāvastī. Their grandfather, the elder Sudatta, upon seeing his grandsons, rejoiced greatly and felt an even deeper affection for them. He brought them to the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park to pay homage to the Tathāgata. When the ten sons beheld the Buddha, whose countenance was majestic and resplendent, they found that his beauty exceeded by tens of thousands of times what they had heard described before. Their feelings were wholly moved, and they rejoiced beyond measure, unable to restrain. The Buddha, in accordance with the conditions of the moment and their capacities, expounded the wondrous Dharma for them. All ten simultaneously attained the pure Dharma-eye.
Thereupon, they requested permission from the Buddha to renounce the household life and enter the Path. The Buddha asked them, ‘Have your parents consented?’ They replied, ‘We have not yet sought their permission.’ The Buddha said, ‘If your parents do not consent, you may not renounce the world and cultivate the Way.’ Then the elder Sudatta said, ‘These are my grandsons. I have full authority over them. Now I permit them to renounce the household life; this is fitting and proper.’ The Buddha thus consented and allowed them to enter the Path. Their hair immediately fell off by itself, and the Dharma robes naturally clothed their bodies—they instantly became śramaṇas. They diligently practiced cultivation, attained the Great Path, and all realized the fruit of Arhatship. These ten bhikṣus deeply respected one another; when walking, they advanced together, and when dwelling, they lived together in harmony. The people of the entire country all revered them.
Ānanda asked the Buddha, “What wholesome causes and merits did these ten bhikṣus cultivate in former lives that they were born into wealthy families, possessed such extraordinary appearance, encountered the World-Honored One, and ultimately escaped all suffering?”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “In the distant past, ninety-one kalpas ago, there appeared in the world a Buddha named Vipaśyin. When that Buddha had finished teaching and transforming beings, he entered Parinirvāṇa. His disciples distributed his relics and built innumerable stupas. At that time, one stupa, having aged long, collapsed. There was an old woman who repaired and restored it. Just then, ten young men passed by, saw her, and asked, ‘What are you doing, old mother?’ The woman replied, ‘This is a stupa of the Buddha. Its merit is vast and boundless. Therefore, I am repairing it, wishing to gain a wholesome reward.’
“The ten young men rejoiced and together assisted her in the work. When the restoration was completed, they made a vow, saying: ‘May we, in future lives, always be born together as mother and sons, cultivating goodness together.’ From that time on, through ninety-one kalpas, they were born together again and again among gods and men, always enjoying blessings and happiness. They also possessed three superior qualities surpassing others: first, their forms were handsome and dignified; second, they were loved and respected by all people; third, they always enjoyed long life. Throughout that vast span of time, they never fell into the three evil destinies. Now they have encountered me, born into the world, and have been purified by the transforming power of the Buddha’s Dharma. Having removed all defilements, they have all become worthy Arhats. Would you know who that old woman was at that time? She is now the Maiden Sumanā. And those ten young men of the past are the ten Arhats of today.”
When the Buddha spoke these words, in the great assembly some attained the fruit of Srotāpanna, some the fruit of Sakṛdāgāmin, some the fruit of Anāgāmin, and some the fruit of Arhatship. Some aroused the aspiration for the Great Vehicle; and some attained the irreversible stage. All of them faithfully received the Buddha’s words, rejoicing and practicing them with devotion.
Section Sixty-Six: Vaśiṣṭha (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Six)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in Rājagṛha, within the mountain of Gṛdhrakūṭa. At that time, in that country there was a wealthy elder named Śreṣṭhin. His household possessed abundant riches, filled with the seven precious treasures, his wealth inexhaustible. His wife conceived, and when her term was complete, she gave birth to a son whose countenance was upright and majestic, unlike any in the world. The parents rejoiced greatly, feeling exceedingly blessed. They invited an astrologer to divine the child’s fortune. After examining the signs, the astrologer said to the parents, “This child possesses deep virtue and merit. He will bring great prosperity and glory to his family.” The elder was all the more delighted, his joy boundless, and again asked the astrologer to bestow a name upon the child. The astrologer asked, “Since conceiving this son, has there been any auspicious sign?” The elder replied, “The mother of this child used to be slow in speech and dull of wit, but since conceiving him, her speech has become clever and eloquent, far surpassing what it was before.” The astrologer then gave him the name Vaśiṣṭha.
As the boy grew up, his intelligence and wisdom far exceeded those of his peers. Once, while he was out playing with companions, he came upon the house of a naṭa family. There he saw a maiden whose appearance was pure and graceful, her radiance shining with unmatched beauty. Desire arose in his heart, and he longed to take her as his wife. When he returned home, he said to his parents, “I wish for you to arrange marriage with her on my behalf.” His parents said, “We are of noble lineage, while that family belongs to a lowly caste. High and low are not equal—how can such a union be made?” The son, deeply entangled by affection, unable to free himself, pleaded again: “Do not speak of family or birth; look only to virtue and character. I beg my parents to pity me and grant my wish! If I cannot have her, I would rather end my life.”
The parents, moved by his resolve, consented and sent messengers to propose marriage. But the family replied, “You are of a great and noble house, while we are humble people, not of the same kind—how could such a marriage be fitting?” The elder’s son remained earnest in his affection, and again sent messengers to plead. The family replied, “If you can master all the arts our family practices—song, dance, play, laughter, and amusement—and perform them skillfully before the king, and if your performance pleases him, only then may marriage be granted.”
Ensnared by desire, the young man felt no shame and went to that household to learn their arts. Before long, he had mastered every skill.
At that time, the king assembled many naṭas to display their talents: some performed upon high poles, some leapt through windows, some walked upon ropes strung in midair—each presenting marvelous feats of every kind. The elder’s son also came before the king and performed in turn. He ascended upon a rope high in the air and crossed over it. But when he had finished, the king had already departed and had not seen him perform. The king then commanded that he walk again. Obeying the order, he began another performance, yet his strength waned midway, and as he reached the center of the rope, he nearly fell. Terror arose within him, his mind disordered, with no refuge to rely upon.
At that moment, the venerable Maudgalyāyana appeared in the sky before him and said, “Today, do you wish to preserve your life and renounce the world to cultivate the Path, or would you rather fall to the ground and die for the sake of that woman?” He immediately answered, “I wish to preserve my life and renounce desire for that woman.” Maudgalyāyana then transformed the sky beneath him into solid ground. Seeing the earth appear below, his fear vanished, and stepping upon it, he descended safely without harm. Having thus been delivered, his heart was filled with boundless joy. He then accompanied Maudgalyāyana to the World-Honored One, bowed down, and made offerings in reverence.
At that time, the Buddha expounded the Dharma to him, broadly elucidating the wondrous teachings. The teachings were those of generosity, morality, and the path to rebirth in heavenly realms—explaining that desire is impure, and that renunciation brings true happiness. His mind suddenly opened and became clear; right then and there, he attained the first fruit. He then requested the Buddha, saying, “I wish to renounce the household life and cultivate the True Dharma.” The World-Honored One consented. At once, his hair and beard fell off by themselves, and the Dharma robes draped upon his body; he immediately became a śramaṇa. That bhikṣu single-mindedly practiced meditation, diligently cultivated right conduct, exhausted all defilements, and attained the fruit of Arhatship.
The venerable Ānanda bowed before the Buddha and said, “World-Honored One, what karmic causes and conditions existed in the past between the śramaṇa Vaśiṣṭha and that woman, that made him become attached to her, almost losing his life? And by what wholesome cause did he and Maudgalyāyana form a bond, so that in this life he was rescued by him and remained unharmed? Moreover, what causes and conditions enabled him now to attain Arhatship by his own cultivation?”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “In the distant past, countless kalpas ago, there was in the land of Benares a great elder who had a son newly born, whose appearance was upright and handsome, unlike any other. At that time, a man from the elder’s household returned from the sea, bringing with him a bird’s egg and offering it to the elder. The elder accepted it, and before long, the egg cracked open, hatching a small bird whose feathers were bright and glossy. The elder loved it dearly and let his son play with it. As time passed, the bird grew up, and affection developed between them; they were always together. The elder’s son would often ride upon the bird’s back, and the bird would carry him through the air, flying freely to many places for pleasure. When he had roamed enough, they would return home. This continued day after day, for a long time.
“One day, the elder’s son heard that a neighboring kingdom’s king was holding a naṭa performance. He mounted the bird and flew there to watch. When he arrived, the bird alighted upon a tree, and he observed from below. By chance, he saw the king’s daughter, and love instantly arose in his heart. He sent a message to her to express his feelings, and the princess responded favorably. The two secretly met and coupled in private. But their affair was soon discovered by the king. The king sent men to arrest him, and before long they captured him, bound his body, and prepared to execute him. The elder’s son said, ‘There is no need to trouble yourselves to kill me. Allow me to climb a tree and throw myself down to die.’ The people agreed. So he climbed up the branches, mounted the bird, and the bird spread its wings and flew up into the sky, carrying him away to safety. Because of that bird, his life was preserved.”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “At that time, the elder’s son was the one who is now Vaśiṣṭha; the king’s daughter of that time is the naṭa woman of this life; and the bird of that time is Maudgalyāyana. In a past life, because of craving for beauty, he fell into peril but was saved by the bird; in this life, again ensnared by lust, he nearly perished but was rescued by Maudgalyāyana.
“As for Vaśiṣṭha’s intelligence and eloquence, and his attainment of undefiled wisdom, it was due to this cause: In a past age, in the land of Benares, there was a layman who, upon seeing a Pratyekabuddha come begging for food, immediately offered alms. Then he further invited the Pratyekabuddha to expound the Dharma. The Pratyekabuddha declined, saying that he could not, and then cast his bowl into the sky and ascended into the air. The layman thought, ‘This man’s divine power is vast and boundless, yet he cannot teach the Dharma to beings. May I, in a future life, encounter a holy one far surpassing this Pratyekabuddha, who will expound the Dharma in infinite measure; and may I myself attain the holy fruit.’ Because of this vow and merit, in this life he has keen intelligence and wisdom and has attained the fruit of Arhatship.”
When the Buddha spoke these words, the entire assembly rejoiced. Among them, some attained the fruit of Srotāpanna, some the fruit of Sakṛdāgāmin, some the fruit of Anāgāmin, and some the fruit of Arhatship. There were also those who planted the wholesome roots leading to Pratyekabuddhahood, and others who aroused the Bodhisattva resolve. All received the Buddha’s words with faith, bowed in reverence, and joyfully put them into practice.
Section Sixty-Seven: Upagupta (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Seven)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park in Śrāvastī. At that time, there was a brāhmaṇa in that country named Ābhāgupta, who was intelligent, learned, and well-versed in the teachings of ancient and modern times. He came before the Buddha and requested to renounce the household life and become a śramaṇa. He said to the Buddha, “If after I renounce the world my wisdom and eloquence become equal to those of Śāriputra, then I shall be pleased; but if I fall short of him, I shall return home.” The Buddha immediately replied, “You are not equal to him.”
Upon hearing this, the brāhmaṇa did not renounce the world but went back home. Later, the World-Honored One said before the great assembly, “A hundred years after my passing, this brāhmaṇa will be transformed and guided by the Dharma. He will attain the six supernormal powers, possess lofty wisdom, and will teach and transform beings as numerous as the sands of the Ganges.”
When the Buddha was about to enter Parinirvāṇa, he admonished Ānanda, saying, “After my passing, all the teachings of the scriptures shall be entrusted to you. You should uphold and preserve them so that the Buddha-Dharma may widely spread in the world.” After the World-Honored One’s Parinirvāṇa, Ānanda upheld the Dharma.
Later, when Ānanda was about to enter Parinirvāṇa, he said to his disciple Śāṇavāsi, “After I pass away, the essential meaning of all the scriptures shall be protected and upheld by you.” He further tell him, “In the land of Benares, there will be a householder named Gupta. He will have a son named Upagupta. You must earnestly seek him out and guide him to renounce the world and cultivate the Path. When you are nearing the end of your life, transmit the Dharma to him.”
After Ānanda’s passing, Śāṇavāsi upheld the Buddha’s teaching, traveling throughout the world and transforming countless beings. Later he came to the land of Benares and visited the house of that layman, forming a close friendship and coming there often. The layman then had a son named Ābhāgupta, who was still very young. Śāṇavāsi came to request that the boy renounce the household life. The father replied, “I have only this one son to inherit the family line; he cannot renounce. If in the future I have another child, I will certainly give him to you.”
Later another son was born, named Nandagupta. Śāṇavāsi again came to request him. The householder replied, “My elder son manages affairs outside, and my younger son takes care of matters within the household—thus our family can prosper. I am attached to them both and cannot yet give them up. If another son is born, I shall certainly offer him to you.” Śāṇavāsi was an Arhat, possessed of the Three Knowledges, and could perceive the roots and capacities of living beings. Seeing that these two sons lacked the causes and conditions for the Path, he stilled his heart and did not press further.
Later the householder had yet another son, whose appearance was upright and whose form was exceptional. Śāṇavāsi again came to request him. The father said, “This child is still too young and cannot yet serve. Moreover, our family is poor and has nothing to offer in support. Please allow him to remain for now. When he grows up, I will surely give him to you.”
As the boy grew older, he became remarkably intelligent and wise. His father placed him in charge of household wealth and the management of trade and commerce. At that time, Śāṇavāsi came to visit and expounded the Dharma to him, teaching him how to cultivate the mind. He instructed him, saying, “You may use white stones and black stones to mark your thoughts: whenever a wholesome thought arises, place a white stone; whenever an unwholesome thought arises, place a black stone.” Upagupta accepted the instruction and cultivated accordingly. In the beginning, the black stones were many, and the white stones were few. As his cultivation deepened, the numbers of white and black became equal. Continuing to practice with undivided effort, unwholesome thoughts no longer arose, the black stones disappeared, and only white ones remained. When wholesome thoughts became pure and mature, he attained the first fruit.
At that time, there was in the city a courtesan who sent her maidservant with money to buy flowers. Upagupta, being pure in heart, kind, and impartial toward all beings, gave her maid many flowers. When the maid returned, the courtesan was surprised and asked, “In the past, when you bought flowers for the same price, you received fewer. Why is it that today, though you spent less, you brought back so many? Could it be that before you deceived me?” The maid replied, “The flower-seller today was a man of compassion and virtue, courteous and just in all dealings, and so he gave more flowers. Moreover, his appearance was upright and dignified, exceedingly handsome. If my lady were to see him in person, she would surely not regret it.” Hearing this, the courtesan sent a messenger to invite him. But Upagupta, being humble and self-restrained, would not go. Though she sent messengers again and again, he did not consent to come.
Later, the courtesan entered into an illicit affair with a prince of the royal family. Greedy for his wealth and treasures, she plotted against him and killed him, hiding his body in secret. When the royal household sought for the missing prince, they found his corpse and seized the courtesan. Her hands and feet were severed, her ears and nose cut off; she was hung upon a tall pole and cast away among the tombs. Though she endured extreme agony, her life was not yet ended.
Upagupta went to visit her. When the courtesan saw him, she said, “When you were handsome and noble in form, you would not come to see me. Now that I am mutilated and disfigured, what is there worth seeing?” Upagupta replied, “I have not come because of desire, but out of compassion for you, and therefore I came to this place.” Then he expounded to her the Four Inverted Views, saying: “This body is impure; it is suffering; it is empty; it is without self. Contemplate each of these: what here can be clung to? Only the ignorant give rise to deluded thoughts of attachment.” When the courtesan heard this Dharma, her mind opened and became pure; she attained the pure Dharma-eye. Upagupta, at that very time, attained the fruit of Anāgāmin.
Thereafter, Śāṇavāsi again came to the householder and requested that the youth renounce the world and become a sāmaṇera. The householder, following the venerable’s instruction, entrusted his son to him. Śāṇavāsi then brought the boy to the monastery and bestowed upon him the Ten Precepts. When he reached the age of twenty, he conferred upon him the complete precepts through the Four-Announcement Karma Ceremony. Upon the completion of the ordination, Upagupta attained the fruit of Arhatship, endowed with the Three Knowledges and the Six Supernormal Powers, his wisdom perfected. His eloquence was wondrous, and the Dharma he expounded was inexhaustible. Then he gathered a great assembly to preach the Dharma. But Māra the Evil One caused a rain of gold coins to fall upon the preaching place. The people, overcome with greed, scrambled to collect them, and no one concentrated on the teaching.
On the second day, when he again assembled the gathering, Māra made a rain of garlands and flowers fall, distracting the crowd.
On the third day, when he convened the assembly once more, Māra transformed himself into a great elephant, its body blue and lustrous like lapis lazuli, with six tusks growing from its mouth. Upon one tusk were seven bathing pools; within each pool arose seven lotus flowers; upon each lotus sat seven jeweled maidens. Each of these maidens played music and performed graceful dances. The great elephant moved slowly and serenely, circling around the Dharma assembly. All those present were enchanted by the sight, staring without blinking, their minds entirely lost to the Dharma.
On the fourth day, he assembled the multitude again, and Māra transformed himself into a woman of surpassing beauty who stood behind the venerable as his attendant. The crowd gazed upon her in fascination, forgetting the teaching entirely. Then the venerable transformed the woman’s body, and in an instant she turned into a white skeleton. When the people saw this, fear and awakening arose in their hearts. They returned their minds to mindfulness and listened intently to the Dharma. As a result, innumerable beings attained realization of the Path.
The venerable once raised a dog, and each day he would quietly speak the Dharma into the dog’s ears. Later, when the dog’s life came to an end, it was reborn in the sixth Heaven, sharing the same couch as Māra Papīyān. Māra pondered in his mind: “How is it that this celestial being of great virtue sits beside me? From what place has he come?” Using his heavenly eye, he examined and discovered that this deva had arisen from the body of a dog. “That śramaṇa has truly shamed me!”
Then, while the venerable one was in meditation, Māra secretly took a jeweled crown and placed it upon the venerable’s head. When the venerable emerged from his meditation, he sensed the crown upon his head. Using the wisdom of his mind, he perceived that it was the work of Māra. He then, by his spiritual power, summoned Māra before him and transformed the body of the dead dog so that it appeared adorned with gold and jewels. He said to Māra, “You have bestowed upon me this precious crown—I am deeply grateful for your kind intent. Now I return this ornament to you as a gift in return.”
Māra accepted it and returned to the heavens. But when he looked again, he found that what he wore was not a jeweled ornament but the corpse of a dead dog. His heart filled with loathing, and he tried with all his supernormal power to remove it, yet no effort could make it come off. Māra then went to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three and sought help from Śakra, saying, “Please remove this impure thing.” Śakra said, “Only the one who created it has the power to undo it; my strength cannot help.” Māra then went in turn to all the other heavens, even to the Brahmā world, but they all gave the same reply as Śakra, saying that their power was insufficient.
Having no alternative, Māra at last came before the venerable one and said, “The Buddha is truly of great virtue and boundless compassion. But the disciples of the Śrāvakas are indeed formidable. Know that once I led an army of eighteen hundred million māras to besiege the Bodhisattva, wishing to defeat his Path, yet the Bodhisattva remained compassionate and bore me no resentment. But now, having merely disturbed you slightly, I suffer such affliction!”
The venerable one replied, “Truly it is as you say. The Buddha surpasses me by hundreds of thousands of millions, beyond all comparison—just as Mount Sumeru exceeds a mustard seed, as the waters of the great ocean exceed those of a cow’s footprint, as the lion-king exceeds the jackal. The great and the small—how could they be compared?”
Then the venerable said to Māra, “I was born in the age after the Buddha’s passing and have never personally seen the Tathāgata. I have heard that your supernatural powers are vast and that you can transform yourself into the likeness of the Buddha. I wish that you would manifest such a form for me to behold.” Māra replied, “If I transform into the form of the Buddha, you must not bow to me.” The venerable one answered, “I shall not bow.”
Thereupon Māra transformed into the body of a Buddha, sixteen feet tall, the color of refined gold and polished purple, endowed with the thirty-two marks and eighty subsidiary signs, his radiance blazing, surpassing even the light of sun and moon. Seeing him, the venerable one’s heart was filled with joy, and unthinkingly he went forward and bowed. Māra then returned to his original form and said, “You said you would not bow—why do you now bow to me?” The venerable one replied, “I bowed to the Buddha, not to you.”
Māra then pleaded, “May the venerable take pity and remove this dead dog from me.” The venerable said, “If you arouse compassion and cherish all beings, this dead dog will transform into a jeweled ornament. But if you give rise to evil thoughts, it will return again to the form of a dog’s corpse.” Out of fear, Māra changed his heart and thereafter often gave rise to thoughts of goodness.”
At that time, after the venerable one had attained the Path, he recorded each being he had guided to realization by marking a single tally for every one who attained the Four Fruits. Each tally was four inches long, and when accumulated, they filled an entire room sixty feet high, and sixty feet in both length and breadth. The assembly then said to the venerable, “Your merit and virtue are vast and boundless, your transformation and deliverance of beings beyond measure.” The venerable replied, “When I was yet an animal, I was able to transform and deliver beings so that they attained the holy fruit—how much more so now!”
The assembly asked, “We do not know by what causes and conditions the venerable one in former times transformed beings in such a way?”
The venerable said, “In the past, in the land of Benares, there was a mountain of sages where five hundred Pratyekabuddhas dwelt. A monkey would come every day to make offerings and pay homage to them. Later, when those Pratyekabuddhas all entered Parinirvāṇa, five hundred brāhmaṇas came to dwell upon that mountain. Among them, some worshiped the sun and moon, and some made offerings to fire. Those who worshiped the sun and moon would raise one foot and keep their bodies constantly turned toward the celestial orbs; those who offered to fire would keep flames burning day and night.
“At that time, the monkey, seeing them lift one foot, went forward and pulled it down; seeing them light fires, it rushed forth and extinguished them. Afterward, the monkey sat quietly in meditation. The brāhmaṇas, seeing this, said among themselves, ‘This monkey must surely be manifesting the deportment of reverence to instruct us.’ Thereupon, they each straightened their bodies, sat upright, concentrated their minds, and contemplated the true principle. Their minds awakened, and all attained the fruit of Pratyekabuddhahood. That monkey was my body in a former life.”
The assembly asked again, “By what karma and cause did you receive the body of a monkey?”
The venerable replied, “In the distant past, ninety-one kalpas ago, when the Buddha Vipaśyin appeared in the world, there were bhikṣus dwelling upon the mountain of sages in Benares. One Arhat ascended to the summit of the mountain, his steps light and swift. A young mendicant, seeing this, mocked him and said, ‘He walks swiftly like a monkey!’ Because of that single utterance, for five hundred lifetimes I was reborn as a monkey. From this it is known that mendicants who cultivate the Path should guard their speech and never speak recklessly.”
When the venerable Upagupta spoke this Dharma, among the great assembly there were those who attained the fruit of Srotāpanna, those who attained the fruit of Sakṛdāgāmin, those who attained the fruit of Anāgāmin, and those who attained the fruit of Arhatship; there were also those who planted the wholesome roots leading to Pratyekabuddhahood, and those who aroused mind of the Great Vehicle , and some reached the stage of non-retrogression. Their number was beyond calculation. All received the teaching with faith and joy, bowed in reverence, and earnestly practiced it.
Section Sixty-Eight: The Worm in the Pool (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Eight)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling at Gṛdhrakūṭa Mountain in Rājagṛha. At that time, near the city there was a stagnant pool of water, foul and turbid, filled with filth, excrement, and urine, emitting an unbearable stench. It was a place detested by the people of the country. The vulgar and lowly would often throw their refuse there. In that pool there was a large worm, its form resembling a serpent yet having four legs. It constantly ran back and forth within the water, sometimes submerging, sometimes emerging. Through long ages it had dwelled there, suffering immeasurable torment.
Then the World-Honored One, surrounded before and behind by bhikṣus, came to the edge of this filthy pool and asked the bhikṣus, “Do you know what karma this worm created in the past to receive such a retribution?” The bhikṣus each pondered within, but none knew its former deeds. They all together said to the Buddha, “World-Honored One, we do not know.”
The Buddha told the bhikṣus, “You should listen attentively; I shall now explain to you the past causes and conditions of this worm. In a past kalpa, long and distant, there was a Buddha named Vipaśyin, who appeared in the world, teaching and transforming beings, delivering immeasurable multitudes. After his teaching was complete, he entered Nirvāṇa. At that time, there were one hundred thousand bhikṣus who cultivated the Dharma, upheld the pure conduct, and delighted in living in solitude. They resided upon a mountain whose slopes were lush with trees, blossoms, and fruits. Clear springs flowed, and the pools were cool and pleasant. The bhikṣus depended upon that place, cultivating meditation and diligently advancing upon the path, constantly without negligence. Among them all attained the noble fruits, from the first fruit up to the fourth fruit; there were no ordinary men among them.
At that time, there were five hundred merchants who gathered together, preparing to enter the sea to seek treasures. As they departed, they passed by that mountain and beheld the bhikṣus sitting upright and vigorous in cultivation. Their hearts gave rise to joy and reverence, and they vowed to make offerings. The five hundred merchants together went to invite the Sangha, beseeching to offer alms, and said, ‘May the venerable ones have compassion and accept our offerings.’ They each made arrangements and supplied offerings in succession day by day, and the intentions of all were fulfilled. The merchants said to the Sangha, ‘We are now about to enter the sea. If we return safely and peacefully, we shall make a great offering. May the venerable ones kindly accept our request.’ The Sangha silently consented.
The merchants entered the sea and indeed obtained precious treasures, returning home in great wealth and peace. Coming again to the mountain, they approached the Sangha and selected the finest of their treasures to offer, saying, ‘If the Sangha’s food ever becomes insufficient, you may freely use these treasures as provisions.’ The Sangha accepted the treasures and entrusted them to the mamati for safekeeping.
Later, when the Sangha’s stored food was nearly exhausted, they asked the mamati to bring forth the treasures previously entrusted so that they might continue to obtain food. But the mamati replied to the Sangha, ‘Those merchants gave the treasures to me. Why do you ask for them?’ The venerable karmadāna said to him, ‘Those dānapati previously offered the treasures to the Sangha and entrusted you to keep them. Now that the Sangha’s food is gone, these treasures should be used for sustenance.’ The mamati then gave rise to anger and reviled them harshly, saying, ‘You dung-eaters! These treasures are mine! By what right do you demand them?’ The bhikṣus, seeing his mind turned wicked, each departed in silence.
Because he deceived the Sangha and reviled them with evil speech, upon the end of his life he fell into the Avīci Hell, where his body constantly rolled within boiling excrement, suffering immeasurable pain through ninety-one kalpas. When his retribution there was exhausted, he left that hell, yet again fell into this pool of urine and filth, and even now has not been freed. Why is this so? In the past there was a Buddha named Śikhin, who once led his bhikṣus past this pool and revealed its causes and conditions, explaining its origin and result. Again there was a Buddha named Viśvabhū, who likewise led his disciples to this pool and expounded its karmic retribution. When that worm later died, it fell again into hell, suffering for trillions of years. Upon death, it was born once more in this pool. Again there was a Buddha named Krakucchanda, who, surrounded by his disciples, came to this pool and explained its causes. Again there was a Buddha named Kanakamuni, who also brought his disciples here. Again there was the Buddha Kāśyapa, who likewise came with his disciples to this place and spoke of its causes and conditions. Now, as the seventh Buddha, I, Śākyamuni, likewise reveal it to you all, that you may behold this worm and know its past karma. Thus, in the future, as the Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa arise one by one in the world, each will do the same, leading their disciples to this pool, pointing to this worm, and telling of the sins it created in former times.”
When the bhikṣus heard what the Buddha had spoken, their hearts trembled and their hair stood on end. They mutually exhorted one another to be cautious in body, speech, and mind, faithfully receiving the Buddha’s words, rejoicing, and practicing accordingly.
Section Sixty-Nine: Śramaṇa Cunda (In the Tanjur version this section is Sixty-Nine)
Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was dwelling in the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park in the country of Śrāvastī. At that time, the venerable Śāriputra, during the three periods of day and night, would always observe the world with his divine eye, looking to see which beings could be taught and delivered, and he would then go forth to transform them.
At that time, several merchants were preparing to travel to another country for trade. As they went together, they brought along a dog. When they had gone halfway, the merchants stopped to rest. While no one was paying attention and all was quiet, the dog stole and ate the meat the merchants were carrying. When the merchants discovered this, they were furious. Together they beat the dog, breaking its legs, and threw it away in the wilderness before departing.
At that time, Śāriputra, observing from afar with his divine eye, saw that dog lying on the ground, its body curled up, tormented by hunger and pain, its life hanging by a thread. Thereupon he put on his robe, took his bowl, and entered the city to beg for food. Having obtained food, he carried it himself, flying through the air to where the dog lay. Out of great compassion and pity, he offered the food to the dog. The dog ate the food, its life was prolonged, and its heart became very joyful, filled with delight. Śāriputra then expounded to the dog the subtle Dharma of complete liberation. After hearing the Dharma, the dog died and was reborn in the country of Śrāvastī, in the household of a brāhmaṇa.
At that time, Śāriputra went out alone for alms. The brāhmaṇa saw him and said, “Venerable sir, you walk alone. Is there no sāmaṇera attending upon you?” Śāriputra replied, “I have no sāmaṇera. I have heard that you have a son; might I see him?” The brāhmaṇa said, “Indeed, I have a son named Cunda. He is still young and cannot yet serve or attend upon others. When he is older, I will offer him to you.” Śāriputra remembered these words and returned to the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park.
When that child reached the age of seven, Śāriputra came again to request him. The brāhmaṇa then entrusted his son to him and allowed him to renounce. Śāriputra brought Cunda back to Jetavana and shaved his head, ordaining him as a sāmaṇera. Gradually he expounded various wonderful teachings, guiding and instructing him. The sāmaṇera Cunda’s mind opened and was freed; he attained the fruit of Arhatship, his six supernormal powers became pure, and his virtues and merits were perfectly complete.
After attaining realization, the sāmaṇera Cunda, through his own wisdom, contemplated the causes and conditions of his past lives, wishing to know what karma he had created before to receive this body and to encounter a holy teacher through whom he attained fruition. He saw that in a previous life he had been a starving dog and sighed with deep feeling, saying, “I have received the grace of my preceptor, the venerable Śāriputra. In this life I have gained a human body and attained the fruit of the Path.” His heart was filled with joy, and he further reflected, “By the kindness of my teacher, I have been freed from all suffering. From now on, I shall dedicate this body to serving whatever my teacher requires, and I will forever remain a sāmaṇera, not receiving the higher ordination.”
At that time, Ānanda bowed to the Buddha and asked, “I do not know what unwholesome karma this person created in the past that caused him to be born as a dog, nor what wholesome roots he cultivated to obtain liberation.”
The Buddha told Ānanda, “In the past, during the time of the Buddha Kāśyapa, there were many bhikṣus dwelling together in one place. Among them was a young bhikṣu whose voice was clear and melodious; he was skilled in chanting and reciting, and people loved to hear him recite the sūtras. There was also an elder bhikṣu, aged and venerable, whose voice was rough and harsh, unskilled in chanting. Each time he recited aloud, though his voice was coarse, he himself rejoiced in it. That elder bhikṣu had already attained the fruit of Arhatship, fully endowed with the virtues of a śramaṇa.
“At that time, the young bhikṣu, seeing that the elder’s voice was dull and clumsy, became proud of his own pure and pleasant tone, and mocked him, saying, ‘Venerable elder, your voice sounds just like a dog’s bark!’ After he had uttered this insult, the elder bhikṣu said to him, ‘Do you recognize who I am?’ The young bhikṣu answered, ‘Of course I recognize you. You are a bhikṣu from the time of the Buddha Kāśyapa.’ The venerable elder said, ‘I have now already attained Arhatship and am complete in the observances of a śramaṇa.’ When the young bhikṣu heard this, his heart was seized with fear and awe, his hair stood on end, and he was filled with remorse. Immediately he confessed his fault before the elder. The elder bhikṣu accepted his repentance.
“Because of that single evil utterance, he was reborn as a dog for five hundred lives. Yet because he had once renounced and upheld pure precepts, he now has been able to see me and receive liberation.”
At that time, Ānanda, hearing what the Buddha had said, felt great joy in his heart. He faithfully accepted and upheld the teaching.
Dharma Torch 