Translated in Song Dynasty by the Layman Juqu Jingsheng
Heard like this.
Once, the Buddha was dwelling in the land of Śrāvastī together with one thousand two hundred and fifty bhikṣus. At that time, a brahmin had come from the land of Rājagṛha, having heard that the people of Śrāvastī were compassionate, filial, and obedient; that they upheld the sūtras and cultivated the Way; and that they reverenced and served the Three Jewels. And so he came to Śrāvastī. There he saw a father and son plowing the fields together. A venomous serpent struck the son dead, yet the father continued plowing as before, neither looking at his son nor weeping.
The brahmin asked: “Whose son is this?”
The plowman answered: “He is my son.”
The brahmin asked: “If he is your son, why do you not weep, and why do you continue plowing as before?”
The man answered: “One who is born must die; what is formed must perish; good deeds meet with good recompense, and evil deeds meet with enmity. What benefit is there to the dead in grief, sorrow, weeping, and lamentation? When you enter the city, go to my home at such-and-such a place and convey this message to them: ‘The son has died; bring food enough for only one person.’”
The brahmin thought to himself: “What manner of man is this, so utterly without affection? His son lies dead upon the ground, yet his heart holds no sorrow — and he even asks for food? There is no one more lacking in compassion than this man!”
The brahmin entered the city, went to the plowman’s household, and there encountered the mother of the dead child. He said to her: “Your son has died. His father sent word, saying to bring food enough for only one person. Why do you feel no attachment to your son?”
The mother of the son then spoke a parable to the brahmin: “My son came to be born here, and I never summoned him. Today he has departed of his own accord, and it is not within my power to hold him back. It is just as with a traveler who has come to lodge at a host’s dwelling — when the traveler departs of his own accord today, how can one hold him back? My son and I are just so: whether he goes or stays, advances or withdraws, it is not within my power to decide. He follows the course of his own karma, and I cannot hold him back. What benefit is there to the dead in grief, sorrow, weeping, and lamentation?”
The brahmin then said to the elder sister of the deceased: “Your younger brother has died. Why do you not weep?”
The sister spoke a parable to the brahmin: “My brother and I are just like a skilled craftsman who enters the mountains to fell timber, binds the logs into a great raft, and sets it afloat upon the water. Suddenly a great wind arises, scatters the raft, and sweeps it away with the current — the pieces drift apart, fore and aft, each going its own way, none regarding the others. My brother is just so: through the coming together of conditions, we were born into the same family; yet following the measure of our allotted lifespans, birth and death are impermanent, and union is followed by parting. My brother’s life has come to its end; he follows the course of his own karma, and I cannot hold him back. What benefit is there to the dead in grief, sorrow, weeping, and lamentation?”
The brahmin then said to the wife of the deceased: “Your husband has died. Why do you not weep?”
The wife spoke a parable to the brahmin: “My husband and I are just like birds in flight — at dusk they perch together upon a tall tree and roost there through the night, yet in but a brief while, when daylight comes and morning arrives, each flies off on its own and each seeks its own food. When conditions bring them together, they are together; when conditions part them, they part. My husband and I are just so: whether he goes or stays, advances or withdraws, it is not within my power to decide. He follows the course of his own karma, and I cannot hold him back. What benefit is there to the dead in grief, sorrow, weeping, and lamentation?”
The brahmin then said to the servant of the deceased: “Your master has died. Why do you not weep?”
The servant spoke a parable to the brahmin: “The conditions that brought my master and me together were such that I am like a calf following after a great ox. When someone slays the great ox and the calf stands nearby, it cannot save the ox’s life. What benefit is there to the dead in grief, sorrow, weeping, and lamentation?”
The brahmin, having heard all these words, was left bewildered and confounded, his sight darkening before him, unable to distinguish one direction from another. He thought: “I had heard that the people of this land were filial and obedient, and that they reverenced and served the Three Jewels, and so I came from afar hoping to seek learning and inquire into the Way. Yet now that I have arrived, I have gained nothing whatsoever.”
He then asked a passerby: “Where is the Buddha? I wish to go and put my questions to him.”
The passerby answered: “He is nearby, at the Jetavana Monastery.”
The brahmin then came to where the Buddha was, prostrated himself and paid obeisance, and withdrew to one side, hanging his head in sorrow, silent and without a word. The Buddha, knowing his mind, said to the brahmin: “Why do you hang your head, grieving and joyless?”
The brahmin said to the Buddha: “I have not attained what I sought, and my original intention has been thwarted — that is why I am joyless.”
The Buddha asked the brahmin: “What have you failed to find, that you grieve and are joyless?”
The brahmin said: “I came from the land of Rājagṛha hoping to seek learning and inquire into the Way. Yet now that I have arrived here, I have encountered five persons without affection.”
The Buddha said: “Which five persons without affection?”
The brahmin said: “I saw a father and son plowing the fields and sowing seed. The son died upon the ground, yet the father’s heart held no sorrow — and he even asked for food to be brought. The rest of the household, young and old alike, were equally without sorrow. This is the gravest transgression.”
The Buddha said: “It is not so. It is not as you say. These five persons are in truth the most possessed of affection. They understand that the body is impermanent, that material things are not truly one’s own, and that even the sages of antiquity could not escape such misfortune — how much less can ordinary people? What benefit is there to the dead in wailing and weeping? The worldly people of this world have, since time without beginning through countless kalpas, drifted through birth and death; the spirit-consciousness moves on and is not extinguished — dying, it is born again, like the turning of a wheel, without rest. One dies here and is born there; this is not something that grief and sorrow can reach or follow.”
Having heard this, the brahmin’s mind opened and his understanding was released, and he was troubled no more. He said: “Hearing what the Buddha has taught is like a sick man receiving a cure, like a blind man receiving sight, like encountering light in the midst of darkness.” And thereupon the brahmin attained the stream of the Way.
“No death whatsoever is worthy of weeping. If one wishes to do what one can for the departed, one should invite the Buddha and the Sangha, burn incense and make offerings, recite and chant the sūtras, and be able to pay obeisance day after day, and furthermore make wholehearted offerings to the Three Jewels — this alone is what matters most.”
Thereupon the brahmin prostrated himself and paid obeisance, received the teaching, and departed.
Dharma Torch 