The original translator is unknown and is now cataloged in the Three Qin records.
Once there was a young child named Śrāmaṇera. He was but seven years of age, his heart inclined toward the cultivation of the Way. He followed a śramaṇa and became his disciple. They dwelt together in the mountains, and Śrāmaṇera served his master and carried out his bidding, chanting and reciting the Dharma, his mind never growing lax. By the time he reached eight years of age, he had attained Arhatship. His holy eye could see through all things, with nothing beyond its reach; his ears could hear throughout, and all deeds of good and evil performed above in the heavens and below upon the earth were known to him. His body could fly and travel, reaching every place without exception. He could divide one body into ten thousand bodies, manifesting and transforming at will, with nothing beyond his power to do. He knew his own past lives, knowing whence he had come to be born in this life, and likewise knew all persons and creatures — even crawling and wriggling beings — without exception. Seated in meditation, he beheld his past lives and saw that he had been a son to five mothers, and at this he laughed to himself.
His master turned and addressed Śrāmaṇera, saying: “What are you laughing at? There is no song or dance here in these mountains. Are you laughing at me?”
Śrāmaṇera said: “I would not dare laugh at my master. I am laughing at myself. A single spirit-consciousness, having taken on a body, became a son to five mothers. Each of those mothers wept for me day and night, grieving and sorrowing in deep distress, unable to stop themselves, thinking of their son at all times and never once forgetting. I thought of how one body had caused five households to grieve, and so I laughed at myself — I would not dare laugh at my master.
“When I was a son to my first mother, a neighboring family also gave birth to a son, born on the same day as I. After my death, my mother saw that child — born on the same day as I — going in and out and walking about, and she said: ‘How I grieve for my son — if he were at home, he too would be going in and out and walking about just so!’ She was overcome with grief and sorrow, and her tears fell like rain.
“When I was a son to my second mother, I died young and early. My mother saw someone nursing a child, and she thought of how she had once nursed me, and was stricken with grief and sorrow.
“When I was a son to my third mother, I was but ten years of age when my life came to its end. At mealtimes, my mother’s tears would flow with grief: ‘When my son was here, he would have eaten with me at this very meal. He has abandoned me and died, leaving me to eat alone.’ She would choke with sobs and cry out to Heaven, her words full of longing for her son.
“When I was a son to my fourth mother, my life was brief and I died before her. My mother saw others of my generation taking wives through a matchmaker at the same time, and she grieved for me, saying: ‘If my son were alive, he too would be taking a wife. What wrong have I committed, that my son was taken from me?’
“When I was a son to my fifth mother, I was but seven years of age. Delighting in the cultivation of the Way, I took leave of home, left my mother to follow my master, and entered the mountains to seek the Way. With a single-minded focus on meditation, I attained the Way of Arhatship. My mother wept for me day after day, longing for me: ‘I gave birth to one son, and he followed a master to study the Way. I do not know where he is now — is he hungry or thirsty, cold or hot? Is he alive or dead?’
“And so the five mothers came together in one place, each weeping in sorrow, each speaking of longing for her son, and they wept together face to face, unable to stop themselves. My one spirit-consciousness had passed in turn through the wombs of five mothers as a son, taking form and becoming a person through the conditions of two parents, and had driven five mothers to weep and lose their minds — each longing for my body, even to the point of wishing to take their own lives. And so I laughed.
“I reflected on the bonds of the web of desire in this world, on the causes and conditions of birth and death, on merit and transgression, on the roots from which all actions spring — evil leads one into the hells, and good conduct leads one to birth in the heavens. Fearing the suffering of this world, I left home and entered the mountains, and through diligent practice and meditation I attained the Way and ascended to liberation. With my own eyes I have beheld the realms of suffering of hungry ghosts, the hells, and animals, and have felt terror on their behalf. I grieve for those five mothers, who cannot free themselves and still worry over my body. What I have sought and aspired to, I have fulfilled in deed and word: to be forever parted from birth and death, to sever the bodily roots of human existence — like sowing no seed again — and thereafter to enter Nirvāṇa.”
Having spoken these words to his master, he rose up and flew into the empty sky.
Dharma Torch 