付法藏因緣傳 5

English (machine translation) 5

Language: English

5.4 — 4 parts

5.1

Translated by Kiṅkara, Tripiṭaka master of the Western Regions, together with Tanyao under the Northern Wei

When Śāṇakavāsin was approaching nirvāṇa, he entrusted the Dharma to Upagupta and spoke these words: “Formerly, the Bhagavat entrusted the unsurpassed Dharma to the Venerable Mahākāśyapa, desiring to cause sentient beings to hold the great blazing torch, leave all suffering forever, and attain the bliss of nirvāṇa. Kāśyapa next entrusted it to my teacher Ānanda, and Ānanda in turn entrusted it to me. Now that I am about to attain extinction, I entrust it to you. If later you wish to enter nirvāṇa, in the state of Mathurā there is a good man who will appear in the world, named Dhītika. He has long cultivated vows and practices, and his eloquence is inexhaustible. Later you should deliver him and let him leave the household life, and you may fully entrust the eye of the Dharma to him.” Upagupta said: “So it shall be; I receive your instruction.” When the Venerable Upagupta's conditions for teaching were drawing to an end and his mind wished to enter nirvāṇa, he observed whether Dhītika had yet appeared in the world. Reflecting, he knew that he had not yet appeared in the world. At that time, the Venerable Upagupta led an assembly of monks to visit his father's house, and gradually [their number] grew fewer, until he was all alone. His father, an elder, asked him: “Great Sage, do you have no followers? Why do you walk alone?” Upagupta replied: “Elder, I am one who has left the household life and have no attendants. If there were someone, you might bestow him upon me.” The elder spoke again: “I delight in living at home and cannot practice the Path. If a son is born to me later, I will certainly offer him to you.” Upagupta said: “Excellent is this intention! Keep this mind, and do not let it change or regret.” This elder then fathered several sons, but while all were still young boys, they immediately passed away. His last-born son was named Dhītika. His appearance was grand and remarkable, and he was clever and astute, good at learning and receiving all treatises, scriptures, and records. In the past, he had practiced and deeply planted roots of goodness. Upagupta went to ask for him. The elder was filled with joy, personally delivered him by hand, and brought him to the monastery, where [Upagupta] allowed him to leave the household life. When he reached twenty years of age, he conferred full ordination upon him. At the initial announcement (jñapti), he severed the fetters of seeing the truth and attained [the fruit of] a srotāpanna. At the first motion (karmavācanā), lust, anger, and delusion were diminished, and he obtained [the fruit of] a sakṛdāgāmin. At the second motion, his fetters of the desire realm were exhausted, and he attained [the fruit of] an anāgāmin. At the third motion, he instantly severed the afflictions of the three realms, established the brahma-practice, and became an arhat. His threefold vision shone afar, he was fully endowed with the six supernormal knowledges, and he walked, appeared, and vanished with unhindered freedom. Upagupta then told him: “The Sun of Wisdom, the World-Honored One, covered all universally with loving-kindness and compassion. Desiring to save sentient beings from the great suffering of birth and death, he entrusted the Dharma accumulated over immeasurable kalpas to the Venerable Mahākāśyapa to serve as a great bright lamp illuminating all darkness of ignorance, causing all universally to cultivate and learn, cut off the net of craving, and emerge from the mire of desire. Kāśyapa next entrusted it to the monk Ānanda. After Ānanda attained extinction, he entrusted it to my teacher Śāṇakavāsin, and Śāṇakavāsin entrusted it to me. Continuing thus, they constantly turned the wheel of the Dharma, sprinkling the flavor of the sweet nectar to heal the thirst of affliction. But now, that which I was to do has already been accomplished; the time of nirvāṇa has arrived, and extinction is not far. I take this Dharma-treasure and entrust it to you. You may later receive, hold, and uphold it, diligently guard and protect it, let it not be leaked or lost, and proclaim the light of the Dharma to illuminate the darkness of folly. Furthermore, Dhītika, after the Tathāgata entered nirvāṇa, the worthy and the noble faded away; all profound scripture-treasuries will gradually decline and fall into oblivion on earth, and the world will be plunged into darkness, transmigrating in birth and death. Why is this? Formerly, after my teacher Śāṇakavāsin entered extinction, the full seventy-seven thousand Jātaka sūtras, the ten thousand Abhidharma-piṭakas, and altogether eighty thousand pure Vinayas—dharmas such as these all diminished accordingly. When one person enters nirvāṇa, the many dharmas decline; how much more so when many worthy and noble ones have all entered extinction together, so that the pure, wondrous, and supreme Dharma will be left with no remainder! For this reason, I now earnestly entrust it to you. You must single-mindedly respect and comply with my intention, give rise to the thought of great compassion toward all sentient beings, receive and preserve it, and disseminate it, never letting it be broken off.” Dhītika said: “I reverently receive your honored instruction. I will protect such true Dharma and serve as an uninvited friend to future generations.” Thereupon, he next proclaimed the unsurpassed flavor of the Dharma. Those he converted and delivered were exceedingly vast and extensive. When his conditions came to an end, he entered nirvāṇa, and humans and devas were moved to grief. They then collected his śarīra, erected a seven-jeweled stūpa, burned incense, scattered flowers, and made various offerings. Formerly, when Dhītika was approaching extinction, he entrusted the Dharma to his foremost disciple, named Micchaka, who was widely learned, broadly accomplished, and possessed of great eloquence, telling him: “The Buddha entrusted the true Dharma to Mahākāśyapa, and it was transmitted successively down to me. As I am about to enter nirvāṇa, I entrust it to you. You should later disseminate the eye of the world.” Micchaka said: “Excellent, I receive your instruction.” Thereupon, he proclaimed and spread the true Dharma-treasure, opening the path of nirvāṇa for all sentient beings. When his conditions for teaching were fulfilled and he was about to enter extinction, he in turn entrusted the true Dharma to the Venerable Buddhanandi, telling him to disseminate the supreme flavor of sweet nectar. Afterwards, Buddhanandi broadly proclaimed and distinguished it, turning the great wheel of the Dharma and subduing the foes of Māra. Later, he entrusted it to Buddhamitra. That man’s virtuous power was exceedingly deep and measureless. With skillful means, he transformed sentient beings, causing them to leave behind evil views and proceed toward the most supreme Path. Adorning himself with great wisdom, he expounded the pure flavor and destroyed the heterodox schools. His merits were inexhaustible like this; I shall now follow along and recount a small fraction of them. There was a great king who held sway over the whole world, possessed of superior talent, courage, and broad learning, who venerated heterodox schools and faithfully accepted evil views, constantly harboring contempt and disparagement toward the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha. Buddhamitra reflected: “My teacher Buddhanandi entrusted the Dharma to me. How shall I expound the supreme eye so that sentient beings may universally attain benefit?” He reflected again: “Now this king has exceedingly great evil views. It is fitting that I first go and tame him. It is like cutting down a tree: if its root is felled, how could its branches, leaves, flowers, and stems stand for long?” Having had this thought, for twelve years he personally carried a red banner and walked before the king. After much time had passed, the king did not ask at all. After this had passed, he suddenly asked: “Who is this person walking before me?” He immediately summoned him and asked his intent. He answered: “Great King, I am a wise man, skilled in disputation. I wish to seek a trial before the King.” At that time, the Great King immediately issued an order throughout the realm that all brāhmaṇas, elders, and householders who were intelligent, erudite, and skilled in speech should assemble in his hall of righteous victory to engage in debate with a śramaṇa. Thereupon, all the non-Buddhists of evil views, who had deep and far-reaching eloquence, broad wisdom, and thorough mastery of astronomy and geography, gathered like clouds in rivalry, harboring minds of anger and poison. At that time, the Great King arranged offerings, spread mats and cushions, burned incense, and scattered flowers in the main hall, making it magnificent, bright, and clean. Buddhamitra then ascended the Dharma seat and established unrestricted propositions together with all the non-Buddhists. Those of shallow wisdom were refuted at a single word; those of much intelligence and eloquence exhausted their words at the second. Seeing that all the men’s reasoning was exhausted, the king personally engaged in debate with Buddhamitra, but as soon as he opened his discourse, he too was promptly refuted. Buddhamitra then thought: “When debating with the king, I should not openly display victory.” So he spoke to him: “The king himself understands the depth and shallowness of this meaning.” At that time, the king realized his own defeat, turned back and altered his evil mind, reverently believed in the true Dharma, received the three refuges to become a disciple of the Buddha, and promoted moral transformation throughout his realm. At that time in this country, there was a Nirgrantha whose evil views were ablaze, who reviled the true Dharma, possessed sharp eloquence and intelligence, and was skilled in calculation and mathematics. Wishing to transform him, Buddhamitra went to become his disciple to receive this art from him. Before long, he had studied and completely mastered it. That Nirgrantha uttered loud and evil words, reviling and insulting the Buddha. Buddhamitra told the Nirgrantha: “Do not utter such words; they will cause you to incur sin. This retribution will certainly cause you to fall into the great hells.” The Nirgrantha said: “How could you know such a thing?” Buddhamitra replied: “If you do not believe me, you may calculate it yourself. After you have calculated, you will personally verify and know it.” At that time, that Nirgrantha made his own calculations, and immediately saw that his own body would certainly fall into hell. He was thereupon greatly terrified and gave rise to deep sorrow and remorse. Throwing his five limbs to the ground before Buddhamitra, he said: “Benevolent one, how may I escape this fault?” Buddhamitra told him: “Nirgrantha, just as one who falls to the ground gets up by relying on the ground itself, if you take refuge in the Buddha, this sin can be extinguished.” At that time, the Nirgrantha gave rise to great faith, praised the Tathāgata with five hundred verses, repented of his former sins, and severely reproached himself. Buddhamitra then told him: “By virtue of this mind and good karma, when your life ends, you will certainly be born in heaven.” The Nirgrantha said again: “How do you know that I will attain birth in heaven?” Buddhamitra told him: “If you do not believe, calculate it yourself to seek the truth.” At that time, the Nirgrantha immediately performed the calculation, saw for himself that his sins were extinguished and that he would be born in heaven, and thereupon, in great joy, begged to leave the household life. Buddhamitra replied: “Today you should inform your relatives and followers, and only then will I deliver you to leave the household life.” The Nirgrantha had five hundred disciples. He went to their dwelling and told them: “I have seen the supreme principle, and my heart delights in it exceedingly. I wish to leave the household life in the Buddha's Dharma to practice the Path. You may now do as you please, or rely on another enlightened teacher to consult and receive the supreme Dharma.” At that time, all the disciples addressed their teacher: “Originally we looked up to you like a great canopy of clouds. If our master enters the supreme Path, our minds wish to follow.” At that time, that Nirgrantha together with the five hundred people went to the Venerable One's dwelling and left the household life together. Thereupon, the Venerable Buddhamitra’s fine reputation spread throughout Jambudvīpa. When the conditions came to an end for the immeasurable sentient beings he had taught, he relinquished his life; his disciples were moved to grief, collected his śarīra, and erected a stūpa to make offerings. Formerly, when the Venerable Buddhamitra’s conditions for teaching were fulfilled and he was about to relinquish his lifespan, he told a disciple named Monk Pārśva: “You should later broadly expound the holy teachings, transforming sentient beings so that they attain liberation.” He said: “Great Master, I reverently receive your honored instruction; I will single-mindedly guard and protect the true Dharma.” Because of his past karma, that Monk Pārśva had remained in his mother’s womb for more than sixty years. When he was born, his beard and hair were already white. Detesting the five desires and finding no joy in domestic life, he went to the Venerable Buddhamitra, bowed down, paid homage at his feet, and sought to be ranked among the followers of the Path. [Buddhamitra] immediately delivered him to leave the household life and expounded the essentials of the Dharma for him. Just as clean, white cloth easily takes dye, he attained the path of an arhat right upon his seat. His threefold vision was thoroughly illuminating, his six supernormal knowledges were unhindered, and he diligently practiced austerities with vigorous zeal, never lying down with his ribs touching the ground. People of the time called him Monk Pārśva (Ribs). He was skilled at preaching the essentials of the Dharma to transform sentient beings; when that which he was to do was accomplished, he entered nirvāṇa. They collected his śarīra and erected a stūpa to make offerings. When that Monk Pārśva was approaching extinction, he told a monk named Puṇyayaśas: “Āyusmat, you should know that the Buddha's Dharma is subtle, wonderful, and possessed of great merit, which is why all the noble ones carry it upon their heads and uphold it. Having received the entrustment, I have guarded this Dharma. Now that I am about to enter nirvāṇa, I entrust it to you. You should single-mindedly protect, receive, and uphold it.” Puṇyayaśas replied: “So it shall be.” Thereupon, he expounded and proclaimed the subtle, wonderful, and supreme Dharma, converting and delivering immeasurable sentient beings. Later, at one time, while sitting cross-legged in quiet contemplation under a secluded grove, there was a great being named Aśvaghoṣa, whose wisdom was deep and discerning, and whose understanding was supreme and peerless. Whatever challenges were posed, none failed to be demolished by him, just as a fierce wind uproots rotted trees. Giving rise to great arrogance, he viewed all living beings as grass and mustard seeds; positing a truly existent self, he was exceedingly proud. Hearing that there was a venerable one named Puṇyayaśas of profound wisdom, broad learning, and great discernment, who spoke of all dharmas as empty, without self, and without a person, he harbored a contemptuous mind, went to his dwelling, and spoke these words: “All discourses in the world I can destroy like hail crushing grass. If these words are false and untrue, I will surely cut off my tongue to apologize for my defeat.” Puṇyayaśas said: “In the Buddha’s Dharma, there are altogether two truths: from the perspective of conventional truth, there is the provisional name ‘self’; from the perspective of ultimate truth, everything is empty and tranquil. Examining it in this way, how can a self be found?” At that time, Aśvaghoṣa's mind was not yet subdued; relying on his own sharp intellect, he still considered himself superior. Puṇyayaśas told him: “Reflect carefully and do not speak empty words. Between you and me, who is determined to be the victor?” Thereupon, Aśvaghoṣa reflected: “The provisional designation of conventional truth is definitely not real; the nature of ultimate truth is furthermore empty and tranquil. These two truths are both unattainable. Since nothing exists, how can it be refuted? Today I am definitely not his match.” He then wished to cut off his tongue to apologize for his defeat. Puṇyayaśas said: “My Dharma is benevolent and compassionate; I will not cut off your tongue. You should shave your hair and become my disciple.” At that time, the Venerable One delivered him to leave the household life. His mind was still ashamed and resentful, and he wished to abandon his life. At that time, Puṇyayaśas had attained the path of an arhat; entering absorption to observe, he knew the thoughts in his mind. The Venerable One had a sutra that was previously kept in a dark room, and he immediately ordered Aśvaghoṣa to go there and fetch it. He said to the Great Master: “This room is dark and gloomy; how can I go?” He replied: “Just go; I will make you see.” At that time, the Venerable One, by his supernormal power, extended his right hand from afar straight into the room; his five fingers emitted light, and its brilliance shone brightly, so that everything in the room became clearly visible. At that time, Aśvaghoṣa suspected in his heart that this was an illusion. As a rule, illusions disappear when recognized, yet this light became all the more blazing. He exhausted his arts wishing to extinguish this light, but after tiring himself out, there was no change at all. Knowing that it was done by his teacher, he was immediately subdued, diligently practiced austerities, and never retrogressed again. Thus, the Venerable One used skillful means to deliver sentient beings, and having done what was to be done, entered nirvāṇa. The fourfold assembly, filled with grief and longing, erected a stūpa to make offerings. Formerly, when Puṇyayaśas approached nirvāṇa, he entrusted the Dharma to his disciple Aśvaghoṣa and said to him: “Just as when a great bright lamp is lit in a dark room, all objects are clearly illuminated, the bright lamp of the Dharma is also like this: spreading in the world, it can extinguish the darkness of folly. For this reason, the Tathāgata expounded this true Dharma, universally causing all to practice it. All the worthy and noble ones have constantly guarded it, entrusting it to one another down to me. I take this supreme eye and entrust it to you. You should later single-mindedly receive and preserve it, so that future generations may universally attain benefit.” Aśvaghoṣa reverently agreed: “I will receive your honored instruction.” Thereupon, he promulgated the profound Dharma-treasury, erected the great Dharma banner, and demolished evil views. Traveling and teaching in Pāṭaliputra, wishing to deliver the sentient beings of that city, he composed wondrous music called Rāṣṭrapāla. Its sound was pure, elegant, sorrowful, and harmonious, proclaiming the teaching of suffering, emptiness, and selflessness—namely, that conditioned things are like illusions and transformations; that the prison of the three realms holds nothing delightful; that though royal status is exalted and mighty power is sovereign, when impermanence arrives, who can endure? They are like clouds in the sky, scattering and disappearing in an instant. This body is false and deceptive, like a plantain tree; it is an enemy and a thief that cannot be approached; it is like a basket of venomous serpents—who could delight in it? Therefore, all Buddhas constantly reproach this body. Extensively expounding the meaning of emptiness and selflessness in this way, he had the musicians perform this music. At that time, the musicians could not understand, and the melodies and rhythms were all discordant. At that time, Aśvaghoṣa, wearing white cotton robes, went into the midst of the musicians, personally beat the drums, and tuned the zithers and lutes; the rhythms were sorrowful and elegant, the melodies achieved perfection, and he expounded that all dharmas are suffering, empty, and without self. At that time, five hundred princes in this city attained awakening at the same moment, detested the five desires, and left the household life to practice the Path. At that time, the king of Pāṭaliputra feared that if his people heard this music, they would abandon their families and the realm, leaving the country desolate and ruining the royal enterprise. He immediately issued an order to the people of his land: “From now on, do not perform this music again.” That city of Pāṭaliputra had altogether nine hundred million people. The king of the Yuezhi, blazing with majesty and virtue, was named Candana Kaniṣka. His spirit was heroic and mighty, his valor surpassing the world; wherever he went on expedition, none failed to collapse before him. He then arrayed the fourfold army and marched against this country; after fighting with one another, [the city] surrendered. He then demanded nine hundred million gold coins. At that time, that king took Aśvaghoṣa, the Buddha’s bowl, and a compassionate rooster—each deemed equivalent to three hundred million—and offered them to King Kaniṣka: Bodhisattva Aśvaghoṣa’s wisdom was extraordinary; the Buddha's bowl had the merit of being held by the Tathāgata; the rooster had a compassionate mind and would not drink water containing insects; and all three were able to eliminate all enemies. For these reasons, they were worth nine hundred million coins. The king was greatly delighted, accepted them, and immediately turned his army around to return to his own country. That King Kaniṣka possessed great merit, donned the armor of the great vow, and his aspiration was firm. He once placed a lump of mud upon a stūpa and made a vow, saying: “If in a future life I attain correct enlightenment among the thousand Buddhas, may this lump of mud turn into a Buddha image!” Having made this vow, it immediately succeeded at that moment, its appearance extraordinary, like a painted picture. His heart was filled with great joy and measureless leaping ecstasy. Later, while traveling along the road, the king saw a non-Buddhist stūpa adorned with the seven jewels. Greatly delighted, he thought it was a Tathāgata stūpa, stepped forward, bowed, paid homage with utmost reverence, burned incense, scattered flowers, and spoke a gāthā in praise:

5.3

"Endowed with omniscient knowledge, / Having severed the obstacles of desires and afflictions,
Foremost and most honored among the hosts of ṛṣis, / Whose fame pervades the three realms,
Liberated and free from all existences, / Pitying the multitudes of living beings;
What you speak is true reality, / Able to topple the banners of false treatises.
Therefore, I now / Bow my head in reverence to the One Worthy of Offerings."

5.4.1

When he had spoken this verse, the jeweled stūpa immediately shattered and collapsed. The king was alarmed and terrified, and said, "Is my merit now about to be exhausted so that I will lose my royal throne? Why is it that as soon as I paid homage to this jeweled stūpa, it collapsed and was ruined?" Someone said to him, "What the King paid homage to was a stūpa of the non-Buddhists. Because its majestic virtue is negligible and slight, it could not bear the homage of a man of merit such as the King. That is the only reason." Thereupon they excavated beneath the stūpa and found the corpse of a Nirgrantha. The multitudes praised, saying, "Marvelous, Great King! Your power of virtue is profound and mighty. Paying homage to this false stūpa, you caused it to fall into ruins. The King's merit is comparable to that of Brahmā." Furthermore, on one occasion Kaniṣka commanded his barber to shave his beard. The barber stood before the king and said, "My son is handsome, upright, and possessed of rare wisdom. I only pray that the Great King will show compassion and pity, and give him [one of your] daughters in marriage." The king was exceedingly enraged and said to him, "You are a base man of lowly caste. How could my daughter be married to your son?" He then drove him away to another place, and the barber remained silent, not daring to speak again. Later, when summoned again, he spoke just as before. This happened three times. The king pondered, "Beneath the ground here there must be a buried treasure, which causes this man to dare to speak thus." He immediately ordered men to dig directly beneath where he stood, and soon they obtained a great store of various treasures. The king's wisdom was of such a nature. Furthermore, Kaniṣka on one occasion asked his ministers, "In the various lands, is there any wise man whom I might consult and revere?" At that time, there was a monk named Dharmamitra, whose wisdom was profound and whose merit was complete, and who was well able to comprehend the characteristics of samādhi. In South India there were two monks, gentle in mind and deeply delighting in good qualities. Having long heard that the Venerable was foremost in seated meditation, they set out together to go to his place. At his dwelling place there was a three-tiered cave. Then the two men arrived at the lower cave and saw a monk wearing tattered robes, of ugly appearance, sitting upright before the hearth lighting the fire for the Saṅgha. The two monks then asked, "Where is the Elder Dharmamitra?" He answered, "He is now in the topmost cave. You should go quickly to see him." The two men then proceeded to the upper cave and saw the previous monk already seated within it. One monk said to his companion, "How is it that this old monk resembles the one we just saw?" His companion, being quick-witted and discerning, immediately said to him, "If this Venerable can spread his renown so far, could he not arrive here and take his seat?" They then stepped forward, made obeisance, bowed their heads, and asked, "The Bhadanta's majestic renown is rare in the world. Why do you humble yourself to light the fire for the Saṅgha?" Dharmamitra told the monks, "Listen now, sons. When I reflect upon the long suffering undergone in birth-and-death, if it were possible to burn my head and hands, I would burn them completely for the sake of the Saṅgha. How much less would other parts of my body, or lighting a fire, be considered difficult? I recall that in the past, for five hundred lifetimes, I constantly took the body of a dog. Starving, impoverished, and emaciated, only twice did I eat to fullness. Once in the past, I met a man who, being drunk with wine, vomited onto the ground; at that time I ate of it and was satisfied. Another time in the past, there was a husband and wife who cooked porridge in a vessel, and when it was done they went outside. Seeing no one, I went into their house, put my head into the vessel, and ate my fill of porridge. Afterwards, when I wished to withdraw my head, I could not do so at all. Thereupon the husband and wife returned inside from outside, and seeing me eating their porridge, became deeply enraged; they immediately took a sharp knife and cut off my head. Having received this dog's body for five hundred lifetimes, though twice I was filled, I lost my life. Reflecting in this way that birth-and-death is long and wandering through the five destinies brings immeasurable suffering, I therefore do not shrink from toil now, and personally light the fire for the Saṅgha." When the two monks heard these words, they deeply contemplated the boundless faults of birth-and-death, and at that very moment attained the path of srotāpanna. Such was the Venerable Dharmamitra: his knowledge and vision were elevated and far-reaching, and his renown was widely spread. The king's ministers had long heard of his name, and together they addressed the king, "The Great King should know: in the mountains of Kaśmīra there is a monk named Dharmamitra. His talent and wisdom are matchless, and his merit is profound and abundant. The King ought to go there to inquire after him and make offerings." At that time Kaniṣka had his carriages prepared, and with retinues before and behind, he set out for the mountains of Kaśmīra. When he was more than five hundred li away from that dwelling place, the king thought to himself, "Only if that monk's merit is vast and deep can he receive my respectful salutations; if he is a man of meager merit, he will surely not be able to bear it." Dharmamitra by nature was fond of pure simplicity; he wore tattered robes and his appearance was haggard. The Venerable's disciples all said, "King Kaniṣka's majestic renown is elevated and far-reaching. He has humbled his carriage to come here and pay homage to the Great Master. You should adorn yourself and put on new, clean robes, lest you be slighted by him." Dharmamitra said to his disciples, "In former days, the Tathāgata gave no instruction that upon seeing the noble and wealthy, one should adorn oneself. Moreover, for a renunciant coarse and worn garments are ordinary. Having what is fitting, what is there to alter?" Then the king proceeded forward, bowed his head in reverence, and inquired after his health. Dharmamitra knew his thoughts; he immediately coughed and spat, causing the king to catch it. At that time Kaniṣka knelt on his knees, joined his palms, caught the spittle, and discarded it. [Dharmamitra] asked, "Am I now able to bear the King's offerings?" The king was thereupon subdued, and his reverence and faith doubled. The Venerable said to him, "The King formerly came by a superior path; you may now return by your original road." Having heard these words, the king accepted the instruction and returned to his country. At that time, his ministers were all displeased and resentful: "Why did the Great King originally visit a superior man, yet having met him, did not consult or question him at all?" The king said to his ministers, "How could you know such matters? In the past I accumulated and practiced meritorious deeds, and now I have become king, with talent and wisdom surpassing the world. The Venerable instructed me to cultivate my original practice; having already received his admonition, what more was there to ask?" Later, the king went to the Kaniṣka stūpa. On the road ahead, he saw five hundred beggars who with one voice pleaded for pity, saying, "Give alms to us!" When the king heard this, he gave vast alms to the beggars: gold, silver, lapis lazuli, elephants, horses, fields, and residences. Returning, he arranged various assemblies for almsgiving, relieving the poor and destitute, and consoling the orphaned and elderly. He governed the world with the True Dharma and nurtured all under heaven with benevolence. At that time there was a minister named Tianfa, who thought, "Why did the Great King, upon seeing these beggars, establish such superior deeds of merit?" He then asked the king:

5.4.2

"For what reason does Your Majesty now, upon seeing this beggar, widely perform such acts of merit?" Then the great king told Tianfa: "The beggar has brought me great benefit. Through his physical form and words, he wished to make me realize and awaken. Formerly, when I was a king, I did not cultivate causes of merit. For this reason I am now hungry, cold, and destitute, my body emaciated, suffering all kinds of distress. If you, O King, cannot give alms to the poor and needy, in a future life you will surely be hungry, cold, and frail just like me. The beggar's matter was like this. Realizing this matter, I have therefore performed merit." Tianfa said: "Your Majesty not only surpasses the world in status today; your wisdom is also able to govern the myriad realms." At that time, the King of Parthia was stubborn and ferocious by nature. Leading the fourfold army, he set out to attack Kaniṣka. King Kaniṣka also immediately ordered his forces. The two battle lines clashed, and blades and swords continually arose. King Kaniṣka soon achieved victory, slaying nine hundred million Parthians in all. He asked his ministers, saying: "Can this sin of mine be expiated or not?" The ministers replied: "Your Majesty has slaughtered nine hundred million people in all. Since the sin is so grave, how could it be expiated?" Then Kaniṣka immediately had a great cauldron set up, and boiled water in it for seven days until it was boiling hot, surging and bubbling with blazing heat. He placed a golden ring inside this hot water, turned to ask his ministers: "Who has the skillful means to obtain this ring?" Then a minister stepped forward in response to the king's order, poured in cold water, and accordingly took it out. His hands were neither burnt nor injured, and he quickly retrieved the golden ring. The king told the ministers: "The sins I have committed are like that boiling water; with repentance, they can surely be eliminated, just as with the cold water. Although I have slain nine hundred million people, those with grave guilt amount to only two and a half persons. When I was killing, there were two faithful and virtuous persons who, about to be executed, chanted 'Namo Buddhāya'. Yet I killed them; this sin is grave. As for the other person, his mouth uttered 'Namo', but it is unknown whether he meant the Buddha or Pūraṇa. I also killed him; therefore he is called half a person." At that time there was an arhat monk who, seeing Kaniṣka create such evil karma, wished to make the king fearful so that he would repent of his misdeeds. He then used his supernatural powers to manifest hell to him, showing the hacking and piercing, the wheel of swords dismembering bodies, and the wailing and lamenting with pain too difficult to bear. Having seen this, the king was exceedingly terrified, and thought to himself: "I was exceedingly foolish to create such sinful karma! In the future I will surely suffer such torment. Had I known beforehand of such evil retribution, even if the limbs and joints of my own body were hacked to pieces, I would never give rise to a mind to harm enemy bandits, much less harbor a single evil thought toward good people." At that time, Aśvaghoṣa said to the king: "If Your Majesty can single-mindedly listen to me expound the Dharma, follow my teachings, and uphold them atop your head, I will cause this sin of yours not to lead into hell." Kaniṣka said: "Excellent! I receive your teaching." Thereupon Aśvaghoṣa expounded the pure Dharma extensively for the king, causing his heavy sins gradually to become slight and thin. There was also a physician named Caraka, who was well versed in medical recipes and herbs, clever and erudite, endowed with sharp intellect and eloquence, and kindly, gentle, and benevolent. King Kaniṣka had long heard of his name and constantly sought him out. It so happened that Caraka came to the royal palace on his own. When the king heard that the physician had arrived, he said: "I am now well able to harmonize my body: I lie down on my right side and moderate my food and drink. For someone like this, what need is there for a physician?" Caraka said: "If Your Majesty can do this, it would be fitting for you to go forth into the homeless life. As for kings, they indulge their desires and passions, giving free rein to body and mouth. Now that Your Majesty is even able to restrain and protect yourself, why crave this throne and dwell long in the world?" Hearing this, the king realized his reasoning was defeated. He immediately summoned him to enter and exchanged pleasantries with him. The physician then said: "If the Great King can faithfully accept my teachings, following them without contradiction, I will cause Your Majesty's physical form and strength to be abundant, food and drink to digest, and you will never suffer from illnesses." The king said: "Excellent! I respectfully receive your instructions." Not long after that, the beloved queen realized she was pregnant. After ten months had been completed, she gave birth to a boy. The child had already died beforehand and came out feet first from the womb. The mother was in severe pain, her life hanging by a thread. Subsequent births consistently happened like this. At that time, Caraka reached his hand into the womb, unfastened the infant's swaddling, and then drew him out. Thereupon the mother was safe and preserved. The physician said: "Great King, from now on, do not visit this woman again. If you approach her, it will surely be as before." King Kaniṣka's fire of lust was raging; unable to restrain himself, he visited this woman again. Later, when she subsequently gave birth to a child, the bitter misery was as before. At that time the physician Caraka first realized that the five desires are the root of faults and perils. He thought: "I personally instructed King Kaniṣka, yet he did not accept my words, thereby incurring these numerous sufferings. One should know that lustful desire brings no joy at all; ruin of virtue and loss of life are always due to it. It destroys good reputation and defiles pure conduct (brahmacarya). Ordinary worldly people, deluded and confused, cannot abandon it; the wise understand it and view it like an enemy bandit. I should now abandon this evil phenomenon, retire into the forests, and dwell in seclusion to practice mindfulness and meditation." Thereupon he took leave of the king, went forth to study the Way, with lofty talent transcending the world and profound clarity, expounding treatises and commentaries as he traveled and transformed the world. There was also a minister named Māṭhara, whose wisdom was peerless and whose talents and skills were rare in the world. He said to Kaniṣka: "If the Great King can comply with your servant's instructions, I will surely cause Your Majesty's majesty to subdue the four seas, all to revere you, and the eight directions to submit to your virtue. You should keep your servant's words secret and not let them be revealed." The king said: "Very well, it shall be as you say." At that time, the great minister assembled valiant generals in great numbers and arrayed the four types of troops; wherever they turned, all surrendered like grass crushed by hail. The peoples of the three seas all came to submit as vassals. The horse ridden by King Kaniṣka collapsed and buckled its legs while traveling on the road. The king said to it: "I have conquered the three seas, and all have submitted; only the northern sea has not yet surrendered. If I obtain it, I will not ride you again. My task is not yet accomplished, so how can you act like this?" When the ministers heard the king's words, they all conferred together, saying: "King Kaniṣka is greedy, tyrannical, and unprincipled. Frequently marching out on campaigns, he toils the people; not knowing contentment, he wishes to rule over the four seas. Guarding distant frontiers causes kin to be separated. When will such suffering ever cease? We should unite in mind to eliminate him together; only then will we find happiness." Taking advantage of the king suffering from malaria, they smothered him with a blanket, and people sat atop it; in an instant, his breath was cut off. Because of the cause of having listened to Aśvaghoṣa expound the Dharma, he was reborn in the great ocean as a thousand-headed fish. A wheel of swords circled and severed his heads, which immediately grew back only to be severed again in succession; thus turning again and again without measure, in an instant filling the great ocean with heads.

5.4.3

At that time there was an arhat serving as the monastery’s karmadāna. The king said to him, “Now, whenever this wheel of swords hears the sound of the gaṇḍī, it stops at once, and in the meantime my suffering abates a little. I only pray that the venerable one, showing pity and compassion, will prolong the striking of the gaṇḍī whenever it is sounded.” The arhat, feeling pity, struck it for a prolonged time for him. When seven days had passed, his suffering was at an end. Because of that king, the monks of this monastery passed down the practice of striking the gaṇḍī for a long duration, and down to the present day it remains just as it originally was. In this way Aśvaghoṣa expounded the flavor of the nectar of Dharma with great practices and vows, bringing great benefit to King Kaniṣka. Having delivered countless hundreds of millions of people and completed what he had to do, he relinquished his life-faculty. His relics were collected, and a stupa was erected to make offerings to them. When the Bodhisattva Aśvaghoṣa was about to relinquish his life, he told a monk named Kapimala, “Āyusmat, you should know: the Buddha-Dharma is pure and able to remove the defilements of affliction. You must later disseminate and revere it.” Kapimala replied, “Excellent; I receive your instruction.” From then on, he widely proclaimed the true Dharma, adorning himself with subtle and wondrous merits. Skillful in his speech and deep in wisdom, there were no non-Buddhist heterodox treatises that he did not defeat. In South India he brought great benefit, composing the Treatise on Non-Self (Anātman-śāstra) in a full one hundred verses. Wherever this treatise reached, all were swept away in defeat, just as whatever a diamond strikes is shattered. When Kapimala was about to enter extinction, he entrusted the Dharma-treasury to a great being named Nāgārjuna, and only then relinquished his life. Later, Nāgārjuna widely spread the supreme eye for the sake of sentient beings, adorning himself with marvelous merits. Possessing heavenly intelligence and extraordinary comprehension, he never needed to ask twice about any matter. Erecting the Dharma banner, he subjugated heterodox paths; his merits such as these cannot be fully praised. Now I shall faithfully set forth the circumstances of his life. He was first born in South India into a great, noble, and wealthy family of the brāhmaṇa caste. At the time of his birth, he was beneath an arjuna tree; and because he attained the path through a nāga, he was named Nāgārjuna. From his youth he was intelligent and wise, his talent and learning surpassing the world. When he was still a child in swaddling clothes, he heard the brāhmaṇas reciting the four Vedas; these scriptures were profound and vast, consisting of forty thousand verses, each verse fully having thirty-two syllables, and he immediately illuminated and penetrated their phrases and meanings. Upon coming of age, his fame spread, and he traveled freely through various countries. In astronomy, geography, the constellations and prognostic charts, as well as the other arts and sciences, there was nothing he had not thoroughly mastered. He had three friends, all of extraordinary natural talent. They conferred with one another, saying, “The principles and meanings of the world that awaken the spirit, reveal the hidden purports, and increase wisdom—matters such as these we have completely mastered. By what other means shall we now amuse ourselves?” They said further, “In this world, pursuing beautiful women and giving free rein to extreme desires is the most supreme, marvelous pleasure of a lifetime. However, the position of a brāhmaṇa does not afford unchecked power; without some extraordinary stratagem, this pleasure will be difficult to attain. We should together seek an invisibility elixir; if that succeeds, this wish will surely be fulfilled.” All said, “Excellent! These words bring joy.” Thereupon they went to an occult master to seek the art of invisibility. The master thought to himself, “These four brāhmaṇas have lofty talents and deep wisdom, and they are extremely arrogant, treating all sentient beings like weeds. Now, solely on account of this art, they humble themselves to come to me. Yet these people investigate everything exhaustively and broadly; the only thing they do not know is this lowly art. If I teach them the formula, they will cast me aside forever. I will just give them the medicine without letting them know [the recipe]; when the medicine is exhausted, they will surely come back, and their discipleship will last a long time.” He then gave each of them a blue pill and said to them, “Take this pill, grind it with water, and smear it on your eyelids; your forms will naturally be concealed.” Having received the master's instruction, each ground the medicine. When Nāgārjuna smelled its fragrance, he immediately recognized it, without mistaking a single ounce or grain of the proportions and quantities. He returned to the master and explained the matter in full: “This medicine consists of a full seventy ingredients, and their names and amounts are all in accordance with the formula.” Hearing this, the master was astonished and asked how he knew it. Nāgārjuna answered, “Great master, you should know that all medicines naturally have their distinct odors; through them I knew it—why should it be considered strange?” When the master heard his words, he marveled at what he had never seen before and thought, “Even to hear of a person like this is rare, how much more so when I have met him in person—how could I begrudge this art?” He then transmitted the complete method to the four men. Following the formula, the four men compounded the medicine and concealed their bodies. Roaming about at will, they went together into the king's inner palace, where all the beautiful palace women were violated. After more than a hundred days, many of them were pregnant. They soon went to report it to the king in the hope of avoiding punishment. When the king heard this, he was deeply displeased: “What kind of inauspicious omen is this, that such a bizarre thing should happen?” He summoned all his wise ministers to deliberate on the matter. At that time, a minister said to the king, “This kind of occurrence can only be of two types: first, ghosts and spirits; second, occult arts. Fine soil can be scattered in the doorways, and guards can be posted to cut off those passing to and fro. If it is an occult art, their footprints will naturally appear; if it is ghosts and spirits, they will leave no footprints when entering. Human beings can be removed with weapons, while ghosts should be destroyed by mantras.” The king employed his plan and made full preparations according to the method. They saw four sets of footprints entering through the gate. The guards immediately reported it to the king. The king led several hundred brave warriors, who swung their swords in the air and severed the heads of three men. Within seven feet of the king, the swords did not strike; Nāgārjuna drew in his body and stood leaning close to the king. Thereupon he first realized that desire is the root of suffering, ruining virtue, endangering the body, and defiling pure conduct. He then vowed to himself, “If I can escape and avoid this disaster, I will surely go to a śramaṇa and receive the rules for leaving the household.” Having escaped, he entered the mountains, went to a Buddhist stupa, abandoned desire and affection, and left the household to follow the path. Within ninety days, he recited and fully mastered all the sūtras and treatises in Jambudvīpa. Seeking other scriptures further, he could find none anywhere. He then went toward the Snow Mountains and met a monk, who transmitted the Mahāyāna to him. He read, recited, delighted in, revered, and made offerings to it. Although he penetrated the true meaning, he had not yet obtained realization of the path. With endless eloquence, he was skilled in debate; non-Buddhists of heterodox learning, śramaṇas, and doctrinal masters were all subjugated by him and begged to take him as their teacher. He then thought of himself as an omniscient person, conceiving extreme arrogance and becoming exceedingly boastful. He then wanted to enter through Gautama's gate. At that time, the gate deity told Nāgārjuna, “Now your wisdom is like a mosquito or gnat; compared to the Tathāgata, it cannot be expressed in words. It is no different from a firefly matching its light with the sun and moon, or equating Mount Sumeru with a mustard seed. As I see it, worthy sir, you are not omniscient. Why do you wish to enter through this gate?” Hearing these words, he felt flushed with shame. At that time, a disciple said to Nāgārjuna, “Master, you always called yourself an omniscient person, yet now you humble yourself to become a disciple of the Buddha. The way of a disciple is to receive instruction from his teacher.”

5.4.4

'What I consulted and received is insufficient, and he is not omniscient.' At that time, Nāgārjuna was reduced to silence, his reasoning exhausted, and he reflected: 'Among worldly teachings, paths are measureless. Though the Buddhist scriptures are marvelous, their verbal meanings are not exhaustive. I should now further expound them to awaken later students and benefit sentient beings.' Having thought this, he wished to establish a master's precepts and create different robes for them, making them adhere to the Buddha's Dharma yet slightly different, wishing to remove the people's feelings [of doubt] and show that he did not receive tuition [from others]. Choosing an auspicious day, he was about to establish them, dwelling alone in a quiet chamber of crystal. The great Nāga Bodhisattva took pity on his doing so, and immediately used his supernatural powers to bring him into the great ocean. Arriving at his palace, he opened boxes of the seven jewels, and gave Nāgārjuna deep and profound sūtras of all the Vaipulya teachings and measureless wondrous Dharmas. Within ninety days he thoroughly understood a great deal, his mind penetrating deeply and grasping true benefit. The nāga, knowing his thoughts, asked him: 'Have you now read the sūtras completely?' Nāgārjuna replied: 'Your sūtras are measureless and cannot be exhausted. What I have read is already fully ten times more than all in Jambudvīpa.' The nāga king said: 'The scriptures possessed by Śakra Devānām Indra in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven exceed those in this palace by hundreds of thousands of millions of times. Those in other places are similarly innumerable.' At that time, having received the sūtras, Nāgārjuna clearly comprehended them, skillfully understood the single mark, deeply penetrated the non-arising, and was fully endowed with the two forbearances. Knowing that he had awakened to the Way, the nāga escorted him back out of the palace. At that time, the king of South India held strong false views, serving heterodox ways and slandering the true Dharma. In order to transform him, Nāgārjuna Bodhisattva personally held a red banner and walked before the king. Seven years passed, and only then did the king wonder and ask: 'Who are you, walking before me?' He replied: 'I am an omniscient person.' Hearing this, the king was greatly astonished and asked him: 'An omniscient person is extremely rare. You claim to be one yourself; by what may this be verified?' Nāgārjuna replied: 'If the King wishes to know, he should ask me; after I have spoken, you may then verify it.' Hearing these words, the king thought: 'I am a master of wisdom and a great disputant. If I ask and can confound him, it will not be extraordinary; but if I am not his match, the loss will be very great. Yet remaining silent without a word is also not proper.' Having deliberated like this for a long time without resolving it, hard-pressed by circumstance, he reluctantly looked up and asked him: 'What are the devas doing now?' He replied: 'Great King, the devas are now battling with the asuras.' Having heard this, the king was like a choking man who can neither spit it out nor swallow it down: if he did not believe his words, he had no proof; if he wished to accept his statement, the matter was difficult to clarify. Nāgārjuna further said: 'This is not empty talk. Let the King wait a moment, and it shall immediately be verified.' When he finished speaking, swords and blades flew down from the sky; long halberds and short weapons fell one after another. The king said again: 'Shields, spears, pikes, and lances, though they are weapons of war, why must they belong to the devas and asuras?' Nāgārjuna replied: 'Though it seems an empty claim, it shall be verified in truth.' Having spoken these words, the ears and noses of asuras fell from the sky. The king was then startled into awakening, bowed his head in veneration, and respectfully revered and received his conversion. At that time, ten thousand brāhmaṇas in the palace, seeing his spiritual power and virtue, praised it as unprecedented, shaved off their hair and beards, and went forth into homelessness. When the heterodox teachers heard of this, they all gathered like clouds, harboring anger and jealousy, seeking to compete in debate. Thereupon Nāgārjuna, with great wisdom and skillful words, engaged in extensive debate with the heterodox teachers. Those of dull wit were confounded with a single word; those with a little intelligence lasted at most two days, their words and logic both exhausted, and all were subdued. Shaving off their hair and beards, they followed him into homelessness. In this way, countless followers of false ways were delivered. The king's house constantly sent ten carts of robes and bowls, which were entirely used up within a month. In this manner it went on, even to an innumerable degree. He broadly explained and distinguished the meaning of Mahāyāna, composing upadeśas of one hundred thousand verses, treatises such as Adorning the Buddha Way and Great Compassion and Expedient Means of five thousand verses each, causing Mahāyāna to be gloriously proclaimed in the world. He composed the Treatise of Fearlessness in full one hundred thousand verses; the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā was produced from within the Fearlessness section, consisting of five hundred verses in all. Its exposition of meanings and flavor was profound and deep, subduing the victory banners of all heterodox paths. At that time, in India there was a brāhmaṇa whose false views were raging and who was skilled in incantations. Wishing to compete in fame with Nāgārjuna through his own ability, he said to the king: 'May the Great King graciously permit me to contest spiritual power with this śramaṇa. If he defeats me, I shall submit to him; if I defeat him, he shall submit to me.' The king said: 'Venerable one, you are very foolish. This Bodhisattva's brilliance equals the sun and moon, and his wisdom matches all the sages. Now, base as you are, how could you compare to him? Wishing to suspend Mount Sumeru with a lotus thread, or measure the great ocean against water in a cow's hoofprint—I see you, good sir, as just like that. Fortunately reconsider it for yourself, and do not impair high virtue.' The brāhmaṇa said: 'The King is a wise man whom all look up to, just as none fail to observe the sun and moon. Whether my words are true or false should be tested by reason. Why does the Great King preemptively humiliate me?' Then the king, seeing his earnest intention, prepared his carriage and went to invite Nāgārjuna Bodhisattva. At dawn they all gathered in the Hall of Upright Virtue. Then the brāhmaṇa, using the power of his incantations, conjured a large pond, broad, long, and pure, in which grew a thousand-petaled lotus blossom. Sitting upon it himself, he said to Nāgārjuna: 'You dwell on the ground like a beast; I reside upon the flower, pure in wisdom. How dare you raise words to debate with me?' At that time, Nāgārjuna also used the power of incantations to transform into a white elephant. The elephant had six tusks, adorned with gold and silver. Walking slowly, it approached the pond, went to his flower seat, entwined and uprooted it with its trunk, raised it high, and dashed it to the ground. Then the brāhmaṇa, his back injured and thoroughly exhausted, was immediately subdued and took refuge in Nāgārjuna: 'I was very obstinate and stupid to oppose the Great Master. I only pray you take pity and allow me to repent.' Nāgārjuna compassionately accepted him and ordained him. At that time, there was a Hīnayāna Dharma master who, seeing his eminence and brilliance, always harbored anger and jealousy. Nāgārjuna Bodhisattva, having completed what had to be done, was about to depart from this land. He asked the Dharma master: 'Do you now wish me to remain long in the world or not?' He answered: 'Good sir, in truth I do not.' Thereupon [Nāgārjuna] entered a quiet room and did not appear for a day. His disciples all wondered at it, broke down the door, and looked in; they then saw that their master had shed his mortal frame like a cicada and departed. The countries of India all erected shrines for him, offering various kinds of worship and revering him like a Buddha.

First 7 of 10 passages. Read on

Linked texts (1)

付法藏因緣傳 — Classical Chinese