續高僧傳 25.68

25.68

釋通達。雍州人。三十出家。栖止無定。初辭世壤遍訪明師。委問道方皆無稱悅。乃入太白山。不齎糧粒不擇林巖。飢則食草息則依樹。端坐思玄動逾晦序。意用漠漠投解無歸。經跨五年栖遑靡息。因以木打塊。塊破形銷。既覩斯緣廓然大悟。晚住京師律藏寺。遊聽大乘。情量虛蕩。一裙一帔布納重縫。所著麻鞋經三十載。繒帛雜飾未曾冠體。冬夏一服不蔽氷炎。常於講席評敘玄奧。而不肖之夫言行矛楯。及至飲噉無異俗人。達曰。大乘之學豈其爾耶。若指聖懷斯寔凡庶。余不同也。左僕射房玄齡。聞而異焉。迎至第中。父事隆重。而達體。道為功性不拘檢。或單裙露腹。或放達餘言。玄齡以風表處之。不以形言致隔。其見貴如此也。常以飲水噉菜。任性遊縱。或攬折蒿藋生宛而食。至於桃杏瓜果必生吞皮核。人問所由。云信施難棄也。貞觀已來稍顯神異。往至人家。歡笑則吉愁懆必凶。或索財賄。或索功力。隨命多少即須依送。若違其語後失過前。有人騎驢歷寺遊觀。達往就乞。惜而不施。其驢尋死。斯例不一也。故京室貴賤。咸宗事之。禍福由其一言。說導唯存離著。所得財利並營寺宇。大將軍薛萬均。初聞異行。迎宅供養百有餘日。不違正軌。忽於一夜索食欲噉。初不與之。苦求不已。試與遂食。從爾已後稍改前迹。專顯變應。其行多僻。欲往入內宿。將軍兄弟大怒。打之幾死。仰而告曰。卿已打我。身肉都毀血污不淨。可作湯洗。待沸涌已。脫衣入鑊。狀如冷水。旁人怖之。猶索加火。遂合宅驚奉恣其寢處。曾負人錢百有餘貫。後既辦得無人可送。乃將錢寺門伺覓行人。隨負多少償達西市。眾皆止之。而達付而不禁。及往勘儅不失一文。斯達量虛懷。定難准也。時逢米貴欲設大齋。乃命寺家多令疏請。及至明旦。來赴數千。而供度閴然不知何擬。大眾咎之。達曰。他許送供。計非妄語。臨至齋時僧徒欲散。忽見熟食美膳連車接輿充道而來。即用施設。乃大餘長。並供僧庫。都不委其所從來。食訖須臾人車不見。今盛業京輦。朝野具瞻。敘事而舒。故不曲盡。

Śramaṇa Tongda was a native of Yongzhou. He went forth from home at thirty, possessing no fixed dwelling. At first, he renounced the mundane world and traveled widely to visit renowned masters, thoroughly inquiring into methods of the Way, but none brought him satisfaction. He thereupon entered the Taibai Mountains, carrying no grain or provisions, choosing neither specific forest nor cave. When hungry, he ate wild grasses; when resting, he leaned against trees. Sitting upright, he contemplated the profound mysteries, passing months and seasons. His mind felt obscure and vast, finding no place to settle his understanding. Five years passed in restless anxiety without ease. Once, he struck an earthen clod with a piece of wood: as the clod broke and its form dissolved, he directly perceived this conditioned arising and was suddenly awakened with great enlightenment. Later, he resided at the Vinayapiṭaka Monastery in the capital, wandering about to listen to the Mahāyāna, his mind being empty and free from attachment. He wore only a single skirt, a single mantle, and a cloth cassock sewn repeatedly, wearing the same hempen shoes for thirty years, without ever draping silks or elaborate adornments over his body. A single garment served for winter and summer, without shielding him from freezing cold or scorching heat. He often expounded the deep mysteries at lecture assemblies. When observing inferior men whose speech and actions contradicted each other, and who were no different from secular folk when eating and drinking, Tongda said: “How could the study of the Mahāyāna be like this? If one points to the state of sages while truly remaining an ordinary worldly person, I will not be part of it.” Fang Xuanling, Left Supervisor of the Department of State Affairs, heard of him and marveled at his conduct. He welcomed him into his residence and treated him with the highest reverence, as though he were his own father. Tongda, taking the realization of the Way as his accomplishment, was not restrained by conventional etiquette: at times he wore only a simple skirt and exposed his belly, or spoke uninhibitedly. Xuanling judged him by his transcendent spirit and did not let superficial appearance or speech create estrangement—such was the esteem he received. He was accustomed to drinking water and eating greens, roaming freely according to his inclinations. Sometimes he plucked wild wormwood and ate it raw and whole. As for peaches, apricots, melons, and fruits, he would invariably swallow them raw with their skin and stones. When people asked why, he replied, “The alms given in faith are hard to discard.” From the Zhenguan era onward, he gradually revealed divine marvels. Whenever he arrived at someone's home, if he laughed, good fortune followed; if he showed grief or anxiety, misfortune was certain. Sometimes he asked for wealth or manual labor, and whatever amount he requested had to be provided accordingly; if anyone disobeyed his words, subsequent losses far exceeded the previous request. Once, a man riding a donkey was touring various monasteries. Tongda approached him to beg for it. The man begrudged it and would not give it; shortly thereafter, the donkey died. Many such occurrences took place. For this reason, both high and low throughout the capital revered and served him. Misfortune and fortune hung upon his single word, yet his guidance aimed solely at freeing beings from attachments. Any material gains he received were dedicated to building monasteries. The Grand General Xue Wanjun, upon hearing of his wondrous conduct, welcomed him to his residence and made offerings to him for more than a hundred days, during which Tongda did not violate regular decorum. One night, he suddenly demanded food to eat. At first, they refused him, but as he begged incessantly, they tested him by giving it, and he ate it. From then on, he changed his former ways, exclusively displaying supernatural manifestations; his conduct was often eccentric. When he attempted to enter the inner quarters to sleep, the general and his brothers were enraged and beat him almost to death. Tongda looked up and said to them: “You have already beaten me; my flesh is completely ruined and soiled with blood and impurities. You may prepare hot water to wash me.” Waiting until the water was boiling, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the cauldron, appearing as if it were cold water. The bystanders were terrified, yet he demanded more fire. The entire household was awed, and thereafter venerated him, indulging him wherever he wished to rest. Once, he owed someone more than a hundred strings of cash. Having gathered the money later on, there was no one to deliver it. He then brought the money to the monastery gate to look for travelers, and according to whatever amounts were owed, he had them repaid in the Western Market. Everyone tried to stop him, but Tongda gave out the money without hesitation. When they later went to verify the accounts, not a single coin had been mislaid. Tongda's vast, unobstructed mind was truly difficult to measure by normal standards. At a time when rice was expensive, he wished to host a great vegetarian feast. He ordered the monastery officials to send out numerous written invitations. When the next morning arrived, several thousand people came to attend, but the provisions were non-existent, leaving everyone at a loss as to what to prepare. The assembly blamed him, but Tongda said, “Others have promised to deliver the offerings; it is certainly not a lie.” As the feast hour arrived and the assembly of monks was about to disperse, suddenly cooked delicacies and exquisite food came flooding the roads, cart after cart and carriage after carriage. These were immediately served, leaving a great abundance that was fully stored in the monastic granaries. No one knew where they had come from. Soon after the meal was over, the men and carts vanished. At present, his grand endeavors flourish in the imperial capital, looked up to by both the court and commoners. This narrative is recorded in broad strokes, and does not exhaust all the details.