華嚴經傳記 4

English (machine translation) 4

Language: English

4.1

Compiled by the Monk and Śramaṇa Fazang of Chongfusi in the Capital

Recitation, Part Seven:
Shi Puyuan
Shi Puji
Shi Biancai
Shi Huiwu
Shi Tanyi
Vinaya Master Yuan
Tripiṭaka Master Divākara of Central India
Upāsaka Fan Xuanzhi
Śrāmaṇera Prajñāmiga of the Kingdom of Khotan
A person of the capital surnamed Wang (name lost)
Bhikṣuṇī Wuliang

4.3

Reciting [from the Text], Chapter 8
Monk Fanian
Monk Fa'an
Monk Pu'an
Monk Jietuo
Monk Mingyao
Monk Śākyamitra (translated here as "Nengyou") from Siṃhala
Upāsaka Gao Yicheng
Monk Hongbao

4.4

Chanting [from Memory], Chapter 7

4.5

Monk Puyuan: His clan and origin are unknown. From accounts and hearsay, it seems he dwelt along the rivers and seas. At the beginning of the reign of Emperor Wu of the Zhou, he came travelling through the Three Auxiliaries. His appearance was imposing and robust, and he was completely unhurried and composed, possessing the bearing and presence of a grand master. He traversed many famous mountains and great rivers, constantly making dhūta practices his aim. He delighted in acting with compassion and rescue, prioritizing benefit [to others]. Whenever people came to seek refuge with him, he would promptly guide and deliver them, showing and instructing them in the practices and gates [of cultivation], causing them to adhere to rigorous disciplines. He constantly recited from memory the entire Avataṃsaka [Sūtra], cultivating concentration by relying upon it. The application of his mind was exceptionally thorough, such that he was unaware of the passage of morning and evening. At times he would beg for food, temporarily going to villages and settlements, but mostly he dwelt in forests and graveyards, collecting himself in tranquil contemplation. One night, a ghost suddenly appeared whose form was exceedingly terrifying, having four eyes and six fangs, holding a crooked cudgel in his hand, with the hair of his body hanging down. He came directly before him. Puyuan opened his eyes and looked carefully; he had no trace of fear in his expression. Before long, [the ghost] withdrew. Such instances were not unique. Someone once begged Puyuan for his head; just as he was about to cut it off and give it, [the beggar] stopped and would not take it. Then the person again begged for his eyes; just as he was about to gouge them out to give them away, the person again stopped him. He then demanded his hands from him; [Puyuan] then tied his wrists to a tree and severed them flush with his elbows to give to him. Fainting with an anguished mind, he collapsed to the ground, and consequently passed away in Fanchuan in the southern suburbs. Monastics and laity mourned and longed for him, as if they had lost their own parents. They divided the relics of his cremation (jhāpita) and built pagodas in several places.

4.6

Monk Puji was a man from the northern mountains of Yongzhou. When he first went forth from the household life, he relied upon Dhyāna Master [Pu]yuan. His religious practices were pure and rigorous. He dwelt alone in the wilds and forests, never lodging among mortal society. Sitting cross-legged, he cultivated dhyāna until the end of his days. Roaming through desolate and perilous areas, he did not avoid jackals and tigers. Although he wandered beyond worldly affairs, he never let the scroll leave his hands, constantly reciting the entire Avataṃsaka [Sūtra] from memory and dedicating his karma in reliance upon it, once every two days as a constant practice. His tone was powerful and resonant, heard more than a li away. Once, his application of mind was so strenuous that he vomited several pecks of blood, ceased reciting, and abstained from food for three days. His companions in the Way grieved for him and were about to prepare medicine and decoctions, but Puji said, "The sūtras say that what worldly physicians heal, though cured, will arise again; what the Tathāgata heals will ultimately never reoccur. What need is there [for worldly remedies]?" (and so forth). Thereupon, he bathed and purified himself, arrayed fragrant flowers, bowed to the Buddhas of the ten directions, and chanted aloud with a raised voice. He then fully recovered as before. Ever since the Buddhist Dharma had been abolished, he fled into the Taibai Mountains. In his travels he packed no provisions, grazing on grasses as the season provided, chewing and swallowing them, none of which ever troubled him. He vowed that once the semblance teaching arose, he would sacrifice his body as an offering, cultivate the practices of Samantabhadra, and be born in the Land of Xianshou. At the beginning of the Kaihuang era, the Dharma-gates were widely promoted. As his wish had now been fulfilled, he immediately set about renouncing himself. He led a crowd together to the western cliff of Hui Valley, widely made great vows, and threw himself off to his death. People from near and far flocked there suddenly, filling the cliffs and valleys, and they erected a white pagoda for him on the high peak. Master Tong said (and so forth).

4.7

Monk Biancai: His clan is not detailed. He went forth from the household life when young, serving Dharma Master Yu as his teacher to inquire about and receive doctrines. Because the Avataṃsaka is the supreme scripture and universally praised as the profound ultimate, he exerted his energy to absorb and savor it, yet could not fathom its shores. Lamenting the entanglement of his karmic hindrances and burdens, he was about to undertake rituals of confession. He then separately maintained cleanliness, fashioned a fragrant casket to contain the sūtra, and carried it atop his head, circumambulating for three years. Then he dreamt that Bodhisattva Samantabhadra instructed him in its subtle depths; thereupon he suddenly could recite its text from memory, clear from beginning to end as in a mirror. Having received this sacred aid, Biancai applied himself even beyond his normal standard. From then on, he thoroughly mastered both its principles and teachings, and at times expounded them to guide and benefit others. Later, his end was unknown. There was also a monk whose family name and given name are lost. Seeing Biancai's auspicious sign, he gave rise to deep sincerity. He then adopted carrying [the scripture] on his head, receiving the protective light of Mañjuśrī on Qingliang [Mountain], his mind praying for sacred power. From time to time he travelled to pay homage, coming and going, circumambulating, never forsaking the scripture from the beginning. Whenever longing [stirred in him], he would place the scripture atop three canes, burn incense, bow with his head to the ground, and sit cross-legged beneath it, pondering its subtle depths as his constant practice. Altogether for seventeen years, what he experienced was just as before. The casket is still extant today. At that time, at Baofu Cliff in Fenzhou, there was a novice named Huiri who also carried this sūtra on his head inside a pagoda; after three years, both the text and its meaning were fully understood by him. At the time, this pagoda was called the "Avataṃsaka [Pagoda]".

4.8

Monk Huiwu of the Chanding Bodhimanda of the Sui dynasty: Together with a like-minded monk, he travelled and lived in seclusion in the Zhongnan Mountains. One received the Avataṃsaka, and the other upheld the Nirvāṇa [Sūtra]. Eating tree fruits and dwelling in caves for many years, each devoted himself to his practice without ceasing morning or evening. Suddenly, a man arrived unannounced, and after paying respects and inquiring [after their health], he said, "I request one master to come to my home to receive an offering." The two virtuous monks deferred to each other, but the man said, "I hope to invite the Avataṃsaka Dharma master." That monk then adjusted his robes and bowl and accompanied him. Before walking far, the monk asked, "Where is the dānapati's house?" He replied, "Directly south of here." The monk said, "To the south there are only mountain ravines; how could there be a village?" He replied, "This disciple is the god of this mountain, and my residence is within the crags and ravines. Master, please do not find it strange." Although the monk was startled and found it extraordinary, he still trod upon the rugged stones and pressed onward with effort. The god said, "Master, you uphold the Avataṃsaka; have you not yet attained supernormal powers?" He answered, "I have not yet attained them." The god then lifted the monk and soared into the sky, soon arriving at his dwelling. Suddenly, magnificent chambers and ornate halls of extraordinary splendour appeared. In the courtyard were arrayed rare delicacies, prepared as an offering for a thousand monks. As the time for the midday meal approached, the god then invited the monk to sit upon a high seat. The monk said, "Are there other monks coming?" The god said, "A great many; they will arrive in an instant." The monk said, "My monastic seniority is low; I ought not to take this seat." The god said, "Master, you uphold the Avataṃsaka; it is only right and proper that you hold the most honored position." Soon, extraordinary monks holding锡 canes and almsbowls were seen descending through the sky, numbering over five hundred, coming from unknown places. The monk, startled, stood up wishing to pay homage, but all of them declined, saying, "Please do not stir. Since you, Master, uphold the Avataṃsaka, you are the object of our respect." Each finished eating in silence and flew away through the sky, their destination unknowable. Only this monk was left, not knowing where he should go. The monk said to the god, "I hope that you, dānapati, will graciously show me my future path." Inside the god's courtyard were ten-odd small children, appearing about three years old, playing naked. The god said to a boy, "One of you, serve and attend upon the Dharma master." The boys deferred to one another, hesitating and not stepping forward. The god called out in a stern voice, and one boy immediately obeyed the command, saying to the monk, "Master, please open your mouth." Having looked into his mouth, he said, "Master has a severe illness." The boy then took dirt from beneath his fingernails and threw it into the monk's mouth. Soon he said again, "Master, open your mouth again." Having seen, he said, "Master's illness is mostly gone." The boy then leaped up and flew into the monk's mouth. It was indeed the essence of an elixir! The monk thus attained immortality. The god said, "We have troubled you, Master, to come so far, yet we have no sumptuous offering; we offer this slight recompense, and hope you will not take offense." The monk said, "I am deeply grateful to the dānapati; words cannot express it. May the merit of upholding [the sūtra] completely serve to perfume and aid you." Thereupon they bid farewell. Soaring to the clouds, he returned to his old place, sat cross-legged in mid-air, and called from afar to his companion, "By the power of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, I have received immortal medicine. The stations of mortal and immortal are different; we cannot dwell together. We have lived together for a long time, so please bestow your rejoicing. In future ages, let us meet before the Buddha!" Thereupon he soared into the void, vanishing far away. The text he recited also followed him, and its whereabouts remain unknown. There was the Dhyāna Master Daoshu of the Five Assemblies, of exalted conduct in the Dhyāna gate and an authority of doctrinal studies, who recounted this matter in full, saying it was a close and detailed account.

4.9

Monk Tanyi of the Sui dynasty was a man from Bingzhou. He went forth from the household life in his youth and resided at Shilisic temple, strictly maintaining the prohibitive precepts and declining all worldly affairs. Practicing the rigorous disciplines of dhūta, he constantly resided on Mount Wutai, wishing to rely upon the Great Master Mañjuśrī to spur him on in cultivating supreme practice. Every day he recited the Lotus Sūtra twice and read one case of the Avataṃsaka [Sūtra], taking this as his constant practice. Practicing like this, he accumulated years. Later, together with his disciple Tanxun, he travelled through the various terraces, bowing and making offerings. When he arrived at the South Terrace, he saw a bhikṣuṇī whose name was unknown. Her hemp robes were coarse and simple, and her demeanor was pure and elegant. When he reached her dwelling place, it was empty, without any buildings; he saw only where she sat, with wooden pegs driven all around and grass gathered into a mat. The mat served as the head seat, and she sat cross-legged in the middle of it. Tanyi then exchanged greetings about the weather and asked what practice she pursued. The nun replied, "I only recite the Avataṃsaka." Tanyi then requested to hear it. The nun said, "Today, between you, Virtuous One, and myself, there is the difference between monk and nun. The sun is already setting; it is not suitable for you to remain here. Please go south of the valley and stay in a stone chamber." Tanyi hesitated and did not leave; the nun was about to rise and avoid him herself. Tanyi said, "My intention was hoping to hear the Avataṃsaka; that is why I hesitated with longing." The nun said, "Just go there to lodge; you should also be able to hear it." Tanyi then followed her words and went to that stone chamber, separated by a valley about five or six li away. Burning incense to make offerings from afar, he then heard the nun reciting the Avataṃsaka, the sound and rhythm distinct and clear, as if right beside him. When she first recited the first [scroll], from afar he saw light issuing from both corners of the nun's mouth. By the second scroll, the brightness grew even stronger. From the third onward, the light filled the mountain valleys like broad daylight; from afar he could see the nun's form as though face to face. Later, by the fifth watch, the two cases were just completed. Later, when she had recited through to the sixth case, the light gradually gathered back; at the moment the scripture was concluded, the light had also completely vanished. When dawn arrived, Tanyi and his companion brought incense and flowers to present offerings, made extensive great vows, bowed in farewell, and returned. Later, together with various others, he searched for her again, but her whereabouts were unknown. Tanyi's disciple Tanxun later went to Taiyuansi in the capital and recounted this personally to Dharma Master Xianshou.

4.10

Vinaya Master Yuan of Yanxingsi in the capital was rigorous in his virtuous conduct and strictly maintained the prohibitive precepts. During the Zhenguan era, while passing through Ba Bridge, he stayed at an inn. As the sun was setting, he lodged there. Soon an extraordinary monk arrived, wearing coarse and worn garments. The innkeeper lodged him in a separate room, whereupon [the monk] called for rich wine and fine meat, drinking and eating to his heart's content. The Vinaya Master's conduct was as pure as ice and frost, and he abruptly took offense at such defilement. When that monk finished eating, he rinsed his mouth with ash and beans, closed the door to his room, and recited the Mahāvaipulya Buddhāvataṃsaka Sūtra. In an instant, one scroll was completed. Yuan pulled himself upright, and holding feelings of shame, waited listening to the profound sound. Before the fifth watch, [the monk] had completed six cases. Yuan deeply reproached himself with remorse, his chest brimming with grief and tears, and entered the room to bow and confess. Thereupon they parted, [the monk] not giving his name, and his whereabouts remained unknown.

4.11

The Tripiṭaka Master Divākara also related that he once traveled in South India and stayed at a saṅghārāma named *Kroñca*, which means 'wild goose'. Seeing that all the virtuous monks of that monastery upheld the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, he asked, 'For what reason was this monastery named after a bird?' A monk there answered him, saying: 'Long ago there was a monk who drank and ate [meat] like a layperson, yet he always recited the Avataṃsaka Sūtra as his personal practice. After his life ended, because of his breaking the precepts he was reborn in the Southern Sea as a wild goose. His body was about thirty feet long, and he could still speak in a human tongue, reciting the sūtra without ceasing. At that time, a pure faithful layman set out to sea to gather jewels, but suddenly met with a foul wind; his boat overturned and sank. Grasping only a single plank, he happened to land on an islet. His clothing and provisions were all gone, and he stayed there in sorrow. Suddenly he heard the sound of sūtra recitation from above in a tree, and he immediately listened attentively. He then saw a wild goose reciting the Avataṃsaka Sūtra. Marveling in admiration for a long while, he praised it, saying, "Splendidly recited! Splendidly recited!" Hearing his praise, the wild goose flew down from the tree and spoke to the man, saying, "Could you build a saṅghārāma for me, or not?" The man replied, "I cannot even preserve my own life, so how could I build a monastery?" The goose said, "If you can do it, I will convey precious treasures and send you back to your homeland." The man said, "If it be as you say, that would be very good." The wild goose then carried the man on its back and flew to a jewel mountain. The man, knowing jewels, gathered many treasures, and together they were loaded on the goose's back. Flying through the sky and crossing the sea, it conveyed him back to India. Coming ashore, it set him down, and the goose said, "I pray that you build a saṅghārāma for me, and use my name as the title of the monastery." The faithful layman, feeling deep indebtedness and choked with sorrow, bade it farewell. He offered those precious goods and reported the matter to the king. The king then enfeoffed him with five hundred households and ordered him to build the monastery. For this reason it was named after the wild goose.'

4.12

Fan Xuanzhi was a native of Jingzhou. Even as a young child he was different from ordinary folk, expressing the wish to cultivate the Way. At the age of sixteen he left his family and went south of the capital city, where he took refuge with the divine monk, Chan Master Dushun, and practiced various superior deeds. Dushun immediately had him take the reading and reciting of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra as his practice, exhorting him to cultivate the deeds of Samantabhadra in reliance on this scripture. He also served Dharma Master Zheng at Zhixiangsi, entering Mount Zhongnan to review and practice this scripture, and thus completed the entire work. Later, whenever he recited the scripture, relics repeatedly came out of his mouth, amounting in total to several hundred grains over time. He carried them on his person to make offerings to them, and distributed them to various people. Famous mountains and scenic places—no matter how far—he was sure to visit. Later, while traveling, he stayed at Chisha Village in Fangzhou. In the valley north of the village there was a mountain, three li away from the village, within which was a stone grotto where practitioners of the Way resided. Zhi stayed in it for over twenty years, reciting the Avataṃsaka Sūtra by day and cultivating Chan contemplation by night, living at ease across the years and making this his constant practice. Whenever he recited the scripture, various species of birds and beasts would all gather in the forest, remaining hushed and silent to listen to the virtuous sound. Jackals, tigers, and fierce beasts would also become tame from time to time. He was once seized by a gang of wicked men and pushed down a cliff; though the precipice was a hundred fathoms high, he was completely unharmed. In the first year of the Yongchun reign era, people saw light inside the niche and, marveling at it, went to look; they saw that the layman had long since passed away. When the assembly together brought him out, the light thereupon vanished. They cremated his corpse and erected a stupa. At the time he was over seventy years of age.

4.13

In the kingdom of Khotan there was a novice monk named Prajñāmiga [?]. He observed the precepts and always recited the Avataṃsaka Sūtra as his constant practice. As the years passed, he repeatedly experienced auspicious omens. Once, two men suddenly arrived at his place, bowed, inquired after him, and stood by his side with palms joined. The novice, finding their appearance unusual, asked where they had come from. They then pointed with their fingers toward the sky and replied, 'We disciples reside right up there.' They then led the novice to a secluded spot and secretly said to him, 'The gods have dispatched us disciples to respectfully invite the Dharma Master.' The novice was frightened and bewildered without end. The gods said, 'Please give rise to a mind of compassion and do not be afraid. We ask the master to close his eyes.' The novice reluctantly complied. He was then carried by these gods up to heaven, where he saw palatial towers that were magnificent and exceptionally brilliant. The lord of heaven knelt and requested, saying, 'The gods are currently battling the asuras and have repeatedly been defeated. We now trouble the Dharma Master to recite the Avataṃsaka Sūtra and lead the heavenly host, hoping to rely on the power of the Dharma to enable our heavenly army to overcome those asuras.' The novice complied with his request: mounting a heavenly jeweled chariot and holding heavenly banners, his mind dwelt on the subtle and wondrous Avataṃsaka scripture as he led the heavenly hosts to face their formidable enemy. When the asuras saw him, they naturally scattered in rout. After they had retreated, the gods were overjoyed and all said, 'Whatever the Dharma Master desires, we shall grant it.' The novice said, 'I seek nothing else; I only wish for unexcelled bodhi.' The gods bowed and apologized, saying, 'Such a great vow of the Master is truly beyond our power. We wonder what else the Dharma Master might seek?' He replied, 'Nothing else is my wish.' After a short time, they escorted him back to his native land. All his robes were permeated with heavenly incense, intensely fragrant, which never faded throughout his life. Several years later, he lay on his right side and passed away without illness, stating himself that he had attained rebirth in a pure Buddha-land. On the fourth day of the second month of the first year of the Yongchang reign era, the Tripiṭaka Master Indraprajñā of Khotan personally told this to the Śramaṇa Xianshou at the Eastern Temple of Weiguo in the Divine Capital, saying, 'Thirty-five years have passed since this event.'

4.14

In the first year of the Wenming reign era, there was a man of the capital whose surname was Wang, but his personal name is lost. Having neither moral discipline nor having ever cultivated good, he fell ill and died. Led away by two men to the gates of hell, he saw a monk who said he was Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva. He then taught Wang to recite a one-line gāthā, the text of which ran:
'If one wishes to know
All the Buddhas of the three times,
One should contemplate thus:
The mind creates all Tathāgatas.'
After the Bodhisattva imparted the scriptural text, he told him, 'If you can recite this gāthā, it will overturn hell.' Wang memorized and recited it completely. He then entered to see King Yama. The king asked what merits this person had, and he replied, 'I have only upheld a single four-phrase gāthā, just as stated above.' The king thereupon released and pardoned him. When he recited this gāthā, wherever the sound reached, all who were suffering obtained deliverance. Wang revived only after three days. Remembering this gāthā, he spoke of it to various monks; upon verifying the text of the gāthā, they realized it was from the twelfth fascicle of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, the chapter 'The Clouds of Innumerable Bodhisattvas Assembling in the Palace of the Yāma Heaven to Expound the Dharma'. Wang himself related this to Dharma Master Ding of the Kongguansi, saying that it was indeed so.

4.15

The nun Wuliang, whose secular surname was Min, was a native of Chang'an in Jingzhao. Her family tradition was to cultivate the good; the entire household ate a vegetarian diet and recited the scriptures together without ceasing morning or evening. Her mother, Lady Zhao, initially dreamed of an Indian monk holding two golden fruits, who handed them to her and said, 'I give you good seeds; you should guard them well.' She thereupon became pregnant and gave birth to Wuliang. Her moral nature was naturally complete, and her heart rejoiced in leaving the secular world. When she was eleven years old, her elder sister taught her to recite scriptures such as the Prajñā and Guanyin sūtras, but she had virtually no awakening, which left Wuliang deeply ashamed. Later, she was switched to being taught the Avataṃsaka Sūtra; holding the scrolls and opening the text, it was as if she had practiced it in past lives. She recited five sheets a day to encourage herself, and in less than three months she had mastered two wrappers. Later, due to straining her mind through diligent effort, she contracted another illness and stopped reciting for several years, feeling profound remorse and regret. Thereupon, before the Buddha, she burned incense and made a vow, swearing to uphold the Avataṃsaka Sūtra and practice the bodhisattva path; she immediately recovered, her prayer fulfilled. Chanting without fatigue, when she was just eighteen she completed the entire work. She reviewed it over the passing years, becoming all the more diligent. In the second year of the Yongchun reign era, an edict was issued to ordain people, and five men and women of her family left the secular world. Wuliang resided at Daodesi, and her younger brother Huisong, aged fourteen, who had also recited the entire Nirvāṇa Sūtra, resided at Cibeisi. Was this not the fulfillment of the dream of the two fruits? The other three each recited various scriptures of more than several hundred sheets, and both monastics and laypeople marvelled at it, regarding it as exceedingly rare. After Wuliang entered the Way, her determination grew ever firmer. She always recited the Avataṃsaka Sūtra once every three days as her constant practice. Having received full ordination, her ascetic practice became all the more earnest: she wore no silks or floss, dressed only in cotton cloth, accepted no monastic emoluments, and ate nothing from the monastic kitchen. She bowed and repented throughout the six periods of the day, never slacking in the three modes of action. In addition, she was of a gentle nature and harbored loving-kindness in her heart; whenever she saw the poor and the sick, she was always deeply moved to pity. Those of the Way all sighed in admiration, saying, 'Though she is a woman, this is something that even a great man could hardly match.'

4.16

Part 8: Chanting and Reading

4.17

Shi Fanian, surnamed Wang, came from an eminent clan of Taiyuan. At the age of thirty he left the household life. By nature aloof and fond of wandering, he was undisciplined and followed vulgar habits, such that the monastic assembly would not deign to associate with him. He once dreamed that he entered the nether administration and suffered extreme agony. Upon waking, his thoughts shifted and he reformed, yet he did not know which path to follow. At that time, meeting the śramaṇa Zhiju and others who repeatedly spoke of miraculous responses from the unseen realm, he dedicated himself wholeheartedly to chanting and reading without cessation day or night. Every time he held a scripture, tears would stream down his face. Things continued like this for three years. Later, his eyebrows suddenly fell out and sores broke out all over his body. Fanian's joy and celebration mingled in his breast, rejoicing that he was experiencing retribution in this present life. He held a great feast of offering to requite the divine efficacy, and applied himself with redoubled diligence to chanting and reading. After another three years had passed, the sores on his body gradually healed. From then on, Fanian widely exhorted scholars and commoners to repent and purify themselves in reliance on this; nine out of ten households repaired their transgressions. At the age of sixty-eight, he passed away at his dwelling.

4.18

Shi Pu'an, whose lay surname was Guo, was a native of Jingyang in Jingzhao. In his youth, he went forth from the household life under the Dhyāna master Yuan. Maintaining austere discipline, he curtailed worldly affairs; yet by nature he was harmonious and forbearing, having no taste for resentment or harshness. He would take the place of others in performing heavy labor, enduring diverse toils and hardships. His mind tasted bitterness as sweet as shepherd's-purse, yet he only feared that the tasks would come to an end. Later, he entrusted himself to the Dharma master Ai, thoroughly mastering the Three Baskets. He made the Avataṃsaka his regular practice, reading, reciting, and meditating upon it, taking it as his model and guide. When the Zhou dynasty suppressed the Dharma, he dwelt in seclusion on the western branch of Pianzi Valley in the Zhongnan Mountains. Sheltered by deep forests, he lived secluded beyond the worldly realm, keeping his conduct pure amid the springs and rocks, following in the footsteps of Chaofu and Xuyou. He also invited the Dharma master Jingyuan to reside together with him in the wild woods, seeking out even more secluded and profound places to inherit and carry forward the abstruse principles. In addition, he observed and practiced ascetic disciplines, sacrificing his own body for the sake of other beings. At times he exposed his body in the wild grass to offer it as food to mosquitoes and gnats, with streams of blood covering his body, never harboring any dread. At other times he cast himself down to lie like a corpse, offering himself to jackals and tigers, hoping to surrender his living body to fulfill his original aspiration; yet though tigers and leopards came, they all merely sniffed him and did not eat. He constantly harbored regret in his heart, lamenting that they did not fulfill his wish. At that time, heaven and earth were closed, and the image teachings were obscured. The state's decrees were strict and severe, forbidding anyone to flee the catastrophe. More than thirty monks of eminent virtue from the capital, taking refuge in the Zhongnan Mountains, were at a loss as to where to cast their bodies. Pu'an then summoned them all to gather like birds, harboring the mind of a safe haven. He settled them in hidden, secluded places, while he himself openly and freely went about begging for alms, without fear of severe punishment. Thus they were provided with abundant food and clothing, and their cultivation suffered no neglect. To be a wise man in an age of disorder—does this not describe Pu'an? At that time there was a high bounty: whoever turned in or captured a monk was rewarded with ten bolts of fabric. Someone responding to the bounty came wanting to seize Pu'an. Pu'an comforted and reasoned with him, saying, “Seeing how you are tormented by poverty, I truly wish to provide for you.” After preparing food for him, they entered the capital together. The emperor said to the bounty hunter, “The laws of our realm are strict and do not permit religious persons among the populace; yet you add further severity by not even permitting them in the mountains. If you drive them away like this, where can they survive? As I observe this man of the Way, his spirit and resolve are not those of one who merely seeks to stay alive. He should be released back into the mountains; there is no need to interrogate him.” Afterward, Pu'an was repeatedly captured and questioned, yet was pardoned each time as before. At that time, the Dharma master Ai was taking refuge from the persecution at the family home of Du Yingshi in Yigu, hiding inside an excavated pit. When Pu'an was released and returned, he went to pay his respects. Ai said, “Reverend An’s spirit and resolve are peerless; not shrinking before violent power, you are indeed hard to match.” Pu'an said, “That I have now escaped this hardship is solely due to the power of upholding the Avataṃsaka. Whatever I have prayed for with sincere devotion has entirely relied upon this.” He then invited Ai to return to the mountain and took charge of managing things himself. Those in all four directions heard of his reputation, and not a few came from afar to join him. Ai and Pu'an then further expanded their dwelling, as is fully recorded in his separate biography. When Emperor Wen of the Sui founded the dynasty, Buddhism flourished greatly. A wide search was made for the surviving monks, and they were reinstated as before. At that time, more than thirty people from the single valley of Pianzi were ordained in response to the imperial decree, and all resided in official monasteries. Only Pu'an, while rejoicing in this restoration, did not run after renown; remaining in his original mountain dwelling, he kept to simplicity amid the forested ravines. At that time, there was a pure-faith layman who built a thatched hut and excavated a grotto at the confluence of the two valleys of Ziwu and Baolin, inviting Pu'an to dwell there. At first, there was a large rock hanging directly overhead; fearing that it might fall and damage the building, they intended to move it. Pu'an thought, “May it move to another place, and not damage the shrine.” The rock thereupon broke away and fell aside to another location. The assembly marvelled with praise, but Pu'an said, “It is the power of the Avataṃsaka.” To the east of the shrine, on the left side of the rocky cliff and stream, there was a certain Ascetic Su, who was a great menace in the countryside, acting lawlessly on many occasions. Secretly jealous of Pu'an’s virtue, he plotted to destroy him. Together with three companions, carrying bows and holding blades, he bared his arms and drew his bowstring, intending to shoot. Yet the arrow would not leave the string, nor the bow leave his hands; with glaring eyes and his tongue stiffened, he remained standing through the night, able only to cry and shout aloud. Wayfarers who heard this gathered like clouds from near and far. The local villagers bowed their heads and made sincere apologies. Pu'an said, “I know nothing of it; it is probably the power of the Avataṃsaka. If you wish to be freed, just have him repent.” He instructed him as such, and only then was he released. Furthermore, to the west of the shrine lived Zhang Hui of the Wei village, who was a thief by trade. One night he went to Pu'an’s place and secretly took a jar of Buddha-lamp oil holding five dou, carrying it out on his back. When he reached the monastery gate, he became dazed, lost his senses, and was as if bound, unable to move. His family and fellow villagers came together to apologize. Pu'an said, “I know nothing of it; is it not the power of the Avataṃsaka?” He told him to repent and helped him take off the oil jar, and just as he said, the man was freed. Furthermore, a certain Minister Zhang to the south of the shrine came to steal Pu'an’s coins, carrying them off in his sleeve. But once he arrived inside his house, though he poured them out, they would not come out, and his mouth was paralyzed, unable to speak. His villagers and household brought him back to repent according to the sūtra, and he was thereupon freed. There was also Cheng Huihe of the Chengkuo village, who harbored considerable faith and constantly visited Pu'an’s dwelling to listen to and receive the essentials of the Dharma. He fell ill and died, and two nights had already passed. His corpse was tightly bound with cords and about to be placed in the coffin. Pu'an had earlier gone to Hu county, and was on his way back. Arriving at Dexingsi in the southwest, five li east of Hui’s village, he called out from afar, “Cheng Huihe, why do you not come to welcome me?” Calling repeatedly without pause, a farmer told him, “Huihe has been dead for a long time; how could he welcome you?” Pu'an said, “These are wild words; I do not believe them.” Soon he reached the village and shouted loudly with a stern voice. Huihe thereupon moved his body. When his relatives beside him saw this, they cut the cords. Pu'an entered his courtyard and shouted loudly again. Huihe immediately sat up, bent forward, and crawled toward Pu'an. Pu'an ordered the coffin removed and the funerary vessels cleared away, turned an inverted fish trap upside-down to serve as a Buddha seat, and had Huihe circumambulate it. Soon he was as healthy as before, and lived for some twenty more years. Later, falling gravely ill, he came to plead for help. Pu'an said, “I let you go [once], but roaming and idling are no concern of mine.” Huihe thereupon died. At that time, Pu'an’s renown spread far and wide, and those requesting an audience followed shoulder to shoulder. Whenever he established merit assemblies, extraordinary responses often occurred. North of Kunming Lake, there was an elderly mother in Bai village who was bedridden with illness, having been mute for a hundred days, communicating only by gesturing to her sons and daughters, longing to see Pu'an’s form. Her son, mindful of his mother’s wish, invited Pu'an to their home. When the sick mother saw him, without realizing it she stepped down to welcome him, exchanging greetings about daily life just as on ordinary days, and her illness vanished completely. At that time, his renown spread even further; whole villages gathered, each providing music, going from house to house announcing that they wished to host a great vegetarian feast and assembly. In the village lived Bai Yisheng, whose household was destitute with only bare walls, and who had four daughters. His wife wore tattered cloth that reached only to her knees, while the four daughters were completely naked, without a single thread of clothing. The eldest daughter, named Huayan, was already twenty years old; she had only two feet of coarse cloth, which she intended to give as an offering. When Pu'an led the villagers and arrived near her dwelling, pitying their poverty, he passed by without entering. The eldest daughter thought: “Because of our destitute suffering, I could not join the merit assembly. If I do not cultivate merit now, in the future it will be doubly worse.” She searched everywhere for something [to give], but found nothing at all. Looking up with a sorrowful cry, she saw a handful of tangled wild hemp stuffed into an aperture for light. Pulling it down and shaking it, she obtained a dozen or so grains of millet. She hulled them into rice, intending to use them along with the coarse cloth to rejoice in merit. Since she had no clothing on her body, she waited until the dark of night, then crawled along to the place of the vegetarian feast. She hurled her previous gift into the assembly from afar, and offered the dozen grains of rice separately to be cooked into rice. She then made a vow, saying: “A woman’s karma of poverty is also sown from the past; exhausting my poverty to make an offering, I hope for future retribution. Casting these dozen grains of yellow rice into the cooking vessel, if my sincerity is genuine and my karma of poverty is exhausted, may the cooked rice turn yellow. If there is no response, what can be done about my fate?” Having made this vow, she wiped away her tears and returned. Thereupon, the five dan of rice in the cooking vessel all turned yellow. The great assembly was astonished and sighed, not knowing the cause. Searching all around for the origin, they said, “It is the power of the vow of Bai Yisheng’s daughter.” From the contributions gathered at the vegetarian assembly, ten hu of grain were obtained and immediately used to provide for her. Pu'an and others later reported the matter to the throne, and Huayan was thereupon permitted to be ordained, dwelling in a monastery and upholding the Avataṃsaka Sūtra for the rest of her life. Although Pu'an lived in seclusion, he constantly practiced compassionate rescue. Every year at the two community sacrifice festivals, many animals were sacrificed with blood; he traveled around to ransom them, urging people to cultivate virtue and righteousness, so that in nine out of ten settlements, slaughter was ceased. Once, in a village beside his grotto, three pigs were tied up and about to be butchered. Hearing of this, Pu'an went to ransom them. The villagers, fearing they would not be able to slaughter them, demanded a price of ten thousand coins. Pu'an said, “I currently have three thousand, which I can give you.” The crowd disagreed, quarreling angrily among themselves. Suddenly a young boy, his belly wrapped in a sheepskin, arrived at the festival gathering to assist Pu'an in ransoming the pigs. Seeing the dispute, he begged for wine, and while walking around distributing food, he began to dance. With dazzling and spinning movements, all the villagers, young and old, were struck blind. In a moment he vanished of his own accord, leaving no trace behind. Pu'an then took a knife, cut flesh from his own body, and announced: “Both this and that are merely flesh. Pigs eat filth and excrement, yet you still eat them; how much more so with humans who eat grain—is that not even more valuable?” Seeing and hearing this, the villagers all released the pigs at once. Having been freed, the pigs circumambulated Pu'an three times and touched him with their snouts, as if displaying gratitude and joy. As a result, within fifty li southwest of the suburbs, the sacrificial slaughter of chickens and pigs ceased, down to the present day. His ways of inspiring compassion were all of this kind. He was deeply sincere in nature and took delight in reciting the Avataṃsaka. With only one bowl and three robes, he became ever more diligent through the decades. In the eighth year of the Kaihuang reign era, he was repeatedly summoned to the capital by imperial decree to serve as preceptor to the crown prince. The Eldest Princess established Jingfasi, and later he resided at Yanxingsi. Although his name was associated with imperial dwellings, he constantly slept in rocky grottoes. On the fifth day of the eleventh month in the fifth year of the Daye reign era, he died at the Jingfa Meditation Cloister at the age of eighty. His remains were left in the Zhongnan Mountains, and a stūpa was erected beside Zhixiangsi.

4.19

Shi Fa'an, whose lay surname was Peng, was a native of Changu in Anding. He went forth from the household life in his youth and resided at Jiulong Vihāra on Mount Dabai, taking the aspiration for dhyāna as his endeavor. Eating coarse food and wearing tattered clothes, he maintained this until the end of his life. During the Kaihuang reign era, he traveled to Jiangdu to visit the Prince of Jin. Seeing him once, the Prince treated him like an old acquaintance and settled him at the Huiri Bodhimanda. Whenever the Prince traveled according to custom, he always invited Fa'an to accompany him. Once, when the imperial carriage traveled to Mount Tai, there was no water. Fa'an stabbed a rock with a knife, and water suddenly gushed forth. The Prince sighed in admiration and asked, “By what power is this?” Fa'an replied, “By the Prince’s power.” Earlier, when he entered the valley with the Prince, they saw a monk wearing tattered clothes riding toward them on a white donkey. The Prince asked who he was, and Fa'an replied, “This is Venerable Lang.” When they reached Shentongsi, they saw a spirit of grand and imposing appearance on the lecture hall, leaning against the roof owl-tail ornament and gazing down upon the crowd. The Prince asked about it again, and Fa'an said, “It is the spirit of Mount Dabai, following the Prince.” People of the time called Fa'an “Three Hundred Years Old.” When sleeping, he never used a pillow; his head lay without turning aside, stretching over the front of the bed, and saliva constantly flowed from his mouth, sometimes up to a dou or so, no one knowing why. Other marvels that followed cannot all be recorded here. At the beginning of the Daye reign era, the Emperor esteemed him even more; his dignity overwhelmed princes and dukes, and all knelt before him upon seeing him. Wayfarers, both monastics and laity, revered him like a spirit. He also traveled to Mount Wutai and other famous mountains to view and pay homage to sacred traces, and to summon recluses to assist in the imperial transformation. At Huiri Bodhimanda, more than two thousand people relied upon Fa'an for their four requisites. The Emperor also established the Bao Bodhimanda in the Eastern Capital and specially invited Fa'an to establish his practice there as well. Fa'an constantly read and recited the Avataṃsaka, accumulating years in this practice. He would say, “The realm of Samantabhadra constantly appears before me.” He also traveled some hundred li into Mount Jiulong and carved the Avataṃsaka inside a stone chamber, which was subsequently named the Avataṃsaka Hall. In the eleventh year of the Daye reign era, he passed away without illness at the age of ninety-eight. The Emperor ordered his coffin sent to Mount Dabai, where his burial site still exists today. Literati and commoners cherish his memory, erecting images to pray for blessings. The place where he carved the sūtra is among secluded and perilous peaks and cliffs; those near it with wisdom guard it and see it, while others cannot reach it because the path is cut off.

4.20

Shi Jietuo's lay surname was Xing, and he was a native of Wutai County in Dai Commandery. He left the household at the age of seven, his aspirations and undertakings vast and far-reaching. At first, he followed Dhyāna Master Huichao of Baofu Rock to the right of Mount Jie to inquire into and seek the relinquishment of absorption. Chao had an exceptional eye for reading people; recognizing him to be a vessel of accomplishment, he told the assembly, "Jietuo's practice of dhyāna is profound and luminous, beyond what you companions can match. Do not treat him like an ordinary monk and make him perform monastic chores." In a short time, Jietuo's awakening crystallized deeply, almost exhausting its utmost limits. At the age of eighteen, he broadly visited the various traditions and consulted eminent masters; both newly heard teachings and old understandings entered into his inner sanctum. After receiving the full precepts, he further refined himself in the Vinaya. Shortly thereafter, he returned to his old dwelling and established Foguang Hermitage at Mount Foguang, at the southwestern foot of Mount Wutai, relying upon it for comprehensive practice. Jietuo constantly recited the Lotus Sūtra and also read the Avataṃsaka Sūtra every day, without stopping day or night. Later, relying on the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, he practiced the Foguang contemplation. He repeatedly went to the ancient Dafusi north of Huayuan to the southeast of the Central Terrace to seek Mañjuśrī, and was able to see him two or three times. At first, having bowed, he immediately lost sight of him; later, he personally received his spoken instruction, saying to Jietuo, "Why must you now bow to me in person? If you repent and rebuke yourself, you are certain to awaken and understand." Jietuo reverently received the sacred directive. Consequently seeking within himself, he awakened to non-arising and simultaneously attained the joy of the Dharma. Thereupon, sighing over this mere self-perfection, he thought of bringing widespread salvation. Praying with sincerity to the Great Awakened One, he requested verification of this mind. He then moved the Buddhas to appear and speak a gāthā, saying: / "The deep, profound Dharma of the Buddhas' quiescence / has only now been attained through practice over vast kalpas. / If one can open and awaken this Dharma-eye, / all the Buddhas will rejoice in accord." / Jietuo further asked into the sky, "How can this Dharma of quiescence be spoken so as to teach people?" The Buddhas then vanished, but a voice announced, saying: / "The wisdom of skillful means serves as a lamp, / illuminating and seeing the realm of the mind. / In the ultimate, true Dharma, / nothing at all is seen." / Once, the area commander of his prefecture invited him to transmit the incense precepts. After the teaching and conversion were completed, he was about to set out on his return east. The area commander and the monastic assembly escorted him to the head of the eastern city gate. As the sun was setting into evening, Jietuo was frustrated that he could not burn incense in offering, and was restless and ashamed. Suddenly, he heard a voice from atop the city wall, saying: / "Make joined palms your flowers, / and your body the vessel of offering; / a wholesome mind is the true incense, / whose billowing smoke of praise spreads far. / When the Buddhas smell this incense, / they will follow the sound and come to deliver you. / Let the assembly diligently advance; / in the end, they will not be doubted or led astray." / At that time, Jietuo alone heard this voice, and he redoubled his valiant vigor. From then on, his realization and entry became ever deeper. "The high mountain to be looked up to, the great road to be walked"—to this, people gladly turned their aspirations. Thereupon, from near and far, people converged like spokes at a hub, and requests for instruction flowed like a stream; those consulting him to receive instructions daily exceeded three hundred. Soon, as the great tree gathered birds, having to provide for them caused toil. He then spurred on the fourfold assembly to eat only one meal a day. The rooms and buildings were cramped and narrow, so many sat in the open air, causing water vessels, begging bowls, and rope beds to fill the mountain valley. Jietuo guided people with gentle kindliness, giving direction according to the circumstance, working to dismantle whatever they were attached to, having no fixed rule whatsoever. Thus, among the ranks of those visiting his gate, none could fathom the depths of his courtyard. Yet his feet did not leave the monastery for nearly fifty years. Those whose study culminated in the work of dhyāna approached more than eight hundred; beyond these, those who yearned for his style and washed in his ripples exceeded that number several times over. Whenever I consult biographies, I often see ancients: though Huisi of Mount Heng stood in the ten faiths to demonstrate his lofty station, and the Wise One of Mount Tiantai stood in the five ranks to mark his blazing glory, when it comes to training and instructing disciples to complete their plumage and wings, there has never been a gathering as immense as this. If his stage of practice were not transcendental, bending his traces to conform with ordinary mortals, it must have been the empowerment of Mañjuśrī aiding his broad guidance. Furthermore, to the west of Mount Heng and southeast of Mount Qingliang, there is a mountain popularly named Mount Dahei. There was a laywoman who had originally been blind, who constantly sat in dhyāna alone in the mountains. On the six fast days, the monastics and laity of Hengzhou would constantly bring incense, flowers, and fine delicacies to make offerings to Mañjuśrī. At mealtime, they suddenly heard a voice from the sky say, "Inside Mount Foguang on Mount Wutai, the Bodhisattva Mañjuśrī is teaching and converting there. You may go there, and you are certain to awaken to the Way." All heard it together, and none failed to rejoice and sing praises. They then followed the instruction from the sky and rushed to Foguang. The rugged distance between them was over two hundred li; the blind woman held up her hands and led the climb, initially without any guide. When Jietuo saw her, he was startled and arose, immediately imparting the profound tradition to her. Based on this, Jietuo was perhaps a provisional trace of the Great Sage. When his life was about to end, knowing this, various worthy masters spent the night in intimate farewell. At night, a tiger came to the spring from which Jietuo constantly drank, crying mournfully for a long time. When noon arrived the next day, his head was shaved as usual. He bowed to the monastic assembly, and having done so, returned to his own dhyāna chamber and passed away while sitting upright. His age at the time was eighty-one; it was the sixteenth year of Zhenguan. Monastics and laity wept in sorrow as if they had lost a parent. Right within the monastery, they carved a niche to house him. The niche faced west, opening with double doors a foot wide. To this day, when one looks upon it, he is dignified as if alive. Before he passed away, Jietuo once said to his relatives, "After I die, an eminent person will make my name prominent." The title of Qingliang was restored from this time on. When it came to the ninth month of the first year of the Linde reign era of the reigning Emperor, an edict ordered the śramaṇa Huiyi of Huichangsi and the Commandant Zhen Wanfu to present a patch-robe kāṣāya to pay homage to his remaining shadow, and to proceed to the various terraces to make offerings at the sacred traces. From that time, among the gentlemen from near and far who turned their hearts to him, none failed to cherish this place forever. This broadly verified that Jietuo's words were true.

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華嚴經傳記 — Classical Chinese