華嚴經傳記 4.18

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.