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Language: English
Extent: 87 passages, 15,802 words
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Source: pramana-mt · Machine translation by Gemini 3.8 Flash (2026-10-21) of in.bauddha.taisho.207 · Machine output without human authorship: no copyright is claimed (CC0 1.0). The original text keeps its own…

1 — 87 parts

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Parable of the master of Cauri monastery taking the śrāmaṇera downhill; Parable of the wheel-turning king fathering nine hundred and ninety-nine sons; Parable of the two brothers who together became śramaṇas; Parable of the performer displaying various feats; Parable of the bhikṣu who was expelled; Parable of Maudgalyāyana descending Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa with his disciples; Parable of Xigen (Pratibhānamati); Parable of the carpenter and the painter; Parable of the nidāna of Mahākāśyapa's wife; Parable of the elder brother who loved dhyāna and the younger brother who loved broad learning; Parable of Rāhula's pearl; Parable of the dragon ascending to heaven; Parable of relieving oneself in the Saṅgha's pure ground; Parable of stepping on spittle with an aristocrat; Parable of the Buddha entering Śrāvastī with his disciples to beg for food; Parable of the physician curing the king's illness; Parable of the evil rain; Parable of the asura's nidāna; Parable of the prince entering the mountains; Parable of the deer forest; Parable of Śrīgupta; Parable of begging for food from a brāhmaṇa; Parable of the rustic; Parable of chanting mantras over the dragon; Parable of the boulder blocking the road; Parable of the snake's head and tail disputing together; Parable of the bird-catcher; Parable of the five hundred athletes becoming śramaṇas; Parable of the three essentials; Parable of selling curd to sustain oneself; Parable of the five hundred merchants entering the sea in search of jewels; Parable of the nidāna of the destruction by fire at the end of a kalpa; Parable of the nidāna of an aristocrat becoming a bhikṣuṇī; Parable that all grasses and trees can serve as medicine; Parable of the butcher; Parable of the king who loved dāna; Parable of the dragon concealing water; Parable of the nidāna of the wheel-turning king obtaining the wheel; Parable of the long life of the Brahma King.

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1.4

Formerly, at Cauri monastery, there was a senior bhikṣu who had attained arhatship. From time to time he would take a śrāmaṇera downhill to enter the city and wander about sightseeing. Because the robes and bowl were very heavy, he had the śrāmaṇera carry them and follow behind him. On the road, the śrāmaṇera thought to himself: "In living beings' existence in the world, there are none who do not suffer. If one wishes to be free of this suffering, what kind of Way should one cultivate?" He reflected: "The Buddha always praises the bodhisattva as superior. I must now arouse the mind of a bodhisattva." As soon as he had this thought, his master, using his knowledge of the minds of others, illuminated what he had thought and said to the śrāmaṇera: "Bring me the robes and bowl." The śrāmaṇera brought the robes and bowl and handed them to his master. The master said to the śrāmaṇera: "Walk in front of me." Just as the śrāmaṇera was walking in front, he thought again: "The Way of a bodhisattva is exceedingly arduous. If someone asks for one's head, one must give one's head; if someone asks for one's eyes, one must give one's eyes. This matter is extremely difficult and beyond my capacity. It would be better to attain arhatship early and swiftly be free from suffering." The master again knew what he had thought and said to the śrāmaṇera: "Carry the robes and bowl and return to follow behind me." This happened three times, and the śrāmaṇera was bewildered, not understanding what this meant. Going forward until they reached the place where they were staying, he clasped his hands, addressed his master, and respectfully asked the reason. His master replied: "Because you advanced thrice toward the bodhisattva path, I also thrice yielded to you to go ahead. Because your mind thrice retreated, I yielded to you to go behind. Why so? Because the merit of arousing the mind of a bodhisattva surpasses that of a three-thousand-world full of perfected arhats."

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1.6

Formerly, there was a cakravartin who had first fathered nine hundred and ninety-nine sons. They all grew up to be upright, extraordinary, clever, and wise, and possessed bodily strength. Some possessed twenty-eight marks, some possessed thirty marks, and some possessed thirty-one marks. The very last son had only just entered the mother's womb, dwelling amidst foul impurities. At that time, powerful spirits and deities of the eight classes of beings played drums, instruments, and sang, guarding his mother. The king also issued orders to his attendants to prepare offerings and various decorations, three times more than usual. People of the time addressed the king: "Your earlier sons, O King, have now all grown up; their wisdom is penetrating, and their bodily marks are extraordinary. Your Majesty's mind was ordinary and you never rejoiced. Now, when this single son has only just entered his mother's womb, what is so exceptional that you provide extraordinary offerings?" The king replied: "Although my elder sons possess talent and beauty surpassing ordinary men, none are qualified to ascend to the great throne. If this last son of mine is born and grows up, he will surely be qualified to succeed to the great throne." The wheel-turning king is a metaphor for the Buddha; the elder sons are a metaphor for the lower two vehicles; the unborn son is a metaphor for the bodhisattva. This means that although a bodhisattva may be mixed with dust and defilement, as long as he is able to arouse the great intention, he will surely be mindful of by all Buddhas, and devas, nāgas, ghosts, and deities will all give rise to reverence and love for him.

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1.8

Formerly, in the time of Kāśyapa Buddha, there were two brothers who left home together to become śramaṇas. The elder brother loved keeping the precepts and dhyāna sitting, single-mindedly seeking the Way, but did not love dāna. The younger brother loved dāna and cultivating merit, but frequently broke the precepts. When Śākyamuni appeared in the world, the elder brother encountered the Buddha, left home to cultivate the Way, and forthwith attained arhatship, yet he alone was lacking in merit and constantly suffered from insufficient food and clothing. When he went on alms rounds with his companions, he was always the only one who returned without his fill. The younger brother was born among elephants; being an elephant of great strength able to repel enemies, he was loved by the king, who adorned his body with fine gold, silver, and precious jewels, and granted him an estate of several hundred households to supply him with whatever he needed. At that time, the elder brother bhikṣu encountered a severe famine in the world; he went on alms rounds for seven days without obtaining anything, and only in the end did he get a little coarse food to barely stay alive. Knowing beforehand that this elephant was his brother from a previous life, he went up before the elephant, took hold of the elephant's ear with his hand, and said: "Both you and I share in blame." The elephant then reflected on the bhikṣu's words and at once recognized his past lives, seeing the nidānas of his previous life. The elephant then grieved and would no longer eat or drink. The elephant-keeper was frightened and went to report to the king: "The elephant will no longer eat or drink; I do not know why." The king asked the elephant-keeper: "Has anyone provoked this elephant before?" The elephant-keeper replied to the king: "No stranger, only a śramaṇa who came to the elephant's side and left shortly thereafter." The king immediately sent men out in all four directions to search for this śramaṇa. Someone found him among the trees in the forest and arrested the śramaṇa, bringing him before the king. The king asked the śramaṇa: "What did you say when you went to my elephant's side?" The śramaṇa replied to the king: "I did not say much; I simply said to the elephant: 'Both you and I share in blame.'" Then the śramaṇa fully explained the events of their past-life nidānas to the king. The king understood, and immediately released the śramaṇa to return to his dwelling.

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1.10

Formerly, there was a performer who performed various acts of music and entertainment and begged for an ox from a wealthy śreṣṭhin. The śreṣṭhin had no intention of giving it, so he purposely told him: "If you can diligently perform music like this without stopping day and night for a full year, I will give you an ox." The performer replied: "I can." He then said to the master: "Can you listen?" The śreṣṭhin also said: "I can." Thereupon the performer, hearing this, rejoiced, and with a single mind made music, not resting or slacking for three days and three nights. The śreṣṭhin grew weary of listening, and forthwith ordered his junior relatives to lead out an ox and give it to him. This is an analogy for those who cultivate the Way and make merit: they do not consider the number of kalpas as distant; the more earnest their diligence, the swifter the retribution arrives, and it is not necessary that they must pass through that many kalpas.

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1.12

Formerly, there was a bhikṣu who had been expelled. Distressed, lamenting, and weeping, he walked along the road and encountered a ghost. This ghost had violated the law and had also been expelled by Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa. The ghost asked the bhikṣu: "What has happened that you walk along weeping?" The bhikṣu replied: "I committed an offence against Saṅgha matters and was expelled by the assembly of monks. The offerings of all the dānapatis have been completely lost, and an evil reputation has spread far and near; therefore I grieve, lament, and weep." The ghost told the bhikṣu: "I can cause your evil reputation to be eradicated and you to receive great offerings. You may stand upon my left shoulder; I will carry you and walk through the empty sky. People will only see you and will not see my body. If you receive great offerings, you must give them to me first." That ghost immediately carried this bhikṣu and walked through the sky above the village from which he had previously been expelled. When the people of the village saw this, they were all amazed, thinking he had attained the Way, and said to one another: "The assembly of monks acted improperly in unjustly expelling a man who has attained the Way." The people of the village all went to the monastery to reprimand the monks, and immediately welcomed the bhikṣu to live inside the monastery, whereupon he received great offerings. Whatever robes, food, and various items this bhikṣu obtained, he always gave them to the ghost first without violating the original agreement. On another day, this ghost again carried this bhikṣu, roaming through the air. Just then, they encountered the subordinate officials of Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa. When the ghost saw the presiding officials, he was terrified, threw the bhikṣu aside, and ran with all his might. The bhikṣu then fell to the ground and died, his body and head crushed to pieces. This is an analogy: a practitioner should cultivate his own direction, and should not rely upon or depend on power and status; once they collapse, it is no different from that.

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1.14

Formerly, Maudgalyāyana together with his disciples descended from Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa to the city of Rājagṛha to beg for food. On the road, Maudgalyāyana looked up into the sky and smiled broadly. His disciple asked: "For what reason do you smile?" Maudgalyāyana replied: "If you wish to know, you must wait until we return to the Buddha's place, where you may ask again." Thereupon, when the begging for food was completed and they returned to the Buddha's place, the disciple asked Maudgalyāyana again about the meaning of his earlier smile. Maudgalyāyana replied: "I saw a hungry ghost in the sky above; his body was extremely long and large, and his appearance was ugly and repulsive. There were seven red-hot iron balls entering through his mouth and passing straight down through him. Once they had passed down, they entered through his mouth again. His entire body burned with fire; he writhed in bitter pain, collapsed and rose again, and having risen, collapsed once more. That is why I smiled. I was not the only one to see it; the Buddha also saw it." The disciple asked: "Due to what nidāna does he suffer such pain?" Maudgalyāyana replied: "Ask the Buddha, the World-Honoured One, about this yourself." The disciple immediately addressed the Buddha and asked about the nidāna. The Buddha replied: "In a past life, this hungry ghost was once a śrāmaṇera. At that time, there was a severe famine in the world, and beans were used for food. The śrāmaṇera served the food for the assembly of monks, and when he reached his master, he gave him seven extra beans. Because of this offence, he received the body of a hungry ghost and suffers such bitter torment." The Buddha said: "I also often see him; the reason I did not speak of it was for fear that people would not believe it and incur an extremely great offence." This is an analogy: when the Buddha expounds wisdom (prajñā), disbelieving and slandering it is an offence graver than the five heinous deeds, incurring the ultimate suffering of hell.

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In the past, countless dust-mote kalpas ago, there was a bodhisattva named Xigen who expounded the Mahāyāna in the great assembly. At that time, Mañjuśrī was an ordinary mortal; he had left home to cultivate the Way, focusing diligently on asceticism, practicing the twelve dhūtas to bless and deliver all beings. Encountering the exposition of the Dharma, he happened to listen as the bodhisattva Xigen expounded the Dharma of the true nature of dharmas, stating that lust, anger, and delusion are not different from the Way—they are indeed the Way, and are also nirvāṇa. At that time, Mañjuśrī heard this and did not believe it, immediately walking away. He went to the home of a disciple of Xigen and expounded to him the teaching of foul impurity. The disciple of Xigen immediately objected: "That which has nothing is the truth of dharmas; all dharmas are empty—how could there be pure and impure?" The dhūta bhikṣu was silent with no reply, harbouring anger within his mind, which formed into a knot of resentment. The disciple of Xigen then spoke seventy verses praising the Dharma of the true nature of dharmas. For every verse the dhūta bhikṣu heard, his anger increased by one degree; by the end of the seventy verses, his anger had increased seventy-fold. Just as the speaking of the verses ended, the earth split open, and the Avīci hell manifested there completely. The dhūta bhikṣu immediately fell into it; only after countless kalpas had passed and his guilt was exhausted did he emerge. Only then did he realize that the fault of disbelieving the wondrous Dharma is grave. Later he became a bhikṣu, devoted himself to learning, attained great wisdom, and became foremost in understanding emptiness. This is an analogy explaining that when the Buddha expounds wisdom (prajñā), disbelieving and slandering it may cause harm now, but will bring great benefit later.

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Formerly in North India there was a carpenter of great skill. He made a wooden woman of peerless beauty, adorned with clothes and ribbons no different from a woman of the world. She could come and go, serve wine, and wait upon guests; only she could not speak. At that time in South India there was a painter who was also exceptionally skilled in painting. Hearing of him, the carpenter prepared fine food and drink and invited the painter. When the painter arrived, [the carpenter] made the wooden woman serve wine and carry food from morning until night. Not knowing, the painter thought she was a real woman; sexual desire welled up intensely within him, and he could not forget her. At nightfall, the carpenter went in to sleep, and he also detained the painter to lodge there, making this wooden woman stand by his side in attendance. He said to the guest, "I have purposely left this woman so that you may sleep together." After the host had gone inside, the wooden woman stood beside the lamp. The guest called to her, but the woman did not come. The guest thought she was shy and therefore would not come, so he stepped forward and pulled her by the hand. Only then did he realize she was made of wood. Full of shame, he thought to himself and muttered, "The host has tricked me; I must repay him." Thereupon the painter devised a stratagem: he painted his own likeness upon the wall, wearing garments identical to his own, with a cord tied around the neck as though he had been hanged. He also painted flies and birds pecking at his mouth. Having finished, he shut the door and crawled under the bed. At dawn, the host came out and saw that the door was not yet open. Looking inside, he saw only the image of the hanged guest upon the wall. The host was terrified, believing he was truly dead. He smashed open the door, rushed in, and cut the cord with a knife. Thereupon the painter emerged from under the bed, and the carpenter was deeply ashamed. The painter said, "You were able to deceive me, and I was able to deceive you. Guest and host are now even; neither owes the other." The two said to each other, "How does the mutual deception and delusion of worldly people differ from this?" Both realizing the nature of deception and delusion, each abandoned those dear to him and left home to cultivate the Way.

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The Nidāna of Kāśyapa's Past Lives

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Kāśyapa's father was named Nyagrodha, a man of Magadha who came from a brahman clan. Due to past merit, he was born into great worldly wealth; his rare treasures and precious gems were the foremost in that land, only one-thousandth less than the riches of the king of the country. The couple was alone, lacking any children. Close beside their house stood a great tree spirit. Wishing to have a child, the couple prayed to the tree spirit, offering animal sacrifices year after year without interruption. Yet what they sought was completely without result from beginning to end. The man grew furious and gave an ultimatum, warning the tree spirit: "I shall serve you with full devotion for seven more days. If there is still no response, I will cut you down, cast you at the head of the main highway, and burn you with fire!" Hearing his words, the tree spirit was greatly terrified, not knowing by what means to procure a son for him. He immediately went up and reported to the Heavenly King Xiyi, recounting the matter in full to the heavenly king. The Heavenly King Xiyi took the tree spirit to Śakra Devānām Indra and reported to him what had been said. Śakra then observed the desire realm with his divine eye, but there was no one capable of becoming his son. Śakra then reported to the Brahma King, recounting the matter in full to the Brahma King. The Brahma King then observed his own realm with his divine eye and saw a Brahmā deity whose lifespan was about to end. He said to him: "You may descend to be born in Jambudvīpa, to become the son of the brahman Nyagrodha of Magadha." The Brahmā deity replied, "Brahmans hold many wrong views. If I descend to be born, I cannot become his son." The Brahma King answered, "That brahman possesses great past virtue, and no being in the desire realm is capable of becoming his son. If you go to be born there, I will command Śakra Devānām Indra to protect and watch over you, so that you do not fall into wrong views along the way." The Brahmā deity said, "Yes, I shall not disobey your noble instruction." Śakra Devānām Indra then returned to the desire realm and conveyed this intention to the tree spirit. Joyful, the tree spirit returned to inform the śreṣṭhin: "Do not worry, do not fear, and harbor no anger! Seven days from now you will surely have a son." Just as he said, when the seven days were completed, the woman felt she was pregnant. After ten months had passed, the child was born, his body golden in color and radiant with light. A physiognomist divined: "This child has great majesty and virtue from past merit; his aspiration is lofty and untainted, not coveting worldly affairs. If he later leaves home, he will surely attain the holy path." Hearing this, the parents were again filled with great sorrow and worry: "We fear that when the child grows up, he will abandon us and leave home. By what means can we restrain him?" They reflected again: "What is valued in the desire realm is ultimately beautiful form. We should select a graceful, beautiful woman for him to bind him." When he reached the age of fifteen, they wished to arrange a marriage for him. Hearing this, Kāśyapa was filled with deep grief. He said to his parents, "My aspiration delights in purity; I have no need for a wife." Kāśyapa declined three times, but his parents' answer remained as before. Kāśyapa then said to his parents, "I will not take an ordinary woman as my wife. Only if you can find a woman of purple-golden color, matchlessly beautiful, will I take her." The reason he did so was that he wanted to ensure the matter could never be accomplished.

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Thereupon his parents summoned brahmans and ordered them to tour the country: only if there were a woman whose body was golden and endowed with matchless, exquisite beauty would they take her. The brahmans then devised a clever plan: they cast a golden goddess of beautiful countenance and wondrously subtle radiance, and carried the divine statue around, shouting aloud from country to country: "Any woman who sees the golden goddess, bows, and makes offerings shall obtain a fine husband when she marries, with a body of golden color, extraordinary countenance, and peerless wisdom!" Hearing this proclamation, not one woman in the villages, towns, and cities failed to set her heart upon it; all came out to welcome, bow, and make offerings. Only one woman, whose body was golden and exceedingly beautiful, remained alone in a quiet room, refusing to come out to welcome it. The other women advised her, "Anyone who sees the golden goddess has her wish granted; why do you alone not come out to welcome her?" She replied, "My aspiration is for quietude and purity; I have no fondness for other wishes." The women said further, "Even if you have no wish, what harm is there in taking a look together?" The women then took this woman along to the front of the golden goddess. When she arrived, her radiance was so bright and pure that it outshone the golden goddess, and the statue's gold no longer appeared [bright]. Seeing this, the brahmans returned and reported the matter in full to the śreṣṭhin. The śreṣṭhin then sent a matchmaker to the woman's home to declare his intentions. The woman's parents had previously heard of Kāśyapa's name, so they respectfully accepted the proposal and consented. Hearing this, the woman was filled with deep grief and confusion, but being pressured by her parents, she had no choice and was wed into the śreṣṭhin's household. When she arrived and met Kāśyapa, the two faced each other, each with aspirations of pristine purity; though husband and wife, they had no worldly affection at all. The wife then made a covenant with Kāśyapa: "You and I shall each live in separate rooms and pledge never to touch one another." The husband and wife then dwelt in separate rooms. Watching for when Kāśyapa was away, his father secretly sent people to tear down one room, forcing them to share a single chamber. Though they shared a single chamber, they still had separate beds. The father soon sent people to take away one bed. Husband and wife were now forced to share a single bed, so the wife made another pledge with her husband: "When I sleep, you shall do walking meditation; when you sleep, I shall do walking meditation." Once, while the wife was asleep, one of her arms hung down to the ground. A venomous serpent was about to bite it. Seeing this, Kāśyapa gave rise to a mind of compassion: wrapping his hand with clothing, he lifted [her arm] back onto the bed. She awoke with a start and, filled with anger, said to Kāśyapa, "We had an agreement; how could you violate it?" Kāśyapa answered, "Your arm had fallen to the ground and a venomous serpent was about to bite it. I saved you for that reason; I did not touch you deliberately." The venomous serpent was still lingering beside them; he pointed to show it to her, and the wife realized [the truth]. Thereupon husband and wife conferred together: "Why should we not leave home to cultivate the Way?" Husband and wife then took leave of their parents and together left home to practice the Way in the mountains and marshes.

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At that time there was a brahman leading five hundred disciples who also resided in these mountains. Seeing Kāśyapa and his wife, he gave rise to slander, saying, "The rule for leaving home is that each should remain chaste; how can there be reason in a husband and wife following each other?" Kāśyapa then parted from his wife, used five hundred liang of gold to purchase patch-robes, and went to dwell in a separate forest. His wife then took refuge with the brahman, seeking to become his disciple. The brahman's five hundred disciples saw that this woman was graceful and fair in appearance, and engaged in illicit sex every day. The woman lacked autonomy and could not endure it, so she reported it to their master. The master then restrained his disciples with rules, ordering them to moderate their desires.

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Later, Kāśyapa encountered the Buddha's appearance in the world. Hearing the Dharma and receiving transformation, he attained arhatship. Hearing that his former wife was with the brahmacārins, he brought her to the Buddha. The Buddha preached the Dharma for her and she attained arhatship; her hair fell out on its own, the Dharma robes appeared on her body, and she became a bhikṣuṇī, traveling about to teach and transform. It happened that King Prasenajit held a great assembly, and the bhikṣuṇīs were able to enter the royal palace, where they taught the court ladies and led them all to observe the one-day upoṣadha fast. When the king returned to the palace in the evening and summoned the ladies, they all said they were observing the fast and none would come. The king was enraged and asked his attendants, "Who taught the ladies to fast?" An attendant answered, "A certain bhikṣuṇī!" The king summoned her and ordered that for ninety days she take the place of the ladies in receiving [the king's] lustful desires. All of this was the retribution pursued by her past causes, conditions, and vows; therefore, even though she had attained arhatship, she could not escape it.

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1.26

Formerly there were two brothers who left home to study the Way. The elder brother constantly engaged in dhyāna practice, cultivating the Way with single-minded devotion, and attained the fruit of arhatship, pure and penetrating in the six supernormal powers. The younger brother constantly thought of broad learning and extensive hearing, and was fond of selling his reputation to glorify himself. The elder brother repeatedly advised the younger, saying: "A human body is difficult to obtain, and a Buddha's era is difficult to encounter. Now that you have obtained a human body, you should act while you still have time." The younger brother said to the elder, "I must first study broadly, master the Three Baskets, and become capable of being a teacher to others; only then will I practice dhyāna." The elder brother again expounded the meaning of impermanence at length for him: "Once the outgoing breath does not return, one belongs to the next life." Yet the younger brother clung stubbornly to his original intention and refused to follow the teaching. Before long, the younger brother fell gravely ill. Several tens of fine physicians were unable to save him; knowing he would surely die, the physicians gradually departed. Terrified, the younger brother knew he was about to die, and said to his elder brother, "In the past, through foolish shortsightedness, I did not heed my brother's instruction. Now that my life is about to end, what destiny will I go to?" With tears streaming down, he repented to his elder brother. Before long the man died. The elder brother entered samādhi to observe where he had gone, and saw that he was in the womb of a śreṣṭhin's wife. That śreṣṭhin's home was close to the monastery, so the elder brother frequently visited the family to act as a spiritual friend, wishing to deliver his younger brother. When the śreṣṭhin's son was just three years old, [the family] gave him [to the monastery] as an offering to become a disciple. When he reached four years of age, his wet nurse carried him in her arms to the monastery where the teacher lived. The monastery was on a mountain, with a path made of stacked stones. The wet nurse did not hold the child firmly and dropped him from her arms; his head struck the side of a stone, his brains came out, and he died. As the child was dying, he gave rise to an evil thought, resenting that she had not held him firmly and thus brought about this calamity; because he gave rise to anger, at the end of his life he fell straight into a great hell. The elder brother again entered samādhi to observe him, and saw that he had been born in hell. He sighed with sorrow: "This is certainly the end! The torments of hell are harsh and difficult to deliver someone from. Even the Buddhas can do nothing; how much less can I?" This parable illustrates that when people pursue reputation and cannot cultivate dhyāna, they later fall into evil destinies, and even the closeness of a father or brother cannot save them.

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1.28

Luoyunzhu was a disciple of Śāriputra. Formerly he had snatched food from a pratyekabuddha, and because of this offence he was reborn among the hungry ghosts, suffering torment for immeasurable kalpas. When his existence as a hungry ghost came to an end, he was reborn among humans, where for five hundred lifetimes he suffered the retribution of hunger. In his final lifetime, he encountered the Buddha living in the world, went forth from household life to learn the Way, and wore the three Dharma robes. When he wandered begging for alms, no one was willing to give to him, and sometimes he obtained nothing for five or seven days. Maudgalyāyana took pity on him, went begging for food, and brought it to give to him, but just as it fell into his bowl, a large bird snatched it away. Śāriputra begged for food and gave it to him, but just as it entered his bowl, it turned into mud and earth. Mahākāśyapa begged for food and gave it to him, but just as he brought it to his mouth, his mouth immediately shut tight with no way to enter. The Buddha gave him food, and by the power of his great compassion it was able to enter his mouth; its flavour was extraordinary, and the Buddha furthermore used various skilful means to preach the Dharma for him. Then Luoyunzhu, hearing the supreme, wondrous Dharma, was filled with mixed feelings of sorrow and joy, and contemplating with a single mind, attained the stage of an arhat.

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1.30

There was a dragon that ascended to heaven and sent down heavy rain. When the rain fell on the heavenly palaces, it immediately became the seven precious gems; when the rain fell among humans, it brought moisture to all; and when it fell on the bodies of hungry ghosts, it turned into blazing fire that burnt their whole bodies. It was the same single rain, yet what it became upon falling was different. These two matters make clear that bodily forms have no fixed substance, but change according to the influence of offences and merits.

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1.32

In a foreign country there was a dwelling place. Among the assembly there was a man of the Way who defecated on the pure ground of the monastic saṃgha. There was another man of the Way who was prone to great anger, and he licked it with his tongue to display it to the assembly. Although he wished to make manifest the other person's offence, he did not realise that he was defiling his own mouth. This illustrates that when people are fond of speaking of others' evil, it is like this: they only know to expose another's fault, but do not realise that they are destroying their own conduct.

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1.34

In a foreign country, petty persons serving an eminent man wished to win his favour. Seeing the eminent man spit on the ground, they competed to come and step on it to rub it away with their feet. There was one person who was not very quick and agile; though he wished to step on it, he could never manage to do so. Later, seeing that the eminent man was about to spit, just as he gathered his mouth, [the servant] stepped on his mouth with his foot. The eminent man asked: "Do you wish to rebel? Why did you step on my mouth?" The petty person answered: "I had good intentions; I did not wish to rebel." The eminent man asked: "If you did not rebel, why did you go to this extreme?" The petty person answered: "Whenever you spit, eminent sir, I always want to step on the spit. But as soon as the spit leaves your mouth, the others always snatch the chance before me, and I can never get it. For that reason, I stepped on it right inside your mouth." This illustrates that during debate, one must wait until the proposition has left the mouth before raising an objection. If the proposition is still in the mouth and the principle has not yet been declared clearly, raising an objection is like stepping on it right inside the mouth.

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1.36

Formerly, the Buddha and his disciples entered the city of Śrāvastī wishing to beg for food. By the roadside, they saw a pit containing the filth and refuse of the entire city, with all kinds of impure things inside it. He saw an old sow leading several piglets, lying together in the foul pit. Then the Buddha smiled, revealing his forty teeth and showing his four canines. From his four canines he emitted great rays of light that illuminated throughout the three thousand [great thousand worlds] and extended to the ten directions. The light circled the Buddha's body three times and entered through his chest. By the Dharma of the Buddhas, when they speak of hell matters, the light enters from the soles of the feet; when they wish to speak of animal matters, the light enters from the shoulders; when they wish to speak of hungry ghost matters, the light enters from the thighs; when they wish to speak of human matters, the light enters from the navel; when they wish to speak of deva matters, the light enters from the chest; when they wish to speak of śrāvaka matters, the light enters from the mouth; when they wish to speak of pratyekabuddha matters, the light enters from the mark between the eyebrows; and when they wish to speak of the matters of Buddhas and bodhisattvas, the light enters from the crown of the head. Seeing the light enter through his chest, Ānanda knew that the Buddha wished to speak of deva matters, and he immediately knelt on both knees and addressed the Buddha, asking about his intention. The Buddha said to Ānanda: "Countless kalpas ago, there was a śreṣṭhin who lacked male heirs and had only one daughter, who was exceptionally shapely and beautiful, intelligent, and articulate. The girl's parents loved and cherished her deeply. When the girl grew older, she spoke a verse asking her parents: 'All swift currents of water, / and the painful and pleasant events of the world— / from where do they originally arise, / and when will they cease?' Her parents heard this, and while rejoicing at her extraordinary elegance, they did not know what to say in response to this verse. The girl wished to understand this meaning, but received no answer, whereupon she fell into great sorrow and would no longer eat or drink. Seeing their daughter's sorrow, the parents became greatly alarmed and frightened, and immediately arranged a great assembly, inviting all the brahmins and elders of extensive wisdom, who gathered like clouds. After the offerings were set out, a small couch was set up in the midst of the gathering, upon which the girl sat, and she repeated the previous verse to question the crowd. The crowd remained silent, and none was able to answer. The śreṣṭhin then filled a platter with the seven treasures and proclaimed: 'Whoever can answer this, I will give this to him.' At that time, there was a brahmin who was handsome in appearance but of scant wisdom. Coveting the precious treasures, he said: 'I can answer it.' Hearing this, the girl spoke the verse to question the brahmin, who likewise did not understand the import of this verse's meaning, but simply said: 'This matter is completely nothing at all.' The girl contemplated this, and immediately attained the samādhi of nothingness. She then exclaimed herself: 'This is a true great master who has benefited me greatly!' After her life ended, the girl was born above into the realm of nothingness, and after forty kalpas, when her heavenly lifespan came to an end, she came to be born here." The śreṣṭhin's daughter of that time is indeed the body of this old sow. Her heavenly merit having been exhausted and her past offences having arrived, she received a pig's form in this world. When this girl originally spoke the verse and asked her question, had she met an enlightened teacher, she would have attained the Way. Although this girl practised dhyāna concentration, she lacked wisdom; and when the retribution of her concentration came to an end, she fell back into the evil destinies.

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1.38

Formerly, there was the king of a great country who fell gravely ill for twelve years without recovering; none of the great physicians could cure him. At that time, in a small border state subject to the great king, there was a physician skilled at curing illnesses. The king summoned him and ordered him to treat his illness, and in no time he was relieved of it. The king thought to repay this physician's kindness, and repeatedly sent envoys to proclaim an order in that state: "This physician has cured the king's illness and has great merit; he ought to be rewarded. Give him elephants, horses, carriages, cattle, sheep, fields, residences, servants, retainers, and adornments—all are to be provided to him." The king of that small state respectfully carried out the superior command, preparing a residence with tall halls and multi-storeyed pavilions for him, providing the physician's wife with clothing, food, drink, pearl rings, and adornments, as well as elephants, horses, cattle, and sheep, all fully prepared. Beside the king, no one spoke of this to the physician. The physician then thought: "I took great pains in curing the king's illness; I wonder whether the king will reward me or not?" After a few more days, the king's health was completely restored. The physician asked to take his leave to return to his home country, and the king permitted it, giving him only a single emaciated horse with worn-out harness. The physician sighed in great resentment: "I took great pains in curing the king's illness, yet the king does not recognize my kindness and has made no arrangements for me, sending me away empty-handed." He walked along the road sighing in sorrow, regarding it as an eternal grievance. Just as he reached his native country, he saw a herd of elephants and asked an elephant-keeper: "Whose elephants are these?" The elephant-keeper answered: "These are the elephants of physician so-and-so." He asked the elephant-keeper again: "Where did physician so-and-so get these elephants?" The elephant-keeper answered: "Physician so-and-so cured the great king's illness, and these were obtained as a reward for his merit." Walking forward a little further, he saw a herd of horses and asked a horse-keeper: "Whose horses are these?" The horse-keeper answered: "Physician so-and-so's horses." Walking forward a little further, he saw a herd of cattle and sheep and asked the shepherd: "Whose cattle and sheep are these?" The shepherd answered: "Physician so-and-so's cattle and sheep." Walking forward a little further, he saw his original residence with tall halls and multi-storeyed pavilions, vastly different from his former house. He asked the doorkeeper: "Whose house is this?" The doorkeeper answered: "This is physician so-and-so's house." He entered within the inner quarters and saw that his wife was well-nourished and radiant, dressed in precious robes. Surprised, he asked: "Whose lady is this?" The retainer answered: "This is physician so-and-so's lady." From seeing the elephants and horses to entering inside his residence, he learned that all this had been obtained as the reward for the merit of curing the king's illness, and he regretted having put in so little effort in curing the king's illness in the first place. This is an analogy for merit: the hindrance of merit is like the king's illness; the physician is like one who cultivates merit; curing the king's illness is like a practitioner who is able to perform meritorious deeds; the recovery from the king's illness is like merit being accomplished; and the king proclaiming the order to bestow elephants, horses, and residences means that merit accumulates here while the retribution is realised there. Those who hope for quick results are always vexed that the response is slow. Like people of little faith, who, upon performing merit on occasion, expect a retribution from morning to evening; when old age, illness, and death arrive, they think there is naturally no good retribution. When one attains the intermediate existence of the heavens, the good response will arrive completely, like that physician seeing the elephants and horses. Riding this intermediate existence, having arrived at the heavenly palace, one receives the existence of birth there, and seeing with one's own eyes the various adornments of the heavenly hall, one then regrets not having performed more in the past, just as that physician, having seen the rewards, regretted that his effort in treating the illness had been so small.

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1.40

In a foreign country, there would occasionally be evil rain. If it fell into the water of rivers, lakes, streams, wells, and city moats, and people drank this water, it would make them mad and intoxicated, only clearing after seven days. At that time, there was a king of great wisdom who was skilled at examining omens. When the clouds of evil rain arose, the king already knew of it, so he covered a well so that the rain would not enter. Then the hundreds of officials and ministers drank the water of the evil rain, and the whole court went mad, stripping off their clothes and running naked, smearing mud on their heads, and sitting in the king's hall. Only the king alone was not mad, wearing the clothes he usually wore, his heavenly crown, and necklaces, and sitting on his original couch. None of the ministers realised they were mad; instead, they regarded the king as exceedingly mad, saying: "Why is he alone dressed like that?" Everyone said to one another: "This is no small matter; we should deliberate together on what to do about it." The king feared that the ministers wished to rebel, and in apprehension he said to the ministers: "I have a good medicine that can cure this illness. Please wait a moment for me to take the medicine, and I will come out in a short while." The king then went into the palace, took off the clothes he wore, smeared mud on his face, and returned shortly. When all the ministers saw this, they were all overjoyed, thinking that this was how it should normally be, not realising their own madness. After seven days, the ministers woke up and became greatly ashamed, each putting on clothes and caps and coming to court. The king sat naked as before, and the ministers were all astonished and asked: "The king is always of great wisdom; why are you like this?" The king answered the ministers: "My mind is always settled and does not alter. Because you were mad, you conversely called me mad. It was for this reason that I acted like that; it was not my true mind." The Tathāgata is also like this: because sentient beings drink the water of ignorance and are all constantly mad, if they hear the Great Sage constantly preaching that dharmas are neither born nor extinguished, of a single characteristic and signless, they will certainly regard the Great Sage's words as madness. Therefore, the Tathāgata accords with sentient beings, manifesting teaching that dharmas are wholesome or unwholesome, conditioned or unconditioned.

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1.42

In a past lifetime, an asura had been a poor man who lived near a river and frequently crossed the river carrying firewood on his shoulders. At that time the river water was deep and the current was swift; this man was repeatedly swept away by the water, losing what he was carrying and nearly drowning, tossing about with the current, only escaping with great urgency. At that time, there was a pratyekabuddha who appeared in the form of a śramaṇa and came to his house begging for food. The poor man rejoiced and immediately gave alms. When the meal was finished and the washing water had been given, [the pratyekabuddha] placed his bowl in the air and flew away. The poor man saw this and made a vow accordingly: "May my body in a future birth be tall and vast, such that no deep waters exceed my knees." By this nidāna, he obtained an extremely large body: the waters of the four great oceans cannot exceed his knees; standing in the great ocean, his body surpasses Mount Sumeru, and resting his hands on the mountain peak, he looks down at the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven. How much more so when the Buddha accumulated great vows for countless kalpas—why should it be surprising that his Dharma body fills the void?

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1.44

Formerly, there was a prince of a kingdom who, at the age of seven, entered the deep mountains to cultivate the way of the ṛṣis, never having known the offices of the court and its hundred officials. Later, the king's life came to an end, and there was no one capable of being king of the country. The ministers deliberated together: “The ṛṣi in the mountains was originally a prince and additionally cultivates virtue; if we make him king, all the realms will have someone to rely on.” The officials and people throughout the realm all went out into the mountains, bowed to this ṛṣi and made him king, brought him back to his native country in a royal carriage, and issued an edict to the culinary officers to present wonderful dishes of abundant flavours to feast the great king. Because the food tasted delicious, the king demanded every sort of other thing from the cook. The ministers all laughed, and therefore said to the king: “The duties of the hundred officials each have their master. The culinary officer masters food, the wardrobe officer masters clothing, and military affairs and the treasury each have their supervisor. You must not, on account of delicious food, demand everything of a single person.” This parable illustrates that the various sūtras each clarify their own subject; one must not demand everything from a single sūtra. If they themselves clarify the true nature of dharmas, while the Abhidharma clarifies the existence of dharmas, they differ from one another, being spoken in terms of marks or marklessness.

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1.46

Formerly in the Deer Park there was a herd of five hundred deer. In this park there were two deer kings: one was a bodhisattva, and the other was an ordinary deer king. At that time, a king went out of the city to hunt. Seeing this herd of deer, he led his troops to surround them. Those two deer kings devised a plan together and both approached the king of men, knelt, and addressed the king of men, saying: “We are now within Your Majesty’s borders and are destined to suffer slaughter. If the King slaughters all the deer at once, they cannot be consumed before they rot and spoil. We wish to send two deer daily to supply the King’s meals; the rest in sequence will be offered day by day, not daring to be deficient. May the King grant this permission so that our lives may be prolonged a little. How could this not be the great King’s kindness?” Thereupon the king of men granted what they requested, opened the cordon, and released them. From then on, those two deer kings sorted their herds themselves, set an order, and sent two deer daily to the king’s kitchen. After several more days, a pregnant doe was next in line to face death. That doe went to her king and begged to wait until she had given birth. That king replied to her: “The turn of the other deer has not yet arrived; who will take your place?” That doe then went to the bodhisattva king and addressed the bodhisattva, saying: “My king is not benevolent and does not pardon me with reason. I now come to take refuge with you; may you handle this reasonably.” The bodhisattva deer king took pity on her situation, and so went in person to the king of men’s kitchen. The cook reported to the king: “The deer king has come in person to the kitchen, seeking to take the place of that pregnant doe.” The king found it astonishing and rare, and told the cook: “Bring that deer king here.” Thereupon the deer king went before the king of men and fully explained his intention to the king. Thereupon the king of men gave rise to faith: “Even beasts still cultivate virtue, how much more so humans!” He commanded that within his whole country there should never be any hunting, and gave this forest wilderness forever to the herd of deer. From this time onward, it was named the Deer Park.

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1.48

Formerly, there was a gṛhapati whose wife was pregnant. Having invited the Buddha to his house and made offerings, he wished to have the Tathāgata divine the child his wife would bear, wanting to know whether it would be male or female. The Buddha said: “She will later give birth to a boy, upright and exceedingly handsome; when he grows up, he will experience heavenly bliss among humans, and later attain arhatship.” When the gṛhapati heard this, he was doubtful and did not believe it. Later, he invited the six non-Buddhist masters, and after making offerings, also asked them to divine it. The gṛhapati said to the six masters: “Earlier I had the śramaṇa Gautama divine it, and he said she would later give birth to a boy; I do not know if it will truly be a boy or not?” The six masters said: “She will give birth to a girl.” Those six masters hated the Buddha-Dharma and merely wished to contradict it, but reflected to themselves: “If she gives birth to a boy, then that gṛhapati will abandon us and serve Gautama.” So they spoke deceitfully: “Gṛhapati! Your wife will give birth to a boy; but after a boy is born, a great disaster will follow, and your household and kin for seven generations will be wiped out. Because it was inauspicious, I previously lied and said it would be a girl.” Hearing this, the gṛhapati was terrified and did not know what to do. Those six masters then told the gṛhapati: “If you wish to obtain good fortune, you must simply get rid of him.” The six masters then pressed the belly of the gṛhapati's wife, wishing to abort it by pressing the belly. They pressed her belly without stopping until the gṛhapati's wife died, but the child did not die, due to the merits of his past lives. The gṛhapati then discarded his wife in the cemetery and piled up a great deal of firewood to burn her. Once the flames blazed vigorously, the Buddha led his disciples to go and look. The gṛhapati's wife’s body was destroyed, and then the child was seen sitting upon a lotus flower, upright and exceedingly handsome, his countenance white as snow. The Buddha commanded Jīvaka: “Fetch this child.” Jīvaka immediately retrieved him and returned him to the original gṛhapati, who then raised him. By the age of sixteen, his talent and beauty surpassed others. He then laid out many fine dishes and drinks and invited those six masters. After the six masters sat down, before long they burst out laughing. The youth asked: “Why do you laugh?” The six masters answered: “We see a mountain fifty thousand li away, with water beneath the mountain, and a monkey has fallen into the water; that is why we laugh.” This boy knew they were lying, so he filled bowls with various fine soups and covered them with rice, ordering people to present them, while in other people's bowls the rice was placed below and the soup on top. Everyone ate, but the six masters alone were angry and did not eat. The host asked: “Why do you not eat?” The six masters answered: “Without soup, how can we eat?” The host said: “Your eyes can see a monkey falling into water fifty thousand li away; how can you not see the soup beneath the rice?” Thereupon the six masters were furious, and went back without eating, going straight to Śrīgupta to tell him in detail. The youth's elder sister was Śrīgupta's wife. Hearing this, Śrīgupta was also angry, and told the six masters: “Gautama is his teacher; on behalf of the great masters, I will invite him and humiliate him.” For this reason, he prepared a fire pit and poisoned rice. This parable is extremely extensive and cannot be related entirely, so its essentials are briefly stated here.

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