眾經撰雜譬喻 1

English (machine translation) 1

Language: English

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Translated by Tripiṭaka Master Kumārajīva of the Later Qin

The wise reflect that wealth and possessions cannot be preserved for long, just like a house on fire. A clever person clearly recognizes the fury of the fire, and before the fire arrives, he hurriedly brings out his property; though the house is burnt to the ground, his wealth and treasures are completely intact, and he can build another house and broadly expand his profitable enterprises. The wise person planting merit and diligently practicing dāna is also like this: knowing that the body is fragile and wealth is anitya, upon encountering a field of merit he practices dāna in a timely manner. This is just like that person carrying out possessions from the fire: in future lives he will enjoy bliss, just as that person rebuilds his household enterprise and consoles himself with fortune and profit. The foolish and deluded only know to hoard and begrudge; scrambling in panic to save it, their wits deranged and their wisdom lost, they fail to gauge the fury of the fire, where fierce winds and cut-off flames scorch earth and stones alike. In an instant everything is completely wiped out and extinguished. The house is not saved and the wealth is lost; shivering in cold and starved by hunger, he suffers grief and misery to the end of his days. The stingy and begrudging person is also like this: not knowing that body and life are anitya and cannot be preserved for a moment, he simply amasses, guards, and covets them. When death comes without appointment and he suddenly perishes, his form becomes like earth and wood, and his wealth and possessions are all abandoned, just as the foolish person suffers grief and misery having miscalculated. Only clear-sighted and wise people are able to awaken: knowing that the body is like an illusion and wealth cannot be preserved, that all things are anitya and only merit can be relied upon, it will lead one out of suffering and allow one to attain the Way.

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A bodhisattva practices dāna without begrudging body or life. For example, in the past King Śibi gave his body to save a dove. Śakra Devānāmindra went on purpose to test him, to see whether he had the resolve of a bodhisattva or not. Śakra said to Viśvakarman: "You assume the form of a dove, and I shall assume the form of a hawk pursuing you. You then pretend to be frightened and fly under the king's armpit." In a moment, Viśvakarman transformed his own body into a dove, and Śakra transformed his body into a hawk, flying swiftly in pursuit of the dove. The dove flew straight under the king's armpit, trembling with terror all over. At that time, the hawk perched on a tree and said to the king: "Return my dove to me! This is my food; it is not yours." The king said: "When I first resolved my mind, I wished to save all sentient beings and cross them over suffering." The hawk said: "The king crosses over all sentient beings, and I am counted among all sentient beings. Why do you alone not pity me, but instead snatch away my food?" The king replied: "What food do you need?" The hawk said: "I have vowed only to eat freshly killed flesh and blood." The bodhisattva said: "I have vowed that whenever any sentient being comes to take refuge in me, I will single-mindedly save and protect them so that they do not meet with disaster. What food do you need? I will provide it to you." The hawk said: "What I eat is freshly killed flesh and blood." The king then thought: "This too is difficult to obtain. Unless I take life, there is no way to obtain it. How could I kill one to give to another?" Having made up his mind, he called for someone to come, took a knife, and cut off his own thigh flesh to give to the hawk. The hawk said to the king: "If you are only going to give me flesh, it must be properly balanced by weighing so that the flesh and the dove are of equal weight; do not cheat me!" The king said: "Bring a scale! Balance the flesh against the dove." As the dove's body grew heavier, the king's flesh grew lighter. The king had the flesh of both thighs cut off completely, but it was still too light and insufficient; next he cut both buttocks, both breasts, chest, and back, until the flesh of his entire body was exhausted, yet the dove's body was still heavier. At that time, the king tried to raise his entire body onto the scale, and only then was it equal to the dove. The hawk said to the king: "Great King! This matter is difficult to accomplish. What is the use of doing this? Return the dove to me." The king said: "The dove came to take refuge in me; I will never give it to you. In the past and present, I have lost my life not a few times, but never once was it for the Dharma or held back out of attachment. Now I seek buddhahood!" He then pulled himself onto the scale, his mind resolute and without regret. All the devas, nāgas, spirits, and all the people together praised him, saying: "For the sake of a single small dove he undergoes such agonizing pain—this is an exceedingly rare thing!" The earth shook violently, and Viśvakarman praised him: "The mahāsattva is true and not false; this is truly a field of merit for all sentient beings!" Śakra and Viśvakarman returned to their celestial forms, and immediately caused the king's body to be restored as before. Seeking the Way in this manner, one may attain buddhahood.

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In the past, there was a man who was sent on an errand far away and lodged alone in an empty house. In the middle of the night, a ghost carrying a corpse came and placed it before him. Afterward, another ghost chased after it, shouting angrily and reviling the former ghost: "This corpse is mine! Why did you carry it here?" The two ghosts each seized an arm and quarreled over it. The former ghost said: "There is a man here who can be asked: who carried this corpse here?" The man thought: "These two ghosts have great strength. If I speak the truth, I will die; if I lie, I will also die. In neither case can I escape, so why should I lie?" He said: "The former ghost carried it here." The latter ghost was enraged, seized the man's arm, pulled it out, and threw it to the ground. The former ghost took an arm from the corpse and attached it to him, and it adhered immediately. In this way both legs, head, and ribs were all pulled out, and the body of the corpse was attached to him as before. Thereupon the two ghosts together ate the man's substituted body, wiped their mouths, and departed. The man thought: "My body was born of my parents, and I watched with my own eyes as the two ghosts ate it all. Now this body of mine consists entirely of the flesh of another's body. Do I truly have a body now, or do I have no body? If I have one, it is entirely another's body; if I have none, presently a body appears like this." Having thought this, his mind was perplexed and bewildered, like an insane person. The next morning, following the road he went on to the next country, where he saw a stupa of the Buddha and the saṃgha. He could not ask about anything else, but only asked whether his own body existed or did not exist. The bhikṣus asked: "What kind of person are you?" He replied: "I do not know myself whether I am a human or not a human." He then related the above matter in detail to the saṃgha. The bhikṣus said: "This person knows anātman for himself; he can easily be liberated." They said to him: "Your body from the beginning has always been anātman; it is not just now! It is merely because these caturmahābhūta combine that one conceives it to be one's own body." They then ordained him into the Way; cutting off all kleśas, he attained the fruit of arhatship. This shows that being able to regard oneself as empty and anātman, one is not far from attaining the Way.

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One who observes the precepts fails in nothing, while one who violates the precepts loses everything. For example, there was a man who constantly made offerings to a deva. He was poor and begged in the four directions, making offerings for twelve years to seek wealth and nobility. Seeing his resolve, the deva took pity on him, manifested his form, and asked him: "What do you seek?" "I seek wealth and nobility, wishing that whatever my heart desires may all be obtained." The deva gave him a vessel called the vase of virtue, and said to him: "Whatever you desire will all come out from this vase." The man obtained it and could follow his wishes, obtaining whatever he desired. Having obtained as he wished, he fully built fine houses, acquired elephants, horses, and carriages, and had all seven treasures in abundance, providing for guests with nothing lacking in any matter. A guest asked him: "You were poor before; how did you become so wealthy today?" He replied: "I obtained a celestial vase. From the celestial vase came forth these various things, and therefore I am wealthy like this." The guest said: "Bring out the vase and let us see the things that come out of it." He then brought out the vase for them. Various things were drawn forth from the vase; the man became arrogant and indulgent, took the vase, and began to dance. Holding it insecurely, his hand slipped and broke the vase, and all the things vanished at the same time. One who observes the precepts attains various wonderful pleasures and has no wish unfulfilled; if a person breaks the precepts, becoming arrogant, indulgent, and undisciplined, he is just like that person who broke the vase and lost the goods. Therefore, if one desires celestial bliss and the bliss of nirvāṇa, one should firmly uphold the prohibitive precepts and not violate the precepts one has received. If one violates the precepts received, one will forever fall into the three bad destinies to suffer torment, with no time of release. If a person wishes to seek retribution, they should constantly cultivate a wholesome mind continuously and without interruption; at the time of death, they will be able to ward off all evils and receive wholesome vipāka. Why is this so? If one does not train in a wholesome mind beforehand, even if one wishes to make the mind wholesome at the time of death, it suddenly will not follow one's intention. For example, a king in the western regions originally had no horses. Draining the state treasury, he sought in the four directions and bought five hundred horses to guard against external enemies, sufficient to secure the state. After raising the horses for a long time, the state had no trouble, so the king thought: "The five hundred horses consume not a little food; caring for and feeding them is burdensome and of no benefit to state affairs." He then ordered the officials in charge to blindfold them and make them turn millstones, so they could earn their own food without draining the state treasury. Having turned the mills for a long time, the horses became accustomed to circling around. Suddenly, a neighboring state raised troops and entered the borders. The king then commanded that the horses be saddled and equipped, and brave generals mounted them according to the methods of warfare, whipping the horses toward the battle lines, wishing to charge straight forward. Receiving the whip, all the horses simply circled around, with no intention of charging the enemy. Seeing this, the neighboring invaders knew they were capable of nothing, and immediately charged straight forward, utterly defeating the king's army. Therefore, one should know: if one wishes to seek a wholesome vipāka, keeping the mind-horse undisrupted at the time of death, one will be able to go where one wishes. One cannot fail to tame and straighten the mind-horse beforehand; if one does not tame and straighten the mind-horse beforehand, when the thief of death arrives suddenly, the mind-horse will circle around and in the end not follow one's intention, just like the king's horses could not defeat the enemy and preserve his state. Therefore, the wholesome mind of a practitioner cannot fail to be constantly in the breast.

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When a poor person cuts back on food and drink to practice dāna, their merit is boundless. For example, in the past a king held an assembly, making various offerings to the Buddhas and the saṃgha. At that time, there was a poor old mother who possessed nothing at all, constantly relying on begging to sustain her life. Hearing that the king had invited the Buddha to hold an assembly, she rejoiced in her heart and wished to contribute. Reflecting that she had no goods, and having only a few beans, she wished to contribute them, but the gatekeepers would not allow her to proceed. Thereupon the Buddha saw her wholesome mind, and by spiritual power caused these large beans to fall everywhere into the food bowls of the saṃgha. Seeing these beans, the king was angry at the kitchen soldiers: "Why have you allowed these beans to be in the food?" The Buddha said to the king: "It is not the fault of the kitchen soldiers! It is the dāna of a poor old mother outside. Hearing that the king had held an assembly and having nothing to contribute, she took these few beans to assist the king, which is why these beans are in the food." The Buddha told the great king: "Although this old mother's gift was slight, the merit she obtained is far greater than the great king's." The king said: "How is it that I provided many various delicacies as offerings yet gained little merit, while this old mother practiced dāna with a tiny amount of things and on the contrary gained much merit?" The Buddha told the king: "Although the king made various offerings, they all came from the common people and caused no loss to the king; this old mother was poor and had only a few beans, but gave them all to contribute, and for this reason gained much, while the king gained little merit." The Buddha explained the Dharma in various ways for the king, and both the king and the old mother attained the path. Therefore, cultivating merit and planting virtue relies solely on an earnest mind; if one thoroughly understands the true nature of phenomena, how could one worry that it will not bear fruit?

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Once there was a brāhmaṇa whose household was poor; he had only a single cow, which he milked daily to obtain one peck, supporting his livelihood with it. Hearing that feeding the saṃgha of monks and śramaṇas on the fifteenth day brings great merit, he stopped milking the cow, saving it up until a month had passed to take it all at once, hoping to obtain three bushels to offer to the śramaṇas. When the month was full, he invited the śramaṇas in great numbers to his home, and they all sat down. The brāhmaṇa then went in and milked the cow, but obtained only one peck; though he had not milked her for a long time, the milk had not increased. The people reproached and scolded him, saying: “You foolish man! How could you not milk her day by day, leaving it for an entire month, and still hope to obtain much?” People of the world today are also like this: when they possess wealth and goods, they cannot practice dāna according to whatever amount they have, but save and accumulate it for a long time, wanting much before they do so. The anitya fires and waters, as well as one’s own life, can scarcely be preserved for a moment; if misfortune strikes, it will all be swept away in a single morning, leaving nothing gained. Wealth imperils the body just like a venomous snake; do not be greedily attached to it. For example, in the past, when the Buddha was traveling in King Prasenajit's kingdom, he saw a hidden treasure in the ground full of precious objects. The Buddha said to Ānanda: “Do you see this venomous snake or not?” Ānanda said: “I have seen it.” At that time, a man walking behind the Buddha heard these words and went to look out of curiosity. Seeing the fine treasures, he disliked the Buddha's words, thinking them to be vain deceit: “These are truly treasures, yet he calls them a venomous snake.” That man immediately brought his family, great and small, in secret to take these treasures, and his household became very rich. Someone reported it to the king: “This man found a treasure hoard and did not turn it over to the authorities.” The king immediately arrested and imprisoned him, demanding the treasures, which were completely handed over at once. Still not believing him, the king tortured and interrogated him in even more ways; cruel suffering reached the utmost, yet he had nothing further to confess. The king was furious and wished to execute him unto seven generations. As he was being carted out to be killed, the king sent someone to spy secretly on what he would say. He then said: “The Buddha's words are utterly true; it was truly a venomous snake! But I did not believe it. Now that I have been brought to this by that venomous snake, what can I say? If killed by a venomous snake, it would reach only one’s own body; yet now it reaches unto seven generations. It is truly as he said.” The messenger reported all these matters to the king. Hearing these words, the king immediately called for him to be brought back, and said to him: “The Buddha is a person of great virtue, and you were able to recall the Buddha’s past words.” The king was greatly pleased, returned his treasures, and let him go. Because he recalled the Buddha's words, he escaped the peril of death. Therefore, one must not fail to remember the Buddha's words with a dedicated mind.

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Those who observe the precepts would rather lose their lives than violate the Buddha's teachings. For example, in the past, merchants boarded a ship and entered the sea. At that time, two persons wished to go to another country and took passage alongside them. When they reached midstream, they met with a violent wind that broke the ship apart. The merchants seized whatever they could rely on to save themselves. At that time, a junior renunciant obtained a wooden plank. The senior said to him: “The Buddha taught that one should respect seniors. Give me that plank; do you not fear violating the precepts?” Having heard these words, the junior renunciant reflected: “Which is heavier? Protecting the precepts is heavier.” Having reflected thus, [he thought]: “I would rather carefully protect the Buddha's teachings and die.” He immediately offered the wooden plank to the senior, and the junior sank into the seawater. The water deity saw that the renunciant observed the precepts in this way, not violating the Buddha's teachings, and brought this renunciant to the shore. Because this renunciant observed the precepts with utmost sincerity, the merchants of the entire ship all avoided death. The water deity praised the renunciant, saying: “You are truly a person who observes the precepts!” By this evidence, one would rather observe the precepts and die than violate the precepts and live. Therefore, the virtue of the precepts can be relied upon; it can rescue one from the suffering of saṃsāra.

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All sentient beings are greedily attached to worldly pleasures, giving no thought to anitya and not considering great calamities to be suffering. For example, once a man committed an offense punishable by death; he was bound in prison, and fearing death, he escaped. By the law of the state, if a condemned prisoner broke prison and fled, a wild elephant would be released to trample him to death. Thereupon, a wild elephant was released to pursue this guilty prisoner. The prisoner saw the elephant about to reach him and fled into an abandoned well. Below was a great venomous dragon opening its mouth upward, and there were also four venomous snakes on the four sides of the well. There was a grass root; terrified, this prisoner urgently grabbed this grass root with single-minded focus. There were also two white mice gnawing at this grass root. At that time, above the well stood a large tree, and in the tree was honey; during a single day, one drop of honey fell into this man's mouth. Having obtained this single drop, that man thought only of this honey, no longer remembering the manifold sufferings, and no longer wished to leave this well. Therefore, the sages used this as a parable: “The prison is the three realms, and the prisoner is sentient beings; the wild elephant is anitya; the well is the dwelling of sentient beings; the venomous dragon below is naraka; the four venomous snakes are the caturmahābhūta; the grass root is the life-faculty of man; the white mice are the sun and the moon. The sun and moon gnaw away at human life, diminishing it day by day without pausing for a moment; yet sentient beings are greedily attached to worldly pleasures, not thinking of great calamities.” Therefore, practitioners should contemplate anitya in order to leave manifold sufferings behind.

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Once there was a stingy elder. Wishing to deliver him, the Buddha first sent Śāriputra to explain to him the merits of dāna and its various virtues. The elder was stingy and had no intention of giving. Seeing that noon was approaching, he said to Śāriputra: “Why do you not leave? I have no food to give you.” Śāriputra knew he could not be converted and immediately returned to the Buddha's place. The Buddha then sent Maudgalyāyana to use his psychic powers of transformation to preach the Dharma to him. The elder said again: “You perform this magical trick because you want my goods.” Maudgalyāyana knew he could not be converted and immediately returned to the Buddha's place. Thereupon, the Buddha, resolved to break his stinginess, went to his house in person. Seeing the Buddha come in person, the elder paid homage to him and led the Buddha to a seat. The Buddha taught the Dharma in various upāyas, and said to the elder: “Can you practice the five great gifts?” The elder said to the Buddha: “I cannot even practice small gifts, how much less great gifts!” The elder said to the Buddha: “What are the five great gifts?” The Buddha said: “The five great gifts are: not killing living beings. Can you do this?” The elder thought: “Not killing living beings does not use my wealth and goods, nor does it cause any loss.” He then said to the Buddha: “I can!” In this sequence, he explained them to him, down to not drinking alcohol; to all of them he said: “I can do it!” Thereupon, the Buddha explained the meaning of the five precepts to the elder in various ways: “If you can observe these five precepts, you will have completed the five great gifts.” He was then filled with great joy and wished to give a piece of poor-quality fine cotton cloth to the Buddha. He went into his storeroom to look, but found none of poor quality; he then took one piece and offered it to the Buddha. The remaining cloth in the storeroom all followed along, arriving before the Buddha. The Buddha knew that the elder's mind of giving was unsettled, and said to the elder: “Śakra Devānāmindra fought with the asuras; because his mind was unsettled, he was defeated three times. Later, with a settled mind, he utterly routed the asura army.” Having heard this, the elder knew that the Buddha was a great sage who deeply knew the minds of people; his mind of faith became pure. The Buddha preached the Dharma for him, and he immediately attained the path of the srotāpanna. The next day, Māra knew his state of mind and transformed himself into a buddha, wishing to come and corrupt him. Arriving at his house, the elder, not yet having attained the knowledge of others' minds, did not know it was Māra; he welcomed him with joy, saying: “Welcome,” and led him to a seat. The Māra-buddha said to the elder: “What I said yesterday was not the Buddha's words at all; discard them quickly!” Hearing these words, the elder was greatly astonished: “Although the form is a buddha, what he says is not. It is like a donkey covered in a lion's skin; though its form resembles a lion, its mind is that of a donkey.” The elder did not believe him. Knowing that his mind was upright, Māra resumed his original body and said: “I deliberately came to test you, but your mind cannot be turned.” Therefore a sūtra says: “A person who has seen the truths does not even believe [false] words attributed to the Buddha, how much less those of other paths? This is because he has deeply examined the principle.” Therefore, disciples of the Buddha must understand the deep principle, so that they can recognize whether it is spoken by Māra or spoken by the Buddha. For this reason, one must not fail to learn the meaning, and one must not fail to cultivate dāna.

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When practitioners seek the path, they must not greedily cling to fine fragrances and beautiful forms; if they are greedy, it destroys the foundation of one's merit. For example, once an arhat would regularly enter the dragon palace to eat and preach the Dharma for the dragon. Having finished eating, he would emerge from the dragon palace and hand his bowl to a śrāmaṇera, having him wash the few remaining grains of rice in the bowl. The śrāmaṇera ate them; they were exceedingly fragrant and delicious. He then devised an upāya, getting under his master's corded bed and holding the legs of the corded bed with both hands; when the time came, he entered the dragon palace together with the corded bed. The dragon said: “This one has not attained the path; why did you bring him?” The master said: “I was unaware of it.” The śrāmaṇera obtained food and ate, and also saw that the dragon maiden's body was upright and graceful, fragrant and marvelous beyond compare. His heart was greatly attached, and he immediately made a vow: “I shall seize this dragon's place and dwell in his palace.” The dragon said: “Hereafter do not bring this śrāmaṇera again.” After returning, the śrāmaṇera practiced dāna and observed the precepts with single-minded devotion, exclusively seeking his wish to soon take on a dragon's body. At that time, as he circumambulated the monastery, water came out from under his feet; knowing for certain that he would become a dragon, he went straight to the edge of the large pool where his master had originally entered, covered his head with his kāṣāya, entered the water, and immediately died. He was reborn as a great dragon; because his merit was great, he immediately killed that king, and the whole pool turned entirely red. Before that, his masters and the saṃgha had all scolded him; the śrāmaṇera said: “My mind is already fixed, and the signs have already appeared.” He led the monks of the saṃgha to the pool to see it. Due to this cause and condition, one should not greedily cling to fine fragrances and beautiful forms, losing the roots of wholesome goodness and falling into the evil paths.

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Once there was a deva whose merits were about to be exhausted, and through seven signs he knew it for himself: first, the flowers upon his head withered; second, the light at his neck was extinguished; third, his body grew gaunt and emaciated; fourth, sweat came forth from under his armpits; fifth, flies came and clung to his body; sixth, dust and dirt soiled his garments; and seventh, he spontaneously departed from his original seat. Knowing that his merits were exhausted and that he would fall to be reborn in the human world into an impoverished household as the offspring of a mangy sow, he was sorrowful and unhappy. Another deva came and asked: "Why are you unhappy?" He replied: "My life is about to end, and I am to fall to be reborn as the offspring of a mangy sow; for this reason I sorrow." That deva said: "Śākyamuni Buddha is in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven preaching the Dharma for his mother. You should go and take refuge in him and in the saṃgha of bhikṣus; you may thereby be spared this suffering." He then went to the Buddha's place and single-mindedly took refuge. After seven days his life ended. He came to be reborn in the human world into the household of a great elder. After his mother conceived, she constantly heard the sound of the Three Refuges. When the full ten months were completed and he was born and fell to the ground, he knelt long with joined palms and took refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṃgha. His mother was alarmed, took it to be inauspicious, and wished to kill him, but reflecting on it, she said: "This is the son of an elder; it cannot simply be done so, and it would bring me no small guilt." She went at once to inform the elder, explaining this fully. The elder said: "People born into this world do not know how to take refuge in the Three Honoured Ones, yet as soon as this child was born, he already knew the Three Honoured Ones. He must be a divine person. Raise him well, and do not marvel at it!" This child's merit and intelligence were extraordinary, and his parents loved and respected him. When he reached five years of age, he was playing by the roadside with his peers. At that time Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana passed by, and he stepped forward to pay them homage. Śāriputra said: "I have never seen a small child pay homage like this!" The child addressed the renunciant: "Do you not recognise me?" Śāriputra immediately entered samādhi to observe his original condition, and thus knew that he was that deva. [The child] then knelt long before Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana: "May the venerable ones invite the Buddha and the saṃgha for me to deign to come to my humble dwelling tomorrow for a meal." They immediately granted it. The child returned and informed his parents, saying: "Just now I invited Śāriputra and Maudgalyāyana, wishing that the World-Honoured One would deign to come tomorrow for a meal." The parents were joyful and exhausted their wealth to prepare the fine fare and utensils. On the morrow the Buddha led the great assembly to their house. The child and his parents welcomed the Buddha and paid homage. The Buddha took his seat, water was poured, food was served, and in an instant it was finished. The Buddha preached the Dharma for them, and the parents and the child all attained the forbearance of the unarisen dharmas. Hundreds of thousands of devas brought forth the resolve for unsurpassed, true, and complete awakening. When the sūtras say that one can exhaust compassion, it may be said to be like this!

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Once there was an oxherd who, in a great marsh, saw golden flowers of excellent brilliance and beauty. The thought at once arose in him: "The Buddha is not far from here; I should gather them to make an offering." He at once plucked several bushels of flowers and set off bearing a heavy load. Before he arrived, while on the road, he was gored to death by an ox. Because his mind was fixed on the Buddha, he was immediately reborn in the second heaven, Trāyastriṃśa. The palace he received was vast, magnificent, and fair. From the four sides of the palace, land-growing golden flowers sprang forth, their brilliant light shining through everywhere, as is the way of the devas. Just after being born in heaven, [a deva] first observes his former lives and only then partakes of heavenly bliss. At that time that deva observed his own former lives and saw in full how he had plucked flowers and been killed by an ox. Joyfully he praised: "How immeasurable is the Buddha's merit and blessing! Before I could even make the offering, the reward is already so sublime—how much more so for those who constantly cultivate virtue?" Thereupon he took the flowers beside his palace, together with various other offerings, wishing to carry out his original vow. The devas, seeing him gathering flowers, all went to ask him: "You have just arrived to enjoy blessings and should be delighting in the five desires; why do you gather flowers?" The devaputra replied: "When I was a human, I wished to go to the Buddha to offer flowers. In the end my wish was not fulfilled, yet I could still be reborn here—how much more so if I had completed it? The reason I gather flowers now is that I wish to carry out my original vow and increase future blessings." At that time the devas all gave rise to wholesome thoughts. Eighty-four thousand devaputras came down together with him, performing heavenly music, scattering heavenly flowers, burning heavenly incense, and presenting various offerings. In the stūpas and vihāras they did not see the Buddha, but there was a senior bhikṣu who had attained the Way, who preached the Dharma for them. The devas, hearing the Dharma, were all filled with joy, and having increased their merits, they were at last able to see the Buddha. They played drums, strings, and songs, scattered various wondrous flowers, and presented manifold offerings to the Buddha and the saṃgha. The Buddha preached the pure, wondrous Dharma for them, and that man together with the eighty-four thousand devas all attained the purity of the Dharma-eye. This devaputra and the eighty-four thousand devas were all good friends in past lives, and now, stimulating each other, they attained the Way at the same time.

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1.28

Once, in a foreign land, there was a great elder who was very wealthy. He had an only son whom he loved and treasured beyond measure. Later, [the son] contracted a disease and became gravely ill; though treated, he did not recover and eventually met impermanence. Facing the end of his life, he single-mindedly recollected the Buddha. The Buddha manifested his form before him; with a mind peaceful and intent, he was able to be reborn in heaven. His parents, longing for their son, were so sorrowful and distressed that they wished to commit suicide, unable to console themselves. Thereupon they burned [the corpse] with fire, took his bones, and placed them in a silver vase. On the fifteenth day of the month, they set out food and drink of a hundred flavours before it, cried aloud in grief, and rolled about upon the ground. The devaputra above, seeing what they were doing, thought to himself: "If I do not manifest a transformation, their minds will never be consoled." He at once descended and transformed into a young boy of eight or nine years, herding an ox by the roadside. The ox suddenly died and lay upon the ground. The boy went, gathered grass, placed it in the dead ox's mouth, raised a stick, beat the ox, and shouted: "Get up and eat!" The parents, old and young alike, saw what the boy was doing and laughed together at him. Stepping forward, they asked: "Whose son are you? Why are you so foolish? The ox is already dead; you put grass in its mouth, but how could it ever eat?" But he laughed in turn and said: "Though my ox is now dead, its head and mouth are still here, yet when I hold grass [to it], it does not eat—how much less so with your son, who has been dead so long! Moreover, you burned him with fire, and only a few charred bones remain on the ground; you set food of a hundred flavours before them and weep aloud—how could he ever eat it?" His father's mind immediately opened to understanding. He asked the boy: "Who are you?" The boy said: "I was the elder's son. Now, receiving the Buddha's grace, I have been born in heaven. Seeing my parents' sorrow and distress to be so excessive, I came only to transform you!" The father's mind was consoled; he rejoiced greatly and had no further sorrow. Suddenly the devaputra vanished. Returning home, the parents at once gave great dāna, observed the prohibitive precepts, recited the sūtras, and practiced the Way, attaining the fruit of a srotāpanna.

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1.30

Once, countless kalpas ago, there was a Buddhist stūpa-monastery where several thousand śramaṇas resided. Several hundred śrāmaṇeras were sent out to go on almsrounds to supply the saṃgha. Each day, upon bringing in one bushel of rice, the master would additionally assign them one gāthā [to learn]. There was one śrāmaṇera who, while walking through the marketplace, went along reciting scripture. At that time there was a worthy man in a shop who, seeing the śrāmaṇera walking and reciting, bowed and asked: "Renunciant, what are you reciting as you walk?" He replied: "I go on almsrounds to provide for the saṃgha, and concurrently recite one gāthā." The worthy man asked again: "If you were free of chores, how many gāthās could you recite?" He replied: "I could manage ten or more gāthās." He asked again: "For how many days are you to go on almsrounds?" [The śrāmaṇera] said: "For ninety days. I must bring in ninety bushels of rice." The worthy man said to the reciting renunciant: "Just return, set your mind at ease, and recite the sūtras; I shall provide the rice in your stead." The śrāmaṇera was greatly delighted. The worthy man gave him ninety bushels of rice. Having returned and reported to his master, [the śrāmaṇera] had leisure to read the scriptures. After three months, he was proficient in one thousand four hundred gāthās. He informed his master: "Having completed the recitation of the sūtras, I must go to the dānapati's house to test it." The master immediately permitted it. He went to the worthy man's place and reported: "Relying upon your great kindness, I was able to recite the sūtras in peace. Now that the recitation is complete, I have come to recite them [for you]." The śrāmaṇera recited the text and phrases fluently, without any stumbling or hindrance. The worthy man joyfully bowed his head in homage: "May I in future lives be intelligent, broadly learned, of wide hearing, and never forgetful." Because of this meritorious vow, in life after life wherever he was born, he was clear in understanding and strong in memory. When the Buddha appeared in the world, he manifested as a disciple named Ānanda, constantly attending upon the World-Honoured One, uniquely articulate and comprehensive, foremost in erudition. The Master said: "The worthy man of that time was the present Ānanda. When one encourages and aids a learner who resolves to seek vows, the merit is not in vain; it was because of this karmic reward, attained in accordance with his vow, that it came to be like this!"

1.31

South of Mount Sumeru there is a great tree, four thousand li high, on which various pakṣa birds roost. The tree is always motionless. But when a small bird resembling a quail came to rest on it, the tree shook and trembled. The pakṣa bird said to the tree spirit: "Without your knowing, my body is heavy, yet you never moved; but when a small bird comes to roost, you shake and tremble instead." The tree spirit said: "Though this bird is small, it came from the bottom of the great ocean and feeds solely on vajra. Where vajra falls, there is nothing it does not destroy; therefore I am terrified and cannot remain at ease." The sūtras take this as a parable: if an ordinary person understands a single phrase of a profound sūtra, chanting it with his mouth and contemplating it in his mind, the three poisons, four māras, and eighty thousand defilement-gates within his body will all be unable to remain at ease—how much more so for one who broadly gathers the manifold dharmas and serves as a bridge for the world!

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1.33

The Buddha said to Maudgalyāyana: "Your retribution is about to arrive." Maudgalyāyana said: "I have supernatural power to leap over Mount Sumeru. If the retribution comes from the east, I will go west; if it comes from the north, I will head south—how could it reach me?" The Buddha said to Maudgalyāyana: "Guilt and merit are natural; they cannot be avoided." Flying far without rest, he fell into the mountains. At that time there was an old man [making] cart-spokes, and Maudgalyāyana fell right in front of him. His appearance resembled a ghost; the old man thought he was an evil creature, raised a cart-spoke, and struck him, instantly breaking his body. Maudgalyāyana suffered extreme pain and was deeply ashamed and distressed, completely forgetting his former consciousness. The Buddha, taking pity on him, bestowed upon him divine power. Only then was he able to reflect and restore his original form. This old man who fashioned cart-spokes was Maudgalyāyana's father in a previous life. Maudgalyāyana had quarreled with his father, and Maudgalyāyana thought in his mind: "How satisfying it would be to beat this old man to death until his bones break!" It was because of this that he incurred this retributive suffering. Take care never to commit the sin of unfilial conduct; thus, when people live in this world, they must be cautious in mind and speech, and filial in caring for their parents.

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1.35

Once there was a śramaṇa walking among the grass. A great serpent said: "Upādhyāya! Renunciant!" The renunciant was startled and looked to the left and right. The serpent said: "Renunciant! Do not fear, do not be terrified! Would you please preach the sūtras for me, so that I may be freed from this body of guilt?" The serpent asked: "Renunciant! Have you heard of King Arcintya?" He replied: "I have!" The serpent said: "I am he!" The renunciant said: "King Arcintya erected Buddhist stūpas and vihāras, and his merit from making offerings was magnificent; he should have been born in heaven. For what reason did it come to this?" The serpent said: "When my life was ending, an attendant holding a fan dropped it onto my face, causing me to become angry, and so I received this serpent body." The renunciant then preached the sūtras for him. [The serpent] listened single-mindedly with delight, did not eat for seven days, passed away, and was born in heaven. Several months later, he scattered flowers over the Buddha. The people wondered at it. He said from mid-air: "I am King Arcintya. Relying upon the renunciant's kindness, I heard the Dharma and was able to be born in heaven; now I have come to offer flowers to repay the Buddha's kindness!" Therefore, when someone is at the end of life, those attending at their side must protect the sick person's mind.

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1.37

In a foreign land there was a man who engaged in business and acquired several thousand catties of gold and silver. He prized it dearly in his mind. He wished to hide it in the ground, but feared that mole crickets, worms, and rats would burrow and steal it. He wished to hide it in the marshy grass, but feared that foxes and wild beasts would take it. Nor did he trust the members of his household, his extended kin, his wife, or his children. So he placed it in his bosom, and wherever he came and went, he was constantly afraid of losing it. At the time of the long vegetarian fast month, disciples of the four assemblies all went to the stūpa-monastery to burn incense and scatter flowers; the man observed this and saw it in full. He also saw that in front of the stūpa-monastery there was a large bowl, and the disciples of the four assemblies circumambulated the stūpa and cast gold, silver, coins, and goods into the bowl. The man asked, “Why are you casting treasures into this bowl?” A renunciant replied, “This is called dāna; its second name is the firm treasury; its third name is that which knows no decay.” The man reflected: “What this person says is truly so, matching what I seek.” Thereupon, he took his gold and silver and threw it all into the bowl. The renunciant recited a verse of blessing and further said: “As for what is firm, water cannot drown it, fire cannot burn it, and thieves or foes cannot harm it. What is cast into the treasure-store knows no rotting away, and in the future one will obtain a retribution a hundred, thousand, or ten-thousandfold. Therefore it is called dāna.” The man’s mind opened up with boundless joy, and right in front of the stūpa he attained the fruit of srotāpanna. Therefore, when one cultivates merit with a devoted mind, the effort is not spent in vain, and leads naturally to the attainment of the Way.

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1.39

Formerly, at the Que-li Monastery, there was a senior bhikṣu who had attained the fruit of arhatship. Taking a novice with him, he came down at times to enter the city and wander about. The robes and bowl were very heavy, so he had the novice carry them and follow behind him. On the road the novice had this thought: “When people are born into the world, none do not suffer. If one wishes to escape this suffering, what kind of Way should one promote?” He reflected: “The Buddha constantly praises: ‘The bodhisattva is supreme!’ I shall now generate the bodhisattva mind.” Just as he had this thought, his master, using the supernormal knowledge of reading others' minds, directly illuminated his thought and said to the novice: “Bring the robes and bowl here.” The novice then took the robes and bowl and handed them to his master. The master said to the novice: “You walk in front.” Just as the novice was walking in front, he had another thought: “The bodhisattva path is extremely laborious and painful. If they ask for your head, you must give your head; if they ask for your eyes, you must give your eyes. This matter is extremely difficult and not something I can manage. It would be better to attain arhatship early and swiftly be freed from suffering.” The master again knew his thought and said to the novice: “Take the robes and bowl and follow behind me again.” Three times this happened, and the novice was bewildered and startled, not knowing what it meant. Proceeding to their resting place, he clasped his hands, addressed his master, and asked for the meaning. The master answered: “Because your mind advanced three times toward the bodhisattva path, I also thrice sent you ahead; because your mind thrice retreated, I sent you behind. Why is this? The merit of generating the bodhisattva mind surpasses that of filling a trichiliocosm with people who attain arhatship—it admits of no comparison.”

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1.41

Formerly, in the time of Kāśyapa Buddha, there were two brothers who both left household life to become śramaṇas. The elder brother loved observing the precepts and sitting in dhyāna, seeking the Way with a single mind, but did not like dāna. The younger brother loved dāna and cultivating merit, but was fond of violating the precepts. When Śākyamuni appeared in the world, the elder brother met the Buddha, left household life, and cultivated the Way, thereupon attaining arhatship; yet he alone was meager in merit and was constantly plagued by insufficient food and clothing. When he wandered for alms together with his companions, he was constantly the only one to return not full. The younger brother was reborn among elephants. As an elephant he possessed great strength and could repel enemies; he was cherished by the king of the country, who adorned his body with fine gold, silver, and precious jewels, and enfeoffed several hundred households to supply this elephant with whatever he needed. The elder brother bhikṣu, encountering a great famine in the world, wandered for alms for seven days without getting anything; at the very end he got a little coarse food, barely preserving his life. Knowing beforehand that this elephant had been his brother in a past life, he went before the elephant, held the elephant’s ear with his hand, and said to him: “Both you and I are guilty of offenses!” The elephant then reflected on the bhikṣu’s words, instantly remembered his former lives, and saw the causal conditions of his previous life. The elephant became sorrowful and would eat and drink no more. The elephant keeper was frightened and went to address the king: “The elephant no longer eats or drinks, and I do not know why.” The king asked the elephant keeper: “Did anyone offend the elephant earlier?” The keeper answered the king: “There was no one else; I only saw a śramaṇa come up beside the elephant and leave after a moment!” The king immediately sent men out in all four directions to search for this śramaṇa. Someone found him among the trees in a forest, arrested the śramaṇa, and brought him before the king. The king asked the śramaṇa: “What did you say when you went up beside my elephant?” The śramaṇa answered the king: “I did not say much; I merely said to the elephant, ‘Both you and I are guilty of offenses!’” Then the śramaṇa explained in full to the king the matters of their past life's causal conditions. The king’s mind was awakened, and he immediately released the śramaṇa and allowed him to return to his dwelling. Therefore, households that cultivate merit should practice both precepts and dāna concurrently, and not be partial to one lest their merit be incomplete.

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1.43

Formerly, a bhikṣu was expelled [from the saṃgha]; distressed and weeping, he walked along lamenting and sighing. On the road he met a ghost. This ghost had violated the law and had also been banished by the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa. The ghost asked the bhikṣu: “What matter makes you walk weeping?” The bhikṣu answered: “I violated saṃgha affairs and was expelled by the saṃgha. All offerings from dānapatis are entirely lost, and an evil reputation has spread far and near; for this reason I sorrow, sigh, and weep!” The ghost said to the bhikṣu: “I can make your evil reputation vanish and cause you to receive great offerings. You may stand on my left shoulder, and I will carry you, walking in the air. People will only see you and will not see my body. If you receive great offerings, you must give them to me first.” The ghost then carried the bhikṣu, walking in the air above the village from which he had previously been expelled. When the villagers saw him, they were all astonished and marveled, thinking he had attained the Way, and said to one another: “The saṃgha was wrongful in falsely expelling one who has attained the Way!” Then the villagers all went to the monastery to reprimand the saṃgha, and they escorted the bhikṣu back to live in the monastery, where he received great offerings. The bhikṣu, in accordance with whatever robes, food, and goods he received, always gave them first to the ghost, not violating their original agreement. On another day, this ghost again carried the bhikṣu wandering in the air, and happened upon the subordinate officers of the Heavenly King Vaiśravaṇa. The ghost saw the judicial officers and was terrified; he threw down the bhikṣu and ran away with all his might. The bhikṣu thereupon fell to the ground and died, his body and head smashed to pieces. This parable illustrates that a practitioner should cultivate oneself so that wherever one goes one has no doubts; relying on the powerful and influential leads to collapse in an instant, no different from him.

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眾經撰雜譬喻 — Classical Chinese