眾經撰雜譬喻 2

English (machine translation) 2

Language: English

2.2

Translated by Kumārajīva, Tripiṭaka Master from Kucha, under the Later Qin

In a foreign country, there was once a dragon-subduing master who filled a washing jug with water, went to the side of a dragon pool, and recited incantations single-mindedly. Thereupon, this dragon saw a great fire surge up from the bottom of the pool, and the entire pool was ablaze. Terrified at seeing the fire, the dragon emerged and looked toward the mountains, but saw a great fire burning all the mountains and marshes as well. Looking up to the mountain summits, the sky offered no abiding place; everything was scorching hot, with no ground on which to settle its body. It saw only that the water inside the washing jug could provide refuge from disaster. It therefore extinguished its large body, assumed a minuscule form, and entered the water of the washing jug. That dragon pool is a metaphor for the kāmadhātu; the mountains and marshes it looked toward are a metaphor for the rūpadhātu; looking up at the mountain summits is a metaphor for the ārūpyadhātu; the dragon-subduing master is a metaphor for the bodhisattva; the water in the washing jug is a metaphor for nirvāṇa; the magical technique is a metaphor for upāya; the blazing great fire is a metaphor for displaying anitya; the dragon's large body is a metaphor for māna; and assuming a small form is a metaphor for humility. This means that a bodhisattva displays the conflagration of the kalpa, in which both the desire and form realms are equally ablaze, terrifying sentient beings with the great fire of anitya so as to make them eliminate their māna, become humble and lowly, and only then all enter nirvāṇa.

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2.6

Once, a bird-catcher spread a net over a marsh and placed bird food inside it. A flock of birds called to their companions and vied to come eat it. The bird-catcher pulled the net, and all the birds fell into it. At that time, there was a bird that was large and strong; lifting the net with its body, it flew away together with the flock. Seeing its shadow, the bird-catcher followed and pursued them. Someone said to the bird-catcher, 'The birds are flying through the sky while you pursue them on foot; how foolish you are!' The bird-catcher replied, 'It is not as you say. At nightfall, those birds will seek places to roost, and their inclinations will differ; thus they are bound to fall.' The man still pursued them without stopping. The day was already drawing toward dusk; looking up, he saw the birds fluttering, bickering, and contending, some wanting to go east and some wanting to go west, some looking toward the tall forest and some wanting to head for the ravine. They contended without stopping, and in a moment they fell. The bird-catcher retrieved them and killed them one by one. The bird-catcher is like Pāpīyas; spreading the net is like the samyojanas; flying while carrying the net is like a person who has not yet parted from the samyojanas seeking an escape from saṃsāra; stopping at nightfall is like a person growing lax and no longer progressing in mind; seeking different places to roost is like giving rise to the sixty-two wrong views that oppose one another; and the birds falling to the ground is like a person suffering the reward of heterodoxy and falling into naraka. This clarifies that the dust and defilements of the samyojanas are Māra's net; therefore, the samyojanas ensnare a person just like a net. While in the two destinies, one should thoroughly guard one's body and speech, and not let laxity keep one within this net. The suffering of the three evil paths and of birth and death is enduring and remote, impossible to endure.

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2.8

Once, five hundred merchants boarded a ship and entered the ocean in search of rare jewels. They encountered a great makara fish that poked its head out and opened its mouth, wishing to devour living beings. At that time, the wind blew fierce and the ship shot forward like an arrow. The merchant leader said to the crowd, 'The ship is going too fast; we can let down the sails and lower the drifter.' They did exactly as he said, letting down the sails and lowering the drifter, yet the ship still moved rapidly and could not be stopped. The merchant leader asked the people on board, 'What do you see?' They replied, 'We see two suns rising above, white mountains below the suns, and black mountains in between.' The merchant leader said in alarm, 'This is a great fish! What can we do? We have now met with dire distress; entering this fish's belly, there is no principle by which we may live again. Each of you, according to what you worship, single-mindedly plead for rescue!' Thereupon, the people each, according to what they worshiped, single-mindedly took refuge and sought escape from this distress. The more earnestly they pleaded, the faster the ship went; in an instant, without stopping, it would enter the fish's mouth. Thereupon, the merchant leader told the people, 'I have a great deity whose name is the Buddha. Each of you, cast aside what you have raised up and single-mindedly invoke him!' At that moment, the five hundred people together raised their voices and cried, 'Namo buddhāya!' Hearing the name of the Buddha, the fish thought to itself, 'Today in the world, there is again a Buddha! How can I bear to harm living beings again?' Just as it finished thinking this, it closed its mouth. The water immediately flowed backward, moving away from the fish's mouth, and the five hundred merchants escaped the danger at once. In a previous life, this fish had once been a renunciant; due to a minor offense, it received the body of this fish. Having heard the sound of the Buddha['s name], it immediately remembered its former lives, and because of this contemplation, a wholesome mind arose. This clarifies that the five hundred merchants simply single-mindedly were mindful of the Buddha and briefly invoked his name, and they immediately attained liberation from a disaster as vast as heaven. How much more so for one who receives and upholds the buddhānusmṛti-samādhi, making heavy offenses light and extinguishing light offenses; this suffices as proof.

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2.10

Once, a butcher went to King Ajātaśatru to request a boon. The king asked, 'What boon do you seek?' He replied, 'Whenever festivals and gatherings occur, butchering is required; if the king would bestow it upon me, I will do it all.' The king said, 'The business of butchering is something people take no pleasure in; why do you delight in seeking it?' He replied, 'Formerly, I was a poor man and sustained my life through a shop butchering sheep. By virtue of this, I was born into the heaven of the Cāturmahārājikas. When my lifespan in that heaven was exhausted, I came to be born among humans and continued to butcher sheep. After my life ended, I was born into the second heaven. In this way, I butchered sheep through six cycles, and on account of this affair, I was born throughout the six heavens and received immeasurable blessing. For this reason, I now seek a boon from the king.' The king said, 'Assuming it is as you say, how do you know this?' He replied, 'I remember my former lives.' Hearing this, the king did not believe him, taking it to be falsehood: 'How could a lowly person such as this know former lives?' Later, he asked the Buddha, and the Buddha replied, 'It is truly as he said; it is not a lie! In a past life, this man once encountered a pratyekabuddha. Seeing the Buddha, he rejoiced and contemplated him with a concentrated mind, looking up at his head and looking down at his feet. A wholesome mind immediately arose. Due to this merit, he was able to be born in the six heavens and undergo six cycles among humans, remembering his former lives of his own accord. Because his blessings had ripened, he was able to make six cycles between humans and devas; because his offenses had not yet ripened, he had not yet suffered pain. When this life is ended, he will enter naraka to receive retribution for the sin of butchering sheep; and when his sins in naraka are ended, he will be born among sheep to repay them one by one. This man's knowledge of former lives is shallow: he sees only the events within the six heavens and does not reach the past seventh life; thus he took butchering sheep to be the cause of being born in heaven. In this way, he only recognizes former lives, but possesses neither spiritual superknowledges nor clear insight!' Therefore, those who cultivate merit must make vows; do not act rashly so as to leave vipāka unclear. This can serve as proof!

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2.12

Ānanda said to the Buddha, 'The Buddha was born in a royal household, sat under a tree contemplating the path for six years, and thus attained Buddhahood. Was it that easy to attain?' The Buddha told Ānanda, 'Formerly, there was an elder whose household was exceedingly wealthy and fully possessed of all treasures; he lacked only red pearls and considered this a deficiency. He then led men into the ocean to harvest pearls. Passing through perils and obstacles, they arrived at the place of treasure. He pierced his body to draw blood, wrapped it in an oil bag, and hung it at the bottom of the sea. The pearl oysters, smelling the fragrance of the blood, pecked and ate at it, and only then could he obtain the clams. Opening the clams to extract the pearls, he harvested for three years before obtaining a single pendant. On the return journey to the seashore, his companions, seeing that he had obtained a fine treasure, wished to conspire against him. They went together to fetch water; the crowd pushed him into a well, covered it, and left. Having fallen to the bottom of the well for a long time, the man saw a lion come from a side hole to drink water. The man was terrified again. After the lion left, he followed the hole and came out, returning to his home territory. When his companions returned home, he called to them, saying: 'You took my single pendant; no one knows of it, and you also wished to harm me. You may secretly return it all to me, and I will never speak of you!' Terrified, the man returned all the pearls. Having recovered it, the pearl's owner carried it home. At home, his two children were playing together with the pearl and asked each other, 'Where was this pearl born?' One child said, 'It was born in my bag.' The other child said, 'It was born in the jar in the room.' The father saw this and laughed at it. His wife asked, 'Why are you laughing?' He replied, 'I endured such toil and suffering to obtain this pearl; relying on me, the little children obtained it, and knowing nothing of its origin, they say it was born in a jar.'' The Buddha told Ānanda, 'You only see me attain Buddhahood, not knowing that I studied with toil and suffering over countless kalpas, only to attain it now; you consider it easy, just like those infants saying the pearl was born in a bag!' Therefore, the cultivation of the myriad practices and the accumulation of merit through successive kalpas cannot be attained merely by a single deed, a single practice, or a single lifetime!

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2.14

Formerly, there was a guide who entered the sea to gather treasures. At that time, five hundred people followed him and traveled together. The guide told them, 'In the ocean there are five perils: first, raging currents; second, whirlpools; third, great fish; fourth, female rākṣasīs; fifth, intoxicating fruits. Only those who can cross over these perils may travel together.' Having made the agreement, the people caught the wind, entered the sea, and reached the treasure isle, each going about gathering treasures. One man, unable to resist the fruit's fragrance, ate it and became intoxicated for seven days. The people had enough treasures, and the sailing wind had already arrived; wishing to prepare to return, they beat the drums to assemble the men. One man was missing, so they spread out in all directions to search for him, and found him lying beneath a tree, drunk and not yet awakened. Together, they supported him as they returned, snapped off a tree branch to use as a walking staff for him, and returned together to their country. The family, hearing the joyful news, all came out to welcome them; the drunk man, seeing that he had gained nothing, was exceedingly distressed on his own. In his gloom, the drunk man leaned on his staff and entered the marketplace. A market person sought to buy it, offering up to twenty thousand ounces of gold. The man gave it to him and asked, 'What virtue does this staff possess?' He replied, 'This is a tree treasure. If you pound and burn this staff, using it to fumigate potsherds and stones, they will all turn into precious jewels.' The man asked for a little of it back and took it home to test it; it turned out just as he had said, and everything that was fumigated completely turned into various treasures. The parable states: 'The guide is the bodhisattva; the five perils are the five skandhas; the treasure isle is the seven treasures of prajñā; the drunkard is following one's mind into indolence and neglect; snapping off the branch of the jewel tree is self-cultivation and encouragement; renewing the arousal of vigor and fumigating potsherds and stones into treasures means using the sūtras and the Path to fumigate all evil actions, making them all into vessels of the Dharma!'

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2.16

Formerly, there were two śramaṇas in a mountain, living in seclusion and practicing the Way, who attained the six supernormal powers. Not far from them, a lioness gave birth to two cubs. As they gradually grew bigger, the lioness wished to roam about. She thought to herself that only the virtue and benevolence of the renunciant could be entrusted with their lives. She then said, "I wish to go roaming. The two cubs are still small, and I fear someone might harm them. I wish to entrust them to you, renunciant. Relying on your kind protection, I will return to see them myself." The renunciant agreed. When the lioness returned from roaming and saw that the cubs were attached to the renunciant, she again left them and roamed off. When the renunciant returned from almsround, he shared the leftover food with them. Whenever they saw the renunciant return, they joyfully came out to greet him. Later, when the renunciant had gone roaming, a hunter encountered the cubs. The cubs scattered and fled into the grass. The hunter, relying on the renunciant's appearance, put on the kāṣāya robe from inside the cell and entered the grass to capture them. The cubs thought he was the renunciant and immediately came running to him. The hunter beat them to death, skinned them, and made a lion-skin coat worth a thousand liang of gold. When the renunciant returned from his walk and did not see the lions, he sat in meditation to observe. Knowing they had been killed by the hunter, he immediately used his supernormal power to retrieve the skins, made a mat to sit upon, and recited aspirational prayers for them. He meditated and observed again, and knew that they would be reborn in the household of an elder in the kingdom as twin sons. The renunciant went to the household and asked the elder, "What do you lack?" The elder replied, "I only suffer from having no son." He then promised to seek sons for the elder. The elder was overjoyed. The renunciant asked, "If you obtain sons, how will you repay me?" The elder replied, "When the sons grow up, I will offer them as śrāmaṇeras." The renunciant said, "Do not forget this agreement." Conception was soon perceived, and later twin boys were indeed born, looking so alike as to be identical. When they were eight or nine years old, the renunciant passed by; the two boys saw him and were naturally joyful. The renunciant said to the elder, "Do you remember your original vow?" The elder did not dare to break the vow, and gave the two sons to the śramaṇa. The śramaṇa took them into the mountains to study. Before long, they also attained arhatship. They constantly sat upon the old skins, and entering meditation daily to observe themselves, they saw the skins of their own former bodies. Each arose, bowed, and expressed gratitude: "It is through the master's gracious power that we were enabled to attain the Way; it was entirely the power of your benevolent thought." If even animals with wholesome minds can attain liberation, how much more so those who set their wills and generate wholesome vows—how could they not attain liberation?

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2.18

Formerly, there was a butcher who wished to make offerings to a renunciant, but because of his evil occupation, none would go. Later, he saw a newly trained śramaṇa whose deportment was grave and orderly, and invited him home to eat, offering various fine delicacies. When the meal was finished, he further requested this renunciant, "May you eat in my home for the rest of your life." The renunciant accepted. Having grown familiar with him over a long time, he saw slaughtering taking place before him, yet did not dare to admonish him. Years accumulated. Later, the butcher's father died and became a ghost in a river, whose body was cut with knives and immediately restored. When the renunciant crossed the river, the ghost seized the boat and said, "Only if you drown this renunciant in the river may you cross!" The boatmen were terrified. The ghost said, "Formerly, my household made offerings to this renunciant. For years he never admonished me against taking life. Now I suffer this calamity, and out of resentment I desire this!" The boatmen said, "If taking life brings such calamity, how much more so [killing] a renunciant?" The ghost said, "I know that, but it is just out of resentment! If you can make dāna and create merit on my behalf, calling my name and making aspirational prayers, I will let you go." The boatmen all promised to create merit for him, and the ghost released them. The renunciant immediately held an assembly for the ghost, calling his name and making aspirational prayers. The others in turn also held an assembly for him, went to the middle of the river, and called to the ghost, "Have you obtained merit yet?" The ghost said, "I obtained it immediately, and have no more pain." The boatmen said, "Tomorrow we will create merit for you; can you come yourself?" The ghost said, "I can!" In the morning, the ghost transformed into the likeness of a brāhmaṇa and came, offering dāna with his own hands and receiving the aspirational prayers himself. The senior monk expounded the sūtra for him, and the ghost attained the path of a srotāpanna and departed joyfully. For this reason, between host and guest there is a duty to admonish and correct. Even though one has fallen into an evil destiny, good conditions may still remain; thus it can be said that a good spiritual friend is a great cause and condition!

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2.20

Formerly, there was a merchant who went to sea to gather jewels. He encountered a great nāga spirit that lifted the boat and was about to capsize it, and the people were terrified. The nāga asked, "Have you ever traveled to that kingdom?" They replied, "We have passed through it." The nāga gave them a large egg like a five-sheng jar: "Take this egg and bury it under the big tree in that kingdom's marketplace. If you do not, I will kill you later." The man agreed. Later, he passed through that kingdom and buried the egg under the big tree in the marketplace. From then on, the kingdom suffered many disasters, diseases, and pestilence. The king summoned practitioners of esoteric arts to divine it; they said there was a python's egg in the kingdom causing the disasters and pestilence. They immediately searched, dug it up, and burned it, and the illnesses were all cured. Later, when the merchant went to sea again, he saw the nāga spirit, who asked about the matter. The merchant said, "Formerly, according to your instructions, I buried the egg in the marketplace. Many diseases and pestilences arose in the kingdom. The king summoned brahmacārins to divine it; they found it and burned it, and the sick were all cured." The spirit said, "I regret not having killed those slaves!" The boatmen asked the spirit, "Why is that so?" The spirit said, "Have you ever heard of a valiant warrior so-and-so in that kingdom?" They replied, "We have heard of him; he has already died." The spirit said, "I am he! When I was alive, I liked to oppress the people in the kingdom. From the beginning, no one ever taught or admonished me, but only encouraged me. This caused me to fall among pythons, and I wanted to kill them all!" Therefore, people should admonish one another, comply with goodness, and not rely on power and authority to oppress others, bringing upon themselves the suffering of the three evil paths, which should only be heard of by report and never experienced in bodily form.

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2.22

Formerly, in the kingdom of Vārāṇasī, there were five hundred blind men who traveled around begging. Encountering a time of famine, they obtained nothing. They conferred together: "The Buddha is in Śrāvastī teaching people to give generously. If we go to that country, our lives can be saved." Each said, "We should hire someone to lead us there." The five hundred blind men each promised one silver coin. The man agreed to lead them to that country, and they set out on the road. The hired man said to the blind men, "The road ahead is treacherous. Hand over your money to me; if we meet bandits, I will hide it." The blind men gave all their money to him. Having obtained the money, the man simply abandoned them and left. The blind men wandered for several days, hungry, thirsty, and not knowing the road. They simultaneously took refuge in the Buddha, saying, "The Buddha is holy and divine; may he pity us and deliver us from this distress!" The Buddha suddenly manifested his spiritual presence before them, stroking the blind men's heads with his hand. All of their eyes became clear, and their hunger and thirst were satisfied. The five hundred men were overjoyed, leaped with joy, and wished to become his disciples. Their hair and beards fell out spontaneously, and robes and bowls appeared on their bodies. The Buddha expounded the Dharma to them again, and they all attained arhatship, flying with the Buddha back to the Jetavana. Ānanda asked the Buddha, "What offenses and merits did these five hundred men have in their former lives?" The Buddha said, "Long ago, in a past age, an elder hired five hundred people to work. They took their wages in advance and then scattered and abandoned him. Because of this, they underwent this distress through successive lifetimes. The elder of that time is the one who carried off the money today! Now that the debt has been resolved, they encountered my awakening and have all attained the Way." Offenses and merits are like this; therefore, people's creation of karma is not the same: some create karma, and some receive the retribution of karma. One cannot but be cautious!

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2.24

Formerly, two people were close friends, never failing one another. Later, one of them committed a crime punishable by death, fled, and visited his friend. The friend did not open the door, but asked from within, "Who are you?" He replied, "I am your friend; having committed a crime, I came to visit you!" That person said to him, "In peaceful times we were close friends; when an emergency arises, each must fend for himself. I will not let you in!" The friend was deeply unhappy and thought to himself, "In peaceful times, going out, coming in, traveling, eating, and drinking, we never separated. How is it that when an emergency arises, he abandons me like this? How can this be genuine intimacy?" He left, intending to enter the mountains. There was another good friend whom he went to visit. That person opened the door and hid him, saying, "Though you and I have been distant, I will escort you to a secure place." He loaded a cart with rare jewels, personally escorted him to another kingdom, introduced him to the king and elders there, built a mansion for him, settled him with fields, houses, and wealth, provided him with everything, and only then returned. At that time, the Buddha saw this person and drew an analogy: "The criminal is an analogy for the human spirit; the close friend is an analogy for the body of the four great elements; the good friend is an analogy for the three refuges and the five precepts. This is an analogy for a person nurturing the four great elements, lacking none of the four necessities of food and fine delicacies; yet when impermanence arrives and one is about to fall into bad destinies, seeking temporary shelter from it, it instead closes the door and does not let one in. Later, encountering the good friend who brings him to another kingdom, settling all his needs without lack, is an analogy for dāna and observing the precepts: when one dies, led by the power of merit, one is escorted to the heavens, with seven-jeweled palaces, heavenly jeweled clothes, and heavenly foods of a hundred flavors arriving naturally, reaching infinite supreme bliss. Therefore, living in the world, one should not indulge oneself in eating, but should curtail it to create merit. How could merely nurturing the body of the four great elements be of any benefit? The wise should practice this!"

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2.26

A hundred years after the Buddha's parinirvāṇa, there was a king who served heavenly spirits. In a great sacrificial offering, he used cattle, sheep, pigs, piglets, dogs, and chickens, one hundred of each, handing them all over to the cooks to slaughter the cattle and sheep. Among the cooks was an upāsaka who said, "I observe the Buddha's precepts and cannot kill living beings." The master cook was furious, and immediately reported to the king, "I wish to punish him." The king asked, "Do you intentionally disobey my command? You shall be killed!" The cook replied, "I am a disciple of the Buddha and receive and uphold the five precepts. I would rather kill myself than violate the Buddha's teaching and kill living beings. If I comply with the king's command and commit slaughter, upon death I will enter hell for countless hundreds of millions of years, only emerging when the retribution is exhausted, and I would constantly have a short lifespan. If I observe the precepts without breach and face execution by the king, upon death I will ascend to heaven, obtaining merit in heaven where whatever I wish for arrives naturally. If I must die now, transforming this mortal body, I shall receive heavenly existence. The retributions of offense and merit are far apart! For this reason, I would die, but even in death I will not violate them!" The king said, "I grant you a period of seven days, after which I will have elephants trample you to death. If you do not die, then your words are true." After seven days, the man's entire body as an upāsaka transformed into the Buddha's body, possessing marks like the Buddha's form. To test him, five hundred elephants were sent to trample him. Following the Buddha's manner, the upāsaka raised his hand, and his five fingers transformed into the five great mountain peaks. Between each mountain, a lion emerged. Seeing the lions, the elephants were terrified and all prostrated on the ground, just as when the Buddha was alive. Only then did the king believe and know there was a Buddha, and he put an end to the sacrifices. From this man he received the Buddha's precepts, and the ministers, officials, and people also received the precepts from him. He then became the national teacher. Such is the way a worthy person observes the precepts and delivers people.

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2.28

Formerly, when the Buddha was in the world, there was an upāsikā who went to the Buddha morning and evening, making offerings with complete devotion, never once slackening. Knowing [her thoughts], the Buddha asked, "What vow do you wish for?" She then said to the Buddha, "If I have karmic rewards of merit, I vow to give birth in this present life to four sons." The Buddha then asked, "Why do you seek four sons?" The upāsikā said, "When the four sons grow up, I would have one take charge of business and market trading to amass wealth and treasures; I would have one manage farming and animal husbandry to amass the six domestic animals and grain; I would have one seek official rank to earn a stipend and protect the household; and I wish to have one leave home to become a śramaṇa, attaining the Way, accomplishing [the goal], and returning to deliver his parents and all people. It is solely for this that I seek four sons!" The Buddha said, "May you obtain what you wish." Greatly pleased, the upāsikā bowed to the Buddha and departed. Later, she gave birth to a boy who was bright and clever, and his mother loved him beyond compare in the world. When the son grew up, he asked his mother, "Why is your affection so exceedingly great, without any comparison?" His mother told the son, "Originally, I vowed for four sons, but I obtained only you alone. All that love has been combined upon you; that is why it is so!" She explained to her son all the intentions of her wish. Hearing what his mother said, the son was deeply moved by his mother's aspiration. He then engaged in business, and in less than a year, he acquired hundreds of millions in wealth. Next, he established agricultural undertakings and animal husbandry, gathering an innumerable abundance of oxen, horses, and grain. Next, he pursued studies, sought an official appointment, took a wife, and fathered a son, and his household subsequently became a grand and wealthy family. He spoke to his mother again, saying, "You sought four sons so each could take charge of one matter. Now I have acted on their behalf, and three matters are roughly accomplished; only one matter is lacking. If I may leave home, it would be very good." The loving mother said, "The vow for four sons has been fulfilled!" The mother thought to herself, "Originally, I vowed for four sons and assigned each one matter, yet I still feared it could not be accomplished. What this son has done exceeds my original hopes. If I let him leave home, he will certainly be able to achieve the Way." She immediately gave permission for him to leave home. The son took leave of his mother, went to the Buddha, and asked to become a śramaṇa. He immediately attained complete diligence, and before long he achieved the fruit of arhatship. He returned to deliver his parents and all people; in gaining merit and attaining the Way, there was none who did not rejoice. Therefore, when one creates merit and makes a vow, it depends only on the determination of the mind; there is nowhere it cannot succeed.

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2.30

Formerly, there was an elderly mother who had only an only son. He fell ill and died, and was taken to a cemetery where the corpse was laid out. Overcome with grief beyond endurance, she cried, "I had just one son to support me in my old age, yet he has abandoned me in death! What purpose is there in my living? I cannot go back; I must end my life together with him in the same place!" She neither ate nor drank for four or five days. Knowing this, the Buddha took five hundred bhikṣus and went to that cemetery. The elderly mother saw from afar the Buddha coming with magnificent spiritual radiance; as if waking from confusion and sobering from drunkenness, she stepped forward toward the Buddha, bowed, and stood to one side. The Buddha asked the elderly mother, "Why are you in the cemetery?" She said to the World-Honoured One, "I had only an only son who has abandoned me and died. My love for him is so deep that I wish to die together with him in the same place." The Buddha asked the elderly mother, "Do you wish to make your son live again?" The mother said, "Splendid!" She said, "I wish for it!" The Buddha said, "Seek incense and fire; I shall chant a blessing to bring him back to life." He told the elderly mother, "When seeking the fire, you must obtain fire from a household where no one has died." Thereupon, the elderly mother went out to fetch fire. Whenever she saw anyone, she would ask, "Have there ever been any deaths in your family?" They replied, "From our ancestors onwards, all have died." Everywhere she went and asked, the replies were all like this. Passing through several dozen households, she did not dare take any fire. She then returned to the Buddha and said to the World-Honoured One, "I went everywhere seeking fire, but there was no household where no one had died; thus I have returned empty-handed." The Buddha told the elderly mother, "Since the opening and creation of heaven and earth, there has been no life that does not come to an end. When people die, the lives of those who come after are also something to delight in. Why are you alone so bewildered as to seek to follow your son in death?" The mother's mind immediately understood, and she recognized the truth of anitya. Taking this occasion, the Buddha widely expounded the Dharma of the sūtras to her, and she immediately attained the fruit of srotaāpanna. Among the several thousand spectators in the cemetery, all gave rise to the aspiration for unsurpassed, true, and perfect enlightenment.

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2.32

Formerly, there was a man who had two wives. The senior wife had no children, while the junior wife gave birth to a boy, who was handsome and lovely, and the husband was greatly delighted. The senior wife was inwardly jealous of him, but outwardly feigned loving affection more intense than if he were her own child. When the child was about one year old, everyone in the household knew that the senior wife loved and cherished him, and they no longer had any suspicions. The senior wife pierced the child's fontanelle with a needle, driving it into the flesh. The child fell ill, cried and screamed, and would no longer nurse. No one in the household, young or old, knew the cause, and after seven days he died. The senior wife also wept and wailed. The junior wife, heartbroken with grief, wept and wailed day and night without ceasing, no longer eating or drinking, on the verge of death. Later, she learned that he had been harmed by the senior wife, and she wished to take revenge. She went to a stūpa monastery and asked the bhikṣus, "O Venerables! If I wish to seek the desire in my heart, what merit should I cultivate?" The bhikṣus replied, "If you wish to obtain what you seek, you should observe the eight precepts of the poṣadha; whatever you seek will be as you wish." She immediately received the eight precepts of the poṣadha from the bhikṣus and departed. Seven days later, she died. Turning her body, she came to be reborn to the senior wife as a handsome daughter, and the senior wife loved her; at the age of one, she died. The senior wife sat upright without eating, her weeping and sorrowful grief more severe than that of the junior wife had been. In this way it went on for seven cycles: sometimes living for two or three years, sometimes four or five years, or six or seven years. Later, she became increasingly beautiful, twice as splendid as before. In the final life, when she was fourteen years old and already promised to someone in marriage, on the very eve of leaving to wed, she suddenly died that night. The senior wife wept and was distressed beyond words; she no longer ate or drank, weeping day and night with streaming tears as she walked. She kept the corpse in the coffin, refusing to cover it, looking at the dead corpse day after day; its radiant complexion was even more beautiful than when she was alive. After more than twenty days, an arhat, seeing this, wished to deliver her, and arrived at her house to beg for alms. She ordered a maidservant to take a bowl of rice and give it to him. He refused to take it, telling the maidservant, "I wish to see your master." The maidservant returned and reported, "He wishes to see the mistress." She answered, "I am distressed to the point of dying; how could I go out to see a śramaṇa? Take some food and give it to him to make him leave." The maidservant gave the food to the śramaṇa, but he still refused to leave. The śramaṇa said, "I wish to see the master." The maidservant went back and forth like this several times, but the śramaṇa would not leave. The woman was distressed and miserable, and with the śramaṇa standing there refusing to leave, disturbing her peace of mind so that she could not bear it, she said, "Call him in!" The śramaṇa came forward and saw the woman's complexion haggard and emaciated, covering her face and eyes and no longer combing her hair. The śramaṇa said, "Why have you come to this?" The woman said, "One after another I gave birth to seven daughters, clever and lovely, but then they died. This daughter was the oldest, and on the very verge of marriage she died again, plunging me into sorrow." The śramaṇa said, "Comb your hair and wipe your face, and I will explain it to you." The woman still wept and would not stop. The śramaṇa said to her, "Where is the junior wife of your household now? Originally, what was the cause of her death?" Hearing these words, the woman thought to herself, "How does this śramaṇa know of this?" Her distress subsided slightly. The śramaṇa told her, "Comb your hair, and when you are done, I will explain it to you!" The woman immediately finished tidying her hair. The śramaṇa asked, "Why did the junior wife's child die?" Hearing these words, the woman remained silent and did not reply, feeling ashamed in her heart and not daring to speak again. The śramaṇa said, "You killed another person's child, causing his mother to die in grief and vexation. Therefore, she came to be your child seven times in succession; she was your enemy, seeking to kill you with the poison of grief. Just go and look at the dead girl in the coffin to see whether she is still beautiful or not!" The woman went to look at her, and she had instantly decomposed and rotted, so foul-smelling that one could not approach. He asked, "Why do you long for her?" The woman was filled with shame and immediately buried her, begging the śramaṇa for mercy, wishing to receive the precepts. The śramaṇa said, "Come to the monastery tomorrow." When the girl died, she turned into a venomous snake. Knowing that the woman would go to receive the precepts, it waited for her along the road, intending to bite and kill her. As the woman walked, the snake blocked her way so that she could not proceed forward. The sun was about to set, and the woman was terrified, thinking to herself, "I wish to go to the śramaṇa to receive the precepts; why is this snake blocking my way, preventing me from going?" Knowing this, the śramaṇa went to where the woman was. Seeing the śramaṇa, the woman rejoiced greatly, stepped forward, and bowed. The śramaṇa said to the snake, "In later lives, you will repeatedly become another junior wife to one another, inflicting cruelty and poison on each other without end. In this present world, the senior wife killed your child once, but you have now caused her distress seven times. Your past faults can both be delivered. This woman is now going to receive the precepts, and you are obstructing her path; throughout lives you will fall into Naraka with no end. Compared to your present snake body, how much better is this woman's body?" Hearing the śramaṇa's words, the snake came to know her former lives; coiled in grief and resentment, it laid its head on the ground without breathing, contemplating the śramaṇa's words. The śramaṇa recited a blessing, saying, "Now the two of you have brought distress to each other throughout former lives; let your sins and faults end from this point, and from now on throughout lives never turn evil intentions toward one another again." Both having completed their repentance, the snake immediately died and was reborn among humans. At that time, hearing the śramaṇa's words, the woman's mind opened and understood; rejoicing, she attained the fruit of srotaāpanna, and followed the śramaṇa to receive the precepts and become an upāsikā. Therefore, sinful karma and hostile retribution are like this: one cannot fail to be cautious!

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2.34

Once, in the kingdom of Śrāvastī, it rained blood one morning over an area forty li square. The king and his ministers were exceedingly alarmed and astonished. He immediately summoned various masters of esoteric arts and diviners, ordering them to investigate whether it boded good or ill. A diviner replied: "The ancient records state: 'The calamity of raining blood portends the birth of a human python, a venomous and harmful creature.' We ought to search throughout the country to distinguish this calamity." The king asked: "How may we distinguish it?" The diviner said: "Human poison of this kind is difficult to recognise. As a test, decree that all newly born infants in the kingdom be brought here, and have each child spit into an empty jar." Among them was one child whose spittle immediately burst into flames upon entering the jar; they knew that this child was the human python. They deliberated, saying: "This [child] cannot remain among humankind; let him be moved at once to a deserted, hidden place where there are no people. Those in the kingdom who are condemned to die may be sent to him." The python spat poison and killed them; in this manner, seventy-two thousand people in all were killed by his poison. Later, a lion appeared and let out an earth-shaking roar; within forty li, people and animals cowered in terror, and no one could subdue the violent devastation that spread abroad. Thereupon the king offered a reward throughout the kingdom: whoever could drive off the lion would be given a thousand pieces of gold and enfeoffed with a district. No one responded. The ministers addressed the king: "Only the human python can drive it away." The king immediately ordered officers to go and summon the human python. Seeing the lion from afar, he went straight up before it and blew his poisonous breath upon the lion, which died instantly; its flesh decayed and dissolved away, and the country attained peace and tranquility. Sometime later, the human python grew old and fell ill, approaching the end of his life. The Buddha, pitying him for his grave sins, since once he fell into an evil path there would be no time of escape, said to Śāriputra: "Go and exhort him, so that he may escape this heavy retribution." Śāriputra then went to his home; by his supernatural power, he entered and suddenly stood before him. The human python flew into a great rage and thought: "I have not yet died, yet I am treated so lightly by others! Without even announcing himself, he comes straight in and stands before me!" He then spewed his poisonous breath, thinking it would harm him. Śāriputra repelled it with benevolence and wisdom; his radiant countenance grew even more splendid, and not a single hair was stirred. Three times he released his poisonous breath, yet none could harm him. He then recognised his venerable stature; his mind opened, wholesome thoughts arose, and with a benevolent heart he gazed up and down at Śāriputra seven times. Śāriputra then returned to the vihāra. Drawing in his breath, the human python died. On that very day, heaven and earth shook violently—the utmost good can shake heaven and earth, and the utmost evil can also shake them. At that time, the King of Magadha went to the Buddha's abode, bowed his head to the ground, and asked the World-Honoured One: "To what rebirth will the human python go upon the end of his life?" The Buddha said: "He is now born in the first heaven." Hearing the Buddha's words, the king wondered and asked the Buddha again: "How can a man of such great sins be born in heaven?" The Buddha said: "Because he looked upon Śāriputra with a benevolent heart, gazing up and down seven times, through this merit he was born in the first heaven. When that merit is exhausted, he will be born in the second heaven, and so on for seven cycles, after which he will become a pratyekabuddha and enter parinirvāṇa." The king addressed the Buddha: "Will he not have to repay the sin of killing seventy-two thousand people?" The Buddha said: "At the very end, when he becomes a pratyekabuddha, his body will be like purple-gold. At that time, while seated beneath a tree by the roadside and entering meditative concentration, a great army of more than seventy thousand people will pass by. Seeing the pratyekabuddha, they will think he is a golden man, and so they will hack him to pieces and divide him among themselves. Upon falling into their hands, they will look and see that it is flesh; they will all gather the pieces back, set them down, and depart. Thereupon the pratyekabuddha will enter parinirvāṇa. The sins of his present life will only then be lightly repaid and completely settled." The Buddha told the king: "For one who encounters a good friend, sins piled high as mountains can be extinguished, and one may also attain the Path." When the Buddha spoke this, the king and the great assembly were all filled with immense joy; bowing to the Buddha, they departed.

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2.36

Once, there was a śramaṇa who sat beneath a tree reciting sūtras. A bird came and listened to the sūtra recitation from the tree, listening with single-minded devotion without looking to the left or right, when it was shot and killed by a hunter. As the bird faced death, its mind was not disordered; its soul was immediately born in heaven. Reflecting on the origin of where it had come from, it recognised its former life from one rebirth ago. Having been born in heaven, it came down and scattered flowers over the śramaṇa beneath the tree. The god said to the renunciant: "Owing to the blessing of the renunciant reciting the sūtra, I was freed from that bird's body and became a god." Hearing the bird's words, the renunciant attained the stage of the Path. In an instant, the god suddenly vanished and returned to his original abode. The master said: "For all practitioners of the Path, if their minds are not disordered when their lives are about to end, their place of rebirth will not fall into the agony of the evil paths; they will immediately recognise the former lives through which they have passed. Therefore, this sūtra is delivered to instruct future generations!"

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2.38

Once, when the Buddha was in the world, there lived an old man seven li outside the Jetavana who was a heavy drinker of wine. The disciple Ānanda went to admonish and instruct him: "The Buddha is now here; you ought to go and see him." The old man said: "I have heard that the Buddha is here and wish to go see him, but the Buddha is adept at imparting the five precepts, which forbid drinking wine. If I cannot drink wine, it will be like an infant deprived of milk—I would surely die! I cannot bear it, and for that reason I will not go!" He went off to drink wine again. Becoming drunk in the evening, he was returning along the road when his foot tripped over a tree stump and he collapsed to the ground. Like a great mountain collapsing, his entire body was in pain. He then said to himself: "How miserable is this pain! Ānanda was always telling me: 'You should go to the Buddha's place.' I refused to heed his words, and now the pain in my body is beyond words." He then said to the members of his household: "I wish to go to the Buddha's place." When his family heard this, they were all astonished: "You never previously consented to go to the Buddha's place; for what reason do you now wish to go?" Having spoken, he set off and halted outside the gate of the Jetavana. At that time, Ānanda saw the old man coming and, overjoyed, addressed the Buddha: "The old man from seven li outside the Jetavana has come and is outside the gate." The Buddha said: "The old man could not come on his own; five hundred white elephants exerted themselves to bring him here!" Ānanda addressed the Buddha: "There are no five hundred elephants; he came all alone!" The Buddha said to Ānanda: "The five hundred white elephants are within the old man's body." Thereupon, Ānanda summoned the old man: "Come forward and pay homage to the Buddha." He addressed the Buddha: "I have long heard that the Buddha is here, but due to ignorance I did not come earlier to pay my respects. I pray that the Buddha will forgive my offenses!" The Buddha asked the old man: "If five hundred carts of firewood are piled on the ground and one wishes to burn them all up, how many carts of fire would be needed to burn them up completely?" The old man addressed the Buddha: "It would not take much fire; a fire the size of a bean would burn them up completely in the snapping of a finger." The Buddha asked the old man again: "For how long have you worn those clothes?" The old man said: "I have worn them for one year." The Buddha asked the old man again: "If you wish to wash this clothing to remove the grime, how many years would it take to clean it completely?" The old man said: "If I obtain one bushel of pure lye, it will become clean in just a moment of washing." The Buddha said to the old man: "Your accumulated sins are like the five hundred carts of firewood, and like the grime of one year's clothing." The old man then received and observed the five precepts from the Buddha. Thereupon, the Buddha expounded a scripture of several hundred words; the old man's mind opened with sudden clarity, and he immediately attained the stage of non-retrogression.

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2.40

Once, a hundred years after the Buddha's parinirvāṇa, there was a king named Aśoka who was exceedingly extravagant. He built a palace ten li square and summoned painters from all the lesser kingdoms. When the painters arrived, each painted various figures according to his fancy. Far to the north of Kashmir, there was a small kingdom furthest of all; it sent a painter who arrived late. He observed that the walls, both inside and outside the buildings, were entirely covered with paintings, except for a space of five feet beside the doorpost that remained unpainted. He looked up again and examined all the subjects, not knowing what else to create. He thought to himself: "When I first came, I passed a small city. Beside the city was a pond, and in the pond were lotuses. I saw a woman there, exquisitely beautiful and possessing the physical signs worthy of becoming the mother of the realm." Having thought this over, he painted the city, pond, lotuses, and the portrait of the woman, completing it. When the king arrived at the hall before entering, he saw this painting and asked: "Who painted this?" They replied: "The painter who arrived late." The king immediately asked: "Did you paint this from an actual likeness, or did you make it up?" He replied: "I painted what I saw; it is not made up." The king asked: "Did you paint her exactly as she looks, or did you embellish her beauty?" He replied: "I did not embellish her; it is just as she looks!" Judging from her signs that this woman was worthy to be the mother of the realm, the king sent an envoy to betroth her as queen. Receiving his orders, the envoy went directly to her country, saw the woman's parents, and said to them: "The king seeks your worthy daughter to be his queen." The woman's father said: "She is already married; what can be done?" He then went to the woman's husband's family and said: "The king has sent me to seek this woman." The journey was far, taking three years to arrive. The father said: "He who would take her is the king, the most exalted of all; you should not begrudge her, but should surrender her to the king at once." This husband was an upāsaka. He thought to himself: "People endanger their lives for wealth and sex; if I do not give her up, he might punish me." He then surrendered his wife to the envoy. They departed, returned, and reported to the king. When the king saw her, he was overjoyed and immediately invested her as queen. Whenever she obtained fine flowers, she would weep sorrowfully. The king asked: "Why do you weep?" The queen said: "Only if the king pardons my offense will I speak!" The king said: "Speak." The queen said: "This scent is exactly like that of my former husband; that is why I weep." The king became enraged and said: "You are the mother of the realm, yet you still long for a base pauper? You are an old hag; you deserve punishment!" He issued a decree sending an envoy to arrest her former husband to see if he was fragrant or not: "If he is not fragrant, she shall indeed be punished." The envoy went and asked his family. The family said: "After this worthy man lost his wife, he informed his parents, became a śramaṇa, and attained the fruit of arhatship." The envoy went into the Buddha's land and said to him: "The king wishes to see and make offerings to the renunciant." The renunciant said: "I have nothing at all; why would he see me again?" The envoy addressed him: "The king wishes to make offerings to the renunciant." The renunciant accompanied the envoy, arrived, and was presented to the king. When the king saw the renunciant, the scent of the renunciant's body surpassed that of a lotus. The king said: "This man has smeared his body with perfume." He had hot water prepared and bathed him, yet the fragrance became even stronger; he then wrapped his body in silk, and his body's scent doubled. The king finally believed, and asked: "Renunciant, by what cause did you obtain such fragrance? I pray that you will reveal and explain it!" The renunciant said to the king: "In a past life, I was a brāhmaṇa. While traveling, I saw someone from afar expounding a sūtra. I joined my palms in joy and praised the bodhisattva with a single mind, and also burned a little incense as an offering. For that reason, I obtained this blessing, which ultimately led to the fruit of the Path."

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眾經撰雜譬喻 — Classical Chinese