經律異相 41.4

41.4

舍衛國內。有婆羅門賓頭盧埵闍。其婦醜惡兩眼洞青。七女無男。己貧女窮婦弊好罵。女來求須瞋目涕泣。田有熟穀從他借牛。將往踐之於澤亡失。時婆羅門坐自思惟。我種何罪。婦女所切復失他牛。推覓形疲偶到林中。值見如來。觀之生念。瞿曇沙門今最安樂。無我諸惱。佛知其心。便語之曰。如汝所念。佛告之曰。欲出家不。即白佛言。世尊。聽者甚適鄙願佛曰。善來比丘。鬚髮自墮。身所著衣變成袈裟。佛為說法。成阿羅漢。佛告阿難。過去有國王。名阿波羅提目佉（梁言端正）。以道化物。時有婆羅門。名檀膩䩭。家裏空貧有少熟穀。借牛踐治驅還其主。忘不囑付。牛主雖見謂用未竟。復不收攝二家詳棄。牛主將檀膩䩭詣王決了。出值王家馬走。喚檀膩䩭為我遮馬。下手得石持用擲之。值脚即折。次行到水不知渡處。值一木工。口銜斵斤褰衣垂越。時檀膩䩭問彼人曰。何處可渡。應聲答處。其口已開斵斤墮水。債主所摧加復飢渴。從沽酒家乞少白酒。上床飲之。不意被下有小兒臥。押兒腹潰。往一牆邊。思惟懼罪。自擲跳牆。下有織工。墮上即死。時織工兒復捉得之。便與眾人共將詣王。公殺我父。時諸債主將至王前。爾時牛主前白王言。此人從我借牛。不還見付。失去不償。王問何緣。檀膩䩭言。我實借牛用訖馳還。主亦見之。雖不口付牛在其門。王語彼人。俱為不是。由檀膩䩭口不付汝。當截其舌。由卿見牛不自收攝。當挑汝眼。彼人白王。請棄此牛不樂剜眼截他舌也。即聽和解。馬吏復言。彼之無道折我馬脚。王便問言。此王家馬汝輒折脚。跪白王言。債主將我從道而來。彼人喚我令遮王馬。下手得石擲之。誤折馬脚。王言。由汝喚他當截汝舌。由彼打馬當截其手。馬吏白王。乞各和解。木工前云。檀膩䩭失我斵斤。王語木工。由喚汝故當截其舌。擔物之法禮當用手。由卿口銜。當折兩齒。木工白王。寧棄斵斤莫行此罰。時沽酒母復牽白王枉殺我兒。跪白王言。我飢渴逼。乞少酒飲。不意被下有臥小兒。王當見察。王告母人。汝舍沽酒眾客猥多。何以臥兒置於坐處。二俱有過。汝兒已死。以檀膩䩭與汝作婿。令還有兒乃放使去。母人叩頭曰。聽各和解。我不用夫。時織工兒復前。此人狂暴躡殺我父。王問言曰。汝殺他父。檀膩䩭曰。眾逼責我。惶怖跳牆偶墮其上。實非所樂。王語彼人。二俱不是。卿父已死。以檀膩䩭與汝作父。其人白王。父今已死。我終不用此婆羅門以為父也。聽各共和。王便聽之。時檀膩䩭身事都了故在王前。見二母人共諍一兒。時王明黠以智權計。今唯一兒。二母爭之。聽汝二人各挽一手。誰能得者。其非母者於兒無慈盡力頓牽。所生母者於兒慈深。不忍抴挽。王鑒真偽。詰出非者強摸他兒。即向王首兒還其母。各爾放去。時檀膩䩭便白王言。我時於彼道邊。有一毒蛇請我白王。不知何故從穴出時柔軟變易。還入穴時妨礙苦痛。王答之言。從穴出時無有眾惱。心情和柔身亦如之。在外鳥獸諸事觸嬈。瞋恚隆盛身便麁大。卿可語之。持心不瞋則無此患。

In the kingdom of Śrāvastī, there was a brāhmaṇa named Piṇḍola-dhvaja. His wife was ugly and vicious, with both eyes piercingly blue. They had seven daughters and no sons. He was impoverished and his daughters destitute; his wife was wicked and fond of scolding. Whenever the daughters came asking for their needs, she glared and wept angrily. In his field, there was ripe grain, so he borrowed an ox from another to go and thresh it; but it was lost in the marshland. Then the brāhmaṇa sat and reflected to himself: 'What evil did I sow? Pressed by my wife and daughters, I have now lost another's ox.' Exhausted from searching, he happened to enter a forest. He encountered the Tathāgata, and observing him, the thought arose: 'The śramaṇa Gautama is now at the utmost peace and happiness, free of all my afflictions.' The Buddha knew his mind and said to him: 'It is just as you think.' The Buddha asked him: 'Do you wish to leave the household life?' He immediately addressed the Buddha: 'Bhagavat, if you permit it, it would fulfill my humble wish.' The Buddha said: 'Welcome, monk.' His beard and hair fell off naturally, and the clothes on his body turned into kāṣāyas. The Buddha preached the Dharma for him, and he became an arhat. The Buddha told Ānanda: In the past there was a king named Avaratimukha (which in the Liang language means 'Upright'). He converted beings through the Way. At that time, there was a brāhmaṇa named Daṇḍin. His household was destitute, and he had a little ripe grain. He borrowed an ox to thresh it, drove it back to its owner, but forgot to entrust it to him. Although the owner saw it, he assumed Daṇḍin was not yet done using it and did not take it in; both families neglected it, and it was lost. The owner of the ox took Daṇḍin to the king for judgment. As they went out, they encountered a horse of the royal household running loose. Someone shouted to Daṇḍin: 'Block the horse for me!' He reached down, picked up a stone, and threw it; it struck the horse's leg, which immediately broke. Next, walking to a river, he did not know where to cross. He encountered a carpenter who, holding an adze in his mouth, hitched up his clothes and was about to cross. Daṇḍin asked the man: 'Where can one cross?' Responding to the call, his mouth opened, and the adze fell into the water. Pressed by his creditors, and moreover hungry and thirsty, he begged a little white wine from a wineshop. Climbing onto a couch, he drank it; unexpectedly, beneath the blanket lay a small child, and he crushed the child, bursting its belly. Going to the side of a wall, he thought in terror of his crimes, threw himself over, and leaped down the wall. Below was a weaver; Daṇḍin landed on him, killing him instantly. The weaver's son caught him and, together with the crowd, took him before the king, shouting: 'This man killed my father!' The creditors brought him before the king. At that time, the owner of the ox came forward and said to the king: 'This man borrowed an ox from me, did not return and hand it over, lost it, and will not compensate me.' The king asked for the reason. Daṇḍin said: 'I indeed borrowed the ox. Having finished using it, I hurried back with it. The owner also saw it. Although I did not verbally hand it over, the ox was at his gate.' The king said to that man: 'Both of you are in the wrong. Because Daṇḍin did not verbally hand it over to you, his tongue should be cut off. Because you saw the ox and did not take it in yourself, your eyes should be gouged out.' The man said to the king: 'I beg to abandon this ox; I take no pleasure in having my eyes gouged out and another's tongue cut off.' The king immediately permitted them to settle. The horse officer said again: 'His unprincipled action broke my horse's leg.' The king then asked: 'This is a royal horse; why did you break its leg?' Kneeling, he said to the king: 'My creditor was bringing me along the road, and that man called to me to block the royal horse. I reached down, found a stone, and threw it, mistakenly breaking the horse's leg.' The king said: 'Because you called to him, your tongue should be cut off; because he struck the horse, his hand should be cut off.' The horse officer said to the king: 'I beg that we each settle peacefully.' The carpenter came forward and said: 'Daṇḍin caused me to lose my adze.' The king said to the carpenter: 'Because he called to you, his tongue should be cut off. But by propriety, carrying things should be done with hands; because you held it in your mouth, two of your teeth should be broken.' The carpenter said to the king: 'I would rather give up the adze than undergo this punishment.' Then the wine-selling mother pulled him forward and said to the king: 'He wrongfully killed my child!' Kneeling, he said to the king: 'I was pressed by hunger and thirst and begged for a little wine to drink. I did not realize there was a child lying under the blanket. May the king examine this.' The king said to the woman: 'Your house sells wine, and guests crowd it in great numbers. Why did you place a sleeping child in a seating area? Both of you are at fault. Your child is already dead. I will give Daṇḍin to you to be your husband; once you have a child again, he shall be released.' The woman kowtowed and said: 'Allow us each to settle peacefully. I have no use for a husband.' Then the weaver's son stepped forward: 'This man, violent and rash, trampled my father to death!' The king asked: 'Did you kill his father?' Daṇḍin said: 'The crowd was pressing and demanding from me; in terror I leaped from the wall and happened to fall on him. Truly it was not intentional.' The king said to that man: 'Both of you are in the wrong. Your father is already dead; I will give Daṇḍin to you to be your father.' The man said to the king: 'My father is now dead, but I will never accept this brāhmaṇa as my father! Allow us to settle peacefully.' The king then permitted it. When Daṇḍin's affairs were all concluded, while he was still before the king, he saw two women disputing over one child. The king, being bright and clever, devised a skillful expedient: 'There is now only one child, and two mothers dispute it. I permit the two of you each to pull one hand. Whoever can pull him away shall have him.' The one who was not the mother had no compassion for the child and pulled with all her might; the birth mother had deep compassion for the child and could not bear to drag him. The king discerned the true from the false, interrogated the impostor who had forcefully claimed another's child, and she immediately bowed her head to the king, returning the child to its mother. Both were then dismissed. Then Daṇḍin said to the king: 'At that time, beside the road, a venomous snake asked me to tell the king: it does not know why, when it emerges from its hole, it is soft and flexible, but when returning to the hole, it is hindered and pained.' The king answered him: 'When emerging from its hole, it has no vexations; its mind is gentle and its body corresponds. Outside, birds and beasts stir and disturb it; its wrath surges, and its body becomes swollen and coarse. You may tell it: if it guards its mind and does not get angry, it will not have this affliction.'