經律異相 10.12

10.12

In a past age, in the country of Jiayi, there was an elder who had no son. Both husband and wife had lost their sight. In their hearts, they wished to enter the mountains to seek the supreme assurance, cultivating pure resolve and delighting with faith in seclusion. At that time, there was a bodhisattva named Sarvadarśin, who thought to himself: 'These people have aroused a subtle and wonderful aspiration, but their eyes are blind. If they enter the mountains, they will certainly suffer harm.' When the bodhisattva's life ended, he vowed to be born in the elder's household, and was named Śyāma. He was supremely filial, benevolent, and compassionate, practicing the ten wholesome deeds. Day and night he vigorously served his parents, just as people serve heaven. When he had passed ten years of age, Śyāma knelt long and addressed his parents: 'Originally you aroused a great aspiration, wishing to enter the deep mountains to seek the intention of tranquil, supreme, true reality. How could you cut off your original vow on account of a son? People in the world are impermanent, with a hundred vicissitudes; life is not metal or stone, and when retribution arrives, it knows no set time. I wish that, in accordance with your original intent, you should take advantage of this opportune time to enter the mountains in purity. I myself shall provide for you, never missing the proper seasons.' His parents then entered the mountains. Śyāma gave all the wealth in their household in charity to the poor throughout the kingdom, and then entered the mountains together with his parents. Having arrived in the mountains, Śyāma made a hut of reeds and set out mats and bedding, which were neither cold nor hot and always suitable. After they had been in the mountains for one year, the various fruits were abundant and sweet to eat; spring waters gushed forth, clear and cool; the lotus blossoms in the ponds were luminous with five colors; the sandalwood and assorted trees were twice as fragrant as usual; birds of various kinds made musical sounds; lions, brown bears, black bears, tigers, wolves, and venomous beasts turned toward one another with compassionate hearts, no longer with any intention to harm; they ate grass and fed on fruit, giving rise to no fear. Śyāma was so supremely filial and compassionate that when he trod upon the earth, he feared causing it pain. The heavenly gods and mountain deities constantly assumed human form to console and comfort him day and night. Śyāma wore deerskin clothing, carrying a pitcher to fetch water; the elaphures, deer, and flocks of birds also went there to drink, not fearing one another. At that time, the king of Jiayi entered the mountains on a hunt. Seeing a flock of birds and deer by the water, the king drew his bow and shot at them. The arrow mistakenly struck Śyāma in the chest. Struck by the poisoned arrow, Śyāma raised his voice and cried out loudly: 'Who has shot and killed three men of the Way with a single arrow?' Hearing a human voice, the king immediately dismounted from his horse and went before Śyāma. Śyāma said to the king: 'Elephants die on account of their tusks, rhinoceroses perish on account of their horns, kingfishers die for their feathers, and elaphures and deer die for their skins and meat. On account of what do I now die?' The king asked Śyāma: 'What kind of person are you, wearing deerskin clothing no different from birds and beasts?' Śyāma said: 'I am a person of your majesty's realm. Together with my blind parents, I came here to practice the Way for more than twenty years, and we have never been wrongly harmed by tigers, wolves, or venomous creatures. Now, instead, I have been shot and killed by the king.' At that very moment, a violent wind abruptly arose in the mountains, blowing down and breaking the trees. A hundred birds cried sorrowfully; lions, brown bears, black bears, and fleeing beasts all wailed loudly. The sun lost its bright luster, the flowing springs dried up, the various blossoms withered and died, and thunder and lightning shook the earth. At that time, the blind parents were startled, arose, and said to each other: 'Śyāma went to fetch water and has not returned for a long time. Could it be that he has been harmed by venomous creatures? The cries of beasts and flying birds are wailing unlike ordinary times; wind arises from all four directions, breaking trees. There must surely be some disaster.' At that time, the king was terrified and deeply reproached himself: 'What I have done is abominable! I was originally shooting at deer, but the arrow mistakenly struck him. To shoot and kill a man of the Way carries an exceedingly heavy crime; for greedily craving a little meat, I shall suffer severe calamity. I now offer all the treasures, storehouses, palaces, courtesans, hamlets, suburbs, and walled cities of my whole realm to save your life!' The king then came forward and pulled with his hand to extract the arrow from Śyāma's chest, but it was deep and could not be drawn out. Flying birds and running beasts gathered like clouds from the four directions, wailing and shaking the mountain. The king grew even more terrified; his three hundred and sixty joints all trembled. Śyāma said to the king: 'It is not the king's fault; it was brought about by my own past misdeeds. I do not begrudge my bodily life. I only pity my blind parents: they are already old and frail, and both their eyes are blind. Once they are without me, they will surely perish with no one to look after them. For this reason, I am distressed and afflicted; it is not merely on account of the poison's pain.' The king said once more: 'I would rather enter Niraya and suffer punishment for a hundred kalpas if it would allow Śyāma to live!' He knelt long toward Śyāma and repented his transgression: 'If you pass away, I shall not return to my kingdom, but stay in the mountains to provide for your parents just as when you were alive. Do not worry about this. Let all the devas, nāgas, and spirits bear witness that I shall not breach this vow!' Hearing the king's vow, though struck by the poisoned arrow, Śyāma felt joy and delight in his mind, and held no resentment though he were to die. 'I entrust my parents to the great king. By providing for men of the Way, your present-life offenses will be extinguished and you will attain immeasurable merit.' The king said: 'Tell me where your parents are before you die, so that they may know.' Śyāma then pointed and said: 'Walking from here, not far from this place, you will see a grass hut; my parents dwell in it. Great King, go slowly; do not let my parents be terrified. With skillful means, make them understand. On my behalf, apologize to my parents: impermanence has now arrived, and I must proceed to the afterlife. I do not begrudge my life, but only think of my parents, old of age and blind in both eyes. Once they are without me, they will have nothing to rely upon. Because of this, I am agonized and feel bitter cruelty. Death is one's natural lot, brought about by past misdeeds, from which none can escape. Now, before my parents, I repent all the evil deeds I have committed since countless kalpas ago. May my offenses be extinguished and merit arise from this! I vow to meet with my parents life after life and never be separated from them. I pray that my parents live out their full lifespans without grief or calamity, and that devas, nāgas, ghosts, and spirits constantly follow to protect them, so that disasters and harms are extinguished.' The king then took several men and went to the parents' place. After the king had departed, Śyāma suddenly breathed his last. Birds and beasts wailed, circling Śyāma's corpse and licking the blood from his chest with their mouths. The blind parents, hearing these sounds, became even more frightened. As the king walked quickly, rustling the grass and trees, there was the distinct sound of someone approaching. The parents said in alarm: 'Who is this? It is not my son's footsteps.' The king said: 'I am the king of Jiayi. Having heard that there are men of the Way practicing the Way in the mountains, I have come to make offerings.' The parents said: 'Welcome, Great King! It has wearied your majesty to deign to come far into the wild grasslands. Is your majesty well in body? Are the palaces, ladies, crown prince, officials, and people of the realm all well and at peace? Are the wind and rain harmonious, the five grains abundant, and neighboring countries free from mutual aggression?' The king replied to the men of the Way: 'By the grace of the men of the Way, all are safe and peaceful.' The king inquired after the blind parents: 'Coming to stay in the mountains, you have toiled and labored. Among the trees, do flying birds and running beasts ever harm the men of the Way? Amid the cold and heat in the mountains, are you at ease and peaceful in accordance with the seasons?' The blind parents said: 'By the great king's profound grace, we are always at ease. We have a filial son named Śyāma, who constantly gathers fruits and spring water for us, always in abundance. In the mountains, wind and rain are harmonious, and we lack nothing. We have grass mats to sit upon and fruits to eat. Śyāma went to fetch water and will soon return.' Hearing this, the king felt heartbroken, tears fell, and he said: 'I am vile and abominable. Entering the mountains to hunt, I saw a herd of deer by the water, drew my bow, and shot at them. The arrow mistakenly struck Śyāma, so I have come to tell you.' Hearing this, the parents threw themselves down, as if a great mountain had collapsed, shaking the very earth. The king then stepped forward to support and raise them. The parents wailed, looking up to heaven, and spoke: 'Our son was filial and compassionate; treading upon the earth, he feared causing it pain. What crime did he commit that you shot and killed him? Earlier, when the wind arose in the trees and a hundred birds cried mournfully, we suspected our son had died.' The parents wept and wailed. The father said: 'Stop. A person's life must end; it cannot be averted. Now let us ask the king: Where was Śyāma shot, and is he currently dead or alive?' The king recounted Śyāma's words, and the parents were overcome with grief: 'Once we are without our son, both of us will likewise die. We beg the king to lead the two of us to his corpse.' The king then led the blind parents to the corpse. The father embraced his feet and the mother embraced his head, crying out loudly to heaven. The mother then licked the wound on Śyāma's chest with her tongue, [praying:] 'May the poison enter my mouth! I am already old and my eyes cannot see; let my body take my son's place! Let Śyāma live and me die; in dying, I shall have no regret. If Śyāma was so supremely filial that heaven and earth know it, let the arrow be drawn out, the poison removed, and Śyāma live again!' Thereupon, the seat of the lord of the second heaven, Trāyastriṃśa, shook. Seeing with his divine eye the two men of the Way embracing their son and wailing, it was heard even up to the fourth heaven, Tuṣita, and all the heavenly palaces shook. Śakra, Brahmā, and the Four Heavenly Kings immediately came down before Śyāma from the Fourth Heavenly King['s realm] in the time it takes a person to bend or stretch an arm. They poured divine medicine into Śyāma's mouth. When the medicine entered Śyāma's mouth, the arrow drew itself out, and he was revived as before. The parents were startled and overjoyed; seeing that Śyāma had died and lived again, both of their pairs of eyes were opened. Flying birds and wild beasts were all greatly delighted; the wind ceased, the clouds dispersed, and the sun shone with renewed brightness. Spring water gushed forth, flowers of five colors bloomed, and the trees flourished twice as much as usual. The king was overjoyed beyond measure. He paid homage to Śakra, lord of the devas, and bowed to the parents and their son Śyāma, wishing to offer the wealth of his kingdom to the men of the Way. Śyāma said: 'If the king wishes to repay this kindness, let the king return, comfort the people, and have them all uphold the precepts. Great King, do not hunt and slay beasts again. In the present life your body will not be at peace, and when your lifespan ends, you will enter Niraya. When people dwell in the world, affection and love are fleeting; separation is long, and cannot be preserved forever. The king has past merit and has now become a king; do not become reckless simply because you have attained sovereignty.' The king reproached himself: 'From this day forth, I shall act according to Śyāma's teaching.' His several hundred followers were all overjoyed and upheld the five precepts. Upon his return, the king ordered that throughout the realm, anyone who had blind parents like Śyāma's should provide for them and not abandon them; those who violated this would be subjected to severe punishment. Thereupon, because Śyāma had lived, the people in the realm taught one another, both high and low, to uphold and practice the five precepts and the ten wholesome deeds; upon death, they were born in heaven, and none entered the three bad destinations. The Buddha told Ānanda: 'Śyāma in that past life was myself. The blind father was my present father, King Śuddhodana. The blind mother was the queen, Lady Māyā. The king of Jiayi was Ānanda. The king of the devas, Śakra, was Maitreya. What caused me quickly to attain the assurance of the supreme, true Way was entirely the grace of my parents' loving-kindness and my providing for them. Rising from death to life moved the devas, nāgas, ghosts, and spirits; the parents' grace is heavy, and this was brought about by a filial son. Now attaining Buddhahood and also delivering the people of my kingdom are both due to the virtue of filiality.' (Extracted from the Sūtra on Śyāma)