經律異相 17.4

17.4

In the country of Śrāvastī there was a man named Li. His household was exceedingly wealthy, yet he was old and decrepit, completely without an heir. He prayed and sacrificed to the sun, moon, and heavenly spirits, omitting none, but in the end he could not obtain [a son]. He reflected to himself: "Supplications are of no benefit; precious wealth is squandered, estate management is neglected, sicknesses follow one after another, and disasters strike unceasingly from beginning to end. Slaves die, and the six kinds of domestic animals do not breed. I have been deluded by demonic spirit-masters, who claimed that there would be blessings, yet disasters have repeatedly arrived. This is like a blind person swallowing poison and calling it good medicine; hoping for recovery, he ultimately loses his life. Having already killed living beings in sacrifice, I ought to enter hell; is it not sheer delusion to look for heavenly blessings? In the world there are holy ones of the Buddhist path who have lofty conduct. Those who through study attain immortality are named Arhats (yingzhen). Pure like lapis lazuli, it is only through vigorous meditation that one beholds them. Those who uphold this path only preserve tranquility and silence; having no desires and seeking nothing, they take this as their joy. In the present life they attain peace, and upon death they are reborn in the heavens. Let me constantly make offerings to the Buddha and the Three Venerable Ones." After a year had elapsed, his wife happened to give birth to a boy, who was named Foda (Buddhadeva). Later, she again gave birth to a boy, who was named Sengda (Saṅghadeva). Li instructed the two sons, revealing to them the holy path. Sengda was by nature compassionate, filial, benevolent, and loving toward all creatures. He upheld the Buddhist precepts and drew near to śramaṇas. He was pure and content, and his parents loved him. When Li was bedridden with sickness, he called his eldest son and, weeping, admonished him: "Those who are born must die. Those who keep the precepts are safe; those who violate the precepts are in danger. Sengda is still young, benevolent, filial, pure, and blameless; I now entrust him to you." Having finished speaking, he passed away. Later, [Sengda] repeatedly told and frequently declared to his elder brother that he wished to become a śramaṇa. In that country's custom, if one wished to take a wife, one's phrase was "I wish to become a śramaṇa." Foda immediately betrothed a wife for him, seeking a daughter of a virtuous family named Kuaijian. Her radiant beauty was brilliant and dazzling, dignified and rarely equalled. When the bride came home and ascended the hall, the elder brother gathered the guests, and the nine grades of kinsmen rejoiced. Before the assembly, the elder brother said to his younger brother: "On this very day, are you willing to become a śramaṇa?" Sengda replied: "Indeed, it has been my long-standing vow." The elder brother bantered with him, saying: "You may follow your aspiration." The younger brother's heart was joyful; he bowed to his elder brother and immediately went into the mountains. He saw a śramaṇa, young and handsome, sitting alone beneath a tree. He asked, saying: "Virtuous one, for what reason did you go forth to become a śramaṇa?" That person had already attained the path of an arhat and foresaw the events of countless kalpas past and future. He said to Sengda: "The Buddha taught that when people indulge in lust, it is like holding a flaming torch while walking against the wind. If the flame gradually turns back and one does not cast down the torch, the fire will burn one's hand. It is also like a crow holding meat in its beak, pursued and attacked by eagles and falcons; if the crow does not drop the meat, disaster will befall its body and life. It is for this reason that I went forth to become a śramaṇa. Furthermore, it is like sweet honey smeared on a sharp knife: a child who craves the sweetness licks it with his tongue and suffers the disaster of severing his tongue. A lustful person seeks only to gratify his foolish mind, giving no thought to what follows, and suffers the harm of burning his body. It is like a moth that, craving the color of fire, hurls itself into a lamp; its body is seen to be burned and boiled—what can it ever gain? Those who are deluded by lust cannot distinguish good from evil; distancing themselves from the virtuous and consorting with the foolish, they sink day by day into darkness; their states perish, their hosts are destroyed, and upon death they enter hell. When evil clings and guilt is fulfilled, how can remorse avail?" (The similes are many and cannot all be recorded.) With such analogies [he taught]. Sengda bowed his head to the [teacher's] feet: "I wish to leave behind the defilements of the world and tread the pure path, upholding the precepts of a śramaṇa as my glory and blessing." The master said: "Wait a little." Sengda said: "My wish is to enter the mountains for dhyāna and quietude." The master said: "One who dwells in the mountains and marshes ought to study the constellations, clearly know the seasons and hours, and always store and keep ready water, fire, parched grain, and honey. Why is this? When robbers seek water, fire, parched grain, or honey from midnight to dawn, when they ask, you must provide it. Supply what the robbers desire; if you thwart their wishes, the robbers will kill you on the spot." Sengda said: "I will." He respectfully accepted the compassionate instruction and only then went into the mountains. His elder brother thought: "Since my younger brother has become a śramaṇa, he will never keep a wife. Kuaijian is dignified and beautiful, and my heart greatly delights in her." He arose, took a zither from Kuaijian, played it, and sang a song of lustful desire, saying: "Brilliantly the saffron grows in the wild; / If its season passes and it is not gathered, the flower will be abandoned. / While you are flourishing, radiant, and your flowery hue is fresh, / Share delight with me." Kuaijian realized he intended to violate her and replied with a song, saying: "Lofty and sublime is my master, the most venerable of gods and humans; / His disciples are pure and clean, designated as śramaṇas. / Contemplating truth is to be a sage; lust is the order of beasts. / I have received strict precepts and will not serve two masters; / I will never live in lust, but would rather be hacked to pieces." Foda then composed a sorrowful melody of passionate love, with seductive words: "My past heart favored you, and so through a good matchmaker I inquired after your name. / I visited the master to divine the signs for an auspicious time; / Apprehensive and anxious, I feared you would not come. / Having beheld your face, my heart is gladdened. / Now if we do not share our joys, would all that not be in vain? / This pledge is fixed; what does the virtuous woman doubt?" Kuaijian, alarmed and agitated, replied in song, saying: "The Buddha established proper conduct, wherein the noble and the humble have their order: / A husband's younger brother's wife is as a daughter; a husband's elder brother is as a father. / I personally uphold the precepts, rising higher day by day; / Truth is the equal of the sages, while lust is the affair of insects and rodents. / Alas, brother-in-law, why do you utter such words?" The elder brother's heart was covetous and deluded. Kuaijian knew that his intention could not be altered. Kuaijian sang again, saying: "When a person dwells in the world, two things must be kept far away: / Unfilial conduct and lustful disorder, acts that violate the Buddha's precepts. / Heaven and the virtuous / Mark their distinction." Foda sang, saying: "Your countenance is brilliant and dazzling; / Among the beautiful women of the whole world, how could there be one of your countenance? / My heart delights in you, and so I would cross great mountains." Kuaijian thought to herself: "This man desires me with perverse and wild frenzy, which will surely bring about great disaster. Let me speak of the foul and impure secretions of the body, and only then will he withdraw." Kuaijian said again: "Kind sir, you crave my body, but what good is this body? The head has nine bones that unite to form a skull." In this manner she spoke at length of all the impurities. Foda thought to himself: "She longs for her husband; how would she ever be willing to listen to me? Only if I kill my younger brother will she follow me." He immediately went out to seek and recruit habitual robbers. Approaching them, he spoke with them, saying: "Do you know the slave registered among my household's six rosters, who fled to become a śramaṇa and is now in the mountains?" The robbers said: "We know him." Foda then brought out gold and silver, gave it to them, and said: "Kill the slave-boy, quickly take his head, along with the clothes on his body, the Dharma robes he carries, and the sandals under his feet, and bring them all back. I will reward you gentlemen with gold and silver once again." The robbers, overjoyed, said: "You will have your fill [of satisfaction] from us!" They then departed and entered the mountains. Reaching his younger brother's place, they shouted, saying: "Śramaṇa, come out quickly!" His younger brother came out and said: "What are you gentlemen seeking? I have water, fire, parched grain, and honey that can be eaten. The time is now midnight." The robbers said: "We do not seek water or fire, nor do we ask for parched grain or honey. At this time we only want to take your head and run off with it." Hearing this, his younger brother was greatly terrified and, weeping, said: "I am not the son of an elder or a feudal lord. I abandoned worldly life for the sake of the Path and have no contention with the world. I have studied the Path for only a short time and have not yet attained the stream-entry (srotāpanna) path; what benefit is there in killing me?" The robbers said: "We have come for your head." The younger brother said to the robbers: "If you wish to obtain treasure, I will write a letter to my elder brother telling him to bestow treasure upon you." The robbers said: "Your elder brother commanded us to come now and kill you." The younger brother said: "I must now die, and it is on account of this woman! Previously, my master admonished me: 'When a person lives with lust, it is like holding a flaming torch while walking against the wind; if one does not drop it, the fire will burn one's hand.' It has become dark, just as my master warned." Weeping, he begged the robbers for one year of life. The robbers said: "We must quickly take your head and go." His younger brother said again: "I pray that you do not kill me immediately. First sever one of my thighs and place it before me." The robbers severed one thigh and placed it before him. As the younger brother suffered this agony, a deity came to his side and said: "Take care not to be terrified; hold firm to your mind. In your past lives, you entered among animals, and humans slaughtered and carved you up, weighing and selling your meat, not just for a single lifetime. You have undergone the hells and hungry ghosts as well; the coming of pain and agony is not something of today alone." Sengda said to the deity: "Please inform my master." The deity immediately told the master, saying: "Robbers wish to kill him. Your disciple, weeping bitterly in sorrow, begs for mercy and wishes to see you." The master immediately flew there and preached the Dharma to him, saying: "Even heaven, earth, and Mount Sumeru are destroyed; the ocean dries up, and upon the appearance of the seven suns, it is ruined. In the world there is a wind named Vairambha; once Vairambha arises, mountains clash against one another, yet this wind also ceases. How much less is your small body worth counting? You should only be mindful of the Buddha. The Buddha always said of himself: 'What flourishes must decay; what gathers must disperse; glorious positions are difficult to preserve.' The body is likewise so." Sengda then attained the stream-entry path (srotāpanna). They severed another thigh; being mindful again of the master's admonitions, he attained the once-returner path (sakṛdāgāmin). The robbers severed his left hand; being mindful again of the master's admonitions, he attained the non-returner path (anāgāmin). The robbers severed his right hand; being mindful again of the master's admonitions, he attained the arhat path. He then had no fear of the three evil destinies; at ease in birth and death, there was nothing he feared any longer. Sengda said: "Bring tree bark." They then peeled tree bark and gave it to him. Sengda took a branch as a brush, punctured his body for blood, and wrote upon the bark, saying: "May my eldest brother's daily life be peaceful and well at all times. When our parents were alive, they entrusted me to my elder brother. My brother did not obey, transgressing and discarding our parents' teachings. For the sake of female beauty, flesh and blood have mutually harmed each other. Transgressing parents' compassionate instruction is unfilial; brutally slaying a person's life is unbenevolent. To kill a single beast incurs no small guilt; how much more so to kill an arhat—the retribution of the five [heinous crimes] will not cease. Now I roam peacefully in tranquility, taking leave of you forever from here on. Strive diligently, strive diligently; may you revere the true Path!" He extended his neck to a length of two feet and said to the robbers: "When you sever my head, it will be just like slicing a head of clay. My fear is that you will fall into hell." The robbers stepped forward, severed his head, took the clothes from his body, his staff, sandals, and bowl, and carried them to his elder brother's place. The elder brother rewarded the robbers richly with gold and silver. The elder brother took his younger brother's head and made an artificial body for it, placed the head on top, dressed it in the clothes, and set the staff, bowl, and sandals beside it. He said to Kuaijian: "Your husband has returned; you may go greet him." Kuaijian was overjoyed and ran to the spot. Seeing him sitting with downcast eyes, she thought he was contemplating the Path. The wife did not dare to call out, but prepared delicious food, intending to feed him as soon as he awakened from his meditation on the Path. By midday he had not awakened; the wife approached and said: "It is already noon; I fear the time will pass." Surprised that he did not respond, she pulled his clothes; the head fell off, and the body scattered completely. The wife beat her breast, leapt, and cried aloud, saying: "You have ultimately met with brutal violence on account of me!" In grief and indignation she cried out to Heaven, her heart and liver shattered; blood gushed from her mouth, and she suddenly passed away. Precept conduct that is pure and unstained is difficult to defile, like empty space; establishing the mind on the holy model is difficult to shake, like the earth; true and pure conduct that is exalted is difficult to reach, like heaven. Before she expired, all the devas sighed in admiration and welcomed her spirit to dwell in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven: enduring for the brief space of an instant, she attained the hard-to-exhaust glory of heaven. The elder brother entered the meditation room and saw his brother's head and body scattered, and the woman dead from vomiting blood. He cried out, saying: "Alas! Having rebelled against Heaven, what I have done is so cruel and harrowing that it has led to this!" He immediately went to the robbers' place and asked: "Did my younger brother have any dying words as he was about to perish?" The robbers showed him the letter. Its words and analogies were sorrowful and poignant; when he finished reading it, his internal organs choked, and tears and mucus streamed forth: "I transgressed the dying compassionate instruction of my revered parents; flesh and blood mutually harmed each other, and moreover I killed an arhat." Stricken with grief, he died, and upon death he entered hell. From the king down to the ministers and citizens, none did not weep. Praising his pure virtue, they gave his younger brother a funeral. The four assemblies erected a stūpa. Devas, dragons, ghosts, and spirits packed the sky, scattering flowers and burning incense, and none did not choke with tears. As for farewells to the great Kuaijian, the people of the country were grieved and mourned, singing praises of her virtue. (Extracted from the Foda sengda jing.)