經律異相 18.55

18.55

In the kingdom of Śrāvastī, there was a destitute old man over two hundred years old. His eyebrows grew long elegant hairs, his ears reached above his head, his teeth were regular like cowrie shells, and his hands hung below his knees. To look upon his appearance, he seemed to possess physical marks [of fortune], yet he was impoverished and suffered bitterly. His clothes could not cover his form, leaving his five limbs exposed; his belly was constantly empty with hunger, and when he walked, he could barely move, displaying only the faintest breath of life. He wished to go and see the Buddha, but Śakra and Brahmā, who guarded the gate, ordered that he not be admitted. The old man cried out in a loud voice, saying: "Though I am destitute and of the lowest among the people, it is the good fortune of a thousand years that I now encounter the Buddha! I wish to ask about demerit and merit, seeking release from manifold sufferings. I have heard that the Bhagavat's benevolence and compassion extend everywhere, and none fail to receive his grace. Yet turning me away alone falsely slanders the Sage's intention!" The Buddha called for him to be brought forward. He crawled inch by inch, made obeisance to the Buddha, and wept with mingled sorrow and joy. Describing his destitution and suffering, [he said,] "I wished to behold you once, and after ten years it has only now been fulfilled. My breath and strength are already spent; I have no way to advance or retreat. I feared only that my life would end here, defiling the sacred gate and further compounding my sin. The Heavenly Honoured One has had pity and not stripped away my original vow. If I die like this, I have no further regrets. I pray only for a swift end, and wish that you bestow your grace!" The Buddha said: "A person's taking of birth is mostly brought about by conditions. I shall explain it for you. In your past life, you were born into the family of a wise king of a mighty, great kingdom. At that time you were the crown prince, exceedingly arrogant and noble. Above, you were cherished by your parents; below, you were served by the ministers and common people. Taking advantage of this, you gave free rein to your desires and looked down upon others, holding your head high and gazing proudly, arrogant, unyielding, and aloof. Your hundreds of millions of treasures were all the property of the people, and the impoverishment and exhaustion of the commoners were entirely due to your levies and extortions. You knew only how to hoard and never gave alms. At that time, there was a poor, simple śramaṇa named Jìngzhì who had come from a distant land. He came specially to your residence seeking very little—only a Dharma robe. Yet you completely refused to receive him and treated him with great cruelty. You neither gave him robes nor provided him with food, making him sit empty-handed before you, nor would you permit him to leave. For seven days and nights, all water and gruel were cut off from him. Only when he showed but the faintest breath of life did you rejoice greatly, gathering the multitude to watch him and taking it as the greatest pleasure. A minister admonished you, saying: 'The śramaṇa is compassionate and reverent, inwardly complete in virtue and the Way. Though frozen, he is not cold; though starved, he is not hungry. The reason he came to beg was merely to create merit [for you]. Since you will not give to him, how can you press him to extremity? I beg you to send him away and not incur sin.' The crown prince then said: 'What sort of man is this who falsely claims virtue and the Way? Let us distress him a little, just so that he does not die; then we will release him, and there will be nothing to worry about.' Thereupon he sent him away, driving him out of the country. Ten or more leagues outside the border, [the śramaṇa] encountered starving bandits who wished to kill and eat him. The śramaṇa said: 'I am an impoverished, frozen śramaṇa, emaciated with bones standing out, my flesh withered, foul-smelling, and unfit to eat. You would kill me in vain and gain nothing from it.' The starving bandits replied: 'We have been starved and exhausted for days, eating only dirt. Though you are a little thin, you are still meat. We will never let you go; you must simply submit to death!' While they were back and forth like this for a long time, the crown prince learned of it and immediately rode out in haste, saying: 'Though I could not give him food and clothing, how could I let bandits kill him?' Seeing the prince, the bandits all kowtowed, begged pardon for their crime, and released the śramaṇa. That śramaṇa was Maitreya. Therefore, today you suffer this retribution of poverty due to stinginess and greed. The reason for your long life is that you saved the life of the śramaṇa. Sin and merit each correspond like a shadow or an echo." The old man said: "Past deeds are already done; may they come to an end today. I beg that with this life on the brink of death, I may become a śramaṇa, and in life after life to come, always attend at the Buddha's side." The Buddha said, "Excellent!" At that moment, the old man's beard and hair fell to the ground, a Dharma robe appeared upon his body, his physical vitality became even healthier, his ears and eyes became sharp and clear, he immediately attained supreme determination, entered the gate of samādhi, praised the Buddha with a verse, bowed, and stepped back.