經律異相 28.4

28.4

Formerly, King Bimbisāra had a minister who committed an offense and was banished to the southern mountains, a thousand li away from the country. From antiquity, no people lived there and the five grains would not ripen. When the minister arrived there, spring waters flowed freely and the five grains flourished in abundance. Those from neighboring countries who suffered from hunger and cold came to this place. Within a few years, there were three to four thousand households. Those who came were provided with land so that they could make a living. The elders and senior venerable ones among them conferred, saying: 'A state without a ruler is like a body without a head.' Together they went to the minister and elevated him to be king. The minister answered the elders: 'If you take me as king, it must be according to the laws of kings of various realms. There must be ministers of the left and right, civil and military generals, tribute paid from superiors to inferiors, women drafted to fill the palace, and taxes in grain and silk levied as ordinary civil law.' The elders of the state said: 'We respectfully obey your commands; we will follow the king's law in all respects.' Thereupon he was established as king. He appointed his ministers, civil and military officials, and levied corvée upon the people, building city walls, houses, palaces, and watchtowers. The people suffered bitter torment and could no longer bear it. They all conceived thoughts of plotting against the king. The treacherous ministers took the king out hunting, thirty to forty li from the city. In the open wilderness and marsh, they seized the king, intending to kill him. The king asked his attendants: 'For what reason do you kill me?' They all replied: 'The people longed for abundance and ease and treated the king with ritual respect; but when the people are exhausted they think of rebellion, destroying their families and plotting against the state.' The king told them: 'You brought this upon yourselves; it was not my original doing. The gods and spirits know that you wrongfully kill me. Grant me one vow, and I will die without resentment.' He then made this vow: 'Originally, I cleared the wasteland, brought forth the soil, and sustained the people. All who came survived and enjoyed boundless wealth and joy. You yourselves raised me to be king, and relying on other realms we established these measures together; yet now in turn you kill me. I truly harbored no ill will toward these people. If I die, I vow to become a rākṣasa, enter my former body again, and avenge this wrong!' Thereupon they strangled him to death, abandoned his corpse, and left. Three days later, the king's spirit returned to his body, calling itself A-luo-po. He immediately arose, entered the palace, and killed the new king, the palace concubines, and the treacherous ministers around him. He intended to kill everyone. The elders of the state tied themselves with straw ropes, came forward, and confessed to the rākṣasa: 'This was the doing of treacherous ministers, not something the common folk could have known. We beg for your forgiveness and pray that you return to govern the country.' He said: 'I am a rākṣasa. In dealing with humans, for food and drink I must have human flesh.' Rākṣasas are by nature impetuous and angry, not considering difficulties. The elders said: 'The country belongs to the Great King, so it shall be as before. What is needed for food and drink will be provided in turn.' The elders went out together and proclaimed the order to the people: 'From now on, by turn, each household shall produce a small child, alive, to serve as food.' The rākṣasa king ate his way through the three to four thousand households. There happened to be one household of Buddha's disciples who lived piously and kept the Buddha's five precepts. Great and small, the worthy family members wept in sorrow, bowed toward Gṛdhrakūṭa from afar in homage to the Buddha, and repented and blamed themselves. With his divine eye, the Buddha saw their suffering, and said to himself: 'Because of this child, countless people shall be delivered.' He then flew alone to the rākṣasa's gate, manifesting transformative radiant marks that illuminated the interior of his palace. Seeing the light, the rākṣasa suspected it was an extraordinary person; he immediately went out, saw the Buddha, and gave rise to a poisonous mind. He wanted to step forward and devour the Buddha's light, piercing his own eyes. Carrying mountains and spitting fire, all turned into dust. After a long while, exhausted, he was finally subdued and converted. He invited the Buddha to enter and sit, and bowed his head to the ground in homage. The Buddha expounded the Dharma for him, and he listened with single-minded devotion. He immediately received the five precepts and became an upāsaka. The village official had urged the meal forward, snatched the child, and brought him along. The entire family, wailing loudly, followed along the road; countless onlookers felt grief for them. The official cradled the child and presented the food before the rākṣasa. The rākṣasa raised the child in his hands, knelt long, and said to the Buddha: 'The people of the country have been taking turns offering children for my food. Now that I have received the Buddha's five precepts, I must no longer eat humans. I pray to offer this small child as a gift to the Buddha to serve as the Buddha's attendant.' The Buddha accepted it on his behalf, taught the Dharma, and pronounced a benediction. The rākṣasa rejoiced and attained the path of srotāpanna. The Buddha placed the child in his almsbowl, carried him out of the palace gate, returned him to his parents, and said to them: 'Nourish the child well; do not sorrow any longer.' When the crowd saw the Buddha, all were astonished and wondered: 'What deity is this? What blessing does this child possess, that he alone is rescued? What was to be the rākṣasa's food has been snatched back and returned to his parents!' The Buddha then spoke a verse: