經律異相 31.19

31.19

Formerly, in the state of Yebo, there was a king named Shisui. The crown prince was named Xudana (Sudāna / Viśvantara). Universal with the four immeasurables, he protected everyone, and his words never harmed anyone. He constantly vowed to give generously to relieve and save the multitude of living beings, [wishing,] "May I receive boundless blessings in future lives!" The foolish, not observing changes of impermanence, consider things dependable; the wise clearly perceive the wealth belonging to the five houses. When someone wanted clothing, food, gold, silver, various jewels, carriages, horses, fields, or houses, there was no request he would not grant. His radiant fame spread far and wide, and [people of] the four seas sighed in admiration. His royal father possessed a white elephant, martial, fierce, and powerful, able to counter sixty hostile states; whenever they came to battle, the elephant was always victorious. The kings [of those states] held council together and sent eight brāhmaṇas to beg for the white elephant. The prince was delighted and asked what they sought. They replied, "We wish to beg for the white elephant that walks upon lotus blossoms. The elephant's name is Luozhewotan (Rājavadana / Rājavardhana)." The prince said, "Excellent! Gold, silver, and diverse treasures are also yours as your heart desires." He immediately ordered an attendant, "Quickly equip the white elephant with a saddle and bridle of gold and silver!" Holding the elephant's bridle in his left hand and a golden pitcher in his right, he washed the brāhmaṇas' hands and with loving joy bestowed the elephant. The brāhmaṇas rejoiced greatly; having completed their auspicious wishes, they mounted the elephant and departed. The chief minister and all the officials were all disconsolate. They all said, "This elephant is fiercely powerful; in battle it is always victorious. Now that it has been bestowed upon an enemy state, what shall we rely upon?" They reported the matter fully to the king. Hearing this, the king looked sorrowful, and after a long while said, "The crown prince loves and delights in the Buddha's path; taking the relief of the impoverished, the saving of the destitute, and compassionate nurture as his conduct, he cannot be restrained. If we were to imprison or punish him, that would be contrary to right principle." The officials all said, "The counsel of polishing and refining [conduct] is never at fault. Imprisonment and punishment are indeed cruel; your ministers dare not propose them. Banishing him from the state and placing him in the wilderness to let him reflect and repent within ten years—this is your ministers' wish." The king then sent an envoy, who told him, "The elephant is the treasure of the state; yet did you bestow it on our enemies? [The king] cannot bear to inflict punishment on you; quickly leave the state!" The envoy conveyed the royal command in this manner. The crown prince replied, "I dare not disobey the royal decree. I only request to make donations for seven more days using my private wealth, without presuming to touch the state's [property]." The envoy reported this, and the king granted permission. The prince joyfully gave extensive charity to the poor and destitute, proclaiming, "Come quickly, and take whatever your hearts desire!" When the seven days ended, the poor had all become wealthy. His wife was named Mandi (Madrī), originally the daughter of kings, graceful and delicate in beauty, peerless in the whole realm. From head to foot she wore necklaces of the seven jewels. [The prince] said to his wife, "Arise and listen to my words! The great king has banished me to Mount Dande (Daṇḍaka) for a term of twelve years. Did you know this?" His wife looked at the prince in alarm, shed tears, and said, "For what crime have you been banished, abandoning the honor and glory of the state to reside in the deep mountains?" He answered, "Because I gave the state's famous elephant to the king of an enemy state, the [royal father] and the ministers were enraged and banished me, that is all." His wife then made a vow: "May the state be abundant and fertile, and may the king, ministers, and millions of subjects be wealthy and have limitless longevity! We should simply establish our resolve in the mountain marshes and vow to realize the Way." The prince said, "Consider that those mountain marshes are frightful places where tigers, wolves, and venomous beasts make it difficult to stay. There are also venomous insects, mountain goblins, and destructive ghosts; thunder, lightning, fierce storms, wind, rain, clouds, and mists are extremely terrifying. The cold and heat are extreme; the trees afford little shelter; the caltrops, gravel, and rocks are more than bare feet can endure. You are the daughter of a king, born into glory and pleasure, raised within the palace. Your clothes are fine and soft; your food and drink are delicious; when you sleep there are curtains and canopies with various musics echoing in your ears; all your wishes are indulged. Now, residing in the mountain marshes, sleeping on grass mats and eating fruits and vegetables are things people cannot bear. How could you endure it?" The wife said, "Fine [garments], many treasures, curtains, and delicious food—what benefit are they to oneself if one is separated from the prince while alive? A king is known by his banner; fire is known by its smoke; a woman is known by her husband. I rely on the prince just as I rely on my parents. When the prince was in the state, giving charity to the four directions, I always shared your vows. Now that you are to traverse dangers, if I were to remain and guard glory, how could that be the way of benevolence? If someone were to come begging and I did not see my husband, the anguish in my heart would surely cause my death without a doubt." The prince said, "If people from distant states come to beg for my wife and children, I will have no refusal in my heart. If you, out of affectionate attachment, should happen to go against the way of giving, you would cut off vast beneficence and destroy my grave responsibility." The wife said, "The prince's generosity is rare in this world. You must fulfill your great vow and never grow weary! Through hundreds of thousands of myriad lifetimes, there has been no one like you in establishing the Buddha's grave responsibility; I dare not oppose you." The prince said, "Excellent!" He then took his wife and children to take leave of his mother. Bowing his head to the ground, he said in sorrowful farewell, "I pray you dismiss heavy sorrow and preserve the peace of your jade body. State affairs are burdensome; frequently admonish [the king] with compassion. Do not allow willful acts to wrong those heavenly subjects; endure what is hard to endure!" The mother said, "Before I had a son, I made vows seeking an heir. During my pregnancy, it was like a tree bearing blossoms, day by day waiting for its fruition. Heaven did not deny my vow and granted me a son; yet now that you have been raised to adulthood, we must be separated in life! The royal consorts and concubines will no longer respect me." The prince, his wife, and their children bowed and took their leave. High and low in the palace all choked with tears. Going out, he bid a sorrowful farewell to the ministers and left the city together with them. Everyone whispered, "The prince is the sacred spirit of the state, the most revered of all treasures. What heart do his parents have to banish him?" Sitting outside the city, the prince thanked those who had come to see him off and sent them back to their homes. The common people prostrated themselves, and all raised their voices in bitter mourning; some beat their breasts, stamped their feet, and cried out to Heaven, their cries shaking the realm. Having traveled far from the state, he sat beneath a tree. A brāhmaṇa came from afar to beg for the precious clothing on his body and those of his wife and children; [the prince] gave away all their pearls and gems. He had his wife and children mount the chariot, took the reins, and set off. Just as they set out on the road, another brāhmaṇa came begging for the horses; he gave the horses to him. He then drew the chariot himself within the shafts to proceed on the way. Another brāhmaṇa came begging for his chariot; he immediately gave the chariot to him. The prince's chariot, horses, clothes, body treasures, and miscellaneous goods were completely exhausted with nothing remaining. He had his wife carry their daughter in her arms while he carried the boy himself. After twenty-one days, they reached the mountains. The prince saw that the trees in the mountain were lush and flourishing, with flowing springs of sweet water and an abundance of sweet fruits; wild ducks, wild geese, and mandarin ducks disported among them. The prince said to his wife, "The trees reach into the sky with seldom a broken branch; flocks of birds sing plaintively, and springs and fruits are exceedingly plentiful, quite sufficient for food and drink; we need only devote ourselves to the Way." The ascetics in the mountains all maintained their discipline and loved study. There was an ascetic named Ajutuo (Acyuta) who had resided long in the mountains and possessed wonderful virtue. [The prince] went with his wife and children to visit him, bowed his head, and said, "I have brought my wife and children here to learn the Way. May you bestow your vast compassion and instruct me to fulfill my resolve!" The ascetic instructed him. The prince then gathered firewood and grass to make a hut, tied his hair, wore reed clothing, ate fruits, and drank from the springs. The son was named Yeli (Jāli); wearing small grass clothes, he followed his father in and out. The daughter was named Jianayan (Kṛṣṇājinā); wearing deerskin clothes, she followed her mother in and out. After they stayed in the mountain for one night, the heavens increased the spring waters for them and brought forth medicinal trees anew. Later, there was an impoverished old brāhmaṇa named Jiuliusun (Kuruśūdra / Jujaka), whose wife was young, blooming, and upright in appearance. As she carried a pitcher to draw water, she met youths on the road who obstructed her and mocked her, saying, "Are you so poor that you covet that old man's wealth, hoping to settle down with him? That old man studies the Way hoping to achieve something, yet he is stubborn, foolish, perverse, and obstinate; what is it that you covet in him? His face is ugly and dark, his nose is crooked like a hawk's; his body is twisted, his face wrinkled, his lips protruding; his speech is stammering and halting; both of his eyes are blue-green, and his appearance resembles a ghost. There is no fine feature on his entire body—who would not loathe him? Being his wife, are you not ashamed and disgusted?" The woman shed tears and departed. The old man's beard and sideburns were completely white, like frost adhering to a tree; morning and evening he did not die, and she could do nothing about it. Returning home, she related this matter in full to her husband: "If you do not have slaves or servants, I will leave you!" The husband said, "I am poor; by what means can I suddenly obtain servants?" The wife said, "I have heard that Prince Xudana has great compassion to succor the multitude and has been banished to the mountains. He has two children; if you beg for them, he will bestow them upon you." His wife repeatedly spoke of this; affection for a wife is hard to refuse, so he followed her words. Searching for the way, he met a hunter. The hunter originally knew the reason for the prince's banishment, and angrily cursed him, saying, "I will cut off your head! Why do you ask about the prince?" The brāhmaṇa, startled and terrified, said, "The king and the ministers ordered me to invite the prince to return to the state to become king." [The hunter] replied, "Very good!" and joyfully showed him the place. When [the brāhmaṇa] reached and saw the small hut, the prince also saw him coming. The two children, seeing him, were terrified at heart. The brothers said together, "Our father delights in giving, and this man has come from afar; as the wealth is exhausted and has no replacement, he will surely bestow us brothers upon him!" Holding hands, they both fled. Their mother had previously dug a shelter pit large enough to hold a person; the two children entered it and covered the top with firewood, warning each other, "When Father calls, do not answer!" The prince consoled [the brāhmaṇa], saying, "Traveling so far, you must be weary!" He replied, "Coming from there, my whole body aches with distress, and I am also very hungry and thirsty." The prince served him fruit juice. [The brāhmaṇa continued,] "Now I have purposely come in desperation, hoping to prolong my feeble life." The prince said with pity, "My wealth is exhausted, but I have no regrets." The brāhmaṇa said, "You could give your two children to support my old age." He replied, "My heart will not refuse." The prince called for the children. The brothers were terrified and said to each other again, "Our father calls for us; he will surely bestow us on this ghost!" Disobeying his command, they did not answer. The prince knew they were hiding in the pit; removing the firewood, he saw them. Coming out, the children embraced their father, trembling, weeping, and wailing, saying, "This is merely a ghost, not a brāhmaṇa! We have seen many brāhmaṇas, but none has ever had an appearance like this. Do not make us food for a ghost! Why is our mother so late in returning from gathering fruits? Today we will certainly die, eaten by the ghost! When Mother returns and seeks us, like a cow seeking her calf, she will run wildly in bitter sorrow, and Father will surely regret it!" The prince said, "In all my life of giving, I have never felt the slightest regret. Since I have promised you, do not resist!" The brāhmaṇa said, "I am old and my energy is weak; if the children flee and run to their mother, [what then?] The prince has vast generosity—bind them and hand them over to me!" The prince held the children and had the brāhmaṇa bind them, holding the end of the rope himself. The two children fell prostrate and rolled on the ground before their father, wailing and calling out to their mother, saying, "Heavenly spirits, earthly deities, and gods of the mountain trees, take pity and inform our mother: 'Your two children have been bestowed upon someone; you may see them once more!'" Their sorrow moved heaven and earth, and the mountain spirits made sounds like peals of thunder. At that time, while the mother was gathering fruits, she felt deep unease in her heart. Looking up at the azure sky, she saw neither clouds nor rain, yet her right eye twitched, the sole of her left foot itched, and milk flowed from both her breasts. The mother reflected, "This omen is very great; I must return to check on my children." Casting aside the fruits, she rushed back in panic, as if mad. Śakra thought, "The bodhisattva's resolve is exalted, seeking to fulfill his great mission. If his wife arrives in time, she might disrupt his lofty resolve." He transformed himself into a lion crouching across the road. The woman said, "You are the king among beasts; I am the daughter of a king among humans, and together we dwell in this mountain. I have two children, both still small and young; since morning they have not eaten, and are waiting for me." The lion stepped aside, and the woman was able to proceed on the road. Turning back, before her [Śakra] transformed into a white wolf; the woman spoke as before, and the wolf also stepped aside. He then transformed into a tiger, and calculating that the brāhmaṇa was now far away, he finally withdrew. When the woman saw the prince sitting alone, she became sad and terrified, saying, "Where have my children gone, that you sit here alone? Whenever the children saw me return, they would run to me, leaping with joyful laughter, saying, 'Mother has returned!' Now the children's toys—mud elephants, mud oxen, mud horses, mud pigs, and various handicrafts—lie scattered all over the ground. Seeing them, my heart is stricken and I will go mad! Have they not been swallowed by tigers, wolves, ghosts, or bandits? Quickly dispel this anguish, or I will surely die!" After a long while, the prince said, "A brāhmaṇa came asking for the two children, saying, 'My years are drawing to a close and my life is feeble; I wish to support myself with them.' I have bestowed them upon him." Hearing these words, the woman leaped in anguish and threw herself to the ground, rolling in bitter sorrow, weeping tears and saying, "It is truly just as I dreamed last night! I dreamed that I saw an old, poor brāhmaṇa cut off both my breasts, take them, and run quickly away—it was indeed for this day!" Wailing in grief, she called upon Heaven, shaking the whole mountain. Seeing his wife's grief was extreme, the prince said to her, "I originally feared this from you. In honoring filial piety and serving the venerated, there is nothing requested that I do not give away; our mutual oath was very clear. Yet now you mourn in grief to disturb my mind!" The wife said, "In the prince's pursuit of the Way, how extreme is his toil!" Śakra and all the devas held council together and said, "The prince's Way is vast, giving universally without end. Let us test him by asking for his wife." Śakra transformed into a brāhmaṇa and said, "You harbor benevolence like heaven and earth, universally saving the multitude of beings and giving without refusal; therefore, I have come to take refuge in you with my heart. Your wife is virtuous and chaste, and the fragrance of her virtue is heard far and wide; therefore, I have come to beg for her." [The prince] replied, "Very good!" Suddenly the heavens and earth shook violently, and the devas, humans, ghosts, and spirits all sighed in praise of his goodness. The brāhmaṇa said, "I am the Lord of Heaven, not an ordinary man of the world. I came expressly to test you. You revere the Buddha's wisdom; your exemplary conduct is peerless. What wish do you desire now? Ask freely, and it will surely be granted." The prince said, "I wish to attain great wealth, constantly delight in giving, and be free of greed and transgression. And now, I wish that my royal father and the subjects of the state may think of me and be reunited." The Lord of Heaven said, "Excellent!" and immediately vanished. The brāhmaṇa rejoiced to have obtained their labor; walking without feeling tired, he dragged the two children along as if capturing runaway slaves. The children, being grandsons of a king, had enjoyed honor, joy, and freedom; now torn away from their parents, they were bound with ropes, their skin wounded at every knot, wailing and calling for their mother. When he whipped them to make them run, blood flowed and reddened the ground. The heavenly spirits took pity on them, untied their bonds, healed their wounds, made sweet fruits grow for them, and made the ground soft. The brother and sister picked fruits and handed them to each other to eat, saying, "They are as sweet as the fruits in the royal park! The ground is as soft as the woolen rugs beside the king!" Supporting each other, the brother and sister looked up to heaven and called for their mother, tears streaming over their bodies. Arriving at his home, [the brāhmaṇa] laughed with joy and said, "I have obtained two slaves for you, to do as you command!" Seeing the children, the wife said, "Slaves are not like this! These children are handsome, with delicate hands and feet; they are not capable of manual labor. Quickly go and sell them, and buy others who can be put to work!" Intending to go to another state, the devas bewildered his path, so that he went instead to their native land. The subjects recognized them, and all said, "These are the grandsons of the great king!" They immediately reported this to the king. The king called them into the palace; inside the palace, high and low all wept. The king wished to embrace the two children, but they would not approach. The king said, "Why is this?" The children said, "Formerly we were the king's grandchildren; now we are base slaves. By what reason should we sit upon the king's lap?" The king asked the brāhmaṇa, "How did you come to obtain these children?" He answered truthfully. [The king] asked, "How much money to sell the children?" Before the brāhmaṇa could reply, the grandson interrupted, "The boy is worth one thousand silver coins, plus one hundred bullocks and one hundred cows. The girl is worth one thousand gold coins, plus two hundred bullocks and two hundred cows." The king said, "The boy is older yet cheap, while the girl is younger yet expensive—why is that?" [The boy] replied, "The crown prince is both holy and benevolent, a refuge for the multitude; yet he was banished far away, so we know men are cheap. A daughter of the common people, merely by virtue of her alluring beauty, dwells deep within the palace; so we know women are expensive." The king said, "An eight-year-old child already possesses the discourse of a lofty gentleman; how much more so his father!" When the palace attendants, high and low, heard his subtle admonition, none did not raise their voices in grief. The king paid in full according to the sum, and the brāhmaṇa departed. The king held his two grandchildren and seated them upon his lap, saying, "Earlier you would not be embraced; why do you come so readily now?" They replied, "Earlier we were slaves; now we are the king's grandchildren." He asked, "Living in the mountains, what food does your father sustain himself with?" Both children said, "He sustains himself merely by eating vegetables and tree fruits. Daily he enjoys himself with beasts and flocks of birds, without any sorrow in his heart." The king dispatched envoys to welcome him. When the envoys set out on the road, the trees in the mountains bowed, bent, and stretched as if performing the etiquette of kneeling and rising; flocks of birds sang plaintively, moving human feelings with sorrow. The prince said, "What omen is this?" His wife, lying on the ground, said, "The king's intention has softened, envoys are coming to welcome us, and the gods and spirits are assisting goodness; therefore, this omen has arisen." Since losing her children, the wife had been lying on the ground; only when the envoys arrived did she rise to salute the royal decree. The envoys said, "The king and queen have reduced their meals, shed tears, and their physical life declines day by day as they long to see the crown prince." Looking about to his left and right, the prince felt affectionate longing for the trees and flowing springs in the mountain; brushing away his tears, he mounted the chariot. From the time the envoys set forth, the whole state rejoiced; they swept and cleaned the roads, pitched curtains and canopies in advance, burned incense, scattered flowers, and played music with banners and parasols. The entire realm hurried to and fro, wishing him limitless longevity. When the prince entered the city, he kowtowed and apologized for his faults, then withdrew to inquire after [his parents'] health. The king again entrusted all the treasures of the state treasury to the crown prince, encouraging him to distribute them in charity. The distressed people of neighboring states flocked to him like rivers flowing into the sea. Seeing this, former enemies came bowing to declare themselves vassals; tribute arrived continuously. Bandits and rebels came to esteem benevolence, thieves vied in giving, weapons were laid away in storage, and prisons fell into ruin. The multitude of living beings enjoyed everlasting peace, the ten directions celebrated goodness, and the accumulation of virtue never ceased. Though he initially suffered bitter hardship, he is now an immeasurably revered one. Later, after his life ended, the prince was born into the Tuṣita heaven. Descending from heaven, he was born into the palace of King Śuddhodana; that is my present body. The royal father was Ānanda; his wife was Gopī; his son was Rāhula; his daughter was the arhat mother of Zhuchi; the heavenly king Śakra was Maitreya; the hunter was Udaya; Ajutuo was Mahākāśyapa; and the brāhmaṇa who sold the children was Devadatta. The bodhisattva's compassionate beneficence and generosity were like this (extracted from the *Xudana jing* / *Sudāna-sūtra*).