經律異相 32.12

32.12

At that time, the crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī was named Mūkapakkha. He was handsome beyond compare and possessed knowledge of his own past lives across countless kalpas; he fully knew and perceived the wholesome and unwholesome actions he had undergone, his longevities and premature deaths, and his past beauty and ugliness. At the age of thirteen, he shut his mouth and spoke not a word. He was the king’s only son, cherished and esteemed throughout the state, destined to succeed to the royal throne. Yet he spoke not of hunger or cold; tranquil, simple, and unadorned, his mind was like dried wood. Although he possessed ears and eyes, he paid no heed to seeing or hearing. Although his wisdom and contemplation were far-reaching, he seemed as though devoid of intention. Just like one blind and deaf, he spoke not of east or west; in appearance like one dull-witted and stupid, he was unlike ordinary men. His father grew deeply worried and distressed over this, feeling thoroughly ashamed before neighboring kingdoms and fearing to be bullied and ridiculed. Thereupon he summoned the brāhmaṇas within his kingdom and questioned them: “For what reason is this boy unable to speak?” The brāhmaṇas replied: “Although this boy’s face is handsome, he harbors within him inauspicious misfortune. He wishes to bring harm to his parents and endanger the state, destroying your ancestral lineage; this will soon arrive. That you have had no further sons is entirely due to the obstruction caused by this evil child. It is proper to bury him alive. Then the king’s person can be preserved, the state secured, and the ancestral lineage kept safe, after which you will be able to father noble sons again. If you do not, it will be perilous indeed.” The king believed their foolish madness, taking it to be true, and immediately grew consumed with grief and sorrow. He found no peace in sitting or rising, took no pleasure in music, and wore fine robes and ate delicacies without relish. He then deliberated together with the elders and great ministers, some saying they should cast him away into the deep mountains, and some saying they should throw him into deep waters. One minister said: “Merely dig a deep pit, with a side chamber like a room. Furnish it with provisions and assign five servants to attend him. Place him within it alive, letting his fate take its course.” The king promptly complied. The crown prince was filled with sorrow, grieving at their folly and delusion. His mother, loving him tenderly, was brokenhearted and said: “My son is ill-fated to encounter such calamity!” Weeping and choking with tears, the matter being inevitable, with heavy heart she let him go, taking all the crown prince’s clothes, necklaces, and jewels to send along with him. The servants, having gone outside, dug the pit together; before the pit was completed, Mūkapakkha, sitting alone upon the carriage, contemplated deeply within himself, his heart speaking to his mouth: “The king and the people all think that I am truly dumb and idiot-like. The reason I spoke not was that I wished to abandon worldly entanglements, calm my body to avoid afflictions, and deliver my spirit from suffering. Now, instead, I am brought into peril by mad falsehoods. Since my body and life are about to be lost, cast down by those people…” Thereupon, he quietly took his necklaces and jewels and departed. Those digging the pit did not notice Mūkapakkha take the items and leave. At that time, Mūkapakkha went to the water’s edge, bathed and cleansed himself, anointed his body with perfume, and put on all the robes and necklaces. Arriving at the place where they were digging the pit, he asked: “What is this pit being made for?” The servants replied: “The king has a crown prince named Mūkapakkha, who is mute, deaf, and idiotic, thirteen years of age and unable to speak. We are making a pit to bury him alive.” The crown prince replied: “I myself am Mūkapakkha.” The workmen, terrified, ran to look upon the carriage and found him nowhere to be seen. Returning to the pit, they observed him closely and carefully, hearing him speak with an extraordinarily marvelous voice; his radiant visage was like the moon, something rarely heard or seen in the world. Stirring those around him, passersby halted in their tracks and those seated stood up; birds in flight and beasts of the field all gathered together and prostrated before the crown prince to listen to his words. He further said: “Behold my hands and feet, inspect my countenance! Why do you deluded masses believe this mad deceit, burying and abandoning me alive?” His words flowed in polished discourse, leaving all around him in dread and panic; they all made obeisance, knocking their heads to the ground, begging for mercy and pardon. The crown prince said: “Now that I have already been abandoned, it is not fitting that I return.” The servants then hurried back to inform the king. Hearing this, the king was filled with both sorrow and joy, and forthwith rode forth in a carriage with his consort to welcome him. In the interval before the king arrived, Mūkapakkha thought to himself: “I ought to go forth to practice the Path.” Śakra manifested a grove of trees of incomparable delight. The king saw from afar the crown prince seated beneath a tree. When Mūkapakkha saw the king, he immediately rose to welcome him. The king made obeisance to him, and Mūkapakkha invited the great king to be seated. Hearing the crown prince’s voice and speech, and witnessing his boundless majesty and spiritual power that shook heaven and earth without parallel, the king was exceedingly joyful. He then walked around Mūkapakkha, desiring that they return to the kingdom together, saying: “Occupy the throne and govern the state; I beg to surrender my seat.” Mūkapakkha said: “It cannot be. Filled with shame and disgust at the grueling torments and manifold bitter sorrows of hell, [I shall not return]. Long ago, I was once a king named Qingnian (Instant Reflection). Governing the realm with righteous laws, I practiced all wholesome deeds. For twenty-five years, no whip or cudgel was applied, no weapons were deployed, and the prisons held no inmates. I gave in charity with benevolence and love, my kindness and virtue spread everywhere, and I rescued the destitute and stranded without any stint or attachment. Although I possessed such conduct, I still incurred a minor offense, and in the end fell into hell for over sixty thousand years. Scorched, boiled, flayed, and torn asunder, the agony was excruciating and unbearable; wishing for death, it could not be attained, and in life there was no hope or relief. At that time, though my parents were wealthy, noble, and happy beyond measure, how could they know the severe interrogations and punishments I was undergoing in that hell? How could they ever come to take a portion of my suffering? The reason I fell into that offense was that in a former life, while reigning as king, there were small subject kingdoms. My nature was exceedingly compassionate and kind, my precepts and virtue upright and strict, but my laws were not harsh. The kings of the various small realms all held me in contempt and plotted together, saying: ‘Now this great king is both gentle and weak; his awe-inspiring strategy holds no control, and his virtue is unfit to govern a great state. We ought to punish and depose him.’ Thereupon they raised troops to invade the great kingdom. At that time, King Qingnian presented them with rare treasures and wealth, bestowing gifts upon them all; he further pacified, comforted, and settled them with high offices and lavish emoluments. They then returned to their own lands. Not long after this, they came again to attack and punish, repeatedly and more than once. The ministers of the great realm submitted a memorial to the great king: ‘The various minor subject states are stupid, dark, and devoid of righteousness. Unmindful of guilt and transgression, they have repeatedly committed insolent transgressions, plotting treason and rebellion, affronting their sovereign superior, and causing the people anxiety and disturbance without cessation of defense measures. They ought to be executed to eliminate the bandit menace.’ The king said: ‘Being the father and mother of the people, one must devote oneself to benevolent transformation, forgiving others to nurture living beings, risking one's life to rescue the multitude. They are like infant children; grieving at their lack of understanding, they should be guided gradually; I cannot bear to inflict harm upon them.’ The king loved all living beings universally and never inflicted execution. The ministers of the great state could not bear being repeatedly slighted by the small subordinate states; heedless of danger in their indignation, they raised an army to punish them, slaughtering their people. The great king shed tears like rain, and went into mourning for the deceased populace of the various states as if they were his own sons, grieving for them boundlessly. Seeing the great king’s compassionate heart and his pity for the people, the kings of the various small states all surrendered and submitted. When the great king held a grand banquet with sumptuous delicacies, it was necessary to slaughter oxen, sheep, and the six kinds of domestic animals to prepare all the flavors. They would always first inform the king. Although the king’s heart was compassionate, the situation left no alternative, and nodding his head in assent was sufficient reason for incurring the offense and undergoing such arduous suffering. Whenever I reflect on this, my heart trembles violently, my body turns cold and breaks out in a sweat, recalling the good and ill fortune, safety and danger, success and failure I underwent in past lives. Fearing to meet with them again, I hoped that by remaining silent, I might escape blemishes and defilements, emerge from the mundane dust and toil, bid farewell forever to the worldly, and never again meet with disaster. Just now, I reflected that wishing to shut my mouth and remain silent resulted in being buried alive by the king. I feared that the king would later incur this calamity in turn, entering hell with no time of release. It was because my intent was not to cause the king to incur guilt that I spoke again. Guarding my mind in non-action, I take no delight in being king. The people and the mundane world are fleeting like a dream; the joys of hearth and home endure but for an instant. Counting life, it amounts to little, while worry and fear are long-drawn; pleasures are few, sufferings many, and afflictions myriad. Therefore, the wise regard the realm, wealth, and affections as burdens, and all desires as dust. Were I made king, I would once again become arrogant and indulgent, greedily seeking gratification and causing the people distress and vexation—this is the great misfortune under heaven. Now I wish to abandon it, turning against the stream to exhaust the source, and ferrying across those not yet saved. Life in this world is like a lodging; not one thing can be relied upon. I covet neither wealth nor nobility, nor do I value rare treasures; casting aside worldly glory, I contemplate the Great Way, soaring high and bright to distant realms, pulling myself free from the world.” The father king said: “You are a wise man; you must not do so right away.” Mūkapakkha said: “How has it ever been heard that father and son abandon each other while living? Once flesh and blood are separated, the conduct is deeply flawed; taking bitter pains to welcome me back merely increases fruitless toil and trouble.” Seeing his resolute determination, the father was bewildered and at a loss for words, with nothing to reply. He then said: “When you were a king in a past life, practicing all wholesome deeds, you had only minor slips that were not done consciously, yet you still underwent retribution and arduous suffering like this. Now, in governing the kingdom, I do not adhere to righteous governance; devoid of even minor goodness, I commit contrary faults and wrongs, engaging purely in dangerous actions—how can my guilt ever be measured?” Thereupon he released the crown prince, permitting him to go forth and train in the Path.