法苑珠林 35.59

35.59

Furthermore, the Dīpaprabha-sūtra states: Formerly, Rājagṛha was surrounded by five mountains, situated at the innermost center among the five of Magadha. Wise persons of distinction who cultivated pure conduct all rejoiced with hearts delighting in the extraordinary ornamentation of this land, and gathered there like clouds from afar. At that time, there was an elder in the city whose household was immensely wealthy, with storehouses overflowing, just like Vaiśravaṇa. Yet he had no heirs. He prayed and made offerings to the spirits, pleading for a son. Before long, his wife realized she was pregnant. Having completed ten months, she gave birth to a boy. This boy had planted karmic causes of merit in previous lives: on the day he was born, one finger of his hand emitted a great light that brightly illuminated ten li around. His parents were overjoyed. They immediately assembled their clan and various physiognomists, arranged a grand feast, and gave the boy a name. Because of the light from his finger, they named him Dīpaprabha (Finger-Lamp). Those assembled at the gathering beheld his wondrous sign and exclaimed that it was unprecedented. At that time, there was a brahman in the assembly named Basu (Vasu), well-versed and erudite, with nothing he did not comprehend. Seeing the boy's extraordinary signs, he smiled and said: 'This boy is perhaps Nārāyaṇa, Śakra Devānām Indra, the Sun Deva, or one of the devas of great virtue come to manifest birth.' Having heard these words, the child's parents redoubled their joy. For seven days they held a grand banquet of giving. The whole country came to know of it, and word reached the king above. When King Ajātaśatru heard of it, he immediately ordered the boy brought before him. The elder complied with the command and soon carried the child to the palace gate. The king happened to be holding a feast, so access could not be announced. The light from the child's finger penetrated and illuminated the palace courtyard, shining with great radiance upon the king's body, the palaces, and all the various objects, making them all appear golden. As the light shone everywhere within the royal palace, the king wondered in astonishment, 'Where does this light come from, suddenly illuminating my palace? Could it be that the World-Honoured One wishes to transform living beings and has come to my gate? Or has Śakra Devānām Indra, the Sun Deva, or other devas of great virtue descended to visit?' The king immediately sent someone outside the gate to look. After seeing, the messenger returned to report to the king: 'The little child called for earlier by the Great King is now outside the gate. This child's hand rests on the wet nurse's shoulder, and his finger emits light that shines all the way through; hence this illumination.' The king ordered the messenger: 'Quickly bring the child here!' Having seen him, the king was profoundly amazed by this child. He took the child's hand in his own, examined his physical marks, and having gazed intently upon them, spoke these words: 'The non-Buddhist Six Masters claim there is no cause and effect; they truly deceive and confuse! If there were no cause and effect, how could this child possess such light? Looking at it this way, those non-Buddhists cause living beings to fall headlong into evil destinies. One surely knows this child is not spontaneously produced by Īśvara or the like, but must have obtained this good retribution from past merit. Only now do I know that the Buddha's words are precise and not false. How strange it is that people do not cultivate merit!' The king said: 'It is still not certain whether this finger's radiance derives its light from the sun or from the moon. If we wish to test it, we must wait until midnight.' When evening fell, the child was placed upon an elephant to go before them. The king and his ministers went together into the garden. Where the light from this child's finger shone, the deep darkness was brightly lit, and looking upon the birds, beasts, flowers, and fruits in the garden was no different from daytime. Having observed this, the king sighed and exclaimed: 'How truly wondrous is that which the Buddha speaks! Today, I have given rise to firm faith in causes and effects, and deeply despise the extreme foolishness and delusion of the Six Masters. Therefore, toward the Buddha my reverence and veneration double!' Thereupon Jīvaka said to the king: 'Even if one were destitute, one should exhaust all means to cultivate good deeds; how much more so when rich and abundant should one not fail to make merit!' While they were speaking thus, dawn arrived. They brought Dīpaprabha back into the royal palace. The king was extremely pleased, bestowed bountiful precious treasures, and released him to return home. Dīpaprabha gradually grew up. His father, the elder, sought a marriage for him, selecting a daughter from an illustrious clan to take as his wife. Since the elder was rich and propriety was observed, the family was harmonious and peaceful, and their assets flourished further. Now, prosperity entails decline, and union involves separation: the elder and his wife passed away at the same time. This is like the sun reaching its setting place, its brilliance hidden and eclipsed; like when the sun has risen, the moonlight no longer appears; like fire turning to ash, its blazing flames forever extinguished; robust good looks are ruined by illness; youth and prime of life are encroached upon by old age; and beloved life is snatched away by death. After the parents died, the livelihood gradually decayed. But Dīpaprabha had grown up in wealth and ease, unaccustomed to managing family business. He associated with evil companions, indulged his desires without restraint, was infatuated with wine and women, and spent money without limit. With no one to manage the stores accumulated in the warehouses, like the moon waning after fullness, his fortune gradually diminished in darkness. According to the custom of that country, an annual grand festival was held on Mount Pratyutpanna. At that time, Dīpaprabha adorned his attire and entourage to attend the gathering. Afterwards, a band of thieves, knowing that Dīpaprabha had not yet returned and watching for an opportunity when it was empty, went to his house and plundered all the money and wealth, taking everything. When Dīpaprabha returned in the evening, he saw that his house had been pillaged by thieves, leaving only wood, stones, bricks, and tiles. Seeing this, he fell to the ground in a swoon. Only when those nearby sprinkled water on him did he regain consciousness. Weeping in grief, he thought: 'My father formerly engaged extensively in skillful means, toiling diligently to amass our estate. The wealth and jewels in the warehouses were my father's doing. He raised me and entrusted it all to me. Why have I failed to inherit my father's estate, becoming wandering and indolent, cheated and deceived by others? My father's remaining wealth was lost in a single day, the warehouses are empty, and the livestock dispersed.' At that time, the finger's light also extinguished. His wife despised him and fled, abandoning him; the servants ran away and were lost; and relatives severed ties. Those who had been closest became like enemies. A poor person is like a vetāla; all fear him. Poverty can destroy one's prime of life, fair complexion, vigor, fame, clan, lineage, wisdom, benevolence, righteousness, and faithful conduct—it destroys them all. The misery of my poverty has few equals in the world. I would like to discard this body, yet I cannot bring myself to end my own life. What means should I adopt to sustain myself?' He thought again: 'What people of the world despise most is carrying corpses. Although this work is base, it is an occupation of suffering that provides for the world.' Someone heard his words and hired him to carry a corpse. Dīpaprabha took the payment and complied with their instructions. Carrying the dead person to the cemetery, he intended to cast it away. At that moment, the dead person gripped Dīpaprabha tightly, like a small child holding its parents, gripping fast and not letting go. Though he pulled with all his strength, he could not free himself. The dead person clung to his back like glue, impossible to detach. He pushed and shoved, but could not shake it off, and became terrified. He thought: 'Today, carrying this dead corpse, where can I go to live?' He then went to a caṇḍāla village and said: 'Who can remove the dead corpse from my back? I will reward them handsomely.' The caṇḍālas deliberated and exerted all their strength, pulling together to remove it, yet it still would not leave. Others who saw him cursed Dīpaprabha, saying: 'Madman! Why do you carry a dead corpse into people's villages?' They competed to strike and throw sticks and stones at him. His body was broken and wounded, pain and fear assailing him together. Someone took pity on him and led him to the city. When they reached the city gate, the gatekeepers blocked and beat him, not allowing him near the gate: 'What foolish person carries a dead corpse intending to enter the city?' Seeing his own body beaten with sticks and clubs, his flesh battered and broken, he felt deep anguish, and wept aloud: 'Because of my poverty, I did not choose where to work and took up this base occupation. Why must I suddenly encounter such bitter torment? I would rather die in some other way than live carrying a corpse!' Weeping as he spoke, the gatekeepers felt deep pity and allowed him to return home. When he arrived at his empty house, the poor people who had previously begged with him and lived together saw from afar the dead corpse on his back and all ran away. Having reached the house, the corpse fell to the ground on its own. At that moment, Dīpaprabha became all the more terrified, swooned, and collapsed to the ground, only reviving after a long while. He then saw that the corpse's fingers were made of pure gold. Although still fearful, seeing that it was fine gold, he approached to inspect it. He tested it by cutting with a knife, and it was indeed genuine gold. Having obtained the gold, joy arose in his heart. He went forward again and cut off its head, neck, hands, and feet. After being cut, they immediately grew back. In a short while, the golden heads, hands, and feet formed a pile exceeding the height of a person. Just like a king who loses his kingdom and regains his original throne, or a blind person gaining sight and seeing clearly, Dīpaprabha's joy was just the same. His warehouses and treasures were twice as abundant as before; his prestige and reputation surpassed former days. Relatives, friends, wife, children, and servants all returned. Dīpaprabha sighed: 'Alas, how wondrous! Wealth possesses great power, able to make the people of the world return in haste. Alas, how wondrous! Poverty possesses great power, able to make one's loved ones abandon one with speed! When I was poor before, my usual intimates and friends cut off all contact, and not a single person would speak with me. Today, everyone looks up to me, serves me, and folds their hands in reverence. Even if one were born in a place like Śakra Devānām Indra, had the valor of Rāma, and the insight of the Deva Preceptor, without money and wealth one would be worth nothing at all. The wealthy, whether foolish or wise, are all praised as good people; though knowing nothing, people consider them wise; they also gain a reputation for vigor and every virtue. Even if ugly, old, and decrepit, young women delight in approaching them.' King Ajātaśatru heard that he was wealthy again, and immediately sent men to seize his treasures. But what they seized turned entirely into dead corpses; when thrown back into the house, they were seen to be genuine gold. Dīpaprabha knew the king wished to obtain these treasures, so he presented the golden heads, hands, and feet to the king. Having received them, the king carried them back to his palace. Afterwards, Dīpaprabha contemplated this and spoke a verse: