法苑珠林 54

English (machine translation) 54

Language: English

54.1

Compiled by the Śramaṇa Shi Daoshi of Ximing Temple.

54.2

Chapter 60: Deception and Fraud
Chapter 61: Indolence and Arrogance

54.3

Chapter on Deception and Fraud (this contains six sections)

54.4

Section on Expressing the Intent
Section on Deigning Closeness
Section on Feigning Poison
Section on Feigning Nobility
Section on Feigning Fear
Section on Feigning Animals

Now, the ultimate Way is without barrier, and its value lies in honest words. Therefore, when words issued are good, they are echoed a thousand li away; when words issued are not good, even at a foot's distance they fall on deaf ears. Yet as the teachings flow into the final age, persons and the Dharma deteriorate: some rely on the true to construct the false, while others adorn the empty to fake the genuine. Truly, because people harbor the perverse and the upright, the Dharma encompasses both the ultimate and the conventional. Once fame and gain encroach, the notion of self and others flourishes ever more. Even present intimates cannot be trusted, not to mention those who are distant and slight from the start; hence it is difficult to make friends. Therefore the sūtra says: 'The straight mind is the bodhimaṇḍa, because it is free of falsehood.'

54.7

Section 2: Deigning Closeness

54.8

As the *Saṃyuktaratnapiṭaka-sūtra* says: All crafty, flattering, deceitful, and fraudulent persons appear upright on the outside but harbor deceit and selfishness within. Therefore, the wise should discern the true from the false. For example, in the past there was a brāhmaṇa who, already advanced in years, passionately married a young wife. Disliking her husband's old age, the wife constantly committed adultery outside. She urged her husband to hold a gathering and invite young and vigorous brāhmaṇas. The husband suspected foul play and was unwilling to invite them. The son of his previous wife fell into the fire. At that time, the young wife looked on and did not catch him. The brāhmaṇa said, “The child has now fallen into the fire; why do you not catch him?” The wife replied, “Ever since my youth, I have only approached my own husband and never approached any other male. How could you make me touch this male?” Hearing this, the old husband believed her words. He then held a great assembly and gathered the brāhmaṇas. At that time, the young wife had illicit relations with them. Seeing this, the old husband felt hatred in his heart; he took his valuables, abandoned his wife, and left. On his way, he met a brāhmaṇa and they became travel companions. When evening came, they lodged together, and the next morning they proceeded forward. [The companion] said to the old brāhmaṇa, “At the place where we lodged last night, a blade of grass stuck to my clothing. Ever since my youth, I have never encroached upon the belongings of the world. I wish to return this blade of grass to its owner. Please halt and wait for my return.” The old brāhmaṇa deeply believed his words and respected him doubly, agreeing to stay and wait. [The companion] pretending to hold the blade of grass, entered a ditch and lay down. Only after a long while did he return, saying, “The blade of grass has been returned.” Because the old brāhmaṇa had to relieve himself, he entrusted his valuables to him. Immediately afterward, this man took the valuables and ran away. Seeing his goods stolen, the old brāhmaṇa lamented incessantly. Moving forward a little, he rested under a tree. He saw a stork holding grass in its beak, saying to the birds, “Let us take pity on one another, gather in one place, and live together.” At that time, all the birds believed its words and came to gather. Then this stork, as soon as the birds flew off, went to their nests, pecked at their eggs, and ate them. When the birds were about to return, it would hold grass in its beak again. The birds realized its hypocrisy, abandoned it completely, and left. Resting under this tree a little longer, he saw a non-Buddhist renunciant wearing a patched robe, walking calmly with slow steps, saying with his mouth, “Away, away, living beings!” The old brāhmaṇa asked him, “Why do you walk while chanting ‘Away, away’?” The non-Buddhist replied, “I am a renunciant who pities all beings; I fear harming bugs and ants, and that is why.” At that time, hearing these words, the brāhmaṇa conceived deep faith. He then followed him to his home to lodge for the night. Hearing only the sounds of singing and dancing, he went out to see. There he saw the dwelling chamber of the non-Buddhist renunciant: a hole was in the ground, from which a woman emerged, making merry with him, playing the lute, and dancing. Having seen this, the old brāhmaṇa realized that among the myriad things under heaven, not a single one could be trusted. Therefore, he spoke a verse:

54.9

“She would not touch another male;
He returned a blade of grass to its owner;
The stork falsely held grass in its beak;
The non-Buddhist feared harming insects,
Chanting ‘Away, away’ with his mouth.
Deceit and hypocrisy such as this—
None of it can be trusted;
The suffering that comes from it is truly hard to bear.”

54.10

Therefore, the *Nirvāṇa-sūtra* says: The Buddha said, “As in the verse I spoke in the past:

54.11

‘All rivers
Must have bends and turns;
All thickets
Must have trees;
All women
Must have deceit and crookedness;
All who are independent
Must experience ease and joy.’”

54.12

Section Three: Pretending Malice

54.13

As the *Saṃyuktaratnapiṭaka-sūtra* says: At that time, Devadatta created various circumstances, wishing to kill the Buddha, yet he was unable to do so. At that time, a brāhmaṇa arrived from Southern India who was skilled in incantations and compounding poisons. Devadatta compounded poison to scatter over the Buddha, but the wind blew the poison back onto his own head. He immediately fell unconscious to the ground, on the verge of death, and physicians could not cure him. Ānanda said to the Buddha, “World-Honoured One, Devadatta has been poisoned and is about to die.” Out of pity, the Buddha spoke words of truth for him: “If, from the time I was a bodhisattva until attaining Buddhahood, I have constantly generated loving-kindness toward Devadatta without any malicious intent, may this poison naturally perish.” Having spoken these words, the poison immediately vanished. The bhikṣus said, “Rare indeed, World-Honoured One! Devadatta constantly generates malicious thoughts toward the Tathāgata; why does the Tathāgata still save his life?” The Buddha said, “Not only today does he direct malicious thoughts toward me; it was also like this in the past.” They then asked the Buddha, “What was the matter of his harboring malicious thoughts toward the Buddha?” The Buddha said: In a past age, in the kingdom of Kāśi, there was the city of Vārāṇasī. There were two ministers: one named Senā and the second named Durgati. Senā constantly practiced in accordance with the Dharma; Durgati constantly engaged in evil deeds and was fond of slander. He said to the king, “Senā wishes to commit rebellion.” The king immediately arrested and imprisoned him. Good spirits of the heavens produced a voice in the sky, saying, “Such a worthy person is truly without fault or guilt; why do you bind him?” Next, Durgati plundered the king's treasury and shifted the blame onto Senā, but the king did not believe it either. The king said, “Seize this Durgati and hand him over to Senā, commanding him to execute judgment upon him.” Senā then instructed Durgati to repent before the king. Durgati, knowing he was guilty, fled to the king of Videha. He made a treasure chest containing two venomous snakes, filled with lethal poison, and had the king of Videha send an envoy to present it to that king and to Senā, [saying,] “The two of you should look at it together; do not show it to anyone else.” Seeing that the treasure chest was exceedingly ornate, the king was greatly delighted. He immediately summoned Senā, wishing to open and inspect it together. Senā replied, “Articles from afar must not be viewed carelessly; fruits and food from afar must not be eaten immediately. Why? There are evil people there, who might use evil to harm us.” The king said, “I must see it.” Senā earnestly admonished him three times, but the king did not heed his words. He further addressed the king, “If you do not heed your subject's words, Your Majesty may inspect it yourself; I cannot look.” The king immediately opened and looked at it, and both his eyes went blind, unable to see things. Senā was grieved, anguished, and emaciated to the point of dying. He sent men in the four directions to travel far through all the kingdoms to seek good medicine. Having obtained good medicine, he treated the king's eyes, and they were restored as before. The king at that time was Śāriputra; Senā at that time was myself; and Durgati at that time was Devadatta.

54.14

Section Four: Pretending Nobility

54.15

As the *Mahāsaṃghika-vinaya* says: The Buddha told the bhikṣus: In a past age, there was a city named Vārāṇasī and a kingdom named Kāśi. At that time, there was a great scholar-brāhmaṇa named Philohi, who was the royal preceptor and constantly taught five hundred disciples. At that time, a slave named Kalaha was born in the brāhmaṇa's household, who was constantly made to attend upon the youths. This slave had sharp faculties; hearing the exposition of the Dharma, he was able to remember and retain it completely. On one occasion, this slave had a slight grievance with the youths and fled to another kingdom. He falsely claimed, “I am the son of the brāhmaṇa Philohi, named Yajñadatta.” He said to the royal preceptor of this kingdom, “I am the son of Philohi, preceptor to the king of Vārāṇasī. I have specially come here wishing to study the brāhmaṇa Dharma under the Great Master.” The master replied, “Very well.” This slave was intelligent; having heard it previously, he now heard it again, and was able to retain everything he heard. The master was greatly pleased and immediately ordered him to instruct the five hundred disciples: “Teach in my place; I shall go back and forth to the royal court.” This master had no sons, only one daughter. He said to him, “Yajñadatta, heed my words: do not return to your country. I now give you my daughter as your wife.” He replied, “I follow your instruction.” They made a living together, and their household gradually became prosperous and happy. Yajñadatta was difficult to please; whenever his wife prepared food, he was constantly angry that it was either raw or overcooked and did not suit his palate. The wife constantly thought, “If a traveler should come from the kingdom of Vārāṇasī, I will learn the method of culinary preparation from him, and then serve my husband.” That brāhmaṇa Philohi heard all about this matter and thought, “My slave Kalaha has fled to another kingdom. I should go to seize him, or perhaps I can get his price.” He then went to that kingdom. At that time, the slave went with the disciples to an orchard for recreation. On the road, he saw his former master from afar. He was immediately terrified and secretly said to his disciples, “You all go back and recite your lessons individually.” After the disciples left, he went before his master, touched his head to his feet, and said to the master, “When I came to this kingdom, I declared that the Master was my father. I then took refuge with this kingdom's royal preceptor, studied the classics thoroughly, and he gave his daughter to me as my wife. I pray that the Venerable One will not expose my affair today. I will provide the slave's price to offer to the Master.” The brāhmaṇa well understood worldly affairs and immediately replied, “You are indeed my son. Just send me off quickly.” The slave then led the master home and told his household, “My relative has arrived.” His wife was delighted and prepared various kinds of food and drink for him. After presenting the food, she waited for a brief moment of leisure, secretly bowed at the brāhmaṇa's feet, and asked him, “When I serve food and drink to my husband, it never pleases his mind. I pray that the Venerable One will instruct me: when he was originally at home, what did he eat? I will prepare food and drink according to the former method.” The guest brāhmaṇa then became angry and thought, “In such a manner, in such a manner, he torments another's daughter! You just send me off quickly. When I am about to leave, I will teach you a verse so that your husband will have nothing to say.” Hearing this, the woman was delighted, bowed, and withdrew. She then said to her husband, “The Venerable brāhmaṇa has come specially from afar; you should send him off quickly.” The husband thought, “As my wife says, he should be sent off quickly and not allowed to stay long, lest his words slip and harm me considerably.” He then gave him great wealth and instructed his wife to prepare food, personally serving it to him. Since the husband was the head of his assembly, he went out looking for a companion. After serving the food, the wife bowed at his feet to take leave and requested the aforementioned verse. He then taught her the verse, saying:

54.16

“Without kin, he travels in other lands,
Deceiving all the people of the world.
Coarse food is his ordinary food;
What fault can he find with fine food?”

54.17

“Now I give you this verse. If he becomes angry and complains that the food is bad, stand by his side with your back turned and softly recite it so that he can hear it.” Having given this instruction, he returned to his home country. After this slave saw his master off, whenever mealtime came, he was angry again as before. Beside her husband, the wife tested reciting the verse. Hearing this verse, the husband's mind was displeased, and he thought, “Alas! This old thing has exposed my foul secret!” From then on, he always spoke gentle words and pleaded with his wife not to be angry, fearing that his wife would tell others his secret affairs. The Buddha told the bhikṣus: “The former master, the brāhmaṇa Philohi at that time, was myself; the slave Kalaha at that time is now the bhikṣu Chanda. At that time, he already relied on me to bully others; now he is just the same, relying on my power to mistreat others.”

54.18

Section Five: Pretending Fear

54.19

As the Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra says: All phenomena are illusory and deceptive. Sentient beings in their folly do not recognize who is near and who is distant; they scold, inflict harm, and even take life in their anger. By generating these grave misdeeds, they fall into the three miserable destinies and suffer immeasurable distress. For example, there was a monastery in the mountains. Within it was a separate room where a ghost would come to terrify and harass practitioners of the Way, so all the practitioners abandoned the room and left. A visiting monk arrived, and the karmadāna assigned him to stay in this room, telling him, 'In this room is a ghost who loves to harass people. Stay in it only if you are able.' The visiting monk, relying on the power of his adherence to the precepts and his vast learning, said, 'What can a petty ghost do? I can subdue it.' He then entered the room to stay. At dusk, another monk arrived seeking a lodging, and the karmadāna likewise told him to stay in this room, also telling him that a ghost harassed people there. That man likewise said, 'What can a petty ghost do? I shall subdue it.' The one who had entered first closed the door and sat upright, awaiting the ghost. The later arrival knocked on the door in the dark of night seeking entry. The one inside thought it was the ghost and would not open the door for him. The one outside pounded on the door with all his might, while the practitioner inside resisted him with his strength. The one outside prevailed, forced the door open, and got in. The one inside struck him, and the one outside struck back. When dawn broke and they looked at each other, they were actually old classmates. Having recognized each other, each apologized with shame. The crowd gathered like clouds, laughing at them and finding it strange. Sentient beings are also like this: the five aggregates are entirely empty, with neither self nor person. Grasping at signs, they quarrel and strive, wrongfully inflicting cruel harm. If one is flayed and dissected on the ground, there is only flesh and bone; there is neither person nor self. Therefore, the bodhisattva tells sentient beings: 'Do not quarrel within fundamental emptiness. A human body is hard to obtain, let alone encountering a Buddha.'

54.20

Section 6: Deceitful Animals

54.21

As the Old Saṃyuktāvadāna-sūtra says: In the past, there was a woman rich in gold and silver. She had an affair with a man and took all her gold, silver, clothes, and goods, following him as they went off together. When they reached the bank of a swift river, the man said to her, 'Bring the wealth here. I will carry it across first and then come back to welcome you.' Once the man had crossed over, he ran away and did not return. The woman stood alone by the water's edge, grieving in misery with no one to save her. She saw only a wild fox that had caught a hawk. It then saw a fish in the river, dropped the hawk, and went to catch the fish. Failing to catch the fish, it also lost its original hawk. The woman said to the fox, 'Why are you so foolish? In your greed to catch both, you have failed to get even one.' The fox said, 'My foolishness is still bearable; your foolishness is worse than mine.'

54.22

Also, the Mahāsāṃghika-vinaya says: The Buddha addressed the monks: In the past, an unseasonal rain fell continuously for seven days without stopping, and the herdsmen did not go out for seven days. At that time, a starving wolf roamed hungrily seeking food. It traversed seven villages and obtained nothing at all. It then blamed itself: 'Why are my signs of fortune so meager? Having passed through seven villages, I have obtained nothing at all. It would be better to observe the fast and return to the mountain forest.' In its cave, it made a vow, saying, 'May all sentient beings attain peace and security.' Then, gathering its body, it sat peacefully with eyes closed. On the fasting day, Śakra, Lord of the Gods, mounted the white naga-elephant Airāvata to observe whether the world was upholding or breaking the precepts. Arriving at that mountain cave, he saw the wolf meditating with closed eyes. He then thought: 'How wonderful! This wolf beast is truly extraordinary. Even humans lack such a mindset, let alone that this wolf beast could be like this.' Wishing to test it to see whether it was genuine or false, Śakra transformed his body into a sheep, stood before the cave, and called out loudly to the flock. The wolf saw the sheep and thought: 'How wonderful! The reward of fasting has suddenly arrived. I roamed seven villages seeking food without success, and now having observed the fast for a moment, delicacies come on their own! The kitchen offerings have already arrived; I should just eat and then observe the fast.' It then stepped out of the cave toward the sheep. Seeing the wolf coming, the sheep took fright and fled galloping away. The wolf pursued the fleeing sheep without stopping. When it had chased it far, the sheep transformed into a dog with a square mouth and drooping ears, which turned back to chase the wolf, barking urgently. Seeing the dog coming, the wolf took fright and fled back. The dog pursued it closely, and it barely managed to escape. Returning to its cave, it thought: 'I wanted to eat it, but instead it wanted to devour me.' At that time, Śakra stood before the wolf, acting as a limping sheep bleating loudly. The wolf thought: 'The previous one was a dog; my hungry, faint eyes saw double and thought it was a sheep. What I see now is truly a sheep.' Looking closely again at its ears, horns, and tail, it was truly a sheep. It then went out toward it. The sheep took fright and ran away again. As the wolf chased it and was on the verge of catching it, it turned back into a dog and pursued the wolf again, just as before. 'I wanted to eat it, but instead I was nearly eaten.' Then Śakra transformed before the wolf into a lamb, bleating to the flock and calling for its mother. The wolf angrily said, 'Even if you were a cut of meat, I would still not go out; let alone as a lamb trying to deceive me!' It returned to observing the fast, quietly meditating in mind. At that time, Śakra knew the wolf's intention was to return to the fast, but he still stood before the wolf as a lamb. The wolf then spoke a verse:

54.23

"Even if you were truly a sheep,
I still would not go out,
Let alone acting falsely
To terrify me as before.
Seeing that I have returned to the fast,
Now you come again to test me.
Even if you were a cut of meat,
It would still not be trustworthy,
Let alone acting as a lamb,
Deceitfully calling 'baa baa'!"

54.24

Thereupon, the World-Honoured One spoke a verse:

54.25

"If there is a renunciant
Whose mind in upholding the precepts is fickle and frivolous,
Unable to abandon gain and support,
They are just like the wolf observing the fast."

54.26

Also, the Mahīśāsaka-vinaya says: The Buddha addressed the monks: Long ago in the past, there was a young brāhmaṇa in a mountain cave reciting kṣatriya scriptures. A wild fox stayed beside him, intently listening to the recitation and understanding something of it. It thought: 'I understand these scriptures; by these words, I am qualified to be the king of all beasts.' Having thought this, it set off roaming. Encountering an emaciated wild fox, it wanted to kill it. The other asked, 'Why kill me?' It answered, 'I am the king of beasts. You do not submit to me, which is why I will kill you.' The other said, 'Please do not kill me; I will follow you.' The two foxes then roamed together. Meeting another fox, it again wanted to kill it; the questions and answers were as above, and it also agreed to follow. In this manner, one by one, it subdued all foxes; then with the pack of foxes it subdued all elephants; with the herd of elephants it subdued all tigers; and with the pack of tigers it subdued all lions, thereby expediently becoming king. Having become king, it thought again: 'I am now the king of beasts; I should not take a beast for a wife.' Riding a white elephant, it led the countless beasts to surround the city of Vārāṇasī hundreds and thousands of times. The king sent a messenger to ask: 'Why have your beasts done this?' The wild fox answered: 'I am the king of beasts and ought to marry your daughter. If you give her to me, all will be well; if you do not give her to me, I will destroy your kingdom.' The messenger returned and reported this. The king gathered his ministers to deliberate; except for one minister, all said she should be given. Why? Because what the kingdom relied on was only elephants and horses. 'We have elephants and horses, while they have lions. When our elephants and horses catch their scent, they fall to the ground in terror. In battle we will surely be defeated and destroyed by the beasts. Why spare one girl and lose an entire kingdom?' At that time, one minister, intelligent and far-sighted, said to the king: 'I have examined ancient and modern times and never heard of or seen a human king's daughter given to a lowly beast. Though I am weak and foolish, I will surely kill this fox and cause the beasts to scatter and flee.' The king then asked, 'What plan will you produce?' The minister answered: 'Your Majesty, simply set a date for the battle. First, ask one favor from them: request that the lions fight first and roar later. They will think we are afraid and will surely have the lions roar first and fight later. When the day of battle arrives, Your Majesty should order everyone in the city to stop up their ears.' The king followed his words, sent an envoy to set the date, and asked for the aforementioned favor. When the day of battle arrived, he sent a messenger to ask again, and then deployed the army. Just as the vanguards of the armies were about to clash, the wild fox indeed had the lions roar first. When the wild fox heard it, its heart shattered into seven pieces, and it fell from the elephant to the ground. Thereupon, the pack of beasts scattered and fled all at once. Because of this matter, the Buddha spoke a verse:

54.27

"The wild fox's arrogance surged,
Seeking to gain its retinue;
Going to the city of Vārāṇasī,
It proclaimed itself the king of beasts.
Human arrogance is also like this,
Scheming to control assemblies of disciples;
In the kingdom of Magadha,
He styled himself Master of the Dharma."

54.28

At that time, the king of Vārāṇasī was myself; the intelligent minister was Śāriputra; and the wild fox king was Devadatta. Monks, in the past Devadatta falsely gained a retinue, and so it is now as well. Therefore the Buddha spoke a verse:

54.29

"For good people to meet together is easy;
For evil people to meet together is difficult.
For evil people to meet together is easy;
For good people to meet together is difficult."

54.30

Also, the Abhiniṣkramaṇa-sūtra says: At that time, the Buddha addressed the monks: I recall that long ago in the past, there was a river named Pāriyātra (which in the language of Sui means 'that joint'). At that time, on the bank of that river was a man who made flower garlands. The man had a garden beside that river. Within that river, there was a turtle that emerged from the water and went into the flower garden roaming for food, trampling and damaging the flowers everywhere. The owner of the garden saw the turtle damaging the flowers, so he caught it, put it into a basket, and intended to kill and eat it. The turtle thought: 'How can I escape this peril? By what expedient means can I deceive this garden owner?' It then spoke a verse to the garden owner:

54.31

"I came out from the water with mud on my body;
Put aside your flowers for now and wash my body!
Since my body has mud and is impure,
I fear it will soil your basket and your flowers."

54.32

Then the garden owner thought: 'Splendid is this turtle; it instructs me with good words. Now I cannot but follow its advice. I will wash its body so that it does not soil my flower basket.' Having thought this, he took the turtle in hand and brought it toward the water, intending to wash its body. Then the man lifted the turtle out and placed it on a rock, scooping up water to wash it. At that moment, the turtle exerted great strength and suddenly plunged into the water. When the garland-maker saw the turtle plunge into the water, he said: 'How extraordinary is this turtle, that it could deceive me like this! I can now lure and deceive this turtle back to make it come out of the water.' Then the garland-maker spoke a verse to the turtle:

54.33

"Good turtle, listen carefully to my intention!
Your relatives and old friends are very numerous now.
I will make a flower garland and tie it around your neck,
Allowing you to return home to make merry."

54.34

At that time, the turtle thought: 'This garland-maker lies to deceive me. His mother is sick in bed, and his sister picks flowers to make garlands, wishing to sell them to make a living. Now he says this; it must be that he is deceiving me, wanting to eat me and therefore luring me out.' At that time, the turtle spoke a verse to the garland-maker:

54.35

"Your family brews liquor wishing to gather your kin,
Widely preparing various kinds of tasty food.
When you arrive at home, you will say these words:
'The turtle meat is boiled; let the grease sprinkle over the head!'"

54.36

At that time, the Buddha addressed the monks: Monks, if you wish to know who the turtle that entered the water at that time was, it was myself. The garland-maker was Māra Pāpīyān. In that past time he wished to deceive and delude me but could not succeed; now wishing to deceive me again, how could it be possible?

54.37

Furthermore, the Buddha told the monks: "I recall that in the past, in the great ocean there was a great water-dragon. The water-dragon had a wife who was pregnant. Suddenly she craved to eat the heart of a monkey. Because of this, her body became emaciated, withered, yellowed, tossing and turning, trembling with unease. Then the male water-dragon saw that his wife's body was so emaciated and devoid of colour. Seeing this, he asked her: 'Virtuous and good one, what is your ailment? What food do you crave? I have not heard you ask food from me. Why is it like this?' Then the female water-dragon was silent and did not reply. Her husband asked again: 'Why do you not speak to me now?' The wife replied to her husband: 'If you are able to grant my wish according to my mind, I will speak of it. If you cannot, why should I bother to speak?' The husband replied again: 'Just tell me. If it is within reason to obtain, I shall find an expedient means to seek it and procure it.' The wife then said: 'I now desire in my mind to eat the heart of a monkey. Can you get it or not?' The husband then replied: 'What you require is an extremely difficult matter. Why is that? I dwell in the great ocean, while monkeys are in the mountain trees. By what means can it be obtained?' The wife said: 'What can be done? If I do not obtain this thing, this fetus will surely miscarry, and before long I fear I shall lose my life.' Thereupon her husband said again to the wife: 'Virtuous and good one, be patient for a while. I am now going to seek it. If this matter succeeds, it will be inexpressibly wonderful; both I and you will be utterly joyful.' At that time the water-dragon emerged from the ocean and came onto the shore. Not far from the shore there was a great tree named udumbara (in the language of Sui, 'seeking wishes'). At that time in the tree there was a large monkey, at the crown of the tree picking fruits to eat. Then the water-dragon, having seen the monkey sitting in the tree eating the tree's fruit, gradually approached beneath the tree. Having arrived, he immediately offered comfort, inquiring after the monkey with pleasant words: 'Excellent, excellent, Vāsiṣṭha! What are you doing in this tree? Are you not labouring hard and suffering distress? Is seeking food easy to come by without exhaustion?' The monkey replied: 'Just so, benevolent one. I am not suffering much distress now.' The water-dragon spoke again to the monkey: 'What do you eat here?' The monkey replied: 'I eat the fruit on this udumbara tree.' Then the water-dragon said again to the monkey: 'Seeing you now brings me great joy, filling my whole body beyond control. I wish to take you as a good friend to cherish and respect mutually. Take my advice: why must you remain here? Moreover, this tree has few fruits and not many; how can you find pleasure and delight here? You may come down and follow me. I will carry you across the ocean. On the other shore there is another great forest, rich and abundant in various trees with flowers and fruits.' The monkey asked: 'How could I reach that place? The ocean waters are deep and wide, extremely difficult to cross. How could I bear to cross?' Thereupon the water-dragon replied to the monkey: 'I will carry you on my back and bring you to the other shore. You need only come down from the tree now and ride on my back.' At that time, because the monkey's mind was unstable, petty, inferior, and foolish, his mind gave rise to joy. He descended from the tree, mounted the water-dragon's back, and wished to go with the water-dragon. The water-dragon thought thus in his mind: 'Excellent, excellent! My wish is accomplished.' He then intended to take him to his own dwelling place, and submerged into the water together with the monkey. The monkey asked the water-dragon: 'Good friend, why have you suddenly submerged into the water?' The water-dragon replied: 'My wife is pregnant. She craves to eat your heart. For this reason I have brought you along.' At that time the monkey thought thus: 'Alas! Now I am extremely unlucky, bringing about my own destruction. By what expedient means can I escape this imminent disaster and not lose my life?' He thought again: 'I must deceive the water-dragon.' Having thought this, he said to the water-dragon: 'Benevolent one, good friend! My heart was left behind, placed upon the udumbara tree; I did not bring it along. Why did you not tell me truthfully at the time? Had I known you needed my heart now, I would have brought it along with me right then. Good friend, turn back and release me to fetch my heart. Once I have obtained it, I shall return.' At that time the water-dragon, having heard the monkey's words, returned to the surface together with him. The monkey saw that the water-dragon was about to emerge onto the water's bank. Thereupon the monkey exerted his strength vigorously, leaped swiftly, exerted great muscular strength, leaped down from the water-dragon's back, and climbed up onto the great udumbara tree. The water-dragon waited below for a short time. Seeing that the monkey delayed and did not come down, he said to him: 'Close and good friend, come down quickly! Go together with me to my home.' The monkey remained silent and refused to descend from the tree. Seeing that the monkey did not come down after a long time, the water-dragon spoke a verse:

54.38

"Good friend monkey, now that you have obtained your heart, / I pray you descend quickly from the tree. / I shall take you to that forest, / rich in all kinds of fruit trees."

54.39

At that time the monkey reflected: 'This water-dragon has no wisdom.' He then spoke a verse:

54.40

"Though your schemes, water-dragon, may be broad, / the wisdom and thoughts of your mind are utterly petty and base. / Just carefully and truly consider for yourself: / among all kinds of living beings, who is without a heart? / Though that forest may be rich in fruits, / as well as amra and other marvelous fruits, / my mind truly has no interest in them; / I would rather feed myself on this udumbara."

54.41

Then the Buddha told the monks: "You should know that the large monkey of that time was my own body. That water-dragon was Māra Pāpīyān. At that time he still wished to deceive and delude me but could not succeed; now he again wishes to use the five desires of the world to come and entice me—how could he move me from this seat of mine?"

54.42

Furthermore, the Za baozang jing says: In the past, crows and owls hated each other with hostility. The crows waited for daytime, knowing that the owls could not see; they trampled to death flocks of owls and tore apart and ate their flesh. The owls then in the night, knowing that the crows' eyes were blind in the dark, in turn pecked flocks of crows, ripped open their bellies, and also tore apart and ate them. Fearing the day and fearing the night, there was no end to it. There was a wise crow who spoke to the assembly of crows: 'Since we have become enemies, reconciliation cannot be sought. In the end we will slaughter each other, and the situation cannot preserve both. We should devise an expedient means to destroy and overthrow the owls; only then can we obtain joy. If it is not so, we shall in the end be defeated by them.' The flock of crows replied: 'What method should be used to destroy the feud-bearing enemy?' The wise crow replied: 'You crows pluck out my feathers and peck open my head. I shall devise a plan that will surely destroy and overthrow them.' Then it was done according to his words. With an emaciated and wretched appearance, he wailed mournfully outside the owls' cave. Having heard his cry, [the owl] then said: 'Why have you come to my place now, wounded and injured?' The crow said to the owl: 'The flock of crows are my enemies, and I could not survive; therefore I have come to take refuge with you to escape the malice.' Then the owl took pity on him and accordingly nourished and provided for him, constantly giving him leftover meat. As days and months passed, his feathers grew back to normal. The crow formed a subtle plan: he carried dry tree branches and various grasses and wood in his beak and placed them inside the owl's cave, appearing as if to repay the kindness. The owl said to the crow: 'What is the use of doing this?' The crow then replied: 'The inside of the cave is purely cold stone. I use this wood and grass to ward off the wind and cold.' The owl thought it was so and remained silent without replying. Thereupon the crow then sought to guard the cave entrance and serve as an attendant in order to repay the kindness. At that time it happened that there was a violent snowfall and the cold wind blew fiercely. Flocks of owls hurriedly came together inside the hole. The crow found his opportunity and immediately felt joy. Taking herdsmen's fire in his beak, he used it to burn the owls' cave. The flock of owls was burned and exterminated all at once in the cave. At that time the devas spoke a verse, saying:

54.43

"In a place where there is old resentment, / one should not give rise to trust. / Just as the crow falsely feigned suffering from the cold, / and burned to death the bodies of the owls."

54.44

Furthermore, the Liudu ji jing says: In the past, the Bodhisattva was a peacock king. Leading five hundred wives, he abandoned his former mates, wishing to take a green bird as his wife. This green bird ate only sweet dew and fine fruits. The peacock king went out daily to fetch them for his wife. The queen consort of the king of that country fell ill; in a dream she saw a peacock and said that its flesh could serve as medicine. Having awoken, she reported this to the king. The king ordered hunters to set out swiftly to search for it. The queen said: 'To whoever can capture it, I will give my youngest daughter in marriage and bestow a thousand catties of gold.' The hunters of the country dispersed to search for it. [One] saw the peacock king following a green bird at his usual feeding place. He then smeared honeyed roasted flour on the trees in every place. The peacock king constantly took it to provide for his wife. The archer-hunter smeared his body with honeyed roasted flour, crouched down, and waited. When the peacock king took the roasted flour, the man caught him. The peacock king said: 'Your toiling of your body must be for profit. I shall show you a golden mountain that can serve as an inexhaustible treasure; spare my life!' The hunter replied: 'The great king will bestow on me a thousand catties of gold and give his youngest daughter to me as a wife. How could I believe your words? I am determined to deliver you as an offering.' The peacock king said: 'The great king cherishes benevolence, and his moisture of grace leaves nothing unreached. I pray you heed my humble words: grant me a little water; I shall empower it with a compassionate incantation, and when she drinks it, her illness will be healed. If it has no effect, it will not be too late to receive punishment.' The king complied with his wish. When the queen consort drank it, all her ailments were completely healed, and her radiant complexion became brilliant; so it was for all the palace ladies. The entire country praised the king's vast benevolence in preserving the peacock's life and thereby extending the lifespan of the entire country. The peacock said: 'I wish to cast my body into that great lake and empower its water with an incantation; the multiple ailments of the common people across the land can then be healed. If there is any deceit or falsehood, you may strike my feet with a staff.' The king said: 'I permit it.' The peacock did so. The people of the country drank the water and all gained strength: the deaf heard, the blind saw, the mute spoke, and the crippled stretched out; so it was for all illnesses. The queen's illness was eliminated, the people of the country were all free from disease, and they had no mind to harm the peacock. The peacock, knowing this fully, addressed the king, saying: 'Having received the king's kindness that granted me life, I have repaid it by saving the lives of the entire country. The recompense being completed, I beg to withdraw.' The king said: 'You may do so.' The bird then took flight, mounted a tree, and spoke again: 'In the world there are three fools.' The king said: 'What are the three?' 'The first is my folly; the second is the hunter's folly; the third is the great king's folly.' The king said: 'I pray you explain them.' The bird said: 'The heavy precepts of all Buddhas regard lust as fire; burning the body and endangering life arises from greed for sex. I abandoned five hundred wives who attended me and craved the green bird, seeking food to supply her like a servant, and was captured by a wild deceiver, nearly endangering my body and life: this is my folly. As for the hunter's folly: at my words of utter sincerity, he abandoned a mountain of gold and cast aside inexhaustible treasure, believing the deceitful falsehood of the queen and longing for the youngest daughter as a wife. Looking upon the mad fools of the world, all are of this kind! Violating the Buddha's truthful precepts, they believe the deceits of ghosts and demons, indulging in wine, pleasure, and licentious debauchery; some suffer the calamity of a ruined household, or at death enter Mount Tai, their sufferings being countless. Longing to return to human form is like a featherless bird wishing to fly up to heaven; how could it not be difficult? The seductive bewitchment of a wanton woman is comparable to that drought demon; there is none who does not thereby lose their kingdom and endanger their body. Yet foolish men revere them; among ten thousand words there is not one truth. Yet the archer-hunter believed her: this is called the hunter's folly. The king obtained a heavenly physician who eliminated the illness of the entire country, completely eradicating all poisons so that faces were like blossoms in full bloom, with both great and humble rejoicing and relying on it; yet the king released him: this is called the king's folly.' The Buddha told Śāriputra: 'As for the peacock king, from that time onward he travelled through the eight directions, constantly bestowing divine medicine with a compassionate mind to cure the diseases of sentient beings. The peacock king was my own body. The king of the country was Śāriputra. The hunter was Devadatta. The queen consort was Devadatta's wife. Such is the Bodhisattva's compassionate wisdom in crossing over without limit by practicing generosity.'

54.45

Furthermore, the Za baozang jing says: The Buddha said: "In the past, there was a lotus pond where many water birds lived. At that time there was a crane in the pond walking slowly and lifting its feet. The birds all said: 'This bird's conduct is good and its deportment is gentle and orderly, not disturbing the creatures of the water.' At that time a white goose spoke a verse, saying:

54.46

'Lifting its feet and treading slowly, / its voice is extremely soft; / it deceives the world— / who does not recognise flattery and slander?'"

54.47

The crane said, 'Why speak like this? Come, let us be friends.' The white goose replied, 'I know you are flattering and slanderous; I will never be friends with you. If you wish to know: the king of geese at that time was myself, and the crane of that time was the present Devadatta.'

54.48

Furthermore, the *Zabaozang jing* says: The Buddha said: In a past age, on the slopes of the Himālayas, there was a king of wild pheasants who led a large flock of pheasants following him. His crown was extremely red and his body very white. He said to the pheasants, 'Keep far away from cities and villages; do not let the people eat you. We have many enemies who are jealous; take good care to protect yourselves.' At that time, there was a cat in a village who heard that there were pheasants there and went toward them. Beneath a tree, walking slowly with lowered gaze, she said to the pheasant, 'Let me be your wife, and you be my husband. Your form is handsome and lovely; the crown on your head is red and your whole body is white. I shall serve you in safety and joy.' The pheasant spoke a verse:

54.49

'Cat with yellow eyes, foolish little creature,
in all things harboring harm, wishing to devour and eat:
I have never seen anyone who kept such a wife
and obtained a lifespan of safety and peace.'

54.50

'The pheasant of that time was myself. The cat of that time was Devadatta. Formerly, in the past, she sought to lure and deceive me; today, he also seeks to lure and deceive me, asking for my disciples.' The eulogy says:

54.51

Deceitful intent feigns stupidity,
making one believe without doubt.
Falsely showing allegiance,
coming along with deceit;
close on the outside, harmful within,
encroaching and shifting day and night.
Only after long cohabitation
does one realize the mutual deception.

54.52

Chapter 61: Indolence and Arrogance (This contains two sections)

54.53

Section 1: Statement of Intent

54.54

The reason people fail to attain the Way is that the mind is bewildered and muddled. The reason the mind is bewildered and muddled is that external things perturb it. The things that perturb it are many, but summarily there are three: first, influence, gain, glory, and fame; second, seductive charms and alluring elegance; third, sweet fats and rich delicacies. Although glory and fame daily occupy the mind, fundamentally they are not an encumbrance of every moment. Seductive charms and alluring elegance are deeper by comparison. Sweet fats and rich delicacies form the most urgent burden. The myriad affairs in their clamour are merely the branches and leaves of these three. The sages knew that without cutting off these three things, seeking the Way would be impossible to obtain. Like water and fire: if you dam and concentrate them, their utility is made entirely complete; if you breach and scatter them, their efficacy becomes all the more negligible. Therefore a treatise says: 'When the substance is minute, the force is weighty; when the substance is weighty, the force is minute.' Hence, when we ponder and examine this: it is truly through diligent exertion that one awakens to the Way, and through indolence and arrogance that one is hindered from sagehood by greed for sounds and sights. Thus Śākyamuni sounded the Dharma drum in the Deer Park, and the Master raised his virtuous voice in the district of Lu; yet what the ears and eyes still failed to heed—how could the mind and consciousness tally with it?

54.55

Section 2: Citing Testimonies

54.56

As the *Sarvāstivāda-śāstra* says: Speaking of the precepts of the prātimokṣa across the five destinies, only the human destiny can receive the precepts; the remaining four cannot. For instance, the heavenly destiny is so deeply attached to pleasure that they cannot receive the precepts. As once in the past, Mahāmaudgalyāyana, because a disciple was ill, ascended to the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven to ask Jīvaka. It happened that the gods were entering the Nandana Grove. At that time, Maudgalyāyana stood by the roadside waiting, but none of the gods looked back at him. Only Jīvaka arrived later; glancing and seeing Maudgalyāyana, he raised one hand toward him and drove his chariot straight past. Maudgalyāyana thought to himself: 'This person was originally in the human realm as my disciple. Now that he receives heavenly blessings, he is attached to heavenly pleasures and has completely lost his original mind.' He immediately used his divine power to stop the chariot. Jīvaka stepped down from the chariot and bowed to Maudgalyāyana's feet. Maudgalyāyana rebuked him with various reasons. Jīvaka replied to Maudgalyāyana, saying: 'Because I was the Venerable One's disciple in the human realm, I raised my hand to greet you. Have you seen any among the gods who did even that?' Then Maudgalyāyana exhorted Śakra Devānām Indra, saying: 'The age of a Buddha is difficult to encounter; why do you not frequently approach him to inquire and receive the saddharma?' Śakra, wishing to make Maudgalyāyana understand, dispatched an envoy commanding a devaputra to come. After calling him back and forth three times, he still did not come; later, after failing to respond, he finally came. Śakra said to Maudgalyāyana: 'This devaputra has only one heavenly maiden and one musical entertainment to amuse himself with. Because his passion of defiling desire is deep, though the order was serious, he could not tear himself away, and therefore was unwilling to come. How much more so for a heavenly king, with various palaces and halls, countless heavenly maidens, spontaneous delicacies of a hundred flavors whenever food is needed, and hundreds of thousands of musical entertainments to amuse himself! Looking east, he forgets the west. Though he knows that the age of a Buddha is difficult to encounter and the saddharma is difficult to hear, being bound by defiling pleasures, he cannot attain freedom. What more can be done?' In the three miserable paths, suffering is severe, with no cause to receive the precepts. Among humans, only in the three continents can one receive the precepts; in Uttarakuru there is no Buddhadharma, so they cannot receive the precepts: because they are hindered by karmic reward and because of their foolishness, they do not receive the noble Dharma.

54.57

Furthermore, the *Samantapāsādikā* says: At that time there was a group of six bhikṣus who sat in a low place themselves while the person requesting the Dharma was on a high seat, and expounded the Dharma for them. Because they showed contempt for the Dharma, the Buddha rebuked them. The Buddha said to the bhikṣus: 'In the past, in the country of Vārāṇasī, there was a householder named Chavaka. His wife was pregnant and craved a mango. She said to her husband, "I crave a mango; please find one for me, my lord." Her husband replied, "This is not the season for the fruit; how can I obtain it?" The wife said to the husband, "If you, my lord, do not obtain it, I must surely die." The husband, hearing the wife's words, thought to himself: "Only in the king's orchard are there out-of-season fruits; I must go and steal one." Having thought this, he entered the king's orchard by night. Before he could pick the fruit, the signs of dawn appeared, and he could not get out of the orchard. Thereupon he hid in a tree. At that time, the king and a brāhmaṇa entered the orchard wishing to eat mangoes. The brāhmaṇa was below, and the king was on a high seat; the brāhmaṇa expounded the Dharma for the king. The fruit-thief in the tree thought to himself: "My stealing of fruit ought to deserve death. Because the king is listening to the brāhmaṇa expounding the Dharma, I am now spared. I now have no Dharma; the king also has no Dharma; the brāhmaṇa also has no Dharma. Why? Because for the sake of my wife I stole the king's fruit; the king, out of arrogance, has his master on a low seat while he sits on a high seat to listen to the teaching of the Dharma; the brāhmaṇa, out of greed for material gain, sits on a low seat himself to expound the Dharma for the king. We three together are without Dharma. Now I am spared." He immediately climbed down the tree, went before the king, and spoke a verse:'

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法苑珠林 — 道世, Classical Chinese