法苑珠林 96

English (machine translation) 96

Language: English

96.1

Compiled by the Śramaṇa Shi Daoshi of Ximing Temple

96.2

Section 96: Relinquishing the Body (This contains two parts)

The nature of form has no physical mark; when touched, it inevitably returns to emptiness. If the three times are illusory, when examined to their minutest elements, they will ultimately disperse. Even with authority that can turn the heavens and shake the earth, it will inevitably end in obliteration; the splendor of the Qi caps and the Chu sashes can never save one from turning to dust and soil. Therefore, the body has no fixed substance, being a confluence of diverse conditions; the four elements differ, and wind and fire constantly diverge. Splitting and separating them, they are originally not a single thing. [The distance between] the liver of Yan and the gallbladder of Yue is not sufficient as a comparison. Only when bodhisattvas benefit living beings do they fully exhaust its meaning. Yet accumulating this dark delusion, beings are born and reborn without cease. If a single thought should happen to occur, before even a moment passes, obstacles and habit-energies buffet one another, and they immediately lose their way. They point errantly to emptiness and call it existence; harming life to nourish oneself is termed poison. Storing up wealth outside the body to satisfy desires, and encroaching upon what is not one's share to indulge extravagance—how could it merely be a matter of warming the skin and filling the stomach like this? Even to the extent of amassing chests and filling storerooms, overflowing platters and filling larders, from beginningless time until now people have served this illusory self, yet have never been sated. Reflecting quietly on this matter, is it not sinful? Now that one has realized the error of vainly keeping this unbaked jar, both object and self are entirely empty; where does treasure and cherish lie? Therefore, understanding illusion and deceit is the constant mind of the Great Being; relinquishing the false to seek the true is the constant vow of the bodhisattva. They realize that the three realms are an abode of morning and evening, and awaken to the four modes of birth being a realm of dreams and illusions. Secular teachings say: "In life, the body is a lodge; in death, one should take Heaven and Earth as inner and outer coffins." Buddhist teachings say: "The prince offering his body surpassed nine kalpas of merit; slicing flesh to ransom a dove shook the three thousand [worlds]." Comparing the present to antiquity, one hopes to be the same, seeking to enable the white ox to have the strength for the long road, and the jewel ship to have the power to reach the other shore.

96.5

Part 2: Citing Evidence

96.6

As the Suvarṇaprabhāsa-sūtra says: The Buddha told the great assembly: In the past there was a king named Mahāratha, who constantly practiced good dharmas and had no enemies. At that time he had three sons, extraordinarily preeminent. The first prince was named Mahāpraṇāda, the second prince was named Mahādeva, and the youngest prince was named Mahāsattva. These three princes went on an excursion in a garden and gradually arrived at a bamboo grove, where they halted their chariot to rest. The first prince spoke these words: 'Today my mind is very fearful; will there not be some ruin or harm in this forest?' The second prince also spoke these words: 'Today I do not cherish my own body, but being separated from what I love makes my mind sorrowful.' The third prince also spoke these words: 'Today I alone have no fear, nor do I have sorrow or distress. The mountain's empty solitude is praised by the divine sages; this quiet place brings one peace and security.' Moving further ahead, they saw a tigress that had given birth seven days before, surrounded by her seven cubs, starving, exhausted, emaciated, and on the verge of dying. When the first prince saw this tigress, he said: 'If she is pressed by hunger, she will certainly turn to devour her cubs.' The third prince said: 'Who among you can provide food for this tigress?' The first prince said: 'This tigress has little life left, and there is no room to seek food for her elsewhere; her life certainly cannot be saved. Who could for her sake not spare their own body and life?' The second prince said: 'Of all things hard to relinquish, none surpasses one's own body.' The third prince said: 'If great beings desire to benefit others and give rise to great compassion, it is not difficult.' Then the princes were filled with great sorrow. Standing for a long time watching her, their eyes did not leave her. Having made this observation, they soon departed. At that time, the third prince said: 'The time has now come for me to relinquish my body. From the past until now, I have cast away this body many times for no purpose at all. According to the seasons I have nurtured it, letting it lack nothing, yet it knows no gratitude and instead gives rise to enmity and harm; moreover, it cannot escape impermanence and destruction. Now I will relinquish this body to perform an unsurpassed deed, making a great bridge across the ocean of birth and death, forever leaving behind sorrow, adversity, impermanence, and mutation, fully perfecting wisdom and merit.' Thereupon he said: 'My brothers, you may now return with your attendants to your residence.' At that time, Prince Mahāsattva returned to where the tigress was, took off his clothes, hung them on a bamboo branch, and made this vow: 'I now, for the benefit of all sentient beings, to realize the most supreme, unsurpassed path, and desiring to cross over all sentient beings in the three realms of existence…' Having made this vow, the prince threw himself down to lie before the starving tigress. Through the power of his great compassion, the tigress was unable to act. The prince reflected: 'The tigress is now emaciated and powerless, unable to take my body's flesh and blood to eat.' He immediately arose to seek a knife, but could not find one at all. He then pierced his neck with dry bamboo to draw blood. At that moment, the great earth shook in six ways, the sun lost its brilliant light, and mixed flowers and various wondrous perfumes rained down. At that time, the gods in empty space saw it, rejoiced in their hearts, and praised it as unprecedented: 'Splendid, O Great Being! Truly one of great compassion! For the sake of sentient beings, you can relinquish what is hard to relinquish; before long you will realize pure nirvāṇa.' Seeing the blood flow and stain the prince's body, the tigress then licked the blood, devoured his flesh, and left only the remaining bones. At that time, the two elder brothers saw the earth shake violently, the sun lose its brilliant light, and flowers and perfumes rain down: 'It must be that our younger brother has relinquished his cherished body.' Then the two princes were filled with great grief and dread; weeping and lamenting, their faces haggard, they led one another back to the place of the tigress. They saw that the clothes worn by their younger brother were all upon a bamboo branch, and his bones, hair, and nails were scattered in disarray, with blood flowing everywhere and staining the ground. Seeing this, they fainted and could not contain themselves. Throwing themselves upon the bones, it was a long time before they revived. They then arose, raised their hands, and wept, crying out to heaven: 'Our younger brother was young in years but surpassed others in ability; cherished by our father and mother, he has suddenly relinquished his body. If we now return to the palace and our parents ask, how shall we answer? I would rather end my life here in the same place; I cannot bear to return and face our parents and kin.' At that time, the attendants led by the youngest prince scattered in all directions, asking one another: 'Where is our master today?'

96.7

At that time, the queen in her sleep dreamed that her breasts were severed, her teeth fell out, and that of three dove chicks she obtained, one was eaten by a hawk. When the great earth shook, the queen immediately awoke with a start, her heart filled with great sorrow and dread, and spoke a verse:

96.8

"Why today did the great earth and the great waters / all shake,
creatures find no resting place, / and the sun lose its brilliant light as if covered?
My heart is anguished, / my eyelids twitch—like these
auspicious signs that I now see, / there must be a disaster,
an inauspicious affliction."

96.9

After the queen had spoken this verse, a maidservant who had heard news of the princes outside was alarmed and terrified. She then reported to the queen, saying: 'Just now outside I heard the attendants searching for the princes, not knowing where they are.' Having heard this, the queen was filled with great grief and distress. She went to the great king and conveyed this matter in full. Hearing it, the king fainted in choking grief and affliction. Wiping his tears, he said: 'How is it that today I have lost the one cherished in my heart?' At that time, the World-Honoured One spoke a verse:

96.10

"At that time the great king / immediately arose from his seat,
sprinkled water on the queen, / and after a long while she revived.
Regaining mindfulness, / in a faint voice she asked the king:
'Are my sons now / dead or alive?'
Then the great king / told his queen:
'I will now send / ministers and envoys
all around, east and west, / to search for our sons.
You should for now / not grieve so greatly.'
After the great king had thus / comforted the queen,
he immediately prepared his carriage / and set forth from his palace.
When the great king / had gone out of the city,
he looked around in the four directions, / searching for his sons;
with an anguished and bewildered mind, / he did not know where they were.
At last, in the distance, he saw / a messenger approaching.
Having arrived before the king, / he spoke these words:
'May the king not sorrow; / your sons still live.
Before long they will arrive, / letting the king see them.'
In a brief moment, / another minister arrived:
'The great king should know / that one son has already died.
Though two sons survive, / they are desolate in grief.
The third prince, / seeing the tigress newly delivered,
starving for seven days, / feared she would eat her cubs.
Seeing this tigress, / he gave rise to deep compassion,
made a great vow: / "I shall deliver sentient beings,
and in future ages / realize bodhi."
He then climbed to a high place / and cast his body to the starving tigress.
Pressed by hunger, / the tigress arose and devoured him;
all flesh and blood / have been completely exhausted,
leaving only bones / scattered on the ground.'
At that time, the great king, / having heard the minister's words,
fainted again, / fell senseless to the ground,
and the raging fire of sorrow / burned within his body.
The ministers and kin / did likewise.
Sprinkling water on the king, / after a long while he revived;
arising again, he raised his hands / and wept, crying out to heaven.
Another minister arrived / and addressed the king, saying:
'Just now in the forest / I saw the two princes,
in bitter grief and sorrow, / crying out in lamentation,
swooning in despair, / casting themselves on the ground.
I then sought water / and sprinkled it on their bodies.'
'This youngest son / was cherished by me;
the great demon of impermanence / has suddenly swallowed him up.
Though the other two sons / are still alive,
they are burned / by the fire of grief;
perhaps for this reason / they may lose their life faculties.
I ought to go quickly / into that forest,
receive and carry my sons, / and return in haste to the palace.'
Their mother, following behind, / pressed by bitter sorrow,
together with her attendants / wished to reach that forest.
Right on the road / she saw her two sons,
crying to heaven and striking the earth, / calling their brother's name.
Then the king stepped forward, / embraced the two sons,
wailing and weeping, / and along the road returned to the palace,
quickly letting the two sons / see their mother.
The Buddha told the tree deity: / 'You should now know
that the prince at that time, / Mahāsattva,
who relinquished his body to feed the tigress, / was myself.
The great king at that time, / Mahāratha,
is now my father the king, / Śuddhodana.
The queen at that time / is now Māyā.
The first prince / is now Maitreya.
The second prince / is now Devadatta.
The tigress at that time / is now Gopā.
The tigress's seven cubs at that time / are now the five bhikṣus,
and Śāriputra / and Maudgalyāyana.'"

96.11

At that time, the great king Mahāratha and his queen wailed and wept. They all took off their royal robes and necklaces, and together with the great assembly went into the bamboo grove, gathered his relics, and built a seven-jeweled stūpa at that very spot. At the time when Prince Mahāsattva was about to relinquish his life, he made this vow: 'May my relics, in future ages across countless kalpas, constantly perform the Buddha's work for sentient beings.'

96.12

Furthermore, the Summary of the Chapter on the Ancient Accounts of Bodhisattva Bhaiṣajyarāja in the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra says: At that time, the Buddha told the Bodhisattva Nakṣatrarājasaṃkusumitābhijña: In the past, countless kalpas ago, as many as the sands of the Gaṅgā, there was a buddha named Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī Tathāgata. At that time, that buddha expounded the Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra for Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana, as well as for the assemblies of bodhisattvas and śrāvakas. This Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana delighted in practicing austerities. Within the Dharma of the Buddha Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī, he vigorously practiced walking meditation and single-mindedly sought buddhahood. When twelve thousand years were fulfilled, he reflected: 'Although by divine power I have made offerings to the Buddha, it is not as good as making an offering of my body.' Thereupon he consumed various perfumes, and after twelve hundred years were fulfilled, he anointed his body with fragrant oil, and before the Buddha Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī, wrapped his body in heavenly jeweled garments, poured various fragrant oils over it, and by supernormal power burned his own body. Its light universally illuminated eighty kotis of worlds, as many as the sands of the Gaṅgā. The buddhas therein praised him simultaneously, saying: 'Splendid, splendid! This is called true vigor; this is called the true offering of Dharma to the Tathāgata.' His body burned with fire for twelve hundred years, and only after that was his body exhausted. After Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana made this Dharma offering, when his life ended, he was reborn in the land of the Buddha Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī, being spontaneously born by transformation in the household of King Vimaladatta. He addressed his father, saying: 'The Buddha Candrasūryavimalaprabhāsaśrī is even now still present. Having previously made offerings to the Buddha, I obtained the dhāraṇī of understanding the languages of all sentient beings, and again heard this Saddharmapuṇḍarīka-sūtra. I should now return to make offerings to this Buddha.' Up to when that buddha entered nirvāṇa, he gathered the Buddha's relics and built eighty-four thousand jeweled stūpas. Then, before the eighty-four thousand stūpas, he burned his arms adorned with the hundred merits for seventy-two thousand years to make offerings, causing countless assemblies seeking to be śrāvakas and immeasurable asaṃkhyeyas of people to generate the aspiration for anuttarasamyaksaṃbodhi. At that time, all the bodhisattvas, gods, humans, asuras, and others, seeing that he had no arms, were sorrowful and grieved: 'Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana is our teacher who transforms and guides us; yet now, having burned his arms, his body is incomplete.' Then Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana made this vow among the great assembly: 'Having relinquished both my arms, I shall certainly obtain the golden body of a buddha. If this is true and not false, let both of my arms be restored as before.' Having made this vow, they were naturally restored as before. At that time, the trichiliocosm shook in six ways, the heavens rained down jeweled flowers, and all humans and gods attained what was unprecedented. The Buddha told Bodhisattva Nakṣatrarājasaṃkusumitābhijña: 'What do you think? Could Bodhisattva Sarvasattvapriyadarśana be anyone else? He is the present Bodhisattva Bhaiṣajyarāja. If there is someone who resolves to attain anuttarasamyaksaṃbodhi, and can burn a finger or even a toe as an offering to a buddha stūpa, it surpasses offering kingdoms, cities, wives, and children, as well as the rare treasures of a great trichiliocosm.'

96.13

Question: Does a bodhisattva who relinquishes his body incur the sin of suicide? Answer: According to the Vinaya, prior to casting off life, one incurs the minor preparatory offense of sthūlātyaya; once life has been cast off, there is no one to whom the sin can adhere. Therefore, one does not incur the major offense of killing a human being. According to the Mahāyāna, when a bodhisattva renounces saṃsāra in disgust to make offerings to the Buddha and gives rise to great compassion for the sake of all sentient beings, he has no intention of harming others and conversely invites great blessings. How could he possibly incur a sin? Thus, the Mañjuśrīparipṛcchā-sūtra says: 'The Buddha said: If one kills one's own body, there is no retribution of sin. Why is this? Just as when a bodhisattva kills his body, he obtains only merit, because my body is mastered by me. If mastering one's own body brought about retribution for sin, then trimming nails and wounding fingers would immediately entail sin. Why is this? Because one has harmed one's own body. A bodhisattva's relinquishment of the body is not morally neutral (avyākṛta): he obtains only meritorious blessings. Because defilements are extinguished, the body is extinguished, and therefore he obtains a pure body. It is like a soiled garment washed with lye: the dirt is extinguished, but the garment remains.' (Other sūtras also make clear that a bodhisattva's relinquishment of the body is by no means an isolated occurrence: such as Candraprabha offering his head; Śibi carving off his flesh; or taking the form of a lion or king of elephants to give up tusks and hide; or taking the form of a deer or king of birds to rescue a woodsman in distress; or taking the form of a great tortoise or turtle to save people from perils of water; or taking the form of a great fish or mountain of flesh to give food to the hungry and deliver them from suffering. Complete enumerations like these are manifold; they are distributed across separate sections, and out of concern for excessive length they cannot be repeated here.)

96.14

The hymn says:

96.15

Gong Sheng left no remnant of his life; / Jiye's days reached their end. / The elder Ji was driven by circumstances; / The young Huo likewise lost his life. / Ever dense is the cypress amidst heavy frost; / Ever fleeting is the mushroom facing rushing winds. / By chance one sighs at the times; / Length of days is not what stirs grief. / I regret that my noble-minded resolve / Could not vanish upon the cliff-tops. / Directing my mind before the Truly Awakened One, / This pain has long been endured. / Since one already knows the emptiness of person and self, / What sorrow if the mind is ever vigilant? / I pray only that riding into future births, / Foes and kin alike will recognize me.

96.16

Circumstances of Sympathetic Resonance (Briefly citing nine proofs):

96.17

Ning Fengzi of the Yellow Emperor's time / Śramaṇa Shi Huishao of the Song / Śramaṇa Shi Sengyu of the Song / Śramaṇa Shi Huiyi of the Song / Śramaṇa Shi Daodu of the Liang / Śramaṇa Shi Sengya of the Zhou / Śramaṇa Shi Jing'ai of the Zhou / Śramaṇa Shi Dazhi of the Sui / Śramaṇa Shi Huitong of the Tang

96.18

Ning Fengzi was a man of the Yellow Emperor's time. Tradition has it that he was the Yellow Emperor's master of pottery. A man met him and tended the kiln fire for him, being able to move in and out of the five-colored smoke. After a long time, he taught this to Fengzi. Fengzi heaped up fire and burned himself, rising and falling along with the smoke. Looking into the charcoal and ashes, his bones were still there. People of the time buried them together in the mountains north of Ning; hence he was called Master Ning Feng. (This single proof is from the Soushen ji.)

96.19

Under the Song, at Zhaoti Temple in Linchuan, there was Shi Huishao, whose clan name is unknown. As a small boy, whenever his mother fed him fish or meat, he would vomit it up, but he swallowed vegetables without hesitation. Thereupon he adopted a vegetarian diet. At the age of eight, he left the household to become a disciple of Sengyao. Diligent and strenuous in practicing austerities, he was an exemplar of moral restraint. Later, following Yao, he stayed at Zhaoti Temple in Linchuan and secretly harbored the intention of burning his body. He regularly hired people to cut firewood. On the East Mountain, where the stone chamber was several tens of feet high, he opened a niche in the center just large enough to contain his body. He then returned to the temple to bid farewell to Yao; Yao bitterly dissuaded him, but he would not comply. On the day he burned his body, he held an eightfold retreat (aṣṭāṅgasamanvāgatopavāsa) for the great assembly on the East Mountain and took leave of his acquaintances. On that day, carriages, horses, and throngs of people from the entire region rushed there, and the gold and jewels they brought were beyond count. When night fell to practice the circumambulation, Shao offered incense himself. After offering the incense, he took a torch, lit the firewood, stepped inside, sat down, and recited the 'Chapter on the Ancient Deeds of Bodhisattva Bhaiṣajyarāja'. When the assembly could no longer see him, they realized he had already gone. Before their prostrations were finished, they all rushed to the woodpile. The firewood was already blazing fiercely, yet the sound of recitation had not ceased. When the fire reached his forehead, he was heard crying out 'Single-mindedness!' Having spoken, he suddenly expired. The great assembly all saw a star as large as a peck measure fall straight down into the smoke and, after a moment, ascend to heaven. All who saw it said that the heavenly palace had come to welcome Shao. After three days, the pile of firewood was consumed. As he approached death, Shao had told his fellow students: 'Where I burn my body, a paulownia tree will grow; be sure not to cut it down.' Three days later, it indeed grew there. Shao's self-immolation occurred in the twenty-eighth year of Yuanjia, at the age of twenty-eight.

96.20

Under the Song, at Zhaoti Temple on Mount Lu, there was Shi Sengyu, whose secular surname was Zhou, a native of Yuhang in Wuxing. In his youth he left the household, and his practice was pure and unadulterated. In the tenth year of Yuanjia, together with his fellow students Tanwen, Huiguang, and others, he built a hermitage on the southern ridge of Mount Lu, naming it Zhaoyin ('Summoning the Recluse'). Yu had always considered that fetters to the three destinies (trividhadurgati) arise because of bodily form. When mental passions are nearly exhausted, the bodily form should also be abandoned. Why should Bhaiṣajyarāja's path be far away? Thereupon, he repeatedly made vows and agreed to burn his body. On the third day of the sixth month in the second year of Xiaojian of the Song, he gathered firewood to form a niche, invited the monastic community to hold a feast, and bid farewell to the assembly. On that day, dense clouds and mist gathered, and a heavy rain poured down. Yu then vowed: 'If my resolve is to succeed, the sky should clear; if there is no sympathetic resonance, let it pour, so that these fourfold assemblies may know that divine response is not obscure.' When he finished speaking, the clouds parted and the sky cleared. At the end of the first watch of the night, he entered the wooden niche, joined his palms, sat upright, and recited the 'Bhaiṣajyarāja Chapter'. Even as the flames surrounded him, his joined palms did not separate. Monastics and laypeople who learned of this came rushing in ever greater numbers; they all bowed their heads in prostration and wished to forge a karmic bond with him. Everyone saw purple vapors rise into the sky, ceasing only after a long time. He was forty-four years old at the time. Fourteen days later, a pair of paulownia trees sprouted in Yu's chamber, their roots and branches lush and equal in size, rising straight up through the soil to become marvelous trees. Those with deep discernment regarded them as the precious sāla trees, distinctly manifesting parinirvāṇa, showing this confirmation because of Yu's attainment. Consequently, he was called the 'Twin Paulownias Śramaṇa'. Zhang Bian of Wujun, serving as Senior Clerk of Pacifying the South, witnessed the event in person and composed a biography and eulogy, saying:

96.21

Boundless is the profound working; / Vast is the ultimate Way. / Transcending saṃsāra, / What serves as the wondrous treasure? (Part 1) / From of old, Bhaiṣajyarāja / Had a marvelous transformation beyond compare. / Formerly hearing tell of it, / Today we behold this man. (Part 2) / Outstanding is this śramaṇa: / With wisdom and meditation, his mind was firm. / His focused spirit became purple vapor, / Manifesting signs in the twin trees. (Part 3) / His virtue is worthy of delight, / His conduct worthy of esteem. / When this writing is composed, / It may spread a faint likeness of him. (Part 4)

96.22

Shi Huiyi of the Song was a native of Guangling. Having left the household at a young age, he stayed with his master at Shouchun. During the Xiaojian era of the Song, he went to the capital and rested at Zhulin Temple. Diligent in his ascetic practices, he vowed to burn his body. Among those who heard of it, some reviled him, while others praised him. In the fourth year of Daming, he began to abstain from grains, consuming only hemp and barley. By the sixth year, he gave up barley as well, consuming only clarified butter and oil. After a while, he also ceased taking clarified butter and oil, consuming only incense pills. Although his four great elements grew feeble, his spirit and mind remained upright and clear. Emperor Xiaowu revered him deeply with awe and inquired after him with earnest warmth, sending the Grand Preceptor, Prince of Jiangxia, Yigong, to the temple to dissuade Yi. Yi's vowed resolve did not waver. On the eighth day of the fourth month in the seventh year of Daming, as he was about to burn himself, he placed a cauldron and prepared oil to the south of Mount Zhong. On the morning of that day, riding in an ox cart pulled by men, he went from the temple toward the mountain. Since the emperor was the one upon whom the myriad people relied, and in whom the Three Jewels were lodged, Yi forced himself to enter the imperial palace. Reaching the Yunlong Gate, he was unable to walk, so he had someone announce to the throne: 'The Daoist monk Huiyi now proceeds to relinquish his body. He has come to the gate to pay his respects and bid farewell, deeply entrusting the Buddha's Dharma to your care.' Hearing this, the Emperor's countenance changed, and he came out to the Yunlong Gate in person. When Yi met the Emperor, he repeatedly entrusted the Buddha's Dharma to him, and then took his leave. The Emperor soon followed him there. Princes, consorts, and empresses, as well as monastics and laypeople filled the mountain valleys, casting down clothing and treasures beyond count. Yi then entered the cauldron, sat upon a small seat, wrapped himself in karpāsa cotton, placed a tall hat on his head, and poured oil over himself. As he was about to set it on fire, the Emperor ordered the Grand Preceptor to go to the cauldron and persuade him: 'The practice of the Way has many paths; why must you destroy your life? We hope you will think thrice and take another course.' Yi's noble resolve was firm, without a trace of regret. He replied: 'How is this base, worthless life worthy of Your Majesty's detainment? If the imperial heart and sagely benevolence identify with my own, I pray you will permit worldly people to leave the household.' The imperial decree granted this at once. Yi then took a torch with his own hand and lit the hat. When the hat blazed up, he cast aside the torch, joined his palms, and recited the 'Bhaiṣajyarāja Chapter'. When the fire reached his eyebrows, the sound of his recitation was still distinct; when it reached his eyes, it became indistinct. The noble and the base sighed with sorrow, their cries shaking the secluded valley; all snapped their fingers, called upon the Buddha, and wiped their tears in grief. The fire was extinguished only by the next morning. At that time, the Emperor heard reed pipes in the air and smelled an extraordinary, fragrant scent. Only at the end of the day did the Emperor return to his palace. That night, he dreamed that he saw Yi coming to him shaking his khakkhara staff, once again entrusting the Buddha's Dharma to him. The next day, the Emperor held a feast and allowed people to leave the household, ordering the feast master to make an announcement detailing the auspicious portents. At the site where he burned his body, Bhaiṣajyarāja Temple was built to commemorate the ancient deed.

96.23

During the Putong era of the Liang, at Little Zhuangyan Temple, there was Dhyāna Master Daodu. His moral conduct was upright and pure, and he clearly understood the Mahāyāna. The Liang Emperor respected him as equal to the four fruits [of arhatship]. The Dhyāna Master often felt disgust for this body, regarding it as like a poisonous tree: 'If life is impermanent, casting the corpse into a śītavana to give to birds and beasts would fulfill dānapāramitā and also be a wholesome deed; the eighty thousand families of worms within cannot be burned away, so this is not what is encouraged.' Thereupon, he gradually gathered firewood and progressively reduced his intake of food. On the third day of the eleventh month in the seventh year of Putong, the bell rang of its own accord; the temple community was frightened, not knowing what omen it was. On the eighth day of that month, the bell rang of its own accord again, whereupon he forged wholesome bonds with the great assembly. After that, he ate no more food, using only a water bottle to draw clear water, drinking one sheng per day. On the morning of the twenty-fifth day, the assembly went together to look at the bottle, and it emitted five-colored radiant beams of light and swirling fragrant mists. At dawn on the twenty-ninth day, the temple abbot Sengquan and several others climbed to the dhyāna chamber; from afar they saw purple light shining outward from the niche. As dusk approached that day, a flock of birds, five or six hundred in number, suddenly gathered together in a single tree, and after a moment flew westward. That night, when the first watch had just ended, multicolored lights illuminated the temple's rooms and buildings. In the fifth watch, a sound like roaring fire was heard cracking atop the mountain; people ran in alarm to look, and saw the Dhyāna Master with palms joined within the fire. He was sixty-six years of age. The Regional Inspector, Prince of Wuling, sent people to sweep and collect the remains at that spot and built a stūpa there. Later, the sound of a stone chime was heard on the mountain peak, its tone exceedingly clear and penetrating. At the place where he had previously burned his body, there had been a large tree that had been withered and dead for over ten years; when the Dhyāna Master entered the mountain, he often sat beneath it, and the following spring it finally put forth branches and leaves. (This single proof is from the Liang Gaoseng zhuan.)

96.24

During the Zhou dynasty, there was a śramaṇa from Yizhou named Sengya, whose family name was Mou. In his childhood, he spoke little and did not engage in playful games. Whenever he visited mountain springs, he would always bow before drinking. At times, he would sit staring without blinking for the entire day. When people asked him why, he answered, "This body is despicable; I am merely contemplating it. Later, I will surely burn it." When he grew older, he entered military service, where he was resolute and upright. Once, when joining his companions in catching fish, he took his own share and threw them back into the water, telling his companions, "Killing is no good deed. Now, boils have broken out all over my body. I vow to stop hunting forever." He then burned his hunting gear. At that time, several hundred heads of the indigenous tribes were building a reservoir by damming a stream to raise fish. Sengya led a crowd to go and observe it once more, when suddenly an unusual snake appeared, about a foot long, with both head and tail red. In an instant, it grew to more than a zhang in length and five to six chi in circumference. The indigenous people fled in panic. The snake then headed into the water and raised its tail into the clouds; a red radiance spread throughout the wilderness, extinguishing only after a long while. Shortly afterward, when the crowd gathered to discuss what had happened, Sengya said, "Do not worry about this. If you only put an end to the karma of killing, the snake will not harm people." He urged them to stop damming the reservoir, but the crowd would not agree. Shortly after, the dyke collapsed. He then went forth from household life. In the first year of the Wucheng era of the Zhou dynasty, in the sixth month, at the head of the road west of the city of Yizhou, he wrapped the five fingers of both hands in cloth and set fire to them. When someone asked, "Does it not hurt to burn your fingers?" Sengya replied, "Pain arises from the mind; since the mind feels no pain, what pain could the fingers have?" The people of the time unanimously called him the Sengya Bodhisattva. Someone asked him, "You seem to have a wind disease; why not treat it?" He replied, "The body is entirely empty; what is there to treat?" The person said further, "The faculties and the elements have their counterparts; how can you call them empty?" He replied, "Where, then, do the four great elements and the five faculties abide?" The assembly admired his words. Master Dui of Xiao'ai Temple had profound insight. Learning of Sengya's deeds, he led dozens of disciples to pay homage to him, taking off his robes to offer to him. Turning to the assembly, he said, "He truly understands prajñā, not merely in words." From this, both clergy and laity gathered in full, their veneration and faith redoubling. As the days passed, the fingers of his left hand were consumed, and the fire reached the bones of his palm. The marrow boiled and surged upward, threatening to extinguish the flames, so with the remaining fingers of his right hand he grasped a piece of bamboo to stir them. When someone asked him why, Sengya said, "It is because sentient beings are unable to practice forbearance. Now I urge those who cannot bear it to bear it, and those who do not burn to burn." He also preached the Dharma, encouraging them to practice compassion and abstain from meat. Though the smoke and flames blazed intensely, continuing from day into night, as both his hands burned, his eyebrows and eyes did not move. He also preached the Dharma and recited sūtras for the fourfold assembly. Whenever he reached an urgent word or an essential meaning, he would nod his head and smile faintly. At times, someone in the crowd grew slack in mind and privately muttered. Sengya looked back and said, "While in the mountains, I was entirely illiterate. Now, hearing the words of the sūtra, sentence by sentence they accord with my mind. Why do you not listen quietly with utmost devotion? If you contradict my purpose, I burn these hands in vain; how would it differ from burning firewood?" Thereupon the assembly trembled with awe, and all became solemn and attentive. Later, he addressed the assembly again, saying, "In the final kalpa, careless arrogance increases while faith wanes. People see Buddha statues as mere pieces of wood and hear the sūtras like the wind passing by a horse's ears. Now, for the sake of transcribing the teachings of the Mahāyāna scriptures, I burn my body and hands, wishing to make people revere the Buddha's Dharma doubly." The men and women of the entire region who heard of this all came to circumambulate him tens of thousands of times. Sengya remained serene, calm, and composed. Repeatedly gathering by the main avenue west of the city, he discussed the Dharma and its transformations. Initially, a fine drizzle began to fall, nearly soaking them; he then gathered his mind and entered samādhi, whereupon the clouds dispersed and the moon shone brightly. The five bones of his burned arms and palms, resembling remnants of burnt candles, suddenly sprouted anew, each growing three inches long, white as mother-of-pearl or snow. The monks and nuns said together, "After the Bodhisattva passes into extinction, we wish to receive his relics and erect a stūpa for offerings." Sengya then bit the five newly grown bones with his mouth, snapped them off, and spat them out as a gift to the assembly, saying, "These may serve for the stūpa." On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, there was suddenly a loud noise, like the earth shaking and the sky splitting open. People and animals were terrified. In the sky above, some saw apparitions of dogs, sheep, dragons, snakes, and military weapons; after a short while, they subsided. When people asked about this, Sengya said, "There is no suffering in this; it is merely the samādhi of awakening from sleep. I intend to abandon my body; you may prepare the offerings." At that time, Dhyāna Master Dao of Xiao'ai Temple, an elder of great virtue who observed the precepts with rigorous austerity, gave up his six-paramitā khakkhara and purple quilt to present to Sengya for entering the fire. The monk Yuanyuan sent a patched patchwork robe from afar, wishing it to accompany his body. At that time, people were clamouring and offerings of wealth piled up like mountains, so Sengya did not at first notice the items sent by the two virtuous masters. At dawn the following day, he suddenly said to his attendant Fatuo, "Go fetch the Master's khakkhara, the purple quilt, and the patched kāṣāya, and put them on me." He then set out for the place where he was to burn his body. At that time, more than a hundred thousand members of the clergy and laity surrounded his carriage, weeping. Sengya said, "Just preserve the bodhicitta; according to principle, there should be no weeping." He then ascended the high seat to preach the Dharma for the assembly. From time to time, he looked up at the pyre and smiled happily to himself. He then lay down on his right side, completely without breath, looking like a wooden statue. Suddenly, he rose and asked, "The time is near; I shall step down." First, he addressed the saṃgha, saying, "The Buddha's Dharma is difficult to encounter; you should protect and uphold it together." The firewood previously accumulated had been piled into a tower several tens of zhang high, atop which was built a small dry chamber, soaked with oil. Sengya walked unhurriedly to the tower, circumambulated it three times, bowed toward the four directions, and then ascended it. Leaning against the balustrade, he looked down and instructed them to be mindful of prajñā. A donor named Wang Zhuan said in fear, "If I set the fire, I will be burning a holy man, and will incur grave sin." Sengya knew his thoughts telepathically, told Zhuan to climb the tower, stroked his head with his arm, and said, "Do not worry that building the tower will incur sin; it is great merit." He urged them to light the fire, but they were all frightened and put the torches down on the ground. Sengya held the torch under his arm and first lit the northwest, then the southwest. The hemp was dry, and the oil thick; the blaze roared and merged together. Amid the raging fire, Sengya cast aside the firebrand and paid homage. By his second bow, his body was already scorched and cracked. He made one more bow, and his body fell forward onto the burning coals. When the wood was exhausted and the fire extinguished, the flesh and bones had all been transformed, yet only the heart remained, red and moist; the liver, intestines, spleen, and stomach were still joined together. They burned it again with forty cartloads of firewood; although the intestines and stomach shrank, the heart remained as before. Master Dui then ordered them to collect and bury it beneath a stūpa. Before he was burned, someone asked, "When the Bodhisattva enters extinction, we pray that you show an auspicious sign." Sengya replied, "My body can be exhausted, but my heart cannot be destroyed." The assembly thought the mental consciousness was formless and could not be burned away anyway; only later, when the physical heart remained, did they understand his foresight. Throughout his life until his end, Sengya frequently displayed extraordinary signs, dozens of them. Once, when he was about to receive precepts at someone's home, he suddenly laughed and said, "Are you about to donate a treasure, but hesitation has arisen?" When people made inquiries, they found that a wife of the Yang family had wished to donate a silver hairpin, but feared her husband would blame her, and so had delayed giving it. There was a monk named Foxing at Xiao'ai Temple who was excessively fond of drinking and eating, behaving casually like a layman. Following behind Sengya's carriage, he made a private vow, saying, "Now that I have encountered a holy man, I vow to abstain from wine and meat." When he returned to the temple, he saw a yellow-complexioned man who said to him, "That you can abstain from meat is a great and good thing. If you eat the meat of one sentient being, you are eating the meat of all sentient beings. If you eat it again, you are eating the meat of all your parents and relatives. If you must eat it, you should see it as the maggots in a corpse; the maggots are just the meat itself."

96.25

He also said, “The six periods of the day are wonderful for mindful wholesome thought. If you cannot manage them all, even one period is fine. In this way, even a single mindful thought is fine: all can eradicate evil.” Seeing that his words were upright and true, and his phrases harmonious and elegant, someone was about to put a question, but [the monk] expired not long after. Thereupon, with roused aspiration, Foxing diligently circumambulated the stupa and recited. He also heard a voice in the sky say, “May your diligent observance of the fast cause sentient beings to attain bodies that need no food, and cause hungry ghosts always to be sated.” Observing these inspirations and influences, they were all through Sengya’s power. When [Sengya] first ascended the pyre tower, the śramaṇa Sengyu was at the gate of Great Jianchang Temple and saw flames forty to fifty spans high and thirty to forty spans wide rise from the ground, surging up beside the tower, dying away only after a long time. Furthermore, on the first day of the burning, the venerable śramaṇa Baohai of the prefectural temple asked, “It is the same fire; why does the Bodhisattva experience being burned with no sensation of pain at all?” Sengya replied, “It is because sentient beings cling to characteristics that there is pain.” [Baohai] asked again, “It is always said that one takes on suffering on behalf of sentient beings—can this truly be achieved or not?” He answered, “Since one takes it on with the mind on their behalf, why could it not be achieved?” [Baohai] asked again, “The Bodhisattva burns himself, but when the sins of sentient beings ripen, each receives their own suffering; how can one take their place?” He answered, “It is just like burning the hand: a single thought of a root of goodness can eradicate evil. How is that not taking their place?” He then said to his attendant Zhiyan, “After my parinirvāṇa, attend well to the sick. They are truly unfathomable: most are fundamentally Buddhas and holy ones who ride on skillful means to manifest in response [to conditions]. Unless one has a great and impartial mind, how could one show them reverence? This is true practice.” Among those seated was someone who doubted whether Sengya was a holy one; [Sengya] called that person directly by name and said, “When the Buddhas respond to the world, their forms have no fixed appearance. Sometimes they appear ugly and afflicted with various illnesses, or even as lowly kinds of beasts. Dānapati, take care not to lightly disparage them!” When the fire was about to be lit, all witnessed extraordinary signs. Some saw a round parasol cover Sengya, with a monk seated atop the canopy. Some saw five-colored light in human shapes at the four gates. Others saw what looked like a rising sun atop the pyre tower, with showers of flowers—the larger ones the size of two bamboo hats, the smaller ones like fragments of stalactite—falling profusely in a blend of five colors. Many caught them, but at the touch of a hand they all vanished. After Sengya passed away, a person of Pi County saw a net-draped litter in the sky beside the Pi River. Sengya was seated on it, dressed in a patched yellow robe, his right shoulder bared with a purple mantle, grasping a khakkhara. Behind him were five to six hundred monks, all sheltered by bamboo umbrellas, traveling through the sky and vanishing into the west. Furthermore, the monk Huice of Lingguo Temple in Tongzhou, upon hearing of Sengya’s parinirvāṇa, held a great vegetarian feast for him. In the old market place, just before the meal, a dark cloud suddenly came from the southeast, casting a cool shade over the assembly. Then rained down dragon hairs, distinct in five colors, the longer ones a foot and a half, the shorter ones still six inches. Flowers, banners, and incense smoke also rained down, filling the air in profusion, seen by the entire assembly. Furthermore, when the heart-śarīra was first retrieved and brought into the resident temple, all saw flowering bushes burst into bloom, brightening the courtyards. Also, the monk Huisheng of Akaniṣṭha Temple, who was confined to bed with illness, had not witnessed the self-immolation and felt deep regret. In a dream, Sengya came with a novice, carrying three dou of incense and sandalwood shavings wrapped in a cloth. He divided them into four heaps surrounding Sheng and set fire to burn the incense. Sheng said in terror, “I am but an ordinary person; I cannot burn my body!” Sengya said, “Fear not; this is only to fumigate your illness.” Once the embers were burnt out, [Sheng] immediately felt refreshed and healthy. He then requested a miraculous sign. [Sengya] replied, “In Yizhou, ‘Sengya’ was only my assumed name; my real name is Bodhisattva Brightly Illuminating Treasure Treasury.” After Sheng awoke, his strength was doubled compared to normal. Later, when an assembly was held for Sengya in an outlying village, Sheng led the chanting himself, saying, “Tongzhou had great merit, so monastics and laity saw miraculous signs; our obscurations are heavy, so we have seen nothing.” Thereupon, in response to his words, about two hundred people all saw heavenly flowers fall like swirling snow across the sky, glowing against the sun. By the end of the midday meal, the flowers gradually grew as large as seven-inch plates, all of golden hue, pure and dazzling to the eyes. The fourfold assembly vied to catch them, but none could be grasped; some climbed trees and mounted high places hoping to seize them, but they all flew upward. Furthermore, Wang Senggui, a resident of Chengdu, had his entire household abandon meat after Sengya’s self-immolation. Later, due to some business, they were about to break their vegetarianism and privately discussed it among themselves. At the second watch of the night, they suddenly heard a voice outside the gate calling, “Dānapati!” When they opened the door, they saw a monk who said, “Take care not to eat meat!” His words were sorrowful and earnest, and he walked away weeping. They ran after him, but though he seemed near, he remained far, and suddenly disappeared. Furthermore, in the eighth month after the self-immolation, a Rao tribesman named Mu Nandang was hunting on the summit of Qiao Mountain. Holding his arrow and crossbow, he looked up for deer and suddenly saw Sengya riding a blue muntjac. The hunter said in astonishment, “You burned your body and died in Yizhou; how are you here now?” Sengya said, “Who says that? It is only deceiving people! Can you burn your body? Shooting and hunting incur guilt. You should diligently farm the fields.” He then parted and left. In the winter, Sengya’s nephew was by a stream when he suddenly heard a tumult in the mountain valleys as if from tens of thousands of people. Looking up, he saw Sengya followed by two monks, walking while holding khakkharas. He pursued and caught up with him, intending to grasp his kāṣāya. Sengya said, “You need not lay hold of me.” Pointing to the chickens and pigs ahead, he said, “These sounds all have meaning. Just like your words, others do not understand them, and you do not understand the speech of other lands. Humans and animals differ, yet all have the Buddha-nature; it is merely due to unwholesome karma that they receive these forms. You must only work the fields and not raise livestock.” His words were thorough and detailed. Thus, his frequent manifestations and foreknowledge of people’s minds were generally of this nature. All this is fully recorded in the śramaṇa Wangming’s collection, Fei Zhangfang’s Sanbao lu, and the Yibu jiyi ji.

96.26

During the Zhou dynasty, the śramaṇa Shi Jing’ai of Mount Zhongnan was surnamed Zheng and was a native of Xingyang. From an early age he established a worldly reputation, renowned for his gentle and refined nature, while his spiritual vessel was peaceful, simple, and stood preeminent beyond worldly concerns. Placing a hand on his heart, he sighed, “Born unfortunately into the chaos of the five turbidities, failing in public esteem is considered disgraceful. In this dilemma, would it not be better to retreat into seclusion?” Thus, consoling himself, he hid away at Mount Song. Searching through the sūtras and treatises, he forgot sleep and waking. Hearing that there was an Indian monk of profound learning and sublime conduct whom the world could not fathom, he traveled west to Xianyang to seek the Way, their minds fully communing. Keeping a low profile for ten years, he later retired to Mount Zhongnan with the intent of ending his days there. The mists, clouds, wind, and moon dispelled all thought of return. The mountain originally had no water, and one had to drink from the ravines. Once at dusk he sensed someone standing in attendance; suddenly a tiger descended, came before him, pawed the ground, and departed. When he looked at dawn, he saw it gradually moistening. He had someone dig, and a flying spring gushed forth. From then on, drawing water was effortless. This is what is now known as the Tiger Pawing Spring at the Fleeing-the-World Stronghold in Xigu. Later, Emperor Wu of the Northern Zhou destroyed the Dharma, carrying out cruelty in Guanzhong in the fifth month of the third year of Jiande. When the calamity was over, on the fifteenth day of the sixth month after court had adjourned, Ren, Duke of Jincheng and Minister of the Minbu, was at his administrative office with his attendants, gazing leisurely up at the sky, when he suddenly saw five or six objects flying up into the sky along the birds’ pathway. The larger ones brushed the blue heavens, while the smaller ones were the size of ten-hu granaries, gradually fading from sight. The other several pieces were smaller and lower down, yellow and white in color, rolling and unfurling in mid-air, resembling streamers without feet. On that day the sky was clear, the air calm, not a speck of dust stirred, and there was only an intensifying blaze of sunlight. Proceeding to the Dongguan office, he passed by the round prison, where to the north he saw yellow writing on the high wall, draped over brambles. Going to take it, it turned out to be the nineteenth fascicle of the Mahāprajñāpāramitā-sūtra. When he inquired about its origin, they replied, “It fell down here, fluttering from the sky.” At that time, as the Three Jewels had just been destroyed and the penal laws were severe, he showed it briefly to his colleagues on the bench, then hid it in his sleeve and returned to lock it in a chest. Earlier, Emperor Wu, knowing Jing’ai’s resolute character, gladly wished to see him, and ordered more than twenty men of the Three Guards to search the mountains, saying, “If I find this felt-clad monk, I will appoint him to high ministerial rank to govern the empire together with me.” Jing’ai dwelt in seclusion in the mountains, so the search did not find him. Later, hiding in Xigu on Mount Taiyi, he saw the Great Dharma ruined and both monastics and laity without refuge. Bound by karmic retribution, his body was powerless to assist. He said to his disciples, “I am of no benefit to the world, and shall now abandon this body.” Because the five groups of disciples had not previously emulated [such conduct], Jing’ai first compiled more than twenty fascicles of records on the Three Jewels in the Mahāyāna and Hīnayāna, hiding them in rock caves so that later generations might revive them. Later, feeling an urgent weariness with the body, he took his seat alone on a separate cliff. He told his disciples to descend the mountain and return early the next morning. Jing’ai then sat cross-legged on a flat rock, keeping only an inner garment. He sliced his flesh piece by piece and arranged it on the stone. He drew out his intestines and hung them on pine branches, without harming his internal organs. As for the rest of his sinews, flesh, hands, feet, head, and face, he carved and dissected them all completely until only the bones remained. Cutting his heart with the knife, he held it up and died. His attendant, struck with terror, could not sleep all night. Running back the next morning, he still saw the body with hands clasped, holding the heart, sitting cross-legged facing west as before. Among his wounded remains, there was no blood left behind at all; only white milk was seen pouring forth, congealing upon the stone. They then piled up stones around him and interred him there. This was the sixteenth day of the seventh month in the first year of the Xuanzheng era of the Zhou dynasty; his age was forty-five. His disciples were renowned in their day, as fully recounted in their separate biographies. His personal attendant, the śramaṇa Huixuan, was broadly versed in both Buddhist and non-Buddhist lore, with extraordinary resolve and strength. Grieving that the mountain had collapsed with none to look up to, and sorrowing that the beam had broken with none to rely on, he set forth his fragrant virtues and erected a stele at the stupa. Later, seekers of the Way who longed for the virtuous entered the mountain to pay homage. Following the dangerous cliffs, they saw a farewell gāthā inscribed by Jing’ai on the rock face, bearing the title: “Initially I wished to write with blood, but never expected it would turn white, which is the compassionate blood of a Bodhisattva; thus I wrote the text in ink.” It said: “Let all those with karmic affinity, monastics and laity, men and women, abide well in the Buddhadharma and do not give rise to retrogression. If you retrogress, you will lose the wholesome benefit. I abandon this body and life due to three conditions: first, seeing the many faults of the body; second, being unable to protect the Dharma; third, wishing to see the Buddha swiftly, imitating the ancient sages.” He then arranged a gāthā recounting this.

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法苑珠林 — 道世, Classical Chinese