諸經要集 16

English (machine translation) 16

Language: English

16.1

Compiled by the śramaṇa Shi Daoshi of Ximing Monastery

16.2

Section 24: Deceit and Pretense (having six circumstantial accounts)

16.4

Account of Explaining the Purport
Account of Feigning Intimacy
Account of Feigning Poison
Account of Feigning Nobility
Account of Feigning Fear
Account of Feigning Domestic Animals

Now, the supreme Way has no barrier; what is valued lies in loyal words. Thus, if the words one utters are good, they are echoed from a thousand li away; if the words one utters are not good, even at close quarters people are as if deaf. However, as the teaching flows down to the degenerate age, people and the Dharma become corrupt and deteriorate. Some rely on the true to fabricate the false; some adorn the empty to fake the real. This is truly because people harbor the crooked and the correct, and therefore the Dharma has the real and the fake. Once fame and profit encroach, self and others become ever more prominent. Even present intimates have none to attach to them, let alone those who were originally distant and estranged; thus it is hard to make friends. Therefore the sūtra says: 'A straightforward mind is the site of awakening (bodhimaṇḍa), because it is free of falsity and pretense.'

16.7

2. Account of Feigning Intimacy

16.8

As the Zabaozang jing says: All that is crafty, sycophantic, hypocritical, and deceptive outwardly appears upright but inwardly harbors treachery and selfish motives. For this reason, the wise should scrutinize the true and the false. For example, in the past there was a brāhmaṇa who was already advanced in years and indulgently took a young woman as his wife. The wife resented her husband's old age and engaged incessantly in illicit affairs on the side. She urged her husband to arrange a gathering and invite young and vigorous brāhmaṇas. The husband suspected illicit misconduct and was unwilling to invite them. The son of the former wife fell into the fire; at that time, the young wife looked on with her own eyes and did not catch him. The brāhmaṇa said: 'My child has now fallen into the fire; why did you not catch him?' The wife replied: 'Since my youth, I have only come near my own husband and never come near any other male. How could you have me touch this male?' When the old husband heard this, he thought it was just as she said; he then arranged a great gathering and assembled the brāhmaṇas. At that time, the young wife engaged in intercourse with them. When the old husband saw this, his mind harbored resentment and wrath; he took his precious belongings, abandoned his wife, and departed. Along the road, he saw a brāhmaṇa and went together with him as a companion. When evening came, they lodged together, and the next morning they walked ahead. [The companion] said to the old brāhmaṇa: 'At the place we lodged last night, a blade of grass adhered to my clothes. Since my youth, I have never encroached upon worldly property; I wish to return the blade of grass to that host. Please wait a moment for my going and returning.' The old brāhmaṇa deeply trusted his words, and his love and respect doubled; he agreed to stay and wait. [The companion] pretended to hold the blade of grass, entered a ditch, and lay down; only after a long time did he return, saying that the leaf had been returned. Because the old brāhmaṇa had to relieve himself, he entrusted his precious goods to him. Immediately afterward, this man ran away taking the treasures with him. Seeing that his own goods had been stolen, the old brāhmaṇa lamented over him unceasingly. Walking ahead a short distance, he rested under a tree and saw a stork holding a blade of grass in its beak, saying to the other birds: 'We should take pity on one another, gather in one place, and dwell together.' At that time, all the birds believed its words and came to gather. Then, as soon as the birds flew away, this stork went to their nests, pecked at their eggs, and ate them. When the birds were about to return, it again held a blade of grass in its beak. The birds discovered its deceit, and all abandoned it and left. Under this tree, a little while later, he saw an ordained non-Buddhist practitioner. His body was clad in a patched robe, walking calmly and unhurriedly, saying with his mouth: 'Begone, begone, sentient beings!' The old brāhmaṇa asked him, saying: 'Why do you walk while chanting "Begone, begone"?' The non-Buddhist replied, saying: 'I am a renunciant; I take pity on all and fear harming bugs and ants; therefore it is so.' At that time, the brāhmaṇa, seeing these words of his, gave rise to deep faith. He followed him to his house and lodged there for the night. Hearing only sounds of singing and dancing, he went out to see, and behold, in the dwelling room of the ordained non-Buddhist there was a hole in the ground, from which women emerged, enjoying intercourse with him, playing the zither, dancing, and making merry. Having seen this, the old brāhmaṇa reflected: 'Among all things under heaven, not a single one can be trusted.' Therefore he spoke a verse:

16.9

'Not touching another male; / Returning grass to the host; / The stork falsely holding grass in its beak; / The non-Buddhist fearing harm to bugs, / Chanting "Begone, begone" from his mouth— / Such deceit and pretense! / There is none whatsoever that can be trusted; / The suffering that follows is truly hard to bear.'

16.10

Therefore the Nirvāṇa Sūtra says: The Buddha said: 'As in the verse I spoke in former days:

16.11

All rivers / Are bound to have twists and turns; / All thickets / Are bound to be called trees; / All women / Are bound to have sycophancy and crookedness; / All that have mastery / Are bound to experience peace and joy.'

16.12

3. Account of Feigning Poison

16.13

As the Zabaozang jing states: At that time, Devadatta made use of various means, wishing to kill the Buddha, yet he could not do so. At that time, in a southern Indian kingdom, there was a brāhmaṇa who came, who was adept in mantras and the compounding of poisonous drugs. Devadatta then compounded a poisonous drug to scatter over the Buddha. The wind blew this drug so that it fell back onto his own head. Thereupon he fainted, falling to the ground on the verge of death; physicians could not cure him. Ānanda addressed the Buddha, saying, 'Bhagavat! Devadatta has been poisoned and is on the verge of death.' Because the Buddha felt pity, he made an utterance of truth for his sake: 'From the time when, as a bodhisattva, I attained buddhahood down to the present, I have always generated loving-kindness and compassion toward Devadatta without any malicious intent; may the poison naturally disappear!' Having spoken these words, the poison immediately dissolved. The monks said, 'It is rare, Bhagavat! Devadatta constantly gives rise to malicious intent toward the Tathāgata. Why does the Tathāgata nevertheless save his life?' The Buddha said, 'Not only today does he bear malicious intent toward me; in the past it was also like this.' They then asked the Buddha, saying, 'What were the circumstances of his malicious intent 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: the first was named Senā, and the second was named Malice (Durbuddhi). Senā always acted in accordance with the Dharma, while Malice constantly committed evil deeds, being fond of slanderous schemes. He said to the king, "Senā intends to commit treason." The king then had [Senā] seized and imprisoned. Devas and benevolent spirits cried out in the empty air, saying, "Such a worthy person has truly committed no fault or transgression; why is he bound and detained?" Next, Malice plundered the king's treasury and falsely accused Senā of it, but the king still did not believe him. The king said, "Seize this Malice, hand him over to Senā, and order him to execute judgment upon him." Senā then instructed Malice to repent before the king. Malice, knowing himself to be guilty, fled to the King of Videha. He crafted a jeweled chest containing two vicious serpents, endowed with lethal gaze. He had the King of Videha send an envoy to deliver it to that king and Senā, [saying], "Let the two of them view it together; do not show it to other people." When the king saw that the jeweled chest was exceedingly adorned, his heart was greatly delighted. He immediately summoned Senā, wishing to open and view it together. Senā replied, saying, "Objects that come from afar must not be inspected carelessly; fruits and foods that come from afar must not be eaten immediately. For what reason? Over there are evil persons who may perhaps come to harm us with evil." The king said, "I must look at it." [Senā] earnestly admonished him three times, but the king would not heed his words. He further addressed the king, saying, "If you do not heed your subject's words, Your Majesty may look at it yourself; your subject cannot look at it." The king then opened and looked at it, and both of his eyes were blinded into darkness so that he could not see objects. Senā was full of sorrow and distress, emaciated on the verge of death. He sent people out in the four directions, traveling extensively through all countries to seek far and wide for good medicine. Once they obtained good medicine, they cured the king's eyes, restoring them as before. The king at that time was Śāriputra; Senā at that time was myself; and Malice at that time was Devadatta.'

16.14

Fourth: Circumstances of feigning nobility.

16.15

As the Mahāsāṃghika-vinaya states: The Buddha told the monks: In a past age, there was a city named Vārāṇasī, and the country was named Kāśi. At that time, there was a prominent brāhmaṇa scholar named Purohita, who was the teacher to the king of the country, constantly instructing five hundred disciples. At that time, in the brāhmaṇa's household a slave was born, named Kalaha. He was constantly employed to wait upon the boys. This slave had sharp faculties; whenever he heard the words of the Dharma spoken, he was able to remember and retain them all. Once, this slave had a slight quarrel with the boys and then fled to another country. He falsely proclaimed of himself, saying, 'I am the son of the brāhmaṇa Purohita, named Yajñadatta.' He spoke to the royal preceptor of this country, saying, 'I am the son of Purohita, royal preceptor of the country of Vārāṇasī. I have purposefully come here wishing to study the brāhmaṇa's Dharma from the great master.' The master replied, saying, 'Very well.' This slave was intelligent; having previously heard [the teachings] before, now hearing them again, he was able to retain everything he heard. His master was greatly delighted, and thereupon ordered him to instruct the five hundred disciples: 'You teach in my stead; I shall go back and forth to the royal court.' This master had no sons, having only one daughter. He then said to him, 'Yajñadatta, you should follow my words: do not return to your country. I now give you my daughter as your wife.' He replied, saying, 'I obey your instruction.' Together they made a living, and the household gradually became wealthy and happy. Yajñadatta was difficult to please as a person. When his wife prepared food for him, he would constantly be angry that it was either raw or overcooked, failing to suit his taste. His wife frequently thought, 'If perchance a traveler should come from the country of Vārāṇasī, I shall learn from him the customs and methods of preparing food and drink, and only then make offerings to my husband.' That brāhmaṇa Purohita, having heard all about this matter, then thought: 'My slave Kalaha has escaped to another country. I should go to seize him and bring him back, or perhaps obtain his price.' He then went to that country. At that time, the slave went with the disciples to stroll in a park. While on the road, he saw his former master from afar and was immediately terrified. He whispered to the disciples, 'Return, and each of you recite and study on your own.' When the disciples had left, he then went before his master, bowed his head to his feet, and addressed his master, saying, 'I came to this country and claimed that the master was my father. I then submitted myself to this royal preceptor, studying the classics, and he gave his daughter to me as my wife. May the Venerable One not expose my affairs today! I shall pay the slave's price to offer to the master.' The master brāhmaṇa was well-versed in worldly affairs, so he replied, saying, 'You are truly my son. Only send me off early.' The slave then led him to his wife's home and announced to the household, 'My relative has arrived.' His wife was delighted and prepared various kinds of food and drink for him. When the offering of food was completed, watching for a small moment of leisure, she secretly bowed to the brāhmaṇa's feet and asked him, saying, 'I attend to my husband, but the food and drink I offer never please him. May the Venerable One instruct me: what did he eat when he was at home? I shall prepare food and drink for him according to the former method.' The guest brāhmaṇa then grew angry and thought: 'Just so, just so—he distresses another's daughter! You only send me off quickly, and when I am about to leave, I will teach you a verse that will render your husband speechless.' The woman was delighted to hear this; she took her leave and withdrew. She immediately spoke to her husband, saying, 'The venerable brāhmaṇa has come especially from afar; it is proper to send him off early.' Her husband then thought, 'Just as my wife says, he should indeed be sent off early; do not let him stay long, lest words slip out and cause me no small harm.' He then gave him a great deal of wealth and goods, instructed his wife to prepare food, and went in person to offer it. Since the husband was the head of his guild and was away seeking a companion, the wife finished offering the food, bowed to [the guest's] feet, took her leave, and requested the promised verse. He then taught her the verse, saying:

16.16

"Without relatives, wandering in other lands,
Deceiving all the people under heaven.
Coarse food is your customary food;
Why then do you dislike fine food?"

16.17

'I now give you this verse. If he becomes angry and dislikes the food as bad, go beside him, turn your back, and chant it softly so that he can hear it.' Having given this instruction, he then returned to his own country. After this slave sent his master away, whenever it came time to eat, he would again become angry. The wife, beside her husband, tried chanting the verse. When the husband heard this verse, his heart was immediately displeased, and he thought: 'Bah! This old fellow has exposed my stench!' From then on, he always spoke gentle words, seeking to keep his wife from becoming angry, fearing that his wife would tell people his secrets. The Buddha told the monks: 'The former master, the brāhmaṇa Purohita at that time, was myself. The slave Kalaha at that time was the present monk Channa. At that time, he already relied on me to bully others; now it is also like this: he relies on my power and authority to mistreat others.'

16.18

Fifth: Circumstances of feigning fear.

16.19

As the Zhidu lun states: All phenomena are empty and deceptive. Sentient beings in their folly do not recognize close from distant [relations]; they vent anger, revile, inflict harm, and even take life. Giving rise to these grave transgressions, they therefore fall into the three miserable destinies to undergo immeasurable suffering. For example, in a mountain there was a Buddhist monastery (stūpa/vihāra), within which there was a separate chamber. In the chamber was a ghost that came to frighten and trouble monks (daoren); thus the monks all abandoned the chamber and left. There was a visiting monk who arrived, and the karmadāna assigned him to dwell in this empty chamber, speaking to him, saying, 'In this chamber there is a ghost-spirit that likes to trouble people. If you are able to stay in it, stay.' The visiting monk, relying on the power of his precept-keeping and his broad learning, said, 'What can a petty ghost do? I can subdue it.' He then entered the room to stay. At dusk, another monk came seeking a dwelling place here, and the karmadāna also assigned him to stay in this room, likewise telling him that there was a ghost troubling people. That person also said, 'What can a petty ghost do? I shall subdue it.' The one who entered first shut the door and sat upright waiting for the ghost. The one who came later knocked on the door in the darkness of the night, seeking entry. The one inside thought it was the ghost and would not open the door for him. The one who came later knocked on the door with all his might, while the monk inside resisted him with his strength. The one outside gained the upper hand, pushed the door open, and managed to enter. The one inside struck him, and the one outside also struck back. When dawn broke and they saw each other, they turned out to be old friends and fellow students. Having recognized each other, they each felt shame and apologized. The multitude gathered like clouds, laughing and marveling at it. Sentient beings are also like this: the five aggregates are all empty; there is no self and no person. Grasping at signs, they quarrel and contend, willfully inflicting poisonous harm. If one lays them open on the ground, there is only bone and flesh; there is no person and no self. Therefore, the bodhisattva speaks to sentient beings, saying, 'Do not quarrel and contend over what is fundamentally empty. A human body is hard enough to obtain, how much more so meeting a buddha!'

16.20

Sixth: Circumstances of feigning animal [rebirth].

16.21

As the Old Sūtra of Miscellaneous Parables says: Formerly, there was a woman rich in gold and silver. She had an affair with a man, and taking all her gold, silver, clothes, and goods, they pursued [a journey] together. Coming to the bank of a swift river, the man said to her, "Bring the valuables here. I will cross over first and then return to fetch you." Having crossed over, the man ran away and did not return. The woman stood alone by the water in grief and distress, with no one to rescue her. She saw only a wild fox that had caught a wild goose. Then seeing a fish in the river, it abandoned the goose to seize the fish. Having failed to catch the fish, it also lost its original goose. The woman said to the fox, "Why are you so foolish? Coveting to catch both, you have obtained neither." The fox said, "My foolishness is still tolerable; your foolishness is worse than mine!"
Moreover, the Mahāsāṃghika-vinaya says: The Buddha addressed the bhikṣus: In a past age, unseasonable continuous rain did not stop for seven days. The herders did not go out for seven days. At that time, there was a hungry wolf searching for food in its hunger. It traversed seven villages completely without finding anything. It then reproached itself: "How poor is my fortune! Having traversed seven villages, I have obtained nothing at all. It would be better to observe the fast and return to live in the mountain forest." In its cave, it prayed with vows, saying, "May all sentient beings attain peace and security." Then, collecting its body, it sat peacefully with eyes closed.
When the day and month of fasting arrived, Śakra Devendra, riding the white dragon-elephant Airāvaṇa, surveyed the world to see who was keeping the precepts and who was breaking the precepts. Arriving at that mountain cave, he saw the wolf with closed eyes in contemplation. He then had this thought: "How astonishing! This beast of a wolf is truly extraordinary. Even humans do not have such a mind; how much more so that this beast of a wolf is able to be like this!" He then wished to test it to know whether it was genuine or false.
Śakra Devendra immediately transformed his body, turning into a sheep, and stood before the cave, calling out loudly to its flock. Seeing the sheep, the wolf thought: "How marvellous is the blessing of fasting! The retribution has arrived so suddenly! I wandered through seven villages seeking food without success, but now, having observed the fast for only a short while, fine viands come of themselves and kitchen provisions have arrived! I should simply eat it first and observe the fast afterward." It immediately came out of the cave and approached the sheep.
Seeing the wolf coming, the sheep took fright and fled galloping away. The wolf then pursued it, and the sheep ran on without stopping. After pursuing it far, the sheep transformed into a dog with a square mouth and floppy ears, which turned around to chase the wolf, barking urgently. Seeing the dog coming, the wolf was terrified and ran back. The dog pursued it urgently, and [the wolf] barely escaped, returning into the cave.
It then thought: "I wanted to eat it, but on the contrary it wanted to devour me!"
At that time, Śakra Devendra manifested before the wolf as a lame-legged sheep, bleating and standing still. The wolf thought: "The previous one was a dog; my eyes were blurred from hunger and faintness, so I thought it was a sheep. What I see now is truly a sheep." Looking again more closely, it examined its ears, horns, and tail, and it was truly a sheep. It then came out and approached it. The sheep again took fright and ran. As [the wolf] galloped in pursuit and was just about to catch it, it transformed back into a dog and turned around to chase the wolf as before.
[The wolf thought]: "I wanted to eat it, but on the contrary it wanted to devour me!"
Then Śakra Devendra transformed before the wolf into a lamb, bleating for its flock and calling for its mother. The wolf angrily said, "Even if you were a piece of meat, I still would not come out; how much less when you are a lamb trying to deceive me!" It returned to observe the fast again, calming its mind in contemplation.
Then Śakra Devendra, knowing that the wolf's mind had returned to the fast, still stood before the wolf as a lamb. The wolf then spoke a verse:

16.22

"Even if you were truly a sheep,
I still would not come out;
How much less when you are a deceit,
Frightening me as before!
Seeing that I have returned to the fast,
You come again to test me.
Even if you were a piece of meat,
You still could not be trusted;
How much less when you turn into a lamb,
Fraudulently bleating 'baa baa'!"

16.23

Thereupon, the Bhagavat spoke a verse:

16.24

"If there is a renunciant
Whose observance of precepts is frivolous and unstable,
Unable to relinquish gain and offerings,
He is just like the wolf observing the fast."

16.25

Moreover, the Mahīśāsaka-vinaya says: The Buddha addressed the bhikṣus: In ancient times, there was a māṇava who recited kṣatriya texts in a mountain cave. A wild fox stayed beside him, intently listening to the recitation of the texts, and understood something in its mind. It had this thought: "I understand the words of these texts; I am fully worthy of being the king among all beasts." Having had this thought, it rose and wandered about. Meeting an emaciated wild fox, it wanted to kill it. That fox said, "Why do you kill me?" It answered, "I am the king of beasts. Because you do not submit to me, I kill you." That fox said, "Please do not kill me; I will follow you." Thereupon the two foxes wandered together.
Meeting another fox, it again wanted to kill it. The question and answer were as above, and it also agreed to follow. In this manner, it successively subdued all foxes; 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. Thus it opportunistically became king. Having become king, it had this thought: "Now that I am the king among beasts, I should not take a beast as my wife." It then mounted a white elephant and, leading countless beasts, surrounded the city of Kāśī thousands of times.
The king sent an envoy to ask, "Why are all you beasts acting like this?" The wild fox answered, "I am the king of beasts. I ought to marry your daughter. If you give her to me, it will be well; if you do not give her to me, I will destroy your kingdom." [The envoy] returned and reported this. The king assembled his ministers to deliberate together. With the exception of one minister, all said that she should be given. Why? "What the kingdom relies upon is only elephants and horses. We have elephants and horses, while they have lions. When elephants and horses smell their scent, they fall prostrate in terror. In battle we will certainly be no match and will be destroyed by the beasts. Why spare one daughter and lose an entire kingdom?"
At that time, a minister of keen wisdom and far-reaching foresight said to the king: "Your servant has observed past and present, and has never heard or seen the daughter of a human king given to a lowly beast. Though your servant is unenlightened, I must kill this fox and cause the beasts to disperse and flee in all directions." The king asked, "What plan will you use?" The minister answered, "Your Majesty need only fix the date for the battle, and first request one wish from him: wish that the lions fight first and roar afterward. He will think we are afraid, and will definitely order the lions to roar first and fight afterward. When the day of battle arrives, Your Majesty should command that all humans and animals within the city plug their ears."
The king followed his words, sent the envoy back to fix the date, and requested the aforementioned wish. When the day of battle arrived, he sent a messenger again to make the request, and only then deployed the army. As the vanguards were about to clash, the wild fox indeed commanded the lions to roar first. Hearing it, the wild fox's heart split into seven pieces, and it fell from the elephant to the ground. Thereupon, the beasts dispersed and fled all at once. Because of this matter, the Buddha spoke a verse:

16.26

"The wild fox's arrogance was rampant;
Wishing to seek its retinue,
It went to the city of Kāśī
And called itself the king of beasts.
Arrogant men are also like this,
Plotting to govern followers;
In the land of Magadha,
Calling themselves masters of the Dharma."

16.27

"At that time, the King of Kāśī was myself; the wise minister was Śāriputra; and the wild fox king was Devadatta." [The Buddha] addressed the bhikṣus: "In the past, Devadatta deceitfully gained a retinue, and so it is now." Therefore, the Buddha spoke a verse, saying:

16.28

"Good people easily come together;
Evil people rarely meet with good.
Evil people easily come together;
Good people rarely meet with evil."

16.29

Moreover, the Fo benxing jing says: At that time, the Buddha addressed the bhikṣus, saying: I recall that in the past there was a river named Pāriyātra (which in the language of the Sui means 'Beyond the Joint'). At that time, on the bank of that river, there was a man who was a garland-maker. That man had a garden beside the river. Within that river, there was then a turtle that emerged from the water and entered the flower garden searching for food as it walked. Passing everywhere, it trampled and damaged the flowers. At that time, the owner of the garden, seeing that the turtle damaged the flowers, immediately seized it and placed it in a basket, intending to kill and eat it. That turtle thought: "How can I escape this peril? What expedient means can I use to deceive this garden owner?" It immediately spoke a verse to the garden owner:

16.30

"I have come out of the water, and my body has mud;
Set down the flowers for a moment and wash my body.
Since my body has mud and is unclean,
I fear it will soil your basket and flowers."

16.31

At that time, the garden owner had this thought: "How excellent is this turtle! It instructs me with good words; now I must take its words. I will wash its body, lest the mud soil my flower basket." Having had this thought, he took the turtle in hand and brought it toward the water, intending to wash the turtle's body. At that moment, the man lifted the turtle out and placed it on a rock, scooping water to wash it. At that moment, exerting great strength in its sinews, the turtle suddenly plunged and submerged into the water.
Seeing the turtle submerge in the water, the garland-maker said: "How extraordinary is this turtle! It was actually able to deceive me like this. Now I should in turn entice and deceive this turtle to make it come out of the water." At that time, the garland-maker spoke a verse to that turtle:

16.32

"Worthy turtle, listen carefully to my intention:
You now have very many relatives and old friends.
I will make a flower garland and tie it to your neck,
Allowing you to return home and make merry."

16.33

At that time, the turtle had this thought: "This garland-maker speaks falsely to deceive me. His mother is bedridden with illness, and his wife picks flowers and makes garlands, wishing to sell them to sustain their livelihood. For him to speak these words now is definitely to deceive me because he wishes to eat me; that is why he entices me to come out." At that time, the turtle spoke a verse to the garland-maker:

16.34

"Your household brews liquor to gather relatives,
Making various flavorful dishes in abundance.
When you arrive inside your home, you will say:
'The turtle meat is boiled, and its fat covers the top!'"

16.35

At that time, the Buddha said to the bhikṣus: 'Monks, if you wish to know who the tortoise that entered the water back then was, it was myself. The garland-maker was Māra Pāpīyān. Even at that time he wished to deceive and confuse me, but he could not catch me; how then could he succeed now in seeking to deceive me again?' The Buddha further told the bhikṣus: 'I recall that in the past, in the great ocean, there was a great water-dragon (kūrma / alligator-like dragon). The dragon had a wife who was pregnant. Suddenly she conceived a craving to eat the heart of a monkey. For this reason her body grew emaciated and jaundiced, and she tossed and turned, trembling and restless. At that time, the male dragon, seeing his wife's body so emaciated and colourless, asked her after seeing this: "Virtuous and noble one, what ails you? What food do you crave? I have not heard you asking me for food; why are you like this?" At that time, the female dragon was silent and gave no answer. Her husband asked again: "Why do you not speak to me now?" The wife replied to the husband: "If you can grant my wish according to my heart's desire, I will speak. If you cannot, why should I speak in vain?" The husband answered again: "Just tell me and see; if it is reasonably obtainable, I will use skill-in-means to seek it and ensure you get it." The wife then said: "I now crave to eat the heart of a monkey. Can you obtain it or not?" The husband then replied: "What you require is an exceedingly difficult matter. Why is that? I live in the great ocean, while monkeys dwell in mountain trees; how could it be obtained?" The wife said: "What can be done? If I do not obtain this thing, the foetus will surely miscarry, and before long I fear my life will come to an end." At that time, her husband spoke to his wife again: "Virtuous and noble one, be patient for a while; I am now going to seek it. If this matter succeeds, its joy will be beyond words, and both you and I shall be joyful." Then the dragon emerged from the sea and went onto the shore. Not far from the shore was a great tree called udumbara (in the language of the Sui, "water-vow"). At that time, on the tree, there was a great monkey at the top of the tree picking fruit and eating it. Then the dragon, having seen the monkey sitting in the tree eating the fruit of the tree, gradually approached beneath the tree. Having arrived, he immediately consoled him with pleasant words, and inquired after the monkey: "Well done, well done! Vāsiṣṭha, what are you doing in this tree? Are you not working hard and suffering distress? Is seeking food easy to come by, and are you free of fatigue?" The monkey replied: "Indeed, noble one, I am not suffering great distress at present." The dragon spoke to the monkey once more: "Staying in this place, what do you eat?" The monkey replied: "I am in the udumbara tree eating its fruit." At that time, the dragon spoke to the monkey again: "Seeing you now brings me such great joy, filling my whole body so that I cannot contain myself. I wish to make you my good friend, and we shall mutually love and respect each other. Take my advice: why must you stay here? Moreover, the fruits on this tree are few, not plentiful; how can you delight in this place? You should come down and follow me; I will carry you across the sea. On the other shore there is another great forest, abundant in flowers and fruits of many kinds of trees." The monkey asked: "How can I reach that place? The seawater is deep and vast, exceedingly difficult to cross; how could I manage to cross it?" At that time, the dragon replied to the monkey: "I will carry you on my back and take you across to the other shore. Now you need only come down from the tree and ride upon my back." At that time, because the monkey's mind was inconstant, petty, and foolish, his heart was delighted. He descended from the tree, mounted the dragon's back, and was about to go with the dragon. The dragon gave rise to this thought within his mind: "Excellent, excellent! My wish is fulfilled." He then intended to take him to his own dwelling place, and together with the monkey he sank beneath the water. The monkey asked the dragon: "Good friend, why have you suddenly submerged into the water?" The dragon then replied: "My wife is pregnant; she conceived such a longing to eat your heart. For this reason I have brought you along." At that time, the monkey had this thought: "Alas, how extremely ill-fated I am now, 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 dragon." Having had this thought, he spoke to the dragon: "Noble and good friend! My heart was left behind on the udumbara tree; I deposited it there and did not bring it along. Why did you not speak the truth at that time, noble one? Had I known that you needed my heart, I would have brought it with me then. Good friend, turn back and release me; after I take the heart and get it, I will return." At that time, the dragon, having heard the monkey's words, both of them emerged together. The monkey saw that the dragon was about to come out onto the shore of the water. At that moment, the monkey exerted all his might, vigorously and swiftly leaping and bounding with great muscular strength down from the dragon's back, and went up onto that great udumbara tree. The dragon remained below and waited for a short while. Seeing the monkey lingering and not coming down, he spoke to him: "Close and good friend, come down quickly! Go with me to my home." The monkey remained silent and refused to descend the tree. Seeing that the monkey had not come down for a long time, the dragon spoke a verse:'

16.36

'Good friend, monkey, having obtained your heart, / I pray you come down quickly from the tree. / I shall take you to that forest, / A place rich in many kinds of fruit.'

16.37

At that time, the monkey thought: 'This dragon lacks wisdom.' He then spoke a verse:

16.38

'Your schemes, O dragon, may seem broad, / Yet the deliberation of your mind is petty and dull. / Just examine carefully and reflect for yourself: / Among all classes of living beings, who is without a heart? / Although that forest has an abundance of fruits, / As well as mangoes and other wondrous fruits, / My mind truly has no wish for them; / I would rather eat these udumbaras here.'

16.39

At that time, the Buddha said to the bhikṣus: 'You should know that the great monkey of that time was myself, and that dragon was Māra Pāpīyān. Even at that time he sought to deceive and confuse me, but could not succeed; how could he now, bringing worldly affairs of the five desires to tempt me, move me from this seat?'

16.40

Furthermore, the Zabaozang jing says: In the past, crows and owls harboured mutual hatred and resentment. The crows waited for daylight, knowing that the owls had no sight, and stomped to death flocks of owls, tearing them apart and eating their flesh. The owls then, during the night, knowing that the crows were blind in the dark, in turn pecked at the flocks of crows, ripped open their bellies, and also tore them apart and ate them. Fearing the day and fearing the night, there was never an end to it. There was a wise crow who spoke to the other crows: 'Having become enemies, our enmity cannot be resolved. In the end we will exterminate one another, as both sides cannot survive together. We should devise an expedient means to completely eradicate the owls; only then can we obtain joy. If not, in the end we shall be defeated by them.' The other crows answered: 'What method should we employ to destroy this enemy and foe?' The wise crow answered: 'You crows must pluck out my feathers and peck my head bloody; I shall devise a plan that will surely eradicate them.' Thereupon, just as he said, with an emaciated and wretched appearance, he went outside the owls' cave and wailed in sorrow. Having heard his cries, [the owl] asked: 'Why have you come to my place now wounded and harmed?' The crow said to the owl: 'The other crows made an enemy of me so that I could not survive; therefore I have come to take refuge with you to escape their malice.' At that time, the owl took pity on him, and consequently sheltered and provided for him, constantly giving him leftover meat. As days and months went by, his feathers grew back. The crow made a subtle plan: holding dry tree branches along with grasses and wood in his beak, he placed them inside the owl's cave, appearing as though repaying the kindness. The owl said to the crow: 'What is the purpose of this?' The crow immediately replied: 'Inside the cave, it is nothing but cold rock; with these grasses and wood, we can ward off the cold wind.' The owl thought it was indeed so, and was silent without answering. Thereupon the crow asked to guard the entrance of the cave, falsely offering his service to repay the kindness of being nurtured. It happened that there was a sudden heavy snow and the cold wind blew fiercely; the flock of owls gathered hastily inside the cave. Having obtained his opportunity, the crow immediately gave rise to joy. Holding herdsmen's fire in his beak, he set the owl cave ablaze. All the owls were incinerated and destroyed in the cave all at once. At that time, the devas spoke a verse:

16.41

'Where there is past enmity, / One should not place bodily trust. / Just as the crow falsely pretended kindness, / And incinerated the bodies of the horned owls.'

16.42

Furthermore, the Liudu ji jing says: In the past, the Bodhisattva was a peacock king with five hundred wives who followed him. Abandoning his former mates, he wished to take a bluebird as his wife. This bluebird ate only sweet dew and fine fruit, and the peacock king went daily to fetch them for his wife. The queen of that country fell ill and dreamed of seeing a peacock, saying that its meat could serve as medicine. Awakening, she informed the king. The king ordered hunters to set out swiftly in search of it. The queen said, “Whoever can capture it, I will give him my youngest daughter in marriage and bestow upon him a thousand catties of gold.” The country's hunters dispersed to search for it. Seeing the peacock king accompanied by a single bluebird at their regular feeding ground, one hunter coated the trees with honeyed parched barley meal at every spot. The peacock regularly fetched it to provide for his wife. The archer coated his own body with the honeyed parched barley meal and sat crouching in wait. When the peacock came to take the meal, the man captured him. The peacock said, “Your toil must be for profit. I will show you a mountain of gold, which can be an inexhaustible treasure. Spare my life!” The hunter replied, “The great king will bestow upon me a thousand catties of gold and give me his youngest daughter in marriage. How could I believe your words? I am bound to present you to him.” The peacock said, “The great king harbors benevolence, and his kindness extends everywhere. May he accept my humble words: grant me a little water, and I will empower it with a compassionate spell. Drinking it will cure the illness. If it is ineffective, it will not be too late to execute me.” The king complied with his wish. When the queen drank it, all her illnesses were cured; her complexion became radiant and lustrous, and so it was with the palace attendants. The entire country praised the king's vast compassion in sparing the peacock's life, thereby extending the lifespan of the whole country. The peacock said, “I wish to cast myself into that great lake and empower its waters with a spell, so that the diverse illnesses of the common people throughout the land may be cured. If there is any doubt or suspicion, you may beat my feet with a staff.” The king agreed. The peacock did so. When the people of the country drank the water, they all recovered their strength: the deaf heard, the blind saw, the mute spoke, and the crippled straightened; so it was with all illnesses. The queen's disease was eliminated, and all the people of the country became free from disease and injury. The peacock fully understood the king's intentions, and presenting himself to the king, he said, “Having received the king's kindness that granted me life, I have repaid it by saving the lives of the whole country. Now that my repayment is complete, I beg to depart.” The king said, “Very well.” The bird then took flight, ascended a tree, and said once more, “In the world there are three fools.” The king asked, “What are the three?” The peacock replied, “The first fool is myself; the second fool is the hunter; the third fool is the great king.” The king said, “Please explain.” The bird said, “The strict precepts of the Buddhas regard lust as fire that burns the body and endangers life, all caused by craving for physical beauty. I abandoned five hundred wives who attended upon me and craved a bluebird, seeking food to supply her just like a servant; thus I was caught in a hunter's snare and almost endangered my life. This was my folly. As for the hunter's folly: despite my truthful words, he abandoned a mountain of gold and cast aside inexhaustible treasure, believing the deceitful falsehoods of the queen in the hope of marrying her youngest daughter. Looking at the foolish madmen of the world, all are of this kind: they violate the Buddha's genuine precepts and believe the deceit of demons and ghosts; through alcohol, drugs, and lustful debauchery, they either suffer the ruin of their households or, upon death, enter Mount Tai to face boundless torment. Wanting to return as a human being is then like a featherless bird wishing to fly up to the sky—how could it not be difficult? The bewitching seduction of a wanton woman is like those forest demons; there are none through whom states are not lost and lives not endangered, yet foolish men honor them, though among their myriad words not one is sincere. Yet the archer believed her. This is why I call the hunter foolish. The king obtained a divine physician who eliminated the diseases of the entire country, completely extinguishing all poisons so that faces shone like blooming flowers, and great and small rejoiced in reliance upon me; yet the king let me go. This is why I call the king foolish.” The Buddha told Śāriputra: “From then on, the peacock king traveled throughout the eight directions, always using divine medicine to make gifts with a compassionate heart and cure the diseases of sentient beings. The peacock king was myself. The king of the country was Śāriputra. The hunter was Devadatta. The queen was Devadatta's wife. Such is the Bodhisattva's boundless perfection of compassionate wisdom in practicing generosity.”

16.43

Furthermore, the Zabaozang jing says: The Buddha said that in the distant past, there was a lotus pond where many waterfowl lived. At that time, a crane was in the pond, taking slow steps and lifting its feet gently. The birds all said, “This bird behaves so well, possessing slow and dignified comportment, and does not disturb the aquatic creatures.” Then a white goose spoke a verse:

16.44

“Lifting its feet and treading so slowly, / Its voice is exceedingly soft and gentle; / Deceiving the worldly, / Who does not see its flattery and deceit?”

16.45

The crane said, “Why do you speak such words? Come, let us be close friends.” The white goose answered, “I know your flattery and deceit; I will never be your close friend.” Do you wish to know who the king of geese was at that time? It was none other than myself. The crane of that time was the present Devadatta.

16.46

Furthermore, the Zabaozang jing says: The Buddha said: In a past age, on the side of the Snow Mountains, there was a king of wild fowl who led a flock of wild fowl following him. His crest was extremely red and his body very white. He said to the fowls, “Keep far away from the cities and villages, and do not let the people eat you. We have many enemies who envy us; guard yourselves well with care.” At that time, in a village, there was a cat who heard that there were fowl there. It went toward them and, beneath a tree, walked slowly with lowered gaze, saying to the fowl, “I will be your wife, and you shall be my husband. Your body is handsome and lovely, with a red crest on your head and an all-white body. I will serve you, in peace and joy.” The fowl then spoke a verse:

16.47

“Yellow-eyed cat, foolish little creature, / Touching upon anything you harbor malice and wish to devour it. / I have never seen one who kept such a wife / And attained longevity, peace, and security.”

16.48

The wild fowl of that time was myself. The cat of old was Devadatta. In the past, he wished to entice and deceive me; today, he likewise wishes to entice and deceive me, seeking to claim my disciples.

16.49

The eulogy says:

16.50

With treacherous feelings, feigning foolishness, / Causing belief without suspicion; / Falsely appearing to submit, / Erroneously accepted in reliance. / Outwardly friendly, inwardly destructive, / Day and night encroaching and shifting; / Only after dwelling together long / Does one realize the gradual decline.

16.51

Section 25: Indolence and Arrogance (This has three circumstances)

16.52

Circumstance of Stating the Intent / Circumstance of Citing Evidence / Circumstance of Establishing the Will

16.53

First: Circumstance of Stating the Intent

16.54

The reason people do not attain the Way is that their minds and spirits are muddled and indolent. The reason the mind and spirit are muddled and indolent is that external objects disturb them in abundance. These matters are, in brief, three: first, power, profit, glory, and fame; second, seductive charms and sensual elegance; third, sweet fats and rich savors. Although glory and fame are employed daily, they fundamentally burden the mind without a moment's pause; seductive charms and sensual elegance, by comparison, run yet deeper; sweet fats and rich savors are an exceedingly urgent encumbrance. The myriad affairs in all their multiplicity are merely the branches and leaves of these three. The sages knew that without cutting off these three matters, seeking the Way would be unattainable. Like water and fire, if held back and concentrated, their utility is entirely preserved; if breached and dispersed, their efficacy becomes increasingly meager. Therefore, the treatise says: “When the substance is minute, its force is great; when the substance is heavy, its force is minute.” Thus, contemplating and fathoming this, it is indeed through diligent effort that one awakens to the Way; falling into indolence and arrogance is truly because craving for sights and sounds obstructs the sagehood. For this reason, the Śākya struck the Dharma drum in the Deer Park, and the Master proclaimed his virtuous voice in Zou and Lu. Even what ears and eyes have not heard—how could the mind and consciousness grasp it?

16.55

Second: Circumstance of Citing Evidence

16.56

As the Sarvāstivāda Treatise says: Regarding the prātimokṣa precepts across the five realms of rebirth, only those in the human realm can receive the precepts; the other four cannot. As for the heavenly realm, because their attachment to pleasure is deep and heavy, they cannot receive the precepts. For example, once in the past, Mahāmaudgalyāyana, whose disciple was ill, ascended to the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven to ask Jīvaka. It happened that the devas were entering the Nandana Grove. At that time, Maudgalyāyana stood waiting by the roadside. Among all the devas, none looked back at him. Only Jīvaka arrived later; seeing Maudgalyāyana, he merely raised one hand toward him and rode his chariot straight past. Maudgalyāyana thought to himself, “He was originally in the human world as my disciple. Now enjoying heavenly blessings, because he is attached to heavenly pleasures, he has completely lost his original mind.” He then used his supernormal powers to stop the chariot. Jīvaka descended from the chariot and bowed at Maudgalyāyana's feet. Maudgalyāyana rebuked him on various grounds. Jīvaka answered Maudgalyāyana, saying, “Because I was the Venerable's disciple in the human world, I raised my hand to greet you. Have you seen any among the devas who would do even that?” At that time, Maudgalyāyana admonished and advised Śakra Devānām Indra, “A Buddha's era is difficult to encounter; why do you not frequently approach him to inquire about and receive the true Dharma?” Śakra, wishing to satisfy Maudgalyāyana's mind, dispatched a messenger to command a devaputra to come. After calling him back and forth three times, he still did not come. Only after being unable to refuse did he finally arrive. Śakra said to Maudgalyāyana, “This devaputra has only one goddess and one musical performer with whom to entertain himself. Because his defiled desire is so deep, even though the order was serious, he could not tear himself away, and thus was unwilling to come. How much more so for a heavenly king with all kinds of palaces, countless goddesses, spontaneously appearing foods of a hundred flavors, and hundreds of thousands of musical performers with which to entertain himself! Looking eastward, he forgets the west. Although he knows that a Buddha's era is hard to encounter and the true Dharma is hard to hear, because he is entangled in defiled pleasures, he cannot attain self-mastery. What else could be done? In the suffering and distress of the three evil paths, there is no opportunity to receive the precepts. In the human realm, only three of the continents can receive the precepts; in Uttarakuru, there is no Buddha-dharma, so they cannot receive the precepts: because they are hindered by karmic rewards and due to foolishness, they do not receive the noble Dharma.”

First 56 of 88 passages. Read on

Linked texts (1)

諸經要集 — Classical Chinese