佛所行讚 5

English (machine translation) 5

Language: English

5.2

Translated by Dharmakṣema, Tripiṭaka Master of India, under the Northern Liang

5.3

Chapter 23: Sustaining Life by Spiritual Power

At that time, in Vaiśālī, the Licchavi elders,
hearing that the Bhagavat had entered their land and was staying in the Āmrapālī Grove,
some rode in plain chariots, with plain canopies and plain garments,
while others were blue, red, yellow, and green, the throng each with distinct attire.
Vanguards and attendants flanked them front and back, competing for the road and racing ahead;
with celestial diadems, robes embroidered with flowers, and adorned with precious gems,
their majestic appearance shone brilliantly, adding splendor to that forest grove.
Setting aside the five royal dignities, they stepped down from their chariots and proceeded on foot,
quelling pride and assuming a deferential posture, they prostrated at the Buddha's feet;
the great assembly encircled the Buddha like double rings of radiance around the sun.
There was a Licchavi named Siṃha, the chief of all the Licchavis;
his virtue and countenance were like a lion, holding the rank of a lion-like minister;
dispelling his lion-like arrogance, he received instruction from the Lion of the Śākyas:
"You possess great majesty and virtue, renowned lineage, and handsome countenance;
able to cast aside worldly arrogance, you receive the Dharma to increase your brilliance.
Adornment with wealth, beauty, scents, and flowers is not equal to the ornament of morality.
The prosperity and joy of the realm are glorified solely by you;
to bring glory to your persons and peace to the people lies in subduing and governing the mind.
If you add to this a love for the Dharma, your virtue will become ever more exalted;
not on barren land or among the vulgar can the multitude of the worthy assemble.
You should daily renew your virtue and nurture the myriad people,
guiding the multitude with clarity and righteousness, like a bull leading the herd across a ford.
If a person can reflect upon this life and the life to come,
they should cultivate only pure morality, for its blessings and benefits bring peace in both lives.
They are revered by the multitude, their renown spreads everywhere;
the benevolent delight in befriending them, and their flow of virtue is forever boundless.
Mountain forests and precious gemstones all arise dependent on the earth;
the virtue of morality is also like the earth, the source from which all good deeds arise.
To wish to soar into the sky without wings, to cross a river without a good boat—
for a person without the virtue of morality, crossing over suffering is truly difficult.
Just as a tree with beautiful flowers and fruit may have sharp thorns difficult to climb,
one of vast learning, fine beauty, and strength is likewise if they break morality.
Sitting upright in a magnificent palace hall, with a royal mind self-adorned,
replete with the virtues of pure morality, one follows the Great Ṛṣi on his march.
Dyeing clothes, wearing animal skins and feathers, coiling matted hair, or shaving beard and hair—
without cultivating the virtue of morality, one is merely wading into many afflictions.
Bathing three times day and night, venerating fire and practicing mortifications,
abandoning the body to foul wild beasts, leaping into water and fire or casting oneself from cliffs,
eating fruits, feeding on grass roots, inhaling the wind, and drinking the waters of the Gaṅgā,
consuming air to abstain from grain, yet being far removed from right morality—
practicing such ways of beasts, one is not a vessel for the true Dharma.
Breaking morality invites slander; the benevolent will not draw near.
The mind constantly harbors terror, and ill fame follows like a shadow;
there is no benefit in the present life, and how could peace be attained in the next?
Therefore, the wise person should cultivate pure morality;
in the wilderness of birth and death, morality is the good guide.
Upholding morality depends on one's own power; this is indeed not difficult.
Pure morality is a ladder that causes people to ascend to heaven.
That which establishes pure morality arises from the diminution of kleśas;
various faults ruin the mind and bring about the loss of wholesome virtues.
First, one must abandon clinging to 'mine'; clinging to 'mine' covers over all goodness,
just like ashes covering over a fire: stepping upon it, one feels the burn.
Arrogance covers the mind like the sun hidden behind heavy clouds;
arrogance and negligence extinguish shame and remorse; grief and sorrow weaken a strong resolve;
old age and disease ruin a vigorous countenance; the conceit of 'I' destroys all goodness.
The devas and the asuras, through greed and envy, gave rise to disputes;
the loss of all their virtues was entirely caused by harboring the conceit of 'I'.
'I am superior among the superior,' 'My virtue is equal to the superior,'
'I am only slightly inferior to the superior'—such is the fool;
form and clan are entirely impermanent, wavering and never resting for a moment;
in the end they are subject to destruction; what use is arrogance?
Greed is a immense calamity, pretending to be a friend while secretly a foe;
just as a fierce fire breaks out from within, the fire of greed is also like this.
The blazing of greed is worse than a worldly fire;
a fierce fire can be extinguished by water, but greedy attachment is difficult to dispel.
A fierce fire burns the wilderness, but once the grass is gone, it grows again;
when the fire of greed burns the mind, it is difficult for the true Dharma to arise.
Through greed one seeks worldly pleasures, but pleasures increase impure karma;
evil karma causes one to fall into the evil destinies; there is no foe greater than greed.
From greed is born attachment, and through attachment one indulges in various desires;
indulging in desires invites many sufferings; among primal evils, none surpasses greed.
Greed is a great sickness; the medicine of wisdom stops it for the fool.
Wrong perceptions and improper thoughts cause greed to increase.
Impermanent, suffering, impure, without self, and without 'mine'—
true contemplation with wisdom can extinguish that false greed.
Therefore, toward sensory objects, one should cultivate true contemplation;
once true contemplation has arisen, one attains liberation from greed.
Seeing virtue gives rise to greed; seeing faults gives rise to hatred;
forgetting both virtue and faults, greed and hatred are eradicated.
Hatred alters one's natural countenance, able to destroy a handsome appearance;
hatred veils clear eyes and harms the desire to hear the meaning of the Dharma;
it severs relationships of love and affection, and makes one despised by the world.
Therefore, one should abandon hatred and not follow an angry mind;
one who can restrain a mad, angry mind is called a skilled charioteer;
the world praises one who skillfully tames a team of four, which is achieved by holding the reins.
Indulging hatred without self-restraint, the fire of regret burns thereafter;
if a person gives rise to hatred, they first burn their own mind,
and only afterward direct it at the other, whether it burns them or not.
The sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death oppress sentient beings;
to add hatred and harm to this is to add more enmity to abundant enmity.
Seeing the world oppressed by many sufferings, one should give rise to a mind of compassion;
sentient beings give rise to kleśas with immeasurable differences in increase and decrease."
The Tathāgata, skilled in expedient means, spoke in brief according to the disease,
just as an excellent physician in the world administers medicine according to the ailment.
At that time, the Licchavis, having heard the Dharma spoken by the Buddha,
immediately arose, bowed at the Buddha's feet, and received it with joy atop their heads.
They invited the Buddha and the great assembly to a modest offering on the morrow.
The Buddha told the Licchavis: "Āmrapālī has already invited us."
The Licchavis felt regret and shame: "How has she snatched our advantage?"
Knowing that the Buddha's mind is impartial, they gave rise to a mind of rejoicing.
The Tathāgata, skillfully adapting to circumstances, comforted them and made their hearts glad;
subdued, transformed, and thoroughly ripened, they returned, like a snake subdued by a potent mantra.
The night passed and the dawn appeared; the Buddha, together with the great assembly,
went to Āmrapālī's house, and having received her offering,
proceeded to the village of Veṇu, and there entered the summer retreat.
When the three months of the retreat were finished, he returned again to Vaiśālī,
stayed beside the Monkey Pool, and sat among the grove of trees.
He emitted a vast, great light everywhere to move Māra Pāpīyān,
who came to the Buddha's place, joined his palms, and urged him, saying:
"Formerly beside the Nairañjanā, you already made a true vow:
'When my work is completed, I shall enter into nirvāṇa.'
Now what was to be done has been done; you should fulfill your original intention."
Then the Buddha told Pāpīyān: "The time of extinction is not far;
after three months are completed, I shall enter into nirvāṇa."
Then Māra knew that the Tathāgata's extinction already had a set time;
his wish having been fulfilled, he returned rejoicing to his heavenly palace.
The Tathāgata sat beneath a tree and entered into samādhi;
relinquishing the life span of karmic retribution, by spiritual power he maintained his life force.
Because the Tathāgata relinquished his life span, the great earth shook everywhere;
throughout the realms of space in the ten directions, great fires blazed all around.
The summit of Sumeru crumbled, the heavens rained down flying gravel and stones,
wild winds whipped up from the four quarters, trees were all broken and snapped,
celestial music produced mournful sounds, and gods and humans forgot their joy.
The Buddha arose from samādhi and addressed all sentient beings everywhere:
"I have now relinquished my life span, preserving the body through the power of samādhi;
the body is like a decayed chariot, no longer possessing causes for coming and going;
I am already freed from the three realms of existence, like a bird born breaking its shell."

5.5

Buddhacarita: The Licchavis' Bidding Farewell, Chapter 24

5.6

The venerable Ānanda, seeing the earth tremble everywhere,
Was startled in mind and his body's hair stood on end; he asked the Buddha what the cause might be.
The Buddha told Ānanda: "I shall abide in life for three months,
And have relinquished the remainder of my life-formation; therefore the earth shakes greatly."
Ānanda, hearing the Buddha's teaching, was overcome with grief, his tears streaming down,
Just like a mighty elephant shaking a sandalwood tree,
Agitating it with pressing distress so that its fragrant sap flows down like tears:
"He is close, revered, the Great Teacher and Lord; his kindness is deep, and I have not yet abandoned desire;
Only because of these four matters can I not bear my sorrowful pain.
Now that I hear the World-Honoured One's definitive instruction on entering nirvāṇa,
My entire body withers and collapses; I lose my bearings and my ordinary voice fails,
All the Dharma I have heard is forgotten, and in wild panic the heavens and earth vanish.
How monstrous! The Savior of the world—how swiftly he passes into extinction!
Like one who meets cold water and is near death, then encounters fire which suddenly goes out again;
In the wilderness of the defilements, bewildered and having lost his way,
He suddenly meets an excellent guide, yet before being led across, suddenly loses him again.
Like a man journeying through a vast desert, parched with heat and long deprived of water,
Who suddenly comes upon a cool, clear pond, but running toward it, finds it completely dried up.
Your eyes with dark-blue lashes and fixed pupils clearly illuminate the three periods of time;
Your wisdom shines upon the dark and hidden—how can that darkness fall so quickly?
Just like sprouts in an arid field, looking up with hope for rain as clouds arise,
Yet a sudden storm quickly dispels the clouds, leaving them in despair, guarding an empty field.
In the great darkness of ignorance, all living beings lose their way;
The Tathāgata lit the lamp of wisdom, yet suddenly it is extinguished, leaving no way to emerge."
The Buddha, hearing Ānanda's speech, so bitter in appeal and tragic in sentiment,
Spoke soothing words to comfort him, expounding the true Dharma:
"If one understands the nature of reality, one should not dwell in sorrow and grief;
All conditioned things are phenomena destined for destruction.
I have already told you that separation is the nature of every gathering;
Affectionate love is by principle impermanent; you should abandon your sorrowful longing.
Conditioned phenomena are flux and movement, rising and perishing without self-mastery;
To wish to make them endure long is utterly impossible.
If conditioned things were permanent and without alteration,
That itself would be liberation—
Where else would one seek it? What do you and the other living beings
Seek from me now? What you all ought to attain,
I have already finished explaining; what use is this body of mine?
The wondrous Dharma-body endures forever; I abide in my tranquility,
And what is essential lies solely in this. Yet toward living beings,
I have never grown weary. You should cultivate the thought of weariness and detachment,
And dwell well on your own island. Know that to be your own island
Is to be dedicated, diligent in skillful means, dwelling quietly alone in retirement,
Not following reliance upon another. Know that to take the Dharma as an island
Is to be a lamp of certain, bright wisdom that can dispel the darkness of delusion,
Contemplating the four domains. Attaining the supreme Dharma,
One is free from self and free from what belongs to self: a skeleton of bone daubed with skin and flesh,
Moistened with blood and bound with sinews. Looking closely, it is all impure;
How could one take delight in this body? Feelings all arise from conditions,
Like bubbles upon the water, impermanent and suffering in arising and ceasing,
Far removed from any thought of pleasure. The mind and consciousness arise, abide, and perish,
Renewing anew without pausing for an instant. When one contemplates cessation,
Any thought of permanence has long been broken. All formations arise from conditions,
Gathering and dispersing, never permanently together. The foolish give rise to the idea of a self;
The wise have nothing that belongs to a self. In these four domains,
Reflecting and contemplating correctly: this is the One-Vehicle path,
Where all sufferings are completely extinguished. If one can dwell in this,
With authentic, correct contemplation, whether the Buddha's body remains or perishes,
This Dharma is eternally inexhaustible." While the Buddha spoke this wondrous Dharma
To comfort Ānanda, the Licchavis heard of it,
And, filled with terror, all gathered together. Abandoning their worldly courtly manners,
They hastened to the Buddha's place; having paid homage, they sat to one side,
Wishing to ask, but unable to speak. The Buddha, already knowing their minds,
Forestalled them with skillful words: "Now observing you,
Your minds hold unusual thoughts: you have cast aside worldly concerns and duties,
With hearts only mindful of the Dharma. What you now wish from me
To hear and to know: regarding my remaining or perishing,
Take care not to give rise to grief and sorrow. The nature of impermanent, conditioned things
Consists of restless, mutable phenomena, unstable and without benefit,
Having no character of long endurance. The ancient ṛṣi-kings,
The ṛṣi Vasiṣṭha and others, the Cakravartin Māndhātṛ,
And their peers were very numerous. All such former superiors,
With power like Maheśvara, have long since perished,
Not one surviving to this day. The sun, the moon, and Śakra Devendra,
Very numerous as they are, all return to extinction;
There is none that endures permanently. The Buddhas of the past,
In number like the sands of the Ganges, whose wisdom illuminated the world,
Have all been extinguished like lamps. The Buddhas of the future
Will pass away in just the same manner; how could I alone be different?
I must enter into nirvāṇa. Since there are those there who should be delivered,
It is now fitting to proceed forward. Vaiśālī is pleasant and joyful;
You should remain at ease. The world offers no refuge,
And the three realms are not fit for delight; you should halt sorrow, grief, and pain,
And generate a mind free from desire." Having thus resolved upon long farewell,
He wandered toward the north, slowly proceeding along the long road,
Like the sun approaching the western hills.
At that time the Licchavis followed along the road, weeping and chanting,
Looking up to heaven and lamenting: "Alas, what an astonishing thing!
This form like a mountain of true gold, fully adorned with the marks,
Must before long crumble away? How uncompassionate is impermanence!
In birth and death, long parched with thirst, the Tathāgata was the mother of wisdom,
Yet now he suddenly abandons us; how can this suffering without a savior be borne?
Living beings have long been in darkness, relying on bright wisdom to proceed;
How can the sun of wisdom suddenly conceal its light?
Ignorance is a swift current, sweeping living beings away in its waves;
How can the bridge of the Dharma suddenly collapse in a single day?
The great Physician King of loving-kindness and compassion, with the supreme medicine of wisdom,
Cures the sufferings of living beings; how can he suddenly depart far away?
The wondrous heavenly banner of loving-kindness and compassion, adorned with wisdom,
Interwoven with a diamond-like heart, which the world never tires of viewing,
The lofty banner adorning the sacrificial rites—why does it suddenly fall in a single day?
How meager is the merit of living beings! Whirling in the current of birth and death,
The gate of liberation is suddenly shut, with long suffering and no time of escape!"
The Tathāgata comforted them well, severed emotional ties, and bade a long farewell.
Controlling their minds, they bore their sorrow and longing, like withered karṇikāra flowers;
Lingering and halting, sorrowful and despondent, they walked along the road,
Like people who have lost their parents and, the burial finished, return after their final parting.

5.7

Buddhacarita: The Chapter on Nirvāṇa, Number 25

5.8

When the Buddha departed toward the place of nirvāṇa, Vaiśālī became desolate, / like a night shrouded in clouds when the stars and moon lose their light. / The country, once secure and joyful, was now suddenly blighted and withered, / like an orphaned daughter weeping alone in perpetual sorrow after the death of her loving father. / It was as good looks without learning, intelligence with little virtue, / mental eloquence with a stammering tongue, or bright wisdom that lacks practical ability; / as supernormal powers without dignified deportment, a compassionate mind that is insincere, / lofty status without strength, or dignified deportment lacking the Dharma. / So too was Vaiśālī: formerly blooming, now it was withered and frail, / just like the shoots in an autumn field completely drying up when deprived of water. / Some put out their fires and extinguished their hearth smoke; some faced their food and forgot to eat; / all abandoned their public and private duties and gave up worldly pursuits. / Mindful of the Buddha, their gratitude running deep, each fell into silence and spoke not a word.

Then the Licchavi Siṃha, forcefully repressing his grief and sorrow, / shed tears and raised a lamenting voice to express his lingering devotion: / 'He who demolished all crooked paths and revealed the true Dharma, / having subdued all the non-Buddhists, is now departing never to return. / The world has lost the transcendent path, and impermanence is a great affliction; / now that the World-Honoured One enters the great extinction, there is neither refuge nor savior. / The supreme lord of skillful means has withdrawn his light into the ultimate realm; / we have lost our resolute will, like fire deprived of its firewood. / The World-Honoured One casts off his shelter over the world; how pitiful are all living beings! / Like a person losing divine powers, the whole world laments together over him. / Escaping the heat, one turns to a cool pool; caught in the cold, one relies on fire; / yet suddenly all has dissolved into nothing—where shall living beings take refuge? / He fully mastered the superior Dharma and was a master caster for the world; / the world has lost its righteous governor: when the person is lost, the path is destroyed; / old age, sickness, and death roam unchecked; the path is ruined, and improper paths flourish. / He could destroy the great mechanism of suffering; who in the world could be his peer? / When fierce heat blazes intensely, a great rain cloud disperses it; / when the fire of sensual craving burns, who is able to extinguish it? / The steadfast one who bore the burden has cast down the great burden of the world; / what other power of wisdom could serve as an uninvited friend? / Just like a prisoner facing execution who gets drunk before dying, / living beings, with their confused consciousness, accept birth only to die; / as a sharp saw dismembers timber, impermanence dismembers the world. / Ignorance and darkness are the deep waters; passion and craving are the giant waves; / the defilements are the floating foam; wrong views are the makara monsters; / only the boat of wisdom can cross this great ocean. / Manifold sicknesses are the tree’s flowers; decay and old age are its slender branches; / death is the tree’s deep roots; active existence and karma are its sprouts; / the sharp and rigid sword of wisdom alone can sever this tree of the three realms of existence. / Ignorance is the fire-drill; lust is the blazing flame; / the objects of the five desires are the fuel—extinguish them with the water of wisdom! / Complete in the supreme Dharma, he has destroyed foolish darkness. / He revealed the secure, correct path and brought an end to all defilements; / with compassion he transformed living beings, treating foes and kin alike; / he had mastered all omniscience, yet now casts it all aside. / His soft, sweet, and pure voice, his square frame and long, slender arms— / if even the great ṛṣi has an end, who can ever attain eternity? / One must realize how swiftly time passes and strive diligently to seek the true Dharma, / just as encountering water on a perilous path: drink promptly and hasten forward on the way! / Impermanence is exceedingly cruel and contrary, universally destroying both noble and lowly; / if right view is kept in the heart, one remains ever awake even in sleep.'

Then the Licchavi Siṃha constantly reflected upon the Buddha’s wisdom; / feeling revulsion toward birth and death, he praised and longed for the lion among men. / Cherishing no worldly affections, he deeply revered the virtue of detachment from desire; / subduing his fickle and restless mind, he rested his heart in solitude and calm. / Diligently practicing charitable giving, he stayed far from arrogance; / rejoicing in dwelling alone in tranquil seclusion, he contemplated the true Dharma.

At that time the Omniscient One, turning around with a lion’s look of his full body, / gazed upon that Vaiśālī and spoke a verse of long farewell: / 'This is my final visit to this Vaiśālī; / I go to the land of the Mallas, where I shall enter nirvāṇa.'

Travelling gradually stage by stage, he arrived at that city of Bhoganagara; / resting in the Sala forest, he instructed all the monks: / 'Tonight at midnight I shall enter nirvāṇa; / you must rely upon the Dharma, for that is the supreme place of honour. / What does not enter into the sūtras, nor accords with the discipline, / and contradicts the real meaning—that should not be accepted. / What is not the Dharma, not the Vinaya, and not spoken by me— / that is a dark teaching; you should abandon it quickly. / Grasping and holding to the clear teaching, that is not inverted; / that indeed is what I have taught, according to the Dharma and the Vinaya teachings. / What is received according to my Dharma and Vinaya, that is trustworthy; / what contradicts my Dharma and Vinaya, that is not to be trusted. / Not understanding the subtle meaning and mistakenly clinging to the letters, / one is a foolish person who preaches non-Dharma falsely. / Failing to distinguish true from false, receiving blindly without vision, / is like setting brass and gold together in the market to deceive the world. / Fools practice shallow wisdom, failing to comprehend the real meaning; / they receive a counterfeit Dharma and treat it as the true Dharma. / Therefore, examine thoroughly and observe the true Dharma and Vinaya, / just like a goldsmith who smelts and beats gold to extract what is genuine. / Not knowing the sūtras and treatises is to lack wisdom; / one will state what should not be stated, and see what ought to be done as something not to be seen. / Receive with equanimity, and practice as explained according to the phrasing and meaning; / if one holds a sword without skill, it will turn back and injure one’s own hand. / If words and phrases are unskillful, their meaning is difficult to comprehend, / like searching for a chamber while walking at night—the manor is vast, and its location unknown. / Losing the meaning, one forgets the Dharma; forgetting the Dharma, the mind runs wildly astray; / therefore, a person of wisdom does not run contrary to the real meaning.'

Having delivered this instruction, he proceeded to the city of Pāvā. / The gathered Mallas prepared various offerings. / At that time there was a son of an elder named Cunda, / who invited the Buddha to his dwelling and offered the final meal. / After eating and finishing his sermon, the Buddha traveled toward the city of Kuśinagara. / He crossed the Kakutthā River and the Hiraṇyavatī River. / There was a Sala grove, a place of peace, rest, and seclusion. / Entering the Golden River, he bathed, his body shining like a mountain of pure gold. / He instructed Ānanda: 'Between those twin trees, / sweep and sprinkle water to make it pure, and set out a rope bed. / Tonight at midnight, I shall enter nirvāṇa.'

Ānanda, hearing the Buddha's command, was choked with grief, his heart heavy with sorrow; / weeping as he walked, he followed the order, and having finished arranging it, returned to report. / The Tathāgata approached the rope bed, lay down on his right side with his head to the north, / resting his head on his hand with feet crossed one over the other, like a lion king; / having brought an end to suffering with this final body, once lying down, he would rise no more. / The assembly of disciples surrounded him, lamenting that the eye of the world was about to be extinguished; / the wind ceased, the forest stream became still, and birds and beasts were hushed without a sound. / The sap of trees flowed down like tears, and flowers and leaves fell out of season; / humans and gods who were not yet free from desire were all struck with great terror, / like a traveler journeying through a vast marsh on a perilous path before reaching a village, / only fearing he will not arrive, heart terrified and form hurried.

The Tathāgata, having lain down for the final time, addressed Ānanda: / 'Go and inform all the Mallas that the time of my nirvāṇa has arrived. / If they do not see me, they will harbor eternal regret and suffer great distress.' / Ānanda, receiving the Buddha’s instruction, wept bitterly as he took the road, / and told all the Mallas: 'The World-Honoured One has reached his end.' / Hearing this, the Mallas were seized with great terror; / men and women rushed forth, weeping and wailing as they came to the Buddha’s presence, / in disheveled clothes and with unkempt hair, covered in dust, their bodies drenched with sweat; / lamenting loudly, they entered that grove as though their heavenly merit had run out; / shedding tears, they bowed at the Buddha's feet, their bodies withered with sorrow.

The Tathāgata comforted them, saying: 'Do not mourn or grieve; / now is the time to rejoice with sympathetic joy, not to give rise to sorrow. / What I planned for long kalpas, I have only now attained— / having crossed the sphere of the sense organs to reach the inexhaustible, cool place. / Free from earth, water, fire, and wind, tranquil without birth or death, / eternal cessation of sorrow and affliction—why should you grieve for me? / Formerly on Mount Gayāśīrṣa, I wished to cast off this body, / but because of primal conditions, I remained in the world until now. / Guarding this fragile and brittle body was like living with a poisonous snake; / now I enter the great tranquility, and the conditions of all suffering are concluded. / No longer shall I receive another body, and future suffering is extinguished forever; / you should no longer give rise to fear on my account.'

When the Mallas heard the Buddha speak of entering the great tranquility, / their minds were confused and their eyes darkened, as though looking into great obscurity. / Joining their palms, they addressed the Buddha: 'That the Buddha is freed from the suffering of birth and death / and departs forever to the bliss of extinction is indeed cause for our rejoicing. / Just as when a burning house is abandoned, escaping safely from the raging fire, / even the devas rejoice—how much more so the people of the world? / But after the Tathāgata passes into extinction, living beings will see him no more; / they will be forever deprived of rescue and protection, and therefore sorrow arises. / Just as a company of merchants traveling far across a wilderness / has only a single guide who suddenly dies midway; / the crowd has no one to rely on—how could they not mourn? / Having personally witnessed in this present life and beheld the vision of the All-Knowing One, / yet failing to obtain the superior benefit—the whole world should laugh at us, / like someone who passes by a mountain of jewels yet foolishly remains in poverty.' / In this manner, all the Mallas lamented bitterly before the Buddha, / like an only son weeping before a loving father.

The Buddha, using skillful words of guidance, revealed the supreme truth, / telling the Malla assembly: 'It is truly as you say; / in seeking the Way, one must be diligent—it is not obtained merely by seeing me. / If you practice as I have spoken, you will escape the net of manifold sufferings. / Practicing the Way resides in the heart; it does not depend on seeing me. / Just as a sick person takes good medicine according to the prescription, / and manifold illnesses are naturally cured without waiting to see the physician; / if one does not practice as I have spoken, seeing me in vain brings no benefit. / Though far from me, one who practices the Dharma is near to me; / though dwelling with me, if one does not follow the Dharma, know that he is far from me. / Restrain the mind and be not negligent; strive diligently to cultivate correct conduct. / People born into the world are oppressed through the long night by manifold sufferings, / perturbed and insecure, like a lamp in the wind.' / At that time, hearing the Buddha's compassionate instruction, / the Mallas were moved within and dried their tears, holding themselves in check as they returned home.

5.9

Buddhacarita, Chapter 26: Mahāparinirvāṇa

5.10

At that time there was a brahmacārin named Subhadra,
endowed fully with virtuous goodness, who through pure precepts protected living beings.
In his youth he had received false views, and had gone forth to cultivate the heterodox paths;
wishing now to come and see the World-Honoured One, he said to Ānanda:
“I have heard of the Tathāgata's Way, its meaning profound and hard to fathom;
he is the unsurpassed awake one in the world, the foremost tamer and guide.
Now he is about to enter parinirvāṇa, and it will be difficult ever to encounter him again;
hard to see, and seeing him is difficult, like the moon mirrored in water.
I wish now to be received and see him, the unsurpassed good teacher and guide,
in order to seek escape from all sufferings and cross over to the other shore of birth and death.
The Buddha-sun is about to hide its light; I pray that you let me see him for a moment.”
Ānanda's heart was grieved and moved, but he took it to be a captious debate,
or that he might take joy in the World-Honoured One's extinction, and so it was not fitting to let him see the Buddha.
The Buddha knew his aspiration, that he was capable of being a vessel of the True Dharma,
and said to Ānanda: “Permit that outsider to advance;
I have arisen in order to cross beings over; do not make difficulties to detain him.”
When Subhadra heard this, great joy arose in his heart;
his love for the Dharma grew ever deeper, and with redoubled reverence he approached the Buddha.
He spoke compliant words suited to the moment, inquiring gently with respectful greetings,
with a pleasant countenance and joined palms, he asked: “I wish now to make an inquiry.
In the world there are those who know the Dharma, very many of my kind;
yet I have heard only that what the Buddha has attained is an exceptional and essential path to liberation.
I pray that you briefly expound it for me, to moisten my empty, thirsting heart;
it is not for the sake of disputation, nor with any desire to win or lose.”
For that brahmacārin, the Buddha briefly expounded the Eightfold Noble Path;
upon hearing it, he received it with an open mind, as one lost who finds the correct road.
He realized that what he had studied previously was not the ultimate path;
at once he attained what he had never heard before, abandoning and departing from the crooked ways.
Moreover, turning his back on the obstruction of dark folly, he reflected upon what he had formerly practiced:
anger and the dark mist of folly together nourish unwholesome karma;
practices of craving, anger, and folly can give rise to all wholesome karma;
extensive learning, wisdom, and vigor also arise dependent on the existence of craving.
If anger and folly are cut off, one is freed from all karma;
and once all karma has been eliminated, this is called karmic liberation.
Yet karmic liberation would not accord with reason:
in the world it is said that all things possess their own inherent nature.
If craving, anger, and folly possess their own inherent nature,
then they must always endure; how could there be liberation?
Even if anger and folly were destroyed, craving would arise again;
just as water is cold by nature, but through fire becomes hot;
when the heat ceases it returns to cold, because its inherent nature is constant.
One should know that the nature of craving does not increase through learning, wisdom, or vigor;
neither increasing nor decreasing, how could this be liberation?
Formerly I thought that birth and death originally arose from inherent nature;
now observing that doctrine, no one could ever attain liberation.
What has inherent nature would be permanent; how could there be an ultimate end?
Just as when a bright lamp is lit, how could one cause it to have no light?
The true meaning of the Buddha's path is that dependent on craving, the world arises;
when craving ceases, there is tranquility; because the cause is destroyed, the effect vanishes.
Formerly I thought the self was distinct from the body, and did not see that there is no agent;
now having heard the Buddha's correct teaching, in the world there is no self.
All phenomena arise from causes and conditions, and therefore have no sovereignty;
arising from causes and conditions, they are suffering; ceasing from causes and conditions, it is likewise so.
Observing that the world arises from causes and conditions, the view of annihilation is extinguished;
when through separation from conditions the world ceases, one is freed from the view of permanence;
wholly abandoning what he had formerly seen, he saw deeply the Buddha's True Dharma.
Having planted good causes in past lives, on hearing the Dharma he could instantly awaken;
he had already attained the good extinction, the cool and inexhaustible realm.
His mind opened and his faith expanded; gazing up at the reclining Tathāgata,
he could not bear to watch the Tathāgata abandon the world and enter parinirvāṇa:
“Before the Buddha reaches the final end, I shall pass into extinction first.”
With palms joined he bowed to the holy countenance, sat upright on one side,
cast off his lifespan and entered nirvāṇa, like rain extinguishing a little fire.
The Buddha told the monks: “My very last disciple
has now entered nirvāṇa; you must make offerings to him.”
When the first watch of the night had passed, the moon was bright and the stars shone clear;
the secluded grove was silent without a sound, and giving rise to a heart of great compassion,
he bequeathed his admonitions to his disciples: “After my parinirvāṇa,
you must revere the Prātimokṣa;
it is your great teacher, a bright lamp in the vast night,
a great treasure to the poor. As for that which it instructs and admonishes,
you must comply with it, no differently than serving me.
You must purify the actions of body and speech, and abandon all worldly livelihood:
fields and houses, raising living beasts, amassing wealth and the five grains—
all these you must keep far from, as if avoiding a great fire-pit.
Ploughing the earth, cutting down grass and trees, compounding medicine to cure diseases,
looking up to calculate the calendar, charting and divining omens of good and ill,
astrologizing over profit and harm—none of these should be done.
Be temperate in body, eat in accordance with the time, do not act under orders to practice magic spells,
do not concoct herbal medicines, and keep far from all deceit and crookedness.
Requisites of life in accordance with the Dharma should be received in known measure;
having received them, do not hoard them; this is a brief account of the precepts.
They are the root of all the precepts, and also the foundation of liberation;
relying on this Dharma, all meditative attainments can be generated.
All genuine wisdom reaches ultimate perfection dependent on this;
therefore you should hold fast to them and not let them be broken or destroyed.
Because pure precepts are not broken, all wholesome dharmas exist;
without them there are no wholesome dharmas, because they are established by the precepts.
Having abided in pure precepts, guard well the sense-faculties,
just as a good cattle-herder does not allow his herd to run wild.
If one does not rein in the horses of the senses, letting them roam unrestrained in the six sense-objects,
in the present life it will bring disaster, and will plunge one into the evil destinies.
Just as an unbroken horse causes a man to fall into a pit,
so the wise should not indulge the senses.
The senses are exceedingly vicious, a grave enemy to humanity;
beings cherish their senses, yet are harmed by them in return.
Deep hatred, venomous serpents, ferocious tigers, and raging fires—
the greatest terrors of the world—are not feared by the wise.
They fear only the fickle and restless mind, which leads a person into the evil destinies,
because it delights in petty quietude and fails to observe the deep and perilous abyss.
A mad elephant losing the sharp hook, a monkey finding a forest—
such is the fickle and restless mind; the wise must restrain and hold it.
If you loose the mind and let it be free, in the end you will never attain tranquility;
therefore you must subdue the mind and bring it swiftly to a place of peaceful rest.
In eating and drinking know moderation; it should be like taking medicine;
do not on account of food and drink give rise to a mind of craving or anger.
Food and drink quench hunger and thirst, like grease on a rotting cart;
just as a bee gathers from a flower without harming its color or fragrance,
so when a monk walks on alms-round, let him not harm the donors' faith.
If someone joyfully gives in charity, one should consider what they can bear;
not measuring the strength of the ox, a heavy load causes it injury.
At the three times of morning, midday, and afternoon, cultivate wholesome deeds in succession;
in the first and final watches of the night, do not cling to sleep either;
in the middle of the night lie down with an upright mind, fixing mindfulness on the light of dawn.
Do not sleep through the entire night, letting body and life pass in vain;
the fire of time constantly burns the body; how can you sleep for long?
The host of enemy kleśas seize the opportunity to inflict harm;
when the mind is darkened in sleep, when death arrives, who will be awake?
A venomous snake hidden in the house can be expelled by a good incantation;
the black viper dwelling in the mind can be removed by the good incantation of luminous awareness;
to sleep for long without this technique is to be a person devoid of shame.
Shame and remorse are an adornment of clothing; shame is the hook that restrains the elephant;
shame and remorse bring stability to the mind; shamelessness destroys wholesome roots;
shame and remorse are praised by the world as virtuous; the shameless are of the same kind as beasts.
If someone with a sharp knife were to sever your body joint by joint,
you should not harbor hatred, nor let your mouth utter evil words;
with evil thoughts and evil words, you harm yourself and do not injure the other.
In disciplining the body and cultivating asceticism, nothing surpasses the excellence of patience;
only the practice of patience is a steadfast power difficult to conquer;
therefore do not harbor resentment, nor inflict evil words upon others.
Anger destroys the True Dharma, and also destroys a handsome appearance;
it brings loss of a good reputation, and the fire of anger burns one's own heart;
anger is the enemy of virtue; if you cherish virtue, do not harbor hatred.
Householders have many afflictions; that they feel anger is therefore not strange;
for one who has gone forth to harbor anger is contrary to reason,
just as within cold water a blazing fire should burn.
If an arrogant mind should arise, you should rub your head with your own hand:
shaven head and wearing dyed robes, holding the begging bowl in hand,
scraping a mere living from the outskirts—why give rise to arrogance?
Even for secular people, pride in clothing, appearance, or clan is an error;
how much more so for one who has gone forth, whose aim is to seek the path of liberation,
to give rise to an arrogant mind? This is utterly impermissible.
Crookedness and straightness are opposite by nature, unable to coexist like frost and flame;
one who has gone forth cultivates the straight path; deceit and crookedness are unbefitting;
flattery, deceit, illusion, and falsehood—only the Dharma is without deception.
To seek much is suffering; having few desires brings peace and safety;
for the sake of peace one should have few desires, how much more so when seeking true liberation?
The stingy fear those who seek much, dreading loss of their wealth and treasures;
the generous also fear it, ashamed that their wealth cannot provide enough;
therefore you should have few desires, bestowing upon them a fearless heart.
From this mind of few desires, one attains the path of liberation;
if you wish to seek liberation, you should also practice contentment.
Contentment is constant joy; joy itself is the Dharma;
though the requisites of life may be poor, through contentment one is always at peace.
A person who does not know contentment, even if obtaining the joys of heaven,
because of not knowing contentment, the fire of suffering constantly burns their heart.
To be wealthy yet not know contentment is also to be poor and suffering;
though poor, if one knows contentment, this is the foremost wealth.
For those who do not know contentment, the five realms of desire are all the broader;
yet still they seek without satiety, racing through the long night in suffering.
Anxiously harboring worries, they are pitied in turn by the content;
not gathering many followers, their mind is constantly at peace.
Because they are peaceful and tranquil, humans and devas all serve them;
therefore you should abandon followers, both near and distant.
Like a solitary tree in a wide marsh, upon which many birds gather to roost,
so it is with keeping many followers: one suffers many miseries through the long night;
many followers bring many entanglements, like an old elephant sinking into mud.
If a person is diligent and vigorous, there is no benefit they will not obtain;
therefore day and night you should be vigorous and never indolent.
A tiny stream in a mountain gorge, flowing constantly, cuts through rock;
if in drilling for fire one is not vigorous, one labors in vain and obtains nothing;
therefore you must be vigorous, like a strong man drilling for fire.
Though a good friend is fine, it does not equal right mindfulness;
when right mindfulness remains in the heart, no evils can enter.
Therefore practitioners should constantly be mindful of the body;
if one loses mindfulness of the body, all goodness is forgotten.
Just as a brave general dons armor to ward off a powerful enemy,
so right mindfulness is heavy armor, capable of subduing the thieves of the six sense-objects;
right concentration examines the mind of awareness, observing arising and ceasing in the world;
therefore practitioners should cultivate samādhi.
When samādhi has become tranquil, it can extinguish all suffering;
wisdom can illuminate brightly, remaining far from attachments.
Observing equally and reflecting inwardly, one complies with and advances toward the True Dharma;
both householders and those who have gone forth must tread this path.
In the great ocean of birth, old age, and death, wisdom is a light boat;
in the vast, dark night of ignorance, wisdom is a bright lamp;
for the diseases of all fetters, knots, and defilements, wisdom is good medicine;
for the thorn-forest of kleśas, wisdom is a sharp axe;
for the swift torrent of folly and craving, wisdom is a bridge;
therefore you must diligently practice the wisdom born of hearing, thinking, and cultivating.
Endowed with the three kinds of wisdom, though blind, the eye of wisdom sees through;
without wisdom, the mind is false and vain; such a one has not truly gone forth.
Therefore you should realize this, and leave behind all false dharmas,
to attain subtle joy, the place of tranquil peace.
Honor and revere heedfulness; heedlessness is the enemy of goodness;
if a person is not heedless, they will be born in the abode of Śakra;
one who looses the mind in heedlessness falls into the realm of the asuras.
The deeds of comfort, compassion, and kindness that were required I have now completed;
you must be diligent, properly cultivating your own practice;
in the empty and quiet places of mountains and forests, increase the tranquil mind.
You must diligently exert yourselves, lest you harbor remorse later.
Just as a good doctor in the world prescribes medicine according to the disease,
yet if one clutches the sickness and does not swallow it, that is not the fault of the good doctor;
I have already expounded the truth, displaying the path of equality;
if you hear it and do not practice it, this is not the fault of the speaker.
If regarding the meaning of the Four Noble Truths there is anything you do not understand,
you should all ask now; do not keep what you harbor concealed.”
The World-Honoured One instructed with compassion, and the assembly remained silent.
Then Aniruddha, observing the great assembly,
silent and without any doubt, joined his palms and addressed the Buddha:
“The moon could grow warm, the sun's rays cold, the wind still, and the nature of earth mobile;
such four kinds of delusion could all happen in the world,
yet the truths of suffering, its origin, its cessation, and the path are real and have never failed;
as the World-Honoured One has expounded, the assembly has no doubt at all.
Only at the World-Honoured One's nirvāṇa are all grieved and moved;
they do not entertain the thought that the World-Honoured One's words are non-ultimate.
Even those newly gone forth, whose minds have not deeply understood,
having heard now these earnest instructions, have had their doubts completely removed.
Those who have already crossed the ocean of birth and death, without desire and with nothing to seek,
now all give rise to sorrowful longing, lamenting: ‘How swift is the Buddha's extinction!’”
Because of Aniruddha's words of various grief and sorrow,
the Buddha, again with a heart of compassion, comforted and told them:
“Even if one were to abide for an aeon, in the end one must part;
when different bodies unite, by nature they cannot remain together forever.
Benefit to oneself and others is already completed; what purpose would there be in abiding in vain?
Those among gods and humans who were to be crossed over have all attained liberation.
You, my disciples, must transmit and maintain the True Dharma in turn;
knowing that whatever exists must be destroyed, do not give rise to grief and sorrow;
you must diligently employ skillful means to reach the place of non-separation.
I have already lit the lamp of wisdom, illuminating and removing the darkness of the world;
the world is completely unstable; you should rejoice with sympathetic joy.
Just as when a relative meets with severe illness, through treatment escapes suffering and harm,
having cast aside the vessel of suffering, going against the current of the ocean of birth and death,
forever freed from all afflictions, so too you should rejoice with sympathetic joy.
Guard yourselves well; do not give rise to heedlessness;
whatever exists returns to extinction; I am now entering nirvāṇa.”
His speech ceased from this point; this was his final teaching.
He entered the samādhi of the first dhyāna, and in succession the nine meditative attainments;
in reverse order through the meditative attainments, he returned to the first dhyāna;
rising again from the first dhyāna, he entered the fourth dhyāna;
emerging from absorption with a mind unattached to anything, he then entered nirvāṇa.
Because of the Buddha's nirvāṇa, the great earth shook everywhere;
fire rained down universally from the sky, blazing of itself without firewood.
Moreover, rising up from the earth, the eight directions all blazed together,
even up to the celestial palaces, which blazed likewise.
Thunder and lightning shook heaven and earth; thunderbolts trembled the mountains and rivers,
like the sound of drums beaten in the battle between the devas and asuras.
Wild winds stirred violently from the four quarters; mountains crumbled, and dust and ashes rained down;
the sun and moon lost their brilliance; clear streams all boiled up and surged;
the Grove of Sal Trees withered, and flowers and leaves dropped out of season.
Flying dragons rode black clouds, bowing their five heads with flowing tears;
the Four Heavenly Kings and their retinues, containing their grief, performed offerings.
The Śuddhāvāsa devas descended, lining the sky in attendance;
observing the vicissitudes of impermanence, they felt neither sorrow nor joy.
They lamented: “The world is parted from the Heavenly Teacher; how swift has the Eye been extinguished!”
The gods of the eight classes filled the sky,
scattering flowers as offerings, their hearts grieved and unhappy;
only the king Māra rejoiced, playing music to amuse himself.
Jambudvīpa lost its glory, like a mountain crumbling and its peak collapsing,
a great elephant's white tusks snapping, a bull-king's two horns shattered.
As the sky without sun and moon, as lotus blossoms struck by severe frost,
so at the Tathāgata's parinirvāṇa, the world withered likewise.

First 10 of 18 passages. Read on

Translations (1)

Buddhacarita: In Praise of Buddha's Acts — Charles Willemen 2009, English

Linked texts (1)

佛所行讚 — Classical Chinese