菩薩本緣經

MIDDLE VOLUME

3/ Chapter on Prince All-Sustaining (continued):

At that time, the prince joined his palms, knelt, and addressed the king:

“Father, my giving is not motivated by greed, anger, or delusion. I do not seek fame, rebirth in heaven, or birth into a wealthy and noble family, nor do I act from a deranged or confused mind. I give in this way solely because I am wholly devoted to seeking the true Dharma.

Great King, please understand that I now constantly support my parents, brothers, wife, and children; yet when death comes, which of my relatives can accompany me? Only the true Dharma will always follow me and never depart. If I had no intention of practicing wholesome Dharma, I would still hope that the Great King would rebuke and instruct me.

Why, then, has the Great King suddenly trusted false words and prevented me from performing wholesome deeds? You have just commanded me to abandon the mind of generosity. Generosity is my very nature—how could I abandon it?

It is like the earth, which cannot relinquish its hardness, or fire, which cannot relinquish its heat. A fish cast upon the shore cannot survive. If a servant of the king possessed all six faculties and a body that was whole and perfect, no different from those of the devas, how could such a person be ordered about by the king?

From where did the king’s possessions—carriages, palace women, gold, silver, pearls, and jewels—come? You should know that they all arose from acts of giving performed in the past, through which you have now obtained these blessed rewards. Great King, you should know that all hungry ghosts, scorched by the fire of hunger and withered in body and mind, suffer thus because of avarice and stinginess.

The celestial realms, with palaces made of the seven precious substances and lives of great duration, should be understood as arising from the causes of giving. Great King, the gifts I now give cannot be burned by fire or swept away by water, nor can kings, thieves, enemies, or creditors seize them. In every realm of existence, what has been given always becomes a close companion; in the celestial realm, it becomes one’s vehicle.

Throughout birth and death, what has been given always follows me, just as a calf follows its mother. The king has commanded me to cease and abandon my mind of generosity, and if I cannot abandon it, I must enter the deep mountains. Even if I go into the deep mountains without abandoning my mind of generosity, the poor will still seek me out.

The mountain forests are truly suited to my original vow. I had not previously asked permission because I feared the king would not allow me to go. Now that the king has granted permission, it is precisely in accord with my aspiration.

The time is right; therefore, I shall respectfully obey your command, bid farewell, and set forth. Why? The mountain forests are peaceful and secluded places, delighted in by holy sages and far removed from greed, anger, and delusion.

If I go there, I shall certainly benefit myself.”

The prince reverently bowed at his father’s feet, circumambulated him three times to the right, and then took his leave. Afterward, the prince went to his mother, knelt and bowed as before, circumambulated her three times to the right, bowed in farewell, and departed. He then went to his wife and said:

“You should remain here to serve our parents and raise our children. In doing so, you will be cultivating the true Dharma. I now wish to go deep into the mountain forests. Why? I have long vowed to enter the deep mountains and practice according to my aspiration. Now that my father has given his permission, I must quickly go there so that my mind may find what accords with it. I shall befriend the birds and beasts, drink cold water, and eat fruit, which will be enough to sustain my life. You are a princess, delicate in body, beautiful, and refined. How could you endure such hardships? You must therefore remain here and should not follow me.”

When his wife heard these words, her heart filled with grief and anguish, and her body trembled like a banana leaf. Wailing and weeping, she said:

“How can this be? What offense has the prince committed that his father must banish him into the deep forest? The Great King is generous and benevolent, rules the country according to the true Dharma, and loves the people as his own children. Why, then, has he suddenly banished you in this way? Your lovely form and radiant countenance are as graceful as a champaka blossom. Why must you suddenly lie upon thorns, rocks, and bare earth? At present, you live joyfully amid the five kinds of music in the palace; if you enter the mountains, you will hear only the vicious and fearsome cries of tigers, wolves, lions, and savage beasts. How strange! Where is the Great King’s loving-kindness now? Why has a loving father become so heartless, suddenly turning a trifling matter into bitter enmity?”

The prince replied to his wife:

“Excellent, Princess! You possess profound understanding, diligent courage, and have always been my good companion. Even if I were in the wrong and needed to be reproached, you still should not utter such harsh words. Kings, preoccupied with governing their countries, wage war against one another and are all afflicted by the suffering caused by greed, anger, and delusion.

“It is precisely because I possess blessed conditions that my father has permitted me to enter the mountains and cultivate the true Dharma. You should not give rise to sorrow. According to the customary law of the world, when a king grows old, he appoints the crown prince to oversee the affairs of the realm. Affairs of state are manifold and give rise to many errors. If one commits an error, one may lose one’s life here, with nowhere to escape. Now my father has not yet grown feeble and is able, in his generosity, to permit me to enter the mountains and cultivate according to my aspiration. The errors of worldly life are impossible to perceive in their entirety, so why are you not joyful? Remain here happily; I am about to depart.”

The princess said:

“When my parents gave me to you in marriage, the sun, the moon, the earth, and the Four Heavenly Kings all bore witness. On our wedding day, you yourself vowed that we would never be separated. Why, then, do you now wish to depart alone? Just as the sun, the moon, or a blazing fire cannot be separated from the light it emits, how can you wish to see us separated in this way?”

At that time, the prince gave all his family wealth to the poor. He then carried his two children upon his shoulders, took his wife by the hand, and entered the Snow Mountains. Upon arriving there, the prince sustained himself on fruit and cold water and cultivated the mind of loving-kindness and compassion day and night. He further reflected: “When I lived at home, enjoying the pleasures of the five desires, they could not compare with my life in the mountains today. This happiness surpasses even the sensual pleasures enjoyed by Shakra, Lord of the Devas. Sentient beings truly do not know the wondrous sweetness of the true Dharma, just as a crow does not know the sublime fragrance of the lotus.”

For the sake of sentient beings, the prince constantly contemplated this meaning. His wife would regularly enter the forest to gather dried fruit to sustain the entire family.

At that time, there was an aged brahmin, ugly in appearance and displeasing to behold, who came from afar. When the prince saw him, he immediately invited him to sit, offered him water and fruit, and then asked:

“Why have you come here? Is it because you have grown weary of the sufferings of household life? In the prime of life, one may remain at home and enjoy the five desires; but now that you are old and approaching death, you should abandon everything and cultivate the Way. This is truly a joyful undertaking. This place is peaceful and secluded, free from the faults of household life. If you delight in this place, I shall provide you with cool water and sweet fruit and will not allow you to lack anything.”

The brahmin said:

“Those who are free from thoughts of desire should dwell in such a place. At present, I have not yet extinguished thoughts of desire, and therefore I cannot live here. Great Sage, look at me.

Although my body is old, my hair white, my teeth fallen out, and my steps unsteady; although my eyes no longer see clearly, my mouth and tongue are parched so that I can scarcely speak, my head is heavy and painful as though I bore Mount Tai upon it, my ears no longer hear distinctly, and my body has become decrepit—thoughts of desire remain in me just as they did in the prime of life. Great Sage, you should know that I am advanced in years, weak in body, poor, and destitute, with no one to serve me.

If you wish to fulfill my aspiration and bestow kindness upon me, I ask you to give me two people to serve me.”

Hearing this, the bodhisattva thought, “How difficult this is! If today I say that I have nothing, I shall violate my former vow. Yet if I say that I have something, I truly have nothing at this moment.”

The brahmin said:

—Why are you now hesitating and wavering? What are you thinking? Do you perhaps think that I am not a brahmin who observes the precepts and is widely learned? Do not think so. I truly am such a person.

The bodhisattva replied:

—When I still lived at home, I had many servants, and my treasuries were filled with gold, silver, jewels, and precious things. In those days, whenever someone came to ask, I never said that I had nothing. Now, here in this mountain, I have brought nothing with me. Where, then, could I find anything with which to offer fitting assistance? That is why I hesitated in thought.

The brahmin said:

—I am now old and feeble, without strength, and have come from afar to ask that my wish be granted. From ancient times until now, whenever you saw someone seeking alms, you never said, “I have nothing.” Why do you speak so today? Great Seer! If, out of compassion, you give me two people to serve me, I shall return to my country. If I cannot obtain them, I shall surely die here.

The prince thought:

—What can I do to help this man?

At that time, the prince’s two children were playing in the mountains not far away.

The bodhisattva thought again, “For the sake of all sentient beings, I shall now bring every necessary cause and condition to fulfillment.”

He then called his two children. When they came, the bodhisattva embraced them and thought, “My two children were born and raised in the royal palace. Their bodies are tender and delicate, and they have never endured the suffering of cold. How could they suddenly be separated from their father and mother and become another person’s servants?”

He thought again, “Why am I calculating over this matter? If I do not practice difficult austerities, on what could I rely to attain perfect enlightenment? I should carry this out through these causes and conditions. May this practice enable me swiftly to attain perfect enlightenment. I am not giving away my two beloved children in order to seek rebirth in the heavens, blessings among human beings, or the hope of becoming a wheel-turning sage king, Shakra, Brahma King, or one of the Four Heavenly Kings. May I dedicate the merit of this act so that all sentient beings universally attain the unsurpassed path.”

Having thought thus, the bodhisattva took his two children by the hand and gave them to the brahmin, saying:

—Brahmin, my two children are as dear to me as my own life. They are still young and immature, lacking wisdom, and do not yet understand what people say. Though they have human form, they are not yet discerning. I now give them to you to serve you. I fear that their mother will prevent you when she returns, so take them away quickly.

The two children then turned back, grasped their father’s robe, and said:

—Father! Why do you give us brothers to this wicked brahmin? From this day onward, we shall forever be separated from our father and mother.

We are still young and do not understand. With no one to protect and shelter us, how can we survive? Why must we endure this suffering and anguish and now also fall into another person’s hands?

Surely our lives will not be preserved. Those who violate a king’s law must indeed suffer punishment, but we are innocent young children and have committed no offense. Why must we meet with this suffering today?

Even those who have truly committed offenses may still receive pardon; how much more should those who have committed no offense not be wrongfully punished! Even if Father no longer cherishes us, the principles of humanity should not be like this. The old and the young are worthy of compassion, as are both the foolish and the wise.

Why, Father, must you alone endure this bitter suffering? Even if Father separates from us for the sake of the Dharma, abandoning in this way the heart of loving-kindness and affection, can that truly accord with the Dharma? Though we are young, we have heard the brahmins teach that those who wholeheartedly protect another person’s wife and children will be reborn in the Brahma heaven.

Hearing these words, the bodhisattva trembled in body and mind and immediately reproached himself for having come to such a state: “O mind! Do you not understand? Since beginningless time, sentient beings have wandered through birth and death. Who has not been an enemy, and who has not been a relative? Are you so blind and benighted that you cannot see? Why do you not abide in right mindfulness and discern through contemplation? Is it because you are now sending away these two children for their sake that you tremble so? What will you do when death arrives?”

After the bodhisattva had rebuked his own mind, he became calm again and told the brahmin:

—Go quickly!

The two children then said to their father:

—Please let us remain a little longer and wait for our mother to return, so that we may bow to her, inquire after her, and bid her farewell. It will not be too late to leave afterward.

The bodhisattva replied:

—Go now. Your mother and I will follow after you.

The brahmin hurriedly led the two children away. As they walked, the children kept looking back. Seeing their father’s face, they cried out and wept in sorrow.

The bodhisattva again rebuked his own mind:

—You must not tremble again. Contemplate how this body is forever consumed by aging and death.

When the children had not yet gone far, the bodhisattva made this vow:

—Today I have relinquished and given away both my children. This is truly a difficult practice. Through these causes and conditions, may I attain perfect enlightenment and sever every bond for all sentient beings.

The brahmin had not traveled far when he thought, “The prince is truly extraordinary and rare in the world. He always acts in accordance with his words and has given both his children to me. His cultivation of wholesome Dharma will surely be brought to complete fulfillment. Where should I now take these two children to sell them? The only place is the country ruled by their grandfather, the king.”

The brahmin then took the two children to the royal palace. When the king saw his two grandchildren, sorrow and joy mingled within him. He asked the brahmin:

—Where did you obtain these two children?

The brahmin replied:

—Please hear me. In the Snow Mountains, your son, Great King, whose name is Sarvadhara, gave me these two children to serve me.

When the king heard this, he clenched his fists and said:

—How extraordinary! My son cherishes the Dharma excessively, to the point that he no longer spares even his beloved children. Return home, and I shall give you wealth.

Having respectfully accepted the king’s command, the brahmin received the jewels and returned to his own home.

At that time, the prince’s wife was in the lonely forest. Her left eye twitched, and her heart palpitated with unease. The flowers she had gathered suddenly withered. Two fruits rolled out of her basket onto the ground. Her breasts throbbed, causing milk to flow from them. A bird before her cried out incessantly. She thought, “These omens appearing today are truly inauspicious! Could my husband have died? Or have tigers, wolves, lions, or other ferocious beasts devoured my children? Perhaps they fell from the mountain and died while running about at play?”

Having thought thus, she immediately returned to their dwelling. Seeing the bodhisattva sitting with his body inclined upon a grass seat beside a rocky bank, she thought, “My husband is here, so surely there is nothing to fear!” She approached him and asked:

—Are the two children safe and well?

The bodhisattva replied:

—The two children are safe and well.

His wife said:

—My ears have heard you say that they are safe and well, but since I have not seen them, my heart remains anxious!

The bodhisattva replied:

—Sit for a little while, and you will surely see them.

When his wife had seated herself, the bodhisattva said to her:

—Do you not fully understand my original vow? Everything I possess I give away to others. This morning, after you left, a brahmin asked me for our two children, and I gave them to him.

When his wife heard this, her mind became bewildered, and she lost consciousness throughout her body and collapsed to the ground.

The bodhisattva sprinkled water upon her, causing her to regain consciousness.

The mother, her entire body shaken, sat up and spoke this verse:

How extraordinary—for the true Dharma

You undertake this ascetic practice!

When you gave away our children,

Why did your mind not fall into confusion?

Surely your heart is not made of iron,

Yet it is now devoid of affection.

How could you possibly give

Our children away to another?

My children are still so young,

Their beauty beyond compare,

Their faces like blooming lotuses,

Their eyes like crimson lotus petals.

They ate only wild fruit and drank cold water,

Yet never felt sorrow or distress.

How could you be so devoid of human feeling

As suddenly to give our children away?

This road is strewn with rolling stones,

Thorny brush, and poisonous thorns.

Those people possess neither loving-kindness nor wisdom;

Where will they take our children?

My husband, do you not see

Those deer over there,

Still running about in search of their young?

How much more should you, their father, do so!

Do you not see that in these mountains

All the forest trees,

Because I have lost my children,

Rustle together in lamentation?

All the forest trees

Are without conscious minds,

Yet still show such feeling;

How much more should a person with a mind?

At that time, a banana tree nearby was trembling throughout its whole body. The wife said:

—Does your husband also lack a mind of loving-kindness and compassion, that he gave his children to another? Is that why your whole body is trembling?

Remembering her children, the wife wept sorrowfully and ran about everywhere, unable to remain still in one place.

The bodhisattva said:

—Excellent! Excellent! Having entered the mountains to cultivate wholesome Dharma, why do you still cause your mind to suffer in this way? It is in vain that you dwell in solitude cultivating the wondrous principle. How strange, princess! Although you possess profound wisdom and courageous diligence, you still do not clearly understand the many faults and dangers of samsara. Who can truly know the origins of parents, brothers, wives, children, and enemies? Your present children may have been your enemies in the past. If they encountered suffering and adversity, you would then have rejoiced. Now that you are separated from your children, you are filled with grief. Suppose they had died or been carried away by bandits—would you then be angry with me? Have you never heard the holy sages say:

The young, the old, and those in their prime all go to death,

Just as ripened fruit falls by itself to the ground.

How could people not know that all of samsara

Is like a dream in which false things are seen?

The impermanence of samsara leads all sentient beings onward;

Though one has parents, who can save oneself?

It is like a lion seizing a herd of deer;

Though the mother deer is there, how can she save them?

Birth, aging, sickness, and death constantly harm sentient beings,

Just as fruit upon a tree is plucked by many people.

Like unfired pottery caught in the rain,

It must all disintegrate, with not a single vessel remaining.

Sentient beings in the three realms are likewise:

When caught in the rain of impermanence, no one can escape.

Today they create one karma, tomorrow they commit another deed,

Lost in craving, they fail to contemplate the coming of death.

Thus, our two children would certainly have been separated from us. Now, for the sake of the Dharma, I have given them to another. You should rejoice and should not grieve. Although I am far from our children, they are at peace. Therefore, you should not suffer so deeply.

Hearing the bodhisattva prince speak in this way, his wife could only remain silent.

“How extraordinary! The bodhisattva has no attachment or regret whatsoever.” Having thought this, Shakra, Lord of the Devas, transformed himself into a brahmin, went to the bodhisattva, and spoke this verse:

Great seer, you should know,

Your renown reaches even to the Brahma Heaven.

You constantly practice great generosity

And delight in the true Dharma.

Yet the request I make today

Is exceedingly difficult to utter.

I pray that you, great upholder of the true Dharma,

Will fulfill my wish.

The bodhisattva replied:

—My body and life are entirely for the sake of all sentient beings, and I begrudge them nothing. How much less would I begrudge wealth, jewels, or other external possessions? Even if I had such things, I would cherish none of them. When I still lived at home, I had many treasuries, elephants, horses, carriages, servants, and attendants. I gave them all to the brahmins without the slightest regret. But now I have nothing left, apart from my body and my wife. If anyone truly needs me, I will not begrudge even myself.

The brahmin said:

—If your resolve is truly such, please give me your wife.

The bodhisattva replied:

—Long ago I abandoned all jealousy, greed, and possessiveness. Please allow me a moment to speak with her.

The bodhisattva said to his wife:

—This brahmin asks me for you. What do you think?

His wife replied:

—Do as you wish, my husband. I belong to you; how could I act according to my own wishes?

The bodhisattva took his wife by the hand and entrusted her to the brahmin.

The brahmin said to the bodhisattva:

—This woman is beautiful, with an exceptional countenance and a peerless form. The road is perilous and beset by many bandits. I am alone and would surely not reach home safely. Please let me temporarily entrust her to you, and do not give her to anyone else.

The bodhisattva replied:

—Through you, my friend, I have now broken free from prison and am no longer bound by any fetters. Do you now wish to return that prison to me and bind me once again?

The brahmin replied: 1

—If you have compassion for me, you will surely consent. Please take her back for a short while.

The bodhisattva reflected with a mind of loving-kindness:

“It is only for a short while; what hardship could there be?”

The brahmin said:

—If I miss the appointed time and do not return promptly, please do not give her to anyone else, for that would displease me.

Having said this, the brahmin departed. Before he had gone far, he transformed himself into another brahmin, returned to the bodhisattva, and said:

—You constantly benefit all sentient beings, like a fruit tree that always yields sweet fruit. Though I live in a distant land, I have long heard of your noble reputation. Therefore, I have journeyed with great hardship to come here and make a request, hoping that my wish may be fulfilled.

The bodhisattva replied:

—I had only one wife, and I have already given her to another. At present, only my own body remains freely mine to give to anyone who needs it.

The brahmin said:

—I do not need your entire body; I need only your two eyes. If you give them to me, I will remember your kindness forever.

The bodhisattva thought to himself: “Why does this brahmin ask me for my two eyes?... Yet I will not calculate or hesitate, for this body is like a corpse in a charnel ground. By exchanging what is unstable for what is stable, I should rejoice—why should I deliberate?”

The bodhisattva then took up a sharp khadira stick and made this vow:

—For the sake of all sentient beings, I now relinquish my two eyes without greed or regret. Previously, I relinquished my two children and then gave my wife to another. I vow to dedicate the merit of these deeds so that all sentient beings may forever sever sensual desire. Through the causes and conditions of giving away my two children and my wife, may sentient beings become separated from every root of craving and attachment. Now I also give my two eyes; may all sentient beings attain the pure Dharma-eye.

After the great bodhisattva had made this vow, he immediately raised the sharp stick to gouge out his eyes.

The brahmin hurried forward, seized the bodhisattva’s hand, and prevented him from gouging out his eyes, saying:

—Your eyes now belong to me; you may not give them to anyone else.

The bodhisattva said:

—I have only one body. Why, in the course of a single day, must I successively safeguard two things entrusted to me? The former brahmin entrusted my wife to me, and now you entrust my eyes to me. How can I possibly protect them?

The brahmin immediately revealed his original form as Shakra and said to the bodhisattva:

—Both your wife and your eyes belong to me. I now return them all to you; you must not give them away again.

Shakra then flew into the sky, from which rained four kinds of flowers. A great voice resounded through empty space, proclaiming to the devas:

—You should know that this man has caused the tree of the path to awakening to flourish. Before long, he will attain Perfect and Complete Awakening.

Such were the events that occurred when the bodhisattva practiced the paramita of generosity. The bodhisattva always gave away everything. Any sentient being who hears of these deeds should give rise to a joyful heart toward the bodhisattva.

4. Chapter on King Sujata:

When the bodhisattva practiced generosity,

His mind was steadfast, carrying it through to the utmost.

Even Mara Papiyan

Could not obstruct him.

Long ago, I once heard:

In the past, there was a king named Thiện Kiết. Because he wished to attain the path of bodhi, he constantly performed beneficial deeds and cultivated the true Dharma. He never entertained thoughts of beating or harming sentient beings.

His face and eyes were handsome, with few who could compare. He always wore a smile and never spoke harsh words. He made offerings to his parents, honored his teachers, and respectfully revered śramaṇas and monastics who had renounced the household life.

He personally practiced the ten wholesome deeds, encouraged everyone to do likewise, and continually gave alms without cease. Whenever he saw poor and destitute people, emaciated and sickly, without adequate clothing, the bodhisattva immediately gave rise to compassion. His entire body trembled as though pierced by a poisoned arrow, and he thought: “These sentient beings are miserly and stingy, foolish and lacking clear understanding.

Although they have obtained human birth with complete physical faculties, because they lack merit they must constantly beg from others. This is all because in previous lives they did not practice generosity. Through miserliness and jealousy, they hoarded things for themselves, thereby bringing about the retribution of suffering in this life.

It is like a foolish and ignorant farmer who traveled from afar to the home of his wife’s family. On the way he suffered hunger and thirst. After entering the house, he found no one present, so he secretly stole some uncooked rice.

He filled his mouth with it and began to choke. Before he could swallow, the household returned. Ashamed, he could not swallow it, yet because he begrudged losing it, he would not spit it out.

The family saw him and asked:

‘What illness has afflicted you like this?’

Hearing the question, the man remained silent and said nothing. The elder and younger relatives of his wife’s family then took him to a physician for treatment. The physician found that his cheeks were as hard as wood and stone.

Having no other recourse, he used a knife to cut open both cheeks. When they had been opened, there was no pus; they found only a mouth full of uncooked rice. Because the man had concealed his act of theft, he suffered such immediate retribution.

It is also like a woman who conceals her pregnancy, but when the day of birth arrives, the pain becomes so intense that she must cry aloud, causing everyone to know of it. Human beings are the same. They conceal their offenses, but when their retribution matures, suffering and affliction compel these offenses to become manifest in their lives.

Or else they are bound by minds of miserliness and jealousy and thus undergo such suffering. I must block every avenue and not allow miserliness and jealousy to enter my mind. I shall now gather together goods for giving and bestow them upon all sentient beings.”

Having reflected in this way, King Thiện Kiết continually practiced generosity without rest. Whenever he gave alms, his mind was filled with immeasurable joy. At that time, Māra Pāpīyān became sorrowful and displeased, saying:

“How strange, Thiện Kiết! Why have you suddenly made yourself my enemy and sought to empty my realm? I possess great power and can subdue even seers who drink only water and eat fruit, practice austerities, and have completely mastered their incantations.

I need only shoot a single flower-arrow to destroy their observance of the precepts, just as a violent storm topples a great tree. Yet now, although I am Pāpīyān, even if I shoot three arrows, I fear I will still be unable to shake the body and mind of Bodhisattva Thiện Kiết. Why is this?

Those non-Buddhist seers possess neither compassionate minds nor wisdom. They do not wish to benefit others but seek only their own benefit, and therefore they are defeated as soon as they are struck by an arrow. Bodhisattva Thiện Kiết, however, possesses great wisdom and a vast mind of compassion.

He does not seek his own benefit but acts solely for the sake of all beings. Even if I shoot three times, I still fear I will be unable to defeat him. Why?

This man has resolutely determined to seek the unsurpassed fruit of the path for all sentient beings. Before long, he will attain unsurpassed, perfect enlightenment. While he has not yet attained the path, I can create obstacles and cause the fruit of the path to be ruined.

It is like a person who has just fallen ill and encounters a skilled physician who gives him a small amount of medicine, immediately curing his illness. A newly sprouted shoot can be severed with a fingernail, but once it has grown large, it is difficult to cut it apart even with a hundred axes. This bodhisattva has not yet attained the unsurpassed, right, and true path.

I must quickly destroy him.”

At that time, King Thiện Kiết had become weary from performing so many acts of generosity and sat down to rest in a secluded place. Māra Pāpīyān appeared in the sky, his body emitting a radiance that outshone both sun and moon, and proclaimed in a loud voice:

“Excellent! Excellent! Great King Thiện Kiết, you truly seek the true Dharma and cherish sentient beings as a loving mother cherishes her child.

Good man, you wish to increase all wholesome dharmas, yet instead you are causing all evil dharmas to flourish. This is like someone who wishes to taste amṛta but instead drinks poison; who seeks peace and happiness but enters among bandits; who wishes his body to be secure but takes the wrong medicine; who wishes to quench his thirst but drinks salt water; or who wishes to eliminate sensual desire but delights in women.

Good man, you should know that there are donors who, because of their giving, have all fallen into hell. Therefore, out of compassion for you, I shall explain this clearly. You should take heed and act accordingly.

From now on, you should abandon all thoughts of giving and instead give rise to a covetous and begrudging mind.”

Pāpīyān then conjured a vision of hell filled with sinners, showed it to Thiện Kiết, and said:

“All these people delighted in generosity and eagerly sought the true Dharma in their previous lives. Therefore, they have now fallen into this place and undergo many forms of suffering and affliction. Great King, you should know that the sinners here hack and hew one another with knives and axes.

Pieces of their bodies fall scattered upon the ground, yet they remain alive and do not die. Sheets of burning copper are wrapped around their bodies, causing smoke to rise from every part of them, yet their lives remain. Although a thousand nails are driven throughout their bodies, stretching their skin like an oxhide, they still do not die.

Wherever they run, they constantly encounter consuming flames, while cold and hot winds torment their bodies. Some are blown apart by poisonous winds; others are beaten and crushed into particles of dust. When hungry, they eat lumps of iron; when thirsty, they drink molten copper.

Some enter forests of blades and climb trees of swords. Others are cast into great boiling cauldrons, sinking and rising until they become as soft and pulpy as cooked beans. Although these sentient beings undergo such manifold suffering and affliction, their lives still continue.

Great King, you should know that I seek nothing from you, nor do I require any offerings. It is only because you are cultivating a false and deviant path that I expound the true path to you.”

When King Thiện Kiết saw those sentient beings in hell, he immediately gave rise to a mind of loving-kindness and thought: “Sentient beings such as these wander through birth and death without any time of escape. They have already undergone immeasurable suffering and affliction, and now they must also endure the torments of this hell. How truly pitiable they are!

When will they be completely freed from all suffering and affliction? These sentient beings formerly followed evil dharmas, and therefore they now undergo painful retribution. They themselves performed such deeds and must bear their consequences; this is not my fault.

I know with certainty that all sentient beings who undergo immeasurable suffering do so because, in previous lives, they committed many unwholesome deeds with body, speech, and mind. Therefore, they have now fallen into this place of punishment. Their suffering is certainly not the result of generosity!”

With a mind of loving-kindness and compassion, King Thiện Kiết said to Pāpīyān:

“Excellent, great being! You are truly compassionate and possess a mind of pity, clearly explaining the characteristics of the true path and the false path. If those who give must undergo such suffering, then where are those who received their gifts?”

Pāpīyān replied:

“Excellent, Bodhisattva! Only because you possess profound wisdom are you able to ask about this matter. Listen attentively, listen attentively, and I shall explain it clearly to you.”

At that time, Papiyan employed his supernatural powers and instantly conjured up devas whose bodies were adorned with jeweled necklaces, precious bracelets, flowers, and fragrances. They delighted in innumerable kinds of music, with beautiful heavenly maidens attending them on either side. Many kinds of trees constantly bore sweet fruit; flowering trees, jeweled necklaces, garments, and food were spread out everywhere before them. Countless birds gathered and sang together, their harmonious voices exceedingly delightful. Everywhere there were streams, ponds, and lakes, with lotuses the color of pure gold blooming across the water. No sounds were heard of old age, sickness, death, or suffering. They dwelt within wondrous palaces made of the seven treasures.

After creating this transformation, the King of Maras said to the bodhisattva:

“Good man, all who receive offerings attain such things and enjoy innumerable supreme pleasures. Therefore, you should relinquish the thought of giving, so that afterward you may enjoy such wondrous fruits of recompense.”

The bodhisattva thought to himself:

“Such words are truly inverted, false, and devoid of meaning.

“Why is this? I have never seen a haritaki tree produce sweet sugarcane, a pure lotus grow from a cesspit, pure gold turn into copper or iron, or a faithful donor suffer in hell. Such words are deeply harmful. These inverted words must certainly be the words of Mara...”

The bodhisattva then said:

“Excellent! Excellent! You have made such a skillful distinction concerning merit.

In this way, you imagine that you have subdued me... You should know that when a fly beats its wings, the wind it produces cannot shake Mount Sumeru, king of mountains. Your attempt to shake me with the force of your wind is just the same.

As you said before, donors fall into hell because they give, while recipients of offerings are reborn in heaven. This truly accords with my aspiration. May I henceforth be the sole donor, continually falling into hell, while all beings become recipients of offerings and thereby attain rebirth in heaven.

For one person to endure suffering so that many may enjoy happiness—is this not the bodhisattva’s fundamental vow? I know with certainty that you are Mara Papiyan. You cannot contend with me.

Since time immemorial, I have constantly cultivated the mind of giving. How could you now cause me to relinquish it?”

Thus did the great bodhisattva practice the paramita of giving, to such an extent that even Mara Papiyan could not obstruct him.

5. The Chapter on King Moonlight

The bodhisattva mahasattva,

While practicing the sublime path,

For the sake of all sentient beings,

Gave even his head and eyes.

Thus have I heard:

Long ago, in the kingdom of Kasi, there was a king named Moonlight. He cultivated the path to bodhi and, in seeking benefit in accordance with the Dharma, constantly censured sensual desires. The king possessed an exceptionally dignified and handsome form.

His talent and wisdom surpassed those of others, and no one in the world could equal him. His nature was truly upright and free from deceit; his speech was gentle; he was sincere and never gave rise to anger; his mind was joyful; he respectfully honored sramanas and brahmins; and with loving-kindness and filial devotion, he attended upon his parents. The kings of neighboring realms submitted to his virtue, respectfully sought his friendship, and his fame and virtue resounded throughout the ten directions.

He constantly benefited immeasurable sentient beings and cared for all the people of his kingdom as a loving mother cherishes her young child.

One day, after reflecting, “What must I do to bring joy to sentient beings?” the king summoned his chief ministers and commanded:

“My lords, adorn this city. Hang flower canopies, erect precious banners, sweep and cleanse the streets, burn incense, and scatter flowers upon the ground. Do not allow any of the people to suffer sorrow. Let everyone adorn their bodies with all kinds of jeweled necklaces and wear splendid garments and ornaments.”

The ministers obeyed the king’s command and proclaimed to the people throughout the city: “All of you, adorn the city and make even the roads through the neighborhoods as clean as the palaces of the Heaven of the Thirty-three.”

At that time, King Moonlight mounted a great elephant and departed from the palace. He ordered an official to proclaim his royal decree to everyone:

“I have adorned this city in this way not because of sensual craving, self-exaltation, pride, fear of enemies, or defense against hostile forces, nor do I seek to become a wheel-turning sage king. I have adorned this city solely because I wish all sentient beings to enjoy immeasurable peace and happiness and never fall into the evil destinies of hell beings, animals, or hungry ghosts. Today, you should regard me as your parent, sibling, and spiritual friend.

Enter my palace as though entering your own homes, and freely take whatever things you need according to your wishes. Today I open a great assembly of giving; harbor no doubts whatsoever. After obtaining these things, you should practice wholesome Dharma, and whatever remains after use, devote to giving to others.

Even if anyone requires my body or life, I shall not begrudge it. I pray that all may enjoy peace and happiness.”

Having made this proclamation, King Moonlight immediately ordered that precious treasures from the palace be brought forth and freely distributed as gifts. He regarded the people as his parents and own brothers and sisters, and his joyful countenance resembled the autumn moon. All the people gazed upon the king as though he were their parent or sibling and, with wholesome hearts, looked upon him with eyes like blue lotuses.

At that time, no one throughout the kingdom took up knives or clubs to fight. All followed the king in practicing the ten wholesome deeds, just as a herd of cattle follows the leading bull; as the myriad stars surround the moon; as merchants follow the leader of their caravan; as soldiers obey their commander; as sweet grapes produce fruit that is also sweet; and as the roots and flowers of a sandalwood tree are all fragrant.

In the same way, King Moonlight instructed the people to practice the ten wholesome deeds. At that time, there was not a single person in the kingdom who harbored anger, jealousy, pride, arrogance, or unruliness; who stole another’s possessions; who committed adultery with another’s wife; who engaged in divisive speech, harsh speech, covetousness, ill will, or wrong views. Although King Moonlight was not a noble sage king, all his people practiced the ten wholesome deeds.

At that time, although the people did not wear garments of grass or eat dried fruit, their bodies and appearances were no different from those of seers. They all delighted in deep mountains and secluded places, yet because they loved the king, they could not bear to leave him. After the king had practiced wholesome Dharma in this way, sramanas and brahmins extolled his virtue, and his renown spread in every direction.

There was an elderly brahmin who had abandoned the home of sensual attachment and practiced in the Snow Mountains. He wore his hair and beard long in the manner of a Brahmin ascetic, dressed in garments of grass, drank spring water, and ate fruit. He heard people say that King Moonlight delighted in giving and withheld nothing.

Upon hearing this, due to habitual tendencies from the past, the brahmin gave rise to an evil thought. It was like a fierce fire upon which oil and fat are poured, causing it to blaze even more violently; like poison injected into the veins, making its destructive power still stronger; like a thirsty person drinking salt water; like the heat increasing in autumn; or like spring bringing an abundance of coughing illnesses.

Though this brahmin dwelt deep in the mountains, when he heard of the king’s merit, he became furiously enraged in just the same way. As a lion grows angry upon hearing the cry of a deer, so too did this brahmin become enraged.

He further thought: “Everyone in the world is foolish and devoid of wisdom, so they have all been deluded by the king. I should go there and ask him for something, so that I may clearly see whether the king truly possesses a mind of renunciation. Because no one has asked for his body and life, if someone were to do so, the king would surely recoil from giving.” Having thought thus, the Brahmin left the deep mountains, cast aside the pure Dharma, and grew increasingly enraged.

His mouth was red as copper; he pursed his lips, gnashed his teeth, and contorted his face into sharp angles. He was like an evil dragon spewing hail that ruins the crops, like a vajra mace smashing a great mountain, like the king of the asuras obscuring the sun and moon, like torrential rain flooding villages, and like a raging fire consuming all the dry grass. So too was this Brahmin.

Harboring such an evil mind, he went to the city of Kashi to meet King Moonlight. He displayed the ill-favored signs of his habitual nature: his body trembled, his speech was labored, he staggered as he walked, and he clenched his fists provocatively. His hair hung down over his eyebrows, while the hair upon his head stood on end.

His five fingers curled like five dragon heads. Within, his vicious mind was like a venomous serpent, and his wrathful breath billowed forth like smoke and fire. He spoke these deceitful words:

“Great King, I dwell in the Snow Mountains. When I heard of your renown, I was filled with immeasurable joy. I see that other kings are not like you. The merit of this land is unfathomable, for it has obtained such a Dharma king. Great King, for the benefit of others, you now relinquish even your own body and life. One who cultivates the true Dharma rests peacefully whether awake or asleep. I wish to ask one thing of you.”

The king replied:

“Great Brahmin, there is no need to say much. Simply command me and tell me what I am to do. Whatever you request, I shall offer: elephants, horses, ox carts, gold, silver, lapis lazuli, clothing, jewels, male and female servants, and attendants—I shall provide them all. Brahmin, you should know that sentient beings are constantly afflicted by the three poisons and thus endlessly revolve through birth and death, never finding a time of release. Old age, sickness, and death continually harm sentient beings. I alone could attain liberation, yet for the sake of sentient beings I remain in the world. Whatever you desire, I shall provide it all.”

The Brahmin said:

“If the king can truly do this, you must first steady your mind and not allow it to waver.”

The king replied:

“From long ago until now, I have always made solemn vows, and my mind is difficult to shake. For the sake of sentient beings, I have aroused the mind of bodhi. I would relinquish even my body and life, much less external possessions. You should know that a person who possesses wealth but does not give it away is merely a servant guarding riches. It is like a poisonous tree: although it bears flowers and fruit, no one can make use of them. Or it is like a deep well with a short rope, from which no water can be drawn. Possessing wealth without giving it away is just the same. If one sees a supplicant approaching and scowls, you should know that such a person is opening the gate to the realm of hungry ghosts.”

The Brahmin said:

“Excellent, Great King! What benefit is there in proclaiming empty words? If you can truly do as you say, please give me your head.”

When the ministers heard this, they said to the Brahmin:

“Strange indeed, wicked brigand! From where have you come, using a human mouth to utter such senseless words?”

Together they hurled earth and stones at him and cried out in unison:

“This man is no Brahmin! Where has there ever been one who wears garments of grass and deerskin, keeps long hair, and eats little, yet speaks words as piercing as thorns? Your body and clothing resemble those of a rishi, but the words issuing from your mouth surpass even those of a chandala.

Your speech does not accord with your appearance; therefore, we know with certainty that you are no Brahmin, but an evil rakshasa spirit. Alas, wicked one! Have you come here wishing to dry up the river of the true Dharma?

Are you like a golden-winged bird seeking to devour the dragon of Dharma and bring the rain of Dharma to an end? You are like an evil wind blowing out the lamp of Dharma, like a vicious elephant seeking to uproot the tree of Dharma. A wicked one deserving death is utterly devoid of principle.

When your mouth uttered these words, why did your tongue not shrink back? Why does the earth still bear you? Why does the sun’s heat not scorch your body dry?

Why does a great river not sweep you away?”

The Brahmin said to the ministers:

“You are fools! Why do you revile me so viciously, like savage dogs barking at a supplicant? Do you doubt that I am a Brahmin who has come from afar to make a request?

Do you think I am not a widely learned renunciant? You are foolish and wicked, and therefore cannot comprehend the mighty powers of Brahmins. Do you not know that the sun and moon wax and wane, and that the great ocean is salty and bitter?

The sage Anau drank the water of the Ganges and stopped its flow for twelve years. The Lord of the Heaven of Sovereignty has three eyes upon his face. The rishi Gautama caused a thousand female organs to appear upon Shakra’s body.

The rishi Vasishtha transformed Lord Shakra’s body into a black goat. The great rishi Bhrigu ate Mount Sumeru as though eating milk porridge. Deeds such as these are all manifestations of the power of us Brahmins.

I have come here because he spoke empty and embellished words. Who does not know that the king himself declared that he could give away everything? Now that I have made my request accordingly, what is there to blame?”

King Moonlight said to his ministers:

“You must not obstruct me. I shall fulfill this Brahmin’s wish. Observe this: in governing the realm, I have been free from lust, anger, and delusion, and now the resulting recompense has come to fruition.

The time has come to cast off this body as a snake sheds its skin. You should know that I exchange an impermanent body for an enduring body, uncertain wealth for secure wealth, and an inconstant life for an unshakable life. Formerly, I often spoke to you about the Dharma of a Great Being; now is the proper time to put it into practice.

I have also continually urged you to turn toward the true Dharma, close off the evil paths, open the gates of goodness, plant wholesome seeds in the garden of awakening, diminish the afflictions, and gradually loosen all the bonds of family life. The merit I have attained, you too shall attain. Therefore, as I relinquish my body and life today, you should rejoice and not grieve.

If I clung to this body and failed to do this, you would have to reproach and exhort me to act. How much less should you obstruct me today, when I willingly offer it myself! Suppose someone exchanged grass for wool or drank poison to cure an illness.

I am likewise relinquishing an unstable body to obtain an enduring one.”

The ministers again addressed him:

“Great King, you should not undertake this deed in order to obtain an enduring body. You should not think in this way. Why? You are the refuge upon which we, your subjects, depend. This body of yours is connected with all affairs and with the Dharma. How could you wish to relinquish it solely for the sake of one Brahmin? Once you have relinquished this body, how could the giving of wealth and possessions continue to be arranged? If it can no longer be conducted, many people will suffer. Although the king has but one body, that body encompasses the entire realm. Why do you now wish to dispose of it as though it were yours alone? It is like a precious object jointly owned by many people: if one person wished to use it exclusively, how could he do as he pleased? The king’s body is likewise.”

With a serene expression, the king said to the ministers:

“First, you should give rise to a mind of loving-kindness and compassion and regard this Brahmin with care. Afterward, I shall cut off my head and give it to him.”

The king then said to the Brahmin:

“Please withdraw elsewhere for a short while, so that I may counsel my ministers and subjects and bring them to obey my command.”

The Brahmin immediately withdrew to another place.

The king said to the officials:

“Do you ministers know that in the past I vowed always to bring benefit to sentient beings? I have completed what was to be done for you, and I also wish to fulfill this Brahmin’s desire. In a past age, this Brahmin bore enmity toward me, and the residual retribution has not yet been exhausted; therefore, it continually binds my mind. There is no other way to repay him, so I must give him my head and thereby remain free of debt. Since becoming a human being, I have always practiced the true Dharma. What I now do for this man is likewise the practice of the true Dharma. Ministers, quickly go and summon the Brahmin back here.”

The king said:

“Brahmin, you are not discerning and do not know how to choose an appropriate occasion, for you asked for my head in the presence of everyone. Why did you not ask me in a secluded place? For your sake, I must now dissuade my ministers so that you may remain safe and preserve your life. If I did not restrain them, how could your life possibly be secure? Do not go far. Proceed to that secluded place and wait. After I dismiss the ministers, I shall come to meet you and give you my head.”

Having heard the king’s words, the Brahmin immediately went elsewhere.

After dismissing the ministers, the king went to meet the Brahmin and said:

“If you have asked for my head because you are acting on behalf of someone who bears enmity toward me, I harbor no resentment whatsoever. If you have asked for it of your own accord, whatever the reason may be, Brahmin, you should nevertheless cultivate a mind of loving-kindness. If you cultivate loving-kindness, you will be born in the heavenly realm. A mind of enmity is like fire; extinguish it quickly. When anger dwells within the mind, one cannot perceive the meaning of the Dharma. Those who cultivate patience strive to eradicate anger. Anger defiles the mind and makes the body’s bearing crooked, like dark clouds obscuring the bright moon. One who has gone forth should not give rise to anger. An angry person is not beautiful, but resembles a drunkard whose breath reeks.”

The Brahmin said:

“Although your words are truly fine, I am coarse and ignorant; how could I accept and believe them? Give me your head and speak no more. Although what I hear you say is wholesome, hearing it only makes me still more furious, like a blazing fire upon which oil and fat have been poured.”

The king replied:

“From the time I was born until this day, I have never counseled anyone to commit evil. Now you may cut this body as you please. This body is truly foul, like a pit of excrement, and is certainly not worthy of attachment. I am concerned only because, out of compassion for you, I know that you will fall into hell.”

The Brahmin said:

“Where is hell?”

The king then brought forth a mind of compassion and said:

“Strange indeed are sentient beings! Alas, this world! There is not even one person who practices wholesome Dharma for his own benefit! Although I have admonished this man in many ways, his fundamental inclination still delights in committing evil. He is like a bluebottle fly inside a jar of honey: even when someone rescues it, its mind remains attached; because of its previous craving, it ultimately loses its life. This Brahmin is just the same.”

At that time, the Brahmin drew a sharp blade from beneath his deerskin, seized the king’s hair, and tied it to a tree. With a mind full of anger, he sought to cut off the king’s head. The blade veered aside and did not strike the king, but merely severed a branch of the tree. The Brahmin believed that he had finished cutting off the king’s head and therefore rejoiced. Through the spiritual power of the bodhisattva and the heavenly deities, the Brahmin could no longer see either the king’s head or his body.

Then the tree spirit said to the Brahmin:

“How can there be a Brahmin who carries a sharp blade and takes human life? Why do your hands not fall to the ground? Why does the earth not split open and engulf your body? Why have you given rise to such an evil mind toward one so pure? You have not fallen into hell only because that bodhisattva protects you.”

At that time, the Brahmin believed that he had cut off the bodhisattva’s head. His enmity was gone, and so he departed.

The king returned to the palace, his body safe and unharmed.

When the Great Bodhisattva practiced the paramita of generosity, he always relinquished everything in this way.