佛說睒子經

Thus have I heard:

At one time the Buddha was dwelling in the land of Vilaraka, together with one thousand two hundred and fifty bhikṣus and a host of Bodhisattvas, kings of states, great ministers, elders, lay disciples, devout men and faithful women—innumerable beyond reckoning—all of whom had come together to assemble.

The Buddha said to the bhikṣus:

"All of you, be silent and attentively listen. I recall that in ages past, when I had newly attained the path of the Bodhisattva, I upheld the precepts and pure conduct, cherished all living beings with love, was diligent and single-minded, cultivated wisdom, practiced skillful means, and accumulated merit beyond all reckoning—such as the devas, nāgas, spirits, sages, kings, officials, and the people could not practice."

The Venerable Ānanda, having heard the Buddha's teaching, arranged his robe, knelt down, joined his palms, and addressed the Buddha:

"We wish to hear of this matter."

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"Immeasurable kalpas ago in the distant past, there was a Bodhisattva named Sarva-Sūkṣma-Caryā (All-Wondrous Conduct), whose heart of loving-kindness and compassion extended everywhere, who rescued and aided the multitude of beings. He constantly practiced the Four Immeasurable Minds, delivered the world from calamity and distress, and nourished those in misery. This Bodhisattva dwelt in the Tuṣita heaven, where he constantly taught and transformed devas and humans.

Day and night, throughout the six periods, he ever cultivated right concentration. He reflected upon the three realms and contemplated the paths of good and evil of devas and humans throughout the ten directions. The Bodhisattva knew there were fathers and sons, those who filially supported their parents, who reverently served the Three Jewels, who heeded their teachers and elders, who cultivated every kind of merit; and he constantly used the Deva Eye to illumine and penetrate the five paths.

At that time, in the land of Kāśi, there was an elder's household: husband and wife, both blind, who had no children. The two of them resolved in their hearts to enter the mountains to seek supreme wisdom, delighting in quiet and secluded places and cultivating purity of mind.

The Bodhisattva reflected: 'These people have aroused the aspiration to study the subtle and wondrous path, yet their two eyes cannot see. If they enter the mountains, they will fall into pits and chasms, or encounter venomous creatures that will imperil them. If I were to pass away and become their child, I would serve and support my father and mother throughout my entire life.'

Right at that moment, the Bodhisattva took rebirth into the household of the blind husband and wife as their child, and the father and mother rejoiced and loved their child beyond measure. Before this, the husband and wife had aroused the aspiration to enter the mountains, but because they had begotten a child, they wished to remain in the world.

When the child reached ten years of age, he was given the name Śyāma. Śyāma was kind-hearted and supremely filial, and he practiced the Ten Wholesome Deeds: not killing, not stealing, not engaging in sexual misconduct, not deceiving, not drinking liquor, not speaking falsely, not engaging in embellished speech, and not harboring envy. Day and night he was diligent and deeply believed in the path. He attended upon his father and mother as one who serves heaven; he spoke joyful words, never displeasing others; he lived according to proper conduct and did not follow heterodox practices. Therefore Śyāma's father and mother were greatly delighted and had no worries or anxieties.

When he reached the age of a little over ten years, one day Śyāma knelt down and said to his parents:

"Long ago, father and mother, you made a great vow to enter the deep mountains to seek the supreme path of tranquil quiescence. Surely you will not now, for my sake, forget the original vow of those former years? People living in the world undergo a hundred kinds of change; the span of life is fragile, and time grants no appointment in advance. I pray that father and mother will remember their original resolve. I vow to follow father and mother into the mountains to wait upon you with everything you need, suited to the seasons."

Śyāma's parents replied:

"Your filial and obedient heart has heaven as its witness. Let us not go against the vow we made of old; let us therefore enter the mountains together."

Śyāma took all the wealth in the house and gave it as alms to the poor people of the land, and then together with his parents he went into the mountains. When they reached the mountain forest, Śyāma used trees and grasses to make a dwelling and spread grass to make beds and mats for his parents, keeping them ever in balance—neither cold nor hot. The three of them had been in the mountains for a year when the flowers and fruits grew lush and abundant, fragrant and delicious to use as food; the spring water flowed clear and cool; in the ponds, lotus flowers of five colors vied in blooming; the sandalwood was rich and fragrant; and the trees flourished beyond the ordinary.

The rains were timely and the winds gentle, neither cold nor hot; the branches and leaves interlaced to shield against frost, to shield against rain, and to shield against the rays of the sun, so that beneath them it was cool and pleasant. Rare and precious birds soared and circled, their sounds twittering like music being played, to gladden the hearts of the blind parents. Lions, bears, leopards, tigers, wolves, and fierce beasts all turned toward these people with hearts of loving-kindness, never harboring any intent to harm.

They calmly drank water and ate grass; the wild deer, bears, leopards, and other kinds of beasts often came close beside Śyāma and joined their voices with his to gladden the hearts of his parents.

Śyāma's supreme filial piety and kind-heartedness were such that none could surpass; treading upon the earth, he still feared that the earth might feel pain. The heavenly spirits and mountain spirits all manifested in human form and, day and night, often came to visit the three practitioners of the path. They always remained single-mindedly in right mindfulness, untouched by worry or sorrow. Śyāma constantly gathered every kind of fruit to offer his parents as food. When his parents were thirsty and wished to drink, he used the spring water for them to drink, so that they lacked nothing at all.

One day his parents were thirsty for water, and Śyāma put on a deerskin garment, took up a jug, and went to fetch water. Flocks of birds and herds of deer also came there to drink, with no fear that any calamity would befall them.

At that time, the king of the land of Kāśi entered the mountains to hunt. The king saw deer beside the spring, drew his bow and shot, and the arrow struck Śyāma's chest by mistake. As the poisoned arrow soaked through and his whole body was in agony, Śyāma cried out loudly:

"Who has, with a single arrow, slain all three practitioners of the path?"

The king, hearing the cry, at once dismounted from his horse and came to Śyāma's side. Śyāma said to the king:

"The elephant dies for its tusks, the rhinoceros dies for its horn, the kingfisher dies for its feathers, the deer dies for its flesh. I have no tusks, no horn, no feathers, and my skin and flesh cannot be eaten. What crime have I now committed, that you have the heart to kill me?"

The king said:

"What manner of person are you, that you wear a deerskin garment, no different from the birds and beasts?"

Śyāma replied:

"I am a person of your own realm, O King. Together with my blind father and mother, I came here to study the path more than twenty years ago. Never have I been harmed by tigers, leopards, or venomous creatures, yet now I have been slain by the king's poisoned arrow."

At that very moment a strong wind blew through the mountains, breaking and toppling the trees. The myriad birds and beasts—lions, tigers, leopards, fierce beasts—roared and bellowed, their cries resounding throughout the mountain forest. The sun gave no light, the flowing spring dried up, the flowers and leaves withered, thunder and lightning rumbled and crashed, and the earth quaked.

At that time the blind parents, terrified, said to one another:

"What strange and ominous portent is this? Śyāma went to fetch water long ago and has not been seen to return—could it be that he has been harmed by venomous creatures? The birds and beasts are crying out, their sounds not as they are on ordinary days. The wind blows from all four directions, and the trees are breaking and toppling—surely some extraordinary calamity has occurred!"

At that time the king was greatly afraid and reproached himself: 'I meant to shoot a deer, yet the arrow by mistake struck and slew a practitioner of the path. My crime is truly grave; for the sake of a little flesh I have brought about this disaster. Now let me offer the wealth and jewels, the palaces and courtesans, the soldiers and troops, the walled cities and the villages of my whole realm, in order to save this person's life.'

The king reached out his hand and drew the arrow from Śyāma's chest, but the arrow was very deep and could not be pulled out. Birds and forest beasts from the four directions gathered round and cried out in piteous lament, their cries resounding through the entire mountain forest. The king grew even more frightened, and his whole body trembled.

Śyāma said to the king:

"It is not your fault; it is the evil karma of my former life that has brought me to this. I do not begrudge my own life; I only think with pity of my blind father and mother, whose years are already old and declining and whose two eyes cannot see the way. From this day forth, without me, they too will die. For this reason I am only sorrowful and grieved."

At that very moment, the devas and nāga spirits were all moved and bowed their heads in reverence. The king said again:

"Rather let me enter the hells for a hundred kalpas to suffer this crime, so that Śyāma may live."

The king knelt down before Śyāma and spoke words of repentance:

"If you should die, I will never return to my realm. I will stay here in the mountains to serve and support your father and mother as I would were you still alive; do not let your thoughts be troubled. May the devas, nāgas, and the spirits of the dead bear witness: I shall not betray this vow."

Although Śyāma was stricken by the poisoned arrow, when he heard the king speak this vow, his heart was filled with great joy. Though he was to die, he had no regret.

"Because of my father and mother, the king has been burdened with the task of supporting them; you shall obtain immeasurable merit and blessings, and your evil karma shall be wiped away."

The king said:

"Tell me where your father and mother dwell. I wish to know before you close your eyes."

Śyāma then pointed out to the king the way to go:

"Following this path here, not far from this place, you will see a thatched leaf-hut—that is where my father and mother are dwelling. I pray you, tread gently; do not cause my father and mother to be startled and alarmed. Skillfully use words to explain to my two parents.

On my behalf, O King, tell my father and mother: Impermanence is arriving; I am about to die. I do not begrudge my own life; I only think of my father and mother, who are already aged and frail and, moreover, blind. From this day forth, without me, on whom will my parents rely?

Because of this I am sorrowful and grieved. My death is brought about by myself, for the retribution of crimes of former days has come, such that I cannot escape it. Now I beg to repent: throughout immeasurable kalpas, from the time I first had a body until now, I have created so much evil karma; may these crimes be utterly destroyed.

I vow that life after life I shall not be parted from my father and mother. May my father and mother be granted peace and well-being and long life, and may they have no grief or sorrow. May the devas, nāgas, ghosts, and spirits ever attend upon and aid my father and mother, that their calamities be dispelled, that what they seek be fulfilled according to their wishes, and that they be at ease and free."

The king led a few people to the place where Śyāma's parents were. After the king had gone, Śyāma gradually breathed his last. The myriad birds and beasts from the four directions gathered round; they licked the blood upon Śyāma's chest and cried and wailed mournfully around his corpse. When Śyāma's parents heard these sounds, their hearts grew all the more bewildered and stricken. The king, walking in haste, brushed against the trees and grasses, making a sound. Śyāma's parents, frightened, asked:

"Who is there? These are not the footsteps of my child."

The king said:

"I am the king of the land of Kāśi. Hearing that practitioners of the path were studying the path in these mountains, I have come to make offerings."

Śyāma's parents said:

"Great King, you have condescended to come from afar to visit this lonely and secluded thatched hermitage. We ask, Great King, are you well? Are the queen, the crown prince, and the officials and troops in the palace all in peace and safety? Are the seasons in harmony, and is grain abundant? Has there been any encroachment by neighboring states?"

The king replied:

"By the grace of the practitioners of the path, all is at peace."

The king inquired after Śyāma's parents:

"In these toilsome and hardship-laden mountains, amid this dense forest so difficult to dwell in, are you at ease and secure?"

The blind husband and wife said:

"Great King, by your grace, we are still at ease and secure. We have a filial son named Śyāma, who constantly goes to gather fruit and fetch ample spring water. Our home has only a grass mat; we invite the Great King to sit and rest awhile and to partake of fruit. Śyāma, who has gone to fetch water, will also soon return."

When the king heard Śyāma's parents speak, he was overcome with grief and, shedding tears, said:

"My crime is truly grave. Entering the mountains to hunt, I looked into the distance and saw a herd of deer beside the spring; I drew my bow and shot, and struck the son of the practitioners of the path. Śyāma was struck by the poisoned arrow and is in unbearable agony; and so I have come here to make this known to the two practitioners of the path."

When Śyāma's parents heard this, their whole bodies collapsed to the ground, as Mount Tai collapses, as though in an earthquake. They lifted their faces to heaven, wailing and crying out:

"Śyāma, our child, supremely filial—none in all the world is his equal. His feet treading upon the earth, he constantly feared the earth would feel pain. What crime has he now committed, that he should be shot dead? Just now a windstorm broke and toppled the trees, and the myriad birds cried out in grief, resounding throughout the mountain forest. We have been in the mountains for more than twenty years and have never before known such a strange phenomenon. Our child went to fetch water and has long not returned—surely some mishap must have occurred!"

The spirits were all terrified and, deeply moved, bowed their heads. The mother wept without ceasing. The father told her to stop weeping and said:

"Among the people of the world, there is no one who does not die. Once impermanence arrives, it cannot be escaped."

Then he asked the king:

"Great King, while he was still alive, did Śyāma leave any words of instruction?"

The king related in full Śyāma's words of instruction for his parents to hear. Hearing the king's account, Śyāma's parents were grieved beyond consolation, and said:

"From this day forth, without our child, we too shall die! Now we beg the Great King to lead us to the place of Śyāma's corpse."

The king then led Śyāma's parents along. When they arrived, the father embraced his child's head, and the mother embraced his two legs and pressed them upon her knees, and with her two hands she felt about for the arrow upon her child's chest. She lifted her face to heaven and lamented:

"O devas, nāga spirits, mountain spirits, tree spirits, water spirits! My child Śyāma is a supremely filial son in all the world. May the devas and nāga spirits bear witness! I am now old, and my two eyes can no longer see; I beg to die in my child's place that he may live again, and I shall have no regret."

The two of them both made a vow:

"If Śyāma is supremely filial, may heaven and earth bear witness: let the arrow fall out of itself, let the poison dissolve away, and let Śyāma live again!"

At that time, in the second heaven, Trāyastriṃśa, the throne upon which Śakra, lord of the devas, was seated, was shaken. He used his Deva Eye and saw the two practitioners of the path embracing their child and crying out in lament, their cries reaching up to the fourth heaven, Tuṣita. Śakra, Brahmā, and the Four Heavenly Kings then came from the heavens—swift as a man stretching out his arm—and descended at once to where Śyāma lay.

They dropped a divine medicine into Śyāma's mouth. As the medicine entered his mouth, the poisoned arrow fell out and Śyāma came back to life. Śyāma's parents were astonished and overjoyed to see that Śyāma, who had died, had come back to life as before. When his parents heard that Śyāma had revived, both of their eyes became clear and bright.

The myriad birds and beasts all gave forth cries of rejoicing; the wind ceased and the clouds cleared; the sun shone again; the spring water once more flowed clear and cool; lotus flowers of five colors bloomed in profusion in the ponds; the fragrance of sandalwood spread its perfume; and the trees grew lush and flourishing beyond the ordinary days.

The king's joy was beyond all telling. He paid homage to Śakra, lord of the devas, then turned to render thanks and homage to Śyāma's parents and to Śyāma, and begged to offer the wealth of his whole realm to the practitioners of the path and to make offering of his own person, praying that his obstructions of sin might be destroyed and forever cut off.

Śyāma said to the king:

"To increase your merit and blessings, the king should return to his realm and tend to the care of the people. He should cause everyone to uphold and observe the precepts, and the king should not hunt and kill innocent creatures. If you do not, your body will not be at ease, and at death you will fall into the hells. People living in the world—affection and love last but a moment, while separation endures for long; what is there that is ever constant? You, by virtue of merit accumulated in former lives, have now become king; do not be arrogant and unrestrained, for through unrestraint one creates immeasurable evil and crime, and afterward, fallen into the evil paths, even remorse will be of no avail!"

The king received Śyāma's teaching. Those who had followed the king to hunt, having seen that Śyāma, who had died, was given the medicine to drink by the heavenly devas and came back to life, and that his blind parents had their eyes restored to sight—all of these being marvelous wonders—therefore begged to receive and uphold the Five Precepts and to cultivate the Ten Wholesome Deeds, so that at death they might not fall into the evil paths but be reborn in the heavens.

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"Of those gathered together here: in that former life, Śyāma was none other than this body of Mine. The blind father was King Śuddhodana; the blind mother is now Queen Māyā, the king's consort. The king of the land of Kāśi was Ānanda; and Śakra, lord of the devas, is the Buddha Maitreya."

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"Throughout My former lives, I have been a child of kindness and filial piety, a king of compassion and mercy, and a subject of reverent devotion. From this I attained to become the Most Honored One in the three realms."

When the Buddha had finished speaking this sūtra, the host of Bodhisattvas, bhikṣus, bhikṣuṇīs, upāsakas, and upāsikās all rejoiced, paid homage, and withdrew.