睒子經

Thus have I heard:

At one time the Buddha was dwelling in the country of Vilāka, together with one thousand two hundred and fifty bhikṣus and the bodhisattvas, kings, great ministers, the people, elders, lay practitioners, lay men of pure faith, and lay women of pure faith... an assembly beyond all reckoning, all gathered together.

The Buddha said to the bhikṣus:

"Be silent, and listen attentively. I recall that long ago, when I first sought to attain the way of the bodhisattva, I upheld the precepts and disciplined conduct, loved all beings, was diligent, single-minded, and wise, and skillfully employed countless expedient means such as the host of devas, nāgas, spirits, sages, kings, officials, and the people could not practice."

The Venerable Ānanda, having heard what the Buddha taught, then arranged his robe, knelt, and addressed the Buddha:

"We wish to hear of this matter."

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"From immeasurable kalpas long ago, at that time there was a bodhisattva named Compassionate Wisdom, who constantly practiced the Four Immeasurable Minds, rescuing all beings from grave calamities and dangers, and lovingly nurturing those who suffered. In that time this bodhisattva dwelt in the Tuṣita Heaven, where he constantly taught and transformed devas and humans. Each day, throughout the six periods, he cultivated the right concentration of samādhi, ever mindful of the three realms, contemplating the paths of good and evil of devas and humans throughout the ten directions.

This bodhisattva had a heart of filial devotion toward his father and mother, reverently served the Three Jewels, studied under the masters and elders, and cultivated every meritorious virtue, all the while perceiving clearly and distinctly the five paths of existence.

"At that time, in the country of Kāśi, there was a household of an elder. Husband and wife were both blind and had no children. The two of them aspired to enter the mountains to seek supreme wisdom, delighting in places of solitude and quiet in which to cultivate pure conduct.

"The bodhisattva reflected: 'These people have given rise to the aspiration to learn the subtle and wondrous Way, yet their two eyes cannot see. If they enter the mountains, they will fall into pits and ravines, or encounter venomous creatures and be harmed. I shall take birth as their child and attend upon them to the end of my life.'

"That bodhisattva then took birth into the household of the blind couple as their child. The father and mother were joyful, and loved their child deeply and tenderly. Before this, the two of them had given rise to the aspiration to enter the mountains, but having now begotten a son, they wished to remain in the world.

"When the child reached seven years of age, he was given the name Śyāma. Śyāma was kind and compassionate, of the utmost filial devotion, and practiced the Ten Wholesome Deeds: not killing, not stealing, not engaging in sexual misconduct, not deceiving, not drinking intoxicants, not speaking falsely, not harboring jealousy; day and night he was diligent and believed deeply in the Way. He waited upon his father and mother as one who serves heaven, always spoke pleasing words, and gladdened the hearts of all. This child lived according to proper conduct and did not follow wrong ways. For this reason his father and mother were greatly delighted and had no need to worry.

"When he reached ten years of age, one day Śyāma knelt and said to his father and mother:

"'In former times you had the aspiration to enter the deep mountains to seek the supreme Way of tranquil stillness. Surely you would not now, for my sake, forget the original vow you made in years past? Those who live in this world of fleeting change have lives as fragile as foam, and time grants no appointments in advance. I beg you to recall your original resolve. I vow to follow you into the mountains and to attend upon you in all that you need, suited to the seasons.'

"The father and mother replied:

"'Your heart of filial obedience has heaven to bear witness to it. We shall not go against our former vow, and so let us together enter the mountains to cultivate the path.'

"Śyāma took all the wealth in the household and gave it as alms to the poor and needy, then together with his father and mother he entered the mountains. Upon arriving in the mountains, Śyāma used wood and grass to build a dwelling, and spread out grass to make bedding and mats; whether the weather was hot or cold, he always adapted to it. After the three of them had been in the mountains for a year, the trees grew luxuriant and flourishing, the flowers and fruits were delicious and sweet, the spring water was clear and cool, in the pools lotuses of five colors vied with one another in blooming, the candana wafted its fragrance, and the trees flourished more abundantly than before.

Birds of every kind, rare and beautiful, would constantly gather and chirp with sounds as if performing music, and Śyāma's father and mother were exceedingly joyful. The beasts of the forest, such as lions, tigers, leopards, and serpents, all turned toward these people with hearts of loving-kindness, never harboring any intent to harm; they calmly drank water and ate grass. The deer of the forest and the birds would often come close beside Śyāma, harmonizing their voices into joyful songs.

"Śyāma was of the utmost filial devotion and a compassionate heart; treading upon the earth, he even feared that the earth might feel pain. Devas, humans, ghosts, and spirits all came to support these three persons of the Way, who ever remained single-minded in right mindfulness, unburdened by sorrow or worry. Śyāma would constantly gather every kind of fruit and draw water from the spring for his mother to use, so that she lacked nothing. Once, when his father and mother were thirsty and wished to drink water, Śyāma donned a robe of deerskin and, taking up the vessel, went to fetch water. A flock of birds and the deer drank water there too, without fear of mishap.

"At that time, the king of the country of Kāśi entered the mountains to hunt. The king saw a herd of deer by the bank of the spring, so he drew his bow and shot; the arrow struck Śyāma squarely in the chest. Pierced by the poisoned arrow, his whole body in agony, Śyāma cried out loudly:

"'Who has, with a single arrow, killed all three persons of the Way?'

"When the king heard the cry, he at once dismounted and came to Śyāma's side. Śyāma said to the king:

"'The elephant dies for the sake of its tusks, the rhinoceros dies for the sake of its horn, birds and beasts die for the sake of their feathers, and deer die for the sake of their skin and flesh. I have no tusks, no horn, no feathers, and my skin and flesh cannot be eaten. What offense have I now committed that you would have the heart to kill me?'

"The king asked:

"'What manner of person are you, that you wear a robe of deerskin, no different from the beasts?'

"Śyāma said:

"'I am a man of your own country. Together with my blind father and mother I came here to study the Way for more than twenty years, and never once have I been harmed by tigers, leopards, or venomous creatures; yet now I am slain by Your Majesty's poisoned arrow.'

"At that very moment a violent wind blew, breaking and toppling the trees, and all the birds cried out in grief; lions, tigers, and leopards fled in confusion, roaring and bellowing so that the sound shook the whole of the mountain forest. The sun ceased to shine, the springs ran dry, the flowers and leaves withered, and thunder and lightning crashed and rumbled...

"At that time the blind father and mother, in alarm, 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, tigers, or wolves? Why is it that the birds and beasts cry out, their sounds unlike those of ordinary days? The wind blows from all four directions, the trees are broken and toppled—surely there must be some extraordinary calamity at hand!'

"At that time the king was greatly afraid and reproached himself: 'I wished to shoot the herd of deer, but mistakenly shot and slew a person of the Way. That offense is very grave; for the sake of a little flesh I have brought upon myself this disaster. I beg to use jewels and treasures to ransom your life.'

"At that time the king wished to draw the arrow out of Śyāma's chest, but the arrow was lodged so deep it could not be pulled out. The birds and beasts of the forest from all four directions gathered round, crying out in piteous lament, the sound shaking the whole of the mountain forest. The king grew ever more terrified, his whole body trembling.

"Śyāma said to the king:

"'It is not Your Majesty's fault; it is the karmic offense of my former lives that has brought me to this state. I do not begrudge my life and body; I only grieve in pity for my blind father and mother, who are already old and frail and whose two eyes cannot see the road. Hereafter, with me gone, they too will die, for they will not know on whom to rely. For this reason alone I am sorrowful and in pain.'

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

"'Rather let me enter the hells to bear this offense, so that Śyāma may live.'

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

"'If you should die, I will never return to my country again. I will remain in the mountains and serve your father and mother as I would were you still alive; do not trouble yourself with worry. I pray the devas and nāga-spirits to bear witness: I shall not betray this oath.'

"Though Śyāma was at that moment pierced by the poisoned arrow, when he heard the king speak this oath, his heart was filled with great joy. Though he should die, he would have no regret.

"'Because, for the sake of my father and mother, I have troubled Your Majesty to serve them, you shall obtain immeasurable merit and virtue, and your karmic offenses shall be wiped away.'

"The king said:

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

"Śyāma then pointed out the way to the king:

"'Not far from here there is a thatched hut; it is the place where my father and mother dwell. I beg you to tread softly, and not to startle and frighten my father and mother. Skillfully explain to my two parents; say to my father and mother: Impermanence is coming, and I am about to die.

I do not begrudge my life and body; I only think of my father and mother, who are already old and frail and moreover blind. Hereafter, with me gone, on whom will my father and mother rely! For this reason I am sorrowful and in pain.

My death is my own allotted portion, for the karmic retribution of former days has brought me to where I cannot escape. Now I beg to repent: from immeasurable kalpas, since first I had a body until now, I have committed manifold evil karma; from here let those offenses be extinguished. I vow that life after life I shall not be parted from my father and mother.

May my father and mother enjoy peace, well-being, and long life, and have no sorrow or worry. May devas, nāgas, ghosts, and spirits ever follow and aid my father and mother, so that their calamities may be extinguished, their wishes fulfilled as they desire, and they dwell at ease and free.'

"The king led a few attendants to the place of Śyāma's father and mother. After the king had gone, Śyāma slowly breathed his last. All the birds and beasts of the forest from the four directions gathered together; they licked the blood upon Śyāma's chest and wailed piteously around his body. When Śyāma's father and mother heard these sounds, their hearts grew all the more bewildered and distressed. The king, walking in haste, brushed against the trees and grass and made a sound. Śyāma's father and mother, frightened, asked:

"'Who is there? This is not the footstep of our child.'

"The king said:

"'I am the king of the country of Kāśi. I heard that persons of the Way dwell in this mountain studying the Way, and so I have come to make offerings.'

"Śyāma's father and mother said:

"'Great king, you have condescended to come from afar to visit this lonely thatched hermitage. Great king, are you in peace and safety? Are your consort, the crown prince, and the officials and troops within the palace all in good health? Is the weather temperate, and the provisions abundant? Have you suffered any encroachment from neighboring states?'

"The king replied:

"'Through the grace of the persons of the Way, all is at peace.'

"The king inquired after Śyāma's father and mother:

"'Amid the toil and hardship of these mountains, in this dense forest so difficult to dwell in, are you at peace and ease?'

"The blind couple replied:

"'Great king, through your grace, we remain at peace and ease. We have a filial son named Śyāma; he constantly goes to gather fruit and draw spring water in full sufficiency. Our dwelling has only a grass mat; we invite the great king to sit and rest awhile and to partake of the fruit. Śyāma, who has gone to fetch water, will also soon return.'

"When the king heard Śyāma's father and mother speak, he was deeply grieved, and shedding tears he said:

"'I have a very grave offense. Entering the mountains to hunt, I saw from afar a herd of deer by the bank of the spring; I drew my bow and shot, but struck the son of the persons of the Way. Śyāma, pierced by the poisoned arrow, is in unbearable agony; for this reason I have come here to tell the two persons of the Way.'

"When Śyāma's father and mother heard this, their whole bodies collapsed as Mount Tai crumbling, as though in an earthquake. They lifted their faces to heaven, wailing, and cried out: 'Śyāma, our child, in filial devotion none in all the world is your equal; treading upon the earth you ever feared the earth would feel pain. What offense have you now committed that you should be shot dead? Just now a windstorm broke and toppled the trees, and all the birds cried out in grief, resounding throughout the mountain forest. We have dwelt in these mountains more than twenty years and never once witnessed so strange a phenomenon. Our child went to fetch water and has long not returned—surely there must be some mishap!'

"The host of spirits were all in fear, and moved, bowed their heads. The mother wept without ceasing. The father told her to stop her weeping and said:

"'No one in this world attains everlasting life and freedom from death. Once impermanence comes, one cannot escape it.'

"Śyāma's father and mother asked the king:

"'Great king, while he was still alive, did Śyāma leave any words of charge?'

"The king related in full Śyāma's words of charge for his father and mother to hear. Hearing the king's account, Śyāma's father and mother were inconsolably grieved, and said: 'Hereafter, with our child gone, we too shall die! Now we beg the great king to lead us to the place of Śyāma's body.'

"The king then led Śyāma's father and mother forth. Arriving at the place, the father embraced his child's head, and the mother embraced his two feet and cradled them upon her lap, and with her two hands she groped and felt the arrow upon her child's chest, and lifting her face to heaven she lamented:

"'Devas, nāga-spirits, mountain spirits, tree spirits! My child is Śyāma, a child of the utmost filial devotion in all the world; I beg the devas and nāga-spirits to bear witness. I am now old, and my two eyes cannot see; I beg to die in place of my child, that he may live again, and I shall have no regret.'

"The two of them both made a vow:

"'If heaven and earth bear witness to Śyāma's filial devotion, may the arrow fall out of its own accord, the poison be dispelled, and Śyāma live again!'

"At that time, in the second heaven, the Trāyastriṃśa, the throne of the Lord of Heaven on which he sat was shaken. With his heavenly eye he saw the two blind persons of the Way embracing their child and weeping, the sound resounding up to the fourth heaven, the Tuṣita. Then Śakra, Brahmā, and the Four Heavenly Kings flew down from the heavens, swift as the stretching out of an arm; they came before Śyāma and dropped a divine and wondrous medicine into Śyāma's mouth.

When the medicine entered his mouth, the poisoned arrow fell out and Śyāma lived again as before. When his father and mother heard that Śyāma lived again, both their eyes became bright. All the birds and beasts gave forth sounds of joy, the wind ceased and the clouds cleared, the sun shone, the springs flowed clear and cool, lotuses of five colors bloomed in profusion in the pools, the fragrance of candana wafted abroad, and the trees flourished more abundantly than on ordinary days.

The king's joy was beyond all reckoning. He bowed in homage to Śakra, the Lord of Heaven, then turned to render thanks to Śyāma's father and mother and to Śyāma, and begged to offer the wealth of his whole country and to make full offerings to the persons of the Way, that the king's offenses might be extinguished forever.

"Śyāma said to the king:

"'If you wish to increase your merit and virtue, you should return to your country and tend with care to your people, causing them to uphold the precepts; and you, great king, must not hunt and slay the innocent creatures. If you do not heed this, your person will not be at peace, and at death you will fall into the hells. Those who live in this world have but a moment of love and affection and long ages of separation; what is there that endures? It is through your former merit and virtue that you have now become a king; you should not be arrogant and self-indulgent, for through self-indulgence one creates many evil deeds, and after falling into the evil paths, of what use is regret!'

"The king accepted Śyāma's instruction. Those who had followed the king on the hunt, having seen that Śyāma had died and was then restored to life by the medicine given by the heavenly spirits, and that Śyāma's father and mother had regained their sight—truly a divine wonder—therefore they too begged to receive and uphold the five precepts and to cultivate the practice of the Ten Wholesome Deeds, so that at death they would not fall into the evil paths but be born up into the heavens."

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"Among those present here: in that former life, Śyāma was none other than my own person. The blind father was King Śuddhodana, and the blind mother is now the queen, Lady Māyā. The king of the country of Kāśi was Ānanda. Śakra, the Lord of Heaven, was the Buddha Maitreya."

The Buddha said to Ānanda:

"In my former lives I was ever a kind and filial son, a king who loved his people, and a subject who reverently served. From this I attained to become the Most Honored One in the three realms."

When the Buddha had finished speaking this sūtra, the bodhisattvas, bhikṣus, bhikṣuṇīs, upāsakas, and upāsikās all rejoiced, bowed in homage, and withdrew.