賢愚經

SUTRA OF THE WISE AND THE FOOLISH — VOLUME 11

THE SUTRA OF THE WISE AND THE FOOLISH
VOLUME II

Chapter 52: ANGULIMALA

Thus have I heard:
At one time, the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove, Anathapindika’s Park, in the kingdom of Sravasti. The king at that time was King Prasenajit. In his court was a chief minister who was exceedingly intelligent and wealthy. The minister’s wife became pregnant and gave birth to a son whose handsome features and upright appearance were extraordinary. At that time, the chief minister was greatly delighted and immediately invited a physiognomist to examine the child’s features. Upon seeing the infant, the physiognomist said:
— This child’s auspicious features are exceptionally rare among human beings. He will possess intelligence and wisdom surpassing others.
The father was delighted to hear this and asked the physiognomist to give the child a name. The physiognomist asked:
— Since this child was conceived, have there been any unusual signs?
The chief minister replied:
— My wife was not gentle by nature, but ever since she became pregnant, her disposition has changed remarkably. She has become respectful, harmonious, cheerful, and benevolent. She has compassion for the poor and suffering and does not like to speak of the faults of others.
The physiognomist said:
— This is due to the influence of the child’s will.
He then named him Ajatashatru? [A-giac-tac-ky] (translated in the Qin language as “Harmless”).
As the child grew day by day, he became extraordinarily strong and healthy. His strength was that of a mighty warrior, and he alone could contend with a thousand men. He ran as swiftly as a horse, and his father loved him dearly. At that time, there was in the kingdom an intelligent and extensively learned brahmin under whom five hundred disciples studied. The chief minister also brought his son to study under him, and the brahmin accepted and instructed him. Harmless studied diligently night and day; what he could comprehend and discuss in a single day surpassed what others learned in an entire year. Before long, he had mastered everything. His brahmin teacher treated him with special favor and took him along wherever he went, while his fellow students held him in great esteem.
At that time, the brahmin’s wife saw that Harmless was handsome, imposing, and endowed with abilities surpassing others. She conceived a passionate attachment to him. However, because the disciples were constantly coming and going with the brahmin teacher, she was never alone and had no opportunity to speak with Harmless and reveal what was in her heart. She therefore often sighed in sorrow and distress.
Suddenly, one day, a donor came to invite the brahmin teacher and his disciples to receive offerings for three months. The brahmin teacher went inside and discussed the matter with his wife:
— I have now been invited to go away for three months. We should therefore leave one disciple behind to assist with the household affairs.
The wife was secretly delighted and schemed within her heart. She said to the brahmin teacher:
— That is indeed what should be done. There is much work in the household, so we need someone capable. You may leave Harmless behind.
After giving all the necessary instructions, the brahmin teacher said to Harmless:
— I have accepted a donor’s invitation and must depart. There is much work in the household and someone is needed to manage it. You are capable, so remain here on my behalf and take charge of these matters.
Harmless obeyed his teacher and remained behind. The brahmin teacher and his assembly of disciples then set out. His wife was exceedingly delighted. She adorned herself beautifully and spoke and behaved coquettishly in an attempt to stir Harmless’s heart. But Harmless remained resolute and indifferent and paid no attention to her. Driven by intense desire, the wife spoke frankly to Harmless:
— I have loved you for a long time, but because the assembly of disciples was so large, I had no opportunity to reveal it. Now that your teacher has gone, I contrived to have you remain behind. We are now alone in this quiet place; you should comply with my wishes.
Understanding her meaning, Harmless immediately said:
— According to the discipline of our brahmin tradition, one must not commit sexual misconduct with one’s teacher’s wife. Anyone who violates this is no brahmin. I would rather choose death than do such a thing.
At that time, seeing that Harmless had opposed her wishes, the brahmin teacher’s wife felt ashamed and enraged. She then secretly devised another scheme. On the day when the brahmin teacher was due to return, she tore her own garments, scratched and lacerated her face, and lay sprawled upon the ground, her body covered with dust, refusing to speak a word.
When the brahmin teacher and his disciples returned, he entered the house and saw his wife in this condition. He immediately asked what had happened. Weeping, his wife said:
— You should not ask me!
The brahmin questioned her all the more:
— Whatever has happened, tell me. Why do you refuse to speak?
His wife wept and said:
— Your disciple Harmless, ever since you departed, repeatedly attempted to violate me. When I refused to comply with his wishes, he tore my clothes and injured my head and face. Why would the disciple you raised behave in such a way?
After hearing this, the brahmin became exceedingly furious and said to his wife:
— This Harmless possesses enough strength by himself to contend with a thousand men. Moreover, he is the son of the chief minister and belongs to a noble and powerful family. Even if I wish to punish him, I must proceed gradually and devise a strategy.
After formulating his plan, he went to see Harmless and, employing skillful words, consoled and enticed him, saying:
— While I was away, you remained here and undertook the arduous household duties, serving with complete loyalty. Moved by your devotion, I wish to repay you. I possess a secret teaching that I have never revealed from ancient times until now. If you successfully practice it, you will be reborn in the Brahma heaven.
Harmless knelt and asked:
— Master, what is this secret teaching?
He replied:
— If, within seven days, you cut off the heads of one thousand people, take one finger from each person, string those thousand fingers together, and wear them around your neck, then after death you will certainly be reborn in the Brahma heaven.
On hearing this, Harmless remained doubtful and hesitant. He said to his teacher:
— This should not be done. How could one attain rebirth in the Brahma heaven by killing sentient beings?
The teacher said:
— You are my disciple. How can you disbelieve these essential words of mine? If you do not believe me, then our bond of affection and duty is severed. Go wherever you wish, but remain here no longer.
Having said this, the brahmin teacher recited a mantra over a sword and placed it upon the ground. When he finished reciting the mantra, an evil thought arose in Harmless’s mind. Perceiving what was in Harmless’s mind, the brahmin handed him the sword. Harmless took it and went out onto the road. Whenever he encountered anyone, he immediately killed that person, took a finger, strung it onto a garland, and wore it around his neck. When people saw this, they called him Angulimala (translated in the Qin language as “Finger Garland”).
Angulimala roamed everywhere, killing people and cutting off their fingers. Within seven days, he obtained nine hundred and ninety-nine fingers. He lacked only one more; if he killed one more person, the required number of fingers would be complete. At that time, everyone had fled into hiding, and few dared venture onto the roads. He searched everywhere but could find no one.
During those seven days, he had neither eaten nor drunk. His mother, feeling compassion for her son, sent people to search for him, but they were all afraid and dared not go. His mother therefore took food and personally went to find him. Seeing his mother approaching from afar, he ran toward her, intending to kill her. His mother then said:
— You unfilial brute! How dare you harbor such a rebellious intention and seek to kill me?
Harmless said:
— My teacher instructed me that if I obtained one thousand fingers within seven days, I would be reborn in the Brahma heaven. The allotted days have now elapsed, but the number is still incomplete. The endeavor is surely about to fail, and so I wish to kill you.
His mother replied:
— Even if such a thing were true, merely cut off one of my fingers. Why must you kill my entire body?
At that time, from afar, the Blessed One saw and knew all that had occurred. Knowing that Harmless could be liberated, he manifested as a bhiksu walking along the road. When Angulimala saw the bhiksu, he abandoned his intention to cut off his mother’s finger and instead pursued the bhiksu in order to kill him.
Seeing him draw near, the Buddha used his spiritual power to move swiftly, so that Angulimala could not catch up no matter how fast he ran. Angulimala then shouted loudly:
— Bhiksu, stop for a moment!
The Buddha replied:
— I have always stood still; it is only you who have never stopped.

Angulimala again asked:
— Why do you stand still while I do not?
The Buddha immediately replied:
— My faculties are tranquil and concentrated, and thus I have attained mastery, whereas you follow an evil teacher and study inverted, heretical doctrines. Your mind is ever-changing and cannot remain settled; day and night you commit killings, creating boundless offenses.
Upon hearing this, the young man immediately awakened. He cast away his knife and prostrated himself from afar before the Blessed One. The Tathagata then waited for him to approach and manifested once more the body of a Buddha, radiant as the sun and adorned with the thirty-two excellent marks. Seeing the Buddha’s brilliant radiance and majestic bearing, No-Harm bowed his head to the ground, confessed his faults, and reproached himself. The Buddha then taught him the Dharma. After hearing it, he attained the pure Dharma-eye. With single-minded faith, he requested permission to leave the household life. The Buddha consented, saying:
— Welcome, bhikkhu!
No-Harm’s hair and beard fell away by themselves, and Dharma robes appeared upon his body. The Buddha taught him further, whereupon all the defilements of his mind were completely extinguished, and he attained arhatship.
The Buddha led him back to Jetavana Monastery. At that time, all the people of the kingdom who had heard of No-Harm were exceedingly frightened. Pregnant women and animals were so terrified that they could not give birth. There was then an elephant that was unable to deliver its calf. The Buddha instructed No-Harm to go there and truthfully declare:
— From the time I was born until now, I have never killed a person.
No-Harm said to the Buddha:
— I have killed a great many people in the past. How can I say that I have never killed anyone?
The Buddha said:
— Within the noble Dharma, you have only now been born.
No-Harm then arranged his robes and, obeying the Buddha, went there and spoke exactly as the Buddha had instructed. The elephant immediately gave birth safely. He then returned to the monastery and sat in a room.
At that time, King Prasenajit assembled his troops and personally set out to bring Angulimala to justice. He went directly to Jetavana Monastery to launch an attack. At Jetavana there was then a bhikkhu whose appearance was exceedingly ugly but whose voice was incomparably beautiful. When he began chanting the sutras, his voice carried far, and the soldiers listened intently without ever growing weary of it. The elephants and horses pricked up their ears and stood still, refusing to proceed. Astonished, the king asked his attending officers why this was so. The attendants replied:
— Your Majesty, the sound of the sutra chanting has caused the elephants and horses to stop and refuse to move.
The king said:
— Even animals delight in hearing the Dharma of the sutras. Why should we human beings not go there to listen?
The king and his soldiers then proceeded to Jetavana Monastery. He dismounted, removed his sword, and went directly before the Buddha, respectfully paying homage and making inquiries. He said:
— Blessed One, just now I heard a bhikkhu chanting the sutras in a clear voice that carried far. Hearing his chanting, I felt profound admiration and reverence. Please allow me to meet him, for I wish to offer him one hundred thousand coins.
The Buddha said:
— Your Majesty should first present the money and only afterward meet him. Why? Because if you meet him first, you will not wish to give him even a single coin. His appearance is so ugly that no one wishes to look at him or give him money.
The king rose from his seat, knelt, and said:
— Blessed One, this bhikkhu’s appearance is exceedingly ugly, yet his chanting voice carries far and is truly beautiful. I do not know what causes from a former life brought him such a retribution.
The Buddha told the king:
— Your Majesty, listen attentively, and I shall speak of his former life.
In a past kalpa, there was a Buddha named Kasyapa. After transforming and liberating sentient beings, he entered nirvana. At that time, the king who ruled the realm was named Krki. He performed the cremation rites, gathered the relics, and wished to erect a stupa in which to enshrine them. Four naga kings then assumed human form and came to King Krki. They asked whether the stupa was to be constructed from precious substances or from earth. The king replied:
— To build such a great stupa, I do not possess sufficient precious materials. I now intend to make it from earth, five yojanas square and twenty-five yojanas high, so lofty that everyone will be able to see it.
The naga kings said:
— We are not human beings; we are all naga kings. Hearing that the king was building a stupa, we came to inquire about it. If you wish to use precious substances, we shall assist you.
The king was overjoyed. The naga kings then said:
— Outside the city’s four gates are four great springs. If the earth from the bottom of the spring at the eastern gate is used for construction, after the work is completed it will become blue beryl. If the earth from the bottom of the spring at the southern gate is made into bricks, once construction is completed it will become pure gold. If the earth beneath the spring at the western gate is made into bricks, after construction it will turn into white silver. If the earth from beneath the spring at the northern gate is made into bricks, when construction is complete it will become white jade.
Hearing this, the king was exceedingly delighted and immediately appointed four supervisors, each responsible for one side. Work on three sides was nearly complete, but the supervisor of the remaining side was negligent and failed to finish. When the king came to inspect the work and saw this, he reproached him:
— You have not applied yourself or devoted your full effort to the work. I shall punish you for this offense.
Harboring resentment, the man said to the king:
— This stupa is so immense; who knows when it will ever be completed?
After the king departed, the man ordered everyone to work without rest, day and night, and the work was completed before long. The stupa was exceedingly lofty and beautiful. Its precious substances shone brilliantly, and its adornments were wondrously beautiful, bringing joy to all who saw it. To repent of his previous negligence, the man took a golden bell, hung it upon the stupa, struck his head against it once, and made this vow:
— In a future life, may I be born with a truly beautiful voice, so that among all sentient beings who hear it, none will fail to delight in listening. When the Buddha Sakyamuni appears in the world, may I encounter him and be delivered by him from birth and death.
At this point, the Buddha said:
— Great King, the official who supervised the work slowly while that great stupa was being built is none other than this bhikkhu today. Because he resentfully criticized the great stupa, throughout five hundred lifetimes he was always born with an ugly body. Yet fortunately, he rejoiced, struck his head against the bell, and vowed to obtain a beautiful voice and to encounter me. Thus, throughout five hundred lives, he possessed an exceedingly beautiful voice, and now he has encountered me and attained liberation.
After hearing this, the king took his leave and wished to depart. The Buddha asked:
— Great King, where do you intend to go now?
The king said to the Buddha:
— Blessed One, there is a bandit in my kingdom named Angulimala. He murders the people and roams about committing brutal violence. I am now leading my troops to surround and capture him.
The Buddha told the king:
— Angulimala will not now kill even an ant, much less any other living being.
The king thought to himself, “Could the Blessed One already have subdued him?” The Buddha said:
— Great King, No-Harm has now left the household life, entered the path, and attained arhatship. He has completely ceased all evil deeds and is presently in that room. Does the Great King wish to see him?
The king replied:
— I wish to see him.
The king immediately went and stood outside the room. Hearing the bhikkhu No-Harm coughing, the king remembered how this vicious man had murdered people and cut off their finger joints everywhere in the past, yet had now been reborn into the Buddha’s presence. The king reported this matter to the Buddha. The Buddha said:
— Great King, not only in this life will those who hear his voice avoid falling into hell; in future lives as well, their descent into hell will be brought to an end. Great King, listen attentively. In the distant past, here in Jambudvipa, there was a great kingdom named Varanasi. At that time, there was a poisonous bird in that kingdom. It habitually caught poisonous insects for food, and consequently its body became so extremely venomous that it could not be touched. Any person who touched it would die, and any tree it touched would wither and die. Then this bird came upon a forest and perched upon a

beneath a great tree, continually wishing to cry out. In that forest there was a white elephant king standing beneath a tree. Hearing the poisonous bird's cry, it stood motionless upon the ground, not daring to stir. Great King, you should know that the poisonous bird at that time was none other than the former incarnation of Aṅgulimāla today, while the white elephant king was the former incarnation of Your Majesty.

The king again addressed the Buddha:

— Aṅgulimāla was so savage and killed so many people, yet now, through the Blessed One's conversion, he practices goodness. Through what causes and meritorious conditions did he obtain such good fortune?

The Buddha told the king:

— It was not only in this life that Aṅgulimāla killed many people and was converted by me. In a past age, he likewise killed many people; I also converted him, after which he resolved to perform wholesome deeds.

The king again addressed the Buddha:

— In a former life he harmed others and was subdued and converted by the Blessed One. How did this occur? May the Blessed One explain it for us to hear.

The Buddha said:

— Great King, listen attentively! In the distant past, countless asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, here in Jambudvīpa there was a great kingdom named Vārāṇasī. The king at that time was named Brahmadatta. On one occasion, the king led the four divisions of his army into the mountain forests to hunt. The king and his troops reached a marsh and pursued the birds and beasts, until he alone rode deep into the forest. At that time the king was extremely weary, so he dismounted and sat down to rest.

Now there was a lioness in the forest whose season of desire had come, and she was roaming about in search of a male. After searching for a long time without encountering any lion, she suddenly saw the king sitting there. Intense lust arose in her, and she wished to mate with the king. She approached him, raised her tail, presented her hindquarters, and stood waiting. The king understood her intention, but thought to himself, “This is a ferocious beast whose strength could kill me. If I do not comply with her desire, I fear she will kill me.” Therefore, he yielded to the lioness and coupled with her. When the act was finished, the lioness departed.

At that moment, the soldiers who had been pursuing him also arrived, and the king returned with them to the royal palace. The lioness conceived, and when her term was complete, she gave birth to a child whose form closely resembled that of a human, except that his body bore markings. Knowing that she had borne the king's child, the lioness took the infant in her jaws and went before the king. The king recalled what had happened before and knew that this was his child, so he accepted and raised him. Because his feet were striped, he was named Kalmāṣapāda, which in the language of Qin means “Spotted Feet.”

As he was raised and gradually grew up, he became exceptionally capable and powerful. After the king passed away, Spotted Feet became king. He had two consorts: one from the Kṣatriya caste and the other from the Brahmin caste.

One day, King Spotted Feet went outside the city to stroll through a flower garden and view the scenery. He ordered his two consorts to follow him. The king said:

— Whichever of you arrives first shall enjoy herself with me today. As for the one who arrives later, I shall not seek her company.

After the king departed, the two consorts adorned themselves beautifully, mounted their carriages, and followed. Halfway there, they saw a temple of a deity. The Brahmin consort descended from her carriage to pay homage. After completing her worship, she hurried onward, but inevitably arrived later. In accordance with his promise, the king reproached that consort.

The Brahmin consort was distressed and angry, and she resentfully blamed the deity:

— Because I delayed to bow in worship before you, the king has slighted me. If you possess divine power, why did you not help me?

Distressed and enraged, she secretly devised a plan. After the king returned to the palace, she attended upon him with even greater solicitude and concern, and entreated him, saying:

— I have heard that there is a shrine in your kingdom that grows more unruly with each passing day. Great King, you must be vigilant and cautious!

The king immediately heeded her words. He went out and ordered men to demolish the deity's temple until it was level with the ground, and then returned to the palace. The guardian deity of the shrine, sorrowful and tormented, entered the palace intending to harm the royal household, but the palace guardian deity prevented him from entering.

There was a seer dwelling in the Mountain of Seers to whom King Spotted Feet regularly made offerings. Every day at mealtime, the seer would fly into the palace. He did not enjoy fine food, but partook only of simple fare. One day, the seer did not come. Knowing this, the deity transformed himself into the likeness of that seer and went to enter the palace. The palace guardian also recognized him and refused to let him in. He therefore stood at a distance outside the palace gate and had the king informed. Hearing that the seer was outside, the king rebuked the gatekeeper and immediately ordered that he be invited in. Upon hearing the king's command, the palace guardian no longer obstructed him. The false seer went straight inside and sat in the place where the seer usually sat.

The king ordered that food be prepared as it ordinarily was for the offering. The transformed seer refused to eat and said to the king:

— This food is coarse and inferior, and there is no meat or fish. How could it be eaten?

The king replied:

— Great Seer, from the beginning you have always partaken of pure food. Therefore, I did not order anyone to prepare meat or fish.

The transformed seer again said:

— From now on, do not serve coarse food again. Prepare meat for me to eat.

In accordance with his words, the king had every kind of fine food prepared. When he had finished eating, the transformed seer departed. The next day, the true seer flew to the palace. The king ordered that many rare and delicious dishes of meat and fish be prepared. The seer became angry and reproached the king.

The king said:

— Great Seer, you yourself gave these instructions yesterday!

The seer said, “Yesterday I had business elsewhere and did not eat for an entire day. I did not come here. Who told you such a thing? You have acted this way only because you hold me in contempt.” He then cursed the king to eat human flesh for twelve years. Having spoken, the seer flew back to the mountain.

From that time onward, the king continually ate human flesh. One day, the official in charge of the kitchen had forgotten to prepare human flesh. As mealtime approached, he did not know what to do, so he went outside the city to seek meat. There he saw the plump body of a dead child lying upon the ground. He hurriedly carried it back to the kitchen, added the finest seasonings, and prepared it as food for the king.

After eating it that day, the king found it many times more delicious than ordinary meat. He immediately asked the official in charge of the kitchen:

— Of all the meat I have eaten until now, none has been as delicious as this. What kind of meat is it?

The kitchen official was terrified. He prostrated himself before the king and begged forgiveness, saying that only then would he dare reveal it. The king said:

— Speak the truth. I shall not punish you.

The kitchen official reported to the king:

— Previously, because I had not prepared any meat, I happened to find a dead child. I brought the body back, prepared it as food, and presented it to Your Majesty.

The king said:

— That meat was extraordinarily delicious. From now on, always prepare that kind of meat.

The kitchen official replied to the king:

— Previously, I happened by chance to find the corpse of a dead child and brought it back to prepare as meat. If I now seize children and butcher them, I fear I shall violate the laws of the kingdom.

The king said:

— Go and seize them secretly. Even if someone discovers it, I shall be responsible for dealing with the matter afterward.

Obeying the command, the kitchen official secretly seized children, butchered them, and offered their flesh to the king to eat. He did this every day. At that time, people throughout the city went about the streets weeping and saying that their children were missing. Word spread from mouth to mouth, and they asked one another why such things were happening. The officials deliberated together and decided to keep watch.

They stationed men everywhere along the narrow streets and saw the king's kitchen official seizing children. They caught him in the act, bound him, brought him before the king, and reported everything that had long been occurring. After hearing them, the king remained silent and did not reply. Three times they addressed the king, saying:

— We have now caught the thief who has been stealing the children. His crime is unmistakably clear and must be judged. Why does Your Majesty remain silent?

The king then said:

— It was I who ordered him!

The great ministers withdrew with resentment in their hearts. Going outside, they conferred together:

— So it is the king who has been stealing our children. If the king eats human flesh, how can he govern

the people; we should eliminate this calamity!

All of them united in purpose and devised a plan together. In a garden outside the city was a beautiful pond where the king regularly went to bathe. The officials concealed troops throughout the garden and waited until the king entered the pond. Then the hidden troops simultaneously surrounded him on all sides, intending to seize and kill him. Seeing the soldiers assembled, the king was terrified and asked:

— Why have you surrounded and threatened me?

The officials replied:

— According to the way of kingship, a ruler must nurture the people. Yet Your Majesty has instead been killing people and eating their flesh. The people bitterly resent this, and therefore everyone wishes to kill you.

The king said:

— We have indeed behaved wickedly. From this day onward, we shall never act in this way again and shall reform ourselves. We ask only that you spare us.

The officials said:

— We are firmly resolved not to spare you. Indeed, because of this, black snow has fallen from the sky today, and a black venomous snake has appeared upon your head. You need not plead or say anything more.

When King Bác Túc heard the officials say this, he knew that he was certain to die and had no way of escape. He therefore said to them:

— Even if you intend to kill me, grant me a few more moments.

The officials agreed and stood waiting. The king then made this vow: “For a long time I have practiced wholesome deeds. As king, I have governed the realm and made offerings to assemblies of sages. May the merit of those deeds now cause me to become a flying rakshasa.” As soon as he had spoken, the king rose into the air and said to the officials:

— You joined forces and sought to kill me by violence, but through my great good fortune I have escaped. From now on, go on cherishing your wives and children, for I shall seize and devour you one after another.

Having said this, the rakshasa flew away and dwelt among the forests and mountains, waiting to seize and eat anyone who passed by. The people fled and hid in fear, yet he still captured and devoured a great many of them. Other rakshasas followed him, and their numbers gradually increased, so their attacks upon the people became ever more widespread. Later, those rakshasas said to King Bác Túc, the rakshasa:

— We have attended upon you as our king and followed you in flight. We beseech you to grant us a banquet.

King Bác Túc then consented and said:

— Keep watch and capture exactly one thousand officials. I shall give you a magnificent banquet.

After he had spoken, the rakshasas dispersed to capture them. They blockaded the entrances to the forests and mountains and caught nine hundred and ninety-nine officials. They still lacked one person, so the required number was not complete. Those officials thought: “We are all in dire straits; how can we ever return home? If they capture Tu-đà-tô-di, he has many skillful means and may be able to save us.” Having devised this plan, they said to King Bác Túc, the rakshasa:

— If Your Majesty wishes to hold an extraordinary banquet consisting solely of the flesh of officials, without using ordinary people, you should capture Tu-đà-tô-di. He is exceedingly renowned, and only then will Your Majesty’s banquet be truly excellent.

When the rakshasa king heard this, he immediately flew off to capture Tu-đà-tô-di and his palace women. Early that morning, Tu-đà-tô-di left the city for a garden with a bathing pond. On the way, he saw a brahmin seeking alms, and King Tu-đà-tô-di said to him:

— Wait until I have finished bathing, and I shall give you alms.

The king then entered the garden and descended into the pond to bathe. At that moment, the rakshasa king flew down, seized him, and carried him into the mountains. Tu-đà-tô-di sorrowfully wept. King Bác Túc then asked:

— I have heard that you are foremost in fame and virtue and possess the resolve of a great man. Why, then, do you grieve and weep like a child?

Tu-đà-tô-di said to the rakshasa king:

— I neither cherish my body nor begrudge my life. Yet from the time of my birth until now, I have never spoken falsely. This morning, when I left the palace, I encountered an ascetic. I was riding ahead in my carriage while the ascetic followed behind me, begging for food. I promised that I would give him alms upon returning from my bath, but as soon as I emerged, Your Majesty seized me and brought me here. Reflecting that today I have spoken falsely and lost my trustworthiness, I grieve. I do not regret this body or life in the least. I only ask that Your Majesty have compassion and allow me to return for seven days. After I have completed my offering to that ascetic, I shall come back here and surrender my life.

King Bác Túc, the rakshasa, heard this and said:

— I now permit you to return. Afterward, you must come back of your own accord, surrender your life, and accept death. Even if you do not return, I shall still be able to capture you myself.

Having said this, he released him. King Tu-đà-tô-di returned to his kingdom. The ascetic was still waiting there, and the king joyfully made offerings to the brahmin. At that time, the brahmin knew that before long the king would have to return and surrender his life to the rakshasa. Fearing that the king might become attached to his kingdom and fall into deep distress, he spoke this verse for him:

Though heaven and earth are vast, when the kalpa ends,
They all become ashes, as do Mount Sumeru and the great seas.
Amid decay dwell devas, nagas, humans, and hungry ghosts;
What permanence can there be in a kingdom that one should wish to retain?

Endlessly revolving through birth, aging,
Sickness, and death,
Afflicted by sorrow, encountering what one hates, and being parted from what one loves;
No illness lies beyond the grave calamity of deep desire.

What kingdom is worthy of trust? All three realms are suffering.
The many things formed through conditions are originally empty in themselves.
What seems real is necessarily false; after flourishing, it must decline.
All is like an illusion, yet sentient beings remain deluded.

A kingdom is likewise so; all three realms are empty.
Borrowing the four great elements, consciousness rides within a formless body,
Taking it to be a splendid carriage or a precious elephant, though neither has a self.
The spirit has no fixed home, and form has no permanent master;
How, then, could there be a kingdom when body and spirit must part?

When King Tu-đà-tô-di had heard this verse, he contemplated its profound meaning and rejoiced exceedingly. He immediately appointed the crown prince to reign in his place, bade farewell to the officials, and set out for the place to which he had promised to return. The officials all said to the king:

— We beseech Your Majesty to remain and not fear Bác Túc! We, your subjects, have devised a plan and prepared an iron house in which Your Majesty may stay. No matter how powerful Bác Túc may be, he will be unable to seize you from it.

The king told the officials and his kinsmen:

— For those living in this world, honesty and trustworthiness are the foundation. Rather than live through falsehood, it is better to die while keeping one’s word. One should live without speaking falsely, for trustworthiness brings many kinds of benefit.

The king then explained at length, clearly distinguishing the various transgressions of falsehood. Hearing this, the officials were so grief-stricken that they could not utter a single word. The king then rose and departed from the city, and everyone escorted him. The king had to employ every kind of analogy to make the officials understand before he could finally set out on his journey.

At that time, King Bác Túc, the rakshasa, thought: “Tu-đà-tô-di should arrive today.” He therefore sat upon a mountain peak and waited, gazing into the distance. He saw the king and all those accompanying him approaching in orderly procession. He observed that the king’s face was joyful and delighted and that he had come exactly as promised. King Bác Túc, the rakshasa, asked:

— Come here quickly. Among those living in this world, there is no one who does not cherish life. You are now about to die, so why are you even more joyful than usual? Did you gain some benefit or blessing upon returning to your kingdom?

Tu-đà-tô-di said:

— Your Majesty, through your lenient kindness you allowed me to return for seven days to give alms and preserve my trustworthiness. Moreover, I heard the sublime Dharma and applied my mind to listening and understanding. Thus, today my aspiration has been fulfilled. Even if I must die, so be it; I do not cherish my life in the least.

King Bác Túc said:

— What Dharma did you hear? Can you recite it for me?

Tu-đà-tô-di recited that verse for the rakshasa king and, employing many skillful means, expounded the Dharma to him at length. He clearly explained the transgression of killing and the evil karmic retribution it brings. He also spoke of the blessed rewards arising from a compassionate mind that refrains from killing. After King Bác Túc heard this, he bowed down and accepted the instruction. No longer harboring any wish to harm them, he released the king and all the officials and soldiers to return to their kingdoms. King Tu-đà-tô-di then gathered his troops and escorted King Bác Túc back to his kingdom, restoring him to the throne as before. The twelve-year period of the vow previously made to the sage had now been fulfilled.

From that time onward, Bác Túc no longer dared to eat human flesh. He returned to his country and ruled the people as before.

Having spoken thus, the Buddha recalled:

— Great King, Tu-đà-tô-di at that time was none other than I in a former life, while King Bác Túc is now Aṅgulimāla. Those who, during those twelve years, joined King Bác Túc in eating human flesh are now the people captured and killed by Aṅgulimāla. Lifetime after lifetime, these people have continually been slain by Aṅgulimāla. And lifetime after lifetime, I have subdued him and led him to goodness. I recall that in a past kalpa, when I was still an ordinary being, I already knew how to teach him and cause him to refrain from killing. How much more so today, when I have become the Tathagata, fully endowed with virtue and having eradicated every evil—could I not subdue and liberate him?

King Prasenajit again addressed the Buddha:

— What past conditions caused these people to be continually killed by him, lifetime after lifetime? May the Blessed One explain this clearly to me.

The Buddha said:

— Great King, listen carefully. In the distant past, in this continent of Jambudvīpa, there was a great kingdom named Vārāṇasī. Its king was named Brahmadatta. The king had two princes, both talented and strong, with upright features and extraordinarily handsome appearances, and the king loved them dearly. At that time, the younger prince thought to himself: “When my royal father passes away, my elder brother will surely succeed to the throne. Since I am younger, I have no hope of attaining that position. If, having been born into this world, I cannot become king, what is the point of living? It would be better to seek a secluded place and pursue the path of an immortal.” Having thought thus, the younger prince went and addressed his father:

— Royal Father, I greatly desire to enter the deep mountains and seek instruction in the path of the immortals. I ask that you permit me to enter the mountains and find a master under whom to study the Way.

The king consented. The prince departed. After several years had passed, his father died, and his elder brother succeeded to the throne. He had not ruled the people for long before he also fell ill and died. He had no son to continue his lineage, nor anyone to inherit the royal enterprise. The ministers assembled to deliberate but could find no way to resolve the matter. One official said:

— The late king still has a younger brother, a prince who formerly asked the king’s permission to cultivate the way of the immortals in the mountain forests. We should now invite him back to ascend the throne.

The officials all joyfully said:

— This is entirely reasonable.

Having said this, they led soldiers into the mountains to search for him. When they found him, they explained everything and implored the prince, out of compassion, to return and govern the country. The prince replied:

— This matter is truly dreadful. I now delight in tranquility and am forever free from sorrow, whereas people in the world are fierce and cruel, delighting in killing one another. If I return to become king, I will witness such evil deeds. I have now attained the joy of purity and do not wish to return and become king.

The officials again entreated him:

— The king has died without an heir. Only you, Great Immortal, remain of the royal lineage. The people and the country cannot be without a king for even a single day. We humbly beseech you to have compassion and return to the royal palace.

The officials entreated him with the utmost sincerity and earnestness. The prince could not bear to refuse, so he consented and followed them back to the royal city.

From childhood, the prince had studied the way of the immortals and had never trained in worldly affairs. After returning to govern the country, he gradually became intimate with women and increasingly defiled by sensual desire. He became licentious and unrestrained, indulging day and night without being able to control himself. He then issued an order throughout the country:

— Before any woman goes to marry her husband, she must first sleep with me.

From that time onward, throughout the country, every maiden about to enter her husband’s household—even virtuous women—was violated by the king. At that time, a young woman went to a crowded place and stood naked upon the road. Everyone was horrified and disgusted, and they all rebuked her:

— Why are you not ashamed to behave in this way?

The young woman immediately replied:

— What cause is there for shame when a woman stands among women? If you who stand here feel no shame, then I am no different from you. What is there for me to be ashamed of?

The people said:

— Why do you speak in this way?

The young woman said:

— There is only one man in this country—the king. All the women in the kingdom have been defiled and humiliated by him. If you were men, would you allow such a thing to happen?

At that moment, the people became even more ashamed and said to one another:

— What this young woman says is perfectly reasonable.

They secretly passed word among themselves and, united in purpose, devised a plan to depose the king. Outside the city there was a garden with a cool, clear pond where the king often went to bathe. The officials concealed soldiers in the garden. When the king entered the pond to bathe, they rushed out, surrounded him, seized him, and prepared to kill him. Terrified, the king said:

— What do you intend to do?

The officials said:

— The king neglects the affairs of the country and instead indulges without restraint in licentiousness, corrupting and disrupting pure customs and bringing disgrace upon many families. Everyone has seen and knows this, and we can endure it no longer. Therefore, we intend to remove the king and seek another worthy and capable person to govern us.

Upon hearing this, the king was alarmed and said to the officials:

— I have indeed committed wrong. I did not betray you when you invited me to return and become king. I now beg to correct my faults and will no longer neglect the affairs of the court. I ask you to spare me and allow me to begin anew.

The officials replied:

— Even if black snow were to fall from the sky today and venomous snakes were to grow from the crown of the king’s head, we would never release you. There is no need to say anything more.

When the king heard this, he knew that he was certain to die. Anger arose in him, and he said to the officials:

— I originally dwelt in the mountains and took no part in worldly affairs. You forced me to return and installed me as king. Since becoming king, I have never failed in any undertaking, yet today you have united to humiliate me. Now I am alone and weak and cannot resist you. I vow that in future lives, wherever I am born, I shall kill you in return.

Although the king made this vow, the officials nevertheless killed him.

Having spoken thus, the Buddha recalled:

— Great King, you should know that the king who had formerly been an immortal was Aṅgulimāla in a previous life, while the officials who united to kill the king are now those who were slain by Aṅgulimāla. From that time until now, whenever they have been reborn, they have continually been killed in this way.

King Prasenajit then knelt and addressed the Buddha:

— Blessed One, Bhikṣu Ahiṃsaka killed these people, yet today he has cultivated and attained the Way. Will he receive karmic retribution in his next life?

The Buddha replied:

— Great King, such deeds certainly bear retribution. Today, while Bhikṣu Ahiṃsaka was in his chamber, the fires of hell erupted from his pores, burning him with fierce pain. At that time, the Tathagata, wishing those in the assembly to understand that evil deeds inevitably bring painful retribution, sent a bhikṣu to Ahiṃsaka’s chamber to pierce a small hole and look inside. The bhikṣu obeyed, went there, and did so. He saw that everything in Ahiṃsaka’s chamber had been utterly consumed by fire. Astonished, the bhikṣu returned and reported this to the Buddha. The Buddha told that bhikṣu:

— Such is the retribution of deeds.

The king and all those in the assembly believed and understood. At that time, Venerable Ānanda knelt and addressed the Buddha:

— Blessed One, what past conditions did Aṅgulimāla possess that caused his body to be strong and healthy like that of a champion, allowed him to run as swiftly as flight, and enabled him to encounter the Buddha and be liberated from birth and death? May the Blessed One, out of compassion, explain these matters to the assembly.

The Buddha said:

— Ānanda, all of you should listen carefully!

In the past, during the time of the Buddha Kāśyapa, there was a bhikṣu who performed duties for the Sangha. One day, while carrying rice, he was caught in the rain along the road, with nowhere to take shelter. The rice and other food were completely soaked. At that time, the bhikṣu thought: “Because my strength is weak, I walk

“Because I was slow, I was caught in the rain,” and he immediately made this vow:
“May I, in future lives, be born with the strength to contend against a thousand men, with a light body, able to travel swiftly and run like a bird in flight. When Buddha Shakyamuni appears in the world in the future, may I meet him and be liberated from birth and death.”
Ānanda, the bhikshu who performed duties for the Sangha at that time is none other than Angulimala today. Because in a former life he renounced the household life, upheld the precepts, served the Sangha, and made such a vow, from then until now, in life after life, he has been born with a strong and healthy body and handsome features, thus fulfilling his aspiration. Moreover, he has encountered Me and been liberated from birth and death.
At that time, Venerable Ānanda, the entire assembly of bhikshus, the king, officials, ministers, and people heard the Buddha speak about the causes, conditions, actions, and their results. They were all deeply moved and contemplated the Four Noble Truths. Some attained the fruit of stream-entry, once-returning, non-returning, or arhatship; some planted roots of goodness leading to pratyekabuddhahood; some aroused the resolve to seek unsurpassed perfect enlightenment; and some attained the stage of non-retrogression. They all guarded their bodies, speech, and minds and immediately practiced wholesome deeds. Having heard the Buddha’s teaching, they all rejoiced and respectfully put it into practice.

Chapter 53: DĀNAKI

Thus have I heard:

At one time, the Buddha was staying in Prince Jeta’s Grove, in Anāthapiṇḍika’s Park, in the kingdom of Śrāvastī. At that time, there was a brahmin in the kingdom named Piṇḍolabhāradvāja. He had a fierce and ugly wife with greenish eyes, and altogether they had seven daughters but not a single son. The family was utterly impoverished. The daughters also had violent tempers and often berated their husbands. Whenever they wanted something and their husbands failed to satisfy their needs promptly, they would become angry and weep. The husbands of all seven daughters had gathered to live together in the same house, anxiously fearing that they might displease their wives.

The grain in the fields was ripe but had not yet been harvested. The brahmin borrowed someone else’s ox and brought it back, intending to harvest the grain. Yet he failed to watch it carefully; it broke its tether and ran away. The brahmin then sat alone and thought, “What offenses did I commit in a former life that I must endure such bitter and cruel circumstances? At home, I am reviled by a wicked wife. My seven daughters and seven sons-in-law are incapable of managing their affairs. Now I have also lost another person’s ox. Heaven and earth are so vast—where can I possibly search for it?”

His heart was troubled, his body haggard, and he was overcome by grief and distress. He therefore set out to search for the ox. After traveling for a long time, he reached a forest and saw the Tathagata seated beneath a tree, serene, tranquil, and joyful. The brahmin leaned upon his staff and stood gazing at the Blessed One for a long time. He then thought, “The śramaṇa Gautama now enjoys the greatest peace. He is not reviled or quarreled with by any woman, nor is he distressed by daughters or troubled by foolish sons-in-law. Neither does he worry about fields and gardens, nor does he borrow another person’s ox and then suffer anxiety when it is lost....”

The Buddha knew the brahmin’s thoughts and said:

—Just as you are thinking, I now abide in serenity, free from every kind of affliction. I have no wicked wife to revile Me, no seven daughters to trouble Me, and no seven sons-in-law gathered in My home. Neither do I worry about fields of grain, nor do I borrow another person’s ox and then grieve when it is lost.

The Buddha then asked him:

—Would you like to renounce the household life?

He immediately said to the Buddha:

—As I now see it, the household is like a tomb, and women are like hostile bandits. Blessed One, if in Your compassion You will permit me to renounce the household life, I shall be fully satisfied.

The Buddha immediately said:

—Welcome, bhikshu!

His hair and beard fell away by themselves, and the clothes he was wearing were transformed into kāṣāya robes. The Buddha taught him the Dharma, and at once he completely eradicated all defilements and became an arhat.

When Venerable Ānanda heard of this, he praised the Buddha, saying:

—Excellent! The Tathagata’s skill in guiding and transforming beings is truly inconceivable. What merit did this brahmin plant in a former life that he has now escaped all calamities and gained these wholesome benefits, just as a clean cloth readily takes on a dye?

The Buddha said:

—Ānanda, it is not only today that this brahmin has relied upon My kindness to leave suffering behind and attain peace. In the past as well, through My kindness, he escaped many painful hardships and attained peace.

Venerable Ānanda said to the Buddha:

—Blessed One, how was he rescued from hardship in the past? I pray that the Blessed One will explain this to me.

The Buddha said:

—Ānanda, listen attentively and reflect well. I shall explain it clearly for you.

I, Ānanda, immediately said to the Buddha:

—Yes, indeed. I am listening.

The Buddha said:

—Ānanda, innumerable asaṃkhyeya kalpas ago, there was a great king named Aparatimukha, which in the language of Qin means “Upright and Handsome.” He governed his people according to the Way and did not allow even a single person to suffer injustice. At that time, there was a brahmin in the kingdom named Dānaki. His family was poor and did not have enough food to eat. They suffered extreme deprivation, and he was unable to support himself.

One day, he borrowed another person’s ox to plow his field. When he had finished plowing, he led the ox back to its owner. After bringing it to the gate of the owner’s house, he forgot to say anything to the owner and simply returned home. Although the owner saw the ox, he assumed that the borrower had not yet finished using it and therefore did not tether it. Because each side misunderstood the other, the untethered ox wandered away and was lost. Later, when the owner asked about it, the other man said that he had already returned the ox, and the two began to quarrel.

The ox’s owner then took Dānaki to the king to have the matter of the borrowed ox adjudicated. As soon as they went out onto the road, they suddenly encountered one of the king’s horse keepers. A horse was galloping away, and the horse keeper shouted to them, asking them to stop it. Dānaki bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it at the horse, striking its leg and breaking it. The horse keeper seized him as well and took him along to the king.

They came to a river but did not know where they could cross. Suddenly, they encountered a carpenter who was holding an axe in his mouth and lifting his robe as he prepared to wade across. Dānaki asked him:

—Where can we ford the river?

The man replied:

—Here.

As soon as the carpenter opened his mouth to speak, the axe fell into the river and sank. Although he searched and groped for it for a long time, he could not find it. He therefore seized Dānaki and joined the others in taking him to the king.

At that time, Dānaki was being pressed by his accusers and was also hungry and thirsty. He therefore entered a wine shop beside the road and asked for a little plain wine. He climbed onto a bed and sat down to drink, but inadvertently sat directly upon the belly of a child sleeping there. He crushed the child, rupturing its belly and killing it. The child’s mother then seized him and said, “You are a lawless man! You have unjustly killed my child!” She joined the others in holding him and taking him to the royal palace.

When they came near a wall, Dānaki thought to himself, “I am truly unfortunate. Calamities have descended upon me without cause. If I am brought before the king, they may kill me. If I flee now, perhaps I can escape.” Having thought this, he climbed over the wall to flee. At the foot of the wall on the other side was a weaver. Dānaki jumped down upon him and killed him instantly. The weaver’s son then ran over, seized Dānaki, and joined the others in taking him to the king.

They continued onward. Along the road, they suddenly encountered a pheasant perched at the top of a tree. From afar, it asked him:

—Dānaki, where are you going today?

He immediately looked up at the treetop and answered the pheasant. The pheasant then said:

—If you are going there, please report this matter to the king on my behalf: “When I perch in other trees, my cry does not sound pleasant, but when I perch in this tree, my cry sounds beautiful. Why is that?” If you meet the king, please ask him this question for me!

After they had gone a little farther, they encountered a venomous snake, which asked:

—Dānaki, where are you going today?

He then related everything that had happened to the venomous snake. After hearing it all, the snake said:

“Go to the king and report to him on my behalf:

“‘Every morning, when I have just emerged from my hole, my body is soft and supple, and I suffer from no illness whatsoever. But in the evening, when I return to the hole, my body becomes coarse, misshapen, and painful, so that I encounter obstacles and find it difficult to crawl inside. Ask the king why this is so.’”

Dāna-Nidhi agreed to convey the snake’s question.

After traveling some distance, he encountered a woman who asked:

“Where are you going?”

He again related everything that had happened. The woman said:

“If you reach the king, please report to him on my behalf: ‘I do not know why, when I am at my husband’s home, I miss my parents’ home; yet when I am at my parents’ home, I keep missing my husband’s home.’”

He also agreed to convey her question. At that time, all the claimants surrounded and seized him, then brought him before the king. The owner of the ox came forward and reported to the king:

“Your Majesty, this man borrowed my ox and deliberately failed to return it.”

The king asked:

“Why did you not return the ox?”

Dāna-Nidhi replied:

“I am truly poor and destitute, and I had grain ripening in the field. Out of kindness, this man lent me his ox. After using it, I brought it back. The owner himself saw that I had returned the ox, but I did not tell him that it was standing in front of his gate. I then went home alone. I do not know how the ox subsequently disappeared.”

The king said to the owner of the ox:

“Neither of you acted properly. Because Dāna-Nidhi returned the ox without telling you, his offense deserves the cutting out of his tongue. As for you, you saw the ox but did not tether and secure it, so your offense deserves the gouging out of your eyes.”

The owner of the ox said:

“I am willing to relinquish the ox. I do not wish to have my eyes gouged out or this man’s tongue cut out.”

The king then allowed them to settle their dispute. The keeper of the horse came forward and reported:

“Your Majesty, this wicked man broke my horse’s leg.”

The king then asked Dāna-Nidhi:

“This man tends the king’s horse. Why did you strike and break the horse’s leg?”

Dāna-Nidhi replied:

“The owner of the ox was leading me along the road when this man suddenly shouted, ‘Stop the horse for me!’ Fearing that the horse would escape, I picked up a stone and threw it. By misfortune, it struck the horse’s leg and broke it. That is what happened.”

The king said to the keeper of the horse:

“Because you shouted, your tongue should be cut out. Because this man threw a stone at the horse, his hand should be severed.”

The keeper of the horse said to the king:

“I shall take care of the horse myself. Please do not inflict punishment.”

The two men thus settled the matter. The carpenter came forward and reported:

“Your Majesty, Dāna-Nidhi caused me to lose my axe.”

The king asked:

“What did you do that caused this man’s axe to be lost?”

Dāna-Nidhi respectfully replied:

“Your Majesty, when I was about to cross the river, I asked him at which section it was possible to cross. When he opened his mouth to answer, the axe he was holding between his teeth fell into the river. We searched for it for a long time but could not find it. That is the truth of the matter.”

The king said to the carpenter:

“Because you opened your mouth to speak and dropped the axe, you deserve to have your tongue cut out. According to the proper method of carrying possessions, you ought to have used your hands. Yet you held the axe in your mouth and caused it to fall into the water. Therefore, your two front teeth must now be knocked out.”

After hearing this, the carpenter said to the king:

“I would rather relinquish the axe. Please do not punish me.”

The two men thus settled their dispute. The wine seller then made her accusation. The king said:

“Dāna-Nidhi, why did you wrongfully kill her child?”

He knelt and replied:

“Your Majesty, these men oppressed me and caused me to become hungry and thirsty. I went to ask this woman for a little wine. When I climbed onto the bed, I accidentally crushed her child, who was lying there. Just as I finished drinking the wine, her child stopped breathing. I did not do it intentionally. I humbly beg the Great King to examine the matter clearly and forgive me.”

The king said to the tavern keeper:

“Many guests come and go in your tavern. Why did you place your child where guests ordinarily sit and cover the infant so completely that no one could see it? Now both of you are at fault. Because your child died on account of both Dāna-Nidhi and yourself, Dāna-Nidhi shall now become your husband. When he has given you another child, he may then be released and allowed to go home.”

The woman immediately bowed her head and said:

“My child is already dead. I have no wish to take this starving brahmin as my husband.”

Thus, the two were allowed to settle the matter. Then the son of the weaver came forward and reported:

“Your Majesty, this violent madman leapt down and killed my father.”

The king asked:

“Why did you wrongfully kill this man’s father without cause?”

Dāna-Nidhi replied:

“Your Majesty, these claimants were pressing and harassing me, and I became extremely frightened. I intended to climb over a wall and flee, but suddenly fell upon the old man. It was truly not something I wished to do.”

The king said to the son:

“Neither of you acted properly. Since your father is dead, you should take Dāna-Nidhi as your father.”

The son replied:

“My father is already dead. I will certainly not take this brahmin as my father.”

In this way, the king allowed the two parties to settle their dispute. By then, Dāna-Nidhi’s own cases had been concluded, and he was exceedingly joyful. He saw before the king two women who were disputing over a child, each coming forward to present her claim. The king then employed expedient wisdom and devised a method, saying to the two women:

“Today there is one child, yet both of you claim it. I order each of you to take hold of one of the child’s arms. Whoever succeeds in pulling the child to herself shall have the child as her own.”

The woman who was not the child’s mother used all her strength to pull the child toward herself, without fearing in the least that the child might be injured. But the woman who had given birth to the child, moved by profound compassion and love for her child, could not bear to pull. Observing which woman was genuine and which was false, the king said:

“You used force to pull the child toward yourself. In truth, the child is not yours; you merely schemed to seize another person’s child. Now, standing before the king, you must speak the truth.”

The woman then bowed her head to the ground before the king and confessed her offense:

“I was indeed deceitful and am not the child’s mother. The Great King is a wise and discerning sage. Please forgive my offense. I now return this child to its mother.”

The king then released everyone and allowed them to return home. There were also two other people who both claimed the same piece of silk and came before the king for judgment. The king again used wisdom to adjudicate their case as he had done above.

Dāna-Nidhi then reported to the king:

“Your Majesty, when these claimants were leading me here, we encountered a venomous snake along the road. It asked me to report to the king: ‘I do not know why, when I emerge from my hole, my body is soft and supple and I can crawl out easily, but when I return to the hole, I suffer pain and difficulty. I do not know the reason for this.’”

The king said:

“The reason is evident. When it emerges from its hole, there are no troubling matters, so its mind is gentle and harmonious, and its body is likewise. But when it is outside, beasts and birds disturb it, causing anger to arise in its heart. Its body consequently becomes coarse, misshapen, and swollen; therefore, when it returns to its hole, it encounters more obstacles and difficulty than when it emerged. You may tell it: ‘If, while outside the hole, you guard your mind against anger, then entering will be no different from emerging, and you will encounter no obstacles or difficulty whatsoever.’”

Dāna-Nidhi again reported to the king:

“Your Majesty, along the road I encountered a woman who asked me to say to the king: ‘When I am at my husband’s home, I miss my parents’ home; yet when I am at my parents’ home, I miss my husband’s home. I do not know why this is so.’”

The king said:

“Tell her: ‘It is because you harbor improper intentions. While staying at your parents’ home, you secretly maintain relations with another man; when staying at your husband’s home, you long to return to your own family because you feel some aversion there, although you still retain the thought that you are a daughter-in-law. Therefore, such longing arises in your mind.’

“You may tell her:

“‘Guard your mind, abandon what is improper, and follow what is right; then you will no longer experience such a state of mind.’”

Dāna-Nidhi again reported to the king:

— Your Majesty, by the roadside there is a pheasant perched atop a tree. It asks the king: “When it perches atop this tree, its song sounds very melodious and beautiful. It does not understand why this is so.”
King said to Dan-nhi-ky:
— The reason is that beneath the roots of the tree where it sings beautifully, there is a golden axe; beneath the roots of the other tree there is no golden axe, so when it perches there and sings, its song does not sound beautiful.
The king said:
— Dan-nhi-ky, your many offenses have now all been resolved. We release you and allow you to return home.
The man said:
— My household is exceedingly poor. Since the golden axe is beneath the roots of the tree, may it be given to me so that I may make use of it.
The king said:
— You may dig it up and take it.
Obeying the king’s command, the man dug up the golden axe and took it home. He used it in commerce and established an estate of fields and gardens. He purchased everything he needed and lacked nothing, becoming a wealthy man who enjoyed happiness throughout his life.
Having spoken thus, the Buddha said:
— Ananda, the king at that time was Abaladi-mukha. He was none other than I in a former life. The brahmin Dan-nhi-ky is now Pindola Bharadvaja. In the past, I pardoned his offenses and bestowed precious treasures upon him, enabling him to enjoy happiness. Now that I have attained Buddhahood, I have again delivered him from suffering and bestowed upon him the treasure of the Dharma treasury.
At that time, the Venerable Ananda and the fourfold assembly, having heard the Buddha’s words, rejoiced and respectfully put them into practice.