六度集經

Chapter II: THE PERFECTION OF MORAL DISCIPLINE

What is meant by the perfection of moral discipline?

—Being deluded and foolish, violent and cruel, delighting in taking life; being greedy, stealing, engaging in lustful and impure conduct; speaking divisively, speaking harshly, lying, and speaking frivolously; harboring jealousy, anger, and ignorance; harming one’s own kin, humiliating noble sages, slandering the Buddha, troubling the virtuous, taking things from ancestral temples, harboring evil intentions, and destroying the Three Jewels—rather than commit such evils, one would willingly have one’s body torn apart or be hacked to pieces in the marketplace, yet would ultimately resolve never to commit them. One places wholehearted faith solely in the Three Jewels and repays the four kinds of kindness by bringing aid universally to all.

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27—Long ago, the bodhisattva was a faithful layman. The king of that land governed righteously and exhorted his officials and subjects to recognize the Three Jewels. Those who observed the precepts and fasted were excused from taxes and exempted from compulsory labor. All the people, old and young, saw that the king esteemed the virtuous, and thus many feigned goodness while secretly committing evil deeds. The king used the Buddha’s precepts to examine the moral integrity of his people and saw that many appeared good outwardly but were evil at heart, contrary to the Buddha’s pure teaching. The king therefore pretended to issue a decree:

—Whoever dares to revere the Buddhist path shall be put to death and his body exposed in the marketplace.

Not one of those who had feigned goodness failed to abandon righteousness, freely returning to their fundamentally false and corrupt ways. The bodhisattva, already advanced in years, maintained a vast and radiant resolve for righteousness. On hearing the king’s decree, he was greatly alarmed and said:

—Even if, by abandoning truth and following evil, I could become an emperor, live as long as heaven and earth, possess unsurpassed wealth, and have the six pleasures completely satisfy my heart, I would never do so. Even if I were to live for no longer than the time of a single meal, yet could behold the true teaching of the Three Jewels, I would gladly serve them. But even if I could retain tens of thousands of volumes of worldly writings, dwell bodily in a heavenly palace, and enjoy a lifespan equal to that of the gods, yet remain ignorant of the Three Jewels and never hear the Buddha’s sutras, I would not seek it. In obeying the Buddha’s teachings, even if I should meet the calamity of being slain, I would willingly accept it.

The sutra teaches:

—Sentient beings cast themselves into the three evil realms, and there are certain things difficult to obtain: it is difficult to attain human birth; difficult to dwell in a central region; difficult to possess all six faculties intact; difficult to be born in a land where the Dharma exists; difficult to draw near to a bodhisattva; difficult to encounter a sutra and have faith in it; difficult to comprehend what is profound and subtle; difficult to encounter a śramaṇa of lofty conduct and pure mind and wholeheartedly make offerings to him; and difficult to encounter a Buddha and receive a prediction of future Buddhahood.

Through the merit of former lives, I have now encountered the Buddha’s sutras and am able to serve the Three Jewels. Therefore, even if I should encounter ruthless tyranny—whether my flesh be salted, my body steeped in brine, or I be plunged into boiling water or searing flames—I shall never abandon the true and righteous path to follow those seductive and poisonous evils.

The king ordered the competent authorities to investigate those who violated the decree and put them to death, exposing their bodies in the marketplace. The investigator found that the bodhisattva remained steadfast in serving the Three Jewels, never wavering and never diminishing in sincerity. He therefore arrested him and reported the matter to the king. The king pronounced:

—Take him to the marketplace and behead him!

He then secretly sent someone to follow and listen to what the man would say. Even as the bodhisattva approached death, he instructed his son:

—Since heaven and earth were first formed, has anyone remained alive until the present day? Sentient beings in this world, driven to disorder by the six sense faculties, are exceedingly mad and intoxicated. Rarely do they encounter the Three Jewels to guide and teach them so that they may become wise and pure. You are now fortunate to know the path of the Dharma; take care never to abandon it. Alas! If one abandons the practice of the Buddhadharma and follows the false conduct of demons and evil spirits, the kingdom will surely be lost. I would rather relinquish this life than ever abandon the righteous path. The king has now fallen into error; you must not obey him.

The investigator reported to the king everything he had heard. Knowing that the bodhisattva upheld righteous conduct, the king rejoiced, invited him into his presence, took him by the hand, and led him into the royal hall, saying:

—You are righteous and truly deserve to be called a disciple of the Buddha.

The king then appointed him prime minister and entrusted him with governing the kingdom. Those who had abandoned the Buddha’s pure teaching were again required to pay taxes and perform compulsory labor. From then onward, no one in the kingdom failed to cherish and esteem goodness.

The Buddha told the śramaṇas:

—The king at that time was Maitreya, and the faithful layman was I myself.

In maintaining his resolve and cultivating the perfection of moral discipline, the bodhisattva practiced observance of the precepts in this way.

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28—Long ago, the bodhisattva was born as the king of elephants. His heart was vast and far-reaching, and he knew that there were the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha of bhikshus. He constantly took refuge in the Three Jewels, always aiding sentient beings with a vast heart of loving-kindness, and vowed that when he attained Buddhahood he would liberate them all. A herd of five hundred elephants followed him, among whom two female elephants were his wives. One day, while immersing himself in the water, the elephant king gathered a lotus blossom of exceedingly beautiful color and brought it back to his senior wife. On receiving the flower, she joyfully said:

—The frost is bitterly cold. How could such a flower have been found?

The junior wife, being greedy and jealous by nature, angrily swore, “When I have the opportunity, I shall kill you with an exceedingly potent poison.” Afterward, she died from her pent-up resentment. Her spirit was reborn as a daughter in a brahmin household. Her beauty surpassed that of others, and her mind was intelligent and lucid.

She understood broadly the affairs of past and present, and by looking upward at the celestial patterns, she clearly knew the times of decline and prosperity. When the king heard of her, he took her as his queen. As soon as she entered the palace, she presented a detailed account of policies for governing the kingdom, whose principles accorded with those of a loyal minister.

The king was delighted and came to love and respect her even more; whenever she spoke, he heeded her words. One day, the queen said:

—I dreamed of an elephant with six tusks. My heart longs to have those tusks made into ornaments. If Your Majesty does not grant my wish, I surely cannot remain alive.

The king said:

—Do not speak such absurdities, lest those who hear you laugh!

Having made her request, the queen immediately sank into sorrow and anguish.

The king summoned four officials to deliberate. Claiming that he himself had dreamed the dream, he asked:

—Has there ever been such an elephant, from ancient times until now?

One minister replied:

—There has never been such a creature.

Another minister said:

—Your Majesty could not have had such a dream.

A further official reported:

—I have heard that such an elephant exists, but it is exceedingly far away.

Another said:

—If that place can be reached, then at present the god Śakra is soaring there.

The four ministers immediately summoned hunters from the four directions and questioned them. A hunter from the south replied:

—My late father often said that such an elephant existed, but it lived far away in a place exceedingly difficult to reach.

The officials reported that there was a man who knew of it. The king immediately ordered that he be summoned with all haste. When he arrived, the queen instructed him:

—Travel directly south for about three thousand miles, and you will encounter a mountain. Enter the mountain and travel for approximately two more days, and you will reach the place where the elephants dwell. Dig a pit beside the road, shave off your hair and beard, put on the robes of a śramaṇa, and sit in the pit to shoot the elephant. Cut off two of its tusks and bring them back here.

Following her instructions, the hunter traveled to the place where the elephants lived. Before shooting the elephant, he put on Dharma robes, carried an alms bowl, and waited in the pit. When the elephant king saw a śramaṇa, he bowed his head and said:

—Greetings, ascetic! For what reason do you wish to harm my life?

He replied:

—I want your pair of tusks.

The elephant king said:

—My pain is almost unbearable. Quickly take the tusks and depart. Do not disturb my mind and cause an evil thought to arise. Whoever harbors an evil thought will, after death, fall into the realms of hell beings, hungry ghosts, or animals. But whoever maintains patience, practices loving-kindness, and responds to evil with goodness follows the lofty practice of a bodhisattva. Even if his bones and flesh are hacked to pieces, he never departs from that practice. Whoever cultivates this practice will, after death, immediately be reborn in the heavens and will swiftly attain nirvana.

The hunter then cut off the tusks. The elephant king said:

—Ascetic, you must leave at once. Do not allow the elephant herd to discover your footprints!

The elephant waited until the hunter had gone far away. Unable to endure the pain, he fell to the ground, trumpeted loudly for a while, and died, whereupon he was immediately reborn in heaven. The herd of elephants came running from all directions, and they all said:

“Who has killed our king?”

They searched but found no one, then returned and embraced the elephant king’s body, weeping in grief.

The hunter brought the tusks back to the royal court. When the king saw them, his heart was filled with fear. The queen took the tusks in her hands, but just as she was about to examine them, thunder and lightning burst forth and struck her. She vomited blood, died, and fell into hell.

The Buddha told the śramanas:

“That elephant king was I myself. The elephant’s senior wife is now Gopī; the hunter was Devadatta; and the junior wife was Hảo Thủ.”

Resolutely cultivating the practice of the paramita, the bodhisattva observed the precepts in this way.

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29- Long ago, the bodhisattva was the king of the parrots. He always faithfully followed the Buddha’s teachings and took refuge in the Three Jewels. Even when facing death, he never committed the ten evil deeds. He taught and transformed others with loving-kindness and always placed the six paramitas foremost.

At that time, the king of the country enjoyed eating parrot meat. Hunters vied with one another to find and capture the birds. When they saw that flock, they spread nets and caught every one of them, then presented them to the royal kitchen steward. The butcher received them, slaughtering those that were plump and cooking them as food for the king. The parrot king thought to himself:

“Sentient beings whirl into prison, lose their bodies, and transmigrate through the three realms—all because of eating!”

The parrot king then told the entire flock:

“Cast off craving and eat less. Though your bodies grow thin, your suffering will be slight; preserving your lives is what you should seek. Fools greedily crave food and drink, giving no thought to future consequences. They are like a miser who covets a little honey clinging to a knife blade, unaware of the danger of having his tongue cut off. I shall now eat less; all of you should follow my example.”

The parrot king grew thinner day by day and was thereby able to slip through the cage bars and leap outside. Standing atop the cage, the bird said:

“The gravest offense of evil craving is precisely that it prevents one from attaining wholesome states.”

He continued:

“The Buddhas call craving a prison, a binding net, poison, and a sword! If you stop eating, you will become like me.”

Thereafter, whenever the bodhisattva was an ordinary person, he ate plain food merely to sustain his life and wore simple clothing merely to cover his body. He used the danger of craving to admonish his mind and never forgot it for even a single day. When his merit ripened and he became an emperor, he used the Buddha’s wisdom to consider how to govern the realm.

His lofty and vast merit was truly beyond reckoning. Life is impermanent and uncertain, filled only with suffering and devoid of happiness; whatever comes into being is immediately lost. The body is false and illusory, as difficult to preserve as an egg and as difficult to tame as a wolf.

None who see this with clear eyes fail to tremble in fear. Because the bodhisattva made the precepts his practice life after life, he ultimately attained the fruition of the Tathagata—the Unattached, Right and True, Supremely and Perfectly Awakened One—and became the Teacher of gods and humans.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

“The parrot king at that time was I myself, and that king was Devadatta.”

Resolutely cultivating the practice of the paramita, the bodhisattva observed the precepts in this way.

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30- Long ago, the bodhisattva was a king’s son, a crown prince named Dharma-Giving. He was pure within and without and constantly admonished his own mind by reflecting upon the calamities that follow deviant paths. He honored sages and saints, was filial and fraternal toward his kin, and always compassionately rescued and aided sentient beings.

Whenever the crown prince entered the court, he would wait for the chief minister, conducting himself in all his comings and goings according to propriety and never once losing his dignified bearing. The king’s favorite concubine harbored lustful and perverse intentions. One day, she reached out, embraced the crown prince, and tried to pull him toward her. The crown prince exerted all his strength to evade her and managed to escape. His hand struck the chief minister’s head while his mouth said, “Go, go.” The chief minister’s cap fell to the ground, exposing his bald head. The king’s favorite concubine laughed; the chief minister was humiliated and harbored resentment. Later, the concubine met the king and reported:

“Though I am lowly, I am nevertheless the king’s wife, yet the crown prince failed to restrain himself and conceived lustful desire for me.”

The king said:

“I know that the crown prince is a man of integrity. He entertains no thought that is not in accord with the Buddha’s aspiration, speaks no words that are not taught by the Buddha, and never does anything contrary to the Buddha’s teaching. His virtue is praised throughout the eight directions, and no one in any country equals him. How could he possibly commit such a transgression?”

The favorite concubine whispered many slanderous words to bewilder the king’s mind. The king said:

“For blood relatives to destroy one another is the work of rebels and traitors. I cannot do such a thing!”

He then appointed the crown prince king of a border region eight thousand li from the kingdom and instructed him:

“When you govern the outer territory, you must follow the law of Heaven and practice benevolence and righteousness. You must not harm innocent people or extort wealth and reduce the populace to destitution. You must honor the elderly as your own parents and love the people as your own children. You must carefully uphold the Buddha’s precepts and preserve the Way until death. The world is filled with deceit; only when an instruction bears the seal made from my tooth should you believe and obey it.”

The crown prince bowed his head and wept, saying:

“I dare not disregard my father’s instruction.”

The crown prince then went to take possession of his fief. Through the five precepts and ten virtues, he compassionately taught and transformed the people of his realm. After he had occupied the throne for one year, people from near and far admired his benevolent virtue and flocked to him in great numbers, increasing the registered population by tens of thousands.

The crown prince wrote a memorial to the throne, praising the virtue of his royal father, whose radiance reached distant lands and had thus brought this about. The king, queen, and palace consorts rejoiced and praised the crown prince. Only the favorite concubine continued to harbor resentment.

She therefore conspired with the chief minister to eliminate the crown prince. Waiting until the king was asleep, they secretly used beeswax to make an impression of his seal, then falsely wrote a letter:

“You have committed the crime of offending your sovereign, but I cannot bear to kill you at once! Therefore, upon receiving this letter, quickly have both your eyes gouged out and give them to the envoy to bring back to the capital.”

When the envoy arrived and the letter had been read, all the crown prince’s ministers said:

“This is an envoy of a treacherous favorite who is sowing disorder; he does not come from the great king!”

The crown prince said:

“The great king previously gave me this instruction in person, and now the seal made from his tooth has arrived as proof. If I cherish my own life and disobey my father’s command, that would be the greatest rebellion.”

He then feasted and made merry with his ministers for three days, traveled throughout the kingdom, provided for the poor, assisted those in need, took the Buddha’s example as his standard, and instructed all the people with loving-kindness. He then sought someone capable of gouging out his eyes. A child who sold grass helped the crown prince remove his eyes and hand them over to the envoy. The envoy placed both eyes in a box and hurriedly carried them back to the kingdom. The chief minister gave the eyes to the king’s favorite concubine. She hung them before her bed and reviled them:

“You would not comply with my wishes, so your eyes were gouged out. How do you like that?”

The great king dreamed that poisonous bees stung the crown prince in the eyes. Upon awakening, he choked with emotion and said:

“Surely something strange has happened to my son!”

The king’s favorite concubine said:

“Because the king is always thinking of his son, you merely dreamed of him. Surely nothing unusual has happened!”

The crown prince earned his livelihood by playing the lute and singing, gradually passing through many kingdoms. At last he reached the kingdom of his royal father’s consort’s father—the consort being one of the crown prince’s father’s palace ladies. The king of that land possessed a marvelous lute, so he summoned the crown prince to play it for him. At first, the music praised the merits and virtues of the former kings; afterward, its mournful notes related the fate of an orphan without father or mother. That royal consort understood the meaning of the music and said, choking with emotion:

“Alas! Has the crown prince, son of my royal husband, been reduced to such destitution?”

The king asked:

“What are you saying?”

The consort recounted the crown prince’s entire story, then spoke words of farewell to her parents:

—This was done at the command of that wicked concubine. A woman who has belonged to two families cannot be considered chaste and steadfast. I ask leave to follow that supremely filial noble man.

Her parents were both grieved and sorrowful. The consort brought the prince back to his former kingdom. When the king heard the wondrous music of his lute, he summoned him to perform for his enjoyment. Seeing the prince’s haggard appearance, he recognized him only by his voice. The king asked:

—Are you Dharma-Gift, my son?

The prince bowed his head to the ground and choked with emotion. The king, the queen, the palace attendants, and everyone throughout the kingdom, high and low, were filled with compassion. The consort related the entire affair from beginning to end. The king lamented:

—Alas! That inhumane woman! She is no different from poison mixed into fine rice! The Buddha taught that one should keep far away from such people—was this not indeed perfectly true?

The king then had the prime minister and the beloved concubine arrested. They were beaten with thorny whips, molten tree resin was poured into their wounds, and they were scorched with fire until their flesh split open. Afterward, a pit was dug and they were buried alive.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

—In a former life, the prince was once a seller of white gems.

At that time, the concubine was the daughter of a wealthy family, traveling along the road in a carriage, while the prime minister was then her charioteer. He called to the young gem seller:

—Bring your gems over here!

They took the gems and praised them but did not buy them. Instead, they exchanged lustful glances and spoke teasing words. The youth became angry and said:

—If you do not return my gems and continue looking at each other so lewdly, I will gouge out your eyes!

The young woman and the charioteer both said:

—Shall we beat you with thorny whips, pour hot tree resin into your wounds until your flesh splits open, and then bury you alive?

Alas, once good or evil has been done, misfortune or blessing follows as a shadow follows the body. When evil ripens, guilt is immediately fulfilled, just as an echo responds to a sound. To commit evil and wish to escape calamity is no different from sowing seeds and wishing that they would not sprout.

The bodhisattva kept the Buddha’s pure precepts; he would rather have his eyes gouged out and die than commit sexual misconduct in order to live.

Prince Dharma-Gift at that time was I myself. The prime minister was Devadatta, and the king’s beloved concubine was Devadatta’s wife.

The bodhisattva steadfastly cultivated the practice of the perfection of morality in this way.

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31—Long ago, there was a bodhisattva who had two brothers. During a time of drought, people ate one another’s flesh. The three brothers went together in search of food to sustain their wretched lives. As they crossed perilous mountains, there were days when they had nothing to eat. The two elder brothers said:

—Should we use the flesh of our wives to save our lives?

The eldest brother first killed his own wife and divided her flesh into five portions. The youngest brother, moved by benevolence and compassion, did not eat. Then the middle brother did the same, and the youngest brother choked with even greater grief. When the two elder brothers wished to kill the youngest brother’s wife, he said:

—Killing another to preserve one’s own life is not the Buddha’s path of benevolence. I cannot do it!

The youngest brother then took his wife into the mountains, where they gathered fruit to sustain themselves and lived for many years. In those mountains there was a lame man. The wife had an illicit affair with him and plotted to kill her husband. Pretending sincerity, she said:

—I ought to have worked to support you, yet until now I have left everything to you. Tomorrow, please allow me to accompany and assist you, so that I may share your hardship.

Her husband said:

—The mountains are extremely dangerous. You will not be able to go!

The husband refused her three times, but she persisted, so at last he allowed her to accompany him. When the wife saw a high mountain and a deep ravine, she pushed her husband into it. Fortunately, a deity dwelt beside the water below and caught him, so the husband remained unharmed.

Having accomplished her scheme, the wife returned delightedly and lived together with the lame man. The husband followed the current downstream and encountered a merchant who took pity on him and brought him to a prosperous kingdom. At that time, the king of that country had died and left no crown prince to succeed him.

The ministers were yielding precedence to one another and did not know whom to enthrone. They ordered a brahmin diviner to examine travelers and determine whether anyone bore the marks suitable for kingship. As soon as the brahmin saw the bodhisattva, he said:

—Excellent! Here is a virtuous king, one who will truly shelter the myriad people beneath heaven’s benevolent heart.

The ministers, officials, and people wiped away their tears and praised the choice. Everyone came to offer congratulations and wishes for long life. They welcomed him, escorted him into the palace, and entrusted the throne to him.

From then on, the bodhisattva nurtured the myriad people through the four immeasurable states of mind. All heretical and deceitful arts were abolished. He conferred the five precepts, proclaimed the ten wholesome deeds, and urged everyone in the kingdom to observe the precepts.

Thus, the Lord of Heaven protected the country, demons and malevolent spirits withdrew far away, pestilential vapors vanished, and there were abundant harvests of grain and fruit. He transformed neighboring kingdoms through the righteous path; enemies became friends, and people led and carried one another as they gathered in that country. The former wife, bringing along the lame man she called her husband, also came to the kingdom to beg for food.

She recounted that she had formerly taken her husband away to escape a natural calamity and had now returned to seek refuge in the king’s benevolence. Everyone in the kingdom marveled and said:

—The virtue of this good wife truly deserves to be recorded in a book.

The king’s consort said:

—She should be richly rewarded.

When the king saw her, he recognized her at once and asked:

—Do you know who the Son of Heaven is?

The woman lowered her head in terror. The king then related the entire story of that woman, from beginning to end, to everyone in the palace. The chief minister reported:

—This person deserves death.

The king said:

—The Buddhas regard benevolence as the most precious treasure in the three realms. I would rather lose my life than abandon the path of benevolence.

The consort ordered that the pair be expelled from the kingdom and that every trace of their footprints be swept away.

The Buddha told the Venerable Shariputra:

—The king at that time was I myself; the lame man was Devadatta, and the woman was Hao Shou.

The bodhisattva steadfastly cultivated the practice of the perfection of morality in this way.

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32—Long ago, when the bodhisattva was an ordinary person, he studied the Buddhist scriptures extensively and thoroughly understood offenses and merits. He was also versed in the healing arts and even comprehended all the cries and songs of birds and beasts. Seeing that the world was defiled and disordered, he lived in seclusion and did not enter official service. He honored and upheld the Buddha’s precepts and believed only in what was true and righteous. Living in poverty and hardship, he hired himself out to carry goods for a merchant. One day, they stopped beside a river to eat and drink. A flock of crows cried loudly, causing the merchant to become frightened and break out in gooseflesh, while the bodhisattva smiled. After they had eaten and drunk, they continued on their way.

When they returned to their own country, the employer looked closely at the hired porter and immediately asked:

—When the crows cried, you smiled. What did it mean?

He replied:

—The crows were saying, “The master possesses a precious white gem of immense value. Strangle him and take that gem, and we shall eat his flesh.” That is why I smiled.

The employer said:

—Why did you not kill me?

He replied:

—Those who have not seen the Buddha’s scriptures commit evil enough to fill the heavens yet believe that no calamity will befall them; they merely deceive themselves. I study the unsurpassed, right, and true scriptures and contemplate the bodhisattva’s pure practice of benevolence and compassion. Therefore, toward all creatures that crawl, fly, wriggle, or walk, I cherish loving-kindness and do not kill them; even grass and vegetables, if they are not mine, I do not take.

In general, one who delights in killing is devoid of benevolence, and one who delights in taking what is unrighteous is impure. Because in a former life I greedily took too much, I now suffer misfortune, living in poverty and lowliness and having to hire myself out to travelers.... How could I transgress again and sow the causes of immeasurable offenses?

That would be unworthy of a disciple of the Buddha. I would rather uphold the Way and die in poverty and lowliness than act against the Way and live in wealth and honor.

The master said:

—Excellent! Only the Buddha’s teaching is true and right.

Resolutely cultivating the practice of transcendent perfection, the bodhisattva practiced moral discipline in this way.

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33—Long ago, the bodhisattva lived in poverty and hired himself out to merchants, accompanying them to sea in search of profit. One day, their ship came to a halt and would go no farther. All the merchants, great and small, became frightened and prayed to the deities above and below for aid. This hired laborer alone took refuge in the Three Jewels, observed the precepts without transgression, repented, and reproached himself for his faults. Three times each day and night, with a mind of loving-kindness, he made this vow:

—May all beings throughout the ten directions be free from fear such as this. When I attain Buddhahood in the future, I shall deliver all those beings.

Even after seven days, the ship still could not move. The sea deity appeared in a dream and deceived the leader of the merchants, saying:

—Cast off this poor man, and I shall allow your ship to sail.

After receiving this message in his dream, the leader felt sorrow and compassion for the hired laborer, so the merchants discussed the matter secretly among themselves. The poor man understood everything and said:

—Do not let everyone’s lives be destroyed for the sake of my one body!

The leader made a raft, supplied the man with provisions, lowered the raft, and pushed it far away. Afterward, a great fish overturned the ship and swallowed all the merchants. The poor man, however, was driven by the wind to shore and returned to his own country, where his relatives rejoiced. Because he had gained merit by taking refuge in the Three Jewels, observing the five precepts and the ten wholesome deeds, fasting, repenting, and always extending a compassionate heart toward sentient beings, the poor man received blessings.

That poor man was I.

Resolutely cultivating the practice of transcendent perfection, the bodhisattva practiced moral discipline in this way.

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34—Long ago, the bodhisattva observed the precepts and lived in seclusion, taking no delight in the path of glory and splendor. He took shelter in the household of a wealthy man and served as keeper of the man’s cemetery. Whenever anyone came to conduct a burial, he would immediately exert himself to help. Moved by this, the chief mourner would present him with valuables. Whether he received little or much, he handed everything over to his master. The wealthy man said:

—You obtained these valuables through your own efforts. Why do you give them to me?

The ascetic replied:

—I guard this land for you. People come to bury their dead upon your land; according to the great principle of righteousness, these valuables belong to you.

The wealthy man praised him, saying:

—Excellent! Could even the worthies of ancient times have surpassed you?

He then selected from among his maidservants a virtuous, gentle, and beautiful young woman, gave her to him as his wife, and bestowed part of his estate upon them so that the husband and wife might support themselves. The ascetic said:

—As this practice advances, its virtue rises ever higher!

The poor ascetic at that time was I, and the wife was Gopī.

Resolutely cultivating the practice of transcendent perfection, the bodhisattva practiced moral discipline in this way.

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35—Long ago, the bodhisattva, then an ordinary person, entrusted his life to the Three Jewels, observed the precepts without deficiency, and traded together with his maternal uncle to support himself. They came to a foreign country, where the uncle crossed the river first and temporarily lodged at the home of a widowed mother. There was a young girl in the house who said to her mother:

—Behind the house is a washing basin. We can trade it to the merchant for white pearls.

The mother followed her daughter’s suggestion and brought the basin out. The merchant scraped it with a knife to test it and discovered that it was indeed precious, but he pretended to cast it to the ground and said:

—This thing soils my hands!

He then left and went on his way. The mother and daughter felt ashamed. When the nephew arrived later, the daughter once again brought out the basin to sell in exchange for pearls. The mother said:

—What happened just now was shameful enough to serve as a warning today.

The daughter said:

—I see that this young student bears the marks of a benevolent person. He is not like that earlier greedy and cruel man.

The mother and daughter then brought out the basin for sale once more. After examining it, the young student said, “This is indeed pure gold. May I exchange all my wealth for it?”

The mother said:

—You may!

The nephew then said:

—Please let me keep two gold coins to pay for crossing the ferry.

The uncle returned and said to the mother:

—I shall now give you a few pearls. Bring out that basin for me.

The mother replied:

—A kindhearted young student has just exchanged all his precious pearls for my golden basin. He even felt indebted because he had obtained it too cheaply and said, “Do not go anywhere yet; I shall give you more.”

The uncle went to the riverbank, stamped his feet upon the ground, and cried:

—Give my treasure back to me!

Because of his violent temper, he beat his own chest until he vomited blood and died. When the nephew returned with more gold, he found that his uncle had already died. Choking with grief, he lamented:

—Can greed cause one to lose one’s very life?

Because the bodhisattva upheld trustworthiness, he obtained the treasure, while the deceitful and greedy Devadatta lost his life. That nephew was I, and the uncle was Devadatta.

Resolutely cultivating the practice of transcendent perfection, the bodhisattva practiced moral discipline in this way.

– *

*

36—Long ago, in one of the bodhisattva’s countless lives, two brothers devoted themselves to trade for profit in order to support their parents. They journeyed to another country, where the elder brother told the younger to present jewels to that country’s king. Seeing that the younger brother was handsome in form, the king was delighted and pleased with him and promised him the princess in marriage.

After obtaining a great many jewels, the younger brother returned and told his elder brother what had happened. The elder brother went to see the king. Seeing that the elder brother possessed a stately countenance, spoke in accord with the sacred scriptures, and had a refined bearing difficult for anyone to equal, the king was even more delighted.

He changed his mind and promised the princess in marriage to the elder brother instead. The elder brother thought, “A husband’s elder brother is like a father, and his younger brother’s wife is like a daughter! This maiden and I are related as father and daughter; how could we possibly become husband and wife?

Although the king of this country occupies the station of a sovereign among men, he conducts himself like a beast.”

He then led his younger brother away. The princess ascended a high tower, watched them depart, and said:

—I shall become a venomous demon and devour this elder brother’s liver; only then shall I be satisfied.

As they continued to revolve through birth and death, in one lifetime the elder brother became a monkey, while the princess and the younger brother became a pair of softshell turtles, wife and husband. One day, the female turtle fell ill and craved a monkey’s liver. The male went in search of one. Seeing the monkey come down to drink water, he said:

—Have you ever heard music?

The monkey replied:

—No!

The turtle said:

—My home has fine instrumental music. Would you like to hear it?

The monkey replied:

—Indeed, I would.

The turtle said:

—Climb onto my back, and I shall take you home to hear it.

The monkey climbed onto the turtle’s back. When they had gone halfway across the stream, the turtle said:

—My wife craves your liver; how could there be music beneath the water?

The monkey felt somewhat ashamed and thought, “The precepts are the constant Way by which goodness is preserved, while expedient adaptation is the great means by which peril is escaped.” He then said:

—Ah! Why did you not tell me sooner? I left my liver hanging upon that tree.

Believing him, the turtle turned back toward the tree. The monkey leaped ashore and said:

—You wretched turtle! How could a liver that is inside the belly be taken out and hung upon a tree?

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

—The elder brother was I myself. He always maintained a pure and chaste heart and never committed sexual misconduct. Yet, because the residual calamity of karma from a former life remained, he had to fall into the body of an ape. The younger brother and the king’s daughter both took birth as turtles. The male turtle was Devadatta, and the female was Devadatta’s wife.

The bodhisattva steadfastly cultivated the practice of transcendent perfection, observing the precepts in this way.

– *

*

37- Long ago, there was a bodhisattva who sailed across the sea in search of precious jewels to aid the poor and suffering. On the seashore stood a fortified city complete with gardens. Beautiful women came onto the shore to welcome them, saying:

—This land is rich and beautiful, and you may have as many precious jewels as you desire. Please take the trouble to enter the city and see whether there are inhabitants there.

The merchants believed the beguiling words of the demons and remained there to live with them for five years. The bodhisattva began to long for his homeland and parents. Leaving the city, he climbed a mountain and gazed far into the four directions. He saw an iron city, within which sat a man wearing a celestial crown, solemn and majestic. The man called to the bodhisattva and said:

—Are you all mad? You have taken demons as your wives and abandoned the profound affection of your parents and relatives. Moreover, you will be devoured by the demons. Are you not gravely deluded? Refrain from sleeping and observe them, and you will immediately know the truth. A divine horse will soon fly here to rescue everyone. You should rely upon it to return to your homeland, and your lives will be safe. If you remain attached to those enchanting wives, you will die in that city, where poisons abound everywhere. Even if you regret it then, you cannot be saved.

The bodhisattva obeyed. Pretending to sleep, he watched and saw that everything was indeed as the man had said, and he became greatly afraid. The next morning, he secretly discussed the matter with the others. They all agreed and covertly kept watch. They saw their wives transform into jackals, fighting among themselves to eat human flesh. Every one of them turned pale and said:

—We are surely going to die!

Then, filled with fear, they made preparations, knowing that if they delayed through negligence, they would die. The king of horses arrived in time and said:

—Whoever is willing to leave this place and longs for his loved ones, come here quickly, and I will help you.

The merchants rejoiced greatly and said:

—This must surely be a celestial being!

The entire group hurried to seek refuge with him. Their wives immediately carried their children and followed their tracks, weeping and lamenting, “What an injustice, O lofty Heaven! After being their wives for so many years, we are now accused of being demons!”

Their plaintive cries moved the heart, and word reached the royal palace. They likewise submitted this plea:

—We are now truly distraught and do not know upon whom we may rely. We beseech Your Majesty to have compassion for our plight.

The king summoned the bodhisattva and questioned him closely about the cause. The bodhisattva reported in full everything he had seen, from beginning to end. Seeing the woman’s beauty, the king hastily sent her husband away and brought her into the inner palace to engage in sexual misconduct. From that time onward, the affairs of state fell into disorder. The demon transformed into a jackal and went out by day to devour people, causing immense harm, yet the king knew nothing of it.

Afterward, they all died and continued revolving through birth and death. Because the bodhisattva had accumulated abundant merit, he attained Buddhahood. The spirit of the fox demon was born through transformation as the daughter of a brahmin, and her beauty was incomparable. At that time, the Buddha was traveling through that region, begging for alms and teaching beings. After eating, he left the city and sat beneath a tree. The brahmin saw that the Buddha possessed magnificent marks, a radiant golden complexion, and a halo around his head, like the moon among the stars. Seeing the Buddha thus, he was overjoyed beyond measure. He returned and said to his wife:

—If our daughter obtains that man as her husband, he will be a hero among men.

He hurriedly took fine garments of every kind, the most beautiful in the world, and dressed his daughter in them. Then the brahmin and his entire family escorted the daughter to offer her to the Buddha. On the way, his wife saw a footprint and said:

—That holy being is free from desire. How could sexual misconduct disturb his resolve?

The father said:

—Our daughter is the foremost beauty in the kingdom. How could one of such lofty virtue fail to take notice of her?

His wife then recited a verse expressing her meaning:

The lustful drag their feet as they walk;

Those of much anger tread with diminished composure;

The foolish strike the earth with their feet;

Gods and humans revere the one who left this footprint.

Unaware of his own shame, the father still said:

—How shallow your wisdom is! Strive to carry this through.

He then brought his daughter forward and offered her.

The Blessed One said:

—Mara of the sixth heaven once offered me his three daughters, and they all turned into old hags. Why do you now bring this sack of excrement to me?

The brahmin was abashed, and his wife was even more ashamed. At that moment, a bhikshu came forward, bowed his head, and said:

—Please give her to me.

The Blessed One taught him:

—Formerly, you were a king, and this girl was a demon. She deceived you with her beauty and devoured all your subjects. Have you still not had enough of her?

Ashamed, the bhikshu withdrew and devoted himself to meditation. He attained concentration and realized the fruit of Srotaapanna.

The Buddha told the Venerable Sariputra:

—From the time the bodhisattva heard the teaching of the man in the iron city, he returned home and took refuge in the Three Jewels, vowing to himself: “Even if it should bring death, I will never transgress the pure and weighty precepts of the Tathagata, the Worthy One, the Perfectly and Fully Awakened One.” The bodhisattva-mahasattva then devoted himself ever more extensively to preserving the virtue of the precepts and consequently attained the Buddha’s path. The elder of that time was I myself. The king of that time was the bhikshu who attained the fruit of Srotaapanna. The demon was the brahmin’s daughter, and the man in the iron city was Sariputra.

The bodhisattva steadfastly cultivated the practice of transcendent perfection, observing the precepts in this way.

– *

*

38- Sutra of Crown Prince Mup'o.

Thus have I heard:

At one time, the Buddha was staying in Prince Jeta’s Grove, Anathapindika’s Park, in the kingdom of Sravasti. At that time, the Buddha told the sramanas:

—Long ago, there was a kingdom named Varanasi. Its king had a crown prince named Mup'o. From birth, the prince was extraordinarily intelligent. His wisdom thoroughly comprehended matters of the past, present, and future without the slightest obstruction, and his physical marks shone brightly like the moon among the stars. Because he was the king’s only son, there was no one in the entire kingdom who did not cherish him. Yet, although he had reached the age of thirteen, he still kept his mouth closed and did not speak, as though mute. The king and queen were deeply distressed and summoned the brahmins to ask the reason. They replied:

—This is an inauspicious sign. Though handsome and upright, what benefit is he to Your Majesty if he cannot speak? Is it not because of the crown prince that the inner palace has no heir? According to the prescribed method, he should be buried alive; then a noble son will surely be born to continue the royal line.

Grief-stricken, the king went to deliberate with the queen. The queen and all the palace attendants were filled with compassion and lamented:

—How scant is the crown prince’s merit that he should encounter this calamity!

Those who grieved for him thronged the roads and blocked the passageways as though there were a great funeral. The queen dressed the crown prince in a complete array of precious garments and then handed him over to the gravediggers. The gravediggers stripped him of all his fine clothing and began digging the grave together. Mup'o thought, “The king and the people of the kingdom all truly believe that I am mute.” He quietly retrieved his garments, went down to the river, and bathed himself clean. He anointed his body with fragrant substances, put on the complete array of precious garments, approached the grave, and called out:

—What are you doing there?

The gravediggers replied:

—The crown prince is mute and deaf, leaving the kingdom without an heir. The king has ordered that he be buried alive in the hope that a worthy son will be born to succeed to the throne.

The crown prince said:

—I am Mup'o.

The gravediggers looked at the carriage and suddenly saw that it was empty. Examining his appearance carefully, they saw light radiating brilliantly across the grasslands, near and far, like the light of the sun. The immense power of his sacred spirit shook all the deities. Every gravedigger, high and low, was terrified. They stared wide-eyed at one another, their faces ashen, while his words formed an eloquent discourse, and all were struck with awe. Raising their faces toward heaven, they said:

—Can the crown prince’s spiritual virtue truly be so great!

They immediately bowed their heads and said:

—Please allow us to return at once and report this to the king, so that everyone may cease lamenting.

The crown prince said:

“Hurry back and report to the king that I am able to speak!”

They immediately returned and reported this to the king. The king, the queen, and the people all marveled at this event. Their hearts rejoiced and they offered praise; there was no one who was not delighted. Chariots sped forth, people hurried along, and the multitude of travelers and vehicles blocked the entire road. Mộ Phách said:

“Would it not be good to become a śramaṇa and cultivate the practice of tranquil emptiness?”

No sooner had he formed this thought than Śakra, Lord of the Devas, transformed the place into gardens, ponds, and trees such as had never before been seen, and also removed his precious garments and transformed them into a kāṣāya robe.

When the king arrived, the prince cast his five limbs to the ground and reverently paid homage. The king then sat down. When he heard his son speak and beheld his majestic bearing, heaven and earth trembled. Rejoicing, the king proclaimed:

“I have a son who is so revered and loved by the entire kingdom. He shall inherit the celestial throne and become the father and mother of the myriad people.”

The prince replied:

“I beseech Your Majesty to compassionately hear these humble words. Formerly, I was once king of this country, named Tu Niệm. I governed the country and brought peace to the people for twenty-five years.

I personally upheld the ten courses of wholesome conduct, nurtured the people with loving-kindness and compassion, and entirely discarded whips, rods, and all manner of weapons, never putting them to use. The prisons held no inmates, no lamentations were heard along the roads, and generosity was practiced everywhere, benefiting every place. Yet merely because, on one occasion when I went on an excursion, my retinue of guards was very large and the officials clearing the way drove the people off so urgently that the common folk were terrified, after death I fell into the hell of Mount Tai.

There I endured the sufferings of burning, boiling, cutting, and tearing for sixty thousand years. I wished to die but could not, and though I cried out, no one came to my aid. At such a time, though within the kingdom I had relatives both near and distant, and beyond them countless subjects and immeasurable wealth and pleasures, who knew that I had fallen into the hell of Mount Tai and was enduring such agony from burning and boiling, suffering pain beyond measure?

Of the splendor and glory of life, my wife and children, and my subjects, who could take away even a portion of this suffering for me? I alone had to endure all those cruel torments. Whenever I recall this, my heart aches, my bones seem to dissolve, sweat covers my body, and my flesh turns cold and breaks out in gooseflesh.

Once words are uttered, calamity arrives; disaster pursues one as a shadow follows its form. Although I wished to speak, I feared thereby incurring guilt.

“How could I ever wish to undergo the suffering of the hell of Mount Tai again? For this reason my tongue withdrew and I would not speak. Yet when I was only thirteen years old, a demonic spiritual teacher caused my royal father to have me buried alive. Fearing that Your Majesty would incur guilt and have to enter the hell of Mount Tai compelled me to utter a single sentence. I now wish to become a śramaṇa, observe the practice of freedom from desire, and, having seen fully all the gateways to calamity, no longer wish to be king. Father, I beg you not to find this strange.”

The king said:

“When you were king, your conduct was lofty and your virtue profound. You taught the people by means of the Way, and even a fault as slight as a strand of hair was remembered by no one; yet you still had to undergo such terrible punishment! As for me, who now rule humankind, whose mind follows its desires and who does not serve the true Dharma—what will become of me after death?”

He then permitted the prince to study the Way. The king returned to govern the country, employing what was right and abandoning what was wrong, and the nation became prosperous, peaceful, and joyful. Mộ Phách then trained his own mind, severed desire, and resolutely advanced upon the true Way. He attained the fruit and became a Buddha, widely expounded the sūtras and Dharma, saved sentient beings, and led them to liberation.

The Buddha told the bhikṣus:

“Mộ Phách at that time was I myself. His royal father is now King Śuddhodana, and his mother at that time is now Xá Diệu, my mother. Alas!

Sensual beauty and deviant desire are a furnace that burns the body, while purity and simplicity are a home free from calamity. If people wish to escape misfortune and remain without transgression, they must not forget the Buddha’s teachings. Although practicing the Way is difficult, it is still better than living within the three evil destinies.

By becoming human, one can be far removed from destitution and misery and avoid the eight difficulties. If one is resolved to study the Way, one must follow the Buddha’s practice. Those who wish to attain the state of a pratyekabuddha, an arhat, and liberation must follow this practice exactly; only then can they attain it.”

When the Buddha had finished expounding the sūtra, all the śramaṇas rejoiced and bowed their heads in homage.

– *

*

39—The Sūtra of Di-lan

Thus have I heard:

At one time, the Buddha was staying in Prince Jeta’s Grove, in Anāthapiṇḍada’s Park, in the kingdom of Śrāvastī. At that time, the śramaṇas, dwelling in secluded places, reflected deeply and perceived that worldly people habitually follow deviant paths and delight in sensual pleasures from beginning to end, never growing weary of the five desires. What are the five desires? The eye delights in forms, the ear delights in sounds, the nose delights in fragrances, the mouth delights in flavors, and the body delights in softness and comfort. With regard to these five desires, even until death, is there anyone who becomes weary of them? After the midday meal, they all went to the Buddha, bowed their heads at his feet, withdrew to one side, and said:

“World-Honored One, we have reflected that foolish people in the world are infatuated with the five desires and, even at the time of death, never become weary of them.”

The Buddha said:

“It appears that even an entire lifetime is insufficient to satisfy those five desires.

“Long ago, there were five hundred merchants who entered the sea in search of profit. Among them was a wise man named Di-lan, who served as the ship’s captain. In the sea there was a divine fish named Ma-kiệt, which overturned and sank their ship, and the entire company perished. Di-lan escaped death by clinging to a plank, and the wind carried him to the shore of another land named Tỷ ma. He went ashore and wandered about, seeking a means of sustaining his life. He came upon a narrow path and followed it. From afar, he saw a city of silver, with luxuriant trees and a bathing pool within. On all four sides, sweet water flowed around it. Four beautiful women, lovely as celestial maidens, came to welcome him and said:

“‘Having crossed the great sea, you must be greatly exhausted. We congratulate you on reaching this peaceful refuge. Within this silver city today are various treasures—pure gold, white silver, crystal, vaiḍūrya, coral, amber, mother-of-pearl, and others—from which the palaces are fashioned. We four women offer ourselves to be at the command of this benevolent one. At night we shall attend you as you rest, and in the morning, when you rise, we shall follow your instructions. We beg you not to go elsewhere!’

“Di-lan entered the city and ascended the palace of the seven treasures. He delighted himself according to his wishes, and whatever he needed, he obtained.”

After living in that city for more than a thousand years, Di-lan thought, “These jewel maidens do not want me to leave; surely there must be some reason.” He therefore watched and waited until the four maidens were asleep, then hastily slipped away. From afar he saw a city of gold and immediately went toward it. Eight jewel maidens came out to welcome him, speaking the same words as before.

These eight jewel maidens were even more beautiful than the previous four. The jeweled palace within the city was called Tiết Mạt, and its treasures—moon-bright jewels, pearls, and the like—far surpassed those of the silver city. After living there for tens of thousands of years, he again suspected that these eight jewel maidens must have some reason for not allowing him to leave.

He therefore waited until they were asleep, then hurriedly stole away.

Again he saw a crystal city, from which sixteen jewel maidens came out to welcome him. With the same words as before, they invited him into the city and up into a palace of the seven treasures. The city, the palace, the treasures, and the jewel maidens were even more magnificent than those of the previous cities. He lived there for tens of millions of years, yet still felt unsatisfied. Once again, he waited until the jewel maidens were asleep and fled.

He then saw a radiant and brilliantly shining city of lapis lazuli. Thirty-two jewel maidens came out to receive him, kneeling in homage and inviting him with the same words as before. They requested that he enter the city and ascend the palace of the seven treasures called Uất-đan. Its treasures, music, delicious food, female beauty, and all else surpassed those of the previous palaces. He remained there for as many years as in the cities above, then again waited until the jewel maidens were asleep and secretly fled.

This time, he saw in the distance a city of iron, but no one came out to welcome him. Di-lan thought, “The silver city had four jewel maidens, the golden city had eight, the crystal city had sixteen, and the lapis lazuli city had thirty-two. All possessed peerless beauty and received me with reverence. Now no one at all has come to welcome me. Could something be amiss?” He walked all the way around the city, whereupon a demon came out and opened the gate. As soon as Di-lan entered the city, he saw a demon named Câu Dẩn, upon whose head a blazing wheel was revolving. The demon guarding the offender took the wheel from that demon’s head and set it upon Di-lan’s head. His brain ran out and his body burned. Weeping, Di-lan said:

“From four to eight, from eight to sixteen, and from sixteen to thirty-two jewel maidens attended me, and I lived in luxury in the Tiết Mạt Palace and the Uất-đan Palace! Because I did not know contentment, I have come to suffer this. How can I escape this calamity?”

The demon guarding the offender replied:

“You must bear the fiery wheel for as many years as you lived in the cities above; only then will you escape this calamity.”

From that time onward, the fiery wheel remained upon Di-lan’s head for six hundred million years before he was released from it.

The Buddha told the śramaṇas:

“Di-lan at that time was I myself. This happened because, in those days, I had not yet served the Three Jewels. Deluded and ignorant, I followed false paths. Once, after my mother had bathed, put on fresh clothing, and lain down to sleep, I stepped upon her head. Because of this, in the Mount Tai hell a fiery wheel was placed upon my head. Yet I had also once observed the Eight-Precept Fast on the eighth day of the fourth month, doing so with a joyful heart. Consequently, I was able to dwell in those jeweled cities, enjoying a lifespan of hundreds of millions upon hundreds of millions of years. All my wishes were fulfilled, and whatever I desired I obtained. Observe how worldly beings do not know contentment; they will cease only when they attain the fruit of the path!”

The Buddha told the śramaṇas:

“After Di-lan emerged from the Mount Tai hell, in his mind he restrained the three evils, with his mouth he put an end to the four knives, and with his body he examined the three faults. He was filial and obedient toward his parents and served the Three Jewels. He wore the precepts as his crown and donned the precepts as his robe.

He carried the precepts as provisions and took the flavor of the precepts as his food. Whether sitting, walking, eating, or breathing, he never forgot the Buddha’s discipline. Wherever he journeyed to teach and transform beings, he invariably succeeded through the virtue of the precepts, and he himself ultimately attained Buddhahood.

As for the conduct of ordinary people who are unfilial toward their parents and do not honor their teachers and patriarchs, I see that they will later bring grave offenses upon themselves, no different from the offense of Di-lan. Whenever evil is committed, calamity follows as a shadow follows the form. But when falsehood and deceit are utterly abandoned and truth and righteousness are honored, all calamities naturally disappear.”

When the Buddha had finished speaking this scripture, all the śramaṇas rejoiced and paid homage.

– *

*

40—The Scripture of the Sage-King Đảnh Sinh

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, the Venerable Ānanda, while at leisure, reflected deeply: “Among sentient beings from beginning to end, few grow weary of the five sensual desires.” After the midday meal, the Venerable went to the Buddha, bowed his head in homage, withdrew to one side, and said:

“World-Honored One, while sitting at leisure, I reflected carefully and saw that among sentient beings, few know contentment, while those who never grow weary of the five sensual desires are exceedingly numerous.”

The World-Honored One praised him:

“Excellent! Excellent! It is just as you have said. The reason is as follows.” The Buddha continued:

“Long ago, there was a king named Đảnh Sinh. In the East, West, South, and North, there was no one who did not submit to him. The king possessed seven treasures: the flying golden wheel, the white elephant, the purple horse, the moon-bright jewel, the jewel maiden as his wife, the able minister of state, and the skilled commander of armies.

Such seven treasures as the king possessed were truly rare in the world. The king also had one thousand sons, all upright and handsome, radiant, intelligent, and broadly wise. All under heaven acclaimed them as sages.

They possessed the strength to subdue everyone, like lions. The king himself was a sage and was also benevolent. Throughout the realm, all his divine subjects enjoyed peace and happiness, and his lifespan extended to hundreds of millions of years.

“The king often thought, ‘I possess the realm of Câu-da-ni, extending three hundred and twenty thousand leagues in breadth and length. Its population is abundant, the five grains flourish, every household is wealthy, and my country possesses everything rare in the world. Nevertheless, if I were to pray that the heavenly king rain down gold and silver coins for seven days and seven nights, would that not be splendid?’

“Heaven complied with the king’s wish, raining down those two kinds of treasure until every place was filled with them. The radiance of the heavenly treasures shone brilliantly throughout the kingdom. The king’s joy was immeasurable, and all under heaven likewise expressed thanks and rejoiced. Every day, the king and his ministers amused themselves to their hearts’ content. All the people praised the excellence of their condition, for they continually enjoyed boundless peace and happiness.

“After tens of millions of years had passed, the king again thought, ‘The western land I possess extends three hundred and twenty thousand leagues. It is fertile and flourishing, replete with the seven treasures. I have a thousand sons who bring glory to the entire kingdom, and Heaven has rained down precious coins for me—something never before seen in the world. Nevertheless, I have heard that in the South lies the realm of Jambudvīpa, whose vast territory extends two hundred and eighty thousand leagues in length. Its population is abundant, and whatever one seeks there, one obtains. If I were to acquire that land, would I not be exceedingly happy?’”

As soon as the king conceived this thought, the golden wheel turned toward the south, and the four divisions of the army and the seven treasures gently flew through the air, arriving together in that land. Neither the king nor any of the subjects of that country failed to submit. The king and people of that country rejoiced throughout the day.

The king remained there and taught the people. After as many years as before had passed, the king again thought: “I possess the land in the west, and now I also possess the land in the south. Among the treasures of devas and humans, whatever one seeks is obtained.

Now I hear that in the east lies the continent of Pūrvavideha, extending three hundred and sixty thousand miles. Its king and people have treasures, the five grains, and all manner of precious things; whatever they desire, they obtain. If I acquired that land, would that not be even more delightful?” As soon as he had spoken these words, the golden wheel turned toward the east, and the four divisions of the army all flew there.

Neither the king, ministers, nor people of that country failed to submit. The king again governed by the true Dharma and benevolently taught the people. After as many years as before, every household bore gratitude for the king’s virtue.

Then the king again thought: “I possess the lands of the western, southern, and eastern continents. Among all the treasures of devas and humans, there is nothing precious that I do not possess. Now I hear that in the north lies the continent of Uttarakuru.

If I became king of that continent, would that not be excellent?” The moment he uttered this aspiration, the golden wheel turned toward the north, and the four divisions of the army all flew as before. Just as they entered that continent, they saw in the distance that the ground was green like the plumage of a kingfisher. The king asked:

“Do you see the green ground?”

They replied:

“Yes, we see it.”

The king said:

“This is the land of Uttarakuru.”

They then saw that the ground was white, and the king asked whether they saw it. They replied:

“Yes, we see it.”

The king said:

“This ground has already become cooked rice. Eat it!”

They then saw jeweled trees upon which hung fine and beautiful garments, bracelets, rings, and wondrous strings of jewels. The king asked:

“Do you see them?”

They replied:

“Yes, we see them.”

The king told them:

“Take them and put them on!”

The king governed with benevolence and taught the people with forbearance, remaining there for as many years as before. Then he again conceived this thought: “I already possess three continents under heaven, and now I have also acquired the northern continent, four hundred thousand miles across. I now wish to ascend to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three and visit Śakra.” As soon as the king had this thought, the golden wheel turned upward, and the four divisions of the army and the seven treasures flew into the heavens and entered Śakra’s palace. When Śakra saw the king arrive, he joyfully came forth to welcome him and said:

“I have long heard of your great renown and wished to meet you. Now that you have flown up here, I am truly delighted!”

Śakra then took him by the hand, sat down with him, and offered the king a seat. Looking to his left and right, the king saw celestial palaces made of pure gold, white silver, crystal, beryl, mother-of-pearl, amber, pearls, and other treasures. His heart became still more elated, and he thought: “I possess four realms and countless riches and treasures, but the splendor and nobility here are beyond description. If the deva Śakra were to die and I were to occupy his position, would that not fulfill my desire?”

As soon as this evil thought arose, all his supernatural powers vanished. Śakra sent him back to his former palace, where he fell gravely ill. The regent reported:

“Your Celestial Majesty is gravely ill. If anything should happen to you, do you have any final instructions?”

The king said:

“If anyone asks why the king died, answer according to what you have witnessed. Through greed I became ill, and it has brought me to the loss of my life. Alas, greed is the blade that destroys life and the root of a kingdom’s ruin. Estrangement from the Three Jewels and descent into the three evil destinies all arise from it. Those who succeed me must take this as a warning. Regard the fires of greed and delusion as the root that burns one’s own body; therefore, be vigilant and do not be greedy. In general, the greater one’s nobility and splendor, the greater one’s calamities; the more treasure one possesses, the more numerous one’s enemies.”

After the king died, his successors committed those admonitions concerning greed to heart and relied upon them as a treasure transmitted through the generations. The people throughout the four continents under heaven honored his benevolent teaching, venerated the Three Jewels, and practiced the ten wholesome deeds, thereby gaining blessings as enduring as lofty towers.

The Blessed One said:

“It appears that few in this world can relinquish glory and nobility and cast aside the five sensual desires. Only those who have attained the fruits of stream-enterer, once-returner, non-returner, arhat, pratyekabuddha, or the unsurpassed, right, true, most perfect enlightenment—the Dharma that guides humans and devas—can utterly sever them. The reason the Flying Emperor obtained everything he wished, with nothing ever contrary to his intent, was that in former lives he had cultivated the practices of generosity, morality, patience, diligence, meditation, and wisdom. It did not happen by itself. That King Mūrdhaja was none other than I myself.”

When the Buddha had finished teaching the sutra, Venerable Ānanda rejoiced and bowed at the Buddha’s feet.

– *

*

41—The Sutra of King Universal Radiance.

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. The Buddha addressed the bhikshus:

“Long ago, there was a bodhisattva who was a great king named Universal Radiance. His loving-kindness bestowed beneficence far and wide, his praises were sung throughout the ten directions, and the people wished that the king might always enjoy peace and well-being, as dutiful children inquire after their parents.

“In a neighboring kingdom was a ruler who governed according to the law. His strength was like that of a lion, and he could overtake birds in flight. One day, the man responsible for providing the king’s meat lost the meat. Early in the morning, he hurried to the market to find some to buy. On the road he saw the corpse of a person who had just died, so he took its flesh home and prepared it as food. Its flavor was finer than the flesh of animals. The next day, the food he prepared was not as delicious as before. The king rebuked the chief steward, and the man responsible for the meat came forward, bowed his head, and confessed what had happened. The king’s heart secretly delighted, and he said:

“‘Human flesh is indeed delicious!’

“The king then secretly ordered the cook to use that flesh for his daily meals.

The Blessed One said:

“When people become deeply attached to flavors, their humanity grows meager; when their humanity grows meager, the hearts of wolves arise powerfully within them. Alas! Wolves crave the taste of flesh and kill living creatures; therefore, all under heaven bear them enmity.”

The cook obeyed the command and secretly went out to kill people in order to satisfy the king’s desire. The ministers and people became alarmed and submitted a memorial asking the king to track down the murderer. The king had no choice but to agree, yet he privately warned the cook:

“‘You must be careful!’

“One day, an official caught the murderer, who said:

“‘The king ordered me to do it.’

“The assembled ministers went to remonstrate with the king:

“‘We, your ministers, have heard that a sovereign’s virtue accords with the law of benevolence. When he is wise and discerning, he shines together with the sun and moon; when his profound generosity permeates all, his beneficence resembles heaven and earth; and when he embraces and sustains sentient beings, he is like empty space. Only then is he worthy to be king of all under heaven.

To abandon benevolence and follow brutality is to become a jackal or wolf. To forsake light and follow darkness is to join the blind. To abandon rescue and sink oneself is to become one who bores holes in a boat.

To forsake life-giving moisture and delight in aridity is to kill oneself in the fires of drought. To turn one’s back on an open expanse and head toward a suffocating place is the mind of a man of stone. Alas!

Those whose conduct is that of rapacious wolves—blind, drowning, burning, and stone-hearted—are not even worthy to oversee a band of cooks; how could they possibly be kings of all under heaven? Those who esteem virtue flourish; those who delight in cruelty perish. Of these two principles, good and evil, what does Your Majesty think?’

“The king said:

“‘Can a newborn infant be weaned from milk?’

“The ministers replied:

“‘It cannot.’

“The king said:

“‘So it is with me.’

“The ministers all said:

“‘Jackals and wolves are not worthy of nurture, and one without the Way is not worthy to be king.’

“The ministers and people, united in heart and speaking with one voice, expelled him. The king fled into the mountains, where he saw a tree spirit. Bowing his head, he said:

“‘If you enable me to return to my kingdom, I shall offer you one hundred kings.’”

Having made his vow, he immediately departed. He lay in wait for the kings to venture outside, then suddenly attacked and seized them, like a hawk swooping down upon swallows and sparrows. He captured ninety-nine kings. The tree spirit manifested in human form, with an extraordinarily handsome countenance, and called out to A Qun:

“You committed lawless deeds and therefore lost your noble royal throne. Now you are committing even greater atrocities. What more do you expect to gain?”

A Qun rushed forward, but the man suddenly vanished. Just then, King Puming was going out to observe the sufferings and joys of his people. On the road, he encountered a brahmin ascetic, who said:

“Great King, please return to the palace, for I have something I wish to tell you.”

The king replied:

“Yesterday I issued an order, and today it must be carried out. It is difficult to go back on one’s word. Venerable ascetic, please go to the palace and be seated; I shall return at once.”

The king then departed, but A Qun captured him and cast him down beside the tree. The king said:

“I do not fear losing my life; I regret only that my word of honor will be broken.”

A Qun asked:

“Why is that?”

The king then fully explained the vow he had made upon meeting the ascetic and asked to see him once more, so that he might receive the important precepts and offer him some treasure. He would then return to accept death without regret.

A Qun released the king so that he might return to see the ascetic. The king personally arranged a high seat and invited the ascetic to sit upon it. The ascetic then spoke these verses:

When the allotted kalpas are exhausted,

Fire consumes heaven and earth;

Mount Sumeru and the great oceans

All are reduced to ashes.

When devas and nagas exhaust their merit,

They return to dissolution and vanish.

Even heaven and earth must perish;

How could a kingdom endure forever?

Birth, aging, sickness, and death

Revolve without end.

When affairs fail and wishes are thwarted,

Such sorrow and anxiety bring harm.

Desire and form heap calamity upon calamity,

Being nothing but festering sores.

All three realms are suffering;

In what kingdom can one seek refuge?

Being originally arose from nonbeing,

And was formed through causes and conditions.

Whatever flourishes must surely decline;

Whatever is real must become unreal!

Foolish, deluded sentient beings

Are all bound to realms of illusion.

Echoes are entirely empty;

Lands and kingdoms are likewise so.

Consciousness is without form,

While its carriage is drawn by four serpents.

Without understanding, one cherishes and nurtures it,

Using it as a carriage of pleasure.

Form has impermanence as its master;

Consciousness has impermanence as its home.

The three realms are all illusions;

Where, then, is any kingdom?

After receiving these verses, the king offered the brahmin ascetic twelve thousand gold coins. The ascetic further instructed him:

“You should remain mindful of the four impermanences, and that calamity will surely be extinguished.”

The king replied:

“Yes, venerable sir. I would not dare disobey your wise instruction.”

The king then went to the appointed place beneath the tree. Seeing the king smiling as he approached, A Qun said:

“Your life is in imminent danger. How can you smile with joy?”

The king replied:

“Few in the three realms have heard the teaching of the Blessed One. Now that I have heard and remembered it, why should I still cling to my kingdom or my life?”

A Qun importuned him, saying:

“Please let me hear this precious teaching.”

The king then imparted the four verses to him. Both fearful and delighted, A Qun praised them, saying:

“How majestic is the Blessed One! He has clearly revealed the four impermanences. Alas! Because I had neither heard nor seen this teaching, I committed such reckless and wrongful deeds.”

He immediately released the hundred kings, and each returned to his own kingdom. A Qun repented of his wrongdoing and reformed himself. He made his dwelling beneath the tree and constantly remained mindful of the four verses, day after day.

When he approached death, his spirit was reborn as a crown prince. After marrying, he was unable to beget a son, and the king grew increasingly distressed. He therefore recruited maidens from throughout the kingdom and instructed him so that he might father a son.

Later, the crown prince became lustful and dissolute and did not follow the true path. Enraged, the king ordered the prince’s corpse to be exposed at a crossroads and commanded passersby to strike his head with their fingers to humiliate him. Only after exactly ninety-nine people had struck him did the crown prince die.

His spirit underwent transformations and wandered endlessly through the cycle of rebirth until he was born in the kingdom of Shravasti, where he encountered the Buddha living in the world. His father died while he was still young, and he lived alone with his mother, following the path of the brahmin ascetics. He was pure in character, true to his word, and as strong as an elephant.

His teacher loved him, his companions respected him, and people near and far praised him as virtuous.

Whenever his teacher went out to travel and teach, he always entrusted A Qun with the care of the household. One day, the teacher’s beloved wife took A Qun by the hand and tried to seduce him with lustful words. A Qun refused, saying:

“Among the elders of this world, every man is as my father and every woman as my mother; how much more so is my teacher someone whom I revere! If you told me to burn my own body and life away, I could obey, but I dare not consent to adultery.”

His teacher’s wife withdrew in shame and devised a scheme. When her husband returned, she said:

“You praise him as virtuous, which only proves that you know nothing about him.”

She then fabricated a full account of his supposed misconduct. The enchantress’s words sounded so truthful that the brahmin ascetic believed her. The brahmin ascetic said to A Qun:

“Do you wish to become an immortal?”

He replied:

“Yes, I do.”

His teacher said:

“If you kill one hundred people and cut off one finger from each of them, you will immediately become an immortal.”

Obeying his teacher, A Qun took up a sword and killed everyone he encountered. He collected ninety-nine fingers, and all the people fled. The entire kingdom was thrown into turmoil. When no one else remained, he saw his mother and joyfully exclaimed:

“With my mother, I shall have the full number and immediately become an immortal!”

Seeing this, the Buddha thought, “Deviant teachings delude people, and such persons are found everywhere.” He immediately transformed himself into a shramana and walked ahead of A Qun. A Qun said:

“Ah! With this man, I shall have the full number!”

He ran after him but could not catch up. He called out:

“Hey, shramana! Stop!”

The Buddha replied:

“I stopped long ago. You alone have not stopped.”

A Qun asked:

“What does ‘stopped’ mean?”

The Buddha replied:

“I have stopped all evil deeds, whereas all evil deeds blaze up within you.”

A Qun’s mind opened wide, suddenly as though the clouds had dispersed. He prostrated himself with all five limbs upon the ground, bowed his head in repentance, joined his palms, and asked to follow the Buddha.

The Buddha brought him back to the monastery and ordained him as a shramana. He then taught him about his practices in former lives and clearly revealed the four impermanences. A Qun attained the fruit of Câu Cảng, then withdrew to sit beneath a tree with his eyes closed and palms joined. He cultivated himself to eliminate the remaining defilements of the destinies and advanced to attain the fruit of the Unattached One, arhatship.

Meanwhile, the king assembled military strategists and tens of thousands of soldiers and ordered them to seek and capture the murderous demon-bandit, not knowing where he had gone. As they passed by the Buddha’s dwelling, the Buddha saw the king and asked:

“From where have you come, Great King, that your body is covered in dust?”

The king replied:

“There is a demon-bandit in my kingdom who has taken far too many lives. I am now going to seek and capture him.”

The Blessed One asked:

“If one of your subjects formerly cultivated virtue but later regressed and embraced a deviant path, how would the laws of your kingdom deal with him?”

The king replied:

“If one who was formerly noble later became base, he would be governed according to the proper law.”

The Buddha continued:

“And if one formerly possessed the heart of a beast but later cast it aside and embraced the virtue of a sage, what would the proper law require?”

The king replied:

“If one who was formerly base later became noble, the proper law would reward him.”

The Buddha said:

“The demon-bandit whom you seek has now abandoned falsehood and embraced the truth. He is presently a shramana.”

The king exclaimed in praise:

“Excellent! Has the Tathagata, the Unattached, the Right and True One, the Supremely Enlightened One, the Guide in Dharma, the Teacher of Devas and Humans, truly transformed him in such a sublime and wondrous way? Formerly he was a jackal and wolf; now he is a man who bears the benevolent heart of heaven and earth.”

The king bowed his head at the Tathagata’s feet and again praised him:

“This transformation is truly extraordinary. I pray that I may see this man once.”

The Blessed One said:

“You may.”

The king and the officials accompanying him proceeded to A Qun’s dwelling and said:

“Virtuous sage of lofty merit! Would you open your eyes once so that we may behold one another?”

Only after the king had spoken thus three times did A Qun reply:

“The brilliant rays from my eyes shine forth so powerfully that they are truly difficult to withstand!”

The king bowed his head and said:

“Tomorrow I shall prepare a modest feast and respectfully request that you attend.”

A Qun replied:

“If it is prepared in a latrine, I shall come; if it is prepared in the palace, I shall not.”

The king said:

—Yes, I shall obey.

Upon returning, the king ordered the privy demolished, the old earth dug out and removed, and fresh earth put in its place. Precious woods such as camphorwood and sandalwood were erected as beams and pillars, and fragrant water was sprinkled until it soaked the ground. Fragrances such as sandalwood, storax, and turmeric were blended together to make plaster for coating the walls, while woolen cloth, felt, and silk were used to fashion the seat.

Decorative patterns were carved, and various precious objects were added as adornments, making the place resplendent and magnificent, at times surpassing even the royal palace. At daybreak, the king personally carried an incense burner and went to welcome A Qun. A Qun entered and took his seat, while the king gathered up his robes, knelt, and attended upon him.

After accepting the offering, A Qun immediately expounded the scripture.

—Formerly, when this was a filthy privy, could food have been served here?

The king replied:

—No, it could not.

A Qun asked:

—Can it be served here now?

The king said:

—Yes, it can.

A Qun said:

—Before I encountered the Buddha, I believed in and worshiped demons and monsters. All that I thought in my mind, spoke with my mouth, and did with my body was perverse. The defilement of my wrong path made me even more foul-smelling than this privy.

Filth can still be washed clean, but the impurities of defilement are difficult to remove. Yet through merit from a former age, I was born in an era when a Buddha appeared. Bathed by His pure teaching and transformation, I cast off the stench and became suffused with fragrance.

Within and without, I became pure like a celestial pearl. Alas! Had I not encountered the Buddha and recognized the four impermanent things, my resolve would have been no different from that of a madman crazed by wine.

Had I not drawn near to the worthy and wise, but instead followed the ten evils, I would surely have belonged to the same pack as jackals and wolves.

The king said:

—Excellent! Wondrous indeed! Only the Buddha’s transforming teaching could turn the stench of a privy into the fragrance of sandalwood.

After expounding the scripture, A Qun passed through the marketplace and heard that a woman was suffering a breech birth and that her life hung upon a single breath. He immediately returned and reported the matter fully to the Buddha. The Buddha said:

—Go to the woman in labor and say this: “From the time of my birth until now, I have directed a mind of loving-kindness toward sentient beings, bringing aid and beneficent nourishment throughout heaven and earth. May both you and your child be safe and sound!”

Having received this instruction, he departed. When he arrived, he recited the Buddha’s words of beneficent virtue, and the woman safely delivered her child, with both mother and infant well. On his way back, he reflected that he had once committed the evil deed of killing people, yet had claimed to cherish all beings universally. He therefore bowed his head and questioned the Buddha further. The Buddha told A Qun:

—The day your ordinary mind opened and received the Dharma of the Path may be called the day you were newly born. Before encountering the Three Jewels and receiving the major precepts, you were like an infant still in the womb: though possessing eyes, what could you see? Though possessing ears, what could you hear? Therefore, it is said that you had not yet been born!

A Qun’s mind opened, and he immediately attained the fruit of arhatship.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

—King Puming at that time was none other than I myself. In a former life, I gave A Qun four verses, thereby saving the lives of one hundred kings all at once. Now I have enabled him to attain the Path and avoid suffering severe retribution.

In a former age, A Qun was once a bhikshu who carried one hu of rice into a monastery, fashioned a knife and presented it as an offering, joyfully praised the Blessed One, bowed his head, and departed. Because he carried the rice, he possessed great strength. Because he offered the knife, he acquired abundant treasure.

Because he rejoiced, he gained a handsome and dignified appearance. Because he praised the Blessed One, he became a king. Because he bowed his head in reverence to the Buddha, he was venerated by the people of his realm.

As for the ninety-nine people who struck his head until he died, this repaid the former enmity incurred when he had cut off their fingers. The last person who came intended to strike him again, but saw that he was already dead and then beheld a shramana, whereupon a mind of loving-kindness arose. That last person was A Qun’s present mother.

Because she initially harbored an evil intention, A Qun likewise first entertained an evil intention and meant to kill his mother. Yet because she developed loving-kindness upon seeing the shramana, A Qun became filial as soon as he saw the Buddha. If one sows pure seed, one reaps what is pure; if one sows mixed seed, one reaps what is mixed.

When good or evil is done, blessings or calamities come seeking the doer, just as a shadow follows a form and an echo answers a sound. Everything has its cause; nothing occurs of itself. The bhikshus vowed:

—May those who encounter the Buddha attain the Path according to their aspirations. Though their offerings to the Three Jewels be as slight as a strand of silk or a hair, when a shramana, with a mind of loving-kindness, invokes blessings for the donor and speaks according to that person’s words, even among ten thousand people not a single one will fail to receive the benefit.

In maintaining his resolve and cultivating the practice of the infinite perfection, the bodhisattva observed the precepts in this manner.