六度集經

Chapter III: THE PARAMITA OF PATIENCE

What is called the boundless perfection of patience?

The bodhisattva reflects deeply: “The consciousness of sentient beings is obscured by delusion; therefore, they are arrogant and conceited, always wishing to surpass others. They wish to seize exclusively for themselves all the good things associated with official rank, lands, and the six sense faculties. When they see others possess such things, foolish jealousy and greed arise in them. Inwardly, greed and jealousy blaze fiercely; outwardly, anger rages without cease. These things intoxicate people and drive them mad, causing them to remain forever in darkness, revolving through the five destinies—being burned and boiled in the prison of Mount Tai, and undergoing countless successive sufferings in the realms of hungry ghosts and animals.”

Seeing these things, the bodhisattva understands and sorrowfully laments:

“Because of this, sentient beings lose their kingdoms, ruin their families, harm their own lives, and destroy their clans. While alive, they undergo such calamities; after death, they suffer in the three evil destinies. They endure all this because they are unable to embrace patience and practice goodness.”

Having understood this, the bodhisattva then makes this vow:

“I would rather endure the pain of boiling water and scorching fire and the torment of being hacked to pieces than ever become angry or inflict poisonous harm upon sentient beings. To patiently endure what cannot be endured is the source of myriad blessings.”

From the time the bodhisattva clearly understood this, he cultivated loving-kindness and compassion lifetime after lifetime. If sentient beings followed him about, reviling and beating him, robbing him of his treasures, wife and children, or kingdom, endangering his body or taking his life, the bodhisattva would use the merit and virtue arising from the Buddhas’ power of patience to extinguish the poison of anger. He would always show them loving-kindness and compassion and seek them out in order to save and assist them. If those sentient beings escaped their offenses, the bodhisattva rejoiced.

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42—Long ago, there was a bodhisattva who saw that the world was defiled and turbid, that rulers and ministers lacked the Way, and that people had abandoned the true and followed the false. Because it was difficult to transform them through the Dharma of the Way, he concealed his wisdom and hid his radiance, dwelling in a cemetery to cultivate the practice of patience. There was a young buffalo in the cemetery, and the bodhisattva regularly used its dung and urine as food and drink to sustain his life. His appearance was dark and ugly, and everyone found him repulsive. When the people of the country saw him, they would say to one another:

“There is a demon in this place.”

No one who saw the bodhisattva failed to revile him, and they even threw clods of earth and stones at him. Yet the bodhisattva did not become angry in the slightest. Instead, with a mind of loving-kindness, he pitied them:

“How miserable! Because these people do not understand the Buddha’s sutras, they commit such evil deeds.”

He then vowed:

“When I attain the Way of the Tathagata, the Unattached, Perfect and True Enlightened One, I shall certainly liberate them all.”

Thus did the bodhisattva practice patience in the boundless perfection of patience.

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43—Long ago, there was a bodhisattva named Thiểm. He always cherished vast loving-kindness that extended to all sentient beings. Pitying the ignorant who did not perceive the Three Jewels, he took his parents to dwell in the wilderness among mountains and marshes.

His parents were advanced in years and both were blind, so Thiểm felt great compassion and sorrow for them, shedding tears whenever he spoke of their condition. Every night, he rose three times to care for and converse with them. The fragrant virtue of his utmost filial devotion pervaded heaven and earth.

The earth spirits, sea dragons, and people of the country all knew of it. He revered the Buddha and practiced the ten wholesome deeds. He did not kill sentient beings or pick up anything lost on the road.

He maintained chastity and did not take a wife, and all transgressions of the body were completely eliminated. Double-tongued speech, harsh words, falsehoods, frivolous speech, perverse praise and blame—all faults of the mouth were also entirely extinguished. The inner defilements of jealousy, anger, greed, and the tainted mind were all stilled and purified.

He believed that doing good brings blessings and doing evil brings calamity. He made a thatched hut of cogon grass and a mat of straw and leaves. Pure and free from desire, his resolve was like celestial gold.

In the mountains, a spring flowed; lotus flowers grew in its current, and delicious fruits abounded along its banks. Rising early, he went to gather fruit, never taking a portion for himself first. His benevolence reached far and wide, and birds and beasts drew near and relied upon him.

One day, Thiểm went to fetch water for his parents and happened to encounter the king of Kāśī, who had entered the mountains to hunt. The king drew his bow and loosed an arrow at the mountain deer, but mistakenly struck Thiểm in the chest. The arrow’s poison spread violently, causing indescribable pain. Thiểm looked from side to side and cried aloud:

“Who has slain three ascetics with a single arrow? My parents are old and both are blind. If they are without me for even one day, they will surely lose their lives.”

Again he lamented:

“An elephant dies because of its tusks, a rhinoceros because of its horn, and a kingfisher because of its plumage. But I have no tusks, no horn, and no brilliant feathers. For what, then, must I die?”

Hearing this anguished cry, the king immediately dismounted and asked:

“What are you doing here in these deep mountains?”

Thiểm replied:

“I brought my parents to dwell in these mountains so that we might abandon the defilements of worldly life and diligently cultivate and study the Great Way.”

Upon hearing Thiểm’s words, the king choked with emotion and shed tears. Feeling even greater grief and pity for him, he said:

“I am devoid of benevolence. I have cruelly taken the lives of animals, and now I have also killed a son of supreme filial devotion.”

Then he lamented aloud:

“How has it come to this?”

None among the ministers, high or low, could keep from choking with grief. The king then said:

“I would give my entire kingdom to save your life. Please tell me where your parents dwell, for I wish to go and beg their forgiveness.”

Thiểm said:

“Follow this narrow path. Not far from here, you will see a grass hut; my parents are inside. I beg Your Majesty to tell them on my behalf: ‘Here I bid you an everlasting farewell. During the years that remain to you, please take good care of yourselves and do not yearn for me.’”

After saying this, Thiểm’s anguish deepened, and in a moment he died. Once more, the king and his soldiers sobbed with grief. Following the path he had indicated, they came directly to the dwelling of Thiểm’s parents. Many people accompanied the king, and the grass and trees rustled as they passed. Thiểm’s parents suspected that strangers had arrived and called out:

“Who is walking there?”

The king replied:

“It is the king of Kāśī.”

Thiểm’s parents said:

“It is very good that Your Majesty has come here. Our dwelling has only a grass mat upon which you may rest in the shade, and there are sweet fruits for you to eat. Our son has gone to fetch water and will return shortly.”

Seeing Thiểm’s parents lovingly awaiting their son’s return, the king again choked with emotion. He addressed them, saying:

“Seeing you two ascetics lovingly awaiting your son’s return, my heart is filled with immeasurable pain. Your son Thiểm has been shot and killed by me.”

Thiểm’s parents cried out in alarm:

“For what offense did you kill our son? His nature was so benevolent that even when he stepped upon the ground, he feared causing it pain. What offense did he commit that Your Majesty should kill him?”

The king said:

“Your son was indeed a person of supreme filial devotion, a sage of the highest virtue. I was hunting deer and struck him by mistake.”

Thiểm’s parents said:

“Our son is dead! We do not know upon whom we can now depend; surely we too must die today. We beg Your Majesty to lead these two aged ones to our son’s body. We are determined to see him one last time, so that in death we may share his grave.”

Hearing these words, the king’s grief and compassion deepened further. He personally led Thiểm’s parents to the place where their son’s body lay. The father felt his son’s head and knees with his hands, while the mother embraced her son’s feet and audibly kissed them. Both felt the arrow wound with their hands, beat their breasts, struck their cheeks, raised their heads, and cried out:

“Spirits of heaven, spirits of earth, spirits of the trees, spirits of the waters—this is our son Thiểm! He revered the Buddha, had faith in the Dharma, honored the sages and noble ones, and was filial and obedient to both parents. His vast benevolence surpassed all others and extended even to the grasses and trees.”

Then they said again:

—If it is seen that my son has sincerely served the Buddha and that his utmost filial devotion has reached the highest heavens, then the arrow must be drawn out, the poison must be dispelled, and my son must return to life, thereby fulfilling this practice of supreme filial devotion. But if my conduct has not been such, and the words of his parents prove untrue, then may we die along with him and together become one with the dust and ashes!

When Sakra, the Four Great Heavenly Kings, the Earth Spirit, and the sea dragons heard the anguished words of Syama’s parents, they all believed them, and every one of them was moved. Sakra transformed himself, descended, and called to Syama’s parents, saying:

—This supremely filial son I can restore to life.

He then poured heavenly medicine into Syama’s mouth, and suddenly Syama returned to life. His parents and Syama, together with the king and all the ministers accompanying him, were overcome by mingled joy and sorrow, and all burst into tears. The king said:

—It is because of his virtuous service to the Buddha and his supreme filial devotion that this has come to pass.

The king then commanded his ministers that from that day onward they were to encourage the people to serve the Buddha, practice the ten wholesome deeds, and cultivate Syama’s practice of supreme filial devotion.

The entire country followed this teaching. Thereafter, the nation became prosperous, the people grew strong, and peace prevailed. The Buddha told the bhiksus:

—Life after life, I served the Buddhas and practiced supreme filial devotion. Because my virtue was lofty and my merit abundant, I attained the state of the God Above Gods and alone passed freely through the three realms. Syama at that time was I myself. The king was Ananda. Syama’s father was my present father, and his mother was my present mother, Lady Maya. Sakra was Maitreya.

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the paramita of patience and forbearance.

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44- Long ago, when the bodhisattva was a brahmacarin named Ksantivadin, he dwelt among mountains and marshlands. He practiced meditation beneath a tree and took wild fruits and spring water as his food and drink. The defilements of his mind were cleansed away.

Dwelling in solitude, his six faculties became perfectly clear, and he came to know all things. The fragrance of his wisdom spread throughout the eight directions, above and below. None among the Buddhas of the ten directions, pratyekabuddhas, arhats, and assemblies of sages failed to praise him.

Brahma, Sakra, the Four Heavenly Kings, the sea dragons, the Earth Spirits, and others reverently joined their palms and bowed before him morning and evening. They served him in accordance with the proper forms and protected that country. Winds and rains came in due season, the five grains yielded abundant harvests, poisons and harms were dispelled, calamities were entirely eliminated, and the king, his ministers, and the people prospered.

The king of that country, named Kali, entered the mountains to hunt. He pursued deer and other game, following their tracks. Passing before the bodhisattva, the king asked the ascetic:

—The animals’ tracks passed this way. In which direction did they go?

The bodhisattva remained silent and reflected: “Sentient beings are continually troubled on account of their bodily lives; they cherish life and fear death. How could my own heart be any different? If I point out the way to the king, that would be cruel, murderous, and inhumane, and my guilt would be the same as his. But if I say that I did not see them, I would be speaking falsely and deceiving him.” Feeling ashamed, he lowered his head and said nothing. The king immediately became angry and said:

—Wretched beggar, you deserve to die! I am the supreme sovereign of this country. When I question you, not only do you fail to answer, but you even pretend to lower your head?

In that country it was customary to snap one’s fingernail as a sign that one would not speak.

Saddened, the bodhisattva snapped his fingernail and said, “I do not know.” He then explained clearly to the king that he had not seen them.

The king said:

—The animals’ tracks passed this way, yet you say that you did not see them. Do you think that, with my great power as king, I cannot kill you?

The bodhisattva said:

—I submit to the king’s command.

The king asked:

—Who are you?

He replied:

—I am one who practices patience.

Enraged, the king drew his sword and cut off the bodhisattva’s right arm. The bodhisattva thought: “My resolve esteems the Dharma of the Path, and I do not contend with the world, yet this king still uses a blade to harm me. How much more must he harm the people! I vow that when I attain Buddhahood, I shall first liberate him, so that sentient beings will not imitate his evil conduct.”

The king again asked:

—Who are you?

He replied:

—I am one who practices patience.

The king then cut off the bodhisattva’s left arm. Each time he asked the question, he cut away another part of the bodhisattva’s body. The king severed his legs, cut off his nose, cut off his ears, and so forth. Blood flowed like a spring, and his agony was immeasurable. Heaven and earth shook because of this deed, and the sun immediately grew dark. The Four Great Heavenly Kings all arrived without delay and angrily cried out in unison:

—This king is cruel beyond measure; truly, none can equal him!

They then said to the ascetic:

—Do not trouble yourself. We shall kill this king, together with his wife and children, and shall also destroy the entire country to make his wickedness manifest.

The ascetic replied:

—What are you saying? This calamity has arisen because in a former life I did not follow the Buddha’s teaching and harmed him. Thus, when evil is done, misfortune follows as a shadow follows the body. I planted little in the past, yet now reap much. If I were to comply with your wishes, the resulting calamity would be as vast as heaven and earth, and I would have to undergo punishment for many kalpas. How could it ever come to an end?

When the people saw these extraordinary signs, they hurriedly came forward, acknowledged the wrongdoing, and said in unison:

—The ascetic who dwells here has bestowed great kindness throughout the country. Calamities have passed away and epidemics have been eliminated. Yet this king is so exceedingly foolish that he cannot distinguish right from wrong, does not understand the path of advance and retreat, and has harmed and slain a sage! We humbly beseech the holy one not to report us to the Lord on High!

The bodhisattva replied:

—The king has used boundless evil to torment my body, yet my heart still feels compassion for him as a loving mother feels compassion for her child. As for all you people, what wrong have you committed that I should resent you? If you still have doubts, bring me my severed arm.

The people picked it up, and a stream of milk gushed forth. The bodhisattva said:

—Because I possess the compassion of a loving mother, this proof has now appeared before you.

When the people witnessed this great proof, none failed to accept his teaching, and they joyfully withdrew.

The bodhisattva had a younger brother who had also perceived the source of the Path and was dwelling on another mountain. With his divine eye, he saw the gods, spirits, ghosts, and dragons assemble to discuss that king’s wickedness, and none among them was without indignation. Fearing that his elder brother’s virtuous mind might have been impaired, he used his spiritual powers to travel to his brother’s side and asked:

—Are those wounds extremely painful?

The bodhisattva replied:

—It does not matter! If you wish to see clear proof of my sincerity, take my severed hands, feet, ears, and nose and place them back where they belong. If they rejoin my body, then the sincerity of my faith will have been made manifest.

The younger brother reattached the severed parts of his elder brother’s body, and they immediately joined together again. The elder brother said:

—The sincerity of my all-embracing loving-kindness and compassion has now been made manifest.

All the heavenly and earthly spirits rejoiced, bowed their heads, and praised him. They then encouraged and guided one another to resolve upon cultivating the lofty practice, received the precepts, and withdrew.

From that time onward, the sun and moon no longer gave light, the five planets ceased to be visible, monstrous apparitions abounded everywhere, the weather became dry and rainless, the five grains grew scarce, and the people suffered. All harbored resentment against the king. The Buddha told the bhiksus:

—Ksantivadin at that time was I myself. His younger brother was Maitreya Buddha, and the king is now the arhat Kaundinya.

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the paramita of patience and forbearance.

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45- Long ago, a bodhisattva was born into a poor family. Unable to support him, the family wrapped him in an undergarment, waited until night when no one was about, and abandoned him at a crossroads, placing one thousand coins above his head. According to the custom of that country, that day was regarded as auspicious, and the entire nation held a festival. Noblemen and commoners alike gathered according to their respective groups to eat, drink, make merry, and enjoy themselves. A brahmacarin who attended the festive gathering exclaimed:

“How joyful! Among those attending today’s assembly, there is one like pure white rice from the autumn harvest, without the slightest admixture, whose fragrance is exquisitely sweet. If anyone conceives a son or daughter on this day, that child will be both noble and virtuous.”

Seated in this assembly was a wealthy householder who was alone and had no heir. Hearing these words, he was secretly delighted and immediately sent someone to search at every crossroads for an abandoned child. The man asked passersby:

“Have you seen any abandoned child?”

A traveler replied:

“There was one, but a widowed mother has taken the child home to raise.”

Following the directions, the searcher went to the old woman’s house and found the infant. He said to her:

“My master is wealthy but has no heir. If you bring this child and give it to him, you will receive many treasures.”

The woman said:

“Very well.”

She kept the money and brought the infant away to obtain wealth. The woman received as much wealth as she desired. After the wealthy householder had raised the infant for several months, his wife became pregnant. He said:

“Because I had no heir, I adopted this child of another family. Now Heaven has granted me a child to continue my lineage; why should I raise this one any longer?”

He wrapped the child in an undergarment and, in the middle of the night, abandoned him in a dry well. During the day, the household’s goats would gather there and suckle the infant. When the goatherd went searching for them, he saw the child and exclaimed:

“Why has the Lord of Heaven dropped an infant here?”

He then carried the child home and nourished him with goat’s milk. When the householder learned of this, he interrogated him:

“Why have you been stealing milk?”

The goatherd replied:

“I found a child cast down from Heaven, so I took the milk to nourish him.”

The householder was grieved and remorseful and brought the infant home to raise. Several months later, his wife gave birth to a son. Evil thoughts arose in him again, and he did as before: he wrapped the child in an undergarment and placed him in a wheel rut. In his thoughts, the child recollected the Buddha and the Three Jewels, while his loving heart turned toward his parents. At dawn the next day, hundreds of merchants traveled along that road. Their oxen stopped and refused to advance. One merchant went to investigate the reason and saw an infant. Greatly startled, he said:

“Why is a son of the heavenly king in this place?”

He immediately lifted the infant into his cart, whereupon the oxen swiftly advanced like flowing water. After traveling about twenty miles farther, they halted the oxen to rest. A solitary woman asked the merchant to give her the infant so that he might support her when she became old and destitute. The merchant gave the child to her. She had not raised him for long when the householder learned of it. Stricken with remorse, he said:

“Have I become so inhumane as to destroy Heaven’s virtue?”

He again brought treasures and asked to take the infant back to his own home. Choking with emotion, he reproached himself and raised the two children equally. After several years, he saw that the adopted child possessed extraordinary wisdom and remarkable versatility. Evil thoughts arose in him once more, and he thought:

“This child is exceedingly intelligent; surely my own son will be inferior to him! There is no reason to let him live!”

Again he wrapped him in an undergarment, carried him into the mountains, and abandoned him in a bamboo thicket without food, intending that he must die. With a heart of loving-kindness, the child thought:

“When I attain Buddhahood in the future, I shall certainly deliver all sentient beings from suffering.”

Near the mountain was a stream. By his own strength, the child shook the bamboo until he fell to the ground, then gradually crawled to the bank of the stream. About twenty miles from that stream, there was a funeral procession and a large group of people gathering firewood. Seeing the child from afar, they hurried over to look and exclaimed:

“Has the Lord of Heaven dropped his son down here?”

They then carried him home and raised him. When the householder learned of this, he again felt remorse as before. Bringing precious treasures, he wept sorrowfully and begged to take the child home.

He taught him books on principles and numbers, how to raise his eyes to observe celestial phenomena, how to lower them to examine divinatory signs, and the arts of various paths. Whatever passed before the child’s eyes, he immediately mastered. By nature he was also benevolent and filial, and whatever words he spoke became teachings that guided the people.

The entire kingdom honored him as a sage, and learned men came to him from everywhere. His father again conceived an evil thought, and his wicked disposition grew still more intense. Seven miles from their home, outside the city, lived a metal caster.

Plotting to kill the child, the householder wrote a letter to the caster:

“I formerly adopted this child as my son. Ever since he entered my household, illnesses have continued without cease, my wealth has dwindled, and many livestock have died. The chief diviner has determined that this child brought these calamities upon us. As soon as this letter arrives, seize him and cast him into the fire.”

To the child, however, he pretended to say:

“I am now advanced in years and, moreover, gravely ill. Go to the caster’s workshop and make a clear accounting of the money and jewels there. They will be your lifelong inheritance.”

Obediently, the child set out. Upon reaching the city gate, he saw his younger brother playing a game of catching grapes with a group of children. His brother said:

“How fortunate for me that you have come! Please defeat them for me.”

The elder brother said:

“Father has sent me on an errand!”

The younger brother said:

“Let me go in your place!”

He then snatched the letter and went to the caster’s workshop. Following the instructions in the letter, the caster seized the boy and threw him into the fire. The father’s heart grew agitated with fear, so he sent someone to find the child. The household servant saw the elder brother and asked:

“Where is your younger brother?”

The elder brother truthfully answered him, then returned home and related what had happened. The father hurriedly mounted a horse and gave chase, but when he arrived, his own son had already been reduced to ashes. The father threw himself to the ground and cried out to Heaven. His anger and grief choked him until he became disabled. Yet another cruel thought arose in him, and he said:

“Now that I have no heir, there is no reason to let that child live. I may as well kill him and be done with it.”

The father owned a mansion about one thousand miles from the capital. Taking this as an opportunity, he sent the child there, saying:

“The man there has squandered my property. Go there and make an accounting of it. I now give you the mansion at that place. Here is a letter tightly sealed with beeswax; make haste and depart at once!”

In the letter, the father secretly instructed:

“As soon as this child arrives, bind a stone to his back and sink him into the deep abyss.”

Receiving the command, the child mounted a horse and leisurely set out. Halfway there, he encountered a brahmin who lived some distance away. The brahmin had long admired the father, and the two often visited one another to discuss ancient books. This brahmin had a daughter who was exceedingly virtuous and intelligent. She thoroughly understood auspicious and inauspicious matters and knew how to observe celestial phenomena and practice divination. When the child reached the brahmin’s dwelling, he thought, “My father and this brahmin are close acquaintances. I should rest here.” He then called to his attendant and asked:

“I wish to go over and pay my respects to the brahmin. Would that be appropriate?”

The attendant replied:

“Certainly.”

He immediately went over to pay his respects. The brahmin rejoiced and said:

“Ah! My friend’s son has come!”

He then summoned scholars, Confucian students, venerable elders, and persons of lofty spiritual attainment and profound virtue to assemble together for a joyful banquet. They questioned one another about matters that had remained unresolved, and everyone was fully satisfied. Throughout the day and into the night, they continued until all were weary and fell into deep sleep. The daughter secretly looked at the young man and saw a letter fastened at his back. She stealthily opened it and took it away. When she read the words within, she was grieved and exclaimed:

“What demon is this who could bear to kill such a benevolent young man?”

She immediately tore up that letter and wrote another, which said: “I am now advanced in years, and my grave illness grows more debilitating by the day. This brahmin and I are close acquaintances. His daughter is both virtuous and intelligent and is truly a fitting match for my son. Prepare abundant silks and jewels as betrothal gifts. Please arrange this preliminary engagement ceremony with the utmost care; as for the wedding rites and the wedding date, follow the instructions contained in this letter.” After writing the letter, she sealed it and replaced it exactly as before.

At daybreak, the young man set out. The brahmin and all the scholars came to offer their congratulations. The man from the mansion, having received the letter, respectfully obeyed its instructions, prepared all the ceremonial gifts, and went to the brahmin’s house. The brahmin and his wife discussed the matter together:

-In matters of marriage, one must first choose someone to inquire about the name and examine the age. Only after the other family has prepared all the ceremonial gifts do we give our consent. Now the groom’s family has brought betrothal gifts without a matchmaker. Could it be that they hold us in contempt?

They then went inside to rest, but reflected again: “Since ancient times, men and women who become lifelong companions have all proceeded in this way. Moreover, it is difficult for a virtuous man and a chaste woman to meet.” They therefore accepted the gifts and assembled all nine branches of the clan. Everyone rejoiced and said: This is an honor that will be passed down through the generations.

When the wedding ceremony was completed, the man from the mansion hurried to inform the man of the four castes. When he heard what had happened, his illness grew even more severe. When the young man heard that his father was ill, he choked with grief and said:

-Alas! Life is difficult to preserve; truly, it is like an illusion and has no reality!

The brahmin wished to choose an auspicious day before allowing them to return, but the bodhisattva’s heart was wracked with anguish, so he did not heed his words. Taking his wife with him, he hurried home. Upon arriving, he went upstairs and bowed his head at his father’s feet. His wife came forward to pay homage, weeping inconsolably. Every three steps, she bowed once, and then announced her name:

-I am the wife of your son. My parents named me ... I must serve the ancestors, attend faithfully upon my husband, observe the rites with utmost devotion, and honor my elders with all my heart. I pray that my lord may recover from his illness, that blessings may come to him, and that he may forever preserve his longevity and never die, so that my heart’s wish may be fulfilled and I may possess the virtue of a filial daughter-in-law.

The man of the four castes, consumed by pent-up anger, choked with resentment and died. With deep compassion, the bodhisattva made complete arrangements for the funeral and burial, displaying profound affection and devotion. The entire kingdom praised him as filial. When the funeral was over, he devoted himself to spiritual cultivation, and the fragrance of his good name spread throughout the ten directions.

The Buddha told the bhiksus:

-That young man was I myself; his wife was Gopi; and the man of the four castes was Devadatta.

Such was the bodhisattva’s practice of the perfection of patience and his forbearance under humiliation.

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46- Long ago, the bodhisattva was the king of a great nation. He constantly nurtured and protected sentient beings with the four immeasurable minds. His renown resounded far and near, and there was no one who did not praise him. His maternal uncle was king of another country. Greedy by nature and devoid of shame, he regarded cruelty as strength, and all the bodhisattvas lamented and reproached him. The bodhisattva cherished the benevolence of heaven and earth, while his uncle devoted himself to deceit, false accusations, and slander. Creating a pretext for hostility, he raised an army, intending to seize the bodhisattva’s kingdom. The bodhisattva and all his ministers said:

-We would rather be poor while upholding Heaven’s way of benevolence than become rich and honored by behaving like jackals and wolves.

The people said:

-We would rather be animals belonging to a man who possesses the Way than subjects of a man who lacks the Way.

They then selected warriors, deployed the troops, and arrayed them for battle. The king ascended a tower to survey the military situation. Weeping, with tears streaming down around his neck, he said:

-For the sake of my single body, millions of my people’s lives would be destroyed. A lost kingdom is difficult to restore, and a human life is difficult to preserve. If I flee far away, the entire kingdom will be at peace, and no one will suffer calamity!

The king and his chief consort abandoned the kingdom and departed. His uncle entered and ruled the country, making greed and cruelty the policy of the state. He killed the loyal and upright and placed his trust in flattering and malicious men. The government was harsh, the people suffered terribly, and grievances and lamentations filled the land. They praised and remembered their former king as a filial child constantly keeps his parents in mind.

At that time, the king and his chief consort were dwelling in the mountain forests. In the ocean there was an evil dragon who became infatuated with the chief consort’s beauty. It transformed itself into a brahmin and, pretending to place its palms together, bowed its head and sat silently in contemplation, like an ascetic absorbed in meditative concentration.

When the king saw him, his heart rejoiced, and every day he went to gather fruit to make offerings to him. The dragon waited until the king had gone, then secretly seized the queen and carried her away to its dwelling in the ocean. Its route was a narrow passage between two mountains.

A great bird dwelling in the mountains spread its wings to block the way and tried to drag the dragon away, fighting with it. The dragon struck the bird’s right wing with thunder and lightning, causing it to droop, and thus escaped with the chief consort and returned to the ocean. When the king returned from gathering fruit and did not see his consort, he sorrowfully said:

-I must have committed wrongs in a previous life. Have their consequences now come upon me so swiftly?

Taking up his bow and carrying his arrows, he traversed every mountain peak in search of his chief consort. Seeing a full-flowing stream, he followed it in his search all the way to its source, where he encountered a great ape sunk in grief. The king compassionately asked:

-Why are you so sorrowful?

The ape replied:

-My maternal uncle and I ruled together as kings. Relying on his strength, my uncle took all my followers from me. I can only lament; to whom could I appeal? But why have you now wandered into this mountain?

The bodhisattva replied:

-You and I share the same sorrow. Yet I have also lost my consort, and I do not know where she is.

The ape said:

-Help me fight and recover my troops, and I will find your consort for you. One way or another, she will certainly be found.

The king agreed, saying:

-Very well.

At daybreak, the ape fought with his uncle. The king fitted an arrow to his bow, his arms and thighs poised to draw and shoot. Seeing him from afar, the ape’s uncle trembled with fear and hastily sought a way to flee. All the troops of the ape king returned to him. The ape king immediately commanded them:

-The human king’s consort was lost on this mountain. You must spread out and search everywhere for her.

The apes all set out and encountered the bird whose wing had been injured. The bird asked:

-What are you searching for?

They replied:

-The heavenly king has lost his chief consort, and we are searching for her.

The bird said:

-The dragon secretly abducted her. My strength was no match for his, and he is now on a great island in the ocean.

Having said this, the bird died. The ape king led and urged the apes along the shortcut to the sea. As they grieved and worried, not knowing how to cross the ocean, the god Sakra transformed himself into an ape whose body was afflicted with sores. Approaching them, he said:

-You now wish to cross the ocean. With troops as numerous as these, why worry that you cannot reach that island? Command everyone to carry stones and fill the sea. If you can build them into a lofty mountain, it will do more than merely provide passage to that island.

The ape king immediately appointed him supervisor and placed him in command of the apes. Following this plan, they successfully carried stones and filled the sea. The apes crossed the ocean and surrounded the island in layer upon layer. The dragon released a poisonous mist. The apes fell ill and collapsed upon the ground. The two kings were filled with sorrow, but the little ape said:

-Allow me to cure them, so that the Holy Ones need not trouble themselves.

It immediately blew heavenly medicine into their nostrils. The apes sneezed and rose to their feet, their strength surpassing what it had been before. The dragon then stirred up winds and clouds that darkened the sun. Lightning flashed brilliantly over the sea, and suddenly a thunderstorm erupted, shaking heaven and earth. The little ape said:

-The human king is a skilled archer. That dazzling white place is the dragon. You should release an arrow and strike that spot, thereby eliminating the evil one and bringing blessings to the people. The Holy Ones will never reproach you for it.

Waiting until thunder pealed, the king released an arrow that struck the dragon squarely in the chest. The dragon was shot dead, and the apes cried out in praise. The young ape removed the lock from the dragon’s dwelling, opened the door, and brought out the chief consort.

Devas and spirits all rejoiced. The two kings returned to their former mountain and bade each other farewell, each humbly yielding precedence to the other. Meanwhile, the king’s maternal uncle had died without an heir, so the ministers and people hurriedly searched for their former king.

When they reached that rugged mountain region, sovereign and subjects met, wept together in sorrow, and returned. The former king ascended the throne and incorporated his uncle’s kingdom into his own. Millions of people rejoiced and acclaimed him, crying, “May the king live ten thousand years!” The king proclaimed a general amnesty and instituted a policy of clemency.

The people were delighted and smiled wherever they went. The king said:

“When a woman is separated from her husband and travels alone for even a single night, people already harbor suspicions and speak critically of her—how much more so when she has been away for two full weeks! You should return to your own family, in accordance with the ancient rites.”

The chief consort said:

“Although I dwelt in the filthy cavern of a beast, I remained like a lotus flower in the mire. If my words are truthful and worthy of belief, may the earth beneath this place split open.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the earth burst open. The chief consort said:

“My sincerity and fidelity have now been clearly revealed.”

The king said:

“Excellent! Such chastity is the practice of a shramana.”

From that time onward, throughout the kingdom, merchants yielded profits to one another, scholars declined positions of rank, the noble endured the lowly, and the strong did not oppress the weak. All this was due to the king’s virtue. Licentious women reformed and became chaste; even when their lives were endangered, they preserved their purity. Deceivers came to esteem loyalty and trustworthiness, and the deceitful and hypocritical maintained upright and truthful hearts. All this was due to the transforming virtue of the chief consort.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

“The king at that time was I myself; the chief consort was Gopi; the maternal uncle was Devadatta; and Shakra, Lord of the Devas, was Maitreya.”

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the perfection of patience and forbear humiliation.

– *

*

47- Long ago, the bodhisattva was born as an ape. His strength was sufficient to govern his small troop, his wisdom surpassed that of humans, and he constantly cherished vast loving-kindness, rescuing sentient beings. One day, while climbing a tree to gather fruit, the ape saw a man who had fallen into a mountain pit and could not climb out by himself.

All day long the man wept in misery and called upon heaven to let him live. Hearing those sorrowful cries, the ape shed tears and thought, “I have vowed wholeheartedly to attain Buddhahood for the sake of sentient beings such as this. If I cannot bring this man out of the pit now, he will die.

I must find a way to descend into the pit and carry him out on my back.” The ape immediately descended into the dark pit and told the man to lean upon him. Then, grasping the grass, he climbed up the mountainside, placed the man on level ground, pointed out the road, and said:

“You can make your way from here. From now on, you must be careful and must not commit evil deeds.”

Exhausted from bringing the man out of the pit, the ape lay down to rest. The man thought, “I suffered hunger and thirst inside the pit, and now that I am outside it is still the same. What difference is there?” He conceived the thought of killing the ape and eating its flesh to preserve his own life, thinking, “Would that not be best?” He then struck the ape on the head with a stone, and blood flowed red upon the ground.

Startled awake from where he lay, the ape quickly climbed a tree. Yet he felt no anger in his heart and instead regarded with loving-kindness and compassion the man who had harbored such a malicious intent. The ape then thought, “My strength is insufficient to deliver him.

I pray that in future lives he may always encounter the Buddhas, place his faith in their teachings, and practice accordingly so that he may attain deliverance. Life after life, may he never again conceive an evil thought like this.”

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

“The ape was I myself, and the man in the pit was Devadatta.”

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the perfection of patience and forbear humiliation.

– *

*

48- Long ago, the bodhisattva and Ananda had both committed offenses for which they were born as dragons. One dragon said:

“You and I dwell together in the ocean and have seen every place within it. Might we now go ashore and travel about?”

The other replied:

“People on land often give rise to malicious thoughts. If we encounter some unexpected misfortune, we may be unable to escape.”

The first dragon said again:

“Why do we not transform ourselves into small snakes? If no one is on the road, we can seek out the main road and roam along it; if we encounter people, we can hide. What would there be to fear?”

They both agreed and immediately went ashore to travel about. Not long after leaving the ocean, they encountered on the road a venomous cobra. When the cobra saw the two small snakes, an evil thought arose in its mind, and it desired to harm them. It immediately spat venomous foam upon the two small snakes. One of the snakes conceived the thought of using his supernatural power to kill the cobra. The other, whose heart was loving, patient, and forbearing, restrained him, saying:

“All noble beings must pardon the ignorant and foolish. To endure what cannot be endured—this is the Buddha’s true and great precept.” He then spoke these verses:

Craving and desire drive one mad,

Leaving no benevolence or righteousness;

Jealous, one seeks to harm the noble—

Only silent patience brings peace.

Those who disobey the Dharma,

Whose hearts are devoid of compassion,

Greedily and wickedly obstruct giving—

Only silent patience brings peace.

Those who are heedless and without precepts,

Cruel and harmful, harboring evil hearts,

Who do not conform to the path of virtue—

Only silent patience brings peace.

Forgetting kindness, making no requital,

Feigning goodness while deceitfully flattering—

Such is excessive ignorance and shamelessness;

Only silent patience brings peace.

One snake extolled the virtue of patience, speaking verses that fully revealed its meaning, while the other reverently accepted and upheld the teaching and therefore did not harm the venomous cobra. One snake said:

“Shall we now return to the ocean?”

They both agreed and departed together. They manifested their supernatural might, causing heaven and earth to tremble, summoning clouds and sending down rain. The divine dragons displayed their transformations, illuminating the entire ocean region, and humans and spirits were all terrified. The cobra was so stricken with terror that it lost consciousness and remained insensible, taking neither food nor drink for seven days.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

“The dragon who wished to harm the venomous snake at that time was Ananda; the dragon who taught the Dharma of patience was I myself; and the venomous cobra was Devadatta.”

Life after life, the bodhisattva cultivated patience. Even when born among beasts and birds, he never forgot this practice.

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the perfection of patience and forbear humiliation.

– *

*

49- Long ago, there was a land named Mathura, whose king was named Nan. He had mastered the divine sciences, and there was no darkness he could not perceive. Clearly understanding that the world is impermanent, he said:

“My body will eventually decay and become fertilizer for the world; how, then, could a kingdom be preserved forever?”

He therefore renounced glory and sensual pleasures, donned the Dharma robes of a Great Being, regarded a single alms bowl as sufficient, and received and upheld the precepts of a shramana. He had made the mountain forests his dwelling place for thirty years. At the edge of the forest was a pit thirty zhang deep. One day, a hunter who was hastily pursuing a deer fell into the pit. At the same time, a crow and a snake, frightened and alarmed, also fell into it. Their bodies were all injured, and all three were in dire distress. They raised their faces toward heaven and wept, their lamentations truly sorrowful and heartrending. Hearing them, the ascetic was moved with compassion. Shining a light from a fire, he saw them with tears streaming down their faces. He approached the pit and said:

“Do not grieve. I shall rescue you from this great calamity.”

The ascetic immediately made a rope and lowered it into the pit so that they could climb up. The three—the man and the animals—either took hold of it with their mouths or grasped it with their hands, and all were rescued with their lives intact. They all bowed their heads in homage, thanked the ascetic for his kindness, and said:

“Our lives were like flickering torches before the wind. Because the ascetic’s benevolence extends universally and without measure, today we are still able to behold the light of the sun. We vow that for the rest of our lives we shall provide whatever you may lack, so that we may repay even one ten-thousandth part of your profound kindness.”

The ascetic said:

“I was the king of a great kingdom, with a vast populace, jeweled palaces, palace women, and all else. I stood above the other kingdoms; whatever I sought was immediately at hand, and nothing I desired was beyond my reach. Yet I regarded the kingdom as a den of enmity, and regarded sights, sounds, fragrances, flavors, ostentatious garments, and wrong thoughts as six blades severing my body and six arrows piercing my life.

Because of these six evils, beings revolve in samsara and suffer fiercely in the three evil destinies—suffering difficult to endure and impossible to bear. Deeply weary of them, I abandoned my kingdom and became a śramaṇa. I vow to attain the path of the Tathagata, the Unattached, the Truly and Perfectly Awakened One, the Supremely and Completely Awakened One, the Lord of the Dharma, the Teacher of Gods and Humans, so that I may teach and guide sentient beings and cause them to return to their original source.

How could I intend to save only the three of you? Return to your former dwellings, and when you meet your kin, lead them to take refuge in the Three Jewels and not to transgress the Buddha’s teachings.”

The hunter said:

“I have lived in this world for many years. Although I have seen Confucian scholars cultivate virtue and perform good deeds, who among them could be like a disciple of the Buddha—forgetting himself to save others, living in seclusion without seeking renown? If the ascetic should go on almsround, I pray that you will come to my home so that I may make an offering to you.”

The crow said:

“My name is Bát. If the ascetic encounters danger, please call my name, and I shall hasten to you at once.”

The snake said:

“My name is Trường. If the ascetic encounters any misfortune, please call my name. I shall certainly come and repay your kindness.”

After speaking these words of farewell, they all departed. One day, the ascetic went to the hunter’s house. Seeing the ascetic approaching from afar, the hunter said to his wife:

“The man coming here is inauspicious. If I tell you to prepare a meal, take your time cooking it. After midday, that old man will no longer eat.”

When the wife saw the ascetic arrive, she made a show of welcoming him warmly and pretended to invite him to remain for a meal. But she merely sat there engaging in idle conversation until after midday, whereupon the ascetic took his leave and departed. Upon reaching the mountain, he saw the crow and called the name Bát. The crow asked:

“Benefactor, from where have you returned?”

He replied:

“From the hunter’s house.”

The crow asked:

“Have you eaten anything?”

He replied:

“Before he had finished preparing the meal, midday had already passed. Since it was no longer the proper time to eat, I had no choice but to leave.”

The crow said:

“That sinful, vicious wretch! When he met with danger, another rescued him with a heart of loving-kindness, yet he has violated benevolence and betrayed kindness. This is the gravest offense of cruel ingratitude. I have no food or drink to offer you. Please remain seated here for a little while; I shall go and return shortly.”

It then flew to the kingdom of Bàn-già and entered the king’s inner palace. Seeing the queen asleep, it noticed among the precious ornaments upon her head a luminous moon-jewel. The crow seized it in its beak, swiftly flew back, and presented it to the ascetic. When the king’s consort awoke and could not find the jewel, she immediately reported the matter to the king. The king issued an order to his ministers and subjects: whoever found it would be rewarded with one thousand catties each of gold and silver and one thousand each of cattle and horses; but whoever found it and failed to present it would be punished by the extermination of his entire clan.

After receiving the jewel, the ascetic gave it to the hunter. The hunter immediately seized and bound him, then brought him before the king. The king asked:

“Where did you obtain this jewel?”

The ascetic thought silently, “If I tell the truth, all the crows throughout the kingdom will be killed. But if I say that I stole it, that would be unworthy of a disciple of the Buddha.” He therefore remained silent and endured every interrogation. Though beaten with a thousand strokes, he bore not the slightest resentment toward the king, nor did he harbor any hatred for the hunter. He merely aroused a vast heart of loving-kindness and made this vow:

“May I attain Buddhahood so that I may deliver sentient beings from all suffering.”

The king ordered:

“Bury the ascetic alive, leaving only his head exposed, and tomorrow he shall be beheaded.”

Only then did the ascetic call the snake’s name:

“Trường!”

The snake thought to itself:

“No one under heaven knows my name except the ascetic! Now that I have heard him call my name, something must surely have happened.”

It hurried to him and found the ascetic in this plight. Bowing its head, it asked:

“How did you come to this?”

The ascetic recounted the entire affair exactly as it had occurred. The snake shed tears and said:

“The ascetic’s benevolent heart is as vast as heaven and earth, yet you have still suffered this calamity. Who, then, can help those without the Way? Benevolent Heaven bears no resentment! This king has only one son, the crown prince, and no other heir. I shall enter the palace and bite the crown prince to death. If you apply my divine medicine to him, he will recover at once.”

When night came, the snake crawled into the palace and bit the crown prince, killing him. The king had the body laid out for three days and proclaimed:

“Whoever can restore the crown prince to life shall receive half the kingdom to govern!”

They then carried the crown prince into the mountains for cremation. The road passed beside the place where the ascetic had been buried. The ascetic asked:

“What illness caused the crown prince to die? Delay the cremation; I can restore him to life.”

Hearing this, the attendants hurried back and reported it to the king. Mingled joy and sorrow arose in the king, and his grief grew still deeper. He said:

“I shall pardon your offense and give you half the kingdom so that you may rule as king!”

The ascetic applied the medicine to the crown prince’s body. Suddenly, the crown prince stood up and said:

“Why am I here?”

The attendants explained the entire cause to him. When the crown prince returned, everyone in the palace, from the highest to the lowest, rejoiced and danced. The king offered the ascetic half the kingdom, but he steadfastly refused it. The king suddenly came to his senses and thought:

“If he will not even accept half the kingdom, how could he have stolen the precious jewel?”

The king asked:

“From what kingdom do you come? Why did you become a śramaṇa? Under what circumstances did you obtain this jewel? How did one of such lofty conduct suddenly become entangled in this calamity?”

The ascetic then recounted the entire affair clearly from beginning to end. The king wept with compassion, tears covering his face. He then summoned the hunter and said:

“You have rendered meritorious service to the kingdom. Summon all your relatives here, for I wish to reward you generously.”

All the hunter’s kin, old and young alike, gathered at the palace gate. The king said to them:

“Inhumanity and betrayal of kindness stand foremost among evil deeds. Put them all to death.”

Thereafter, the ascetic entered the mountains to cultivate the Way, practicing diligently without weariness. When his life ended, he was reborn in a heavenly realm.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

“The ascetic at that time was I myself. The crow was Thu Lộ Tử, the snake was Ānanda, the hunter was Devadatta, and the hunter’s wife was the daughter of Hoài Bàn.”

The bodhisattva extended his benevolent heart through the perfection of generosity and practiced patience in this way.

– *

*

50—Long ago, the king of the kingdom of Câu-thâm was named Úc-ca-đạt. His kingdom was vast and populous. He governed it according to the true Dharma and did not oppress the myriad people. The king had two children, a son and a daughter. The son was named Tu-đạt, and the daughter was named An-xà-nan. Both maintained pure conduct. The king cherished them dearly and built a golden bathing pool for them. In the pool lived a turtle named Kim, blind in one eye. As it frolicked in the water, it touched the two children’s bodies, causing them to cry out in terror. The king asked what had happened, and they replied:

“Something in the pool touched us and frightened us.”

The king became enraged:

“The pool is for the children to bathe in. What creature has dared enter it and frighten my children?”

He then ordered nets to be cast to capture it. Every dragon-demon and strange creature had to be caught.

The fishermen caught the turtle. The king said:

“How should it be killed?”

Some of his ministers said:

“Behead it.”

Others said:

“Burn it alive.”

Still others said:

“Cut it into pieces and cook it in a stew.”

One minister said:

“To kill it in those ways would not be truly dreadful. Simply cast it into the great river—that alone could be called dreadful.”

The turtle laughed inwardly:

“Is only that considered dreadful?”

The king ordered that the turtle be cast into the great river. Having escaped death, the turtle rejoiced and hurried to the dragon king, to whom he clearly reported:

“The human king Uc-ca-dat has a beautiful and comely daughter, equal in beauty to a celestial maiden, but the king remains hesitant. The great king wishes to give that maiden to the dragon king in marriage.”

The dragon king asked:

“Do you speak the truth?”

The turtle replied, “It is indeed so.”

The dragon king entertained the turtle with a great feast, served entirely with precious vessels. The turtle said:

“You should quickly dispatch worthy ministers. The human king wishes to know your decision.”

The dragon king immediately sent sixteen worthy ministers to follow the turtle to the foot of the human king’s citadel. The turtle said:

“Remain here while I go ahead and report to the king.”

The turtle then fled and never returned. The sixteen worthy ministers, both angry and anxious, entered the citadel together and obtained an audience with the king. The king asked:

“What have you dragons come here to do?”

They replied:

“We beseech the gracious and benevolent celestial king to receive us. We heard that Your Majesty wished to give your noble daughter as consort to our king, and so our king sent us to welcome and escort her.”

On hearing this, the king became enraged and said:

“How could the daughter of a human king be given in marriage to a dragon or serpent?”

“Your Majesty sent the divine turtle to convey that command. We have not come here without cause.”

The king refused to promise his daughter in marriage. The dragons then worked transformations, causing everything in the palace to become images of dragons, encircling the king before and behind. Terrified, the king cried out. The ministers, astonished, all came below the royal hall and asked the reason. The king related everything that had just occurred. The ministers all said:

“Should the kingdom be lost for the sake of a single daughter?”

Thereupon, the king and his ministers went to the riverbank to bid farewell to the princess. She became the dragon king’s consort and bore two children, a son and a daughter. The son was named Ban-dat.

When the dragon king died, the son succeeded to the throne as king. Wishing to cast off the defilement of worldly splendor, he sought to follow the aspiration of those of lofty conduct. His tens of thousands of wives all sought to follow him.

He fled to an inaccessible place, yet still could not escape them. Upon reaching dry land, the dragon king went beneath a Tu-le tree, concealed himself, transformed into a serpent, and lay there coiled. At night, the base of that tree shone brilliantly with as many as ten flaming lamps.

By day, flowers of every kind rained down, beautiful in color and richly fragrant, such as had never before been seen in the world.

In that country was a man skilled in spells for subduing dragons, named Pha-do. He entered the mountains in search of a dragon, intending to use it as a means of earning his livelihood. Meeting a cowherd boy, he asked whether the boy had seen a dragon. The boy replied:

“I saw a serpent lying coiled beneath that tree. At night, as many as ten flaming lamps appear upon the tree, shining radiantly. By day, flowers fall like snow, vivid in color and fragrant beyond description. I leaned my body against it, yet it had no thought of harming me.”

The sorcerer said:

“Excellent! My wish has been fulfilled!”

He immediately smeared poison upon the dragon’s fangs, causing them all to fall out. He then beat the dragon with a staff, wounding its skin and breaking its bones. The sorcerer violently twisted it by hand from head to tail, causing the dragon unbearable agony. Yet the dragon harbored not the slightest resentment, considering the calamity to be the consequence of offenses committed in a former life. The dragon vowed:

“May I attain Buddhahood so that I may deliver all beings, enabling them all to dwell in peace and not suffer as I now do.”

The sorcerer captured the dragon, placed it in a small casket, and carried it about while begging for his livelihood. Whenever he came to a country, he would compel the dragon to dance. None among the ministers of those countries failed to be terrified. The sorcerer would say:

“Give me one thousand catties each of gold and silver; one thousand male servants and one thousand female servants; and one thousand each of elephants, horses, cattle, and carts.”

In every country he visited, he obtained all that he demanded. In time, he came to the country of the dragon king’s maternal grandfather. By then, the dragon king’s mother and siblings had all come onto dry land in search of him.

They had transformed into birds and were flying near the royal palace. When the sorcerer arrived, the dragon king transformed into a five-headed dragon and was just about to emerge and dance. But when he saw his siblings and mother, he became ashamed, withdrew, and would no longer come out to dance.

The sorcerer called him five or six times, but the dragon continued to bow his head. The dragon’s mother resumed her human form, met with the king, and related the entire affair from beginning to end. None among the king and his subjects failed to feel compassion.

The king wished to put the sorcerer to death, but the dragon king pleaded:

“Since I planted the seed of this deed in a former life, I must now receive its karmic result. He should not be killed, for that would only deepen the enmity in a future life. You should grant him whatever he requests. Only through such vast loving-kindness can the path to Buddhahood be accomplished.”

The king then set an example for the other countries and fully bestowed upon the sorcerer everything he desired. Having obtained a great abundance of treasure, the sorcerer joyfully departed from the country. When he reached the border of another kingdom, however, he encountered bandits. His body was hacked to pieces, and all his possessions were seized.

The dragon and his mother took leave of the king, saying:

“If Your Majesty should think of me, simply call my name and I shall come at once. Do not grieve excessively!”

The king and all his subjects went to the seashore to bid farewell to the dragon and his mother. The whole country was overcome with grief, and none failed to lament bitterly.

The Buddha told the bhiksus:

“The dragon king Ban-dat was I myself; King Uc-ca-dat was Ananda; the dragon king’s mother was my present mother; his younger brother was Sariputra; his younger sister was the bhiksuni Blue Lotus; and the sorcerer who harmed the dragon was Devadatta.”

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the perfection of patience and forbearance.

– *

*

51—The Sutra of the Sparrow King

Long ago, the bodhisattva was born as the king of sparrows. With loving-kindness, he constantly rescued sentient beings, surpassing even the tender mother who cherishes her children amid hardship. He regarded intimates and strangers with equal concern. When he saw another person receive the Dharma of the path, he rejoiced as though he himself had attained it. He lovingly nurtured the myriad beings as though tending a wound upon his own body.

There was a tiger that ate the flesh of animals. A bone became lodged between its teeth, and it grew gravely ill and was near death. Seeing this, the sparrow was moved by loving-kindness and compassion and thought, “The Buddhas teach that eating and drinking bring calamity; indeed, this is true!” The sparrow then entered the tiger’s mouth and pecked at the bone to remove it. He did this day after day, until his beak was injured and his body became thin and frail. When at last the bone was removed, the tiger recovered. The sparrow flew up into a tree and said:

“The Buddhist scriptures teach that killing is cruel and violent, and that this evil is no small matter. If another were to kill you, could you possibly be happy? You should understand that one who forgets oneself to deliver others possesses the benevolent heart of heaven and earth. Those who are benevolent extend compassion universally and rescue others, and the reward of wholesome deeds follows at once. Those who cruelly and violently kill sentient beings are followed by misfortune as closely as a shadow. You should remember my words.”

Hearing the sparrow’s admonition, the tiger suddenly became angry and said:

“You have only just left my mouth, yet you still dare to speak so many words?”

Seeing that the tiger could not be transformed, the sparrow felt sorrow and compassion and quickly flew away.

The Buddha told the bhiksus:

“The sparrow king was I myself, and the tiger was Devadatta. Life after life, the Great Being has cherished the compassionate resolve to rescue sentient beings, taking the troubles of others as though they were his own.”

Thus did the bodhisattva practice the perfection of patience and forbearance.

– *

*

52—The Sutra of the Journey to the Land of the Naked People

Long ago, the bodhisattva and his paternal cousin were as close as brothers, and both possessed capital in their country. On one occasion, they brought their wealth to the homeland of the naked people. The younger cousin said:

“Those of abundant merit naturally have sufficient food and clothing, while those of meager merit must rely upon their own labor. Now, the homeland of those naked people has no Buddha, no Dharma, and no community of śramaṇas; it may rightly be called a land without true human beings. For us to go there and win their goodwill will be no easy matter. When entering their country, therefore, we must follow their customs; in advancing and withdrawing, we must accord with their forms. We must be gentle in temperament and respectful in speech, concealing our wisdom and appearing foolish. Such is the thoughtful prudence of a Great Being.”

The elder brother said:

“Ritual propriety must not be diminished, and virtue must not be abandoned. How could we go naked and thereby destroy our former observances?”

The younger brother said:

“The great rule of the ancient sages is that one would rather lose one’s body than lose one’s conduct; this is the constant principle of morality. To be gold within while appearing copper without, adapting oneself to the circumstances; to be censured at first but praised afterward—this is the greatness of skillful adaptation.”

Then they journeyed together to that country. The elder brother said:

“You enter first and observe how matters stand, then send someone back to report the truth to me.”

The younger brother replied:

“Yes.”

After about ten days, he sent someone back to tell his brother: “You must definitely conform to their rites and customs.”

The elder brother immediately said:

“To abandon human manners and follow the way of beasts—is that the conduct of a noble man? You may do so, but I certainly will not.”

According to the custom of that country, on the full-moon day of the final month, they always held festivities at night. They soaked their hair with sesame oil and fat, painted their bodies with white clay, hung various kinds of bones around their necks, struck two stones together, and then men and women held hands, frolicking, singing, and dancing.

The bodhisattva did as they did, and all the people of the country rejoiced. The king cherished him, and the people respected the guest who had come among them. The king bought all his goods for ten times their value. The elder brother rode into that country in a carriage, speaking with an air of solemnity and offending the people’s sensibilities. The king therefore became angry and the people despised him; they seized all his property and also beat him. Only after the younger brother repeatedly pleaded for him was he released. The two then returned to their own country. Those seeing the younger brother off filled the roads, while the elder brother heard nothing but abuse. Ashamed and angry, the elder brother said:

“Why are those people so friendly toward you, yet so hostile toward me? They gave you wealth but seized mine. Could it be that you slandered me in some way?”

He then bound the younger brother with a sash and continued:

“From now onward, life after life, I shall harm you and never spare you!”

The bodhisattva sorrowfully shed tears and made this vow:

“May I, life after life, encounter the Buddha, behold the Dharma, personally serve the śramaṇas, repay the four kinds of kindness far and wide, rescue sentient beings, and serve my elder brother as I would my very own self, never violating this vow.”

From then onward, the elder brother continually obstructed and troubled the younger brother, while the younger brother always rescued and assisted the elder brother.

The Buddha told the bhikṣus:

“The younger brother at that time was I myself, and the elder brother was Devadatta.”

Thus did the bodhisattva, practicing the pāramitā of compassionate gentleness, exercise patience.

53. The Sutra of Completing Retribution by Fasting for Six Years

Long ago, the bodhisattva was the king of a great country. He revered and took refuge in the Three Jewels and fully observed the ten wholesome deeds. His virtue extended near and far, and there was no one who did not willingly follow him. Weapons of war were not raised, prisons stood empty, wind and rain came in their proper seasons, the country was strong and the people prosperous, the four quarters were peaceful, and no lamentations were heard along the roads. Throughout the country, no one read false and frivolous writings; everyone recited the true teachings of the six pāramitās.

At that time, there was a brahmin who maintained pure integrity. He lived in seclusion among the mountains and forests, took no part in worldly entanglements, and devoted himself solely to cultivating virtue. One night, being thirsty, he went to drink and inadvertently drank water from a lotus pond belonging to someone in the country.

After drinking, he thought to himself: “That person purchased this pond so that its flowers might be offered at monasteries and Buddha shrines, while its fruits were for his own use. I drank its water without asking the owner; thus, I drank what was stolen. Whoever commits the transgression of theft must first enter the prison of Mount Tai, then become an animal that is slaughtered and whose flesh is sold in the marketplace to repay debts from a former life.

Afterward, if one is reborn as a human being, one must endure the lot of a slave. It would be better for me to repay everything promptly in this very life and leave no calamity for the future.”

He therefore went directly to the royal palace and accused himself, saying:

“I have committed the offense of theft. I humbly beg Your Majesty to judge me according to the law, so that, having made repayment in this life, I may be free of the offense in lives to come.”

The king said:

“That is naturally occurring water, not a precious possession. How could there be any offense?”

He replied:

“When one buys a house, the well belongs with it; when one takes possession of a field, the grass belongs with it. To draw water or cut grass without notifying the owner is to take what has not been given. I drank the water without notifying the owner; how could that not be theft? I beg the king to render judgment.”

The king said:

“There are still many affairs of state. Enter the royal garden and wait there.”

The crown prince told the brahmin to go deep into the garden and sit there waiting. Being occupied with affairs of state, the king completely forgot about him for six days. Suddenly remembering him, the king asked:

“Is that brahmin still there? Quickly summon him here!”

The brahmin had kept the precepts and gone without food or drink for six days. When he came and stood before the king, his body was emaciated, and whenever he tried to stand upright, he nearly fell to the ground. Seeing him, the king shed tears and said:

“My fault is exceedingly grave!”

The queen smiled. The king ordered that the brahmin be bathed and that all manner of delicious foods be prepared. The king then personally made offerings to him, bowed his head, repented his fault, and said:

“As king, if I allow the people to hunger, it is as though I myself were hungry; if the people suffer from cold, it is as though I myself were cold. How much more serious, then, that I should display negligence toward one who preserves the Way and bestows virtue! The merit of all the good people throughout the country does not equal the virtue of a worthy one of lofty conduct. The country and its people enjoy peace, the four seasons proceed harmoniously, and grain is abundant. If this is not brought about by the virtue of moral conduct, who could accomplish it?”

The king then said to the ascetic:

“If the offense for drinking water without notifying its owner is regarded as such, how could actual theft not be a grave offense? Therefore, I pardon you, and surely no further calamity will remain.”

The brahmin said:

“Excellent! I gratefully accept the king’s great kindness.”

Thereafter, he continued revolving through the boundless realm of birth and death. When at last he was about to attain Buddhahood, he had to go without food for six years; when the offense was exhausted, he attained the Way. Because Gopā freed herself from blame, Rāhula was finally born.

The crown prince abandoned the kingdom and dwelt solely among the mountains and forests. Those who held wrong views all considered him insane, and there was no lack of slanderous talk. The crown prince heard it and patiently endured those words of reproach, responding with compassionate deliverance.

His merit and virtue increased, and he attained the fruit of the Way. The devas assembled and bowed their heads in obedience, and among kings, lords, ministers, and common people, there was no one who did not take refuge in him and entrust their lives to him.

The Buddha told the bhikṣus:

“The king at that time was I myself; that queen was Gopā, and the crown prince was Rāhula. Whenever one delights in evil, calamity immediately follows; whenever one bestows kindness and virtue, merit promptly returns. Can one possibly fail to be cautious?

Because the king forgot the ascetic and caused him to hunger for six days, he had to undergo the retribution of fasting for six years before it came to an end. Because after those six days the king personally made offerings to him, now, when the calamity of those six years had passed, he attained the fruit of the Way. Because Gopā smiled, she later had to carry Rāhula in her womb for six years and suffer grave illness.

Because the crown prince sent the brahmin deep into the royal garden, he later had to remain for six years in a place of darkness. Foolish and deluded people do not understand the path of coming and going, and they direct malicious thoughts toward Buddhas, śramaṇas, and brahmins. If they sever someone’s hands or cut off someone’s nose, that suffering lasts only one lifetime.

But if they deceitfully strike with their hands or recklessly slander with their mouths, then, after death, they will fall into the hell of Mount Tai. There, demons will pull out their tongues and lay them upon burning sand, then bring oxen to plow over them. Blazing nails will also be driven into their five limbs, and even though they wish to die, they will be unable to do so.

Since such evil retribution is so dreadful, you must be cautious and never follow deviant paths.”

Thus did the bodhisattva, practicing the perfection of patience, exercise forbearance.

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54—The Sutra of the Sakya Clan Exhausting Its Offenses.

Long ago, there was a bodhisattva who maintained pure moral conduct and accumulated merit, and thereby attained the fruit of the Tathagata, the Unattached, the Right and True Enlightened One, the One of Supreme Perfect Enlightenment. When he traveled through the country of Sravasti teaching and transforming beings, devas, nagas, spirits, kings, lords, officials, and common people—all turned to follow him. When the Buddha’s teaching flourished, false paths and perverse arts were like the light of fireflies fading before the sun.

Greed and jealousy arose; failing to see that the flames would burn up their own bodies, the followers of false paths conspired with villains and incited a female disciple named Hao Thu to defame the Most Honored One. Among the people of the country, those who did not yet understand the truth became pensive and doubtful, harboring suspicions toward the sramanas; even the king became uneasy. The greedy and corrupt followers of false paths quarreled over wealth and accused one another.

Their defilement was exposed, and calamity immediately followed: they were at once stripped of their positions. The truth shone clearly, and devas and humans offered praise.

The king went to the monastery, bowed his head, and repented of his fault. Feeling ashamed, he then sent a matchmaker to request the hand of the Buddha’s younger sister in marriage, hoping thereby to put an end to the enmity with the Sakya clan. The Blessed One said:

“I have left home and become a sramana, and I take no part in worldly affairs. All matters of marriage are entirely decided by my royal father.”

The king sent an envoy to respectfully convey his proposal of kinship. No one in the Sakya clan consented. The Sakya king said:

“The Buddha is presently in that country, and for that reason you have dealings with them. The wise should not harbor resentment; only fools make enemies. My daughter is merely the child of a lowly concubine—how could she be worth provoking enmity over?”

The king then agreed, saying:

“Very well.”

Thereafter, the marriage was concluded, and a son was born to continue the lineage. One day, the son asked to meet his maternal uncles and therefore traveled to the country of the Sakyas. The Sakyas were joyfully engaged in constructing a monastery for the Buddha. They dug three feet into the ground and filled it with sandalwood incense. Gathering precious objects from throughout the country, they built a monastery for the Buddha, magnificent and radiant like a celestial palace. Word of it spread throughout the neighboring countries, and everyone was excited and curious. Before the Buddha had entered and taken his seat in the monastery, the crown prince, taking advantage of his visit to his maternal uncles, went inside to look and said:

“This monastery is beautiful, and its precious adornments are resplendent. Only the palace of a celestial king could equal it.”

He further said:

“The Buddha has not yet come here. If I could sit upon this seat just once, I would have no regrets even if I lost my life.”

The crown prince had a close friend named Dau-khu-ma, who replied:

“Yes, what harm could there be?”

The crown prince immediately mounted the seat and sat down. The Sakya warriors loudly rebuked him: “Even a celestial king would not dare sit in the place of the Blessed One. How dare the son of a lowly woman mount this seat?” They then demolished it in order to rebuild it.

The crown prince went outside, summoned his friend, and said:

“No humiliation could surpass this. If I become king, do not forget what happened here.”

His friend replied:

“Certainly not.”

After returning to his own country, he demanded that his mother secure his appointment as crown prince. With seductive words, his mother pleaded with the king to fulfill her son’s wish. The king said:

“I have never heard of such a thing from ancient times to the present. Do not utter such foolish words; they will only bring shame upon you.”

With poisonous allure working from within and sycophantic ministers employing clever words, the king finally appointed both sons and divided the people between them to govern. When their royal father passed away, the two crown princes ascended their thrones and established two kingdoms. The people divided according to whether they favored benevolence or brutality. The benevolent went to serve the elder brother, while the brutal hastened to join the younger. The younger king appointed his friend prime minister. The minister made preparations for war, readied the army, and then reported the former incident to the king. The king said:

“Very well.”

They then selected valiant soldiers and powerful generals and set forth.

Seeing the Buddha seated beside the road near a tree that was half withered and half flourishing, the king approached, bowed his head, and asked:

“Buddha, why do you not sit beneath the shade of a wholly flourishing tree, but instead remain beside this tree that is half withered and half flourishing?”

The Buddha replied:

“This tree is called Sakya. I cherish that name, and so, with a benevolent heart, I rescue it from distress, causing its withered portion to flourish again and restoring it to complete life.”

The king was deeply moved and felt ashamed. He said:

“The Buddha’s benevolence extends everywhere, reaching even grasses and trees—how much more so human beings!”

Thereupon, the king ordered his army to turn back. The prime minister raised his face and examined the celestial signs. Seeing that the Sakyas’ former merit had been exhausted and calamity was arising, he reported this to the king. The king again sent forth the army. Before they had reached the Sakya city, they heard from within the city the resounding noise of bows, crossbows, and arrows like wind and rain. The shafts of banners, pennants, parasols, and canopies broke; poles snapped, armor tore apart, and the ranks of horses scattered. Soldiers and horses fled in torrents, all terrified out of their wits. Once again, the king withdrew his troops and fled back.

The Sakyas asked the Buddha how they should resist that enemy. The Buddha told them:

“Secure the passes and dismantle the bridges over the moats.”

The other king again dispatched his army. Venerable Maudgalyayana said to the Buddha:

“I wish to employ the spiritual power of an arhat to conjure a celestial net covering the city for forty li. What could the king then do to the Sakyas?”

The Buddha said:

“They cannot escape their offenses.”

Venerable Maudgalyayana then said:

“Perhaps they could flee to another country.”

The Buddha said:

“They cannot escape their offenses.”

Maudgalyayana said:

“I can save them from visible dangers, but is there nothing I can do to save them from invisible offenses?”

The Buddha said:

“When evil is sown, calamity arises. Who can save them? Place one child of the Sakya clan beneath my bowl, so that the truth of this may be demonstrated.”

Venerable Maudgalyayana did as instructed. The Sakya elders obeyed and diligently guarded the gates. Mara transformed himself into a familiar and virtuous man, approached, and scolded the Sakyas:

“If the king merely wished to borrow the road to pass through, and you blocked his way, the evil consequences afterward would become even more severe. May a disciple of the Buddha pass through?”

Taking advantage of the situation, Mara withdrew the bolt and opened the gate. The soldiers poured in like water surging through a broken dike. Sakya Mahanama, the commander-in-chief, had once studied under the same teacher as the king’s late royal father, and the two had sworn to be friends who would share life and death. He called the king over and said:

“Restrain your savage soldiers for a short while, so that the people in the city may escape with their lives intact.”

The king said:

“Very well.”

The commander-in-chief went to the bank of the moat, faced toward the Buddha, bowed his head, and wept, saying:

“With my insignificant life, I beseech that young man. May all beings throughout the ten directions obey the Buddha’s teaching, forget themselves to save others, and extend their beneficence throughout heaven and earth. May they not commit the cruel deeds of wolves and cobras, slaughtering living beings as does this unrighteous king.”

He then leaped into the water, tied his hair to a tree root, and died shortly thereafter. The king sent an envoy to look. The envoy returned and reported that he had seen exactly this. The soldiers entered the city, buried the Sakyas up to half their bodies, laid wooden beams across them, and had elephants drag the beams over them, killing them all. Some were trampled by horses, while others were cut down with swords by the soldiers.

At that time, the Buddha suffered a headache, and his pain was beyond description. Brahma, Sakra, and the Four Great Heavenly Kings all stood attending him with palms joined, and seeing this, their hearts grew even more anguished. Among the Sakya clan, some took refuge with their lives in the Three Jewels, some recited sutras, and some aroused a mind of loving-kindness. The Sakyas had three cities, and the punitive campaign was not yet complete. The king recalled how Sakya Mahanama had sacrificed his own life to beg that everyone be spared, and he became sorrowful. He therefore ordered the army to withdraw and return, and sent an envoy to respectfully address the Buddha:

“The troops are exhausted. We beg to return to our country and rest the army. On another day, we shall respectfully come and bow our heads at your feet.”

The Buddha said:

“Thank you, Great King, for taking care of yourself.”

The envoy withdrew. The Buddha watched him depart. Venerable Ananda adjusted his Dharma robe, bowed his head, and asked:

“The Buddha never gazes without purpose. Is there some reason for this?”

The Buddha said:

“The Sakya clan has exhausted its offenses, while the king’s retribution is now approaching.”

Seven days later, the demons of the Mount Tai hell burned him and the subjects of that kingdom with fire. That king’s offense was as difficult to remedy as the calamity of the Sakyas had been to avert.

The Buddha told Venerable Ananda to lift the bowl; the person beneath the bowl had also died. The Buddha led the sramanas to the Brahmins’ lecture hall. The road passed through the place where the Sakyas had fallen. Some were already dead, while others had broken legs or arms. When they saw the Buddha approaching, they struck their own cheeks in grief and said:

“We take refuge with our lives in the Buddha, take refuge with our lives in the Dharma, and take refuge with our lives in the noble Sangha. May all sentient beings throughout the ten directions dwell forever in peace and not become as we have.”

At that moment, couches spontaneously emerged from beneath the ground without leaving any fissure in the earth, and all the sramanas sat down. The Buddha said:

“This king was treacherous and rebellious, and thus committed such a grave offense!”

He then asked the sramanas:

“Has anyone ever seen butchers, hunters, or fishermen become flying emperors?”

They replied:

“No, World-Honored One, we have not.”

The Buddha said:

“Excellent! Neither have I. This is because they do not possess the four vast states of mind by which one bestows kindness and brings deliverance to living beings.”

The king reached the shore of a lake, and his soldiers entered the lake to bathe. The spirit of the lake transformed into venomous snakes and bit them. The poison turned their bodies dark blue and black.

Some died immediately in the water; others walked a hundred paces or a li before dying. Only half their number managed to return to the kingdom. Malevolent demons gathered within the palace.

At night there were cries of people and wails of creatures. They gathered together and guarded one another, awaiting dawn to carry out their orders. The sun and moon eclipsed one another, causing darkness; the stars departed from their proper courses; strange portents appeared throughout the kingdom from one end to the other; and there was no one who did not resent the king.

The king heard the Buddha’s teaching concerning the extraordinary transformation of fire, and his heart burned as though scorched by boiling water. He therefore sent an envoy to inquire about the matter. The Buddha spoke to him just as before.

The envoy returned and reported everything in full, whereupon the entire kingdom shook and its roof tiles and bricks shattered. The king assembled his ministers to deliberate, saying:

“We may take refuge either in the mountains or as an entire kingdom.”

They then decided to board ships and sail out to sea. The strong and wealthy were permitted to accompany them, while the poor and infirm had to remain in the kingdom. Those from the royal palace donned fine garments and boarded the ships. Seeing fire in the distance, they removed their garments and detached the large sun-fire jewels fastened to them. On that day, clouds billowed forth, the sky became utterly dark, and wind and rain came in successive waves. The rafts broke apart and the ships drifted away. The subjects all said:

“The benighted king acted tyrannically, and so we have met with this terrible calamity.”

At midday, the sun appeared and heated the sun-fire jewels, causing them to emit flames. The fire began on the king’s ship. The ghosts and spirits of the Mount Tai hell assembled with a clamor like continuous peals of thunder. The people of the entire kingdom entered the Mount Tai hell while still alive. Those who remained on shore were somewhat frightened but remained safe.

On that day, the Buddha entered the meditative concentration of loving-kindness. The sramanas asked Venerable Ananda:

“Why has the Buddha not come forth?”

The Venerable replied:

“A great calamity has befallen the kingdom. Therefore, the Buddha has entered the meditative concentration of loving-kindness and compassion and has not come forth.”

Early the next morning, the Buddha emerged, and all the sramanas bowed their heads in homage. Sakra, Brahma, the Four Heavenly Kings, dragons, spirits, ghosts, rulers, and their subjects all respectfully welcomed him, bowed in homage, and sat down. Venerable Ananda adjusted his robes and asked the Buddha about the causes of the calamities that had befallen the two kingdoms. He implored the Buddha to dispel everyone’s doubts so that all living beings might clearly understand the causes of misfortune and blessing.

The Buddha told Venerable Ananda:

“Long ago, there were three neighboring kingdoms. At that time, the Buddha had long since entered nirvana, and no one cultivated or studied the scriptures. The kingdom adjoining the place where the bodhisattva lived went to a region with many lakes and caught countless fish.

When the neighboring kingdom heard of this, its people rejoiced and brought money to purchase them. Seeing that all the fish were already gone, they returned sorrowfully. The distant kingdom knew nothing of the matter and had no intention of buying any fish.

Those who caught the fish are now the three hundred million Sakyas who were slain. Those in the kingdom that rejoiced and sought to buy the fish are now the Sakyas in one city who, fearing the soldiers, fled and lost all their possessions. Those in the distant kingdom who did not hear that fish had been caught are now the Sakyas in another city who did not know that the king was coming.

As for me, at that time I saw people trampling upon the heads of the fish but did not utter a single word to restrain them. Therefore, although I have now attained Buddhahood and become the Most Honored One of the three realms, I still could not escape the affliction of a headache—how much less could ordinary people escape their retribution!

“Disciples, always keep your minds upright and proper. Bring forth the virtue of loving-kindness and compassion, bestowing every kind of peace and security upon living beings. Forget yourselves to save others.

Take care not to kill living beings, steal others’ property, commit sexual misconduct with another’s spouse, lie, speak frivolously and ornately, engage in divisive speech, utter malicious words, harbor jealousy, anger, or delusion, or slander the Three Jewels. No calamity is greater than the ten unwholesome deeds, and nothing among blessings is more precious than the ten wholesome deeds. To kill living beings is to kill oneself; to save living beings is to save oneself.

Rather than wearying the mind with evil thoughts, speaking evil words with the mouth, and committing evil deeds with the body, it is better to devote the mind to contemplation of the Way, speak words of the Way with the mouth, and perform deeds of the Way with the body. When one does good, blessings follow; when one does evil, calamity seeks one out, just as an echo answers a sound and a shadow follows a form. Having witnessed transformations such as these, you should be vigilant.

Never turn against the benevolent heart of heaven and earth by delighting in the savage ways of wolves and jackals.”

When the Buddha had finished speaking this sutra, the four assemblies of disciples, devas, dragons, ghosts, spirits, and all living beings rejoiced exceedingly, bowed their heads in homage, and withdrew.