六度集經

Chapter V: THE PERFECTION OF MEDITATION

What is the perfection of meditation?

It is uprightness of heart and one-pointedness of mind, gathering all wholesome qualities and holding them within, using the wholesome to eliminate impure and unwholesome thoughts. Meditation has four stages. In practicing the first meditation, one abandons the objects of craving and the five forms of corrupt attachment. When the eyes see beautiful forms, the foolish mind is stirred by lust; likewise with sounds heard by the ears, fragrances smelled by the nose, flavors tasted by the mouth, and pleasing sensations enjoyed by the body. One resolved to practice the Way must distance oneself from them.

There are also five hindrances: the hindrance of greed for wealth, the hindrance of anger, the hindrance of sloth and sleep, the hindrance of sensual desire, and the hindrance of doubt—doubting whether the Way exists or does not exist, whether the Buddha exists or does not exist, and whether the sutras exist or do not exist. When the mind remains constantly mindful, it becomes pure and undefiled. When the mind is lucid, it sees the true path; upon attaining realization, there is nothing it does not know.

Devas, nagas, ghosts, and spirits cannot delude such a person. It is like someone who had ten enemies but has escaped and left them behind, going alone into the mountains where no one knows his whereabouts and where he is no longer afraid. One who has withdrawn from sensual desire and whose pure mind is tranquil has attained what is called the first meditation.

After the mind has attained the first meditation, it advances toward the second meditation. The second meditation is like the state of a person fleeing enemies who, although dwelling deep in the mountains, still fears that his enemies may find him and therefore conceals himself even more deeply. Although the practitioner has distanced himself from the ten enemies of sensual desire, he still fears that the bandits of desire may come and destroy his resolve for the Way.

When he attains the second meditation, sensual desire has become more remote and can no longer defile him. In the first meditation, wholesome and unwholesome states contend with each other; the wholesome is used to eliminate the unwholesome, so that the unwholesome recedes and the wholesome advances. In the second meditation, the mind rests in joy and tranquility, and the wholesome is no longer used to eliminate the unwholesome.

The two thoughts of joy and goodness both cease, the ten evils vanish without a trace, and external conditions cannot penetrate the mind. It is like a spring on a lofty summit: no stream flows into it as its source, nor is its water supplied by rain sent down by nagas; instead, its own clear water wells up and fills it. Wholesomeness issues from the mind itself, while evil can no longer enter through the eyes, ears, nose, or mouth.

When the mind is thus mastered, it turns toward the third meditation.

In the third meditation, one keeps the mind firm and steadfast. Neither wholesome nor unwholesome states can enter it, and the mind is as stable as Mount Sumeru. Neither evil nor good emerges in response to external affairs; wholesome and unwholesome states have subsided and cannot penetrate the mind. It is like a lotus whose roots and stalk are beneath the water and whose unopened bud is enveloped by the water. The practice of the third meditation is as pure as the lotus: all evils have been abandoned, and the mind is entirely at peace. When the mind has been mastered in this way, one turns toward the fourth meditation.

At this stage, both good and evil are completely relinquished. The mind neither thinks of good nor recalls evil, and inwardly it is bright and pure like beryl. It is also like a princess who has bathed herself clean, anointed her body with perfume, and put on new garments, so that inwardly and outwardly she is radiant, fragrant, and immaculate.

With an upright mind, the bodhisattva attains the fourth meditation. The defiled hosts of evil cannot obscure his mind, just as clean silk can be dyed any color. It is also like a potter who kneads clay and shapes vessels: if the clay contains no sand or gravel, he can fashion anything from it.

It is also like a silversmith who thoroughly refines pure gold and can produce hundreds of wondrous forms and a thousand ingenious works according to his wishes. Once the bodhisattva, with purified mind, has attained these four meditations, he can freely do as he wishes: moving and flying lightly, walking upon water, dividing his body, and performing myriad transformations, appearing and disappearing without interruption.

He is free with respect to vanishing and remaining; he can touch the sun and moon and shake heaven and earth. His seeing and hearing penetrate everywhere, and there is nothing he does not thoroughly comprehend. With a pure, lucid, and discerning mind, he attains omniscience.

Having attained this knowledge, he knows events from before heaven and earth came into being, the transformations of beings throughout the ten directions in the present, everything their minds have thought and remembered, and events that have not yet arisen. He knows how the spirits of beings become devas or humans, fall into the hells of Mount Tai, or are born among hungry ghosts and animals; how, when their merit is exhausted, they undergo punishment, and when their calamities are exhausted, they receive blessings.

There is no place, however distant, that his knowledge does not reach. In general, after attaining the four meditations, if one wishes to attain the lucid knowledge of the stream-enterer, once-returner, non-returner, and arhat, or the luminous wisdom of awakening of the Tathagatas—Those Most True, Universally and Perfectly Awakened, Unsurpassed—one need only seek it and it is immediately attained, just as the myriad things all arise from the earth.

From those who have attained the knowledge of the five superknowledges up to the Blessed One, all attain realization through the four meditations, just as beings cannot stand firmly without the earth.

The Blessed One further taught:

“Even if beings in the world attain the wisdom of heavenly sovereigns and the penetrating insight of holy sages, if they do not encounter this sutra, they will still be unable to attain the concentration that severs the four kinds of attachment and will remain no different from ignorant fools. When one possesses wisdom and is also one-pointed in mind, one is close to accomplishing the liberation of the world.”

Such one-pointedness is the bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation.

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75- Long ago, there was a bhiksu who, after eating, washed his hands, rinsed his mouth, and went deep into the mountains. There, in a burial ground beside the foot of a tree, he sat down, joined his palms, bowed his head, and one-pointedly extinguished distracting thoughts, resolving in his mind to eliminate the five hindrances. When those five had been eliminated, his mind blazed with light.

Darkness withdrew, and perfect lucidity prevailed. He then looked upon devas and humans, flying creatures and crawling things, with compassion. He pitied them for their ignorance and delusion, for they continually bore the heavy burden of the five hindrances, which obstructed and cut off their lucid, wholesome minds.

When the five hindrances are removed, wholesome qualities immediately grow strong. It is like a poor person who borrows money to conduct business, earns a profit, repays the debt, and still has wealth remaining with which to repair his dwelling. Each day he gains further profit, and his heart rejoices.

It is also like slaves who are released and become free citizens; like those who recover from a grievous illness and whose relatives grow more numerous day by day; or like someone imprisoned for a serious crime who encounters an act of amnesty and is set free.

It is also like a person who crosses the sea in search of precious jewels, endures many dangers, and then returns home and meets his loved ones again, his joy beyond measure.

To bear the five hindrances in the mind is to suffer like those five forms of misery. The bhiksu clearly perceived the truth and abandoned the five hindrances, like those ordinary people who escaped the five hardships described above. When the five hindrances recede, lucid wisdom advances; all evils are extinguished, and resolve for the Way becomes powerful. One then attains the first meditation. In progressing from the first meditation to the second meditation, there are always three practices:

First, the power of diligence.

Second, repeated mindfulness.

Third, contemplation.

Through these three practices, the fourth meditation is attained. One progresses from the first meditation to the second, from the second to the third, and from the third to the fourth. The fourth meditation surpasses the third, the third surpasses the second, and the second surpasses the first. At the stage of the first meditation, the ten evils recede and the five wholesome factors advance.

What are the ten evils?

The eyes delight in beautiful forms, the ears delight in pleasing sounds, the nose delights in fragrant scents, the mouth delights in delicious flavors, and the body delights in agreeable contact. Together with the five hindrances described above, these are called the ten evils.

What are the five wholesome factors?

The first is applied thought, the second is sustained thought, the third is joy, the fourth is bliss, and the fifth is one-pointedness of mind. These are the five inward wholesome factors.

At the stage of the second meditation, applied thought and sustained thought are no longer present. One masters the mind and contemplates inwardly; wholesome practice is internal and no longer enters or departs through the ears, eyes, nose, or mouth. Thus, wholesome and unwholesome practices no longer interfere with one another, and the mind abides inwardly with joy alone. The practice of the third meditation eliminates joy; the mind turns toward purity and becomes inwardly clear, still, and tranquil. The Blessed One, the Buddhas, and the arhats taught:

“Those who can extinguish desire and purify their hearts will remain secure and at ease throughout their lives.”

At the fourth stage of meditation, mental joy is relinquished, and one realizes concentration and tranquility. In the first meditation, the ears are disturbed by sounds. In the second meditation, the mind is disturbed by thoughts. In the third meditation, the mind is disturbed by joy. In the fourth meditation, the mind is disturbed by the breath. In the first meditation, when the ears cease to be disturbed by sounds, one advances to the second meditation. In the second meditation, when thoughts are completely extinguished, one advances to the third meditation. In the third meditation, when joy is extinguished, one advances to the fourth meditation. In the fourth meditation, when the breath ceases, one realizes the Dharma of the concentration of emptiness.

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation is always single-minded in this way.

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76—On the bodhisattva’s path to enlightenment, there are certain contemplations by which the mind may be purified and unified so that meditation is attained. Upon seeing an old person with white hair, missing teeth, and an altered form, one understands within: “In the future, I shall certainly be like this.” By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon seeing a sick person whose body and mind are distressed, suffering pain as though beaten with a staff, one sorrowfully realizes: “In the future, I too shall be like this.” By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon seeing beings whose lives have ended, whose breath has ceased, whose bodily warmth has dissipated, whose spirits have departed, and whose corpses have grown cold—abandoned by their relatives and carried to a distant field, where within ten days their bodies become bloated and decompose, or are devoured by foxes, dogs, and birds; where maggots arise in their flesh and skin and in turn consume the flesh of their bodies; where pus, blood, and foul fluids flow slimily upon the ground; and where their bones fall apart and lie scattered, with legs, feet, thighs, hip bones, shinbones, ribs, arm bones, head, teeth, and skull all separated from one another—the practitioner of the Way reflects: “Whatever lives must die.

Persons and creatures are like illusions: what comes together must disperse; the spirit departs and the body disintegrates. How could I alone be different and not become like this?” Seeing this, one is filled with sorrow and compassion. By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon seeing a corpse that has lain for a long time, its body and bones having perished and mingled with sand, dust, mud, and earth, one deeply reflects: “My body will also become like this.” By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon hearing of the savage torments, boiling water, and scorching fires of the Mount Tai hells; the terrible pain endured there; the hardships, hunger, and thirst of hungry ghosts; and the suffering of animals from being disemboweled, killed, cut, and hacked apart, one’s heart is appalled by these things. By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon seeing destitute people die of hunger and cold, or seeing those who have acted unlawfully punished by royal law, the practitioner of the Way reflects: “These people have met with calamity because they lacked aspiration for the Way. If I am not diligent, I shall surely become like them.” By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation. Deeply reflecting and correctly examining oneself within, one sees that from below one is oppressed by urine and feces, while from above one is assailed by heat and cold. Through this, one clearly knows that the body is repulsive. By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or upon encountering a year of famine, when the five grains are depleted, the people are impoverished and rise in disorder, killing one another until corpses lie strewn everywhere, one sees this and sorrowfully reflects: “If I do not practice the Way, I shall surely become like this.” By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation. Seeing that there is prosperity and decline, that wealth is difficult to preserve, that youth and vigor give way to old age and sickness, and that life is like a flash of lightning, one is startled and mindful of these things.

By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation. Reflecting upon the Buddha’s majestic marks of excellence, and that it was through pure cultivation that he became the World-Honored One, one’s heart rejoices. By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or by constantly recollecting the profound and wondrous meanings of the scriptures and the lofty practices of the śramaṇas, one understands single-mindedly and attains meditation. By doing only good with the body and accumulating merit from beginning to end, one reflects single-mindedly and attains meditation. Only fools seek to oppose the Buddha’s luminous Dharma, thereby both exhausting themselves and adding to their offenses. The devas in the world observe the precepts and maintain the fasts, thereby naturally reaching the heavenly realms, where their longevity and glory are immeasurable. By understanding this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Having received the Buddha’s profound and wondrous scriptures, one carefully contemplates their deep meaning and uses them to instruct and guide sentient beings, bringing joy to one’s heart. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation. One constantly remembers that sentient beings no sooner come into existence than they begin to decay, and that all decay and destruction entail suffering. Reflecting thus, one feels sorrow and compassion. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

The dispositions of sentient beings cannot remain constant but have always been subject to change. The practitioner of the Way becomes apprehensive, knowing that when life ends and death arrives, one may fall into an evil path. Clearly seeing that the splendors of worldly life are false like a dream, the mind awakens anew. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Foods entering the mouth mingle with digestive fluids; though savory outside, they putrefy within and are transformed into feces and urine. Recollecting this, one finds them repulsive. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

An infant in its mother’s womb first congeals like gruel, then gradually grows. When its months and days are fulfilled, its body is completely formed. Yet at the perilous moment of birth there is much danger and little safety. After birth, various illnesses increase together. Whether one lives for one year, ten years, fifty years, or even a hundred years, all must grow old and die; no one escapes this calamity. One reflects that one is also like this. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Whatever exists must decay; though one seeks after it, no abiding place can be found. The three realms are all empty, and one’s heart no longer clings to them. One compassionately reflects that sentient beings do not encounter the Buddha’s scriptures, are obscured by perverse desires, and do not understand impermanence; one therefore vows to rescue them. By reflecting upon this single-mindedly, one attains meditation.

Or one firmly resolves to fulfill the lofty practices and always maintains the four states of mind, compassionately nurturing sentient beings just as a loving mother cherishes and protects her young child. When the child runs off to play with companions, the mother searches for it with a compassionate heart. She finds the child soiled with mud and dust, crying from hunger and thirst.

Seeing the child in this condition, she is moved to tears. She carries the child home, bathes it, changes its clothes, and gives it food and drink. When the child becomes healthy and cheerful, the loving mother’s heart rejoices.

The mother lovingly protects the child and keeps it close beside her, never again neglecting it as before. The practitioner of the Way compassionately loves and aids sentient beings even more than that loving mother. The practitioner teaches all people under heaven, together with every creature that crawls, flies, moves, or stirs, to serve the Buddha, study the scriptures, personally esteem the community of śramaṇas, uphold the Buddha’s precepts, keep them in mind, and practice accordingly.

They are taught to abandon the three evils, think good thoughts, speak good words, and perform good deeds with the body; to restrain the three aforementioned evils and continually cultivate the three kinds of goodness. Thus, they will forever be spared the destitution, suffering, and peril of the Mount Tai hells, the hungry ghosts, and the animals, and will dwell securely in a home of boundless merit. The practitioner of the Way continues to seek them out and teach them, fearing that after dwelling amid abundant blessings they may become arrogant, heedless, and unrestrained, follow their evil inclinations, and return to the three evil paths—for this too is a calamity of wealth and honor.

The practitioner therefore admonishes them with the truths of impermanence, suffering, emptiness, and change, and exhorts them to preserve the unconditioned, just as a loving mother’s heart protects her child. By contemplating these sixteen matters and reflecting upon them single-mindedly, one attains meditation. What are these sixteen matters?

—When the breath is long or short, one immediately knows it oneself; when the breath moves the body, one immediately knows it oneself. When the breath is subtle, one immediately knows it oneself. When the breath is fast or slow, one immediately knows it oneself.

When the breath ceases or proceeds, one immediately knows it oneself. When the breath is joyful or sorrowful, one immediately knows it oneself. When one reflects that all things are impermanent, one is aware of the breath; when one reflects that things past cannot be pursued, one is aware of the breath.

When the mind does not entertain thoughts and abandons all doubts, one is aware of the breath. Whether relinquishing bodily life or not relinquishing bodily life, one is aware of the breath. A practitioner of the Way reflects deeply: if this exists, that comes to be; if this does not exist, that does not come to be.

Wherever there is birth, there must be the calamity of aging and death. The spirit does not perish and must then assume another body. Without birth, there is no aging; without aging, there is no death.

By concentrating the mind upon this reflection, one attains meditation.

A practitioner of the Way uses the eye to contemplate birth and death in the world, devoting oneself solely to contemplating the twelve links of dependent origination. By concentrating the mind upon this reflection, one attains meditation.

A practitioner of the Way uses five matters to contemplate one's own physical form. First, one contemplates how one's facial features repeatedly change. Second, suffering and happiness repeatedly alternate. Third, thoughts and intentions repeatedly change. Fourth, the body repeatedly alters. Fifth, good and evil repeatedly replace one another. These are the five matters. They undergo many changes, like flowing water whose successive currents surge onward. By reflecting upon these matters with single-minded concentration, one attains meditation.

How should a practitioner of the Way maintain mindfulness in meditation?

Upon seeing a dead person, one observes carefully and distinctly from head to foot and retains that perception in the mind. Whether walking, standing, lying down, sitting, eating, drinking, or engaged in any activity, one always retains that perception in the mind to strengthen one's resolve; one thereby attains meditation and contemplates with mastery. It is like a person cooking several hu of rice who wishes to know whether it is done. One need only take a single grain from the rice being cooked and examine it. If that grain is done, one knows that all the rest is also done. The resolve for the Way is likewise.

The mind comes and goes like flowing water. If a practitioner of the Way directs thought toward one matter, bringing the mind to rest and purifying intention, one can realize the true Way of liberation of an arhat. At the first dhyana, can one attain arhatship?

The reply was:

—Among those in that state, some attain it and some do not.

—What enables one to attain it, and what prevents one from attaining it?

If, within the first dhyana, there remain “thought” and “craving,” the Way is not accomplished. Heaven and earth are impermanent, and even empty space is difficult to preserve. When the defilements of the mind have been entirely cleansed and no thoughts of craving remain, with the mind purified in this way, one attains arhatship.

From the second and third dhyanas through the fourth dhyana, one maintains the mind as in the first dhyana and constantly recollects the first dhyana. Even if one has not yet attained arhatship, after the end of one's life one can nevertheless advance toward it and is immediately born in the seventh heaven, where one's lifespan is one kalpa. From the second dhyana, at the end of one's life one is born in the eleventh heaven, where one's lifespan is two kalpas.

From the third dhyana, at the end of one's life one is born in the fifteenth heaven, where one's lifespan is eight kalpas. From the fourth dhyana, at the end of one's life one is born in the nineteenth heaven, where one's lifespan is sixteen kalpas. A practitioner of the Way observes that every part of the body is impure: the hair, skin, skull, flesh, tears, saliva, sinews, vessels, marrow, the six hollow organs, and the five solid organs.

Only through the coming together of these impurities is a human body formed. It is like a sack filled with five kinds of grain and produce. There is a sac containing tears; when each component is separately examined, every one is different.

Understanding a person in this way, one inwardly contemplates one's own body: the constituent kinds of the four great elements are each designated by a name, yet none has a self-existent master. Through the contemplation of freedom from desire, one sees that the person is fundamentally empty. By contemplating in this way with single-minded concentration, one attains meditation.

A practitioner of the Way contemplates deeply and clearly understands the four great elements within the body: earth, water, wind, and fire. Hair of the head, bodily hair, bones, teeth, skin, flesh, and the five solid organs belong to earth. Tears, nasal mucus, saliva, blood, pus, sweat, fat, marrow, brain, urine, and the like belong to water. The warmth within the body, which governs the digestion of food and drink, belongs to fire. The breath entering and leaving belongs to wind. It is like a butcher who kills an animal, cuts it apart into four portions, and knows each part thoroughly and completely.

A practitioner of the Way contemplates the body and clearly distinguishes the four great elements: “This is earth; that is water.” The same applies to fire and wind; none has a self-existent master. One constantly keeps this in mind until the heart becomes utterly clear and tranquil. With such single-mindedness, one attains meditation.

A practitioner of the Way knows whether the breath is long or short, slow or fast, coarse or subtle, distinguishing and clearly knowing them all. It is like a person scraping an object, who knows for oneself whether the scraping is deep or shallow. Mindfulness of the breath is likewise. By concentrating the mind upon this reflection, one attains meditation.

The bodhisattva's perfection of meditation is always single-minded in this way.

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77—The crown prince went out on an excursion, and the king ordered that every impurity along the route the prince would travel be removed. The prince left the city. The king of the second heaven transformed himself into an old man and stood before the chariot, with white hair and a bent back, leaning upon a staff and moving forward step by step. The prince asked:

—What kind of person is this?

The charioteer replied:

—That is an old person.

The prince asked:

—What is meant by old age?

He replied:

—The four great elements in his faculties have decayed, and little of his lifespan remains!

The prince asked:

—Will I also grow old in the future?

He replied:

—Since ancient times, everyone has had to grow old; no sage can escape it.

The prince said:

—I am called noble and honored and am different from ordinary people, yet none can escape it. Of what benefit, then, are wealth and honor to me?

He returned to the palace, his mind dwelling continually upon this matter. By concentrating the mind upon this reflection, he attained meditation.

The king asked the attendant:

—When the crown prince went on his excursion and viewed the kingdom, was he pleased?

He replied:

—Along the way, the crown prince saw an old person and realized the impermanence of worldly life, so his heart was not joyful.

The king feared that the crown prince would renounce the kingdom and go forth to cultivate the Way. He therefore increased every kind of pleasure, using splendor and luxury to delude him and music to confuse his resolve, seeking to destroy his aspiration for the Way and cause him to remain and preserve the throne. Later, the crown prince again went on an excursion, and the king commanded:

—No aged or infirm person may be allowed beside the road.

The former Sakra once again transformed himself, this time into a sick person whose body was weary and whose strength and breath were feeble. His skin clung to his bones, and filthy fluids were smeared over his body as he stood leaning beside a gate.

The prince asked:

—What kind of person is this?

The attendant replied:

—That is a sick person.

The prince asked:

—What is meant by sickness?

He replied:

—Because his eating and drinking were immoderate and his times of waking and sleeping irregular, he became ill. An illness may end, or it may cause death.

The prince said:

—My eating and drinking are also immoderate, and my times of lying down and rising are also irregular. Will I likewise become ill?

He replied:

—Wherever there is a body, there is sickness; no one can escape this calamity.

The prince said:

—I cannot escape this calamity, and in the future I shall surely become like this.

He returned to the palace, continually recollecting this matter in his heart, and with single-mindedness entered meditation.

Afterward, he went out on another excursion. Sakra once again transformed himself, this time into a dead person, with men carrying the corpse, others bearing banners, and mourners weeping throughout the road.

The prince asked:

—What kind of person is this?

The attendant replied:

—That is a dead person.

The prince asked:

—What is meant by a dead person?

He replied:

—When life ends, the spirit departs from the corpse, the physical form decays, and one is forever separated from one's relatives. The anguish is immeasurable.

The prince said:

—Will I also become like this?

He replied:

—Even the most exalted sages, whose virtue is fully perfected, cannot escape this calamity.

The prince ordered the chariot turned around and returned to the palace, where he devoted himself wholeheartedly to meditation. Later, he went out again and came to the shelter beside the king’s fields. Sitting beneath a tree, he saw the plowmen turning over the earth and exposing worms; some were wounded, others killed, while birds followed behind and pecked at them. Grieved at heart, he sighed deeply:

-Alas, sentient beings are truly entangled! How can they endure such suffering?

Having reflected thus, he was filled with sorrow and compassion and single-mindedly entered meditation. When the sun rose high and its rays fell upon the prince’s body, the tree lowered its branches to shade him, preventing the sun from scorching him. His royal father came looking for him and, from afar, beheld the awe-inspiring spiritual majesty of one endowed with unsurpassed sacred virtue. With sorrow and joy mingled in his heart, he involuntarily prostrated himself and bowed his head in homage. The prince likewise bowed his head to the ground. After father and son had exchanged greetings, the king returned to the palace, while the prince devoted himself wholeheartedly to meditation.

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation was always single-minded in this way.

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78- When the prince had just been born, the king ordered a physiognomist to examine his marks. The physiognomist reported:

-If he remains to govern the kingdom, he will certainly become a Wheel-Turning Emperor; if he renounces the kingdom and becomes a shramana, he will become the teacher of gods and humans.

The king had palaces built for the three seasons—spring, summer, and winter—with a different palace for each season. Each palace had five hundred female entertainers, neither stout nor thin, their heights and statures harmoniously proportioned, their radiant beauty equal to peach and plum blossoms. Each was skilled in some branch of music and possessed a gentle, graceful bearing, so as to delight the prince.

Before the palaces, the king had rows of trees planted that bore delicious, sweet fruit and fragrant flowers. He had pure ponds constructed, filled with flowers of every kind, while unusual birds sang together in harmonious voices. The opening and closing of the palace gates could be heard forty miles away, and loyal ministers and guards patrolled without the slightest negligence.

Alarm birds, such as Jiaosheng birds and mandarin ducks, would cry continuously whenever anything unusual occurred. By the age of seventeen, there was no scripture in which the prince was not proficient; his teachers had to turn around, bow in submission, and receive instruction from him. The king arranged a marriage for the prince.

His wife was named Gopi, and her countenance was as lovely as a flower, comparable to that of a celestial maiden. The prince’s strength was sufficient to overthrow sixty great elephants at once. At the age of nineteen, the prince assembled all the female entertainers from the three palaces—one thousand five hundred in all—in a single palace and ordered them to perform every kind of music, causing them to become exhausted and fall into deep sleep so that he might depart conveniently.

The gods caused all the musicians to sleep soundly, wholly unaware of anything. The prince silently reflected and looked upon the female entertainers as though they were wooden figures. Their bones were hollow like sections of bamboo; their hands and feet drooped to the ground; tears and mucus flowed forth; saliva spilled from their mouths and soiled their cheeks; their hair was disheveled and their pillows lay bare.

The musicians all wore dangling rings and precious-jade ornaments that swayed as they walked, flashing with brilliant colors. Pearls, strings of gems, and beautiful bracelets adorned them, and their garments, bestowed by the king, were skillfully embroidered in five-colored patterns upon fine silk. Musical instruments such as lutes, zithers, psalteries, flutes, horns, and pipes all lay strewn in disorder across the ground.

The alarm birds and all the guards were also asleep and knew nothing. With his discerning eyes, the prince thoroughly contemplated every body. He also contemplated his own wife, from her hair, skull, bones, teeth, fingernails, skin, flesh, blood, pus, marrow, brain, sinews, vessels, heart, gallbladder, spleen, kidneys, liver, lungs, intestines, and stomach to her tears, feces, urine, saliva, and so forth.

Viewed within, she was like dry bones; seen from without, she appeared wrapped in flesh. There was nothing at all worthy of cherishing; everywhere there was only foul and impure matter. Merely seeing it, or even recalling it afterward, was enough to make one nauseated.

Outwardly the body was adorned with brilliantly patterned silken garments and anointed with fragrant perfumes, yet inwardly it was filled with feces, urine, pus, and blood. Fools place their trust in what is displayed outwardly, but the discerning clearly perceive what lies within; therefore, they keep ten thousand miles away and even close their eyes.

The prince saw them as illusions and dreams, impossible to preserve for long. Life in this world is only borrowed for a time and must inevitably be returned to its owner. The people lying scattered about resembled corpses; there was nothing delightful in them. Devoting himself single-mindedly, he attained meditation. Emerging from meditation, he looked up at the stars and knew that it was midnight. The gods appeared all around him, joining their palms in homage, scattering flowers and fragrances, playing music, and uttering immeasurable vows. Seeing the gods bow their heads in homage, the prince proclaimed this teaching:

-Sensual indulgence is exceedingly evil and causes people to become intoxicated and deranged. It disparages what is right and praises what is wrong, taking darkness to be light. Therefore, the Buddhas, pratyekabuddhas, and arhats do not praise it as good. One must swiftly shun it and keep far away.

After pondering the matter again and again, he summoned Chandaka and said:

-Quickly saddle the horse Kanthaka.

Then he thought to himself, “The opening and closing of the city gates can be heard forty miles away. What am I to do?” The gods all said:

-Revered World-Honored One, we shall restrain the gate so that it does not move and those within the palace will know nothing!

Not even the faintest sound could be heard from the horse’s hooves. The prince mounted the horse, and ten billion Shakras, forty billion Great Kings of the Four Quarters, together with gods, dragons, ghosts, and spirits, flew after him and guided the way. The road became level, and celestial music chanted in praise: “Lofty is the Unsurpassed One! We have been born in time to encounter him. Having beheld his sacred radiance, we extinguish the defilements of worldly minds. Never throughout our lives shall this blessing fade. How painful are the eight adversities! How lamentable for those who must remain far from him!”

The gods again said:

-How fortunate we are to encounter him!

As soon as the horse passed through the gate, the gate made a sound. The horse choked with sorrow and whinnied mournfully, tears streaming down its cheeks. The gods concealed the event from the king, and no one throughout the kingdom knew of it. They did this because they wished the prince swiftly to attain the Way. The prince relinquished the station of a seven-jeweled Golden Wheel-Turning King and endured every hardship in order to liberate sentient beings.

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation was always single-minded in this way.

**

*

79- Before the prince attained the Way, he spread straw upon the ground beneath a tree, joined his palms, and sat upright. Casting away all defiled thoughts, he purified his mind, concentrated his resolve single-mindedly, and thought to himself: “Beginning today, even if my flesh and sinews dry up and decay here, if I do not attain Buddhahood, I shall certainly not rise from this seat.”

The bodhisattva immediately attained the first dhyana, the second, the third, and then the fourth dhyana. During the first watch of the night, he realized the “first knowledge,” knowing his parents, siblings, wife and children, and relatives throughout innumerable past lives. During the second watch, he realized the “second knowledge,” personally knowing how sentient beings throughout innumerable lives had been rich or poor, noble or lowly, exalted or humble, good or evil, and whether thoughts were present or absent in their minds.

There was nothing he did not know. During the third watch, he realized the “third knowledge,” and the three poisons were entirely extinguished. As night gave way to dawn, the Buddha’s path was accomplished.

Silently he reflected: “I have now attained Buddhahood. It is exceedingly profound, exceedingly profound—difficult to understand and difficult to know, the subtlest of all subtleties and the most wondrous of all wonders. Now that the Buddha’s path has been accomplished, there is nowhere it does not penetrate and nothing it does not illuminate.”

He then arose and went to the palace of a naga named Wenlin, whose dwelling was beside a river where there was a tree. The Buddha sat beneath that tree and reflected: “Long ago, the Buddha Dipamkara bestowed upon me the noble prediction that I would become a Buddha named Shakyamuni. It has indeed come to pass exactly as I heard.

I have now attained Buddhahood because, throughout innumerable kalpas until the present, I devoted myself to cultivating the six perfections: generosity, observance of the precepts, patience, diligence, meditation, and wisdom. Having vowed to accumulate merit and virtue, I have only now realized this supremely precious fruit. The blessings of goodness have followed me, and none of my efforts have been in vain.” As soon as the Buddha had reflected thus, he entered a surpassing meditative concentration.

From the riverbank, the Buddha emitted a radiant light that shone all the way into the naga’s dwelling. When the naga saw the glow of that light, every scale and fin on its body stood on end. The naga had previously seen three Buddhas: Buddha Krakucchanda, Buddha Kanakamuni, and Buddha Kashyapa. All three Buddhas had sat in this very place and attained the path, and the light of each had shone into the naga’s dwelling. Seeing the light now, the naga thought: “This light is the same as that of the three former Buddhas. Has another Buddha appeared in the world?”

Overjoyed, the naga emerged from the water and looked to the right and left. It saw the Buddha seated beneath the tree, his body adorned with the thirty-two excellent marks, golden-purple in hue, and radiating a brilliance surpassing that of the sun and moon. His excellent marks were upright and majestic, like the kowa tree.

The naga approached the Buddha, bowed its head and face to the ground at his feet, and circumambulated him seven times. Its body then withdrew to a distance of forty li from the Buddha, while its seven heads formed a canopy above him. Rejoicing, the naga caused wind and rain to fall for seven days and seven nights.

The Buddha sat upright, unmoving, without inhaling or exhaling. After seven days without food, he had attained Buddhahood, and in the joy of his heart all conceptions had ceased. The naga was also filled with joy and ate nothing for seven days, yet entertained no thought of hunger or thirst.

After seven days, the wind and rain ceased. The Buddha emerged from meditative concentration, and the naga transformed itself into a young brahmin, neatly dressed. Kneeling upright with palms joined, it bowed its head and asked:

“Have you attained a state free from cold and heat, hunger and thirst, in which merit and virtue have converged and the poisons can do no harm? Having become a Buddha in the world, uniquely honored throughout the three realms, are you not joyful?”

The Buddha told the naga:

“The scriptures of the Buddhas of the past declare that it is joyful when sentient beings escape the three evil paths and attain human birth. It is joyful to live at ease in the world while firmly maintaining one’s resolve for the path. It is joyful now to understand all that one heard in the past.

It is joyful to dwell in the world with loving-kindness and compassion, harming no sentient being. It is joyful when heavenly maras and all virulent poisons have been completely destroyed. It is joyful to be content and free of desire, without craving wealth or nobility.

It is joyful to attain the path in the world, to become the teacher of gods and humans, and for the mind to attain the concentrations of emptiness, wishlessness, and signlessness. When this outflow-tainted body of sensual desires returns to its empty original nature, abides forever in the realm of quiescence, and suffering is eternally and utterly ended—that is unsurpassed joy.”

The naga bowed its head and said:

“From this day forward, I take refuge in the Buddha and take refuge in the Dharma.”

The Buddha told the naga:

“Now that there is a holy assembly—the ascetic bhikshus resolutely determined to attain arhatship—you should also take refuge in them.”

The naga replied:

“Yes. I take refuge in the assembly of shramanas.”

Among animals, that naga was the first creature converted by the Buddha to become his follower.

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation was constantly single-minded in this way.

*

80—One day, the Buddha entered a narrow path. Beside the road stood a great tree, and he sat beneath it together with one thousand two hundred and fifty bhikshus, single-mindedly entering meditative concentration. Five hundred carts passed by. At that time the Buddha was thirsty, so he summoned Venerable Ananda and said:

“Go and fetch some water. I wish to drink.”

Ananda said:

“Five hundred carts have just passed by, so the water there is very muddy and cannot be drunk.”

The Buddha again said:

“I need water. Quickly fetch some and bring it here.”

When the Buddha had spoken for the third time, Ananda said:

“There is a stream named Jiudui. Its water is clear and sweet, suitable both for bathing and for drinking.”

Before the Buddha and Venerable Ananda had finished speaking, a man named Baoji arrived. He had taken an ascetic named Alara Kalama as his teacher. Baoji beheld the Buddha’s brilliant spiritual majesty, his golden-purple body, and his wondrously rare excellent marks, such as were seldom possessed even by sages of old. His heart overflowed with joy, and he approached with palms joined, bowed his head, and said:

“Five hundred carts have just passed by. Was the Blessed One unaware of them?”

The Buddha replied:

“I neither saw nor heard anything.”

Baoji said:

“Was the Blessed One asleep?”

The Buddha replied:

“I was seated in meditation and attained single-minded concentration.”

Baoji praised him, saying:

“Has the Tathagata, Unattached, Perfectly and Truly Awakened One attained a concentration so profound and wondrous? Just now, the passing carts made even the water tremble, and dust covered your body, yet your resolve for the path remained unchanged; you neither noticed nor saw anything. Heaven and earth might be shaken, yet that resolve would remain firmly concentrated.

“When my teacher was alive, he too once entered meditation beneath a tree beside the road. At that time, five hundred carts likewise passed before him. Someone asked him, ‘Did you hear or see anything?’ My teacher replied, ‘I neither heard nor saw.’ The man asked, ‘Were you asleep at the time, or had you gone somewhere?’ He replied, ‘I was single-minded and attained pure concentration, so I neither heard nor saw.’ The man said, ‘Only an arhat whose resolve for the path is profound could be like this! Carts passed before you and your body was covered with dust and earth, yet you knew nothing of it.’ Seeing the mysterious profundity of my teacher’s resolve for the path, that man served him as his teacher for the rest of his life.”

Baoji continued:

“The Buddha’s resolve is quiescent and concentrated, never wavering, just like that of my former teacher. Beginning today and continuing throughout my life, I shall reverently observe the Buddha’s five precepts, become a faithful layman, and devote myself to eliminating all evil.”

The Buddha asked Baoji:

“Is the sound of five hundred carts equal to the reverberation of thunder?”

He replied:

“Even the sound of a thousand carts cannot compare with a faint peal of thunder during a rainstorm, much less with the crashing roar of a thunderbolt.”

The Blessed One said:

“Formerly, when I was in the district of Atan, I sat beneath a grass shelter contemplating the origin of birth and death. Suddenly a violent storm arose, with wind, rain, thunder, and lightning roaring tumultuously. It killed four bulls and two brothers who were plowing. Great crowds of people from that district gathered to look. When I came out of the shelter to walk in meditation, a man approached me. I asked him:

“‘What have the people come to see?’

“The man recounted what had happened and then asked, ‘Where was the Buddha at that time?’ I replied:

“‘Alone inside the shelter.’

“The man asked:

“‘Was the Buddha asleep then?’

“I replied:

“‘No.’

“The man said:

“‘How could one be awake and yet not hear? Your resolve for the path is exceedingly profound. From this day forward, I vow to serve the Blessed One as my teacher, devote myself to purely observing the five precepts as a faithful layman, and uphold the true path throughout my life.’”

When Bao Ke heard this account, his mind opened and all his doubts were resolved. Turning to his attendant, he said:

“In the storehouse are thousands of garments woven of gold and silk. Choose the finest one and bring it here; I wish to offer it to the Buddha.”

The attendant obeyed, returned home, and brought it back. With his own hands, Bao Ke draped the robe upon the Buddha, then stepped back, bowed his head, and said:

“From this day onward, I pray that the World-Honored One will temper somewhat his great spiritual majesty and deign to visit the village of us lay devotees. Please come to my home, so that all the elders and children of my clan may personally make offerings to the Buddha. Even if, throughout the entire lifespan of heaven and earth and with the utmost reverence, one were to serve devas, nagas, ghosts, spirits, and all creatures that walk, fly, wriggle, or crawl, it would not equal a single day of offering a meal to one shramana—how much less could it equal making offerings to the Unsurpassed, Right and True Buddha! I pray that the World-Honored One, out of his vast loving-kindness, will bestow upon me this boundless blessing.”

The World-Honored One said:

“Excellent!”

Such was the bodhisattva’s constant, resolute dedication to the perfection of meditation.

– *

*

81—The Buddha himself recounted:

“When I was still a bodhisattva, I was named Ever-Weeping. The Bodhisattva Ever-Weeping continually shed tears as he walked. At that time there was no Buddha in the world, all the scriptures had been lost, and no community of holy and worthy shramanas could be encountered; yet the bodhisattva constantly yearned to see a Buddha and hear the wondrous purport of the scriptures.

The world in that age was defiled and turbid: people turned their backs on the right and followed the wrong, delighted in deceit, and craved profit, like moths drawn to flame. They did not understand that the Four Immeasurable Minds and the Six Perfections could keep their households secure and blessed forever. Instead, the people of the world abandoned these teachings of the Buddha, brought upon themselves those perilous calamities, and utterly ruined themselves.

For this reason, the bodhisattva sorrowfully wept as he walked.

“Long ago there was a Buddha named King Tathagata Stainless Reflection of the Dharma. He had passed into nirvana long before, and consequently all his scriptural teachings had been lost. The Bodhisattva Ever-Weeping dreamed that this Buddha taught him the Dharma, saying:

“‘Take care not to become proud of your merit. Learn the conduct of noble practitioners. Cast away the defilement of affectionate attachment; do not allow yourself to be stained by the dust of the six sense faculties; and let not even desires as fine as a strand of silk or a hair remain in your mind. When every thought is forever stilled in tranquil quiescence, that is the unconditioned.’

“The bodhisattva heard this teaching from the Buddha as a hungry man receives delicious food. His joy was boundless; the defilements of his mind were extinguished, and he entered purity. He immediately left his home, wife, and children and entered deep into the mountains, dwelling in solitude and sustaining himself with spring water and wild fruit. There, deep in the mountains, he struck his breast with his hands and lamented:

“‘How grievous is the age into which I was born! I have not encountered an age in which a Buddha abides, nor have I heard the Buddha’s scriptures! The supremely true World-Honored Ones of living beings, now present throughout the ten directions, see all clearly, hear all distinctly, and know everything. Their manifestations appear everywhere, and the radiance of their illumination reaches every place. I pray that they will manifest their august spiritual presence, enabling me to see a Buddha and hear the ultimate purport of the great path and the luminous Dharma.’

“As soon as his sorrowful plea had ended, a heavenly deity descended and appeared, saying: ‘Wise one, lament no more! The Buddha has a great Dharma called the light of wisdom that has gone beyond. All Buddhas of the past, present, and future attain Buddhahood through this Dharma.

You must seek out this scripture, read and recite its text, investigate its wondrous meaning, uphold it, and cultivate it. You will surely attain the four fearlessnesses, the ten powers, and the eighteen unique qualities; your body will be purple-gold in hue, and boundless radiance will encircle your neck. In the scriptural teachings of the ten directions, you will become an enlightened leader, the most honored among the holy ones, and a teacher of devas and humans, attaining what even Buddhas and arhats have not attained.’

“The Bodhisattva Ever-Weeping raised his head, looked up, and replied:

“‘Whom must I follow to obtain this precious Dharma? What means must I employ, and to what land must I go? What is the name of that teacher?’

“The heavenly being replied:

“‘From here, proceed directly eastward, without thinking of form, feeling, perception, formations, or consciousness; without thinking of suffering or happiness, good or evil; and without thinking of ears, eyes, nose, mouth, body, mind, self, others, anything experienced in former lives, or anything yet to come in future lives. Do not think of earth, water, wind, fire, or space; of blue, yellow, white, black, or any other color; of lust, anger, delusion, jealousy, male or female, relatives, right or wrong, before or after, high or low, slow or swift.

Do not think that there is a Buddha or no Buddha, scriptural teaching or no scriptural teaching, holy and worthy beings or no holy and worthy beings.... Your mind must be empty, and all aspirations must cease. If you resolutely guard your mind and do not disobey my instructions, you will behold the sacred scripture of wisdom that has gone beyond.’

“The Bodhisattva Ever-Weeping raised his head and said:

“‘Yes. I vow to uphold these instructions throughout my life.’

“The heavenly being said again:

“‘You must remember them diligently.’

“Having spoken, the heavenly being suddenly vanished. The bodhisattva accepted the instructions, made his heart upright and his mind pure, and set out eastward in search of the teaching. After walking for several days, he stopped and thought to himself: ‘My merit in the past was meager, and so I was born without encountering a Buddha.

There are no shramanas in this world, and rulers and subjects alike are benighted, unaware that the Buddha is the One Possessed of Wisdom That Has Gone Beyond, the honored Teacher who has dispelled darkness.’ Though only a few miles away, he had not yet seen anything. His heart was overwhelmed by grief, and he wept as he walked. Such was his sincerity that it moved the Buddhas.

A Buddha descended from above and appeared before him. His body was purple-gold, his excellent marks surpassed those of every holy being, his face resembled the full moon, and a halo as brilliant as the sun encircled his head and neck. Devas attended him, bearing jeweled curtains and splendid parasols, playing music, scattering flowers, joining their palms, and bowing their heads.

The Buddha praised the bodhisattva:

“‘Excellent! Excellent! Your resolute aspiration in seeking the path is exceedingly rare in the world.’

“When the bodhisattva beheld the Buddha, his heart was filled with both joy and sorrow. Bowing his head, he said:

“‘I pray that the Buddha will have compassion upon me! Put an end to all my burdens, release me from every bond, open my blind eyes and dispel their darkness, heal my illness, and expound the scriptural Dharma for my sake.’

“The Buddha said:

“‘The three realms are all empty; whatever exists is empty. The myriad things are like illusions: no sooner do they arise than they perish, like bubbles upon water. See the world clearly in this way and contemplate it.

I shall expound the scriptural Dharma for you. Keep your heart upright and listen with complete attention; take care never to forget. Two miles east of here lies a land named Gandhavati, a citadel of bodhisattvas.

The entire land is inhabited solely by great beings, without a single ordinary person. Even if one were to recount the virtues of these bodhisattvas until the end of the kalpa, their virtues would still remain inexhaustible. There is a bodhisattva of lofty virtue and supremely honored resolve named Dharma-Coming.

Among the holy ones, he is like the moon amid the constellations. He always retains the scriptures in memory, possesses boundless wisdom, and constantly expounds the wisdom that has gone beyond, teaching others without cease. Among the bodhisattvas, some listen to the scriptures, some recite them, some copy them, and some collate and establish their original texts.

When you arrive, you will see them. They will surely become your teachers and exhort you to seek the Buddha. Go there quickly, and they themselves will fully explain to you the great virtue of the wisdom that has gone beyond.’

“When the Bodhisattva Ever-Weeping heard the Buddha praise the renowned virtues of those bodhisattvas, his mind entered the joy of the Dharma. He attained the samadhi of the present; all perceptions became still, and he beheld all the Buddhas expounding for his sake the virtues of the wisdom that has gone beyond. They praised him for his diligent effort and resolute aspiration in seeking the Buddha, and thus they all proclaimed:

—Excellent! Seeking the Buddha with resolute aspiration, you have now encountered him! In past lives, when I first aroused the aspiration, I too was just like this. The Buddhas of the past, future, and present have likewise devoted themselves to seeking as you do. You will certainly attain Buddhahood and deliver all sentient beings.

When Bodhisattva Ever-Compassionate emerged from samadhi, he looked all around but no longer saw the Buddhas manifesting. His heart again became sorrowful, and, shedding tears, he said:

—From where did the sacred light of the Buddhas come, and where has it now gone?

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation was always single-minded in this way.

– *

*

82—Long ago, there were two bodhisattvas whose aspirations and conduct were pure. Inwardly, they were tranquil and free from desire; outwardly, they were like celestial gold. They abandoned the defiled multitudes and entered the rivers and mountain marshes, where they hollowed out rock to make a dwelling.

They abided peacefully with utterly pure resolve, wearing garments of grass, sleeping on straw mats, eating fruit, and drinking spring water. Pure and unconditioned, their minds were like empty space. They fully possessed the four dhyanas and attained the wisdom of the five supernormal powers: First, they could see with complete penetration, so that no place, however distant, remained unseen.

Second, they could hear with complete penetration, so that no sound, however faint, remained unheard. Third, they could fly about and freely enter or depart, with nothing able to obstruct them. Fourth, they could clearly know the thoughts in the minds of sentient beings throughout the ten directions.

Fifth, they could themselves know the transformations of their lives throughout innumerable kalpas up to the present. Brahma kings, Shakra, celestial sages, devas, nagas, spirits, and others—all bowed their heads and paid homage to them.

The two had dwelt amid the mountain marshes for more than sixty years. With compassion, they thought of sentient beings drifting in the darkness of ignorance, unaware that committing evil would afterward bring grievous calamities. If they restrained their passions, relinquished desire, and reverently served the Three Jewels, the fruits of merit would immediately follow, and they would certainly obtain wealth and honor.

Of these two brahmacarins, one was named Deqila and the other Nalai. One night, Deqila arose to recite the sutras. Becoming extremely weary, he lay down to sleep. At that time, Nalai also arose to recite the sutras and accidentally stepped on Deqila’s head. Deqila immediately awoke and said:

—Who stepped on my head? Tomorrow morning, when the sun has risen one pole’s height, may that person’s head split into seven pieces! So be it!

Nalai said:

—I accidentally stepped on your head; how could you bear to utter such a grave curse? Even inanimate objects that cannot move sometimes collide with one another. How much more could people live together throughout their lives without ever making a mistake? Your words always come true! Tomorrow morning, when the sun rises, my head will certainly split into seven pieces. Therefore, I must prevent the sun from rising.

The sun consequently did not rise for five days. The entire kingdom was shrouded in darkness, and lamps and torches had to be kept burning continually. The officials could not carry out their duties, and the king and people were terrified. The king assembled the officials and summoned the spiritual practitioners, saying:

—Why has the sun failed to rise?

Among those spiritual practitioners, one who had attained the five supernormal powers reported:

—Two spiritual practitioners in the mountains have had a slight dispute, and so they have prevented the sun from rising.

The king asked:

—What caused their dispute?

The spiritual practitioner recounted the entire affair to the king. The king said:

—What, then, should be done?

He replied:

—Your Majesty should command all the officials and people, old and young alike, to hasten to their dwelling, bow their heads, and entreat them to reconcile. They will then surely make peace with one another.

The king immediately issued an edict according to the spiritual practitioner’s words. He then went to the mountain marshes, bowed his head, and said:

—The prosperity of the kingdom and the peace of its people have depended upon the beneficent grace of you both. Yet now your discord has deprived the kingdom of that upon which it relies. The fault is mine; the people are entirely blameless. I therefore beseech you to forgive us.

Nalai said:

—Your Majesty should discern the intention of the other practitioner. If his mind has relented, I shall release the sun at once.

The king went to Deqila and conveyed Nalai’s words. The king further said:

—Have the other practitioner smear mud upon his head, and then release the sun. The mud upon his head will split into seven pieces, while Nalai’s head will remain entirely unharmed.

The king, the officials, and the common people were all filled with joy. The two spiritual practitioners then extensively explained to the king the proper method of governing a country:

—You must employ the loving-kindness of the four immeasurable states of mind, without obstruction, and encourage the people to uphold the five precepts and practice the ten wholesome paths.

The king and all his ministers and subjects together received the precepts. The king returned to the capital and issued an edict:

—Everyone in the kingdom, whether noble or lowly, must uphold the teachings of the five precepts and the ten wholesome deeds as the policy of the state.

From that time onward, the king’s benevolence extended even to plants and trees. Loyal ministers were sincere, pure, and humble. Fathers observed proper principles, and mothers acted fittingly. Husbands and wives alike esteemed and preserved the way of chastity and fidelity, and every household had filial children.

The Buddha said:

—The two bodhisattvas saw that the king of that country did not know the Three Jewels and that his officials and people were benighted, obstructed by wrong views, like those walking blindfolded along a dark path. Compassionately reflecting that they would not encounter the Buddha’s scriptures before their deaths, the bodhisattvas manifested this transformation so that they might behold the light.

The Buddha told the bhikshus:

—Nalai was I myself, and Deqila was Maitreya.

The bodhisattva’s perfection of meditation was always single-minded in this way.