過去現在因果經

At that time, after King Suddhodana had ordered the royal preceptor and the chief minister to search for the Prince, he took the Prince’s jeweled necklace and handed it to Lady Mahaprajapati, saying:

“This is the jeweled necklace worn by the Prince, which he gave to Channa to bring back and deliver to you.”

When Lady Mahaprajapati saw the jeweled necklace, her heart became even more anguished. She thought to herself, “In this life, I alone am the most unfortunate, for I have lost a wise and discerning Wheel-Turning Sage King.” The king then gave the remaining ornaments to Yasodhara, saying:

“The Prince asked that these ornaments be given to you.”

Upon seeing those ornaments, Yasodhara fell to the ground unconscious. The king immediately had someone help her up and comfort her, and he urged the chief consort to take good care of herself and not grieve so deeply that it might adversely affect the child in her womb.

When the royal preceptor and the chief minister reached the forest where the sage Bhargava practiced asceticism, they laid aside their ceremonial insignia and ordered their retinue to remain outside the forest. The two of them alone proceeded to the ascetic’s dwelling. The ascetic invited them to sit, and after they had exchanged greetings, the royal preceptor said:

“I am the royal preceptor of King Suddhodana. I have come here because the king has a prince who, having become disenchanted with the sufferings of birth, aging, sickness, and death, came to this region to renounce the household life and study the Way. May I ask whether you have seen him?”

The sage Bhargava replied:

“Recently, we met a young man of exceedingly dignified appearance, endowed with all the excellent marks. He came to this forest, conversed with me, and stayed for one night. I did not realize that he was the Prince. Considering our path too crude and shallow, he departed northward for the dwellings of the ascetics Arada and Kalama.”

When the two men heard the ascetic say this, they hurriedly bade him farewell and traveled northward toward the abode of those two sages. Midway on their journey, they saw the Prince in the distance, seated in meditation beneath the shade of a tree, his excellent marks shining like the sun and moon. They quickly dismounted, left behind their ceremonial insignia and attendants, approached the Prince, and sat to one side. After exchanging greetings, the royal preceptor said:

“The Great King has sent us to find the Prince, for he has something he wishes us to convey to you.”

The Prince asked:

“What has my royal father sent you to say?”

The royal preceptor replied:

“The Great King has long known that the Prince wished to renounce the household life and that this resolve would be difficult to change. Yet the king’s affection for the Prince is so deep that anxiety and sorrow consume him as though he were being burned by fire. He hopes the Prince will return and extinguish the flames of his grief and anguish. We humbly implore the Prince to return. Although there are many hindrances within the royal palace, they need not cause the Prince to lose his spiritual vocation or abandon mental tranquility. What need is there to enter the forests and mountains? Lady Mahaprajapati, the chief consort Yasodhara, and all your relatives on both sides of the family are now submerged in an ocean of longing. They hope the Prince will return and rescue them.”

Hearing the royal preceptor speak thus, the Prince earnestly replied:

“How could I not know the depth of my royal father’s affection for me? It is only because I fear the sufferings of birth, aging, sickness, and death that I have come here to seek and study the Way by which they may be brought to an end. If those who love one another could remain together forever, without birth, aging, sickness, or death, why would I have come here?

I have now left my royal father because I wish us to be reunited in the future. Although my royal father is now being consumed by the fire of sorrow, in this life he and I endure only this one suffering; in the future, however, that source of anxiety will be eliminated. If, as you say, you wish me to remain in the palace and cultivate the Way, it would be like asking someone to remain inside a house made of the seven treasures while it is engulfed in flames.

Who could remain within it? It is also like poisoned food, which even a starving person could not eat. I have already relinquished the kingdom and renounced the household life to cultivate the Way.

Why, then, do you ask me to return to the palace to practice? People in the world dwell amid great suffering, yet because of a little pleasure they become so intoxicated and attached that they cannot leave it behind. How much less could I now abandon this utterly secluded and peaceful place, free from all such sufferings, and return to an evil and unwholesome state?

The kings of old entered the forests to cultivate the Way, and none returned midway to indulge in sensual pleasures. If my royal father insists that I return, it would be contrary to the Dharma practiced by the kings of old.”

The royal preceptor then said to the Prince:

“What the Prince has just said is indeed entirely correct. Yet among the holy sages, some say that karmic results in the future certainly exist, while others say that there is no such thing. Even those holy sages cannot know with certainty whether karmic results exist in the next life. Why, then, does the Prince wish to abandon present happiness in search of uncertain future recompense? Whether there is life after death and karmic recompense is still unknown, so why seek the fruit of liberation? We humbly implore the Prince to return to the palace.”

The Prince replied:

“Those two kinds of sages speak of karmic results in the future. Some say they exist, while others say they do not; because they harbor doubts, none can speak with certainty. I have no intention whatsoever of cultivating the paths of those sages. You should not use their arguments to challenge me. Why is this? I did not leave the royal palace and come here to seek the Way out of a desire for karmic reward. Rather, with my own eyes I have seen the sufferings of birth, aging, sickness, and death that everyone must undergo, and so I seek a path of liberation from those sufferings. Before long, you will behold my Way, and I shall fulfill my aspiration. I cannot return now. Go back and report this to my royal father.”

Having said this, the Prince rose, bade farewell to the royal preceptor and the chief minister, and departed northward toward the place where the two sages Arada and Kalama were practicing.

When the two men saw the Prince depart, they cried out and wept bitterly. They suddenly recalled the Prince’s profound kindness and affection; moreover, although they had received the king’s command and come to the Prince, they had been entirely unable to sway his resolve. Thus, they lingered by the roadside, unable to return. They discussed the matter together:

“We received the king’s command but have failed to accomplish our task. If we return now without the Prince, what can we possibly report to the king? We should therefore leave behind five members of our retinue. Let us choose intelligent and wise men of gentle disposition who are loyal, trustworthy, upright, and descended from renowned families. We shall secretly order them to follow the Prince and observe where he goes and where he stays.”

Having said this, the two men examined their trusted attendants and found that the group of five men led by Kaundinya were suitable. They therefore asked them:

“Can you remain here?”

The five men all replied:

“What great happiness! We respectfully obey your command and shall remain behind to follow the Prince and see where he goes.”

Having said this, the five hurriedly bade farewell and followed in the direction the Prince had taken, while the royal preceptor and the chief minister turned back toward the palace.

On his way to the dwellings of the two sages Arada and Kalama, the Prince crossed the Ganges River and then followed the road to the city of Rajagriha. When he entered the city, the people beheld his extraordinarily dignified and beautiful physical marks and countenance, and they rejoiced, admired him, and paid him reverence. The people of the city vied with one another to see him, creating such a commotion throughout the city that King Bimbisara was astonished and asked his attending ministers:

“What has happened to cause such an uproar and clamor?”

The ministers replied:

—The prince, son of King Suddhodana, was named Sarvasiddhartha. When he was newly born, physiognomists predicted that he would later ascend the throne as a wheel-turning sage-king and rule the four continents under heaven; but if he renounced the household life, he would attain Omniscience. As soon as he entered the city, the people vied with one another to see him, causing a great clamor and commotion.

When King Bimbisara heard this report, he was exceedingly delighted and immediately sent a man to discover where the prince was staying. Obeying the command, the envoy went in search of him and found the prince seated in silent meditation and contemplation upon a slab of rock on Mount Pandava. The envoy hurried back and reported this to the king. The king immediately ordered the royal carriage prepared and went with his officials and people to the prince’s dwelling place. Upon reaching Mount Pandava, the king saw from afar that the prince’s noble countenance shone as brilliantly as the sun and moon. He immediately dismounted, set aside the royal insignia, and forbade his attendants to follow. Approaching the prince, the king sat beside him and inquired after his well-being:

—Prince, are you at peace? I am greatly delighted to meet you, yet there is one thing that grieves me. You are descended from a noble lineage whose members have succeeded one another as wheel-turning kings for many generations, and you possess all the marks of a wheel-turning king.

Why, then, have you cast everything aside, entered the deep forest, and trodden over thorns, rough ground, and sand to come here from afar? I grieve because I see you in such circumstances. If you believe that, because your royal father is still alive, you cannot ascend the throne as a wheel-turning king, I ask to divide my kingdom and give you half to govern.

If you are still unwilling, I shall yield the entire kingdom to you and serve you myself. If you do not wish to rule this kingdom, I shall place the four divisions of my army under your command so that you may conquer another country. Surely this would not be contrary to your wishes.

Hearing King Bimbisara speak in this way, the prince was deeply moved by the king’s sincerity and replied:

—Great King, you come from a powerful and noble lineage, and your nature is lofty, pure, and virtuous. You do nothing improper or discourteous; everything you have done is noble and pure. It is therefore unsurprising that you should now speak such words.

Although I know that your sincerity surpasses that of people both past and present, you are now cultivating the three steadfast principles—regarding body, life, and possessions lightly—so how could you use what is impermanent and insecure to entice another? I have already renounced the throne of a wheel-turning king; how could I accept the throne of an ordinary king? In your sincerity, Great King, you would yield your kingdom to me, yet I will not accept it; how, then, could I lead an army to attack and seize another country?

I have left my parents, shaved off my hair and beard, and ceased to care for royal position because I wish to end the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death—not because I seek the five sensual pleasures of the world. Those five sensual pleasures are a blazing heap of fire that burns sentient beings and prevents them from escaping. Why, then, would you urge me to become infatuated with them?

I have come here because I wish to seek the two sages Arada and Udraka, spiritual teachers who possess the supreme path of liberation. I have traveled from afar to seek the path of liberation and therefore cannot remain here long. I have acted contrary to your gracious favor and sincere intentions; I hope that you will not reproach me.

Great King, please govern your kingdom according to the true Dharma and do not forsake your people.

Having spoken, the prince rose and took leave of the king. Seeing the prince depart, King Bimbisara felt deeply reluctant to part with him. Tears filled his eyes as he joined his palms and said:

—When I first met you, Prince, my heart was filled with joy. Now that you are hastening away, my heart is sorrowful. Because you seek the great path of liberation, I dare not detain you. I only hope that you will swiftly attain the fruit of the path. If you attain the path, please deliver me first.

The prince bade farewell and continued on his journey. The king accompanied him for some distance, then stood gazing intently after the prince’s figure until it had completely disappeared before returning.

At that time, the prince went to the dwelling place of the sage Arada. Earlier, the devas had informed the sage:

—Prince Sarvasiddhartha has relinquished the position of sovereign and left his parents because he wishes to seek the unsurpassed, right, and true path, thereby completely eliminating suffering for all sentient beings. He will soon arrive here.

The sage was greatly delighted to hear the devas’ announcement. In a short while, he saw the prince approaching from afar and immediately went out to welcome him. After they had exchanged greetings, the prince followed the sage into his dwelling. Upon arriving, the sage invited the prince to sit. Seeing the prince’s dignified countenance, complete with all the excellent marks, and seeing that all his faculties were pure, Arada felt profound respect and admiration for him and asked:

—Were you greatly wearied by your journey? I know all that has occurred, from your birth and upbringing until your renunciation of the household life and your arrival here. Your renunciation may be likened to a heap of fire that ignites of itself or a great elephant that frees itself from its restraining bonds.

From ancient times until now, kings in the prime of life have usually indulged freely in the five sensual pleasures, only relinquishing their sovereign positions in old age to renounce the household life and study the path. There is nothing remarkable about that. Yet while still in the bloom of youth, you have been able to abandon the five sensual pleasures and renounce the household life to study the path.

This is truly rare. If you practice diligently, you will quickly reach the other shore.

After hearing this, the prince replied:

—Hearing your words has truly filled my heart with joy. Please explain to me the method for eliminating birth, old age, sickness, and death. I very much wish to hear it now.

The sage replied:

—Excellent! Excellent!

He then continued:

—From beginningless time, sentient beings have lived within darkness. From that primordial darkness arises conceit; from conceit arises delusion; from delusion arises defiling attachment; from the mind defiled by attachment arise the five subtle sensory essences; from the five subtle sensory essences arise the five great elements; and from the five great elements arise greed, anger, and the other afflictions. Because of these, beings revolve through birth, old age, sickness, and death, amid anxiety, sorrow, suffering, and distress. I have now explained this only briefly for you, Prince.

The prince then asked:

—I now understand what you have explained, but by what means can the root of birth and death be eliminated?

The sage replied:

—If you wish to eliminate the root of birth and death, you must first renounce the household life and cultivate moral discipline, humility, and patience. Dwelling in a secluded and tranquil place, you must cultivate meditative concentration and separate yourself from all unwholesome and evil thoughts of desire. At that time, however, awareness still includes sensation and examination; attaining this is the first dhyana.

By eliminating all sensation and examination, the concentrated mind gives rise to joy and bliss; this is the attainment of the second dhyana. By relinquishing that joy and bliss, right mindfulness is established, and complete happiness arises in body and mind; this is the attainment of the third dhyana. By eliminating thoughts of suffering and pleasure, mindfulness becomes pure and the mind relinquishes such thoughts; this is the attainment of the fourth dhyana and the state of non-perception.

In the past, someone believed that this fourth dhyana was liberation itself and that awakening was attained through this concentration. Later, however, it became known that this was not the place of true liberation. Therefore, one must abandon all perceptions of form and enter the perception of infinite space; eliminate all perceptions that have an object and enter the perception of consciousness.

By cutting off all discriminative perceptions and abiding solely in contemplation of consciousness, one enters the perception of the sphere of nothingness. Then, by completely abandoning all perceptions, one attains the sphere of neither perception nor non-perception. Only upon reaching this state is there truly ultimate liberation; it is also the final goal of one who cultivates the path.

If you wish to eliminate the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death, Prince, you should cultivate according to this practice.

At that time, after hearing the sage speak, the Prince was displeased at heart and thought to himself: “What he has just taught is not the ultimate state, nor is it a way to eradicate forever the many afflictions that bind beings.” The Prince then said:

-There are matters in your explanation that remain unclear to me, and so I wish to ask about them.

The sage replied:

-I would be pleased to hear your thoughts.

The Prince then asked:

-Is the sphere of neither perception nor non-perception possessed of a self or devoid of a self? If it is said to be devoid of a self, then one cannot speak of the sphere of neither perception nor non-perception. But if it is said to possess a self, does that self have awareness, or does it lack awareness?

If that self lacks awareness, how is it different from wood or stone? If that self has awareness, then it is still involved with objects. If it is involved with objects, there will be a mind of defiled attachment; and so long as the mind remains defiled and attached, it cannot be called liberation.

You believe that you have severed all the afflictions that bind you, but you do not yet know that subtle afflictions remain; therefore, you have hastily regarded this as complete liberation. Those subtle binding afflictions will gradually increase, causing beings to wander endlessly through the cycle of birth and death. Therefore, I believe that this practice is not yet the ultimate awakening that leads to perfect enlightenment.

Only if the notion of self can be eradicated entirely can this be called true liberation from self. To relinquish completely every recollection and conception of self—this alone may be called genuine liberation.

The sage remained silent and reflected: “What the Prince has said is truly profound and wondrous.”

The Prince then asked the sage:

-At what age did you renounce the household life, and how long have you practiced the holy life?

The sage replied:

-I renounced the household life at the age of sixteen, and I have now practiced the holy life for one hundred and four years.

Upon hearing this, the Prince thought: “He has been a renunciant for so long, yet this is all he has attained?”

The Prince then wished to seek a more ultimate path and teaching, so he rose and took leave of the sage. The sage said to the Prince:

-I have long practiced asceticism, yet this is all that I have attained. You, Prince, are of royal lineage; how could you possibly practice asceticism?

The Prince replied:

-Your practice is not yet especially austere. There are still ascetic practices far more difficult than this.

Seeing that the Prince possessed wisdom surpassing that of ordinary people and such a powerful and steadfast resolve, the sage knew with certainty that the Prince would become One of Omniscient Wisdom, and he hastily said:

-If you attain the Way, please deliver me first.

The Prince replied:

-Excellent!

The Prince next went to the dwelling place of the sage Ca-lan to discuss the principles of the Way with him, but his teaching was likewise no more than this, so the Prince departed. Seeing the Prince leave, both sages thought: “The Prince’s wisdom is truly exceedingly profound, wondrous, extraordinary, and difficult for anyone to fathom.” They therefore joined their palms and watched him depart until he disappeared from sight, and only then did they return.

After subduing the two sages A-la-la and Ca-lan, the Prince proceeded directly to the ascetic forest of Gia-xa, where the five companions led by Kieu-tran-nhu were dwelling. The Prince went to the bank of the Ni-lien River, sat quietly in meditation, and contemplated the capacities of sentient beings. He saw that it was necessary for him to practice asceticism for six years before he could deliver them.

Having reflected in this way, the Prince diligently undertook ascetic practices. At that time, the devas offered him sesame and rice. Because he sought the path of enlightenment, the Prince purified his mind and upheld the precepts, eating only one sesame seed and one grain of rice each day; yet if someone came to beg from him, he would give away even these.

The five companions of Kieu-tran-nhu saw the Prince sitting quietly in meditation and practicing asceticism, eating only one grain of rice or one sesame seed each day, and sometimes eating only one grain of rice and one sesame seed after two days or even seven days. Thus, the five of them also practiced asceticism and constantly remained nearby to attend upon the Prince, never leaving him. After seeing the Prince practice in this way, they appointed one among them to return and report to the royal preceptor and the chief minister, recounting the Prince’s practice in full.

At that time, the royal preceptor and the chief minister returned to the palace, their faces sorrowful and their bodies weary and haggard. They resembled people who had just escorted a deceased loved one to burial and were returning home while suppressing their grief. The gatekeeper hurriedly entered and reported to the king:

-The royal preceptor and the chief minister have arrived outside the city gate.

Upon hearing this report, the king gasped for breath and was unable to speak; he could only nod his head. Understanding his intention, the gatekeeper loudly ordered the royal preceptor to enter and see the king. The king was so grief-stricken that he could not speak. Only after a long while did he choke out the question:

-The Prince is my very life. Now that you have returned alone, how can my life continue?

The royal preceptor replied:

-We obeyed Your Majesty’s command and went in search of the Prince. We reached the dwelling of the sage Bat-gia and asked him for news. The sage told us where the Prince had gone and recounted the words the Prince had spoken, so we immediately set out after him.

Along the way, however, we encountered the Prince sitting quietly in meditation beneath the shade of a tree, his auspicious marks shining more brilliantly than the sun and moon. I then told the Prince of the grief and anguish of Your Majesty, Lady Maha Pajapati, and his chief consort Yasodhara. The Prince spoke sincerely, saying that there was no reason he would not understand the deep affection his royal father and relatives bore for him.

Yet it was precisely because he feared the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness, and death, and the separation from those one loves, that he had departed to seek the Way that would eradicate those sufferings. Every word and phrase spoken by the Prince revealed a firm and steadfast resolve, as immovable as Mount Sumeru. He then left us behind as though casting aside grass and refuse.

We therefore selected five men from among the attendants and instructed them to follow, serve, and observe where the Prince went and what he did. Later, one of those men returned and reported to us that, on the way to the dwellings of the two ascetics A-la-la and Ca-lan, the Prince was carried across the Ganges River by the spiritual power of the devas. When the Prince reached the city of Rajagriha, King Bimbisara went to him and tried in many ways to persuade him not to renounce the household life.

The king promised to give him half the kingdom or even the entire country to govern, or to place the armed forces under his command so that he might conquer other lands. Yet the Prince accepted none of these offers and immediately departed. He went to the sages and inquired about the Dharma for subduing the mind, and then proceeded to the ascetic forest of Gia-xa, where he sat quietly in meditation beside the Ni-lien-thien River, eating only one grain of rice and one sesame seed each day.

After hearing the royal preceptor and the chief minister recount everything, King Suddhodana was overwhelmed with sorrow. His entire body trembled, and he was utterly distraught. The king said to the two ministers:

-The Prince has chosen to forsake the joy of ascending the precious throne of a Wheel-Turning King, to leave behind the loving affection of his parents and relatives, and to enter the deep forest to practice asceticism. I must indeed be greatly lacking in merit to suffer the loss of such a precious son.

The king repeated the royal preceptor’s words to Maha Pajapati and Yasodhara, and then ordered that five hundred carriages be arranged and prepared. Lady Maha Pajapati and the chief consort Yasodhara likewise provided five hundred carriages, each fully laden with every necessity. The king said to Chandaka:

—You brought the Crown Prince into the depths of the forest. Now I command you to take these thousand carts laden with provisions and all necessities to the Crown Prince. Offer them to him whenever appropriate, and do not let him lack anything. When they are exhausted, return and report to me.

Chandaka obeyed the command, took charge of the thousand carts, and immediately set out. When he arrived, he saw that the Crown Prince's body was emaciated and withered, nothing but skin covering bone, with veins and sinews protruding like the fibers of a palasha flower. Chandaka at once bowed his head and paid homage at the Crown Prince's feet. Overcome with emotion, he fell unconscious to the ground. After a short while he regained consciousness and, shedding tears, said:

—The great king thinks of the Crown Prince with unceasing longing day and night. He therefore sent me with a thousand carts carrying ample provisions and all necessities for the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince replied to Chandaka:

—I left my parents, homeland, and kingdom and came here to seek the path of liberation. How could I accept the things the king has sent?

Hearing this, Chandaka thought: “The Crown Prince will not accept them. I must therefore have someone take these carts back and report to the king, while I remain here to attend upon and serve the Crown Prince.” Having thought thus, Chandaka ordered one man to take the carts back, while he himself remained, quietly attending upon the Crown Prince day and night without ever leaving him. One day, the Crown Prince thought: “Each day I eat one grain of rice and one sesame seed; at times, only after seven days do I eat one grain of rice and one sesame seed.

My body has now become as withered as a dry tree. I have practiced such austerities for six years, yet I have not found the path of liberation. Thus I know that this is not the correct method of cultivation.

It would be better for me to return to the way I practiced before, when I sat beneath the shade of the jambu tree, contemplating how to abandon the five sensual desires and seek secluded tranquility. That is the most correct method. If I were now to continue the self-mortifying practice of austerities and attain the Way, the followers of other paths would say that fasting is the cause of nirvana.

Although I have gradually diminished my strength, I have not thereby attained the Way. I should resume normal eating and drinking, and only afterward attain the Way.” Having thought thus, the Crown Prince rose and went down into the Nairanjana River to bathe. After bathing, however, he was too weak to climb onto the bank.

At that time, a heavenly deity caused the branch of a tree on the bank to bend low so that the Crown Prince could grasp it and climb ashore.

At that time, outside the forest lived a cowherd maiden named Nandabala. A heavenly being from the Pure Abodes came and exhorted her:

—The Crown Prince is now in the forest. You should go and make an offering to him.

When the cowherd maiden heard this, her heart was filled with joy. At that very moment, a thousand-petaled lotus suddenly sprang from the earth and blossomed, and upon the flower there was already a bowl of milk-rice porridge. Greatly astonished, the maiden took the bowl of milk-rice porridge, brought it to the Crown Prince, knelt and bowed, and offered it to him. The Crown Prince accepted the bowl and pronounced this blessing:

—Today the donor offers this bowl of milk-rice porridge so that, after consuming it, I may recover my strength. May the donor's family enjoy peace and happiness, be free from illness, live long, and possess perfect wisdom.

The Crown Prince then declared:

—Because I wish to rescue sentient beings, I accept this milk.

After pronouncing the blessing, he consumed the bowl of milk-rice porridge. His strength gradually returned, his body became radiant, and he was able to attain the Way of bodhi. At that time, the five companions led by Kaundinya were astonished and thought that the Crown Prince had lost his resolve, so they all returned to their own dwelling place. The bodhisattva went alone beneath the shade of the pippala tree and made this vow:

—I shall sit at the foot of this tree, and if I do not attain the Way, I shall never rise.

The bodhisattva's virtue was so immense that heaven and earth were moved. The ground then shook violently and emitted a great sound. A blind dragon heard this sound and was filled with immense joy; its two eyes spontaneously regained their sight. It thought: “I have witnessed this auspicious sign before, in the presence of the ancient Buddhas of the past.” Having thought thus, the dragon sprang up from the earth and paid homage at the bodhisattva's feet. At that time, five hundred blue peacocks flew through the sky, circling the bodhisattva. Multicolored auspicious clouds of brilliant radiance appeared overhead, and fragrant breezes came wafting along with the light. The dragon then spoke these verses in praise of the bodhisattva:

Wherever the bodhisattva walks,

The earth itself begins to quake,

Sending forth a far-resounding sound;

Hearing it, my eyes grew bright.

Again, I see within the sky

Peacocks circling all around him;

Auspicious clouds shine brilliantly,

And fragrant breezes blow, gentle and cool.

These auspicious signs of yours

Are like those of the Buddhas of the past;

Therefore, I know the bodhisattva

Will attain the True and Right Way.

At that time, the bodhisattva thought: “What kind of seat did the Buddhas of the past use when they attained the unsurpassed Way?” Through inward contemplation, the bodhisattva knew that the Buddhas had used grass to make their seats. Sakra, king of the gods, knew the bodhisattva's thought and transformed himself into a man carrying in his arms a bundle of clean, soft grass. He came before the bodhisattva, who asked:

—What is your name?

The man replied:

—My name is Auspicious.

Hearing this, the bodhisattva was greatly delighted and thought: “I shall destroy all that is inauspicious and attain the auspicious Way.”

The bodhisattva then asked:

—Can you give me the grass in your hands?

Auspicious immediately gave the bundle of grass to the bodhisattva and said:

—If the bodhisattva attains the Way, please liberate me first.

The bodhisattva accepted the grass and spread it out to make a seat. Holding his body upright, he sat cross-legged in the lotus posture upon the grass seat, following exactly the manner in which the Buddhas of the past had sat, and made this vow:

—Until I attain perfect enlightenment, I shall never leave this seat.

When the bodhisattva made this vow, gods, dragons, ghosts, and spirits all rejoiced. Cool and auspicious breezes blew in from the four directions. Birds and beasts suddenly fell silent, the trees ceased rustling, and the drifting clouds and swirling dust all cleared away.

These were auspicious signs that the bodhisattva was about to attain the Way. At that same time, in the sky, the eight classes of beings, including gods and dragons, rejoiced, danced, and offered praise, while the palace of Mara, king of demons, in the sixth heaven spontaneously trembled. Mara's heart became distressed and his mind confused.

No longer able to think of enjoying pleasures, he anxiously reflected: “The ascetic Gautama is now sitting in meditation at the foot of the tree. He has abandoned the five sensual desires and will soon attain perfect enlightenment. If he attains the Way, he will lead all living beings beyond my realm.

Therefore, while he has not yet attained the Way, I must go and disturb him.” Mara's son, named Sartha, saw that his father appeared troubled and came to ask:

—Father, I do not know why you appear so sorrowful and anxious.

Mara replied:

—The ascetic Gautama is now sitting in cultivation at the foot of the tree and is about to attain the Way. His Way far surpasses mine, and so I wish to go there and obstruct him.

His son hastened to dissuade him:

—The bodhisattva is pure and transcends the three realms. Possessing spiritual powers and wisdom, there is nothing he does not clearly know. The eight classes of beings, including gods and dragons, all praise him. Royal Father cannot obstruct him. If you rashly commit evil, you will only bring calamity upon yourself.

Mara had three daughters whose features and bearing were exceedingly graceful and beautiful. They possessed many ways of seducing and beguiling people's minds and were foremost among heavenly maidens. They were always scented with exquisite fragrances and adorned with beautiful jeweled necklaces. The first was named Defiling Desire, the second Delighter of People, and the third Lovable Delight. The three daughters came before their father and asked:

—We do not know why Father is so sorrowful today.

Mara then disclosed his thoughts to his three daughters:

—At present, the śramaṇa Gautama is in the world, clad in the armor of the Dharma, holding the bow of mastery in his hand, and shooting the arrows of wisdom, intending to subdue sentient beings and destroy my realm. If I have no means to eliminate him, sentient beings will place their faith in him and all follow him, and my realm will become empty. It is precisely for this reason that I am distressed. Before he attains enlightenment, I shall go and obstruct him, breaking the bridge that will carry him to the shore of awakening.

Having formed this plan, Māra the King took up a mighty bow and five arrows and, together with his sons, daughters, and the host of heavenly māras, came beneath the pipal tree. He saw the Sage sitting silently and motionlessly, about to cross beyond the ocean of birth and death in the three realms. Māra immediately held the bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right, and shouted loudly to the bodhisattva:

—You are of the kshatriya lineage. It would be a grievous injustice for you to die. Why do you not quickly leave this place, ascend the throne of a wheel-turning monarch, abandon the path of renunciation, and practice generosity?

You will then be reborn in heaven and enjoy celestial bliss. That is the highest path, superior to this manner of cultivation. You are descended from wheel-turning kings, yet you have become a mendicant.

This is truly unworthy of you. If you do not rise now, then by continuing to sit here you will forfeit your vow. For you, I need shoot only a single arrow.

Merely upon hearing the sound of my bow and arrows, none of the ascetic seers fails to become terrified, frightened, bewildered, and utterly disheartened. How much less could you, Gautama, withstand these poisoned arrows? If you rise quickly, you will be safe.

Māra the King threatened the bodhisattva with these words, but the bodhisattva remained serene and entirely unshaken. Māra then released his arrows and sent forth his daughters. At that time, without even looking at them, the bodhisattva caused the arrows suddenly to halt in midair; when they fell to the ground, they turned into lotus blossoms. The three daughters of Māra then said to the bodhisattva:

—Worthy One, you possess lofty virtue and are revered by devas and humans alike; therefore, you should have attendants to serve you. We are still young, and even the most beautiful celestial maidens cannot surpass us. Heaven has now sent us here to attend upon the bodhisattva day and night.

The bodhisattva said:

—Because you planted a small measure of merit, you were reborn in heaven, yet you give no thought to impermanence and instead engage in deception. Although your bodies are beautiful, your hearts are not upright, and your minds abound in unwholesome desires. After death, you will surely fall into the three evil destinies and assume the bodies of beasts, from which it will be difficult to escape suffering. You now intend to disturb my mind; your minds are not pure. Go away! I have no need of you.

At that moment, all three daughters of Māra suddenly became three old women, their hair white, their skin wrinkled, and their teeth fallen out. Saliva dribbled from their mouths; they were gaunt and bony, with bellies as large as drums. Leaning upon staffs, they dragged themselves away, unable to regain their former appearance.

Seeing how steadfast the bodhisattva’s mind was, Māra the King thought: “Long ago, in the Snow Mountains, I shot Maheśvara, terrifying him and causing him to lose his wholesome resolve. Yet now I cannot shake Gautama. Neither my bow and arrows nor my three daughters can move him, and this makes me still more distressed and enraged. I must employ another method.” Having thought thus, Māra the King addressed the bodhisattva with gentle words of enticement:

—If you do not delight in enjoying the pleasures of the human realm, you may now ascend to the celestial palace, and I shall bestow upon you my throne and the five sensual pleasures.

The bodhisattva replied:

—In previous lives, because you cultivated a small measure of generosity, you have now obtained the position of Sovereign Deva King. Yet that meritorious reward is limited. When it is exhausted, you will sink into the three evil destinies, from which escape will be exceedingly difficult. This is a cause of transgression and suffering; it is not what I seek.

Māra the King asked the bodhisattva:

—You know the karmic reward I have obtained, but who knows the reward you have earned?

The bodhisattva replied:

—Only the earth knows my karmic reward.

As soon as the bodhisattva had spoken, the earth shook in six ways. At that moment, an earth deity emerged from the ground, holding a vase made of the seven precious substances and filled with lotus blossoms, and said to Māra the King:

—In the past, the bodhisattva gave his head, eyes, brain, and marrow to sentient beings. The blood he shed has soaked the earth everywhere. Kingdoms, wives and children, jewels, and all else—the bodhisattva gave them all away, in quantities beyond reckoning, with the sole aspiration of seeking unsurpassed, true, and perfect enlightenment. Therefore, you must not now disturb the bodhisattva.

When Māra the King heard this, fear arose in his heart and the hair on his body stood on end. The earth deity then bowed at the bodhisattva’s feet, offered him flowers, and disappeared.

Māra the King then thought: “I have used my mighty bow and iron arrows, and my three daughters have also employed gentle words to bewitch him, yet we have still been unable to disturb the mind of this Gautama. Now I must mobilize every means at my disposal and the entire army of māras, using force to intimidate him.” As soon as Māra the King had formed this thought, the army of māras appeared, filling the entire sky with monstrous forms.

Some carried swords and halberds, wore tall headdresses, and held iron clubs; the whole host bore countless kinds of weapons. Their bodies were human, but their heads were those of various creatures—fish, pigs, donkeys, horses, lions, dragons, bears, tigers, and other beasts. Some had many heads, with one eye on each face, or many eyes; some had enormous bellies and long bodies, while others were so emaciated that they seemed to have no bellies at all.

Some had long legs and massive knees; some had huge heels and thick calves; some had long claws and sharp teeth; some had heads growing from the front of their chests; some had many bodies but only two legs. Some had enormous faces, or faces set upon one side; some had complexions like ashes or earth; some emitted smoke and fire from their bodies; some had ears as large as elephants’ ears, covering an entire mountain. Some had long hair and were naked; some had faces half red and half white; some had drooping lips that touched the ground.

Some wore loincloths below and, above, garments made from tiger skins, lion skins, or snakeskins; others had snakes coiled around their bodies, or flames rising from their heads. Some glared and waved their arms; some moved sideways or leapt about; some tumbled through the air; some ran on foot, shouting. Innumerable beings of such vicious and monstrous appearance surrounded the bodhisattva as though intending to tear him apart.

Some caused smoke and flames to blaze on all four sides, filling the heavens; some raised frenzied, resounding noises that reverberated throughout the mountain caverns, while wind, fire, smoke, and dust filled the air so densely that nothing could be seen. The waters of the four seas surged upward at the same time. The devas, humans, dragons, spirits, and other beings who followed and protected the bodhisattva became so enraged at the hosts of māras that blood oozed from their pores.

Seeing the māras disturbing the bodhisattva, the devas of the Pure Abodes, moved by compassion and fearing that they might harm him, descended and stood in the sky to observe. They saw immeasurable and countless māra troops surrounding the bodhisattva, roaring and howling with terrifying ferocity, shaking heaven and earth. Yet the bodhisattva remained seated and unmoving, his countenance unchanged, like a lion amid a herd of deer.

They all exclaimed in praise:

—How truly wondrous! Never before has such a thing been seen! The bodhisattva will certainly attain perfect awakening.

The armies of Māra then urgently brought all their strength to bear in attacking the bodhisattva. Some glared and gnashed their teeth; others flew and leapt wildly before him, but the bodhisattva regarded them as children at play. Māra the King grew still more enraged and intensified his assault. Through the power of compassion, the bodhisattva caused those who grasped boulders to be unable to lift them; if they succeeded in lifting them, they could not put them down. Flying knives and hurled swords all halted in midair, while thunderbolts and showers of fire turned into five-colored flowers. Ferocious dragons spewed poison, but the poison became fragrant breezes. Countless dreadful things were directed against the bodhisattva to harm him, yet none could touch him.

Mara had an elder sister and a younger sister named Migha and Kali. Both wielded weapons made from the skulls of the dead and came before the bodhisattva, making many grotesque gestures to disturb his mind. The entire host of Mara assumed terrifying forms to frighten the bodhisattva, yet none of them could move even a single hair on his body. Seeing this, Mara became still more resentful, anxious, and dejected.

At that time, a heavenly spirit named Phu Da concealed himself in the sky and proclaimed:

“I see that the mind of the Muni is serene, joyful, equanimous, and utterly free of resentment. Though the hosts of Mara have raised malicious thoughts and seek to harm him, he bears them no ill will. Foolish evil spirits, you are merely exhausting yourselves and will gain absolutely nothing.

You should now abandon your angry intention to harm him. Although your breath might shake Mount Sumeru, make fire grow cold, cause water to become hot, or soften the solid earth into mire, you cannot harm this bodhisattva, who throughout many kalpas has cultivated wholesome fruits, practiced right meditation, and diligently trained in the Dharma teachings. Thus, his wisdom is serene and luminous, and these four virtues cannot be destroyed.

Without undergoing immeasurable hardships, one cannot attain the fruit of perfect enlightenment. Just as the light of a thousand suns will surely dispel all darkness, as drilling wood produces fire and digging into the earth yields water, so diligent cultivation of the Dharmas enables one to attain what one seeks. The beings of the world are sinking in the three poisons, with no one to rescue them.

Out of compassion, the bodhisattva seeks the medicine of wisdom to cure the illnesses of the world. Why do you seek to obstruct him? The beings of the world are deluded and afflicted, without wisdom and possessed of wrong views.

He now opens and reveals the Dharma eye, guiding beings so that they may cultivate the right path. Why do you disturb this great Teacher? Such a deed must not be done; it is like showing contempt for a guide in a desolate wilderness.

Beings have fallen into the obscurity of a dark night and wander in confusion, not knowing where the path lies. For their sake, the bodhisattva lights the great lamp of wisdom. Why do you wish to extinguish it?

Beings are sinking in the ocean of birth and death, and for their sake the bodhisattva constructs the vessel of wisdom. Why do you wish to sink it? The bodhisattva takes patience as the sprout and steadfastness of mind as the root, and through the unsurpassed true Dharma will attain the fruit of Buddhahood.

Why do you seek to cut it down? Greed, hatred, and delusion bind sentient beings, and the bodhisattva practices austerities because he wishes to liberate them. Today he has resolved to sit cross-legged in meditation beneath this tree and attain the unsurpassed Way.

This very place is the vajra seat of the Buddhas of the past. Though other lands may tremble, this place remains unmoved. He has entered wondrous samadhi, and no one can shake him.

Mara, you should rejoice, put an end to your arrogance, correct your thoughts, and serve him.”

When Mara heard these words and saw that the bodhisattva remained perfectly composed, he became ashamed and lost all arrogance. Heeding the counsel, he returned to his palace. The hosts of Mara scattered, their hearts filled with sorrow and distress. All their former might had vanished, and their weapons lay abandoned in disarray throughout the forests and mountains.

After the evil Mara had departed, the bodhisattva’s mind remained peaceful, quiescent, and unmoving. Not a single cloud appeared in the sky, and the wind ceased to blow. The setting sun at day’s end seemed to shine twice as brightly; the moon had just appeared and gently illuminated all directions; and the constellations in the heavens shone with exceptional brilliance. Nothing gloomy or dark remained to cause obstruction. From the sky, the devas scattered beautiful flowers like rain and played celestial music as an offering to the bodhisattva.

On the night of the seventh day of the second month, after subduing Mara through the power of loving-kindness and compassion, the bodhisattva emitted a great radiance and entered samadhi to contemplate the truth. With mastery of the meditative Dharmas, the bodhisattva came to know that throughout immeasurable kalpas in the past he had relinquished his life in one place and been born in another. He clearly knew all the wholesome and unwholesome karma he had created, who his parents and relatives had been, whether they were rich or poor, noble or lowly, whether their lives were long or short, and what their names and family names had been.

The bodhisattva then aroused great compassion for sentient beings and reflected: “All sentient beings, having no one to rescue them, revolve through the five realms without knowing where the far shore lies. These five realms are all false and unreal, yet beings within them continue endlessly to sport amid suffering and pleasure.” The bodhisattva contemplated in this way until the end of the first watch of the night.

At midnight, the bodhisattva attained the clear knowledge of the divine eye. Examining all the affairs of the world, he saw them with perfect clarity, as one sees one’s own appearance in a mirror. He saw innumerable beings of many kinds dying here and being born elsewhere, receiving painful or pleasant retributions according to their wholesome or unwholesome karma.

He saw beings punished in the hells: molten copper was poured into their mouths; they were made to embrace red-hot copper pillars; they lay upon beds of spikes; they were roasted in iron cauldrons; they were grilled over fires; or they were devoured by tigers, leopards, jackals, and wolves. Some hid beneath the shade of trees to escape the flames, but when the leaves fell, they transformed into blades and swords that severed their bodies.

Others had their limbs sawn off or hewn apart with axes; were cast into rivers of fire filled with ash and dust; or were thrown into pits of filth. They endured every manner of suffering, yet because of their karmic retribution they died and came back to life, only to undergo those torments again. Having seen these punishments, the bodhisattva contemplated: “These beings originally committed evil deeds for the sake of worldly pleasures, and now the retribution they encounter is truly agonizing.

If anyone could see such retributions, they would have no intention of doing evil.”

The bodhisattva then examined the animal realm and clearly saw the various animals bearing ugly forms according to their species. Some were killed by people for their bones, flesh, sinews, horns, teeth, and fur, or were forced to carry heavy burdens. Their hunger, thirst, and deprivation went unnoticed.

Some had their noses pierced, while others had their heads bound. They continually supplied flesh for human consumption, and animals of the same kind also devoured one another, enduring so many forms of suffering. Seeing this, the bodhisattva aroused great compassion and thought: “These beings must constantly use their bodies and strength in the service of human beings, and they are also beaten and afflicted by hunger and thirst.

It is because of their many evil deeds that they now undergo such retributions.”

The bodhisattva next examined the realm of hungry ghosts. He saw that they constantly dwelt in dark places, never seeing the light of the sun or moon and unable even to see one another. They bore enormous, elongated bodies, with bellies as large as Mount Tai but throats as narrow as needles.

Flames continually blazed from their mouths, and they were always tormented by hunger and thirst. For thousands, tens of thousands, and millions of years, they never even heard the word “food.” If rain fell, every drop of water turned into a fiery pearl. If they entered rivers, seas, ponds, or lakes, they saw the water transform into boiling molten copper amid dense clouds of ash and dust.

When their bodies moved and they walked, they made a noise like a person pulling five hundred carts, and every part of their bodies was consumed by fire. Seeing the hungry ghosts endure so many kinds of suffering, the bodhisattva aroused great compassion and reflected: “These beings were originally miserly and avaricious, concerned only with accumulating wealth and never knowing how to practice generosity. Thus, they must now undergo these painful retributions.

If anyone could see such suffering, they would surely resolve to give and would no longer be miserly. Even if they possessed no wealth, they would cut flesh from their own bodies and give it away.”

The bodhisattva further observed the human realm and saw that human beings, beginning with the body of the intermediate state, enter the womb in accordance with desire. When their father and mother unite, through inverted perception they give rise to attachment and take what is impure to be their own body. Once they have entered the womb and dwell within their mother’s belly, their bodies are scorched by heat, suffering as though in hell.

Only after the full ten months are they born. At birth, when they are held and carried by others, the rough contact causes pain and anguish, as though they were being pierced by blades and swords. Before long, they again reach old age and death, and then are born once more as infants...

Thus they continually wander through the five paths, unable to awaken by themselves. Having contemplated inwardly, the bodhisattva aroused great compassion and thought: “All sentient beings undergo such suffering, yet why do they remain amid these circumstances, craving the objects of desire and regarding them as happiness, unable to eradicate the root of their inverted views?”

Finally, the bodhisattva contemplated the heavenly realms. He saw that the bodies of the devas were pure and unstained by dust, radiant like lapis lazuli, and that their eyes were clear and free of impurities. Some dwelt upon the summit of Mount Sumeru, some on its four sides, and others in midair.

Their hearts were always joyful and free from care. They continually played celestial music for pleasure, unaware of day or night, and everywhere in all four directions was wondrously beautiful. The bodhisattva saw that the devas in the east remained absorbed in pleasure for many years, forgetting the passage of their lives; the devas in the west likewise remained engrossed in enjoyment, letting days and months pass without thinking of their next rebirth.

It was the same in the south and the north. Food, drink, and clothing appeared immediately whenever they thought of them. Yet although they possessed such gratifying things, they were still scorched by the fire of desire.

When their heavenly merit was exhausted, the five signs of death appeared: first, the flowers upon their heads withered; second, their eyes began to blink; third, the radiance of their bodies vanished; fourth, sweat appeared beneath their armpits; and fifth, they involuntarily left their seats. When their retinues saw these five signs of death appear, they became deeply attached and reluctant to part. Seeing the five signs of death upon his own body, and perceiving the attachment of his retinue, the deva immediately experienced anguish.

Seeing the devas in this condition, the bodhisattva aroused great compassion and thought: “These devas formerly cultivated a small measure of goodness and therefore came to enjoy the pleasures of heaven. Yet when their merit is about to be exhausted, they still experience suffering and distress. When their lives end and they abandon their celestial bodies, they may yet fall into the three evil paths.

The purpose of their cultivation was to seek a pleasant karmic reward, but even after obtaining it, their happiness remains slight and their suffering abundant. They resemble a hungry person eating poisoned food: at first it may taste delicious, but afterward it brings calamity. How could the wise crave such pleasure?

The devas of the form and formless realms, seeing their lives to be long, suppose that their happiness will also endure for a long time. When the signs of decline and dissolution appear, however, they experience anguish, give rise to wrong views, and slander the truth, claiming that cause and effect do not exist. Because of this, they wander through the three paths and undergo every kind of suffering.”

With his divine eye, the bodhisattva surveyed the five paths and aroused compassion, thinking: “Within the three realms, there is not the slightest happiness.” He contemplated in this way until midnight. During the third watch, the bodhisattva investigated: “Through what causes and conditions do sentient beings undergo old age and death?” He clearly understood that old age and death exist precisely because there is birth; if birth is transcended, there will be no old age and death.

Moreover, birth does not descend from heaven, nor does it arise spontaneously; it is produced through causes and conditions. Through craving for the form and formless realms, karma is produced. The bodhisattva further contemplated the source from which karma within the three modes of existence arises, and immediately understood that it arises from the four kinds of grasping.

Continuing in this way, the bodhisattva contemplated inwardly and clearly saw that the four kinds of grasping arise from craving; craving arises from feeling; feeling arises from contact; contact arises from the six sense bases; the six sense bases arise from name-and-form; name-and-form arises from consciousness; consciousness arises from formations; and formations arise from ignorance. If ignorance is extinguished, formations are extinguished.

When formations are extinguished, consciousness is extinguished. When consciousness is extinguished, name-and-form is extinguished. When name-and-form is extinguished, the six sense bases are extinguished.

When the six sense bases are extinguished, contact is extinguished. When contact is extinguished, feeling is extinguished. When feeling is extinguished, craving is extinguished.

When craving is extinguished, grasping is extinguished. When grasping is extinguished, existence is extinguished. When existence is extinguished, birth is extinguished.

When birth is extinguished, old age and death, anxiety, sorrow, and grief are extinguished. Thus the bodhisattva contemplated inwardly, observing the twelve links of dependent origination in both forward and reverse order. By the third watch, he had shattered ignorance.

Just as the sun appeared, the bodhisattva attained the light of wisdom; his mind completely eradicated the habitual tendencies of the afflictions and all obstructions, and he attained the Wisdom of All Modes.

At that time, the Tathagata reflected upon the Noble Eightfold Path, the path followed by the Buddhas of the three times to reach nirvana. He had now fully realized it and attained unobstructed wisdom. At that moment, the entire earth manifested eighteen kinds of trembling.

Everywhere became pure and clear, without even a mote of dust. Celestial drums sounded of themselves; fragrant breezes arose, gentle and cool; auspicious clouds of many colors poured down a rain of ambrosia; and the flowers and fruit trees throughout the groves and gardens suddenly put forth buds and bore fruit, though it was not their season. From the high heavens descended many kinds of precious flowers, such as mandārava flowers, great mandārava flowers, mañjūṣaka flowers, great mañjūṣaka flowers, flowers of gold, flowers of silver, and flowers of lapis lazuli...

Lotus flowers made of the seven treasures filled the area around the Bodhi tree for thirty-six yojanas. At the same time, the devas played celestial music, burned incense, sang, and offered praise. Holding jeweled canopies, banners, and pennants that filled the sky, they made offerings to the Tathagata.

The eight classes of beings—dragons, spirits, and the others—likewise made offerings. At that very moment, all sentient beings aroused loving-kindness, without thoughts of anger or harm. They rejoiced exuberantly as though beholding a sacred sign; they were peaceful and unafraid, neither arrogant nor miserly, jealous, or deceitful.

Even the devas of the Five Pure Abodes, who had transcended mental states of joy and pleasure, rejoiced beyond restraint. The torments of hell were temporarily alleviated, and the beings in those realms all gave rise to joyful thoughts. Animals that preyed upon and devoured one another suddenly lost their vicious intentions.

Hungry ghosts became satiated and were no longer afflicted by hunger or thirst. The dark places of the world, where the light of the sun and moon had never reached, suddenly became illuminated. When the beings in those realms saw one another, they all wondered why sentient beings had suddenly appeared there.

The Great Sage, the Dharma King, had appeared to bring illumination to the world. With the light of the true Dharma, he dispelled the dark veil of what was contrary to Dharma, causing every place to shine brightly. The royal ancestor of the Ikṣvāku clan had renounced his throne to study the Way and had attained the five higher knowledges.

Because he had cultivated the ten wholesome actions, he had been reborn in heaven. At that time, he also used his spiritual powers to come to the Bodhi tree. From midair, he joyfully joined his palms and praised him:

—Within our Ikṣvāku clan, one has eradicated the afflictions, attained the Wisdom of All Modes, and become the eye of the world. How rare and extraordinary!

All sentient beings rejoiced to the utmost; only Māra, the demon king, harbored sorrow and distress.

At that time, for seven days the Tathagata remained beneath the Bodhi tree, contemplating inwardly: “Here I have extinguished all afflictions. What had to be done has been accomplished, and my original vow has been fulfilled. The Dharma I have realized is truly subtle and wondrous; only Buddhas can understand it.

All sentient beings in the world of the five turbidities are obscured by desire, anger, delusion, wrong views, arrogance, and flattery. Their merit is slight, their faculties and intelligence are dull, and they lack wisdom; how could they understand the Dharma I have realized? If I now turn the Dharma wheel for them, they will surely be bewildered and doubtful, unable to believe or follow it.

They will then give rise to disparagement, fall into the evil destinies, and undergo manifold sufferings. Therefore, I should remain silent and enter nirvana.” The Tathagata then spoke this verse:

The path of the Noble Ones is truly difficult to tread;

The fruit of wisdom is difficult to attain.

Amid such difficulties,

I have completed all that had to be done.

The wisdom I have attained

Is foremost in subtlety and wonder.

The nature of sentient beings is dull;

They are submerged in bewilderment,

Drifting along the stream of birth and death,

Unable to return to its source.

All beings are thus—

How can they be rescued?

At that time, the Great Brahma Deva saw that the Tathagata had realized the noble fruit yet remained silent and did not turn the Dharma wheel. Grieved, he thought: ‘For immeasurable kalpas, the Blessed One remained in birth and death for the sake of sentient beings. He relinquished his throne, wife, and children, and even gave away his head, eyes, brain, and marrow, enduring manifold sufferings. Now that his vow has been fulfilled and he has attained unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment, why does he remain silent and not turn the Dharma wheel? If he does so, sentient beings will remain submerged forever in the ocean of birth and death. I must now go and beseech the Buddha to turn the Dharma wheel.’

Having thought thus, Brahma left his heavenly palace and reached the Tathagata in the brief time it takes a strong man to bend and extend his arm. Upon arriving, Brahma reverently joined his palms, bowed at the Buddha’s feet, circumambulated him hundreds of thousands of times, and then sat to one side. With palms joined, he knelt and addressed the Buddha:

“O Blessed One, from time immemorial you have remained in birth and death, relinquishing even your body, head, and eyes in acts of giving and enduring manifold sufferings. Solely for the sake of sentient beings, you cultivated every virtue. Now that you have attained the Way, why do you remain silent and not turn the Dharma wheel? Sentient beings are submerged in the long night of birth and death and have fallen into ignorance; it is truly difficult to know when they will escape. Yet there are also sentient beings who, in previous lives, drew near to good spiritual friends and cultivated merit. They are therefore able to hear the Dharma and receive the Noble Way. I beseech the Blessed One, out of compassion, to turn the Dharma wheel for those sentient beings.”

Sakra, Lord of the Devas, and the devas of Paranirmita-vashavartin also came and entreated the Tathagata to turn the Dharma wheel for the sake of sentient beings.

The Blessed One then told the heavenly kings:

“I too wish to turn the Dharma wheel for all sentient beings. However, the Dharma I have realized is exceedingly subtle and wondrous, profound, difficult to understand, and difficult to conceive. Sentient beings will find it very difficult to believe and follow it; moreover, they may give rise to slander and thereby fall into hell. For this reason, I now remain silent.”

Brahma and Sakra entreated him three times. At the end of the seventh day, the Buddha silently accepted their request. Knowing that the Buddha had consented, the devas bowed at his feet and returned to their heavenly palaces.

After accepting the entreaties of Brahma and Sakra, the Blessed One used the Buddha-eye to contemplate sentient beings. He clearly perceived that their faculties were of three grades—superior, middling, and inferior—and that their afflictions were likewise of three grades: superior, middling, and inferior. Having contemplated in this manner for fourteen days, the Buddha thought: “I am now about to open the gate of the deathless nectar, but who is worthy to be the first to hear the Dharma? The seer Alara is wise and can understand this teaching. He once vowed that, if I attained the Way, I would first deliver him.” Just as the Blessed One had this thought, a voice spoke from the sky:

“The seer Alara passed away last night.”

The Blessed One replied:

“I too already knew that he passed away last night.”

The Buddha then thought: “The seer Kalan has keen faculties and can understand my teaching. He is worthy to hear the Dharma first.” Again, a voice spoke from the sky:

“The seer Kalan also passed away last night.”

The Blessed One replied as before. He then thought: “The five companions headed by Kaundinya remained to attend and serve me at the command of the royal preceptor and the chief minister. They are all intelligent. Moreover, in past lives they vowed before me that they wished to hear the Dharma first. I should now open the gate of the true Dharma for these five.” He further thought: “All Buddhas of the past turned the Dharma wheel in the Deer Park, the dwelling place of seers, in the kingdom of Varanasi. Those five men also dwell there. I should now go there and turn the great Dharma wheel.” Having thought thus, the Blessed One arose and departed for the kingdom of Varanasi.

At that time, five hundred merchants led by the two merchant chiefs Bhaddrasena and Bhaddarali were crossing an open plain. A deva appeared and said to them:

“A Tathagata, Worthy One, Perfectly Enlightened One, Perfect in Knowledge and Conduct, Well-Gone One, Knower of the World, Unsurpassed One, Tamer of Persons, Teacher of Devas and Humans, Buddha, Blessed One has appeared in the world to instruct and transform it. He is the foremost and most exalted field of merit. You should go before him and make offerings.”

Hearing the deva’s words, the merchant chiefs rejoiced, praised them, and asked:

“Those words are truly auspicious! Where is the Blessed One now?”

The deva replied:

“Before long, the Blessed One will pass by this place.”

At that time, the Tathagata, escorted by countless devas, arrived at the village of Savali. The two merchants saw the Tathagata’s majestic and dignified appearance and also saw the devas surrounding and escorting him before and behind. Their joy increased, and they offered honey and sugar to the Buddha.

The Blessed One then thought: “Buddhas of the past used patras to hold their food.” The Four Heavenly Kings knew the Buddha’s thought, so each brought a bowl and presented it to him. The Blessed One thought: “If I accept the bowl of only one, the others will be displeased.” Therefore, he accepted them all, placed the four bowls one atop another, and pressed them with his palm into a single bowl, upon which the four rims remained clearly visible.

The Blessed One then pronounced this blessing:

“Now that you have offered these foods, wishing that after I consume them my strength may increase, I likewise bless you with health, steadfast minds, joy, happiness, peace, freedom from illness, longevity, and the protection of benevolent spirits. By offering this meal, you will sever the roots of the three poisons and, in the future, attain the three steadfast Dharmas. You will be intelligent and wise, have wholehearted faith in the Buddhadharma, and wherever you are born, you will possess right view and remain free from delusion.

In the present life, your parents, wives, children, relatives, and kin will all remain united, and no strange or inauspicious events will occur. If anyone in your families has committed evil and fallen into an evil destiny, through the merit of this act of giving they will be reborn in the human or heavenly realms, will not give rise to wrong views, will advance in cultivating merit, will always draw near to the Buddhas, the Tathagatas, will hear the wondrous Dharma, and will fully realize the truth in accordance with their aspirations.”

After the Blessed One had completed the blessing, he partook of the meal. When he had finished eating and had washed his hands and bowl, he transmitted the Three Refuges to the merchants: refuge in the Buddha, refuge in the Dharma, and refuge in the future Sangha. Having transmitted the Three Refuges, the Buddha took leave of them and continued toward the Deer Park, his dignified and serene bearing like that of the King of Swans. On the way, the Buddha encountered a non-Buddhist ascetic named Upaga. Seeing the Buddha’s magnificent marks and tranquil faculties, the ascetic considered it wondrous and spoke verses of praise:

Sentient beings in this world

Are all bound by the three poisons;

Their faculties are also heedless,

Swept away by external objects.

Yet now I behold the Venerable One,

Whose faculties are truly tranquil.

Surely you have attained liberation—

Of this there can be no doubt.

Who is the Venerable One’s teacher?

What is his name and lineage?

The Blessed One replied in verse:

I have now transcended

The realm of sentient beings.

The subtle, profound Dharma—

I now know it all.

The three poisons and the five desires

Have been forever severed and exist no more.

Like a lotus growing in the mud,

Unstained by foul and muddy water.

I realized the Noble Eightfold Path myself,

Without teacher or companion.

With pure wisdom,

I subdued the king of Mara.

Now I have attained Perfect Awakening

And am worthy to be Teacher of gods and humans.

Body, speech, and mind are wholly pure;

Therefore I am called the Muni.

I intend to go to Varanasi

To turn the wheel of the true Dharma—

That which gods, humans, and maras

Are unable to expound.

After hearing these verses, Upaga’s heart filled with joy. Praising this as unprecedented, he respectfully joined his palms, circumambulated the Blessed One, and took his leave. After walking some distance, Upaga looked back once more. Only when he could no longer see the Blessed One did he finally depart.

The Blessed One continued onward until he reached the bank of the Ajapala River. By then evening had fallen, so he stopped to rest and sat in meditative concentration for seven days amid wind and rain. In that river dwelt a naga king named Mucalinda. Seeing the Buddha absorbed in concentration, he coiled his body seven times around the Buddha and remained there throughout the seven days. After seven days, he transformed into human form, bowed his head at the Buddha’s feet, and said:

“Blessed One, you have sat here for seven days. Were you not troubled by the wind and rain?”

The Blessed One replied in verse:

The devas and the people of the world

Delight in the five sensual pleasures,

But compared with the bliss of meditative concentration,

They cannot possibly be its equal.

Hearing the Buddha’s verse, the naga king rejoiced greatly, bowed his head at the Buddha’s feet, and returned to the naga palace. The Blessed One then continued to the city of Varanasi, where the five men Kaundinya, Mahanama, Vappa, Assaji, and Bhaddiya were dwelling. Seeing the Buddha approaching from afar, the five discussed among themselves:

“The ascetic Gautama abandoned the practice of austerities, regressed, and returned to enjoying the pleasures of food and drink; he no longer possesses the aspiration for the Path. Now that he is coming here, we need not rise to welcome him, pay him reverence, or inquire after him. If he wants a seat, he may choose a place and sit down as he pleases.”

Having said this, they all remained silent. But when the Buddha drew near, the five spontaneously rose, bowed in greeting, and hurried respectfully to receive him, doing just as they had formerly done: one took his robe and bowl, another brought water for washing, another washed the Buddha’s feet, and so forth. Each acted contrary to what they had agreed, yet they still addressed the Buddha as Gautama, just as before.

The Blessed One then asked Kaundinya and his companions:

“You agreed among yourselves that you would not rise when you saw me. Why have you now gone against your agreement and hastened to rise, receive me, and attend upon me?”

Hearing this question, the five felt ashamed and said:

“Gautama, were you wearied by the journey?”

The Blessed One asked:

“Why do you address the Supremely Honored One by his personal and family name? Although my mind neither takes offense at disparagement nor delights in praise, and harbors no discrimination, your arrogance will bring you painful consequences. Even according to worldly etiquette, children may not address their parents by name; how much less so now that I am the father and mother of all beings.”

Hearing this teaching, the five became even more ashamed and said to the Buddha:

“We are foolish and devoid of wisdom. We did not know that you had now attained Perfect Awakening. Why is this? Formerly, we saw the Tathagata practice austerities for six years, eating only one grain of rice and one sesame seed each day, but now you have returned to enjoying food and drink. Therefore, we thought that the Buddha had not yet attained the Path.”

The Buddha then said to the five:

“Do not use your limited understanding to judge whether or not I have attained the Path. Why is this? When the body is afflicted, the mind becomes disturbed; when the body is indulged in pleasure, the mind becomes intoxicated and attached.

Therefore, neither suffering nor pleasure is a cause for attaining the Path. This is no different from trying to kindle fire by friction while placing the wood in water; certainly no fire will arise to give light. Seeking the fire of wisdom is likewise so: when the water of suffering and pleasure is present, the radiance of wisdom’s fire cannot arise.

Because the fire of wisdom does not arise, one cannot dispel the dark veil of birth and death. If one now abandons both suffering and pleasure and cultivates the Middle Way, the mind will become settled and one will be able to comprehend and cultivate the true Noble Eightfold Path, leaving far behind the afflictions of birth, aging, illness, and death. I myself cultivated the Middle Way and therefore attained unsurpassed, complete, and perfect awakening.”

When the five heard the Tathagata teach in this way, their hearts filled with joy and tremendous inspiration, and they gazed unceasingly upon the Buddha’s countenance. At that time, the Blessed One perceived that the faculties of Kaundinya and the other four were capable of comprehending the Dharma of the Path, so he taught them:

“Kaundinya, you should know that this body of the five skandhas is suffering. Birth is suffering; aging is suffering; illness is suffering; death is suffering; separation from those one loves is suffering; encountering those one hates is suffering; not obtaining what one seeks is also suffering; and losing the joy and pleasure of prosperity and distinction is suffering. Kaundinya, among sentient beings, whether with form or formless, whether without feet or having one foot, two feet, three feet, four feet, or many feet, there is no species that does not undergo these sufferings.

It is like covering fire with ashes: when it encounters dry grass, the fire bursts into flame. In this way, these sufferings arise from the root of attachment to self. If any sentient being gives rise to even the most subtle thought of attachment to self, that being must undergo these sufferings.

Craving, anger, and ignorance all arise from the fundamental attachment to self. Furthermore, these three poisons are the causes of suffering, just as seeds possess the power to produce sprouts. Because of them, sentient beings revolve in the cycle of rebirth throughout the three realms.

If attachment to self and craving, anger, and ignorance are extinguished, these sufferings will consequently cease. All suffering, pain, and afflictions are eliminated by the Noble Eightfold Path, just as a person pours water upon a great fire and extinguishes it. All sentient beings, unaware of the root of suffering, continue to revolve in birth and death.

Kaundinya, suffering must be understood, its origin must be abandoned, cessation must be realized, and the Path must be cultivated. Kaundinya, I have understood suffering, abandoned its origin, realized cessation, and cultivated the Path; therefore, I have attained unsurpassed, complete, and perfect awakening. Thus, you must now understand suffering, abandon its origin, realize cessation, and cultivate the Path.

Know that anyone who has not awakened to these Four Noble Truths has not yet attained liberation. These four truths are true: suffering is truly suffering, its origin is truly its origin, cessation is truly cessation, and the Path is truly the Path. Kaundinya, have you comprehended this?”

Kaundinya replied:

“Blessed One, we have understood; we have known.”

Because he fully understood the Dharma of the Four Noble Truths, from that time onward he was known as Ajnata Kaundinya. When the Buddha expounded the Four Noble Truths in three turnings and twelve aspects, Kaundinya thoroughly comprehended that Dharma, his mind became free from defilements, and he attained the pure Dharma eye. At the same time, eighty thousand nayutas of devas in the sky also became free from defilements and attained the pure Dharma eye. Seeing the Tathagata turn the Dharma wheel upon his ground, the earth deity was filled with joy and proclaimed in a loud voice:

—Here the Tathagata has turned the wondrous Dharma wheel.

All the heavenly deities in the sky who heard these words became elated and passed the proclamation from one to another, crying aloud until it resounded throughout the Akanistha Heaven. When the devas there heard it, they rejoiced beyond measure and proclaimed in a loud voice:

—Today, in the Deer Park, the dwelling place of the seers near the city of Varanasi, the Tathagata has turned the Great Dharma Wheel, which no one in any world—deva, human, Mara, Brahma, sramana, or brahmin—is able to expound.

At that moment, the entire earth manifested eighteen kinds of movement. The eight classes of beings—devas, nagas, and others—in the sky played many kinds of music; celestial drums sounded of themselves; exquisite incense was burned; precious flowers, banners, and jeweled canopies were scattered; and songs of praise were sung. All the realms throughout the worlds became naturally radiant.

Because Ajnata Kaundinya was the first to awaken to the true Dharma, he became the Buddha’s foremost disciple. The other four, seeing that after the Buddha had turned the Dharma wheel only Ajnata Kaundinya had attained the Way, thought to themselves, “If the Blessed One expounds the Dharma to us once more, we too shall attain the Way.” Having thought thus, they all gazed upon the Buddha without looking away. The Buddha knew the thoughts in the minds of those four and therefore expounded the Dharma of the Four Noble Truths once again.

After hearing it, they too became free from defilements and attained the pure Dharma eye.

Then, having seen the truth, the five bowed their heads at the Buddha’s feet and said:

—Blessed One, we five have seen the truth and realized the mark of the Way. We now wish to renounce the household life and follow the Buddha. We beseech the Blessed One, in his compassion, to accept us.

The Blessed One then called to the five:

—Come, bhiksus!

Their hair and beards immediately fell away of themselves, and kasayas appeared upon their bodies. All five became sramanas. The Blessed One then asked the five bhiksus:

—Bhiksus, what do you think? Are form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness permanent or impermanent; suffering or not suffering; empty or not empty; self or not-self?

As soon as the five bhiksus heard this question concerning the five skandhas, all their outflows were completely exhausted, their minds were liberated, and they attained the fruit of arhatship. They then replied:

—Blessed One, form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness are all impermanent, suffering, empty, and not-self.

From that time onward, there were six arhats in the world. The Buddha himself was the Jewel of the Buddha; the Four Noble Truths were the Jewel of the Dharma; and those five arhats were the Jewel of the Sangha. Thus the Three Jewels were complete and present in the world, constituting the supreme field of merit for devas and humans alike.