太子慕魄經

Thus have I heard:

At one time the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove, in Anāthapiṇḍika's Park, in the country of Śrāvastī.

The Buddha addressed the bhikṣus:

"In a former life, I was Prince Mūgapakkha, the son of the king of the country of Vārāṇasī. From the time he was born, the prince already bore extraordinary marks; his form was handsome and dignified beyond compare. The prince himself knew the affairs of countless former lives — the deeds of merit and demerit, of good and evil, the reception of long or short, fair or foul, retributions, where beings died and where they were reborn — all of this the prince knew clearly.

Yet right up to the age of thirteen, the prince still could not speak. The royal father had only this one son who would in the future succeed to the precious throne, and so the people of the whole country all loved the prince dearly. Because he recalled countless former kalpas — the matters of calamity and blessing, of loss and survival — the prince therefore remained silent until the age of thirteen.

The prince held his bodily form of little account, settling his will upon stillness and quietude, paying no heed to hunger and cold, living plainly and simply, his mind like a withered tree; though he had ears and eyes he cared not to hear or see, and though his thinking mind was deep and far-reaching it was as if he had no aspiration of will. He did not fear disgrace, nor did he love or hate; like one blind, like one deaf, he said nothing at all, and he looked upon things like a man who has eyes yet cannot see the road.

The royal father was anxious, grieved, and tormented, and he felt deeply ashamed before the neighboring countries, fearing that should they come to know, they would mock and ridicule him. For this reason the king summoned the Brahmins of the country and questioned them.

'Why is it that the prince cannot speak?'

The Brahmin examined the prince's marks and replied:

'This is an evil son. Though his form and features are upright, dignified, and handsome, within his heart he secretly harbors what is unwholesome; he wishes to harm his royal father, to bring ruin to the country, and to annihilate the ancestral line. Before long the king will not be able to rear him. If the prince cannot speak, of what benefit is he to the king? Now that the great king understands, you must not let the prince live any longer; such evil sons as this must be guarded against with great care. Therefore, great king, do not let the prince live for nothing — the great king ought to bury the prince alive and be done with it. Only then can the great king protect the nation and keep the lineage safe; thereafter a noble son will be born. If not, it will be most perilous.'

The king believed the words of this deluded fool, holding them to be indeed true, and so within his heart he was sorrowful and could neither stand nor sit at ease; he had no mind for watching dances and songs, and took no pleasure in fine food or beautiful garments. The king took counsel with his ministers and elders:

'Now what must we do?'

One minister submitted:

'Cast the prince away into the deep mountains where there are no people.'

Another minister submitted:

'Throw the prince down into the deep waters.'

One minister submitted:

'It must be as the Brahmin diviner has said: let the king have a deep pit made with an entrance like a chamber, then provide goods and provisions and assign five servants to live in that pit with him. The prince's life will then be as good as ended, and all his actions brought to a close.'

The royal father heeded the proposal of that minister, and early in the morning he sent the servants to convey the prince away to be buried by any means. The prince grieved deeply over this foolish and deluded deed, and he pitied them immeasurably. The queen mother, loving her son, said with anguish in her heart:

'Without merit I gave birth to a son of ill fate, and now I meet with this calamity. My very heart and bowels are torn asunder — how unbearable is this pain! How my heart is stricken with sorrow!'

By dire necessity the queen reluctantly let the prince go. She instructed those who would convey the prince away to be buried that they must take along all the garments, strings of jewels, and precious gems that the prince had used, and bring them with him.

When they arrived, the servants told the prince to remove all his garments and precious gems and set them aside; only then did they begin to make the pit. The pit was not yet dug, and Mūgapakkha, alone upon the carriage, pondered at length and said to himself:

'From the royal father down to the people, everyone holds that I am a deaf-mute who cannot speak. The reason I have not spoken is precisely that I wished to cast off the binding conditions of the world, to avoid so many vexations, so that I might keep my person at peace and rescue beings from suffering. Now, on the contrary, I am harmed by the deceit of the deluded and the foolish; I have lost my life and am moreover to be buried alive by others.'

The prince silently took the garments and precious gems and carried them away. The men digging the pit did not know that Mūgapakkha had taken his belongings and departed. Then Mūgapakkha went to the bank of the river, bathed himself clean, anointed his body with fragrance, and then brought all the garments and strings of jewels to the place where the pit was being dug, and asked:

'For whom are you gentlemen digging this pit?'

The men digging the pit answered:

'The king has a son named Mūgapakkha who is a deaf-mute; though he has reached thirteen years of age he still cannot speak. The king questioned the Brahmin, and the Brahmin teacher said that the prince ought to be buried alive — only then would the country prosper, and only then would the descendants of later generations become wealthy and dwell in peace and joy. For this reason we have been sent to dig a pit to bury Mūgapakkha.'

Mūgapakkha said:

'I am none other than Prince Mūgapakkha himself.'

Everyone was struck with terror, the hair on their bodies standing on end, and they hurried back to the carriage to search, but they did not find Mūgapakkha upon it. They ran back to the place of the pit to look closely at the prince, and they listened as the prince spoke in a voice truly extraordinary — clear and pure, distinct as the light of the full moon — such as people of the world had rarely heard, resounding on every side. Those who were walking all halted; those who were sitting all stood up. The flocks of flying birds and the running beasts all gathered round the prince, and all bowed their heads to listen as the prince spoke:

'Observe my hands and feet and my form. Why have they been deceived by these deluded and lying fools, who took crooked words for truth and went to cast away my very life?'

The words the prince set forth, issuing from his heart, all formed eloquent discourse. When everyone had heard, they revealed expressions of utter terror, and neither those above nor those below dared to gainsay him. The prince's bearing and presence had conquered them, making everyone tremble with fear; on both sides they looked at one another, their faces turned pale with dread, and said:

'The prince is surely a god, that he should be like this.'

They came before the prince, bowed their heads, paid reverent homage, and begged for his compassion and pardon for their offenses, so that together they might return to the royal palace and report to his royal father.

Mūgapakkha said:

'My royal father has cast me away, and so I will not return. Go back and report this to my royal father, that he may know.'

The servants hastened back to report to the king. The queen mother, full of compassion, sent someone to inquire how matters stood.

One of them reported:

'The prince has miraculously opened his mouth and can speak everything, astonishing all who hear. Those who come to hear the prince speak gather in great throngs.'

The king, frantic, rejoicing and weeping by turns, was utterly astonished at this event; the king and his consort went to welcome the prince. The people of the whole country, every one of them, were filled with joy and gladness and came to visit the prince, filling all the roads and lanes. Some said:

'Behold, the prince is like the gods.'

While the royal father had not yet arrived, Mūgapakkha reflected: 'I must take up the religious path.' At the very moment the prince conceived this aspiration, the god Śakra at once conjured forth a scene of gardens, bathing ponds, and all manner of trees, flowers, and fruits, of exquisite delight beyond all compare. Mūgapakkha then cast off the garments of jewels and precious gems upon his body, and serenely clothed himself in the robes of a religious mendicant.

When the king arrived at the place, he saw Mūgapakkha sitting beneath the root of a tree. Seeing his royal father coming, Mūgapakkha at once rose to greet him and paid his respects. Mūgapakkha said:

'I invite the great king to be seated.'

When the king heard Mūgapakkha speak, his voice clear and pure, his majestic power resounding throughout all heaven and earth, beyond all compare, he was filled with great joy and urged Mūgapakkha to return quickly to the royal palace, ascend the throne, and govern the country.

'I beg you, my son, do not evade this.'

Mūgapakkha said:

'Royal father, it cannot be, it cannot be. I have grown weary of the hundred sorrows and anguishing pains of the hells. In a former life I was once the king of this very country, named Sunirmita, and I governed the country by the True Dharma and practiced all wholesome deeds.

Throughout twenty-five years, in that king's realm no one was imprisoned or exiled, there were no weapons of war, and no punishments of rod or staff were employed; the virtue of benevolence and love was bestowed everywhere, succoring all without the least grudging stinginess. Although I practiced all these wholesome conducts, I yet committed one small offense, and in the end I had to fall into the hells for more than sixty thousand years, where I was roasted, boiled, minced, and hacked — suffering unbearable; I sought to live but could not, and wished to die but could not even do that.

At that very time, my father and mother were in this country; though they possessed countless wealth and riches and enjoyed boundless prosperity and pleasure, how could they have known that their son was in the hells being interrogated and tortured most cruelly! How could father and mother come to share and lessen even a portion of their son's suffering and pain? Does the royal father know why I fell into such a state?

In ancient times I was the king of this great country, ruling over all the small kingdoms of the surrounding region. The king was so benevolent, kind, and virtuous in nature that the laws of the country were not strict, and so the kings of the small kingdoms found it easy to despise him. They took counsel together:

"This great king is merely gentle but weak; he has no awe-inspiring, valiant virtue and so cannot govern a great realm. Now we ought to lead our armies to attack and depose him, and be done with it."

The small kingdoms led their armies to attack the great realm. At that time King Sunirmita expended all his gold, silver, and precious gems, bestowing them upon the small kingdoms. The king moreover granted them ranks, titles, and emoluments to mollify and console them. For this reason the kings of the small kingdoms all withdrew and returned to their own countries.

Yet before long the small kingdoms again led innumerable armies to attack the great realm. The officials of the great realm, enraged, submitted to the great king:

"The subjects of the small kingdoms are foolish and devoid of righteousness; they give no thought to the crime of affronting the sovereign and despising the great realm. They are rebels who dare to offend against their superior. We beg the great king to issue a command that the people quickly resist them, and that we always remain on guard and ready to respond. We ought to strike and subdue them, to root out these marauding bandits."

The king replied:

"As I am the father and mother of the people, I must bear the responsibility of teaching the people benevolence and love, of forgiving and saving their lives so that they do not fall into peril. I look upon those small kingdoms with compassion, just as upon little children who do not yet understand; let us gradually exhort and admonish them — I cannot bear to add further slaughter."

The king always held a vast and great heart of loving-kindness, cherishing the lives of all creatures, and never harbored a mind to kill. The ministers, however, could not bear to watch the strongholds of the great realm so easily seized by the small kingdoms and passing into their hands; unable to restrain their anger, the officers and troops of the great realm secretly raised an army and marched out to attack the small kingdoms, and by this great numbers of the people were slain. When the great king heard of such a matter, he was deeply grieved and wept like rain. The great king had funeral rites performed for the people of the various countries who had perished, and with all his heart he was anxious and full of compassion, as though caring for his own children.

When the small kingdoms saw that the king of the great realm had such a compassionate heart, cherishing the people in this way, they came to surrender and submit to the great king. When the small kingdoms had come over and submitted to the great king, the great king at once ordered a banquet spread to entertain them. The head cook prepared the feast, and to provide all the dishes it was necessary to slaughter the six domestic animals — oxen and sheep. Whenever the kitchen wished to cook some dish, it would report to the king beforehand; and the king, though he had a heart of loving-kindness, by dire necessity had to nod his assent. It was through this cause that I incurred such an offense.

Whenever I recall this matter, I cannot but feel the hair on my neck stand on end and a cold sweat break out over my whole body.

The reason I did not speak is that I recalled all the matters of fair and foul, of safety and folly, of failure, and the fears that had come upon me in past lives; therefore, until the age of thirteen, I still did not speak. By living in stillness and quietude, I escaped from so many evils, transcended worldly toil, departed far from the mundane world, and no longer met with calamity. Now, because I wished to keep my mouth pure and not speak, I was to be buried alive by the royal father.

I feared that after the royal father passed away, he too would meet with calamity, for once one falls into the hells there is no day of emerging. It was not my intention to cause the royal father to incur such an offense, and so I had no choice but to speak. I wish only to spend my whole life studying the Way, holding to the intent of non-action; I have no liking to be king.

People living in the world are deluded as if in a dream; their merriment within their homes lasts but a fleeting moment, yet they must endure so much anxiety, sorrow, and fear throughout endless ages — little joy and much suffering, with the ten thousand strands of affliction. Therefore the wise hold that rank, wealth, and affection are entanglements, the toils and dusts of all desires and pleasures. If I were to be king I would give rise to a mind of dissipation, greedily craving lust and pleasure, causing the people grief and vexation — a great calamity for the world.

Therefore one who wishes to escape grief and vexation must depart far from the dusts of the world, go against the current of birth and death, return to the true source, and rescue all kinds of beings. This transient life cannot be relied upon; when old age and decline arrive one must encounter sickness and disease, each day grows ever farther from the Way, and one can no longer advance in the cultivation of the work of the Way.

I do not crave wealth and honor, I hold riches of little account, I cast off the worldly glory of this world; my will is set upon the Great Way, to wander and teach throughout the four directions of heaven, to rescue the multitude of living beings.'

The royal father replied:

'It is truly so. You are one of wisdom beyond all compare. Were you not so, you would not have left me to seek the Way.'

The king's heart was at once joyful and sorrowful, and he deeply regretted the deeds that had passed.

The prince continued:

'Royal father, you have heard that in this world father and son must be parted, that bonds of grace and duty go contrary to their course, and that flesh and bone are set far apart. Because of the karma of wrong and enmity, I could not be heard, causing my father to undergo suffering and to meet, moreover, with further toil and vexation.'

When the father heard his son speak, knowing his son's will to be firm and resolute, he naturally felt ashamed and did not know what words to use in reply. The king said:

'Since, as in a former life, you were a king who continually practiced all wholesome deeds, and merely for one small, trifling shortcoming you yet suffered so grievously — how much more shall I, who govern the country without upholding the True Dharma, who have not a single wholesome deed but on the contrary chase after what is wrong, arrogant and unrestrained, devoting myself to evil deeds! How great then is my offense?'

The royal father then granted the prince permission to go and study the Way. Thereupon the prince took leave of his royal father, departed from his homeland, clung to nothing whatsoever, and with single-minded, undivided devotion he meditated upon the Way and cultivated virtue, accumulating merit, until he attained Perfect Enlightenment. The Buddha taught and transformed living beings throughout the worlds of the ten directions, in numbers beyond reckoning, passing through countless kalpas without ever regarding this as wearisome. The Bodhisattva endured ever so many hardships in this way."

The Buddha said:

"The Prince Mūgapakkha of that time was none other than I myself. The royal father of the prince is now Śuddhodana, and the mother is Māyā. The Brahmin diviner is none other than Devadatta, and the men hired to dig the pit are now the five — Ājñātakauṇḍinya and the others...

Those who wish to study the Way must all obey and follow the Buddha's teaching, not transgressing even one small precept. Though the practice of the Way is arduous and difficult, one will thereby transcend the three evil paths and the eight places of suffering and calamity.

On the contrary, if one transgresses the prohibitive precepts, one will afterward fall into the evil paths; even if one obtains a human birth, one will be born into places of poverty and suffering, or become a slave whose wishes cannot be freely fulfilled. Only one who keeps the precepts and practices what is wholesome can attain the three exalted stations."

When the Buddha had finished speaking this sūtra, the bhikṣus, the host of gods, and the people all rejoiced, bowed their heads, and paid reverent homage to the Buddha.