異出菩薩本起經

In the distant past, Buddha Shakyamuni was a man of the country of Phu-lau-da-ma. Life after life he performed wholesome deeds, passing through innumerable kalpas before attaining Buddhahood. When the Buddha was still a bodhisattva, he was named Ma-nap. He dwelt in seclusion deep in the mountains and wore a deerskin garment. At that time, the bodhisattva entered the city of Bat-ma-ha, whose ruler was King Ky-da. Seeing that the people in the city appeared to be hurrying, he asked a passerby:

“What is happening in the city today that everyone seems to be in such haste?”

The man replied:

“Today the Buddha will come here.”

Hearing this, the bodhisattva was overjoyed and said:

“Today I shall meet the Buddha here. I shall follow the Buddha so that I may fulfill the aspiration I have long cherished.”

A short while later, he saw a young woman approaching, carrying a water vessel containing seven utpala flowers. The bodhisattva followed her and called out:

“Sister, please stop!”

The young woman, whose name was Cau-di, stopped and waited for the bodhisattva to come. The bodhisattva said:

“Madam, please let me have those utpala flowers.”

Cau-di said:

“The Buddha will come to the capital today, and the great king wishes to purify himself to welcome the Buddha. I am bringing these flowers to offer to the king, so I cannot give them to you.”

The bodhisattva said:

“Would you sell me those flowers for one hundred coins?”

Cau-di replied:

“These flowers are not for sale.”

The bodhisattva said:

“Madam, you can go and gather more flowers.”

Cau-di replied:

“That is impossible.”

The bodhisattva pleaded again:

“Then would you sell me those flowers for five hundred coins?”

Cau-di thought to herself, “Each of these flowers is worth only two or three coins, yet this man wishes to buy them for as much as five hundred!” She therefore kept only two flowers and gave the other five to the bodhisattva. Searching his money pouch, the bodhisattva found that he had exactly five hundred coins. He gave them all to Cau-di, and the two parted, each going a different way.

Cau-di reflected, “This religious mendicant wears nothing but a deerskin garment. He possessed exactly five hundred coins, yet spent them all to buy flowers. He surely cannot be an ordinary man.” She hurried after the bodhisattva and called aloud:

“Sir, please stop!”

Hearing her call, the bodhisattva stopped and waited. When Cau-di reached him, she said:

“Tell me the truth. I handed you the flowers, never expecting that you would seize them from me and leave!”

The bodhisattva replied:

“But I purchased the flowers! I offered first one hundred coins and then as many as five hundred. Why do you say that I seized your flowers?”

Cau-di said:

“These flowers were intended for the king. In truth, I relied upon his authority to force you to pay an excessive price.”

The bodhisattva then revealed his true intention:

“I heard that the Buddha would come today. I wished to offer these flowers to the Buddha and follow him, hoping to fulfill the aspiration I have long cherished.”

Cau-di said:

“This is truly most auspicious! I vow that in my next life I shall become your wife. Whether in that life you are handsome or ugly, I vow to attend upon you faithfully. With utmost sincerity, I ask the Buddha to bear witness to my vow.”

The bodhisattva said:

“So be it.”

Cau-di then gave the remaining two flowers to the bodhisattva to offer to the Buddha and said:

“According to custom, women cannot approach the Buddha. Please offer these flowers to him on my behalf.”

The bodhisattva accepted the two flowers, and they took leave of one another. Not long afterward, the Buddha arrived in the capital. The king, his ministers, and the people offered hundreds of different kinds of flowers, scattering them above the Buddha’s head.

After being cast into the air, all those flowers fell to the ground. The bodhisattva took his five utpala flowers and scattered them above the Buddha’s head as an offering. All five remained suspended in the air without falling, arranged upright in a row as though growing from their roots, although they were not attached to the earth.

The bodhisattva then took Cau-di’s two flowers and scattered them above the Buddha’s head. These two likewise did not fall but stood in a row beside the Buddha’s shoulders. Knowing the bodhisattva’s sincere heart perfectly, the Buddha said:

“The great aspiration within your heart shall be fulfilled. Ninety kalpas from now, in a kalpa named Bat-la, you shall become a Buddha called Shakyamuni.”

Hearing the Buddha’s words, the bodhisattva was filled with immeasurable joy. He cut off his hair and spread it upon the ground for the Buddha to tread upon, while he stood to one side, light and joyful in body and mind. Through his spiritual power, the Buddha accepted the offering. He swiftly rose nine feet above the ground, hovered in the air, and then descended from above. The Buddha further said:

“I confirm that in the future you shall attain the Way and deliver the world. You too shall become a Buddha just as I have.”

The Buddha of that time was named Dipankara. After the Buddha entered nirvana, the bodhisattva returned to dwell in seclusion deep in the mountains. When his lifespan ended, he was born in the palace of the Trayastrimsha heaven, the second heaven of the desire realm, where the devas wholeheartedly assisted him and drew near to him.

When his celestial lifespan ended, he was born again in the human realm, in the country of Cuu-di-na-kiet, where he became a Wheel-Turning Emperor and ruled the four continents beneath heaven. At death he was reborn in the second heaven, Trayastrimsha, and became Shakra, Lord of the Devas. For thirty-six lifetimes he was Shakra, and for eighty-four thousand lifetimes he was a Wheel-Turning Emperor.

When those lifespans had ended, he was born in the fourth heaven, the Tushita heaven, and from there descended to be born in the country of Kapilavastu.

Kapilavastu lay at the center between heaven and earth, a place where Buddhas commonly appeared in the world. It had no borderlands adjoining other countries and was generally situated on high, sloping ground. The king who ruled Kapilavastu was benevolent and virtuous.

The bodhisattva entered the queen’s womb without any impurity and without depending upon anything. The kings and trusted ministers of neighboring countries all wished to establish marriage alliances with Kapilavastu. Hearing that the queen was pregnant, they came to congratulate the king and bowed before the queen.

From within his mother’s womb, the prince could see the people outside, just as one wearing a thin veil could clearly see those beyond it. When the people outside bowed, the prince waved his hand from within his mother’s womb as though pushing them away. He refused their homage because he did not wish to trouble the beings of the world.

Throughout the queen’s pregnancy, devas daily brought food and drink down from heaven and placed them before her. The queen did not know whence this food and drink had come, but simply partook of them. Consequently, the rare delicacies in the palace seemed pungent and bitter to her and were difficult to eat.

The prince chose to be born at midnight on the eighth day of the fourth month. He emerged from the queen’s right side and took seven steps, his feet not touching the ground but remaining four inches above it. Raising his right hand, he declared:

“Throughout the worlds above and below, there is no one more honored than I!”

At that very moment, the Four Heavenly Kings descended and bowed to him. They then laid the prince upon a gleaming golden seat and bathed his body with warm water, astonishing the king, the queen, and everyone present. When the prince was born, brilliant light shone everywhere, reaching upward to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three and downward to the sixteenth Nairaya hell. Twelve thousand worlds of heaven and earth were illuminated, and heaven and earth trembled. Only then did the prince become like an ordinary infant again. A nurse placed the prince in a brocade pouch and handed him to the queen to be raised. He was named Siddhartha. At birth, his body was already endowed with the thirty-two excellent marks.

The following day, the king discussed the matter with the queen:

“Our son’s birth was unlike that of an ordinary person. In this country there is a renowned religious seer, more than a hundred years old and highly skilled in physiognomy. His name is Asita. We should invite him to examine the prince’s marks.”

The queen said:

“That would be most auspicious!”

The king and queen went together to the seer’s dwelling. The king brought a pouch of gold and a pouch of silver to present to him, but the seer would not accept them. He drew aside the covering and gazed upon the prince. Seeing that the prince possessed the thirty-two excellent marks and that wondrous radiance shone from his body, the seer became sorrowful and shed tears. The queen asked:

“Venerable seer, is some misfortune about to befall the prince? Today the king wishes to know whether the prince’s marks are auspicious or ominous. Why, then, are you grieving and weeping?”

The seer replied:

“Heaven and earth trembled yesterday because the prince was born. I grieve only for myself, for my body is old and frail, and I shall not live much longer. I lament that I shall not live to attend upon him, hear the prince expound the scriptures and precepts, and receive his instruction and guidance. For this reason I weep.”

When the king heard the seer’s words, he immediately ordered that four thousand people skilled in music and song be selected from throughout the country for the prince. They were divided into four groups of one thousand, which took turns playing music, singing, and dancing day and night without rest. Understanding the seer’s prediction concerning the prince, the king wished all the more to protect his son and keep him under strict guard. He immediately ordered the palace halls, chambers, entrances, gates, and walls, both low and high, to be renovated and made exceedingly secure. Whenever the gates were to be opened, permission had to pass through the guards stationed there. Each time they opened, the sound could be heard forty miles away.

At the time of the prince’s birth, a palace servant also had a son, who was named Chandaka. A white mare likewise gave birth to a colt, which was named Kanthaka. The king appointed Chandaka to attend the prince and had the horse raised for the prince to ride. Seven days after the prince was born, his mother died.

When the prince was ten years old, he asked his royal father for permission to leave the city and view the scenery. His father was very pleased and ordered one hundred trusted officials to accompany the prince on his excursion. The prince mounted a carriage and departed through the eastern gate. Shakra, Lord of the Devas in the Trayastrimsha heaven, transformed himself into a sick man upon the road the prince was traveling. His belly was swollen, his body bloated, and his flesh seemed to have wasted away. He leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. When the prince saw him, he asked the charioteer:

“What kind of person is that?”

The charioteer replied:

“That is a sick person.”

The prince asked:

“What is a sick person?”

The charioteer replied:

“In a former life this man committed evil. Now, having been born human, he has eaten and drunk without moderation and rested at irregular times; therefore, illness has arisen within his body.”

The prince asked again:

“I am the son of the king. If I eat and drink without moderation and sleep at irregular times, will I also fall ill?”

The attendant replied:

“No human being can escape it.”

Hearing this, the prince ordered the carriage turned around and returned to the palace, sorrowful and joyless. He reflected that no one in the world could escape illness and that he too would one day fall ill. He became even more sorrowful and lost all desire for food and drink. Seeing this, the king regretted having permitted the prince to leave the city. He ordered the palace and city gates sealed, no longer wishing the prince to venture outside. Then the king again had the musicians perform, creating an atmosphere of pleasure as before. The prince became still more sorrowful and gave up eating and drinking. Only after a long time did his grief subside.

Several years later, the prince again told his father that he had lived within the secluded palace too long and now wished to leave the city for recreation. His father could not bear to oppose his son’s wishes, so he consented. The king proclaimed throughout the country that the prince was about to tour outside the city and ordered that no sick or filthy people be allowed along the roadsides. He directed the prince’s carriage to depart through the southern gate.

Shakra again transformed himself into a gravely ill man. His hair was disheveled, urine and excrement covered his body, and he lay upon the road with scarcely a breath of life remaining. When the prince saw him, he asked the charioteer:

“What kind of person is that?”

The charioteer replied:

“In his previous life this man committed evil and did not know how to restrain himself. He ate and drank without moderation and rested at irregular times, so sickness arose in his body, and his life will last only a little longer.”

The prince said:

“If I eat and drink without moderation and sleep at irregular times, will I also become sick like that?”

The charioteer replied:

“Anyone who is human must undergo sickness.”

Hearing this answer, the prince immediately ordered the carriage turned around and returned to the palace. He became still more sorrowful and ceased eating and drinking. Seeing this, the king said to the court officials:

“My ministers, I issued a very clear decree beforehand, forbidding sick people or anything filthy and unclean throughout the country from approaching the prince. Why, then, was the prince allowed to encounter a sick man?”

The king again ordered the musicians to play and sing for the prince’s amusement, but the prince’s sorrow did not diminish, and he could take no pleasure in music. Only after some time did his grief gradually lessen.

Several years later, when his sorrow had entirely passed, the prince again went to his father and said that living within the palace enclosure for so long made him sad and that he wished to tour outside the city. His father said:

“Every time you leave the city and return, you are sorrowful and unhappy and abandon food and drink. Why do you now wish to go out again?”

The prince replied:

“I shall not be as I was on the previous occasions.”

As before, his father issued a decree throughout the country forbidding sick or filthy people from approaching the prince’s route. The prince mounted his carriage and departed through the western gate. Shakra then transformed himself into an old man, emaciated and stooped, leaning on a staff and dragging his feet. Seeing him, the prince asked the charioteer:

“What kind of person is that?”

The charioteer replied:

“That is an old man.”

The prince asked:

“What is an old man?”

The charioteer replied:

“People in this world soon grow old. Their lifespan nears its end, their strength declines, and eating and drinking become very difficult. Such a person is called old and feeble.”

The prince asked:

“Will I also grow old and feeble like that?”

The charioteer replied:

“No person who is born can escape old age and feebleness.”

The prince said:

“Turn the carriage around and return to the palace. I too cannot live forever in this world.”

The prince became still more sorrowful and thought, “Everyone in this world must endure old age and feebleness, become unable to eat and drink, and finally die. How could my own life endure forever in this world?” He lost all desire for food and drink, and anguish weighed heavily upon his mind. His father tried in every way to console and reason with him:

“You are my only son, and the throne will eventually be entrusted to you. Why is it that whenever you go out for recreation, you return at once, become sorrowful, and cease eating?”

The king then increased the music, singing, and dancing to bring joy to the prince. Afterward, the prince’s grief gradually passed.

A long time later, the prince again asked his father to permit him to leave the city for recreation. Hearing this, his father said:

“Every time you go out, you return at once, sorrowful and unhappy, abandoning food and drink until you become so emaciated that it is as though you had died and returned to life. Why, then, do you wish to go out again today?”

The prince replied:

“Now I am grown and mature. I shall no longer be confused.”

His father consented and instructed him to depart through the northern gate. Shakra then transformed himself into a funeral procession. Men and women bearing banners and streamers surrounded the funeral carriage, wailing and weeping as they followed it to the burial ground. Seeing this, the prince asked the charioteer:

“What is that strange sound?”

The charioteer replied:

“It is the sound of weeping.”

The prince asked:

“Why are they weeping?”

The charioteer replied:

“Because someone has died.”

The prince asked:

“What is death?”

The charioteer replied:

“The lives of those born into this world are ordained by heaven. Some lifespans are short and others long, but each life eventually ends; this is called death. Once dead, a person knows nothing. The body entirely perishes, and there is no fixed time for death. That grieving family is following the carriage to bury the deceased.”

The prince asked again:

“Will I too die?”

The attendant replied:

“Everyone must come to this state.”

The prince lamented:

“I too cannot live forever in this world. I also must die!”

The prince ordered the carriage turned around and returned to the palace. His father asked the charioteer:

“Why has the prince returned to the palace so quickly?”

The trusted charioteer reported:

“After the prince left the city gate, he saw a funeral carriage along the road. He became unhappy and hurriedly ordered the carriage turned back.”

The king said:

“I shall no longer permit the prince to tour outside the city.”

When the prince was twenty years old, his father wished to select a consort for him. The prince said:

“I do not wish to marry.”

Out of love for his son, the king ordered one hundred thousand young women from throughout the country to be assembled so that the prince might examine them and choose according to his preference. The prince considered all the young women among them, but none pleased him. Finally, a young woman named Cau-di met the prince’s discerning gaze. The prince said:

“I wish to choose this young woman as my wife.”

The king immediately selected Cau-di as the prince’s wife. She was the woman who had once brought flowers to sell to the bodhisattva. In her previous life her name had been Cau-di, and now, having been reborn, she was still named Cau-di.

The prince said to his wife:

“When the two of us rest upon the bed, would it not be delightful to place a vase of beautiful flowers between us so that we might both look upon and enjoy them?”

His wife replied:

“I can obtain the flowers.”

She selected flowers and placed them between the couple when they lay down upon the bed. Cau-di wished to draw near her husband, but the prince said to her:

“If you come close to me, you will crush these flowers. The water in the vase will spill and soil the bedding.”

His wife obeyed. A long while later, the prince said to her:

“When the two of us rest together upon the bed, I wish to place a beautiful cloth cushion between us for both of us to admire.”

His wife still wished to lie close to her husband. The prince said:

“If you lie near me, your perspiration will surely stain the cloth cushion.”

His wife therefore desisted and no longer tried to draw near the prince. Nevertheless, she still had doubts about him and would often follow him whenever she awoke.

At midnight, the Four Heavenly Kings descended from the lofty heavens into the royal palace and called aloud to the prince:

“The time has come to renounce the household life.”

The prince said:

“I wish to leave, but it will be difficult to do so.”

The Four Heavenly Kings caused the musicians and dancers to fall into a profound sleep, utterly unaware of anything. Cau-di also slept deeply, lying apart to one side. The prince slowly braced himself against the bed and sat up. Seeing his wife and fearing that she might awaken, he gently descended from the bed, rose, and went outside. In a low voice, he summoned Chandaka, his trusted attendant who had been born on the same day as he, and ordered him to saddle the white horse Kanthaka and bring it into the courtyard. Chandaka immediately saddled the horse and led it forward. The prince mounted and wished to gallop away, but he feared that when the city gates opened, their sound would carry far. Thus, uncertain and hesitant, he remained mounted in the courtyard.

Whenever the prince rode, the sound of the horse’s hooves could be heard twenty miles away, while the opening of the gates could be heard forty miles away. Therefore, the prince did not dare open the gates. The Four Heavenly Kings ordered devas to support the horse’s four hooves, and it soared over the walls and out of the city. The prince rode by himself to the royal farming estate and stopped beneath a tree.

When morning came, his father did not know where the prince was, and the entire palace was thrown into fearful commotion. His father said:

“My son has never gone alone to tour outside the city. Could he perhaps have gone to my farming estate today?”

The king immediately mounted a horse and went there. From afar he saw the prince sitting peacefully beneath a tree. The sunlight sought to shine upon him, but the tree bent its branches and leaves to cast shade, preventing the sunlight from falling upon the prince. Filled with fear and astonishment, his father dismounted, approached, and bowed to the prince. The prince returned his father’s bow. The prince said:

“For the sake of my royal father, I have fulfilled the duty of a son and have never before gone alone beyond the city gates. Today is the first time I have gone out alone, yet my royal father has pursued me. My horse and attendant are still standing beside the road over there. Please return to the palace. I shall come back in a few days.”

Hearing his son’s words, the king mounted his horse and returned to the palace. He told his daughter-in-law Cau-di that the prince was presently at the farming estate and would return in a few days.

Sitting beneath the tree, the prince made his mind single-pointed and stilled his thoughts. He contemplated the events of his many former lives and knew all things, from the Heaven of the Thirty-Three above to the sixteenth Nairaya hell below. He also saw farmers plowing the fields. Insects exposed by the newly turned soil were injured or killed, while birds flew down to peck at and devour them. He lamented:

“People living in this world fall into hell after death and endure measureless suffering. I cannot remain forever in this world!”

The prince immediately mounted his horse and galloped away. After traveling a little more than ten miles, he encountered a spirit named Bon Thuc. This was a great spirit among ghosts and spirits, a harsh guardian of evil affairs. He held a bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right, and a sharp sword hung at his back as he blocked the road. At the place where the spirit Bon Thuc stood, there were three paths: the first led to the heavens, the second was the path of human beings, and the third led evildoers down into hell. Seeing him from afar, the prince was displeased, yet he continued riding directly toward him. When Bon Thuc saw the prince approaching, he was terrified and trembling. He dropped his sword, bow, and arrow and immediately stepped aside.

The prince asked:

“Which path should I follow?”

Bon Thuc pointed to the road leading to the heavens and said that this was the path he should take. The prince rode several dozen miles farther and encountered a hunter. The prince asked:

“There is something with which I wish you to assist me. May I ask it of you?”

The hunter asked:

“What can I do for you?”

The prince replied:

“I would like to have your deerskin.”

The hunter immediately gave the deerskin to the prince, and the prince gave him a precious object in return. The prince rode about ten miles farther, then stopped, dismounted, and said to Chandaka:

“You must return to the palace. You need follow me no farther.”

Chandaka replied:

“I beg to continue attending the prince.”

The prince said:

“You must return and inform my royal father and my wife that I intend to enter the deep mountains in search of the Way and shall never return in this lifetime.”

Having said this, the prince removed the precious crown from his head and his costly cloak and gave them to Chandaka. Chandaka wept loudly and reached out to receive them. The white horse bent its forelegs and knelt, shedding tears and licking the prince’s feet. Sorrowfully, Chandaka led the horse back. The man wept aloud, and the horse neighed loudly; as they walked, they continued looking back at the prince. The prince then draped the deerskin over his body, transforming his appearance.

Every day Cau-di watched and waited for the prince’s return. Now, seeing only Chandaka and the horse return, she fainted from weeping, cried out, and collapsed upon the floor. Struggling to rise, she embraced the horse’s neck and asked Chandaka:

“Where is the prince now?”

Chandaka replied:

“The prince instructed me to return and report to the great king and to you, noble lady, that he has entered the deep mountains in quest of the Way and will never return in this lifetime.”

Cau-di lamented:

“Why is my fate so bitter? Now I am like one who has no husband. Where shall I seek him? O Prince! My beloved husband! No matter to what distant corner of the world you have gone, I am determined to find you!”

Then she turned to the white horse and said:

“The prince and you departed together. Why have you now returned alone?”

All the trusted attendants grieved and felt compassion for her. When the king heard that the prince had departed, he wailed bitterly, and his tears fell so abundantly that they soaked the ground. Wiping away his tears, he said to Cau-di:

“No one born into this world can escape death. My son has entered the deep mountains to study the Way and save the world. Is that not a wholesome thing?”

The king said this because he wished to lessen Cau-di’s grief. Yet the king himself never ceased longing for the prince. He ordered several thousand wise and virtuous men in the country to be summoned. From them, more than one thousand were selected; from those, one hundred; then ten; and finally five. The king summoned those five men and said:

“My ministers, day and night you remain at home surrounded by your children and grandchildren, delighting in one another’s company. Surely you are very happy. I, however, have only one son.

He had never traveled far, nor had he ever learned whether the hearts of men were black or white. Suddenly he abandoned everything and departed for a distant place, entering lofty mountains, wading through streams and crossing forests, passing deep ravines and caverns, enduring heat, cold, hunger, and thirst—and who knows what else? He may encounter tigers, wolves, fierce beasts, and countless auspicious or perilous things; who can know?

Now each of you five must leave one son here and go together to search for my child. If you find him, remain and attend upon him, for my son has declared that he will never return in this lifetime. If any one of you five abandons my son midway, I shall punish that man’s entire family.”

The five obeyed. They left their five sons behind and departed to search for the prince. Finding him among the high mountains, they followed, attended upon him, and assisted him. Several years passed in this way, yet the prince never asked where the five had come from. Every place the prince went was deep in remote and desolate forests. The five attendants became very afraid and discussed the matter among themselves:

“This prince makes no effort to study the Way and does not choose any path as he travels, like a man afflicted with madness. The five of us can no longer follow him. Yet if we return to the capital, the king will punish our entire families. It would be better simply to remain here.”

All five agreed. The place where they decided to stay contained many kinds of edible plants and fruits growing across a vast watery region. In both winter and summer, they could gather them for food and therefore would not go hungry. The five remained there. The prince did not ask why they no longer followed him.

The prince continued ever deeper into the mountains, where no human being ever passed. He selected a dry place beside a tree, sat upright, made his mind single-pointed, and vowed, “Today I shall sit here. Even if hunger and thirst cause my flesh, bones, sinews, and frame to waste away and dry up, I shall not rise from this seat until I attain the Way and become a Buddha!”

The prince entered samadhi and attained the first dhyana, followed in sequence by the second, third, and fourth dhyanas. During the first watch of the night, he attained A-thuat-xa, the knowledge of former lives, and knew for himself how his body and life had revolved throughout innumerable kalpas in samsara. At midnight, he attained the second Thuat-xa, the knowledge of the divine eye. He acquired the wondrous divine eye, saw boundless worlds, and clearly knew all the paths through which myriad beings revolved in birth and death, in wholesome and evil destinies. Near dawn, the prince attained Buddhahood. At that time, the Buddha thought, “I have now attained the fruit of Buddhahood. Truly, it is difficult to attain, difficult to know, and difficult to comprehend.”

After attaining the Way, the Buddha went to the dwelling of a naga king named Van Lan. Beside the water where the naga king Van Lan dwelt stood a great tree. The Buddha sat majestically beneath it and reflected, “I recall that innumerable kalpas ago, Buddha Dipankara bestowed a prediction upon me that I would become a Buddha named Shakyamuni. Today I have attained the fruit of Buddhahood. Throughout innumerable kalpas I cultivated in hopes of attaining Buddhahood, and now I have attained it. Throughout innumerable kalpas I practiced generosity and cultivated the six paramitas, never neglecting to perform meritorious deeds. Therefore, today I have brought them to perfect fulfillment.”

Having reflected in this way, the Buddha entered the samadhi-paramita. As the Buddha meditated beneath the tree beside the water, his radiant light shone down into the naga palace. Seeing the Buddha’s radiance, the naga king was exceedingly frightened, and his scales and claws stood on end.

The naga king Van Lan had previously seen three Buddhas—Krakucchanda Buddha, Kanakamuni Buddha, and Kashyapa Buddha—each meditate beneath that tree, with their radiant light shining through the water into the naga palace. Now the naga king saw that this Buddha’s radiance resembled that of those three former Buddhas. Such light had appeared in the world before, but those Buddhas were no longer present.

The naga king was overjoyed. He emerged from the water, looked about, and saw the Buddha meditating beneath the tree. The Buddha’s body possessed the thirty-two excellent marks and shone with brilliant golden light.

He was upright and majestic like the sun and moon. From afar, the Buddha’s thirty-two excellent marks appeared like a tree bursting into blossom.

The naga king Van Lan went directly to the Buddha and circumambulated him seven times. The naga king had seven heads and used them to shelter the Buddha. When the naga king left the water to attend upon the Buddha, wind and rain arose for seven days. Throughout those seven days, the Buddha remained in meditation without moving. His breathing seemed to cease entirely, yet his mind was supremely peaceful and joyful. After seven days, the wind and rain stopped. Having newly attained the Way, the Buddha’s mind was joyful, and he neither ate nor drank during those seven days. Seeing the Buddha’s joy, the naga king likewise neither ate nor drank while attending upon him for those seven days.

When the seven days had passed, the Buddha emerged from samadhi. The naga king transformed himself into a young brahmin, knelt with palms joined, and asked the Buddha:

“Have you attained a state in which you are afflicted by neither cold nor heat, nor troubled by insects, flies, or mosquitoes?”

The Buddha replied:

“It has been said in the scriptures that it is joyful for a person to dwell in peace and security. What I formerly heard and learned, I now rejoice to hear and see again. To live in the world without being troubled by others is also joyful. Never to trouble the people of the world, even the tiniest insects, is also joyful. To have ended all karma-producing activity, attained liberation, and never again returned as a human being in this world or been reborn in the heavens is also joyful. To have entirely eliminated anger and sensual desire is also joyful. To dwell in the world and encounter the liberating Dharma of the Buddha is also joyful.”

The naga king said to the Buddha:

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

The Buddha told the naga king:

“In the future, if you encounter the Sangha of bhikshus and arhats, you should also take refuge in them and serve them wholeheartedly.”

Among animals, the naga king Van Lan was the first to take refuge in the Buddha.

The Buddha had fully penetrated and mastered all spiritual powers. Devas assembled, reverently bowed, and praised the Buddha. At that time, the Buddha abided in perfect quiescence. With pure inward attention, he contemplated the wholesome roots of beings in the world. Out of compassion for the myriad beings still submerged in the sea of suffering, he formed the intention to teach and transform them. The Buddha reflected, “Whom should I teach and transform first? My royal father once sent five men to attend upon me, but they lacked the strength to continue following me. They now dwell in a region with a great lake. I should teach and transform them first.” The Buddha then followed his former route to that place.

From afar, the five men saw the Buddha approaching. Not knowing who he was, they said among themselves that they would neither greet nor speak to the person coming toward them. All five agreed. From afar, the Buddha heard their discussion. Yet when he arrived, all five became greatly afraid and came forward to bow before him. The Buddha said:

“Why are the minds of you five so irresolute? You agreed among yourselves that when I arrived, you would not greet me. Why, then, do you now bow before me?”

The five remained silent and dared not reply. The Buddha then had the five accompany him. Several days later, the Buddha stroked their heads with his hand, and the hair and beards of all five fell away, whereupon they became shramanas.

At that time, three religious teachers lived nearby. One taught five hundred disciples, another taught three hundred, and the third taught two hundred—a total of one thousand people. The Buddha and the five shramanas went to the dwelling place of these three teachers. The disciples and the three teachers were all filled with joy and followed the Buddha.

The Buddha led his disciples from country to country, teaching and transforming beings. Whenever he reached a city gate, bells and drums sounded spontaneously, stringed instruments played of themselves, the sick recovered their health, the old felt young again, the blind regained their sight, the deaf heard clearly, the hunchbacked became straight, and the paralyzed walked normally. All kinds of animals suddenly raised their cries in harmony.

Devas appeared and scattered innumerable flowers while music resounded throughout empty space. The Buddha’s radiance illuminated innumerable heavens. Its light encompassed three thousand suns and moons, and twelve thousand worlds shone brilliantly.

Altogether, the disciples taught and transformed by the Buddha numbered thousands, tens of thousands, and countless myriads, and they all attained the Way and liberation.