Crown Princes, Part 2
This page carries Ru-Yi's complete translation of fascicle 32 of the Jīng Lǜ Yì Xiàng (經律異相), which continues the section on crown princes opened in fascicle 31. Its nine entries include two full sea-quest narratives for the wish-fulfilling jewel — placed side by side and left unreconciled — the story of a younger brother who drives dried bamboo spikes through his sleeping brother's eyes to take that jewel, the Pali canon's Dīghāvu tale of a son forbidden by his dying father to avenge him, a prince so ugly his mother invents a law against husbands and wives seeing each other by daylight, the mute prince Mùpò speaking for the first time at the edge of the grave dug for him, the Golden Light Sūtra's leaner retelling of the tiger-feeding jātaka already given in fascicle 31, and a rival biography of the physician Jīvaka that the compiler prints alongside the one he had already given rather than choose between them.
Translation Method
Fascicle 32 continues the crown-prince section begun in fascicle 31. The heading in our source text carries no sub-title of its own, unlike fascicles 31 and 33 on either side of it; we have therefore titled this page simply "Crown Princes, Part 2" and left the Chinese heading as the source gives it, rather than supply a section label the manuscript does not have.
This fascicle is unusually rich in doublets — the same story told twice from different sources — and we have handled every one of them the same way: both versions stand, and the reading notes say plainly where they diverge. Entries 1 and 2 are two jewel-quests; entry 6 retells the tiger-feeding jātaka that opened fascicle 31 from a different sūtra; entry 9 gives a second, incompatible life of the physician Jīvaka. In this last case the compiler flags the conflict himself, in the source note at the end of the entry, and we have kept his flag.
On names: where a transliteration corresponds confidently to a standard figure elsewhere in the canon (Bimbisāra, Abhaya, Jīvaka, Devadatta, Śuddhodana, Māyā, Gopī, Ānanda, Maitreya, Ājñāta-Kauṇḍinya, Mahāratha and his three sons, Takṣaśilā, Ātreya Piṅgala, Vārāṇasī) we use the standard form. Where no confident match exists — Néng Shī, Tuóshè, Pójiātuó, Lìshībá, Xiūluózhà, Zhēluó, Shèmiào, Mùpò, Qǐngniàn, Móxīsīnà, Póluóbátí — we keep the Chinese in pinyin rather than invent a Sanskrit reconstruction. Names that are transparently descriptive in Chinese (Good Friend, Evil Friend, Moon, Moon-Canopy, Moonlight, Long Life, Long Born, Human Medicine) are translated, with the Chinese kept in the contents list.
One small textual point: the fascicle's own table of contents heads entry 9 as concerning the royal grandson of Abhaya, while the entry's own heading calls it the royal son. Jīvaka is Abhaya's adopted son and Bimbisāra's grandson, so both are intelligible; we follow the table of contents in the contents list and the entry heading in the section title, as the source does.
Several entries in this fascicle are graphic — an eye-blinding with bamboo spikes, a self-inflicted throat wound, a threat to quarter a daughter into seven pieces, sixty thousand years of being boiled and flayed. These are translated in full and without softening. Where the violence carries the narrative weight of an entry we say so in a reading note; we do not otherwise comment on it.
Fascicle Contents
- 1. Prince Able-to-Give Enters the Sea for the Jewel 能施王子入海採寶緣一
- 2. Good Friend Seeks the Jewel, Loses His Eyes, and Sees Again 善友好施求珠喪眼還明二
- 3. Long Born Sets Out to Avenge His Father and Regains the Kingdom 長生欲報父怨後還得國三
- 4. The Ugly Heir of Zhēluó Loses His Bride and Wins Her Back by Wit 遮羅國儲形醜失妃運智還得四
- 5. Mùpò Keeps Silent, Is Buried Alive, Then Speaks and Takes Up the Path 慕魄不言被埋後言得修道五
- 6. Prince Mahāsattva Gives Up His Body 薩埵王子捨身六
- 7. Prince Human-Medicine Cures the Sick 人藥王子救疾七
- 8. A Prince Hears of His Past Lives, Takes Fright, and Gives the Knowledge Back to the Buddha 有一王子聞宿命事怖求以還佛八
- 9. Jīvaka, Grandson of King Abhaya's Line, Learns the Physician's Art 無畏王孫耆婆學術九
1. Prince Able-to-Give Enters the Sea for the Jewel
A physician who dies of grief at the patients he cannot reach engineers his own death twice more — out of a heaven, then out of a dragon's body — to be reborn as a prince who can give on the scale he wants; his quest for the wish-fulfilling jewel takes him across four seven-day stages of water, mud, lotus, and serpent to the palace of the parents he had abandoned.
釋迦文尼佛本身作大醫王。療一切病。不求名利為憐愍眾生故。病者甚多力不周救。憂念一切而不從心。懊惱而死即生忉利天上。自思惟言。我今生天但食福報無所長益。即自方便自取滅身。捨此天壽。生婆迦陀龍王宮中。為龍太子。其身長大父母愛重。欲自取死就金翅鳥王。鳥即取此龍子於舍摩利樹上吞之。父母㘁咷啼哭懊惱。龍子既死生閻浮提中。為大國王太子。名曰能施。生而能言。問諸左右。今此國中有何等物。盡皆持來以用布施。眾人怪畏皆捨之走。其母憐愛獨自守之。語其母言。我非羅剎眾人何以故走。我本宿命常好布施。我為一切人之檀越。母聞其言以語眾人。眾人即還。母好養育及年長大自身所有盡。至父王所索物布施。父與其分復以施盡。見閻浮提人貧窮辛苦思欲給施。而財物不足便自啼泣。問諸人言。作何方便當令一切滿足於財。諸宿人言。我等曾聞。有如意寶珠。若得此珠則能隨心所索無不必得。白其父母欲入大海求龍王頭上如意寶珠。父母報言。我唯有汝一兒耳。若入大海眾險難度。一旦失汝我用活為。我今藏中猶亦有物當以給汝。兒言。藏中有限我意無極。欲充滿一切令無短乏。願見聽許得遂本心。使閻浮提人一切充足。父母知其志大不敢制之遂放令去。是時五百賈客皆樂隨從。知其行日集海道口。太子問眾人言。誰能知道至彼龍宮。有盲人名曰陀舍。已曾七反入大海中具知海道。菩薩即命共行。答曰。我年既老兩目失明。雖曾數入今不能去。菩薩言。我今此行不為自身。普為一切求如意寶珠。欲給足眾生令身無乏。次以道法因緣而教化之。汝是智人何得辭耶。我願得成豈非汝力。陀舍周懷答言。我今入海命必不全安。我屍骸著金沙洲上。船去如馳。到眾寶渚。眾賈競載寶物已足。問大子言。何以不取。報言。我所求者如意寶珠。此有盡物我不須也。汝等各當知足知量無令船重不自免也。是時眾賈白菩薩言。大德為呪願令得安隱。於是辭去。陀舍是時語菩薩言。別留艇舟當隨別道。待風七日博海南岸至一險處。當有絕崖棗林枝皆覆水。大風吹船船當摧破。汝當仰援棗枝可以自濟。我身無目於此當死。過此隘岸當有金沙洲。可以我身置此沙中。金沙清淨是我願也。即如其言風至而去。既到絕岸如陀舍語。菩薩仰援棗枝得以自免。置陀舍屍安厝金地。於是獨去。如其先教。深水中浮七日。齊咽水中行七日。齊腰水中行七日。泥中行七日。見好蓮花鮮潔柔軟。自思惟言。此花軟脆當入虛空三昧。自輕其身行蓮花上七日見諸毒蛇。念言。含毒之虫甚可畏也。即入慈心三昧。行毒蛇頭上七日。蛇皆擎頭授與菩薩令踰上而過。過此難已。見有七重寶城有七重塹。塹中皆滿毒蛇。有二大龍守門。龍見菩薩形容端正相好嚴儀能度眾難得來至此。念言。此非凡夫。必是菩薩大功德人。即聽令前徑得入宮。龍王夫婦喪兒未久猶故哀泣。見菩薩來龍有神通知是其子。兩乳流出。命之令坐。而問之言。汝是我子。捨我命終生在何處。菩薩亦自識宿命知是父母。而答母言。我生閻浮提上。為大國王大子。憐愍貧人飢寒勤苦不得自在故來至此。欲求如意寶珠。母言。汝父頭上有此寶珠以為首飾難可得也。必當將汝入諸寶藏隨汝所欲必欲與汝。汝當報言。其餘雜寶我不須也。唯欲得大王頭上寶珠。若見憐愍願以與我。如此可得。即往見父。父大悲喜歡慶無量。愍念其子遠涉艱難乃來至此。指示妙寶隨意與汝須者取之。菩薩言。我從遠來願見大王求王頭上如意寶珠。若見憐愍當以與我。若不見與不須餘物。龍王報言。我唯有一珠常為首飾。閻浮提人薄福下賤不應見也。菩薩白言。我以此故遠涉艱難冐死遠來。為閻浮提人薄福貧賤。欲以如意寶珠濟其所願。然後以佛道因緣而教化之。龍王與珠而要之言。今以此珠與汝。汝既去世當以還我。答曰。敬如王言。菩薩得珠。飛騰虛空如屈申臂頃到閻浮提。人王父母見兒吉還。歡悅踊躍抱而問言。汝得何物。答言。得如意寶珠。問言。今在何許。白言。在此衣角裏中。父母言。何其太小。白言。在其神德不在大也。白父母言。當勅城中內外掃灑燒香懸繒幡蓋持齋受戒。明日清旦以長木為表以珠著上。菩薩是時自立誓願。若我當成佛道度脫一切者。珠當如我意願出一切寶物。隨人所須盡皆備有。是時陰雲普遍雨種種寶物衣服飲食臥具湯藥。人言所須一切具足。至其命盡常爾不絕。如是等名為菩薩布施生精進波羅蜜(出大智論第十二卷)。
In a former life, Śākyamuni Buddha was a great king of physicians who cured every illness, seeking neither fame nor gain, but acting purely out of pity for beings. The sick were so many that his strength could not reach them all; grieving over every one of them, yet unable to accomplish what his heart intended, he died in anguish, and was reborn at once in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven. There he reflected: I am now born in heaven, but I merely consume the reward of past merit and gain nothing further by it. So he contrived by his own means to end that life, gave up his allotted heavenly lifespan, and was reborn in the palace of the dragon-king Pójiātuó as the dragon prince. When he had grown, and his parents held him dear, he wished once again to seek death, and went to the king of the garuḍas; the bird carried this dragon-prince up into a śālmali tree and swallowed him there, while his parents wailed and wept in anguish. The dragon-prince, having died, was reborn in Jambudvīpa as the crown prince of a great kingdom, named Néng Shī, “Able to Give.” He could speak from the moment of birth.
He asked those around him: what things are there in this kingdom? Bring them all here, that I may give them away. The people, alarmed and afraid, all abandoned him and fled; only his mother, out of love, stayed to watch over him. He said to her: I am no rākṣasa — why have they all run away? In my former lives I always delighted in giving; I was the donor of all people. His mother repeated his words to the others, and they came back.
His mother raised him well, and when he had grown he exhausted everything he owned. He went to the king his father and asked for goods to give away; his father gave him a share, and he gave that away too. Seeing the people of Jambudvīpa poor and hard-pressed, he wished to provide for them, but had not wealth enough, and wept.
He asked: by what means could everyone be supplied with wealth in full? The elders said: we have heard that there is a wish-fulfilling jewel; whoever obtains it can have whatever the heart asks for, without fail.
He told his parents he wished to enter the great sea and seek the wish-fulfilling jewel on the dragon-king’s head. His parents answered: you are our only son. In the great sea the perils are many and hard to cross; if we lost you in a day, what would we live for? There are still goods in our treasury, and we will give them to you. The son said: what is in the treasury is limited, and my intention is limitless. I wish to satisfy everyone, so that none goes short. Grant me leave to accomplish what my heart set out to do, and let all the people of Jambudvīpa be provided for. His parents, knowing his resolve was great, dared not restrain him, and let him go.
Five hundred merchants were glad to go with him, and, learning the day of departure, gathered at the mouth of the sea road. The prince asked them all: who knows the way to that dragon palace?
There was a blind man named Tuóshè, who had entered the great sea seven times before and knew the sea routes thoroughly. The bodhisattva summoned him to come along. He answered: I am old, and both my eyes have failed; though I have gone many times, I cannot go now. The bodhisattva said: this journey of mine is not for myself. It is for all beings that I seek the wish-fulfilling jewel, to supply them so that their bodies lack nothing, and then to teach and transform them through the causes and conditions of the Dharma. You are a wise man — how can you refuse? If my vow is fulfilled, will it not be by your strength?
Tuóshè, turning it over in his heart, answered: if I enter the sea now, my life will surely not survive it. Lay my corpse on the isle of golden sand.
The ship ran as though galloping, and reached the isle of many treasures. The merchants vied with one another in loading treasure until they had enough, and asked the prince: why do you take nothing? He answered: what I seek is the wish-fulfilling jewel. These are exhaustible things, and I have no need of them. Each of you should know what is enough and know your measure, and not weight the ship so heavily that you cannot save yourselves.
The merchants then said to the bodhisattva: venerable one, pronounce a blessing over us, that we may travel in safety. And so they took their leave.
Tuóshè then told the bodhisattva: keep a small boat apart, for we must take a different route. Wait seven days for the wind, then strike out along the southern shore of the sea to a place of danger. There will be a sheer cliff with a grove of jujube trees whose branches all overhang the water. A great wind will strike the boat and break it apart; you must reach up and take hold of a jujube branch, and so save yourself. I, having no eyes, shall die there. Past that narrow shore there will be an isle of golden sand; lay my body in that sand — the golden sand is pure, and this is my wish.
It happened just as he had said: the wind came, and they went. Reaching the sheer shore, it was as Tuóshè had described; the bodhisattva reached up, took hold of a jujube branch, and saved himself. He laid Tuóshè’s body to rest in the golden ground, and went on alone.
Following the instructions given him beforehand, he swam seven days in deep water; walked seven days in water up to his throat; walked seven days in water up to his waist; and walked seven days through mud.
He saw fine lotus flowers, fresh, clean, and soft, and thought: these flowers are soft and fragile — I should enter the samādhi of empty space. Making his body light, he walked seven days upon the lotuses.
He saw venomous serpents, and thought: creatures that hold venom are much to be feared — and entered the samādhi of loving-kindness, walking seven days upon the heads of the venomous serpents; and the serpents all raised their heads and offered them to the bodhisattva, letting him pass over.
Having passed these perils, he saw a jeweled city of seven walls with seven moats, the moats all full of venomous serpents, and two great dragons guarding the gate.
The dragons, seeing the bodhisattva’s upright form, his fine marks and dignified bearing, and that he had crossed so many perils to arrive here, thought: this is no ordinary man; he must be a bodhisattva of great merit — and let him pass straight into the palace.
The dragon-king and his wife, having lost their son not long before, were still weeping. Seeing the bodhisattva come, the dragon-queen, possessing supernormal knowledge, knew this was her son, and milk flowed from her breasts. She bade him sit, and asked: you are my son. When you left us and your life ended, where were you born?
The bodhisattva too remembered his past lives and knew these were his parents, and answered his mother: I was born in Jambudvīpa as the crown prince of a great kingdom. Out of pity for the poor, who suffer hunger, cold, and hardship and have no freedom, I have come here, wishing to obtain the wish-fulfilling jewel.
His mother said: your father has this jewel on his head as a head-ornament, and it is hard to obtain. He will surely take you into his treasuries and give you whatever you wish. You must answer: I have no need of these other assorted treasures; I want only the jewel on the great king’s head. If you take pity on me, I ask you to give it to me. In this way you may obtain it.
He went then to see his father. His father, in overwhelming grief and joy together, rejoiced beyond measure, pitying his son for having crossed such hardship to come this far, and showed him his fine treasures: whatever you wish shall be given you — take what you need.
The bodhisattva said: I have come from far away, wishing to see the great king and to ask for the wish-fulfilling jewel on the king’s head. If you take pity on me, give it to me. If it is not to be given, I have no need of anything else.
The dragon-king answered: I have only this one jewel, which I always wear as a head-ornament. The people of Jambudvīpa are of scant merit and low estate; they ought not even to see it.
The bodhisattva said: it is for this very reason that I have crossed such hardship and braved death to come so far. Because the people of Jambudvīpa are of scant merit, poor and lowly, I wish to relieve them of their wants with the wish-fulfilling jewel, and afterward to teach and transform them through the causes and conditions of the buddha-path.
The dragon-king gave him the jewel, making this condition: I give you this jewel now; when you depart this world, it is to be returned to me. He answered: respectfully, as the king says.
The bodhisattva, having obtained the jewel, rose into the open sky, and in the time it takes to bend and stretch an arm reached Jambudvīpa.
His human parents, the king and queen, seeing their son safely returned, leapt for joy, embraced him, and asked: what have you obtained? He answered: the wish-fulfilling jewel. They asked: where is it now? He said: here, wrapped in the corner of my robe. His parents said: how very small it is! He said: its power lies in its spiritual virtue, not in its size.
He said to his parents: let it be ordered that within and without the city all be swept and sprinkled, incense burned, silk banners and canopies hung, the fast kept and the precepts taken; and tomorrow at first light let a long pole be set up as a standard, with the jewel placed on top of it.
The bodhisattva then made this vow: if I am to attain the buddha-path and deliver all beings, let this jewel, according to my wish, put forth every kind of treasure, so that whatever people need is provided in full.
At that, clouds spread everywhere and rained down treasures of every kind — clothing, food and drink, bedding, medicines — and whatever anyone named as needed was supplied in full; and so it continued without cease until the end of his life.
Such is called the bodhisattva’s giving, from which the perfection of vigor is born (Source: Treatise on the Great Perfection of Wisdom, fascicle 12).
This opening entry sets the fascicle's controlling pattern, and it is worth reading slowly. The bodhisattva does not merely accept three deaths; he engineers all three. He dies of grief as a physician, then deliberately shortens a heavenly lifespan he judges to be spiritually idle, then walks up to the garuḍa king and lets himself be eaten — each time because the body he currently has cannot do the work he wants done. Note too the dragon-king's condition on the loan of the jewel: it is to be returned when the prince dies. The compendium's most extravagant gift is, in the fine print, a lease.
This entry also opens a thread that runs through the whole fascicle: the bodhisattva as healer. It begins with a king of physicians, and closes, in entries 7 and 9, with Prince Human-Medicine and with Jīvaka — three quite different answers to the question of what a body is for.
2. Good Friend Seeks the Jewel, Loses His Eyes, and Sees Again
Two brothers, named at birth for the good and evil their unborn presence worked on their mothers' characters. The elder wins the jewel that will end poverty in the world; the younger drives dried bamboo spikes through his eyes and takes it — and the story that follows is one of oaths sworn on the truth, each of which restores one eye.
過去閻浮提。一時有二王。利師跋國王名月。波羅㮈國王名月蓋。同意周旋無有嫌郄。當共立約。若生兒子兩通姻好。月蓋王男女俱無。為欲求兒。祠於水神乃至種種鬼神。修羅吒河邊有二五通神仙。河神白王。若二仙願生王家者王當有兒。王至仙人所說言。生我家者五欲自恣快樂無乏。仙人答曰。可爾。却後七日其一仙人命終(賢愚經云金色仙人)即入第一夫人胎。復經七日其一仙人又復命終。處第二夫人胎。第一夫人足滿九月。乃生一男顏色端政。當生之日五百估客從海而歸。五百伏藏無端發出。五百死囚從獄解脫。第二夫人生。多有怪異野干鳴。阿修羅捉日。五百應死者自就而死(出四分律三分第九卷)王甚歡喜。即請召相師占其吉凶令立名字。相師問言。此兒生時有何瑞相。答言。第一太子其母弊姤憍慢自大。從懷子來其性調善和顏悅語慈愍眾生。相師答言。兒福德使然。名曰善友(四分律云善行賢愚經云迦良那伽梁言善事)。第二夫人生者問瑞相。答言。其母由來調善言適眾心。懷妊已來其性卒暴發言麁惡。相師答言。是兒之行使母如是。名曰惡友(四分律云惡行。賢愚經云彼婆伽梨梁言惡事)至年十四。善友太子聰明慈仁好喜布施。父母偏念視如眼目。惡友暴惡父母所憎而不喜見。姤嫉於兄常欲毀害。觸事不從違逆反戾。太子導從前後作倡伎樂。大眾圍遶出城觀看。見有耕者墾土出蟲烏隨啄食愍而傷之。問左右言。此作何物共相殘害。答言。國依於民民依飲食食依耕種。大子言。苦哉苦哉。前行復見男女紡織。又問。此作何物。答言。紡織作諸衣服以遮慚愧蔭覆五形。太子言。此亦勞苦非一也。轉復前行見人屠牛剝羊。又問。此復是何。答言。屠殺賣肉以供衣食。太子言。怪哉苦哉。強弱相害結殃累劫。轉復前行見網鳥餌魚。又問。又答。張鳥捕魚。太子悲淚滿目。世間眾生造諸惡本眾苦不息憂愁不悅即迴車還宮。王問。何故憂愁。太子具以上答。王言。未嘗不有何足愁也。太子言。今欲從王求索一願。願得國藏財寶用施一切。王言隨意。太子即使傍臣開王庫藏。以五百大象負載珍寶出四城門。宣令國土隨有所欲恣意自取。善友太子聲聞八方一切運集。未久之間三分用一。藏臣白王。王宜思量。王言。不欲違之。後復經少時。諸臣共議。國依庫藏庫藏空竭國亦虛矣。復往白王。所有財寶三分用二。王宜深思。王言。不欲違之。卿等可小稽遲莫令稱其心也。太子欲開庫藏。時守藏臣緣行不在。鄭重追逐差互不遂。太子言。小人何敢違逆我意。當是父王教耳。夫孝子者不應傾竭父母庫藏。我今應當自求財寶給足眾生。我若不能給足一切眾生衣被飲食稱意與者。云何名為大王。太子即集諸臣百官共議言。夫求財利何業最勝。或言田種或言畜養。有一大臣言。世間求利莫先入海採取妙寶。若得摩尼寶珠者便能稱意給足一切眾生。太子言。然即以白王。王聞咽不得語。後語太子。國是汝有。庫藏珍寶隨意取用何為入海。汝為吾子生長深宮。臥則幃帳食則恣口。今遠涉途路飢渴寒暑誰得知者。大海之中眾難非一。或有惡鬼毒龍猛風波浪水色之山摩竭大魚。往者千萬達者一兩。汝今云何欲入大海。太子即便五體投地四布手足而作是言。父母若不聽者我便捨命終不復起。王及夫人即前勸諫終不飲食到於六日。父母憂恐畏其不濟。七日捉手善言誘喻。太子言。父母若不許者必沒於此。第一夫人白王言。如子心意難可傾動不可違度。何忍見子捨命於此。願王垂愍聽入大海。故萬有一冀。今不聽者必喪於此。王便聽許。太子歡喜頭面禮王。大王宣令誰欲入海。眾人聞之歡喜聚集。其五百人皆言。大王我等今者隨從太子。有一海師前後數反入於大海。善知道路通塞之相。而年八十兩目朦盲。王白導師。吾唯一子未更出門。勞屈大師隨入大海。願見隨從。導師即告曰。大海留難辛苦非一。往者千萬達者一二。大王云何能令太子遠涉險道。王報導師。為憐愍故隨從聽許。導師言。不敢違逆。太子莊嚴五百人行具載至海邊。惡友念言。善友為父母偏心愛念。今入大海採取妙寶。若得還者父母當遺棄我。白父母言。欲隨善友入海採寶。父母答言。隨意道路急難之時兄弟相隨必相救護。及至大海以七鐵鎖鎖其船舫。停住七日。日初出時太子擊鼓唱令。汝等諸人誰欲入海。入者默然。若戀親愛可還去矣。大海之中留難非一。大眾默然。即斷一鎖舉著船上。日日唱令至第七日。即斷七鎖望風舉帆。太子慈心福德力故無諸留難。得至海洲至珍寶山。太子擊鼓宣令。道路懸遠速載珍寶。極停七日。復作是言。此寶甚重。閻浮提中亦無所直。莫大重載船舫沈沒不達所在。莫過少取道路懸遠不足補勞。裝束已訖與諸人別。而作是言。汝等於是善安隱歸。吾方欲前進採摩尼寶。太子與盲導師。更次前進。路行一七日水齊到膝。復更前行一七日水齊到頸。又復前進一七日浮而得渡即到寶處。導師問言。此何物地。太子答言。其地純是白銀沙。導師言。四望應當有白山汝見之未。太子言。東南方有一白銀山至此山下。導師言。次應到金沙。導師疲乏悶絕躄地語太子言。我命不久必喪於此。太子於是東行一七當有金山。從山復更前進一七純是青蓮華。復前行一七其地純是紅赤蓮華。復過一七有大寶城。純以七寶裝挍龍王所止。龍王耳中有一摩尼如意寶珠。汝往從乞。若得珠者能滿閻浮提雨眾七寶衣被飲食醫藥聲伎隨意能出。名如意珠。導師語已氣絕命終。太子抱持舉聲悲哭。一何薄命生失於汝。即埋著地中。金沙覆上。右遶七匝頂禮而去。前過金山見青蓮華。下有青蛇。此蛇有三種毒。所謂嚙毒觸毒氣噓毒。此諸毒蛇以身遶蓮華。張目喘息而視太子。太子即入慈心三昧。起進前路蹋蓮華葉。時諸毒蛇不毀不傷至龍王住處。七重城塹滿中毒龍共相蟠結舉頭交頸守護城門。太子到城門外。見諸毒龍即慈心。念閻浮提一切眾生。今我身若為此毒龍所害者。汝等眾生皆失大利。即舉右手告毒龍曰。汝等當知。我為一切眾生欲見龍王。毒龍開路令太子入。見二玉女紡頗梨縷。太子問曰。汝是何人。答言。我是龍王守外門婢。入到中門下見四玉女紡白銀縷。太子復問。汝是龍王婦耶。答言非也。是龍王守中門婢耳。太子入至內門見八玉女紡黃金縷。太子語言。汝是何人。答言。我是龍王守門婢耳。太子言。汝為我通大海龍王云。閻浮提波羅㮈國王太子善友欲來相見今在門下。時守門者即以白王。王大疑怪。若非福德純善之人無由遠涉險路。即請入宮王出奉迎。紺琉璃為地七寶有種種光明耀動人目。太子說法示教利喜。讚說施論戒論人天之論。龍王心喜。遠屈塗涉欲須何物。太子言。大王。閻浮提一切眾生為衣服飲食受無窮之苦。今欲從王乞左耳中摩尼寶珠。龍王言。受我微供一七日當以奉給。太子受龍王請。過七日持珠還閻浮提(賢愚經言。到七寶城門堅閉見金剛杵在其門邊如師戒語取杵撞門門有五百天女為持寶珠來奉太子最前一女珠琉璃色受結衣角耳)龍王使諸龍神飛空送之。得到此岸。見弟惡友問言。汝徒黨伴侶今何所在。答言。船舫沈沒一切死盡。唯弟一身牽持死尸而得全濟。一切財物今皆已盡。善友言。天下大寶莫先己身。弟言不爾。人願富死不願貧生。何以知然。弟曾至塚間聞諸死鬼作如是論。善友真直以實語弟。汝雖失寶亦是閑耳。吾今已得龍王如意寶珠。弟言。今在何處。善友言。今在髻中。弟聞生嫉姤白善友言。快哉甚善。得此寶珠宜加守護。善友解珠與弟而誡之言。汝若疲臥我當守護。我若眠時汝應守護。時惡友次應守珠。其兄眠熟。起取二乾竹刺刺兄兩目(四分律云。以佉羅陀樹刺之)奪珠而去。善友喚惡友。此有賊刺我兩目持寶珠去。惡友不應。兄便懊惱恐為賊殺。如是高唱聲動神祇經久不應。樹神發聲言。汝弟惡友是汝惡賊。刺汝兩目持寶珠去。太子悵然憂恚苦惱。惡友齎珠還國白父母言。我身福德而得全濟。善友與伴沒水死盡。父母大哭悶絕躄地。語惡友言。汝云何乃能提是面來。惡友聞是語已心生懊惱。即以寶珠埋著土中。善友被刺無人為拔。徘徊婉轉靡知所趣。當時苦惱大患飢渴。求生不得求死不得。漸漸前行到利師跋國。其王有女。先許與波羅㮈王子善友。有一牧人為王放五百牛隨逐水草。太子坐在道中。牛群垂逼。牛王騎太子上令諸牛過。然後移足右旋婉轉反顧迴頸吐舌舐太子兩目拔出竹刺。牧人見之問言。汝是何人。善友不陳本末。答言。我是盲乞兒耳。牧人遍察。有異人相語言。我家在近。當供養汝。即將還家與種種飲食。誡勅家人。汝等侍之如我不異。經月餘日其家厭患。善友悵然明旦白主人言。我今欲去。主人曰。有何不適。善友曰。客主之儀勢不得久。善友言。若念我者。乞我一鳴箏送我著多人聚落。時主人即隨意供給送到利師跋城多人眾處。善友彈箏。其音和雅悅可眾心。一切大眾共給飲食。王有一果園。其園茂盛常患鳥雀。時守園監語善友言。為我防護鳥雀。我相供給。我以繩結諸樹頭安施銅鈴。汝坐樹下聞鳥雀聲牽挽繩頭。善友言。如是。我能安處樹下兼復彈箏以自娛樂。時利師跋王女侍從入園。見此盲人即往其所問言。汝是何人。答言。盲乞人耳。王女心生愛念不能捨離。王復遣使往喚女歸。女言不去為我送食。供此盲人飲食訖竟。白大王言。王今持我與此盲人甚適我願。王言。鬼魅著汝顛狂心亂云何欲與盲人共居。父母先以汝許與波羅㮈王太子善友。善友入海未還。汝今云何為乞人婦。女言雖爾乃至捨命終不捨離。王聞是語不能拒逆。即遣使迎盲人來閉著靜室。王女語盲人云。我今共汝以作夫婦。善友報言。汝是誰家女欲為我婦。答言。我是利師跋王女。善友報言。汝是王女。我是乞人云何能相恭敬。婦言。我當盡心供奉。後婦出行不白其夫良久乃還。善友責數汝私出外而不白我何處行還。婦言。我不私行。婿言私與不私誰當知汝。婦自呪誓。我若私行令汝兩目始終不差。若不爾者使汝一目平復如故。作是願已平滿如故精光清徹。婦言。汝信我不。善友含笑。婦言。汝不識恩養。我是大國王女。汝是小人而我盡心供事。於汝而不體信。婿言。汝識我不。答我識汝是乞人。婿言非也。我是波羅㮈王善友太子。婦言。汝大愚癡人云何乃發是言。波羅㮈王太子入海未還。汝今妄言吾不信也。善友言我從生來未曾妄語。婦言。虛之與實誰當信之。婿言。我若欺誑汝者使我一目永不得愈。若實語者使我一目平復如故令汝得見。即如所誓睛光耀動如本不異。善友太子兩目平復面首端正妙色超絕。婦見歡喜。如蒙賢聖遍體瞻視目不暫捨。即入宮中白父王言。今我夫者即是善友太子。王言癡人。善友未還云何名乞人為太子也。女言不也。若不信者可一視之。王即往看。識是善友。即懷恐怖而作是言。波羅㮈王。若聞此事嫌我不少。即前懺謝善友太子我實不知。太子言。無苦為我餉。致給與此牧牛人。王即以金銀珍寶衣被飲食。并與所放五百頭牛。其人歡喜稱善無量。而我未有幾恩報。我如是高聲唱言。夫陰施陽報弘廣無量。大眾聞者皆發施心。善友未入海時養一白雁。衣被飲食行住坐臥而常共俱。夫人報此雁言。太子在時常共汝俱。今生死未分汝不感念太子。雁即悲鳴婉轉啼淚報言。欲覓太子。夫人手自作書以結雁頸。身昇虛空飛翔而去。飛至大海求覓不見。次第往到利師跋國。遙見善友在宮殿前。其雁往趣悲鳴歡喜。太子即取母書頭頂禮敬發封披讀。即知父母晝夜悲哭追念。太子兩目失明。太子手書以具上事書結雁頸還波羅㮈。父母得書歡喜踊躍稱善無量。具知太子為惡友所苦奪取寶珠。父母杻械惡友閉著牢獄。遣使往告利師跋王。汝今云何擁遮太子令我憂苦。利師跋王心生恐怖。即嚴服太子送著界上。遣使往白。以女妻之遣送還國。父母乘大名象。作倡妓樂掃灑燒香懸繒幡蓋遠迎太子。國土人民男女夫婦聞太子還皆出奉迎。太子前禮父母。父母目冥不見太子。以手捫摸汝是善友非我等念汝憂苦如是。太子問訊父母起居訖竟。太子白父王言。惡友何在。王言。今在牢獄。太子言。願放惡友得與相見如是至三。王不忍拒便勅出之。即前抱持善言誘喻軟語問訊。汝極勞苦持我寶珠今在何處。如是至三。而方報言。在彼土中。太子還得寶珠。往父母前跪燒眾妙香即呪誓言。此珠是如意寶者。令父母兩目明淨如故。尋時平復見子歡喜。太子於月十五日朝。淨自澡浴著鮮潔衣燒妙寶香。於高樓上手捉香爐頭面頂禮摩尼寶珠。立誓願言。我為閻浮提一切眾生。忍此大苦求是寶珠。時東方有大風起。吹去雲霧曒然明淨。并閻浮提所有糞穢大小便利灰土草莽清風吹盪悉令清淨。以珠威德。於閻浮提。遍雨成熟自然粳米。香甘軟細色味具足。溝渠盈滿積至于膝。次雨衣服珠環釵釧。次雨七寶眾妙伎樂。眾生所須皆悉充足。後月蓋王崩即嗣立焉。惡友啟曰。我乞食自活。王言。汝守護我頸我與汝食。王復睡眠。拔刀欲斬王首而其首自墮。王覺問之。答曰。天造其業。時父者今悅頭檀是。時母者今摩耶夫人是。惡友者提婆達多是。月王女者瞿夷是。善友者我是也(出報恩經第四又出賢愚經第二生經大同小異)。
In the past, in Jambudvīpa, there were at one time two kings: the king of the kingdom of Lìshībá, named Moon; and the king of Vārāṇasī, named Moon-Canopy. They were of one mind in their dealings with each other and had no grievance between them, and they made a pact together: should children be born to them, the two houses would be joined in marriage.
King Moon-Canopy had neither son nor daughter. Wishing for a son, he sacrificed to the water spirit and to spirits and gods of every kind. On the bank of the Xiūluózhà river there were two divine sages who possessed the five supernormal powers. The river spirit said to the king: if these two sages were willing to be born into the king’s house, the king would have sons.
The king went to the sages and said: whoever is born into my house shall have the five sense-pleasures at will, in pleasure without lack. The sages answered: so be it.
Seven days later one of the sages died (the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish calls him the Golden-Colored Sage) and entered the womb of the first consort. After another seven days the other sage also died and lodged in the womb of the second consort.
The first consort, at the full nine months, bore a son of handsome appearance. On the day of his birth five hundred merchants returned from the sea; five hundred buried treasures broke open of themselves; and five hundred prisoners under sentence of death were released from prison.
When the second consort gave birth there were many strange portents: jackals howled, an asura seized the sun, and five hundred men due to die went of themselves to their deaths (Source: Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, third division, fascicle 9).
The king was greatly delighted, and summoned physiognomists to divine the boys’ fortunes and to set their names. The physiognomists asked: what auspicious signs attended their birth? He answered: as for the first prince — his mother had been given to jealousy, arrogance, and self-importance, but from the time she conceived him her nature became gentle and good, her face kindly, her speech pleasing, her heart compassionate toward beings. The physiognomists answered: it is the boy’s own merit that made it so. Name him Good Friend (the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya calls him Good Conduct; the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish calls him Kalyāṇakārin, which in the language of Liang means “one who does good”).
Of the one born to the second consort they asked the same. He answered: his mother had always been gentle and good, her speech pleasing to all; but from the time she conceived, her nature became violent and abrupt, and her words coarse and cruel. The physiognomists answered: it is this boy’s own conduct that has made his mother so. Name him Evil Friend (the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya calls him Evil Conduct; the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish calls him Pāpakārin, which in the language of Liang means “one who does evil”).
By the age of fourteen, Prince Good Friend was intelligent, kind, and humane, and delighted in giving; his parents doted on him and regarded him as their own eyes. Evil Friend was violent and cruel, hated by his parents, who took no pleasure in the sight of him; he was jealous of his elder brother and constantly wished to injure him, going against and opposing him in everything.
The prince went out from the city with attendants before and behind, musicians playing, and a great crowd about him, to look around. He saw plowmen breaking the soil, and worms turned up out of it, and crows following to peck and eat them, and was moved to pity and grief. He asked those beside him: what are they doing, that they destroy one another so? They answered: the kingdom depends on the people, the people depend on food and drink, and food depends on plowing and sowing. The prince said: how bitter, how bitter.
Going on, he saw men and women spinning and weaving, and again asked: what is this they do? They answered: they spin and weave to make clothing, to cover shame and shelter the body. The prince said: here too the toil and hardship are not small.
Going further, he saw men butchering oxen and flaying sheep, and again asked: and what is this? They answered: they slaughter and sell the meat to provide themselves clothing and food. The prince said: how strange, how bitter. The strong and the weak harm one another, binding up calamity for kalpa upon kalpa.
Going further still, he saw men netting birds and baiting fish. He asked again, and again they answered: they snare birds and catch fish. The prince’s eyes filled with tears of grief: the beings of this world create the very roots of evil, and their sufferings never cease. Sorrowful and joyless, he turned his carriage and returned to the palace.
The king asked: why are you sorrowful? The prince told him all of the above. The king said: it has never been otherwise — what is there in it to grieve over?
The prince said: I wish now to ask one boon of the king — that I may have the wealth and treasure of the state treasury to give to all. The king said: as you wish.
The prince then had the attendant ministers open the royal treasuries, and had five hundred great elephants carry the treasure out through the four city gates, proclaiming throughout the land that whoever wanted anything might take it freely as he pleased.
Word of Prince Good Friend spread to the eight directions and everyone came flocking in. Before long a third of it had been used. The treasury ministers said to the king: the king should consider this. The king said: I do not wish to go against him.
A little later the ministers conferred together: the kingdom depends on its treasury; if the treasury is emptied, the kingdom too is emptied. They went again to the king: two thirds of all the wealth and treasure has been used. The king should think deeply on this. The king said: I do not wish to go against him. You may delay him a little, and not let him have his heart’s fill.
The prince wished to open the treasury, but the minister in charge happened to be away on business; he pressed and pursued the matter repeatedly, but by one mischance after another it came to nothing.
The prince said: how would a petty official dare go against my will? This must be my father the king’s own instruction. And a filial son ought not to drain his parents’ treasury dry. I should now seek wealth and treasure myself, to supply beings in full. If I cannot supply all beings with clothing, food, and drink, giving them what they wish, how could I be called a great king?
The prince gathered the ministers and officials to confer: for seeking wealth and profit, what occupation is best? Some said farming, some said raising livestock. One senior minister said: in the world, for seeking profit, nothing surpasses entering the sea and gathering fine treasure. If one obtains a maṇi jewel, one can supply all beings in full, as one wishes.
The prince said: just so — and told the king. The king, hearing it, choked and could not speak.
Afterward he said to the prince: the kingdom is yours. The treasures of the treasury are yours to take and use as you wish — why enter the sea? You are my son, raised in the depths of the palace; you sleep behind curtains and eat whatever your mouth desires. Now, travelling far along the road — who can know what hunger, thirst, cold, and heat you would meet?
In the great sea the perils are not one: there are evil ghosts, venomous dragons, fierce winds and waves, mountains the color of water, and the great makara fish. Of the thousands and tens of thousands who go, one or two arrive. Why would you now enter the great sea?
The prince then threw himself to the ground in full prostration, spreading out his hands and feet, and said: if my parents will not permit it, I shall give up my life here and never rise again.
The king and his consort came and urged him, but he neither ate nor drank for six days. His parents, alarmed and afraid he would not survive, on the seventh day took his hand and coaxed him with kind words.
The prince said: if my parents do not consent, I shall surely perish here.
The first consort said to the king: our son’s mind is hard to shift and impossible to overrule. How can we bear to watch him give up his life here? I ask the king to have pity and let him enter the great sea; there is still one chance in ten thousand. If we do not permit it now, he will surely die here.
The king then gave his consent, and the prince, delighted, bowed his head and face to the king.
The great king proclaimed: who wishes to enter the sea? The people, hearing it, gathered in delight, and five hundred of them said: great king, we shall go with the prince.
There was a sea-pilot who had entered the great sea several times and knew well the signs of which routes were open and which were blocked; but he was eighty years old and blind in both eyes.
The king said to the pilot: I have but one son, who has never yet been outside the gate. I trouble you, master, to enter the great sea with him; I ask you to go along.
The pilot replied: the obstacles and hardships of the great sea are not one. Of the thousands and tens of thousands who go, one or two arrive. How can the great king let the prince travel so far along so perilous a road?
The king answered the pilot: out of pity for him, I have consented to let him go. The pilot said: I dare not go against you.
The prince fitted out the gear of the five hundred men and had it carried to the seashore.
Evil Friend thought: Good Friend is doted on by our parents’ partial love. Now he enters the great sea to gather fine treasure; if he returns with it, our parents will cast me off. He said to his parents: I wish to go with Good Friend into the sea to gather treasure. His parents answered: as you please. On the road, in times of urgent danger, brothers who travel together will surely protect one another.
Reaching the great sea, they moored the ship with seven iron chains and stayed seven days. At sunrise the prince beat a drum and proclaimed: which of you wishes to enter the sea? Whoever will enter, keep silence; whoever clings to kin and loved ones may go home. The obstacles of the great sea are not one. The assembly kept silent, and he cut one chain and had it hauled aboard. Day after day he made the proclamation, until on the seventh day the seventh chain was cut and they raised sail before the wind.
By the power of the prince’s compassionate heart and merit they met no obstacles, and reached an island of the sea, and came to a mountain of precious treasure.
The prince beat the drum and proclaimed: the way is long — load the treasure quickly; we stay seven days at most. And he said further: this treasure is very heavy, and is worth nothing in Jambudvīpa either. Do not load so heavily that the ship sinks and never arrives; and do not take so little that, the way being long, it does not repay the labor.
When the loading was finished he took leave of them all, saying: return safely from here; I mean to go on further, to gather the maṇi jewel.
The prince and the blind pilot went on together. They walked seven days with the water up to their knees; walked on another seven days with the water up to their necks; went on another seven days, floating across, and so reached the place of the treasure.
The pilot asked: what kind of ground is this? The prince answered: this ground is all silver sand. The pilot said: looking about, there should be a white mountain — have you seen it? The prince said: to the southeast there is a mountain of white silver — and they came to its foot.
The pilot said: next you should reach the golden sand. Then, exhausted, he fainted and collapsed to the ground, and said to the prince: my life will not last long; I shall surely die here.
From here, go east seven days, and there will be a golden mountain. From that mountain go on another seven days, and it is all blue lotuses. Go on another seven days, and the ground is all red lotuses. Pass another seven days, and there is a great jeweled city, adorned entirely with the seven treasures, where the dragon-king dwells. In the dragon-king’s ear there is a maṇi wish-fulfilling jewel. Go and beg it of him. Whoever obtains that jewel can fill Jambudvīpa, raining down the seven treasures, clothing, food and drink, medicine, and music — whatever is wished, it can produce. It is called the wish-fulfilling jewel.
Having said this, the pilot’s breath failed and he died. The prince held him and cried aloud in grief: how meager my fortune, to lose you while I yet live. He buried him in the ground, covered him over with golden sand, circled him seven times to the right, bowed his head to the ground, and departed.
Passing the golden mountain he came to the blue lotuses, and beneath them were blue serpents. These serpents had three kinds of venom: the venom of the bite, the venom of the touch, and the venom of the breath. They coiled their bodies about the lotuses and stared at the prince with wide eyes, panting.
The prince entered the samādhi of loving-kindness, rose, and went on his way, treading upon the lotus leaves; and the venomous serpents neither destroyed nor injured him, and he came to where the dragon-king dwelt.
The seven walls and moats were full of venomous dragons coiled together, raising their heads and crossing their necks, guarding the city gate.
The prince came outside the city gate and, seeing the venomous dragons, at once brought forth a compassionate heart, thinking of all beings in Jambudvīpa: if my body is now harmed by these venomous dragons, all of you beings will lose a great benefit. He raised his right hand and said to them: know this — it is for the sake of all beings that I wish to see the dragon-king. The venomous dragons opened a path and let the prince in.
He saw two jade maidens spinning crystal thread. The prince asked: who are you? They answered: we are the dragon-king’s maidservants who guard the outer gate.
Coming to the middle gate, he saw four jade maidens spinning silver thread. The prince asked again: are you the dragon-king’s wives? They answered: no; we are only the dragon-king’s maidservants who guard the middle gate.
The prince went in to the inner gate and saw eight jade maidens spinning golden thread. The prince said to them: who are you? They answered: we are only the dragon-king’s maidservants who guard the gate.
The prince said: announce me to the dragon-king of the great sea; say that Good Friend, crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī in Jambudvīpa, wishes to see him and is now at the gate.
The gatekeeper reported this to the king, who marveled greatly: unless he were a person of merit and pure goodness, he could not have travelled so far along so perilous a road. He invited him into the palace and came out himself to receive him.
The ground was of dark-blue lapis, and the seven treasures gave off lights of every kind that dazzled the eye. The prince taught the Dharma, instructing, benefiting, and delighting him, praising the discourse on giving, the discourse on the precepts, and the discourse on the heavens and human birth. The dragon-king’s heart was glad.
He asked: you have troubled yourself to travel so far — what is it you need? The prince said: great king, all the beings of Jambudvīpa suffer endlessly for the sake of clothing, food, and drink. I now wish to beg of the king the maṇi jewel in your left ear.
The dragon-king said: accept my humble offerings for seven days, and I shall then present it to you. The prince accepted the dragon-king’s invitation, and after seven days took the jewel back to Jambudvīpa.
(The Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish says: he came to the gate of the city of seven treasures and found it shut fast; he saw a vajra-pestle beside the gate and, as his teacher had instructed him, took the pestle and struck the gate. At the gate were five hundred heavenly maidens who brought jewels to present to the prince; the foremost maiden’s jewel was the color of lapis, and he received it and tied it in the corner of his robe.)
The dragon-king had the dragon spirits fly through the air to escort him, and he reached this shore.
He saw his younger brother Evil Friend and asked: where are your companions and followers now? He answered: the ship sank and all died; I alone survived by clinging to a corpse. All the goods are now gone.
Good Friend said: of all the great treasures under heaven, none comes before one’s own body. His brother said: not so. People would rather die rich than live poor. How do I know? I once went among the graves and heard the ghosts of the dead say exactly this.
Good Friend, being straightforward and truthful, told his brother plainly: though you have lost the treasure, it is of no consequence. I have obtained the dragon-king’s wish-fulfilling jewel. His brother said: where is it now? Good Friend said: here in my topknot.
His brother, hearing this, grew jealous, and said to Good Friend: splendid, excellent indeed. Having obtained this jewel, you should guard it all the more carefully.
Good Friend untied the jewel and gave it to his brother, charging him: when you are tired and lie down, I shall keep watch; when I sleep, you should keep watch.
When it was Evil Friend’s turn to guard the jewel, and his elder brother was deep asleep, he rose, took two dried bamboo spikes, and drove them into both his brother’s eyes (the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya says he pierced them with a spike of the qūluótuó tree), seized the jewel, and left.
Good Friend called out to Evil Friend: there is a robber here — he has pierced both my eyes and taken the jewel away! Evil Friend did not answer. His brother, in anguish, feared he would be killed by the robber. He cried out this way at the top of his voice, shaking the very spirits, and for a long while none answered.
Then a tree spirit spoke: your younger brother Evil Friend is your evil robber. He pierced both your eyes and took the jewel away. The prince was stricken, in grief, anger, and anguish.
Evil Friend carried the jewel back to the kingdom and said to his parents: by my own merit I survived intact. Good Friend and his companions all sank in the water and died. His parents wept bitterly, fainted, and collapsed to the ground, and said to Evil Friend: how could you bring yourself to come back showing that face?
Evil Friend, hearing these words, was seized with vexation, and buried the jewel in the earth.
Good Friend, pierced, with no one to draw the spikes out, wandered and turned about, not knowing where to go, suffering greatly and much afflicted by hunger and thirst; he could neither find life nor find death. Little by little he went on, and came to the kingdom of Lìshībá.
That king had a daughter who had earlier been promised to Good Friend, prince of Vārāṇasī.
There was a herdsman who pastured five hundred cattle for the king, following the water and grass. The prince sat in the middle of the road, and the herd bore down upon him; the lead bull stood astride the prince and let the cattle pass over him, then moved its feet, turning to the right, and, looking back and bending its neck, put out its tongue and licked the prince’s eyes, drawing out the bamboo spikes.
The herdsman, seeing this, asked: who are you? Good Friend did not tell him the whole story, but answered: I am only a blind beggar.
The herdsman looked him over, saw in him the marks of an extraordinary man, and said: my home is nearby; I shall provide for you. He took him home and gave him food and drink of every kind, and instructed his household: attend on him exactly as you would on me.
After a month and more the household grew weary of it. Good Friend, dispirited, said to his host the next morning: I wish to leave now. His host said: what is not to your liking? Good Friend said: the courtesies between guest and host cannot, in the nature of things, last long.
Good Friend said: if you think kindly of me, give me a zither that sounds well, and take me to a settlement where there are many people. The host provided as he wished and took him to a crowded place in the city of Lìshībá.
Good Friend played the zither, and its sound was harmonious and refined, pleasing to the hearts of all; and the whole crowd together supplied him with food and drink.
The king had an orchard, lush and flourishing, but constantly troubled by birds. The keeper of the orchard said to Good Friend: keep the birds off for me and I will provide for you. I shall tie cords to the tops of the trees and hang bronze bells on them; you sit beneath the trees, and when you hear the birds, pull the ends of the cords. Good Friend said: just so. I can sit at ease beneath the trees and play the zither besides, to amuse myself.
The daughter of the king of Lìshībá came into the orchard with her attendants and, seeing this blind man, went to him and asked: who are you? He answered: only a blind beggar. Love arose in the princess’s heart, and she could not bear to leave him.
The king sent a messenger to call his daughter home. She said she would not go, and had food sent to her; and when she had finished providing this blind man with food and drink she said to the great king: if the king would now give me to this blind man, it would suit my wish exactly.
The king said: a demon has possessed you; you are mad, your mind deranged. How could you wish to live with a blind man? Your parents earlier promised you to Good Friend, crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī. Good Friend entered the sea and has not yet returned. How can you now become a beggar’s wife?
The daughter said: even so — I would give up my life sooner than give him up. The king, hearing this, could not refuse her, and sent messengers to bring the blind man and shut him in a quiet room.
The princess said to the blind man: I shall now be your wife. Good Friend answered: whose daughter are you, that you wish to be my wife? She answered: I am the daughter of the king of Lìshībá.
Good Friend answered: you are a king’s daughter, and I am a beggar — how could you show me any respect? His wife said: I shall serve you with all my heart.
Afterward his wife went out without telling her husband, and returned only after a long while. Good Friend reproached her: you went out privately without telling me — where have you been?
His wife said: I did nothing in secret. Her husband said: secret or not — who is there to know what you do?
His wife made a vow upon herself: if I have acted in secret, let your two eyes never be healed at all; if it is not so, let one of your eyes be restored as it was. When she had made this vow, one eye was made whole as before, its light clear and bright.
His wife said: do you believe me now? Good Friend smiled. His wife said: you do not know how to acknowledge kindness. I am the daughter of the king of a great country, and you are a lowly man, yet I have served you with all my heart, and you will not trust me.
Her husband said: do you know who I am? She answered: I know you are a beggar. Her husband said: no. I am Good Friend, crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī.
His wife said: you are a great fool — how can you say such a thing? The crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī entered the sea and has not returned. You speak falsely, and I do not believe you.
Good Friend said: since my birth I have never spoken a false word. His wife said: false or true — who is to believe it?
Her husband said: if I have deceived you, let my remaining eye never be healed; if I speak the truth, let my remaining eye be restored as it was, so that you may see it. And it happened just as he vowed: the light of that eye shone and moved, no different from before.
Prince Good Friend’s two eyes were restored, his face and head handsome, his fine appearance beyond compare. His wife, seeing it, rejoiced as though she had received a sage; she looked him over from head to foot and could not take her eyes from him for a moment.
She went into the palace and said to her father the king: my husband is none other than Prince Good Friend. The king said: foolish girl. Good Friend has not returned — how can you call a beggar a crown prince?
The daughter said: it is not so; if you do not believe me, come and look for yourself. The king went at once to look, and recognized Good Friend. Filled with fear, he said: if the king of Vārāṇasī hears of this he will blame me not a little — and he came forward to apologize: Prince Good Friend, I truly did not know.
The prince said: no matter. Send gifts on my behalf, and bestow them on that cowherd. The king then gave the man gold, silver, treasure, clothing, food and drink, together with the five hundred head of cattle he had been pasturing; and that man rejoiced and praised it beyond measure.
Yet all this was out of proportion to the kindness he had shown me — and so the prince proclaimed aloud: kindness given in secret and repaid in the open is vast and measureless. All in the great assembly who heard it gave rise to the will to give.
Before Good Friend entered the sea he had raised a white goose, which was always with him, in clothing and food, in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down.
The queen said to this goose: when the prince was here he was always with you. Now it is not known whether he lives or dies — do you feel nothing for the prince? The goose cried out mournfully, turning about, weeping tears, and answered that it wished to go and seek the prince.
The queen wrote a letter with her own hand and tied it to the goose’s neck, and it rose into the sky and flew away.
It flew to the great sea and searched but did not find him; then in turn it came to the kingdom of Lìshībá, and from afar saw Good Friend in front of the palace. The goose went to him, crying mournfully, and rejoiced.
The prince took his mother’s letter, raised it reverently to his head, opened the seal, and read it, and so learned that his parents wept and grieved for him day and night, and that both their eyes had lost their sight.
The prince wrote a letter by hand giving a full account of all the above, tied it to the goose’s neck, and sent it back to Vārāṇasī.
His parents received the letter, leapt for joy, and praised it beyond measure; and they learned in full how the prince had been made to suffer by Evil Friend, who had seized the jewel. His parents put Evil Friend in manacles and fetters and shut him in prison.
They sent messengers to tell the king of Lìshībá: how is it that you have kept back our prince and caused us this grief? The king of Lìshībá was seized with fear, and at once had the prince dressed in fine robes and escorted to the border, and sent messengers to report that he had given his daughter to him in marriage and was sending them back to his kingdom.
His parents rode out on a great famous elephant, with musicians playing, the roads swept and sprinkled, incense burning, silk banners and canopies hung, to meet the prince from afar. The people of the land, men and women, husbands and wives, hearing the prince had returned, all came out to receive him.
The prince came forward and bowed to his parents. His parents’ eyes were dark and could not see him; they groped with their hands: are you Good Friend or not? Our grief in longing for you has been like this.
When the prince had finished asking after his parents’ health, he said to his father the king: where is Evil Friend? The king said: he is in prison.
The prince said: I ask that Evil Friend be released, so that I may see him — and he said this three times. The king could not bear to refuse, and ordered him brought out.
He went forward and embraced him, coaxing him with kind words and gentle inquiries: you have suffered greatly. Where is that jewel of mine you carried? He asked this three times, and only then did his brother answer: in the earth over there.
The prince recovered the jewel, knelt before his parents, burned fine incense of every kind, and made this vow: if this jewel is truly the wish-fulfilling jewel, let my parents’ eyes be bright and clear as before. At once they were restored, and, seeing their son, they rejoiced.
On the morning of the fifteenth day of the month the prince bathed himself clean, put on fresh, spotless clothing, burned precious incense, and, on a high tower, holding a censer in his hands, bowed his head and face to the maṇi jewel and made this vow: for the sake of all beings in Jambudvīpa I endured this great suffering to seek this jewel.
Then a great wind rose in the east, blowing away cloud and mist until all was bright and clear; and all the filth of Jambudvīpa — excrement and urine, ash, dirt, and rank weeds — the clean wind swept away, making everything pure.
By the majestic power of the jewel there rained down everywhere in Jambudvīpa ripe, naturally grown white rice, fragrant, sweet, soft, and fine, perfect in color and flavor, until the ditches and channels were full and it lay knee-deep. Next it rained clothing, pearl rings, hairpins, and bracelets; next the seven treasures and fine music of every kind; and whatever beings needed was supplied in full.
Afterward King Moon-Canopy died, and Good Friend succeeded him. Evil Friend petitioned: I beg my food to keep myself alive. The king said: guard my neck, and I will give you food. Later, while the king slept, he drew a blade to cut off the king’s head — and his own head fell off of itself. The king woke and asked about it; the answer was: heaven has made this his karma.
The father of that time is Śuddhodana now; the mother of that time is Lady Māyā now; Evil Friend is Devadatta; the daughter of King Moon is Gopī; and Good Friend is myself (Source: Sūtra on Repaying Kindness, fascicle 4; also the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish, fascicle 2, and the Jātaka Sūtra, largely the same with minor differences).
Entries 1 and 2 are a doublet, and the compiler has placed them adjacent without comment. Both are sea-voyage quests for a wish-fulfilling jewel undertaken by a prince who has bankrupted his father's treasury on almsgiving; both feature a blind sea-pilot who dies on the way and is buried in golden sand; both cross the same graded stages of water, lotus, and serpent to a dragon-king's jeweled city of seven walls. They are told from different sources (the Treatise on the Great Perfection of Wisdom in entry 1, the Sūtra on Repaying Kindness in entry 2) and they are not harmonized here. Where entry 1 is a straight account of the perfection of giving, entry 2 grafts onto it a full fraternal-betrayal romance.
The Chinese text itself is unusually candid about its own variant readings, interrupting the narrative three times to record that the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya calls the brothers Good Conduct and Evil Conduct, that the Sūtra of the Wise and the Foolish calls them Kalyāṇakārin and Pāpakārin, that the Vinaya has a different tree supplying the spikes, and that the Wise and Foolish version has the prince break into the dragon city with a vajra-pestle rather than being welcomed in. We have kept all of these interpolations in place; they are the compiler's working notes left in the finished text.
The story turns on blindness three times over and it is worth noticing how deliberately: the pilot is blind before the voyage begins, the prince is blinded by his brother, and the parents go blind from weeping at home. Two of the three cures come not from the jewel but from a formal oath sworn on the truth of a statement — the wife's on her fidelity, the prince's on his identity — each of which is answered with exactly one eye.
3. Long Born Sets Out to Avenge His Father and Regains the Kingdom
A king who will not fight for his kingdom hands his own head to a poor brahmin so the man can claim the bounty on it, and charges his son with his dying breath not to avenge him — leaving the son to spend years as a cook and bodyguard in the usurper's household with the sword three times drawn and three times sheathed.
昔有菩薩。為大國王。名曰長壽。王有太子。名曰長生。王治以正刀杖之苦不加吏民。風雨以時五穀豐饒。有隣國王。立行暴害不修正治國民貧困。謂傍臣曰。聞長壽王多饒豐樂無兵革之備我欲奪取。臣曰大善。興兵攻伐。長壽王告群臣曰。彼貪我財。若與交戰必傷我人民。夫爭國殺民吾不忍也。群臣不從。發兵出界迎而拒之。王與太子踰城幽隱。貪王入國募求長壽賞金千斤錢千萬。後王出道邊樹下。遇婆羅門問何處來。答曰。我貧道士。聞長壽王好施遠來告乞。王默念。值我失國。垂淚曰。我即是王也。遇我如此無可相嗣。兩人啼泣。王曰。我聞新王求我甚重。卿持我頭詣之必獲厚賞。婆羅門曰。我之薄福不敢承命。王曰。卿故遠來遇我困乏。人生會有死。願以相惠何為辭讓。答曰。何忍相殺。必欲惠施者願相隨還國。於是同反臨至城門。王令其縛白貪王。貪王即賞金錢遣令還去。於四街道欲燒殺長壽。郭邑草野莫不呼天。大子聞之。出當父前心中悲痛。父恐子報怨讎。乃仰天歎息曰。此死我之所樂也。欲為至孝使汝父死不恨勿報怨也。長生不忍見父死還入山中。王既死後長生念言。我父仁義深篤至死不轉。貪王無狀不別善惡。抂殺我父我不能忍。若不殺之終不苟生。乃出傭賃大臣借其種菜菜好。大臣問園監。監答。借得一人甚懃能也。大臣呼長生問言。卿能作飲食不。答曰能。後乃請王飲食甘美。王問誰作。答曰作人。王即呼還宮使作飲食。王後問曰。汝能習兵法不。對曰最便。王使侍左右。告之曰。我有怨家恒恐相值。今相恃怙相助備之。對曰唯。當為王展力効命。後日王問。寧好獵不。對曰。臣少好獵。王便勅外嚴駕因與長生共出遊獵。適入山林便見走獸。王與長生馳而逐之。轉入深山失道三日。遂至飢困。王因下馬解劍以授長生曰。我甚疲極汝坐我欲枕汝膝臥。長生拔劍欲殺貪王。思其父勅內劍而止。如是三過。王便驚寤問長生曰。我夢見長壽王子欲來見害。長生曰。是中強鬼來相恐耳。最後云原殺。長生曰。我是即長壽王太子故來欲殺大王。我父臨死苦囑莫報王怨。我思父教投劍於地以從父勅。雖爾猶恐後日迷惑失計。願大王便殺我身。王乃自悔曰。我為兇逆。不別善惡。賢者子父行仁淳固至死不轉。而我貪酷初不覺知。今日命屬子手。子故懷仁。惟憶父言。寧不相害。誠感厚恩。今欲還國當從何道。長生言。我知道徑前故迷王欲報父怨耳。遂俱出林便見部曲。王還本國以此國還太子共結兄弟誓不侵奪。更相貢遺共濟急難。長壽王者我身是。太子者阿難是。貪王者調達是(出長壽王經)。
Long ago there was a bodhisattva who was king of a great country, named Long Life. The king had a crown prince named Long Born. The king governed with justice and did not inflict the pain of blade or rod upon his officials and people; the wind and rain came in season, and the five grains were abundant.
There was a neighboring king whose conduct was violent and harmful, who did not practice just government, and whose people were poor and hard-pressed. He said to his attendant ministers: I hear that King Long Life is rich and prosperous and has made no preparation of arms; I mean to take it from him. His ministers said: excellent. And he raised troops and attacked.
King Long Life said to his assembled ministers: he covets my wealth. If we join battle with him, my people will surely be harmed. To fight over a kingdom and kill the people — this I cannot bear. His ministers did not obey, and sent troops beyond the border to meet and resist him.
The king and the crown prince climbed over the wall and went into hiding. The covetous king entered the country and offered a reward for King Long Life: a thousand catties of gold and ten million in cash.
Later the king came out beneath a tree by the roadside and met a brahmin, and asked where he had come from. He answered: I am a poor religious. I heard that King Long Life delights in giving, and have come a long way to beg of him.
The king silently reflected: he has come just when I have lost my kingdom. Shedding tears, he said: I am that king. You have found me in this state, and I have nothing to give you. The two of them wept together.
The king said: I hear the new king is offering a great deal for me. Take my head to him and you will surely receive a rich reward. The brahmin said: my merit is too slight; I dare not accept such a command.
The king said: you came all this way and have found me destitute. Every life must end in death. I ask you to accept this gift — why refuse? He answered: how could I bear to kill you? If you insist on making the gift, I ask that you come back with me to the capital.
So they returned together, and, when they came to the city gate, the king had himself bound by the brahmin, who reported to the covetous king. The covetous king gave him the gold and cash and sent him away.
At the crossroads of the four streets he was about to burn King Long Life to death; and in city and suburb, field and wilderness, there was no one who did not cry out to heaven.
The crown prince heard of it and came out to stand before his father, his heart in bitter grief. His father, fearing his son would avenge the wrong, looked up to heaven and sighed: this death is what I choose. If you wish to be truly filial, and to let your father die without regret, do not avenge this wrong.
Long Born could not bear to watch his father die, and went back into the mountains.
After the king had died, Long Born thought: my father’s humanity and righteousness were deep and firm, and even to death he did not waver. The covetous king is without decency and cannot tell good from evil. He wrongly killed my father, and I cannot bear it. If I do not kill him, I will not go on living in disgrace.
So he went out and hired himself to a senior minister, who set him to growing vegetables, and the vegetables did well. The minister asked the garden overseer about it, and the overseer answered: I have hired a man who is very diligent and capable.
The minister summoned Long Born and asked: can you prepare food and drink? He answered: I can. Later the minister invited the king, and the food and drink were delicious. The king asked who had made it; the answer was: a hired man.
The king then summoned him back to the palace and had him prepare his food.
The king asked him later: have you studied the arts of war? He replied: I am most skilled at them. The king had him attend at his side, and told him: I have an enemy, and I constantly fear meeting him. I rely on you now to help me guard against him. He replied: yes — I shall exert my strength and give my life for the king.
Another day the king asked: are you fond of hunting? He replied: I have liked hunting since I was young. The king ordered the carriages made ready and went out hunting with Long Born.
As soon as they entered the mountain forest they saw game running, and the king and Long Born galloped in pursuit, and so went deeper into the mountains and lost the way for three days, until they were faint with hunger.
The king dismounted, unfastened his sword, and handed it to Long Born, saying: I am utterly exhausted. Sit down; I wish to lie with my head on your knees.
Long Born drew the sword to kill the covetous king, but, remembering his father’s charge, sheathed it and stopped. This happened three times.
The king woke with a start and asked Long Born: I dreamed that the son of King Long Life was coming to kill me. Long Born said: it is only some powerful spirit of this place come to frighten you.
At the last the king said that he would pardon any attempt on his life. Long Born said: I am the crown prince of King Long Life, and I came here meaning to kill the great king. As my father was dying he charged me earnestly not to avenge the wrong upon the king. Remembering my father’s teaching, I threw the sword to the ground and obeyed his charge. Even so, I still fear that some later day I may be confounded and lose my resolve. I ask the great king to kill me.
The king then repented, saying: I have been violent and rebellious, unable to tell good from evil. You, worthy man, and your father before you, practiced humanity purely and firmly, and did not waver even to death; while I, covetous and cruel, never once understood it. Today my life is in your hands, and still you hold to humanity, remembering only your father’s words, and would rather not harm me. I am truly moved by this deep kindness.
Now I wish to return to my country — by which road should we go? Long Born said: I know the way. Earlier I led the king astray on purpose, meaning to avenge my father. And so they came out of the forest together and met their retinue.
The king returned to his own country, restored this country to the crown prince, and made a pact of brotherhood with him, swearing never to encroach or seize; and they sent each other tribute and gifts, and aided each other in times of urgent need.
That King Long Life was myself; the crown prince was Ānanda; the covetous king was Devadatta (Source: Sūtra of King Long Life).
This is the story known in the Pali canon as that of Dīghīti and Dīghāvu, told in the Kosambaka chapter of the Mahāvagga to a community of monks who would not stop quarrelling. The Chinese here follows a different recension — the Sūtra of King Long Life — and differs in detail from the Pali: the brahmin who takes the king's head is here given a full scene of refusal and grief, and the king in this version offers his own head unprompted rather than being betrayed.
Note the identification at the close: the Buddha is the father, not the son who does the hard thing. Ānanda is the son who three times draws the sword and three times puts it back. The compendium places the story among tales of crown princes, but the moral centre it assigns is the father's dying instruction.
4. The Ugly Heir of Zhēluó Loses His Bride and Wins Her Back by Wit
A prince so ugly his mother invents a national custom forbidding husbands and wives to look at one another by daylight. When his bride finally sees him by lamplight and flees, he follows her through a sequence of hired trades — potter, dyer, groom, kitchen overseer — while Śakra forges seven royal marriage contracts to force the crisis that will let him speak.
昔遮羅國王。適后無嗣。王甚悼焉。命曰。爾歸汝宗以求有嗣之術。后泣辭退。誓命自捐投隕山阻遂之林藪。帝釋感曰。斯王后者故世吾姊也。今以無嗣捐軀山險。愴然愍之。忽爾降焉。以器盛果授之曰。姊爾吞斯果必有聖嗣。將為世雄。若王有疑以器示之。斯天王神器明證之上者。后仰天吞果忽然不覩即覺身。重還覩王具以誠聞。月滿生男。厥狀尫陋世間希有。年在齠齓聰明博暢智策無籌。力能躄象走獲飛鷹舒聲震嚮若師子吼。名流遐邇八方咸嗟。王為納隣國之女。厥名月光端正妍雅世好備足。次有七弟。又亦姝好。后懼月光惡太子狀。訛曰。吾國舊儀室家無白日相見。視之重者也。妃無失儀矣。對曰。敬諾。不敢替尊教。自斯之後太子出入未常別色。深惟本國與七國為敵力爭無寧兆民呼嗟。吾將權而安之。心自惟曰。吾體至陋妃覩必邁。啟母欲一覩妃儀容。后曰。爾狀醜妃容華艶。太子重辭。后愍之將妃觀焉。太子陽為牧人。妃覩之曰。牧人醜乎。后曰。斯先王牧夫矣。後將觀象。妃又覩焉。疑之曰。吾之所由輒覩斯人將是太子乎。妃曰。願見太子之光容。后即權之令其弟出遊。以大子官僚翼從。妃觀之厥心微喜。後又入苑。太子登樹以果擲背。妃曰。斯是太子定矣。夜伺其眠默以火照覩其姿狀懼而奔歸。后妃忿曰。焉使妃還乎。對曰。妃邁天下太平之基民終寧其親矣。拜辭尋之至妃國。陽為陶家賃作瓦器。又入城賃染。又為大臣賃養馬肥。又為太官監典諸餚饍以羹入內。王有八女並欣其事月光不眄。帝釋歎曰。菩薩憂濟眾生乃至于茲。吾將權而助之。挑七敵國化為月光父王手書。以月光妻之。七國興禮造國親迎。俱云。娉娶王女名曰月光。訟之紛紜。各出手書。厥怨齊聲云。當滅爾嗣。其為不貳。使還書僉然詰曰。以爾一女為七國怨。齊兵盛發念爾喪國在于今矣。王聞懼曰。斯禍將至乃宿行所招。謂月光曰。爾為人妃。若婿明愚吉凶好醜厥由宿命孰能攘之。而不貞一盡孝尊奉薄智還國禍至于茲。吾今當七分爾尸以謝七王耳。月光泣曰。願假吾命漏刻之斯。募求智士必有能却七國之患者也。王即募曰。孰能攘斯禍者。妻以月光育以元福。太子曰。疾作高觀吾能攘之。觀成。太子權病躇步頓地。須月光荷負爾乃却敵矣。月光惶㣿懼見屠戮扶格登觀。太子高聲曰。七國王厥音遠震。若師子之吼喻以佛教為大。收民當以仁道。而今興怒盛即禍著。禍著即身喪國亡。其由名色乎。七國師雄靡不尸蹌者。斯須而蘇欲旋本土。太子啟王婚姻之道莫若諸王矣。何不以七女適彼七王子。婿為蕃屏王元康矣。臣民休矣。親獲養矣。王曰。善哉斯樂大矣。遂命七王以女妻之。八婿禮敬君臣欣欣。王逮臣民始知太子月光之舊婿也。即選良輔武士翼從各各還國。九國和寧兆民抃舞。僉然歎曰。天降聖權非凡所照德聚功成晏然無譏。還國有年大王崩殂。太子登位大赦眾罪。以五戒六度八齋十善教化兆民。災㜸都息國豐眾安大化流行皆奉三尊。德盛福歸眾病消滅。所以然者。菩薩宿命在家俱耕令妻取食。望覩妻還與一辟支佛俱行隱山崖。久久不至疑心生焉。興忿執鋤欲往捶之。至見其妻以所食分供養沙門。退叉手立。沙門食竟挑鉢虛空光明偉曄飛行而退。婿心悔愧念妻有德。乃致斯尊。吾有重愚將受其殃。即謂妻曰。爾供養福吾當共之。餘飯俱食爾無就也。至其命終各生王家。妻有淳慈之惠。生而端正。婿先恚而後慈故初醜而後好也。太子者我身是。妻者俱夷是。父王者白淨王是。母者吾母舍妙是。天帝釋者彌勒是。開士世世憂念眾生拯濟塗炭(出遮羅國王經)。
Long ago the king of the kingdom of Zhēluó had a principal consort who bore no heir, and the king grieved greatly over it. He commanded her: go back to your own clan and seek some means of producing an heir. The queen took her leave in tears, resolved to throw her life away, and went off to hurl herself from a mountain crag into the wooded wilds.
Śakra was moved, and said: this queen was my elder sister in a former age. Now, for want of an heir, she is casting away her body on a mountain precipice. Grieved and full of pity, he suddenly descended.
He gave her fruit in a vessel, saying: sister, swallow this fruit and you will surely have a holy heir, who will become a hero of the world. If the king doubts you, show him the vessel: this is a divine vessel of the heavenly king, proof of the highest order.
The queen looked up to heaven and swallowed the fruit, and suddenly he was gone from sight; she felt at once that her body was heavy. She returned to see the king and told him the whole truth.
When the months were full she bore a son whose form was frail and ugly beyond anything in the world. While still a child losing his milk teeth he was intelligent and broadly accomplished, his wisdom and stratagems beyond reckoning; in strength he could bring down an elephant, could run and catch a flying hawk, and when he raised his voice it resounded like a lion’s roar. His name spread far and near, and all the eight directions marveled at him.
The king took for him a daughter of a neighboring kingdom, named Moonlight, upright, beautiful, and refined, endowed with every quality the world admires. She had seven younger sisters, likewise lovely.
The queen, fearing that Moonlight would loathe the prince’s appearance, told her a falsehood: it is an old custom of our country that husband and wife do not see one another in broad daylight; this is regarded as a matter of great weight. Let the princess not fail in propriety. She answered: respectfully, yes; I dare not set aside your honored instruction.
From then on, whenever the prince came and went, she never once made out his features.
The prince reflected deeply that his own country was at enmity with seven kingdoms, contending by force without peace, while the myriad people cried out in distress: I shall use expedient means to bring them peace.
He thought to himself: my body is utterly ugly; if the princess saw me she would surely leave. He asked his mother to let him look once upon the princess’s face.
The queen said: your form is ugly, and the princess’s face is radiant. The prince asked again, insistently, and the queen, pitying him, took the princess out to look about.
The prince disguised himself as a herdsman. The princess, seeing him, said: how ugly that herdsman is. The queen said: that is a herdsman of the former king.
Later she was taken to view the elephants and saw him again, and grew suspicious: wherever I go I keep seeing this man — could he be the prince? The princess said: I wish to see the prince’s radiant face.
The queen then contrived an expedient and had the prince’s younger brother go out on an excursion, attended by the prince’s own officers and retinue. The princess looked on him, and her heart was somewhat pleased.
Later she went into the park again, and the prince climbed a tree and threw fruit at her back. The princess said: this is certainly the prince.
That night she waited until he slept, silently brought a light, and looked upon his form; and, terrified, she fled home.
The queen said angrily: how could you let the princess go home? He replied: the princess’s leaving is the foundation of peace throughout the world; the people will at last find rest with their kin.
He bowed farewell and followed her to the princess’s country. He hired himself out to a potter’s household making earthenware; then went into the city and hired himself out as a dyer; then hired himself to a senior minister and fattened his horses; then became overseer of the royal kitchens, in charge of all the dishes, and carried soup into the inner apartments.
The king had eight daughters, and all were pleased with his work — but Moonlight would not look at him.
Śakra sighed and said: the bodhisattva’s concern to save beings has come to this. I shall use an expedient to help him.
He provoked the seven enemy kingdoms, producing what appeared to be letters in the hand of Moonlight’s father the king, giving Moonlight to each of them in marriage. The seven kingdoms prepared the wedding rites and came to the country in person to fetch her, all declaring that they had betrothed and were marrying the king’s daughter named Moonlight. The dispute grew confused, and each produced his letter.
Their resentment rose in one voice: we shall wipe out your line, and there will be no second course. The envoys returned with letters, all alike demanding: with your one daughter you have made enemies of seven kingdoms. Our armies are massed and setting out; reckon that your kingdom is lost this very day.
The king heard this and said in fear: this calamity now upon us was brought on by deeds of former lives. He said to Moonlight: you became a man’s wife. Whether a husband is bright or dull, fortunate or ill-fated, handsome or ugly — this comes of past karma, and who can ward it off? Yet you did not keep faith, did not fulfill filial duty and honor him; in your poor judgment you returned home, and disaster has come to this. I shall now cut your body into seven parts to make apology to the seven kings.
Moonlight wept and said: I ask you to grant me my life a few moments longer, and to seek out a wise man; there will surely be someone able to turn back the threat of the seven kingdoms.
The king then proclaimed: who can ward off this calamity? He shall have Moonlight as his wife and be nourished with the highest blessing.
The prince said: build a high tower at once, and I can ward it off. When the tower was finished the prince feigned illness, staggered in his steps, and collapsed on the ground: only if Moonlight carries me on her back can the enemy be turned back.
Moonlight, alarmed and afraid of being butchered, supported and hauled him up onto the tower.
The prince cried out in a loud voice — a voice carrying far, like a lion’s roar — to the seven kings: taking the Buddha’s teaching as the greatest measure, one should gather the people by the way of humanity. But now you have raised up anger, and where anger is at its height calamity fastens on you; where calamity fastens, the body perishes and the kingdom falls. And all of it over name and form?
Of the seven kingdoms’ commanders and champions there was not one who did not fall down as if dead. After a moment they revived, and wished to return to their own lands.
The prince said to the king: for the way of marriage alliance there is nothing like these kings. Why not give your seven daughters to those seven kings’ sons? Sons-in-law will serve as a protecting screen, the king will enjoy great health, ministers and people will have rest, and your kin will be provided for.
The king said: excellent — this joy is great indeed. So he summoned the seven kings and gave them his daughters in marriage. The eight sons-in-law were respectful in ceremony, and ruler and ministers alike were delighted.
Only then did the king and his ministers and people learn that the prince was Moonlight’s own husband from before. He chose good counselors and warriors as escort, and each returned to his own country.
The nine kingdoms were at peace and in harmony, and the myriad people clapped and danced. All sighed together: heaven has sent down a holy expedient, beyond what ordinary sight can illumine; virtue has gathered and merit is accomplished, all tranquil and beyond reproach.
Some years after his return the great king died, and the prince ascended the throne and granted a general amnesty for all offenses. With the five precepts, the six perfections, the eightfold fast, and the ten wholesome deeds he taught and transformed the myriad people. Disasters and ill omens ceased entirely; the country was rich and the people at peace; the great transformation spread abroad, and all revered the Three Honored Ones. Virtue flourished, blessings gathered, and every sickness was extinguished.
The reason for all this was as follows. In a former life the bodhisattva was a householder who worked the fields, and he sent his wife to fetch food. Watching for her return, he saw her walking together with a pratyekabuddha, and the two of them disappeared behind a mountain crag. She was long in coming, and suspicion arose in him; in a rage he took up his hoe and set out to beat her.
When he arrived, he saw his wife offering her share of the food to the recluse and standing back with hands joined. When the recluse had finished eating, he tossed his bowl up into the open sky and, in a great blaze of light, flew away.
The husband, repentant and ashamed, reflected that his wife had virtue and had thereby drawn such a holy one, while he, in his great folly, would receive the penalty of his rage. He said to his wife: let me share in the merit of your offering. Let us eat the remaining food together; do not take it for yourself alone.
When their lives ended they were each born into royal families. The wife, having the kindness of pure loving-kindness, was born beautiful; the husband, first angry and afterward kind, was therefore ugly at first and handsome afterward.
That prince was myself; the wife is Gopī; the father king is King Śuddhodana; the mother is my mother Shèmiào; and Śakra is Maitreya. The awakening being, life after life, grieves for beings and rescues them from mire and fire (Source: Sūtra of the King of the Kingdom of Zhēluó).
This entry is translated from a markedly older and terser register of Chinese than the rest of the fascicle — clipped four-character phrasing, archaic pronouns, and a compressed syntax that in several places admits more than one reading. We have translated it closely rather than smoothing it out. Two names in it resist confident identification: the kingdom of Zhēluó, and the mother named Shèmiào in the closing identification, where the parallel entries in this fascicle name the Buddha's mother Māyā. We have left both in transliteration rather than reconstruct a Sanskrit form we cannot support.
The narrative core — a wife forbidden to look at her husband, a lamp brought in the night, a horrified flight, and a long penitential pursuit through menial disguises — is the shape of a story told in many places outside Buddhist literature. What is distinctive here is the direction of the moral: the prince's disfigurement is explained, at the very end, as the karmic residue of a single fit of jealous rage in a former life, and his eventual beauty as the residue of the repentance that followed it within the same hour.
5. Mùpò Keeps Silent, Is Buried Alive, Then Speaks and Takes Up the Path
A thirteen-year-old prince who has said nothing since birth, and whom the court brahmins therefore declare a curse to be buried alive. Standing at the edge of his own grave he finally speaks — to explain that sixty thousand years in hell, earned in a former life as a merciful king, are what taught him silence, and that he broke it only to keep his father out of the same hell.
時波羅柰國王太子。名曰慕魄。端正絕雙。自識宿命無數劫事。所更善惡壽夭好醜皆悉知見。年十三歲閉口不語。王唯一子舉國愛重當襲王位。不說飢寒恬惔質朴意若枯木。雖有耳目不存視聽。智慮雖遠如無心志。猶若盲聾不說東西。狀如曚戇不與人同。其父憂慮甚用患苦。深恥隣國恐見凌嗤。因呼國中婆羅門問之。此子何故不能言語。諸婆羅門言。此子雖面目端正內懷不祥。欲害父母危國滅宗將至不久。不復生子者皆是此惡子所妨宜生埋之。王身可全保國安宗。然後更得生貴子耳。不者甚危。王信狂愚謂為審然即用愁憂。坐起不寧伎樂不御服美不甘。即與耆長大臣共議之言遠棄深山。或言投沈深水。有一臣言。但作深坑。旁入如室。給與資糧侍以五僕。生置其中從命所如。王即隨之。太子悲感傷其愚惑。其母憐愛之用傷絕曰。我子薄命乃值此殃。涕泣[怡-台+郁][怡-台+伊]事不得已俛仰放捨。悉取太子所有衣服瓔珞珠寶皆用送之。僕使於外。因共作坑作坑未竟。慕魄獨於車上深自思惟。心與口語。王及人民皆共謂我審為癡瘂。所以不語欲捨世緣安身避惱濟神離苦耳。今反為狂詐所危。既沒身命陷墮彼人。便默自取其瓔珞珠寶持去。作坑人輩不覺。慕魄取物去。時慕魄即到水邊。淨自澡浴以香塗身。悉取衣被瓔珞著之。到掘坑所問曰。作坑何施。其僕對曰。王有太子名曰慕魄。瘖瘂聾癡年十三歲不能言語。我等作坑欲生埋之。太子答曰。我即慕魄也。作人驚怖走視車上不見所在。還至坑所諦熟觀察聽聞言語絕有異聲。光景如月世所希聞。動其左右行者駐步坐者為起。飛鳥走獸皆來會聚伏太子前聽太子語。又曰。觀我手足察我形容。云何群迷信此狂詐生見埋棄。發言成章左右驚惶。皆作禮叩頭求哀原赦。太子曰。今已見棄不宜復還。僕即奔馳以白王。王聞悲喜。即與夫人驂駕往迎。王未到頃慕魄自念。當行學道。帝釋化作園樹快樂無比。王遙見太子在樹下坐。慕魄見王即起迎逆。王為作禮慕魄則白大王就坐。王聞太子語言音聲。威神無量震動天地絕無雙比。則大歡喜。便繞慕魄共還入國。居位理政吾請避席。慕魄曰。不可。我以愧厭地獄懃苦愁毒多端。吾昔曾作王。名曰頃念。以政法治國奉行眾善。二十五年鞭杖不加刀兵不設獄無繫者。惠施仁愛恩德流普救濟窮滯無所貪惜。雖有此行猶犯微罪終墮地獄六萬餘歲。煎煮剝裂痛酷難忍。求死不得生無聊賴。當爾之時父母有財富而且貴快樂無極。寧能知我在彼地獄考治劇乎。豈復能來分取我苦。所以墮罪者往昔作王小國領屬。性甚慈仁戒德方峻法令不嚴。諸小國王皆見輕易咸共謀議。今此大王。既善且弱威算不攝德不堪任總御大國當應誅罰廢退之耳。即舉兵眾來征大國。時王頃念送以珍琦財寶皆賜遺之。復以重官厚祿撫䘏慰喻而安之。即還本國。如是未久復來攻罰數數非一。大國群臣上白大王。諸小臣國愚暗無義。不慮罪釁數為慢突。謀殺悖逆觸犯尊上。令民驚擾防備不息當應誅斬以除寇害。王曰。為民父母當務仁化。恕己育物危命濟眾。彼猶嬰孩愍其無識以漸誘導不忍加害。王普愛物命永無誅罰。大國群臣不忍數為。屬城小國所易忿不顧難。舉兵討伐殘殺人民。大王雨淚。即為諸國死亡人民服喪猶子矜愍無極。諸小國王見大王慈心矜念人民。即皆降伏遂來歸附。大王普設珍饍應須烹殺牛羊六畜以具眾味。輒先啟王。王心雖慈事不獲已。顄頭即可緣是得罪懃苦如是。每一念之心甚戰慄體虛冷污追憶過世所更吉凶安危成敗。恐復與會冀以靜默。免脫瑕穢出庶塵勞。永辭於俗不與厄會。適復念欲閉口不言被王生埋。恐王後時復得是殃因入地獄無有出期。我意不欲令王得罪故復語耳。守意無為不樂為王。人民世間恍惚若夢。室家歡娛須臾間耳。計命無幾憂畏延長。樂少苦多眾惱萬端。是故智者。以國財寶恩愛為累。眾欲為塵。使吾為王當復憍逸貪求快意。令民憂煩。天下之大患也。今欲除棄。反流盡源拯濟未度。生世若寄無一可恃。不貪富貴不重珍寶。棄捐世榮思想大道。高明遠逝自拔於世。父王曰。汝為智人不可便爾。慕魄曰。何聞父子生而相棄。骨肉已離為行甚愆。苦相迎接徒益勞煩。父覩志堅。罔然失措無辭可答。乃曰。汝如前世作國王時奉行眾善。財有小失非所憶知。而尚受罪懃苦如是。今我治國不奉政法。既無微善反是愆非。純行危殆罪當何訾。便放太子聽行學道。太子於是棄國捐王不務人物。一心專精念道修德功勳累積遂至如今。慕魄者我身是。父王者閱頭檀是。母者摩耶是。相師調達是。時侍僕者阿若拘隣等五人是(出太子慕魄經)。
At that time the crown prince of the king of Vārāṇasī was named Mùpò, handsome beyond compare. He remembered of himself the events of countless kalpas of past lives, and knew and saw everything he had passed through — good and evil, long life and early death, beauty and ugliness. To the age of thirteen he kept his mouth shut and did not speak.
The king had this one son only, whom the whole country loved and honored, and who was to succeed to the throne. He did not speak of hunger or cold; calm and plain, his mind was like a withered tree. Though he had ears and eyes, he did not apply them to seeing and hearing; though his intelligence reached far, he seemed to have no purpose at all; like one blind and deaf, he did not say east or west. In appearance he was like a dull simpleton, unlike other people.
His father was worried and much distressed by it, deeply ashamed before the neighboring kingdoms and afraid of being mocked. So he summoned the brahmins of the kingdom and asked them: why is this son of mine unable to speak?
The brahmins said: though this boy’s face is handsome, he harbors what is inauspicious within. He means to harm his parents, endanger the kingdom, and destroy the clan, and it will not be long in coming. That no further sons have been born is entirely this evil son’s obstruction. He should be buried alive. Then the king’s own person will be preserved, the kingdom secured, the clan made safe, and afterward you may yet have a noble son. Otherwise it is most perilous.
The king believed this mad folly, took it for the truth, and grew sick with worry; sitting or rising he had no peace, he would have no music, and fine clothes gave him no pleasure.
He conferred with his elders and senior ministers: some said to cast the boy away far off in the deep mountains, some to sink him in deep water. One minister said: simply make a deep pit with a side chamber like a room, supply him with provisions, attend him with five servants, and place him in it alive, leaving his fate to follow its own course. The king followed this advice.
The prince was moved to sorrow and grieved at their folly and delusion. His mother, in her love for him, was heartbroken and said: my son’s fortune is meager, that he should meet with this calamity. Weeping and choking with grief, she could do nothing, and, bowing her head and looking up again, let him go.
They took all the prince’s clothing, necklaces, pearls, and treasures and sent them along with him. The servants were outside, digging the pit together, and the pit was not yet finished.
Mùpò, alone in the carriage, reflected deeply, his heart speaking to his mouth: the king and the people all take me for a true mute idiot. The reason I do not speak is that I wished to be rid of worldly ties, to set my body at ease, to avoid vexation, to save my spirit and be free of suffering. And now, instead, I am endangered by mad deceit. Not only would my own life be lost, but those people would fall into ruin by it.
So, silently, he took up his own necklaces, pearls, and treasures and carried them off; and those digging the pit did not notice that Mùpò had taken the things and gone.
Mùpò went then to the water’s edge, washed himself clean, anointed his body with fragrance, put on all his clothing and necklaces, and came to the place where the pit was being dug, and asked: what is this pit for?
The servants answered: the king has a crown prince named Mùpò, mute, deaf, and dull, thirteen years old and unable to speak. We are making this pit to bury him alive.
The prince answered: I am Mùpò. The workmen, terrified, ran to look at the carriage and could not see where he was.
They came back to the pit and looked at him closely and carefully, and, listening, heard in his speech a wholly extraordinary sound; his radiance was like the moon’s, such as the world seldom hears of. It stirred all around him: those walking halted in their steps, those sitting rose. Flying birds and running beasts all came and gathered, crouching before the prince to listen to him speak.
He said further: look at my hands and feet, examine my form and face — how is it that this deluded crowd believed such mad deceit and would bury me alive and cast me away? His words came out in perfect order, and those around him were struck with alarm; all made obeisance, knocked their heads on the ground, and begged for mercy and pardon.
The prince said: I have already been cast off; it is not fitting that I return. The servants raced off to report to the king, who, hearing it, was full of grief and joy together, and with his consort harnessed the horses and went to receive him.
Before the king arrived, Mùpò thought to himself that he should go and practice the path. Śakra conjured up a garden and trees of incomparable delight, and the king, from a distance, saw the prince sitting beneath a tree.
Mùpò, seeing the king, rose and went to meet him. The king made obeisance to him, and Mùpò invited the great king to be seated. The king heard the prince’s voice as he spoke — of measureless majesty, shaking heaven and earth, beyond all compare — and was greatly delighted, and, circling Mùpò, returned with him into the kingdom.
[The king said:] take the throne and govern; I ask leave to step down from my seat. Mùpò said: it cannot be. I am ashamed and weary of hell, of its bitter toil and its many kinds of poisonous grief.
I was once a king myself, named Qǐngniàn. I governed the country by just law and practiced every kind of good. For twenty-five years I inflicted neither whip nor rod, set out no weapons, and there was none held in the prisons. I gave freely, was humane and loving, my kindness spread everywhere, and I rescued the destitute and the stranded, begrudging nothing.
Yet even with this conduct I committed a slight offense, and in the end fell into hell for more than sixty thousand years, boiled and fried, flayed and torn, in agony hard to bear; I sought death and could not get it, and living had nothing to rely on.
At that time my parents had wealth, were rich and honored, and their pleasure was without limit. Could they possibly have known how severely I was being punished in that hell? Could they have come and taken any share of my suffering?
The reason I fell into that penalty was this. Long ago, as a king, I had small states under my rule. My nature was very kind and humane, my moral discipline upright and strict, but my laws and ordinances were not severe. The kings of those small states all took me lightly, and conferred together: this great king is good but weak; his authority and calculation cannot restrain us, and his virtue is not equal to governing a great realm — he ought to be punished and deposed.
So they raised armies and came to attack the great kingdom. King Qǐngniàn then sent them rare and precious treasures and bestowed everything upon them, and further, with high office and generous stipends, soothed, consoled, and pacified them, and they returned to their own lands.
Before long they came again to attack, and this happened many times over.
The ministers of the great kingdom said to the great king: these small vassal states are stupid, benighted, and without righteousness; heedless of guilt, they repeatedly offend with insolence, plot murder and rebellion, and violate their superior. They keep the people alarmed and the defenses never at rest. They should be executed, to remove the harm of these raiders.
The king said: to be father and mother to the people, one must strive for transformation by humanity — to be forbearing with oneself and nurture others, to risk one’s life to save the multitude. They are like infants; pity their ignorance and lead them along by degrees. I cannot bear to do them harm. And the king cherished all living things and never once inflicted execution.
The ministers of the great kingdom could not endure that this kept happening. Angered at being made light of by the small subject states, and heedless of the difficulty, they raised troops, went to punish them, and slaughtered their people.
The great king shed tears like rain, and put on mourning for the dead people of those kingdoms as though for his own children, pitying them without limit.
The kings of the small states, seeing the great king’s compassionate heart and his pity for the people, all submitted and came over to him.
The great king had rare feasts laid out for them all, which required the slaughter and cooking of oxen, sheep, and the six domestic animals to provide the many flavors; and each time this was first reported to the king. Though the king’s heart was compassionate, the matter could not be avoided, and he nodded his assent. It was on account of this that he incurred the offense and suffered such torment.
Every time I think of it my heart trembles violently and my body goes weak, cold, and clammy. Recalling the fortunes and misfortunes, safety and danger, success and failure I have passed through in former lives, and fearing to meet with them again, I hoped by silence to escape stain and defilement and get free of the dust and toil of the world, to take leave of the worldly forever and not meet with such calamity.
But then I considered that if I kept my mouth shut and did not speak I would be buried alive by the king; and I feared that the king would later suffer that same penalty and thereby enter hell with no term of release. It is because I do not wish the king to incur that guilt that I have spoken after all.
I guard my mind in non-action and take no pleasure in being king. People and the world are hazy, like a dream; the joys of household and family last but a moment. Reckon up a life and it is nothing, while worry and fear stretch on; pleasure is little and suffering much, and vexations are of ten thousand kinds.
Therefore the wise regard a kingdom, wealth, treasure, and affection as fetters, and all desires as dust. Were I to be king, I would again grow arrogant and dissolute, greedy for gratification, and would burden the people with grief — the great calamity of the world.
I now wish to be rid of it, to turn back against the current to the source, and to rescue those not yet delivered. To be born into the world is like lodging at an inn; there is nothing at all to rely on. I do not covet wealth and rank, and set no store by treasure. Casting away worldly glory, I set my thoughts on the great path and, in high clarity, go far off, pulling myself out of the world.
His father the king said: you are a wise man; you must not simply do this. Mùpò said: what is this I hear — that father and son, while yet alive, cast each other off? Flesh and blood have already been parted; that act was a grave fault. To press me now to come back only adds toil and vexation for nothing.
His father, seeing his resolve was firm, was at a loss and had no words to answer; then he said: you, in a former life as a king, practiced every good, and your fault in the matter of goods was slight and not knowingly committed, and yet you suffered such torment. Now I govern the country without upholding just law; I have not even a slight good to my name, and on the contrary am full of fault and error; my whole conduct is perilous — how could my guilt be reckoned? And so he released the prince and let him go and practice the path.
The prince then abandoned the kingdom, gave up kingship, and had no dealings with people and things; single-mindedly and with concentrated effort he kept the path in mind and cultivated virtue, and his merit accumulated until it reached what it is now.
Mùpò was myself; the father king is Śuddhodana; the mother is Māyā; the physiognomist is Devadatta; and the attendant servants of that time are Ājñāta-Kauṇḍinya and the other four (Source: Sūtra of Prince Mùpò).
The story of the prince who will not speak is one of the most widely told in the Buddhist world; its Pali counterpart is the Mūgapakkha or Temiya Jātaka, in which the future Buddha likewise feigns muteness and paralysis for years, is likewise ordered buried alive on the advice of court brahmins, and likewise speaks for the first time at the graveside. The motive is the same in both: a remembered stretch of hell earned by a former life as a king who could not avoid ordering punishments.
What is striking in this version is the arithmetic of the offense. King Qǐngniàn ruled twenty-five years without whip, rod, weapon, or prisoner; the single fault that bought him sixty thousand years in hell was nodding assent to the slaughter of animals for a banquet honoring the enemies who had just surrendered to him. And the reason Mùpò finally breaks his silence is not to save himself but to keep his father from earning the same sentence by burying him.
6. Prince Mahāsattva Gives Up His Body
The Golden Light Sūtra's version of the tiger-feeding story: three princes see the starving tigress, discuss in the abstract who could possibly give up a body, look at her a while longer, and leave. The youngest turns back.
過去有王名摩訶羅陀。修行善行國無怨敵。王有三子。長名摩訶波那羅。次名摩訶提婆。小名摩訶薩埵。共出遊觀至一竹林憩駕止息。轉復前行見有一虎。新生七日七子圍遶。飢餓窮悴身體羸損命將欲絕。第一王子言。怪哉此虎不得求食。為飢所迫必還噉子。第三王子言。此虎經常所食何物。第一王子曰。食熱血肉。第三王子曰。誰能與此虎食。第二王子曰。其餘命無幾設餘求者必不濟及。誰能不惜身命。第一王子曰。難捨之至莫過己身。第三王子曰。智慧薄少貪惜深重。不能捨身聞即驚怖。惟有大士心懷慈悲。為饒益他捨此身命不足為難。皆懷憂念熟視而去。第三王子心念。我捨身時至。自從昔來空棄此身都無所為。常護屋宅衣服。飲食種種將養令無所乏。不識恩愛反生怨害。終歸無常既無利益。可惡如賊又如行廁。我今此身於生死海作大橋梁。無量癰疽瘭疾百千怖畏。大小便利筋血皮髓共相連持。我今當捨以求寂滅無上涅槃。無量禪定智慧功德。具足成就微妙法身。與諸眾生作諸法樂。慮其二兄為作留難。即便白兄。可與眷屬前還所止。薩埵還至虎所。脫諸衣裳懸置竹上。我為菩提智永離三有。即自放身臥餓虎前。虎不能食。以乾竹刺頸。從高投下大地震動日無精光。天雨雜華種種妙香。空中讚言。得未曾有。虎即舐血漸能噉肉。轉得食力。唯餘骨在(出金光明經第四卷)。
In the past there was a king named Mahāratha, who practiced good conduct, and whose kingdom had no enemies. The king had three sons: the eldest named Mahāpraṇāda, the next Mahādeva, and the youngest Mahāsattva.
They went out together on an excursion and came to a bamboo grove, where they halted the carriages and rested. Going on further, they saw a tigress that had given birth seven days before, surrounded by seven cubs, starving and utterly wasted, her body emaciated, her life about to end.
The first prince said: how pitiful — this tigress cannot find food, and, pressed by hunger, will surely turn and devour her own cubs.
The third prince said: what does this kind of tiger ordinarily eat? The first prince said: warm blood and flesh.
The third prince said: who could give this tigress food? The second prince said: what is left of her life is very little; if we went to seek anything else it would certainly not arrive in time. And who could hold his own body and life so cheap?
The first prince said: of all things hard to give up, none surpasses one’s own body.
The third prince said: those whose wisdom is slight and whose greed and attachment run deep cannot give up the body, and are terrified at the very mention of it. Only a great being, whose heart holds loving-kindness and compassion, and who acts for the benefit of others, finds giving up this body and life no hard thing at all.
All of them, filled with troubled thought, looked long at her and went away.
The third prince thought: the time to give up my body has come. From long ago until now I have thrown this body away for nothing and accomplished nothing with it. I have always guarded house, clothing, food and drink, nurturing it in every way so that it lacked nothing; and it, unable to recognize kindness and affection, gives rise instead to enmity and harm. In the end it comes to impermanence and yields no benefit — hateful as a thief, and like a walking privy.
Let this body of mine now serve as a great bridge over the sea of birth and death. It holds measureless boils, abscesses, and festering sores, a hundred thousand terrors; excrement and urine, sinew, blood, skin, and marrow hold one another together in it.
I shall now give it up to seek the quiescence of unsurpassed nirvāṇa, measureless meditative absorption, wisdom, and merit, to accomplish in full the subtle Dharma-body, and to make the joy of the Dharma for all beings.
Fearing his two elder brothers would obstruct him, he told them: go on ahead with the retinue, back to our lodging.
Mahāsattva returned to where the tigress was, took off his clothes and hung them on a bamboo, saying: for the wisdom of enlightenment I depart forever from the three realms of existence — and let his body down to lie before the starving tigress.
The tigress could not eat. So he pierced his own neck with a dried bamboo splinter and threw himself down from a height. The great earth shook and the sun lost its brightness; the heavens rained assorted flowers and fine fragrances of every kind, and in the sky came the praise: never before has such a thing been.
The tigress then licked the blood, gradually became able to eat the flesh, and so regained strength from the food; and only the bones were left (Source: Sūtra of Golden Light, fascicle 4).
This is a direct doublet of fascicle 31's opening entry, and the two should be read side by side rather than merged. That version comes from the Sūtra of the Bodhisattva Who Gave His Own Body to Feed a Starving Tigress; this one comes from the Sūtra of Golden Light, and the differences are substantial. Here the prince has two brothers who see the same tigress, conduct a short philosophical exchange about who could conceivably give up a body, and walk away — a scene entirely absent from the other version, and the sharpest thing in this one. Here there is no thousand-body vow, no stūpa whose earth heals disease, no Śakra, and no lengthy grief of the family afterward. Here the prince has to wound himself first, because the tigress is too weak to bite.
The names are secure in this version in a way they are not in fascicle 31: King Mahāratha and his three sons Mahāpraṇāda, Mahādeva, and Mahāsattva are the standard cast of the Suvarṇaprabhāsa account.
7. Prince Human-Medicine Cures the Sick
A prince born during a plague age whose touch — and, after his death, whose ground bones, and after those run out, the very ground he was burned on — cures the sick.
過去世時。閻浮提人。疾病劫至普皆疾惱。爾時閻浮提王。名摩醯斯那。領八萬四千大城。威勢自在。最大夫人懷妊以來。手觸病者皆得除差。月滿產男。生而即說言。我能治病。又亦生時。閻浮提內諸天鬼神皆共唱言。今王所生便是人藥。以是音聲普流聞故字曰人藥。時將病人示此王子。諸病人至。王子手觸若以身觸即皆得差。安隱快樂。人藥王子於千歲中如是治病。後則命終。諸病人來聞其已死。憂愁啼泣誰復度我病痛苦惱。諸病人言。人藥王子何處燒身。問知所在趣其燒處。出骨搗末以塗其身即皆得差。骨盡之後至燃身處病皆得差。人藥王子我身是也(出菩薩藏經下卷)。
In a past age the people of Jambudvīpa were struck by an epidemic kalpa, and all alike were afflicted with sickness. At that time the king of Jambudvīpa, named Móxīsīnà, ruled eighty-four thousand great cities and was sovereign in majesty and power.
From the time his chief consort conceived, whatever sick person her hand touched was cured.
When the months were full she bore a son, who spoke as soon as he was born, saying: I can cure sickness.
And at the time of his birth the devas, ghosts, and spirits throughout Jambudvīpa all cried out together: what the king has now begotten is Human Medicine. Because this cry spread and was heard everywhere, he was named Human Medicine.
Sick people were then brought and shown to this prince; and when they came, whomever the prince touched with his hand or with his body was cured at once, and made peaceful and well.
Prince Human Medicine cured sickness in this way for a thousand years, and afterward his life ended.
Sick people came and heard that he had died, and grieved and wept: who now will deliver us from the pain and affliction of our illness?
The sick said: where was Prince Human Medicine’s body burned? Having asked and learned the place, they went to the cremation ground, took out the bones, ground them to powder, and smeared it on their bodies, and all were cured.
After the bones were used up, they went to the place where the body had been burned, and their illnesses were cured all the same. Prince Human Medicine was myself (Source: Bodhisattva-piṭaka Sūtra, lower fascicle).
8. A Prince Hears of His Past Lives, Takes Fright, and Gives the Knowledge Back to the Buddha
The Buddha warns a prince that knowing his past lives will only make him miserable. The prince insists three times, learns he will die at fifteen, dies at fifteen, and then stays conscious through a cypress root, a sheep's gut, a heap of dung, and a bundle of leeks before being reborn — and comes back to hand the knowledge in.
有一王子欲知宿命。乃以問佛。佛言。不用知之令人憂愁。王子故欲得知。如是至三。佛便授戒令知宿命。於是王子自視其事。十五應死憂愁不可言。至年十五便死。王家葬埋種柏長大。下根入地正當其心。識神故在體視柏根生。正貫我心為生貫其心。於是從根出柏葉之間復見羊來。自念。此羊噉柏當復害我。會羊來食。在羊腹中。從羊屎出依附羊屎。園家錄載取以糞韮。依韮葉間。會王后思韮。勅外令送。園師持刀欲割取韮。恐刀見害。事事愁憂彌不可言。園師割韮束送王家。在韮束中。王家得韮后便食之。隨韮入腹作子。月滿便生。遂年長大復識宿命。便詣佛所白言。我不復用知宿命。令我愁憂。今以知宿命還佛。佛語太子。我爾時不欲與汝。汝為欲得之。乃悔可聽(出雜譬喻經第八卷)。
There was a prince who wished to know his past lives, and asked the Buddha about it. The Buddha said: there is no use in knowing it; it makes a person sorrowful. The prince still wished to know, and asked three times in this way; so the Buddha conferred the precepts on him and caused him to know his past lives.
The prince then looked upon his own affairs, and saw that he was due to die at fifteen; and his sorrow was beyond words. And when he reached the age of fifteen he died.
The royal household buried him and planted a cypress, which grew tall; its lower root went down into the earth and came exactly to his heart. His consciousness still remained with the body, and he watched the cypress root grow — piercing right through my heart, he thought — as it grew and pierced his heart.
From the root he then emerged among the cypress leaves, and saw a sheep coming, and thought to himself: this sheep will eat the cypress and so will harm me again. And indeed the sheep came and ate, and he was in the sheep’s belly.
He came out with the sheep’s dung and clung to the dung; a gardener collected and carted it away to manure the leeks, and he lodged among the leek leaves.
It happened that the queen had a craving for leeks and ordered them sent in. The gardener took a knife to cut the leeks, and he feared being harmed by the knife; at every turn his anxiety grew more than words can say.
The gardener cut the leeks, bundled them, and sent them to the royal household, and he was in the bundle of leeks. The household received the leeks, and the queen ate them, and with the leeks he entered her belly and became her child; and when the months were full he was born.
Growing up, he again remembered his past lives, and went to where the Buddha was and said: I have no more use for knowing my past lives; it makes me sorrowful. I now give this knowledge of past lives back to the Buddha.
The Buddha said to the prince: at that time I did not wish to give it to you, and it was you who wanted to have it. Now that you repent of it, it may be granted (Source: Sūtra of Miscellaneous Parables, fascicle 8).
Set among eight tales of princes giving away eyes, flesh, kingdoms, and lives, this brief piece runs the other way, and the compiler seems to have known it. It is the only entry in the fascicle in which a gift from the Buddha is handed back, and the only one whose horror is not pain but continuity — the unbroken thread of awareness that persists through the cypress root growing into the corpse's heart, the sheep's gut, the dung heap, the leek bed, and the gardener's knife, with the prince conscious and anxious at every stage.
The Buddha's closing line is worth its brevity: he says only that he had not wanted to give it, that the prince had insisted, and that since the prince now repents, the request may be granted. No teaching is drawn from it at all.
9. Jīvaka, Grandson of King Abhaya's Line, Learns the Physician's Art
The Dharmaguptaka Vinaya's account of Jīvaka: the abandoned newborn of a Rājagṛha courtesan, raised by a prince, sent to Takṣaśilā, and set the graduation exercise of finding one plant within a yojana that is not a medicine.
王舍城有童女。字婆羅跋提。王勅為立婬舍。有共宿者晝夜二百兩金。四方人集觀望極好。時瓶沙王子字無畏。與此婬女共宿遂便有身。時婬女勅守門人言。若有求見我者答言我病。後日月滿生一男兒。顏貌端正。時彼婬女。即以白衣裹兒勅婢棄巷中。無畏王見問傍人言。此是何等。答言。此是小兒。問言。死活。答言。故活。使人抱還舍與乳母養之。即為作字名耆婆童子。後漸長大。王子愛之喚而語言。汝欲久在王家。無有才伎。不得空食王祿。可學伎術。答言爾。即從得叉尸羅國醫。姓阿提梨。字賓迦羅學。經歷七年乃白師言。我習學何當有已。時師與一籠器及掘草之具。汝可於得叉尸羅國。面一由旬求覓諸草。有非是藥者持來。時耆婆童子。即如師語周竟不得非是藥者。所見草木及一切物。善能分別知所用處無非藥者。還以白師。師答。汝今可去醫道已成。我於閻浮提中最為第一。我若死後次復有汝。歸婆伽陀城。城中大長者婦。十二年中常患頭痛。眾醫治療而不能差。耆婆聞之。即往其家語守門人言。白汝長者。有醫在門外。守門人以白長者。長者婦問言。醫形貌何似。答言。是年少。彼自念言。老宿諸醫治之不差。況復年少。若無所損喚入。時耆婆詣長者婦。即取好藥以蘇煎之。灌長者婦鼻及口中。蘇唾俱出。使人以器承之。蘇還收取。唾別棄之。時耆婆言。此少蘇不淨猶尚慳惜。況能報我。長者婦答言。為家不易。棄之何益。可用然火是故收取。汝但治病何憂如是。後病得差。時長者婦。與四十萬兩金。并奴婢牛馬。耆婆還王舍城到無畏王子門。王喚入。以前因緣具白王子。以所得物盡用奉上王子言。此是耆婆童子最初治病(出四分律三分第二卷即祇域說事既異故兩存之)。
In Rājagṛha there was a young woman named Póluóbátí, for whom the king ordered a house of prostitution established; whoever spent the night with her paid two hundred taels of gold for a day and a night. People gathered from all four directions to look, and it was thought a very fine thing.
At that time King Bimbisāra’s son, named Abhaya, spent the night with this courtesan, and she became pregnant.
The courtesan then instructed her gatekeeper: if anyone asks to see me, say that I am ill.
Later, when the months were full, she bore a boy of handsome appearance; and the courtesan wrapped the child in white cloth and ordered a maidservant to abandon him in the lane.
Prince Abhaya saw him and asked those beside him: what is this? They answered: this is an infant. He asked: dead or alive? They answered: still alive.
He had someone carry the child back to the house and gave him to a wet-nurse to raise, and gave him the name Jīvaka the Boy.
As he grew up, the prince, who was fond of him, called him and said: if you wish to remain long in the royal household — you have no skill or craft, and you cannot eat the king’s stipend for nothing. You should learn an art. He answered: yes.
So he studied under a physician of the country of Takṣaśilā, of the Ātreya clan, named Piṅgala. After seven years had passed he said to his teacher: when will my studies be finished?
The teacher then gave him a basket and tools for digging up plants: go throughout the country of Takṣaśilā, within one yojana on every side, and search among all the plants; whatever is not a medicine, bring it back.
Jīvaka the Boy did as his teacher said and, having gone all around, found nothing that was not a medicine. Of every plant and tree and everything else he saw, he could tell well what it was and knew its use, and there was nothing that was not a medicine. He returned and reported this to his teacher.
The teacher answered: you may go now — your mastery of medicine is complete. In all Jambudvīpa I am the foremost; when I die, you will be next after me.
He returned to the city of Pójiātuó. In that city the wife of a great elder had suffered constant headaches for twelve years, and the many physicians who had treated her could not cure it.
Jīvaka heard of it and went to the house, saying to the gatekeeper: tell your elder that there is a physician at the gate. The gatekeeper reported this to the elder.
The elder’s wife asked: what does this physician look like? He answered: he is young. She thought to herself: the old and experienced physicians treated it without curing it — how much less a young one. Still, if there is nothing to lose, call him in.
Jīvaka went to the elder’s wife, took fine medicine and decocted it in ghee, and poured it into her nose and mouth. The ghee and the saliva came out together, and he had someone catch it in a vessel; the ghee he collected back, and the saliva he discarded separately.
Jīvaka said: she begrudges even this small quantity of unclean ghee — how much less will she repay me.
The elder’s wife answered: keeping a household is not easy, and what is gained by throwing it away? It can be used to light a fire, and that is why I collected it. Just treat the illness — why worry about such things?
Afterward the illness was cured, and the elder’s wife gave him four hundred thousand taels of gold, together with servants, cattle, and horses.
Jīvaka returned to Rājagṛha and came to Prince Abhaya’s gate. The prince called him in, and he told the prince the whole of the foregoing, and presented to him everything he had received. This was Jīvaka the Boy’s first cure (Source: Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, third division, fascicle 2. This is the same as the account of Qíyù given above; since the accounts differ, both are preserved).
The compiler flags this doublet himself, in the source note at the very end: this is the same as the account of Qíyù given above — that is, fascicle 31's closing entry — and since the accounts differ, both are preserved. The two Chinese names, Qíyù and Jīvaka, are in fact two transliterations of the same Indian name, and the compendium's decision to treat them as two figures with conflicting biographies rather than reconcile them is exactly the editorial instinct that gives this collection its value.
The differences are not small. In fascicle 31 Jīvaka is the son of the courtesan Āmrapālī of Vaiśālī and himself a crown prince who renounces a kingdom to practice medicine. Here he is an unnamed courtesan's newborn, thrown into a lane in Rājagṛha and picked up by Prince Abhaya, son of Bimbisāra. This second version is much the closer to the Pali Vinaya's account, which likewise makes Jīvaka the abandoned child of a Rājagaha courtesan, likewise has Prince Abhaya raise him, likewise sends him for seven years to Takṣaśilā, and likewise gives as his first cure a merchant's wife with a headache of many years' standing, treated with medicated ghee through the nose.
The exchange over the salvaged ghee is the sort of detail that survives because someone thought it funny. Jīvaka, watching his patient's servant scrape the drug back out of the spit-basin, mutters that a woman this stingy will never pay him; she answers, entirely unbothered, that ghee burns well in a lamp and he should get on with the treatment. She then pays him four hundred thousand in gold. This closes fascicle 32.