Brahmins

In the past the Blessed One Dīpaṃkara appeared in the great kingdom of Bōmó, with a fourfold assembly beyond counting, all of whom came to make offerings and supply what was needed.

At that time there was a brahmin named Yēruòdá, living on the flank of the Snow Mountains, who had studied all the secret prognostications and there was nothing in the astronomy of the heavens or the geography of the earth he had not mastered, and he knew writings and letters thoroughly as well.

The brahmin Yēruòdá had a disciple named Thunder-Cloud, intelligent and broadly informed, who understood everything and was always beloved and honored by Yēruòdá and never left his side for a moment.

The brahmin Thunder-Cloud thought: everything I ought to learn I now have in full, and I should repay my teacher’s kindness; but I am poor and ought to go into the country and seek what is needed.

His teacher thought: this is my beloved, and if I were dying I could not bear to part from him — how much less now, when he means to leave me. And he composed five hundred words and gave them to him to recite, and within a few days he had them all fluently.

Then the brahmin Yēruòdá told his five hundred disciples: this brahmin Thunder-Cloud has mastered every art. And he gave him a new name on the spot: Surpassing-Arts.

Some days later the brahmin Surpassing-Arts said to his teacher again: I know what I have learned; and the books record that whoever surpasses in learning and arts should repay his teacher’s kindness. His teacher said: what you know, you know. Surpassing-Arts bowed and departed.

At that time, not far from the city in the great kingdom of Bōmó, a crowd of brahmins had gathered at one house to hold a great sacrifice and to debate together, and eighty-four thousand brahmins had assembled. The chief among them recited the writings and there was nothing he did not know; and five hundred taels of gold, a gold staff, a gold water-vessel, and a thousand head of cattle were to be offered to the teacher — the chief of them was to be tested in his arts first, and whoever passed would receive them.

The brahmin Surpassing-Arts thought: why should I go begging from house to house? Better to go to that great assembly and contest arts with them. So Surpassing-Arts went; and the brahmins from afar all called out: excellent, master of the sacrifice — today you have obtained a great gain, for you have made Brahmā himself come down. And the eighty-four thousand brahmins all rose to receive him, and with one voice said: welcome, great divine Brahmā.

The brahmin Surpassing-Arts said: I am not Brahmā. Stop, worthy sirs. Have you not heard that north of the Snow Mountains there is a great teacher of a company of brahmins named Yēruòdá? I am his disciple, named Surpassing-Arts. And he said to the chief: if you know the arts, expound them to me.

Then the chief of that assembly recited the three collections of the arts without a single omission. Then Surpassing-Arts said to the chief: there is a passage of five hundred words — now expound it. The chief said: I do not understand it. Surpassing-Arts then recited the three collections and the passage of five hundred words on the marks of a great man.

Then the eighty-four thousand brahmins exclaimed at the marvel: how extraordinary, how remarkable. We had never heard of the marks of a great man. You, sir, should take the chief seat. Surpassing-Arts moved to the chief seat and took the first place.

Then the chief of that assembly was filled with anger and made this vow: this man has taken my seat. In whatever place he is born and whatever he wishes to do, I shall always ruin and defeat his work.

Then the donor gave the offering to the chief according to the rule, and he told the host: I now give back the gold coins and silver coins; I shall take only five hundred pieces of each. The gold vessel let be used to provide for the woman, and the thousand head of cattle go back to the host. I do not cultivate desire and do not accumulate wealth.

With that he went on to the great kingdom of Bōmó, whose king was named Light. At the eastern gate of the city he saw five hundred brahmins, aged and venerable, whom the king had set to be scorched in the sun and burnt by fire for having invited the Tathāgata Dīpaṃkara; and he gave each of them, and the community of monks, five hundred gold coins, and clothing and food, and had the place swept clean, allowing no music, no dust or sand or filth, and silk banners and canopies hung and the ground smeared with fragrant liquid, and music beyond counting.

He saw a woman named Good-Flavor, holding seven flower stalks and drawing water with a jar, and he asked her: I wish to buy flowers. The woman said: they are to be offered to the Buddha. He offered five hundred silver coins for five of the stalks, and the woman, coveting the silver, gave him five.

When he had gone a few dozen paces the woman thought: this man is handsome in form and does not begrudge silver — and she ran after him and called to him and asked what he wanted them for. He answered: to offer to the Buddha. The woman said: take these two stalks as well and offer them to the Buddha with the rest, and may I in a later life always be your wife.

Surpassing-Arts said: a bodhisattva begrudges nothing at all. If you become my wife, you will certainly ruin my resolve. The brahmin woman said: I shall never ruin it. Even if you give me away to another, I shall in the end bear it.

The Buddha Dīpaṃkara said: what a bodhisattva practices, he begrudges nothing. The brahmin answered in verse:

“Parents, and the honored buddhas, / and the sun and moon that go about the world — / these may not be given away to others; / for the rest there is no difficulty at all.”

And he spoke another verse:

“I shall bear a hundred million kalpas of suffering, / giving head, body, ears, and eyes, / wife and children, kingdom and treasure, / carriages, horses, and attendants.”

The young brahmin answered again in verse:

“Were a great mountain to blaze like fire, / I could bear it on my head for a hundred million kalpas / and it could not ruin my resolve for the path. / I ask only that you now give me the prediction.”

And he loosened his hair and spread it on the ground and spoke this verse:

“Breaking the mind of craving and arrogance, / able to extinguish desire, anger, and delusion — / first among lights, complete in marks, / I ask only that the Buddha illumine my mind. / What I sought and vowed of old, / today I have obtained in seeing the Buddha. / Now I scatter these five stalks of flowers, / and pray to obtain non-retrogression. / The other two are not my flowers; / a king’s daughter has entrusted them to be offered to the Buddha. / Unsurpassed great guide, / take pity and tread upon my hair.”

The Buddha answered in verse:

“The young brahmin has raised the great mind, / to save measureless numbers far and wide; / his vast vow is not for himself, / and he plants the roots of every merit. / After countless kalpas from now, / in a world of five cauldrons and five turbidities, / he shall become a buddha and deliver beings, / and be named Śākyamuni. / His light has thirty-two marks, / a rare and honored one among men.”

The Buddha trod upon his hair with his feet and passed by, and by his divine power took up the five stalks of flowers, and my own body was in the air; and the remaining two flowers stayed at the Buddha’s two shoulders. From the time he broke the brahmins’ sacrificial fire to heaven, he practiced right views and used the Dharma of equality, and no longer fell into the three evil destinies or into the eight difficulties. The Surpassing-Arts of that time is myself; the flower-selling woman is Gopī (Source: Sūtra of the Origins of Practice).

There was a brahmin named Jewel-Ocean who said to the Buddha: I ask the Tathāgata and the community of monks to accept my offerings of the four requisites for a full seven years. And the Tathāgata assented.

Afterward the brahmin thought: I have now caused a hundred thousand million nayutas of beings to give rise to the mind of enlightenment; but I do not know what the wheel-turning sage-king vows for — whether for human kingship, heavenly kingship, the hearer’s vehicle or the solitary buddha’s, or whether he seeks unsurpassed enlightenment. If I am to attain the buddha-path in a life to come, then while I sleep tonight let the gods, Māra, Brahmā, and the buddhas and world-honored ones show me a dream.

In his sleep he saw a light, and saw the buddhas and world-honored ones of world-systems as numerous as the sands of the Ganges in the ten directions, each of whom conferred a lotus flower on him from afar. The flowers were exquisite, and on the calyx of each he saw the image of a sun-disc, and above each sun-disc a canopy of the seven treasures; and each sun-disc sent out six billion rays, all of which came and entered the brahmin’s mouth. He saw his own light fill a thousand yojanas, and, clear as a bright mirror, he saw within his own belly six hundred million nayutas of hundreds of thousands of bodhisattvas seated cross-legged on lotus flowers in the rightly received samādhi. And he saw sun-filaments encircling his body, and from the flowers there came music of every kind.

He also saw that king, blood pouring from him and staining his body, running about in all four directions, his face like a pig’s and devouring worms of every kind, and sitting beneath an eraṇḍa tree, with measureless beings coming to eat his body until only the linked bones were left; and receiving a body again and again in the same way.

He also saw the princes with the faces of pigs, elephants, water-buffalo, lions, foxes, wolves, tigers, leopards, monkeys, and the rest, their bodies stained with blood and all devouring beings, sitting beneath eraṇḍa trees, with measureless beings coming to eat their bodies until the linked bones came apart; and receiving a body again and again in the same way.

He also saw a prince wearing sumanā flowers as a necklace, riding in a small broken cart drawn by a water-buffalo, running southward along a road that was not the right one.

He also saw the Four Great Heavenly Kings, Śakra, and the great Brahmā king come to him and say to the brahmin: of all the lotus flowers on your four sides, you should first take one flower and give it to the wheel-turning king, and give one flower to each of the princes, and the remaining flowers to the lesser kings, and then to your own sons and to the rest. And he distributed them all — and suddenly awoke.

Recalling all the things he had seen in the dream, he came to know that the sage-king’s vow was lowly and that he loved and delighted in birth and death; and he came to know the resolve the princes had raised, that they sought the hearers’ vehicle — for which reason he had dreamed of sumanā flowers worn as a necklace and of a water-buffalo cart running southward on a road that was not the right one.

And why did I dream of these things? Because the buddhas and world-honored ones, seeing that I had earlier taught and exhorted measureless beings within Jambudvīpa and settled them all in the three grounds of merit, made them give rise to the mind of enlightenment, and invited the Buddha and the saṅgha and provided them with all they needed for a full seven years (Source: Sūtra of the Brahmin Jewel Inviting the Tathāgata).

In the kingdom of Śrāvastī there was a brahmin who had a great deal of land planted in the Jeta Grove area, and he went to look at it and was glad, thinking his wish fulfilled. That very night the sky rained great hail and the crops all died; and his daughter died as well, and in his grief and vexation he wept and nothing could stop him.

Then the monks went into the city for alms and saw both these things, and came back and told the Buddha in full. Xūxiàng the brahmin came in person to where the Buddha was and bowed his head and face.

The Buddha knew his thought and said to the brahmin: in the world there are five things that cannot be escaped. First, what must be diminished; second, what must be lost; third, what must fall sick and waste; fourth, what must grow old and decay; fifth, what must die. Only the truth of the path gets free of them — giving and keeping the precepts.

The brahmin’s mind softened and he saw the four truths, and from that day took refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṅgha and became a lay follower of pure faith.

The monks said to the Buddha: World-Honored One, you have released the brahmin’s mind and he goes away smiling. The Buddha said: this is not the only time I have released his grief.

In the past, in the land of Jambudvīpa, there were five rulers. One of them was named Jié the Greedy, who governed his kingdom unjustly. His ministers and people brought out troops and drew their blades and came all before the king and said to him: had you not better know it yourself — you have been greedy and have harmed the myriad people. Get out of the kingdom quickly, or we shall kill you.

The king, greatly trembling, went out of the kingdom with carriages and horsemen, and wove rush mats himself and sold them to keep himself alive; and the ministers and people set up the king’s younger brother as king, who governed without wronging the people.

The former king sent up a letter setting out his case, and begged of the king one hamlet by which he might keep himself, and the king gave it to him. Having got one hamlet he governed it well, and then begged for two hamlets, and so on up to half the kingdom, and the king gave him all of it.

After a long time of this, Jié the Greedy conceived a thought and raised the troops of half the kingdom to attack his brother, and, winning at once, got back his former kingdom. Then he raised the troops of one kingdom to attack the second, and doubling his forces in turn attacked the fifth kingdom, and won every time; and the four seas all belonged to him, and he changed his title to Great Victor.

Śakra tested him, to see whether he knew what was enough. He transformed himself into a young brahmin boy of the Jūyí clan, hair unbound, with a golden staff and a golden vessel, and stood at the palace gate and was announced to the king. The king came forward and sat with him, and when the courtesies were done he said to the king: I have come from the seashore, where I saw a great kingdom, its people flourishing and having many treasures; you might go and attack it. I do not know whether you have enough already, or would like this too. The king said: I would like it.

The heavenly king said to him: you may fit out ships and raise troops and wait; in seven days’ time I shall take the king there. And having said so he vanished.

When the day came the king raised troops and fitted out the ships, and the brahmin did not come, and he was grieved and unhappy. Then the people of a whole kingdom turned about and faced the king: when the king wept they wept, and when the king grieved they grieved. And the king conceived this thought:

“Increasing thought follows desire; / having it already, one wishes for more. / To grow greater by the day is taken for joy — / from getting, one is at one’s ease.”

Whoever could explain it was to be rewarded with a thousand gold coins. There was a youth named Uttara who said he could explain it, and asked for seven days to come and answer. On the seventh day he said to his mother: I mean to release the king’s grief. His mother said to her son: stop, my child, do not go; the affairs of kings are difficult. Her son said: I have the strength to master it.

He came to the king and said: I have come now to answer the meaning — and spoke a verse. And King Great Victor presented him with a thousand gold coins. Great Victor is Xūxiàng the brahmin; and the youth Uttara of that time is myself (Source: Arthapada Sūtra, first fascicle).

Long ago the brahmin Māgandiya had a daughter of beautiful form, whom kings, princes, great ministers, and elders had all sought and not obtained. Seeing the Buddha, gold-colored and with the thirty-two marks, he thought: a man like this is a match for my daughter — and I shall give her to him.

He went home and said to his wife: I have now found a son-in-law who surpasses our daughter. And he adorned his daughter with jewels and necklaces of every kind and took her out of the city.

The mother saw the Buddha’s footprints, their lines clearly showing, and said to the father: I would have you know that you go out for nothing and will get no son-in-law. And she spoke this verse:

“A lustful man walks dragging his heel; / an angry man walks with his toes drawn in; / a deluded man stumbles his foot on the ground. / These footprints are the honored one of gods and men.”

The father said: foolish woman, making trouble for her daughter — and took the girl to where the Buddha was, holding her arm with his left hand and a vessel in his right, and said to the Buddha: I now bestow this daughter on you as a wife. The girl, seeing the Buddha’s form, was bound with a lustful intent and her heart burned. The Buddha then spoke this verse:

“Seeing the three daughters of the evil one, / I did not even wish for wrongful lust. / Now, holding a bag of dung and urine — / I would not even touch it with my foot.” (Source: Arthapada Sūtra, first fascicle)

Long ago there was a brahmin who went forth to study young, and at sixty had not been able to attain the path; and by rule he ought to go home. He took a wife and became a householder, and had a son, handsome and lovable; and at seven years old the boy suddenly took a grave illness and died in a night.

The brahmin, in his grief, lay over the corpse and fainted and revived again; and his relatives reasoned with him and by force took the body away and coffined and buried it outside the city.

The brahmin thought: my weeping now is of no use at all. Better to go to King Yama’s place and beg for my son’s life. He bathed and kept the fast and took flowers and incense and set out from his house, and asked people everywhere: where does King Yama hold his court?

Going on several thousand li he came into the deep mountains, and saw brahmins there and asked as before. They answered: you ask where King Yama holds his court — what do you seek? He answered: I had a son who died a few days ago, and I wish to go to King Yama’s place and beg for my son’s life.

The brahmins pitied his folly and told him: King Yama’s court is not a place living men can reach; but I shall show you a way. Go west from here some four hundred li, and there is a great river with a city in it. This is the city where the heavenly spirits rest when they patrol the world, and King Yama always passes through it on the fourth day of the month when he patrols. Keep the fast and go there and you will certainly see him.

He went off in delight, and coming into that river valley saw fine city walls, palaces, and buildings, like the Trāyastriṃśa heaven. The brahmin came to the gate and burned incense and stood on one leg and made his prayer, asking for his son. King Yama ordered that he be brought in, and the brahmin said: late in life I had a son, meaning to provide for my old age; I raised him seven years and he died a few days ago. I ask only that the great king bestow his kindness and give me back my son’s life.

The king said: very good. Your son is now playing in the eastern garden; go and fetch him yourself.

So he went and saw his son playing with other small boys, and embraced him and wept, saying: day and night I have thought of you and neither food nor sleep is sweet to me. Do you not think of your father and mother’s bitter toil?

The small boy shouted him off and scolded him: foolish and doddering old man, who does not understand how things are. To lodge with someone a little while is called being their son. Do not talk so much nonsense; you had better go quickly. I have my own father and mother here.

The brahmin, disconsolate, wept and went away, and thought to himself: I have heard that the śramaṇa Gautama knows the way of the transformations of people’s souls; I shall go and ask him.

So he came back to the Buddha, bowed his head and made obeisance, and set the whole matter out before him: he is truly my son and he will not come back, and calls me a doddering old fool, and says that to lodge a little while is called calling another one’s son, and that there is no feeling of father and son at all. Why should this be?

The Buddha told the brahmin: you are truly foolish. When a person dies the spirit goes and takes on another form; parents, wife, and children dwell together by causes and conditions, like guests lodging together who separate when they rise. The brahmin heard it and his mind opened at a stroke, and he bowed his head and offered himself and asked to be a śramaṇa. The Buddha said: excellent. His hair and beard fell away of themselves and the Dharma robe was on his body, and he became a monk at once, and on that seat attained arhatship (Source: Dharmapada, “Practice of the Path” chapter, fascicle 4).

Long ago there was a brahmin, wealthy and learned, who did not believe in the right path. He argued with śramaṇas several times and was worsted, and heard each time that a śramaṇa who eats what people give in faith and cannot apply himself with diligence will become an ox or a horse after death and pay the donor’s household back.

So he made a secret plan: he would lay on a meal and collect on it in a later life, and make them work for his living. He was miserly by nature, and came suddenly to a monastery where there were five hundred religious, and invited them all and set out food with added reverence, more abundant and better than others gave — meaning to secure five hundred oxen and horses.

One of the elders had already attained the fourth fruit and was an arhat, and, knowing his thought, called the karmadāna and instructed the monks: let every one of you be single-minded, and each of you speak a verse, and let it be done together with added reverence.

The elder said to him: the debt is already paid; you will get no oxen or horses. The brahmin said in astonishment: the religious is a divine sage and knew my thought before I spoke it.

The elder then told the monks in full: when you have received food, keep the path in mind with a loving heart and recite one line of the Dharma, and you could swallow Mount Sumeru and still digest it — how much more a small meal like this. The brahmin was deeply ashamed, and the elder therefore taught him the Dharma and set out the essential meaning at length; and his mind opened and he received the path and awoke to the traces of it (Source: Essential Matters from the Sūtras).

Long ago there was a brahmin who had made it a rule never to see the Buddha, and slipped into another’s house. The great sage took pity on him and appeared before his eyes; and, wishing to avoid him, he ran and could not get away, and came to where the Buddha was. Then the World-Honored One taught him the sūtra Dharma, and joy arose in his heart; and he took refuge in the Dharma and the Saṅgha and received the precepts and circled the Buddha and went away.

He then took a bowl and filled it with honey and lifted it in both hands, wishing to offer it to the Buddha. The Buddha told the monks: take this bowl of honey and distribute it to the community. And that one bowl of honey satisfied the Buddha and the whole community, and the bowl was as full as before.

He offered it to the Buddha again, and the Buddha told the brahmin: put it into the great water, the measureless current. The brahmin asked why. The Buddha said: so that the worms, snails, soft-shelled turtles, alligators, fish, and hard-shelled turtles in the water may all get the taste of it. And the brahmin did as he was taught.

The World-Honored One smiled with pleasure and sent out a light of five colors that rose to the Brahmā heaven and shone over the five destinies, and came back and circled his body three times. When a prediction is given to a bodhisattva the light enters at the crown; to a solitary buddha, at the mouth; to a hearer, at the arm; when heavenly merit is spoken of, at the navel; when a human birth is spoken of, at the knee; when the hells, hungry ghosts, and animals are spoken of, at the feet.

Ānanda rose from his seat and with joined palms said to the Buddha: the Buddha does not smile idly; a smile always has a meaning. The Buddha told Ānanda: did you see the brahmin offering honey to the Buddha? He answered: yes. This brahmin, in the ages to come, shall for twenty kalpas not fall into an evil destiny, and after twenty kalpas shall become a solitary buddha named Honey-Complete.

The monks said: this brahmin, with one bowl of honey, has benefited many and obtains the state of a solitary buddha. The Buddha told the monks: it is not only in this life that this brahmin has done so; in a former life it was the same.

In the past there was a brahmin dwelling quietly in seclusion who saw a divine sage; and someone said: this sage is excellent, auspicious, and hard to come near; you should go and receive from him. And another said: what use is it to see this fellow who only feeds his own body? There was a sage of the five powers who saw what was in their minds, and rose from among the trees into the air and stood before that man; and, seeing him, he leapt for joy, and filled a bowl with honey and presented it to him. The sage received it and flew off into the air; and by the virtue of that gift he afterward became a king named Honey-Complete, governed his kingdom by the true Dharma, and when his life ended was born in heaven.

The Buddha told the monks: would you know the sage of the five powers of that time? It was myself. The brahmin of that time is this brahmin now. Because he gave honey then and received the merit of gods and men, he now again gives to the Buddha, and afterward reaches the state of a solitary buddha (Source: Sūtra of Honey-Complete).

There was a brahmin in Rājagṛha who heard that the people of the kingdom of Śrāvastī were much given to filial support, upheld the sūtras, cultivated the path, and served the Three Honored Ones; and, wishing to gain learning, he went at once to receive instruction.

Not far from the kingdom he saw a father and son ploughing and sowing, and a venomous snake came out and bit the son and killed him. The father went on ploughing and sowing without stopping and did not even look round.

The brahmin asked him about it, and the ploughman in turn asked: where do you come from? The brahmin answered: I have come from Rājagṛha. Hearing that the people of this country are much given to filial support and serve the Three Jewels, I have come to learn. Whose son was that just now? He said: my son. He said: if he is your son, why do you not grieve, but go on ploughing and sowing instead?

The man answered: a person born must die; a thing made must decay. There is nothing that grieving and weeping can do about it. And if I do not eat and drink, what good does that do the dead? If you are going into the city, call at my house on the way and tell them my son is dead and not to bring food for two.

The brahmin thought privately: people have no natural feeling. His child lies dead on the ground and he is calm and ungrieving and asks for his dinner instead.

He went into the city of Śrāvastī and came to the ploughman’s house and saw the dead boy’s mother and said to her: your son is dead, and his father says to bring food for one only. The boy’s mother said: it is like a guest who comes and lodges; he does not find it hard to come and does not stay when he goes. This boy was like that. Being born, he came of himself; dying, he goes alone. It is not in my power to advance or hold him back; he follows his own former conduct and pursues the life he is to be born into.

He spoke to the sister as well, and the sister too explained impermanence by simile. The brahmin said to the wife: your husband is dead. And the wife set out a simile for the brahmin. He spoke to the servant boy: your master is dead. And the servant boy set out a simile too.

The brahmin, hearing this, was affected in his heart and his eyes darkened and he did not know east from west: I heard that this country is given to filial support and serves the Three Jewels, and so I came to learn; and there is no goodness in it. Meeting these five without natural feeling, I have wearied body and mind for nothing.

And he asked passers-by where the Buddha was. They answered: nearby, in the Jetavana, Anāthapiṇḍada’s park. The brahmin came at once to where the Buddha was, bowed at the Buddha’s feet and sat to one side, grieved and unhappy, hanging his head and saying nothing.

The Buddha knew his mind and said to the brahmin: why are you unhappy? The brahmin answered: because it has gone against my original wish, and so I grieve. The Buddha asked: how so? — and he told the whole matter.

The Buddha said: it is not so; what you say is not right. These five people have natural feeling in the highest degree. They know that life is impermanent and that grieving can do nothing about it, and so, having settled themselves in it, they have no grief. Worldly people, not knowing impermanence, are distressed and weep and cannot cut it off in themselves. It is as when a person’s body takes a fever and, not aware of itself, raves in delirium; a good physician gives medicine and the fever is cured and the raving stops. Worldly people, grieving in the fever of folly, cannot free themselves; if they understood impermanence of themselves they would no longer grieve — as with the fever cured. All five of those people can be witnesses to the path.

The brahmin, hearing this, reproached himself: I have been foolish and dark and did not know the great meaning. Hearing the Buddha’s words now is like a blind man getting eyes and seeing light in the dark. And he received the five precepts and bowed his head and withdrew (Source: Sūtra of the Five Without Reciprocity).

Four brahmin brothers each attained the five supernormal powers, and knew that in seven days’ time their lives would all be exhausted. They conferred together: the strength of the five powers turns heaven and earth over, takes hold of the sun and moon, moves mountains and stops rivers, and there is nothing it cannot do. Should it not be able to escape this death that awaits us?

One said: I shall go into the great sea, and not come up to the surface or go down to the bottom, but hold myself just in the middle; and how shall the death-demon of impermanence know where I am? One said: I shall go into Mount Sumeru and close its surface behind me so that no edge shows; and how shall the death-demon of impermanence know where I am? One said: I shall raise myself lightly and hide in empty space; and how shall the death-demon of impermanence know where I am? One said: I shall hide myself in the middle of the great market; the death-demon of impermanence has only to get one person — why should it look for me?

The four having settled it, they went together to take leave of the king: our allotted lifespan has seven days left, and we now mean to flee for our lives. If we get free, we shall come back and pay our respects. We ask you only to advance in virtue. And with that they parted.

When the seven days were up, each of them died, like fruit falling when ripe. The market inspector reported to the king that a brahmin had suddenly died in the market. Then the king understood: of the four men fleeing what awaited them, one is already dead; how should the other three alone escape?

The king had his carriage made ready and went to where the Buddha was, made obeisance, sat to one side and said: recently there were four brahmin brothers, each of whom obtained the five powers and, knowing their lives were exhausted, all went to escape it. I do not know whether they can get free.

The Buddha told the great king: there are four things a person cannot be parted from. First, being in the intermediate state, one cannot but take birth. Second, being born, one cannot but grow old. Third, growing old, one cannot but fall sick. Fourth, falling sick, one cannot but die (Source: Dharmapada, fascicle 3).

There was a lay follower of pure faith whose wife was beautiful and of unmatched dignity and virtue, articulate in speech and respected by all; and her husband did not value her and did not even like the sight of her, and loved a servant instead.

His wife, seeing her husband’s mind, said to him: you do not like me. I ask leave to go forth. Her husband gave her leave, and she went forth at once as a nun; and, applying herself diligently day and night, she practiced the path and before long attained arhatship.

Afterward the woman the lay follower had valued died, and the lay follower called the nun to come back; and the nun would not at all. The nun told the Buddha and set out the whole matter.

The Buddha said: this lay follower has already, in a former life, insulted and humiliated this virtuous person. This woman has an exceptional resolve, and this man has always been the one who ruined and disturbed it; and now she has entered upon the great road, he wishes to ruin it again, and he cannot.

The Buddha said: in a past age there was a brahmin’s wife named Lotus, upright and beyond compare in the world, and the brahmin did not like her, and what he loved was a maidservant. Taking the maid’s advice, he abandoned his wife in the mountains: he climbed an udumbara tree and picked out the ripe fruit and threw the unripe down to his wife.

His wife asked: sir, you eat the ripe fruit yourself and throw the unripe down to another? Her husband said: you may come up the tree. So his wife climbed the tree, and her husband took thorns and briars and blocked the tree all round, meaning that she should die and not get down.

At that time the king of the country was out hunting, and, seeing the woman’s beauty, asked her: who are you? And she set out the whole matter. The king thought: this brahmin is a foolish dolt without understanding, and no man at all. And he cleared away the thorns and briars and took her back in a carriage into the palace and set her up as queen.

She had many skills and her wisdom and eloquence were unmatched, and she was good at board games besides; and women came from near and far to play against her, and the queen always won and there was no one who could match her.

The brahmin was good at the board, and hearing from afar that the queen won, he thought: this is my former wife and no other. And he meant to go to the king and display his skill. The queen heard of a brahmin and knew from his appearance that this was her former husband, and told the king and had him presented; and from a distance she tried him at the board, and the queen answered in verse.

The brahmin’s heart was filled with shame and resentment, and he reproached himself, and his regret was of no use at all. The brahmin of that time is this lay follower now; the wife of that time is this wife now; and the king of that country is myself (Source: Sūtra of Husband and Wife).

There was a brahmin of wealth beyond number who had just one son, twenty years old, newly married and not yet seven days wed. In the third month of spring the husband and wife went together to the rear garden to amuse themselves; and there was a tall and fine mango tree in flower, and the wife wanted some and there was no one to get it for her. Her husband, knowing her wish, climbed the tree; and just as he had picked one flower he wanted a second, and the branch he had climbed onto broke and he fell to the ground and died.

Great and small ran in confusion to where the son was, and cried out to heaven and wept and fainted and revived; and the clan, beyond counting, all grieved together. Those who heard of it were pained at heart and those who saw it were sorrowful. His father and mother blamed heaven for not protecting him; and when the coffining was over they went home and wept and could not stop themselves.

Then the World-Honored One, in pity for their folly, went to ask after them; and great and small, seeing the Buddha, were moved to grief and set out their bitterness in full.

The Buddha said to the elder: rest and hear the Dharma. The ten thousand things are impermanent and cannot be kept long; where there is birth there is death, and offense and merit pursue one another. In three places this son is being wept over, and the anguish and prostration are hard to bear in each. Whose son is he in the end, and which are his kin? And the World-Honored One then spoke this verse:

“Life is like flowers and fruit ripening, / always in fear of falling; / all that is born has suffering — / who can bring it about that they do not die? / From the first, delighting in craving and desire, / going down into lust, entering the fragile shadow; / receiving a form, life is like lightning, / flowing day and night, hard to stop. / This body is a thing for death; / the spirit is a formless dharma. / It causes what dies to be born again, / and offense and merit do not fail or stop. / Beginning and end are not of one life; / from folly and craving it is long drawn out. / One makes it oneself and receives its suffering and joy; / the body dies and the spirit is not lost.”

The elder heard the verse and his mind opened and he forgot his grief, and knelt at length and said to the Buddha: what offense did this son commit in a former life, that in the prime and beauty of his years he should die untimely? I ask only that you explain the offense of his former conduct.

The Buddha said: long ago there was a small boy who went with a bow and arrows into a spirit-tree grove to play, and three men beside him were looking at a sparrow in the tree. The boy meant to shoot it, and the three men urged him: if you can hit it, the world will call you a fine fellow. The boy, pleased in his mind, drew the bow and shot it, and hit the sparrow and it died; and the three men laughed together and helped him, and went off each in delight.

Passing through birth and death for countless kalpas, they met one another wherever they were and received the retribution together. Of the three men, one has merit and is now in heaven; one was born in the sea as a spontaneously born nāga king; and one is the elder himself today.

This small boy was born in heaven before this and was a god’s son; and when that life ended he came down and became this elder’s son. Falling from the tree, his life was cut off, and he was at once born in the sea as a spontaneously born nāga’s son; and on the very day of his birth the garuḍa king took and ate him. Can the anguish and weeping in three places today be put into words? Because in his former life he helped and delighted in it, these three men are repaid with weeping (Source: Dharmapada Parables Sūtra, fascicle 5).

The king, great ministers, and people of the kingdom of Śrāvastī revered the World-Honored One and made him offerings of the four requisites, and abandoned the brahmins. The brahmins conferred: we should find a fine woman and kill her and bury her among the trees, so that the name of Gautama’s company will be widely heard as evil and people will treat us as before.

So together they pressed and instructed a woman named Sundarī: from now on, go morning and evening to the Buddha, and let the myriad people see and know it. The girl followed the instruction — and then they killed her and buried her among the trees.

The brahmins then gathered at the palace gate and cried out their grievance: among our students there was one woman, alone the most beautiful, in the flower of her looks and unmatched, and we do not know whether she is alive or dead or where she is. The king said to them: where did she regularly go? They answered: to Gautama’s place. The king said: you should seek her there.

The messengers went to the Jeta Grove and dug out the woman’s corpse and laid it on a bed, and cried their grievance through all the lanes: the śramaṇa Gautama constantly proclaims the virtue of the precepts, vast and unsurpassed — how then has he had private dealings with a woman, and killed her besides and hidden her away? What Dharma or precept is there in that?

Then the monks went into the city to beg for food, and the people scolded them: these śramaṇas who commit such things — should they get clothing and food? And the monks came out of the city with empty vessels and went back and told the Buddha. The Buddha told the monks: I am under this slander for no more than seven days.

Then a woman named Wéiyán, in the city, heard that the monks seeking food had all come back with empty vessels, and came to the Buddha and bowed her head and face and with joined palms said to the Buddha: I ask the Buddha and the saṅgha to eat at my house for seven days. And the Buddha accepted in silence.

The Buddha told Ānanda: go with the community into the lanes of the city and speak this verse:

“Constantly deceiving, upside down, in the dark of wrongness, / they say they have done it while their own bodies have not offended. / Doing so, they shall have the heavy dark in full / and must certainly receive the grief and suffering themselves.”

And Wéiyán at that time fed the Buddha and the saṅgha (Source: Arthapada Sūtra, first fascicle).