The Merchant's Priceless Pearl, and the Last Offering

At that time, the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, Cunda still harbors a doubt in his heart even now — I ask only that the Tathāgata explain it once again, so that it may be entirely removed." The Buddha said: "Good son, what is this doubt? You should state it, and I shall remove it." Mañjuśrī said: "Cunda's heart doubts the Tathāgata's own permanent abiding. Because of the power of coming to know and see buddha-nature — if seeing buddha-nature makes one permanent, then, before it was ever seen, one should have been impermanent. And if one was originally impermanent, one should remain so afterward as well. Why is this? Just as things in the world, originally non-existent, now exist, and, having existed, cease to exist again — every such thing is entirely impermanent — and it is for this very reason that there should be no difference at all among every buddha, bodhisattva, śrāvaka, and pratyekabuddha."

The World-Honored One then spoke this verse:

"What once existed, now does not; what once did not exist, now does.
That any dharma should exist across all three times at once — this could not possibly be so."

"Good son, it is for this very reason that every buddha, bodhisattva, śrāvaka, and pratyekabuddha is both different and not different at all." Mañjuśrī praised him, saying: "Excellent — truly, as the noble teaching declares, I now, for the first time, understand that every buddha, bodhisattva, śrāvaka, and pratyekabuddha is both different and not different at all."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, the Tathāgata has taught that the nature of every buddha, bodhisattva, śrāvaka, and pratyekabuddha is without difference — I ask only that the Tathāgata explain this at length, for the benefit and ease of every being."

The Buddha said: "Good son, listen closely, listen closely, and I shall explain this for you. Good son, it is like an elder, or an elder's son, who keeps many milk cows of every different color, always entrusting a single person to guard and tend them. This person, on a certain occasion, for the sake of a sacrificial offering, milks every cow into a single vessel, and, seeing that the milk is entirely the same white color, is at once astonished — 'The cows are each so different in color — how could their milk all be one and the same color?' This person then reflects: 'It must be that this is entirely due to the karmic causes and conditions of these beings themselves, causing the milk's color to be one.' Good son, śrāvakas, pratyekabuddhas, and bodhisattvas are just the same: they share one and the same buddha-nature, exactly like that milk. Why is this? Because they equally exhaust the same outflows. Yet beings say: 'The Buddha, the bodhisattvas, the śrāvakas, and the pratyekabuddhas are different from one another' — there are śrāvakas and ordinary people who doubt the three vehicles, asking, 'How could there be no difference at all?' Such beings, in time, come to understand for themselves that all three vehicles share one and the same buddha-nature, just as that person came to understand the milk's own appearance, through the causes and conditions of karma.

"Furthermore, good son, it is like gold ore, which, once its dross and impurities are washed and smelted away, and it is then refined, becomes gold of immeasurable value. Good son, śrāvakas, pratyekabuddhas, and bodhisattvas are just the same: every one of them comes to accomplish this same, single buddha-nature. Why is this? Because they remove affliction, exactly as that ore has its dross and impurities removed. It is for this very reason that every being shares one and the same buddha-nature, without any difference at all. Having first heard of the Tathāgata's own secret treasury, they come, once they have accomplished buddhahood, to know this naturally of themselves, exactly as that elder came to know the milk's single appearance. Why is this? Because they have cut off countless millions of afflictions."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, if every being possesses buddha-nature, what difference could there then be between the Buddha and beings? A teaching of this kind carries many faults. And if every being possesses buddha-nature, for what cause and condition does Śāriputra and others enter the lesser nirvāṇa and attain final release there, while pratyekabuddhas enter the middling nirvāṇa and attain final release there, and bodhisattvas enter the great nirvāṇa and attain final release there? If people of this kind share the very same buddha-nature, why do they not attain final release in the very same nirvāṇa as the Tathāgata?"

"Good son, the nirvāṇa that every buddha, every world-honored one, attains is not the nirvāṇa that any śrāvaka or pratyekabuddha attains — and it is for this very reason that Mahāparinirvāṇa is called the true existent good. Were there no buddha in the world, this would not mean there is no such thing as the two lesser vehicles attaining their own two nirvāṇas." Kāśyapa said further: "What is the meaning of this?" The Buddha said: "Only once in countless, boundless asaṃkhyeya kalpas does a single buddha appear in the world, opening up and revealing the three vehicles. Good son, as for what you have said — that bodhisattvas and the two lesser vehicles are without difference — I have already spoken to this meaning earlier, within the Tathāgata's own secret treasury of this Mahāparinirvāṇa. No arhat possesses this true existent good. Why is this? Because every arhat will, in time, without fail, attain this very Mahāparinirvāṇa. It is for this very reason that Mahāparinirvāṇa possesses the ultimate bliss, and is for this reason called Mahāparinirvāṇa."

Kāśyapa said: "As the Buddha has taught it, I now, for the first time, understand the meaning of difference and of no difference. Why is this? Because every bodhisattva, śrāvaka, and pratyekabuddha will, in an age to come, without exception, return to this Mahāparinirvāṇa, exactly as every stream returns at last to the great ocean — and this is why śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas are entirely called permanent, not impermanent at all. It is for this very reason that there is both difference and no difference." Kāśyapa said: "In what way, then, does their nature differ?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, the śrāvaka is like milk, the pratyekabuddha is like curds, the bodhisattva is like raw and refined butter, and every buddha, every world-honored one, is like ghee. It is for this very reason that four kinds of nature, and their differences, are taught within this Mahāparinirvāṇa." Kāśyapa said further: "What, then, is the nature and mark of every being in general?" The Buddha said: "Good son, it is like a cow newly calved, in whom milk and blood are not yet distinguished — the nature of the ordinary person, mixed together with every affliction, is just the same."

Kāśyapa said further: "In the city of Kuśinagara there is a caṇḍāla named Joy, and the Buddha has predicted of this man that, through a single arising of the resolve for awakening, he will swiftly accomplish the unsurpassed, true path, counted among the thousand buddhas of this present age. For what reason does the Tathāgata not predict that the venerable Śāriputra, Maudgalyāyana, and others will swiftly accomplish buddhahood?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, there are some śrāvakas, pratyekabuddhas, and bodhisattvas who make this very vow: 'I shall protect and uphold the true Dharma for a long, long time, and only then accomplish the unsurpassed path to buddhahood.' Because they have made a vow for something swift, they are given a swift prediction. Furthermore, good son, it is like a merchant who owns a priceless jewel and goes to market to sell it. A foolish person, seeing it, fails to recognize its worth, and laughs it off. The jewel's owner calls out: 'This jewel of mine is worth beyond counting!' Hearing this, the foolish person laughs all the more, saying to others around him: 'This is no genuine treasure — it is only glass.' Good son, śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas are just the same: should they hear of a swift prediction, they become indolent, laughing it off as something cheap and worthless, exactly like that foolish person who fails to recognize a genuine treasure. In an age to come, there will be monks unable to cultivate wholesome dharmas with any real diligence, driven by poverty, hardship, and hunger into going forth merely to sustain their own bodies, their minds frivolous and restless, their livelihood crooked and dishonest — and should such monks hear that the Tathāgata has granted a swift prediction to certain śrāvakas, they will laugh loudly, treating it with contempt and scorn. Know that people of this kind have already broken the precepts, and falsely claim to have already attained a superhuman attainment. It is for this very reason that, according to whether one has made a vow for something swift, a swift prediction is given accordingly — but to one who protects the true Dharma, a distant prediction is given instead."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha again: "World-Honored One, how does a bodhisattva-mahāsattva come to attain a following that can never be broken apart?" The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Should any bodhisattva diligently strive with all his energy, wishing to protect the true Dharma, then, through this very cause and condition, the following he attains can never be destroyed."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha again: "World-Honored One, for what cause and condition do beings come to have their own lips and mouths parched dry?" The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Should anyone fail to recognize that the Three Jewels abide permanently, then, through this very cause and condition, his lips and mouth become parched and dry — like a person whose own palate has gone dull, unable to distinguish the six flavors of sweet, bitter, pungent, sour, salty, and bland. Every being, foolish and without wisdom, fails to recognize that the Three Jewels are an ever-abiding Dharma, and this is why they are said to have their lips and mouth parched dry. Furthermore, good son, should any being fail to know that the Tathāgata abides permanently, know that such a person is blind from birth. Should anyone know that the Tathāgata abides permanently, then, though such a person still has only the physical eye, I say that he possesses what is called the heavenly eye. Furthermore, good son, should anyone be able to know that the Tathāgata is permanent, know that such a person has long ago already cultivated scriptures of this kind — I likewise say that he possesses the heavenly eye. Yet should anyone, though possessing the heavenly eye, be unable to know that the Tathāgata is permanent, I say that such a person has only the physical eye — such a person does not even recognize his own hands, feet, or limbs, nor is he able to make others recognize them either, and it is for this very reason that he is said to have only the physical eye."

"Furthermore, good son, the Tathāgata is forever a parent to every being. Why is this? Every being, of every different form and kind — two-footed, four-footed, many-footed, footless — hears the Buddha teach the Dharma in a single voice, and every one of these different kinds comes to understand it for himself, each one exclaiming: 'The Tathāgata teaches the Dharma today for my own sake alone.' It is for this very reason that he is called a parent.

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a person's own child, who, at sixteen months old, though he can already babble, cannot yet be clearly understood. And should his parents, wishing to teach him language, first imitate his own sounds, gradually teaching him in this way — could this speech of the parents be called improper?" "No, World-Honored One!" "Good son, every buddha, every tathāgata, is just the same: he teaches the Dharma according to every different sound and language of beings, and, in order to establish them securely in the true Dharma, manifests, according to what each is able to perceive, every kind of different form. The Tathāgata, imitating their own speech in this way — could this be called improper?" "No, World-Honored One! Why is this? What the Tathāgata teaches is like the lion's own roar, according with every different sound of the world, in order to praise and expound the wondrous Dharma for the sake of beings."

At that time, the World-Honored One sent forth, from his own face, light of every color — blue, yellow, red, white, crimson, and violet — illuminating Cunda's own body. Cunda, encountering this light, together with his household, at once took up every kind of prepared food and hastened to the Buddha's own place, wishing to offer the Tathāgata and the assembled monks their final offering. Every kind of vessel, filled and complete, he carried before the Buddha. At that time, certain gods of great majesty and virtue blocked his way, surrounding him on every side, saying to Cunda: "Wait a moment, Cunda! Do not yet make your offering."

At that very moment, the Tathāgata sent forth further light of every color, immeasurable and boundless, and the assembled gods, encountering this light, at once permitted Cunda to come forward to the Buddha's own place and offer what he had brought. At that time, the gods and every being present each took up their own offerings and, coming before the Buddha, knelt with their palms joined and said to him: "We ask only that the Tathāgata permit the monks to receive this food." The monks, knowing that the time had come, took up their own robes and bowls, composed and at ease. Cunda then arranged, for the Buddha and the Saṅgha, every kind of lion-throne seat, hanging silks, banners and canopies, flowers, incense, and jeweled ornaments — and, at that time, this billion-world universe became adorned with subtle wonder, exactly like the Land of Bliss in the west. Cunda then stood before the Buddha, grief-stricken and disconsolate, and said to him once more: "I ask only that the Tathāgata, out of compassion, remain in the world for a full kalpa, or something less than a kalpa."

The Buddha said to Cunda: "Should you wish me to remain long in the world, you should now swiftly offer this final, complete pāramitā of giving." At that time, every bodhisattva-mahāsattva, every god and human of every kind, exclaimed together in a single voice: "How extraordinary, Cunda! You have accomplished such great merit and virtue, able to cause the Tathāgata to receive this final, unsurpassed offering — while we, lacking such merit, find that whatever offerings we have prepared are made in vain." At that time, the World-Honored One, wishing to satisfy the hopes of the whole assembly, manifested, from every single pore upon his own body, countless buddhas, and every one of these buddhas was, in turn, surrounded by countless monks of his own assembly. Every one of these world-honored ones, and their countless assemblies, all manifested themselves receiving this offering, while Śākyamuni Tathāgata himself received what Cunda had personally prepared and offered. At that time, the cooked grain and food Cunda had brought amounted to a full eight measures by the standard of Magadha — and, through the Buddha's own divine power, this was entirely sufficient to satisfy the whole assembly completely. Cunda, seeing this, was filled with joy, leaping with immeasurable delight, and the whole assembly was just the same.

At that time, the great assembly, sensing the Buddha's own sacred intent, each thought to themselves: "The Tathāgata has now received our offering — before long, he will surely enter nirvāṇa." Thinking this, their hearts were filled with both grief and joy at once. At that time, though the ground beneath the grove was narrow and confined, through the Buddha's own divine power, even a space no larger than the point of a needle held countless world-honored buddhas, together with their own assemblies, seated and eating, the food they ate no different from any other's. At that time, the gods, humans, and asuras wept and grieved, saying: "The Tathāgata has today already received our final offering — and, having received it, he will surely enter parinirvāṇa. Whom, then, shall we ever make offerings to again? We are now forever parted from the unsurpassed tamer of beings, left blind, without eyes at all."

At that time, the World-Honored One, wishing to console and reassure the whole assembly, spoke these verses:

"You should not grieve and lament — every buddha's own Dharma must be just so.

My own entering of nirvāṇa has already passed through countless kalpas;
I forever receive the most excellent bliss, dwelling always in a place of peace.

Listen now with utmost sincerity, and I shall speak of nirvāṇa:
I have already departed from every thought of food, and know no trouble of hunger or thirst at all.

I shall now, for your sake, speak of according with this vow —
causing every being, without exception, to attain peace and ease alike;
hear this, and you should cultivate it: every buddha's own Dharma abides permanently.

Should crow and horned owl come to roost together in a single tree,
as close as brothers born of the same womb — only then would I enter final nirvāṇa.

The Tathāgata views every being just as he views Rāhula,
forever the honored one of every being — how, then, could I enter final nirvāṇa?

Should snake, rat, and weasel come to dwell together within a single den,
loving one another as brothers — only then would I enter final nirvāṇa.

The Tathāgata views every being just as he views Rāhula,
forever the honored one of every being — how, then, could I enter final nirvāṇa?

Should the seven-petaled flower come to carry the fragrance of vārṣika,
should the kaliṅga fruit tree come to bear the fruit of the tinduka —
the Tathāgata views every being just as he views Rāhula —
how could I abandon compassion, and enter final nirvāṇa?

Should even the icchantika, in this very body, accomplish the path to buddhahood,
dwelling forever in the very foremost bliss — only then would I enter nirvāṇa.

The Tathāgata views every being, every one, just as he views Rāhula —
how could I abandon compassion, and enter final nirvāṇa?

Should every being, all at once, accomplish the path to buddhahood,
departing far from every fault and affliction — only then would I enter nirvāṇa.

The Tathāgata views every being, every one, just as he views Rāhula —
how could I abandon compassion, and enter final nirvāṇa?

Should even a mosquito's own urine come to soak and dissolve this great earth,
every mountain, every hundred rivers, and the great ocean itself, filled to overflowing —
should such a thing as this ever come to be — only then would I enter nirvāṇa.

With a compassionate heart I view every being just as I view Rāhula,
forever the honored one of every being — how, then, could I enter final nirvāṇa?

For this very reason, you should delight deeply in the true Dharma,
and should not give rise to grief and affliction, wailing and weeping aloud.

Should you wish to set your own conduct right, you should cultivate the Tathāgata's own permanence,
and should contemplate this very Dharma as forever abiding, without change.

You should further give rise to this thought: the Three Jewels all abide permanently —
this is itself to attain great protection, like a spell that makes a withered tree bear fruit again.

This is what is called the Three Jewels — the fourfold assembly should listen well to this,
and, having heard it, should rejoice, and at once give rise to the mind of bodhi.

Whoever is able to hold the Three Jewels as permanently abiding, one with the ultimate truth —
this is itself the very highest vow of every buddha."

"Should any monk, nun, upāsaka, or upāsikā be able to make this vow with the same highest vow as the Tathāgata himself, know that such a person is without any folly at all, and is fit to receive offerings; through the power of this vow, the fruit and result of his merit will be the most excellent in the world, like that of an arhat. Should anyone be unable to contemplate and fully understand that the Three Jewels are permanent in this way, he is a caṇḍāla. Should anyone be able to know the true dharma and causal condition of the Three Jewels' own permanent abiding, he departs from suffering and finds peace and ease, free from any harm or hindrance at all." At that time, the great assembly of humans and gods, and the asuras, having heard this teaching, were filled with joy, leaping with immeasurable delight; their hearts grew gentle and pliant, every hindrance well dissolved, their minds free of any sense of higher or lower, their majestic virtue pure, their countenances at ease and joyful. Knowing that the Buddha abides permanently, they thereupon arranged offerings fit for the gods, scattering every kind of flower, sprinkling powdered incense, anointing with fragrant paste, and sounding heavenly music, to make offerings to the Buddha.

At that time, the Buddha said to the bodhisattva Kāśyapa: "Good son, have you seen this assembly's own rare and extraordinary event?" Kāśyapa answered: "I have seen it, World-Honored One. I have seen countless, boundless tathāgatas, beyond all reckoning, receiving the offerings of food presented by every great assembly, by gods and humans alike. I have further seen every buddha's own body, vast and magnificent, seated upon a space no larger than the point of a needle, surrounded by countless multitudes without any obstruction at all. I have further seen the whole assembly give rise to their own vows, as the thirteen verses were spoken. I likewise know that everyone in the assembly thought to themselves: 'The Tathāgata now receives my offering alone.' Even were Cunda's own offered food ground as fine as dust, with a single buddha for every single mote of dust, it would still not be enough to go around — and yet, through the Buddha's own divine power, it entirely satisfies the whole assembly completely. Only the bodhisattva-mahāsattvas, and the Dharma-prince Mañjuśrī, are able to know this rare and extraordinary event for what it truly is — entirely a manifestation of the Tathāgata's own skillful means. The assembly of śrāvakas, and the asuras, all know only that the Tathāgata is an ever-abiding Dharma."

The World-Honored One then said to Cunda: "What you now see — is this not a rare and extraordinary event?" "It is truly so, World-Honored One! What I saw before were countless buddhas, their bodies adorned with the thirty-two marks and eighty minor characteristics — and now I see them all transformed into bodhisattva-mahāsattvas, their forms and bearing wondrous and strange, vast and uniquely subtle; I see only the Buddha's own body, likened to a medicinal tree, surrounded by every one of these bodhisattva-mahāsattvas." The Buddha said to Cunda: "The countless buddhas you saw before are my own manifestations, created for the sake of benefiting every being, causing them to rejoice. The conduct these bodhisattva-mahāsattvas practice is beyond conceptual thought, able to accomplish the work of countless buddhas. Cunda, you yourself have now already accomplished the conduct of a bodhisattva-mahāsattva, and abide securely at the tenth ground — the bodhisattva's own practice, fully and completely accomplished in you."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, it is so, it is so — as the Buddha has taught, Cunda's own cultivation has accomplished the bodhisattva path, and I too rejoice in this. The Tathāgata now teaches this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle for the sake of shedding great light for countless beings in ages to come. World-Honored One, does every scripture the Buddha has taught carry a meaning left unsaid, or a meaning fully and completely stated?" "Good son, what I have taught carries both a meaning left unsaid, and a meaning fully and completely stated."

Cunda said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught: 'Whatever one possesses, giving it away to anyone at all deserves only praise, and can never be a loss.' World-Honored One, what is the meaning of this? What difference, then, is there between keeping the precepts and breaking them?" The Buddha said: "Excepting only one person, every other act of giving deserves praise." Cunda asked: "What is meant by 'excepting only one person'?" The Buddha said: "It refers to what this very scripture calls breaking the precepts." Cunda said further: "I do not yet understand this — I ask only that you explain it." The Buddha said: "Cunda, one who breaks the precepts, in the sense meant here, is the icchantika; giving to anyone else, in any other circumstance, always deserves praise, and obtains a great result."

Cunda asked further: "What, then, is the meaning of icchantika?" The Buddha said: "Cunda, should any monk, nun, upāsaka, or upāsikā utter coarse and wicked words, slandering the true Dharma, committing this grave karma, never repenting of it, his heart devoid of any shame — a person of this kind is said to be heading toward the path of the icchantika. Should one commit one of the four gravest offenses, or one of the five heinous crimes, and, knowing with certainty that he has committed so grave a matter, never once feel any fear or shame over it at all, unwilling to confess it openly, harboring no wish at all to protect or establish the Buddha's own true Dharma, reviling and belittling it, speaking of it only with contempt — a person of this kind is likewise said to be heading toward the path of the icchantika. And should anyone say that there is no Buddha, no Dharma, no Saṅgha at all, a person of this kind is likewise said to be heading toward the path of the icchantika. Excepting only icchantikas of this kind, giving to anyone else at all deserves nothing but praise."

Cunda then said to the Buddha again: "World-Honored One, what, then, is the meaning of breaking the precepts?" The Buddha answered: "Cunda, should one commit one of the four gravest offenses, or one of the five heinous crimes, or slander the true Dharma, such a person is said to break the precepts." Cunda asked further: "Can breaking the precepts in this way still be redeemed?" The Buddha answered: "Cunda, given the right cause and condition, it can indeed be redeemed. Should such a person still not have discarded and departed far from his monastic robes, his heart forever holding shame and dread, reproaching himself: 'Alas — why did I commit so grave a crime? How could I possibly have brought about such a bitter karma?' — and should his heart come to repent, giving rise to a mind that protects the Dharma, wishing to establish the true Dharma: 'Whoever protects the Dharma, I shall make offerings to; whoever recites the scriptures of the Great Vehicle, I shall question and consult, receiving and upholding them, reciting them, and, once fluent in them, shall explain them at length for the sake of others' — I say that such a person has not, in the end, broken the precepts. Why is this? Good son, it is like the sun rising, able to remove every speck of dust and every darkness. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, appearing in the world, is just the same, able to remove the countless kalpas' worth of wrongdoing beings have committed — and this is why this scripture teaches that protecting the true Dharma obtains a great result, and redeems one who has broken the precepts. Should anyone who has slandered this true Dharma be able to repent of it himself, and return once more to the Dharma, reflecting upon everything unwholesome he has done as though he had injured himself, his heart filled with dread, alarm, and shame, knowing that, apart from this true Dharma, there is no other refuge or protection at all, and so should rightly return to the true Dharma — should such a person take refuge in this way, exactly as taught, then whoever gives to him obtains immeasurable merit, and such a person is himself fit to receive the world's own offerings. But should one who has committed a wrong of the kind described above let a full month pass, or even just fifteen days, without giving rise to any thought of taking refuge or confessing it, then whoever gives to such a person obtains only a very slight result. It is just the same for one who has committed one of the five heinous crimes: should he be able to give rise to a repentant heart, harboring shame within — 'What I have now done, this unwholesome deed, is truly a source of great suffering; I shall now establish and protect the true Dharma' — he is then no longer to be called one who has committed one of the five heinous crimes at all, and whoever gives to him obtains immeasurable merit. But should one who has committed such a heinous crime fail to give rise to any mind of protecting the Dharma or taking refuge in it, whoever gives to him obtains a merit scarcely worth mentioning.

"And further, good son, as for one who has committed a grave crime — listen closely now, and I shall explain this for you at length. He should give rise to this very thought: that the true Dharma is precisely the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury, and that I shall therefore protect and establish it — and whoever gives to such a person obtains a superior result. Good son, it is like a woman, pregnant and near to giving birth, who, meeting with famine and chaos in her own country, flees to another land, and, at a certain shrine of the gods, gives birth to her child there. Hearing that her old homeland has now grown peaceful and prosperous once more, she takes her child and sets out to return to her own homeland — but, midway along the road, encounters a river swollen and violent, and, carrying her child, is unable to cross it. She thinks to herself: 'I would rather perish together with my child in this one place than ever abandon him and cross alone.' Thinking this, mother and child together lose their lives in the flood. Yet, after death, she is at once reborn among the gods, her compassionate thought for her child, wishing him to reach the far shore, carrying her there — even though this woman was, by her own original nature, wicked, it was through her very love for her child that she came to be reborn among the gods. One who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, giving rise to a mind that protects the Dharma, is just the same: though he has committed unwholesome karma before, it is through this very protection of the Dharma that he becomes an unsurpassed field of merit for the world. A protector of the Dharma obtains rewards of this kind, immeasurable in number."

Cunda said further: "World-Honored One, should an icchantika himself repent, revering and making offerings to the Three Jewels, praising them — would giving to such a person obtain a great result?" The Buddha said: "Good son, you should not say this now. Good son, it is like a person who eats an āmra fruit, spits out its seed, and casts it upon the ground, then thinks to himself: 'There must surely be a sweet flavor within this seed as well.' He picks it up again, breaks it open, and tastes it, only to find its flavor exceedingly bitter, and his heart fills with regret. Fearing he has now ruined the seed, he gathers it up once more, plants it in the earth, tends it diligently, and waters it in season with ghee and milk. What do you think — could it possibly still grow?" "No, World-Honored One! Even should the heavens send down the most excellent, sweetest rain, it still could never grow." "Good son, that icchantika is just the same: having burned away his own wholesome roots entirely, in what place could he possibly still remove his own crime? Good son, should he give rise to a wholesome mind, he would thereby no longer be called an icchantika at all. Good son, it is for this very reason that every act of giving, and the result it obtains, is not without difference at all. Why is this? The result obtained by giving to a śrāvaka differs from that obtained by giving to a pratyekabuddha, and only giving to the Tathāgata obtains the unsurpassed result — and this is why it is said that no act of giving is without difference."

Cunda said further: "For what reason did the Tathāgata teach this verse?" The Buddha said: "Cunda, it was for a particular cause and condition that I taught this verse. There was, in Rājagṛha, an upāsaka without any pure faith, who served the Nirgranthas, and who came to ask me about the meaning of giving — it was for this very cause and condition that I taught this verse, and also, for the sake of the bodhisattva-mahāsattvas, taught the meaning of the secret treasury through it. What, then, is the meaning of this verse? 'Every' here means a partial 'every' — one should know that the bodhisattva-mahāsattva, foremost among humankind, gathers in those who uphold the precepts, giving them what they need, while setting aside those who have broken the precepts, as one weeds out barnyard grass."

"Furthermore, good son, it is as I once taught, of old, in this verse:

'Every river must have its bends; every grove of trees is rightly called a forest.
Every woman must harbor deceit within; whoever holds true mastery must know ease.'"

At that time, the bodhisattva-mahāsattva Mañjuśrī at once rose from his seat, bared his right shoulder, knelt with his right knee to the ground, bowed before the Buddha's own feet, and spoke this verse:

"Not every river must have its bends; not every grove is rightly called a forest of trees.
Not every woman must harbor deceit within; not everyone who holds mastery must know ease.

"The verse the Buddha has taught carries a meaning left unsaid — I ask only that you take pity, and explain its cause and condition. Why is this, World-Honored One? Within this billion-world universe, there is a continent called Godānīya, upon which there is a river called Sabhāya, running straight without a single bend, like a stretched plumb-line, flowing directly into the western sea. A river of this kind the Buddha has never yet spoken of in any other scripture — I ask only that the Tathāgata, through this very Vaipulya Āgama scripture, explain the meaning left unsaid here, so that every bodhisattva may come to understand it deeply. World-Honored One, it is like a person who once knew how to recognize gold ore, but afterward no longer knows how to recognize refined gold. The Tathāgata is just the same: though he knows the Dharma completely, what he has spoken here leaves something unsaid, not stated in full — and, though the Tathāgata has spoken in this partial way, one should discern his own true intent through skillful means. 'Every grove must be trees' likewise leaves something unsaid — why is this? Because groves of every kind of jeweled tree, of gold, silver, and lapis lazuli, are likewise called groves. 'Every woman must harbor deceit' likewise leaves something unsaid — why is this? Because there are also women who well uphold the precepts, who have accomplished virtue, and who possess great compassion. 'Whoever holds mastery must know ease' likewise leaves something unsaid — why is this? Because there is a mastery — that of the cakravartin sage-king, the Tathāgata as king of the Dharma — that does not belong to the lord of death, and cannot be extinguished; while Brahmā, Śakra, and the other gods, though they too possess a kind of mastery, are entirely impermanent. Only what abides permanently, without any change, may rightly be called mastery — namely, this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle."

The Buddha said: "Good son, you have now rightly attained the eloquence of one who delights to speak — but pause a moment, and listen closely. Mañjuśrī, it is like an elder afflicted by illness, whom a skilled physician examines and prepares a medicinal salve for. This sick man, out of craving, wishes to take much more of it than needed, and the physician tells him: 'Should you be able to digest it, you may take more; but your body is now weak, and you should not take too much. Know that this salve is called both nectar and poison — should you take too much and fail to digest it, it will become poison instead.' Good son, you should not now suppose that what this physician has said contradicts the truth, or robs the salve of its own potency. Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: for the sake of kings, queens, crown princes, princes, and ministers of every land, on account of the arrogant minds of King Prasenajit, his princes, and his queens, wishing to tame and subdue them, manifesting a warning to alarm them, just like that skilled physician, taught this very verse:

'Every river must have its bends; every grove of trees is rightly called a forest.
Every woman must harbor deceit within; whoever holds true mastery must know ease.'

Mañjuśrī, you should now know that nothing the Tathāgata teaches ever contains any real error at all — sooner could this great earth itself be turned upside down than the Tathāgata's own word ever contain error. It is for this very reason that everything the Tathāgata teaches carries a meaning left unsaid."

The Buddha then praised Mañjuśrī: "Excellent, excellent, good son! You have long since already known this very meaning — out of compassion for every being, wishing to cause beings to attain wisdom, you have asked the Tathāgata at length about the meaning of this verse."

At that time, the Dharma-prince Mañjuśrī spoke this further verse before the Buddha:

"Toward the words of others, accord with them, never contradicting;
and do not even observe whether another has done a thing, or not —
only observe your own conduct, whether it is wholesome or not.

"World-Honored One, this medicine of the Dharma, taught in this way, does not seem a fully correct teaching — 'toward the words of others, accord with them, never contradicting' — I ask only that the Tathāgata, out of compassion, state this correctly. Why is this? The World-Honored One constantly teaches that every one of the ninety-five heterodox schools heads toward an evil destiny, while the śrāvaka disciples all head toward the true path; and that whoever guards the precepts, maintains proper conduct, and watches carefully over his own faculties, delighting deeply in the great Dharma, heads toward a wholesome destiny. Why, then, does the Tathāgata, within the ninefold scriptures, rebuke it whenever he sees someone reviling another? What, then, is the point of a verse such as this?"

The Buddha said to Mañjuśrī: "Good son, I did not teach this verse entirely for every being at all — I taught it, at that time, solely for the sake of King Ajātaśatru. No buddha, no world-honored one, ever teaches a seemingly contrary word without cause; it is only for a genuine cause and condition that it is ever taught. Good son, King Ajātaśatru, having killed his own father, came to my own place, wishing to press me with a challenge, and asked me this: 'How could the World-Honored One be said to possess omniscience, or not? If you truly possess omniscience, Devadatta, throughout countless past ages, has forever harbored a wicked mind, pursuing the Tathāgata, wishing to kill him — why, then, has the Tathāgata permitted him to go forth into the monastic life at all?' Good son, it was for this very cause and condition that I taught this verse, for this king's own sake:

'Toward the words of others, accord with them, never contradicting;
and do not even observe whether another has done a thing, or not —
only observe your own conduct, whether it is wholesome or not.'

I said to the great king: 'You have now killed your own father, already committing a heinous crime, the very gravest, deserving unremitting retribution. You should confess this openly, and seek purity through it — why, instead, do you look only for another's own fault?' Good son, it is for this very reason that I taught this verse for that king's own sake. Furthermore, good son, I also taught this verse for the sake of one who upholds the precepts without transgression, maintaining proper conduct, yet still notices another's fault. And should there be anyone who, having received another's own instruction, departs from every evil, and further teaches others to depart from every evil as well — a person of this kind is truly my own disciple."

At that time, the World-Honored One spoke this further verse for Mañjuśrī:

"Everyone fears the blade and the staff; there is no one who does not love his own life.

Take yourself as the measure of this — never kill, and never raise a hand in violence."

At that time, Mañjuśrī spoke this further verse before the Buddha:

"Not everyone fears the staff; not everyone loves his own life so.

Take yourself as the measure only diligently, through skillful means well applied.

"The meaning of this Dharma-verse the Tathāgata has taught is likewise not stated in full. Why is this? For an arhat, a cakravartin sage-king, the treasure-maiden, the treasure-elephant, the treasure-horse, or the treasure-minister — for any god, human, or asura who might seize a sharp sword and try to harm them — it could not possibly be so that they succeed. A brave warrior, a valiant woman, the king of horses, the king of beasts, or a precept-keeping monk, though confronted with such a threat, feel no fear at all. It is for this very reason that the verse the Tathāgata has taught likewise leaves something unsaid. As for 'take yourself as the measure' — this too leaves something unsaid. Why is this? Should an arhat take himself as the measure for another, this would imply that he still holds a notion of self and a notion of his own life — and, holding such notions, he should then wish to protect himself. Yet ordinary people would then also come to regard the arhat as still merely another being caught up in conditioned activity like themselves. Were this so, it would itself be a wrong view — and, holding a wrong view, at the moment of death, one would surely be reborn in the Avīci hell. And further, it could not possibly be so that an arhat ever gives rise to a thought of harming any being at all; nor, in truth, is there any being among the countless beings who could ever actually harm an arhat."

The Buddha said: "Good son, what is meant here by 'a notion of self' is precisely the great compassionate mind given rise to toward beings, free of any thought of killing or harming — this refers to the arhat's own mind of equanimity. You should not suppose that the World-Honored One ever teaches something seemingly contrary without any cause at all. Long ago, in this very city of Rājagṛha, there was a great hunter who killed many deer, and invited me to eat their flesh. At that time, though I accepted his invitation, I gave rise, toward every being, to a compassionate mind, as toward Rāhula, and spoke this verse:

'May I cause you to have long life, dwelling long in the world;

may you receive and uphold the dharma of not harming, just like the very life-span of every buddha.'

This is why I then taught this further verse:

'Everyone fears the blade and the staff; there is no one who does not love his own life.

Take yourself as the measure of this — never kill, and never raise a hand in violence.'"

The Buddha said: "Excellent, excellent, Mañjuśrī! For the sake of every bodhisattva-mahāsattva, you have questioned the Tathāgata about this very secret teaching."

At that time, Mañjuśrī spoke this further verse:

"How could honoring one's father and mother, according with them and revering them,
how could cultivating this very dharma, cause one to fall into the unremitting hell?"

The Tathāgata then answered Mañjuśrī with this verse:

"Should one take craving as one's mother, and ignorance as one's father,

according with and revering these — this indeed causes one to fall into the unremitting hell."

The Tathāgata then spoke this further verse once more for the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī:

"Whatever belongs to another is called suffering; whatever proceeds from oneself alone
is mastery and ease. Whoever is filled with pride is, in every case, fierce and vicious;

whoever is virtuous and good is loved by all."

The bodhisattva-mahāsattva Mañjuśrī said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, what the Tathāgata has taught here is likewise not stated in full. I ask only that the Tathāgata again take pity, and explain its cause and condition. Why is this? It is like an elder's son, studying under a teacher — does he then belong to his teacher, or not? If he belongs to his teacher, the claim does not hold; if he does not belong to his teacher, the claim likewise does not hold; and if he attains mastery on his own, the claim likewise does not hold — this is why what the Tathāgata has taught here leaves something unsaid. Furthermore, World-Honored One, it is like a prince who has never studied or practiced anything at all, failing at whatever he undertakes — this too is a kind of mastery, yet one of ignorance and constant suffering. For a prince of this kind, to say his mastery does not hold together, or to say his belonging to another does not hold together, either way — for this very reason, what the Buddha has taught here is likewise said to leave something unsaid. This is why not everything that belongs to another must bring suffering, and not everything that proceeds from oneself must bring ease, and not everyone filled with pride must be fierce and vicious — this too leaves something unsaid. World-Honored One, there are valiant women who, out of a kind of pride, go forth to study the path, upholding the precepts, perfecting proper conduct, guarding and gathering in their own faculties, never letting them run wild — this is why not every knot of pride must be fierce and vicious. And 'whoever is good is loved by all' likewise leaves something unsaid: it is like a person who, having secretly committed one of the four gravest offenses, does not yet discard his monastic robes, still firmly maintaining proper conduct outwardly — a protector of the Dharma, seeing him, does not love him at all, and this person, at the end of his life, will surely fall into hell. Yet should a genuinely virtuous person, having committed a grave offense, be seen by a protector of the Dharma, that protector will drive him out, causing him to abandon the path and return to lay life — and it is for this very reason that not everyone virtuous and good must be loved by all."

The Buddha then said to Mañjuśrī: "It was for a genuine cause and condition that the Tathāgata taught a meaning left unsaid here — and it is likewise for a genuine cause and condition that every buddha, every tathāgata, teaches in this way at all. There was, at that time, in Rājagṛha, a woman named Sudhānā, who, returning to her own parents' home, came by way of my own place, and took refuge in me, in the Dharma, and in the assembled Saṅgha, saying: 'Every woman is powerless, mastering nothing of her own; every man holds mastery, obstructed by nothing at all.' I, knowing this woman's own heart at that time, taught this very verse for her sake. Mañjuśrī, excellent, excellent! You are now able, for the sake of every being, to question the Tathāgata about this very secret language."

Mañjuśrī spoke this further verse:

"Every being without exception subsists upon food and drink;

whoever possesses great strength has a heart free of envy.

Everyone, through food and drink, comes to suffer much illness;

everyone who cultivates pure conduct comes to receive peace and ease.

Given this, World-Honored One — now that you receive Cunda's own offering of food and drink, is the Tathāgata not thereby subject to some fear of illness?"

At that time, the World-Honored One spoke this further verse in answer to Mañjuśrī:

"Not every being subsists upon food and drink alone;

not everyone with great strength has a heart entirely free of envy.

Not everyone, through food and drink, comes to suffer illness;

not everyone who cultivates pure conduct comes to receive peace and ease.

Mañjuśrī, were you to fall ill, then I too, in just the same way, should fall ill in turn. Why is this? Every arhat, every pratyekabuddha, every bodhisattva, every tathāgata, in truth eats nothing at all — they merely wish, for the sake of converting beings, to manifest themselves making use of the countless offerings beings present to them, so that these beings may thereby complete the pāramitā of giving, and be delivered from hell, from the animal realm, and from the hungry ghosts. Should it be said that the Tathāgata's body grew emaciated through six years of ascetic practice, this could not possibly be so. Every buddha, every world-honored one, is uniquely delivered from every state of existence, unlike an ordinary person — how, then, could his body ever become weak and emaciated? Every buddha, every world-honored one, through diligent cultivation, attains a body of vajra, unlike the fragile, perishable body of ordinary people; my own disciples are just the same, beyond conceptual thought, not dependent upon food at all. 'Whoever has great strength is free of envy' likewise leaves something unsaid — for there are worldly people who, their whole lives through, never once feel envy, and yet possess no strength at all. 'Every illness comes through food' likewise leaves something unsaid — for there are also people who fall ill from some external cause, such as being pierced by a thorn, or wounded by a blade, spear, or lance. 'Everyone who cultivates pure conduct receives peace and ease' likewise leaves something unsaid — for there are also people of heterodox schools in the world who cultivate pure conduct, and yet endure much suffering. It is for this very reason that everything the Tathāgata teaches leaves something unsaid — and this shows that the Tathāgata never teaches a verse of this kind without cause; it is always taught for a genuine cause. Long ago, in the land of Ujjayinī, there was a brahmin named Goshirsha, who came to my own place, wishing to receive the fourth of the eight precepts for the observance day — and it was for his sake, at that time, that I taught this verse."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, what, then, is meant by a meaning stated without remainder? And what, then, is meant by 'every' in this sense?" "Good son, 'every,' here, means excepting only the wholesome dharmas of permanence and bliss that aid the path — these alone are called 'every,' and are also called stated without remainder. Every other dharma is called both left with something unsaid, and also stated without remainder, depending on how deep the reading goes. It is my wish that every good son who delights in the Dharma come to know this distinction between what is left unsaid and what is stated without remainder."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa's heart was filled with great joy, leaping with immeasurable delight, and he came before the Buddha and said: "How extraordinary, World-Honored One — that you view every being with the same regard as you view Rāhula!" The Buddha then praised the bodhisattva Kāśyapa: "Excellent, excellent! What you have now seen is subtle and exceedingly profound."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, I ask only that the Tathāgata teach the merit obtained through this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle." The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Good son, the merit obtained by anyone who merely hears the name of this scripture cannot be fully expounded by any śrāvaka or pratyekabuddha at all — only the Buddha himself can know it. Why is this? Because it is beyond conceptual thought, the Buddha's own domain — how much more so, then, receiving and upholding it, reciting it fluently, or copying out the scripture itself!"

At that time, the gods, the people of the world, and the asuras, all together before the Buddha, spoke this verse in a single voice:

"Every buddha is beyond conceptual thought, and the Dharma and Saṅgha are just the same —
this is why we now urge and entreat you: we ask only that you remain a little while longer.

The venerable Mahākāśyapa, and Ānanda too, with the following of both their own assemblies —
please wait just a moment more for their arrival.

And also the lord of Magadha, the great King Ajātaśatru, whose heart reveres and trusts the Buddha with utmost sincerity —
he too has not yet arrived here.

We ask only that the Tathāgata, out of compassion, remain a little longer,
so that, within this very assembly, our every net of doubt may be cut away."

The Tathāgata then spoke this verse for the whole assembly:

"My own Dharma's eldest son is named Mahākāśyapa.

Ānanda, diligent and ever striving, is able to cut through every doubt.

You should look closely: Ānanda, of vast learning, will naturally come to understand
what is permanent and what is impermanent.

For this very reason, you should not harbor grief and affliction in your hearts."

At that time, the great assembly made offerings of every kind of thing to the Tathāgata. Having made these offerings, they at once gave rise to the mind of unsurpassed, complete awakening, and countless, boundless bodhisattvas, as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, came to abide securely at the first ground. At that time, the World-Honored One gave a formal prediction of future buddhahood to Mañjuśrī, to the bodhisattva Kāśyapa, and to Cunda. Having given this prediction, he spoke these words: "Every good son among you — cultivate your own mind, and take care never to be heedless. My own back now aches, and my whole body is in pain — I now wish to lie down, like a small child, or like one who suffers from a chronic illness. You, Mañjuśrī, should now teach the great Dharma at length for the fourfold assembly — I now entrust this Dharma to you. Once Kāśyapa, Ānanda, and the others arrive, I shall entrust this very true Dharma to them as well." Having spoken these words, the Tathāgata, wishing to tame and subdue every being, manifested his own body as afflicted with illness, and lay down upon his right side, just like a sick person.