The Candle-Wax Seal

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught, every dharma has two kinds of cause — the primary cause, and the conditional cause. Given these two causes, there ought to be no such thing as bondage or liberation at all. These five aggregates arise and perish moment by moment — given this constant arising and perishing, who, exactly, is bound, and who, exactly, is liberated? World-Honored One, it is in dependence on these very five aggregates that a later set of five aggregates arises — this aggregate ceases of itself, and never reaches that later one, and yet, though it never reaches it, it is able to produce it. It is like a seed producing a sprout: the seed never reaches the sprout, and yet, though it never reaches it, it is able to produce it. A being is exactly the same — how, then, could there be any bondage or liberation at all?" "Good son, listen closely, listen closely, and I shall distinguish and explain this fully for you. Good son, it is like a person casting off his own life, undergoing great suffering, surrounded by his own kin, who wail and grieve — this person, terrified, knows of nowhere to turn for refuge. Though his five senses remain, he has no awareness left at all; his limbs and joints tremble, unable to hold themselves steady; his body grows hollow and cold, its warmth nearly spent, and he sees before him the fruit of every wholesome and unwholesome deed he has ever performed. Good son, it is like the sun about to set: the shadow cast by a mountain ridge appears to move eastward, though, in truth, nothing at all has actually traveled westward. A being's own karmic fruit is exactly the same: as this aggregate ceases, that aggregate continues on and arises, exactly as a lamp being lit causes darkness to vanish, and a lamp going out causes darkness to arise once more. Good son, it is like a wax seal pressed into clay: the seal meets the clay, and, as the seal is lifted away, its impression comes to be formed — and yet this very wax seal itself does not remain, unchanged, within the clay, nor does the impression emerge out of the clay itself, nor does it come from anywhere else at all; it is only through the cause and condition of the seal that this very impression comes to arise. The present aggregates cease, and the intermediate-state aggregates arise — these present aggregates never themselves transform into the intermediate-state aggregates, and yet the intermediate-state aggregates, too, are not self-produced, nor do they come from anywhere else at all. It is only in dependence on the present aggregates that the intermediate-state aggregates arise, exactly as a seal is pressed into clay, and, as the seal is removed, its impression comes to be formed. Though the name remains without distinction, the moment of each is entirely different. It is for this very reason that I teach that the intermediate-state aggregates are not seen by the fleshly eye, but only by the heavenly eye. Within this intermediate state there are three kinds of nourishment: nourishment through intention, nourishment through contact, and nourishment through mental will. The intermediate state is of two kinds: the fruit of wholesome karma, and the fruit of unwholesome karma. Through wholesome karma, one attains wholesome thoughts and reflections; through unwholesome karma, one attains unwholesome thoughts and reflections. At the very moment a father and mother come together in union, this being, following the cause and condition of his own karma, moves toward the place of his own coming rebirth, giving rise to craving toward the mother and to resentment toward the father. At the moment the father's own seed is released, this being takes it to be his own, and, upon perceiving it, his mind delights, and joy arises within him. Through the cause and condition of these very three kinds of affliction, the intermediate-state aggregates disintegrate, and a later set of five aggregates arises, exactly as a seal is pressed into clay, and, as the seal is removed, its impression comes to be formed. At the moment of birth, the sense-faculties may be complete or incomplete — one whose faculties are complete, upon seeing a form, gives rise to craving, and, because craving has arisen, this is named attachment. Because of this delusion, craving arises, and this is named ignorance. Through the cause and condition of these two, craving-attachment and ignorance, every realm he perceives becomes entirely inverted: he sees the impermanent as permanent, the selfless as possessing a self, the joyless as joyful, and the impure as pure. On account of these four inversions, he performs wholesome and unwholesome deeds; affliction gives rise to karmic action, and karmic action gives rise to further affliction — this is what is named bondage. It is for this very reason that this is named the arising of the five aggregates. Should this person come to draw close to the Buddha, to the Buddha's own disciples, and to every kind of good friend, he thereby comes to hear and receive the twelve divisions of scripture; and, because he has heard the Dharma, he contemplates wholesome objects; and, because he contemplates wholesome objects, he attains great wisdom; and this great wisdom is named right view and right knowledge; and, because he has attained this right view and knowledge, he gives rise, within birth-and-death, to a mind of remorse; and, because he has given rise to this mind of remorse, he no longer gives rise to any delight in it; and, because he no longer gives rise to delight, he is able to destroy his own craving mind; and, because he has destroyed his craving mind, he cultivates the eightfold noble path; and, because he cultivates the eightfold noble path, he attains freedom from birth-and-death; and, because he attains freedom from birth-and-death, this is named the attainment of liberation. It is exactly as when a fire, meeting no further fuel, is named extinguished — and, because birth-and-death is thereby extinguished, this is named final extinction. It is for this very reason that this is named the cessation of the five aggregates."

Lion's Roar said: "There is no thorn in empty space at all — how, then, could one speak of 'pulling it out'? If the aggregates have nothing binding them, how, then, could there be any bondage at all?" The Buddha said: "Good son, it is through the chain of affliction that the five aggregates are bound — apart from the five aggregates, there is no separate affliction, and apart from affliction, there is no separate set of five aggregates. Good son, it is like a pillar supporting a house: apart from the house, there is no pillar, and apart from the pillar, there is no house. A being's own five aggregates are exactly the same: because affliction is present, this is named bondage; because affliction is absent, this is named liberation. Good son, it is like a fist, a joined palm, and a knot: their coming together and their coming apart, their arising and their ceasing, are never some further, separate thing beyond the coming together and coming apart itself. A being's own five aggregates are exactly the same: because affliction is present, this is named bondage; because affliction is absent, this is named liberation. Good son, it is as one speaks of name-and-form binding a being: should name-and-form cease, there is then no being at all — apart from name-and-form, there is no separate being, and apart from a being, there is no separate name-and-form. It may equally be said that name-and-form binds a being, or that a being binds name-and-form." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, just as an eye cannot see itself, a finger cannot touch itself, a knife cannot cut itself, and feeling cannot feel itself — how, then, can the Tathāgata teach that name-and-form binds name-and-form? Why is it said that name-and-form is itself nothing other than a being, and that a being is itself nothing other than name-and-form? If it is said that name-and-form binds a being, this is itself already saying that name-and-form binds name-and-form." The Buddha said: "Good son, it is like the joining of two hands: no further, separate thing at all comes along to bring about this joining. Name and form are exactly the same — it is for this very reason that I say name-and-form binds a being. And, should one depart from name-and-form, one thereby attains liberation — it is for this very reason that I say a being attains liberation." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, if it is name-and-form that constitutes bondage, then every arhat, not yet having departed from name-and-form, ought likewise still to be bound." "Good son, liberation is of two kinds: the severing of the seed, and the severing of the fruit. The severing of the seed is named the severing of affliction — the arhat has already severed affliction, and every fetter has rotted away entirely, and it is for this reason that the seed-fetter is no longer able to bind him. Yet, because he has not yet severed the fruit, this is named being bound by the fruit — every arhat fails to see buddha-nature, and it is only because he fails to see it that he fails to attain unsurpassed, complete awakening. It is for this very reason that one may speak of being bound by the fruit, though one cannot say that name-and-form itself still binds him. Good son, it is like a lit lamp: while its oil is not yet exhausted, its light does not go out — and, once its oil is exhausted, it is beyond doubt that it will go out. Good son, this very oil is a likeness for affliction, and the lamp is a likeness for a being. Every being, on account of the oil of affliction, fails to enter nirvāṇa — and, should he attain its severing, he thereupon enters nirvāṇa." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, a lamp and its oil are two entirely distinct natures — a being and his own affliction are not like this at all. A being is himself nothing other than affliction, and affliction is itself nothing other than a being. A being is named the five aggregates, and the five aggregates are named a being; the five aggregates are named affliction, and affliction is named the five aggregates — how, then, can the Tathāgata illustrate this through the likeness of a lamp?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, simile is of eight kinds: the forward simile, the reverse simile, the direct simile, the non-simile, the prior simile, the posterior simile, the prior-and-posterior simile, and the pervasive simile. What is the forward simile? It is as taught within scripture: heaven sends down a great rain, and every ditch and channel becomes full; because the ditches and channels are full, the small pits become full; because the small pits are full, the great pits become full; because the great pits are full, the small springs become full; because the small springs are full, the great springs become full; because the great springs are full, the small pools become full; because the small pools are full, the great pools become full; because the great pools are full, the small rivers become full; because the small rivers are full, the great rivers become full; and because the great rivers are full, the great ocean becomes full. The Tathāgata's own rain of Dharma is exactly the same: as a being's own precept-keeping becomes full, because his precept-keeping is fully complete, a mind free of regret becomes full; because this mind free of regret is full, joy becomes full; because joy is full, departure becomes full; because departure is full, tranquility becomes full; because tranquility is full, samādhi becomes full; because samādhi is full, right view and right knowledge become full; because right view and right knowledge are full, disenchantment becomes full; because disenchantment is full, self-censure becomes full; because self-censure is full, liberation becomes full; and because liberation is full, nirvāṇa becomes full. This is named the forward simile. "What is the reverse simile? The great ocean has its own origin, namely the great rivers; the great rivers have their own origin, namely the small rivers; the small rivers have their own origin, namely the great pools; the great pools have their own origin, namely the small pools; the small pools have their own origin, namely the great springs; the great springs have their own origin, namely the small springs; the small springs have their own origin, namely the great pits; the great pits have their own origin, namely the small pits; the small pits have their own origin, namely the ditches and channels; and the ditches and channels have their own origin, namely the great rain. Nirvāṇa has its own origin, namely liberation; liberation has its own origin, namely self-censure; self-censure has its own origin, namely disenchantment; disenchantment has its own origin, namely right view and right knowledge; right view and right knowledge have their own origin, namely samādhi; samādhi has its own origin, namely tranquility; tranquility has its own origin, namely departure; departure has its own origin, namely a joyful mind; a joyful mind has its own origin, namely freedom from regret; and freedom from regret has its own origin, namely precept-keeping; and precept-keeping has its own origin, namely the rain of the Dharma. This is named the reverse simile."

"What is the direct simile? It is as taught within scripture: a being's own mind and nature are just like a monkey — a monkey's own nature is to release one thing the moment it grasps another. A being's own mind and nature are exactly the same, grasping after and clinging to form, sound, fragrance, flavor, touch, and mental objects, never resting still for even a single moment. This is named the direct simile. "What is the non-simile? It is as I once said to King Prasenajit: 'Great king, suppose there were trusted messengers who came from each of the four directions, each one saying: "Great king, there are four great mountains, coming from each of the four directions, wishing to destroy the people." Upon hearing this, great king, what plan would you devise?' The king said: 'World-Honored One, were such a thing truly to come, there would be no place at all to flee to — one could only single-mindedly uphold the precepts and practice giving.' I then praised him, saying: 'Excellent, great king! These four mountains I speak of are none other than birth, old age, sickness, and death — birth, old age, sickness, and death forever come to press upon a person. Why, then, great king, do you not cultivate precept-keeping and giving?' The king said: 'World-Honored One, what fruit is attained through precept-keeping and giving?' I said: 'Great king, one thereby receives abundant happiness among gods and humans.' The king said: 'World-Honored One, could a nyagrodha tree, too, uphold the precepts and practice giving, and likewise receive tranquil happiness among gods and humans?' I said: 'Great king, a nyagrodha tree is unable to uphold the precepts or practice giving — were it able to do so, it would receive exactly the same reward, without any difference at all.' This is named the non-simile."

"What is the prior simile? It is as taught within my own scripture: it is like a man who, craving a beautiful flower, is swept away by the current while gathering it. A being is exactly the same: craving and receiving the five desires, he is swept away and submerged by the waters of birth-and-death. This is named the prior simile. "What is the posterior simile? It is as taught in the Dharmapada: 'Never make light of a small transgression, thinking it brings no misfortune — though a drop of water is small, it gradually comes to fill a great vessel.' This is named the posterior simile. "What is the prior-and-posterior simile? It is like the plantain tree, which dies once it bears fruit — a foolish person, once nourished with such indulgence, meets exactly the same fate; it is like a mule that, once she conceives, does not long remain whole in life."

"What is the pervasive simile? It is as taught within scripture: in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven there grows the pārijāta tree, its roots sinking five yojanas deep into the earth, its height a hundred yojanas, its branches and leaves spreading fifty yojanas in every direction; once its leaves ripen, they turn yellow. Seeing this, the gods give rise to a joyful mind, thinking: these leaves, before long, are certain to fall. Once these leaves have fallen, they again give rise to joy, thinking: these branches, before long, are certain to change color. Once the branches have changed color, they again give rise to joy, thinking: this color, before long, is certain to give rise to buds. Seeing this, they again give rise to joy, thinking: these buds, before long, are certain to give rise to sprouts. Seeing this, they again give rise to joy, thinking: these sprouts, before long, are certain to open and unfold. At the moment they open and unfold, their fragrance pervades fifty yojanas all around, and their radiance shines forth eighty yojanas in every direction, and, at that very time, throughout the three months of summer, the gods descend below to receive their own delight. Good son, my own disciples are exactly the same: the leaves turning yellow is a likeness for my disciples' own thought of becoming renunciants; the leaves falling is a likeness for my disciples shaving off their own hair and beard; the color changing is a likeness for my disciples receiving the full precepts through the fourfold formal proclamation; the first arising of the buds is a likeness for my disciples giving rise to the mind of unsurpassed, complete awakening; the sprouts are a likeness for the bodhisattva of the ten abidings attaining the seeing of buddha-nature; the opening and unfolding is a likeness for the bodhisattva attaining unsurpassed, complete awakening; the fragrance is a likeness for the immeasurable beings of the ten directions upholding the precepts; the radiance is a likeness for the Tathāgata's own name pervading, without obstruction, throughout the ten directions; the three months of summer are a likeness for the three samādhis; and the gods of the Trāyastriṃśa heaven receiving their own delight is a likeness for every buddha, dwelling within the great nirvāṇa, attaining permanence, bliss, self, and purity. This is named the pervasive simile."

"Good son, whenever a simile is drawn upon, it need not always be taken in its entirety — one may take only a small portion of it, or a greater portion of it, or else take it in its entirety. As when it is said that the Tathāgata's own face is like the full moon — this is a taking of only a small portion. Good son, it is like a man who has never yet seen milk, and who asks another: 'What kind of thing is milk?' That person answers: 'It is like water, like honey, like a conch shell.' Water gives its wet quality; honey gives its sweet quality; and the conch shell gives its color. Though these three similes are drawn upon, none of them is yet the reality of milk itself. Good son, when I speak of the lamp as a simile, illustrating a being, it is exactly the same. Good son, apart from water, there is no river; a being is exactly the same — apart from the five aggregates, there is no separate being. Good son, it is like a cart: apart from its box, its shaft, its wheels, its axle, its spokes, and its rim, there is no separate cart at all; a being is exactly the same. Good son, should you wish to have this very lamp simile properly and fully matched, listen closely, listen closely, and I shall now explain it. The wick is a likeness for the twenty-five states of existence; the oil is a likeness for craving; the light is a likeness for wisdom; the dispelling of the surrounding darkness is a likeness for the destruction of ignorance; and the warmth is a likeness for the noble path. It is exactly as when a lamp's oil is exhausted, its light and flame are extinguished — once a being's own craving is exhausted, he thereupon sees buddha-nature, and, though name-and-form still remain, they are no longer able to bind him. Though he still dwells among the twenty-five states of existence, he is no longer stained by any of them."

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, if a being's own five aggregates are empty and possess nothing at all, who, then, is it that receives instruction, and who, then, is it that cultivates the path?" The Buddha said: "Good son, every being, without exception, possesses a mind of mindfulness, a mind of wisdom, a mind of resolve, a mind of diligent exertion, a mind of faith, and a mind of concentration — dharmas of exactly this kind, though they arise and perish moment by moment, nonetheless continue on, similar and unbroken, one after the next, and it is for this very reason that this is named cultivating the path." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, if dharmas of this kind all perish moment by moment, and this moment-by-moment perishing is merely similar and continuous, how, then, can this be called cultivation at all?" The Buddha said: "Good son, it is like a lamp, which, though it perishes moment by moment, still possesses a light that dispels the surrounding darkness — mindfulness and every dharma like it are exactly the same. Good son, it is like a being's own food, which, though it perishes moment by moment, is still able to cause one who is hungry to become full and satisfied. It is like the finest medicine, which, though it perishes moment by moment, is still able to cure illness. The light of the sun and moon, though it perishes moment by moment, is still able to cause the trees, forests, grasses, and plants to grow. Good son, you ask: if it perishes moment by moment, how, then, can it possibly grow at all? It is precisely because the mind is unbroken that this is named growth. Good son, it is like a person reciting a text: the words and phrases he recites cannot all be uttered at one and the same time — what comes first never reaches what comes in the middle, and what comes in the middle never reaches what comes at the end. Both the person himself, and the words, and even his own mental image of them, all perish moment by moment together — and yet, through long practice, he comes to master it fluently. Good son, it is like a goldsmith, who, from his very first practice all the way to his own white-haired old age, though he perishes moment by moment, and what came before never reaches what comes after, still, through accumulated practice, comes to produce work of exquisite skill, and it is for this very reason that he comes to be called a fine and skilled goldsmith — reciting and reading the scriptures is exactly the same. Good son, it is like a seed: the earth never instructs it to produce a sprout, and yet, because of its own dharma-nature, a sprout arises of itself; and, further, a flower never instructs itself to become a fruit, and yet, because of its own dharma-nature, a fruit arises of itself — a being's own cultivation of the path is exactly the same. Good son, it is like the method of counting: one never reaches two, and two never reaches three, and yet, though each perishes moment by moment, one still arrives at a thousand, at ten thousand — a being's own cultivation of the path is exactly the same. Good son, it is like a lamp that perishes moment by moment: the very flame that first perishes never instructs the flame that follows it, saying, 'As I perish, you shall arise, and shall dispel every darkness.' Good son, it is like a newborn calf, which, the very moment it is born, seeks out its mother's milk — the very intelligence that seeks this milk is, in truth, taught by no one at all, and, though it perishes moment by moment, the calf that was first hungry becomes, in the end, full and satisfied. It is for this very reason that one should know that these successive moments need not be identical to one another at all — for, were they truly identical, no different result could ever arise from them. A being's own cultivation of the path is exactly the same: though there is, at first, no apparent increase at all, through long cultivation, he becomes able to destroy every affliction entirely."

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught, a stream-enterer, having already attained and verified this very fruit, though he be reborn in an evil land, nonetheless continues to uphold the precepts — refraining from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, divisive speech, and drinking intoxicants. The stream-enterer's own aggregates cease right here, in this present place, and never reach that evil land at all — cultivation of the path is exactly the same, never itself reaching that evil land. If these successive aggregates are truly merely similar to one another, why, then, is he not instead reborn in some pure and wondrous land? And, if the aggregates of that evil land are truly not the stream-enterer's own aggregates at all, how, then, could he possibly refrain from performing any evil deed there?" The Buddha said: "Good son, though the stream-enterer be reborn in an evil land, he never, in the end, loses the very name of 'stream-enterer' — these successive aggregates are not identical to one another, and it is for this very reason that I have drawn upon the calf as a simile. Though the stream-enterer be reborn in an evil land, it is through the very power of the path that he refrains from performing any evil deed. Good son, it is like the fragrant mountain, upon which dwells a lion-king — it is for this very reason that every bird and beast has vanished from it entirely, and no creature dares to draw near this mountain at all. Should this very lion-king, at some time, journey to the Himalayas, every bird and beast there, likewise, still refuses to remain. The stream-enterer is exactly the same: though he does not actively cultivate the path in that place, it is through the very power of the path that he refrains from every evil deed. Good son, it is like a man who has drunk of ambrosia: though the ambrosia itself has since been digested and gone, its own power and strength are still able to cause this man to be free of birth and death. Good son, it is like the supreme medicine found upon Mount Sumeru, named laṅkālī: a man who has taken it, though it perishes moment by moment within him, is, through the power of this very medicine, no longer beset by any illness or suffering. Good son, it is like the very throne upon which a wheel-turning king once sat: though the king himself is no longer present there, no one dares to draw near it at all — why is this? Because of the king's own majestic power. The stream-enterer is exactly the same: though he be reborn in an evil land and no longer actively cultivate the path, it is through the very power of the path that he refrains from performing any evil deed. Good son, the stream-enterer's own aggregates cease right here — and, though he is reborn with a different set of aggregates, he nonetheless never loses what the stream-enterer's own aggregates had already accomplished. Good son, it is like a being who, for the sake of a fruit's harvest, expends much labor upon a seed — manuring it, tending it, and irrigating it — and, though he has not yet obtained the fruit itself, and the seed itself has since perished, one may still say that the fruit is obtained through that very seed as its cause — the stream-enterer's own aggregates are exactly the same. Good son, it is like a man of vast wealth and property who has but a single son, who has already passed away before him; this son, in turn, has his own son, who dwells in another land. Should this man suddenly, unexpectedly pass away himself, and his grandson, upon hearing of this, return to claim the family's own property — though he knows full well that this wealth was not something he himself produced, still, no one at all obstructs or prevents him from claiming it. Why is this? Because they share one and the same family line. The stream-enterer's own aggregates are exactly the same."

Lion's Roar said: "As the Buddha has spoken in verse: 'Should a monk cultivate moral discipline, concentration, and wisdom, know that this is one who never retrogresses, drawing ever nearer to the great nirvāṇa.' World-Honored One, how, then, does one cultivate moral discipline? How does one cultivate concentration? And how does one cultivate wisdom?" The Buddha said: "Good son, should a person uphold the precepts merely for his own benefit, so as to receive happiness among gods and humans, and not for the sake of delivering every being, nor for the sake of upholding and protecting the unsurpassed true Dharma; should he uphold them merely for the sake of personal gain, out of fear of the three evil destinies, for the sake of his own life, his own beauty and strength, his own comfort, or his own unobstructed eloquence, or out of fear of the king's own law, of ill repute, or merely for the sake of worldly business — precept-keeping guarded in this way cannot be named the true cultivation of moral discipline. Good son, what, then, may be named the true cultivation of moral discipline? When one upholds the precepts for the sake of delivering every being, and for the sake of protecting the true Dharma; for the sake of those not yet delivered, that they be delivered; for the sake of those not yet liberated, that they be liberated; for the sake of those without refuge, that they gain refuge; and for the sake of those not yet entered into nirvāṇa, that they come to enter it — when one cultivates in this way, one sees no precept, no mark of the precept, no one who upholds it, and no fruit to be gained, nor does one dwell upon any transgression at all. Good son, should one be able to cultivate in exactly this way, this is then what is named the true cultivation of moral discipline. "What, then, may be named the true cultivation of samādhi? Should one cultivate samādhi merely for his own liberation, or for the sake of personal gain, and not for the sake of beings, nor for the sake of protecting the Dharma; should he cultivate it merely in order to perceive the faults of greed and desire, of impure food, of the nine impure orifices of the male and female body, or of contention, litigation, beating, stabbing, and mutual slaughter — should one cultivate samādhi for the sake of matters such as these, this cannot be named the true cultivation of samādhi. Good son, what, then, may be named the true cultivation of samādhi? Should one cultivate samādhi for the sake of beings — attaining an equal mind toward every being; causing beings to attain the dharma of non-retrogression; causing beings to attain the mind of a noble one; causing beings to attain the Great Vehicle; wishing to uphold and protect the unsurpassed Dharma; causing beings never to retrogress from bodhi; causing beings to attain the Śūraṅgama samādhi; causing beings to attain the vajra samādhi; causing beings to attain the dhāraṇīs; causing beings to attain the four unobstructed knowledges; and causing beings to see buddha-nature — when one practices in this way, one sees no samādhi, no mark of samādhi, no one who cultivates it, and no fruit to be gained. Good son, should one be able to cultivate in exactly this way, this is then what is named the true cultivation of samādhi. "What, then, may be named the true cultivation of wisdom? Should a practitioner reflect in this way: 'Should I cultivate wisdom of this kind, I shall attain liberation, and shall cross beyond the three evil destinies. Who else is able to benefit every being? Who else is able to deliver others from the path of birth-and-death? A buddha's appearance in the world is as rare as the udumbara flower — I shall now be able to sever every affliction and fetter, and shall certainly attain the fruit of liberation; it is for this very reason that I shall diligently cultivate wisdom, swiftly sever every affliction, and be delivered all the sooner' — a practitioner of this kind cannot be named one who truly cultivates wisdom. What, then, may be named one who truly cultivates it? Should the wise contemplate birth, old age, death, and suffering, and see that every being is covered over by ignorance, unable to know how to cultivate the unsurpassed true path, and thereupon vow: 'May this very body of mine take upon itself every great affliction and suffering in place of every being; may every being's own poverty, lowliness, precept-breaking mind, and every karmic action born of greed, hatred, and delusion, all come, without exception, to gather within this very body of mine instead; may every being give rise to no craving or grasping at all, and never be bound by name-and-form; may every being swiftly cross beyond birth-and-death, and may I myself dwell within it without ever tiring; and may every being, without exception, attain unsurpassed, complete awakening' — when one cultivates in this way, one sees no wisdom, no mark of wisdom, no one who cultivates it, and no fruit to be gained — this is then what is named the true cultivation of wisdom. Good son, one who cultivates moral discipline, concentration, and wisdom in exactly this way is named a bodhisattva. One who is unable to cultivate moral discipline, concentration, and wisdom in this way is named a śrāvaka."

"Furthermore, good son, what, further, may be named the cultivation of moral discipline? Being able to destroy, on behalf of every being, all sixteen kinds of evil livelihood. What are these sixteen? First, raising lambs for the sake of profit, fattening them, and then selling them on. Second, buying them for the sake of profit, and then slaughtering them. Third, raising pigs for the sake of profit, fattening them, and then selling them on. Fourth, buying them for the sake of profit, and then slaughtering them. Fifth, raising calves for the sake of profit, fattening them, and then selling them on. Sixth, buying them for the sake of profit, and then slaughtering them. Seventh, raising chickens for the sake of profit, fattening them, and then selling them on. Eighth, buying them for the sake of profit, and then slaughtering them. Ninth, fishing. Tenth, hunting. Eleventh, robbery and plunder. Twelfth, serving as an executioner. Thirteenth, netting birds. Fourteenth, divisive speech. Fifteenth, serving as a prison guard. Sixteenth, casting spells upon nāgas. Being able, on behalf of every being, to forever sever these sixteen evil deeds is named the cultivation of moral discipline. How, then, does one cultivate concentration? Being able to sever every worldly samādhi — namely, the bodiless samādhi, which is able to cause beings to give rise to the inverted thought that this is itself nirvāṇa; the boundless-mind samādhi; the pure-aggregation samādhi; the world's-edge samādhi; the world's-severance samādhi; the world's-own-nature samādhi; the world's-great-person samādhi; and the samādhi of neither-perception-nor-non-perception — concentrations of exactly this kind are able to cause beings to give rise to the inverted thought that this is itself nirvāṇa; should one be able to forever sever samādhis of this kind, this is then what is named the cultivation of samādhi. How, then, may this be named the cultivation of wisdom? Being able to destroy every wrong view found in the world. Every being, without exception, holds some wrong view — namely, that form is itself the self, and also belongs to the self; that the self is present within form, and form is present within the self; and, further, that consciousness is exactly the same. That the permanent is itself the self, and, though form perishes, the self remains. That form is itself the self, and, when form perishes, the self, too, perishes. There is, further, one who says: 'The doer is named the self, and what is experienced is named form.' There is, further, one who says: 'The doer is named form, and what experiences is named the self.' There is, further, one who says: 'There is no doer and no experiencer at all — everything arises of itself and perishes of itself, entirely without cause or condition.' There is, further, one who says: 'There is no doer and no experiencer at all — everything is, without exception, brought about by a sovereign, independent power.' There is, further, one who says: 'There is no doer at all, and no experiencer at all — everything, without exception, is brought about by the mere passage of time.' There is, further, one who says: 'Neither the doer nor the experiencer exists at all — the five great elements, earth and the rest, are what is named a being.' Good son, should one be able to destroy every such wrong view, on behalf of every being, this is then what is named the cultivation of wisdom. "Good son, the cultivation of moral discipline is for the sake of tranquility of body. The cultivation of samādhi is for the sake of tranquility of mind. The cultivation of wisdom is for the sake of destroying a doubting mind; the destruction of a doubting mind is for the sake of cultivating the path; the cultivation of the path is for the sake of seeing buddha-nature; the seeing of buddha-nature is for the sake of attaining unsurpassed, complete awakening; the attainment of unsurpassed, complete awakening is for the sake of attaining the unsurpassed great nirvāṇa; and the attainment of the great nirvāṇa is for the sake of severing every being's own birth-and-death, every affliction, every state of existence, every realm, and every truth entirely — and the severing of birth-and-death, all the way through to the severing of every truth, is for the sake of attaining the dharma of permanence, bliss, self, and purity."

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught, if the great nirvāṇa is named for being unborn and unceasing, then birth-and-death, too, is exactly the same, unborn and unceasing — why, then, can it not also be named nirvāṇa?" "Good son, this is so, this is so, exactly as you have said. This very birth, though it is, in this sense, unborn and unceasing, nonetheless has a beginning and an end." "World-Honored One, this dharma of birth-and-death, too, has no beginning and no end — and, if it has no beginning and no end, it should be named permanent, and, being permanent, it is thereby nirvāṇa — why, then, can birth-and-death not also be named nirvāṇa?" "Good son, this dharma of birth-and-death, without exception, possesses cause and fruit — and, because it possesses cause and fruit, it cannot be named nirvāṇa at all. Why is this? Because the very essence of nirvāṇa is without cause or fruit." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, nirvāṇa, too, has both cause and fruit. As the Buddha himself has taught: 'From a cause, one is born among the gods; from a cause, one falls into an evil destiny. From a cause, one attains nirvāṇa — it is for this very reason that everything, without exception, has a cause.' And, as the Buddha has, in ages past, told the monks: 'I shall now speak of the fruit of the śramaṇa's own path. A śramaṇa is one who is able to fully cultivate moral discipline, concentration, and wisdom. The path is the eightfold noble path, and the fruit of the śramaṇa is nirvāṇa itself.' World-Honored One, if nirvāṇa is exactly this, how could it not be a fruit? How, then, can it be said that the very essence of nirvāṇa is without cause and without fruit?" The Buddha said: "Good son, the cause of nirvāṇa that I proclaim is none other than buddha-nature — and the nature of buddha-nature itself does not produce nirvāṇa, and it is for this very reason that I say nirvāṇa is without cause. Because it is able to destroy affliction, it is named a great fruit; and, because it is not produced by the path itself, it is named without fruit — it is for this very reason that nirvāṇa is both without cause and without fruit."

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, is a being's own buddha-nature something possessed in common by all, or something possessed individually by each? Should it be possessed in common, then, at the very moment one person attains unsurpassed, complete awakening, every being, without exception, ought likewise to attain it at the very same time. World-Honored One, it is like twenty men who share one and the same enemy: should one of them be able to remove this enemy, the remaining nineteen would, likewise, all have him removed at once. Buddha-nature is exactly the same — at the moment one person attains it, every other person, too, ought to attain it. And, should it instead be possessed individually by each, it would then be impermanent — why is this? Because it could then be counted and numbered. And yet the Buddha has taught that a being's own buddha-nature is neither one nor two — should it truly be possessed individually by each, one could then no longer say that every buddha is equal to every other, nor could one say that buddha-nature is like empty space." The Buddha said: "Good son, a being's own buddha-nature is neither one nor two: every buddha is equal, exactly like empty space, and every being, without exception, possesses this very same buddha-nature in common. Should one be able to cultivate the eightfold noble path, know that this person then attains a clear seeing of it. Good son, upon the Himalayas there grows a grass named forbearance — should a cow eat it, it becomes ghee; a being's own buddha-nature is exactly the same." Lion's Roar said: "As the Buddha has taught, is this grass of forbearance one single grass, or many? If it is a single grass, once a cow has eaten it, it would then be entirely gone. And, if it is many, how, then, can it be said that a being's own buddha-nature is exactly the same? As the Buddha has taught, should one cultivate the eightfold noble path, one thereby sees buddha-nature — this, I think, is not correct. Why is this? If the path is a single thing, then, like the grass of forbearance, it ought to become entirely exhausted — and, should it truly become exhausted, then, once one person has cultivated it, no portion at all would remain for anyone else. And, if the path is instead many things, how, then, can it be said that one 'fully' cultivates it, and how, then, could it possibly be named omniscient wisdom at all?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, it is like a level, even road, upon which every being, without exception, is able to walk entirely without obstruction. Along the middle of this road stands a tree, whose shade is cool and refreshing — travelers rest beneath it, unharnessing their carts and pausing there — and yet this very shade remains forever unmoved, never diminishing, and no one at all is able to carry it away with him. The road is a likeness for the noble path; the shade is a likeness for buddha-nature. Good son, it is like a great city with but a single gate: though many people pass in and out through it, no one at all is ever obstructed by another, nor does anyone break it down, damage it, or carry it away with him. Good son, it is like a bridge, which every traveler passes over, and yet no one at all obstructs, damages, or carries it away. Good son, it is like a skilled physician who treats every kind of illness everywhere, and yet no one at all is able to prevent him from treating this patient while abandoning that one — the noble path and buddha-nature are exactly the same." Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, the similes you have drawn upon do not, I think, hold in this way. Why is this? Whoever is first upon the road obstructs whoever comes after him — how, then, can it be said that there is no obstruction at all? And every other simile, likewise, has this same problem. If the noble path and buddha-nature are truly like this, then, at the moment one person cultivates it, this ought to obstruct everyone else." The Buddha said: "Good son, as you have said, this does not, in fact, correspond correctly at all. The road I offered as a simile was meant to convey only a small portion of the meaning, not the whole of it. Good son, a worldly road indeed has obstruction, and a difference between this place and that, without any equality at all. The undefiled path is not like this at all — it is able to cause every being to be entirely without obstruction, equal and without duality, without any distinction of place, of this or that. A true path of exactly this kind is able to serve, for every being's own buddha-nature, as its revealing cause, not as its generative cause — exactly like a bright lamp, which reveals an object without producing it. Good son, every being, without exception, is equally subject to ignorance, which conditions volitional formations — one cannot say that, because one person's ignorance has already conditioned his own formations, no ignorance at all remains for anyone else. Every being, without exception, possesses ignorance, which conditions his own formations — it is for this very reason that I say the twelve links of dependent origination are, for every being, entirely equal. The undefiled, true path that a being cultivates is exactly the same, equally severing every being's own affliction, the four modes of birth, every realm, and every state of existence — it is for this very reason that it is named equal. Whoever attains realization of it, his own knowledge and vision, and every other's, are without any obstruction between them at all — it is for this very reason that this may be named omniscient wisdom." Lion's Roar said: "Every being's own body is not of a single kind — there is the body of a god, the body of a human, and the bodies of animals, hungry ghosts, and hell-beings — bodies of so many different kinds, each entirely distinct from the others — how, then, can it be said that buddha-nature is a single thing?" The Buddha said: "Good son, it is like a man who places poison into milk: all the way through to the ghee it eventually becomes, every stage contains this very poison. Milk is not named curd, and curd is not named milk, and this holds, too, all the way through to ghee — though the name changes at every stage, the poison's own nature is never lost, and this holds true throughout all five flavors alike; should one drink even the ghee, it, too, is still able to kill a man, though, in truth, no poison was ever separately placed into the ghee itself. A being's own buddha-nature is exactly the same: though it passes through the five destinies, receiving one distinct body after another, this very buddha-nature remains forever one and unchanging."

Lion's Roar said: "World-Honored One, among the sixteen great kingdoms, there are six great cities — namely, the cities of Śrāvastī, Sāketa, Campā, Vaiśālī, Vārāṇasī, and Rājagṛha — these six cities are the greatest in the world. Why, then, has the Tathāgata forsaken them all, to enter parinirvāṇa in this remote, wretched, most cramped and narrow little city of Kuśinagara instead?" "Good son, you ought not to say that the city of Kuśinagara is a remote, wretched, most cramped and narrow little city at all — you ought instead to say that this very city is adorned with subtle and wondrous merit. Why is this? Because it is a place where every buddha and bodhisattva has walked. Good son, it is like the dwelling of a lowly person: should a king happen to pass by it, he ought instead to praise it, saying that this dwelling is itself adorned with fine and beautiful merit, able to cause a great king to turn his own carriage aside and pay it a visit. Good son, it is like a man gravely ill, who takes some foul and unpleasant medicine, and, having taken it, is cured of his illness — he ought then to rejoice and praise it, saying that this medicine is the very finest and most wondrous, able to cure his own sickness. Good son, it is like a man riding a boat upon the great ocean, whose boat suddenly breaks apart, leaving him with nothing at all to cling to — and, relying upon a floating corpse, he manages to reach the far shore; having reached that shore, he ought to rejoice greatly and praise it, saying: it is thanks to this very corpse, which I happened to meet, that I have found safety. The city of Kuśinagara is exactly the same — it is, after all, a place where every buddha and bodhisattva has walked — how, then, could one call it a remote, wretched, cramped, and narrow little city?"

"Good son, I recall that, in ages past, beyond kalpas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, there was a kalpa named Well-Awakened, in which there lived a sage-king of the Kauśika lineage, endowed with the seven treasures, and possessed of a thousand sons. This king was the very one who first founded and built this city — encircling it, twelve yojanas in breadth, adorned with the seven treasures, its land rich with rivers whose waters were pure, gentle, and sweet — namely, the Nairañjanā River, the Airāvatī River, the Hiraṇyavatī River, the Iṣumatī River, and the Vipaśyanā River, and five hundred rivers besides. Along both banks of these rivers, the trees grew lush and abundant, their flowers and fruit fresh and pure. At that time, the people's own lifespans were immeasurable. When this wheel-turning sage-king had passed a hundred years upon his throne, he made this very proclamation: 'As the Buddha has taught, every dharma, without exception, is impermanent. Should one be able to cultivate the ten wholesome deeds, one is thereby able to sever this very great suffering of impermanence.' Upon hearing this, the people, one and all, together undertook the cultivation of these ten wholesome deeds. I, at that very time, heard the Buddha's own name, upheld the ten wholesome deeds, and, through contemplation and cultivation, first gave rise to the mind of unsurpassed, complete awakening. Having given rise to this mind, I further took up this very teaching and, in turn, taught it to immeasurable, boundless beings, proclaiming that every dharma is impermanent and subject to change and decay. It is for this very reason that I now, in this very place, continue to teach that every dharma is impermanent and subject to change and decay, while teaching solely that the Buddha's own body is an ever-abiding dharma. I recall the causes and conditions of my own past deeds, and it is for this very reason that I have now come to this very place to enter nirvāṇa, wishing also to repay this land's own kindness shown to me long ago. It is for this very reason that, within my own scriptures, I teach that my own followers are those who, having received kindness, are able to repay it. "Furthermore, good son, in ages past, at a time when beings had immeasurable lifespans, this very city was named Kuśāvatī, encircling it, fifty yojanas in breadth — at that time, the inhabitants of Jambudvīpa dwelt so closely together that a chicken could fly from one dwelling to the next without pause. There was, at that time, a wheel-turning king named Sudarśana, endowed with the seven treasures, possessed of a thousand sons, and sovereign over the four continents. His very first crown prince, through contemplating the true Dharma, attained the state of a pratyekabuddha. Seeing his own crown prince become a pratyekabuddha, his bearing composed and dignified, his supernatural powers rare and wondrous, the wheel-turning king, upon witnessing this, at once cast aside his own throne, as one casts aside spittle, and became a renunciant right here among these very sāla trees, cultivating the mind of loving-kindness for eighty thousand years, and the minds of compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity, likewise, for eighty thousand years each. Good son, should you wish to know who this King Sudarśana was at that time — it was none other than myself. It is for this very reason that I have forever delighted in dwelling within these very four dharmas, and these four dharmas are themselves named samādhi. It is for this very reason that the Tathāgata's own body possesses permanence, bliss, self, and purity. Good son, it is through this very cause and condition that I have now come to this very city of Kuśinagara, among these very sāla trees, to enter proper absorption in samādhi."

"Good son, I recall that, in ages past, beyond immeasurable kalpas, this very city was named Kapilavastu. This city had a king, named Śuddhodana, whose queen was named Māyā, and this king had a single son, named Siddhārtha. At that time, this prince, without relying upon any teacher's instruction, through his own natural contemplation, attained unsurpassed, complete awakening. He had two disciples — one named Śāriputra, and the other named Mahāmaudgalyāyana — and an attendant disciple named Ānanda. At that time, this world-honored one, among these very twin trees, proclaimed this very Great Nirvāṇa Sūtra. I, at that time, was present within that very assembly, and was able to take part in this very event, hearing that every being, without exception, possesses buddha-nature. Upon hearing this, I at once attained non-retrogression with respect to bodhi, and thereupon gave rise, of my own accord, to this very vow: 'May I, too, in a future age, at the time I become a buddha, have parents, a homeland, a name, disciples, and attendants, and teach and transform beings through my own teaching, exactly as this very world-honored one now does, without any difference at all.' It is through this very cause and condition that I have now come to this very place to expound and proclaim this very Great Nirvāṇa Sūtra. "Good son, when I had first become a renunciant, before I had yet attained unsurpassed, complete awakening, King Bimbisāra sent a messenger, saying: 'Should Prince Siddhārtha choose to become a sage-king, I shall gladly become his subject. And, should he instead take no delight in the household life, and attain unsurpassed, complete awakening, I ask only that he come first to this very city of Rājagṛha to teach the Dharma and deliver its people, and receive my own offerings.' I, at that time, silently accepted this very invitation. Good son, once I had first attained unsurpassed, complete awakening, and was journeying toward the kingdom of Gayā, there was, beside the Nairañjanā River, a brahmin of the Kāśyapa clan, dwelling there together with five hundred disciples along that riverbank, seeking the unsurpassed path — and it was for the sake of this very man that I went there to teach the Dharma. This Kāśyapa said to me: 'Gautama, I am now already one hundred and twenty years of age — the people of the kingdom of Magadha, and its great king, Bimbisāra himself, all take me to have already attained the fruit of arhatship. Should I now sit before you and receive your teaching, the people, one and all, might well give rise to a doubting thought, wondering: is the venerable Kāśyapa perhaps not truly an arhat after all? I beg you, Gautama, to go swiftly elsewhere — for, should these people come to know for certain that your own merit surpasses my own, we shall have no way at all to continue receiving their offerings.' I then answered him, saying: 'Kāśyapa, if you do not harbor any deep or grave resentment toward me, allow me to stay but a single night, and I shall depart early the following morning.' Kāśyapa said: 'Gautama, my own mind holds nothing else at all — I regard you only with deep affection and respect. It is only that, at my own dwelling place, there lives a venomous dragon, fierce and violent by nature, and I fear it might do you harm.' I said: 'Kāśyapa, of every kind of poison there is, none surpasses the three poisons — and these I have already severed entirely. I hold no fear at all of any poison found in this world.' Kāśyapa then said: 'Since you truly hold no fear of it, excellent — I permit you to stay.' Good son, I, at that time, deliberately manifested, for Kāśyapa's own sake, the eighteen transformations, exactly as is told within the scriptures. At that time, Kāśyapa, together with his own five hundred followers, upon seeing and hearing this, attained the fruit of arhatship. This same Kāśyapa had, further, two younger brothers — one named Gayā Kāśyapa, and the other named Nadī Kāśyapa — and their own teachers, disciples, and followers, five hundred in number besides, likewise all attained the fruit of arhatship. At that time, the followers of the six heterodox teachers in Rājagṛha, upon hearing of this, at once gave rise to great malice toward me. I, at that time, in response to King Bimbisāra's own faithful invitation, set out for the city of Rājagṛha, and, before I had even reached the midpoint of the road, the king, together with an immeasurable multitude numbering in the hundreds of thousands, came out to receive me, and I taught the Dharma for them. Upon hearing this teaching, eighty-six thousand gods of the desire realm gave rise to the mind of unsurpassed, complete awakening; a hundred and twenty thousand of King Bimbisāra's own retinue and attendants attained the fruit of stream-entry; and immeasurable beings attained the mind of forbearance. Having entered the city, I delivered Śāriputra and Mahāmaudgalyāyana, together with their own two hundred and fifty followers, causing them to cast aside their former beliefs and become renunciants in pursuit of the path, and I then dwelt there, receiving the king's own offerings. The followers of the six heterodox teachers, gathering together, then made their way to the city of Śrāvastī."

"At that time, within that city, there was an elder named Sudatta who, having come to Rājagṛha to arrange his son's marriage, upon reaching that city, lodged at the house of the elder Śāṇḍanya. At the middle of that very night, this elder rose and said to his own household: 'Rise, all of you — quickly adorn and sweep clean the house, and prepare a fine feast.' Sudatta, hearing this, at once reflected to himself: 'Could it be that he intends to invite King Bimbisāra? Or is there some joyous marriage-feast to be held?' Having reflected in this way, he stepped forward and asked: 'Great one, do you intend to invite King Bimbisāra of Magadha? Or is there some joyous marriage-feast to be held? Why else would you be so urgently and anxiously occupied like this?' The elder answered: 'Neither, householder — tomorrow, I shall invite the Buddha, the unsurpassed Dharma-king.' Upon first hearing the name 'Buddha,' the elder Sudatta's every hair stood on end, and he at once asked further: 'What, exactly, is meant by "Buddha"?' The elder answered: 'Have you not heard? In the city of Kapilavastu, there is a son of the Śākya clan, named Siddhārtha, of the Gautama lineage, whose father is named Śuddhodana. Not long after his birth, a physiognomist examined him and declared that he was certain to become a wheel-turning sage-king, as surely as an amra fruit already resting in one's own hand. Yet his own heart took no delight in this, and he cast it aside to become a renunciant, and, without any teacher, awakened of his own accord, attaining unsurpassed, complete awakening, every trace of greed, hatred, and delusion entirely exhausted within him. He abides forever, without change, neither arising nor ceasing, free of every sorrow and fear. Toward every being, his own mind remains perfectly equal, exactly as a father and mother regard their only child with equal love. In both body and mind, he is supreme among every assembly, and yet, though he surpasses all, he holds no arrogance at all; whether anointed with fragrant balm or cut with a knife, his own mind makes no distinction between the two. His wisdom penetrates every dharma without obstruction, and he is fully endowed with the ten powers, the four kinds of fearlessness, the five wisdoms and samādhis, great loving-kindness and great compassion, and the three foundations of mindfulness — it is for this very reason that he is named "Buddha." He has consented to accept my own invitation tomorrow, and it is for this very reason that I am so hurriedly occupied, without leisure to attend properly to you.' Sudatta said: 'Excellent, great one! This one you call "Buddha," whose merit is unsurpassed — where, exactly, does he now dwell?' The elder answered: 'He now dwells right here, in this great city of Rājagṛha, at the Bamboo Grove monastery of Kalandaka.' Sudatta then, with his whole mind, called to remembrance the Buddha's own every merit — his ten powers, his fearlessness, his five wisdoms and samādhis, his great loving-kindness and great compassion, and his three foundations of mindfulness — and, as he did so, a great radiance suddenly appeared, fierce and brilliant, exactly like the light of day, and he at once followed this very light out of the house, all the way to the city gate. Through the Buddha's own supernatural power, the gate opened of itself. Once he had passed through the gate, he came upon a shrine to the local deities along the road, and Sudatta, passing it, bowed and paid it reverence — and, at that moment, the darkness returned once more. His mind grew fearful and afraid, and he wished to turn back to where he had been lodging, when a certain deity, dwelling at that very city gate, spoke to Sudatta, saying: 'Good sir, should you go on to where the Tathāgata dwells, you shall gain great and wholesome benefit.' Sudatta said: 'What kind of wholesome benefit do you mean?' The deity answered: 'Elder, suppose a man were to give, to a single person, genuine jeweled ornaments, a hundred fine steeds, a hundred fragrant elephants, a hundred jeweled carriages, a hundred figures cast in gold, a hundred beautiful women adorned with strings of every kind of precious jewel, the finest of palaces and dwellings, halls and chambers carved and engraved with the finest artistry, and a hundred each of golden trays filled with silver grain and silver trays filled with golden grain — and were he to repeat this very gift to every single person throughout the whole of Jambudvīpa — the merit thereby gained would still not equal the merit of a single person who merely takes a single step, with the intention of going to where the Tathāgata dwells.' Sudatta said: 'Good sir, who, exactly, are you?' The deity answered: 'Elder, I am the son of the brahmin Excellent Marks, and I was, in a former life, your own good friend. It was because I once saw Śāriputra and Mahāmaudgalyāyana, and my own mind gave rise to joy at the sight of them, that, upon casting off that former body, I came to be reborn as the son of Vaiśravaṇa, the heavenly king of the north, entrusted especially with guarding and protecting this very city of Rājagṛha. Simply through bowing in reverence to Śāriputra and the others, and giving rise to a joyful mind, I have already attained a body as fine and wondrous as this — how much more merit, then, would come from actually meeting the great teacher, the Tathāgata himself, and bowing to him in reverent offering?' Upon hearing this, the elder Sudatta at once returned to the road and came to where I was. Having arrived, he bowed his head to the ground in reverence at my feet, and I then taught the Dharma for him, exactly as was fitting. Upon hearing it, the elder attained the fruit of stream-entry, and, having attained and verified this fruit, he further asked of me: 'Might the Tathāgata, in his own great compassion, deign to visit the city of Śrāvastī, and receive my own humble offerings there?' I then asked him: 'In your own kingdom of Śrāvastī, is there perhaps some monastery already able to receive and accommodate me?' Sudatta said: 'Should the Buddha, in his own pity, indeed deign to visit, I shall exert my very utmost to arrange and establish one.' Good son, I, at that time, silently accepted this very invitation. The elder Sudatta, having received my consent, then said to me: 'Since I have never before undertaken a task of this kind, I ask only that the Tathāgata send Śāriputra to instruct me in the proper method, and I shall then personally see to its construction, according to his own direction.'"

"At that time, Śāriputra and Sudatta rode together in a single carriage toward the city of Śrāvastī. Through my own supernatural power, they arrived at their destination within the span of a single day and night. Sudatta then said to Śāriputra: 'Venerable one, outside this great city, is there a place, neither too near nor too far, richly endowed with springs and pools, fine groves of trees, flowers and fruit, lush, pure, and tranquil, where I might build a monastery for the Buddha, the World-Honored One, and for the community of monks?' Śāriputra said: 'The grove belonging to Prince Jeta is neither too near nor too far, pure and quiet, richly endowed with springs and pools, its trees, flowers, and fruit appearing each in their own proper season — this place is the very finest, and a monastery may well be established there.' Upon hearing this, Sudatta at once went to the great elder Prince Jeta, and said to him: 'I now wish to build a monastery for the unsurpassed Dharma-king — only your own garden land is fit for its construction. I now wish to purchase it — will you grant it to me?' Jeta answered: 'Even should you cover the entire ground with genuine gold, I would still not grant it to you.' Sudatta said: 'Excellent, Jeta! Then the grove already belongs to me, and you need only take the gold.' Jeta answered: 'My garden is not for sale — how, then, could I take any gold for it?' Sudatta said: 'If we cannot come to an understanding between ourselves, let us go together to one who settles such disputes.' The two elders then went together to an arbiter, and this arbiter declared: 'The garden belongs to Sudatta, and Jeta shall take the gold.' The elder Sudatta at once had his own men load carts and horses with gold, and had it spread across the ground — yet, within a single day, only five hundred paces of ground had been covered, and the gold was not yet sufficient to cover it all. Jeta then said: 'Elder, should you now regret this bargain, you are free to stop as you wish.' Sudatta said: 'I do not regret it at all' — and began reflecting to himself on which of his own treasuries he might draw upon to make up what remained. Jeta, reflecting to himself, thought: 'The Tathāgata, this Dharma-king, must truly be unsurpassed indeed, and the wondrous Dharma he teaches must truly be pure and undefiled, that it should cause this very man to regard even such treasure so lightly.' He then said to Sudatta: 'For whatever ground remains uncovered, no further gold is needed at all — I ask only that you allow me to give it as my own gift. I myself shall build the Buddha a gate and tower, so that the Tathāgata may forever pass through it in coming and going.' The elder Jeta thus built the gate and tower entirely at his own expense, while the elder Sudatta, within the span of seven days, completed a great residence hall, sufficient for three hundred monks, together with sixty-three separate quiet meditation chambers, and separate winter chambers and summer halls, each distinct from the other. Kitchens, bathhouses, places for washing the feet, and every kind of large and small latrine — nothing at all was left unprovided. Once every preparation was complete, he took up an incense burner and, facing toward the city of Rājagṛha in the distance, spoke these very words: 'Every preparation has now been completed — I ask only that the Tathāgata, in his own compassionate mercy, accept this dwelling place for the sake of every being.' I, at that time, knowing this elder's own mind by my own hidden knowledge, at once set out from the city of Rājagṛha, together with the whole great assembly, and, in the time it takes a strong man to bend and extend his own arm, arrived at the city of Śrāvastī, at the elder Sudatta's own monastery within Prince Jeta's grove. Having arrived there, the elder Sudatta offered to me everything he had prepared, and I, accepting it, thereupon took up residence within it."