Buda Courtesan and lustful Monk
Once there lived a Courtesan of incomparable beauty. She was glad to have the monks come by her home for alms, and offered them excellent food. Then one day, one of the monks who had gone to her home for almsfood happened to mention how beautiful she was.
This stirred desire in the heart of one of the young monks listening. The next morning, the young monk joined the group that was going to pass by the courtesan’s house on their almsround.
The courtesan happened to be ill that day, but she bid her servants carry her outside so that she could personally offer the monks something to eat. The young monk, on seeing how beautiful she was even when she was sick, developed an even stronger desire for her.
That night, however, her illness worsened and by morning she was already dead. When the Buddha received the news of her death, he advised that she not be buried for a few days, after which time he told his bhikkhus that he was going to take them to see the courtesan.
When the young bhikkhu heard where they were going, his lust for the courtesan was rekindled. What he did not realize, however, was that the courtesan was already dead. By the time the Buddha and his retinue of monks got to the cemetary, the once beautiful and desirable body of the courtesan had already been transformed into an ugly sight.
Her body was now bloated, and foul matter exuded from every which orifice. The Buddha then announced to all who had gathered there that the courtesan would be auctioned off. Anyone who was willing to pay a thousand pieces of gold could spend the night with her in bed.
Of course, nobody was willing to pay that amount, nor were they willing to pay any other price, no matter how small. In the end no one would take her even for free. The Buddha then said to his bhikkhus, “You see, when she was alive, few would hesitate to give up all they had just to be able to spend one night in her embrace. But, now, none will take her even for free. What is beauty, then, when the body is subject to deterioration and decay?”
After listening to the Buddha’s words, the lustful young monk got to realize the true nature of life and strove to free himself from the hold of sensual desire.
Look at this beautiful body, amass of sores, supported by bones, sickly, a subject of many lustful thoughts. Indeed, the body is neither permanent nor enduring.
The Cloth Baby
As more and more people became attracted to the Buddha and his teachings, the ascetics of other religions became very jealous and schemed to ruin his reputation. They asked a not uncomely young female follower of theirs to help them carry out their plan.
One day, as evening fell, the young woman started to walk in the direction of the monastery where the Buddha was staying, but in fact went and stayed at the jealous ascetics’ place for the night. Early the next morning as she returned home, her curious neighbors asked her where she had been.
She misled them to think that she had spent the night with the Buddha. After a few months had passed, she began to wrap some cloth around her stomach to look pregnant, and as the months went by, she kept adding more cloth until she really looked like she was about ready to give birth.
She also beat up her hands and feet until they became swollen and pretended to be feeling tired as real pregnant women do. Looking like that she went to accuse the Buddha. The Buddha was in the middle of giving a discourse when she arrived, holding her stomach to accentuate her condition.
Seeing him preaching, she confronted him and said, “Instead of shooting your mouth off like that, you should be taking care of me and your baby! Now that you have had your fun, you are no longer interested!”
The Buddha let her finish speaking and then said calmly, “Only you and I know if your words are true or not.”
“You’re right!” she scoffed.
“No one else could see what we were doing in the…” Before she could finish her sentence, the strings holding the bundle of cloth around her stomach loosened and the “baby” fell down to her feet. Those in the congregation then realized that the woman had been lying.
They scolded her severely and called her a wicked woman, a liar, and a cheat. Afraid that they would do her harm, she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. She did not get very far, however, when she met with an unhappy mishap and died miserably.
The next day when the bhikkhus sat talking about the unfortunate woman, the Buddha told them, “Bhikkhus, he who is not afraid to tell lies and does not care what happens in his future lifetimes, won’t hesitate to do any evil.”
For one who transgresses the truth and is given to lying and who is unconcerned with the next life, there is no evil that he cannot do.
The Innocent Monk
Once there was a Gem Polisher whose family offered almsfood to a certain monk every day. One morning as the monk was entering their house to accept his almsfood, a messenger from the king’s palace arrived with a giant ruby for the gem polisher to work on.
As the gem polisher had been in the kitchen handling some raw meat when the messenger arrived, the stone was wet with blood when he put it on a table before going into the kitchen to get some food for the monk.
Their pet bird, in the meantime, thinking that the blood-stained ruby was something to eat, picked it up and swallowed it before the monk could prevent it from doing so. When the gem polisher came back into the room, he immediately noticed that the ruby was gone.
He asked his wife and son, and then the monk, if they had taken it, but they all said no. The gem polisher assumed it must have been the monk since he was the last one seen in the room with the ruby.
He decided to beat the truth out of the monk, but his wife, would not let him do it. She warned him that the consequences of causing harm to a noble one would be worse than the punishment he could possibly receive from the king.
The gem polisher, however, was too furious to listen to his wife. He tied up the monk and beat him severely until blood started flowing from his head. Attracted by the sight of the blood, the curious bird flew toward the monk, where it received a stray blow and fell dead. Only then, did the monk tell the gem polisher that it was the bird that had swallowed the ruby.
The gem polisher quickly cut open the bird and found that the monk was indeed telling him the truth. Realizing his mistake, he trembled with fear and pleaded for the monk’s forgiveness. The monk replied that he felt no ill will toward him for it was a debt that had to be repaid due to mistakes in his past lives.
The monk then succumbed to his wounds and died, passing away into Parinibbana since he was already an arahat. When the gem polisher himself died, he was reborn in hell. As for his wife, she was reborn in one of the deva worlds.
Some are reborn as human beings, the wicked are reborn in hell, the righteous are reborn in heaven, and those free from defilements pass away into Nibbana.
Law of Kamma
King Suppabuddha was indeed not an admirer of the Buddha. He had not forgotten how the Buddha, while he was still a prince, had abandoned his beloved daughter Yasodhara for the renunciant’s life.
One day, knowing that the Buddha and his disciples would be entering the city for almsfood, the king got drunk, and the wine in his veins made him brave enough to go and block the Buddha’s way.
He would not let the Buddha pass, saying that he, the king, could not make way for someone younger than he was. Not protesting, the Buddha and his disciples turned back. King Suppabuddha then ordered one of his men to spy on the Buddha and report back to him whatever the Buddha said.
Once back at their monastery, the Buddha said to Ananda, “The king has created bad kamma by blocking the way of the Buddha and soon he will have to pay for it.”
This was reported to the king who became determined to prove that the Buddha didn’t know what he was talking about.
He commanded all of his attendants and guards to be extra vigilant in protecting him, while he himself would take special precautions. The news of the king’s increased efforts to protect himself from harm reached the monastery where the Buddha was staying. The Buddha said that it didn’t matter whether the king lived in a tower, in the sky, in an ocean, or in a cave, because he couldn’t escape the result of his kamma. Nobody could.
Several days after the road incident, the king was sitting in his room when he heard his favorite horse neighing and kicking about wildly. He became so worried that he immediately went to see what the matter was, forgetting what the Buddha had predicted for him. As he rushed out of his room, he tripped and fell down some stairs and died.
When he was reborn, he was reborn in hell. So no matter how hard he tried, the foolish king was unable to escape the effects of his evil kamma. That is how the law of kamma works.
Not in the sky, nor in the middle of the ocean, nor in the cave of a mountain, nor anywhere else, is there a place where one cannot be overcome by Death.
The Wise Merchant
Once there was a Prosperous Merchant who did not mind travelling long distances in order to deliver his merchandise to faithful buyers. Robbers got a wind of this and soon were trying to capture his carts loaded with fine and expensive goods. The merchant, however, was a clever man and each time succeeded in thwarting their plans.
On one of his journeys, the merchant learned that some monks were going to be travelling in the same direction, so he invited them to accompany him and promised to look after their every need along the way.
No one was aware at the time, however, that some robbers had already heard of the merchant’s trip and planned to ambush his caravan as it passed through a certain forest.
The wise merchant, in the meantime, made wary by past experiences, suspected something was amiss as they approached the forest. So instead of entering it, he decided to set up camp just outside its edge and stay there for a few days.
Later, when he learned what the robbers were up to, he decided that for the safety of his travelling companions and his goods, it would be best to abort the trip and return home. When news of this reached the ears of the robbers, they went and lay in wait for the merchant on the road back to the city.
But the wise merchant also had his own scouts who came back and warned him of the robbers’ strategy. The merchant then decided to stay in a village where he had good friends and not budge for a few more days.
Upon hearing about the merchant’s new plan, the monks decided to cut short their trip and return to their monastery. When they arrived there, they told the Buddha how their trip was complicated by robbers who aimed at looting the merchant’s caravan and how the wise merchant outsmarted them each time.
The Buddha replied by telling them that the merchant was a wise man, for he evaded a journey beset with robbers like someone who did not want to die evaded poison. In the same way, the Buddha taught, a wise person who realizes that existence is like a journey beset with dangers, does his best to keep away from doing evil.
Just as a wealthy merchant with few attendants avoids a dangerous road, or just as one who desires to go on living avoids poison, even so should one shun evil.
The Ungrateful Sons
Once there wass an old man who was very well off, and when his four sons got married, he gave each of them a generous portion of his wealth as a wedding present. Then his wife died, and although his sons affectionately looked after him after that, they did so with a devious ulterior motive: they wanted to possess the rest of his fortune. And they finally succeeded, leaving their aging father with hardly a cent left to his name.
Unable to manage by himself, the father went to stay at his eldest son’s home. Not more than a few days later, however, he was driven out by his nagging daughter-in-law who did not want to have anything to do with an unwelcomed “burden” in her household. To add insult to injury, his ungrateful son raised no objection to his wife’s doing.
The poor old man was to receive the same mean hospitality at the house of each of his other three sons. Helpless and miserable, the father went to seek solace and advice from the Buddha, with nothing but a staff and a bowl that he could call his own. After the old man recounted how his sons had mistreated him, the Buddha told him how to go about teaching his greedy and ungrateful sons a lesson.
The Buddha instructed him to say the following words whenever he found
himself in a crowd of people: “My greedy sons are deceitful and unkind. They call me father but do not understand the meaning of the word. Now that I have given them all of my wealth, they have let their wives drive me out of their houses and treat me like a beggar.
Alas, I can depend more on this old and crooked staff of mine than I can on my own four sons!” As advised by the Buddha, the old man went about announcing the cause of his wretched condition whenever he came across an assembly of people.
Then one day he came upon a crowd in which his ungrateful sons were also present. When he had finished his plaintive announcement, the people listening to him were filled with pity. Their pity, however, turned into rage once they realized that the very sons the old man was complaining about were among them.
The sons had to flee for their lives. When they were sure they were out of danger, the sons sat down and discussed their poor father’s situation. They ashamedly admitted that they indeed had been ungrateful and disloyal to a father who had always been but good and generous to them.
Filled with remorse, they went to look for their father, and finding him, asked for his forgiveness. They also promised that they would look after him and respect and honor him as a father should be. They also warned their wives to take good care of their father or else they would be in great trouble indeed.
One day, the eldest son invited the Buddha to his house for a meal at which time the Buddha gave a sermon on the merits that one gains by tending to the welfare of one’s parents. He included in his sermon the story of Dhanapala, an elephant who cared so much for his parents that when he got caught, was unable to eat because he was so worried about them.
Bilalapadaka, The Selfish Rich Man
One if the Men in Bilalapadaka’s neighborhood liked to do charitable deeds. One day, he arranged to have the Buddha and his disciples over to his house for a meal. Being a generous person, he wished to give everyone a chance to share the joy and merit of giving and so invited all of his neighbors to join in, even the rich but selfish Bilalapadaka.
The day before the merit-making event was to take place, the promoter of charity bustled from house to house, happily collecting whatever food his neighbors wished to contribute toward the meal.
Bilalapadaka, upon seeing his neighbor going around for donations, softly cursed under his breath, “What a miserable fellow! Why did he invite so many bhikkhus if he could not afford to provide for them properly by himself?Now he has to go around begging!”
When his neighbor came to his door, Bilalapadaka donated only a little salt, honey, and butter, which although gladly accepted, were kept separately from what the others had already given. The rich man was confused and wondered why his contribution was purposely kept aside.
He thought maybe his neighbor intended to humiliate him by showing everyone how little a man of so much had offered. So he sent one of his servants to investigate. Back at his house, the man took the things that Bilalapadaka had donated and divided them among the pots of rice, curries, and sweetmeats in order to enhance their flavor. When the servant reported this to Bilalapadaka, Bilalapadaka still doubted his neighbor’s true intention.
So the next day he went to his house with a dagger hidden under his cloak and planned to kill his neighbor should he utter even a single word that would put him to shame. But the man practising charity said to the Buddha, “Venerable Sir, the almsfood is not offered to you by me alone but with the help of many others in the neighborhood. Small or large, each contribution was given in faith and generosity, so may we all gain equal merit.”
Bilalapadaka became ashamed when he heard what his generous neighbor said to the Buddha, for he realized then what a great mistake he had committed. He went and asked his neighbor to forgive him.
When the Buddha heard Bilalapadaka’s words of remorse and learned the reason for them, he said to the people assembled there, “No matter how small a good deed you may get to do, don’t think that it is not important, for if you habitually do small deeds, in the long run they will become big ones.”
Do not think lightly of doing good, saying “A little will not affect me.” just as a water jar is filled up by falling rain, drop by drop, the wise one is filled up with merit by accumulating it little by little.
The Great Pretenders
Once there was a Time of great hardship in the country and the monks who were spending the vassa near a poor village found themselves with very little lay support.
In order to get enough food, the bhikkhus addressed each other in such a way that the people in the village, never suspecting that they would be deceived by monks, believed that they had attained sainthood. And as the news of them spread, they gained even more respect.
So the villagers, although themselves struggling to survive, mangaged to pool together enough food to keep their “saints” well fed and comfortable. When the vassa came to a close and all the bhikkhus who had spent their vassa away from the Buddha went back to pay their respects to him, as was the custom, the well-fed bhikkhus stood out like a sore thumb.
Everyone else looked so thin and pale next to them. The Buddha asked the healthy bhikkhus how they had managed to do so well when the other monks could barely get by. The bhikkhus, expecting praise for their cleverness, recounted how they had misled the poor villagers into believing that they were saints. “And are you really saints?”
the Buddha asked them, knowing full well that they were not. When they admitted that they were not, the Buddha warned them that to accept requisites from lay supporters, if they did not truly merit them, was indeed very unwholesome action and should be refrained from.
It is better for one to eat a red hot lump of iron burning like a flame than to eat almsfood offered by the pious if one is without morality and unrestrained in thought, word, and deed.
The Abusive Brothers
Once there was a Brahmin whose wife loved to praise and speak kindly of the Buddha. He did not mind it at first, but soon his wife’s increased fondness for
the Buddha caused him to become jealous.
One day he went to where the Buddha was staying, armed with a question he thought would leave the Buddha baffled and humiliated. In that way, he thought his wife would realize how misplaced her admiration for the Buddha was.
The husband asked the Buddha, “What do we have to kill to be able to live happily and peacefully?” The Buddha’s reply was simple but one that left the angry man appeased and inspired. “To be able to live happily and peacefully,”
the Buddha replied, “one has to kill anger, for anger itself kills happiness and peace.” The man reflected on the Buddha’s answer and decided to become a bhikkhu himself. Finally he became an arahat.
When the younger brother heard that his elder brother had become a monk, he in turn became very angry. He went and confronted the Buddha, abusing him badly. When he had finished his string of abusive words, the Buddha asked him, “If you offered some food to a guest who came to your house, and the guest left without eating any of it, who would the food belong to?”
The brahmin conceded that the food would belong to him. The Buddha then said, “In the same way, I do not wish to accept your abuse, so the abuse belongs to you.”
The man realized his mistake and felt great respect for the Buddha because of the lesson he had taught him. He, too, became a bhikkhu and later also attained
arahatship.
The bhikkhus remarked how wonderful it was that the Buddha could make those who came to abuse him realize the Dhamma and take refuge in him. The Buddha replied, “Because I do not answer wrong with wrong, many have come to take refuge in me.”
He who without anger endures abuse, beating and punishment, and whose power of patience is like the strength of an army, him do I call a holy man.
The Cruel Butcher
There was once a Butcher who was a very mean and wicked man. Never in his life had he ever done any meritorious deeds. His job was slaughtering pigs and he loved it, often torturing them mercilessly before putting them to death.
One day he got very sick and finally died, but before he died he suffered such agony that he crawled around on his hands and knees for days, squealing and grunting like a pig being slaughtered.
It so happened that the butcher’s home was within ear’s reach of the monastery where the Buddha and his monks were staying. When the bhikkhus heard the desperate squeals coming from his house, they assumed that the miserable butcher was at his cruel work again and shook their heads in great disapproval.
The squeals and grunts went on for several days until, one day, they stopped just as suddenly as they had begun. The monks could not help but remark to each other how wicked and hard-hearted the butcher was for having caused his poor animals so much pain and suffering.
The Buddha overheard what they were saying and said, “Bhikkhus, the butcher was not slaughtering his pigs. He was very ill and in such great pain that he was acting like the pigs he used to enjoy inflicting pain upon.
His bad kamma had finally caught up with him. Today he died and was reborn in a woeful state of existence.” The Buddha then exhorted his disciples to be alert at doing good, for anyone who did evil deeds would have to suffer for them. There was no way to escape from one’s evil deeds, he warned his disciples.
Here he grieves, hereafter he grieves. The evildoer grieves in both existences. He grieves and he suffers anguish when he remembers his impure deeds.
The Pregnant Bhikkhuni
Once there was a young woman who had only been married for a short time when she realized that her true calling was to be a nun and not a wife. Her good husband’s heart broke to hear her ask permission to leave him, but because he loved her dearly, allowed her to go and fulfill her wish.
She thus entered the nunhood and became a disciple of Devadatta, little knowing that she was already pregnant at the time. As the months rolled by, however, and her condition became quite obvious, the other bhikkhunis took her to see Devadatta who demanded that she disrobe.
However, she refused to do so. “Why should I disrobe,” she asked, “if I have not broken any monastic rule?” Instead, she went to the Buddha and became one of his disciples. Now the Buddha knew that she had not violated any of the monastic precepts, but for the sake of her good name as well as that of the Order, the Buddha requested a public hearing of her case in the presence of the king.
The aim of doing so was to prove the innocence of the bhikkhuni once and for all and to remove the last traces of doubt that anyone might still have concerning her condition. The expectant mother was then thoroughly questioned by one of the Buddha’s female devotees who was able to establish that the bhikkhuni had indeed become pregnant while she was still a lay woman and not after having entered the nunhood.
The monk appointed by the Buddha to oversee the case then made a public declaration of the bhikkhuni’s innocence. Everyone gathered there, including the king, returned home satisfied.
When the bhikkhuni finally gave birth to a baby boy, the good king adopted him as his very own son. However, at the age of seven, upon learning that his mother was a nun, the little boy left the palace and became a novice himself. Later, when he turned twenty, he became a bhikkhu.
He then went into a forest and after diligent practice attained arahatship. Thereafter, he continued to live in the forest alone for more than twelve years. When his mother finally got to see him again, she could not control her excitement. She ran up to him with tears of joy in her eyes.
The son, however, remained indifferent and said to her, “You are acting like a worldly mother and not as one who has entered the Order. Haven’t you learned any restraint?” He then walked away, knowing full well that if he had greeted his mother otherwise, she would have remained emotionally attached to him and her own spiritual progress would have been hampered.
The monks who knew the story of the bhikkhuni and her son remarked that if the mother had been foolish enough to disrobe as Devadatta had bid her, she and her son would probably not have become arahats. “They were lucky, Lord,” they added, “to have come to you for refuge.”
The Buddha replied, “Bhikkhus, in trying to attain arahatship, you must strive diligently and depend on yourself, and not on anyone else.”
One indeed is one’s own refuge. What other refuge can there be? With oneself thoroughly controlled, one can attain a refuge which is difficult to attain.
No comments:
Post a Comment