Buddhist Legends: Books 1–26

VIII. 10. THE MONK AND THE THIEVES

Though one should live a hundred years. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to the Elder Khāṇu Koṇḍañña. [254]

This Elder, it appears, obtained a Formula of Meditation from the Teacher, and while residing in the forest attained Arahatship. Desiring to inform the Teacher of his attainment, he set out to return from the forest. Growing tired by the way, he left the road, seated himself on a flat stone, and entered into a state of trance. Now at that time a band of five hundred thieves plundered a village, packed up their spoils in sacks of sizes proportioned to the strength of their several members, placed the sacks on their heads, and carried them for a long distance. Becoming weary, they said to themselves, “We have come a long distance; let us rest on the top of this flat rock.” So saying, they left the road, went to the rock, and mistook the Elder for the stump of a tree. One of the thieves placed his sack on the Elder’s head, and another placed his sack near his body. One after another, the five hundred thieves set their sacks in a circle about him and then lay down and went to sleep.

At dawn they woke up and took their sacks. Seeing the Elder, and thinking he was an evil spirit, they started to run away. The Elder said to them, “Lay disciples, have no fear; I am a monk.” Thereupon they prostrated themselves before his feet and begged his pardon, saying, “Pardon us, Reverend Sir; we mistook you for the stump of a tree.” The ringleader of the thieves said, “I intend to become a monk under the Elder.” [255] The rest said, “We also will become monks.” And with one accord all of the thieves requested the Elder to make monks of them. The Elder made monks of them all, just as did the novice Saṁkicca. From that time forward he went by the name of Stump Koṇḍañña, Khāṇu Koṇḍañña.

Accompanied by those monks, he went to the Teacher. When the Teacher asked him, “Koṇḍañña, you have obtained pupils?” he told him what had happened. The Teacher asked, “Monks, is this true?” “Yes, Reverend Sir; we never saw such an exhibition of magical power before and therefore we have become monks.” The Teacher replied, “Monks, it were better for you to live but a single day in the exercise of the wisdom you have just acquired than to live for a hundred years committing such acts of foolishness.” And joining the connection and instructing them in the Law, he pronounced the following Stanza,

111. Though one should live a hundred years, unwise, not meditating,

Yet were it better to live a single day possessed of wisdom, in meditation.

VIII. 11. ON THE RAZOR’S EDGE

Though one should live a hundred years. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to the Elder Sappadasa. [256]

At Sāvatthi, we are told, the son of a respectable family, after hearing the Teacher preach the Law, was received into the Order and made his full profession. Becoming discontented after a time, he thought to himself, “The life of a layman is not suited to a youth of station like me; but even death would be preferable to remaining a monk.” So he went about considering ways of killing himself.

Now one day, very early in the morning, the monks went to the monastery after breakfast, and seeing a snake in the hall where the fire was kept, put it into a jar, closed the jar, and carried it out of the monastery. The discontented monk, after eating his breakfast, drew near, and seeing the monks, asked them, “What’s that you’ve got, brethren?” “A snake, brother.” “What are you going to do with it?” “Throw it away.” The monk thought to himself, “I will commit suicide by letting the snake bite me.” So he said to the monks, “Let me take it; I’ll throw it away.”

He took the jar from their hands, sat down in a certain place, and tried to make the snake bite him. But the snake refused to bite him. Then he put his hand into the jar, waved it this way and that, opened the snake’s mouth and stuck his finger in, but the snake still refused to bite him. So he said to himself, “It’s not a poisonous snake, but a house-snake,” threw it away, and returned to the monastery. The monks asked him, “Did you throw the snake away, brother?” “Brethren, that was not a poisonous snake; it was only a house-snake.” “Brother, that was a poisonous snake, all the same; [257] it spread its hood wide, hissed at us, and gave us much trouble to catch. Why do you talk thus?” “Brethren, I tried to make it bite me, and even stuck my finger into its mouth, but I couldn’t make it bite.” When the monks heard this, they were silent.

Now the discontented monk acted as barber of the monastery; and one day he went to the monastery with two or three razors, and laying one razor on the floor, cut the hair of the monks with the other. When he removed the razor from the floor, the thought occurred to him, “I will cut my throat with this razor and so put myself out of the way.” So he went to a certain tree, leaned his neck against a branch, and applied the blade of the razor to his windpipe. Remaining in this position, he reflected upon his conduct from the time of his full profession, and perceived that his conduct was flawless, even as the spotless disk of the moon or a cluster of transparent jewels. As he surveyed his conduct, a thrill of joy suffused his whole body. Suppressing the feeling of joy and developing Spiritual Insight, he attained Arahatship together with the Supernatural Faculties. Then he took his razor and entered the monastery inclosure.

The monks asked him, “Where did you go, brother?” “Brethren, I went out thinking to myself, ‘I will cut my windpipe with this razor and so put myself out of the way.’” [258] “How did you escape death?” “I can no longer carry a knife. For I said to myself, ‘With this razor will I sever my windpipe.’ But instead of so doing, I severed the Depravities with the Razor of Knowledge.” The monks said to themselves, “This monk speaks falsely, says what is untrue,” and reported the matter to the Exalted One. The Exalted One listened to their words and replied, “Monks, those that have rid themselves of the Depravities are incapable of taking their own life.” “Reverend Sir, you speak of this monk as one who has rid himself of the Depravities. But how comes it that this monk, possessed of the faculties requisite for the attainment of Arahatship, became discontented? How came he to possess those faculties? Why did not that snake bite him?” “Monks, the simple fact is that that snake was his slave in his third previous existence, and therefore did not dare to bite the body of his own master.” Thus briefly did the Teacher explain this cause to them. Thereafter that monk was known as Sappadasa. (‘Having a snake as his slave.’)

11a. Story of the Past: Discontented and covetous

In the dispensation of the Buddha Kassapa, we are told, a certain youth of respectable family, having heard the Teacher preach the Law, was moved to enter the Order. Some time after he had made his full profession, discontent arose within him, and he spoke of it to a certain fellow-monk. The latter spoke to him repeatedly of the disadvantages connected with the life of a householder. The monk listened to his words, and became satisfied once more with the Religious Life.

One day he was seated on the bank of a pool cleansing his monastic utensils of spots they had taken on in the days of his discontent, and his fellow-monk was seated beside him. Said he to his fellow-monk, “Brother, it was my intention on leaving the Order to give these utensils to you.” [259] His fellow-monk thought, “What difference does it make to me whether this monk remains in the Order or leaves it? Now I shall get his utensils away from him.” From that time on, his fellow-monk would say to him, “How now, brother! What is the use of our living, we who go from house to house with potsherds in our hands seeking alms and are forbidden to talk and converse with son and wife?” This and much else did his fellow-monk say to him, dwelling on the advantages of the life of a householder. From listening to the talk of his fellow-monk, he became discontented again. Then the thought occurred to him, “At first, when I told this monk that I was discontented, he spoke of the disadvantages of the life of a householder; now, however, he dwells repeatedly on its advantages; I wonder what can be the reason.” The reason flashed through his mind, “It is because he covets these monastic utensils of mine.” End of Story of the Past.

“Thus it was that because a certain monk became discontented in the dispensation of the Buddha Kassapa, he became discontented in the present time; and because he meditated then for twenty thousand years, he obtained at the present time the faculties requisite for the attainment of Arahatship.” The monks, after hearing the Exalted One explain this matter, asked him a further question, “Reverend Sir, this monk says that he attained Arahatship even as he stood with the blade of his razor pressed against his windpipe. Is it possible to gain the Path of Arahatship in so short a period of time?” “Yes, monks, a monk who strives with all his might may gain the Path of Arahatship in raising his foot, in setting his foot on the ground, or even before his foot touches the ground. [260] For it is better for a man who strives with all his might to live but a single instant than for an idle man to live a hundred years.” So saying, he joined the connection, and preaching the Law, he pronounced the following Stanza,

112. Though one should live a hundred years, idle, listless,

Yet were it better to live for a single day, and strive with might and main.

VIII. 12. PAṬĀCĀRĀ IS BEREFT OF ALL HER FAMILY

Though one should live a hundred years. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher, while in residence at Jetavana, with reference to the nun Paṭācārā.

Paṭācārā, we are told, was the daughter of a wealthy merchant of Sāvatthi. Her father was worth four hundred millions, and she was exceedingly beautiful. When she was about sixteen years old, her parents provided quarters for her in a palace seven stories high, and there they kept her, on the topmost floor, surrounded by guards. But in spite of these precautions she misconducted herself, and it was with her own page. [261]

Now it so happened that her father and mother had promised her in marriage to a certain young man who was her social equal, and finally they set the wedding-day. When the day was close at hand, she said to the page, “My parents tell me that they intend to give me in marriage to a young man who comes of such and such a family. Now you know very well that when I am once inside of my husband’s house, you may bring me presents and come to see me all you like, but you will never, never get in. Therefore, if you really love me, don’t delay an instant, but find some way or other of getting me out of this

1 Parallels: Aṅguttara Commentary, JRAS., 1893, 552-560; Theri-Gdthd Com-m£ntary, xlvii: 108-112. On the relations of the three versions, see Introduction, § 7 rf. Synoptical Table, and especially p. 50. Cf. Theri-Gdthd, 218-219, and Tibetan Tales, xi: n6-%W. Text: N ii. 260-270.

1 Cf. the beginning of Stories ii. 3, viii. 3, and ix. 8.

place.” “Very well, my love; this is what I will do: to-morrow, early in the morning, I will go to the city, gate and wait for you at such and such a spot; you manage, somehow or other, to get out of this place and meet me there.”

On the following day he went to the appointed place and waited. Paṭācārā got up very early in the morning, put on soiled garments, disheveled her hair, and smeared her body with red powder. Then, in order to outwit her keepers, she took a water-pot in her hand, surrounded herself with slave-maidens, and set out as if she intended to fetch water. Escaping from the palace, she went to the appointed place and met her lover. Together they went a long way off, and took up their abode in a certain village. The husband tilled the soil, and gathered firewood and leaves in the forest. The wife fetched water in her water-pot, and with her own hand pounded the rice, did the cooking, and performed the other household duties. Thus did Paṭācārā reap the fruit of her own sin.

By and by she became pregnant, and when the time for her delivery was near at hand, she made the following request to her husband, “Here I have no one to help me. But a mother and father always have a soft spot in their heart for their child. Therefore take me home to them, that I may give birth to my child in their house.” [262] But her husband refused her request, saying to her, “My dear wife, what say you? If your mother and father were to see me, they would subject me to all manner of tortures. It is out of the question for me to go.” Over and over again she begged him, and each time he refused her.

One day, when her husband was away in the forest, she went to the neighbors and said, “Should my husband ask you where I have gone when he returns, tell him that I have gone home to my parents.” And having so said, she closed the door of her house and went away. When her husband returned and observed that she was not there, he inquired of the neighbors, and they told him what had happened. “I must persuade her to return,” thought he, and set out after her. Finally he caught sight of her, and overtaking her, begged her to return with him. But try as he might, he was unable to persuade her to do so.

When they reached a certain place, the birth-pains came upon her. Said she to her husband, “Husband, the birth-pains are come upon me.” So saying, she made her way into a clump of bushes, laid herself upon the ground, and there, with much tossing about and pain, she gave birth to a son. Then she said, “What I set out to go home for is over.” So back again to their house she went with him, and once more they lived together.

After a time she became pregnant again. When the time for her delivery was at hand, she made the same request of her husband as before and received the same answer. So she took her child upon her hip and went away just as she had before. Her husband followed her, overtook her, and asked her to return with him. This she refused to do. Now as they went on their way, a fearful storm arose, out of due season. [263] The sky was ablaze with flashes of lightning, and rent asunder, as it were, with thunder-claps, and there was an incessant downpour of rain. At that moment the birth-pains came upon her. She said to her husband, “Husband, the birth-pains are come upon me; I cannot stand it; find me a place out of the rain.”

Her husband went hither and thither, axe in hand, seeking materials for a shelter. Seeing some brushwood growing on the top of an anthill, he set about to chop it down. Hardly had he begun his work, when a poisonous snake slipped out of the ant-hill and bit him. Instantly his body was burned up, as it were, by flames of fire shooting up within him, his flesh turned purple, and in the place wherein he stood, there he fell down dead.

Paṭācārā, suffering intense pain, watched for her husband to return, but in vain. Finally she gave birth to a second son. The two children, unable to withstand the buffeting of the wind and the rain, screamed at the top of their lungs. The mother took them to her bosom, and crouching upon the ground with her hands and knees pressed together, remained in this posture all night long. Her whole body looked as though there were no blood left in it, and her flesh had the appearance of a sere and yellow leaf.

When the dawn rose, she took her new-born son, his flesh as red as a piece of meat, and placed him on her hip. Then she gave the older boy one of her fingers to hold, and with the words, “Come, dear child, your father has left us,” set out along the same path her husband had taken. [264] When she came to the ant-hill, there, on top of it, she saw her husband lying dead, his flesh purple, his body rigid. “All on account of me,” said she, “my husband has died upon the road,” and wailing and lamenting, she continued her journey.

When she came to the river Aciravatī, she observed that by reason of the rain, which had lasted all night long, the river was swollen knee-deep, and in places waist-deep. She was too weak to wade across the stream with the two children; therefore she left the older boy on the near bank and carried the younger across to the far side. Breaking off a branch of a tree and spreading it out, she laid the child on it. Then, thinking to herself, “I must return to my other child,” she took leave of the younger boy and turned to recross the stream. But she could hardly bring herself to leave the little one, and again and again she turned around to look at him.

She had barely reached midstream, when a hawk caught sight of the child, and mistaking him for a piece of meat, swooped down from the sky after him. The mother seeing the hawk swoop down after her child, raised both her hands and screamed with a loud voice, “Begone, begone! (Su, su!) Three times she screamed, but the hawk was so far away that he failed to hear her, and seizing the boy, flew up into the air with him.

When the older boy, who had been left on the near bank, saw his mother stop in the middle of the river and raise her hands, and heard her scream with a loud voice, he thought to himself, “She is calling me.” And in his haste he fell into the water. In this wise was her younger son carried off by a hawk, and her older son swept away by the river. And she wailed and lamented, saying, “One of my sons has been carried off by a hawk, the other swept away by the water; by the roadside my husband lies dead.” [265] And thus wailing and lamenting, she went on her way.

As she proceeded on her way, she met a certain man coming from Sāvatthi. She asked him, “Sir, where do you live?” “In Sāvatthi, my good woman.” “In the city of Sāvatthi, in such and such a street, lives such and such a family. Do you know them, sir?” “Yes, my good woman, I know them. But pray don’t ask me about that family. Ask me about any other family you know.” “Sir, I have no occasion to ask about any other. This is the only family I wish to ask about.” “Woman, you give me no opportunity to avoid telling you. Did you observe that it rained all last night?” “Indeed I did, sir. In fact, I am the only person the rain fell on all night long. How it came to rain on me, I will tell you by and by. But just tell me what has happened to the family of this wealthy merchant, and I will ask you no further questions.” “My good woman, last night the storm overturned that house, and it fell on the merchant and his wife and his son, and they perished, all three, and their neighbors and kinsmen are even now burning their bodies on one funeral pyre. Look there, my good woman! You can see the smoke now.”

Instantly she went mad. Her clothing fell off from her body, but she knew not that she was naked. [266] And naked as at her birth she wandered round and round, weeping and wailing and lamenting.

Both my sons are dead; my husband on the road lies dead;

My mother and father and brother bum on one funeral pyre.

Those who saw her yelled, “Crazy fool! Crazy fool!” Some flung rubbish at her, others showered dust on her head, others pelted her with clods of earth.

It so happened that at this time the Teacher was in residence at Jetavana monastery. As he sat there in the midst of his disciples preaching the Law, he saw Paṭācārā approach from afar, and recognized in her one who for a hundred thousand cycles of time had fulfilled the Perfections, one who had made her Earnest Wish and attained it.

(We are told that in the dispensation of the Buddha Padumuttara she had seen the Teacher Padumuttara take a certain nun by the arm and assign her preeminence among those that are versed in the Canon Law. It seemed as if the Teacher were opening the heaven of Indra and admitting the nun to the Garden of Delight. So she formed her resolve and made this prayer, “May I also obtain from a Buddha like you preeminence among nuns versed in the Canon Law.” The Buddha Padumuttara, extending his consciousness into the future and perceiving that her prayer would be fulfilled, made the following prophecy, “In the dispensation of a Buddha to be known as Gotama, this woman will bear the name Paṭācārā, and will obtain preeminence among nuns versed in the Canon Law.”) [267]

So when the Teacher beheld Paṭācārā approaching from afar, her prayer fulfilled, her Earnest Wish attained, he said, “There is none other that can be a refuge to this woman, but only I.” And he caused her to draw near to the monastery. The moment his disciples saw her, they cried out, “Suffer not that crazy woman to come hither.” But he said to them, “Depart from me; forbid her not.” And when she was come nigh, he said to her, “Sister, return to your right mind.” Instantly, through the supernatural power of the Buddha, she returned to her right mind. At the same moment she became aware that her clothing had fallen from off her body; and recovering at once her sense of modesty and fear of mortal sin, she crouched upon the ground.

A certain man threw her his cloak. She put it on, and approaching the Teacher, prostrated herself before his golden feet with the Five Rests. Having so done, she said, “Venerable Sir, be thou my refuge, be thou my support. One of my sons has been carried off by a hawk, the other swept away by the water; by the roadside my husband lies dead; my father’s house has been wrecked by the wind, and in it have perished my mother and father and brother, and even now their bodies are burning on one funeral pyre.”

The Teacher listened to what she had to say and replied, “Paṭācārā, be no more troubled. Thou art come to one that is able to be thy shelter, thy defense, thy refuge. What thou hast said is true. One of thy sons has been carried off by a hawk, the other swept away by the water; [268] by the roadside thy husband lies dead; thy father’s house has been wrecked by the wind, and in it have perished thy mother and father and brother. But just as to-day, so also all through this round of existences, thou hast wept over the loss of sons and others dear to thee, shedding tears more abundant than the waters of the four oceans.” And he uttered the following Stanza,

But little water do the oceans four contain,

Compared with all the tears that man hath shed,

By sorrow smitten and by suffering distraught.

Woman, why heedless dost thou still remain?

In this wise did the Teacher discourse on the round of existences without conceivable beginning. As he spoke, the grief which pervaded her body became less intense. Perceiving that her grief was become less intense, he continued his discourse as follows, “Paṭācārā, to one that is on his way to the world beyond, nor sons nor other kith and kin can ever be a shelter or a refuge. How much less can you expect them to be such to you in this present life! He that is wise should clarify his conduct, and so for himself make clear the path that leadeth to Nibbāna.” So saying, he instructed her in the Law by pronouncing the following Stanzas,

288. Nor sons nor father can a refuge be, nor kith and kin;

In them, to him whom death assails, no refuge remains.

289. Knowing this power of circumstances, the wise man, restrained by the moral precepts,

Should straightway clear the path that leads to Nibbāna. [269]

At the conclusion of the discourse, Paṭācārā obtained the Fruit of Conversion, and the Depravities within her, as numerous as the particles of dust on the whole wide earth, were burned away. Many others likewise obtained the Fruit of Conversion and the Fruits of the Second and Third Paths. Paṭācārā, having obtained the Fruit of Conversion, requested the Teacher to admit her to the Order. The Teacher sent her to the community of nuns and directed that she be admitted. Afterwards she made her full profession and by reason of her happy demeanor (paṭitācārattā) came to be known as Paṭācārā.

One day she filled her water-pot with water, and pouring out water, bathed her feet. As she poured out the water, she spilled some on the ground. The water ran a little way and disappeared. The second time it went a little farther. The third time a little farther yet. So she took this very incident for her Subject of Meditation, and fixing accurately in her mind the three occurrences, she meditated thus, “Even as the water I spilled the first time ran a little way and disappeared, so also living beings here in the world are dying in youth. Even as the water I spilled the second time ran a little farther, so also living beings here in the world are dying in the prime of life. Even as the water I spilled the third time ran a little farther yet, so also living beings here in the world are dying in old age.”

The Teacher, seated in his Perfumed Chamber, sent forth an apparition of himself, and standing as it were face to face with her, spoke and said, “Paṭācārā, ‘twere better far to live but a single day, aye, but a single moment, and see the rise and set of the Five Elements of Being, than to live a hundred years and not see.” [270] And joining the connection, he instructed her in the Law by pronouncing the following Stanza,

113. Though one should live a hundred years, ‘twere all in vain,

Did one not see that all that is doth wax and wane;

Instead, ‘twere better far to live a single day,

And know that all the world contains doth rise and pass away.

At the conclusion of the discourse Paṭācārā attained Arahatship together with the Supernatural Faculties.

VIII. 13. KISā GOTAMī SEEKS MUSTARD SEED TO CURE HER DEAD CHILD

Though one should live a hundred years. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher at Jetavana, with reference to Kisā Gotamī.

13 a. Kisā Gotamī marries the son of a rich merchant

Once upon a time, the story goes, a merchant worth four hundred millions lived at Sāvatthi. Suddenly all of his wealth turned into charcoal. The merchant, overwhelmed with grief, refused to eat and took to his bed. One day a certain friend of his came to see him and asked him, “Sir, why are you so sorrowful?” The merchant told him what had happened. Said his friend, “Sir, give not yourself over to sorrow. [271] I know a way out of the difficulty, if you will but make use of it.” “Well, sir, what am I to do?”

Said his friend, “Spread matting in your shop, and pile the charcoal on it, and sit down as if you were selling it. People will come along and say to you, ‘Most merchants sell such things as clothing and oil and honey and molasses; but you are sitting here selling charcoal.’ Then you must say to them, ‘If I can’t sell what belongs to me, what am I to do?’ But again some one may say, ‘Most merchants sell such things as clothing and oil and honey and molasses; but you are sitting here selling yellow gold.’ Then you must say, ‘Where’s any yellow gold?’ Your customer will say, ‘There it is!’ Then say, ‘Let me have it.’ Your customer will bring you a handful of charcoal. Take it, cover it with your hands, and presto! it will turn into yellow gold. Now if your customer be a maiden, marry her to your son, turn over your four hundred millions to her, and live on what she gives you. But if your customer be a youth, marry your daughter to him as soon as she reaches marriageable age, turn over your four hundred millions to him, and live on what he gives you.”

“A fine plan indeed!” said the merchant. [272] So he piled the charcoal up in his shop, and sat down as if he were selling it. People

1 Parallels: Aṅguttara Commentary, JRAS., 1893, 791-796; Therl-Gdthd Commentary, Ixiii: 174-176; Rogers, Buddhaghosha’s Parables, x, pp. 98-102; Tibetan Tales, xi, pp. 216-226. In Therl-Gdthd, 218-219, and in the Tibetan version, certain episodes of the story of Paṭācārā (viii. 12) are incorporated in the story of Kisā Gotamī. Cf. Die Legende von Kisdgotaml. Eine literarhistorische Untersuchung. Von Jakob H. Thiessen, Breslau, 1880. Text: N ii. 270--75.

came along and said to him, “Most merchants sell such things as clothing and oil and honey and molasses; but you are sitting here selling charcoal.” To such as asked this question, he replied as follows, “If I can’t sell what belongs to me, what am I to do?”

There came one day to the door of his shop a certain maiden, the daughter of a poverty-stricken house. Her name was Gotami, but by reason of the leanness of her body she was generally known as Kisā Gotamī. She came to buy something for herself; but when she saw the merchant, she said to him, “My good sir, most merchants sell such things as clothing and oil and honey and molasses; but you are sitting here selling yellow gold.” “Maiden, where is there any yellow gold?” “Right there where you are sitting.” “Let me have some of it, maiden.” She took a handful of the charcoal and placed it in his hands. No sooner had it touched his hands than presto! it turned into yellow gold.

Then said the merchant to her, “Which is your house, maiden?” Said she, “Such and such, sir.” The merchant, perceiving that she was unmarried, married her to his own son. He then gathered up his wealth (what was previously charcoal turning into yellow gold at his touch), and gave the four hundred millions into her charge. In time she became pregnant, and, after ten lunar months, gave birth to a son. But the child died as soon as he was able to walk.

13 b. Kisā Gotamī seeks mustard seed to cure her dead child

Now Kisā Gotamī had never seen death before. Therefore, when they came to remove the body for burning, she forbade them to do so. Said she to herself, “I will seek medicine for my son.” Placing the dead child on her hip, she went from house to house inquiring, “Know ye aught that will cure my son?” [273] Everyone said to her, “Woman, thou art stark mad that thou goest from house to house seeking medicine for thy dead child.” But she went her way, thinking, “Surely I shall find someone that knoweth medicine for my child.”

Now a certain wise man saw her and thought to himself, “This my daughter hath no doubt borne and lost her first and only child, nor death hath seen before; I must help her.” So he said to her, “Woman, as for me, I know not that wherewith to cure your child; but one there is that knoweth, and him I know.” “Sir, who is it that doth know?” “Woman, the Teacher doth know; go ask him.” “Good sir, I will go ask him.”

1 Facsimiles of original, in Burmese and Cingalese letters, vol. 28, pages xii-xiii.

So she went to the Teacher, paid obeisance to him, stood at his side, and asked him, “Venerable Sir, is it true, as men say, that thou dost know that wherewith to cure my child?” “Yea, that know I.” “What shall I get?” “A pinch of white mustard seed.” “That will I, Venerable Sir. But in whose house shall I get it?” “In whose house nor son nor daughter nor any other hath yet died.” “Very well, Venerable Sir,” said she, and paid obeisance to him. Then she placed the dead child on her hip, entered the village, stopped at the door of the very first house, and asked, “Have ye here any white mustard seed? [274] They say it will cure my child.” “Yea.” “Well then, give it me.” They brought grains of white mustard seed and gave to her. She asked, “Friends, in the house wherein ye dwell hath son or daughter yet died?” “What sayest thou, woman? As for the living, they be few; only the dead be many.” “Well then, take back your mustard seed; that is no medicine for my child.” So saying, she gave back the mustard seed.

After this manner, going from house to house, she plied her quest. Never a house wherein she found the mustard seed she sought; and when the evening came, she thought, “Ah! ’tis a heavy task I took upon myself. I thought ’twas I alone had lost a child, but in every village the dead are more in number than the living.” The while she thus reflected, hard became the heart the which erewhile was soft with mother’s love. She took the child and in a forest laid him down, and going to the Teacher paid obeisance to him and beside him took her stand.

Said the Teacher, “Didst thou get the single pinch of mustard seed?” “Nay, that did I not. Venerable Sir. In every village the dead are more in number than the living.” Said the Teacher, “Vainly didst thou imagine that thou alone hadst lost a child. But all living beings are subject to an unchanging law, and it is this: The Prince of Death, like to a raging torrent, [275] sweeps away into the sea of ruin all living beings; still are their longings unfulfilled.” And instructing her in the Law, he pronounced the following Stanza,

287. Whoso hath set his heart on sons or flocks and herds,

To worldly pleasures given o’er whose thoughts, —

Even as a torrent sweeps away a sleeping town,

So him the Prince of Death doth take and bear away.

As the Teacher uttered the last word of the Stanza, Kisā Gotamī was established in the Fruit of Conversion. Likewise did many others also obtain the Fruit of Conversion, and the Fruits of the Second and Third Paths. Kisā Gotamī requested the Teacher to admit her to the Order; accordingly he sent her to the community of nuns and directed that she be admitted. Afterwards she made her full profession and came to be known as the nun Kisā Gotamī.

One day it was her turn to light the lamp in the Hall of Confession. Having lighted the lamp, she sat down and watched the tongues of flame. Some flared up and others flickered out. She took this for her Subject of Meditation and meditated as follows, “Even as it is with these flames, so also is it with living beings here in the world: some flare up, while others flicker out; they only that have reached Nibbāna are no more seen.”

The Teacher, seated in his Perfumed Chamber, sent forth an apparition of himself, and standing as it were face to face with her, spoke and said, “Even as it is with these flames, so also is it with living beings here in the world: some flare up, while others flicker out; they only that have reached Nibbāna are no more seen. Therefore, better is the life of him that seeth Nibbāna, though he live but for an instant, than the lives of them that endure for a hundred years and yet see not Nibbāna.” And joining the connection, he instructed her in the Law by pronouncing the following Stanza,

114. Though one should live a hundred years, the region of the deathless never seeing,.’Twould be in vain; instead, ‘twould better be

To live a single day, the region of the deathless seeing.

At the conclusion of the discourse Kisā Gotamī, even as she sat there, attained Arahatship and the Supernatural Faculties.

VIII. 14. THE WIDOW BAHUPUTTIKA AND HER UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN

Though one should live a hundred years. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to Bahuputtika. [276]

In a certain household at Sāvatthi, we are told, were seven sons and seven daughters. All of them married as soon as they were old enough, and were happy, as was indeed their nature. After a time their father died. But the mother, the eminent female lay disciple, even after the death of her husband, did not for some time relinquish control

1 Cf. Story xxiii. 3. Text: N ii. 276-278.

of his property. One day her sons said to her, “Mother, now that our father is dead, what is the use of your retaining his property? Can we not support you?” She listened to their words, but said nothing. After they had spoken to her several times about the matter, she thought to herself, “My sons will look after me; why need I keep the property separate for myself?” So she divided the estate into two parts and distributed them among the children.

After a few days had passed, the wife of her oldest son said to her, “Apparently this is the only house our excellent mother visits; she acts as though she had given both parts of her estate to her oldest son.” In like manner did the wives of her other sons address her. So likewise did her daughters address her whenever she entered their houses, from the oldest to the youngest. With such disrespect was she treated that finally she said to herself, “Why should I live with them any longer? I will enter the Order and live the life of a nun.” So she went to the nuns’ convent [277] and asked to be admitted to the Order. They received her into the Order, and when she had made her full profession she went by the name of Bahuputtika the nun.

“Since I have entered the Order in old age,” thought she, as she performed the major and minor duties assigned to nuns, “it behooves me to be heedful; I will therefore spend the whole night in meditation.” On the lower terrace, putting her hand on a pillar, she guided her steps thereby and meditated. Even as she walked along, fearful that in the dark places she might strike her head against a tree or against some other object, she put her hand on a tree and guided her steps thereby, and meditated. Resolved to observe only the Law taught by the Teacher, she considered the Law and pondered the Law and meditated.

The Teacher, seated in the Perfumed Chamber, sent forth a radiant image of himself, and sitting as it were face to face with her, talked with her, saying, “Bahuputtika, though one should live a hundred years, did he not behold the Law I have taught and meditate thereon, it were better that he live but a moment and behold the Law I have taught.” And joining the connection and teaching the Law, he pronounced the following Stanza,

115. Though one should live a hundred years, did he not behold the Law Supreme,

It were better that he live but a single day and behold the Law Supreme. [278]

At the conclusion of the Stanza, Bahuputtika became an Arahat, possessed of the Supernatural Faculties.

BOOK IX.

EVIL

PĀPA VAGGA

IX. 1. THE BRAHMAN WITH A SINGLE ROBE

Let a man make haste to do good. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to the Brahman Little One-Robe, Culla Ekasataka. [1]

For in the dispensation of the Buddha Vipassī lived a Brahman named Mahā Ekasataka, and he it was who was reborn in the present dispensation in Sāvatthi as One-Robe, Culla Ekasataka. For Culla Ekasataka possessed but a single undergarment, and his wife possessed but a single undergarment, and both of them together possessed but a single upper garment. The result was that, whenever either the Brahman or his wife went out of doors, the other had to stay at home. One day announcement was made that there would be preaching at the monastery. Said the Brahman to his wife, “Wife, announcement is made that there will be preaching at the monastery. Will you go to hear the Law by day or by night? For we have not enough upper garments between us to permit both of us to go together.” The Brahman’s wife replied, “Husband, I will go in the daytime.” So saying, she put on the upper garment and went.

The Brahman spent the day at home. At night he went to the monastery, seated himself in front of the Teacher, and listened to the Law. As he listened to the Law, the five sorts of joy arose within him, suffusing his body. He greatly desired to do honor to the Teacher, but the following thought restrained him, “If I give this garment to the Teacher, there will be no upper garment left for my wife or me.” A thousand selfish thoughts arose within him; then a single believing thought arose within him. [2] Then thought of self arose within him and overmastered the believing thought. Even so did the mighty thought of self seize, as it were, and bind and thrust out the believing thought. “I will give it! No, I will not give it!” said the Brahman to himself. As he thus reflected, the first watch passed and the second watch arrived. Even then he was not able to bring himself to give the

1 This story is referred to at Milindapanha, 115--. Parallel in Aṅguttara Commentary (citation at HOS. 28. p. 51). Text: N iii. 1-5.

garment to the Teacher. Then the last watch came. Finally the Brahman thought to himself, “While I have been fighting with thoughts of faith and thoughts of self, two watches have elapsed. If these powerful thoughts of self increase, they will not permit me to lift up my head from the Four States of Suffering. I will therefore give my gift.” Thus the Brahman finally overmastered a thousand thoughts of self and followed the lead of a thought of faith. Taking his garment, he laid it at the Teacher’s feet and thrice cried out with a loud voice, “I have conquered! I have conquered!”

King Pasenadi Kosala happened to be listening to the Law. When he heard that cry, he said, “Ask him what he has conquered.” The king’s men asked the Brahman the question, and the Brahman explained the matter to them. When the king heard the explanation, he said, “It was a hard thing to do what the Brahman did. I will do him a kindness.” So he caused a pair of garments to be presented to him. The Brahman presented these garments also to the Tathāgata. Then the king doubled his gift, presenting the Brahman first with two pairs of garments, then with four, then with eight, finally with sixteen. The Brahman presented all these garments also to the Tathāgata. Then the king directed thirty-two pairs of garments to be presented to the Brahman. But to avoid having it said, “The Brahman has kept not a single pair for himself, but has given away every pair he received,” he said to the Brahman, “Keep one pair for yourself and give another pair to your wife.” So saying, he caused the Brahman to keep two pairs and gave the remaining thirty pairs to the Tathāgata alone. Even had the Brahman given away what he possessed a hundred times, the king would have met his gifts with equal gifts. (In a former state of existence Mahā Ekasataka kept for himself two pairs of garments out of sixty-four he received; Culla Ekasataka [3] kept two out of thirty-two.)

The king gave orders to his men, “It was indeed a hard thing to do what the Brahman did. Fetch my two blankets into the presence-chamber.” They did so. The king presented him with the two blankets, valued at a thousand pieces of money. But the Brahman said to himself, “I am not worthy to cover my body with these blankets. These are suitable only for the Religion of the Buddha.” Accordingly he made a canopy of one of the blankets and hung it up in the Perfumed Chamber over the Teacher’s bed; likewise he made a canopy of the other blanket and hung it up in his own house over the spot where the monk who resorted to his house for alms took his meals. At eventide the king went to visit the Teacher. Recognizing the blanket, he asked him, “Reverend Sir, who was it that honored you with the gift of this blanket?” “Ekasataka.” Thought the king to himself, “Even as I believe and rejoice in my belief, even so does this Brahman believe and rejoice in his belief.” Accordingly he presented to him four elephants, four horses, four thousand pieces of money, four women, four female slaves, and four most excellent villages. Thus therefore did the king cause the Brahman to be given the Gift of Fours.

The monks started a discussion in the Hall of Truth: “Oh how wonderful was the deed of Culla Ekasataka! No sooner done than he received all manner of presents of four! As soon as he did a good deed, straightway the fruit thereof was given to him.” The Teacher approached and asked the monks, “Monks, what are you sitting here now talking about?” When they told him, he said, “Monks, had Ekasataka been able to bring himself to give me his gift in the first watch, he would have received the Gift of Sixteens; had he been able to do so in the middle watch, [4] he would have received the Gift of Eights; because it was not until late in the last watch that he gave me his gift, he received only the Gift of Fours. He who does good works should not put away the impulse to good that arises within him, but should act on the instant. A meritorious deed tardily done brings its reward, but tardy is the reward it brings. Therefore a man should perform a good work the instant the impulse to good arises within him.” So saying, he joined the connection, and preaching the Law, pronounced the following Stanza,

116. Let a man make haste to do good; let him restrain his heart from evil;

For if a man is slow in doing good, his mind delights in evil.

IX. 2. A DISCONTENTED MONK

Should a man commit sin. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to Elder Seyyasaka. [5]

For Elder Seyyasaka was Elder Lāḷudāyi’s fellow-monk. Becoming discontented with the continence required by the Religious Life, he

1 This story is derived from the Vinaya, Samghddisesa, i. 1: iii. 110-112. Text: N iii. 5-6.

told his companion, who put him up to violating the first Sanghadisesa Rule. 1 Thereafter, as often as he fell into that sin of discontent, he broke that same Rule. The Teacher heard about his doings, sent for him, and asked him, “Is the report true that you do thus and so?” “Yes, Reverend Sir.” “Fond man,” said the Teacher, “why have you sinned so grievously, in a manner so unbecoming to your state?” In such fashion did the Teacher reprove him. Having so done, he enjoined upon him the observance of the Precepts. Then he said to him, “Such a course of action inevitably leads to suffering, both in this world and in the world to come.” So saying, he joined the connection, and preaching the Law, pronounced the following Stanza,

117. Should a man commit sin, he should not repeat his sin again and again;

He should not seek after evil; suffering is the outcome of evil.

IX. 3. GODDESS AND MONK

If a man do works of merit. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to the goddess Lājā. The story begins at Rājagaha. [6]

For while Venerable Kassapa the Great was in residence at Pipphali Cave, he entered into a state of trance, remaining therein for seven days. Arising from trance on the seventh day, he surveyed with Supernatural Vision the places where he was wont to go his rounds for alms. As he looked abroad, he beheld a certain woman, the keeper of a field of rice-paddy, parching heads of rice which she had gathered. Thereupon he considered within himself, “Is she endowed with faith or is she not endowed with faith?” Straightway becoming aware that she was endowed with faith, he reflected, “Will she be able to render me assistance?” Straightway he became aware of the following, “This noble young woman is wise and resourceful; she will render me assistance, and as the result of so doing will receive a rich reward.” So he put on his robe, took bowl in hand, and went and stood near the rice-field.

When this noble young woman saw the Elder, her heart believed, and her body was suffused with the five sorts of joy. “Wait a moment, Reverend Sir,” said she. Taking some of the parched rice, she went

1 Explained at SBE. xiii. 7; xx. 77.

2 Text: N iii. 6-9.

quickly to him, poured the rice into the Elder’s bowl, and then, saluting him with the Five Rests, she made an Earnest Wish, saying, “Reverend Sir, may I be a partaker of the Truth you have seen.” “So be it,” replied the Elder, pronouncing the words of thanksgiving. Then that noble young woman saluted the Elder and set out to return, reflecting upon the alms she had given to the Elder. [7]

Now in a certain hole by the road skirting the field of growing rice lurked a poisonous snake. He was not able to bite the Elder’s leg, for it was covered with his yellow robe. But as that noble young woman reached that spot on her return, reflecting upon the alms she had given to the Elder, the snake wriggled out of his hole, bit her, and then and there caused her to fall prostrate on the ground. Dying with believing heart, she was reborn in the World of the Thirty-three. Like a sleeper awakened, she awoke in a celestial mansion of gold thirty leagues in extent; her stature was three-quarters of a league. She wore a celestial robe twelve leagues in measure as an undergarment, and another celestial robe twelve leagues long as an upper garment. She had a retinue of a thousand celestial nymphs. The portal of the mansion was richly ornamented, and there hung down therefrom a golden vessel filled with golden grains of rice, to make known her former work of merit.

Standing at the portal of the mansion, she surveyed her glory and considered within herself, “Through what work of merit did I attain this glory?” Straightway she became aware of the following, “This my glory is the result of my gift of parched rice to Elder Kassapa the Great.” Then she thought to herself, “Since I have received this splendor and glory as the result of a trifling work of merit, I ought not henceforth to be heedless. I will therefore perform the major and minor duties for the Elder and so make my salvation sure.” Accordingly early in the morning she took a golden broom and a golden receptacle for sweepings, went to the Elder’s cell, swept it clean, and set out water for drinking.

When the Elder saw what had been done, he concluded, “Some probationer or novice must have rendered me this service.” On the second day the goddess did the same thing again, and the Elder again came to the same conclusion. But on the third day the Elder [8] heard the sound of her sweeping, and looking in through the keyhole, saw the radiant image of her body. And straightway he asked, “Who is it that is sweeping?” “It is I, Reverend Sir, your female disciple the goddess Lājā.” “I have no female disciple by that name.”

“Reverend Sir, when I was a young woman tending a rice-field, I gave you parched rice; as I returned on my way, a snake bit me, and I died with believing heart and was reborn in the World of the Thirty-three. Since it was through you that I received this glory, I said to myself, ‘I will perform the major and minor duties for you and so make my salvation sure.’ Therefore came I hither, Reverend Sir.” “Was it you that swept this place for me yesterday and on the preceding days, setting out water for drinking?” “Yes, Reverend Sir.”

“Pray depart hence, goddess. Never mind about the duties you have rendered, but henceforth come no more hither.” “Reverend Sir, do not destroy me. Permit me to perform the major and minor services for you and so make my salvation sure.” “Goddess, depart hence, lest in the future, when expounders of the Law take the variegated fan and sit down, they have reason to say, ‘Report has it that a goddess comes and performs the major and minor duties for Elder Kassapa the Great, setting out water for him to drink.’ Henceforth, therefore, come no more hither, but turn your steps elsewhere.” “Reverend Sir, do not destroy me,” begged the goddess again and again. The Elder thought to himself, “This goddess pays no attention to my command.” Therefore he said to her, “You do not know your place.” So saying, he snapped his fingers in contempt. The goddess, not daring to remain where she was, flew up into the air, and extending her clasped hands in an attitude of reverence, cried out, “Reverend Sir, do not nullify the attainment I have attained. Let me make my salvation sure.” Thereupon the goddess wept and wailed and lamented, standing poised in the air.

As the Teacher sat in his Perfumed Chamber at Jetavana, [9] he heard the sound of her lamentation. Therefore he sent forth a luminous image of himself, and sitting down face to face as it were with the goddess, he opened his lips and said, “Goddess, it was indeed the duty of my son Kassapa the Great to restrain himself. But they who desire to perform works of merit conclude, ‘This one thing alone is needful,’ and recognize the doing of works of merit as their sole duty. Indeed, both in this world and the world to come, it is the doing of good works alone that brings happiness.” Then he joined the connection, and preaching the Law, pronounced the following Stanza,

118. If a man do works of merit, he should do them again and again;

He should long to do works of merit; happy is the outcome of works of merit.

IX. 4. ANĀTHAPIṆḌIKA AND THE GODDESS

Even an evildoer sees happiness. This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Jetavana with reference to Anāthapiṇḍika. [10]

For Anāthapiṇḍika, who spent fifty-four crores of treasure in the Religion of the Buddha on Jetavana monastery alone, proceeded in state three times a day to wait upon the Teacher during the Teacher’s residence at Jetavana. Whenever he set out to go thither, he thought, “The probationers and novices will look at my hands and ask the question, ‘What has he brought with him as offerings?’” and therefore never went empty-handed. When he went thither early in the morning he carried rice-porridge with him; after breakfast he carried ghee, fresh butter, and the other medicaments; in the evening he carried with him perfumes, garlands, unguents, and garments. Now those who lived by trade had borrowed from him eighteen crores of treasure. Moreover eighteen crores of treasure belonging to his family, secretly buried at the bank of the river, had been swept into the great ocean at the time when the river burst its banks. The result was that he was gradually being reduced to a state of poverty. But in spite of this, he just gave alms to the Congregation of Monks as before, although he was unable to give choice food such as he had before.

One day the Teacher asked him, “Are alms provided for us in the house of our householder?” Anāthapiṇḍika replied, “Yes, Reverend Sir, but the food is naught but bird-feed and sour gruel.” Then said the Teacher to him, “Householder, do not allow yourself to think, ‘It is naught but coarse food that I give to the Teacher,’ and be not disturbed thereat. If the intention be pure, it is impossible to give the Buddhas and others food that is really coarse. You have given food to the Eight Holy Personages. I, however, in the time of Velama stirred up all India by setting rich offerings agoing, [11] but yet I failed to win a single man to betake himself to the Three Refuges. It is a hard thing to find those on whom it is proper to bestow offerings. Therefore be not disturbed at the thought, ‘My offerings are coarse food.’” So saying, the Teacher recited in full the Velama Sutta. 2

1 This story is for the most part an abbreviated version of the Introduction to Jātaka 40: i. 226-231. The text is frequently word for word the same as the Jātaka. Dh. cm. 10-1 !’• is derived from Aṅguttara, iv. 392-396. Text: Niii. 9-15.

2 Aṅguttara, iv. 392-396.

When the Teacher and the Teacher’s disciples entered the house of Anāthapiṇḍika, the goddess who dwelt over the gate, unable to remain by reason of the intensity of their goodness, thought to herself, “I will detach the householder from his allegiance, that they may no more enter this house.” Now although the goddess had longed to address the householder, she could say not a word to him in the heyday of his wealth and power. At this time, however, she thought to herself, “The householder is now a poor man, and will therefore be disposed to give heed to my words.” Accordingly she went by night, entered the treasurer’s chamber of state, and stood poised in the air. When the treasurer saw her, he said, “Who is that?” “It is I, great treasurer, the goddess that resides over your fourth gate. I am come to give you admonition.” “Well then, say what you have to say.”

“Great treasurer, without considering the future, you have dissipated your great wealth in the religion of the monk Gotama. Now, although you have reduced yourself to poverty, you still continue to give of your wealth. If you continue this course, in a few days you will not have enough left to provide you with clothing and food. Of what use to you is the monk Gotama? Abandon your lavish giving, devote your attention to business, and make a fortune.” “Is this the advice you came to give me?” “Yes, treasurer.” “Then begone. Though a hundred thousand like you should try, [12] you would not be able to move me from my course. You have said to me what you had no right to say; what business have you to dwell in my house? Leave my house instantly.” The goddess, unable to withstand the words of a Noble Disciple who had attained the Fruit of Conversion, left his house, taking her children with her.

But after the goddess had left his house, she was unable to find lodging elsewhere. Then she thought to herself, “I will ask the treasurer to pardon me and to allow me to resume my residence in his house.” Accordingly she approached the tutelary deity of the city, told him of her offense, and said to him, “Come now, conduct me to the treasurer, persuade him to pardon me, and persuade him to allow me to resume my residence in his house.” But the tutelary deity of the city replied, “You said something you had no business to say; it will be impossible for me to go with you to the treasurer’s residence.” Thus did the tutelary deity of the city refuse her request. Then she went to the Four Great Kings, but they likewise refused her request. Then she approached Sakka king of gods, told him her story, and entreated him yet more earnestly. Said she, “Sire, I am unable to find a place wherein to lodge myself, but wander about without protection, children in hand. Obtain for me the privilege of returning to my former residence.” Sakka replied, “But neither will it be possible for me to speak to the treasurer in your behalf. However, I will tell you a way.” “Very good, sire; tell me what it is.”

“Go assume the dress of the treasurer’s steward; note on a leaf from the hand of the treasurer a list of the wealth he once possessed; put forth your supernatural power and recover the eighteen crores of wealth borrowed by those who live by trade, and fill therewith the treasurer’s empty storeroom. [13] Besides this wealth, there are eighteen crores of wealth which were swept into the great ocean. Yet again there are eighteen crores of wealth without an owner, to be found in such and such a place. Gather all this together and therewith fill his empty store-room. Having thus atoned for your offense, ask him to grant you pardon.” “Very well,” said the goddess. And straightway she did all, just as Sakka king of gods told her to. Having so done, she went and stood poised in the air, illuminating with supernatural radiance the treasurer’s chamber of state.

“Who is that?” asked the treasurer. “It is I,” replied the goddess, “the blind, stupid goddess that once dwelt over your fourth gate. Pardon me the words I once spoke to you in my blind stupidity. In obedience to the command of Sakka king of gods, I have recovered the fifty-four crores of wealth and filled your empty store-room therewith; thus have I atoned for my offense; I have no place wherein to lodge myself, and therefore am I greatly wearied.” Anāthapiṇḍika thought to himself, “This goddess says to me, ‘I have made atonement for my offense,’ and confesses her fault; I will conduct her to the Supremely Enlightened.” Accordingly he conducted her to the Teacher, saying to her, “Tell the Teacher all you have done.” The goddess fell upon her face before the feet of the Teacher and said, “Reverend Sir, because of my folly I did not recognize your eminent merit and uttered evil words; pardon me for having uttered them.” Thus did the goddess ask pardon both of the Teacher and of the great treasurer.

Then the Teacher admonished both the treasurer and the fairy with reference to the ripening of deeds both good and evil, saying, “Here in this present life, great treasurer, even an evildoer sees happiness, so long as his evil deed has not yet ripened. But so soon as his evil deed has ripened, then he sees only evil. Likewise a good man sees evil things, so long as his good deeds have not yet ripened; but so soon as his good deeds have ripened, then he sees only happiness.” [14] So saying, he joined the connection, and preaching the Law, pronounced the following Stanzas,

119. Even an evildoer sees happiness, so long as his evil deed has not yet ripened;

But so soon as his evil deed has ripened, then the evildoer sees evil things.

120. Even a good man sees evil, so long as his good deeds have not yet ripened;

But so soon as his good deeds have ripened, then the good man sees happiness.