Mahāyāna Sūtra Message Board.  
For July. 2007

Messages from the Mahāyāna
 Sūtras

These short extracts from the Mahāyāna scriptures (sūtras) indicate some of the ideas which stirred the imaginations of the peoples of India and further Asia, in the past.  The texts from which they come were the objects of arduous searches by scores of pilgrims.  Eventually, such matters and their full import claimed the attention of whole nations.  Details of the texts used here can be found on our List of Sources.

The following Message Board will be continued, with further extracts, stories and items of interest, on a regular monthly basis.

Sūtra Extract.

The Saddharmapundarika Sūtra (Lotus) (Kern ch.2)

‘Once true insight is gained, the mundane world is seen as empty in every direction.’

Stories from the Old Silk Road.

Introduction

          Most of these stories have been drawn from the tales contained in Buddhist sūtra texts.  Others come from collections of legends in Chinese and Indian popular literature, e.g. items 3 and 9 or from ancient commentaries on canonical material, e.g. items 2 and 5.  All of them travelled along the Old Silk Road which ran between China and north-west India and through central Asia during the first 500 years CE.  They travelled along the route either as written texts being carried into china from India by Buddhist monk teachers, or in the heads of Buddhist sūtra specialists who were en-route to china to avoid repeated invasions by the nomad hordes which ravaged their homeland.
          In the course of time these stories became the stock-in-trade of itinerant storytellers, who journeyed with the caravans in both directions.  They would entertain the travellers by re-telling tales of this kind around the camp fires in the desert wilderness or in the caravanserais.
          Of course, when the tales were told by the storytellers they would be shorn of their scriptural context (unless told by monks) and the details would be embellished and embroidered in time-honoured fashion.  Although the essential point of the story was rarely lost in the telling.
          Such is the case here.  All the stories in this collection were related in popular fashion to members of the London or Luton Zen Centre, and also to assemblies of the Buddhist Society’s summers schools during the period 1980 to 1990.  Such traditional story telling continued to be given, by request, when this writer visits the Luton Zen Centre, up to the present time.
          Apart from the traditional mix of a hero’s exploits and of wondrous events, these stories display an extraordinary degree of warmth and humour, e.g. in items 2, 3, 5 and 21.  It needs to be stressed that such humour is not part of the customary embellishment; it is an integral part of the original scriptural text.  Humour of this kind in scripture is rarely to be found in the major religions other than Buddhism.
          There is not particular sequence to this collection of stories, except for stories numbers 12 and 13.  They have been taken at random from the sources and strung together much as an ancient storyteller would.
          It is to be hoped that the reader will derive as much pleasure and gentle instruction from these stories as this writer did when finding them and re-telling them to others.

Eric Cheetham, June 2005 ©

2

(No. 15 of the original sequence from Eric Cheetham's book)

Bhadra the Magician

In the time of the Lord Buddha there lived a clever and very successful magician called Bhadra.  He travelled throughout India entertaining the public, and from this he did very well indeed.  His tricks were marvellous and mysterious - he could climb up a rope and disappear in mid-air, for example.  This magical prowess was far and away the best anywhere, he knew.

          It so happened, that he arrived with his show at a town where the Lord Buddha and all his monks and Arhats were also visiting.  In the cool of the evening, the Buddha would sit in a grove of trees outside the town, surrounded by the Order, preaching and answering questions.  The local people were very excited by this visit, Badhra discovered, and not just because they were receiving the Dharma directly from the Holy One. It was also because he performed such wonderful magic!

 Magic?  Wonderful magic?  Just what was all this about?  Well, no one was able to describe exactly what sort of magic the Buddha had performed, but absolutely everyone agreed that he was the greatest magician they had ever seen.  Bhadra, scenting and interesting challenge, decided to go to the grove where the Buddha sat and to see for himself.  Indeed, as he joined the throngs flocking to listen and to watch, he resolved to expose this charlatan and show these folks some real magic.  And before he reached the grove, his plan was made.

But when he reached it, or, more precisely, somewhat before he reached it, he had an arresting experience – the entire atmosphere, the whole scene, appeared as if bathed in a glorious golden light, like a magnificent, all-encompassing sunset.  It was, however, quite early in the day, Bhadra realised, so he had to concede that this trick was clever.

And then, Bhadra caught sight of the Buddha himself.  Or was it that the Buddha had caught site of him?  For although Bhadra was still over a mile away, there in the grove was a gigantic, perfectly proportioned figure, seated in the lotus position, staring straight at him. The eyes were fixed firmly on his.

          The radiant creature, golden like the air around him, towered above the other monks.  He must have been about eighteen feet high, Bhadra guessed.  And there, all around his head, was a vast and brilliant halo pulsing out light in all directions.

          Bhadra did not like to admit it, even to himself, but all this was quite stunning.  How could this man have so transformed himself?  How could he keep his eyes on Bhadra like this, and at such a distance?  And how was it that no one else seemed to be taking any notice of this spectacular display, but just hurrying along towards the trees?  Was all this visible only to him?  Formidable technique!

          Shaken now, but too proud to turn back, Bhadra continued moving along with the crowds until he reached the Buddha’s side.  In keeping with the plan he had concocted en route, however, he bowed in feigned respect and addressed him 

          “My Lord Buddha, I am Bhadra, a magician by trade.  I am only passing through this place but it would be my honour and privilege to offer a meal to you and your Order.  Will you come tomorrow to where I am staying so that as a mark of respect I may prepare for you your morning meal?”

          The Buddha remained silent; in the etiquette of the time, this means “Yes”.  So Bhadra withdrew and returned to town to put his plan into action.  This plan had seemed quite spectacular before seeing the Buddha’s show.  It was still all right, Bhadra thought, if perhaps a little … Well, no.  It would be great!

          He headed for the site he had chosen for the occasion – the town dump and cesspit.  And he told everyone he passed, and told them to tell everyone they knew, to come there the next morning to watch the Buddha and his Order take their meal.  There was great merit to be earned by watching the Order eat, as anyone knows, and this time, there would also be a magic show!  An unparalleled, never–to-be-repeated magic show!

          This strange invitation caused much gossip: Why on earth would Bhadra want to feed the Buddha and his monks in the town cesspit?  With everyone watching!  Well, because his plan was, in the end, to dump them all in it: But first of course, he would have to trick them into taking their places by transforming it into something beautiful.  He would, with this extraordinary magical skill, change the cesspit, this foul, smelly heap of rubbish and excreta, into a fragrant and fabulous pleasure garden.  It would have pavilions, marquees, flowers, couches, cushions, silken hangings, palm trees, attendants.  But at the moment that the Buddha and his followers were seated and ready to take their food, with huge crowds watching, Bhadra would snap his fingers, break the spell and – plop – the whole lot, the Buddha included, would be in the cesspit, right down in the muck!  Deep down, in the thickest and stickiest part!

          And Bhadra would dance for joy because he, not the Buddha, would then be the greatest magician the townspeople had ever seen.

          Arriving at the dump, Bhadra began most industriously to prepare his spells.  Just as he felt that the special effects were developing quite nicely, he sensed at his right side a strange presence.  Turning to investigate, he found to his shock a most imposing visitor.  “Oh, dear,” thought he.  “Who’s this?”  “I’m Shakra, King of the Gods,” answered the other, “and I understand that the Lord Buddha has accepted an invitation from you to have a meal here tomorrow.”

          That is true,” said Bhadra, wondering why the king of the gods should care.  “Well,” Shakra explained, “with your permission, Bhadra, I would like to add one or two touches to the park you’re going to create here, some features through which I, too, may honour the Buddha.  Since you already have the privilege of offering the meal, may I just make the garden a little nicer?”

          “Yes, of course,” agreed Bhadra hastily, as Shakra disappeared.  “Something wrong here; I’m about to humiliate this man and here comes the king of the gods wanting to take part in it!”  And as he pondered this troubling development, there came another:  At his left side arrived the four lokapalas, the World Kings, each of a very violent and martial aspect.  They put to him the same request.  They, too, wished to add a few ornaments to his creation to honour the Buddha.  Again he agreed and they, too, disappeared.

          Baffled and troubled, Bhadra nevertheless continued with his spells until he had created from the dump ad cesspit the most gorgeous of gardens, full of pavilions and little lakes and all the other enchantments he had planned.  And just as he finished, Shakra came down again, and the four lokapalas, and Bhadra, had to stand back and watch them add lovely little touches here and there to the edges of this and that.

          As he nonchalantly cast his spells, Shakra remarked to Bhadra that at that very moment the Lord Buddha was in the heaven of the Thirty Three, at the top of Mount Meru, preaching to Shakra’s Kingdom.  Now Bhadra knew this to be false, having with his own eyes seen the Buddha only an hour or two earlier in the grove of trees outside the town, but unwilling to contradict the King of the Gods, he pretended to be impressed.  “Really!” said he, “How marvellous!”

          Then Bhadra overheard the Lokapalas chatting amongst themselves as they worked their magic.  “I’ve just passed the Buddha on the road from Pataliputra,” said one.  “Oh, yes,” said another, “I’ve left him in Vaisāli.”  “And”, said the third, “he’s preaching now in the square at Benares.”  “I just saw him in Shravasti,” said the fourth.

          Bhadra, hearing all this, began to feel awe.  This was indeed some magician!

          At about this time, the Buddha, in all those places but also in the grove of trees, was there responding to the Arhats Aniruddha and Moggallana.  “That Bhadra’s up to no good,” said one.  “Yes”, said the other, “he has an evil reputation.  Wouldn’t it be best if we all stayed away?”

          “Are you worried about his magic?” queried the Buddha.  “You need not be.”  And he explained why.  “This trickster is not the whole Bhadra.  This Bhadra, intent on humiliating the Order, is not the real one.  That Bhadra has reached a point where he is ripe for change, where something can be done with him, and I intend to do it.”

          “There is no magic like that of the Buddha,” he went on.  “He has no body, no mind, no attributes, no appearance – yet he can be seen.  Is that not magical?  The Dharma is only words and phrases, questions and answers, teaching and exposition, without any connection with release or enlightenment or Nirvana – yet without it there can be no release, no enlightenment, no Nirvana.  Is that not magical?  And the Arhats, they have achieved Nirvana and in reality are not as they seem – yet they, too, are visible.  Is it all not a magical show?  Can Bhadra outshine that?  What can he do to surpass the magic of the Buddha?”

          Bhadra, in pursuit of that very goal, was just then assuring himself that all was ready for the next day’s show.  And somehow, for reasons that were not too clear to him, he felt that he had better return to the grove of trees and remind the Buddha of the appointment.  Was he perhaps hoping that the Buddha had heard of the cesspit trick and had taken all his monks and left?  Or was he hoping to find that his eyes had deceived him – that this giant, golden god-man, wasn’t really a giant, golden god-man but an ordinary man like himself?

          But as he approached the grove of trees, apprehensive and unsure, there it was again: the golden air, towering-radiance in manlike form; the enormous halo pulsing out light.  And as this brilliance permeated his heart, Bhadra changed.  Indeed, all he could do now was bow, really bow in true veneration – and tell the silent figure that all was ready for the morning meal.

          What was he to do?  How could he go through with his plan?  Hurrying back through the streets of the town towards the now enchanted cesspit, the distraught Bhadra quailed at the thought of the Buddha’s power.  Without saying a word, this wizard had caused in him feelings that, well, were not describable.  Struggling to understand, Bhadra became more and more agitated.  And then, he had the most extraordinary experience: Everywhere around him, everywhere – on the walls, the road, the houses, the trees, the plants, on every leaf and branch – were images of the Buddha looking straight at him.  The Buddha covered all things within Bhadra’s vision – every petal of every flower, every part of his body.  And from everywhere, the Buddha looked straight at him.

          Panicked, Bhadra sprinted for the cesspit.  How could he ever have planned to pitch the Buddha into that muck?  Reaching his park, in a frenzy he snapped his fingers.  Nothing happened!  He made all the passes.  Nothing happened! He tried incantations. Nothing happened!  He could not dissolve his creation.  It was no longer in his control.  Bhadra endured a very bad night.  “How will I dissolve this tomorrow,” he fretted.  “And how will all this look to the people of the town, and to the Buddha, and to his Arhats and monks?  Who is in control of this?  Oh, how I hope they don’t come!”

          But they came, the Buddha, the Order and thousands of spectators.  Bhadra welcomed them to his beautiful pavilions.  The Buddha sat down with the Order all around him, and looked at Bhadra expectantly.  “Well, Bhadra, we have come in response to your offer to feed us.  Where is the food?”

          Ah, the food.  Bhadra had not made any!  His plan had them all down in the cesspit well before now.  So, very hurriedly, he made a few furtive magic passes and produced rice and meats, and vegetables and all the extras.  And the Order ate the magical food in the magical park, even as Ānanda murmured to his master that this was nothing but air food, and the master responded that it didn’t matter since the magical food was just as real as everything else.

          Poor Bhadra, watching in awe and perplexity, now knew that the Buddha was far and away his master in all things magical.

          When the meal was over, Bhadra found himself driven – by what, by whom? – driven to ask the Buddha about his visions in the town, when he could see nothing but the Buddha everywhere, looking straight at him.  “Which was the real one?” he begged to know.  “Of those countless thousands of Buddhas covering me and the walls, the houses, stones, petals, leaves, which was the real one?  Are you the real one?”

          The Buddha answered him and the answer took many days.  It brought to Bhadra, in reality a bodhisattva who had rapidly ripened to high attainment, an awakening so profound that in his joy he rose to the height of seven palm trees.

          “Come down here,” commanded the Buddha.  “I can’t talk to you up there.”

          Bhadra came down and they continued the discourse.  “So, my Lord Buddha, you speak of good deeds and bad, of rebirth, of retribution.  You speak of them not as real things, you tell me, but as means to the end – skillful means towards fruition.

          If, in reality, there are no good deeds nor bad deeds, no rebirth nor retribution, if all these and even perhaps you, my Lord, exist only as skillful means towards fruition, is it not all deceits and illusions, like my magic tricks?  Are not you, like me, a deceiver?”

          The Buddha was silent.  Bhadra was enlightened.

Copyright © Eric Cheetham 2005        

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