Transmission of the Dharma Treasury: An Account of Causes and Conditions (付法藏因緣傳)

The Transmission of the Dharma Treasury: Causes and Conditions, Scroll 1

Translated by the Western Regions Tripiṭaka Master Giṇakāra and Tan Yao of the Northern Wei Dynasty

Long ago, the Blessed One, for the sake of all beings, sought the supreme path over countless eons. He undertook all manner of difficult and ascetic practices, giving away his cherished body—head, eyes, marrow, and brain—as well as cities, wives, palaces, and servants. He threw himself from cliffs, walked into fire, and mutilated his own flesh. Sometimes, for a single four-line verse, he peeled his skin as paper, broke his bones as pens, and used his blood as ink to copy and honor the teachings, seeking wisdom from enlightened masters and receiving the Dharma from all Buddhas. Grieving for sentient beings, he labored humbly, accumulating virtue. He cultivated countless good deeds and made great vows, as extensively described in the five hundred Jataka tales.

Having fully perfected his studies, he was on the verge of attaining enlightenment. Seated cross-legged beneath the Bodhi tree, he aroused deep resentment in the sixth heaven's Mara, who thought, "If he achieves enlightenment, he will surely surpass me." So Mara mustered his retinue of eighteen trillion, approached the Bodhi tree, and said to the Bodhisattva, "You should rise at once and return to your palace. If you do not, I will seize you by the feet and hurl you beyond the great sea."

At that moment, the Bodhisattva, like a lion king, felt no fear or dread. He said, "Mara, you once made offerings to a Pratyekabuddha and observed the eight precepts. Through that merit, you became the king of gods. But I have, over countless eons, perfectly accomplished difficult and ascetic practices. There is not a spot on this earth, even as small as a needle's point, where I have not practiced in a past life. Even if your demon hosts were as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, they could not stir a single hair of mine. How then do you think to hurl my body beyond the great sea?"

Mara replied, "In the past, I made an offering to a Pratyekabuddha and became the lord of gods—this is verifiable. But what proof do you have for what you say?"

Then the Bodhisattva extended his hand, pointed to the ground, and said, "This earth goddess knows my deeds." At once, the earth goddess rose from the diamond realm, joined her palms, and said, "Truly, as the Venerable One has spoken. Since this earth came to be, I have been its guardian. There is nowhere upon it, not even a needle's point, that is not a place where the Bodhisattva has practiced in past lives."

Hearing these words, Mara fell backward in a daze. Having defeated Mara's forces, the Bodhisattva attained supreme and perfect enlightenment. With the three insights shining alone and the six supernormal powers unimpeded, he was fully endowed with great compassion and eloquence without end. Whatever he proclaimed, people believed and accepted. He expounded the subtle Dharma to rescue and benefit all beings. Like a diamond that shatters whatever it strikes, the Buddha's teachings worked the same way, extinguishing the afflictions and bonds of sentient beings. He traveled throughout lands, villages, and cities, using the pure Dharma to pull out the poisonous thorns of beings, subduing heretical teachers and raising the supreme banner, closing the gates to the lower realms and opening the path to nirvana.

When his mission of teaching was nearly complete and he was about to enter final nirvana, he addressed his great disciple Mahākāśyapa: "You should know that I, over countless eons, diligently cultivated ascetic practices for the sake of beings, single-mindedly seeking the supreme and unsurpassed Dharma. As I vowed in the past, so now it is fulfilled. Kāśyapa, know this: just as dense clouds fill the world, sending down sweet rain to nourish sprouts and growth, so too does the rain of the supreme Dharma nourish the roots of goodness in beings. This is why all Buddhas constantly guard, revere, praise, worship, and make offerings to it. Now, as I am about to enter nirvana, I entrust this profound Dharma to you. Afterward, you must honor my intent, widely proclaim and circulate it, and let it never be cut off."

Kāśyapa said, "Excellent! I accept your instruction. I will uphold the true Dharma in this way, so that future generations may equally receive its benefits. I only ask that the World-Honored One not worry." Thus, after the Tathāgata's passing, Mahākāśyapa successively proclaimed the true teachings, gathered the Dharma treasury, and taught sentient beings. Those he liberated never regressed. That great Kāśyapa was profoundly wise, vast in learning, renowned everywhere, and replete with merit. Now let me recount his past vows and deeds.

In the distant past, when the Buddha Vipaśyin had taught all beings and entered nirvana, the fourfold assembly was filled with grief and longing. They gathered his relics and built a seven-jeweled stupa, adorned with a magnificent spire of extraordinary beauty. Within that stupa stood an image of the Tathāgata, whose golden face had a small flaw where the gold had worn away. At that time, a poor girl who wandered begging found a gold bead and was filled with joy. She wanted to use it to repair the image's face. At that time, Kāśyapa was a goldsmith. The girl brought the bead to him and asked him to help with the repair. When the goldsmith heard she was doing this for merit, he rejoiced and skillfully polished and set the bead, then used it to repair the image's face. Together, they made a vow: "May we two always be husband and wife, with bodies of true golden hue, enjoying supreme happiness forever."

Because of this cause, for ninety-one eons they had bodies of true gold, born among humans and gods, experiencing boundless joy. In their final birth, they were reborn in the seventh Brahma heaven. At that time, in the kingdom of Magadha, there was a brahmin named Nigrodha who, in past lives, had long cultivated excellent deeds. He was highly talented, broadly learned, and profoundly wise. He possessed vast wealth beyond measure—gold, silver, lapis lazuli, conch shells, jade, cattle, sheep, lands, servants, and carriages—a thousand times more than King Bimbisāra. The king had a thousand golden plows, but the brahmin, fearing that matching the king would bring blame, had one fewer—only nine hundred ninety-nine. In his home, even the coarsest woolen cloth was worth a hundred thousand taels of gold. When nails were driven through it into the ground seven feet deep, the cloth remained unbroken, just as before. Such was the power of his merit and wealth.

Yet despite his riches, he had no son or heir. He thought to himself, "I am old and frail, and death will soon come. My storehouses and possessions have no one to bequeath them to." Near his house was a tree spirit. The brahmin, seeking a son, went to pray to it. Years passed with no sign of a response. Nigrodha grew deeply angry and said to the tree spirit, "I have served you for years, yet you have not shown me a single blessing. I will now serve you with utmost devotion for seven days. If there is still no result, I will surely burn and cut you down."

Hearing this, the tree spirit was stricken with fear and sorrow. It reported the matter to the Four Heavenly Kings, who then went to Śakra, the lord of gods. Śakra surveyed the Jambudvīpa world and found no one of sufficient merit to be that man's son. So he went to the Brahma king and explained the situation. The Brahma king, with his divine eye, saw a Brahma god whose life was about to end. He told him, "If you descend to take rebirth, you should be born into that brahmin family in the Jambudvīpa realm." The Brahma god replied, "Brahmin practices are full of evil and wrong views. I cannot become their son." The Brahma king said again, "That brahmin possesses great virtue and power. No one in Jambudvīpa is worthy to be reborn there. You must be born into his family, and I will protect you. You will never fall into wrong views." The Brahma god agreed: "Yes, I will respectfully follow your command." So Śakra reported the matter to the tree spirit, who rejoiced and went to the brahmin's house, saying, "Do not hold anger against me any longer. In seven days, your wish will be fulfilled."

After seven days, the brahmin's wife found she was pregnant. After a full ten months, she gave birth to a son with a handsome appearance and a body of true golden hue, shining brilliantly, illuminating one yojana. A fortune-teller divined: "This child has great merit and virtue from past lives. His will is pure and far-reaching, with no attachment to worldly affairs. He will surely renounce the world and attain the fruit of non-attachment." Though still a child, his mind was pure, practicing kindness and generosity. He was content with little, always observing that worldly pleasures are impermanent and fragile, and never once felt delight in them.

When his parents saw this, they were deeply troubled and said to each other, "At his birth, the fortune-teller said he would surely leave the home life. How can we now divert him from that path?" They reflected: "In this world, only beautiful women can captivate the heart. We should find him a beautiful and virtuous wife to turn his mind." When he turned fifteen, they wanted to arrange a marriage. Kāśyapa heard this and was deeply distressed. He told his parents, "My mind is pure. I have no need of a wife." He said this three times, but his parents would not listen. Kāśyapa, knowing he could not avoid it, devised a clever plan. He told his parents, "If you can find me a woman with a golden body and surpassing beauty, then I will accept her. But if you cannot, I will never marry."

His parents, out of love and respect, did not go against his words. They summoned many brahmins and sent them across the land, saying, "If there is a woman with a true golden body, majestic and lovely, arrange a marriage for us." The brahmins then conspired together. They cast a golden statue of extraordinary beauty and carried it through villages and towns, announcing in loud voices, "Any woman who sees this golden deity and worships it with offerings will surely gain subtle wisdom in the future and a body of true gold." Hearing this, all the women came out to pay their respects.

At that time, there was a girl of striking features with a purple-golden body, gentle nature, and profound wisdom—the very woman who had once found the gold bead. Because of her past virtuous connection, she had this exquisite body. Her resolve was firm, and she alone stayed inside. The other women asked why she would not come out. She replied, "Sisters, my mind is quiet and at ease. I seek no other wishes, which is why I do not go out." But the women insisted and dragged her along to see the golden statue. Her radiance and beauty so outshone the golden statue that it vanished from sight.

The brahmins then arranged a betrothal, and both families agreed. When the wedding date was set, the girl also heard the news and was greatly distressed. But she could not refuse and was married off. When the couple came together, each remained chaste and pure. Though they were husband and wife, they had no desire for intimacy. They made a pact: "We should each have our own quarters and not disturb one another." When the parents learned of this, they ordered that a single room be prepared, leaving only one bed inside, and had the couple share that space. So Kāśyapa renewed his vow with his wife: "In this room there is but one bed. We two cannot possibly share it. When I sleep, you may walk and meditate. When you sleep, I will walk and meditate."

Later, in the middle of the night, when it was Kāśyapa's turn to pace, his wife fell asleep and her hand slipped down beside the bed. A poisonous snake entered through the door, intending to bite her. Kāśyapa, moved by compassion, gently approached and, wrapping his hand in his garment, lifted her hand and placed it back on the bed. She woke with a start and scolded him: "What a lack of resolve you have! We swore to stay apart. Why are you now secretly lifting my hand?" Kāśyapa replied, "I touched you with no desire. A snake came in from outside, intending to bite you. Fearing it would harm you, I lifted your hand." The snake was still there, and he showed it to her. She then understood.

Thus the couple came to deeply loathe all worldly existence, taking no pleasure in it—like those who, having been cleansed, disdain dust and dirt. They went to their parents and sought permission to renounce the world. Receiving consent, they became monks and nuns, living purely and simply, without desire, diligently cultivating ascetic practices in solitude.

Then Kāśyapa made this vow: "All Arhats in this world, I take refuge in them all." Having spoken thus, he fully observed all precepts and renunciant conduct. Eventually, when the Tathāgata attained all-knowing wisdom and taught the wonderful Dharma in Rājagṛha, Kāśyapa, wearing a robe of cast-off rags, came to the Buddha, bowed his head at his feet, joined his palms, and stood. He said, "World-Honored One, I now take refuge in the supreme and cool liberation. Please accept me with compassion and allow me to sit in the last seat."

The World-Honored One praised him: "Welcome, Kāśyapa." Then he divided his seat in half and invited him to sit. Kāśyapa said, "I am the Buddha's last disciple. I dare not accept this honor of sharing your seat." At that moment, the assembly was filled with doubt, thinking, "What extraordinary virtue does this old monk possess, that the Lord of the Dharma should divide his seat for him? Only the Buddha knows this person's excellence." The Tathāgata, knowing the thoughts in their minds and wishing to resolve their doubts, proclaimed the vast and profound practice of Kāśyapa.

The World-Honored One further said, "All the great compassion, great loving-kindness, the four dhyānas, the three liberations, and the immeasurable virtues that I now possess to adorn myself—so too does the monk Kāśyapa possess them all."

Again, in the far-distant past, there was a holy king named Mandhātā, of surpassing talent and incomparable wisdom. Then the lord of gods, Śakra, admiring his virtue, dispatched a chariot of seven jewels to the king's palace to escort him. Riding the celestial chariot, the king flew through the sky and arrived. Śakra came out to welcome him, seated him beside him, and after enjoying companionship, sent the king back to his palace.

The Buddha told the monks: "At that time, the lord of gods was Kāśyapa. King Mandhātā was myself. In the past, Kāśyapa shared his own seat with me. Therefore, today I have attained the unsurpassed path, and I repay his past kindness by offering him the seat of the true Dharma."

Then the World-Honored One taught Kāśyapa according to his needs, instructing, benefiting, and delighting him. Like a pure white cloth readily taking dye, Kāśyapa attained arhatship right there in that seat—possessing the three insights, the six supernormal powers, and the eight liberations. He was noble, vigorous, and serene in bearing, often sitting face-to-face with the Tathāgata to discuss the Dharma. At times, gods and humans even thought he was the Buddha's teacher.

Then Kāśyapa took leave of the Tathāgata and went to the Vebhāra Cave on Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa. The mountain was rich with springs and bathing pools, lush with woods, flowers, and fruit. Beasts roamed and auspicious birds sang, while gold, silver, and lapis lazuli lay scattered across the ground. There Kāśyapa practiced walking meditation and deep contemplation, proclaiming the wonderful Dharma and liberating numerous beings.

Later, when the World-Honored One was about to enter nirvana, he sent forth a brilliant light and the great earth shook. Kāśyapa thought, "Is this a sign that the Tathāgata is about to enter nirvana?" He entered samādhi and, with his celestial eye, saw the World-Honored One by the Hiranyavatī River, letting go of the body for full nirvana. When he saw this, he was deeply grieved: "How swiftly the Tathāgata's nirvana has come! The world's eye has vanished, and unskillful tendencies grow."

Together with his disciples, surrounding him front and back, he journeyed toward Kuśinagara to pay his final respects to the World-Honored One. Along the way, he met a wandering ascetic holding a mandārava flower in his right hand. Kāśyapa asked him, "Where have you come from? Do you know my teacher?" The man replied, "Yes, I know him. He entered nirvana seven days ago. All gods and humans made great offerings, and I brought this flower from there."

Hearing this, all the monks were stricken with grief. They threw themselves to the ground, wailing and sobbing, tears falling like rain. They all cried, "Alas, impermanence has such great power! It can destroy such a treasury of virtue, dry up the ocean of Dharma, topple the banner of the Dharma. The world grows dark, forever losing its great light. All beings have lost their refuge, the paths of suffering increase, and the realms of gods and humans dwindle. How strange and wonderful is impermanence, how deeply we should loathe it! Like lightning, it cannot last; impermanence speeds on, impossible to rely upon. It destroys strength, beauty, vitality, and life, extinguishing all joy in this world. The foolish cling to it; the wise do not."

Then Kāśyapa and the monks pressed on to the twin sala trees. They circled the bier three times, bowed their heads in homage, and spoke these verses.

At that time, the World-Honored One, from within the golden coffin, wrapped in a thousand layers of cloth, extended his golden feet. Their radiance shone brightly like the midday sun, yet the coffin and cloth remained undisturbed as his feet appeared. When the entire assembly witnessed this, their grief and distress only deepened, and they wailed and choked with sorrow. Then Kasyapa, baring his right shoulder, took hold of the feet and bowed in reverence, reciting this verse again:

At that time, Kāśyapa instructed the strong men to wrap the Buddha's body again with a thousand layers of cloth. They poured fragrant oil over it and sealed the coffin lid. Then they piled up sandalwood firewood to cremate the Tathāgata. When Ānanda saw the fire, he wept, choked with grief, and cried out in anguish, reciting these verses:

At that time, Kassapa extinguished the fire with milk and spoke this verse in praise:

At that time, there were two women herding cattle. Wanting to make an offering to a deity, they milked a thousand cows and used that milk to feed five hundred cows. In this way, they gradually reduced the number until just one cow remained. They took its milk and boiled it into porridge. It rose nine feet high without a single drop spilling. A Brahmin asked them, "Sisters, for whom are you preparing this porridge?" The women replied, "We are offering it to the tree deity." The Brahmin said, "What deity could possibly accept such an offering? Only one who has attained all-encompassing wisdom could receive this gift from you." So the women offered it to the Bodhisattva, who accepted and ate it. Afterwards, he went to the Bodhi tree, defeated the demon Mara, and attained supreme enlightenment. At Varanasi, he turned the wheel of the Dharma for the five monks. Eventually, he went to the land of the powerful ones near Kushinagar and entered final Nirvana. All such scenes were painted in pictures.

The king asked his ministers, "What are you doing?" They replied, "Great King, we are painting images of the Tathagata's virtues." When they came to the scene of the World-Honored One's passing and transformation, the king was startled. His body hair stood on end, and he was filled with deep sorrow and longing for the Tathagata. One-fifth of the oil in this pond suddenly flowed and entered the king's body. Just as water seeps into a dry clod of earth thrown into a large pond, so it was with him. Because of this, his life was saved.

King Ajatashatru's faith and reverence were deeply sincere. His feelings of gratitude and longing for the Tathagata were like this. When he heard that Kasyapa was coming, he was overjoyed. He prepared the roads, burned incense, and scattered flowers. Riding a white elephant himself, he went out to welcome Kasyapa. When the king had seen the Buddha in the past, he had thrown himself from his elephant to bow in reverence. When he saw Kasyapa, he did the same. Mahakasyapa used his spiritual power to catch him so he would not be harmed. He then told the king, "The Buddha's power is extraordinary and different from that of voice-hearers. Voice-hearers must enter samadhi to possess such spiritual abilities. From now on, do not throw yourself from the elephant when you see me." The king said, "I will obey." Then he said to Kasyapa, "I never got to see the World-Honored One's Nirvana. If you are to pass away, please be sure to tell me." Kasyapa said, "Very well." He then told the king, "The Tathagata's wisdom is profound and far-reaching. He could extinguish the burning fires of the three poisons in sentient beings and dry up the great tree of the twelve links of dependent origination. All gods and humans benefited greatly. Now that he has entered Nirvana, the eye of the world is gone. Suffering—birth, aging, sickness, death, grief, sorrow, and decline—now burns even more fiercely. I wish to create a lamp of wisdom for them. Together with the monks, I will gather the treasury of the Buddha's Dharma. You, Great King, should now prepare the necessary offerings." The king said, "Excellent! May all the noble ones always accept my offerings."

Then Kasyapa asked Aniruddha, "Among the arhats, who has not yet come?" Aniruddha said, "Gavampati is still in the Shrisha Palace and has not yet arrived." At that time, Kasyapa told Revata, "You may go to that Shrisha Palace and tell Gavampati that the great Kasyapa and others now have a matter concerning the Sangha and must see him." So Revata flew through the air and conveyed the message. The venerable one then asked Revata, "Where is the World-Honored One that you speak of Kasyapa?" Revata said, "The Buddha has entered Nirvana. The bridge of the Dharma has been destroyed, the mountain of the Dharma has collapsed, the lamp of the Dharma has been extinguished, and the time of darkness has arrived." Gavampati sighed and said, "Alas, the world is empty. Mara the Evil One must now be rejoicing. Ordinary beings, veiled by ignorance, drift in the cycle of birth and death, trapped in Mara's net. The World-Honored One of Ten Powers pulled them out. Now that he has entered Nirvana, there is no one to protect them forever. How pitiful sentient beings are, deeply deserving compassion." He told Revata, "Please pay respect on my behalf to Kasyapa and the other noble saints. Say to them as I instruct: 'Gavampati says to the great Kasyapa: If the World-Honored One were still here, I would go to bow and make offerings to him. Now that he has entered Nirvana, the world is empty. Looking at Jambudvipa, there is nothing to delight in. Just as a great dragon king, having abandoned his body, is surely followed by his dragon child, so it is with me. I too now wish to enter Nirvana.'" Having said this, he immediately passed into Nirvana.

When these people heard of the Buddha's passing, they all entered Nirvana. Kasyapa proclaimed, "Do not enter Nirvana until the Dharma treasury has been gathered." The monks then asked the great Kasyapa, "Which Dharma should be gathered first?" Kasyapa replied, "First the Sutras." They asked again, "Who should gather the Sutras?" The great Kasyapa said, "The monk Ananda is learned, has great memory and wisdom. He always followed the Tathagata and lived a pure life. In the final teachings, he benefited the Sangha. His knowledge and vision are complete, and he was praised by the Buddha. He should be the one to gather the Sutras." Then Kasyapa told Ananda, "You may now expound the Dharma eye." Ananda said, "Yes," and observing the minds of the assembly, he spoke these verses.

After reciting this verse, the monks bowed at the feet of the assembly and then ascended the Dharma seat, speaking thus: Thus have I heard. At one time, the Buddha was residing in the Deer Park at Varanasi, in the ancient sages' dwelling place, where he first turned the Wheel of Dharma for the five monks, teaching the noble truth of suffering and explaining it extensively. After this discourse, the five hundred Arhats soared into the sky and proclaimed in loud voices: "How wondrous! Impermanence is so swift and rapid—like a rushing river that flows away and never returns. We once saw the World-Honored One with our own eyes, but now we only hear of him by word." All were moved to tears and recited this verse together.