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

Transmission of the Dharma Treasury: The Causes and Conditions, Volume 5

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

Here is the translation:

Śāṇakavāsa, when he was about to enter Nirvana, entrusted the Dharma to Upagupta, saying: "In the past, the Blessed One entrusted the supreme Dharma to the great elder Mahākāśyapa, wishing to enable all beings to hold up a great bright torch, forever free from all suffering and attain the bliss of Nirvana. Kāśyapa in turn entrusted it to my master Ānanda, and Ānanda passed it on to me. Now I am about to pass away and leave it to you. If you too should later enter Nirvana, know that in the country of Mathurā there will be a virtuous man named Teḍika, who has long cultivated vows and possesses eloquence without limit. You should guide him to renounce the home life, and entrust the Dharma-eye to him as well."

Upagupta replied, "Yes, I will follow your instruction." When the time came for Upagupta's own work of teaching to be complete and he wished to enter Nirvana, he contemplated whether Teḍika had been born into the world. Through reflection, he knew that he had not yet appeared. Then the elder Upagupta, taking his monks with him, went to visit the householder's home. Gradually his entourage diminished until he went alone. The householder, the boy's father, asked, "Great sage, do you have no attendants? Why do you walk alone?" Upagupta replied, "Householder, I am a renunciant and have no one to serve me. If there is someone, please be generous and give him to me." The elder said, "I enjoy the household life and cannot follow the path. But if I have a son in the future, I will surely give him to you." Upagupta said, "Excellent is this intention. Guard this promise and do not let it change."

Now this householder had several sons born to him, but each of them died while still a child. Finally, a last son was born, named Teḍika. He was handsome in appearance, bright and intelligent, and skilled at learning all the treatises and scriptures. In past lives he had deeply cultivated roots of virtue. Upagupta went to ask for him, and the householder, overjoyed, gave him with his own hands. He brought him to the monastery and had him ordained. When he reached the age of twenty, he received the full precepts. At the first announcement, he cut off the fetters of wrong views and attained the stage of Stream-Entry. At the first recitation of the ordination ceremony, his lust, aversion, and delusion thinned, and he became a Once-Returner. At the second recitation, he eradicated the fetters of the desire realm and became a Non-Returner. At the third recitation, he immediately eliminated the afflictions of the three realms, established the holy life, and became an Arhat. With the threefold clear knowledge shining far and the six supernormal powers complete, he could move visibly or invisibly at will without hindrance.

Upagupta then said to him: "The sun of wisdom, the World-Honored One, covered all with compassion and wished to rescue beings from the great suffering of birth and death. He entrusted the Dharma accumulated over immeasurable kalpas to the elder Mahākāśyapa, making it a great bright lamp to illuminate the darkness of ignorance, so that all might study and practice, severing the net of craving and emerging from the mud of desire. Kāśyapa in turn entrusted it to Ānanda, who after his passing gave it to my master Śāṇakavāsa. Śāṇakavāsa gave it to me. Thus it has been passed down in succession, turning the wheel of Dharma, sprinkling the sweet dew of nectar to relieve the thirst of affliction. But now my work is done, the time of Nirvana is near, and I will not be far from final cessation. Take this Dharma-treasure and guard it well. Guard it diligently and let nothing be lost. Let the light of the Dharma shine upon the darkness of ignorance. Moreover, Teḍika, since the Buddha's Nirvana and the disappearance of the sages, all the deep treasuries of scriptures have gradually declined and will sink into the earth. The world is shrouded in darkness, drifting in birth and death. Why? Because after my master Śāṇakavāsa passed away, of the seventy-seven thousand Jātaka scriptures, the ten thousand Abhidharma texts, and the eighty thousand pure Vinaya texts—all such teachings have gradually diminished. When one person enters Nirvana, the many Dharmas decline; how much more when many sages all pass away? The pure and wonderful supreme Dharma will be left with nothing remaining. Therefore I now earnestly entrust it to you. You must wholeheartedly honor my intention, arouse great compassion for all beings, uphold and circulate it without letting it be cut off."

Teḍika replied, "I respectfully accept your teaching. I will protect this true Dharma and, for the sake of future generations, be a friend who helps unasked." Then he proclaimed the supreme flavor of the Dharma, and those he guided were vast and numerous. When his conditions were exhausted, he entered Nirvana, and gods and humans grieved together. They collected his relics and built a stupa of seven jewels, burning incense and scattering flowers in various offerings.

Previously, Teḍika, when about to enter Nirvana, entrusted the Dharma to his foremost disciple, named Miścaka, who was learned, widely informed, and highly eloquent. He told him: "The Buddha entrusted the true Dharma to Mahākāśyapa. Thus it was passed down until it reached me. I am about to enter Nirvana and leave it to you. You should in the future circulate the world-eye." Miścaka replied, "Excellent, I accept your instruction." Then he proclaimed the treasure of the true Dharma, enabling all beings to open the path to Nirvana. When his work was complete and he was about to enter Nirvana, he in turn entrusted the true Dharma to the elder Buddhanandhya, commanding him to circulate the supreme flavor of nectar. Buddhanandhya in time broadly proclaimed and distinguished the Dharma, turning the great wheel and crushing the demons' hostility. Then he entrusted it to Buddha-middle, whose virtue and power were profound and limitless, who used skillful means to guide beings, causing them to abandon wrong views and attain the supreme path. Adorned with great wisdom, he proclaimed pure flavors and destroyed heterodox teachings. Such virtues could never be fully described. I will now speak only a small portion of them.

There was a great king who ruled all lands. He was talented, brave, widely learned, and deeply informed. He honored heterodox teachings and believed in wrong views, always despising and slandering the Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha. Buddha-mitra thought: "My master Buddhanandhya has entrusted the Dharma to me. How should I unfold the supreme eye so that all beings may be benefited?" He further thought: "This king holds great wrong views. I should first go and tame him. Just as when cutting down a tree, if you topple its root, how can the branches, leaves, and blossoms last long?" With this thought, for twelve years he personally held a red banner and walked before the king. After a long time without being questioned, finally the king asked: "Who is this person walking before me?" He immediately summoned him and asked his intention. The master replied, "Great king, I am a wise man, skilled in debate. I wish to be tested before you."

Then the king decreed that all the Brahmins, elders, and householders in his realm who were wise, learned, and skilled in speech should assemble in his great hall of victory to debate with a single monk. At that time, all the heterodox teachers—deep in eloquence, vast in knowledge, and well versed in both celestial and earthly matters—gathered with venomous minds. The king, in his main hall, prepared offerings, spread out cushions, burned incense, and scattered flowers to make it splendid and bright. Buddha-mitra then ascended the Dharma seat and engaged the heretics in unrestricted debate. Those with shallow wisdom were defeated in a single exchange; those who were cleverer were exhausted by the second. Seeing that all were brought to ruin, the king himself debated with Buddha-mitra. At the start of the exchange, he too was quickly defeated. Buddha-mitra thought, "I should not defeat the king openly," and said to him, "The depth of this point—Your Majesty can understand it for yourself." The king then realized he had been defeated, and turning from his wrong mind, he came to revere the true Dharma. He took refuge in the Three Jewels and became a lay disciple, promoting the Dharma throughout his lands.

Now in that country there was a Jaina heretic, arrogant in his wrong views, slandering the true Dharma. He was clever, eloquent, and skilled in numerology. Buddha-mitra, wishing to convert him, went to become his disciple in order to learn these arts. Soon he had mastered them all. That Jaina, with a loud and harsh voice, began to revile the Buddha. Buddha-mitra said to the Jaina, "Do not speak such words. Letting you incur guilt—this will surely cause you to fall into the great hell." The Jaina replied, "How could you know such a thing?" Buddha-mitra answered, "If you do not believe me, you can calculate it. After you have calculated it, you will know for yourself." The Jaina then did his own calculation and saw that he would indeed fall into hell. Struck with great terror and deep remorse, he prostrated himself at Buddha-mitra's feet and said, "Venerable one, how can I escape this fate?" Buddha-mitra told him, "Jaina, just as one who falls to the ground rises by pushing against the ground, so too, if you take refuge in the Buddha, this guilt can be erased." At that, the Jaina developed great faith. He praised the Tathāgata in five hundred verses, repenting his past offenses and severely condemning himself. Buddha-mitra then told him, "Because of this good mental karma, upon death you will surely be born in heaven." The Jaina asked, "How do you know I will be born in heaven?" Buddha-mitra said, "If you don't believe me, calculate it yourself and see for yourself." The Jaina then made his calculations again and saw that his offenses had been erased and he would be born in heaven. Filled with joy, he begged for ordination. Buddha-mitra replied, "Today you should first tell your followers, and then I will ordain you." The Jaina had five hundred disciples. He went to them and said, "I have seen the supreme principle and take great delight in it. I wish to renounce the home life and follow the Buddhist path. You may now do as you wish, either follow a wise teacher and receive the supreme Dharma." All his disciples said to their master, "We have always looked up to you as a great cloud covering us. Since you have entered the supreme path, we wish to follow you." Then that Jaina, along with the five hundred men, came to the elder's place and all renounced the home life together.

Thus the elder Buddha-mitra, his good fame spreading throughout Jambudvīpa, guided countless beings. When his conditions ended and he gave up his life, his disciples grieved. They gathered his relics, built a stupa, and offered homage. At that former time, when the elder Buddha-mitra had finished his work of teaching and was about to lay down his life, he told a disciple named Elder Piṇḍola: "You should, in the future, broadly proclaim the sacred teaching and guide beings to liberation." The disciple answered, "Great master, I respectfully accept your teaching. I will wholeheartedly protect the true Dharma." That monk, due to past karma, had remained in his mother's womb for over sixty years. When born at last, his hair and beard were already white. He was disgusted with the five desires and took no pleasure in the household life. He went to the elder Buddha-mitra, bowed at his feet, and asked to join the path. The elder ordained him and spoke to him of the essential Dharma. Just as a pure white cloth easily accepts dye, he attained the fruit of Arhatship right there in his seat. With the threefold knowledge shining clear and the six supernormal powers unimpeded, he diligently cultivated ascetic practices with fierce effort. He never even lay down to rest, keeping his ribs from touching the ground. People of the time called him the "Ribbed Elder." He taught the Dharma well and guided countless beings. When his work was done, he entered Nirvana, and his relics were gathered and enshrined in a stupa with offerings.

When the Ribbed Elder was about to pass away, he told a monk named Puṇṇa: "Elder, know that the Buddha-Dharma is subtle and wonderful and possesses great merit. Therefore all the saints uphold it with reverence. I received the teaching entrusted to me and have protected this Dharma. Now I am about to enter Nirvana and leave it to you. You should wholeheartedly protect and uphold it." Puṇṇa replied, "Yes, I will." Then he freely proclaimed the subtle and supreme Dharma, guiding limitless beings.

At one later time, while sit in the lotus position under a quiet grove, absorbed in contemplation, there came a great man named Aśvaghoṣa. His wisdom was deep and keen, surpassing all. No one could defeat him in questioning—he was like a fierce wind that uproots rotten trees. He was arrogant, looking down on all beings, believing firmly in a permanent self and full of pride. Hearing that there was an elder named Puṇṇa, wise, deeply learned, and widely informed, who taught that all dharmas are empty and selfless, Aśvaghoṣa went to him with contempt in his heart, saying: "All the arguments in the world, I can destroy like hail crushing grass. If these words of mine are false and untrue, I will cut out my tongue in recompense."

Puṇṇa replied, "In the Buddha's teaching there are two truths. From the standpoint of worldly convention, we provisionally speak of a self. But in the supreme truth, all is empty and still. If you investigate in this way, where can a self be found?" At that time Aśvaghoṣa, his mind not yet tamed and relying on his sharp intellect, still thought himself superior. Puṇṇa said, "You should think carefully and not speak empty words to oneself. I now say—let us determine who is the victor." Then Aśvaghoṣa thought: "The conventional self is surely not real, and the supreme truth is also empty. Since both are unobtainable, what can be destroyed? Now I am certainly no match for him." He wanted to cut off his tongue to pay for his arrogant boast. But Puṇṇa said, "The Dharma I practice is merciful. I will not have you cut out your tongue. You should simply shave your head and become my disciple."

The elder ordained him, but Aśvaghoṣa still felt shamed and resentful, wishing to end his life. Now Puṇṇa, having attained arhatship, entered meditation and perceived this thought. The elder had a scripture kept in a dark room. He told Aśvaghoṣa to go there and fetch it. Aśvaghoṣa said, "Master, this room is pitch-dark. How can I enter?" Puṇṇa replied, "Just go. I will let you see." Then, by his supernormal power, the elder extended his right hand far into the room. Five fingers emitted light that brightly illuminated everything inside. Aśvaghoṣa, suspecting it was an illusion, thought: "An illusion disappears once it is understood." But the light grew even more brilliant. He exhausted all his arts trying to extinguish it, but no matter how he labored, nothing changed. Realizing it was the work of his master, he was at last subdued. He practiced austerities with diligence and never again regressed.

Thus the elder, through his skillful means, guided beings. When his work was done, he entered Nirvana. The four assemblies, sad and full of reverence, built a stupa and offered homage. Previously, when Puṇṇa was about to enter Nirvana, he had entrusted the Dharma to his disciple Aśvaghoṣa, saying: "Just as a great bright lamp lit in a dark room illumines all things, so too is the lamp of the Dharma—when it is spread in the world, it destroys the darkness of ignorance. Therefore the Tathāgata proclaimed this true Dharma, so that all might practice it. The saints have always guarded it, passing it on from one to another until it came to me. Now I entrust this supreme eye to you. You should, in the future, hold it in your heart and protect it, so that all future generations may be abundantly benefited."

Aśvaghoṣa respectfully agreed, saying, "I will receive the master's teaching." Then he widely proclaimed the profound treasury of Dharma, erected the great banner of Dharma, and destroyed heretical views. In the city of Pāṭaliputra, he traveled and taught. To guide the beings of that city, he composed a delightful musical drama called "Rāṣṭrapāla." Its melody was graceful, sorrowful, and harmonious, proclaiming the teaching of suffering, emptiness, and non-self: "All conditioned things are like illusions, like magical creations. The three realms are a prison—there is nothing to delight in. Even a king’s high station, power, and freedom—when impermanence arrives, who can remain? Like clouds in the sky that scatter in an instant, this body is false, like a plantain tree. It is an enemy, a thief, not to be trusted. Like a box of venomous snakes, who would delight in it? Therefore all Buddhas continually admonish this body." He thus extensively set forth the meaning of emptiness and non-self, instructing the performers to sing this message.

But the musicians could not understand it, and their melody and rhythm were all scrambled and wrong. Then Aśvaghoṣa, wearing a white robe, entered the troupe of performers. He himself struck the drum and tuned the lutes. The melody became sorrowful and graceful, the composition perfected, as he proclaimed the teaching of suffering, emptiness, and non-self. When the five hundred princes of that city heard this, they were all awakened at once, and, disgusted with the five desires, renounced the home life to pursue the path. Then the king of Pāṭaliputra, fearing that his people would abandon their families and the country would be emptied and ruined, issued a decree that the music should no longer be performed.

That city of Pāṭaliputra had nine hundred million people. Now there was a king of the Yuezhi, powerful in might and majesty, named King Kaniṣka. His spirit was fierce and bold, surpassing the world. Every campaign he undertook was victorious. He then mustered his four divisions of troops and marched against this kingdom. After battle, he subjugated it. He then demanded nine hundred million gold pieces as tribute. The king of that land, unable to meet the demand, offered Aśvaghoṣa, the Buddha's bowl, and a compassionate chicken—each valued at three hundred million—as payment. Aśvaghoṣa, the Bodhisattva, was of supremely exceptional wisdom. The Buddha's bowl had the merit of being held by the Tathāgata. The chicken had such a compassionate mind that it never drank water with insects in it, and it had the power to eliminate all enemies. Because of these virtues, the three items covered the nine hundred million debt. King Kaniṣka was greatly delighted and accepted them, then marched his troops back to his own country.

That King Kaniṣka possessed great merit. Clad in the armor of vast vows, he was firm of purpose. Once he had placed a ball of clay atop a stupa and made this vow: "If in a future life, among the thousand Buddhas, I am to attain perfect enlightenment, may this ball of clay become an image of the Buddha." As soon as he made this wish, it transformed at once into a Buddha image, majestic and extraordinary, as if painted. His heart leapt with boundless joy. Later, while traveling on the road, he saw a heretical stupa decorated with seven jewels. Taking it to be a Tathāgata stupa, he bowed with great devotion, prostrated himself with utmost respect, burned incense, scattered flowers, and spoke a verse of praise:

After he spoke these verses, the pagoda immediately crumbled to the ground. The king was terrified and said, "Is my fortune about to run out? Am I going to lose my throne? Why did this pagoda collapse the moment I paid my respects to it?"

Someone told him, "The pagoda you paid respects to was a heretical shrine. Because its spiritual power was weak and insignificant, it could not withstand the reverence of a person with such great merit as yourself. That is why it collapsed."

They excavated beneath the pagoda and found the body of a naked ascetic. Everyone marveled, saying, "How extraordinary! The king's merit is so vast and deep that merely paying respects to this heretical shrine destroyed it. The king's virtue rivals that of Brahma."

On another occasion, King Kaniṣka summoned his barber to trim his beard. The barber stood before the king and said, "My son is handsome and remarkably wise. I beg Your Majesty to take pity on me and give him your daughter in marriage."

The king flew into a rage and said, "You are a man of lowly birth and inferior caste. How dare you suggest that I give my daughter to your son?" He immediately banished the barber, who dared not speak another word.

Later, the king summoned him again, and the barber repeated the same request. This happened three times. The king thought to himself, "There must be buried treasure beneath the ground where this man stands, for him to dare make such a request." He ordered excavations and indeed found great stores of various treasures.

Such was the king's wisdom.

Another time, Kaniṣka asked his ministers, "Among all the nations, is there any truly wise person worthy of my respect and counsel?"

At that time, there was a monk named Dharmamitra, whose wisdom was profound, whose merit was complete, and who had mastered the depths of meditative concentration. In the southern country of India, there were two monks, gentle in heart and deeply devoted to the good Dharma, who had heard that this venerable one excelled in meditation. They journeyed together to visit him.

At his dwelling place there was a cave with three levels. The two monks entered the lowest cave and saw a monk wearing shabby robes, ugly in appearance, sitting by the stove tending the fire for the community. They asked him, "Elder, where is Dharmamitra?"

He replied, "He is in the highest cave right now. You should go quickly to see him."

The two monks ascended to the highest cave and saw the very same monk they had seen below, already sitting there. One monk said to his companion, "How can this old monk look exactly like the one we just saw?"

The companion, who was quick-witted and insightful, replied, "If this venerable one can do something like this, should we be surprised that his fame has spread so far? Of course he can also appear here." He then stepped forward, bowed his head in reverence, and asked, "Great teacher, your virtue is celebrated throughout the world. Why would you humble yourself to tend the fire for the community?"

Dharmamitra told them, "Listen, my friends. I reflect on the long suffering of birth and death. If my head and hands could be used as fuel, I would burn them entirely for the sake of the community. How much less difficult is it to tend a fire?

I recall that in five hundred past lives I was born as a dog, starving and weak, and only twice did I eat my fill. Once, a man who had drunk too much wine vomited on the ground, and I ate my fill from that. Another time, a husband and wife cooked porridge in a pot and went outside. Seeing no one around, I entered their home, stuck my head in the pot, and ate my fill of the porridge. But when I tried to pull my head out, I could not. The couple returned, saw me eating their porridge, and in their anger cut off my head with a sharp knife.

Through five hundred lives as a dog, though I was twice satisfied, I lost my life both times. Reflecting on this, I see that birth and death are long, that we wander through the five realms enduring immeasurable suffering. That is why I do not begrudge my effort and personally tend the fire for the community."

Hearing these words, the two monks deeply contemplated the boundless suffering of birth and death, and in that moment attained the stage of stream-entry.

Such was the venerable Dharmamitra — far-seeing in wisdom, celebrated far and wide. The king's ministers had long heard his name and all said, "Your Majesty should know that in the mountains of Kashmir there is a monk named Dharmamitra, surpassing in talent and rich in merit. You should go to pay him your respects and make offerings."

King Kaniṣka immediately prepared his royal procession and traveled to the mountains of Kashmir with his entourage surrounding him. When he was still five hundred miles from the monk's dwelling, the king thought, "If this monk's merit is as vast as an ocean, then he will be able to receive my respectful homage. But if he is a man of meager merit, he will not be able to bear it."

Now Dharmamitra loved simplicity. He wore shabby robes and his appearance was gaunt. His disciples all said to him, "King Kaniṣka, whose majesty is renowned far and wide, is coming in person to pay his respects to you, great teacher. You should dress yourself in fresh, clean robes, so that he will not think little of you."

Dharmamitra told his disciples, "The Buddha never instructed us to dress ourselves up when meeting the wealthy and powerful. For those who have left home, simple and worn robes are the norm. Since I have what is appropriate, why should I change?"

The king approached, bowed with reverence, and asked after the master's well-being. Dharmamitra, knowing the king's thoughts, deliberately coughed and offered his phlegm for the king to receive. Kaniṣka knelt, received it with both hands, and cast it away.

Dharmamitra asked, "Am I able to receive your offerings?"

The king, utterly humbled, felt his faith increase twofold. The venerable one told him, "You came by a noble path. Now you may return by the same road."

Having received these words, the king accepted the instruction and returned to his kingdom.

His ministers, however, were filled with resentment and said, "Why did Your Majesty go to visit this great sage and not ask him anything?"

The king told his ministers, "How could you possibly understand such matters? In past lives I accumulated merit through good deeds, and that is why I am now a king of surpassing wisdom and talent. The venerable one instructed me to continue cultivating the very practices that brought me here. I have already received his teachings — what more was there to ask?"

Later, the king traveled to his victory monument and on the way encountered five hundred beggars who cried out in unison, "Please be merciful, grant us alms like ourselves."

Hearing this, the king gave generous gifts to the beggars — gold, silver, lapis lazuli, elephants, horses, fields, and homes. He then returned and held various giving assemblies, relieving the poor, comforting orphans and the aged, and ruling his kingdom with righteousness and benevolence.

At that time, a minister named Heavenly Dharma thought, "Why does the king, upon seeing beggars, establish such meritorious deeds?" He asked the king, "Why is it that when you see beggars, you perform such acts of great merit?"

The king told Heavenly Dharma, "These beggars have done me a great benefit. Through their bodies and their words, they have opened my eyes. In the past, when I was king, I did not cultivate the causes of merit. Now I suffer hunger, cold, and poverty, my body worn thin by hardship. If I do not give to the poor, in my next life I will surely be like them — hungry, cold, and weak. That is what these beggars have shown me. Having understood this, I now perform meritorious deeds."

Heavenly Dharma replied, "Your Majesty, not only do you surpass all the world in rank, your wisdom likewise governs all nations."

Now the king of Parthia was savage and violent by nature. He raised an army of four divisions and marched against Kaniṣka. Kaniṣka likewise prepared his defenses. The two armies clashed, swords and blades clanging. Kaniṣka emerged victorious, killing nine hundred million Parthians.

He asked his ministers, "Can this crime of mine be purified?"

They replied, "Your Majesty has slain nine hundred million people. The sin is too deep and heavy — how could it ever be cleansed?"

Kaniṣka then set up a great cauldron, boiled water in it for seven days until it churned and steamed with raging heat, and placed a golden ring within the boiling water. He asked his ministers, "Who among you is clever enough to retrieve this ring?"

A minister stepped forward, plunged into cold water, and retrieved the ring — his hands unburned.

The king told his ministers, "My sin is like that boiling water. With repentance, it can surely be cleansed, just as this man's hand was protected by cold water. Although I killed nine hundred million people, among them there were only two and a half whose sin was truly heavy. When I had them executed, there were two devoted believers who, facing death, invoked the name of the Buddha. Killing them was a grave offense. As for the third — he said 'Namu butsu' without knowing what it meant, thinking it was some teacher named Puraṇa. I killed him too, and so that counts as half."

At that time, an arhat monk, seeing Kaniṣka's evil deeds and wishing to frighten the king into repentance, used his spiritual power to show him the hells — the chopping, stabbing, sword-wheels, and dismemberment, the wailing and screaming, the agony beyond endurance.

Seeing this, the king was stricken with terror and thought, "I have been truly foolish to commit such crimes. In the future I will surely suffer such torment. Had I known the retribution beforehand, even if my own body were to be torn limb from limb, I would never have raised a hand against enemies — let alone harbored a single evil thought toward good people."

Then Aśvaghoṣa said to the king, "If you can listen to the Dharma with a sincere heart, follow my teachings, and hold them fast, I will ensure this crime does not send you to hell."

Kaniṣka replied, "Excellent! I will follow your guidance."

Aśvaghoṣa then spoke extensively to the king of the pure Dharma, so that his heavy sins gradually became lighter.

There was also a physician named Caraka, skilled in medicine, clever, learned, eloquent, compassionate, and virtuous. King Kaniṣka had long heard of his name and searched for him. When Caraka came to the palace, the king said, "I am quite capable of regulating my own body. I sleep on my right side and moderate my food and drink. Why would I need a physician?"

Caraka replied, "If you can do all that, you should become a monk. Kings indulge their desires freely, letting body and speech run wild. If Your Majesty can already restrain yourself this well, why cling to your throne and remain so long in the world?"

The king, seeing the wisdom in these words, invited the physician in and exchanged greetings. The physician said, "If Your Majesty will trust and follow my advice without resistance, I will ensure that your body remains strong and vigorous, your digestion always smooth, and that you never suffer illness."

The king said, "Excellent. I will follow your counsel."

Not long after, his beloved queen found herself with child. When her ten months were complete, she gave birth to a son — but the child was already dead and came into the world feet-first, causing the mother such agony that her life hung by a thread. This happened again and again with subsequent births.

Caraka then reached into the womb, disentangled the baby, and brought it forth, and the mother was safely delivered.

The physician said, "Your Majesty, from now on do not approach this woman. If you do, the same tragedy will surely repeat."

But Kaniṣka's lust burned fiercely, and unable to restrain himself, he approached the queen again. She bore another child, suffering the same terrible ordeal.

Caraka, witnessing this, finally understood that the five desires are the root of all suffering. He thought, "King Kaniṣka — I taught him with my own words, yet he would not listen, and so he suffers this pain. Now I see that sensual desire is not worth relishing. It ruins virtue, destroys the body, corrupts good name, and defiles the holy life. Ordinary people are so blinded they cannot let it go, but the wise see it for what it is — a robber and an enemy.

I should abandon such evil ways and retire to the forest, sit quietly, and cultivate concentration."

So he took leave of the king and became a monk. With his surpassing talent and deep wisdom, he taught widely and composed treatises that circulated throughout the world, bringing benefit wherever he went.

There was also a minister named Macchara, surpassing in wisdom and rare in talent, who said to Kaniṣka, "If Your Majesty will follow my counsel, I promise you will subdue the four seas, and all nations will bow to your virtue. But you must keep my plan secret and not reveal it."

The king said, "Excellent. I will do as you say."

The minister then gathered brave generals, marshaled four divisions of troops, and wherever they marched, all submitted — like hail crushing grass. The peoples of the three seas all came under the king's rule.

One day, the king's horse, traveling along the road, suddenly stumbled and its legs gave way. The king said, "I have conquered the three seas and all have submitted. Only the northern sea remains unconquered. Once I have it, I will no longer need to ride this horse. Why does it falter now when my work is not yet done?"

The ministers, hearing this, discussed among themselves: "King Kaniṣka is greedy and ruthless. He campaigns endlessly, exhausting the people, never satisfied, wishing to rule the entire world. He garrison the far borders, tearing families apart. When will this suffering end? We should all work together to remove him — then we will know peace."

So when the king fell ill with malaria, they used a blanket to suffocate him. They sat upon him until he stopped breathing.

But because of his connection to Aśvaghoṣa's Dharma teaching, the king was reborn in the great ocean as a fish with a thousand heads. A sword-wheel endlessly circled, cutting off his heads one by one. Each time one was severed, another grew in its place, and the wheel kept cutting — inexhaustible. In a single moment, his severed heads filled the entire sea.

At that time, an arhat served as the temple steward. The king said to him, "This sword-wheel stops whenever it hears the sounding of the wooden gong, and in that interval my suffering eases. I beg you, great worthy one, to have mercy and strike the gong for as long as you can."

The arhat, moved by compassion, struck the gong for an extended time. After seven days, the king's suffering came to an end.

Because of this king, the temple passed down the tradition of sounding the gong at length, from one generation to the next, down to this very day.

Thus did Aśvaghoṣa, through his great vows and deeds, pour out the nectar of the Dharma and bring immense benefit to King Kaniṣka. He liberated countless millions of beings. When his work was complete, he passed away, and his relics were gathered and enshrined in a stupa with offerings.

Before Aśvaghoṣa the Bodhisattva passed away, he told a monk named Pīra, "Elder, know that the Buddhadharma is pure and can remove the stains of affliction. You must spread it and uphold it in the future."

Pīra replied, "Excellent. I will follow your instruction."

From that time onward, Pīra proclaimed the true Dharma widely, adorning himself with subtle virtue. His eloquence was skillful, his wisdom deep. He vanquished all heretical doctrines. In southern India he brought great benefit, composing a treatise on non-self in one hundred verses. Wherever this treatise traveled, all opposing views crumbled — like a diamond that destroys whatever it strikes.

When the time came for Pīra to pass away, he entrusted the treasury of the Dharma to a great being named Nāgārjuna, and then departed.

Nāgārjuna then spread the supreme vision to countless beings, adorning himself with wondrous virtue. Gifted with extraordinary intelligence, he never needed to ask twice. He raised the banner of Dharma and subdued all rival teachings. Such merit cannot be fully described. Let me now tell you his story.

He was born in southern India into a great and wealthy Brahmin family. At his birth, he was lying beneath a tree, and because his awakening came through a dragon, he was named Nāgārjuna — "Dragon Tree."

From childhood he was brilliant, surpassing all in learning. As a mere infant in the cradle, he overheard the Brahmins reciting the four Vedas — vast scriptures of forty thousand verses, each stanza of exactly thirty-two syllables — and understood them all instantly, grasping their every phrase and meaning.

By early adulthood, his fame had spread throughout the lands. Astronomy, geography, celestial charts, prophecy, and all the arts — he had mastered them completely.

He had three friends, equally gifted and handsome. They discussed among themselves: "All the principles of the world that can enlighten the mind, unveil the hidden, and grow wisdom — we have mastered all of this. What is left to enjoy ourselves?"

One said, "In this world, only the pursuit of beautiful women and the indulgence of desire can be called the supreme joy of a lifetime. But the Brahmin path does not grant us such freedom. We need a clever plan to achieve this pleasure. Let us seek the art of invisibility. If we succeed, then this wish can be fulfilled."

They all agreed: "Well said!"

They went to a magician seeking the art of invisibility. The magician thought, "These four Brahmins are brilliant and proud, looking down on everyone. Now they humble themselves before me for this skill. These men have mastered everything else — the only thing they don't know is this lowly art. If I teach them, they will discard me forever. I should give them a false medicine instead. When it runs out, they will have to return, and then I can keep them dependent on me."

So he gave each of them a dark pill and said, "Grind this pill with water and apply it to your eyelids, and your bodies will become invisible."

They followed his instructions and ground the medicine. But Nāgārjuna, smelling it, recognized all its ingredients, each one precisely, down to the last grain. He went back to the teacher and listed them all: seventy ingredients in total, by name and quantity, exactly as the formula required.

The teacher was astonished. When he asked how Nāgārjuna knew, Nāgārjuna replied, "Great master, every substance has its own distinct nature. By recognizing their qualities, one can identify them. What is so surprising about that?"

The teacher marveled, "This was unheard of! If one can understand all this just by hearing about it, how much more should I, who have met this person in person, treasure my own art?" So he taught the four men the complete method.

The four prepared the medicine, made themselves invisible, and roamed freely — straight into the king's harem. The palace beauties were all violated. After more than a hundred days, many of them were found to be pregnant.

When this was reported to the king, he was deeply displeased. "What kind of misfortune is this?" He summoned his wise ministers to investigate.

One minister said, "Such a matter must have two possible causes: either ghosts and spirits, or some sorcery and art. Scatter fine dust at the gates and station guards to watch for anyone passing. If it is sorcery, their footprints will appear. If it is ghosts, there will be no traces — and in that case, we can deal with them with weapons, or repel them with incantations."

The king adopted this plan. They saw the footprints of four men entering through the gate. The guards rushed to inform the king. The king brought hundreds of warriors, who slashed through the air with their swords, cutting off the heads of three of the men. But within seven feet of the king, the swords could not reach. Nāgārjuna pressed close against the king's body and stood there, protected.

It was then that he truly understood: desire is the root of suffering. It destroys virtue, endangers life, and defiles the holy path. He vowed: "If I escape this danger, I will go to a monk and receive ordination."

He escaped to the mountains, came to a Buddhist stupa, and left behind love and desire, becoming a monk. In ninety days, he studied and mastered all the scriptures and treatises of the entire continent. Seeking further texts, he found none.

He then traveled to the Snow Mountains, where he met a monk who gave him the Mahāyāna scriptures. He read them with delight, honored them, and made offerings. Though he understood their meaning, he had not yet attained realization. His eloquence was boundless and his arguments powerful. All the heretical teachers, non-Buddhist philosophers, and learned monks were subdued by him and asked to become his disciples.

Then he began to think of himself as an all-knowing being. His pride swelled. He decided to enter the Buddha's teaching hall through its main gate.

But the guardian spirit of the gate told Nāgārjuna, "Your wisdom is like a mosquito's compared to the Buddha's — beyond description. A firefly compared to the sun and moon. Mount Sumeru compared to a mustard seed. I see that you are not all-knowing. Why would you try to enter through this gate?"

Hearing this, Nāgārjuna was deeply ashamed. A student said to him, "Master always claims to be an all-knowing one. Now you come and bow as a disciple of the Buddha. But we are disciples of you. If you are not yet all-knowing, then what are we?"

Nāgārjuna, having no reply and feeling humbled, thought to himself, "In worldly philosophies there are countless approaches. The Buddha's scriptures are wonderful, but their words and meaning are not yet fully expanded. I should expound upon them further, to enlighten those who come after and benefit sentient beings."

With this intention, he devised a new teaching, creating robes that were different from the Buddha's — similar enough to be connected, but different enough to signal independence, hoping to draw followers of his own. He chose an auspicious day and retreated into a quiet chamber — a crystal room.

The great dragon bodhisattva, pitying him, used spiritual power to bring him into the ocean. There, in the dragon king's palace, he opened seven precious caskets and gave Nāgārjuna the vast, profound sūtras of the Mahāyāna — immeasurable and wondrous teachings. In ninety days, Nāgārjuna mastered a great many of them. His mind penetrated deeply and he attained real benefit.

The dragon king asked him, "Have you now read all the scriptures you need?"

Nāgārjuna replied, "Your scriptures are inexhaustible. But what I have read already exceeds ten times all the texts of the human world."

The dragon king said, "In the Heaven of the Thirty-Three, even King Śakra's collection surpasses this palace by a hundred thousand times. And beyond even that, there are more teachings than can be counted."

Nāgārjuna, having now received all these scriptures, suddenly understood everything with perfect clarity, penetrating the one true mark of reality, and attaining full patience with the non-arising of dharmas.

The dragon king, seeing that he had awakened, sent him back from the dragon palace.

At that time, the king of southern India held deeply heretical views, honoring non-Buddhist teachers and slandering the true Dharma. To convert him, Nāgārjuna Bodhisattva personally carried a red banner and walked before the king's procession — for seven years.

Finally, the king grew curious and asked, "Who are you, walking ahead of me?"

Nāgārjuna replied, "I am an all-knowing one."

The king was greatly startled and asked, "All-knowing ones are exceedingly rare. If you claim to be one, what proof can you offer?"

Nāgārjuna said, "If you wish to know, you should ask me questions. After I answer, you can test me."

The king thought, "I am the lord of wisdom and the foremost debater of this realm. If I defeat him with a question, that is no great feat. But if I can't, I will lose much face. Yet if I stay silent, that would be equally improper." He deliberated for a long time without resolution.

Finally, pressed by circumstance, he asked, "What are the gods doing right now?"

Nāgārjuna replied, "Great King, the gods are currently fighting the asuras."

The king felt like a man choking — he could neither swallow nor spit out this answer. If it were false, there was no way to prove it; if he accepted it, the matter defied demonstration.

Nāgārjuna added, "This is not empty talk. Wait a moment, and you will see proof."

No sooner had he spoken than swords and spears fell from the sky — long halberds and short blades, one after another.

The king said, "Spears and swords may be weapons of war, but how does that prove they belong to gods or asuras?"

Nāgārjuna replied, "'If the words seem empty, verify with reality.'" And as he said this, the ears and noses of asuras came falling from the sky.

Only then did the king awaken to wonder. He bowed his head in homage and received Nāgārjuna's teachings with reverence and respect.

At that moment, ten thousand Brahmins on the palace grounds witnessed his divine virtue and marveled as never before. They shaved their heads and became monastics.

When all the other heretical teachers heard of this, they gathered in crowds, burning with envy and eager to dispute. Nāgārjuna, with his great wisdom and skillful means, debated them all extensively. Those who were dull-witted were defeated in a single exchange; those of moderate intelligence held out for two days at most. All were subdued, shaved their heads, and became his followers. Thus he converted countless heretical paths.

The king's court sent ten cartloads of robes and alms bowls each month — and within a month, all had been given away. This continued indefinitely, without end.

Nāgārjuna expounded the meaning of the Mahāyāna extensively, composing a commentary of a hundred thousand verses, adorning the Buddha-way with great compassion and skillful means. He wrote other treatises, each of five thousand verses, causing the Mahāyāna to shine brilliantly in the world. He composed the Treatise on Fearlessness in a hundred thousand verses, from which the Fundamental Verses on the Middle Way emerged, in five hundred verses. Its words and meaning were profound and deep, toppling the victory banners of all heretics.

Now in the country of India there was a Brahmin of blazing heretical views, skilled in spells and incantations, who wished to challenge Nāgārjuna using his own abilities. He said to the king, "I beg Your Majesty to mercifully permit me to contest this monk's spiritual power. If he wins, I will become his servant. If I win, he shall be mine."

The king said, "Great teacher, you are very foolish. This bodhisattva is as brilliant as the sun and moon, his wisdom equal to the sages. You are crude and inferior — how could you compare? You want to hang Mount Sumeru on a lotus thread, or measure the great ocean with a cow's footprint of water. I look at you and see exactly that. Think carefully, and do not diminish your own dignity."

The Brahmin said, "The king is a wise man, admired by all, like the sun and moon that everyone watches. Whether my words are true or false should be tested by reason. Why does Your Majesty condemn me without giving me a chance?"

The king, seeing his determination, sent a formal invitation to Nāgārjuna Bodhisattva, and they gathered at dawn in the main hall. The Brahmin, using his magical power, created a vast, clear pool, beautiful and pure. From its center grew a thousand-petaled lotus, and he sat upon it, saying to Nāgārjuna: "You stand on the ground like a beast. I sit upon this lotus, pure and wise. How dare you speak against me?"

Nāgārjuna then, using his own magical power, transformed into a white elephant with six tusks, adorned with gold and silver ornaments. The elephant strolled to the pool, approached the lotus seat, wrapped its trunk around the flower, and flung the Brahmin to the ground.

The Brahmin, his back injured and utterly defeated, submitted and took refuge in Nāgārjuna, saying, "I was utterly foolish to offend the great master. I beg only for your mercy in accepting my repentance."

Nāgārjuna, with compassion, ordained him.

But a certain teacher of the Lesser Vehicle, seeing Nāgārjuna's towering excellence, harbored bitterness and envy. When Nāgārjuna had completed his work and was about to depart this world, he asked this teacher, "Would you like me to remain in this world longer?"

The teacher replied, "Honestly, no."

Nāgārjuna then entered a quiet room and was not seen for the rest of the day. His disciples, puzzled, broke down the door to look — and saw that the master had shed his body and was gone.

Nations throughout India built shrines for him, offering all kinds of veneration, honoring him as they would the Buddha himself.

Transmission of the Dharma Treasury: The Causes and Conditions, Volume 5