In the Tenpyō era there once lived a layman in Sagaraka district, Yamashiro province, whose name is unknown. At Koma-dera in the same district there was a monk named Eijō used to recite the Hoke-kyō all the time. It happened that the monk and the layman had been playing go for some time. Whenever the monk put down a stone, he said, “This is the Venerable Eijō’s hand of go.” The layman mocked and mimicked him, deliberately twisting his mouth and saying, “This is the Venerable Eijō’s hand of go.” He went on and on this way. Then, all of a sudden, the layman’s mouth was distorted. In fear, he left the temple holding his chin with his hands. He had hardly gone any distance before he fell on his back and died immediately. Witnesses said, “Though he did not persecute a monk, mocking and mimicking got him a twisted mouth and sudden death. What, then, must the penalty be if one vengefully persecutes a monk?” The Hoke-kyō* gives a passage to this effect: “A wise monk and a foolish monk cannot be discussed in the same breath. Similarly, a long-haired monk and a wise, unshaved layman cannot be treated alike and served with the same dishes. If one dares to do so, he will swallow an iron ball which is heated on red-hot copper and charcoal, and fall into hell.” (Page 185)

*These verses are not found in the Lotus Sūtra.

On the Immediate Retribution of Good and Evil Because of Giving No Alms and Freeing Living Beings1
In the reign of Emperor Shōmu, there lived a wealthy man in the village of Sakata, Kagawa district, Sanuki province. He and his wife had the same surname Aya no kimi. Next door to them lived an old widow and an old widower without any family. They were extremely poor, having no clothes to wear nor food to eat. They used to come to the Aya no kimi’s home to beg food at every meal. Once, out of curiosity, the husband got up secretly late at night, boiled rice, and fed his family, but even then they appeared. All the family wondered about them.

The mistress said to her husband, “This man and woman are too old to work. I should like to have them in our household just for mercy’s sake.” Then he said, “If you want to feed them, give them some of your portion. The most meritorious deed of all is to save others by sacrificing one’s own flesh. What I recommend to you will bring forth merit.”

According to the master’s suggestion, people in the household fed the old couple with part of their own portions. Among the household there was one servant who disliked the couple in spite of the master’s words, however. Gradually other servants learned to dislike them and did not give them food. The mistress, therefore, fed them secretly from her portion. The troublesome servant falsely represented the matter to the master, saying, “Hungry and exhausted, we cannot work well in the field and are neglectful, for the mistress feeds the old ones by decreasing our portions.” The mistress, however, kept them in food, even while the servant continued to slander her.

It happened that the ill-tempered servant went to sea to fish with a fisherman. He saw ten oysters on the fishing rope, and he said to the fisherman, “I would like to free these oysters.” But the fisherman would not agree. Whereupon his companion pleaded earnestly, trying to convey Buddhist teachings to the fisherman, and argued, “Pious people build temples, so why do you object so much to freeing the oysters?” Eventually the fisherman yielded and said, “I want two and a half bushels of rice in exchange for the ten oysters.” Having paid the fisherman, he invited a monk to give a blessing and had the oysters returned to the sea.

One day the benefactor of the oysters went to the mountain with a servant to collect firewood. He climbed a withered pine tree, fell from a branch, and died. His spirit, which possessed a diviner, said, “Don’t cremate me, but leave my corpse for seven days.” In accord with this message, his corpse was carried from the mountain and placed outside, waiting for the appointed day.

On the seventh day he awoke and said to his family: “With five monks in front, and five lay brothers in the rear, I was going along a wide flat road as straight as a ruler. On both sides holy banners were raised, and a golden palace was in front. I asked them, ‘What palace is this?’ The lay brothers looked at each other, saying in whispers, ‘This is the palace where your wife will be born. This palace was built as a reward for her merit of supporting the old ones. Do you know who we are?’ I answered ‘No.’ Then, they revealed the fact, saying, ‘You should know that the five monks and the five lay brothers are the ten oysters you paid for and set free.’

On either side of the palace gate stood a man with a horn on his forehead. They held up their swords ready to cut off my head, but the monks and lay brothers entreated them not to do so. Fragrant delicious food was served to both gatekeepers and all enjoyed the feast. During my seven days’ stay inside I was so hungry and thirsty that my mouth was in flames. Then I was told, ‘This is the penalty for your sin of disliking the old ones and not feeding them.’ The monks and lay brothers escorted me back, and suddenly I awoke and found myself here.”

After that the man gave alms as generously as the water moistens the land. The reward of saving living beings helps you, while the penalty of giving no alms returns to you in the form of hunger and thirst. We cannot help believing in the karmic retribution of good and evil. (Page 182-183)

Takahashi no muraji Azumabito was a very wealthy man in the village of Hamishiro, Yamada district, Iga province. He copied the Hoke-kyō for his mother, making a vow, saying, “I want to invite a monk related to my vow by karma to hold a service for her salvation.” When he finished preparing a place for the service on the following day, he called a servant and said, “The first monk you happen to meet I will make the officiating monk. Don’t overlook any monk who seems to be able to perform esoteric rites and bring him to me.”

The servant went first, in accord with his master’s request, to the village of Mitani in the same district. There he found a mendicant lying in the road, drunk, with a bag for a begging bowl at his elbow. His name is not known. He was sleeping so soundly that some mischievous person had shaved his head and hung a rope around him like a surplice without waking him. Seeing him, the servant woke him with a greeting and asked him to visit his master.

On his arrival, the master greeted him with respect and faith and kept him inside the house for a day and a night, during which time he made a clerical robe in haste and offered it to the mendicant. The mendicant asked, “Why have you treated me like this?” and the host replied, “I would like to ask you to expound the Hoke-kyō.” Then the mendicant said, “I have no learning. I have simply stayed alive by reciting the Hannya dharani and begging food.” The host, however, repeated his entreaty. The mendicant thought to himself that the best way for him was a secret escape. Knowing that the mendicant intended to run away, the host had him watched.

That night, the mendicant had a dream. A red cow came to him, saying, “I am the mother of the master of this household. Among his cattle there is a red cow, whose calf is none other than I. Once in my former life, I stole property from my son, and now I am atoning for it in the form of a cow. I have confided this to you with respect and sincerity since you are going to preach on the Mahayana scripture for me tomorrow. If you feel any doubt about my story, please prepare a seat at the back of the hall where you will preach tomorrow. You will find me seated there.”

Awaking from this startling dream, the mendicant was very curious. The next morning he went up to the lecturer’s seat, saying: “I am ignorant of Buddhist teachings. I came to take this seat in compliance with my host’s entreaty. But I have one thing to tell you, which is a revelation that came to me in a dream.” Then he told about the dream in detail. Whereupon the host stood up, prepared a seat, and called the cow, which took the seat and lay down. In sorrowful tears he said, “Indeed this is my mother! I had no idea! Now I will forgive her.” The cow heard his words and sighed. When the service ended, the cow died suddenly. All the congregation cried so bitterly that there were echoes of weeping in the hall and in the garden. Nothing has ever been so miraculous as this. The son continued to accumulate merits for his mother.

We know that this miraculous event took place as a consequence of the son’s extreme faith born of his feeling for his mother, and the mendicant’s merits accumulated from reciting the divine dharani. (Page 180-181)