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Once there lived upon the mountain called Atagoyama, near Kyoto, a
certain learned priest who devoted all his time to meditation and the
study of the sacred books. The little temple in which he dwelt was far
from any village; and he could not, in such a solitude, have obtained
without help the common necessaries of life. But several devout country
people regularly contributed to his maintenance, bringing him each
month supplies of vegetables and of rice.
Among these good folk there was a certain hunter, who sometimes visited
the mountain in search of game. One day, when this hunter had brought a
bag of rice to the temple, the priest said to him:--
"Friend, I must tell you that wonderful things have happened here since
the last time I saw you. I do not certainly know why such things should
have happened in my unworthy presence. But you are aware that I have
been meditating, and reciting the sûtras daily, for many years; and
it is possible that what has been vouchsafed me is due to the merit
obtained through these religious exercises. I am not sure of this. But
I am sure that Fugen Bosatsu[1] comes nightly to this temple, riding
upon his elephant.... Stay here with me this night, friend; then you
will be able to see and to worship the Buddha."
"To witness so holy a vision," the hunter replied, "were a privilege
indeed! Most gladly I shall stay, and worship with you."
So the hunter remained at the temple. But while the priest was engaged
in his religious exercises, the hunter began to think about the
promised miracle, and to doubt whether such a thing could be. And the
more he thought, the more he doubted. There was a little boy in the
temple,--an acolyte,--and the hunter found an opportunity to question
the boy.
"The priest told me," said the hunter, "that Fugen Bosatsu comes to
this temple every night. Have you also seen Fugen Bosatsu?"
"Six times, already," the acolyte replied, "I have seen and reverently
worshipped Fugen Bosatsu." This declaration only served to increase
the hunter's suspicions, though he did not in the least doubt the
truthfulness of the boy. He reflected, however, that he would probably
be able to see whatever the boy had seen; and he waited with eagerness
for the hour of the promised vision.
*
Shortly before midnight the priest announced that it was time to
prepare for the coming of Fugen Bosatsu. The doors of the little temple
were thrown open; and the priest knelt down at the threshold, with his
face to the east. The acolyte knelt at his left hand, and the hunter
respectfully placed himself behind the priest.
It was the night of the twentieth of the ninth month,--a dreary,
dark, and very windy night; and the three waited a long time for the
coming of Fugen Bosatsu. But at last a point of white light appeared,
like a star, in the direction of the east; and this light approached
quickly,--growing larger and larger as it came, and illuminating all
the slope of the mountain. Presently the light took shape--the shape
of a being divine, riding upon a snow-white elephant with six tusks.
And, in another moment, the elephant with its shining rider arrived
before the temple, and there stood towering, like a mountain of
moonlight,--wonderful and weird.
Then the priest and the boy, prostrating themselves, began with
exceeding fervour to repeat the holy invocation to Fugen Bosatsu. But
suddenly the hunter rose up behind them, bow in hand; and, bending his
bow to the full, he sent a long arrow whizzing straight at the luminous
Buddha, into whose breast it sank up to the very feathers. Immediately,
with a sound like a thunder-clap, the white light vanished, and the
vision disappeared. Before the temple there was nothing but windy
darkness.
"O miserable man!" cried out the priest, with tears of shame and
despair, "O most wretched and wicked man! what have you done?--what
have you done?"
But the hunter received the reproaches of the priest without any sign
of compunction or of anger. Then he said, very gently:--
"Reverend sir, please try to calm yourself, and listen to me. You
thought that you were able to see Fugen Bosatsu because of some merit
obtained through your constant meditations and your recitation of the
sûtras. But if that had been the case, the Buddha would have appeared
to you only--not to me, nor even to the boy. I am an ignorant hunter,
and my occupation is to kill;--and the taking of life is hateful to the
Buddhas. How then should I be able to see Fugen Bosatsu? I have been
taught that the Buddhas are everywhere about us, and that we remain
unable to see them because of our ignorance and our imperfections.
You--being a learned priest of pure life--might indeed acquire such
enlightenment as would enable you to see the Buddhas; but how should
a man who kills animals for his livelihood find the power to see the
divine? Both I and this little boy could see all that you saw. And
let me now assure you, reverend sir, that what you saw was not Fugen
Bosatsu, but a goblinry intended to deceive you--perhaps even to
destroy you. I beg that you will try to control your feelings until
daybreak. Then I will prove to you the truth of what I have said."
At sunrise the hunter and the priest examined the spot where the vision
had been standing, and they discovered a thin trail of blood. And after
having followed this trail to a hollow some hundred paces away, they
came upon the body of a great badger, transfixed by the hunter's arrow.
*
The priest, although a learned and pious person, had easily been
deceived by a badger. But the hunter, an ignorant and irreligious man,
was gifted with strong common sense: and by mother-wit alone he was
able at once to detect and to destroy a dangerous illusion.
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[Footnote 1: Samantabhadra Bodhisattva.]