Buddhist Stories (8 to 14)

8. Conquering Anger

In one of his births, the Bodhisattva was born into a family renowned for its learning, and as a young man he mastered every branch of scripture available to him. Yet worldly success left him unsatisfied, and in time he chose to renounce his comfortable life and become a wandering ascetic. His wife, devoted and unwilling to be parted from him, resolved to share every hardship of that life at his side. Together they built a simple leaf hut deep in a forest, far from any town, and settled into months of quiet meditation.

One day the king of that land came riding through the forest on a hunt, his retinue of horsemen crashing through the undergrowth behind him. As he paused to rest near the hermitage, his eyes fell on the Bodhisattva's wife, gathering wild fruit at the edge of the clearing, and he was struck at once by her grace. A dangerous idea took hold of him – to simply take her for himself.

First, though, he wanted to test whether her husband possessed some hidden power that might avenge such an insult. Approaching the ascetic, he asked, almost carelessly, “Tell me, holy man – if a thief or a wild beast were to seize your wife before your eyes, what would you do?”

The Bodhisattva answered without a flicker of hesitation. “I would not be angry.”

The king laughed at what he took for empty philosophy, and without further delay ordered his men to force the woman into his chariot. Even as she was carried away, the ascetic's expression did not change; he remained seated exactly as he had been, his breathing even, his eyes calm.

Baffled and more than a little unsettled by this composure, the king turned back to him. “How can you sit there so calmly while your wife is taken from you?” he demanded.

“Great King,” the Bodhisattva replied, “anger is the greatest enemy a person carries within himself. It destroys whatever beauty and goodness he has built inside, and drags him far from any path toward true happiness. Striking out in rage would not bring my wife back to me – it would only make me as lost as the anger itself.”

The king, who had expected fury and found only quiet clarity, was deeply moved. Ashamed of what he had attempted, he returned the Bodhisattva's wife to him at once and knelt to beg forgiveness, riding away from the forest a changed man.

Moral: Anger destroys inner beauty and leads a person away from happiness – but it can be disarmed entirely by someone who refuses to answer it in kind.

9. Right and Wrong

By the still waters of a quiet lake there once lived a green frog, content with his simple life among the reeds and lily pads. One season, fishermen came to the lake and sank a woven wicker cage beneath the surface, hoping to trap fish for their nets.

A water snake, driven by hunger and unaware of what the cage truly was, slipped inside it in search of a meal – and found himself trapped among a school of frightened fish. Cornered and desperate, the fish turned on the intruder, biting and thrashing at him from every side until, badly wounded, the snake finally forced his way free and dragged himself, bleeding, to the muddy edge of the river.

It was there that the green frog, hopping along the bank as he often did, came upon the injured snake and, moved by the sight of his suffering, made to help him.

“O wise frog,” the snake called out weakly, “those fish attacked me without mercy, tore at my flesh, nearly took my life. Tell me honestly – were they right to treat me so?”

The frog considered the question carefully before answering. “Yes,” he said at last, “I believe they were. Tell me, snake – when a fish strays into your territory, do you not seize and eat it without a second thought? The fish did to you today only what you would have done to them, had your positions been reversed. What feels unjust when it happens to you was, from where they were floating, simply their own struggle to survive.”

The snake had no answer to give. And it is said that the wise green frog by the lake was, in that life, none other than the Bodhisattva himself, teaching a hard truth about fairness without raising his voice at all.

Moral: Judging right and wrong often depends on which side of the encounter one stands – true wisdom looks past self-interest to see the whole picture.

10. The Precious Life

In one of his gentler lives, the Bodhisattva was born as a deer of such striking beauty that every animal in the forest spoke admiringly of his handsome form and graceful stride. One bright morning, a young prince rode into that same forest to hunt, delighted by the thick green cover and the birdsong overhead. “This looks to be excellent hunting ground,” he remarked to his charioteer, scanning the undergrowth – and it was then that his eye caught the magnificent deer moving between the trees.

Without hesitation, he raised his bow, took aim, and urged his charioteer into a breakneck pursuit. The deer, sensing the danger instantly, bolted deeper into the forest, weaving between trunks and leaping over fallen logs, always staying just out of range. The chariot thundered after him, wheels bouncing dangerously over the rough ground, until without warning one of the wheels struck a hidden root and sheared clean off.

The chariot lurched violently and the prince was thrown from it, tumbling headlong into the swollen river running alongside the path. He could not swim, and the current pulled at him mercilessly. “Help! Someone, pull me out, or I shall drown!” he cried, thrashing in the water, his voice cracking with fear.

The deer, still nearby and hearing the prince's desperate cries, did not think of the arrow that had so nearly ended his own life only moments before. He waded into the shallows, allowed the drowning prince to grip his antlers and flank, and hauled him steadily to the safety of the bank.

Soaked, shaking, and utterly humbled, the prince looked into the eyes of the very creature he had hunted – the animal that had just saved his life instead of leaving him to his fate – and felt a deep and burning shame. From that day on, he vowed never again to raise a bow against any animal in the forest.

Moral: Mercy shown to a creature you meant to harm can return to save your own life – a lesson no hunter forgets once he has lived it.

11. Bitterness Grows Bitter

In one of his lives, the Bodhisattva took up the wandering existence of an ascetic, travelling from place to place, meditating quietly and seeking to become one with all creation. His journeys once brought him to the city of Benaras during the rainy season, where the king, hearing of his reputation for wisdom, welcomed him as a royal guest and gave him lodging in the palace gardens to meditate undisturbed.

The king, for all his hospitality, carried a private sorrow. He had been blessed with a son and heir, but the boy, named Dutthakumara, had grown into a spoiled and violently ill-tempered child. Every luxury the kingdom could offer had been given to him, yet nothing softened his temper; he lashed out at servants, at courtiers, even at his own parents, and the king despaired of what sort of ruler such a boy might one day become.

At last, in quiet desperation, the king asked the visiting ascetic if he might try to help.

One afternoon, the Bodhisattva took the young prince walking through the royal garden, speaking of small and ordinary things until they came to rest beneath a young sapling. “Try tasting a leaf from this plant,” the ascetic said mildly, plucking one and holding it out.

The prince bit into it eagerly and immediately spat it out, his face twisting at the sharp bitterness on his tongue. “How can something so small taste so foul?” he complained.

“It is only a young plant,” the Bodhisattva said quietly, watching him. “Yet already its leaf carries such bitterness. Imagine, then, how bitter its leaves will grow once the tree itself has fully matured.”

The prince fell silent, turning the leaf over in his fingers as the meaning settled over him. He was still young – and already his temper was more than even his own father could bear. If it went unchecked now, what kind of man, what kind of ruler, would that same bitterness make of him once he was grown? The thought struck him harder than any scolding ever had, and something in him softened.

From that day forward, the young prince began, quietly and deliberately, to master his temper – and the gentle lesson of the bitter leaf stayed with him far longer than any command ever could have.

Moral: A small fault left unchecked in youth only grows more bitter with time – better to taste its bitterness early and change course than to let it ripen unchallenged.

12. The Wild Pet

Deep in a forest hermitage there once lived a young ascetic who had raised an orphaned elephant calf from its earliest days, feeding it, sheltering it, and watching it grow tall and powerful under his care. He loved the animal as he might a loyal companion, and the elephant, in turn, followed him everywhere with gentle devotion. But the other hermits of the community grew increasingly uneasy at the sight of a fully grown wild elephant living so freely among their huts.

One day, the Bodhisattva, who served as teacher to the young ascetic, took him aside with quiet concern. “My son,” he said, “it was a kind and compassionate thing you did, raising this motherless creature. But he has grown now, strong enough to survive entirely on his own. I urge you to release him into the forest he belongs to. We live at the very edge of the wild, and an elephant, however gently raised, may at any moment remember the nature that sleeps within him.”

The young ascetic only laughed off the warning, certain that the bond between them was stronger than any wild instinct. He kept the elephant close, unwilling to imagine any danger from a creature he had loved since it was small enough to fit beneath his arm.

Then, one day when the rest of the hermits had travelled to a nearby village and only the young ascetic remained behind in the forest, the elephant was seized without warning by a sudden, uncontrollable frenzy – the wildness the Bodhisattva had spoken of, surfacing all at once. In that terrible fit of madness, the elephant turned on the very man who had raised him from infancy, and killed him.

Moral: A creature's wild nature does not vanish simply because it has been raised with love – wisdom lies in respecting what a thing truly is, not only what it has become to us.

13. The Magic of Patience

In one of his rebirths, the Bodhisattva came into the world as a great buffalo, sharing the forest with a small and endlessly mischievous monkey. Day after day, the monkey found new ways to torment the buffalo – yanking on his tail when he grazed, pelting the top of his head with hard nuts from the treetops, or leaping suddenly from a branch to land squarely on his broad back. Through it all, the buffalo never once complained, never charged, never so much as flicked an ear in irritation, but simply carried on grazing with unshaken patience.

The other animals of the forest watched this daily performance with growing puzzlement. Surely, they murmured to one another, a creature as strong as the buffalo could put an end to the monkey's mischief in an instant – why did he never do so?

One day, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, the elephant approached the buffalo directly. “Friend,” he asked, “why do you never punish that troublesome monkey for all he does to you?”

The buffalo only smiled and answered gently, “Why would I punish someone who has taught me such a valuable lesson? Every prank he plays, every provocation he throws at me, is another chance to practise patience – and for that, I am genuinely grateful to him, however he might intend it.”

High above in the branches, the monkey happened to overhear every word, and for the first time felt the full weight of shame for his own thoughtless behaviour. Without another moment's hesitation, he scrambled down from the tree and went straight to the buffalo to beg forgiveness. From that day forward, the two became true and lasting friends, and the forest never again heard tell of the monkey's mischief.

Moral: Patience quietly practised can transform even the most persistent troublemaker – and it teaches its own value simply by enduring long enough for others to notice.

14. The Devoted Wife

Champeyya, king of the serpents, was in that life none other than the Bodhisattva, ruling his underground kingdom with wisdom and grace beside his beautiful wife, the serpent princess Sumana. For a time they lived happily together, but gradually the comforts and luxuries of his royal life began to weigh on Champeyya, and he found himself longing for something quieter and more meaningful. Leaving his wife behind in their palace, he journeyed up to the world of men to spend his days in solitary meditation.

There, seated motionless atop a termite mound deep in meditation, he was spotted one day by a wandering snake charmer, who recognised at once the unusual beauty and stillness of the serpent before him. Using his own dark arts, the snake charmer trapped Champeyya, binding him with spells that stripped away his power to resist, and forced him into a life of humiliating performance – dancing on command in village squares and city streets to the tune of the charmer's flute, coiled and swaying before crowds who had no idea they were watching a king.

Far below, Sumana waited and waited for her husband's return, until worry finally overcame her patience. She set out from their kingdom and travelled from town to town, city to city, questioning strangers and following every rumour, refusing to give up the search no matter how long it stretched on.

At last, in the royal court of Benaras, she found him – her husband, the once-proud king of serpents, dancing helplessly for the amusement of a watching crowd. The sight of her, standing at the edge of the court with tears streaming down her face, struck something in Champeyya that even the charmer's spells could not override; he faltered in his dance and stopped moving entirely.

Sumana went straight to the king of Benaras himself, pleading her husband's case with such evident devotion that the king agreed to intervene. Between them, they secured Champeyya's release from the snake charmer's power, and Sumana led her husband safely home at last, their bond having outlasted captivity itself.

Moral: Devotion that does not waver, even in the face of long searching and public humiliation, can free someone from the deepest captivity.