The Eyes of the Physician

One morning, in a quiet forest, sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell upon moss-covered stones. An elderly monk sat silently beneath a tree, his eyes closed, his face weathered yet radiating an unusual serenity. This was the Venerable Chakkupala, who had made a vow not to lie down throughout the entire three-month rains retreat. He kept only three postures: walking, standing, and sitting. Each night, while the other monks rested, he remained seated, or walked slowly in silent meditation, keeping his mind/heart awake and unwavering.

But after many days without lying down, his eyes began to redden and swell. At first there was only a stinging sensation; then came waves of aching pain. When he went for alms, he had to lean on the shoulders of younger monks. The villagers, moved by compassion, called in a physician who specialized in treating diseases of the eyes. The physician examined him carefully and said to the Venerable One:

"Your illness is not serious. I can cure it. But you must apply the medicine into your nose, so that it can travel upward to your eyes. Each evening, before you sleep, apply a few drops. In one week, I will return."

The Venerable One accepted the bottle of medicine and nodded silently. But when night came, as he prepared to apply the medicine, he suddenly stopped. He had vowed not to lie down, and if he did not lie down, how could the medicine travel from his nose up to his eyes? He sat there, holding the bottle, his heart torn in two. On one side was his sacred vow; on the other, his eyes growing dimmer by the day. He told himself: "What I have resolved, I must keep fully. I would rather go blind than break my vow."

A week later, the physician returned. Seeing that the eyes were still swollen and red, with no improvement at all, he frowned:

"Have you been lying down? My medicine cannot work unless you lie down."

The Venerable One remained silent. The physician pressed him again and again. Finally, he said softly:

"I have made a vow not to lie down."

The physician sighed, put away his medicine, and shook his head:

"Then there is nothing I can do. My medicine can only heal if you agree to lie down. If you will not lie down, even a miracle cure would be useless."

He rose and walked away, leaving the Venerable One sitting there, his eyes growing ever dimmer. Before long, he was completely blind. Even so, he felt no regret over his vow. He continued to sit there, quiet and at peace.

When the rains retreat ended, the monks helped him back to the monastery. News of his blindness reached his sister's family. His sister sent her son on the long journey to lead his blind uncle home. The young man held one end of a staff, the Venerable One the other, and they walked slowly, step by step. Along the way, they met a beautiful young woman. The young man dropped the staff and said to the Venerable One:

"Venerable Elder, please rest here a moment while I go fetch some water."

With that, the young man disappeared after the young woman and never returned. The Venerable One sat alone in the forest with no one to guide him. Evening fell, darkness closed in, and still he sat there in silence.

In the Heaven of the Thirty-Three, the god Sakka suddenly felt his throne tremble. With his divine eye he looked down and saw an elder, a true practitioner, sitting alone in the forest, blind and without a guide. Moved by compassion, Sakka descended in the form of a traveler, approached him, and said:

"Venerable sir, I have lost my way. Please allow me to walk with you and guide you. Where would you like to go?"

The Venerable One smiled and pointed toward the monastery. Sakka led him along, and the road seemed to grow shorter; in but a moment, they had arrived.

When the monks saw the Venerable One return, they gathered around him with concern. Then they asked the Buddha:

"World-Honored One, why did an elder who practiced so diligently and kept the precepts so strictly still go blind?"

The Buddha looked around and told a story:

"Monks, long ago, in a distant age, there was a poor mother raising three children. She suffered from an eye disease and was nearly blind. A skilled physician came to treat her. She said to him: 'I have no money to pay you, but if you heal my eyes, my three children and I will serve you for the rest of our lives.' The physician agreed. He prepared the medicine and applied it to her eyes, and within a single week she could see again. But once cured, she broke her word and refused to serve him. The physician was furious and thought: 'I spent such effort treating her, and yet she deceived me.' In his rage, he took another medicine and applied it to her eyes, blinding her forever."

The Buddha paused and looked at the Venerable Chakkupala:

"That physician of long ago is none other than the Elder Chakkupala of today. Because of that anger, he endured the karmic result of blindness for many lifetimes. Though he has now met me and practices diligently, the old karma could not be escaped."

Then the Buddha spoke this verse:

"Mind/heart precedes all things; mind/heart is their master and maker. If one speaks or acts with an impure mind/heart, suffering (dukkha) follows one, as the cart follows the ox that pulls it."

The monks fell silent. They understood that it was the anger in his mind/heart that had driven the physician's actions, and that karma clung to him without letting go.

The Meaning of the Story

This story teaches us that the mind/heart is the root of all our actions. A small burst of anger, if left unchecked, can create great negative karma, and its consequences will follow us as the shadow follows the form. Therefore, always keep the mind/heart pure and stay far from hatred and resentment.

Compiled from a dharma talk by the Venerable Thích Chân Quang.