The Seven Times of Renunciation

The midday sun blazed down upon the deserted dirt road. A man walked with heavy shoulders, leading a cow, his steps weary and slow. Sweat soaked through his coarse cloth shirt as his bare feet dragged across the hot sand. He was Sīhaṭṭha, a farmer living on the outskirts of Shravasti. That morning, one of his herd had wandered off, forcing him to search deep into the forest. Now, past noon and gnawing with hunger, he only wished to return home for a bowl of cold rice with a pinch of sesame salt.

Passing by a monastery, he stopped abruptly. From within, the gentle sound of chanting drifted out, mingling with the aroma of cooked rice. He stood shyly at the gate, watching the monks seated solemnly for their meal. His stomach growled loudly from hunger. He dared not enter to ask for food, standing there merely swallowing saliva. One bhikkhu noticed him, smiled kindly, and offered his spare portion from his alms bowl, inviting him inside. Hesitant but driven by hunger, Sīhaṭṭha entered and accepted the warm bowl of rice. As he ate, he observed: the bhikkhus moved with grace, spoke softly, and did not toil like him. A thought suddenly arose in his mind: “Renouncing the world is truly pleasant; no hard labor, yet good food.”

After eating, he boldly asked a bhikkhu, “Venerable sir, I wish to renounce the world. Is that possible?” The bhikkhu looked at him and smiled. “To generate the intention to practice is good; you are permitted.” With just those words, Sīhaṭṭha left his cow with an acquaintance, stayed at the monastery, shaved his head, donned the robes, and took ordination. Yet, before half a month had passed, he began to miss home. He missed his wife, his children, his fields, his herd, and even the seeds waiting to be sown. Every night he tossed and turned, sighing deeply. Finally, he quietly bid farewell to his teacher, removed his kasaya robe, and returned home.

Back home, he plowed the fields and worked hard again. But after only a few months, he missed the monastery once more. He remembered the scenes of teachers meditating and chanting, and the atmosphere of purity. Sneaking away from his wife, he rolled up his yellow robe and ran back to the temple. This time, he practiced for one month, then missed home again and left. Thus, he went in and out seven times, like a joke. On the sixth return, his wife scolded him harshly: “What kind of monk are you? You treat it like going to the market! You stay for a few days and come back, disturbing the whole family.” He bowed his head in silence. But deep inside, a longing for the monastery rose again, more poignant than ever before.

One afternoon, while his wife slept, Sīhaṭṭha looked around the house. The thatched roof, the cracked dry fields, the skinny cow—he suddenly realized everything was temporary, nothing truly precious. He recalled the Buddha’s teaching on impermanence (anicca). His heart suddenly brightened, as if a beam of light shone into his soul. Grabbing his yellow robe, he ran straight toward the monastery. His mother-in-law called out, “Where are you going? Hold your husband back!” His sleepy wife mumbled, “Don’t worry, Mother. He’ll play around for a few days and return.” But this time, Sīhaṭṭha did not look back.

On the way to the monastery, he silently recited: “The world is impermanent (anicca), all things are temporary; only the path of liberation is precious.” He focused his mind, gathering his attention on this theme. As his footsteps neared the monastery gate, his mind became exceptionally clear, as if a thin veil were lifted. He attained the first stage of enlightenment, Stream-Entry. When he entered, the bhikkhus sighed, thinking, “Another request to ordain? How long will he last this time?” Sīhaṭṭha pressed his palms together and said firmly, “Venerables, this time I am staying permanently.” The teachers looked at each other, doubtful, but allowed him to remain.

This time, Sīhaṭṭha practiced with great diligence. Just over ten days later, he attained Arhatship. From then on, he became a dignified elder, calm and composed, with perfect deportment. The bhikkhus were surprised and asked, “Why is your practice so stable now? Why do you not leave anymore?” He smiled and replied, “I have understood the nature of the world as temporary and impermanent (anicca); only the path of liberation is precious.”

Upon hearing this story, the Buddha explained the karmic conditions: “In the past, during the time of previous Buddhas, this person was also a renunciant. However, when a fellow practitioner confided that he wished to return to lay life, this person agreed, saying, ‘Well, if you cannot practice, go home.’ Because of that single statement, he suffered the karmic result of renouncing and returning seven times, going in and out repeatedly. Yet, thanks to deep merit accumulated over many lifetimes, he finally attained enlightenment in this life.”

The Meaning of the Story

This tale reminds us of the subtle law of cause and effect (karmic law). Even a single word agreeing with someone else abandoning the Dharma or leaving the monastic life can create karma that must be repaid over many lifetimes. Conversely, if someone generates the intention to take ordination, we should support them, encourage them, and create favorable conditions, so that in future lives we may receive the blessings from merit of renunciation. At the same time, the story teaches us not to hastily trust our own thoughts and emotions, as they may be led by karma from previous lives. To gain wisdom, one must practice meditation, engage in letting go of thoughts, and purify the mind/heart.

Compiled from the dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang