The Seventh Ordination

The midday sun blazed down on the dirt road leading out of Shravasti. Dust swirled in thick clouds whenever the hot wind swept through. In this harsh landscape, a weary man with mud-stained clothes drove a cow toward the village gate. He was Chitaha, a farmer living in the suburbs, neither rich nor poor, surviving simply on his small plots of land and a few cattle.

That morning, his oldest cow had broken out of its pen and wandered off. Chitaha searched frantically from dawn until noon, wading through ditches and pushing into the dense western forest. Exhausted and hungry, he just wanted to go home and rest. But as he passed a monastery, he stopped abruptly.

From inside, the gentle sound of chanting mingled with the aroma of cooked rice. Chitaha stood frozen at the gate, watching the monks eat their meal in silence, their faces serene and free of fatigue. His stomach growled, but he dared not ask for food. An elderly monk noticed him, nodded softly, and brought a bowl of reserved alms-food—kept aside for unexpected guests, as the Buddha taught—to the gate.

“Friend, you must be very hungry. Please accept this meal.”

Chitaha trembled as he received it, bowing repeatedly in gratitude. As he ate voraciously, he watched the monks sitting calmly, without haste or worry. A thought struck him: “I toil in the fields, my wife scolds me daily, yet these holy ones eat well, meditate, listen to the Dharma, and live in such peace.”

After finishing, he boldly asked the monk who had fed him, “Venerable sir, may I ordain?”

The monk smiled kindly. “The Buddha teaches that anyone who generates the mind to practice is welcome. You have good roots; stay here.”

Overjoyed, Chitaha returned home to entrust his cow to his wife, then came back to the monastery. The teacher shaved his head and gave him robes. Thus, Chitaha entered the monastic life.

Yet within half a month, Chitaha felt restless. During meditation, he could not concentrate. Images of his wife haunted him: her habit of scolding, her stance with hands on hips, her calls to dinner, the smell of straw in the fields. He missed the young rice plants, the pregnant cows, and even his worn-out hoe. One morning, he approached his teacher.

“Venerable sir, please allow me to return to lay life. I miss my home too much; I cannot continue practicing.”

The teacher looked at him without reproach, only sighing softly. “Very well, go home. If conditions are right, you will return.”

Chitaha went home, removed his robes, put on his farmer’s clothes, and took up his hoe. But after a few days, domestic life felt suffocating. His wife still scolded him, while his mind kept drifting to the monks meditating under trees and the melodious chanting at dawn. Secretly, he left again to seek ordination for the second time.

This time he stayed for a month before missing his family again. He requested to leave. This cycle repeated itself six times. Each time he returned, the monks accepted him, though some shook their heads in disappointment, thinking he lacked resolve. Yet deep within his heart, a quiet flame burned—a connection of merit from past lives that never extinguished.

On his sixth return home, Chitaha found worldly life utterly dull. His wife was unkempt, the house cluttered, and the cows thin. Looking at his sleeping wife, the dilapidated house, and the dry fields, he suddenly realized: everything is temporary, subject to impermanence (anicca). There is nothing worth clinging to. An invisible force surged from his subconscious. Grabbing the hidden robes, he ran out of the house.

His mother-in-law, sitting in the yard, called out in panic, “Where are you going? Abandoning your wife and children?”

Chitaha did not look back. She rushed inside to wake her daughter. “Why do you sleep so deeply? Your husband has run away!”

The sleepy wife waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, Mother. He’ll be back soon. I know his nature.”

But this time, she was wrong. On the way to the monastery, Chitaha no longer thought of his family. His mind fixed solely on one theme: “The world is impermanent (anicca); all things are temporary and worthless.” He walked with unwavering determination. Upon entering the monastery gate, he paused. A profound sense of lightness and peace arose in his mind/heart. He attained the fruit of Stream-Entry, the first of the four stages of enlightenment.

He entered and sought an audience with the monks. Some frowned upon seeing him. “You’re back again? How many days will you last this time?”

Chitaha pressed his palms together, speaking calmly. “Venerables, this time I am staying permanently. I have understood.”

The teachers exchanged skeptical glances but allowed him to ordain. This time, Chitaha practiced with extraordinary diligence. Within ten days, he attained Arhatship, becoming a dignified elder of great virtue. Curious about his sudden stability, other monks asked, “Friend, why haven’t you gone home this time?”

Chitaha smiled. “I clearly see the nature of the world as impermanent (anicca) and fleeting. Only the path of liberation is precious. My mind is settled; there is nothing left to bind me.”

The monks reported this to the Buddha. The Buddha then revealed the karmic history spanning many lifetimes.

“Monks, this farmer was also a diligent practitioner during the time of a past Buddha. One day, a fellow practitioner expressed a desire to disrobe. Instead of offering encouragement, our friend agreed, saying, ‘If you cannot practice, then go home.’ Because of that single act of agreement with unwholesome intent, he suffered the karmic consequence of leaving and returning six times in this life. However, due to deep merit accumulated over countless ages, he ultimately attained enlightenment.”

The Buddha emphasized, “Merely agreeing with someone abandoning the path caused eons of wandering in samsara (cycle of rebirth) before success was achieved. Be careful with every thought and word. Do not casually endorse unwholesome actions.”

Hearing this, everyone was deeply moved. Chitaha, now an Arhat elder, sat with a pure face, undisturbed by any fluctuation. His spiritual life was now as solid as rock, unshakable by any condition.

The Meaning of the Story

This tale illustrates the strict law of cause and effect (karmic law): every thought, word, and action creates karma. Agreeing with unwholesome intentions generates negative karma, even if one does not directly commit the act. It reminds us that our desires, attachments, and emotions are guided by karma and conditions (dependent origination), so we should not trust fleeting thoughts. To cultivate wisdom, one must practice meditative concentration to purify the mind/heart and engage in letting go of delusions. Above all, we must create merit, for blessings from merit give rise to wholesome thoughts that lead us toward liberation.