Seven Times Leaving Home

The midday sun poured fire upon the dirt road leading into the forest. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the farmer named Chitaha dragged his heavy steps, gripping tightly the rope tied to a stray ox he had just found. His stomach growled with hunger, his throat was parched, and all he longed for was to return home to a bowl of warm rice. Yet as he passed the monastery of the Buddha, he stopped in his tracks.

The gentle sound of chanting drifted out, mingling with the fragrant aroma of cooked rice. He stood hiding outside the gate, peering in. The monks were sitting in silence taking their meal, their faces serene and at peace. Chitaha swallowed, his eyes fixed on the bowls of white rice. He did not dare to ask, but only stood and watched. One monk noticed him, smiled kindly, and following the Buddha's instruction, took the portion of food set aside and offered it to him.

After finishing the meal, Chitaha felt a strange warmth in his belly. He looked around and saw the monks living simply yet peacefully, without the hardships he endured. A thought flashed through his mind: "Practicing here must be so pleasant—no plowing to worry about, no wife scolding me." He hesitantly asked a monk:

"Venerable sir, may I become a monk?"

The monk looked at him and smiled: "If you have the aspiration to practice, you may."

Chitaha was overjoyed. He left his ox behind and was ordained. But barely half a month had passed before he was aching with homesickness. He missed his scolding wife, missed his fields, missed his oxen, missed the seeds waiting to be sown. He bade farewell to his teacher and returned home. Upon arriving, his wife nagged and berated him. So miserable was he that he began to long again for the tranquility of the monastery, for the calm demeanor of the monks, for the sessions of sitting in meditative concentration. And so he slipped away once more, asking to be ordained again.

Thus it went on, back and forth—ordained, then returning to lay life, time after time. By the sixth time, he had once again left the monastery for home. But this time, something was different. His heart was restless and uneasy, and a longing for the monastery arose with such intensity that it urged him to return. At midday, while his wife slept soundly, he looked at her—her hair disheveled, her face wrinkled—and suddenly saw that everything was impermanent (anicca), meaningless, fleeting. He grabbed the robe he had hidden away and ran straight out of the house.

His mother-in-law saw this and cried out in alarm: "Where are you going? You don't know how to keep a husband at all!"

His wife, still drowsy, mumbled: "Mother, rest assured. He'll be back in a few days."

But this time, Chitaha did not return. On the road to the monastery, his heart was fixed upon a single thought: "The world is impermanent (anicca); all things in life are fleeting, nothing is truly precious." As he walked, he kept his mind absorbed in this contemplation. By the time he stepped through the gates of the monastery, he had attained the fruit of Stream-entry, the first stage of nobility.

Seeing him return, the monks all sighed wearily. One shook his head and asked:

"Well, asking to practice again? How many days will it be this time?"

Chitaha pressed his palms together and said calmly: "Venerable sirs, this time I am staying for good."

Everyone looked at one another, believing him not. But truly, this time he did not leave. A little over ten days later, he attained the fruit of Arahantship, becoming a dignified and composed elder. The monks asked in amazement:

"Why is your practice so steady this time? You're not going back?"

The elder smiled: "I have understood that the nature of the world is fleeting and impermanent (anicca). Only the path of liberation is truly precious."

When the monks brought their questions to the Buddha, he explained the deep conditions (dependent origination) behind it: "This man, since the time of a Buddha of the past, had been a monk who practiced very well. But once, a fellow practitioner wished to return to lay life and came to confide in him. This man said only one sentence: 'Well then, if you cannot practice, just go home.' Because of that single sentence—because he consented to the abandoning of the holy life—he had to endure the karmic result of ordaining and disrobing seven times."

The Buddha emphasized: "For just one word of consent, he had to pass through so many lifetimes before attaining the path. Be careful, my children, with every word you speak and every thought you think."

Chitaha, now an Arahant elder, still sat there, his face serene. He had understood that every longing, every desire in the heart, is guided by karma and conditions (dependent origination). Only wisdom, only the purity of the mind/heart, is the most solid refuge of all.

The Meaning of the Story

This story reminds us of the extraordinarily subtle law of cause and effect (karmic law): even one small word of consent to wrongdoing can create great karmic results. At the same time, it teaches us not to be quick to trust our own thoughts and feelings, for they may simply be karma and conditions (dependent origination) pulling us along. Learn to practice letting go, keep the mind/heart pure so that wisdom may arise, and always be careful in every word and every action.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.