The Other Shore

That night, in the Jeta Grove, the wind whispered through the sala trees like the murmuring of all living beings. Inside the monastery, a flickering oil lamp cast a pale yellow light, projecting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. The Buddha sat cross-legged beneath a tree, his eyes half-closed, his face serene as a still lake without ripples. The silence was so profound that one could hear the sound of leaves falling outside.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness. This being was extraordinarily beautiful, surpassing even lotus flowers blooming in midsummer. His smile seemed magical, easily captivating anyone who looked upon him. Yet the Buddha remained seated, unmoved, and gently called out:

“Mara, why have you come here?”

Mara paused, momentarily surprised to be recognized. But he quickly regained his confidence and spoke with a voice sweet as honey:

“Venerable Sir, I have heard you often say: ‘Cross over to the other shore, cross over to the other shore.’ Please teach me, what does the other shore mean?”

In his mind, Mara was calculating. If the Buddha answered that the other shore was a place of peace or liberation, he would challenge further: “How is the other shore different from this shore? It has the same mud, the same reeds, the same dense vegetation. Are your words not contradictory?” He had prepared a linguistic trap to ensnare the Buddha.

But the Buddha, with wisdom penetrating every corner of the soul, saw through the scheme clearly. He slowly opened his eyes, looked directly at Mara, and spoke in a deep, warm, yet powerful voice:

“Mara, there is no this shore, and there is no other shore. Both shores do not exist. Only when you are free from suffering (dukkha) and have ended all bonds, then will I call you a true Brahmin.”

Mara stood frozen. He did not expect the Buddha to completely reject his question. All his plans and calculations collapsed. He bowed his head and silently retreated into the darkness, vanishing as if he had never existed.

The Buddha watched him go and smiled softly. He knew that Mara would never understand this profound lesson. For “the other shore” was merely a metaphor used by ancient people to describe difficult tasks. In those times, crossing the Ganges River was a great feat. The waters were swift and vast, with no bridges and no large boats. People relied on rafts made of bamboo, layered twenty thick, floating precariously on the surface. They used long poles, two or three men pushing together, to glide across the turbulent currents. At shallow points, they waded in to push the raft; during monsoon floods, the water roared, and anyone daring to cross risked their life. Thus, each time they succeeded, they shouted in triumph: “I have crossed to the other shore!” From then on, “the other shore” became an idiom for completing a difficult task or achieving a noble goal.

However, the Buddha taught that even His own words were merely skillful means, like a finger pointing at the moon. Language can never fully express truth. If we cling to words, we become trapped. Consider the story of four monks who took a vow of silence, speaking not a single word. They meditated in a dark room, lit only by a flickering oil lamp. Suddenly, a moth flew in and hit the wick, extinguishing the flame. The first monk could not restrain himself and blurted out:

“Hey, the lamp went out!”

The second monk hastily reminded him:

“You just spoke!”

The third monk also voiced his opinion:

“You both spoke, so whom are you blaming?”

The fourth monk calmly concluded:

“I have not said a word.”

All four had broken their vow. Yet the last monk’s statement served as a reminder for the others to stop. Similarly, within our minds, when delusions arise, we use a recitation of the Buddha’s name or a moment of reflection to dispel them. That thought may still be a mental construct, but it helps illuminate the mind. Eventually, when the mind becomes clear, we no longer need the words, and they naturally subside. This is the entry into mindfulness and alertness, transcending all language.

Mara did not understand this. He only saw that this shore and the other shore looked identical—same mud, same reeds, same dense foliage. He assumed the Buddha meant a specific physical location, waiting to find fault. But the Buddha taught that there are no shores at all. Liberation is not about going somewhere else, but about letting go of suffering and releasing the bonds of greed, hatred, and delusion. When the mind is pure, when afflictions and ignorance cease, right here, right now, one becomes a true Brahmin, a person worthy of respect, without needing to travel far.

The Meaning of the Story

The Buddha teaches that truth lies beyond language. Words and metaphors are merely tools to guide us toward wisdom, not the ultimate destination. Do not cling to words, and do not seek an “other shore” in some distant place. Turn inward. Let go of suffering and end all attachments; this is true liberation. When the mind is pure, you are already a person worthy of respect, requiring no titles or status.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang