The Shadow That Follows

In the Jeta Grove Monastery, the atmosphere during the afternoon after the alms round felt heavy, as if a cloud of unspoken resentment was pressing down on everyone's hearts. The monks gathered in small clusters, whispering among themselves, their eyes all unconsciously drifting toward one spot—where the elder monk Kundana sat in silence beneath a tree. And there, right behind him, stood the shadowy figure of a woman, hazy and indistinct, yet clearly visible to all. This figure seemed to follow him everywhere: when he went on alms round, when he sat in meditation, and even when he stepped into a secluded restroom. This sight caused the entire assembly of monks profound distress.

The situation had begun months earlier. The monk Kundana was originally gentle and quiet. But ever since the woman's shadow appeared, he became the topic of conversation for the whole monastery. At first, there were only whispers, which gradually escalated into open criticism. Other monks accused him of breaking his precepts, of bringing a woman along, and of defiling the sangha. They confronted and berated him, but he only bowed his head in silence. Someone once asked, "Venerable Kundana, why do you say nothing? Do you feel no shame?"

He replied softly, his eyes downcast, "I have done nothing wrong. Perhaps I am bearing some old, unjust karma. I am practicing patience."

His silence only fueled their anger. They saw him as stubborn, refusing to listen despite repeated admonitions. The pressure grew. They urged lay followers to boycott him, to cease making offerings to him, hoping this would force him to leave the sangha. Devout lay supporters like Anathapindika and Visakha, though they witnessed the events, dared not intervene, as this was a matter for the sangha and the Buddha; they were only householders. Rumors spread and tensions mounted until the news reached King Pasenadi.

The king, though not a stream-enterer himself, was deeply devoted and wholly supportive of the Buddha's teachings. Hearing of the controversy, he summoned the monk Kundana to the palace. Strangely, when the monk stood before the king's majesty, the woman's shadow vanished. But the moment the king looked away, it reappeared. The perceptive king realized at once: this was not a real person, but a ghost. He then addressed the assembled monks, "You are mistaken! The woman following the elder is not real; it is merely a ghost. Do not attack him further. You must present this matter to the World-Honored One."

At that moment, the monk Kundana, who had endured every insult for an entire year, seemed to burst. He turned to look at the other monks, his eyes blazing with anger, and cursed them aloud, "You are the cruel ones! You are the ones who break the precepts! For a whole year, I practiced patience as the Buddha taught, but you went too far! You gave me no room to live! You are fools!"

He spoke harshly, as if releasing all the pent-up anguish from that long year. The matter reached the Buddha's ears. The Buddha did not immediately blame anyone, but once everything had settled, he called them all together and gently addressed the monk, "Friend, do not speak harshly to the monks. They spoke of what they clearly saw—they saw a woman's shadow following you. You spoke of what you did not see—you called them precept-breakers and fools, things you did not actually witness. Harsh words are like a painful sword, wounding others like a blade strikes. You carry this karma, which is why this happened. You should have endured it and let it pass. Now that the king has cleared your name, you burst into anger, unable to restrain yourself."

The assembly then asked the Buddha, "World-Honored One, what karma does this monk bear to cause such a strange thing? Why is there always a woman's shadow following him?"

The Buddha recounted a past story: In the time of the Buddha Kassapa, there were two monks who were very close friends, inseparable wherever they went. A celestial nymph, watching from above, felt irritated and conceived a mischievous desire to separate them. She descended and, waiting until one monk went into a secluded restroom, pretended to follow him out while he was adjusting his robes. The other monk saw this and thought his friend had broken his precepts. He flew into a rage, "Why did you do that?"

"I did nothing! I am only saying what my eyes saw!"

The two parted ways, no longer living or performing their duties together; their unity shattered. The nymph later repented and appeared to confess the truth, but the old bond could not be restored. The nymph, for creating this bad karma, fell into lower realms for many lifetimes and was only reborn as the monk Kundana in the time of the Buddha Shakyamuni. And the old karma ripened: throughout his life, he was followed by a woman's shadow, visible to all but himself, leaving him unable to clear his name. The Buddha taught, "Even if others speak harshly to you, do not reply in kind. For this is karma. Words are no different from a painful sword, striking another's heart as if one were wielding a blade."

From then on, the monk Kundana understood. He continued his practice with patience, no longer harboring resentment. And the story of the shadow that follows became a profound lesson for all.

**Meaning of the Story**

The profound lesson from this story: Harsh, malicious words, whether born of misunderstanding or anger, are like a sword that wounds both others and oneself. When misunderstood, practice patience, for it is a karma that must be repaid. Do not hastily conclude based solely on what your eyes see, for the truth may be far different. And avoid a jealous mind that delights in disrupting the harmony of others—that is a grave wrongdoing, leading to unimaginable consequences.

*Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.*