The Blow to the Back and the Unmoved Heart

The late afternoon sun cast pale golden rays through the gaps in the leaves, scattering dappled light across a dirt road in the land of Savatthi. The wind whispered through the rows of trees, mingling with the steady footsteps of a bhikkhu walking barefoot on his alms round. Sariputta walked ahead, calm and composed, his bearing gentle with every step. Behind him trailed a middle-aged man with a sullen look, fists clenched, palms slick with sweat. In his heart, a fire of wounded pride had been smoldering since morning.

"I must test him once and for all. People praise him to the very heavens, but he is not some living saint without a single blemish, is he?"

He was a Brahmin of Savatthi, a man who mixed freely with friends and neighbors. In recent times, one by one, the people around him had all turned to the Buddha's teachings (Dharma). Wherever the Buddha came to teach, the people followed, while Sariputta resided as abbot of Jetavana monastery, living a life of perfect exemplarity. He was honored as foremost in wisdom, for he treated all beings with extraordinary sensitivity; even his smallest actions shone with clarity, his deportment so refined that not a single flaw could be found. The lay devotees who came and went at Jetavana grew ever more devoted to him. Whenever they returned home and told of what they had seen, they praised Sariputta: "He is a man of perfect virtue, with an unmoved heart, without the slightest fault."

Hearing this day after day, the Brahmin's face grew hot. It is the usual human pattern: when others are praised too lavishly, we naturally feel discomfort, and resentment and envy stir within. He was not the Venerable One's disciple, and unable to bear the constant praise any longer, he began to argue:

"One of these days I will test him, and then I will know. Yes, only then will I believe!"

The others said: "Go ahead, then—test him." So that day, seeing Sariputta walking on his alms round, he followed behind. At a lonely stretch of road, he tightened his stomach, his hands trembling, and swung out to strike the Venerable One a hard, painful blow on the back. He reasoned: to touch the body is to touch instinct; everyone flares with anger; to strike a person's body is to insult both honor and flesh, and everyone's pride must rise. He fumed inwardly: "He is bound to turn around and curse me, or strike me back!"

But the Venerable One simply kept walking, only glancing back gently to ask:

"What is the matter?"

Then he continued on, without turning around, without a single word of reproach. The man stood frozen, his heart clenching. He thought to himself: "On ordinary days, if someone so much as steps on my foot, I already snap at them. If the crowd at the market presses against me, my temper flares at once. Yet here I struck him deliberately, and he remained utterly serene, his mind unmoved—he asked politely and walked on." Tears welled in his eyes, his knees gave way, and he knelt down upon the ground:

"I beg your forgiveness, Venerable One! I was ignorant and foolish. Please come to my home and allow me to make offerings, to atone for this wrong."

The Venerable One answered gently:

"Very well, I will come to your home."

So the man led him home. News of the blow spread quickly, and lay devotees came crowding before his door, faces flushed, sticks in hand, ready to rush in and finish off the offender. One of them shouted:

"Whoever dared to strike Venerable Sariputta—let us kill him!"

The Brahmin shook from head to toe, hiding behind the Venerable One. Sariputta stepped forward, raised his hand to stop them, and spoke in a calm, steady voice:

"Did this man strike me, or did he strike you?"

The crowd cried out:

"He struck you, Venerable One! We must protect you!"

The Venerable One smiled:

"He struck me, and I have already forgiven him. He knows remorse, and I have forgiven him. Do not be angry any longer—please, go home."

Hearing his gentle words, the crowd's fury subsided, and they drifted away one by one. Only then did Sariputta return to the monastery. The Brahmin stood watching until the Venerable One passed from sight. His heart felt light, yet he also shuddered at the thought: "How fortunate that he forgave me. Had I failed to repent in time, to strike a noble Arahant would bring suffering (dukkha) a thousandfold—perhaps fifty to one hundred lifetimes in the hells, then reborn as animals to be beaten, or as human beings of the lowest station." From that day on he was spared, his mind completely transformed, and in time he came to take refuge in the Buddha.

From then on, his life was free of envy toward the virtue of others. Every morning he rose early to sweep the courtyard and recite the Buddha's name, recalling the unmoved mind of Sariputta as a lesson to himself. When his neighbors saw his gentleness and drew near to ask about the Dharma, he would quietly point them toward Jetavana. He became a sincere child of the Buddha, and that blow on the back from long ago became a lesson both for himself and for all those around him.

The Meaning of the Story

To strike one of noble attainment brings retribution of a thousandfold suffering (dukkha); yet if one repents in time and is forgiven, karma can be transformed. Noble ones have extinguished the instincts of greed, hatred and delusion, and their minds remain unmoved in the face of insult. We must guard ourselves, uproot our pride and envy, and revere those of virtue, so as to create great blessings from merit.

Compiled from a dharma talk by the Venerable Thích Chân Quang