The Gate of Self-Pride and the Lesson of Reform

The atmosphere in the monastery that evening suddenly grew heavy, like dark clouds hanging low over the sky of ancient India. The wind whistling through the gaps in the bodhi leaves seemed to fall silent, giving way to a tense stillness. Before hundreds of monks seated in meditative concentration, a tall, burly figure with a face flushed red with rage stood towering in the courtyard.

He was an elderly monk who had once been one of the wealthiest merchants in the city of Savatthi. After his wife passed away, he decided to shave his head and ordain, seeking peace in the teachings of the World-Honored One. However, unlike the image of ascetic monks who entered the monastery empty-handed, he kept his enormous fortune intact. He built a private dwelling right beside the monastery wall, where servants attended to his every need, with luxurious food and clothing and comforts no less than a worldly palace. This "prosperity" made many young monks feel displeased; they believed his life was too similar to that of a layperson, dimming the simple beauty of the path of liberation.

For this reason, the monks asked the Buddha to intervene. When invited to meet the Buddha, the elder walked in with a composed and confident air. The Buddha looked at him with eyes of compassion yet sternness, and spoke gently:

"Elder, you have already ordained, which means you must let go of all possessions. Whatever wealth remains should be given away in charity or offered to the Sangha. Live in harmony and simplicity like all the other monks. Do not let a luxurious material life obscure your heart for the path."

That gentle advice was like a bucket of cold water thrown upon the elder's proud ego. Instead of bowing his head in reflection, he felt deeply insulted. Anger flared up, clouding his reason. He shouted, his voice trembling with indignation:

"You only say that! I refuse to wear these robes any longer! I don't care about pleasing anyone!"

To the astonishment of the assembly, he tore at his robes, stripped off all his clothes, and stood naked in the courtyard, acting like a madman in protest against the Buddha's admonition. This crude behavior made the air suffocating, and many monks had to turn their faces away in shame on his behalf.

Yet the Buddha remained patient. He did not grow angry, did not punish, but only smiled sadly. He knew that behind this hot temper lay an old wholesome seed that had not yet been awakened. To awaken the elder's conscience, the Buddha began to tell a story from countless lifetimes ago, when he himself was a bodhisattva named Mahim Sasa.

Long ago, in that kingdom, the king had two queens. The first queen bore two princes: Mahim Sasa, the eldest, and Chanda, the second. The second queen bore the youngest prince, named Suria. Fearing that her son would not inherit the throne because he was the child of the second wife, the second queen secretly bribed officials and built a faction to pressure the king into passing the throne to Suria and eliminating the two older brothers. The king discovered the plot and realized he had been isolated, so he secretly ordered his two elder sons to flee the palace to save their lives, promising a day when they would return to reclaim the throne.

But something unexpected happened. The youngest prince, Suria, though the son of the enemy, was deeply loved by his two older brothers. In the darkness of night, when he saw them packing and departing, Suria ran after them, weeping and begging to go along. Out of love for their younger brother, the two brothers reluctantly brought Suria with them into the deep forest. The three brothers crossed forests and streams, finally stopping beside a crystal-clear lake on the peak of a high mountain. Thirsty, the two younger ones, Chanda and Suria, went down to the lake to fetch water. There, they encountered a yaksha guarding the lake. Though this yaksha was fierce and craved raw flesh, it had made a strange vow: whoever answered its question about "the Dharma of the Noble Ones" correctly would have its service for life; whoever answered wrongly would be killed and eaten.

The two young brothers, accustomed to the luxuries of palace life, were completely at a loss before the question. They were locked away in a stone cave by the yaksha. When the eldest brother, Mahim Sasa, saw that his brothers did not return for a long time, he went down to the lake himself. Facing the terrifying monster, Mahim Sasa calmly replied:

"A noble one is a person who has great love for all beings. Their heart is humble, never considering themselves important. They live gently and respectfully yet earnestly, always turning toward what is good."

Hearing this, the yaksha was deeply impressed, pressed its palms together in reverence, and promised to release one of the brothers. But when Mahim Sasa asked it to release the youngest, Suria, the son of his stepmother, the yaksha glared and asked:

"Why? By order, you should save the brother born of your own mother first. You just spoke of the way of the noble ones, so why do the opposite?"

Mahim Sasa smiled, his eyes shining with virtue:

"I know one thing but not the other. If I saved my full brother first, people would criticize me for discrimination, favoring one mother and despising another. I accept letting my younger brother suffer temporarily in order to prove that my love knows no boundary of blood. That is the true way of fairness and integrity."

That answer shook the yaksha to its very roots. It knelt down, shedding tears of remorse and admiration, and released both brothers. From then on, the yaksha used its powers to serve and protect the three princes throughout their years of retreat in the mountains. In the end, when their father the king passed away, the three brothers returned, and the second queen also repented and reformed. Mahim Sasa ascended the throne and ruled the country with virtue, and the yaksha was granted a peaceful and stable life.

When the story ended, the Buddha looked at the elder, who stood naked and panting, his anger not yet subsided, and said gently:

"In a past life, when you heard me teach the Dharma, that yaksha knew how to reform, changing its fierce nature to become a protector of the Dharma. And you, in that past life, were that very yaksha. In those days, upon hearing beautiful words, you were instantly awakened. Why is it that today, because of one gentle piece of advice from me, you flare up with wounded pride and behave so crudely? Do not let petty egotism destroy the wholesome seed you planted countless lifetimes ago."

The Buddha's words rang out like a bell echoing through the void. The elder stood stunned. The image of the yaksha kneeling in repentance in the story overlapped with the image of himself standing naked in shame. His anger gradually dissolved, replaced by a choking remorse. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he hurriedly put his robes back on, knelt down before the Buddha, and trembling, begged for repentance.

## The Meaning of the Story

Verse 141 of the Dhammapada emphasizes that even if one practices extreme austerities such as going naked, smearing oneself with ashes and husks, fasting, or living in filth, if the heart remains full of doubt and afflictions (kleshas), especially wounded pride, then that is not the path of the noble ones. This story reminds practitioners that "self-pride" is the first gate that separates us from enlightenment. When reprimanded by teachers or fellow practitioners, if we react with anger, excuses, or wounded ego, we have already failed at the very first step. On the contrary, knowing how to reform, to listen, and to correct our mistakes with a humble heart is the very core of morality. Honestly admitting our faults and letting go of the ego is the key that opens the door to the house of the Noble Ones.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.