The Boy and the Hammock with Raised Feet

In the late afternoon, the slanting sunlight glowed red over the thatched roofs of Kapilavastu, and the wind carried the scent of ripening rice across the courtyard. Venerable Kauṇḍinya, the elder who was eighteen years older than the Buddha, walked slowly through the family gate, his robes swaying gently. His relatives gathered around him, eyes brimming with tears, for he had left home to become a monk long ago, and only now had he returned.

It was only after he spoke about the true Dharma that everyone quietly realized: he had attained the way. An Arhat does not proclaim his own attainment, but his words were so certain that they understood the truth. Among the children and grandchildren, a young granddaughter with her hair still in pigtails and wide round eyes blurted out:

"So if you have attained the way, uncle, can you see what I was in my past life?"

Venerable Kauṇḍinya looked at the girl with a gentle yet profound smile. He knew she still carried a small habit that she herself was unaware of.

"In your past life, you were a princess. But you had one flaw: you loved to lie in a hammock with your feet raised high, facing east, toward where people passed by. That behavior was a way of looking down on others."

The girl started, her hands clutching the hem of her robe. In this life, she still had that very habit: lying in a hammock with her feet stretched out where people walked by. She exclaimed:

"It's true, I still have that habit... so what will become of me in my next life?"

His face grew serious, though his voice remained full of compassion and clear:

"In this life, you were born into an ordinary family. But if you keep this habit of looking down on others, in your next life you will become a candala, carrying waste for others, because that habit of thrusting your feet in people's faces destroys blessings from merit terribly."

The girl fell silent, tears streaming down her cheeks, no longer daring to stretch her feet out of the hammock. In the house, the air seemed to settle. What had seemed like a harmless habit—resting feet on the table, lying in a hammock with feet facing the road—was exactly what the Buddha taught: to see the danger in every small fault. She drew her feet in, her heart tightening with fear over blessings from merit she had lost without knowing when.

The turning point of the story lies not in the rebuke, but in the realization: those feet raised high, with thousands of people passing by each day, were burning away her own merit, something no law would ever call a crime. From then on, the girl changed. Whenever she lay in a hammock, she reminded herself to turn inward, never letting her feet point toward the walkway.

Many years later, she grew into a person careful with every word she spoke, never daring to show contempt for anyone. Her family reminded one another to guard their blessings from merit in small ways, understanding that things which seem like nothing can shatter merit. Venerable Kauṇḍinya had by then passed away, but his words remained, like a warning bell echoing through the countryside of Kapilavastu.

The Meaning of the Story

Acts of looking down on others, even as small as raising one's feet high before the world, gravely damage blessings from merit according to cause and effect (karmic law). Never dismiss small faults, for they quietly destroy merit. A person of wisdom guards every bit of blessings from merit through speech, gesture, and an attitude of respect toward everyone.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang