The Most Handsome Monk and the Sweet Trap

A wealthy young man left home to ordain and practice in a distant place. A young woman, promised half of his family's fortune, set an elaborate trap to lure him back to lay life — yet in that very moment of peril, he attained realization through the Buddha's teaching.

One morning at the Bamboo Grove monastery, the early sun spread gold across the treetops, and the air was so still that one could clearly hear birdsong echoing somewhere in the garden. A young monk sat beneath a tree, eyes gently closed, his face strikingly handsome. This was Sundara Samudda, the young man people called the "flower" of his clan, the only son of one of the wealthiest families in Savatthi.

Few knew how many storms he had weathered to earn this moment of peace. Born into silk and luxury, cherished and indulged by his parents, given whatever he wished, he nevertheless attended a teaching by the Buddha at Jetavana monastery one day by chance, suddenly understood the Dharma, and resolved to ordain. When his parents heard the news, it was like a thunderclap. They could not accept that their beloved son would leave home to practice, abandoning an enormous fortune to live a life of austerity. He pleaded, begged, and struggled in every way he could, but his parents remained firm in their refusal. Finally, he went on a hunger strike. Day after day, his once strong body grew gaunt. Seeing their dear son hollow-cheeked with sunken eyes, his mother wept and begged him, but he only shook his head: "I would rather die than live without being able to ordain." His parents, heartbroken and choking back tears, finally gave in. They wept, they grieved, but above all, they could not let their child die. And so he was allowed to ordain.

Yet even after his ordination, his parents still would not let go. They sent servants to Jetavana monastery in shifts, running back and forth. One day they brought him socks, the next a scarf, then all manner of gifts. He grew deeply frustrated. "I have already ordained, yet my family keeps coming and going. How can anyone practice so close to home?" he thought to himself, and decided to request a transfer to Rajagaha, to the Bamboo Grove monastery under the care of Venerable Moggallana, hundreds of miles away from his family.

Back in his hometown, his parents ached with longing for their son. The father sat listlessly by the veranda, and the mother tossed and turned sleepless night after night. Word of this reached a young woman famous throughout the region for her beauty. She came to see his parents and asked, "If I can bring him home and make him give up his practice, what will you reward me with?" The father looked at her, his eyes brightening: "If you can do that, I will give you half of the family fortune!" At those words, her heart pounded. Half the fortune of such a wealthy family — how vast that would be! She immediately began making plans, meticulous and intricate as a military campaign.

She sent people to scout the area and bought an elegant house fronting the very road the monks took from the Bamboo Grove into Rajagaha on their alms rounds. The house had a spacious courtyard and cool shade trees — the most advantageous position. She calculated every smallest detail. Then she posed as a devout and virtuous laywoman. She came to the monastery to hear the teachings, made offerings to the monks in a proper manner, attended the dharma talks regularly every month, and appeared deeply devoted. No one suspected a thing.

One day, as the young monk was walking on his alms round, she pretended to run into him by chance, knelt down with palms joined, and said reverently, "Venerable sir, my home is nearby. May I invite you to stop in my courtyard so I may offer you a bowl of rice?" Seeing her as a gentle laywoman with respectful words, he suspected nothing and entered the courtyard. She presented the bowl of rice, he received it, ate, and returned to the monastery. The second time, she again waited along the road, again knelt and made her request. Again he stopped in the courtyard.

On the third visit, the moment he stepped into the courtyard, a noisy crowd of merchants suddenly arrived, carrying goods, hawking wares, laughing and chattering loudly. The woman hurriedly pressed her palms together: "Venerable sir, it is far too noisy out here. Please come inside the house where it is quiet." He looked around, saw that it was indeed noisy, and stepped inside. She invited him to sit, offered him the meal, and then said sweetly, "Venerable teacher, please take your meals here from now on, so you need not trouble yourself. I wish to serve you." It seemed reasonable enough, so he sat, ate, and left. The next time, she again met him on the road and again invited him into the house. This time, the moment he sat down quietly, a crowd of neighborhood children suddenly ran into the courtyard, shouting, throwing dust and objects, unbearably loud. The woman appeared flustered: "Venerable teacher, the courtyard is so noisy. Please come upstairs where it is quiet." That seemed reasonable too — the children were being far too unruly — so he rose and climbed the stairs. Step by step, he had no idea he was walking into a trap that had been laid with the finest attention to detail.

The moment he entered the private room upstairs, the door closed behind him. He turned around and froze. The woman had stripped off her clothes and was behaving in lewd ways. He was dizzy with shock, his heart pounding wildly, cold sweat breaking out across his whole body. He wanted to scream, to run — but if he cried out now, who would believe him? A monk alone in a private room with a naked woman — who would believe his claim of innocence? He stood frozen, trembling, panicked, not knowing how to escape this situation. The woman kept drawing closer, her voice sweet with seduction. He backed away, step by step, until his back pressed against the wall, with no way out.

At that very moment of utter despair, a radiant light suddenly appeared. The Buddha manifested in mid-air, his compassionate light filling the entire room. The woman froze, every wicked intention extinguished. The Buddha looked at the young monk and recited a verse: "One who in this world has cut off craving, left home, and lives the holy life of a renunciant — when craving for existence is fully destroyed, that one I call a Brahmin." In that instant, his mind awakened as if bursting open. Every affliction (klesha), every attachment, every fear dissolved. He attained realization on the spot, reaching the fruit of an Arahant.

Using his supernatural powers, he flew straight back to Jetavana monastery and bowed at the Buddha's feet in the blink of an eye. The other monks, puzzled, asked one another, "Why has Venerable Samudda from the Bamboo Grove flown here to pay homage to the Buddha?" Only later did they hear the whole story told. The Buddha also recounted that many lifetimes before, the monk had been a beautiful antelope that was lured into the king's menagerie, but was rescued and set free thanks to a great minister — a past life of the Buddha himself. Wholesome conditions (dependent origination) gathered over many lifetimes helped the young monk overcome the most dangerous trap of his monastic life.

The Meaning of the Story

This story teaches us two great lessons. First, attachment to family is a deep instinct that binds human beings; one who truly ordains must be able to sever this entanglement and love all sentient beings equally in order to attain realization. Second, the most dangerous traps in life are often staged in ways that seem perfectly natural and reasonable, exploiting the trust of good-hearted people. Therefore, practitioners and laypeople alike must always remain alert, seeing through the absurdity hidden behind a reasonable appearance, in order to safeguard their virtue and protect themselves.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang