The Night at the Potter’s House and the Footsteps on the Neck

As dusk fell, darkness began to blanket a small town. A cold wind carried the scent of fired clay through the air. Inside the potter’s home, flickering kitchen light illuminated rows of silent ceramic vessels. The soft rustle of a stranger’s footsteps on the sandy ground signaled that this would be an unsettled night.

That afternoon, the ascetic Devala arrived from afar. He approached a local resident and asked politely, “Dear friend, when monks or those who have left home for spiritual practice visit this town, where do they usually stay for the night?”

The resident pointed toward the potter’s house, explaining that the owner was kind and always willing to help others. Devala went there and said, “Host, I am an ascetic passing through tonight. May I stay here if it is no trouble?”

The potter smiled warmly. “Of course. I am busy during the day, but in the evening I will clear the space so it is comfortable. Please come in.”

Devala had barely settled his resting place when another ascetic, Narada, also arrived, having missed his way. He too asked for shelter. The host then consulted Devala: “Venerable sir, another guest has arrived seeking lodging for the night. If you agree, I will invite both of you to stay.”

Devala nodded happily. They arranged their sleeping areas together. But as deep blackness descended, Narada finished his meditation and stepped outside for walking practice. Seizing the moment, Devala rolled into the middle of the doorway to lie down, deliberately blocking the path.

Narada returned quietly from outside. In the pitch dark, he could not see and stepped directly onto Devala’s head.

“Good heavens! Why did you step on my head? I apologize; I could not see. Please forgive me,” Narada said, stepping back.

He turned around to enter again, remembering someone was lying there. He reversed his direction and walked forward, only to step right onto Devala’s neck. Devala shouted loudly, “Oh, how cruel you are! You are harming me! You are killing me!”

Narada was confused. “But why are you still lying there after I turned around?”

Devala refused to listen. He clung tightly to the feeling of being harmed, blaming and complaining throughout the entire night. Exhausted, he sat muttering grievances: “You hurt me! You want to kill me! How could you step on someone’s neck while they are lying there?”

The host stayed awake all night, and neighbors heard the commotion, turning on their lights to check what was happening. Devala continued arguing until dawn. His heart harbored a strange affliction: he enjoyed letting others offend him, using it as an excuse to blame them. His body suffered no real injury, but his ego jumped with every imagined insult.

Only when the morning light slipped through the door crack did Devala finally rise, his eyes darkened by lack of sleep. Looking at Narada, who sat in serene meditation, he suddenly realized he had tormented himself all night over an accidental footstep. The inner struggle dissolved as he understood that resentment came from nowhere other than his own mind.

From then on, whenever similar situations arose, Devala practiced not holding onto the notion of being harmed. His life became lighter. Nights spent in lodging were no longer filled with quarrels, but only with the sound of wind through the leaves and the potter’s sigh of relief.

The Meaning of the Story

Those who cling to thoughts of being scolded, beaten, harmed, or robbed will carry endless hatred. Conversely, if one does not hold onto these thoughts, hatred naturally dissipates. Do not cultivate the habit of enjoying offense just to have an excuse to blame others, for this only tortures oneself.

Compiled from the dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang