The Path Back to the True Dharma

The afternoon by the river was bitterly cold, the wind howling in gusts and carrying the smell of damp mud. Trong stood at the edge of the bridge, both hands gripping the rusted iron railing. His eyes were red-rimmed as he stared down at the dark water churning below. His tears had dried long ago; all that remained was an emptiness so heavy it suffocated him.

His family had fallen apart. His wife and children had left him, and his relatives had turned their backs. He had once been the owner of a large company; now he was bankrupt, buried under mountains of debt. Money, property, honor — everything was gone. Standing at the edge of the abyss, he could only think of three paths: becoming a monk, becoming a beggar, or ending it all. But he did not yet understand the Way well enough to become a monk, and his pride could not bear the shame of begging. Only one way out remained in his mind.

He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and slowly lifted one foot onto the railing.

At that very moment, a sound of sobbing arose behind him. The crying was faint, yet utterly heart-wrenching. Trong started and turned around. A young woman sat on the ground, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling with sobs. She had not noticed him, lost entirely in her own pain.

He climbed down and came closer. His voice was hoarse: "What is wrong? Why are you crying here?"

The young woman looked up in alarm, her eyes swollen and red. Seeing Trong's disheveled, stricken appearance, she no longer held back. "I... I have nothing left. My mother is gravely ill and needs surgery urgently. I have sold everything I own and borrowed from everyone I could, but it is still not enough. The doctor said that if she does not have surgery within this week, my mother will... will not make it."

The young woman buried her face in her hands and wept again. Trong remained silent, yet something stirred within his heart. He sat down beside her, his legs stiff from the cold. "I have nothing left either. My family has fallen apart, my company is bankrupt, and my debts can never be repaid. I was just about to jump from this bridge and end it all."

The young woman looked up, her eyes widening as she gazed at him. Then she lowered her head again, her voice faint. "You are still young and strong; you can start over. But me... if my mother dies, I will have no reason left to live."

Trong sighed, gazing down at the river. "Right now, I only want everything to be over. There is nothing left to hold on to."

A long silence followed. There was only the howling wind and the sound of flowing water. Suddenly, the young woman spoke, her voice soft but clear. "Sir, there was once a teacher who said that when we truly wish only to bring joy to others, we cannot be sad. Right now, my mother needs me. I must live, I must keep trying for her sake. And you, if you feel that life can still bring joy to someone, then please stay."

Though gentle, those words cut straight into his heart. "When we truly wish only to bring joy to others, we cannot be sad." Trong sat motionless, the words repeating over and over in his mind. He looked at the young woman — someone bearing a pain far greater than his own, yet still choosing to live for another.

A wave of warmth suddenly spread through his chest, dispelling some of the bitter cold. He suddenly realized: compared to the suffering (dukkha) of the young woman weeping beside him, how much did his own pain really matter? She still had a mother to care for. As for him, though he had lost everything, he still had this life, these two hands, this wisdom — he still had himself.

He stood up and reached out his hand to her. "I am not going to jump. Let us go home. Your mother needs you."

The young woman looked up, a spark of hope lighting her eyes. She took his hand and rose to her feet. The two of them walked away from the riverbank as the afternoon slowly faded.

In Trong's heart, a new seed had been sown. He did not know what the future would hold, but he knew he could not give up. From that day on, he began again from nothing, from empty hands. He no longer sought death; he sought a way to live.

What stayed with him most deeply was not death, but the young woman's words about living for others. And when he truly lived with that mind/heart, his pain gradually dissolved, and a new life began to unfold.

The Meaning of the Story

This story illustrates the lesson of cause and effect (karmic law) and the value of life. When we face despair over loss, we tend to think only of our own pain. But if we learn to turn our mind/heart outward, to care about the suffering (dukkha) of others, and to live for their benefit, we will rediscover meaning and the strength to overcome. Understanding and applying cause and effect (karmic law), we will know how to handle everything with clarity and grace.

Adapted from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang