Two Merchant Friends and the Lesson of Not Being a Cowherd

Two merchants left home to become monks together. One devoted himself to study, the other to practice — and their endings were very different.

The evening wind blew through Jetavana Grove, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and the steady rhythm of the temple bell. Golden sunlight stretched long shadows across the stone courtyard, where two monks walked slowly with hands in a gesture of respect. One had just entered through the gate, his robes still dusted from the road; the other stood waiting to greet him. Before his smile could fully bloom, the Buddha appeared — his feet never moving, yet his presence had already arrived in the middle of the courtyard. The air grew still, and only the wind moving through the leaves could be heard.

"Stop, both of you. I have something to ask before you greet each other."

The two monks quickly knelt, heads bowed low. This story began many years earlier, when both were among the wealthiest merchants in Savatthi, belonging to the Vaisya class — respected traders who lived in spacious tile-roofed homes with servants at their command. They were as close as brothers, like-minded and both understanding what was right. Then one day, they came together to Jetavana to hear the Buddha teach. Their eyes lit up at his golden words, and soon after, they resolved to leave behind their wives, children, and gold, asking to have their heads shaved and become monks.

During the first five years, according to Buddhist discipline, they had to train as novices. Each morning, as soon as the pre-dawn chanting ended, they learned to fold their robes straight, carry their alms bowls properly, and stand and sit with dignity. No more of the careless gestures of their merchant days. Once, when one of them felt an itch in his nose and began to scratch, he drew his hand back halfway, silently reminding himself: "As one who has left home, how can I allow such rudeness as before?" After five years of training in the precepts, they received full ordination as monks, and together they came before the Buddha to request a deeper path of practice.

The Buddha sat on his seat and gently asked: "In the teachings there is the path of study and the path of practice. Which do you wish to follow?" The first monk pressed his palms together and spoke with reverence: "World-Honored One, I lack the wisdom to study extensively. These five years I have learned the foundations; now I ask to devote myself to practice." The second monk then said: "I have some talent for study. I ask to remain at Jetavana, learning and practicing together." So one left the grove for a quiet hermitage devoted to meditative concentration, while the other stayed near the Buddha, going from elder to elder asking to hear the sutras recited so he could memorize them.

For nearly ten years, the monk devoted to practice sat in meditation, attaining the various levels of meditative concentration and the fruits of the path, with disciples coming to learn from him. The monk devoted to study memorized countless scriptures and also taught the dharma beautifully, drawing many listeners. One day, the practicing monk returned to Jetavana with his disciples to pay respects to the Buddha. Hearing that his friend had returned, the scholar-monk went out to welcome him — but a thought arose in his heart: "It has been so long since we met. I will question him on the dharma to see who is superior." The moment that thought of competition flickered up, the Buddha knew it, and appeared to stop them.

The Buddha asked the two to sit down, then turned to the scholar-monk and asked: "What does one who attains the first meditative absorption experience?" Without hesitation, he answered: "World-Honored One, one is free of sense desires and unwholesome states; initial application and sustained thought remain, and the body is filled with rapture and bliss." The Buddha nodded and asked: "And the second absorption?" — "The mind rests in single-pointed stillness, without initial or sustained thought, abiding in peace and happiness." Question after question, his answers were precise and correct. But when the Buddha asked: "What is the state of mind of the first fruit, stream-entry?" he faltered: "One severs three fetters: doubt, self-view, and attachment to rites. But the actual felt experience... I do not know."

The Buddha turned to the practicing monk and asked the same about the first absorption. This monk replied: "Free of sense desires and unwholesome states, with initial and sustained thought remaining, the body feels like a mass of bath powder, filled with the rapture born of freedom from desire." The Buddha smiled: "And why do unwholesome states not arise?" The monk explained clearly: "Unwholesomeness is agitation; only an agitated mind gives it a place to cling. When the mind is pure, unwholesomeness has nowhere to settle, and only goodness remains. A wholesome mind is calm; an unwholesome mind cannot be still." The Buddha asked about the second, third, and fourth absorptions, then the noble fruits, and the monk described in detail each transformation of mind. The Buddha praised him: "Excellent, very precise!" In the heavens, the devas heard the praise and stirred, extolling the arahant.

The crowd of monks and laypeople present that day fell silent in admiration. But the disciples of the scholar-monk flushed red, gripping their bowls tightly, whispering behind his back: "Our teacher answered just the same — why did the Buddha not praise him? Could it be simply that the Buddha dislikes mere book learning?" The murmuring spread beneath the trees. The Buddha, with the divine ear, heard it clearly, and rebuked them sternly to extinguish that resentment.

His voice was grave:

"Though one recites the sutras fluently, if one is lazy in practice, one is like a cowherd counting another's cattle — unworthy of the monastic life. But that other monk, though he does not recite many sutras, diligently cultivates, abandoning greed, hatred and delusion. His mind shines with liberation, clinging to neither this life nor the next. He is truly worthy of the monastic life."

The rebuke cut like a blade into the pride of one who loved only theory. The scholar-monk bowed his head, shoulders slumped, realizing that for ten years he had been like a cowherd — opening the pen at dawn to count the cows, closing it at night and going to sleep, never having drawn a single drop of milk for the world. His friend, meanwhile, was like one who had drunk deeply of the fresh milk, his mind already freed from suffering (dukkha).

From that day on, the scholar-monk no longer stood atop the high ground of scripture. Each morning, he sat in full lotus with his disciples, beginning with those first minutes when his legs ached as if broken — but he persevered. Each evening, he took what he had learned and applied it in contemplative meditation. As time passed, his dharma talk was no longer dry but steeped in the warmth of one who had tasted the truth himself. His disciples, once proud and resentful, now followed in their teacher's footsteps, whispering no more.

In time, both monks became examples at Jetavana. One attained the fruit through practice; the other, having learned to practice, gradually purified himself of greed and hatred. The evening bell still rang, but in the wind there now drifted the scent of milk from a cowherd who had learned to milk — no longer merely counting cows in the darkness of night.

**The Meaning of the Story**

The Buddha taught that studying theory without committing to practice is like a cowherd who only counts the cows but never draws the milk — unworthy of the monastic life. Only through diligent cultivation, abandoning greed, hatred and delusion, does the mind shine with liberation. In this world there are two kinds of people: those who love to study and those who love to practice. But true spiritual results come only to those who dare to turn the Buddha's words into action.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.