The Two Farmers and the Invisible Burden

The midday sun blazed fiercely over the golden ripe rice fields. The incessant cries of cicadas in the withered leaves blended with the steady thud of hoes from two adjacent plots. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and salty sweat.

Mr. Tu, a sun-tanned middle-aged man, stood his hoe upright to quickly wipe the sweat streaming down his cheek. He looked across the dike to where Mr. Bay was also straightening his back, breathing heavily. They looked identical in appearance: clothes caked with mud, feet calloused from wading, and both had to dig deep under the glaring sun.

"Brother Bay," Mr. Tu called out in a hoarse voice, his hand still gripping the hoe handle, "The heat today is so oppressive. I feel like I'm about to melt away."

Mr. Bay laughed heartily, his smile bright despite his face being flushed red from the sun. He waved his hand, gesturing for Mr. Tu to come closer, then spoke in a thoroughly cheerful tone:

"It's hot, alright, Brother Tu. But I feel completely fit! The more I work, the more pleasant it feels. I go home, sleep soundly through the night, with nothing to worry about."

Mr. Tu was surprised, his eyes wide, his hand trembling as he pointed at his own empty stomach.

"Fit? Are you joking or serious? We both endure rain and sun, toiling with our hands and feet equally. How is it that you feel light while I feel so burdened?"

Mr. Bay walked over, patting Mr. Tu's shoulder, his gaze becoming more solemn.

"Because you have a wife and children at home waiting for food, waiting for school fees, waiting for medicine when the weather turns. Whereas I, all alone in the world, finish my work and I'm done. This physical hardship is nothing compared to the burden in your heart."

Mr. Bay's words were like a bucket of cold water splashed on Mr. Tu's mind. He fell silent, looking down at his own hardened hands. It was true that every time he stopped to rest, instead of relaxing, his mind would spin with numbers: rice money, electricity bills, tutoring fees for his eldest, milk money for the youngest. That pressure was invisible but heavier than any sack of rice he had ever carried on his shoulder. It made him feel exhausted even before he had his lunch.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bay continued his work with a lively pace, whistling merrily. For him, physical labor was merely bodily movement, while his mind was completely free, unbound by responsibility to anyone other than himself.

Meaning of the Story

This story clearly illustrates the viewpoint of Venerable Thich Chan Quang: The most frightening thing in life is not physical hardship (like tilling or manual labor), but the psychological pressure stemming from responsibility for family and loved ones. When a person lives with conscience and morality, that responsibility becomes a tremendous mental burden, easily leading to depression or a desire to escape (to ordain, to live in seclusion) to find a false peace. Conversely, a lack of responsibility may bring temporary lightness but is a manifestation of moral failure. The core lesson is to correctly identify the source of suffering: it lies in the mind's sense of responsibility, not in the act of labor itself.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang