The scent of incense and the vow

In the late afternoon in Long An countryside, gentle with the fragrance of ripe rice, the faint scent of incense drifted from an ancient wooden house. I stopped my bicycle before the gate, where a tall young man in a clean white shirt was sweeping the yard. Seeing a visitor, he immediately stopped, pressed his palms together, and bowed his head in greeting—polite and sincere. That small action surprised me, for in this hurried age, such natural respect and simple goodness are rare.

Entering the house, a warm atmosphere enveloped me. On the ancestral altar, the photographs of his grandparents were placed with solemnity. The daughter of the family, herself a teacher, invited me for tea and began to speak of her parents, her voice choked with emotion yet brimming with pride.

"Venerable teacher, my father and mother were lifelong vegetarians. They not only kept the precepts themselves but also taught their children and grandchildren with meticulous care. When we were young, every time we left the house, our parents would remind us to put a few small coins in our pocket to help anyone in need we might meet. In the neighborhood, if they saw a family lacking rice, my parents would carry rice over to give them. Each year, our family would set aside tons of rice to give in alms to the poor."

She continued, her eyes brightening as she remembered the seasons of the rain retreat. No matter how busy, her parents always opened their home, invited the Sangha to reside for the retreat, and supported the Three Jewels for the full three months. Their life was simple and austere, yet filled with love and sacrifice.

Then she spoke of the day her grandfather passed away. That day, seeing that not all his children and grandchildren had returned, he said to his wife:

"Old lady, let me go tomorrow. I want to wait until all the children and grandchildren are gathered, then I can depart in peace."

He lay down on the bed, breathed gently, and passed away in a peaceful sleep, without any pain. Her grandmother was the same—her health good, without any illness. That night, while the teacher was preparing her lessons, she suddenly saw the center of the house glow with a brilliant light. An image of Guanyin Bodhisattva appeared clearly, radiating a profound, sweet fragrance. She was startled, her heart pounding, but then the light gradually faded, and the scent slowly dissipated.

The next morning, when she knocked on her grandparents' door and received no answer, she pushed it open. She found they had departed serenely; their heads were still warm, their bodies supple, and their faces bright as if they were only sleeping. That sight moved the entire family, believing their grandparents had been welcomed home by the Buddhas.

I listened attentively, feeling the power of wholesome karma. This family was not only materially prosperous from their successful livelihood but also rich in blessings from merit. Their descendants, even the young adults, maintained a moral life, showing respect for the elderly and living in harmony with their community. This is a living testament to the karmic law of cause and effect: sowing wholesome seeds, one reaps joy and lasting happiness.

Meaning of the Story

This story emphasizes the importance of keeping the precepts and cultivating ethical conduct in daily life, especially the practices of generosity and vegetarianism. It shows the beautiful results of a family living according to the true Dharma: virtuous and successful children, and at the moment of death, the practitioner can pass away in peace, even with sacred signs (like fragrance and light) arising from accumulated blessings from merit. This is a classic example of "truthful speech that increases wholesome qualities," encouraging everyone to follow a moral and compassionate way of life to build a solid foundation of lasting happiness for themselves and their families.

Compiled from a Dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang