The Blessing of Venerable Sariputta and the Blood-Soaked Executioner

The evening sun cast long shadows over the execution ground, yet the heat still clung heavily to the skin. Flies buzzed around pools of half-dried blood, mingling with the clinking of chains from hundreds of bandits, bound and kneeling beneath the pillars. Among that wretched crowd was a man with a hideous face, teeth stained brass-yellow, and strangely alert eyes. This was he — a man shunned by his parents and neighbors from birth because of his deformed appearance, who grew up so unruly that no one could contain him, and who was finally cast out of his home to wander the streets.

"My whole life, I've never chopped people just for a day — it's been chopping people by the week, chopping people for ten days straight. But to chop several hundred heads clean off in a single morning? No one could ever manage that!"

Years earlier, after being abandoned by his family, he had joined a band of robbers. At first he only ran errands, but over time he grew as ruthless as any of the senior bandits. Unable to bear the reports from the people and local officials, the royal court sent a great army to surround them. After a fierce battle, several hundred bandits were captured, and the king ordered them all executed. Crowds flooded the execution ground. Yet when the order was issued, not a single executioner dared to behead a hundred people in one day. The presiding official paced back and forth among his sword-bearing soldiers as the sun climbed higher, but the royal decree required the task to be finished that day — and if it failed, the official himself would be punished.

Standing in the middle of the execution ground, sweat beading on his forehead, the official looked at the condemned prisoners, then turned to his soldiers:

"Is there anyone willing to behead all of these men? The royal order stands like a mountain — I don't know what to do!"

Everyone bowed their heads, not daring to utter a word. Mass killing like this, even of criminals, exceeded what they could bear. Suddenly, a soldier offered a suggestion: spare the life of the bandit leader if he would behead all of his own men. The official summoned the leader — a man known for his loyalty to his followers — and promised to spare his life if he killed his several hundred subordinates. But the leader threw back his head and laughed coldly:

"Kill me if you must, but don't dream of making me betray my brothers!"

The official was at a loss. He had the leader kneel and await the blade. The sun sank lower, and the situation reached a deadlock. In the midst of the confusion, the official's gaze fell upon the yellow-toothed man, with his strangely alert face — one who had even laughed coldly in the face of death. He muttered:

"This one might do. Soldiers, bring him up here!"

When the man was led forward, the official said:

"If you are willing to behead the several hundred brothers among these bandits, I will grant you a full pardon."

The man answered at once, his voice simple to the point of coldness:

"Willing. Easy enough."

Handed the blade, he began to behead. Thwack — a head fell. Thwack — another rolled. When the blade dulled, he asked for a new one. After several dozen heads, blood had sprayed over him from head to foot, yet his face never changed. The soldiers watching the execution nearly all fainted. The official was both relieved and trembling, for though he had fought in battles and killed, he had never seen anyone so cold-blooded. He then requested permission from above to bring in several dozen more condemned prisoners to be executed as well. The next day, after bathing, the man beheaded nearly a hundred more. The king appointed him chief of the executioners. From then on, he had wages, rank, and servants — but no one dared give their daughter in marriage to a man known as an executioner.

The years passed, and the man grew old, with no one able to replace him. On his final execution of a condemned prisoner, he needed three strokes to sever the neck. Seeing their loved one writhing in agony, the prisoner's family filed a complaint with the king. The king retired the man with a sum of money. For the first time out of office, he dressed in fine clothes, lit incense, had honeyed milk porridge and fine cakes prepared, and sat enjoying a peaceful old age.

That day, Venerable Sariputta saw that the conditions (dependent origination) for teaching him had ripened. Carrying his alms bowl on his alms round, he walked boldly up to the man's house. The man had just lifted his bowl of porridge when he saw a samana of majestic countenance standing at the gate, and his heart suddenly filled with reverence. Vaguely remembering the custom of making offerings, he brought out his bowl of honeyed milk porridge, ladled it into the Venerable One's bowl, and invited him to sit and eat. Somehow, as he stood fanning the monk, the man found himself craving the delicacies he had set aside. When the Venerable One finished eating, he said:

"Now, please go ahead and eat."

The man asked permission to clear the remainder, and ate his fill. The Venerable One gave his blessing:

"In this world, everything has its cause and effect (karmic law). As you sow, so shall you reap. Understanding cause and effect (karmic law) and living virtuously, placing your faith in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, one is freed from suffering (dukkha). I bless you to have faith in cause and effect (karmic law), and faith in the Three Jewels, so that your life may hold less suffering (dukkha)."

Hearing this, the man's whole body trembled, sweat pouring down, and he cried out involuntarily:

"Venerable Sir, in my life I have killed far too many people!"

The Venerable One asked:

"Did you kill of your own will, or at someone's command?"

The man replied:

"At the command of the court, Sir."

The Venerable One comforted him:

"You bear no fault — you only carried out orders. Accept your cause and effect (karmic law) with equanimity, take faith in the Three Jewels, and I bless you with goodness."

This time the man's mind grew calm, and he suddenly attained the fruit of Stream-Entry. His consciousness transformed, and he asked to escort the Venerable One part of the way. When they neared the monastery, the Venerable One returned his bowl, and the man knelt and offered three prostrations, circumambulated three times, and departed. Along the road, a spirit possessing a bull gored him, and he fell dead. When the news reached the Venerable One, he told the lay devotees to bury the man, for he had become a noble one. The bhikkhus, astonished, asked the Buddha: how could a man who killed without blinking attain the noble fruit after hearing just two sentences of blessing? The Buddha taught: do not measure the Dharma by the number of discourses. A thousand empty words are worth less than a single word of true meaning, spoken at the right conditions (dependent origination), that brings peace and joy.

The Meaning of the Story

A single word spoken at the right moment, at the right conditions (dependent origination), with full meaning, has the power to transform more than a thousand empty words. The Buddha's teachings (Dharma) do not require many words — only one word that touches the right capacity of the listener.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang