The Vow of Charm and the Price of Freedom

The evening sun descended upon the city of Savatthi, gilding the low earthen walls that peeked out behind rows of bodhi trees. The air inside Jetavana monastery was so still that one could clearly hear the wind rustling through the leaves, yet beyond the triple gate, a suffocating, tense atmosphere weighed upon the heart of a young man.

That young man was Khema, the beloved nephew of the great benefactor Anathapindika. He stood there, the sleeves of his fine garments crumpled, his eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness and worry. The noise drifting from the marketplace pierced his head like needles: "That wretch!", "Anathapindika's nephew, fallen so low!", "Drag him to the courthouse!". Such curses were no longer unfamiliar to Khema. They had become the background music of his glittering life, so full of hidden wounds.

Only hours earlier, Khema had narrowly escaped a horrifying scene of jealous rage at the home of a married woman. The husband, consumed by fury, had nearly beaten him to death had it not been for the timely intervention of acquaintances of Anathapindika's family. The local king and officials, out of respect for his wealthy and virtuous uncle, had released him. But physical freedom brought no peace to his soul. Every step Khema took was heavy with a vague fear that tomorrow, or perhaps even tonight, another tragedy would unfold.

Anathapindika, seeing his beloved nephew fallen into such a plight, felt his heart twist with pain. He could not allow Khema to keep spiraling in the whirlpool of desire and disgrace. With the compassion of an elder, he brought Khema to meet the Buddha. As uncle and nephew knelt before the World-Honored One, Khema bowed his head low, not daring to look directly into the Buddha's compassionate eyes, which saw through everything.

The Buddha was silent for a moment, then spoke in a voice both warm and firm:

"Khema, do you believe that living licentiously with the wives of others is happiness? Look at the reality. The threat of harm keeps you from sleeping. Disgrace drags you toward hell. Entanglement leads you toward lower realms. Your heart lives in constant fear and insecurity, subject to punishment by law. Therefore, do not pursue the wives of others."

That teaching was like a bucket of cold water poured upon Khema's heart. He trembled, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wanted to protest that he was only seeking pleasure, that money and beauty were the privileges of the strong. But when he raised his head, he saw that the Buddha's gaze judged him not with anger, but with a profound understanding of cause and effect (karmic law).

The Buddha then explained the origin of the so-called "charm" that Khema had been enjoying. He told how, in the time of Buddha Kasyapa, Khema had been a practitioner who had made offerings toward the building of a stupa. Yet instead of praying for lofty things, for liberation, he had made a strange vow: "May all women who see me be drawn to love me." It was precisely that seed, combined with the blessings from merit of his generosity, that created his present karmic fruit: a special allure to women. But this was not happiness; it was a sweet trap leading to suffering (dukkha).

Khema was stunned. He had never imagined that an old vow from long ago could govern his life so completely. He realized that each time he "succeeded" in conquering a woman, it was not a victory, but a step closer to the abyss of disgrace and insecurity. The freedom he thought he possessed was in truth an invisible chain, binding him to the cycle of desire and fear.

From that day on, Khema began to change. He no longer wandered through crowded gathering places seeking attention. Instead, he devoted his time to sitting in meditative concentration, listening to dharma talks, and reflecting on the costly lesson the Buddha had given him. Though the transformation of his inner life did not happen overnight, for the first time in many years, Khema felt a gentle peace as he lay down to sleep, no longer startled awake by the knocking of jealous husbands or the gossip of the world.

The Meaning of the Story

This story reminds us that "merit" is not simply luck or innate talent, but the fruit of our vows and actions in the past. If we use blessings from merit to gratify base desires, especially sexual misconduct, the price we pay is the loss of honor, spiritual insecurity, and the risk of falling into lower realms. True happiness lies not in being blindly loved by many, but in purity, moral discipline, and inner peace. We must remain awake to even the smallest vows and actions, for they are the very seeds that determine our future.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.