The Mother of Shariputra

That night, in the ancient home of a Brahmin family, the silence was so heavy it felt suffocating. Shariputra’s mother sat with her knees drawn up on a wooden platform, gazing out into the dark courtyard. Her heart was weighed down by a deep-seated grievance that had accompanied her for half her life. She remembered the day when her two young sons, Shariputra and Maudgalyayana, left home to become monastics. Then, one by one, their brothers and sisters followed suit. Even her three younger brothers and two younger sisters walked the path of liberation, attaining the state of Arhat. Only she remained behind. She had lost all her children. In her eyes, the Buddha was not an enlightened being, but someone who had stolen her family from her.

She struggled to rise and made her way to the room of her youngest son, Revata. He was the last child she had managed to keep, having hastily arranged a marriage for him in hopes of preserving some warmth within the household. But when Revata saw his aging mother—her skin wrinkled, her teeth gone, her back bent—he suddenly awakened to the truth. On the very night of his wedding, the groom vanished. He went to seek the Buddha and eventually attained enlightenment as well. Once again, she had lost a son.

Now, in the twilight of her years, as serious illness began to visit her, Shariputra’s mother sat in the shadows. Her heart tightened with a wound that had never truly healed. She loved her children yet held onto hatred; she hated them yet continued to love them. She could not understand why this contradiction persisted.

Then, that night, the entire room suddenly blazed with brilliance. Warm, golden rays of light descended from above, filling the space before rising again, only to descend once more. She stood frozen, watching without blinking, until dawn approached and all the lights ascended back into the high heavens.

The next morning, she immediately sought out her son. Her voice trembled, mixing astonishment with curiosity. "All through the night, I saw these spheres of light flying into our house, circling around you. What was happening?"

Shariputra looked at his mother with gentle eyes and replied, "Those were Brahma deities descending from the heavenly realms to pay homage to me and learn from me."

She was startled. As a follower of the Brahmin tradition, she revered Brahma as the supreme deity. Yet the very beings she worshipped most devoutly were coming to her son’s home to bow and study. She had clearly seen those beams of light, even if she could not discern the forms of the celestial beings. It was a sight she had never witnessed in her entire life.

Slowly, like mist dissolving under the sun, the resentment in her heart began to fade. She started taking refuge in the Three Jewels, listened to her son’s dharma talks, and by the end of her life, became a devoted Buddhist practitioner.

This was how Shariputra guided his mother. He did not use miraculous powers to rescue souls from hell, but rather employed patience, wisdom, and a love that never gave up.

The Meaning of the Story

This tale illustrates the importance of skillful means in guiding loved ones. Shariputra did not engage his mother in logical debate, knowing she was highly intelligent and stubborn. Instead, he used her own beliefs—the worship of Brahma—to open the door to her heart. The lesson is clear: sometimes, to help a loved one change, we must deeply understand their capacity and interests. We should use appropriate methods rather than merely arguing or forcing compliance. Love and patience will always open the way.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang