The House with a Leaky Roof and the Rain of Desire

The capital city of Kapilavastu had never shone so brightly. Along the great road leading to the palace, people hung lanterns and garlands, setting out long banquet tables. The air was filled with joyful laughter, while the scent of incense and delicious food drifted through every alleyway. Today was the day Prince Nanda, the younger brother of the Buddha, prepared for his wedding to a renowned beauty from the southeast, Princess Janapada. She was said to be so lovely that flowers would bow their heads as she passed by.

Amidst this celebration, a figure in calm yellow robes appeared. It was the Buddha, who had just returned to visit his homeland after many years away. He held his alms bowl, walking quietly from house to house like a cool breeze on a summer day. When his bowl was full, he gracefully stepped into the center of the hall where the wedding feast was being served. Everyone froze in awe and reverence; no one dared to speak.

Prince Nanda, dressed in brilliant red ceremonial robes, was directing servants to arrange the tables. Hearing that his brother had arrived, he rushed out and bowed deeply. Before he could say a word, the Buddha extended his alms bowl toward him. Nanda instinctively took it. The Buddha said nothing, turned around, and began to walk away.

Nanda looked on in confusion. He thought, “Surely my brother will only go to the gate and then return to take back the bowl.” Clutching the bowl, he followed closely behind. After a few steps, he glanced back at the bride standing stunned in the courtyard, her eyes wide with bewilderment. He winked to signal, “I will return immediately.” But the Buddha continued walking slowly, without looking back.

At the city gate, Nanda thought, “Now surely he will turn back.” But the Buddha kept going. Nanda wanted to call out, “Brother, give me back the bowl so I can finish my wedding!” But the words choked in his throat. His respect for his great brother was so profound that he did not dare utter a single syllable. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. He looked back again; the bride had run halfway across the courtyard, her face pale. Everyone abandoned their tasks, watching in silence, afraid to intervene.

Nanda followed the Buddha all the way to the monastery, where the monks were resting. When the Buddha sat down, he turned to look at his brother and asked in a warm, low voice:

“Nanda, do you wish to leave home and become a monk?”

Nanda stood frozen. Images of his beautiful bride waiting flashed through his mind, but before the compassionate gaze of his brother, he could not say “no.” His throat tightened, and he merely nodded, whispering a mechanical “yes.”

In the blink of an eye, the prince’s long hair was shaved clean, and his bright red robes were replaced by a simple yellow robe. From a groom about to enter the wedding hall, he became a bhikkhu. The wedding fell apart. The bride wept uncontrollably, running through the palace searching for her husband. But King Suddhodana, their father who had attained sainthood, only smiled and did not interfere.

Although Nanda wore the monastic robes, his mind remained with his bride. During his first meditation session, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, yet her image appeared vividly before him. He tossed and turned, sitting up and lying down, looking far away hoping his father would come to rescue him. But no one came. He did not dare leave because he feared his brother. Day after day, longing tormented him like burning fire. He thought, “It is better to die than to live like this. What kind of practice is this if my mind keeps thinking of my lover?”

More than a week passed, and Nanda grew gaunt. The Buddha called him over and spoke gently:

“Today, I will take you to visit the heavenly realms.”

With that, the Buddha used supernatural power to lift Nanda into the sky. As they flew past a burning forest, the Buddha made Nanda clearly see a monkey climbing a tree, its fur singed by the flames, its tail cut short, looking utterly miserable. The two brothers continued flying higher, passing through layers of clouds until they reached the heaven of Indra. Here, the celestial beings were so beautiful that words could not describe them. They lived in purity, free from base desires. Nanda looked around, astonished by the splendor everywhere. Compared to them, his bride seemed no more than that scorched monkey.

When they returned to the monastery, the Buddha asked:

“How did you find the celestial maidens?”

“Venerable Sir,” Nanda replied, “my beloved now seems like that burned monkey in the forest—extremely ugly.”

The Buddha smiled and said:

“If you practice diligently, I will ask King Indra to grant you seven celestial maidens.”

Hearing this, Nanda’s heart suddenly felt light. He no longer agonized over his former wife but began to focus entirely on his practice. He meditated skillfully, having trained alongside the Buddha since childhood. He gathered his mind with the breath and gradually entered deep states of concentration. Thanks to merit accumulated over many lifetimes, before long, Nanda attained the fruit of Arhatship.

Some monks, unaware of the story, saw Nanda meditating and thought silently, “He is practicing only to get those seven celestial women; his practice is superficial!” They whispered among themselves. Knowing this, the Buddha addressed the assembly:

“Monks, Nanda in the past was like a house with a poorly thatched roof; the rain of desire easily penetrated it. But today, Nanda is different. His mind is like a well-thatched house; no matter how heavy the rain, it cannot leak inside.”

From then on, the Sangha respected Nanda, knowing that the value of a person lies not in rank or beauty, but in their sincere path of cultivation.

The Meaning of the Story

The story of Prince Nanda teaches us that desire is like ceaseless rain, always seeking cracks to penetrate the mind. If our mind is not cultivated and protected, base cravings will easily dominate us. But if we carefully thatch the roof of our mind with mindfulness and wisdom, even the heaviest rain cannot seep in. Beauty, fame, and wealth are all temporary things that cause suffering when we cling to them. Let us practice so that our minds may be peaceful and steady like a well-built house, no longer disturbed by the rain of desire.

Compiled from the dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang