A Lamp in the Midst of Bewildering Darkness

At night, the city of Savatthi still glowed with lamplight, yet in one corner of a house, drunken laughter drifted out from the kitchen. Visakha, a wealthy laywoman who had attained the fruit of Stream-Entry at the age of seven, sat surrounded by nearly a hundred female friends. They were married women—some poured wine for their husbands at every festival, others secretly shared drinks behind their husbands' backs. Visakha looked around and saw every eye glazed with wine, every voice thick with intoxication. She sighed softly and said to her close friends:

"Sisters, if we keep drinking like this, what will become of us? Why not go visit the Buddha and listen to his teaching, so our hearts may become sober again?"

Hearing this, their eyes brightened, though their hearts still clung to the cup. They whispered to one another: "Let's go, but remember to bring some wine along—arriving there with nothing at all would be dreadfully dull." So they hid wine in the folds of their garments and set out together.

For many years, these women had endured husbands addicted to wine. At every festival, they poured wine to invite their husbands to drink, with hearts sincerely wishing to please them. But they never imagined that this very wish—the desire to see others drink—had planted a strange seed within them. Little by little, they found themselves craving wine as well, longing for a sip to ease their weariness. At first it was only a few; later it became the whole group. They drank in secret, furtively, for society did not accept the image of drunken women. But the wine had seeped into their blood, their livers, their very flesh. Some days, when utterly drunk, they went home and cooked rice that never finished, washed clothes that never came clean, staggered as they walked, and slurred their words. Their husbands flew into a rage, beating and cursing them. The next morning, Visakha—regarded as the leader of the group—gathered everyone together and said, her voice trembling:

"Sisters, we cannot go on living like this. Wine has stripped away all our dignity. Today, I ask you to come with me to the Buddha, and beg him to show us the way out of this addiction."

Hearing this, some bowed their heads, others merely muttered. But when Visakha said she would go, they had no choice but to follow. Their husbands were overjoyed to see their wives going with Visakha, believing that this gentle, virtuous woman would surely persuade them to become better people. Yet who could have imagined that upon arriving at the monastery, while waiting for the Buddha, the women pulled out their wine and kept drinking. They drank as if there were no tomorrow, drinking until their faces flushed crimson and their eyes grew dull.

When the Buddha came out, his compassionate gaze sweeping over the assembly, the women were thoroughly drunk. He began to teach in a deep, warm voice, but they could not hear a single word. Visakha still struggled to stay sober, but her friends had already risen to their feet, laughing boisterously:

"Oh, what he says is so hard to understand! Let me tell you how it is!"

Then they began interrupting, each speaking over the other, no one listening to anyone. One woman stood up, laughing and humming a tune, then staggered into a dance in the middle of the assembly ground. Her robes slipped loose, exposing her, but they no longer knew any shame. Mara, seeing the openings in their hearts, entered into them, making them riot even more wildly. They cursed and reviled, even slandering the monks, throwing the whole assembly into an uproar. Visakha stood to the side, clutching her chest, her heart pounding, not knowing what to do. She looked at the Buddha and saw him sitting perfectly still, his eyes full of sorrow.

Suddenly, from between the Buddha's brows, a beam of white radiance shot forth, illuminating heaven and earth, and then everything sank into deep darkness. The drunken women, in the midst of their revelry, froze in terror, looking around in alarm. The Buddha slowly rose into the air, his radiance spreading throughout the three thousand great thousand worlds, his voice resounding like rolling thunder. All of space seemed to tremble. Terrified, the women felt their drunkenness dissolve, and their minds became astonishingly clear. Looking at one another and seeing themselves in such disarray, their garments in dishevelment, they hurriedly straightened their clothes and bowed their heads in shame.

The Buddha slowly descended and sat again upon his lotus seat. He looked over the assembly and spoke this verse:

"What joy can there be while this life is burning, while darkness covers all—why not seek the lamp?"

Visakha knelt down, tears streaming down her cheeks, and pressed her palms together, saying:

"World-Honored One, we have done wrong. Wine gives rise to so many evils in this world. Please teach us the path to escape this drunkenness."

The Buddha smiled with compassion and taught them about cause and effect (karmic law): when you wish for others to drink wine, you yourself will become addicted to wine; when you wish for others to live well, you yourself will receive what is good. From that day on, the women gave up wine completely and devoted themselves to practice. They became devout laywomen, supporting one another on the path, and advising others to stay far away from intoxication.

The Meaning of the Story

Wine harms not only the body but also stirs up unwholesome tendencies in the mind, making it easy for people to commit evil deeds and create karma. More importantly, cause and effect (karmic law) operates not only through actions but also through intentions: however we wish others to live, that is precisely the fruit we ourselves will reap. Therefore, always guard the mind and heart, turn toward what is wholesome, and stay far away from whatever causes intoxication and loss of clear awareness.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.