The Woman with the Cleaver

The night had grown late, and a light drizzle drifted past the window. In a small room, the woman sat quietly at a wooden table, holding a cleaver sharpened to a fine edge. She did not cry, did not speak, only gazed steadily at the blade in the flickering light of an oil lamp. Outside, the rain pattered on the tiled roof, mingling with the sound of her sighs.

Her husband was by nature a good man, but he had a habit of philandering. Many times she had gently advised him, spoken sweetly to him, even shed tears. Yet he remained the same as ever, secretly arranging to meet his mistress at motels along the roadside. She had once stood waiting for him in the rain, holding an umbrella, just to say: "I was afraid you would get wet, so I brought you an umbrella." But that kindness seemed not enough to make him change.

One day, after hearing that her husband had once again arranged to meet another woman, she decided to do something different. She quietly went to the market, bought a cleaver, then returned home and sharpened it until it gleamed. That evening, when the rain began to fall, she knew her husband was in a nearby motel. She took the cleaver and walked through the rain, standing silently before his door.

When the door cracked open, the husband stepped out, his face still bright with a smile. But the moment he saw his wife, he froze. She said not a single word, only slowly raised the cleaver and pressed it close against his throat. Her eyes were cold, without a trace of hesitation. The husband trembled and stammered:

"What... what are you doing?"

She remained silent, looking straight into his eyes. After a moment, she lowered the cleaver, turned her back, and walked away, leaving the husband standing stunned in the rain.

The second time, it was just the same. By the third time, the husband began to be afraid. Whenever he thought of going out to meet someone, he remembered the cleaver gleaming under the lamplight, and the cold look in his wife's eyes. That fear grew and grew, until he no longer dared set foot in the old places.

That woman had used fear to change her husband. She no longer wept, no longer pleaded. She simply made him so afraid that he no longer dared to do wrong. And then, family life gradually returned to peace. The husband began to care more for his wife and children, as if he had just awakened from a long dream.

The Meaning of the Story

The story shows that there are two ways to counter the faults of sentient beings: one is through love, the other is through fear. For those who cannot be changed by sweet words, sometimes it is necessary to use contrary conduct, which means making them so afraid that they dare not repeat their wrongdoing. This is the spirit of a bodhisattva of contrary conduct: using harsh and fierce attitudes to tame sentient beings, yet all of it arising from compassion and wisdom.

Compiled from a dharma talk by the Venerable Thích Chân Quang