The Poor Woman Who Cultivated Merit

In the late afternoon, in a laborers’ quarter near the market, the cries of vendors faded with the setting sun. In a tiny house barely large enough for one bed and an oil stove, Sister Ba sat hugging her knees, staring at a pot of rice mixed with cassava that had long since run dry. Her stomach churned, but hunger here had become familiar, a constant companion that never left. Sometimes there was food, sometimes not; sometimes cassava, sometimes wild vegetables. Her life drifted on like a boat without a harbor.

Sister Ba was forty years old this year, working odd jobs throughout the neighborhood. As a child, she had known abundance, but for ten years, since her husband died of illness, she had raised three children alone. Poverty clung to her like a shadow. When neighbors suggested she visit the temple to hear the Dharma, she went. Sitting in the meditation hall, listening to the teacher explain cause and effect (karmic law), she felt like a thirsty person finding water. She realized her poverty did not arise from nowhere. Perhaps in a past life, she had been stingy and refused to help others, or perhaps in anger, she had destroyed someone’s property. She remembered when she was young, angry at a neighbor, she had secretly chopped down their banana trees just before they bore fruit. Now, thinking back, she shuddered. Those trees had taken years to grow, ready for harvest. By cutting them down, she had deprived another of their livelihood, while gaining nothing but anger. That anger had now become karma.

That evening, Sister Ba sat before the Buddha altar, her hands trembling as she pressed them together in prayer. Tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks. She whispered, “I apologize to the Buddha, and I apologize to those I have harmed. I know my poverty is due to the karma I created. But I vow that from now on, I will live altruistically and help everyone, no matter how poor I am.”

Yet speaking is easy; doing is hard. The next day, she met Mrs. Tu, her neighbor who had recently lost her husband and whose children lived far away. Sister Ba intended to give Mrs. Tu some rice, but opening her pot, she found only two cans left for her three children’s dinner. She stood still for a long time, holding the can, torn inside. “If I give it to Mrs. Tu, what will my children eat? Maybe I should wait until I am better off,” she told herself. But the teacher’s words echoed in her mind: “It is difficult and precious for a poor person to cultivate merit. Do not wait until you are rich, for when will that day come?”

Sister Ba bit her lip, measured out half a can of rice, wrapped it carefully, and ran to Mrs. Tu’s house. Mrs. Tu sat dazed beside a cold stove. Sister Ba offered the package, saying, “Neighbor, I have a little rice. Please cook some porridge to warm your belly.” Mrs. Tu looked up, eyes red with tears. “Ba, you are hungry too. Why do you give me this?” Sister Ba smiled, her voice choked with emotion. “I still have my children; I still have hope. You are alone. If I do not help you, who will?”

Having said this, she returned home. Her stomach was still empty, but her heart felt light. From then on, Sister Ba persistently performed small acts of kindness. One day, she saved a few thousand dong to buy two loaves of bread, sharing them with a street child at the alley entrance. Another day, she received a bundle of vegetables and gave them to an elderly person living alone at the end of the lane. People called her foolish, mocking her for giving alms while being destitute. She only smiled and continued quietly.

One day, Sister Ba heard that a family in the neighborhood had lost everything in a fire. She had no money, only a few liters of rice she had earned by helping pick grain in the fields. She brought it all to the woman crying over her child. “Take this to cook porridge for your baby, and we will figure out the rest later,” she said. The woman accepted the rice, trembling. “Thank you, sister. You are poorer than I am…” Sister Ba shook her head. “Poor or not, I cannot stand by and watch people go hungry.”

That night, Sister Ba could not sleep. She recalled the teacher’s words: “The difficulty involved in cultivating merit is what makes it precious. A rich person gives ten million easily, but a poor person giving a few liters of rice amidst scarcity creates merit that is no less significant.” She felt an unusual warmth in her heart. Poverty remained, but she no longer feared it. She believed that if she persisted in good deeds, heaven and earth would not betray her sincerity.

Soon after, someone in the neighborhood learned of her story. Moved by her heart, they invited her to work at a sewing factory with a much higher wage. Sister Ba saved some money and continued to help those even more disadvantaged than herself. Thanks to this, her three children ate better and studied diligently. She was still poor, but poverty was no longer a burden. She told her children, “Mother may not become wealthy, but I have something more precious: faith in cause and effect (karmic law). Live well, and heaven will provide.”

Years later, people still saw Sister Ba bustling around the neighborhood, carrying bags of rice to give to struggling families. She was not wealthy, but her smile warmed everyone’s hearts. She had transformed her karmic poverty, not through money, but through her steadfast commitment to doing good in the most difficult circumstances.

The Meaning of the Story

The lesson Venerable Thich Chan Quang wishes to convey is this: When a poor person persistently cultivates merit, even with just a few liters of rice, the blessings from merit are greater than when a rich person gives money easily. This is because the effort and sacrifice made in times of scarcity create the true value of virtuous action. Do not wait until you are rich to cultivate merit, for if you do, you will never transform your karma.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang