Người thợ săn và con cọp trắng

The dense forest stretched endlessly in those days, sprawling from Saigon all the way down to Nhà Bè. Towering trees cast deep shadows, and wildlife was abundant beyond count. In that region lived a renowned hunter, a true master with his rifle. He moved through the jungle as casually as a stroll to the market; the calls of birds and the rustle of beasts were his guides on the hunt. But one day, everything began to feel different.

That morning, in the pre-dawn twilight, he slung his old rifle over his shoulder and stepped onto the familiar trail. Usually, after walking a short way, he would hear birds chirping, see squirrels leaping between branches, and notice weasels darting through the undergrowth. Yet today, there was an absolute silence. He paused and listened intently. Not a single sound. He muttered to himself, "How strange. Did I take a wrong turn today?" Still, he followed the path deeper into parts of the forest his feet had never touched before.

The farther he went, the more desolate the woods became. The vegetation grew thick and tangled, with beams of sunlight piercing the canopy to illuminate patches of the damp ground below. Something felt off, but the thrill of the hunt kept him from turning back. He told himself, "Since I've come this far, there must be some game here. Surely I won't return empty-handed?"

Reaching an open meadow, he spotted an old woman in a tattered conical hat moving slowly toward him in the distance. He stopped, squinting to see better. Encountering a lone elderly woman in such a silent forest was deeply suspicious. He crouched down, leaning in for a closer look. Her feet never touched the ground, hovering just above the grass. His heart clenched. "A ghost!" he thought. With trembling hands, he loaded his rifle, raised it to his shoulder, and aimed at the woman. She continued her calm, steady approach, her hat obscuring her face. The two drew nearer in silence.

Once she was within range, he took aim and squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out, shattering the forest's quiet. Instantly, the old woman lunged toward him. But the seasoned hunter was quick, leaping aside to evade her grasp. She landed precisely where he had just stood, her sharp claws digging into the earth. He spun around and fired again. The old woman collapsed, transforming into a large white tiger lying stretched across the grass.

He exhaled in relief, his back soaked with sweat. He stood silently, gazing at the white tiger in astonishment. He dared not approach, watching only from a distance. After some time, he finally returned to the village and recounted the tale. The villagers ventured into the forest together, carrying the white tiger back. They whispered in awe and fear, "A white tiger is a spirit, the true Lord of the Forest!" Overcome with reverence, they built a shrine right at the spot where it had fallen.

As for the hunter, from that day forward he retired from hunting and never carried a rifle again. When asked why, he would simply shake his head. "My time has ended. Even a spirit lured me into those woods. If I stubbornly continue hunting, I will surely meet my end. I have crossed the Lord of the Forest. I cannot go on."

The story was retold many times, each version adding more fantastic details. Some said he met a tiger spirit; others claimed he killed a forest deity. But regardless of the version, the lesson remains: do not be too quick to believe everything you hear, no matter how captivating the story may be.

This story reminds us of the proper attitude toward belief. We should not accept tales at face value, regardless of how wondrous or thrilling they seem. It is wise to reflect, to question, and to verify before accepting something as true. This is how we live prudently, avoiding the errors that come from blind credulity.

*Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.*