Tich Sa and the Lesson of Forgetting

One late afternoon, in a forest beside a river, the last golden rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, shining down on simple temple rooftops. A group of monks, having just returned after many years of teaching abroad, their robes still dusty and feet bare and muddied, entered the assembly. Their eyes searched for a place to rest after the long journey.

But when their gaze settled on the most honored seat, right before the Buddha, they saw a portly monk with handsome features, seated imposingly like an elder. It was Tich Sa, the Buddha's cousin, who had been ordained for only a few months. The elder monks approached, bowed respectfully, and one spoke up, asking:

"Venerable friend, how long have you been ordained?"

Tich Sa lifted his head, his voice full of pride: "I have only been ordained for two or three months."

The elder monks were stunned. One stepped forward, his tone stern: "If you have only just been ordained, why are you sitting in this place? When another monk bows to you, you must know to decline!"

Tich Sa's face flushed red, his eyes flashing: "Are you scolding me? Do you look down on me?" He jumped to his feet and waddled away toward the Buddha, crying as he ran: "Blessed One, they scolded me! They insulted me! They made me suffer!"

The Buddha looked at his cousin, his voice filled with compassion: "What is the matter?"

"They said that since I am newly ordained, I cannot sit here!" Tich Sa sobbed.

The Buddha nodded: "They are right. You are at fault. You must apologize to them."

But Tich Sa refused: "They scolded me and insulted me like that—how can I not be angry?"

The Buddha sighed. He knew his cousin's temperament well. Tich Sa had come from royalty, ordained only in his fifties, but his arrogance had not been abandoned. He always relied on being the Buddha's cousin, preferred sitting in the highest seat, and when offended, he would harbor resentment without end.

The elder monks looked at each other, and one said: "Blessed One, why is Tich Sa so stubborn and stiff-necked to such an unusual degree?"

The Buddha smiled: "It is not only in this life. In a past life, he was just as stubborn and stiff-necked." And he told a story from the past.

Long ago, in a certain city, an ascetic named Devala arrived in a town at dusk. He asked the people: "Dear friends, when wandering ascetics come here at night, where do they usually find shelter?" The people directed him to the house of a kind potter. Devala went, met the potter, and said: "Dear friend, I am an ascetic from afar, may I stay the night?" The potter cheerfully replied: "Yes, of course. Please come in."

Just as Devala was settling his resting place, another ascetic named Narada also came seeking lodging. The potter went to ask Devala: "Venerable sir, another ascetic wishes to stay. Do you agree?" Devala replied joyfully: "Yes, that is fine."

Late that night, after Narada finished meditating, he went outside to practice walking meditation. The air was hot, and Devala lay down in the doorway to sleep, hoping for a breeze. It was pitch dark, with no lamps. Narada stepped out carefully and accidentally stepped on Devala's head. Devala yelled: "Heavens! Why did you step on my head?" Narada quickly apologized: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Please forgive me, brother. It was too dark; I had no idea you were lying right in the doorway."

But Devala's anger would not cool. He deliberately turned his head to lie elsewhere, and when Narada came back in, he again stepped on Devala's neck. Devala shouted: "You are wicked! You harmed me! You killed me!" Narada was surprised: "Why did you turn your head?" But Devala insisted: "You did it on purpose! You tried to kill me!"

Throughout the entire night, Devala created a uproar. He stood arguing, refusing to accept the apology. Neighbors lit lamps and came running to see what was happening. The potter was distressed, not knowing what to do. Only at dawn did the matter finally settle.

The Buddha concluded: "The one who, in the past, deliberately placed his head to be stepped on so he could blame another, is Tich Sa today. That habit has not yet been abandoned."

Then the Buddha recited this verse:

"He insulted me, he struck me, he defeated me, he robbed me. Whoever holds to such thoughts, their hatred will never cease. He insulted me, he struck me, he defeated me, he robbed me. Whoever does not hold to such thoughts, their hatred will naturally cease."

Tich Sa sat in silence, tears rolling down his face. He understood that his own arrogance and resentment had been causing his suffering. From that day on, he practiced letting go, no longer allowing his mind to be shaken by minor offenses. Gradually, he became calm and was respected by all.

**Meaning of the Story**

The story teaches us that when we are offended, if we keep holding onto thoughts of hatred and resentment, it will never fade. Only when we let go, when we stop remembering, does the resentment naturally dissolve. The Buddha advises us to practice letting go, allowing our heart and mind to grow, so they are not disturbed by trivial matters.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.