The Crack of Jealousy

The story of a disciple of Venerable Mahakasyapa who, out of jealousy toward his fellow practitioner, broke the precepts, destroyed property, and returned to lay life, leading to a tragic and painful end.

The late afternoon sun cast pale streaks of gold upon the dry earth of the monastery grounds. In that stillness, the wind rustling through the leaves created a soft murmur, like an invisible sigh. Venerable Mahakasyapa, foremost in ascetic practice, endowed with transcendent wisdom and pure virtue, sat in meditative concentration beneath an ancient tree. Beside him stood two disciples: one silent and serene in clean robes; the other with bloodshot eyes, jaw clenched, his trembling hand gripping the handle of a bamboo broom.

This scene did not arise without cause. For a long time, in the heart of the second disciple—let us call him Anan (a fictional name for distinction, as the scriptures mention various monks)—a thick layer of dust called jealousy had accumulated. While his fellow practitioner was always praised by the teacher for his diligence and obedience, and was entrusted with important tasks such as welcoming lay devotees or caring for precious items, he felt abandoned. Each time he saw his friend favored, a small flame would flare up inside him, burning away his reason. He began to compare and calculate: "Why is it that we are both disciples, both ordained, yet the teacher shows favoritism? Why is everything I do wrong, while everything he does is right?"

This inner turmoil reached its peak one morning. When the teacher scolded him for failing to complete his sweeping duties, instead of repentance, he blamed the injustice. "The teacher is not fair!" he thought bitterly, tears of anger streaming down his darkened cheeks. Then one day, when the Sangha went out on alms rounds, Venerable Kasyapa decided not to let him come along, fearing that his rough manners and lack of deportment would damage the reputation of the Sangha. The feeling of exclusion made his ego swell into something distorted.

Instead of remaining in quiet practice, he secretly left the monastery. Claiming to represent his teacher Kasyapa, he wandered from village to village, speaking sweet words with the sole purpose of begging for food. "I am a disciple of Venerable Kasyapa; please make offerings of food," he proclaimed, then leisurely enjoyed an abundance of delicacies until he was full. This act was a serious violation of the monastic precepts, which stipulate that receiving offerings must arise from the spontaneous generosity of the donor, and that a monk must never solicit, pressure, or persuade others to give.

When word spread, Venerable Kasyapa summoned him. The air in the room grew heavy and stifling. The Venerable looked straight into his disciple's eyes, his voice gentle yet firm:

"My child, why have you done this? The law of the Buddha teaches clearly that a monk must not use words to beg for material things. You have used your teacher's name to deceive the trust of others. That is the conduct of a thief of the Dharma."

The disciple bowed his head, but there was no remorse in his heart—only surging resentment. He muttered, trying to justify himself:

"I only wanted to help people know about you, Teacher. You are too strict; you never understand my suffering."

Venerable Kasyapa shook his head, his eyes revealing a deep sadness. He explained that the discipline of the precepts is like a suit of armor protecting one's virtue, helping practitioners overcome greed, hatred and delusion. But to a heart full of thorns, such teachings were merely wind passing by the ear.

The turning point came shortly after. While Venerable Kasyapa was busy preparing for a long journey, the disciple stood before his teacher's simple hut. Looking at the alms bowls and humble belongings, memories of being scolded and criticized came flooding back like a torrent. His rage exploded violently. He picked up a large piece of wood, let out a piercing scream, and smashed everything within reach. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood echoed across the whole area. After the destruction, he threw away his robes and bowl, turned his back, and chose the path of returning to lay life in search of worldly happiness.

He believed that once back in the world, with his healthy appearance and the little knowledge he had learned, he would easily find a beautiful wife, live in wealth, and enjoy the comfortable life he had always dreamed of. And indeed, the force of karma led him to a beautiful woman of noble standing. In the early days, they were immersed in the sweetness of love. The girl promised to love him forever, though mountains crumble and rivers run dry. He smiled smugly and told himself: "See? Practice is nothing but hardship. This is what real happiness is."

But life never goes smoothly for those lacking blessings from merit. Just one week later, his wife's attitude began to change. An inexplicable feeling of aversion suddenly took hold of her mind. She could not understand why, but every time she saw her husband, she only wanted to yell at him and drive him away. Sweet words turned to venom. "Get out of my house! I cannot stand the sight of you anymore!" she screamed. The man panicked and tried to hold on, but the harder he tried, the greater the disgust in his wife's eyes grew. He realized that the happiness he thought he held in his hands was only an illusion, a trap of karmic retribution.

In the end, in utter loneliness and anguish, he died young. Because of his disrespect toward an Arhat and his breaking of the precepts, his soul fell into hell, enduring terrible punishments. The story closes with the sighs of those who witnessed it, leaving behind a costly lesson about the destructive power of jealousy and moral ignorance.

The Meaning of the Story

This story illustrates the Buddha's teaching in the Dhammapada: "If one cannot find a companion better or equal to oneself, it is better to walk alone than to keep company with a fool." Here, a "fool" is not someone of low intelligence, but someone lacking in virtue, without a sense of shame, who cannot see their own faults. The disciple of Venerable Kasyapa is a classic example of the fifth type of person: one who does not recognize their own mistakes, refuses to listen when others point them out, and even resents those who offer guidance. The core lesson is this: worldly wisdom (degrees and knowledge) can never replace virtue. A person of virtue is one who knows how to "see their own faults," for only then can they correct themselves and progress. If you cannot find a good companion to practice with, it is better to live independently and preserve your precepts than to associate with the wicked, for they will drag you down into the abyss of suffering (dukkha) and downfall.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang