The Wound That Festered and the Touch of Compassion

In a small corner of a monk’s cell at Jetavana Monastery, the air grew thick with an unfamiliar scent. It was not the pure fragrance of incense usually found in meditation halls, but the pungent, rotting smell of wounds undergoing necrosis. This odor emanated from the body of the elder Putigatta.

In his early days after ordination, Putigatta had been a healthy bhikkhu, diligent in his practice. But suddenly, terrible boils erupted across his entire body. They were not only painful but began to suppurate and breed maggots. In those times, there were no antibiotics or modern antiseptics, so the maggots swarmed over the ulcers, eating into the raw flesh. The pain prevented him from sleeping, and his soft yet persistent moans echoed through the quiet night.

At first, his fellow practitioners still patiently cared for him. They changed water, washed him, and bandaged his wounds. But as time passed, his condition became increasingly dire. Putigatta lost control of his bladder and bowels. Excrement and urine mixed with blood and pus, soaking through his bedding. The foul stench spread throughout the area, severely disrupting the daily life of the Sangha. Out of compassion, yet also out of helplessness against instinctive fear, the monks built a simple bamboo cot and moved him outside to the veranda for easier cleaning.

From then on, few paid him any attention. People would walk by, covering their noses or looking away. Loneliness and pain tormented the elder’s mind far more than his physical suffering. He lay there, curled up in his old robe, waiting for death in the oblivion of his peers.

Then one afternoon, the familiar figure of the World-Honored One appeared. He did not come with a noisy crowd but stopped before Putigatta’s bamboo cot. The Buddha’s compassionate eyes looked down upon the dying disciple, showing not a hint of disgust or hesitation.

“Putigatta,” the Buddha’s voice was warm like a cool stream in a scorching desert. “Do you need anything?”

Putigatta tried to rise, but his whole body was too weak. He could only nod slightly, his eyes clouded by pain and shame. The Buddha immediately called several other monks to assist. But what astonished everyone was that the Buddha himself performed this task.

He carefully removed Putigatta’s outer robe and washed it clean. Then, taking a cloth dipped in hot water, he personally wiped each wound, cleansing the dirtiest areas. These actions were done slowly and meticulously, like a mother bathing her young child. After washing him, the Buddha dried the robes, dressed the monk again, and continued to wash his undergarments. Everything was handled with absolute respect for the dignity of a human being about to pass away.

When the cleaning was complete, Putigatta’s body was cleaner and fresher. The Buddha sat beside him, looking directly into the monk’s gradually brightening eyes. He recited a short verse:

“Not long will this body lie here, Cast aside on the ground, Unconscious, discarded, Like a useless log.”

Just one simple verse, yet it struck at the root of attachment. In that moment, Putigatta realized that the suffering body was not “I,” nor was it eternal property. It was merely a temporary collection of matter, destined sooner or later to return to dust. His clinging to pain and to his wounded ego instantly dissolved.

A smile bloomed on the elder’s lips. He felt an unusual lightness and peace. Only minutes later, his final breath ceased. Putigatta entered nirvana in tranquility; there were no more moans, no more foul smells, only complete liberation.

The surrounding monks stood silent, surprised and deeply moved. They asked the Buddha about this strange connection. The Buddha explained that in a previous life, Putigatta had been a cruel bird hunter. To keep the birds alive longer for higher prices, he broke their wings and legs. The karmic retribution of that ruthless killing ripened in this life as necrotic wounds. However, in that same life, he had made offerings to a Pratyekabuddha and vowed to attain enlightenment like him. That wholesome root had silently nourished him through many lifetimes until he met Shakyamuni Buddha. Both good and bad karma ripened simultaneously: the bad karma was exhausted through a painful death, and the good karma bore fruit through enlightenment.

The Meaning of the Story

This story teaches us about the profound law of cause and effect (karmic law): nothing is ever lost, and every action leaves its mark. At the same time, it emphasizes the importance of compassion and respect for human dignity, even in moments of weakness and filth. Contemplating impermanence (anicca) is the key to letting go of attachment, leading to liberation.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang