The monk who sat in the middle and the unending resentment.

The breeze of the late afternoon swept through the old trees in the monastery garden, carrying the faint scent of fallen flowers. The fading sunlight left long, mottled shadows on the stone floor. As the assembly sat in meeting, a plump man with rosy skin quietly made his way forward and seated himself majestically right in the center, before the Buddha. A murmur passed among the younger monks, rustling like dry leaves, but then it settled, thanks to their inherent gentleness.

"Leave him be. He is a relative of the Buddha's, after all. Let's just stay quiet for peace's sake."

This was Tissa, of royal blood, who had only taken refuge and ordained in his fifties. Believing himself to be the Buddha's own brother, he assumed he had the right to be presumptuous. According to the code, a newly ordained monk should respect those ordained before him, regardless of age, but Tissa did not let this concern him. A self-satisfied smile often graced his lips whenever others paid him respect, as if their reverence were a reward for his noble lineage rather than his spiritual conduct.

One afternoon, after years of traveling far to teach the Dharma, two senior monks wearily returned. Their feet were caked with road dust, and their robes were weathered by sun and wind. Upon entering, they saw a dignified-looking figure seated firmly in the midst of the assembly. Unaware he was newly ordained, they respectfully bowed and, following ancient custom, brought water to wash his feet. Their hands trembled slightly with admiration for the senior venerable, but when they inquired further, the bare truth shattered the illusion.

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

"I have only been ordained for two or three months."

The faces of the other monks flushed with irritation. They set down the water basin with a clatter. One of them adjusted his robe and spoke in a stern voice:

"If you have been ordained so recently, you must not sit here. When another monk bows to you, you should decline respectfully, not accept it so rudely!"

Tissa jumped up, his large frame stumbling back. His eyes glistened with tears as he stammered, filled with resentment:

"You scold me? You look down on me? I'm going to tell the Buddha!"

He turned and stormed away, his feet stamping heavily on the stone floor, seeking out the Buddha. His chest heaved, and tears rolled down his round cheeks.

"Revered World-Honored One, they scolded me, they cursed me, they made me suffer!"

The Buddha sat in silence, his gaze compassionate yet clear. He asked about the situation and then spoke gently:

"They are right. You are at fault, and you must apologize."

Tissa shook his head, his hands clutching the hem of his robe tightly, his voice choked with sobs:

"Better to speak properly than to scold people like that! I can't bear it! They scold me, so I get angry, I can't accept it!"

He shuffled back to his room, his steps as heavy as stones. The monks who witnessed this then inquired:

"Revered World-Honored One, why is Tissa so stubborn and hard-headed?"

The Buddha sighed softly and recounted that in a past life, Tissa had already possessed this trait: he liked to make others' insults a reason for blame. Long ago, in a town, the ascetic Devala sought shelter for the night at a potter's house. Not long after, the ascetic Narada also arrived. The host asked:

"Venerable sir, another monk arrived earlier and asked to stay. If he agrees, I would be happy to invite you as well."

Devala nodded cheerfully. When night fell, after sitting in meditation, Narada came out to walk mindfully. Devala, however, lay down right in the doorway to enjoy the breeze. It was pitch black, and as Narada stepped out carefully, he accidentally stepped on Devala's head.

"Oh heavens! Why did you step on my head? Forgive me, I didn't see, please forgive me!"

Narada stepped back inside, but Devala deliberately lay directly in the path again, causing Narada to step on his neck as he turned.

"Oh heavens! You are so cruel! You hurt me, you killed me!"

Devala continued his reproach all night, refusing to listen to any explanation, disturbing the entire household and neighbors. Later, the Buddha pointed out that the one who deliberately made others step on him to have a reason for conflict was Tissa of today, and that this habit had not yet been abandoned.

Hearing this, Tissa in his room seemed to go still, realizing he was no different from Devala of the past. He sat hugging his knees, gazing at the last rays of sunlight fading on the wall. His heart ached not from anger, but from shame. For the first time, he saw that his pride was only a fragile shell.

The next morning, Tissa adjusted his robes and stepped out among the monks. He approached those who had rebuked him, bowed his head, and said:

"I was at fault. Please forgive me. From now on, I will sit in the very last place."

As time passed, his imposing figure was no longer seen in the center of the assembly. He became humble and patient, and the resentment of the past melted away like morning dew. Peaceful life resumed, and the laughter of the young monks rang out again when they saw him tiptoeing to his place at the back.

The meaning of the story:

When others offend us, if we hold onto that offense, hatred will never cease. But if we do not embrace it, do not remember and cling to the insults or harm, then hatred naturally fades away. Do not let pride and the habit of blaming others disturb your life.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang.