Pearl

NCE UPON A TIME, about two thousand years ago, Emperor Wu of the Early Han Dynasty ruled China.

Emperor Wu was a wise and good monarch. His empire was vast and bountiful. And during his reign paper, ink and the camel's-hair writing brush were the great inventions of the day.

Knowledge was very important to Emperor Wu. So also were art and nature's beauty. His palaces and cities had splendid parks decorated with chrysanthemums and lilies. Cherry trees, plum trees and willow trees abounded as well. Yet, as unbelievable as it may seem, not a one of the emperor's parks and gardens, at any of his many palaces, had a lagoon, a lake or even a small pond. At long last the Emperor decided it was time to have one made.

The Imperial Palace at Chang'an boasted the most splendid of the Emperor's gardens. So it was there on the grounds of Chang'an, near Willow Walk where the sweet, snowy blossoms of the jasmine mingled gloriously with lavender wisteria, that Emperor Wu had his private pond made. He called it K'un-Ming Pond.

One evening in early spring several years after the pond had been completed the Emperor sat and gazed at the moon's reflection as it danced upon the surface of the water. He was quite still, his breathing slow, and how quiet his thoughts had become. Truly he was at peace.

Suddenly the reflection of the moon disintegrated and fell apart. Noisy sloshing filled the air. Emperor Wu sat to attention. The peace filled moment now dispelled. To the left, to the right he turned his head, looking all around. What was that sound? Where did it come from? The water rippled wildly like a sudden storm upon the sea, but only a breeze gently stirred the air. The sloshing and splashing was violent. The water more aggravated, yet there was nothing in the water . Listening more intently the Emperor followed the sound first with his eyes, then walked hurriedly to the farthest edge of the pond. A golden carp, the great golden carp that ruled the sea life in K'un Ming writhed fitfully near the pond's bank.

"What is wrong there?" called out the Emperor as he hurried to the fish's aid. "What is wrong?" he asked again as he reached into the chilly water to rescue it. The carp was weak and pale and quivering. The rounded neck of a brass hook hung out of his gill, the sharp point was lodged deep in his throat. Blood in a steady rhythm beat upon the water's surface.

The fish's tail flailed back and forth.

"Shhh, let us see what we can do," whispered Emperor Wu in comforting tones.

The hook he removed gently trying not to tear any more skin. Tenderly he massaged the wound closed, and gathered up leaves and mud and applied it over the wound.

"Shhhhh, it will be alright little friend. Shhh, it will be alright," he said, petting the fish, trying to calm him down and ease his tensions.

Really for not more than a few minutes did he keep the fish out of water. When he was satisfied that the wound would not reopen the Empeor placed the fish in the water and let him go. He waved his hands away from himself in a gesture of shooing to encourage the great old carp to swim away.

"Good health and long life," he called out, and bid the fish farewell.

The fish was weak and out of sorts for many weeks. Still, as unusual as it may seem, he was a thoughtful fish and could not stop thinking about Emperor Wu. There was one question that he pondered night and day: How and when can I repay the Emperor for saving my life?

Days passed on. Weeks gave way to months. After two months had passed, the golden carp finally regained his strength. Once again he was the lord of K'un-Ming Pond. By early summer the great golden carp was robust and in brilliant color. Now fully recovered he returned to his rightful place in the center of the pond. Day to day he observed the emperor's comings and goings. At the same time every evening he noticed Emperor Wu take his honored seat under the ancient weeping willow to watch the reflection of the moon wax and wane on the surface of K'un-Ming.

When the moon is full, thought the carp to himself, I will repay my debt of gratitude to the Emperor. By then my gift will have reached maturity.

Twelve days later, on the evening of the full moon, the carp waited upon his throne in the center of the pond. At hand was the hour that the Emperor usually arrived. The golden carp quivered with excitement.

Emperor Wu, however, was no where in sight. His bench sat empty.

An hour passed. Still the Emperor did not appear. Another hour passed, and another. Still, no emperor. The excitement of the fish was by now long gone. After hours and hours of waiting his head drooped in disappointment. His eyes were heavy and laden with sleep. He shook his head to fight it off, and to keep his eyes open he stared intensely at the royal seat on the shore. But it was no use. He blinked once... twice...now thrice more. Finally his eyes stayed closed. Sleep overcame him.

Moments later sparks began to fly. Something electric charged the air. The water sizzled. Abruptly the carp woke up from the shock. It was now the middle of the night, between the hours of the Ox and Tiger. A time when anything becomes possible and all Buddhas attain enlightenment. There, dignifying his place of honor sat Emperor Wu dressed in full regalia.

Excitement rushed through the carp. All of a sudden he did not know whether he was coming or going. Around and around he swam, making circles like a dog chasing its tail. Collecting himself, trying to pull it together he swam, albeit very nervously, zigging and zagging, to greet the Emperor of China. At a point in front of the Emperor, as near to the shore as he could get, the carp lifted his golden head above the water and opened his mouth. Glistening on his tongue with absolute perfection was a wondrously candescent pearl the size of a cat's eye.

"Yourrr Maajesty," uttered the carp in his gurgling voice, "I am deeeeply grrrateful to youuu forrr saaving my liife. Plleease aaccept thiis aas a toooken of my grraatituude." Thereupon the fish most graciously presented the exquisite pearl to the Emperor.

Alas, there are some people in the world who will question the value of a single pearl to the Emperor of China. The Emperor of China, whom, after all, had an extensive and bountiful empire. The wise and thoughtful Emperor Wu was not one of those people. He knew, as so few us do, that the pearl represents perfect happiness that exists only within the human heart.

Clapping his hands in surprise and elation he said, "All the riches of ten worlds cannot buy such happiness." And he thanked the fish from the bottom of his heart.

THE LESSON:

In "The Opening of the Eyes," Nichiren Daishonin summarizes this tale to illustrate that if even a lowly creature such as a fish understands that he must repay his obligations, then so should we human beings understand our obligation to repay the debt of gratitude we owe to the Buddha, the Law and the priests, to our parents and siblings, to our nation and to all living beings. The heavenly beings, sages and saints, as well, must repay their debt of gratitude to the keepers of the Law who are those people who embrace the Mystic Law of Namu-myoho-renge-kyo.

THE PEARL

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