Pīṭha Jātaka

The Pitha Jataka of the Pali Canon, recorded in the Jataka commentary (cited by scholars as J.iii (118), meaning volume 3, page 118), tells how in Savatthi, a monk arrived from the countryside to take up residence at Jetavana. Soon after settling in, he went out to beg alms, resolving to call at the homes of two of the Buddha's most devoted lay patrons, the householder Anathapindika and the laywoman Visakha. But he reached Anathapindika's house too early, before the household had risen to receive guests, and Visakha's house too late, after the family had already gone about its day.

Receiving nothing from either house, he returned to the monastery resentful, and began telling the other monks that these two famed benefactors lacked faith and generosity. When this reached the Buddha, he summoned the monk and corrected him gently, explaining that Anathapindika and Visakha were among the most faithful and open-handed of all his followers. The fault lay in the monk's own ill-chosen hours, not in their want of devotion.

To show how even the wise of former times met such a disappointment, the Buddha told this story of the past. Long ago, when Brahmadatta ruled in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born into a brahmin family. After his studies at Takkasila, he renounced the household life while still young, withdrew to the Himalayas, and there attained the jhanas, living for many years in the peace of the forest.

In time, needing salt and vinegar, which the wilderness could not provide, he came down to Benares and lodged in the king's pleasure garden. One morning he entered the city for alms and came to the house of a merchant known throughout Benares for his faith and generosity.

The merchant himself was away at that very hour, having gone to pay his respects to the king. In his absence, no one in the household thought to attend to the silent visitor at the door. Receiving nothing, the ascetic simply turned and walked on, without the least trace of grievance at what had happened.

As the Bodhisatta made his way back toward the park, the merchant, now returning from the palace, caught sight of him and understood at once what must have happened in his absence. Mortified that a holy guest should have stood unattended at his own threshold, he hurried after the ascetic, bowed before him, and begged him to return.

He had a seat brought out, water fetched to wash the Bodhisatta's feet, and food set before him, and spoke this verse of apology:

"Alas, we offered you no seat, no water brought, nor anything to eat: we here confess our fault, and humbly, Holy Sir, your pardon do entreat."

The Bodhisatta answered with perfect composure:

"Nought have I to condone, no anger do I feel; the thought just once did cross my mind that the ways of folk here seemed a trifle strange."

Reassured, the merchant explained that it had ever been his family's custom never to let a visitor depart without a seat, water, and food, and that what the ascetic had met was an accident of his own absence, not a failure of will.

The Bodhisatta taught the merchant further on this household duty of hospitality, then returned once more to his beloved Himalayas. He carried no resentment forward from the single morning when the household's usual care had simply not reached him in time.

Having finished the story, the Buddha revealed who its characters had been: Ananda was the merchant of Benares, and the Buddha himself had been the ascetic. Hearing this, the resentful monk understood his error, released his grudge against Anathapindika and Visakha, and was established in the fruit of the First Path.

What this story offered the grudge-holding monk was never a technique for timing his alms rounds more precisely. It was a demonstration of how a single missed meal, met without resentment, cost the ascetic nothing at all, while the very same disappointment, nursed into a grudge, had already cost the monk his own peace of mind and his fair judgment of two devoted patrons. The household's lapse and the monk's experience were, in the end, exactly the same kind of accident; only the response to it differed, and that difference was the entire lesson.