Prevod

Long ago, in the reign of the Emperor of the Engi era, there stood near the Tenjin shrine on Fifth Avenue a great persimmon tree that bore no fruit. A Buddha appeared in its branches, and people from all over the capital flocked to see it. There was scarcely room for the horses and carriages to stand, and no holding back the crowds, who worshipped with a great clamour. After this had gone on for five or six days, the Minister of the Right grew suspicious. “Surely no true Buddha would appear in this latter age of the Law. I shall go and put it to the test,” he thought. Dressed in full court attire, he rode out in a palm-thatched carriage, with a large retinue before and behind him. He had the assembled crowds cleared away, his carriage unhitched and its shafts set on a stand, and remained there for some two hours, staring into the treetop without blinking or once looking aside. For a while the Buddha continued to shower flowers and give forth light, but at last, unable to endure that relentless gaze any longer, it turned into a great black kite and fell to the ground with its wings broken. As it struggled and floundered, some boys gathered round and beat it to death. “Just as I thought,” said the minister, and went home. The people of the time loudly praised him as a man of extraordinary wisdom.