Prevod

Long ago, there was a man who made his living keeping hawks. Once, while pursuing a hawk that had escaped, he followed its flight far into the mountains and discovered a hawk’s nest in a tall tree on one side of a ravine. Delighted at having found such a treasure, he went home. Later, when he thought the young must be ready to take from the nest, he returned. Deep in those remote mountains, above a ravine whose bottom lay beyond sight, stood an immensely tall nettle tree, its branches spreading out over the gulf. In a fork of the branches, the hawks had made their nest and hatched their young. Seeing what splendid hawks wheeled about the nest, the man thought their offspring must be fine birds too, and began to climb, heedless of everything else. At last, just as he was about to reach the nest, the branch beneath his feet broke, and he fell into the ravine. He landed among the branches of a tree growing out from the cliff and managed to catch hold of one. Scarcely feeling himself alive, he could see no way to escape. Below him the ravine plunged to an unfathomable depth; above him the cliff rose far out of reach. There was nowhere he could climb. His attendants, seeing him fall into the ravine, were certain he must be dead. Still, they wanted to see what had become of him, and so they crept to the edge. Terrified, they strained forward on tiptoe and peered down as best they could, but the dense foliage hid everything beneath it, and in that bottomless gulf there was no hope of seeing him. Dizzy and sick with grief, they could not bear to look for more than a moment. There was nothing they could do, nor could they remain there forever, so they all returned to his house and told what had happened. His wife and children wept in anguish, but their tears were of no avail. They wished to go and look for him, even if they could not find him, but they had no idea of the way. “Even if you went,” the attendants told them, “he is at the bottom of a ravine so deep that no one can see its floor. We leaned over and searched every way we could, but there was no sign of him.” The others agreed that this must indeed be so, and in the end no one went. Meanwhile, helpless in the ravine, the man had seated himself on the edge of a rocky projection no wider than a serving tray. Clutching a branch, he dared not shift his body in the slightest. If he moved so much as a little, he would tumble into the gulf. There was absolutely nothing he could do. Though he earned his living as a hawk keeper, he had read and revered the Kannon Sutra since childhood. Now, with his whole heart fixed on the plea, “Save me,” he entrusted himself utterly to Kannon and recited the sutra over and over, day and night, more times than he could count. As he was reciting the passage, “His vast vows are deep as the sea,” he thought he heard something rustling up from the depths of the ravine. Wondering what it could be, he cautiously looked and saw an enormous snake. It appeared to be some twenty feet long and came crawling straight toward him. “This snake is going to devour me,” he thought. “What a miserable end! I prayed to Kannon to save me, and now what has happened?” He sat rigid, mastering his terror. But the snake came straight on and passed by his knees without making the least attempt to swallow him. It seemed intent only on climbing up out of the ravine. Then a thought came to him: “What shall I do? If I cling to it, surely I can get out.” Gently drawing the knife at his waist, he thrust it into the snake’s back and held on to it. The snake dragged him along as it went, steadily climbing from the ravine to the top of the cliff. Once there, the man let go and moved clear. He tried to recover his knife, but he had driven it in so firmly that he could not pull it free. It was wrenched from his grasp, and the snake glided away with the knife still lodged in its back, disappearing into the ravine on the other side. Overjoyed, the man tried to hurry home. But for two or three days he had scarcely moved and had eaten nothing. He was wasted to a shadow, and only by dragging himself painfully along did he at last reach his house. His family, having resigned themselves to his death, were arranging sutra readings and Buddhist rites for the repose of his soul. When he came staggering in so unexpectedly, their astonishment, tears, and cries knew no bounds. He told them everything that had happened. “It was through Kannon’s help that I survived,” he said, weeping as he recounted the wonder of it all. After taking some food, he rested for the night. Early the next morning he rose, washed his hands, and opened the sutra he always recited. There, piercing the words “His vast vows are deep as the sea,” was the knife he had thrust into the snake’s back in the ravine. To say that he was astonished at the sight would be far too little. “This very sutra changed into a snake and came to save me!” he thought, and his awe, gratitude, and reverence were beyond all bounds. The people of the neighborhood heard what had happened and came to see, marveling at it. It hardly needs saying now, but those who place their trust in Kannon cannot fail to receive a sign of his grace.