Prevod

He had practiced his devotions for many years and was held in great reverence, so people from all walks of life commissioned him to offer prayers of every kind. These brought him ample means, and neither the temple hall nor the monks’ quarters showed the least sign of disrepair. Offerings of food and votive lights were never lacking before the Buddha, and meals for the monks and lectures on the scriptures were held so frequently that the living quarters throughout the temple were full, and the place flourished. Not a day passed without hot water being prepared in the bathhouse, where the monks bathed amid a great bustle. Many small houses sprang up nearby, and the village flourished too. Now this chaplain had a long nose. It measured five or six inches and hung below his chin. Reddish purple in color, it was swollen and covered with bumps like the rind of a large orange, and it itched unbearably. He would bring water to the boil in a kettle and cut a hole in a wooden tray just large enough to put his nose through. Shielding his face from the flames with the tray, he would thrust his nose through the hole and into the hot water in the kettle. When he had boiled it thoroughly and drawn it out, it was a deep purple. Then he would lie on his side, prop something beneath his nose, and have someone tread on it. Something like smoke would rise from each of the pores in its bumpy surface. When it was trodden on hard, white worms would poke out of the pores; these were pulled out with tweezers, a white worm nearly half an inch long from every hole. Afterward, the holes stood visibly open. He would then put his nose back into the same hot water and boil it once more. When he drew it out, it had shriveled and become as small as an ordinary person’s nose. But after two or three days it would swell again and grow as large as before. This happened over and over, and since his nose was swollen more often than not, whenever he ate he had one of his monk disciples sit facing him and hold it up. The disciple would slip beneath it a flat board about a foot long and an inch wide and keep it raised until the meal was finished. Whenever he had anyone else hold it, they did it so badly that he lost his temper and refused to eat. He therefore assigned the task to this one monk, who held up his nose at every meal. Once, however, the monk was unwell and had gone away, and when the chaplain was about to eat his morning gruel, there was no one to hold up his nose. As they were wondering what to do, a boy in his service said, “I can hold it up perfectly well. I certainly won’t do any worse than that monk.” One of the disciples heard him and reported what he had said. Since the boy was fairly well grown and presentable in appearance, they summoned him into the chaplain’s room. He took the nose-lifting board, seated himself properly opposite the chaplain, and held the nose at just the right height, neither too high nor too low, while the chaplain sipped his gruel. “You are wonderfully good at this,” said the chaplain. “Better than the usual monk.” But as he went on sipping, the boy felt a sneeze coming and turned his face aside. When he sneezed, his hand shook, the nose-lifting board slipped, and the nose fell off it and plopped into the gruel. Gruel splashed over both the chaplain’s face and the boy’s, spattering them all over. The chaplain flew into a rage. Wiping the gruel from his head and face with paper, he cried, “You wretch! What a wicked disposition you have! It is creatures like you they mean when they speak of witless beggars. Suppose you were attending to the nose of some distinguished person rather than mine—would you behave like this then? You miserable, senseless fool! Get out! Get out!” Driven to his feet, the boy retorted as he rose, “If there were anyone else in the world with a nose like yours, I might indeed go and hold it up for him. What foolish things Your Reverence says!” At this, the disciples slipped away behind things and laughed.