WEALTH’S OPPRESSION

In early times a merchant named Drashi lived in a semi-nomadic area. His horses, cattle and sheep covered the mountains and valleys. His agricultural fields were bigger than the grasslands, his male and female servants more numerous than the stars at night, and his nine-story house would put to shame the splendor and beauty of the naga-king’s palace. His desires were like a bottomless pit; he was dissatisfied with what he had, and his greedy thoughts—that if he could obtain whatever riches there were on earth for himself, how nice it would be to get them all—stirred his guts.

Thinking day and night about getting riches for himself—his body had spare time but not his mind; he thought so much about it, he did not even want to eat delicious candy every day, nor could he sleep night after night. He got worse and worse, and finally he got thinner and thinner and looked like a monkey.

At that time there was a mill near his home, and the miller, a servant girl, had just turned eighteen or nineteen. Even though she ground dzamba all day long, with no time even to squat on the ground, she hoped for three tea breaks and a little bit of dzamba. Even so, she had nothing else to think about, but she was always singing a song. Every time the merchant went to the roof of his house—his body being used to it but not his mind, he had no time except to reckon his daily expenses and profits; but he heard the servant girl’s happy sounds of laughter and her pleasant melodies one after the other.

One day the merchant thought, “Even though I my wealth rivals Vaishravana’s, what I’ve got now is mental suffering and nothing more. Even though the servant girl doesn’t have as much as a needle and thread, she just sings songs; how come? Why is she so happy and joyful? I have to go and clear up my doubts.” When he looked in secret through the window, it was apparent that the shoulder and hem of the servant’s long dress were tattered and had a lot of patches. The toes of her boots were also worn out and two of her toes showed. When he saw her thin and worn out body, he thought, “She’s probably hungry every day too. So why does she sing happy songs, even though she’s penniless?” The merchant thought he would try an experiment.

For two days he took some pieces of silver, and, when the servant went out the door, he left them in the mill where she would see them. He went out and watched. The servant came singing, and, as soon as she saw the silver, she looked this way and that. Seeing no one, she quickly put the silver into the fold of her robe.

From that day on, whenever she was milling, going on the road, sleeping at night or eating, she thought only about what price she could get if she sold the silver or buy something with it. Other than from her, from where could he hear singing? Then, as if merchant Drashi were waking up, he said, “Oh, in this world the cause of being unhappy in body and mind are evil intentions.”

—Skya res Klu phyugs, Qinghai Folk Literature, 3, 1996