The Boy Who Spoke to Animals

This is a record of an interview with the Venerable Pu Xia, who sought Chao Du at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Dharma-Nature Land. This account reflects upon his life approximately 203 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on April 22, 2019.

Venerable Pu Xia speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Pu Xia. Looking back at my life two centuries ago, it feels like a dream, yet the lessons of compassion remain as vivid as ever. Even as a young child, I was always full of energy, constantly moving, never able to sit still for even a moment. My mother would often be working in our vegetable garden, and I would be darting around her, full of restless spirit.

A Child of Boundless Energy

I remember her shouting at me, 'Stop running! You are going to trample all my vegetables into the dirt!' I would be panting, breathless from my play, and I would call back to her, 'Just let me run one more lap, Mother!' My parents had originally hoped for a large family, but after I was born, they changed their minds. My mother once told my father, 'That is enough! One Pu Xia is quite enough. I cannot imagine having five or six of him running around; it would be a living nightmare!' My father could only agree. Feeding me was an ordeal in itself; he would have to chase me through the garden with a bowl of rice in his hand. Once, he tripped over a stone while chasing me and ended up with his face covered in rice and mud. My mother laughed until tears streamed down her face. It was a simple, chaotic, and joyful time.

Hidden Talents and Unexpected Praise

The neighbours, however, were not so kind. They loved to gossip, and my restless nature was a frequent topic of their idle chatter. 'I hear that kind of child is impossible to manage,' the neighbour, Auntie Wang, would say. 'He can never sit still. How will he ever study? He will certainly never amount to anything!' Auntie Fang would chime in, 'Indeed! I don't see how Pu Xia could ever have a future. He cannot sit still for even a quarter of an hour; what could he possibly achieve?' My mother would hear these things and look at me as I played, wondering if they were right. 'Pu Xia may be restless,' she would think, 'but he is so innocent and kind. Is he really as useless as they say?'

Everything changed when our relatives came to visit. They were astonished by how clean our home was and how well-tended the garden appeared. 'You are truly diligent,' they told my mother. 'How do you manage to keep the house spotless while working in the garden all day? We can barely manage with our own children.' My mother smiled and shook her head. 'It is not me,' she explained. 'I come home from the garden covered in mud, and it is Pu Xia who takes the broom and cleans everything. He often tidies the entire house while I am out working.' Everyone was amazed. My aunt exclaimed, 'To think that a six-year-old child has such skill! He cleans better than most adults!' They were even more surprised to see the climbing frames I had built for the vines. 'Who built these?' they asked. 'Pu Xia did,' my mother replied. 'It is something he enjoys, and when he likes a task, he does it with such patience and care—better than any of us.' When they smelled the delicious aroma of dinner, they were shocked to learn that I had cooked it, standing on a stool because I was too short to reach the stove. It was then that my mother realised I was not a 'useless' child, but a remarkably capable one.

The Language of Living Beings

The other children in the neighbourhood were all around six or seven years old, and their parents were busy sending them to private schools to study, hoping they would one day become high-ranking officials. My mother, however, struggled to afford such things. One day, while she was sitting in the courtyard, lost in thought about how to provide for my education, I called out to her, 'Mother! Come quickly and look!' I had brought home a collection of pigs, chickens, and ducks. My mother was horrified. 'Whose animals are these? Why have you brought them here?' she demanded. I told her, 'The pigs belong to Uncle Wang, the chickens to Granny Li, and I am not sure about the ducks—I found them wandering by the roadside, so I brought them all home!'

My mother was frantic and ordered me to return them immediately. But I told her, 'These animals told me they do not want to go back.' My mother stared at me in disbelief. 'Nonsense! How could they speak to you? If you do not return them, their owners will come to take you away!' I looked at the animals and explained to her, 'They came with me because they know they will not survive the next few days. Uncle Wang has already sharpened his knife to sacrifice the pigs, and Granny Li is preparing to sell the chickens at the market. As for the ducks, they escaped when their owner left the gate open. They are not foolish; they know that staying home is just waiting to be slaughtered.' My mother argued that animals were meant to be eaten, but I insisted, 'No! We are the ones who want to eat them; they never said they wanted to be eaten. We are just acting on our own whims.' My mother, frustrated and unable to reason with me, grabbed a heavy wooden stick to discipline me, but the sight of the stick and the sound of her shouting terrified the animals, causing them to scatter in a panic. I had to chase after them, and my mother, fearing the consequences, helped me. It was only when I calmed down and communicated with them, promising them safety in our home, that they stopped running. Eventually, after much pleading and a demonstration of how they followed my every move, the owners agreed to sell them to us at a low price. I was overjoyed, and the animals were filled with gratitude, having successfully escaped their fate."

Pu Xia kept these animals in the courtyard, enclosing them with a simple fence, and would go to speak with them every single day. Each pig, chicken, and duck had its own story, and Pu Xia listened to them all. Among the nineteen animals, there were nineteen distinct tales, but one story in particular left a profound impression on Pu Xia: the story of a sow. This mother pig was quite different from the others; when she walked, or even when she ate her slop, she carried herself with a refined, elegant air. It was not that she had received any special training, but rather that her spirit possessed a unique past.

The Fallen Monk and the Weight of Emotion

In a previous life, this spirit had been a monk who used ascetic practices to temper his heart and mind. He could endure hardships that others could not, and he found great joy in his practice. However, he became too comfortable in the solitude of his own realm, forgetting that countless sentient beings were waiting for his salvation. As his skills deepened, he mistakenly believed he had truly let go of everything in the world, unaware that this was merely an illusion he had constructed to cover up his attachments. When a lay follower fell in love with him, his past life of treating suffering as his teacher vanished like smoke, leaving not even a shadow behind. He had endured the suffering of the physical body for so long that when the sweetness of love surged forward, it was like an unstoppable, raging tide. He became deeply infatuated with romantic love.

It was not until his master returned from the Tushita Heaven after listening to a sutra that the master discovered his disciple had become completely obsessed, having forgotten that he was a practitioner and forgetting his own pure nature. With a single strike of his staff, the master jolted him awake. He felt as though he had snapped out of an illusory dream, but it was already too late. All the skills he had cultivated over the years were destroyed by his entanglement in love. By the time he wanted to start over, his lifespan was nearly at its end. Filled with regret, self-reproach, and frustration, he ultimately chose to take his own life, ending decades of practice. After death, he fell into the hells to suffer retribution. Centuries later, he was reincarnated as a pig. For nearly a thousand years, he had been unable to escape the body of a pig, for every day was spent simply eating, mating, birthing litters, and continuing the cycle of mating and production.

A Warning from the Past

This sow revealed the true nature of human life to Pu Xia: if one lives in this world, one must walk the path of practice. Only by practicing and finding one's true self can one be liberated from all suffering. But if one is like him—obsessed with romantic love—then one might as well not practice at all. It would be better to simply have a passionate, grand romance, as that would not create such immense karmic sins. After all, the result would be the same: falling back into the cycle of rebirth. As the pig finished speaking, he hesitated, as if there were more to say. He gathered his courage and called out, "Master!" Pu Xia was startled, and when he heard it again, "Master!" he realized the pig was indeed addressing him as such. The pig told Pu Xia, "I am grateful for your salvation, Master. In a past life, you saved me once, allowing me to wake up from the delusions of love. Now, you have saved me again, allowing me to finally escape the suffering of this pig body. Master, you have been in this human world for a long time now. Do not forget the great vows you made in your past practice. This life is meant for helping sentient beings achieve liberation. Do not forget, Master."