The Jailer's Revelation: From the Tenth Hall to the Pure Land

This is a record of an interview with Gu Xinming, who sought Chao Du at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life and his service as a jailer in the Tenth Hall of Hell. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on October 16, 2020.

Gu Xinming speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. Old Gu, as I was known—I never imagined that a man who lived such an ordinary, unremarkable life could ever find himself among fifty-nine other jailers, all of us together, arriving at the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. How could I be so fortunate to reach such a beautiful, blissful, and peaceful realm? It is a world without a single flaw. Every face I see here is radiant with a gentle smile, and looking at those smiles, I cannot help but smile myself. On behalf of all fifty-nine of us jailers, I wish to offer our deepest, most profound gratitude to the Buddha, to Practitioner Su, and to everyone at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre. My gratitude is beyond measure—a million times over.

A Life of Burden and Resilience

I served in the Tenth Hall of the King of Hell. Day after day, I watched as those who had finished their karmic retribution were led away to be reincarnated, each according to their own laws of karma and cause and effect. It was a sight that filled me with endless reflection. I spent one hundred and twenty years as a jailer, and in that realm, I learned that the difference between life and death is merely the span of a single breath. Every moment of that brief existence was recorded with absolute clarity in the halls of the King of Hell. Where one goes next—to which of the six realms—is truly a choice made by one's own heart and character. During the week I waited for my rebirth, I was fortunate enough to come to the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre to listen to Practitioner Su give Dharma talks. Every word was a medicine for the heart, helping to tame the untamable. Only by truly overcoming one's own nature can one ever hope to escape the cycle of samsara. The magnificence of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre lies in its ability to save one's own beings; the blessings are immense, and one must truly cherish them. I am deeply moved by the way Practitioner Su bears the suffering of all beings without ever uttering a word of complaint. I bow three times in respect to Practitioner Su, grateful that she led us sixty jailers to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. Now, I will share my own life story, hoping it may serve as a mirror for others.

I was born on a night of howling wind and torrential rain. My mother was suddenly struck by agonizing labor pains, and my father rushed to call the midwife. My mother’s cries were piercing. When the midwife finally arrived, she realized the birth was complicated. No matter how hard my mother pushed, I simply would not come out. In desperation, the midwife had to press down hard on my mother’s stomach. When I finally let out my first cry, my mother was so exhausted she simply drifted into a deep sleep. Although my voice was strong, as I grew older, I discovered that my spine would not straighten. I walked with a hunch, bent over like an old man. My parents spent what little money we had taking me to see every doctor they could find, but no one could truly help me. At best, they said my spine had been injured during the difficult birth. Hearing this, I tried to comfort my mother, telling her, 'Mother, do not worry. It is not so bad. Aside from the hunchback, I have no other pain.' My mother was heartbroken, fearing I would be mocked, but I smiled and said, 'I am not afraid.' Although some children in the street did laugh at me, calling me an old man, I eventually grew accustomed to it.

The Karmic Echo of the Past

One night in a dream, I saw a large rooster charging at me. I ran in terror, but it chased me relentlessly. Soon, a hen with her chicks joined the pursuit. I was cornered, and they began to peck at me—peck after peck, until the pain was unbearable. I woke up gasping for air, drenched in sweat. I told my mother about the dream, and she was shocked. She confessed that when I was a child, she had stewed many chickens to make nourishing soups, hoping to strengthen my bones and fix my hunchback. We never imagined the karmic debt would manifest so quickly. I told my mother that we should both adopt a vegetarian diet for a time, and she nodded in agreement.

Life was relatively stable until I turned fifteen. War broke out, and our peaceful little village was invaded. The army began rounding up young men to bolster their ranks. Every man in our village, from my age up to my father’s and uncle’s generation, was taken away. In the dead of night, without any warning, many families lost their sons, husbands, and fathers. The sound of weeping echoed from house to house, and my heart was heavy with sorrow. When the soldiers came to our door, they kicked it open, but upon seeing my hunched back, they assumed I was an old man and left me alone. It all happened so fast; I could not even react. My mother held me, sobbing for my father, and we wondered if we would ever see him again.

The Shadow of War

We had a small plot of land, and with my father gone, my mother and I worked it together. The rice and vegetables were just enough to sustain us. After all the men were taken, many families struggled to survive. In the midst of war, people did not know how to go on. I stood up and told everyone, 'In such critical times, we must support one another.' I asked everyone to contribute what they could. Some said they could plant rice, others offered eggs from their chickens, and some were skilled at chopping wood for fuel. Everyone found a way to help, even if it was just an elderly person watching a child so a mother could work. With the women of the village and me—the hunched boy—we managed to get our lives back on track.

Every day, I checked on every household to see what they needed or if they were troubled. I tried my best to resolve their worries. From being the 'old man' the children once teased, I became the young village leader. The villagers relied on me; whenever something happened, I was the first one they thought of. I was happy to serve them. Even though my appearance was not pleasing, my kind and cheerful heart made everyone want to be near me. I distributed resources fairly, and everyone had a role to play. We leaned on each other, and though we all felt the pain of being separated from our families, our lives were stable and peaceful. Ten years passed in the blink of an eye. My mother and I were still waiting for my father, so even when my grandfather asked us to move to a neighboring village with better conditions, we refused to leave. Many others in the village felt the same.

A Journey into the Heart of Darkness

One day, a man in rags stumbled into our village, terrifying everyone. Auntie Li ran to my door, breathless, describing the stranger and urging me to see him. Under a large tree, I met the man. He was covered in wounds. The villagers stood back, but I approached him. With his final, weak breaths, he told me his name was Guo Sheng. He had been entrusted by my father, Gu Ming, to find us. He said they were fighting nearby and that the war was likely to be their end. He wanted his family to know, and he asked me to notify the others in the village as well. When I heard the name 'Gu Ming'—my father's name—my heart stopped. I begged him to tell me where the battlefield was. He struggled to pull a piece of leather from his chest, on which a blurry map was drawn, and then he passed away.

This news shattered our peaceful life. I buried Guo Sheng on the outskirts of the village, but my heart was in turmoil. For two days, I did not leave my house. My mother watched me, sensing something was wrong, but she waited for me to speak. On the third day, I walked through the village, heavy with thought. Auntie Hu knelt before me, begging me to go to the battlefield to find her husband. If he was gone, she asked if I could at least bring back his remains. I tried to help her up, but she would not stop pleading. I sat under the tree, deep in contemplation, and finally decided: I would go. I would bring their loved ones home.

When my mother heard, she wept for my father but eventually agreed. With that blurry leather map, I walked on. My feet were blistered and raw, but I kept going. The pack on my back felt heavy; my hunched back was not meant for carrying burdens, and every few steps I felt as if I were suffering from asthma. It was an incredibly difficult journey, but I believed with all my heart that I would find my father and the others. I crossed several towns and entered the wilderness, where the grass was sharp and cut my feet until they bled. Yet, I felt as if I could see my father’s shadow ahead, so I walked without stopping, hoping to reach the place marked on the leather.

The Duty of the Tenth Hall

One evening, a strange wind blew across my face. I looked up to see a vast military camp. At dawn, there was a great commotion, and two armies clashed right before my eyes. They fought like men whose eyes were bloodshot, killing one another in a frenzy. I could not bear the sight. I hid, barely managing to save my own life. The ground was covered in corpses—a scene too tragic to describe. I did not know how to find my father or the villagers. The more faces I saw, the more terrified I became. Finally, I chose to scoop up handfuls of sand and scatter them over the bodies as a gesture of a proper burial. There were simply too many for me to handle alone, so I offered my sincere prayers, hoping they could rest in peace.

With a heavy, exhausted heart, I began the journey home, carrying a small bag of dust from that battlefield—a symbol of my father and the villagers. The cruelty of war caused me such deep pain. No matter how tired or hungry I was, it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. Finally, I saw our village. My clothes were tattered and filthy. The villagers recognized me by my posture, but I walked home in silence. Two months had passed since I left. My mother was overjoyed to see me, but when she saw the look on my face, she was frightened. It was a look of utter despair. She asked, 'What happened? Did you find them?' I shook my head and told her what I had seen. She patted my back and told me to cherish my life, for life is truly impermanence. After a few days, I recovered enough to take the dust I had brought back to a quiet, open space in the village. I dug a hole, scattered the dust, buried it, and erected a memorial stone.

The Path to Ultimate Deliverance

When the villagers saw me return, they asked many questions, but they soon realized from my silence and my somber expression that the news was not good. We reached a silent understanding to maintain our stability. Life returned to a quiet rhythm. Every year, on the anniversary of the war, I would pay my respects at the stone monument, so that at least someone remembered them, and they did not die in vain. I lived to be fifty-two, and then, with a final, labored breath, I left this world. Having seen the fleeting nature of life and death, I was not afraid to die. In fact, when the moment came, I felt a sense of relief.

Not long after, I stood before the King of Hell. He knew my life story, my disregard for my own life, and the merit I had gained by honoring the souls of the battlefield and caring for my villagers. He told me that my hunchback in that life was the result of being a great general in a past life, and that the hump was formed by the spirits of those who died on the battlefield under my command. My sincerity in honoring those souls had allowed me to repay that debt. The King of Hell granted me the position of a jailer in the Tenth Hall. I served there, directing the souls as they received their illusory body—dog skin, pig skin, or human skin—in an endless cycle of being reincarnated. I often wondered if there was any way to stop this. This question circled in my heart constantly. It was only after listening to Practitioner Su’s Dharma talks that I realized only by truly practicing Buddhism—following the conduct, the Buddha-heart, and the Buddha-vow—can one ever escape. After receiving the notice that I could be reborn in the Western Pure Land, I waited nearly four years. Today, I have finally arrived at the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. The magnificence and peace of this place have brought my heart such stability. I pray that more people may be reborn in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. I am grateful to the Buddha and to Practitioner Su. We sixty jailers bow our heads in gratitude.

The interview message was recorded by the Buddhist disciple Shi Fa.

Namo Amituofo."