The Karmic Debt of a Fishing Family

This is a record of an interview with Qiu Minghai, 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 time serving as a prison guard in the hell realms. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faxin, on December 31, 2021.

Qiu Minghai speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. The moment I opened my eyes and beheld the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, my heart was filled with such profound agitation and overwhelming emotion. I could truly feel the boundless compassion that the Buddha holds for all beings. I was so afraid that what I saw before me was merely an illusory vision, so I kept chanting the Buddha-name incessantly. I did not stop, not even for a moment, until I was absolutely certain that the magnificent scenery of the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss would not vanish. Only then did I truly let go of my anxiety. When I think of Practitioner Su, who led us sixty prison guards to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, my heart is filled with infinite gratitude.

I am Qiu Minghai. I grew up in a fishing village, a place where the air was always thick with the pungent smell of fish and the sharp, salty tang of the sea. From the time I was a small child, our family worshipped Mazu, praying that she would protect everyone who went out to sea, ensuring their safety and that everything would go smoothly. Mazu did not disappoint us; she watched over our village, and the uncles, the elders, and my own father always returned from their voyages without incident.

A Day of False Hope

One day, the sky was perfectly clear, without a single cloud in sight. My uncle called out to my father, urging him to head out to sea. My uncle shouted to my father, 'The weather is so perfect today! It is guaranteed to be a massive harvest. If we catch enough, we will have a wonderful New Year.' My father looked at the sky, nodded, and gave us a wide, beaming smile. It was as if he were promising us that after a bountiful catch and a good sale, we would all receive a reward. My older brother, myself, and my three younger siblings watched my father’s retreating back, joyfully guessing what kind of gifts we might receive.

My brother said, 'I want ten steel marbles.' I said, 'I want two large chicken drumsticks.' My younger sister said, 'I want a doll.' In our world, we did not know much, because apart from working, our parents rarely took us out. For us, the happiest times were when someone in the village got married; whenever there was a wedding banquet, we could eat things we never saw on our table during ordinary days. After a flurry of excited chatter, we all dispersed to go play.

The Silence of the Shore

Usually, when my father went out fishing, he would return by three or four in the afternoon, because the sea became dangerous as the light faded. That day, our whole family waited for good news from my father. We did not even start dinner. By seven o'clock, our stomachs were growling with hunger, and my mother finally said, 'Everyone, let's eat.' We had barely started our meal when someone knocked urgently at our door. When we opened it, it was Uncle Wang, who usually kept watch on the shore. He shouted, 'Jincai has had an accident!' My mother was so panicked she did not even change her slippers before running toward the shore. My brother and I followed right behind her, telling my younger sister to look after the other siblings.

When we reached the shore, I immediately recognised the clothes my father had worn that morning. They were plastered to his body, soaked through with seawater. My father was lying on a large rock by the shore, his mouth slightly agape. My mother rushed forward, and we stayed close by her side. As we drew near, we discovered that his body had already gone stiff. My mother cried out loudly, calling, 'Jincai! Jincai!' Beside my father’s body sat a freezer, the very tool he used for his fishing trips. I pulled the freezer open, and it was packed full of fish—the final harvest my father had left for us. Faced with this scene, my brother and I were completely stunned, unable to process the reality of it.

The Burden of Survival

Uncle Wang, who had guarded the shore for years and had seen many passings, helped us handle my father’s funeral arrangements and assisted us in applying for government subsidies. Once the funeral was over, my mother sat in the living room, looking completely lost, as if her soul had left her body. My brother and I knew that we had to step up and support the family. After instructing my more sensible younger sister to take good care of the home, my brother and I headed north to the city to find work. It took about a month before we found jobs in a restaurant. At that time, my brother was sixteen and I was fifteen. We could barely hold a plate steady, yet we were forced to carry stacks of them every day. I had never washed so many dishes in my life, and my hands cracked and bled from the constant scrubbing. For the sake of survival, no matter how hard it was, we had to endure. We agreed that we would send one full salary home and keep the other to cover our basic living expenses.

Five years passed in this manner. During those five years, we rarely had the time to return home. Finally, between jobs, we made a trip back to the fishing village where we grew up. The air held that familiar scent. When we stepped into the house, we saw my mother sitting alone in a chair, looking utterly despondent. We deliberately called out, 'Mother.' Only then did she return to her senses. My mother told us, 'Your younger sister is married, and your younger brother and sister are working now. When the family’s economic situation was at its worst, it was you two brothers who carried us through. The money you sent back over the years—whatever was left over, I have saved. It should be enough for me now, so you do not have to worry about the family anymore.' Every word my mother spoke made me feel the depth of the suffering she had endured all those years.

A Mother’s Lingering Shadow

We asked my mother if she would agree to come to Taipei and live with us. She considered it for a moment, then shook her head and blurted out, 'I must guard the home your father left for me.' As she said this, the loneliness in her heart was so great that she could not help but shed a few tears. All these years, my mother had never truly stepped out of the shadow of my father’s passing. I felt a sense of unease, a premonition that my mother might do something desperate. After discussing it with my brother, I decided to stay home to look after her while he went back to work.

While I was at home keeping my mother company, I saw her constantly flipping through old photographs of my father. Those photos had become blurred because of the tears she had shed onto them, yet she insisted on taking them out to look at every single day. I tried to take her out for walks, but no matter where we went, she would start reminiscing about the past. It seemed as if her memory was forever anchored in the time before my father left us. A year later, my mother developed dementia. She would go out and forget the way home several times; she would often say she had not eaten when she had just finished a meal, and she would constantly clamour to find my father. When she saw my younger sister’s children, she thought they were my sister when she was a child. My mother’s memory had completely regressed to the time before my father had passed away.

Caring for my mother required immense patience, as she would often repeat the same sentence ten times over. Sometimes, caring for her left me feeling utterly drained, but in my heart, I encouraged myself to stay by her side when she needed me most. There was only one Mazu temple near our home, so I often took my mother there to offer incense, hoping it would bring her peace and safety. Four years after my mother’s illness began, she slipped and fell into the harbour when I was not looking. By the time she was rescued, she had suffered a severe head injury and could not be saved.

The Path of Cause and Effect

Losing two beloved family members in such a way was a massive shock to me, and it caused me to lose all hope in life. I did not know how to go on or how to stand back up. Just as I was feeling desperate about life, I encountered the Buddha’s teachings. While reading and listening to the scriptures, I finally understood that killing is wrong and that harming other beings is a sin. They have spirits, and they will come to seek revenge. After listening to several lectures on the scriptures, I gradually understood why our family had suffered such a fate. It turned out that my father had made a living by fishing, harming countless beings, and in the end, he paid for it with his own life. My father had caught fish for many years, harming an unknown number of beings. To compensate for the sins committed, I performed Chao Du for these fish spirits, hoping they could all leave suffering behind and gain happiness. I also joined the temple as a volunteer. Although I had no intention of becoming a monastic, I was single-mindedly dedicated to serving all beings, hoping to repay a little of the collective karma of our family.

I shared these truths about our family’s karma with my brother and siblings, but they did not agree with what I said. They even thought I had become too obsessed with Buddhism. Because we could not communicate, our relationship grew more and more distant, and eventually, we barely had any contact at all. I stayed at the temple for fifteen years, but I found my body becoming weaker and weaker, and my legs were often in pain. I did not want to see a doctor; I just wanted to spend my time chanting the Buddha-name to get through it all. But gradually, I became unable to walk and could no longer continue volunteering at the temple. I felt that my physical condition would only be a burden to the temple, so I asked other volunteers to help me find a place to move out. To my surprise, when the Master learned of this, he was so compassionate that he insisted I stay, saying that I had helped the temple a great deal over the past decade and that I should rest and recover here without worrying about anything. I was deeply grateful for the Master’s compassion and worked hard at chanting the Buddha-name, hoping that everything would improve.

The Final Retribution

My willpower was strong, but it could not overcome the pain of my illness. The pain made me thin and unable to eat, and I knew that my condition was worsening day by day. At the age of fifty-one, I was in such agony that I rolled on the floor, covered in cold sweat, and my body began to dehydrate. I saw a multitude of fish spirits appearing before me. With a heavy heart, I apologised to them, but in the end, they took my life. I was not afraid, because I had made a vow to help my parents bear the debt together, so the many fish spirits came for me as well, causing me to die in great pain. Before I died, I only remembered to apologise to the fish spirits, forgetting to hold onto the Buddha-name. After my spirit left my body, I was judged by King Yama, and I saw that the deaths of my parents were indeed a result of the fish spirits seeking revenge. In my heart, I repented deeply to the fish spirits.

King Yama saw my sincerity, and after a short period of retribution, I was placed beside Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva to continue my practice with a focused heart. To be able to do this, I was already infinitely grateful. Beside Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva, I saw my father suffering as a fish, and my mother had entered a dark space. I could not help them, because I truly understood that the path of the laws of karma and cause and effect is one where we must each walk our own way. I spent fifty years beside Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva before King Yama appointed me to serve as a prison guard. During my time as a prison guard, my heart ached terribly, for all I saw were scenes of people undergoing punishment—scenes too horrific to behold. I tried to counsel the prisoners to change their ways, hoping they would repent, but few were willing to listen to my advice! When Practitioner Su’s scriptures and Dharma methods could finally be heard within the hell realms, I prayed that more prisoners would be able to hear them and stop walking this path of suffering.

I am so grateful that King Yama nominated me, allowing me to be reborn in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss after my service as a prison guard. I have already arrived in the Western Land. The dignity and beauty of this place have brought such profound peace to my heart. I am grateful for the compassion of the Buddha and the compassion of Practitioner Su."

Qiu Minghai

Namo Amituofo.