The Rain God's Awakening

This is a record of an interview with Tang Xuanhai, who served as the Rain God of Southern Taiwan. He sought Chao Du at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. This account reflects upon his life and his transition into the spiritual realm. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on April 25, 2021.

Tang Xuanhai speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to participate in this request for rain for Taiwan. To be able to contribute even a small measure of strength to my homeland brings me immense joy. There is a common saying in Taiwan: 'Those who live by the mountains eat from the mountains; those who live by the sea eat from the sea.' The southern region of Taiwan is very much a place where we lived by the sea. The salty tang of the ocean air permeated our coastal towns, mingled with the pungent, fishy scent of the bustling fishing ports. It was a place of simple, honest folk. I remember the children running barefoot through the streets, their laughter echoing in the heat, and the refreshing delight of a large bowl of shaved ice—a staple of life in the south.

A Childhood by the Salty Sea

My family were devout followers of Mazu. Every year, the Dajia Mazu pilgrimage was the most significant event for us and for everyone in town. We would prepare an abundance of offerings—so many that they would cover our large dining table completely. I remember staring at the spread, my heart filled with wonder, whispering a soft 'Wow.' On ordinary days, if I asked for a simple peanut candy, my mother would chide me, saying, 'Child, one must not be wasteful. As long as your belly is full, that is enough. Do not let your mind wander to such trifles.' Hearing her words, my excitement would vanish, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over my head. I would turn away, feeling dejected.

My mother never paid much mind to my moods, but my grandmother was different. Seeing my pout, she would gently take my small hand and lead me to the grocery store across the street. There, lined up at the entrance, were several large glass jars filled with colourful sweets and biscuits. Grandmother would whisper, 'You may choose two, but you must be a good boy and not trouble your mother further.' I would nod happily, my eyes scanning every jar with intense focus. I had only two chances, so I looked twice before making my final decision. I pointed with my small finger and said, 'I want that long strip covered in red sugar powder, and that round, slightly square-shaped candy.' The shopkeeper, Uncle Hou, would take out a small, light-brown paper bag, place the sweets inside, fold the top, and hand it to me. I would smile so brightly, clutching those two little bags as if they were treasures. Grandmother would remind me, 'You must not let your mother know.' I would nod, and once inside the house, I would dash to my room and hide the sweets under my pillow.

The Language of Animals

When my mother went out to work, she would task me with tidying the house and the pigsty at the back. I would nod dutifully. Once she left, I would urge myself to finish the chores quickly so I could enjoy my sweets. I worked with extra vigour. After scrubbing the pigsty, I would sprint back to my room, reach under my pillow, and carefully open the paper bags. I would take out one pink-powdered strip, tuck the bags away, and run to the back of the house to savour the treat. It was a mix of sour and sweet, and I would eat it with such delight, licking the remaining sugar powder from my fingers before running out to play with the neighbours.

My mother was well-loved in town. She was incredibly kind and proactive in helping others, often extending a hand when people were at their most desperate. Because of this, people would often bring us gifts—freshly harvested vegetables or fruits—so much so that we rarely needed to buy produce at the market. We kept five pigs in our sty, and I gave each of them a name: Ashuang, Acheng, Ayan, Afa, and Ali. They were so obedient and knew exactly when I was calling them. I cleaned their sty every day, so we saw each other constantly, and a genuine bond formed. I even knew which food each pig preferred, and I would add a little extra to their trough. When I sprinkled corn over their feed, I would say to Afa, 'Afa, there is corn today!' Afa would let out a happy grunt and come running to eat. Ali loved green onions, and Acheng enjoyed the hard texture of rice grains to grind his teeth. I cared for them deeply, and because of this, they would become visibly excited whenever I appeared.

Every day at the sty, I could see that Ali was fond of Afa. Whenever Afa stood somewhere, Ali would lean against him. Afa did not return the affection, but my mother still allowed them to mate during the heat cycle. Before long, Ali was pregnant and gave birth to twelve piglets. Each one looked strong, scrambling to drink Ali's milk. Ali would lie on the ground, letting the piglets crawl all over her, and I could see her eyes filled with maternal love. After the birth, Ali was separated from the others, and my mother would give her extra food to ensure she had enough milk for the little ones. Watching them, I realised that every animal possesses a high level of spirit and intelligence. Their love for their young and the way they protected them was exactly the same as humans.

A Vision of the Past

Once, a man from the neighbouring village, Uncle Tonghao, needed help fishing because his son had injured his leg. I agreed without hesitation. When I arrived at the fishing port, the heavy, pungent smell of fish hit me. I felt nauseous and wanted to vomit. My stomach churned the entire time, and I felt as though I were about to collapse. Finally, I fainted. I do not know how much time passed before I heard my mother calling, 'Ahai! Ahai!'

Before I heard her voice, I had been in the middle of the vast ocean. I saw beautiful schools of fish, vibrant coral reefs, sunken ships, and even a magnificent, shimmering palace. Just as I was about to see it clearly, I was awakened. I did not understand the meaning of that dream, but the images remained etched in my mind. Filled with confusion, I went to a local temple to cast the divination blocks and draw a fortune stick. I could not understand the poem on the stick, so I asked the temple keeper to interpret it. He took the paper, fell silent for a moment, frowned, and then pulled a book from his drawer. Finally, he said, 'In your past life, you were a water dragon. Whenever you saw disaster in the human world, your heart would ache. You have been drifting in the human world for over a hundred years now. In this life, you have a chance to change your destiny.'

I was stunned. I began to recall the images from my dream—the sparkling water, the palaces hidden within the spray. My heart felt a strange, inexplicable tremor. I wanted to understand my past, but I reasoned that even if I knew, it would not change my current life. After much internal struggle, I decided to let it go. Instead of focusing on myself, I began to observe the world around me. Since the temple keeper said I could change my life, I resolved to cherish every day. I did not know how, but I began to gain new insights from everything I encountered.

The Heavy Truth of Karma

I saw Uncle Wang go out to sea and never return, and I watched Grandpa Guo, who had worked diligently his entire life, die of exhaustion in the pigsty he tended. I felt that after death, they all went to different places. I realised that my own family would eventually be separated, and everyone in my town would head toward different destinations. It seemed as though fate was already woven and destined. Those who fished would become fish; those who raised pigs would become pigs; farmers who destroyed the earth would become insects; those who loved eating chicken would become chickens. My heart grew anxious. I saw that my mother was destined to become a pig in her next life. If not for the temple keeper telling me I could change my destiny, I, too, might have become a pig. If that were the case, would this life not have been in vain?

I finally understood why the masters at the temple urged us to be vegetarian. Animals are not just living beings; they might be people we once knew. If a piece of meat were placed before you, and it was your own mother, what would you do? One day, on the main street, I saw a group of chickens being lined up for slaughter. Their eyes seemed to be begging me for help. Without a second thought, I rushed forward to release them. The owner was furious, lunged at me, and in the chaos, his knife struck me. I heard people in the market screaming, 'Murder! Murder!' I fell to the ground, my body losing its warmth, and my consciousness faded. My final thought was still on protecting life. A brilliant light shone upon me, guiding my soul. I was appointed as a local deity, and during my fifty years of service, I cared for the land with great sincerity before eventually becoming the Rain God.

The Buddha's Light and the End of Drought

As a deity, I understood the laws of karma and cause and effect—nothing can be hidden. The amount of rain, whether it is heavy or light, is determined by the good roots and Blessings of the people in that region. The rainfall originally destined for a place can change based on the shifts in the human heart. The orbit of Truth remains constant, and greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt must be eradicated. Yet, people allow these poisons to grow, influenced by society and their environment. This worried me deeply. The karma created under these conditions becomes the Collective Karma of the people, and everyone must bear the bitter fruits and suffer greatly. Taiwan is currently enduring a drought. I could not imagine the consequences of this disaster. Seeing the reservoirs drying up, my heart was filled with extreme anxiety.

Fortunately, the music of 'Namo Amituofo—Namo Amituofo' began to resonate from the space itself. I looked up and saw a brilliant, blinding light. The Western Three Saints stood in the sky, so immense and majestic! The Buddha-light illuminated the entire horizon. As the sentient beings in the space were touched by this light, they were purified and began to awaken. Only then did I realise how many layers of space had been opened. Practitioner Su led the way, and the spaces continued to unfold. Many spirits knelt before the Buddha, some murmuring, 'Namo Amituofo, Namo Amituofo.' At first, seeing the golden light, they did not know what to do, but Practitioner Su’s Dharma Body manifested in infinite forms, beginning to guide the spirits to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. He continued to open up space after space with incredible speed. Not just in our region, but across all of Taiwan, Practitioner Su opened the spaces with his Dharma Body.

The earthly creatures, the slaughtered animals, and the deities who had served in Taiwan were all deeply moved by the light of Practitioner Su’s Chao Du. For those spirits filled with resentment, Practitioner Su explained the Truth, helping them understand the laws of karma and cause and effect so they could let go of their hatred. All of this was accomplished simultaneously by Practitioner Su’s Dharma Body. Although Taiwan has held Dharma assemblies, the number of spirits entering the space at any given moment is too vast, and not every spirit can receive the benefits of the merit. Those who cannot leave remain trapped in the spaces of Taiwan, accumulating more and more. Coupled with the greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt of the human world, disasters are formed. If not for the deliverance by the Dharma Body, too many spirits would remain trapped.

Because of the opening of these infinite spaces, the wind, rain, thunder, and lightning deities we had prepared were finally able to arrange for rain to fall, relieving the suffering of all beings. The more Practitioner Su performs Chao Du, the more stable the magnetic field of Taiwan becomes. There are so many spirits of slaughtered livestock here, all caused by the cravings of the human world; the people of Taiwan should understand this. I was once a Taiwanese person, and I know the kindness and simplicity of our people. If the karma created through ignorance can be transformed, it will be through the combined force of the Buddha’s power and our own efforts. I, Tang Xuanhai, represent the people of Taiwan in expressing my deepest gratitude to the Buddha, Practitioner Su, and the fourfold assembly of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre for their tireless efforts to resolve this disaster.

Memorial Tablet: For the countless spirits of slaughtered livestock and wandering ghosts in the many spaces of Taiwan, delivered by the Dharma Body. Representative: Tang Xuanhai (seeking restoration, purification, and peace of heart). Entering the Western Land of Dharma Nature of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre. Namo Amituofo."