Long ago, in the ancient city of Benares—what we now call Varanasi in India—there lived a man named Mendaka. He was known throughout the land, but not for any pleasant reason. Mendaka was one of the richest men in the kingdom, yet he was terribly greedy. People whispered that even a single grain of rice could not escape his grasp. He locked his storerooms, guarded his gold, and refused to give even a crumb to the hungry.
Not far from Mendaka's mansion was a monastery where monks lived peacefully. They had no money or possessions and lived only on the food given to them by the kind-hearted villagers. Among these monks was a special man: the Bodhisatta—one who would one day become the Buddha. But at this time, he had chosen to be born as a humble monk to teach the world a great lesson.
One hot morning, the Bodhisatta put on his simple robe and took his alms bowl, ready to collect food. As he walked through the streets of Benares, he passed under flowering trees and quiet courtyards. People bowed in respect, for they knew this monk was no ordinary man. Finally, he reached Mendaka's mansion. The merchant was seated behind his gold-plated gates, eating breakfast from silver plates.
The Bodhisatta stood silently, his bowl open, his eyes calm. According to tradition, monks never asked for food. They waited quietly to see if someone would give freely.
Mendaka looked out and scoffed. “Why should I give? I worked hard for my food. Let this beggar work too!”
His servants giggled nervously, for though rich, Mendaka had never seemed very happy.
But from behind the door, a soft voice called out. It was Mendaka’s wife.
“My lord,” she said gently, “look again. That man at the gate carries nothing. He is free from all greed and pride. If we offer him even a small bit of what we eat, perhaps we too may feel his peace.”
Mendaka frowned but gave in with a grunt. He tossed a crust of rice-bread toward the monk.
Most would have turned away in offense. But the Bodhisatta bowed with gratitude, accepting the gift as though it were a feast. Then he walked away, his heart full of compassion—not only for those who gave, but especially for those who could not yet give from their hearts.
Later that evening, something strange happened to Mendaka. He couldn’t sleep. Not because of guilt, but because he remembered the monk’s peaceful eyes and how grateful he had looked over something so small. For the first time, Mendaka wondered, “Could I feel that same peace?”
The next morning, he offered more food. Not much, but more. Then, day by day, he gave more freely. His heart, once locked tighter than his treasure chests, began to soften. He talked to the poor. He helped his neighbors. And in time, people no longer whispered about his greed but praised his kindness.
Though the Buddha would be born many lifetimes later, the lesson of this life remained: Even the most stubborn rocks can be carved by the rain of compassion. And sometimes, the smallest gesture—a simple giving of food—can begin the largest transformation.
For in the eyes of a truly mindful person, every act is a step toward enlightenment.
Long ago, in the ancient city of Benares—what we now call Varanasi in India—there lived a man named Mendaka. He was known throughout the land, but not for any pleasant reason. Mendaka was one of the richest men in the kingdom, yet he was terribly greedy. People whispered that even a single grain of rice could not escape his grasp. He locked his storerooms, guarded his gold, and refused to give even a crumb to the hungry.
Not far from Mendaka's mansion was a monastery where monks lived peacefully. They had no money or possessions and lived only on the food given to them by the kind-hearted villagers. Among these monks was a special man: the Bodhisatta—one who would one day become the Buddha. But at this time, he had chosen to be born as a humble monk to teach the world a great lesson.
One hot morning, the Bodhisatta put on his simple robe and took his alms bowl, ready to collect food. As he walked through the streets of Benares, he passed under flowering trees and quiet courtyards. People bowed in respect, for they knew this monk was no ordinary man. Finally, he reached Mendaka's mansion. The merchant was seated behind his gold-plated gates, eating breakfast from silver plates.
The Bodhisatta stood silently, his bowl open, his eyes calm. According to tradition, monks never asked for food. They waited quietly to see if someone would give freely.
Mendaka looked out and scoffed. “Why should I give? I worked hard for my food. Let this beggar work too!”
His servants giggled nervously, for though rich, Mendaka had never seemed very happy.
But from behind the door, a soft voice called out. It was Mendaka’s wife.
“My lord,” she said gently, “look again. That man at the gate carries nothing. He is free from all greed and pride. If we offer him even a small bit of what we eat, perhaps we too may feel his peace.”
Mendaka frowned but gave in with a grunt. He tossed a crust of rice-bread toward the monk.
Most would have turned away in offense. But the Bodhisatta bowed with gratitude, accepting the gift as though it were a feast. Then he walked away, his heart full of compassion—not only for those who gave, but especially for those who could not yet give from their hearts.
Later that evening, something strange happened to Mendaka. He couldn’t sleep. Not because of guilt, but because he remembered the monk’s peaceful eyes and how grateful he had looked over something so small. For the first time, Mendaka wondered, “Could I feel that same peace?”
The next morning, he offered more food. Not much, but more. Then, day by day, he gave more freely. His heart, once locked tighter than his treasure chests, began to soften. He talked to the poor. He helped his neighbors. And in time, people no longer whispered about his greed but praised his kindness.
Though the Buddha would be born many lifetimes later, the lesson of this life remained: Even the most stubborn rocks can be carved by the rain of compassion. And sometimes, the smallest gesture—a simple giving of food—can begin the largest transformation.
For in the eyes of a truly mindful person, every act is a step toward enlightenment.
