Step into the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang, and mural after mural unfolds slowly along the walls of the caves. The nine-colored deer rescuing a man, Prince Sattva giving his body to feed a tigress, King Shibi cutting his flesh to save a dove … Amid interwoven colors of ochre red, malachite green, and azure blue, they record the long cultivation of the Buddha’s past lives, and also reflect the goodness that has never been extinguished in the hearts of people today.
A cave-temple masterpiece across a thousand years: entering Dunhuang’s world of compassion
Step into the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang, and mural after mural unfolds slowly along the walls of the caves. The nine-colored deer rescuing a man, Prince Sattva giving his body to feed a tigress, King Shibi cutting his flesh to save a dove … Figure after figure, story after story, have been quietly passed down for more than a thousand years in the rich, interwoven colors of ochre red, malachite green, and azure blue.
These magnificent and imposing images record the cultivation experiences of the Buddha’s countless past lives before he attained Buddhahood, and were painted on the stone walls by ancient artisans who gave the work the effort of a lifetime. In Buddhist terminology, such stories are called “jataka stories” (本生故事). “Jataka” (本生) refers to the legends and the traces of cultivation from the Buddha’s countless past lives before he became a Buddha.
The Buddha did not become a Buddha in a single lifetime. Rather, within the vast and boundless cycle of reincarnation, life after life he cultivated compassion, giving, forbearance, and wisdom, accumulating immeasurable merit through countless severe trials, and finally attained the complete fruit of Buddhahood. The jataka paintings among the Dunhuang murals preserve precisely these stories of past lives within the caves. What the murals leave behind are the traces of the Buddha’s cultivation in past lives, and they also show how hard cultivation has been for people over the centuries. In traditional Buddhism, only through the hardships of many lifetimes of cultivation is it possible to attain the true fruit.
What is a “jataka”? A long road of cultivation through a hundred kalpas and a thousand lives
Among the 492 caves at the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang that preserve murals, what is most striking in the early caves — such as Cave 257 and Cave 254 of the Northern Wei, and Cave 428 of the Northern Zhou — is the “jataka story paintings.” Ancient Indian Buddhist texts record more than 500 jataka stories, and the artists of Dunhuang selected the most representative and most soul-stirring among them to paint in the principal positions of the caves.
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Why did the ancients paint these stories inside the caves? The Mogao Caves at Dunhuang were originally sacred places where monks cultivated, practiced meditation, and worshipped the Buddha. When a cultivator lit an oil lamp in the dim cave, the jataka stories on the walls would emerge in the faint light, reminding every cultivator that supreme enlightenment is by no means the work of a single day, but comes through countless lifetimes of sacrificing oneself to save others, of bearing humiliation and heavy burdens, and of holding fast with pure sincerity.
In artistic technique, the Dunhuang jataka murals adopt the astonishing “different times on one page” approach and a horizontal-scroll, sequential picture-story (连环画) composition. The painters broke through the limits of a single timeline, ingeniously arranging the cause, the course, the climax, and the ending of a story on one panel. To view such a mural is like reading an epic of life that crosses time and space. “Supreme enlightenment is by no means the work of a single day, but comes through countless lifetimes of sacrificing oneself to save others, of bearing humiliation and heavy burdens, and of holding fast with pure sincerity.”
The stories of the nine-colored deer, Prince Sattva, and King Shibi
The compassionate heart of the nine-colored deer finally receives a good outcome: Among Dunhuang’s many jataka stories, “The Jataka of the Nine-Colored Deer” is the most widely transmitted. It is said that in a past life the Buddha took the form of a divine deer of nine colors. Though extraordinary in appearance, it did not consider itself noble on that account; it always kept a compassionate heart and protected the living beings of the mountains and forests. One day, a man who had fallen into the water was in mortal danger. The nine-colored deer, disregarding its own safety, rescued him and urged him not to reveal its whereabouts.
Later, the king learned that there was a nine-colored deer in the world and offered a reward to find it. Faced with the lure of wealth, the man who had been rescued chose to break his promise and led a party in search of it. When the nine-colored deer came before the king and recounted what had happened, the king was moved by its compassion and its goodness. He ordered that the nine-colored deer be protected and punished the ungrateful man.
For centuries, as people have looked at this mural, they have also drawn from it the deeper meaning it contains. What the nine-colored deer shows is not only gratitude and the keeping of one’s word, but also a compassion that continues to safeguard goodness even after being betrayed. In the jataka stories, it is good deeds and choices, one after another, that pave the long road of the Buddha’s cultivation in past lives.
Giving one’s body to feed a tiger — the great vow of compassion for all beings: “Prince Sattva Gives His Body to Feed a Tigress” is among the most powerfully affecting of the Dunhuang jataka paintings. It is said that in a past life the Buddha was Prince Sattva. Once, in the mountain forest, he saw a starving tigress who, unable to find food, was already close to death. The prince was moved to pity, and in the end gave up his own body, using his flesh and blood to save the tigress and her cubs.
This story tells of the compassionate heart in the Buddha’s cultivation in past lives. Facing the suffering of living beings, a cultivator is willing to go beyond his own gain and loss and to protect and save beings with a compassionate heart. The Dunhuang murals fix this moment on the stone wall, so that a thousand years later people can still feel the compassion and solemnity it contains. For centuries, people facing this scroll have gone on considering the same question: just what state can a person’s kind thoughts reach?
King Shibi cuts his flesh — compassion that protects living beings: Among the Dunhuang murals there is another famous jataka story, “King Shibi Cuts His Flesh to Save a Dove.” It is said that in a past life the Buddha was King Shibi. One day, a dove fleeing a predator flew into the king’s arms seeking shelter. The hawk that came in pursuit demanded that the king hand over the dove, or else it would lose its food.
Facing this dilemma, King Shibi was unwilling to give up either life, and so he proposed to substitute his own flesh and blood for the weight of the dove. Yet no matter how much flesh was cut away, it could not equal the dove’s weight. In the end, King Shibi sat on the scales himself, taking upon his own person the vow to protect and save living beings.
In the jataka stories, the Buddha in his past lives faced choice after choice, and every choice was a tempering of his own nature. The acts of giving up the body that the Buddha underwent on the path of cultivation meant bearing physical pain, while what was transcended was the strong attachment to the self and to the physical body.
“What the nine-colored deer shows is not only gratitude and the keeping of one’s word, but also a compassion that continues to safeguard goodness even after being betrayed.” “The acts of giving up the body that the Buddha underwent on the path of cultivation meant bearing physical pain, while what was transcended was attachment to the self.”
Cultivation and the years of art upon the stone walls
Devotion amid ochre red and malachite green, a light of the spirit that wind and sand cannot wear away: The jataka stories among the Dunhuang murals were painted inside the caves, recording the cultivation experiences of the Buddha’s past lives and also carrying the ancients’ longing for good deeds and for a state of perfection. In dim, damp caves, relying on a single oil lamp, the ancient painters applied natural mineral pigments — the crimson of cinnabar, the green of malachite, the deep blue of lapis lazuli, the steady tone of ochre — bit by bit onto the plaster walls.
They left these stories on the stone walls so that those who came later, looking at these scrolls, might feel the power of compassion and also reflect on their own cultivation. Today, when we approach Dunhuang, we can still sense in the colors and lines left a thousand years ago how the ancients understood life, good and evil, and cultivation.
Centuries have passed, and although the colors on the stone walls have oxidized and faded under the erosion of wind and sand, the compassion and goodness they contain are still passed down from generation to generation in the hearts of those who come after. The stone wall is cold, but the warmth and faith the painters gave to the murals have crossed the long years.
“Centuries have passed and the colors on the stone walls have faded, but the compassion and goodness they contain are still passed down in the hearts of those who come after.”
From lifetimes of arduous cultivation to a present-day wonder: the historical prophecy of attaining Buddhahood in one lifetime
In traditional Chinese culture, “cultivating to become a Buddha” has never been a light or casual phrase.
As described above, the murals of the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang hold the stories of the Buddha’s cultivation in past lives. Whether giving his body to feed a tiger, cutting his flesh to feed a hawk, or passing through countless calamities without changing his original intention, they all tell later generations one shared theme: the road of cultivation is long and arduous, and often requires accumulation and tempering over lifetime after lifetime before one can finally reach completion.
For this reason the ancients often said: “The Buddha Fa is hard to hear; the true fruit is hard to cultivate.” Yet in the course of the transmission of the Buddhist scriptures, a thought-provoking prophecy was also left behind. Sakyamuni Buddha once mentioned that in the far distant future, in the Dharma-ending period of humankind, a great enlightened being would come to the world to widely spread the great Fa and save living beings. In Eastern culture this is called the descent of Maitreya, while in the Western world there is the prophecy of the return of the Messiah. Though different civilizations express it differently, they all point together to one particular moment in history: when human morality faces an enormous test, a righteous Fa will spread widely in the world, bringing hope to lives that have lost their way.
Looking back over history, humanity has passed through the rise and fall of dynasties and civilizations, and countless cultivators have sought the Way in deep mountains, ancient temples, and secluded grottoes. Yet at the end of the twentieth century, an unprecedented phenomenon of a cultivation way spreading widely appeared within ordinary society.
In 1992, a great cultivation way whose core principles are “Truthfulness, Compassion, Forbearance” began to be taught publicly in China. Unlike traditional religious forms, it does not require one to enter monastic life, but to elevate morality and cultivate one’s heart and mind within daily life, work, and family.
In the space of just seven years, practitioners were found across the length and breadth of China. According to surveys carried out at the time by the CCP’s official sports authorities, many people benefited in body and mind after taking up the practice, their moral level rose, and positive changes appeared in social mores. By the eve of 1999, the number of practitioners had reached more than 100 million, forming a phenomenon of nationwide cultivation rarely seen in modern Chinese history.
Then a sudden storm followed. In July 1999, former CCP leader Jiang Zemin, out of extreme jealousy, launched an all-out suppression targeting the Falun Gong community. This persecution, which continues to this day, has subjected countless practitioners to imprisonment, torture, and even more serious human rights abuses.
Yet in the face of more than 27 years of suppression and immense pressure, practitioners have not answered evil with evil. They have simply chosen to tell people the truth in a peaceful and rational way, to expose the persecution, and at the same time to share the physical and mental benefits and the insights into life they have gained from the practice.
From Asia to Europe, from North America to Oceania, from bustling cities to remote towns, people have gradually come to see a distinctive group of figures. Some hand out materials on the street, some do the exercises in parks, some introduce traditional cultivation culture to people at community events. They have no political demands and no violent confrontation, only a peaceful and steadfast conviction, and the goodwill of hoping that more people will come to know the truth. Together they form a scroll of our times that rewards reflection.
To this day, Falun Dafa has spread to more than 150 countries and regions around the world, its books have been translated into dozens of languages, and more than 100 million people have benefited from it.
The cultivators in the Dunhuang murals once crossed mountains and rivers over long ages in their arduous search for the Fa. Today, when we walk through Manhattan in New York, the streets of London, a park in Tokyo, Sydney Harbour, or a square in Paris, we often see those quiet and peaceful figures. They are like beams of warm light, silently passing on goodness and hope. And unlike the ways of cultivation of the past, today people can cultivate in the midst of the mundane world, practicing truthfulness, kindness, and tolerance in everyday life. The long road that once required lifetimes of arduous cultivation now seems to have opened for the people of the world a door that has never existed before.
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