Manjushri, Bodhisattva of Wisdom

On a weekend afternoon before his exams, a young boy went up to the pagoda with his grandmother. His head was a tangle of lessons, and however much he studied, he still felt anxious. In front of the main hall, he stopped short before an unfamiliar statue. A young bodhisattva sat on the back of a lion, his right hand raising high a sword that seemed to be on fire. The boy tugged at his grandmother's hand and whispered, "Grandma, why is the Buddha holding a sword?"

The old woman smiled and drew him down beside her on a cool step. She would tell him a story, she said. The figure with the sword was the Bodhisattva Manjushri, known in Vietnamese as Bồ Tát Văn Thù Sư Lợi. A bodhisattva, in Buddhism, is one who seeks awakening, someone on the path to becoming a buddha. Manjushri, she said, was the bodhisattva of wisdom, the foremost among all the bodhisattvas.

She asked him to look closely. Manjushri sat on the back of a blue lion. The lion is the king of all the creatures of the forest, strong and majestic. People of old used the lion to speak of the power of wisdom, a power that can calm every tangle in the human heart.

In his left hand, she pointed out, he held up a blue lotus, and the lotus carried a book of scripture. It was the Prajnaparamita, the sutra of wisdom. The lotus grows up out of the mud and still stays fragrant and clean. In the same way, a wise person lives in the middle of the world with a heart that stays clear.

The boy pointed up at the sword, still uneasy. "But what is the sword for?" His grandmother took his hand and spoke slowly. This was not a sword for fighting, she told him. It was the Sword of Wisdom. In every person's heart there is a kind of darkness called ignorance. It is the confusion of not being able to see right from wrong, of staying tangled up and afraid. Manjushri's sword is there to cut through that confusion, and it cuts no one at all. That bright sword cuts away ignorance and the afflictions of the mind, like a flash of lightning tearing through the night.

The boy's eyes lit up as he listened. So the real enemy was not any person at all, but the confusion inside himself. His grandmother nodded. That was right, she said. A wise person is someone who dares to look straight at what is tangled and see it clearly.

Then she told him a story from the Vimalakirti Sutra. She asked him to remember that this was a story from the Buddhist scriptures, one that Vietnamese Buddhists chant, read and treasure.

Long ago, in a certain city, there lived a layman named Vimalakirti. He was not a monk, only an ordinary man who lived among the streets and markets. Yet his wisdom ran deep and his words were sharp, and everyone who met him held him in awe. One day he fell ill. The Buddha wished to send someone to visit him and ask after his health.

Strangely, each one the Buddha asked replied that he did not dare to go. In the past, whenever they had talked with Vimalakirti, he had asked questions so hard that they were all at a loss, unable to answer him fully. The great disciples and the bodhisattvas alike were reluctant to face a man of such wisdom.

The boy could hardly wait. "And then what? Did anyone dare to go?" His grandmother smiled gently. Someone did. Only the Bodhisattva Manjushri stepped forward and accepted. He was the only one wise enough to visit the layman and answer him. Word spread that the two great minds were about to meet. Eight thousand bodhisattvas went along, and five hundred disciples called hearers went with them, because all of them wanted to listen.

It was a great meeting. The two of them discussed something very deep, which Buddhists call the gate of nonduality. It is a door that leads beyond all winning and losing, right and wrong, gain and loss.

The bodhisattvas who were there answered in turn, each in a fine way of his own. When his turn came, Manjushri gave his answer. To truly pass through that gate, he said, is to leave all things beyond discussion, beyond words and beyond pointing out, free of every question and every answer. Then he turned to Vimalakirti and asked for his reply.

The grandmother asked whether the boy could guess what the layman said. The boy shook his head, holding his breath. She lowered her voice. Vimalakirti did not say a single word. He only sat in silence.

The boy was astonished. "Just silence? And that was the winning answer?" His grandmother nodded, her eyes bright. That very silence, she said, was the highest answer of all. Manjushri praised him at once. "Well done, well done," he said. "To reach the place where no words and no letters remain, that is truly to enter the gate of nonduality." Some things are too deep and too great for words to hold. Then, silence can say more than a thousand words.

The boy sat quietly for a while, letting it sink in. His grandmother went on. Buddhists believe that the Bodhisattva Manjushri has a sacred mountain of his own. It is Mount Wutai in China, a mountain with five flat peaks. In 2009 it was listed as a World Heritage Site, shared by all humankind. For many generations, people on the Buddhist path have made their way there, hoping to learn to see as clearly as he does.

Finally, she took his hand and spoke softly. His exams were coming. Here in Vietnam, she said, many students go up to the pagoda in exam season, and some pray to Manjushri for a clear mind. But there was one thing he should remember. Wisdom is not memorizing a great deal or knowing a great deal. Wisdom is knowing how to see clearly in the middle of confusion, like that blade cutting through the mist.

Studying hard is one way to prepare. Teaching the heart to stay calm, so that it sees things clearly, is another way. Both are precious, she told him.

The boy stood up and looked up at the statue once more, and this time for a long while. The sword still blazed in the bodhisattva's hand, and it was no longer frightening at all. All at once his heart felt light, as if someone had just drawn back a veil of mist for him. And he knew that tomorrow, when he walked into the exam room, he would carry not only the pages of his books, but that bright blade in his heart as well.