The Buddha remained impassive. The man, fulminating, left the square.
As he strode along the rice paddies, his anger subsided. Already, the temple of his village towered above the rice paddies. The realization dawned on him that his anger had been born of jealousy and that he had insulted a wise man.
He felt so uncomfortable that he turned back, determined to apologize to the Buddha.
When he arrived at the square where the teaching was continuing, the crowd pushed aside to let the man who had insulted the Master pass. Incredulous people watched him return. Glances crossed, elbows were nudged to attract the attention of neighbors, a murmur followed his footsteps. When he was close enough, he prostrated himself, begging the Buddha to forgive him for the violence of his words and the indecency of his thought.
The Buddha, full of compassion, came to relieve him.
– I have nothing to forgive you, I’ve received neither violence nor indecency.
– And yet I’ve uttered some serious insults and profanities.
– What do you do if someone hands you something you don’t need or don’t want?
– I don’t hold out my hand or take it, of course.
– What does the donor do?
– Well, what can he do? He keeps his object.
– No doubt that’s why you seem to be suffering from the insults and coarse language you’ve used. As for me, rest assured, I wasn’t overwhelmed. There was no one to take the violence you were unleashing.