‘Venerable Nāgasena, you Bhikkhus say that: “When the Blessed One walked along, the earth, unconscious though it is, filled up its deep places, and made its steep places plain.” And on the other hand you say that a splinter of rock grazed his foot. When that splinter was falling on his foot why did it not, then, turn aside? If it be true that the unconscious earth makes its deep places full and its steep places plain for him, then it must be untrue that the splinter of rock hurt his foot. But if the latter statement be true, then the first must be false. This too is a double-edged problem now put to you, and you have to solve it.’

‘Both statements, O king, are true. But that splinter of rock did not fall of itself, it was cast down through the act of Devadatta. Through hundreds of thousands of existences, O king, had Devadatta borne a grudge against the Blessed One. It was through that hatred that he seized hold of a mighty mass of rock, and pushed it over with the hope that it would fall upon the Buddha’s head. But two other rocks came together, and intercepted it before it reached the Tathāgata, and by the force of their impact a splinter was torn off, and fell in such a direction that it struck The Blessed One’s foot.’

‘But, Nāgasena, just as two rocks intercepted that mighty mass, so could the splinter have been intercepted.’

‘But a thing intercepted, O king, can escape, slip through, or be lost—as water does, through the fingers, when it is taken into the hand—or milk, or buttermilk, or honey, or ghee, or oil, or fish curry, or gravy—or as fine, subtle, minute, dusty grains of sand do, through the fingers, if you close your fist on them—or as rice will escape sometimes when you have taken it into your fingers, and are putting it into your mouth.’

‘Well, let that be so, Nāgasena. I admit that the rock was intercepted. But the splinter ought at least to have paid as much respect to the Buddha as the earth did.’

‘There are these twelve kinds of persons, O king, who pay no respect—the lustful man in his lust, and the angry man in his malice, and the dull man in his stupidity, and the puffed-up man in his pride, and the bad man in his want of discrimination, and the obstinate man in his want of docility, and the mean man in his littleness, and the talkative man in his vanity, and the wicked man in his cruelty, and the wretched man in his misery, and the gambler because he is overpowered by greed, and the busy man in his search after gain. But that splinter, just as it was broken off by the impact of the rocks, fell by chance in such a direction that it struck against the foot of the Blessed One—just as fine, subtle, and minute grains of sand, when carried away by the force of the wind, are sprinkled down by chance in any direction they may happen to take. If the splinter, O king, had not been separated from the rock of which it formed a part, it too would have been intercepted by their meeting together. But, as it was, it was neither fixed on the earth, nor did it remain stationary in the air, but fell whithersoever chance directed it, and happened to strike against the Blessed One’s foot—just as dried leaves might fall if caught up in a whirlwind. And the real cause of its so striking against his foot was the sorrow-working deed of that ungrateful, wicked, Devadatta.’

‘Very good, Nāgasena! That is so, and I accept it as you say.’

Here ends the dilemma as to the splinter grazing the Buddha’s foot.