At Sāvatthī.
Now at that time the mendicant Kokālika was sick, suffering, gravely ill.
Then, late at night, the glorious independent divinity Tudu, lighting up the entire Jeta’s Grove, went up to the mendicant Kokālika, and standing in the air he said to him, “Kokālika, have confidence in Sāriputta and Moggallāna, they’re good monks.”
“Who are you, reverend?”
“I am Tudu the independent divinity.”
“Didn’t the Buddha declare you a non-returner? So what then are you doing back here? See how far you have strayed!”
“A person is born with an axe in their mouth. A fool cuts themselves with it when they say bad words.
When you praise someone worthy of criticism, or criticize someone worthy of praise, you choose a losing hand with your own mouth: you’ll never find happiness that way.
A losing hand at dice is a trivial thing, if all you lose is your money and all you own, even yourself. What’s a really terrible hand is to hate the holy ones.
For a hundred thousand times a hundred million, times five hundred and thirty-six times a thousand times ten million years a slanderer of noble ones goes to hell, having aimed bad words and thoughts at them.”