Two monks, one senior and one junior, were travelling together along a muddy path. The rain had passed but the earth was still wet, and the river they approached had swollen with the downpour. Its current moved swiftly and noisily, a difficult crossing lay ahead.
As they paused at the water’s edge, they saw a young woman standing nearby. She wore fine clothes that would be ruined by the crossing. Looking at them with calm eyes, she asked, “Could you help me across to the other side?”
The junior monk froze. They had taken strict vows, not to touch women, not even to speak to them unnecessarily. Surely they would have to decline. But without a word, the older monk stepped forward. He gently lifted the woman in his arms, carried her across the river, and set her down on the far bank.
She thanked him, bowed, and walked on. The older monk said nothing more, just continued his journey. The younger monk followed, troubled. One hour passed in silence. Then another. The elder monk walked steadily, seemingly unbothered. The younger, however, was filled with thoughts he couldn’t shake loose. By the third hour, he could no longer contain himself. “Brother,” he said, “we are not supposed to touch a woman, how could you carry her like that?”
The older monk stopped, turned slightly, and replied: “I put her down on the other side of the river. Why are you still carrying her?”