This remarkable account is associated with Wat Si Thep Pradittharam in Nakhon Phanom Province, Thailand. What makes it particularly special is its connection to the Bodhisattva path, unfolding as it does within a predominantly Theravada environment. Many people mistakenly assume that the Bodhisattva path is unheard of or not practised in countries like Thailand, but that is far from the truth. I will delve deeper into this later.

Phra Thep Sitthachan, reverently known as Luang Pu Chan Khemiyo (1881–1973), recounted that one night, deep in meditation, a vivid and distressing vision unfolded before his mind’s eye.

He saw a pool of water rapidly evaporating, leaving six creatures struggling desperately for survival: three climbing perch and three catfish.

Focusing his mind, Luang Pu inquired whether these were beings bound to him by past karmic ties who had come to settle a karmic debt.

The fish answered that they were not karmic debtors, but Bodhisattvas who had taken birth in the animal realm to cultivate merit and perfect their spiritual qualities (pāramī). Through the force of circumstances, however, they had been caught by a man named Boonchuay Suwannathap and confined in a water jar in a banana plantation behind the temple. As the water dwindled, they faced imminent death. If they perished before completing their natural lifespans, they would lose their precious opportunity to continue advancing along the path to Buddhahood.

Intrigued, Luang Pu asked why they had chosen to appear in his vision.

The fish explained that they had made a sincere aspiration: through their determination to attain enlightenment, may they reach the meditative awareness of a virtuous practitioner with whom they shared a beneficial karmic connection from a past life. In this way, they had reached his sphere of consciousness.

Unsure whether to trust the vision, Luang Pu decided to put it to the test. He thought to himself:

“If this is merely a phantom of the mind, let it vanish. But if this is a true vision, let these fish recite the virtues of the Buddha so that I may hear them.”

Instantly, the fish began chanting the homage to the Blessed One:

“Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā-sambuddhassa.”

Each fish recited the formula three times, one after another, until all six had completed their homage. Convinced by what he had witnessed, Luang Pu promised to rescue them.

The Rescue

The following morning, Luang Pu set out on his alms round, eventually arriving at the home of a lay devotee. The devotee’s ten-year-old daughter, Yiam Homhuan, placed food into his alms bowl. Before moving on, Luang Pu instructed her, “After you have eaten your meal this morning, bring a large water container to me at the temple.”

True to his word, the young girl arrived at the monastery shortly afterward. Luang Pu told her to fill the container with a suitable amount of water and directed her to find Boonchuay, who had kept six fish—three climbing perch and three catfish—in jars hidden in the banana grove behind the temple.

Knowing both the man and the location well, the girl was given a firm instruction by Luang Pu: “No matter what happens, you must bring those fish back.”

When Yiam found Boonchuay and delivered the monk’s message, the man was startled. He could not even remember whether the fish were still alive. If they were already gone, he told her, she should simply inform Luang Pu.

Yet, as they walked together towards a small hut at the far edge of the plantation, a memory suddenly came back to Boonchuay. He had indeed gone fishing long ago and left some of his catch in a jar—so long ago that he had completely forgotten about them.

“Luang Pu is truly amazing!” Boonchuay exclaimed in disbelief. “He knew I kept fish here even though I had completely forgotten about them.”

Rushing to the water jar in the centre of the grove, he looked inside. There were exactly six fish, just as Luang Pu had described. Stunned, he transferred them into the girl’s container and accompanied her back to the temple.

A Profound Lesson

Upon meeting the monk, Boonchuay bowed and marvelled, “Luang Pu, you are extraordinary! You knew the fish were here when even I had forgotten about them.”

Luang Pu gently corrected him. “I am not the extraordinary one. These fish are. They were able to project a mental plea for help. You, too, are fortunate that they were not cooked and eaten, for that would have brought grave misfortune upon your entire family.”

Luang Pu then consecrated holy water, sprinkled it over the fish, and blessed them, wishing them protection so that they might live out their natural lifespans and continue their spiritual journey.

He carried the fish to the banks of the Mekong River and released them. In a final, astonishing gesture, rather than darting away immediately, all six fish leaped above the water’s surface three times—as if paying homage and expressing their gratitude to Luang Pu—before disappearing into the currents.

This account remains treasured as a remarkable expression of the Buddhist belief that Bodhisattvas may take birth in many forms, even as humble fish, as they persevere in perfecting their pāramī towards ultimate awakening.

Commentary: What Does It Really Mean to Walk the Bodhisattva Path?

Within the Pali Buddhist tradition, we encounter many accounts of the Buddha’s past lives as a Bodhisattva, cultivating and perfecting his pāramī. In some of these lives, he was born as an animal, yet displayed extraordinary wisdom, generosity, patience, and a profound willingness to sacrifice for others.

The Bodhisattva path in Theravada Buddhism is not limited to the glorious celestial existence of a future Buddha like Metteyya (Maitreya), who is said to reside in Tusita heaven. The journey towards Buddhahood involves countless lifetimes of cultivating the perfections, often through painful and difficult circumstances. This arduous journey is precisely what makes the achievement of a Supreme Buddha (Sammāsambuddha) so extraordinary and worthy of the highest honour.

Shakyamuni Buddha was not just Prince Siddhartha. In the Jataka stories, he was also the hare who leaped into a fire to offer his body to a hungry ascetic, the patient ascetic who endured brutal torture at the hands of a jealous king, and the seeker who willingly gave away his worldly possessions.

Some Buddhists are deeply inspired by these stories and aspire to follow the Buddha’s example, including practitioners within the Theravada tradition today. Even now, there may be monks who quietly harbour this grand aspiration, keeping it close to their hearts rather than proclaiming it to others.

On the other hand, there are Buddhists who aspire to attain Nibbāna in this very life by becoming Arahants. We cannot, and should not, say that someone who aspires to become a Sammāsambuddha is inherently “greater” than someone who strives for Arahant awakening.

According to the Pali tradition, Shakyamuni Buddha was himself an Arahant. The distinction is that a Sammāsambuddha discovers the path to liberation independently and teaches it to others, while an Arahant disciple attains liberation by following the path taught by a Buddha. Both attain Nibbāna; this does not mean that one person’s liberation is a greater Nibbāna than another’s.

After all, imagine if everyone during the Buddha’s time had refused to seek liberation because they all wanted to become Buddhas instead. Who would have remained to form the Sangha and bear witness to the Buddha’s teaching that liberation is possible here and now?

The Bodhisattva path is deeply admirable. Yet I wonder how many of us have truly reflected on what it entails.

If the prospect of enduring a terminal illness in our present lifetime already frightens us, what gives us the confidence to endure the immense tribulations a Bodhisattva may face over countless lifetimes, long before Buddhahood is anywhere in sight? Can we seriously imagine having the unwavering determination to practise radical self-sacrifice for thousands, millions, or even countless years?

In Mahayana Buddhism, we often speak quite naturally of taking Bodhisattva vows and practising the Bodhisattva path. Yet, in reality—at least for me—the mental image of the Bodhisattva path tends to gravitate towards glorious figures like Maitreya or Avalokitesvara.

We rarely picture ourselves as a catfish caught in a net, struggling for its life, or as someone suffering profound injustice while striving to maintain compassion for the person causing that suffering.

If an unreasonable supervisor at work can already make my mind boil with anger, what gives me the confidence to willingly postpone the goal of personal liberation and continue along the Bodhisattva path for countless lifetimes?

Perhaps I am simply a flawed practitioner who lacks such unwavering conviction. Perhaps others possess a determination that I cannot yet comprehend, and would willingly offer their own bodies without a second thought.

But if we are being entirely honest with ourselves, perhaps it is time to examine our own minds and face the truth.

There is nothing wrong with aspiring to the Bodhisattva path, nor is there anything wrong with striving for Arahant awakening. What matters is that we understand the path we aspire to follow, rather than merely being captivated by its glorious ideals.

This story also reminds us to treat all living beings with respect and compassion. If even these humble fish could be Bodhisattvas, we can never truly know whom we might be harming.

May all be well and happy.