The Abbot said, “Alack, my son, now you suffer for sin committed in a former life, for Karma must needs be worked out.”
Anchin asked him, “Then is it past help?”
“Not that,” said the Abbot, “but you are in a very great strait.”
“Are you angry with me?” said Anchin.
“Nay, Heaven forbid, my poor son.”
“Then what must I do?”
“Fast and pray, and for a penance stand in the ice-cold water of our mountain torrent an hour at sunrise and an hour at sunset. Thus shall you be purged from carnal affection and escape the perils of illusion.”
So Anchin fasted and prayed, he scourged his body, and hour after hour he did penance in the ice-cold water of the torrent. Wan as a ghost he grew, and his eyes were like flames. His trouble would not leave him. A battle raged in his breast. He could not be faithful to his vows and faithful to his love.
The brethren wondered, “What can ail the monk Anchin, who was so learned and so holy—is he bewitched by a fox or a badger, or can he have a devil?”
But the Abbot said, “Let be.”