Book II. Heedfulness, Appamāda Vagga

II. 1. Story-Cycle Of King Udena Or Udayana Ed. note: The notes here and in the following headers Story ii. 1. 1-6 are brought in from the Introduction, in accordance with Burlingame’s instruction: The story of Udena is the longest, and in many respects the most interesting, of all the stories of the Dhammapada Commentary. It is in reality a cycle of six stories of diverse origin and character, dealing with the fortunes of Udena, his principal treasurer, and his three queen-consorts. Only two of the stories are mainly concerned with the fortunes of Udena, the rest being introduced by simple and familiar literary devices. The story of the fortunes of Udena in the Dhammapada Commentary stands in much the same relation to the embedded stories as the frame-story of Udena in the Kathāsaritsāgara to the rest of the collection. Parallels to one or more of the stories are found in Buddhaghosa’s Visuddhi-Magga, Buddhaghosa’s Commentaries on the Majjhima and Aṅguttara, the Divyāvadāna, Kathāsaritsāgara, and other Sanskrit collections, and the Tibetan Kandjur. The kernel of two of the stories is derived from the Sutta-Nipāta and the Udāna. See also Rogers, Buddhaghosa’s Parables, v, pp. 32-60. Text: N i. 161-231.
Sāmāvatīvatthu (21-23)


21. Heedfulness is the Way to the Deathless; heedlessness is the way to death.
The heedful never die, but they that are heedless are, as it were, dead already.

22. Knowing this clearly, they that are advanced in heedfulness
Delight in heedfulness, and rejoice in the state of the Elect.

23. They that devote themselves to meditation, they that are persevering, they that put forth resolute effort.
They, the wise, attain Nibbāna, the highest bliss.

This religious instruction was given by the Teacher while he was in residence at Ghosita monastery near Kosambi, and it was with reference to the loss by death of the five hundred women led by Sāmāvatī and of Māgandiyā and her five hundred kinswomen. From beginning to end the story is as follows: {1.161}

Part 1. Birth and youthful career of Udena Story ii. 1. 1: i. 161-169 relates the circumstances of the birth and youthful career of Udena. The same story is related briefly by Buddhaghosa in his Commentary on Majjhima 85 (see Lac"te, p. 9251). A somewhat different version of the story is found in chapter ix of the Kathāsaritsāgara.

Once upon a time King Allakappa ruled over the kingdom of Allakappa and King Veṭhadīpaka ruled over the kingdom of Veṭhadīpaka. They had been intimate friends since their boyhood-days and had received their education in the house of the same teacher. On the death of their fathers they raised the royal parasol and became rulers of kingdoms, each of which was ten leagues in extent.

As they met from time to time, and stood and sat and lay down to sleep together, and watched the multitudes being born into the world and dying again, they came to the conclusion, “When a man goes to the world beyond he can take nothing with him: {1.162} he must leave everything behind him when he goes thither; even his own body does not follow him; of what use to us is the life of the householder? Let us retire from the world.”

Accordingly they resigned their kingdoms to son and wife, retired from the world, adopted the life of ascetics, and took up their residence in the Himālaya country. And they took counsel together, saying, “Although we have renounced our kingdoms and retired from the world, we shall encounter no difficulty in gaining a living; but if we reside together in the same place, our life will be quite unlike the life of ascetics; therefore let us live apart. You live on this mountain; I will live on that. Every fortnight, on fast-day, we will meet together.” Then this thought occurred to them, “Under this arrangement [28.248] neither of us will be in regular communication with the other; but in order that each of us may know whether the other is living or not, you light a fire on your mountain, and I will light a fire on mine.” And this they did.

After a time the ascetic Veṭhadīpaka died and was reborn as a prince of deities of mighty power. A fortnight later Allakappa saw no fire on the mountain and knew that his comrade was dead. As soon as ever Veṭhadīpaka was reborn, he surveyed his own heavenly glory, considered the deeds of his former existence, reviewed the austerities he had performed from the day when he retired from the world, and said to himself, “I will go see my comrade.” Accordingly he laid aside his form as a deity, disguised himself as a wayfarer, went to Allakappa, paid obeisance to him, and stood respectfully on one side.

Allakappa said to him, “Whence have you come?” {1.163} “I am a wayfarer, Reverend Sir; I have come a long distance. But, Reverend Sir, does your honor reside entirely alone in this place? Is there no one else here?” “I have a single comrade.” “Where is he?” “He resides on that mountain; but as he failed to light a fire on fast-day, I know he must be dead.” “Is that so, Reverend Sir?” “That is so, brother.” “I am he, Reverend Sir.” “Where were you reborn?” “Reverend Sir, I was reborn in the World of the Gods as a prince of deities of mighty power. I have returned to see your honor. Does your honorable self reside in this place undisturbed, or are you subject to some annoyance?” “Yes, brother, I am bothered to death by the elephants.” “Reverend Sir, what do the elephants do to trouble you?” “They drop dung on the ground I have swept clean, and they stamp with their feet and kick up the dust. What with removing the dung and smoothing the ground, I am all worn out.” “Well, would you like to keep them away?” “Yes, brother.” “Well then, I will provide you with means whereby you can keep them away.”

Accordingly Veṭhadīpaka gave Allakappa a lute to charm elephants with and likewise taught him spells for charming elephants. Now as he presented the lute to him, he showed him three strings and taught him three spells. “Strike this string,” said he, “and utter this spell, and the elephants will turn and run away without so much as daring even to look at you; strike this string and utter this spell, and they will turn and run away, eyeing you at every step; strike this string and utter this spell, and the leader of the herd will come up and offer you his back. Now do as you like.” With these words {1.164} he departed. [28.249] Thereafter the ascetic lived in peace, driving the elephants away by uttering the proper spell and striking the proper string.

At this time Parantapa was king of Kosambi. One day he was sitting out in the open air basking himself in the rays of the newly risen sun, and beside him sat his queen, great with child. The queen was wearing the king’s cloak, a crimson blanket worth a hundred thousand pieces of money; and as she sat there conversing with the king she removed from the king’s finger the royal signet, worth a hundred thousand pieces of money, and slipped it on her own.

Just at that moment a monster bird with a bill as big as an elephant’s trunk came soaring through the air. Seeing the queen and mistaking her for a piece of meat, he spread his wings and swooped down. When the king heard the bird swoop down, he sprang to his feet and entered the royal palace. But the queen, because she was great with child and because she was of a timid nature, was unable to make haste. The bird pounced upon her, caught her up in the cage of his talons, and soared away with her into the air. (These birds are said to possess the strength of five elephants; they are therefore able to convey their victims through the air, settle wherever they wish, and devour their flesh.)

As the queen was being carried away by the bird, terrified though she was with the fear of death, she preserved her presence of mind and thought to herself, “Animals stand in great fear of the human voice. Therefore if I cry out, this bird will drop me the instant he hears the sound of my voice. But in that case I should accomplish only my own destruction and that of my unborn child. If, however, I wait until he settles somewhere and begins to eat, then I can make a noise and frighten him away.” Through her own wisdom, therefore, she kept patience and endured.

Now there stood at that time in the Himālaya country a banyan-tree which, although of brief growth, had attained great size {1.165} and was like a pavilion in form; and to this tree that bird was accustomed to convey the carcasses of wild animals and eat them. To this very tree, therefore, the bird conveyed the queen, lodged her in a fork of the tree, and watched the path leading to the tree. (It is the nature of these birds, we are told, to watch the path leading to their tree.) At that moment the queen, thinking to herself, “Now is the time to frighten him away,” raised both her hands, clapped them together and shouted, and frightened the bird away.

At sunset the pains of travail came upon her, and at the same time [28.250] from all the four quarters of heaven arose a great storm. The delicate queen, half dead with suffering, with no one beside her to say to her, “Fear not, lady,” slept not at all throughout the night. As the night grew bright, the clouds scattered, the dawn came, and her child was born at one and the same moment. Because the child was born at the time (utu) of a storm, at the time when she was upon a mountain, and at the time when the sun rose, she named her son Udena.

Not far from that tree was the place of residence of the ascetic Allakappa. Now on rainy days it was the custom of the ascetic not to go into the forest for fruits and berries, for fear of the cold. Instead he used to go to the foot of the tree and gather up the bones from which the birds had picked the flesh; then he would pound the bones, make broth of them, and drink the broth. On that very day, therefore, he went there to get bones. As he was picking up bones at the foot of the tree, {1.166} he heard the voice of a child in the branches above.

Looking up, he saw the queen. “Who are you?” said he. “I am a woman.” “How did you get there?” “A monster bird brought me here.” “Come down,” said he. “Your honor, I am afraid to come down on account of difference of caste.” “Of what caste are you?” “Of the Warrior caste.” “I am also of the Warrior caste.” “Well then, give me the password of the Warrior caste.” He did so. “Well then, climb up and set down my boy.” Finding a way to climb the tree on one side, he climbed up and took the boy in his arms; obeying the queen’s behest not to touch her with his hand, he set the boy down; then the queen herself came down.

The ascetic conducted the queen along the path to his hermitage and cared for her tenderly without in any way violating his vow of chastity. He brought honey free from flies and gave it to her; he brought rice grown in his own field and prepared broth and gave it to her. Thus did he minister to her needs.

After a time she thought to herself, “For my part I know neither the way to come nor the way to go, nor can I repose absolute confidence even in this ascetic. Now if he were to leave us and go elsewhere, we should both perish right here. I must by some means seduce him to violate his vow of chastity, so that he will not abandon us. Accordingly she displayed herself before him with under and upper garments in disarray, and thus seduced him to violate his vow of chastity; thenceforth the two lived together.

One day, as the ascetic was observing a conjunction of a constellation with one of the lunar mansions, he saw the occultation of [28.251] Parantapa’s star. “My lady,” said he, “Parantapa, king of Kosambi, is dead.” {1.167} “Noble sir, why do you speak thus? Why do you bear ill-will against him?” “I bear him no ill-will, my lady. I say this because I have just seen the occultation of his star.” She burst into tears. “Why do you weep?” he asked. Then she told him that Parantapa was her own husband. The ascetic replied, “Weep not, my lady; whoever is born is certain to die.” “I know that, noble sir.” “Then why do you weep?” “I weep, noble sir, because it pains me to think, ‘To my son belongs the sovereignty by right of succession; had he been there, he would have raised the white parasol; now he has become one of the common herd.’ ” “Never mind, my lady; be not disturbed. If you desire that he shall receive the sovereignty, I will devise some means by which he shall receive it.” Accordingly the ascetic gave the boy the lute to charm elephants with and likewise taught him the spells for charming elephants.

Now at that time many thousands of elephants came and sat at the foot of the banyan-tree. So the ascetic said to the boy, “Climb the tree before the elephants come, and when they come, utter this spell and strike this string, and they will all turn and run away, without even so much as daring to look at you; then descend and come to me.” The boy did as he was told, and then went and told the ascetic. On the second day the ascetic said to him, “To-day utter this spell and strike this string, if you please, and they will turn and run away, eyeing you at every step.” On that day also the boy did as he was told, and then went {1.168} and told the ascetic.

Then the ascetic addressed the mother, saying, “My lady, give your son his message and he will go hence and become king.” So she addressed her son, saying, “You must say, ‘I am the son of King Parantapa of Kosambi; a monster bird carried me off.’ Then you must utter the names of the commander-in-chief and the other generals. If they still refuse to believe you, you must show them this blanket which was your father’s cloak and this signet-ring which he wore on his finger.” With these words she dismissed him.

The boy said to the ascetic, “Now what shall I do?” The ascetic replied, “Seat yourself on the lowest branch of the tree, utter this spell and strike this string, and the leader of the elephants will approach and offer you his back. Seat yourself on his back, go to your kingdom, and take the sovereignty.” The boy did reverence to his parents, and following the instructions of the ascetic, seated himself on the back of the elephant and whispered in his ear, “I am the son of King [28.252] Parantapa of Kosambi. Get me and give me the sovereignty which I have inherited from my father.” When the elephant heard that, he trumpeted, “Let many thousands of elephants assemble;” and many thousands of elephants assembled. Again a second time he trumpeted, “Let the old, weak elephants retire;” and the old, weak elephants retired. The third time he trumpeted, “Let those that are very young retire;” and they also retired.

So the boy went forth, surrounded by many thousands of warrior-elephants, and reaching a village on the frontier, proclaimed, “I am the son of the king; {1.169} let those who desire worldly prosperity come with me.” Levying forces as he proceeded, he invested the city and sent the following message to the citizens, “Give me battle or the kingdom.” The citizens answered, “We will give neither. Our queen was carried off by a monster bird when she was great with child, and we know not whether she is alive or dead. So long as we hear no news of her, we will give neither battle nor the kingdom.” (At that time, we are told, the kingdom was handed down from father to son.) Thereupon the boy said, “I am her son.” So saying, he uttered the names of the commander-in-chief and the other generals, and when they still refused to believe him, showed the blanket and the ring. They recognized the blanket and the ring, opened the gates, and sprinkled him king.

Part 2. Birth and youthful career of Ghosaka Story ii. 1. 2: i. 169-187 relates the seven marvelous escapes from death of the luck-child Ghosaka, and is preceded by an account of Ghosaka’s previous kamma. The same story is related in detail by Buddhaghosa in his Commentary on the Etadagga Sutta of the Aṅguttara. For a comparative study of the two versions, see E. Hardy, JRAS., 1898, pp. 741-794. Parallels occur in many Sanskrit collections, and in fact in almost all of the literatures of the world. For a comparative study of the Oriental versions, see J. Schick, Das Glückskind mit dam Todesbrief.

Story of the Past: Kotūhalaka casts away his son

Once upon a time there was a famine in the kingdom of Ajita, and a man named Kotūhalaka, unable to get a living, took his young son Kāpi and his wife Kāḷi, and thinking, “I will go to Kosambi and get a living there,” set out with provisions for the journey. (There are also those who say that he left his home because the people were dying of intestinal disease.) As they proceeded on their journey, their provisions gave out, and finally they were so overcome with hunger that they were not able to carry the boy. Thereupon the husband said to his wife, “Wife, if we live, we shall have another son. Let us cast this child away and continue our journey alone.”

There is a proverb, “A mother’s heart is tender,” and so it was with this woman. She replied, “I could never cast away a living child.” “Well, what shall we do?” “Carry him by turns.” When the mother’s turn came, she would lift the child like a wreath of flowers, [28.253] clasp him to her breast, {1.170} or carry him on her hip, finally giving him back to his father. When the father took the child, no matter where he held him he suffered more intense pain than ever from hunger. Again and again he said to his wife, “Wife, if we live, we shall have another son. Let us cast this child away.” But this the mother steadfastly refused to do.

Finally the child became so tired from being passed back and forth that he fell asleep in the arms of his father. When the father observed that he was asleep, allowing the mother to precede him, he went and laid the child on a couch of leaves under a bush, immediately resuming his journey. The mother turned, looked back, and not seeing the child, asked, “Husband, where is my son?” “I laid him down under a certain bush.” “Husband, do not kill me. Without my son I cannot live. Bring my son back to me.” And she smote upon her breast and wept. So the husband retraced his steps, recovered the child, and brought him back to her. (In consequence of having cast away his child on this one occasion, Kotūhalaka was himself cast away seven times in a later existence. Let no one regard an evil deed lightly, saying, “It is only a small matter.”)

Continuing their journey, they came to the house of a certain herdsman. On that day, as it happened, one of the herdsman’s cows had calved, and the herdsman was about to hold the customary festival in honor of the event. Now a certain Private Buddha was accustomed to take his meals in the house of the hersdman. The herdsman, after providing the Private Buddha with food, celebrated the cow-festival with an abundant supply of rice-porridge. When the herdsman saw the visitors, he asked them, “Whence have you come?” They told him the whole story, whereupon the tender-hearted youth took pity on them and saw to it that they were given rice-porridge with a plentiful supply of ghee. The wife said to the husband, “Husband, if only you can live, I can live. For a long time you have not had sufficient food. Now eat to your heart’s content.” So saying, she set the ghee and curds before him, eating only a little of the ghee herself. The husband ate heartily; but so intense was the hunger from which he had suffered during the preceding seven or eight days that he was unable to satisfy it.

When the herdsman had seen to it that they were provided with rice-porridge, {1.171} he began himself to eat. Now under the herdsman’s stool lay a bitch he had raised, and as the herdsman sat there eating, he fed her with morsels of rice-porridge. Kotūhalaka watched [28.254] him feed her and thought to himself, “Fortunate indeed is that bitch to get such food to eat!” Kotūhalaka was unable to digest the rice-porridge he had eaten, died during the night, and received a new existence in the womb of that very bitch.

His wife performed the funeral ceremonies over his body, and remaining in that very house, worked for hire. Receiving a pint-pot of rice, she cooked it and placed it in the bowl of the Private Buddha, saying, “May these grains of rice bring a reward to your servant.” And she thought to herself, “It would be well for me to remain right here. The Private Buddha comes here regularly; and whether there be alms or not, I shall have the privilege of paying obeisance to him each day and of ministering to him. By so doing I shall obtain peace of mind and earn much merit.” And she remained right there working for hire.

After six or seven months the bitch gave birth to a single pup. The herdsman reserved the milk of one cow for the pup, and in no long time he grew to be a fine big dog. When the Private Buddha ate his meal, he invariably gave him a portion of his rice; and because of this the dog became deeply attached to the Private Buddha.

Now the herdsman was accustomed to go regularly twice each day to wait upon the Private Buddha, and the dog always went with him. On the way was a lair of wild beasts, and the herdsman used to frighten the wild beasts away by striking bushes and ground with a stick and calling out three times, “Su! su!” One day he said to the Private Buddha, “Reverend Sir, in case at any time I should be unable to come, I will send this dog for you. Therefore if I send him, please understand that I wish you to come.”

A few days later the herdsman found it inconvenient to go in person. He therefore sent the dog in his place, saying, “Boy, go bring his reverence back.” At the mere word of the herdsman the dog started off. Where he had seen his master stop and strike bushes and ground, the dog also stopped and barked three times; and when he was sure that his barking had frightened away the wild beasts, he went on. {1.172} Early in the morning, having attended to nature’s needs, he entered the hut of leaves and grass, went to the place where the Private Buddha sat, barked three times by way of announcing his arrival, and then lay down at one side. By this the Private Buddha knew that it was time for him to go, and therefore started out. The dog ran before him, barking constantly. From time to time the Private Buddha tested the dog by taking the wrong path; but every [28.255] time he did so the dog, by standing across the path and barking, intimated to him to take the other path.

One day the Private Buddha took the wrong path, and when the dog tried to stop him, without turning back, he pushed away the dog with his foot and went on. The dog, perceiving that he did not intend to turn back, took the hem of his undergarment in his teeth and dragged him along until he brought him to the right path. Such was the strength of the affection of the dog for the Private Buddha.

Later on the Private Buddha’s robe wore out. When the herdsman provided him with materials for a new set of robes, the Private Buddha said to him, “Brother, it is difficult for a person all alone to make a robe. I will go to a convenient place and have it made for me.” “Make it right here, Reverend Sir.” “No, brother, I cannot.” “Well then, Reverend Sir, do not take up your residence far from here.” The dog stood listening to every word they said. The Private Buddha said, “Wait a moment, brother.” Thereupon, leaving the herdsman behind, he flew up into the air and departed in the direction of Gandhamādana.

When the dog saw him flying through the air, {1.173} he began to bark and howl, and he kept this up until the Private Buddha gradually faded from view, whereupon his heart broke. (Animals, they say, are straightforward and not given to deceit; men, however, think one thing in their heart, but say another with their lips. Therefore said the Exalted One to a monk, “The ways of men are past finding out, but the ways of the beasts are easy to discover.” Ed. note: MN 51, Kandarakasutta (PTS, I, 340). ) So when the dog died, he was reborn, because of his straightforwardness and lack of deceit, in the World of the Thirty-three with a retinue of a thousand celestial nymphs, and there he enjoyed glory and bliss unspeakable. When he but whispered, his voice carried a distance of sixteen leagues; when he spoke in an ordinary tone, he could be heard all over the city of the gods, a city ten thousand leagues in extent. (Do you ask, “Of what was this the consequence?” It was because he barked and howled for love of the Private Buddha.)

Remaining in the World of the Thirty-three for no long time, he passed from that state of existence. (Deities pass from the World of the Gods through four causes: exhaustion of life, exhaustion of merit, exhaustion of food, and anger. He that has earned much merit is reborn in the World of the Gods, remains there during the term allotted to him, and is then reborn higher and higher. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of life.” He that has earned little merit [28.256] soon exhausts that merit, just as three or four pint-pots of rice tossed into a royal storehouse disappear; and he therefore soon dies. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of merit.” Still a third, while enjoying the pleasures of sense, fails through confusion of memory to partake of food, and the strength of his body being thereby impaired, dies. Thus he passes through “exhaustion of food.” A fourth, jealous of the glory of another, {1.174} becomes angry and dies. Thus he passes through “anger.”)

Story of the Present: Ghosaka is cast away seven times

Ghosaka, while enjoying the pleasures of sense, became forgetful, passed, through exhaustion of food, from the World of the Thirty-three, and was conceived in the womb of a courtezan of Kosambi. On the day when the courtezan gave birth to the child, she asked her slave-woman, “What is it?” “A son, my lady.” “Very well, put this boy into an old winnowing basket and cast him away on the dust-heap.” Thus she caused him to be cast away. (Courtezans will bestow care on a daughter, but not on a son, for it is through a daughter that their line of business is maintained.) Crows and dogs surrounded the child and huddled about him; but in consequence of his barking and howling for love of the Private Buddha, not one dared to approach him.

At that moment a man came out and saw the crows and dogs all huddled together. “What does this mean?” thought he to himself, going nearer. When he saw the boy, he immediately took a fancy to him, and saying to himself, “I have gained a son,” he picked the boy up and took him home with him.

Now the treasurer of Kosambi happened at that time to go to the royal palace. Seeing the house-priest returning from the royal residence, he asked him, “Teacher, have you observed a conjunction of a constellation with one of the lunar mansions to-day?” “Yes, great treasurer. What else have we to do?” “What will happen to the country?” “Only this: a boy has been born in this city to-day who will one day become the principal treasurer.” As the treasurer’s wife was at that time great with child, he immediately sent a messenger to his house, saying, “Go find out whether or not she has given birth to a child.”

He received the answer that she had not yet given birth to a child. Therefore, as soon as he had seen the king, he went home quickly, summoned a slave-woman named Kāḷī, gave her a thousand pieces of [28.257] money, {1.175} and said, “Go scour this city, find the boy that was born to-day, and bring him hither to me.” While she was scouring the city, she came to the house where the child was and asked the mistress of the house, “When was this boy born?” “To-day.” “Give him to me,” said she, first offering a penny and gradually increasing the amount until finally, by offering a thousand pieces of money, she obtained him. Then she took him with her and presented him to the treasurer.

The treasurer gave him a home in his house, thinking to himself, “If a daughter is born to me, I will marry her to this boy and make him treasurer; but if a son is born to me, I will kill him.” After a few days his wife gave birth to a son. Thereupon the treasurer thought to himself, “If only this foundling did not exist, my own son would obtain the post of treasurer. I had best kill him immediately.” So he said to Kāḷī, “Carry this child to the cattle-pen, and when it is time for the cattle to come out, lay him across the doorway, and the cattle will trample him to death. Observe whether or not they trample him to death, and then come back and tell me.”

She carried the child to the cattle-pen, and as soon as the door was opened, laid him across the doorway. Now at other times the leader of the herd, the bull, came out last of all; but on this particular day he came out first, inclosed the boy with his four feet, and stood stock still. Several hundred cows came out on either side of the bull, rubbing against his flanks as they passed. The herdsman thought to himself, “Hitherto this bull has always gone out last of all, but to-day he went out first and stood stock still in the doorway of the pen. What can this mean?” Going near, he saw the boy lying under the bull. Immediately taking a fancy to him, he said to himself, “I have gained a son,” and picking him up, he carried him home.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the herdsman, give him these thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” So she brought the child back again and gave him to the treasurer. {1.176} Then he said to her, “Good Kāḷī, five hundred carts start from this city at dawn on a trading expedition. Take this child and lay him in the track of the wheels. Either the oxen will trample him under their feet or the wheels will crush him to death. Observe what happens to him, and then return to me.”

She took the child and laid him down in the track of the wheels. The leader of the caravan came first; but when his oxen reached the [28.258] place where the child lay, they threw off the yoke. Again and again the leader replaced the yoke and tried to drive the oxen forwards; but as often as he did so, they threw off the yoke and refused to move. He was still struggling with them when the sun rose. “Why have the oxen acted thus?” thought he. He looked at the road and saw the boy. “Oh, what a grievous wrong I have done!” thought he. His heart was filled with joy at the thought, “I have gained a son,” and picking up the boy, he carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the caravan-leader, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” When she had so done, he said to her, “Now carry him to the burning-ground and lay him in the bushes. There he will either be eaten by dogs or attacked by demons, and he will die. As soon as you know whether or not he is dead, return to me.”

She took the child, laid him in the bushes, and stood at one side. But neither dog nor crow nor demon dared to approach him. (Pray, if he had neither mother nor father nor brother nor other kinsman to protect him, what was it that did protect him? All that protected him was his howling for love of the Private Buddha in his former existence as a dog.)

Just then a goatherd passed on one side of the burning-ground, leading several thousand goats to pasture. A certain she-goat made her way into the bushes eating leaves and grass, and seeing the boy, knelt down and gave him suck. The goatherd called, “He! he!” but she did not come out. Thereupon he said to himself, “I will beat her with my stick and bring her out.” So saying, he made his way into the bushes. {1.177} And there he saw the she-goat on her knees, giving suck to the boy. He immediately took a fancy to the boy, and saying to himself, “I have gained a son,” picked him up and carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the goatherd, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” When she had so done, he said to her, “Good Kāḷī, take this child with you, climb the mountain that is known as Robbers’ Cliff, and throw him down the precipice. He will strike against the sides of the ravine and be dashed to pieces when he reaches the bottom. As soon as you know whether or not he is dead, return to me.”

She carried the child to Robbers’ Cliff, and standing at the top of the mountain, threw him down. Now there grew along the mountain [28.259] near that abyss a dense bamboo thicket, and the top of the mountain was covered with a thick growth of guñjā shrub. As the boy fell, he dropped into this bamboo thicket as into a coverlet of goat’s hair. Now that very day the leader of the reed-makers had received a gift of bamboo and accompanied by his son, he had gone to chop that thicket down. As he began his work, the bamboo shook and the boy cried out. “That sounds like the voice of a boy,” thought he. Climbing up on one side, he saw the boy. His heart was filled with joy at the thought, “I have gained a son,” and picking up the boy, he carried him off.

Kāḷī went back to the treasurer and in answer to his question told him what had happened. Said the treasurer, “Go to the reed-maker, give him a thousand pieces of money, and bring the child back to me again.” She did so. But in spite of the treasurer’s attempts on his life, the child lived and thrived and grew to manhood. Ghosaka was his name. He was like a thorn in the eye of the treasurer, who could not look him straight in the face.

Thinking of a way to kill him, the treasurer went to a friend of his who was a potter and asked him, “When are you going to fire your bake-house?” “To-morrow.” {1.178} “Well then, take these thousand pieces of money and do a job for me.” “What is it, master?” “I have a single base-born son. I will send him to you. Take him into an inner room, chop him to pieces with a sharp axe, throw him into a chatty, and bake him in the bake-house. Here are a thousand pieces of money, to seal the bargain, as it were. But in addition I will reward you suitably later.” “Very well,” said the potter, consenting to the bargain.

On the following day the treasurer summoned Ghosaka and sent him to the potter, saying, “Yesterday I left an order with the potter to do a certain piece of work for me. Go say to him, ‘Finish the job my father gave you yesterday.’ ” “Very well,” said Ghosaka, and set out.

As Ghosaka was on his way to the potter’s, the treasurer’s other son, who was playing marbles with some boys, saw him. And calling to him, he asked, “Where are you going?” “I am carrying a message to the potter for father.” “Let me go there. These boys have won a big stake from me. You win it back and give it to me.” “I am afraid of father.” “Do not fear, brother; I will carry that message. I have lost a big stake. You play until I return again, and win the stake back for me.” [28.260]

(We are told that Ghosaka was skillful at shooting marbles, and that for this reason his foster-brother was so insistent.)

So Ghosaka consented to let his foster-brother go in his place, saying, “Well then, go to the potter and say to him, ‘Finish the job my father gave you yesterday.’ ” Thus it happened that the treasurer’s own son carried the message to the potter. The potter killed him according to the letter of the directions he had received from the treasurer and threw his body into the bake-house. Ghosaka played marbles all day and went home in the evening. {1.179} “You have returned home, son?” queried the treasurer. Ghosaka then told him the reason why he had himself returned home and let his younger brother go to the potter.

“Woe is me!” cried the treasurer with a loud voice. He looked as though the blood had been drawn from his veins. He rushed to the potter, wringing his hands and wailing, “Oh, potter, do not kill me! do not kill me!” The potter saw him approaching in this wise and said to him, “Master, make no noise; the job is done.” Thus was the treasurer overwhelmed with sorrow as with a mountain. Thus did he suffer great grief, even as do all who offend against those that are without offense. Therefore said the Exalted One,

137. Whosoever visits punishment on those that deserve not punishment.
Whosoever offends against those that are without offense.
Such an one will right quickly come to one of ten states:

138. He will incur cruel suffering, or infirmity, or injury of the body.
Or severe sickness, or loss of mind,

139. Or misfortune proceeding from the king, or a heavy accusation.
Or death of relatives, or loss of treasures,

140. Or else the fire of lightning will consume his houses;
Upon dissolution of the body such a fool will go to Hell. {1.180}

Now under these circumstances the treasurer was unable to look Ghosaka straight in the face. “How can I manage to kill him?” thought he. Finally he thought of a way. “I will send him to the superintendent of my hundred villages and order him to kill him,” said he to himself. Accordingly he wrote the following letter to the superintendent, “This is my base-born son. Kill him and throw him into the cesspool. Let this be done, and I shall know how to reward my uncle properly.” Then he said to his foster-son, “Dear Ghosaka, there is a superintendent over our hundred villages. Take this letter and give it to him.” So saying, he fastened the letter to the hem of [28.261] his garment. (Now Ghosaka did not know how to read and write, for ever since he was a boy the treasurer had striven, although without success, to kill him. Why, therefore, should he have taught him to read and write?) As Ghosaka set out with his own death-warrant fastened to the hem of his garment, he said to his father, “Father, I have no provisions for the journey.” “You have no need of provisions for the journey. On the way, in such and such a village, lives a friend of mine who is a treasurer. Obtain your breakfast at his house, and then continue your journey.” “Very well,” said Ghosaka, and bowing to his father, set out on his journey.

When he arrived at the village, he inquired where the treasurer’s house was, went there, and saw the treasurer’s wife. “Whence have you come?” she inquired. “From the city,” he replied. “Whose son are you?” “I am the son of your friend the treasurer, my lady.” “Then you are Ghosaka.” “Yes, my lady.” She fell in love with him at first sight. Now the treasurer had a daughter about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and she was exceedingly beautiful and fair to look upon. In order to keep her safe and sound, her parents lodged her on the topmost floor of a seven-storied palace in an apartment of royal splendor, giving her a single slave-girl to run errands. {1.181} At that moment the treasurer’s daughter sent this slave-girl to a shop. The treasurer’s wife, seeing her, asked, “Where are you going?” “On an errand for your daughter, my lady.” “Just come here a moment. Never mind the errand. Spread a seat for my son, bathe his feet, anoint them with oil, and then spread a couch for him. After you have done this, you may do your errand.” The slave-girl did as she was told.

When she returned, the treasurer’s daughter scolded her for her long absence. The slave-girl replied, “Be not angry with me. The treasurer’s son Ghosaka has arrived, and I had to do this and that for him, besides going on an errand for you, before I returned.” When the treasurer’s daughter heard the name “treasurer’s son Ghosaka,” love suffused her body, cleaving her skin and penetrating the marrow of her bones.

(For she had been his wife in his former existence as Kotūhalaka and had given a pint-pot of rice to the Private Buddha. And through his supernatural power she had been reborn in the household of the treasurer. No wonder her old passion for him returned and overwhelmed her! Therefore said the Exalted One,

Through previous association or present advantage,
That love springs up like a lily in the water.) [28.262]

The treasurer’s daughter said to the slave-girl, “Girl, where is he?” “He is lying asleep on the couch.” “Has he anything in his hand?” “There is a letter fastened to his garment.” “What can be in this letter?” she thought. So while Ghosaka was asleep, and her mother and father were otherwise engaged, she came down without attracting their attention, detached the letter from his garment, took it with her, went into her room, closed the door, opened the window, and through her knowledge of writing read the letter. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “the simpleton is going about with his own death-warrant fastened to his garment. {1.182} Had I not seen it, he would surely have been killed.”

So she tore up this letter and wrote another in the name of the treasurer as follows, “This is my son Ghosaka. Procure presents for him from my hundred villages. Prepare a festival in honor of his marriage with the daughter of this district-treasurer. Build him a two-storied house in the center of the village wherein he resides. Surround his house with a wall and with a guard of men, and so provide him with ample protection. Then send me a message, saying, ‘I have done thus and so,’ and I shall know how to reward my uncle properly.” Having written the letter, she folded it up and fastened it to the hem of his garment.

After sleeping all day, Ghosaka arose, ate his meal, and went on his way. Early on the morning of the following day he arrived at that village and saw the superintendent performing his village duties. When the superintendent saw him, he asked him, “What is it, dear Ghosaka?” “My father has sent you a letter.” “What is it about, dear Ghosaka? Bring it to me.” He took the letter and read it, and then said with an exclamation of delight, “See, men, how my master loves me. He has sent me a message, saying, ‘Prepare a festival in honor of my oldest son.’ Bring wood and other building materials immediately.” Having thus given orders to the householders, he caused a house of the kind described in the letter to be erected in the center of the village, had presents brought from the hundred villages, conducted the daughter of the district-treasurer thither, celebrated the marriage festival, and then sent word to the treasurer, saying, “I have done thus and so.”

When the treasurer received the message, he said, “What I would do, that I do not; what I would not do, that I do.” Disappointment over the failure of his latest plan, together with sorrow over the death of his own son, set him on fire within and produced diarrhea. [28.263]

The treasurer’s daughter gave orders, saying, “Should anyone come here from the treasurer, tell me before you tell the treasurer’s son.” {1.183} The treasurer said to himself, “At any rate I will not make this rascally son of mine heir to my property.” With this thought in mind he said to a certain official, “Uncle, I wish to see my son. Send a servant and summon my son.” “Very well,” replied the official, and giving a certain man the letter, sent him away.

When the treasurer’s daughter heard that the servant had arrived and was standing at the door, she sent for him and asked him, “What is it, my man?” “The treasurer is sick and wishes to see his son, and has therefore sent for him, my lady.” “My man, is he strong or weak?” “He is still strong, my lady, and able to take nourishment.” Without letting the treasurer’s son know, she ordered that the man should be given lodging and expenses and said to him, “You may go when I send you. Remain here for the present.”

Again the treasurer addressed the official, “Uncle, did you not send a messenger to my son?” “I did, master, but the man who went has not yet returned.” “Well then, try again and send another.” So the official sent another man, and the treasurer’s daughter treated him just as she had the first. The treasurer’s condition grew worse; one chamber-pot went in and another came out. Again the treasurer asked the official, “Uncle, did you not send a messenger to my son?” “I did, master, but the man who went has not yet returned.” “Well then, try again and send another.” So the official sent another man. When the third messenger arrived, the treasurer’s daughter asked him the news. “The treasurer is a very sick man, my lady. He refuses to eat and is confined to his bed. One chamber-pot comes out and another goes in.”

“Now it is time to go,” thought the treasurer’s daughter. So she said to the treasurer’s son, “I learn that your father is sick.” “Wife, what say you?” “It may be only a slight ailment, husband.” “What is to be done now?” {1.184} “Let us take presents from his hundred villages and go see him.” “Very well,” said he. Having caused presents to be brought, he started out, conveying the presents in a cart. Then she said to him, “Your father is very weak. If we take all these presents, we shall be delayed on the way; send them back.” Having sent all the presents back to their own house, she said to the treasurer’s son, “Husband, please stand at your father’s feet; I will stand beside his pillow.” And as they entered the house, she gave orders to her own men, “Stand on guard both in the front of the house [28.264] and in the rear.” And when they had entered, the treasurer’s son took his stand at his father’s feet and his wife beside his pillow.

At that moment the treasurer was lying on his back and the official was rubbing his feet. The latter said to him, “Master, your son has arrived.” “Where is he?” “Here he is, standing at your feet.” When the treasurer saw his son, he sent for the receiver of his revenues and asked him, “How much wealth is there in my house?” “Master, of money alone there are four hundred millions; as for objects for employment and enjoyment, such as villages and fields and men and animals and wagons and carriages, such and such is the total.” It was the treasurer’s intention to say, “All of this wealth I do not give to my son Ghosaka.” But instead of this he said, “I do give.”

When the treasurer’s daughter heard this, she thought to herself, “However, if this man should speak again, he might say something very different.” Accordingly, pretending to be overcome with grief, she disheveled her hair, burst into tears, and said, “Dear father, do you really mean this? In spite of these words of yours, which we hear, we are indeed unfortunate.” So saying, she fell on him, struck the middle of his breast with the crown of her head, and in order that he might not be able to speak again, rubbed the middle of his breast with the crown of her head, displaying at the same time signs of profound grief. At that very moment the treasurer died. {1.185}

They went and informed King Udena of his death. The king had the funeral ceremonies performed over his body and asked, “Has he any son or daughter?” “Your majesty, he has a son named Ghosaka; and, your majesty, he bestowed all his property on him before he died.” Some time afterwards, the king sent for the treasurer’s son. Now that day it rained, and there were pools of water here and there in the palace court. The treasurer’s son set out to see the king. The king opened his window and watched him as he approached, noticing that as he crossed the palace court he leaped over the pools of water that stood in the court. When he reached the palace and paid obeisance to the king and stood before him, the king asked him, “Your name is Ghosaka?” “Yes, your majesty.” The king comforted him, saying, “Do not grieve at the thought that your father is dead. I will give you alone your father’s post as treasurer.” Then he dismissed him, saying, “Now, dear Ghosaka, you may go,” and stood and watched him as he left the palace.

Now whereas Ghosaka leaped over the water in approaching the palace, he walked through it on his return. The king sent orders for [28.265] him to return from where he was and asked him, “Dear Ghosaka, is it a fact that whereas, in coming to me, you leaped over the water, on your return you walk through it?” “It is even so, your majesty. Then I was a boy and was fond of play, but now I have been promised a post of honor by your majesty. Therefore I must now lay aside my former ways and deport myself with modesty and dignity.” On hearing this, the king thought to himself, “There is a wise man. I will give him the post immediately.” Accordingly he gave him the wealth formerly possessed by his father and the post of treasurer, together with all the hundred villages. Then Ghosaka mounted his chariot and drove sunwise round the city. Every place he looked at quaked and trembled.

The treasurer’s daughter sat talking with the slave-woman Kāḷī. {1.186} “Mother Kāḷī,” said she, “it was through me that your son obtained all this worldly glory.” “How is that, my lady?” “Why, this youth came to our house with his own death-warrant fastened to the hem of his garment. I tore up that letter and wrote another, ordering the celebration of a festival in honor of my marriage to him. In this way did I protect him all that time.” “My lady, this is all you know about it. But as a matter of fact, from the time your husband was a little boy, the treasurer constantly sought to kill him, and though his attempts were unsuccessful, a large sum of money was spent solely for the purpose of accomplishing his death.” “Kāḷī, the treasurer was indeed guilty of abominable crimes!”

Having performed his ceremonial circuit of the city, Ghosaka entered his house. Now when his wife saw him, she thought to herself, “It was through me that he obtained all this worldly glory,” and laughed. The treasurer’s son asked her, “Why do you laugh?” “For a certain reason.” “Tell me the reason.” She refused to do so. He drew his sword and said, “If you do not tell me, I will cut you in twain.” Then she said, “I laughed to think that it was through me that you obtained all this worldly glory.” “If what I possess was handed over to me by my father, where do you come in?” (We are told that during all that time Ghosaka knew nothing about the designs against his life, and that that was why he refused to believe what she said.) So she told him the whole story, saying, “When your father sent you forth bearing your own death-warrant, I did this and that and protected you.”

“What you say is not true,” replied Ghosaka, refusing to believe her. “I will ask Mother Kāḷī.” So he asked the slave-woman, “Kāḷī, [28.266] is what she says true?” “Yes, my lord. From the time you were a little boy your father sought constantly to kill you, and though his attempts were unsuccessful, a large sum of money was spent for the purpose of accomplishing your death. On seven occasions you had a narrow escape from death. Now, coming from the village of which he was headman, {1.187} you have obtained the post of treasurer, together with all the hundred villages.”

When Ghosaka heard this, he thought to himself, “How great was my presumption! But since I have escaped from so terrible a death, I must no longer live the life of Heedlessness. Henceforth, therefore, I will live the life of Heedfulness.” Accordingly he established alms for the blind and the poor, and employing his friend the householder as steward of his alms, he dispensed a thousand pieces of money daily.

Part 3. Birth and youthful career of Sāmāvatī Story ii. 1. 3: i. 187-191 relates the circumstances under which Sāmāvatī became one of the queen-consorts of Udena. Similar in all respects is the story of Pradyota and Śāntā (Sāmāvatī) in the Kandjur. See A. Schiefner, Mahākātjājana und König Tshanḍa-Pradjota: v, Epidemie zu Udshdshajinī (pp. 14-17).

Now at this time there lived in the city of Bhaddavatī a treasurer named Bhaddavatiya, and he was a friend of the treasurer Ghosaka, although Ghosaka had never seen him. For the treasurer Ghosaka heard, from traders who came from the city of Bhaddavatī, of the wealth and age of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, and desiring to be friends with him, sent him a present. Likewise the treasurer Bhaddavatiya heard, from traders who came from the city of Kosambi, of the wealth and age of the treasurer Ghosaka, and desiring to be friends with him, sent him a present. Thus, although neither had seen the other, they dwelt as friends.

After a time intestinal disease broke out in the house of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya. When this disease breaks out, the first to die are flies; afterwards, in regular order, insects, mice, domestic fowls, swine, cattle, slaves both female and male, and last of all the members of the household. Only those that break down the wall and flee, save their lives. Now at that time the treasurer Bhaddavatiya and his wife and daughter fled in this manner, and intending to seek the treasurer Ghosaka, {1.188} set out on the road to Kosambi. While they were still on their way, their provisions for the journey gave out, and their bodies became exhausted from exposure to wind and sun, and from hunger and thirst. Reaching Kosambi with difficulty, they bathed in a pool of water in a pleasant place and then entered a certain rest-house at the gate of the city.

Then the treasurer said to his wife, “Wife, those who travel in this [28.267] way are not courteous even to a mother who has borne a child. Now I have a friend who, they say, dispenses a thousand pieces of money daily in alms to the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons. We will send our daughter there, have her bring us food, remain right here for a day or two and refresh our bodies, and then we will go and see my friend.” “Very well, husband,” she replied, and they took up their residence right there in the rest-house.

On the following day, when meal-time was announced and the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons went to obtain food, the mother and father sent forth their daughter, saying, “Daughter, go bring us food.” So the daughter of a wealthy house, pride overcome with misfortune, hid her shame, took a bowl, and went with poor folk to procure food. “How many portions will you have?” she was asked. “Three,” she replied. So they gave her three portions. She carried the food back to her parents, and the three sat down to eat together. The mother and daughter said to the treasurer, “Master, misfortune comes even to prominent families. Eat without regarding us and do not worry.” After a good deal of urging, they prevailed upon him to eat. But after he had eaten, he was unable to digest his food, and when the sun rose, he died. The mother and daughter wept and wailed and lamented.

On the following day the young girl went the second time to procure food. “How many portions will you have?” {1.189} “Two.” She carried the food back to her mother, and after a good deal of urging, prevailed upon her to eat. The mother yielded to her pleading and consented to eat, but died on that very day. The young girl, left alone to herself, wept and wailed and lamented over the misfortune that had come upon her. On the following day, suffering the pangs of hunger keenly, she went weeping in the company of beggars to procure food. “How many portions will you have, daughter?” “One,” was her reply.

A householder named Mitta, remembering that she had received food for three days, said to her, “Perish, vile woman. To-day, at last, you have come to know the capacity of your belly.” This daughter of a respectable family, modest and timid, felt as though she had received a sword-thrust in her bosom, or as though salt water had been sprinkled on a sore. She immediately replied, “What do you mean, sir?” “Day before yesterday you took three portions, yesterday two, to-day you take but one. To-day, then, you know the capacity of your belly.” “Sir, do not think that I took these for myself.” “Why then did you take them?” “Sir, day before yesterday we were [28.268] three, yesterday we were two, to-day I am left alone.” “How is that?” he inquired.

She then told him the whole story from the beginning. As he listened to her story, he was unable to control his tears, but was overcome by the power of the grief that arose within him. Finally he said to her, “My dear girl, if this is the case, do not worry. Hitherto you have been the daughter of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, but from this day forth you shall be my very own daughter.” And he kissed her on the head, conducted her to his own house, and adopted her as his own oldest daughter.

One day she heard loud and piercing screams in the refectory, whereupon she said to her foster-father, “Father, why do you not keep these people quiet when you dispense alms?” “It is impossible to do it, dear daughter.” “Father, it is quite possible.” “How would you do it, dear daughter?” “Father, {1.190} put a fence around the refectory and hang two gates through which the people may pass in and out, allowing only sufficient space for one person to pass through at a time. Then direct the people to pass in through one gate and out through the other. If you do this, they will receive their alms peaceably and quietly.” When the householder had heard her plan he remarked, “A happy device, dear daughter,” and did as she suggested. Now up to that time her name had been Sāmā, but through her construction of a fence (vati) she received the name Sāmāvatī. From that time on there was no more tumult in the refectory.

Now the treasurer Ghosaka had long been accustomed to hear this noise in the refectory and rather liked to hear it; for it always made him think, “That is the noise in my refectory.” But after hearing no noise at all for two or three days, he asked the householder Mitta, who came one day to wait upon him, “Are alms being given to the blind, the poor, and other unfortunate persons?” “Yes, sir.” “How then does it happen that for two or three days past I have not heard a sound?” “I have arranged matters so that the people now receive alms without making any noise.” “Why didn’t you do so before?” “I didn’t know how, sir.” “How did you happen to find a way just now?” “My daughter told me how to do it, sir.” “Have you a daughter whom I have never seen?” Then the householder told him the whole story of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, beginning with the outbreak of the plague and ending with his adoption of the young girl as his own oldest daughter.

Then said the treasurer to him, “If this is the case, why did you [28.269] not tell me? My friend’s daughter is my own daughter.” So he sent for her and asked her, “Dear girl, are you the daughter of the treasurer?” “Yes, sir, I am.” “Well then, do not worry; you are my own daughter.” Then he kissed her on the head, gave her five hundred women for her retinue, and adopted her as his own oldest daughter.

One day a festival was proclaimed in this city. Now at this festival daughters of respectable families, who do not ordinarily go out, go on foot with their own retinue {1.191} and bathe in the river. Accordingly on that day Sāmāvatī also, accompanied by her five hundred women, went right through the palace court to bathe in the river. King Udena stood at his window and saw her. “Whose are those nautch-girls?” he inquired. “Nobody’s nautch-girls, your majesty.” “Then whose daughters are they?” “Your majesty, that is the daughter of the treasurer Bhaddavatiya, and her name is Sāmāvatī.” Now the king fell in love with the girl the moment he saw her, and immediately sent word to the treasurer Ghosaka, “Send me the maiden they say is your daughter.” “I will not send her, your majesty.” “Do not act thus. Do as I ask and send her.” “Your majesty, we householders do not give young girls, for fear people will say they are abused and maltreated.” Angered by the treasurer’s reply, the king caused the treasurer’s house to be sealed and the treasurer and his wife to be seized and turned out of doors.

When Sāmāvatī returned after her bath and found no way of entering the house, she asked, “What does this mean, dear father?” “Dear daughter, the king sent for you; and when we refused to give you to him, he caused the house to be sealed and caused us to be turned out of doors.” “Dear father, you made a great mistake. When one who is a king commands, you should not say, ‘We do not give.’ You should rather say, ‘If you will take our daughter with her retinue, we will give her to you.’ ” “Very well, dear daughter. If that is your desire, I will do as you say.” Accordingly Ghosaka sent a message to that effect to the king, and the king accepted his offer, saying, “Very well.” Then the king conducted Sāmāvatī with her retinue to the royal palace, conferred the ceremonial sprinkling on her, and elevated her to the dignity of chief consort. The other women became her ladies-in-waiting. [28.270]

Part 4. Winning of Vāsuladattā by Udena Story ii. 1. 4: i. 191-199 relates the capture of Udena by Caṇḍa-Pajjota and the winning of Vāsuladattā by Udena. Close parallels to this story occur in the Kathāsaritsāgara and Kandjur. See Kathāsaritsāgara, frame-story of chapters xi-xiv; and Schiefner, Mahākātjājana, xv, Udajana’s Gefangennehmung und Rettung (pp. 35-40). The same story is related very briefly by Buddhaghosa in his Commentary on Majjhima 85 (see Lac"te, p. 251).

Yet another of Udena’s queen-consorts was Vāsuladattā, {1.192} daughter of Caṇḍa Pajjota, king of Ujjeni. One day, as Caṇḍa Pajjota was returning from his pleasure-garden, he surveyed his own splendor and asked, “Is there any other soever possessed of splendor like mine?” “Splendor such as it is, King Udena of Kosambi possesses exceeding great splendor.” “Very well, let us take him captive.” “It is impossible to capture him.” “By employing some means or other, let us capture him all the same.” “It is impossible, your majesty.” “Why?” “He understands the art of charming elephants. By reciting spells and playing his elephant-charming lute, he either drives elephants away or captures them at his pleasure. No one possesses so many riding-elephants as he.” “I suppose it is impossible for me to capture him.” “If you are bent on doing it, have a wooden elephant made and turned loose near him. Let him hear of a good mount, be it elephant or horse, and he will go a long way for it. When he is close by, you can capture him.” “A stratagem indeed!” exclaimed the king.

So the king had a mechanical elephant made of wood, wrapped about with strips of cloth and deftly painted, and turned it loose on the bank of a certain lake near the country of his enemy. Within the belly of the elephant sixty men walked back and forth; every now and then they loaded their shovels with elephant dung and dumped it out. A certain woodman saw the elephant, and thinking to himself, “Just the thing for our king!” went and told the king, “Your majesty, I saw a noble elephant, pure white even as the peak of Kelasa, just the sort of elephant your majesty would like.”

Udena mounted his elephant and set out, taking the woodman along as a guide and accompanied by his retinue. His approach was {1.193} observed by spies, who went and informed Caṇḍa Pajjota. The latter straightway dispatched armies on both flanks of his enemy, allowing the space between them to remain open. Udena, unaware of his enemy’s approach, continued to pursue the elephant. He recited his spell and played his lute, but all to no purpose. The wooden elephant, driven with great speed by the men concealed within its belly, made as if it failed to hear the charm and continued its flight. The king, unable to overtake the elephant, mounted his horse. On and on sped the horse, galloping so rapidly that by degrees the army of the king was left far behind and the king was quite alone. Then Caṇḍa Pajjota’s [28.271] men, who were posted on both flanks, captured Udena and turned him over to their king. Udena’s army, perceiving that their leader had fallen into the hands of the enemy, built a stockade just outside of Ujjeni and remained there.

Caṇḍa Pajjota, having thus captured Udena alive, clapped him into prison behind closed doors and kept wassail for three days. On the third day Udena asked his keepers, “Friends, where’s your king?” “Carousing, for, says he, ‘I’ve landed my enemy.’ ” “What does your king mean by acting like a woman? He has captured a royal adversary and surely ought either to release him or to kill him. He has brought humiliation upon us and is ‘carousing’– indeed!” The keepers went and reported the incident to the king. The king came and asked, “Is it true that you said thus and thus?” “Yes, your majesty.” “Very well, I will release you. They say you have such and such a charm; will you give it to me?” “Certainly I will give it to you; but when you receive it, will you pay me homage?” “I pay you homage? I’ll not pay you homage.” “Then I’ll not give it to you.” {1.194} “In that case I will have you executed.” “Do so; you are lord of my body, not of my mind.”

When the king heard Udena’s defiant answer, he thought to himself, “How in the world can I get the charm? I have it. I’ll have my daughter learn it from him, and then I’ll learn it from her. It would never do to let anyone else learn a charm like this.” So he said to Udena, “Will you divulge the charm to another, if the other will pay you homage?” “Yes, your majesty.” “Well then, we have in our house a hunchbacked woman. She will sit behind a curtain; you remain outside and have her repeat the charm.” “Be she hunchback or cripple, I will teach her the charm, provided she will pay me homage.”

Then the king went to his daughter Vāsuladattā and said, “Dear daughter, there is a certain leper who knows a priceless charm. You sit behind a curtain, and he will remain outside and repeat it to you. You get it from him, for it would never do to let anyone else learn it, and then I will get it from you.” After this sort, for fear of their making love, did Caṇḍa Pajjota feign that his daughter was a hunchback and Udena a leper. So Vāsuladattā seated herself behind a curtain, and Udena remained outside and caused her to repeat the charm.

One day Udena repeated the words of the charm over and over again to Vāsuladattā, but the latter was unable to reproduce it correctly. Thereupon Udena cried out, “Dunce of a hunchback, your lips are too [28.272] thick and your cheeks too pudgy! I’ve a mind to beat your face in! Say it this way!” Vāsuladattā replied in anger, “Villain of a leper, {1.195} what do you mean by those words? Do you call such as I hunchback’?” Udena lifted the fringe of the curtain and asked, “Who are you?” Said the maiden, “I am Vāsuladattā, daughter of the king.” “When your father spoke to me, he described you as a hunchback.” “When he spoke to me, he made you out a leper.” Both said, “He must have said it for fear of our making love.” Then and there within the curtain they made love, and from that time on there was no learning charms or getting lessons. The king regularly asked his daughter, “Daughter, are you learning your lessons?” “Yes, father.”

Now one day Udena said to Vāsuladattā, “My dear, a husband can do that which neither father nor mother nor brothers nor sisters can do. If you will save my life, I will give you a retinue of five hundred women and make you my chief consort.” “If you will carry out your promise without fail, I will save your life.” “My dear, I will do so without fail.” “Very well, husband.” So she went to her father, saluted him, and stood respectfully on one side. Her father asked her, “Daughter, is your task completed?” “Not quite completed, father.” “What do you require, daughter?” “We must have at our disposal a door and a mount, father.” “Why this request?” “Father, this is what my teacher says: ‘In order to work the charm, a certain medicinal herb is necessary, and this must be obtained at night at a time indicated by the stars.’ {1.196} Therefore whenever we are obliged to go out, whether it be early or late, we must have a door and a mount at our disposal.” “Very well,” said the king, giving his consent. They secured permission to use a certain door at any time they pleased.

Now the king was possessed of the five conveyances: a female elephant named Bhaddavatī, which could travel fifty leagues a day; a slave named Kāka, who could travel sixty leagues a day; two mares, Celakaṇṭhī and Muñjakesī, which could travel a hundred leagues a day; and an elephant named Nālāgiri, which could travel a hundred and twenty leagues a day.

Story of the Past: Caṇḍa Pajjota wins the five conveyances

It seems that before the appearance in the world of the present Buddha, the king had been the servitor of a certain ruler. Now one [28.273] day as this ruler was returning from his bath outside of the city, a certain Private Buddha who had entered the city to receive alms came out with his bowl clean as it had been washed, having received not a single morsel of food by reason of the evil influence of Māra over all the residents of the city. Indeed when the Private Buddha reached the gate of the city, Māra approached him in disguise and asked him, “Reverend Sir, did you receive anything?” “But have you made it possible for me to receive anything?” “Well then, turn back and go in again. Now I will make it possible for you to receive alms.” “I will not go back again.” Had the Private Buddha returned, Māra would once more have taken possession of the bodies of all the residents of the city and would have subjected him to the embarrassment of hand-clapping and rude laughter.

Now when this ruler {1.197} saw the Private Buddha returning with his bowl clean as it had been washed, he asked him, “Reverend Sir, did you receive anything?” “I have gone my round and am coming out, brother.” The ruler thought to himself, “His reverence does not answer the question I asked him, but tells me something I did not ask about. It must be that he failed to receive anything.” The ruler looked at his bowl and saw that it was empty. Not knowing whether the food in his house was ready or not, and therefore, brave though he was, not daring to take his bowl, he said, “Wait a moment, Reverend Sir.” So saying, he went home quickly and asked, “Is our food ready?” Receiving the answer that it was ready, he said to his servitor, “Friend, there is no one possessed of greater speed than you. Make the greatest possible speed, and when you reach his reverence, say to him, ‘Reverend Sir, give me your bowl,’ and then take his bowl and return to me.”

At the mere word of his master the servitor set out, obtained the bowl, and brought it back. The ruler filled the bowl with his own food and said, “Convey this to his reverence with all speed. I make over to you the merit of this action.” The servitor went quickly, gave the bowl to the Private Buddha, saluted him with the Five Rests, and said to him, “Reverend Sir, the time is short. I went and returned with the greatest possible speed. As the fruit of this speed, may I obtain the five conveyances able to travel fifty, sixty, a hundred, and a hundred and twenty leagues a day respectively. As I returned and went, my body was heated by the rays of the sun. As the fruit of this, in the various places where I shall be reborn, may I possess authority equal to the power of the rays of the sun. My master has [28.274] made over to me the merit of this alms. In consequence of this {1.198} may I be a partaker of the Truth you have seen.” The Private Buddha said, “So be it,” and returned thanks in the following Stanzas,

May all you’ve wished and prayed for come out well;
May all your aspirations be fulfilled, even as the moon at the full.
May all you’ve wished and prayed for come out well;
May all your aspirations be fulfilled, as by the jewel Dew of Light.

This was the king’s deed in a previous state of existence. He was now Caṇḍa Pajjota, and in consequence of this deed he came to possess these five conveyances. End of Story of the Past.

Now one day the king went out to amuse himself in the garden. “Now’s the time to flee,” thought Udena. So he filled several big leather sacks with gold and silver coins, placed the sacks on the back of the female elephant, assisted Vāsuladattā to mount, and away they went. The harem guards saw what was happening and went and told the king. The king sent out a force in pursuit. “Go quickly,” said he. When Udena perceived that a force had set out in pursuit, he opened a sack of gold and scattered the coins along the way. His pursuers stopped to pick up the coins and then hurried along. Then he opened a sack of silver and scattered the coins along the way. While his pursuers delayed because of their greed for silver, {1.199} Udena reached his own stockade built without the city. When his men saw him coming, they surrounded him, and escorted him back to Kosambi. When he arrived there, he sprinkled Vāsuladattā and raised her to the rank of chief consort.

Part 5. Rejection of Māgandiyā by the Buddha Story ii. 1. 5: i. 199-203 (cf. xiv. 1: iii. 193-199) relates the Buddha’s rejection of Māgandiyā’s offer of his daughter in marriage. The source of this story is Sutta-Nipāta, iv. 9, or some derivative thereof. A close parallel is Divyāvadāna, xxxvi, part 1, pp. 515-529. For a Sanskrit parallel from Eastern Turkestan, see A. F. R. Hoernle, JRAS., 1916, pp. 709 ff.

Still another maiden who gained the dignity of chief consort of the king was Māgandiyā. She, we are told, was the daughter of the Brahman Māgandiya, who lived in the Kuru country, her mother also bore the name Māgandiyā and her father’s younger brother likewise bore the name Māgandiya. She was as beautiful as a celestial nymph. Now her father was unable to find a husband who was worthy of her; and although scions of all the great families in the country asked for her hand, her father sent them all away, reviling them and saying, “You are not worthy of my daughter.”

Now one day, as the Teacher surveyed the world at early dawn, he perceived that the Brahman Māgandiya and his wife possessed the dispositions requisite for the attainment of the Fruit of the Third [28.275] Path. Therefore, taking his own bowl and robe, he went to a place just outside of a certain market-town, where the Brahman was tending the sacred fire. The Brahman surveyed the person of the Tathāgata, beholding in him the perfection of physical beauty, and thought to himself, “There is no other man in the whole world comparable to this man. I will give my daughter to this man to cherish and support.” Accordingly he said to the Teacher, “Monk, I have a single daughter, and all this time I have not seen a man worthy of her. But you are suitable for her, and she is suitable for you. For you {1.200} ought to have a wife, and she ought to have a husband. I will give her to you. Wait right here until I come back.” The Teacher said not a word, but remained silent.

The Brahman went home quickly and said to his wife, “Wife! wife! I saw a man who is worthy of our daughter. Hurry! hurry! Dress her in her beautiful garments.” So the Brahman had his daughter dressed in her beautiful garments, and taking daughter and wife with him, went to the Teacher. The whole city was agitated. “All this time,” said the people, “this man has said of every suitor, ‘He is not suitable for my daughter,’ and has refused to give her to anyone. But it is reported that he has said, ‘To-day I saw a man who is suitable for my daughter.’ What manner of man can he be? Let us go see him.” So a great throng of people went out of the city with him.

Now when the Brahman set out with his daughter, the Teacher, instead of remaining in the place mentioned by the Brahman, moved away from that place and took his stand in another place, leaving a footprint. (When the Buddhas establish a footprint, it appears only in a trodden place and not elsewhere, and only those for whom it is established can see it. Let elephants or other wild animals tread upon a footprint of the Buddhas to render it invisible, or let a violent storm pour forth rain upon it, or let the roaring winds beat upon it, yet not one of them can obliterate it.)

Now the Brahman’s wife said to the Brahman, “Where is this man?” The Brahman replied, “I said to him, ‘Remain in this place.’ Where can he possibly have gone?” He looked all about, and seeing his footprint, said, “Here is his {1.201} footprint.” Now the Brahman’s wife was familiar with the three Vedas, including the verses relating to signs. So she repeated the verses relating to signs, considering carefully the signs borne by the footprint before her. Finally she said, “Brahman, this is no footprint of one who follows the Five Lusts.” So saying, she pronounced the following Stanza, [28.276]

The footprint of a lustful man will be squatty;
That of a wicked man, violently pressed down;
Of one infatuate, the footprint will be shuffling;
This is the sort of footprint made by one who has rolled back the Veil of Passion.

Then said the Brahman to her, “Wife, you are always seeing crocodiles in the water-vessel and thieves hiding in the house. Be still.” “Brahman, you may say what you like, but this is no footprint of one who follows the Five Lusts.”

Just then the Brahman looked around and saw the Teacher. “There is the man!” said he. Thereupon the Brahman went to him and said, “Monk, I give you my daughter to cherish and support.” The Teacher, instead of saying, “I have need of your daughter,” or “I have no need of your daughter,” said to him, “Brahman, I have something to say to you.” “Say it, monk,” replied the Brahman. Thereupon the Teacher told him how Māra had pursued him from the time of the Great Retirement to the time of the Session under the Goatherd’s Banyan-tree, and how, when Māra seated himself under the Goatherd’s Banyan-tree, overcome with sorrow at the thought, “Now this man has escaped from my power,” Māra’s daughters came to assuage their father’s sorrow and endeavored to seduce him by appearing before him in the forms of women both young and old. {1.202} “At that time,” said the Teacher,

Having seen Craving, Pining, and Lust,
I had no desire for the pleasures of love.
What is this body, filled with urine and dung?
I should not be willing to touch it, even with my foot. Ed. note: Sn 835 (PTS edition).

At the conclusion of the Stanza the Brahman and his wife were established in the Fruit of the Third Path.

As for Māgandiyā, she said to herself, “If this man has no need of me, it is perfectly proper for him to say so, but he declares me to be full of urine and dung. Very well! By virtue of the fact that I possess birth, lineage, social position, wealth, and the charm of youth, I shall obtain a husband who is my equal, and then I shall know what ought to be done to the monk Gotama.” And then and there she conceived hatred towards the Teacher.

(Did the Teacher know, or did he not know, that she had conceived hatred towards him? He knew. If he knew, why did he pronounce the Stanza? For the sake of the other two. For the Buddhas take no account of hatred directed against them, but preach the Law solely for the sake of those who are worthy to attain the Paths and the Fruits.) [28.277]

Her mother and father took her and committed her to the charge of her uncle Culla Māgandiya, and then retired from the world and attained Arahatship. Culla Māgandiya thought to himself, {1.203} “My daughter is not suited to be the wife of a low person, but is suited to be the consort of a king.” Accordingly he adorned her with all the adornments, took her with him to Kosambi, and presented her to King Udena, saying, “This jewel of a woman is worthy to become a consort of your majesty.” When the king saw her, he fell deeply in love with her, conferred the ceremonial sprinkling upon her, provided her with a retinue of five hundred ladies-in-waiting, and raised her to the dignity of chief consort.

Thus the king had three chief consorts with a retinue of fifteen hundred nautch-girls.

Part 6. Death of Sāmāvatī and of Māgandiyā, and the explanation thereof Story ii. 1. 6: i. 208-231 relates the compassing of Sāmāvatī’s death by Māgandiyā, and is preceded by the stories of the three treasurers, the monks and the tree-spirit, and Khujjuttara. A close parallel to this story is Divyāvadāna, xxxvi, part 2, pp. 529-544. Brief outlines of the story occur in Buddhaghosa’s Visuddhi-Magga, xii. 169., and in Schiefner, Lehensbeschreibung Śākjamunis (from the Kandjur), p. 47 (247). The burning of Sāmāvatī and her five hundred women is the subject of Udāna, vii. 10. The Dhammapada Commentary quotes the Udāna-passage word for word.

Treasurers, monks, and tree-spirit

Now at this time there were living in Kosambi three treasurers, Ghosaka, Kukkuṭa, and Pāvāriya. As the beginning of the rainy season drew near, these men saw five hundred ascetics who had returned from the Himālaya country going the round of the city for alms. With joyful hearts they provided them with seats, offered them food, and obtaining from them a promise to reside with them, they provided them with lodging in their own homes during the four months of the rains. Then, having obtained from them a promise to return and spend the following rainy season with them, they let them go. From that time forth, after the ascetics had resided for eight months in the Himālaya country, they kept residence during the four months of the rains with the three treasurers.

On a later occasion, as the ascetics were on their way back from the Himālaya country, they saw a certain great banyan-tree in a forest retreat and went and sat down at the foot of it. The oldest ascetic thought to himself, “The deity who resides in this tree cannot be mundane. There must be a deva-king of great power here. {1.204} How good it would be if he would give this band of ascetics water to drink!” Immediately the tree-spirit gave them water to drink. Then the ascetic thought of water to bathe in, and the spirit gave that also. Then he thought of food, and the spirit gave that also.

Then this thought occurred to the ascetic, “This deva-king gives [28.278] us every single thing we think of. I wish we might see him.” Immediately the spirit burst the trunk of the tree and showed himself. Thereupon they asked him, “Deva-king, you possess great power. What did you do to get it?” “Do not ask me, Reverend Sirs.” “Deva-king, please tell us.” But the spirit was exceedingly modest, for the reason that the work of merit he had performed was a very small one, and therefore he did not wish to tell. However, after a good deal of urging, he said, “Well then, listen,” and told the following

Story of the Past: Tree-spirit’s former deed

The tree-spirit, it appears, was once a poor man who sought and obtained work for hire from Anāthapiṇḍika and through him made a living. Now one fast-day Anāthapiṇḍika asked on his return from the monastery, “Has anyone told this laborer that to-day is fast-day?” “He has not been told, master.” “Well then, cook him his supper.” So they cooked him a measure of rice. Now the laborer had worked all day in the forest, and when he returned in the evening, he said, “I am hungry.” But when the rice had been prepared and given to him, all of a sudden he refused to eat. “On other days,” he thought to himself, “there is a great uproar in this house, ‘Give me rice, give me sauce, give me curry;’ but to-day all have lain down without making a sound, and they have prepared food for me alone. What can this mean?”

So he asked them, “Have the rest eaten?” “They have not eaten.” “Why?” “In this house people eat no supper on fast-days; {1.205} all keep the fast. The great treasurer requires all to fast, even infants at the breast, first causing them to rinse their mouths and to eat the four sweet foods. A lamp of scented oil is lighted, and all, both young and old, retire to recite the Thirty-two Constituents of the Body. Ed. note: see Khp 3, and passim. But we did not think it worth while to tell you it was fast-day, and therefore rice was cooked for you alone. Eat it.” “If it is proper for me to begin the fast now, I should like to do so.” “This is a matter for the treasurer to decide.” “Well then, ask him.” They went and asked the treasurer, and he replied as follows, “If he begins the fast now and rinses his mouth and takes upon himself the fast-day precepts, he will earn half the merit of keeping fast-day.” When the laborer heard the answer, he began the fast.

Now the laborer had worked all day long and was hungry, and the result was that the humors of his body became disordered. He bound a girth about his body, and holding the end of the girth in his hand, [28.279] he rolled over and over. When the treasurer learned of this, he took the four sweet foods and with torches borne before him went to the laborer and asked, “Friend, what is the matter?” “Master, the humors of my body are out of order.” “Well then, get up and eat this medicinal food.” “You eat it, master.” “I am not sick. You eat it.” “Master, as for keeping the fast, {1.206} I was not able to keep it all, but let me not be deprived of half.” With these words the laborer refused to eat. “Do not act thus, friend,” said the treasurer. But the laborer steadfastly refused to eat, and when the sun rose, he died even as a garland of flowers withers, and was reborn in that banyan-tree.

Treasurers, monks, and tree-spirit, concluded.

Therefore the tree-spirit explained the matter as follows, “The treasurer was devoted to the Buddha, devoted to the Law, devoted to the Order; and it was through him, and in consequence of the merit I earned by keeping half of fast-day, that I obtained this power.” When the five hundred ascetics heard the name “Buddha,” they arose and stretched out their hands in an attitude of reverent supplication to the spirit and said, “Say ‘Buddha.’ ” Three times they caused the spirit to confess his faith by repeating the formula, “I say ‘Buddha.’ ” Then they breathed forth the solemn utterance, “This is an utterance difficult to obtain in this world,” and said in conclusion, “Spirit, you have permitted us to hear a sound we have not heard for many hundred thousand cycles of time.”

Then the pupils addressed their teacher as follows, “Well then, let us go to the Teacher.” “Friends, we have three treasurers who are generous benefactors of ours. To-morrow we will receive food in their residence, tell them also what we have heard, and go. Give your consent, friends.” Thereupon they gave their consent. On the following day the treasurers caused rice-porridge to be prepared and seats to be provided. And knowing that the ascetics would arrive on that day, they went forth and met them, escorted them to their residence, provided them with seats, and gave them food. When the ascetics had finished their meal, they said, “Great treasurers, we are going away.” “Reverend Sirs, {1.207} did we not obtain from you a promise to reside with us during the four months of the rains? Where are you going now?”

“The Buddha has appeared in the world, the Law has appeared, the Order has appeared. We are therefore going to see the Teacher.” [28.280] “But is it proper for you only to go to the Teacher?” “It is not forbidden to others also, friends.” “Well then, Reverend Sirs, you wait, and we also will go as soon as we have made preparations.” “If you wait to make preparations, we shall be delayed. Therefore we will go on ahead, and you may follow after.” So they went on ahead, and seeing the Supremely Enlightened One, praised him, paid obeisance to him, and sat down respectfully on one side. Then the Teacher preached the Law to them in orderly sequence, and at the conclusion of his discourse all of them attained Arahatship, together with the Supernatural Faculties. Thereupon they asked to be received into the Order. “Come, monks!” said the Teacher. As soon as he spoke the word, they became full-fledged monks, possessed of bowls and robes created by magic.

Those three treasurers procured the requisites for alms, consisting of garments, coverlets, ghee, honey, molasses, and so forth, and conveying five hundred cartloads apiece, proceeded to Sāvatthi. On reaching Sāvatthi, they paid obeisance to the Teacher, listened to a discourse on the Law, and at the conclusion of the discourse were established in the Fruit of Conversion. For a fortnight they resided with the Teacher, bestowing alms, and then invited the Teacher to come to Kosambi. As the Teacher gave his promise, {1.208} he said, “The Tathāgatas delight in solitude.” Said the treasurers, “Reverend Sir, as soon as we notify you by sending you a message, it will be proper for you to come.” With these words they returned to Kosambi. The treasurer Ghosaka erected Ghosita monastery, the treasurer Kukkuṭa erected Kukkuṭa monastery, and the treasurer Pāvāriya erected Pāvāriya monastery.

When the treasurers had erected these three monasteries, they sent word to the Teacher to come and visit them. The Teacher, receiving their message, went there; whereupon they came forth to meet him, escorted him to the monasteries, and waited upon him by turns. The Teacher resided one day in each monastery and always went to receive alms at the door of the house of the particular treasurer in whose monastery he resided. Now these three treasurers had a servitor named Sumana, and he was a gardener. He said to the treasurers, “I have been a servitor of yours for a long time, and I should like to entertain the Teacher. Let me have the Teacher all to myself for just one day.” “Well then,” said they, “entertain him to-morrow.” “Very well, masters,” he replied, invited the Teacher, and made ready the usual honors. [28.281]

Conversion of Sāmāvatī by Khujjuttarā

Now at that time King Udena was in the habit of giving Queen Sāmāvatī eight pieces of money every day to buy flowers with. A female slave of the queen named Khujjuttarā went regularly every day to the gardener Sumana and procured the flowers. When she came on that particular day, the gardener said to her, “I have invited the Teacher to be my guest and shall use my flowers to-day to honor the Teacher. You just wait, join with me in attendance on the Buddha, and listen to the Law. Then you may take with you the flowers that remain.” {1.209} “Very well,” said she, consenting to remain. Sumana waited upon the Congregation of Monks presided over by the Buddha and took his bowl that he might pronounce the words of thanksgiving. The Teacher began to pronounce the words of thanksgiving. Khujjuttarā listened to the discourse on the Law and became established in the Fruit of Conversion.

On previous days she had been in the habit of appropriating to her own use four pieces of money and of buying flowers with the other four; but on that day, spending all eight to buy flowers with, she returned with them. Sāmāvatī said to her, “My good woman, did the king give us twice as much money to-day to buy flowers with?” “No, my lady.” “Then why so many flowers?” “On previous days I kept four pieces of money for myself and brought you only so many flowers as I could buy for four pieces of money.” “Why didn’t you take the money to-day?” “Because I heard the Supremely Enlightened discourse on the Law and acquired understanding of the Law.”

The queen did not revile her and say, “You wretched slave, give me back the pieces of money you have stolen during all this time.” Instead she said to her, “My good woman, you have drunk the Deathless. Give me thereof to drink also.” “Well then,” replied Khujjuttarā, “order that a bath be prepared for me.” So the queen had her bathed with sixteen bowls of scented water and presented her with garments of fine cloth. One of these garments she caused her to put on as an undergarment, the other she caused to be thrown over her shoulder; then she had a seat prepared for her. Khujjuttarā thereupon sat down, took in her hand a painted fan, and addressing the five hundred women, preached the Law to them just as the Teacher had preached it. Then all of them paid obeisance to Khujjuttarā {1.210} and said, “Friend, from this day forth do no sinful deed, but [28.282] be to us as a mother and a teacher. Go to the Teacher and listen to every discourse he preaches, and then come back and repeat it to us.” And this she did so faithfully that later on she came to know the Tipiṭaka by heart. Indeed the Teacher assigned her preeminence, saying, “Preeminent among my female lay disciples who are learned in the Scriptures and able to expound the Law is Khujjuttarā.”

Now those five hundred women said to her, “Woman, we should like to see the Teacher. Show him to us, that we may honor him with perfumes, garlands, and so forth.” “My lady, it is a serious matter to live in a king’s house. You have obtained access to it, but it is impossible for you to leave it.” “Woman, do not destroy us. Let us see the Teacher.” “Well then, make holes in the walls of your rooms large enough to look through. Then bring perfumes and garlands, and when the Teacher goes to the door of the house of the three treasurers, stand in your several places and look out and stretch forth your hands and pay obeisance to him and honor him.” They followed her directions, and when the Teacher went and returned, they looked out and paid obeisance to him and honored him.

Māgandiyā’s plot against Sāmāvatī and the Buddha

Now one day Māgandiyā came forth from her own mansion and walked along until she came to the place where those women lived. Seeing a hole in a room, she asked, “What is this?” The women, not knowing of the hatred she had conceived towards the Teacher, said, {1.211} “The Teacher has come to this city, and we stand here and look at the Teacher and honor him.” “So the hermit Gotama has come to this city!” thought Māgandiyā. “Now I shall know what ought to be done to him. These women also are his supporters. I shall know what ought to be done to them also.” So she said to the king, “Great king, Sāmāvatī and her followers are disloyal to you and in but a few days will take your life.” The king replied, “They will do nothing of the sort,” and refused to believe the charge. Even when the charge was repeated, he still refused to believe. When she made the charge the third time and he still refused to believe, she said to him, “If you do not believe me, great king, go to the place where they reside and judge for yourself.” The king went there, and seeing the holes in the walls of the rooms, asked, “What does this mean?” When the matter was explained to him, he did not get angry, said not a word, but had the holes filled up and windows made with openings [28.283] above in all the rooms. (Windows with openings above came in at this time, we are told.)

Unable to injure the women, Māgandiyā thought to herself, “At any rate I will do to the monk Gotama what ought to be done.” So she bribed the citizens and said to them, “When the monk Gotama comes into the city and walks about, instigate slaves to revile him and abuse him and drive him out of the city.” So heretics who did not believe in the Three Jewels followed the Teacher about when he entered the city and shouted at him, “You are a thief, {1.212} a simpleton, a fool, a camel, an ox, an ass, a denizen of hell, a beast, you have no hope of salvation, a state of punishment is all that you can look forward to.” Thus they reviled and abused him with the Ten Terms of Abuse.

Venerable Ānanda heard this and said to the Teacher, “Reverend Sir, these citizens are reviling and abusing us. Let us go elsewhere.” “Where shall we go, Ānanda?” “To some other city, Reverend Sir.” “If men revile us there, where shall we go then, Ānanda?” “To yet another city, Reverend Sir.” “If men revile us there, where shall we go then?” “To still another city, Reverend Sir.” “Ānanda, one should not speak thus. Where a difficulty arises, right there should it be settled. Only under those circumstances is it permissible to go elsewhere. But who are reviling you, Ānanda?” “Reverend Sir, everyone is reviling us, slaves and all.” “Ānanda, I am like an elephant that has entered the fray. Even as it is the duty of an elephant that has entered the fray to withstand the arrows which come from the four quarters, precisely so it is my duty to endure with patience the words spoken by many wicked men.” So saying, he preached the Law with reference to himself by pronouncing the following three Stanzas in the Nāga Vagga,

320. Even as an elephant engaged in the fray withstands arrows shot from the bow.
So also must I bear abuse, for the multitude is wicked. {1.213}

321. It is a tamed elephant they lead to battle; it is a tamed elephant the king mounts;
It is the tamed that is best among men, he that endures abuse patiently.

322. Of surpassing excellence are mules which are tamed, and well-bred Sindh horses,
And great elephants of the jungle; but better yet is the man who has tamed himself.

This discourse benefited the assembled multitude. When the Teacher had thus preached the Law, he said, “Ānanda, be not disturbed. These men will revile you for only seven days, and on the [28.284] eighth day they will become silent. A difficulty encountered by the Buddhas lasts no longer than seven days.”

When Māgandiyā had failed in her attempt to drive the Teacher out of the city by abusing him, she thought to herself, “Pray what can I do now?” Then the thought occurred to her, “These women are his supporters. I will destroy them.” Accordingly one day, while King Udena was drinking strong drink and she was waiting upon him, she sent the following message to her uncle, “Let my uncle come with eight dead cocks and eight live cocks. Having arrived, let him stand at the top of the stairs and announce his arrival. When he hears the word ‘Enter,’ let him not enter, but send in first the eight live cocks and afterwards the others.” And she gave a bribe to the page, saying, “Be sure to carry out my orders.”

Māgandiya came and announced himself to the king. When, however, he heard the word “Enter,” he said, “I will not enter the king’s drinking-place.” {1.214} Māgandiyā then sent her page, saying, “Boy, go to my uncle.” He went, took the eight live cocks which Māgandiyā gave him, carried them to the king, and said, “Your majesty, the house-priest has sent you a present.” “A most excellent and dainty morsel!” said the king. “Now who will cook them?” Māgandiyā said, “Great king, the five hundred women led by Sāmāvatī have nothing to do. Send the cocks to them. Let them cook them and carry them to you.” Accordingly the king sent them, saying to the page, “Go give these cocks to these women. Tell them not to intrust them to the hands of anyone else, but to kill them and cook them themselves.” “Very well, your majesty,” replied the page, and went and delivered the message. But the women refused to do the king’s bidding, saying, “We do not take the life of any living creature.” The page returned and so informed the king.

Māgandiyā said, “You see, great king? Now you shall find out whether or not they really take the life of living creatures. Your majesty, send word to them, ‘ Cook them and send them to the monk Gotama.’ ” So the king sent this message to them. But the page, while pretending to carry the live cocks to the women, in reality went and gave those cocks to the house-priest and carried the eight dead cocks to the women, saying, “Cook these cocks and send them to the Teacher.” “This, to be sure, is our duty,” said the women in reply, and going to meet him, they received the cocks. When the page returned to the king and the latter asked him, “What was the result, boy?” he gave the king the following report, “The moment I [28.285] said to them, “Cook these cocks and send them to the hermit Gotama,’ they came to meet me and accepted them.” “See, great king,” said Māgandiyā, “they will not do it for the like of you. But you would not believe me when I said to you, ‘Their inclination is towards another.’ ” But even when the king heard this, {1.215} he tolerated their conduct and remained silent. Māgandiyā thought to herself, “What shall I do now?”

Now at this time the king was accustomed to divide his time equally among his three consorts, Sāmāvatī, Vāsuladattā, and Māgandiyā, spending seven days by turns in the apartment of each. Māgandiyā, knowing that he would go on the morrow or on the day after to the apartment of Sāmāvatī, sent word to her uncle, “Send me a snake, first washing its fangs with a poisonous drug.” He did as she told him to and sent her a snake. Now wherever the king went, he was accustomed to take with him his lute for charming elephants, and in the shell of this lute was a hole. Māgandiyā inserted the snake in the hole and stopped the hole with a bunch of flowers; for two or three days the snake remained within the lute.

On the day when the king was to go to Sāmāvatī’s apartment, Māgandiyā asked him, “To whose apartment will you go to-day, your majesty?” “To Sāmāvatī’s apartment.” Said Māgandiyā, “Your majesty, to-day I had a bad dream; you must not go there.” “I am going all the same.” Three times she tried to dissuade him from going and failed. Finally she said, “In that case I will go too.” In spite of the king’s protests she went with him, saying, “Your majesty, I do not know what will happen to you.”

The king, wearing garments, flowers, perfumes, and ornaments given him by Sāmāvatī and her followers, ate heartily, and then placed his lute by his pillow and lay down on the bed. Māgandiyā, pretending to be merely walking back and forth, removed the bunch of flowers from the opening in the lute; whereupon the snake, which had been without food for two or three days, glided from the opening, hissed, raised his hood, and coiled himself up on the top of the bed. {1.216} When Māgandiyā saw the snake, she screamed with a loud voice, “Oh, your majesty, there is a snake!” And she straightway abused the king, saying, “This stupid, unlucky king will not listen to anything I say to him. As for these shameless scoundrels, what do they not receive from the king? You will live happily just as soon as the king is dead, but so long as he lives, you will have a hard time. Your majesty, when I cried out to you, ‘To-day I had a bad dream; you [28.286] must not go to Sāmāvatī’s apartment’ you would not listen to what I said.”

When the king saw the snake, he was terrified with the fear of death, the fire of anger was kindled within him, and he said, “So this is the sort of thing they are capable of doing! What criminals they are! Yet I would not believe Māgandiyā when she told me of their evil nature. First they made holes in the walls of their own rooms and sat there; again, when I sent the cocks to them, they sent them back; to-day they have let a snake loose in my bed.”

Sāmāvatī delivered the following admonition to her five hundred women, “Friends, we have no other refuge. Cherish precisely the same feelings towards the king and the queen as you do towards yourselves. Be not angry with anyone.” The king took his horn-bow, which required a thousand men to string, twanged the bowstring, fitted a poisoned arrow to the string, and placing Sāmāvatī in front {1.217} and all the other women in single file behind her, shot an arrow at Sāmāvatī’s breast. But through the supernatural power of her love the arrow turned back, and returning by the same path it had come, penetrated, as it were, the king’s heart.

The king thought to himself, “The arrow I shot is capable of piercing even a rock, and there was nothing in the air to make it turn back. But it turned and came back by the same path it went. Indeed this senseless, lifeless arrow knows her goodness, but I, who am a human being, know it not.” And throwing the bow away and stretching forth his hands in an attitude of reverent supplication, he knelt before Sāmāvatī’s feet and pronounced the following Stanza,

I am utterly confused and bewildered; all four quarters are confused in my mind.
Protect me, Sāmāvatī, and be a refuge to me.

Sāmāvatī, hearing his words, instead of saying, “Very well, your majesty, seek refuge in me,” said, “Great king, in whom I have sought refuge, in him do you also seek refuge.”

Having thus spoken, Sāmāvatī, disciple of the Supremely Enlightened, said,

Do not seek refuge in me! He in whom I have sought refuge,–
He is the Buddha, great king, he is the Buddha Incomparable!
Seek refuge in that Buddha, and do you be a refuge to me. {1.218}

The king said, “Now I am the more afraid,” and pronounced the following Stanza, [28.287]

Now I am the more confused; all four quarters are confused in my mind.
Protect me, Sāmāvatī, and be a refuge to me.

But she refused him precisely as before. Finally he said, “Well then, I seek refuge in you and in the Teacher, and I grant you a boon.” “I accept the boon, great king,” she replied.

The king approached the Teacher, sought refuge in him, invited him to accept his hospitality, and for seven days gave generous alms. Then, addressing Sāmāvatī, he said, “Rise and take your choice.” Sāmāvatī replied, “Great king, I have no need of gold and silver, but grant me this boon. Arrange matters so that the Teacher may come here regularly with his five hundred monks, so that I may hear the Law.” So the king paid obeisance to the Teacher and said, “Reverend Sir, come here regularly with your five hundred monks. Sāmāvatī and her attendants say they wish to hear the Law.” The Teacher replied, “Great king, the Buddhas may not always go to one place; many desire their presence.” “Well then, direct one monk to come.” The Teacher directed Ānanda to go. So Ānanda went every day to the royal palace with five hundred monks, and those women every day provided the Elder with food and listened to the Law.

One day, after they had listened to the Elder’s discourse on the Law, their hearts were filled with joy, and they rendered honor to the Elder by presenting him with five hundred yellow robes such as are worn over the shoulders, {1.219} each worth five hundred pieces of money. When the king saw that they had not a single garment left, he asked them, “Where are your yellow robes?” “We gave them to the Reverend Elder.” “Did he take them all?” “Yes, he took them all.” The king approached the Elder, paid obeisance to him, questioned him about the gift of the robes by the women, and learning that the women had given the robes and that the Elder had received them, asked, “Reverend Sir, there were a great many robes, were there not? What will you do with so many?” “I shall keep as many as we require for ourselves and send the rest to those whose robes are worn out, great king.” “What will they do with their own worn-out robes?” “They will give them to those whose robes are in a still worse state of repair.” “What will they do with their own worn-out robes?” “They will make bedspreads of them.” “What will they do with the old bedspreads?” “They will make carpets of them.” “What will they do with the old carpets?” “They will make foot-towels of them.” “What will they do with the old foot-towels?” “They will cut them into small pieces, mix them with mortar, and use them to plaster walls with.” [28.288]

“Reverend Sir, although all these are given to your reverences, nothing is lost.” “Quite so, great king.” The king was so pleased that he caused five hundred more robes to be brought and placed at the Elder’s feet.

(We are told that robes worth five hundred pieces of money {1.220} were presented to the Elder and laid at his feet in lots of a thousand, and that he received this number a hundred thousand times; that robes worth a thousand pieces of money were presented to the Elder and laid at his feet in lots of a thousand, and that he received this number a thousand times; that robes worth a hundred thousand pieces of money were presented to the Elder and laid at his feet in lots of a thousand, and that he received this number a hundred times. It is impossible to enumerate the number of robes he received by ones and twos and threes and fours and fives and tens. We are told that, upon the death of the Teacher, the Elder traveled all over the Land of the Rose-apple, presenting to the monks in all of the monasteries bowls and robes of his own.)

Burning of Sāmāvatī and punishment of Māgandiyā

Māgandiyā thought to herself, “Whatever I do turns out otherwise than I expect. What shall I do now?” Finally she decided on a plan. On her way to the garden to amuse herself, she sent the following message to her uncle, “Go to Sāmāvatī’s palace, open the linen-closets and the oil-closets, soak pieces of cloth in the jars of oil, and wrap these cloths about the pillars. Then assemble all the women within the house, close the door, bar it from without, set fire to the house with torches, and then descend and go your way.”

Māgandiya went up into the palace, {1.221} opened the closets, soaked garments in the oil-jars, and was just beginning to wrap them about the pillars when the women led by Sāmāvatī came up to him and said, “Why are you doing this, uncle?” “My ladies, the king desires these pillars to be strengthened, and has therefore given orders that they be wrapped in cloths soaked in oil. It is hard to understand why certain things should be done in a king’s house and certain other things should not be done. I beg of you, my ladies, not to remain here with me.” As soon as they had departed and entered their rooms at his suggestion, he closed the doors, barred them from without, set fire to first one cloth and then another, and descended.

Sāmāvatī delivered the following admonition to her followers, “It [28.289] would not be an easy matter, even with the knowledge of a Buddha, to determine exactly the number of times our bodies have thus been burned with fire as we have passed from birth to rebirth in the round of existences which has no conceivable beginning. Therefore be heedful.” As the fire consumed the house, the women applied themselves to meditation on the element of pain, with the result that some of them attained the Fruit of the Second Path, while others attained the Fruit of the Third Path. Therefore it is said, Udāna, vii. 10

Now a large number of monks, returning from their alms-pilgrimage after breakfast, drew near to where the Exalted One was, and having drawn near, paid obeisance to the Exalted One and sat down reverently on one side. And as they sat there on one side, those monks said this to the Exalted One, “Here, Reverend Sir, while King Udena was in his pleasure-garden, the quarters of his women were consumed with fire, and five hundred women led by Sāmāvatī lost their lives. Reverend Sir, what will be the end, what will be the future state of these female lay disciples?”

“Monks, some of these female lay disciples {1.222} obtained the Fruit of Conversion, others obtained the Fruit of the Second Path, others obtained the Fruit of the Third Path. Monks, none of those female lay disciples failed to receive the fruit of their past deeds.” And the Exalted One, clearly understanding the matter, breathed forth at that time the following Solemn Utterance,

Bound with the bond of delusion, the world appears to be good.
The simpleton, fettered by the conditions of being, enshrouded by darkness,
Thinks it eternal. But to him who really sees, there is naught.

So saying, he preached the Law, saying, “Monks, as living beings pass through the round of existences, they are not always heedful, and sometimes they commit sin. Therefore as they pass through the round of existences, they experience both pleasure and pain.”

When the king heard the cry, “Sāmāvatī’s house is on fire!” he went there quickly, but the house was burned before he could reach it. “Having extinguished the flames, he sat down surrounded by his retinue of courtiers, overwhelmed with profound grief, and recalled to his mind the virtues of Sāmāvatī. “Who could have done this deed?” thought he. Coming to the conclusion that Māgandiyā was the author of the crime, he thought to himself, “If I frighten her by my questions, she will not tell me. Therefore I will employ craft and question her gently.” {1.223} [28.290]

Accordingly he said to his ministers, “Well, until this moment, no matter what I was engaged in or occupied with, I was apprehensive and suspicious; Sāmāvatī was ever seeking occasion to slay me. But now my mind will rest in peace, and I shall be able to lie down to sleep in security.” “Who was it that did this deed, your majesty?” “Someone who really loved me must have done it.” Now Māgandiyā happened to be standing near, and when she heard the king say this, she said, “None other than I could have done this. I alone did it. I sent word to my uncle and ordered him to do it.” “Except you, there is not a living being who really loves me. I am delighted. I grant you a boon. Send for all of your relatives.”

So Māgandiyā sent the following message to her relatives, “The king is pleased with me and has granted me a boon. Come immediately.” The king rendered high honor to all those who came, insomuch that even persons who were in no way related to Māgandiyā, hearing about it, gave bribes and came and said, “We are relatives of Māgandiyā.” When the king had them all in his hands, he caused pits to be dug waist-deep in the palace-court, set them therein, filled up the pits with earth, spread straw on top, and set the straw on fire. When the skin had been burned to a crisp, he caused the bodies to be plowed with an iron plow {1.224} and to be broken up into pieces and fragments. As for Māgandiyā, he had pieces of solid flesh ripped from various parts of her body with a sharp knife, and setting a vessel of oil on the brazier, he had them fried like cakes and made her eat them.

In the Hall of Truth the monks began to discuss matters, saying, “It is not right that a female lay disciple endowed with such faith should suffer such a death.” The Teacher came in and asked them, “Monks, what is it you are sitting here now talking about?” When they told him, he said, “Monks, if you regard this existence alone, it is indeed highly improper and unjust that the five hundred women led by Sāmāvatī should suffer such a death. What they received, however, was in every way proper, considering the sin they committed in a previous existence.” “Reverend Sir, what was the sin they committed in a previous existence? Pray tell us.” Responding to their request, the Teacher related the following

Story of the Past: Sāmāvatī’s attempt to burn a Private Buddha

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta reigned in Benāres, there were eight Private Buddhas who regularly took their meals in the [28.291] royal palace, and there were five hundred women who waited upon them. Seven of these Private Buddhas retired to the Himālaya, and the Private Buddha who remained sat down on the bank of the river where there was a tangle of grass, and entered into mystic meditation.

Now one day, after the Private Buddhas had departed, the king took those women {1.225} and went to sport in the water. When those women, who had sported there in the water all day, came out, they were stung with cold. Desiring to warm themselves, they said to each other, “Seek out some place where we can build a fire.” As they walked back and forth, they saw the tangle of grass, and thinking it was no more than a heap of grass, they gathered round it and set it on fire. When the grass burned down and they saw the Private Buddha, they cried out, “We are lost! we are lost! The king’s Private Buddha is burning up. If the king finds it out, he will kill everyone of us. Let us burn him well while we are about it.” So all those women brought firewood from all directions and piled it on the Private Buddha until they had erected a great pyre. Then they poured oil on it, and saying to themselves, “Now he will burn,” they departed.

Now in the beginning their act was a thoughtless one, and they were not bound thereby. But afterwards they committed a deliberate sin and were bound to suffer the consequences thereof. While the Private Buddha was absorbed in mystic meditation, they might have brought a hundred thousand cartloads of firewood and poured oil thereon, and they could not even have caused him to feel the heat. So on the seventh day the Private Buddha arose and went where he pleased. Because they committed this sin, those women were boiled for many hundreds of thousands of years in Hell, and because the fruit of that same evil deed was not yet exhausted, their houses were burned, and they were burned in their houses in a hundred successive states of existence in this very manner. This is the sin they committed in a previous state of existence.

When the Teacher had related this story, the monks asked him, “But, Reverend Sir, how did Khujjuttarā come to be a hunchback? How did she become so wise? How did she obtain the Fruit of Conversion? How {1.226} did she become an errand-girl?” [28.292]

Story of the Past: Khujjuttarā’s former deeds

Monks, while that same king was ruling in Benāres, there was a Private Buddha who was slightly hunchbacked. Now a certain serving-woman, throwing a blanket over her shoulder and taking a golden vessel in her hand, bent over so that she looked like a hunchback, and saying, “This is the way our Private Buddha walks,” imitated his manner of walking. It was in consequence of this that she came to be a hunchback.

But on the first day she provided those Private Buddhas with seats in the royal palace, took their bowls, filled them with rice-porridge, and presented them to them. The Private Buddhas took the bowls of porridge, but they were so hot that they were obliged to shift them from one hand to the other. That woman, seeing what they were doing, presented to them eight ivory bracelets of her own, saying, “Use these bracelets as stands for your bowls.” When they had so done, they looked at her, whereupon she said, “Reverend Sirs, we have no use for these bracelets. Accept them as a present from us before you go.” The Private Buddhas took them with them to Nandamūla mountain-cave, and those bracelets are preserved there unimpaired to this day. As the result of this act of hers, she now knows the Tipiṭaka by heart and possesses profound wisdom. Likewise it was through waiting upon the Private Buddhas that she obtained the Fruit of Conversion. These were her deeds in the interval between two Buddhas.

In the dispensation of Kassapa, the Supremely Enlightened, a certain treasurer’s daughter of Benāres took her mirror one day, as the shades of evening drew on, and sat down to adorn herself. Now a certain intimate friend of hers, {1.227} a nun freed from the Depravities, came to see her. For nuns freed from the Depravities like to visit the households of their supporters at eventide. But at that moment the treasurer’s daughter happened to have no errand-girl with her. So she said to the nun, “I greet you, Reverend Lady. Just take that basket of ornaments and give it to me.” The nun thought to herself, “If I do not take this basket and give it to her, she will take a dislike to me and will be reborn in Hell; but if I do give it to her, she will be reborn as the errand-girl of another. However, it is better to be the errand-girl of another than to suffer torment in Hell.” So out of pity for her she took the basket and gave it to her. In consequence of this act she became the errand-girl of another. Stories of the Past concluded. [28.293]

Again one day in the Hall of Truth the monks started a discussion. “Sāmāvatī and her five hundred women were burned with fire in their house; as for Māgandiyā and her kinswomen, a fire of straw was built over their bodies, and their bodies were torn asunder with iron plows, and Māgandiyā was boiled in boiling oil. Which of these are alive and which are dead?” The Teacher came in and asked, “Monks, what are you sitting here now talking about?” When they told him, he said to them, “Monks, they that are heedless, though they live a hundred years, yet are they dead. They that are heedful, be they dead or alive, yet are they alive. Māgandiyā, while she yet lived, was dead already. Sāmāvatī and her followers, though they be dead, yet are they alive. For, monks, the heedful never die.” So saying, he pronounced the following Stanzas, {1.228}

21. Heedfulness is the Way to the Deathless; heedlessness is the way to death.
The heedful never die, but they that are heedless are, as it were, dead already.

22. Knowing this clearly, they that are advanced in heedfulness
Delight in heedfulness, and rejoice in the state of the Elect.

23. They that devote themselves to meditation, they that are persevering, they that put forth resolute effort.
They, the wise, attain Nibbāna, the highest bliss.