Buddhist Women
at the Time of The Buddha
by
Hellmuth Hecker
Translated from the German by
Sister Khema
The Wheel Publication No. 292/293
Copyright (C) 1982
Buddhist Publication Society
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Society
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Contents
Foreword
The following stories, written by Hellmuth
Hecker, have been translated from the German Buddhist magazine, "Wissen
and Wandel," XVIII 3 (1972), XXLI 1/2 (1976). They are published here with
their kind permission.
While every effort has been made
by the translator to conform to the original writing, some changes had
to be made for the sake of clarity.
The stories of Bhadda Kundalakesa
and Patacara have been enlarged and filled in.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to
Ven. Khantipalo for his assistance in improving the style and content of
this narrative. His new translations of verses of the Therigatha and the
Dhammapada from the original Pali have helped to make these stories come
alive.
It is hoped that this booklet will
serve as an inspiration to all those who are endeavoring to tread in the
Buddha's footsteps.
Sister Khema
Wat Buddha Dhamma
Wisemans Ferry, N.S.W.2255
Australia
January 1982
Abbreviations of
Source References
A ..... Anguttara Nikaya
D ..... Digha Nikaya
Dhp ..... Dhammapada
M ..... Majjhima Nikaya
S ..... Samyutta Nikaya
Sn ..... Sutta Nipata
Thag ..... Theragatha
Thig ..... Therigatha
Pac. ..... Pacittiya (Vinaya)
J. ..... Jataka
Ud. ..... Udana
Mil. ..... Milindapa?ha
Jtm. ..... Jatakamala
Bu. ..... Buddhavamsa
Divy...... Divyavadana
Ap. ..... Apadana
The Verses of Final
Knowledge of Bhikkhuni Sujata
With subtle veils adorned,
Garlands and sandal-wood bedecked,
Covered all over with ornaments,
Surrounded by my servants,
Taking with us food and drink,
Eatables of many kinds,
Setting off from the house,
To the forest grove we took it all.
Having enjoyed and sported there,
We turned our feet to home
But on the way I saw and entered
Near Saketa, a monastery.
Seeing the Light of the World
I drew near, bowed down to Him;
Out of compassion the Seeing One
Then taught me Dhamma there.
Hearing the words of the Great Sage,
I penetrated Truth:
The Dhamma passionless,
I touched the Dhamma of Deathlessness.
When the True Dhamma had been known,
I went forth to the homeless life;
The three True Knowledges are attained,
Not empty the Buddha's Teaching!
(Therigatha 145-150) Verses
of the Elder nuns.
Queen Mallika
At the time of the Buddha, a daughter
was born to the foreman of the guild of garland-makers in Savatthi. She
was beautiful, clever and well behaved and a source of joy to her father.
One day, when she had just turned
sixteen, she went to the public flower gardens with her girl-friends and
took three portions of fermented rice along in her basket as the day's
sustenance.
When she was just leaving by the
city gate, a group of monks came along, who had come down from the monastery
on the hill to obtain almsfood in town. The leader among them stood out;
one whose grandeur and sublime beauty impressed her so much, that she impulsively
offered him all the food in her basket.
He was the Awakened One. He let her
put her offering into his alms bowl. After Mallika -- without knowing to
whom she had given the food -- had prostrated at his feet, she walked on
full of joy. The Buddha smiled. Ananda, his attendant, who knew that the
fully Enlightened One does not smile without a reason, asked therefore
why he was smiling. The Buddha replied that this girl would reap the benefits
of her gift this very same day by becoming the Queen of Kosala.
This sounded unbelievable, because
how could the Maharaja of Benares and Kosala elevate a woman of low caste
to the rank of Queen? Especially in the India of those days with its very
strict caste system, this seemed quite improbable.
The ruler over the United Kingdoms
of Benares and Kosala in the Ganges Valley was King Pasenadi, the mightiest
Maharaja of his day. At that time he was at war with his neighbor, the
King of Magadha.
The latter had won a battle and King
Pasenadi had been forced to retreat. He was returning to his capital on
the horse that had been his battle companion. Before entering the city,
he heard a girl sing in the flower gardens. It was Mallika, who was singing
melodiously because of her joy in meeting the Illustrious Sage. The King
was attracted by the song and rode into the gardens; Mallika did not run
away from the strange warrior, but came nearer, took the horse by its reins
and looked straight into the King's eyes. He asked her whether she was
already married and she replied in the negative. Thereupon he dismounted,
lay down with his head in her lap and let her console him about his ill-luck
in battle.
After he had recovered, he let her
mount his horse behind him and took her back to the house of her parents.
In the evening he sent an entourage with much pomp to fetch her and made
her his principal wife and Queen.
From then on she was dearly beloved
by the King. She was given many loyal servants and in her beauty she resembled
a goddess. It became known throughout the whole kingdom that because of
her simple gift she had been elevated to the highest position in the State
and this induced her subjects to be kind and generous towards their fellow
men. Wherever she went, people would joyously proclaim: "That is Queen
Mallika, who gave alms to the Buddha." (J 415E)
After she had become Queen, she soon
went to visit the Enlightened One to ask him something which was puzzling
her. Namely, how it came about that one woman could be beautiful, wealthy
and of great ability, another be beautiful but poor and not very able,
yet another although ugly, be rich and very able, and finally another be
ugly, poor and possess no skills at all.
These differences can constantly
be observed in daily life. But while the ordinary person is satisfied with
such common place terms as fate, heredity, coincidence and so on, Queen
Mallika wanted to probe deeper as she was convinced that nothing happens
without a cause.
The Buddha explained to her in great
detail that all attributes and living conditions of people everywhere were
solely dependent on the extent of their moral purity. Beauty was caused
by forgiveness and gentleness, prosperity due to generous giving, and skillfulness
was caused by never envying others, but rather being joyful and supporting
their abilities.
Whichever of these three virtues
a person had cultivated, that would show up as their "destiny," usually
in some mixture of all of them. The coming together of all three attributes
would be a rarity. After Mallika had listened to this discourse of the
Buddha, she resolved in her heart to be always gentle towards her subjects
and never to scold them, to give alms to all monks, brahmins and the poor,
and never to envy anyone who was happy.
At the end of the Enlightened One's
discourse she took refuge in the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha and remained
a faithful disciple for the rest of her life. (A IV, 197)
She showed her great generosity not
only giving regular alms, but also by building a large, ebony-lined hall
for the Sangha, which was used for religious discussions. (M 78, D 9)
She exhibited her gentleness by serving
her husband with the five qualities of a perfect wife, namely: always rising
before him, and going to bed after him, by always obeying his commands,
always being polite, and using only kind words. Even the monks praised
her gentleness in their discussions about virtue.
Soon she was to prove that she was
also free of jealousy. The King had made up his mind to marry a second
chief wife and brought a cousin of the Buddha home as his betrothed. Although
it is said that it is in the nature of women not to allow a rival into
her home, Mallika related to the other wife without the slightest malice.
(A VI, 52) Both women lived in peace and harmony at the Court.
Even when the second wife gave birth
to a son, the crown prince, and Mallika had only a daughter, she was not
envious. When the King voiced disappointment about the birth of a daughter,
the Buddha said to him that a woman was superior to a man if she was clever,
virtuous, well-behaved and faithful. Then she could become the wife of
a great King and give birth to an almighty Ruler. (S 3,16) When the daughter,
Princess Vajira, had grown up, she became Queen of Magadha and thereby
the ancestress of the greatest Indian Emperor, Asoka, who ruled Magadha
250 years later.
After Mallika had become a faithful
lay devotee of the Buddha, she also won her husband over to the teaching.
And that happened in this way: One night the King had a succession of sixteen
perturbing dreams during which he heard gruesome, unfathomable sounds from
four voices, which uttered: "Du, Sa, Na, So." When the King woke
up from these dreams, great fear seized him, and sitting upright and trembling,
he awaited the sunrise.
When his Brahmin priests asked him
whether he had slept well, he related the terror of the night and asked
them what one could do to counteract such a menace. The Brahmins declared
that one would have to offer great sacrifices and thereby pacify the evil
spirits. In his fear the King agreed to that. The Brahmins rejoiced because
of the gifts they would surely reap and busily began to make preparations
for the great sacrifice. They scurried about, building a sacrificial altar
and tied many animals to posts, so they could be killed.
For greater efficacy, they demanded
the sacrifice of four human beings and these also awaited their death,
tied to posts. When Mallika became aware of all this activity, she went
to the King and asked him why the Brahmins were so busily running about
full of joyous expectation. The King replied that she did not pay enough
attention to him and did not know his sorrows.
Thereupon he told her of his dreams.
Mallika asked the King whether he had also consulted the first and foremost
of Brahmins about the meaning and interpretation. He replied that she first
had to tell him who was the first and foremost of Brahmins. She explained
that the Awakened One was foremost in the world of Gods and men, the first
of all Brahmins. King Pasenadi decided to ask the Awakened One's advice
and went to Prince Jeta's Grove, Anathapindika's Monastery.
He related to the Buddha what had
taken place in his dreams and asked him what would happen to him. "Nothing,"
the Awakened One replied and explained the meaning to him. The sixteen
dreams which he had were prophecies, showing that the living conditions
on earth would deteriorate steadily, due to the increasing moral laxity
of the kings. In a meditative moment, King Pasenadi had been able to see
future occurrences within his sphere of interest because he was a monarch
concerned with the well-being of his subjects.
The four voices which he had heard
belonged to four men who had lived in Savatthi and had been seducers of
married women. Because of that they were reborn in hell and for 30,000
years they drowned in red-hot cauldrons, coming nearer and nearer to the
fire, which intensified their unbearable suffering. During another 30,000
years they slowly rose up in those iron cauldrons and had now come to the
rim, where they could once again at least breathe the air of the human
realm.
Each one wanted the speak a verse,
but because of the gravity of the deed, could not get past the first syllable.
Not even in sights could they voice their suffering, because they had long
lost the gift of speech. The four verses, which start in Pali with "du,"
"sa," "na," "so," were recognized by the Awakened One as follows:
Du: Dung-like life
we lived,
No willingness to give,
Although we could have given much,
We did not make our refuge thus.
Sa: Say, the end is near?
Already 60,000 years have gone
Without respite the torture is
In this hell realm.
Na: Naught, no end near, Oh,
would it end!
No end in sight for us.
Who once did misdeeds here
For me, for you, for both of us.
So: So, could I only leave
this place
And raise myself to human realm,
I would be kind and moral too,
And do good deeds abundantly.
After the King had heard these explanations,
he became responsive to the request of the compassionate Queen and granted
freedom to the imprisoned men and animals. He ordered the sacrificial altar
to be destroyed. (J 77 & 314)
The King, who had become a devoted
lay disciple of the Buddha, visited him one day again and met a wise and
well-learned layman there. The King asked him whether he could give some
daily Dhamma teaching to his two Queens. The layman replied that the teaching
came from the Enlightened One and only one of his immediate disciples could
pass it on to the Queens. The King understood this and requested the Buddha
to give permission to one of his monks to teach. The Buddha appointed Ananda
for this task. Queen Mallika learned easily in spite of her uneducated
background, but Queen Vasabhakhattiya, cousin of the Buddha and mother
of the crown-prince, was unconcentrated and learned with difficulty. (Pac
3)
One day the royal couple looked down
upon the river from the palace and saw a group of the Buddha's monks playing
about in the water. The king said to Queen Mallika reproachfully: "Those
playing about in the water are supposed to be Saints?" Such was namely
the reputation of this group of the so-called seventeen monks, who were
quite young and of good moral conduct. Mallika replied that she could only
explain it thus, that either the Buddha had not made any rules with regard
to bathing or that the monks were not acquainted with them, because they
were not amongst the rules which were recited regularly.
Both agreed that it would not make
a good impression on lay people and on those monks not yet secure, if those
in higher training played about in the water and enjoyed themselves in
the way of untrained worldly people. But King Pasenadi wanted to avoid
blackening those monks' characters and just wanted to give the Buddha a
hint, so that he could lay down a firm rule. He conceived the idea to send
a special gift to the Buddha to be taken by those monks. They brought the
gift and the Buddha asked them on what occasion they had met the King.
Then they told him what they had done and the Buddha laid down a corresponding
rule. (Pac. 53)
One day when the King was standing
on the parapet of the palace with the Queen and was looking down upon the
land, he asked her whether there was anyone in the world she loved more
than herself. He expected her to name him, since he flattered himself to
have been the one who had raised her to fame and fortune. But although
she loved him, she remained truthful and replied that she know of no one
dearer to herself than herself. Then she wanted to know how it was with
him: Did he love anyone -- possibly her -- more than himself? Thereupon
the King also had to admit that self-love was always predominant. But he
went to the Buddha and recounted the conversation to find out how a Saint
would consider this.
The Buddha confirmed his and Mallika's
statements:
I visited all quarters with
my mind
Nor found I any dearer than myself;
Self is likewise to every other
dear;
Who loves himself may never harm
another.
(Ud 47, translated by Ven.
?anamoli)
One day the Buddha said to a man whose
child had died: "Dear ones, those who are dear, bring sorrow, lamentation,
pain, grief and despair" -- the suffering that results from a clinging
love. In spite of the clearly visible proof, the man could not understand
this. The conversation was reported to the King and he asked his wife whether
it was really true that sorrow would result from love. "If the Awakened
One has said so, O King, then it is so," she replied devotedly.
The King demurred that she accepted
every word of the Buddha like a disciple from a guru. Thereupon she sent
a messenger to the Buddha to ask for more details and then passed the explicit
answer on to her husband.
She asked him whether he loved his
daughter, his second wife, the crown-prince, herself and his kingdom? Naturally
he confirmed this, these five things were dear to him. But if something
happened to these five, Mallika responded, would he not feel sorrow, lamentation,
pain, grief or despair, which comes from loving? Then the King understood
and realized how wisely the Buddha could penetrate all existence: "Very
well, then Mallika, continue to venerate him." And the King rose, uncovered
his shoulder, prostrated deferentially in the direction where the Blessed
One was wont to stay and greeted him three times with: "Homage to the Blessed
One, the Holy One, the fully Awakened One."
But their lives also did not remain
quite without conflict. One day an argument arose between the couple about
the duties of the Queen. For some reason the King was angry at her and
treated her from then on as if she had disappeared into thin air. When
the Buddha arrived at the palace the next day for his meal, he asked about
the Queen, who had always been present at other times. Pasenadi scowled
and said: "What about her? She has gone mad because of her fame." The Buddha
replied that he, himself, had raised her up to that position quite unexpectedly
and should become reconciled with her. Somewhat reluctantly the King had
her called. Thereupon the Buddha praised the blessing of amity and the
anger was forgotten, as if it had never happened. (J 306)
But later on a new tension arose
between the couple. Again the King would not look at the Queen and pretended
she did not exist. When the Buddha became aware of this, he asked about
her. Pasenadi said that her good fortune had gone to her head. Immediately
the Awakened One told an incident from a former life:
Both were then heavenly beings, a
deva couple, who loved each other dearly. One night they were separated
from each other because of the flooding of a stream. They both regretted
this irretrievable night, which could never be replaced during their life-span
of a thousand years. And during the rest of their lives they never let
go of each other's company and always remembered to use this separation
as a warning so that their happiness would endure during that whole existence.
The King was moved by this story, and became reconciled to the Queen. Mallika
then spoke this verse to the Buddha:
With joy I heard your varied
words,
Which spoken were for my well-being;
With your talk you took away my
sorrow
Verily, you are the joy-bringer
amongst the ascetics
May you live long!
(J504)
A third time the Buddha told of an occurrence
during one of the former lives of the royal couple. At that time Pasenadi
was a crown-prince and Mallika his wife. When the crown-prince became afflicted
with leprosy and could not become King because of that, he resolved to
withdraw into the forest by himself, so as not to become a burden to anyone.
But his wife did not desert him, and looked after him with touching attention.
She resisted the temptation to lead a care-free life in pomp and splendor
and remained faithful to her ugly and ill-smelling husband. Through the
power of her virtue she was able to effect his recovery. When he ascended
to the throne and she became his Queen, he promptly forgot her and enjoyed
himself with various dancing girls. It is almost as difficult to find a
grateful person, the Buddha said, as it is difficult to find a Holy One.
(A III, 122)
Only when the King was reminded of
the good deeds of his Queen, did he change his ways, asked her forgiveness
and lived together with her in harmony and virtue. (J 519)
Queen Mallika committed only one
deed in this life which had evil results and which led her to the worst
rebirth. Immediately after her death, she was reborn in hell, though this
lasted only a few days.
When she died, the King was just
listening to a Dhamma exhortation by the Buddha. When the news reached
him there, he was deeply shaken and even the Buddha's reminder that there
was nothing in the world that could escape old age, disease, death, decay
and destruction could not immediately assuage his grief. (A V,49)
His attachment -- "from love comes
sorrow" -- was so strong, that he went to the Buddha every day to find
out about the future destiny of his wife. If he had to get along without
her on earth, at least he wanted to know about her rebirth. But for seven
days the Buddha distracted him from his question through fascinating and
moving Dhamma discourses, so that he only remembered his question when
he arrived home again. Only on the seventh day would the Buddha answer
his question and said that Mallika had been reborn in the "Heaven of the
Blissful Devas." He did not mention the seven days she had spent in hell,
so as not to add to the King's sorrow. Even though it was a very short-termed
sojourn in the lower realms, one can see that Mallika had not yet attained
stream-entry [*] during her life on earth, since it is one of the signs
of a Stream-enterer that there is no rebirth below the human state. However,
this experience of hellish suffering together with her knowledge of Dhamma,
could have quickened Mallika's last ripening for the attainment of stream-entry.
* [Stream-entry: the first
stage of Enlightenment, where the first glimpse of Nibbana is gained and
the first three fetters abandoned.]
Sources: M 87; A V,49, IV,
197, VIII, 91; S 3,8 = Ud V,I; S 3, 16; J 77, 306, 314, 415, 504, 519;
Pac. 53,83; Mil. 115, 291; Jtm. 3; Divy, p.88
What Cannot Be
Got:
The Buddha's Words to King Pasenadi on Queen Mallika's Death
At one time the Lord was staying near
Savatthi at Jeta Grove, Anathapindika's Monastery. Then King Pasenadi of
Kosala approached the Lord and having done so, paid his respects and sat
down nearby. Now at that time Queen Mallika died. A certain man then approached
the King and whispered in his ear: "Your Majesty, Queen Mallika has died."
At those words king Pasenadi was filled with grief and depression, and
with shoulders drooping, head down, he sat glum, and with nothing to say.
The Lord saw the king sitting there like that and spoke to him in this
way:
"Great king, there are these five
circumstances not-to-be-got by monk, brahmin, deva, Mara, Brahma, or by
anyone in the world. What are the five?
"That what is of the nature to decay
may not decay, is a circumstance not-to-be-got by a monk...or by anyone
in the world. That what is of the nature to be diseased may not be diseased,
is a circumstance not-to-be-got by a monk...or by anyone in the world.
"That what is of the nature to die
may not die, is a circumstance not-to-be-got by a monk...or by anyone in
the world.
"That what is of the nature to be
exhausted may not be exhausted, is a circumstance not-to-be-got by a monk...or
by anyone in the world.
"That what is of the nature to be
destroyed may not be destroyed, is a circumstance, not-to-be-got by a monk...or
by anyone in the world.
"Great king, for an uninstructed
ordinary person what is of the nature to decay does decay, what is of the
nature to be diseased does become diseased, what is of the nature to die
does die, what is of the nature to be exhausted is exhausted and what is
of the nature to be destroyed is destroyed -- and when these things happen
to him he does not reflect, "It's not only for me that what is of the nature
to decay decays...that what is of the nature to be destroyed is destroyed,
but wherever there are beings, coming and going, dying and being born,
for all those beings what is of the nature to decay decays...what is of
the nature to be destroyed is destroyed, and if I, when there is decay
in what is of the nature to decay...when there is destruction in what is
of the nature to be destroyed, should grieve, pine, and lament, and crying
beat the breast and so fall into delusion, food would not be enjoyed, my
body would become haggard, work would not be done and enemies would be
pleased, while friends would be depressed. Then, when there is decay in
what is of the nature to decay, disease in what is of the nature to be
diseased, death in what is of the nature to die, exhaustion in what is
of the nature to be exhausted, destruction in what is of the nature to
be destroyed, he grieves, pines and laments, and crying beats his breast
and so falls into delusion.
"This is called an uninstructed ordinary
person; pierced by the poisoned dart of grief, he just torments himself.
Great king, for the instructed Noble Disciple what is of the nature to
decay does decay...and what is of the nature to be destroyed is destroyed...and
when these things happen to him he does reflect, "It's not only for me
that what is of the nature to decay decays...that what is of the nature
to be destroyed, is destroyed, but wherever there are beings, coming and
going, dying and being born, for all those beings what is of the nature
to decay decays...what is of the nature to be destroyed is destroyed, and
if I, when there is decay in what is of the nature to decay...when there
is destruction in what is of the nature to be destroyed, should grieve,
pine and lament, and crying beat the breast and so fall into delusion,
food would not be enjoyed, my body would become haggard, work would not
be done and enemies would be pleased while friends would be depressed.
Then when there is decay in what is of the nature to decay, disease in
what is of the nature to be diseased, death in what is of the nature to
die, exhaustion in what is of the nature to be exhausted, destruction in
what is of the nature to be destroyed, he does not grieve or pine or lament,
he does not beat his breast and fall into delusion.
"This is called an instructed Noble
Disciple. Drawn out is the poisoned dart of grief with which the uninstructed
ordinary person torments himself. Free of grief, free from the dart, the
Noble Disciple has quenched [*] himself completely."
* [Or "become cool" literally
"nibban-ered."]
"Great king, these are the five circumstances
not-to-be-got by monk, brahmin, deva, Mara, Brahma, or by anyone in the
world.
Do not grieve, nor should
you lament.
Here, what good is gained? -- none
at all indeed,
and enemies rejoice to see that
grief and pain.
But when misfortunes do not shake
the wise --
that one who knows well how to seek
the good,
then enemies because of that are
pained
seeing his face as formerly, not
strained.
Where and whatever good may gotten,
be
there and just there he should try
for that
by study, wisdom and well-spoken
words,
unpracticed so far, and tradition,
too.
But if he knows: "This good can
be got
Neither by me nor any other too"
then ungrieving he should bear it
all (and think),
"Now how to use my strength for
present work?"
Anguttara Nikaya, (Fives,
49)
Khema of Great Wisdom
Just as there were two foremost disciples
in the order of monks, namely Sariputta and Moggallana, likewise the Buddha
named two women as foremost amongst nuns, namely Uppalavanna and Khema.
The name Khema means well-settled
or composed or security and is a synonym for Nibbana. The nun Khema belonged
to a royal family from the land of Magadha. When she was of marriageable
age, she became one of the chief consorts of King Bimbisara. As beautiful
as her appearance was, equally beautiful was her life as the wife of an
Indian Maharaja.
When she heard about the Buddha from
her husband, she became interested, but she had a certain reluctance to
become involved with his teaching. She felt that the teaching would run
counter to her life of sense-pleasures and indulgences. The king, however,
knew how he could influence her to listen to the teaching. He described
at length the harmony, the peace and beauty of the monastery in the Bamboo
Grove, where the Buddha stayed frequently. Because she loved beauty, harmony
and peace, she was persuaded to visit there.
Decked out in royal splendor with
silk and sandalwood, she went to the monastery. The Exalted One spoke to
her and explained the law of impermanence of all conditioned beauty to
her. She penetrated this sermon fully and still dressed in royal garments,
she attained to enlightenment. Just like the monk, Mahakappina -- a former
king -- she likewise became liberated through the power of the Buddha's
words while still dressed in the garments of the laity. With her husband's
permission she joined the Order of Nuns. Such an attainment, almost like
lightning, is only possible however where the seed of wisdom has long been
ripening and virtue is fully matured.
An ordinary person, hearing Khema's
story, only sees the wonder of the present happening. A Buddha can see
beyond this and knows that this woman did not come to full liberation accidentally.
It came about like this: In former times when a Buddha appeared in the
world, then Khema in those past lives also appeared near him, or so it
has been recounted. Due to her inner attraction towards the highest Truth,
she always came to birth wherever the bearer and proclaimer of such Truth
lived. It is said that already innumerable ages ago she had sold her beautiful
hair to give alms to the Buddha Padumuttara. During the time of the Buddha
Vipassi, ninety-one eons ago, she had been a teacher of Dhamma. Further
it is told, that during the three Buddhas of our happy eon, which were
previous to our Buddha Gautama, she was a lay disciple and gained happiness
through building monasteries for the Sangha.
While most beings mill around heaven
or hell realms during the life-time of a Buddha, Khema always tried to
be near the source of wisdom. When there was no Buddha appearing in the
world, she would be reborn at the time of Pacceka-Buddhas or Bodhisattas.
In one birth she was the wife of the Bodhisatta, who always exhorted his
peaceful family like this:
According to what you have
got, give alms;
Observe the Uposatha days, keep
the precepts pure;
Dwell upon the thought of death
and be mindful of your mortal state.
For in the case of beings like ourselves,
death is certain, life is uncertain;
All existing things are transitory
and subject to decay.
Therefore be heedful of your ways
day and night.
One day Khema's only son in this life
was suddenly killed by the bite of a poisonous snake, yet she was able
to keep total equanimity:
Uncalled he hither came,
without leave departed, too;
Even as he came, he went. What cause
is here for woe?
No friend's lament can touch the
ashes of the dead:
Why should I grieve? He fares the
way he had to tread.
Though I should fast and weep, how
would it profit me?
My kith and kin, alas! would more
unhappy be.
No friend's lament can touch the
ashes of the dead:
Why should I grieve? He fares the
way he had to tread.
(J 354)
Another time -- so it is told -- she
was she daughter-in-law of the Bodhisatta (J 397), many times a great Empress
who dreamt about receiving teaching from the Bodhisatta and then actually
was taught by him (J 501,502,534). It is further recounted that as a Queen
she was always the wife of he who was later Sariputta, who said about her:
Of equal status is the wife,
Obedient, speaking only loving words,
With children, beauty, fame, garlanded,
She always listens to my words.
(J 502,534)
This husband in former lives was a righteous
king, who upheld the ten royal virtues: Generosity, morality, renunciation,
truthfulness, gentleness, patience, amity, harmlessness, humility, justice.
Because of these virtues the king lived in happiness and bliss. Khema,
too, lived in accordance with these precepts. (J 534)
Only because Khema had already purified
her heart and perfected it in these virtues, in many past lives she was
now mature enough and had such pure and tranquil emotions, that she could
accept the ultimate Truth in the twinkling of an eye.
The Buddha praised her as the nun
foremost in wisdom. A story goes with that: King Pasenadi was traveling
through his country, and one evening he arrived at a small township. He
felt like having a conversation about Dhamma and ordered a servant to find
out whether there was a wise ascetic or priest in the town. The servant
sounded everyone out, but could not find anyone whom his master could converse
with. He reported this to the King and added that a nun of the Buddha lived
in the town.
It was the saintly Khema, who was
famed everywhere for her wisdom and known to be clever, possessing deep
insight, had heard much Dhamma, and was a speaker of renown, knowing always
the right retort. Thereupon the king went to the former Queen, greeted
her with respect and had the following conversation with her:
P.: Does an Awakened One
exist after death?
K.: The Exalted One has not declared
that an Awakened One exists after death.
P.: Then an Awakened One does not
exist after death?
K.: That too, the Exalted One has
not declared.
P.: Then the Awakened One exists
after death and does not exist?
K.: Even that, the Exalted One has
not declared.
P.: Then one must say, the Awakened
One neither exists nor not exists after death?
K.: That too, the Exalted One has
not declared.
Thereupon the King wanted to know why
the Buddha had rejected these four questions. First we must try to understand
what these questions imply. The first question corresponds with the view
of all those beings whose highest goal is to continue on after death, spurred
on by craving for existence. The answer that an Awakened One continues
to exist after death, is the one given by all other religions, including
later interpretations of Buddhism.
The second answer that the Enlightened
One does not exist after death would be in keeping with craving for non-existence,
i.e. annihilation.
Because of an urge for definite knowledge
and certainly, a definition is sought which could claim that the five aggregates
(khandha)
of form, feeling, perception, mental formations and consciousness -- which
make up the sum total of all existence -- are completely dissolved and
disappear upon the shedding of an Awakened One's body; and that deliverance
consisted in that mere fact of dissolution.
The third answer seeks a compromise:
everything impermanent in an Awakened One would be annihilated, but the
permanent aspect, the essence, his actual person, would remain.
The fourth answer tries to get out
of the predicament by formulating a "neither-nor" situation, which is meant
to be satisfying. [*] All four formulas have been rejected by the Buddha
as wrong view. They all presuppose that there is an "I" distinct from the
world, while in reality "I" and "world" are part of the experience which
arises because of consciousness.
* [This "solution" is formulated
with the idea that it is something that words/concepts cannot describe,
but it still uses "exist" "not exist" and so was not accepted by the Buddha.]
Only the Enlightened Ones can actually
see this or those who have been their disciples, and unless this understanding
is awakened, the assumption is made that an "I," and essentially permanent
"self," is wandering through samsara, [*] gradually ascending higher and
higher until it is dissolved, which is liberation; this is a belief held
by some. Others conclude from this, that the Buddha teaches the destruction
of the "self." But the Buddha teaches that there is no "I" or "self," which
can be destroyed, that it has never existed and has never wandered through
samsara.
* [Samsara: The rounds of
birth and death, continually recurring.]
What we call "I" and what we call "world"
are in reality a constantly changing process, always in flux, which always
throws up the illusion of "I" and "world" born in the present and speculated
upon in the past and future. The way to liberation is to stop speculating
about the "I," to become free from habitual views and formulas, and come
to the end of the mind's illusory conjuring.
Not through increasing the thought
processes about phenomena, but through mindfulness of the arising of phenomena,
which leads to reducing the chatter in the mind, can liberation be attained.
Everything we see, hear, smell, taste, touch and think, anything that can
be contained in consciousness, no matter how wide-ranging and pure it is,
has arisen due to causes; therefore it is impermanent and subject to decay
and dissolution.
Everything which is subject to decay
and change is not-self. Because the five clung-to aggregates are subject
to destruction, they are not "my" self, are not "mine." "I" cannot prevent
their decay, their becoming sick, damaged, faulty and their passing away.
The conclusion that the self must then be outside of the five aggregates
does not follow either, because it, too, is a thought and therefore belongs
to one of the five clung-to aggregates (i.e. mental formations).
Any designation of the Enlightened
One after death is therefore an illusion, born out of compulsion for naming,
and cannot be appropriate. Whoever has followed the teaching of the Awakened
One, as Khema did, is greatly relieved to see that the Buddha did not teach
the destruction of an existing entity, nor the annihilation of a self.
But, on the contrary, those not instructed by the Exalted One live without
exception in a world of perpetual destruction, of uncontrollable transiency
in the realm of death. Whatever they look upon as "I" and "mine" is constantly
vanishing and only upon renouncing these things which are unsatisfactory
because of their impermanence, can they reach a refuge of peace and security.
Just as the lion's roar of the Exalted One proclaimed: "Open are the doors
to the deathless, who has ears to hear, come and listen."
Khema tried to explain this to the
King with a simile. She asked him whether he had a clever mathematician
or statistician, who could calculate for him how many hundred, thousand
or hundred-thousand grains of sand are contained in the river Ganges. The
King replied that that is not possible. The nun then asked him whether
he knew of anyone who could figure out how many gallons of water are contained
in the great ocean. That, too, the King considered impossible. Khema asked
him why it is not possible. The King replied that the ocean is mighty,
deep, unfathomable.
Just so, said Khema, is the Exalted
One. Whoever wished to define the Awakened One, could only do so through
the five clung-to aggregates and the Buddha no longer clung-to them. "Released
from clinging to form, feeling, perception, mental formations and consciousness
is the Enlightened One, mighty, deep unfathomable as the great ocean."
Therefore it was not appropriate
to say he existed or did not exist, or existed and did not exist, nor did
he neither exist nor not exist. All these designations could not define
what was undefinable. Just that was liberation: liberation from the compulsion
to stabilize as "self" the constant flux of the five aggregates, which
are never the same in any given moment, but only appear as a discharge
of tensions arising from mental formations.
The King rejoiced in the penetrating
explanation of the nun Khema. Later on he met the Enlightened One and asked
him the same four questions. The Buddha explained it exactly as Khema had
done, even using the same words. The King was amazed and recounted his
conversation with the wise nun Khema, the Arahant. (S 44,1)
Sources: S 17,23; S 44,1;
A I,24; II,62; IV,176; VIII,91. Thag. 139-144; J 354;397;501;502;534;539;
Ap II No.18 (verse 96); Bu 26,19.
Bhadda Kundalakesa
The Former Jain Ascetic
In Rajagaha, the capital of the kingdom
of Magadha, lived a girl of good family named Bhadda. Her parents protected
her very carefully, because she had a passionate nature and they were afraid
that she would be hurt due to her attraction to men. One day from her window
Bhadda saw how a thief was being led to the place of execution. He was
the son of a Brahmin (priest-caste) but had a strong tendency towards stealing.
She fell in love with him at first
sight. She convinced her father that she could not live without him, and
so he bribed the guards who let the condemned man escape.
Soon after the wedding the bridegroom
became obsessed with the desire to get his wife's jewelry. He told her
he had made a vow that he would make an offering to a certain mountain
deity if he could escape execution. Through this ruse he managed to get
Bhadda away from his home. He wanted to throw her down from a high cliff
to gain possession of her valuable ornaments. When they came to the cliff,
he brusquely told her about his intention. Bhadda, in her distress, likewise
resolved to a ruse that enabled her to give him a push so that it was he
who fell to his death.
Burdened by the enormity of her deed,
she did not want to return to lay life. Sensual pleasures and possessions
were no longer tempting for her. She became a wandering ascetic. First
she entered the order of Jains and as a special penance, her hair was torn
out by the roots, when she ordained. But it grew again and was very curly.
Therefore she was called "Curly-hair" (Kundalakesa).
The teaching of the Jain sect did
not satisfy her, so she became a solitary wanderer. For fifty years she
traveled through India and visited many spiritual teachers, thereby obtaining
an excellent knowledge of religious scriptures and philosophies. She became
one of the most famous debaters. When she entered a town, she would make
a sand-pile and stick a rose-apple branch into it and would announce that
whoever would engage in discussion with her should trample upon the sand-pile.
One day she came to Savatthi and
again erected her little monument. At that time, Sariputta -- the disciple
of the Buddha with the greatest power of analysis -- was staying at the
Jeta Grove. He heard of the arrival of Bhadda and as a sign of his willingness
for debate, he had several children go and trample on the sand-pile. Thereupon
Bhadda went to the Jeta Grove, to Anathapindika's Monastery, accompanied
by a large number of people. She was certain of victory, since she had
become used to being the winner in all debates.
She put a number of questions to
Sariputta. He answered all of them until she found nothing more to ask.
Then Sariputta questioned her. Already the first question affected Bhadda
profoundly, namely, "What is the One?" She remained silent, unable to discern
what the Elder could have been inquiring about. Surely he did not mean
"God," or "Brahman" or "the Infinite," she pondered. But what was it then?
The answer should have been "nutriment" because all beings are sustained
by food.
Although she was unable to find an
answer and thereby lost the debate, she knew that here was someone who
had found what she had been looking; for during her pilgrimage of half
a century. She chose Sariputta as her teacher, but he referred her to the
Buddha. The Awakened One preached Dhamma to her at Mount Vulture Peak and
concluded with the following verses:
Though a thousand verses
are made of meaningless lines,
better the single meaningful line
by hearing which one is at peace.
(Dhp 101)
Just as the wanderer Bahiya was foremost
amongst monks who attained Arahantship faster than anyone else, she was
foremost amongst nuns with the same quality. Both grasped the highest Truth
so quickly and so deeply that admittance to the Order followed after attainment
of Arahantship. Mind and emotions of both of them had long been trained
and prepared, so that they could reach the highest attainment very quickly.
Bhadda's verses have been handed
down to us in the collection of the "Verses of the Elder Nuns," as she
summarizes her life:
I traveled before in a single
cloth,
With shaven head, covered in dust,
Thinking of faults in the faultless,
While in the faulty seeing no faults.
[*]
When done was the day's abiding,
[**]
I went to Mount Vulture Peak
And saw the stainless Buddha
By the Order of Bhikkhus revered.
Then before Him my hands in anjali
[***]
Humbly, I bowed down on my knees.
"Come, Bhadda," He said to me:
And thus was I ordained.
Debt-free, I traveled for fifty
years
In Anga, Magadha and Vajji,
In Kasi and Kosala, too,
Living on the alms of the land.
That lay-supporter -- wise man indeed
--
May many merits accrue to him!
Who gave a robe to Bhadda for
Free of all ties is she.
(Thig 107-111)
* [Vajja: fault,
can also mean "what is obstructive to spiritual progress."]
** [The daytime spent in seclusion
for meditation.]
*** [anjali: hands placed
palms to palm respectfully.]
Sources: A I,24; Thig 107-111;
J 509; Ap 11 No.21 (p.560).
Kisagotami:
The Mother With The Dead Child
There lived in Savatthi a girl called
Gotami, in poor circumstances, belonging to the lowest caste. Because she
was very thin and haggard, a real bean-pole, everyone called her the haggard
(kisa)
Gotami. When one saw her walking around, tall and thin, one could not fathom
her inner riches. One could truly say about her:
Her beauty was an inner
one
One could not see its spark outside.
She was despondent because due to her
poverty and lack of attractiveness, she was unable to find a husband. But
one day it suddenly happened that a rich merchant who appreciated her inner
wealth and considered that more important than her outer appearance, married
her. However, the husband's family despised her because of her caste, her
poverty and her looks. This animosity caused her great unhappiness, especially
because of her beloved husband, who found himself in conflict between love
for his parents and love for his wife.
But when Kisagotami gave birth to
a baby boy, the husband's whole clan finally accepted her as the mother
of the son and heir. Her relief about this changed attitude was immense
and a great burden was taken from her. Now she was totally happy and contented.
The boy grew up and soon started playing outside, full of energy and joy.
However, one day her happiness showed itself to be based on an illusion.
Her little son died suddenly. She did not know how to bear this tragedy.
Beyond the usual love of a mother for her child, she had been especially
attached to this child, because he was the guarantee for her marital bliss
and her peace of mind.
His death made her fear that her
husband's family would despise her again and that they would blame her,
saying she was karmically unable to have a son. "Kisagotami must have done
some very despicable deeds, to have this happen to her," people would say.
And even her husband might reject her now. All such ideas and imaginings
revolved in her mind and a dark cloud descended upon her. She simply refused
to accept the fact that the child was dead, and became obsessed with the
fantasy that her child was only sick and that she had to get medicine for
him.
With the dead child in her arms,
she ran away from her home and went from house to house asking for medicine
for her little son. At every door she begged: "Please give me some medicine
for my child," but the people replied that medicine would not help any
more, the child was dead. But she did not understand what they were saying
to her, because in her mind she had resolved that the child was not dead.
Others laughed at her without compassion. But amongst the many selfish
and unsympathetic people, she also met a wise and kind person who recognized
that her mind was deranged because of grief. He advised her to visit the
best physician, namely the Buddha of the ten powers, who would know the
right remedy.
She immediately followed this advice
and ran to Prince Jeta's Grove, Anathapindika's Monastery, where the Buddha
was staying. She arrived in the middle of a discourse being given by the
Buddha to a large congregation. Totally despairing and in tears, with the
corpse of the child in her arms, she begged the Buddha, "Master, give me
medicine for my son." The Awakened One interrupted his teaching and replied
kindly that he knew of a medicine. Hopefully she inquired what that could
be.
"Mustard seeds," the Enlightened
One replied, astounding everyone present.
Joyfully, Kisagotami inquired where
she should go to obtain them and what kind to get. The Buddha replied that
she need only bring a very small quantity from any house where no one had
died. She trusted the Blessed One's words and went to the town. At the
first house, she asked whether any mustard seeds were available. "Certainly,"
was the reply. "Could I have a few seeds?" she inquired. "Of course," she
was told, and some seeds were brought to her. But then she asked the second
question, which she had not deemed quite as important: whether anyone had
died in this house. "But of course," the people told her. And so it went
everywhere. In one house someone; had died recently, in another house some
time ago. She could not find any house where no one had died. The dead
ones are more numerous than the living ones, she was told.
Towards evening she finally realized
that not only she was stricken by the death of a loved one, but this was
the common human fate. What no words had been able to convey to her, her
own experience -- going from door to door -- made clear to her. She understood
the law of existence, the being fettered to the always re-occurring deaths.
In this way, the Buddha was able to heal her obsession and bring her to
an acceptance of reality. Kisagotami no longer refused to believe that
her child was dead, but understood that death is the destiny of all beings.
Such were the means by which the
Buddha could heal grief-stricken people and bring them out of their overpowering
delusion, in which the whole world was perceived only in the perspective
of their loss. Once, when someone was lamenting the death of his father,
the Buddha asked him which father he meant: the father of this life, or
the last life, or the one before that. Because if one wanted to grieve,
then it would be just as well not only to feel sorrow for the one father.
(Pv 8, J 352).
Another time a grief-stricken person
was able to see reality when the Buddha pointed out to him that his son
would be reborn and that he was only lamenting for an empty shell. (Pv
12, J 354).
After Kisagotami had come to her
senses, she took the child's lifeless body to the cemetery and returned
to the Enlightened One. He asked her whether she had brought any mustard
seed. She gratefully explained how she had been cured by the Blessed One.
Thereupon the Master spoke the following verse to her:
In flocks and children finding
delight,
with a mind clinging -- just such
a man
death seizes and carries away,
as a great flood, a sleeping village.
(Dhp 287)
Because her mind had matured and she
had won insight into reality, it was possible for her to become a stream-winner
after hearing the Buddha proclaim just that one verse. She asked for admittance
into the Order of Nuns.
After having spent some time as a
nun, practicing and studying Dhamma, she watched her lamp one evening and
compared the restlessly hissing flames with the ups and downs of life and
death. Thereupon the Blessed One came to her and again spoke a short verse:
Though one should live a
hundred years
not seeing the Deathless State,
yet better is life for a single
day,
seeing the Deathless State.
(Dhp 114)
When she heard these lines, she was
able to shed all fetters and became one of the Arahants, the fully Enlightened
Ones.
Ninety-two eons ago, in one of her
former lives, she had been the wife of a Buddha-to-be, at the time of the
Buddha
Phussa. During the time of the last Buddha before the Sage of the Sakyas,
namely Buddha Kassapa, she had been a King's daughter who became a nun.
(J 409)
In the collection of "Verses of the
Elder Nuns" her stanzas can be found, in which she describes the great
joy the Buddha imparted to her. Therefore she praises friendship with the
Noble and Holy Ones:
The Sage has emphasized
and praised
Noble friendship for the world.
If one stays with a Noble Friend,
even a fool will become a wise person.
Stay with them of good heart
for the wisdom of those who stay
with them grows.
And while one is staying with them,
from every kind of dukkha
one is freed.
Dukkha one should know well,
and how dukkha arises and
ceases,
and the Eightfold Path,
and the Four Noble Truths.
(Thig 213-215)
The compassion of the Buddha, the most
noble friend of all, had saved her from all suffering experienced in this
and former lives. She used as her model, the heartrending example of the
nun Patacara who had also been afflicted with temporary insanity after
the death of not only husband and two sons, but also parents and brothers.
Because women's longing for men is so deeply ingrained, the Buddha said,
"For a man does the woman strive." (A VI.52) From this attachment is born
the torture of jealousy, the lack of self-reliance, and the despair of
loneliness.
Only when one penetrates a woman's
suffering in this way can one realize the full impact of Kisagotami's gratitude
towards the Buddha who showed her the way. So she says:
"Woman's state is painful,"
declares the Trainer of tamable
men.
"A wife with others is painful
and once having borne a child,
some even cut their throats;
others of delicate constitution
poison take, then pain again;
and then there's the baby obstructing
the birth,
killing the mother too."
(Thig 216-217)
After she attained to Arahantship, she
was able to see her past lives and could now say:
Miserable woman, your kin
all dead
and limitless dukkha you've
known.
So many tears have you shed
in these many thousands of births.
(Thig 220)
The third part of her verses finalizes
her joy in finding liberation and release from all suffering:
Wholly developed by me is
the Eightfold Noble Path going to
Deathlessness,
Nibbana realized,
I looked into the Mirror of the
Dhamma.
With dart removed am I,
the burden laid down, done what
was to be done,
The elder nun Kisagotami,
freed in mind and heart, has chanted
this.
(Thig 222-223)
When Mara,[*] as he had done so often
before with other nuns, came to tempt her, to distract her from meditation
and asked her whether she was lusting for man now that her child was dead,
she immediately replied, discerning the ruse:
* [Mara is traditionally
depicted as the "tempter" or "temptation." While here it is made to appear
as if "he" were an outer force, the Buddha taught that temptation arises
in one's own heart and mind because of one's own defilements.]
Passed is the time of my
child's death
and I have fully done with men;
I do not grieve, nor do I weep,
and I'm not afraid of you, friend.
Sensual delight in every way is
dead,
for the mass of darkness is destroyed.
Defeating the soldiery of death,
I live free from every taint.
(S 5,3)
Addressing Mara as "friend," she shows
her lack of fear and her equanimity. Grumbling sullenly, Mara disappeared
just as before when he had tried in vain to fetter other nuns to the realm
of birth and death.
The nun Kisagotami, rising to holiness
from lowliest birth, was praised by the Buddha as amongst the seventy-five
greatest nuns.[*]
* [She was pre-eminent in
ascetic habits and was wont to wear garments of rough fibers. (A I, 24).]
Sources: A I,24; S 5,3;
Thig 213-223, J 438; Ap 11 No.22
Sona
With Many Children
There was a housewife in Savatthi who
had ten children. She was always occupied with giving birth, nursing, upbringing,
educating and arranging marriages for her children. Her children were her
whole life. She was therefore known as "Sona with many children."
She was rather like Migara's mother
of the same city, though the latter had twenty children. We may find such
an abundance of offspring in one family somewhat strange today. However,
this was not uncommon in Asia and even in some parts of the West.
Sona's husband was a lay follower
of the Buddha. After having practiced moral conduct according to the precepts
for several years while living the household life, he decided that the
time had come to enter into the holy life, and so he became a monk. It
was not easy for Sona to accept this decision, yet she did not waste her
time with regrets and sorrow, but decided to live a more religiously dedicated
life. She called her ten children and their husbands and wives together,
turned her considerable wealth over to them, and asked them only for support
for her necessities. For a while all went well. She had sufficient support
and could spend her time in religious activities.
But soon it happened that the old
woman became a burden to her children and children-in-law. They had not
been in agreement with their father's decision, and even less did they
agree with their mother's devout attitude and religious speech. Indeed,
they thought of their parents as foolish because they would not indulge
in the pleasures their wealth could purchase. They considered their parents
mentally unstable, religious fanatics; this attitude made them despise
their mother.
They quickly forgot that they owed
all their riches to their mother, that she had lavished many years of care
and attention on them. Looking only at the present moment, they considered
the old woman a nuisance. The words of the Buddha, that a grateful person
is as rare in the world as one who becomes a Noble One, proved true again
in this case. (A III, 122; V, 143; V, 195).
The increasing disdain by her children
was an even greater pain for Sona than the separation from her husband.
She became aware that waves of bitterness arose in her, that reproaches
and accusations intermingled. She realized that what she had taken to be
selfless love, pure mother's love, was in reality self love, coupled with
expectations. She had been relying on her children completely and had been
convinced that she would be supported by them in her old age as a tribute
to her long years of solicitude for them, that gratitude, appreciation
and participation in their affairs would be her reward. Had she not looked
at her children as an investment then, as an insurance against the fear
and loneliness of old age? In this manner, she investigated her motives
and found the truth of the Enlightened One's words in herself. Namely,
that it was a woman's way not to rely on possessions, power and abilities,
but solely on her children, while it was the way of the ascetic to rely
on virtue alone. (A VI, 53).
Her reflections brought her to the
decision to enter the Order of Nuns so that she could develop the qualities
of selfless love and virtue. Why should she remain in her home where she
was only reluctantly accepted? She looked upon the household life as a
gray existence and pictured that of a nun as brilliant, and so was ready
to follow here husband's path. She became a nun, a Bhikkhuni in the order
of the Buddha's followers.
But after a while she realized that
she had taken her self-love along. The other nuns criticized her behavior
in many small matters. She had entered the Sangha as an old woman and had
dozens of habits and peculiarities which were obstacles in this new environment.
She was used to doing things in a certain way, and the other nuns did them
differently.
Sona soon realized that it was not
easy to reach noble attainments, and that the Order of Nuns was not the
paradise she had envisioned -- just as she had not found security with
her children. She also understood that she was still held fast by her womanly
limitations. It was not enough that her weaknesses were abhorrent to her,
and that she was longing for more masculine traits. She also had to know
what to do to effect the change. She accepted the fact that she had to
make tremendous efforts, not only because she was already advanced in years,
but also because until now she had only cultivated female virtues. The
masculine characteristics which she was lacking were energy and circumspection.
Sona did not become discouraged, nor thought of the Path as too difficult.
She had the same sincerity and steadfastness as her sister-nun-Soma, who
said:
What's it to do with a woman's
state
When the mind, well-composed
with knowledge after knowledge born,
sees into Perfect Dhamma clear?
For who, indeed, conceives it thus:
A woman am I, a man am I,
or what, then indeed, am I?
Such a one can Mara still address.
(S 5,2)
It became clear to Sona that she had
to develop courage and strength to win victory over her willfulness and
her credulity. She realized that it was necessary to practice mindfulness
and self-observation, and to implant into her memory those teachings which
could be at her disposal when needed to counteract her emotions.
What use would be all knowledge and
vows if she were carried away by her emotions, and her memory fail her
when it was most needed? These were the reasons which strengthened Sona's
determination and will-power to learn the Buddha's discourses. Through
many a night thereby she attained the ability to memorize them. Furthermore,
she took pains to serve her sister-nuns in a loving way and to apply the
teachings constantly. After having practiced in this way for some time,
she attained not only the assurance of Non-returner, but became an Arahant,
fully-enlightened, a state she had hardly dared to hope for in this lifetime.
It happened without any special circumstances
to herald it. After she had made a whole-hearted commitment to perfect
those abilities which she lacked, no matter what the cost, she drew nearer
to her goal day by day. One day she was liberated from the very last fetter.
The Buddha said about her that she was foremost of the nuns who had energetic
courage. (A I, 24)
In the "Verses of the Elder Nuns"
she describes her life in five verses:
Ten children having borne
from this bodily congeries,
so I, now weak and old,
approached a Bhikkhuni.
The Dhamma she taught me --
groups, sense-spheres and elements,
[*]
I heard the Dhamma,
and having shaved my hair, went
forth.
While still a probationer
I purified the eye divine;
Former lives I knew,
and where I lived before.
One-pointed, well-composed,
the Signless [**] I developed,
immediately released,
unclinging now and quenched!
Knowing the five groups well,
they still exist; but with their
roots removed.
Unmovable am I,
on a stable basis sure,
now rebirth is no more.
(Thig 102-106)
* [The five groups (or aggregates),
the twelve sense spheres and the eighteen elements -- see Buddhist Dictionary,
B.P.S. Kandy, for definition.]
** [One of the three gates to freedom
the other two being the Desireless and Emptiness.]
Sona's sister-nuns, who had formerly
been her severe critics, and who had thought that because of her age she
would not be able to change, now apologized to her sincerely and endeavored
to follow her good example.
Sources: A I, 24; Thig 102-106;
AP. 11, No.26
Nanda:
The Half-Sister Of the Awakened One
When she was born, Nanda was lovingly
welcomed by her parents -- the father of the Buddha and his second wife.
Her name means joy, contentment, pleasure, and was given when parents were
especially joyful about the arrival of a baby.
Nanda was extremely well-bred, graceful
and beautiful. To distinguish her from others by the same name, she was
later called "Rupa-Nanda," "one of delightful form," or sometimes "Sundari-Nanda,"
"beautiful Nanda."
In due course many members of her
family -- the royal house of the Sakyans -- left the household for the
homeless life, influenced by the amazing fact that one of their clan had
become the fully-enlightened Buddha. Amongst them was her brother Nanda,
her cousins, and finally her mother, together with many other Sakyan ladies.
Thereupon Nanda also took this step, but it is recorded that she did not
do it out of confidence in the teacher and the teachings, but out of love
for her relatives and a feeling of belonging with them.
One can easily imagine the love and
respect accorded the graceful half-sister of the Buddha and how touched
the people were by the sight of the lovely royal daughter, so near in family
ties to the Blessed One, wandering amongst them in the garb of a nun.
But it soon became obvious that this
was not a good basis for a nun's life. Nanda's thoughts were mainly directed
towards her own beauty and her popularity with the people, traits which
were resultants of former good actions. These resultants now became dangers
to her, since she forgot to reinforce them with new actions. She felt that
she was not living up to the high ideals the people envisioned for her,
and that she was far from the goal for which so many noble-born clansmen
had gone into the homeless life. She was sure that the Blessed One would
censure her on account of this. Therefore she managed to evade him for
a long time.
One day the Buddha requested all
the nuns to come to him, one by one, to receive his teaching, but Nanda
did not comply. The Master let her be called specially, and then she appeared
before him, ashamed and anxious by her demeanor. The Buddha addressed her
and appealed to all her positive qualities so that she listened to him
willingly and delighted in his words. When the Blessed One knew that the
talk had uplifted her, had made her joyful and ready to accept his teaching,
he did not immediately explain absolute reality to her, as is often mentioned
in other accounts, frequently resulting in noble attainment to his listener.
Because Nanda was so taken up with
her physical beauty, the Buddha used his psychic powers to conjure up the
vision of an even more beautiful woman, who then aged visibly and relentlessly
before her very eyes. Thereby Nanda could see, compressed within a few
moments, what otherwise one can only notice in people through decades --
and often because of proximity and habit one does not even fully comprehend:
the fading away of youth and beauty, the decay, the appearance of wrinkles
and gray hair. The vision affected Nanda deeply; she was shaken to the
center of her being.
After having shown her this graphic
picture, the Buddha could explain the law of impermanence to her in such
a way that she penetrated the truth of its completely, and thereby attained
the knowledge of future liberation -- Stream-entry. As a meditation subject
the Buddha gave her the contemplation of the impermanence and foulness
of the body. She persevered for a long time with this practice "faithful
and courageous day and night"; (Thig 84) as she described in her verses:
Sick, impure and foul as
well,
Nanda, see this congeries
With the unlovely, [*] develop mind
Well-composed to singleness.
As is that, thus will this likewise
be.
Exhaling foulness, evil smells,
A thing it is enjoyed [**] by fools.
Diligently considering it,
By day and night thus seeing it,
With my own wisdom having seen,
I turned away, dispassionate.
With my diligence, carefully
I examined the body
And saw this as it really is --
Both within and without.
Unlusting and dispassionate
Within this body then was I:
By diligence from fetters freed,
Peaceful was I and quite cool.
(Thig 82-86)
* [The meditations on seeing
the body as unattractive, either as parts, or in death. See "Bag of Bones,"
Wheel 271/272.]
** [Play on her own name, Nanda or
Joy and "abhinanditam."]
Because Nanda had been so infatuated
with her physical appearance, it had been necessary for her to apply the
extreme of meditations on bodily unattractiveness as a counter-measure
to find equanimity as balance between the two opposites. For beauty and
ugliness are just two kinds of impermanence. Nothing can disturb the cool,
peaceful heart ever again.
Later the Buddha raised his half-sister
as being the foremost amongst nuns who practiced Jhana.[*] This meant that
she not only followed the analytical way of insight, but put emphasis on
the experience of tranquillity. Enjoying this pure well-being, she no longer
needed any lower enjoyments and soon found indestructible peace. Although
she had gone into homelessness because of attachment to her relatives,
she became totally free and equal to the One she venerated.
* [Jhana: Total meditative
absorption.]
Sources: A I, 24; Thig 82-86;
AP II, No.25 (54 verses).
Queen Samavati
In the days when India was the fortunate
home of an Awakened One, a husband and wife lived within its borders with
an only daughter, who was exceedingly beautiful. Their family life was
a happy and harmonious one. Then one day pestilence broke out in their
hometown. Amongst those fleeing from the disaster area was also this family
with their grown-up daughter.
They went to Kosambi, the capital
of the kingdom of Vamsa in the valley of the Ganges. The municipality had
erected a public eating-hall for the refugees. There the daughter, Samavati,
went to obtain food. The first day she took three portions, the second
day two portions and on the third day only one portion.
Mitta, the man who was distributing
the food, could not resist from asking her somewhat ironically, whether
she had finally realized the capacity of her stomach. Samavati replied
quite calmly: On the first day her father had died and so she only needed
food for two people; on the second day her mother had succumbed to the
dreaded disease, and so she only needed food for herself. The official
felt ashamed about his sarcastic remark and wholeheartedly begged her forgiveness.
A long conversation ensued. When he found out that she was all alone in
the world, he proposed to adopt her as his foster-child. She was happy
to accept and was now relieved of all worries about her livelihood.
Samavati immediately began helping
her foster father with the distribution of the food and the care of the
refugees.
Thanks to her efficiency and circumspection,
the former chaos became channeled into orderly activity. Nobody tried to
get ahead of others any more, nobody quarreled, and everyone was content.
Soon the Finance Minister of the
king, Ghosaka, became aware that the public food distribution was taking
place without noise and tumult. When he expressed his praise and appreciation
to the food-distributor, the official replied modestly that his foster-daughter
was mainly responsible for this. In this way Ghosaka met Samavati and was
so impressed with her noble bearing, that he decided to adopt her as his
own daughter. His manager consented, even if somewhat woefully, because
he did not want to be in the way of Samavati's fortune. So Ghosaka took
her into his house and thereby she became heiress of a vast fortune and
became part of the most exalted circles of the land.
The king, who was living in Kosambi
at that time, was Udena. He had two chief consorts. One was Vasuladatta,
whom he had married both for political reasons and because she was very
beautiful, but these were her only assets. The second one, Magandiya, was
not only very beautiful, but also very clever though without heart. So
the King was not emotionally contented with his two wives.
One day king Udena met the charming,
adopted daughter of his Finance Minister and fell in love with her at first
sight. He felt magically attracted by her loving and generous nature. Samavati
had exactly what was missing in both his other wives. King Udena sent a
messenger to Ghosaka and asked him to give Samavati to him in marriage.
Ghosaka was thrown into an emotional upheaval. He loved Samavati above
all else, and she had become indispensable to him. She was the delight
of his life. On the other hand, he knew his king's temperament and was
afraid to deny him his request. But in the end his attachment to Samavati
won and he thought: "Better to die than to live without her."
As usual, King Udena lost his temper.
In his fury he dismissed Ghosaka from his post as Finance Minister and
banned him from his kingdom and did not allow Samavati to accompany him.
He took over his minister's property and locked up his magnificent mansion.
Samavati was desolate that Ghosaka had to suffer so much on her account
and had lost not only her, but also his home and belongings. Out of compassion
for her adopted father, to whom she was devoted with great gratitude, she
decided to make an end to this dispute by voluntarily becoming the king's
wife. She went to the Palace and informed the King of her decision. The
king was immediately appeased and restored Ghosaka to his former position,
as well as rescinding all other measures against him.
Because Samavati had great love for
everyone, she had so much inner strength that this decision was not a difficult
one for her. It was not important to her where she lived: whether in the
house of the Finance Minister as his favorite daughter, or in the palace
as the favorite wife of the king, or in obscurity as when she was in the
house of her parents, or as a poor refugee -- she always found peace in
her own heart and was happy regardless of outer circumstances.
Samavati's life at the court of one
of the Maharajas of that time fell into a harmonious pattern. Amongst her
servants, there was one, named Khujjuttara the "hunch-backed." Outwardly
she was ill-formed, but otherwise very capable. Everyday the Queen gave
her eight gold coins to buy flowers for the women's quarters of the palace.
But Khujjuttara always bought only four coins worth and used the rest for
herself. One day when she was buying flowers again for her mistress from
the gardener, a monk was taking his meal there. He was of majestic appearance.
When he gave a discourse to the gardener after the meal, Khujjuttara listened.
The monk was the Buddha. He directed his discourse in such a way that he
spoke directly to Khujjuttara's heart. And his teaching penetrated into
her inner being. Just from hearing this one discourse, so well expounded,
she attained Stream-entry. Without quite knowing what had happened to her,
she was a totally changed person. The whole world, which had seemed so
obvious and real to her until now, appeared as a dream, apart from reality.
The first thing she did that day was to buy flowers for all of the eight
coins. She regretted her former dishonesty deeply.
When the Queen asked her why there
were suddenly so many flowers Khujjuttara fell at the Queen's feet and
confessed her theft. When Samavati forgave her magnanimously, Khujjuttara
told her what was closest to her heart, namely, that she had heard a discourse
by the Buddha, which had changed her life. She could not be specific about
the contents of the teaching, but Samavati could see for herself what a
wholesome and healing influence the teaching had had on her servant. She
made Khujjuttara her personal attendant and told her to visit the Monastery
every day to listen to the Dhamma and then repeat it to her.
Khujjuttara had an outstanding memory
and what she had heard once, she could repeat verbatim. Later on she made
a collection of discourses she had heard from the Buddha or one of his
enlightened disciples during these days at Kosambi, and from it developed
the book now called Itivuttaka ("It-was-said-thus"), composed of
112 small discourses.
When king Udena once again told his
beloved Samavati that she could wish for anything and he would fulfill
it, she wished that the Buddha would come to the palace daily to have his
food there and propound his teaching. The king's courier took the message
of this perpetual invitation to the Buddha, but he declined and instead
sent his cousin Ananda.
From then on Ananda went to the palace
daily for his meal and afterward gave a Dhamma discourse. The Queen had
already been well prepared by Khujjuttara's reports, and within a short
time she understood the meaning and attained to Stream-entry, just as her
maid-servant had done.
Now, through their common understanding
of the Dhamma, the Queen and the maid became equal. Within a short time,
the teaching spread through the whole of the women's quarters and there
was hardly anyone who did not become a disciple of the Awakened One. Even
Samavati's step-father, the Finance Minister Ghosaka, was deeply touched
by the teaching. Similarly to Anathapindika, he donated a large monastery
in Kosambi to the Sangha, so that the monks would have a secure and satisfying
shelter. Every time the Buddha visited Kosambi he stayed in this Monastery
named Ghositarama, and other monks and holy people also would find shelter
there.
Through the influence of the Dhamma,
Samavati became determined to develop her abilities more intensively. Her
most important asset was the way she could feel sympathy for all beings
and could penetrate everyone with loving-kindness and compassion. She was
able to develop this faculty so strongly that the Buddha called her the
woman lay-disciple most skilled in metta ("loving-kindness"). (A
I.19)
This all-pervading love was soon
to be tested severely. It happened like this: The second main consort of
the king, Magandiya, was imbued with virulent hatred against everything
"Buddhist." Once her father had heard the Buddha preach about unconditional
love to all beings, and it had seemed to him that the Buddha was the most
worthy one to marry his daughter. In his naive ignorance of the rules of
the monks, he offered his daughter to the Buddha as his wife. Magandiya
was very beautiful and had been desired by many suitors already.
The Buddha declined the offer but
by speaking a single verse about the unattractiveness of the body caused
her father and mother to attain the fruit of Non-returning. This was the
Buddha's verse, as recorded in the Sutta Nipata (v.835):
Having seen craving with
Discontent and Lust,[*]
There was not in me any wish for
sex;
How then for this, dung-and-urine
filled, that
I should not be willing to touch
with my foot.
* [The three beautiful daughters
of Mara (the tempter).]
But Magandiya thought that the Buddha's
rejection of her was an insult and therefore hatred against him and his
disciples arose in her. She became the wife of King Udena and when he took
a third wife, she could willingly accept that, as it was the custom in
her day. But that Samavati had become a disciple of the Buddha and had
converted the other women in the palace to his teaching, she could not
tolerate. Her hatred against everything connected with the Buddha now turned
against Samavati as his representative. She thought up one meanness after
another, and her sharp intelligence served only to conjure up new misdeeds.
First she told the King that Samavati
was trying to take his life. But the King was well aware of Samavati's
great love for all beings, so that he did not even take this accusation
seriously, barely listened to it, and forgot it almost immediately.
Secondly, Magandiya ordered one of
her maid-servants to spread rumors about the Buddha and his monks in Kosambi,
so that Samavati would also be maligned. With this she was more successful.
A wave of aversion struck the whole order to such an extent that Ananda
suggested to the Buddha that they leave town. The Buddha smiled and said
that the purity of the monks would silence all rumors within a week. Hardly
had King Udena heard the gossip leveled against the Order, than it had
already subsided. Magandiya's second attempt against Samavati had failed.
Some time later Magandiya had eight
specially selected chickens sent to the King and suggested that Samavati
should kill them and prepare them for a meal. Samavati refused to do this,
as she would not kill any living beings. Since the King knew of her all-embracing
love, he did not lose his temper, but accepted her decision.
Magandiya then tried for a fourth
time to harm Samavati. Just prior to the week which King Udena was to spend
with Samavati, Magandiya hid a poisonous snake in Samavati's chambers,
but the poison sacs had been removed. When King Udena discovered the snake,
all evidence pointed towards Samavati. His passionate fury made him lose
all control. He reached for his bow and arrow and aimed at Samavati. But
the arrow rebounded from her without doing any harm. His hatred could not
influence her loving concern for him, which continued to emanate from her.
When King Udena regained his equilibrium
and saw the miracle -- that his arrow could not harm Samavati, he was deeply
moved. He asked her forgiveness and was even more convinced of her nobility
and faithfulness. He became interested in the teaching which had given
such strength to his wife.
When a famous monk, named Pindola
Bharadvaja stayed at the Ghosita Monastery, the King visited him and discussed
the teaching with him. He learned that the young monks, according to the
Buddha's advice, instead of having contact with women tried to attain the
feelings as towards a mother, sister, or daughter thereby they overcame
their dependence on the opposite sex and could live joyously as celibates
in spite of their youth. At the end of the discourse, the King was so impressed
that he took refuge in the Buddha and became a lay disciple. (S 35,127)
Samavati had been thinking about
the wonders of the Dhamma and the intricacies of karmic influences. One
thing had led to another: she had come to Kosambi as a poor refugee; then
the food-distributor had given her shelter; the Finance Minister had taken
her on as his daughter; then she became the King's wife; her maid-servant
had brought the teaching to her; and she became a disciple and Stream-winner.
Subsequently she spread the teaching to all the women in the palace, then
to Ghosaka and now lastly also to the King. How convincing Truth was! She
often thought in this way and then permeated all beings with loving-kindness,
wishing them happiness.
The King now tried more determinedly
to control his passionate nature and to subdue greed and hate. His talks
with Samavati were very helpful to him in this respect. Slowly this development
culminated in his losing all sexual craving when he was in Samavati's company
as he was trying to attain the feelings towards women of mother, sister
and daughter in himself. While he was not free of sexual desire towards
his other wives, he was willing to let Samavati continue on her Path to
emancipation unhindered. Soon she attained to the state of Once-returner
and drew nearer and nearer to Non-returner, an attainment which many men
and women could achieve in lay-life in those days.
Magandiya had suspended her attacks
for some time, but continued to ponder how to harm the Buddha through Samavati.
After much brooding, she initiated a plan. She brought some of her relatives
to her point of view and uttered slander against Samavati to them. Then
she proposed to kill her. So that it would not attract attention, but would
appear to be an accident, the whole women's palace was to be set on fire.
The plan was worked out in all details. Magandiya left town some time beforehand,
so that no suspicion could fall on her.
This deed of arson resulted in sky-high
flames which demolished the wooden palace totally and the 500 women [*]
residing in it were all killed, including Samavati. The news of this disaster
spread around town very quickly. No other topic of conversation could be
heard there. Several monks, who had not been ordained very long, were also
affected by the agitation and after their almsround they went to the Buddha
and inquired what would be the future rebirth of these women lay disciples
with Samavati as their leader.
* [Five hundred just means
'a great many' in Pali.]
The Awakened One calmed their excited
hearts and diverted their curiosity about this most interesting question
of rebirth, by answering very briefly: "Amongst these women, O monks, there
are some disciples who are Stream-enterers, some who are Once-returners
and some who are Non-returners. None of these lay disciples failed to receive
the fruits of their past deeds." (Ud VII, 10)
The Buddha mentioned here the first
three fruits of the Dhamma: Stream-entry, Once-returner and Non-returner.
All these disciples were safe from rebirth below the human realm, and each
one was securely going towards the final goal of total liberation. This
was the most important aspect of their lives and deaths and the Buddha
would not elucidate any further details. Once he mentioned to Ananda that
it was a vexation for the Enlightened One to explain the future births
of all disciples who died. (D 16 11)
The Buddha later explained to some
monks who were discussing how "unjust" it was that these faithful disciples
should die such a terrible death, that the women experienced this because
of a joint deed they had committed many life-times ago. Once Samavati had
been Queen of Benares. She had gone with her ladies-in-waiting to bathe
and feeling cold, she asked that a bush be burned to give some warmth.
She saw only too late that a monk -- a Pacceka Buddha -- was sitting immobile
within the bush; he was not harmed, however, because one cannot kill Awakened
Ones. The women did not know this and feared that they would be blamed
for having made a fire without due caution. Thereupon Samavati had the
deluded idea to pour oil over this monk who was sitting in total absorption,
so that burning him would obliterate their mistake. This plan could not
succeed however, but the bad intention and attempt had to carry karmic
resultants. In this lifetime the ripening of the result had taken place.
The Buddha has declared that one
of the favorable results of the practice of Metta (loving-kindness)
is the fact that fire, poison and weapons do no harm to the practitioner.
This has to be understood in such a way: during the actual emanation of
loving-kindness the one who manifests this radiance cannot be hurt, just
as Samavati proved when the king's arrow did not penetrate her.
But at other times fire could incinerate
her body. Samavati had become a Non-returner, and was therefore free of
all sensual desire and hate and no longer identified with her body. Her
radiant, soft heart was imbued with the four divine abidings [*] and was
unassailable and untouched by the fire. Her inner being could not be burned
and that which was burned was the body only. It is a rare happening that
one of the Holy Ones is murdered (see Mahamoggallana, Kaludayi) or that
one of the Buddhas is threatened with murder (see Devadatta's attempt on
the Buddha Gautama) and equally rare is it to find that one perfected in
metta
and attained to Non-returner should die a violent death. All three types
of persons, however, have in common that their hearts can no longer be
swayed by this violence.
* [Four divine abidings:
Loving-kindness, Compassion, Sympathetic Joy, Equanimity.]
Samavati's last words were: "It 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 birth in the round of existences which
has no conceivable beginning. Therefore, be heedful!" Those ladies meditated
on painful feeling and so gained the Noble Paths and Fruits.
Two thousand years after the Parinibbana
of the Buddha, in 1582, soldiers burned a Buddhist Monastery in Japan and
all the monks inside were burned to death. The last thing the soldiers
beard before everything burned down were the words of the Abbot:
Who has liberated heart
and mind,
For him fire is only a cool wind.
Referring to the tragedy of the fire
at Kosambi, the Buddha spoke the following verse to the monks:
The world is in delusion's
grip,
Its form is seen as real;
The fool is in the "assets" [*]
grip,
Wrapped about with gloom,
Both seem to last forever
But nothing is there for one who
Sees.
* [Assets: Upadhi.
The basis for life and continued birth and death.]
King Udena was overwhelmed with grief
at Samavati's death and kept brooding about who could be the perpetrator
of this ghastly deed. He came to the conclusion that it must have been
Magandiya. He did not want to question her directly because she would deny
it. So he thought of a ruse. He said to his Ministers: "Until now I have
always been apprehensive, because Samavati was forever seeking an occasion
to slay me. But now I shall be able to sleep in peace." The Ministers asked
the king who it could have been that had done this deed, "Only someone
who really loves me," the king replied. Magandiya had been standing near
and when she heard that, she came forward and proudly admitted that she
alone was responsible for the fire and the death of the women and Samavati.
The King said that he would grant her and all her relatives a boon for
this.
When all the relatives were assembled,
the King had them burned publicly and then had the earth plowed under so
that all traces of the ashes were destroyed. He had Magandiya executed
as a mass-murderess, which was his duty and responsibility, but his fury
knew no bounds and he still looked for revenge. He had her killed with
utmost cruelty. She died an excruciating death, which was only a fore-taste
of the tortures awaiting her in the nether world, after which she would
have to roam in samsara [*] for a long, long time to come.
* [Samsara: rounds of existence.]
Soon King Udena regretted his revengeful
and cruel deed. Again and again he saw Samavati's face in front of him,
full of love for all beings, even for her enemies. He felt he had removed
himself from her even further than her death had done, because of his violent
fury. He began to control his temper more and more and to follow the Buddha's
teachings ardently.
Two women, who had been friends of
Samavati, were so moved by this tragedy and saw the impermanence of all
earthly things so clearly, that they entered the Order of Nuns. One of
them soon became an Arahant, fully enlightened, and the other one after
twenty-five years of practice. (Thig 37 and 39).
Samavati, however, was reborn in
the realm of the Pure Abodes, where she would be able to reach Nibbana.
The different results of love and hate could be seen with exemplary clarity
in the lives and deaths of these two Queens. When one day the monks were
discussing who was alive and who dead, the Buddha said that Magandiya while
living, was dead already; while Samavati, though dead, was truly alive,
and he spoke these verses:
Heedfulness -- the path
to the Deathless,
heedlessness -- the path to death,
the heedful ones do not die;
the heedless are likened to the
dead.
The wise then, recognizing this
as the distinction of heedfulness,
in heedfulness rejoice, delighting
in the realm of Noble Ones.
They meditate persistently,
constantly; they firmly strive
the steadfast to reach Nibbana,
the Unexcelled Secure from bonds.
(Dhp 21-23)
The Buddha declared Samavati to be foremost
among those female lay disciples who dwell in loving-kindness (metta).
Sources: Dhammapada Commentary to
vv. 21-23; Commentary to Anguttara Nikaya Vol. I (on those Foremost); "Path
of Purification" p. 417.
Patacara:
Preserver of the Vinaya
Patacara was the beautiful daughter
of a very wealthy merchant of Savatthi. When she was sixteen years old,
her parents put her in a seven-story high tower on the top floor surrounded
by guards to prevent her from keeping company with any young man. In spite
of this precaution, she became involved in a love affair with a servant
in her parents' house.
When her parents arranged a marriage
for her with a young man of equal social standing, she decided to elope
with her lover. She escaped from the tower by disguising herself, and the
young couple went to live in a village far away from Savatthi. The husband
farmed,
and the young wife had to do all the menial chores which formerly had been
performed by her parents' servants. Thus she reaped the results of her
deed.
When she became pregnant, she begged
her husband to take her to her parents' house to give birth there, saying
to him that father and mother always have a soft spot in their hearts for
their child, no matter what has happened. However, her husband refused
on the grounds that her parents would surely subject him to torture or
imprisonment. When she realized that he would not give in to her pleas,
she decided to make her way to her parents by herself. When the husband
found her gone and was told by the neighbors of her decision, he followed
her and tried to persuade her to return. However she would not listen to
him.
Before they could reach Savatthi,
the birth-pains started, and soon a baby son was born. As there was no
more reason to go to her parents' house, they turned back and resumed their
family life in the village.
Sometime later she became pregnant
again. And again she requested her husband to take her home to her parents.
Again he refused and she took matters in her own hands and started off,
carrying the older child. When her husband followed her and pleaded with
her to return with him, she would not listen, but continued on her way.
A fearful storm arose, quite out of season, with thunder and lightning
and incessant rain. Just then her birth-pains started, and she asked her
husband to find her some shelter.
The husband went searching for material
for a shelter and set about to chop down some saplings. A poisonous snake
bit him at that moment and he fell dead instantly. Patacara waited for
him in vain and after having suffered birth pains, a second son was born
to her. Both children screamed at the top of their lungs because of the
buffeting of the storm, so the mother protected them with her own body
all night long. In the morning she placed the new-born baby on her hip,
gave a finger to the older child and set out upon the path her husband
had taken with the words: "Come, dear child, your father has left us."
After a few steps she found her husband lying dead, his body rigid. She
wailed and lamented and blamed herself for his death.
She continued on her journey to her
parents' house but when she came to the river Aciravati, it was swollen
waist-deep on account of the rain. She was too weak to wade across with
both children, so she left the older child on the near bank and carried
the baby across to the other side. Then she returned to take the first-born
across. When she was mid-stream, an eagle saw the new born baby and mistook
it for a piece of meat. It came swooping down and in spite of Patacara's
cries and screams, flew off with the baby in its talons.
The older boy saw his mother stop
in the middle of the river and heard her loud yells. He thought she was
calling him and started out after her. Immediately, he was swept off by
the strong current.
Wailing and lamenting Patacara went
on her way, half-crazed by the triple tragedy that had befallen her, losing
husband and both sons within one day. As she came nearer to Savatthi, she
met a traveler who was just coming from the city. She inquired about her
family from him but at first he refused to answer her. When she insisted,
he finally bad to tell her that her parents, house had collapsed in the
storm, killing both of them as well as her brother, and that the cremation
was just taking place.
When she heard that, her reason left
her, because her grief was too much to bear. She tore off her clothes,
wandered around weeping and wailing, not knowing what she was doing or
where she was going. People pelted her with stones and rubbish and chased
her out of the way.
At that time the Buddha was staying
at the Jeta Grove, Anathapindika's Monastery. He saw Patacara approaching
from afar and recognized that in a past life she had made an earnest resolve
to become a nun well versed in the Law. Therefore, he instructed his disciples
not to obstruct her, but to let her enter and come near him. As soon as
she was close to the Buddha, through his supernatural powers, she regained
her right mind. Then she also became aware of being naked and in her shame
she crouched upon the ground.
One of the lay-followers threw her
a cloak and after she had wrapped herself in it, she prostrated at the
feet of the Buddha. Then she recounted to him the tragedy that had befallen
her.
The Teacher listened to her with
compassion and then made it clear to her that these painful experiences
she had gone through were only tiny drops in the ocean of impermanence
in which all beings drown if they are attached to that which rises and
ceases. He told her that all through many existences, she had wept more
tears over the loss of dear ones than could be contained in the waters
of the four oceans. He said:
But little water do the
oceans four contain,
Compared with all the tears that
man hath shed,
By sorrow smitten and by suffering
distraught.
Woman, why heedless dost thou still
remain?
This exposition of the Awakened One
penetrated her mind so deeply that at that moment she could completely
grasp the impermanence of all conditioned things.
When the Enlightened One had finished
his teaching she had attained the certainty of future liberation by becoming
a Stream-winner. She practiced diligently and soon realized final deliverance.
She said:
With plows the fields are
plowed;
With seed the earth is sown;
Thus wives and children feed;
So young men win their wealth.
Then why do I, of virtue pure,
Doing the Master's Teaching,
Not lazy nor proud,
Nibbana not attain?
Having washed my feet,
Then I watched that water,
Noticing the foot-water
Flowing from high to low.
With that the mind was calmed
Just as a noble, thoroughbred horse.
Having taken my lamp,
I went into my hut,
Inspected the sleeping-place,
Then sat upon the couch.
Having taken a pin,
I pushed the wick right down, and
Just as the lamp went out,
So all delusion of the heart went
too.
(Thig 112-116)
It had been enough for her to see the
water trickle down the slope, to recognize the whole of existence, each
life a longer or shorter trickle in the flood of craving. There were those
that lived a short time like her children, those -- like her husband --
who lived a little longer, or her parents who lived longer yet. But all
passed by a constant change, in a never-ending rising and ceasing. This
thought-process gave her so much detachment, that she attained to total
emancipation the following night.
The Buddha said about Patacara, that
she was the foremost "Keeper of the Vinaya" amongst the Nuns. Patacara
was thereby the female counterpart of the monk Upali. That she had chosen
the "Rules of Conduct" as her central discipline is easy to understand,
because the results of her former indulgences had become bitterly obvious
to her.
She learned in the Sangha, that an
intensive study of the rules was necessary and purifying, and brought with
it the security and safety of self-discipline; she learned not to become
complacent through well-being or anxious and confused through suffering.
Because of her own experiences she had gained a deep understanding for
the human predicament and could be of great assistance to her fellow nuns.
She was a great comfort to those
who came to her in difficulties. The nun Canda said that Patacara showed
her the right path out of compassion and helped her to achieve emancipation.
(Thag. 125)
Another nun, Uttara II, reported
how Patacara spoke to the group of nuns about conduct and discipline:
Having established mind,
One-pointed, well-developed,
Investigate formations
As other, not as self.
(Thig 177)
Uttara took Patacara's words to heart
and said:
When I heard these words,
--
Patacara's advice,
After washing my feet --
I sat down alone.
(Thig 178)
Thereby this nun, too, was able to attain
to the three "True Knowledges" (vijja) and final liberation. In
the "Verses of the Elder Nuns" we have a record of Patacara's instructions
to the nuns and their resultant gains:
Having taken flails,
Young men thresh the corn.
Thus wives and children feed;
So young men win their wealth.
So likewise as to Buddha's Teachings,
From doing which there's no remorse.
Quickly cleanse your feet
And sit you down alone.
Devote yourselves to calm of mind,
And thus do Buddha's Teachings.
When they heard these words --
Patacara's instructions,
Having washed their feet,
They sat down, each one alone,
Devoted themselves to calm of mind.
And thus followed the Buddha's Teachings.
In the night's first watch [*]
Past births were remembered;
In the middle watch of the night
The eye divine was purified;
In the night's last watch
They rent asunder the mass of gloom.
Having risen, they bowed at her
feet,
Her instructions having done;
We shall live revering you
Like the thirty gods to Indra,
Undefeated in war.
We are with triple knowledge true
And gone are all the taints.
(Thig 117-121)
* [First watch of the night: 6-10 p.m;
Middle watch: 10 p.m.-2 a.m.; Last watch: 2-6 a.m.]
Patacara was able to effect the change
from a frivolous young girl to a Sangha Elder so quickly, because from
previous births she had already possessed this faculty. During the previous
Buddha's existence, it is said that she had been a nun and had lived the
holy life for many, many years. The insights gained thereby had been hidden
through her actions in subsequent lives. But when the next Buddha appeared
in the world, she quickly found her way to him, the reason unbeknown to
herself, spurred on by her suffering. Relentlessly attracted to the Awakened
One and his doctrine, she entered into the homeless life and soon attained
to eternal freedom.
Sources: A1,24; Thig 112-121,125,175,178;
Ap. 11 No.20; J 547
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