A rich householder of Vārāṇasī named Gautama, who travelled with goods
to Takshaśilā, contracted a friendship there with another householder,
and the two men made an agreement that their children should marry each
other. To Gautama was born a daughter, who received the name of Kṛiśā
Gautamī. After she had been taught to read, she had to apply herself to
learning such work as women do. Now her father had been in the habit of
associating with courtesans, so he entrusted his daughter’s instruction
to a woman of that class. The daughter began to study with her. After
she had done so for some time she said, “As I have acquired what was to
be learnt, I will go away.” But the woman objected that she must first
complete her studies properly; it was too soon for her to go away yet.
The girl replied that she had already studied enough, and that she
would go away. Then the woman took a paint-box and said that she would
give herself a broken head if the girl was determined to go away. The
girl begged her not to do that, and promised to remain. Then said the
woman, “Kṛiśā, you believed that you had learnt everything, and yet you
did not know this. Who would give herself a broken head for the sake of
a stranger child? You know nothing then.”
After the girl had tarried with her somewhat longer, she wanted to go
away again. The woman declared that if that happened she would jump
into the well. The girl besought her not to do that, and promised to
stay. The woman said, “Kṛiśā, you believed that you had learnt
everything, and you did not even know so much as this, that no one
jumps into a well for the sake of a strange child. As you did not know
that, you must stop here.”
After the girl had stayed there some time longer, she again wanted to
go away. The woman said that she need not wait long. She was going to
bring in some milk, she said. The girl could drink it and then go away.
The woman brought the milk, and in the girl’s presence mixed oil and
honey with it. Then she drank some of it, and having done so, rendered
it loathsome, and told the girl to drink it. The girl refused to do so,
whereupon the woman took to crying. When the neighbours heard this,
they came together and asked her why she was crying. When the woman had
explained the matter, the neighbours asked the girl why she would not
drink the milk which had been prepared for her. The girl replied that
she could not swallow what was loathsome. Thereupon the woman smote her
breast repeatedly and said, “Wherefore should I give her what is
loathsome to drink?” The neighbours seriously set to work to make the
girl drink. But when she was going to drink, the woman seized her by
the hand, slapped her face with the palm of her hand, and said, “O
Kṛiśā, you believed that you had learnt all that was to be learnt. If
that had been the case, you would certainly never have let that be
given you to drink which you knew was loathsome. Consequently you know
nothing.” Having thus spoken, she drove the girl away.
After some time a merchant and five hundred traders came to Madhyadeśa
with merchandise. In the presence of these traders the merchant
constantly spoke against women. Those traders had previously consorted
with the courtesans of that place. But the courtesans now found that
they and their leader only scoffed at women, and visited no courtesan’s
house. So they held counsel together, saying that whereas the traders
who formerly came from Takshaśilā used to have converse with them, they
were now entirely devoid of all passion. And so no man consorted with
the women. Some of the courtesans said that they had heard that the
merchant, who knew how to repress passion, blamed women severely, and
that the traders, who were devoted to him, had therefore discontinued
all converse with them. One of their number, an old woman, asked, “If
I, by means of my daughter, effect a change in him, will ye make me
your superior? And, in case she did not succeed, she promised to pay a
penalty of five hundred kārshāpaṇas.”
Thereupon the old woman hired a house in the neighbourhood of the
traders, and provided it with a great quantity of domestic implements.
The merchant’s servants used to go there and borrow some of those
implements. She said to them: “Who are ye, young men?”
They replied: “We serve the merchant from Takshaśilā.”
She said: “O youths, my son also is a merchant, and he has travelled
into another land with merchandise. As I suppose that his servants,
like yourselves, are borrowing implements from other people, ye are at
liberty to use all the utensils which are in this house, just as if
they were your own.”
So the servants made daily use of those utensils, and when the merchant
had asked them whence they obtained them, and they had repeated to him
the old woman’s words, a friendly feeling was excited within him, and
he said: “As she has shown you kindness, she shall be my mother.” They
told the old woman that their master prized her kindness highly, and
regarded her as his mother. Thereupon she said that it would be
desirable for her to become acquainted with him, and she asked them to
invite the merchant to her house. There she received him with friendly
words, saying that she found that he was like her son in appearance,
and that he also bore the same name as her son, so that there was no
difference between the two. Afterwards she told the wife of the master
of the house to send for her daughter, whom she ordered to manifest her
respect for her [adopted] brother. When the maiden appeared, and the
merchant perceived her beauty, he desired to obtain her as his wife.
The old woman said that there was only this drawback; that, as he was
not regularly known to her, he might, if he married her daughter, leave
her in the lurch. And so, for her security, she demanded that he should
bring all his goods into her house. Agreeing to this, he brought his
goods into her house. But the old woman immediately took them out of it
by another door. When this was done, she promised to give him her
daughter.
On the appointed day, and at the appointed hour, she invited the
courtesans, adorned with all kinds of ornaments, to the wedding feast,
during which they wandered to and fro. The merchant said: “Mother dear,
are there only women here, and not a single man?” She yawned. One of
the others secretly whispered into his ear: “O merchant, do you not
perceive what is going on here? All these women are courtesans. How
should there be any man present?” Then he perceived that he had really
taken a courtesan to wife, and consequently that he had been duped.
Moreover the girl demanded payment from him for her society. But he
replied that the whole of his property had been taken away, and that he
had no money besides.
When he had gone fast asleep, the old woman wrapped him up in a mat and
deposited him in the middle of the market-place. When the daylight
arrived, and many of the people who dwelt in the city began to come and
go, he awoke, and, seeing how he had been treated, he gave way to
despair. With eyes filled with tears, he wandered through the squares,
the streets, and the roads of Vārāṇasī, and, plagued by hunger, in
order to obtain food, he went to the spot where the day-labourers
betook themselves. At that time the householder Gautama was building
himself a house. As he was looking for day-labourers, the young
merchant was brought up to him by one of the others. But the youth
seemed to him too young and too little accustomed to work of that kind,
so he ordered another man to be sought for. But the youth looked
Gautama in the face with tearful eyes. Then Gautama asked him who he
was, and whence he came. Full of grief at his pitiful condition, with
tearful eyes and choking voice, he slowly said: “O father, as the
result of former deeds did I prosperously arrive here from the
northwards lying city of Takshaśilā. But now I know not whither I shall
go, nor do I know how I shall get back there.” When the householder
Gautama perceived how cast down he was, and understood what he said, he
felt kindly disposed towards him, and asked him if he knew many persons
in Takshaśilā. Receiving an affirmative reply, he asked him if he knew
such and such a householder. “O father, I know him, for he is my own
father,” answered the merchant. The householder Gautama was greatly
pleased, and told the youth that he must not mourn or weep, adding, “As
you shall be my son-in-law, this house shall belong to you.” Then the
youth took courage, and gave up being mournful. Gautama conferred upon
him food, drink, clothes, and ornaments, a dwelling-house and a
storehouse, and friendly words. And he said to his wife, “O good one,
your son-in-law has come. As the wedding is about to take place, have
all things in readiness.” Thereupon he was going to fix the day and
hour for the wedding, but the youth bade him wait a little longer, as
he wished to get possession of his property first. Gautama wanted to
prevent him from doing that, saying there was property enough in the
house. But he replied: “What shall I do with the property?” As he
wished to revenge himself upon the courtesan, he said: “O father, as
this is so, I will not marry after the fashion of a man of low family.”
Thereupon he left Vārāṇasī.
As he wandered this way and that, he came to the bank of a river, and
saw a corpse floating in the water. A raven, which was on the bank, and
which wanted to feed on the corpse, could not reach it with its beak.
Thereupon it rubbed its beak on a piece of wood, and the beak
lengthened. Then the raven fed upon the corpse. Afterwards the raven
rubbed its beak upon another piece of wood, and then the beak returned
to its former length. The merchant took pieces of those two kinds of
wood, and returned home.
He then took five hundred kārshāpaṇas and went to the house of that
courtesan, and said to her: “O fair one, as I had no money, you turned
me out of the house. Now, as I have money, come let us be friends.”
She, who cared for money, made friends with him. Meanwhile, however,
the merchant rubbed the wood on her nose, which became very long. She
called in all the doctors, and showed them her nose, but none of them
could cure her. Given up by all the doctors, she betook herself to the
merchant, and begged him to forgive her, and to cure her nose. He
replied that he would do so as soon as she had restored him his
property. She promised to do so in the course of the day. He rubbed her
nose with the second piece of wood, the nose became as it had been
before. Then she gave him back all the goods which he had brought with
him. After that the merchant, with very great joy, took Kṛiśā Gautamī
to wife.
The householder Gautama possessed some arable land in a hill district,
and he bade his son-in-law go thither with his wife. When the time came
for the wife to expect her confinement, her husband allowed her, at her
request, to go to her parents’ house, in order that she might there be
cared for by her mother. After her confinement and the naming of her
boy, she returned with him to her husband.
When the time of her second confinement drew near, she again expressed
a desire to go to her parents’ house. Her husband set off with her and
the boy in a waggon, but when they had gone half-way she gave birth to
a boy. When her husband saw that this was about to take place, he got
out of the waggon, sat down under a tree, and fell asleep. While he was
completely overcome by slumber, a snake bit him, and he died. When his
wife in her turn alighted from the waggon, and went up to the tree, in
order to bring her husband the joyful tidings that a son was born unto
him, he, as he had given up the ghost, made no reply. She seized him by
the hand, and found that he was dead. Then she began to weep. Meantime
a thief carried off the oxen.
After weeping for a long time and becoming very mournful, she looked
around on every side, pressed the newborn babe to her bosom, took the
elder child by the hand, and set out on her way. As a heavy rain had
unexpectedly fallen, and all lakes, ponds, and springs were full of
water, and the road was flooded by the river, she reflected that if she
were to cross the water with both the children at once, she and they
might meet with a disaster, and therefore the children had better be
taken over separately. So she seated the elder boy on the bank of the
river, and took the younger one in her arms, walked across to the other
side, and laid him down upon the bank. Then she went back for the elder
boy. But while she was in the middle of the river, the younger boy was
carried off by a jackal. Standing in the middle of the river, the
mother waved her hands, trying to scare away the jackal. The elder boy
thought that his mother was calling him, and sprang into the water. The
bank was very steep, so he fell down and was killed. The mother
hastened after the jackal, which let the child drop, and ran off. When
she looked at it, she found that it was dead. So after she had wept
over it, she threw it into the water. When she saw that her elder son
was being carried along by the stream, she became still more
distressed. She hastened after him, and found that he also was dead.
Bereft of both husband and children, she gave way to despair, and sat
down alone on the bank, with only the lower part of her body covered.
There she listened to the howling of the wind, the roaring of the
forest and of the waves, as well as the singing of various kinds of
birds. Then wandering to and fro, with sobs and tears of woe, she
lamented the loss of her husband and the two children.
As every action by gradual steps approaches maturity, so it came to
pass that at that time her parents, along with their numerous
domestics, were destroyed by a hurricane, only one man escaping with
his life. When she, weeping and wailing, suddenly came upon that man,
and saw him all aghast, she asked what was the matter. He smote his
breast before her, and, sobbing and weeping, told her what had
happened. When she had heard that, she again began to weep and wail,
and asked what sin she had committed in her earlier existence, that she
should have lost all at once her husband and her children, as well as
all her relatives. And she came to the conclusion that she ought not to
live any longer at home, seeing that her misery would only become
greater there. So she wandered about till she came to a hill village,
where she took up her abode with an old woman who span cotton. And
after recovering from her fatigue she took to spinning along with her.
There was in that village a young weaver who lived by his craft, and
who was in the habit, from time to time, of buying cotton yarn from
that old woman. One day, when she had served him with fine yarn, he
asked her whence that came, seeing that she formerly span him only
coarse yarn. She told him about the woman who was living in her house;
thereupon he expressed a wish to take that woman as his wife, and to
provide her with food and clothing and other necessaries of life. The
old woman, after having received from him the money for the yarn and
food, bade him wait for an answer; then, perfumed, and adorned with
flowers, she went to Kṛiśā Gautamī and told her the whole story,
praising the qualities of the weaver, saying that he asked her to be
his wife, and advising her to accept his proposal. Although at first
she opposed the idea, yet at last she gave in, and the marriage took
place. Now the weaver was a rough, passionate man, who used constantly
to beat her with his fist and with a stick; so she told the old woman
that she had married her to a Rākshasa, and that she did not know what
she should do, for he beat her every day with his hand and with a
stick. The old woman comforted her, and said that he would beat her
only so long as no son was born to him, but that later on she and her
son would hold their own. When she was in the family way the weaver
began to treat her kindly, but she treated him with contempt: with
that, however, he put up.
One day the weaver, whom his friends had liberally treated with
intoxicating beverages, came home dazed with drink. He found the door
closed: his wife was just on the point of being confined, and when he
called out to her to open the door, her pains prevented her from being
able to do so, so he went away in great wrath. When her child was born
she opened the door, and as soon as her husband came in she joyfully
told him of the birth of their son. But he, whose rage was not yet
appeased, being overcome by evil, declared that she, who had already
despised him before the son’s birth, would put him to death, in
collusion with her son, after the son had grown up. Then he ordered her
to light a fire, and set a cauldron over it, and to pour oil into the
cauldron and make it boil, and then to fling the new-born babe into the
oil and boil it. When she remonstrated with him; begging that he would
not kill his own child, he beat her with a stick. Overcome by this
cruelty, she threw the child into the boiling oil. When it was cooked
he ordered her to take it out and eat its flesh. When she refused, he
beat her most severely all over her body, whereupon she ate the child’s
flesh. When her husband’s rage was appeased, and he was full of remorse
and overcome by sleep, Kṛiśā Gautamī took as much food as she could
carry, and went away.
She attached herself to some travellers from the north who had disposed
of their goods in Vārāṇasī. Remarking her beauty, their caravan-leader
conceived a passion for her, and asked her who she was and whither she
was going. She replied, “My husband has been bitten by a snake; of my
two sons, one has been carried off by a jackal, and the other has
perished in the waters; and my father and my mother have been killed by
a storm. I, who am now without any protector, am wandering at will, and
I am going to journey along with this company of travellers.” The
caravan-leader made her his wife. Soon afterwards the travellers were
suddenly attacked by robbers, in fighting with whom the caravan-leader
was killed, and Kṛiśā Gautamī became the wife of the robber chief. But
in his turn the robber found his death at the hands of the king of that
country, and Kṛiśā Gautamī was transferred to the king’s zenana. The
king died, and she was buried alive in his tomb, after having had great
honour shown her by the women, the princes, the ministers, and a vast
concourse of people. Some men from the north country, who were wont to
rob graves, broke into this one also. The dust they raised entered into
Kṛiśā Gautamī’s nostrils, and made her sneeze. The grave-robbers were
terrified, thinking that she was a Vetāla, and they fled; but Kṛiśā
Gautamī escaped from the grave through the opening which they had made.
Conscious of all her troubles, and affected by the absence of
provisions, just as a violent storm arose, she went out of her mind.
Covered with merely her underclothing, her hands and feet foul and
rough, with long locks and pallid complexion, she wandered about until
she reached Śrāvastī.
There, at the sight of Bhagavant, she recovered her intellect.
Bhagavant ordered Ānanda to give her an over robe, and he taught her
the doctrine, and admitted her into the ecclesiastical body, and he
appointed her the chief of the Bhikshuṇīs who had embraced discipline.