THUS have I heard.
Now persons of all castes, high and low, women as well as men, sought
the teachings of the Lord—and he received all with courtesy and
gladness, for he said:
“There is no caste in blood and tears.”
So they brought him their griefs and questionings. And very strange to
them did it seem to behold a great Prince surrounded by young men of the
noble families who each and all had thrown off the Hindrances of the
illusory world and forsaking all had followed the Truth.
But when they themselves had seen the light no longer did it appear
strange, for who will stay to watch a fragment of broken glass flash in
the sun, when before him pulse the great lights of a royal jewel,
brother of the sun and stars.
And about this time the beautiful harlot of Vaisali, the Lady Amra,
lovely as the divine Shri rising from the ocean, heard that a great Lord
of Wisdom was come to Vaisali, and she offered him the use of her Garden
of Mangoes outside the city that he might rest in the delicious shade of
her trees and in the little pavilion where she took her pleasure, for
she was rich in gold and jewels and resembled a great Princess in pride
and beauty. But she did not herself think to see him, for the joy of
life held her as the nectar of flowers holds the clinging bee, making
his wings heavy so that he scarce can fly.
But her steward came to her, saying:
“O auspicious lady, I know not how it is, but all the nobles and people
are afoot, making their way to the Garden of Mangoes, and when I asked
the reason they replied:
“It is because of the man who rests there. There is none like him—none!
And he is the son of a King and has forsaken his kingdom that he may
find a greater.”
And she leaped to her feet laughing, ever ready for some new sight,
saying:
“Is it so? Then make ready my vehicle and I will go with Subaddha to see
the man.”
And they harnessed her velvet-white oxen with tassels of gold to her
gilded car, and she took her place with the lady Subaddha at her feet
and a golden canopy above her head, shining like the moon in her glory,
and she went as a queen, casting proud glances about her.
Now it was so early in the day that folk were busied with their labours
and the nobles were yet sleeping and the way was clear before her, and
the oxen trod quietly between the neem trees and fan palms until she
came to the gate of her Garden of Mangoes, and there they halted in
young sunlight and the dew of dawn. And a man stood by the gate as
though he guarded it, and he was robed in yellow with one arm and
shoulder bare, and when she would have entered he stretched out his arm
and forbade her, saying:
“Lady, being such a woman as you are, how is it seemly that you should
enter this garden? Return whence you came.”
And the blood fell away from her face and left her pale at that saying,
for she had lived all her life like a queen, and now it seemed that
scorn and the end were come upon her, and her beauty nothing though she
shone like a night of moon and stars in her woven webs of gold. And
silence fell upon her as she looked upon this noble young man serene and
beautiful, who regarded her not, nor could she say, “The garden is
mine,” for she was afraid.
So then, between the feathering palms and the bamboo leaves that floated
on still air, came another man, also clothed in the yellow robe, but
walking like a Prince, and he said softly to the other:
“Stay her not, brother Yasas, for our Master would look upon her beauty.
Descend, Lady, and follow.”
And a little comforted at his saying she descended from beneath the
canopy and followed through the palms and the mango trees that were her
own and now seemed not hers. And there was great quiet, for the monk
said no word and the leaves forbore to stir and not a cricket chirped
and the sun was very early and dewy in the green ways. And she thought:
“What shall I see? For kings and princes have feared my beauty and I
mocked them. And if he be wise, yet have the stern ascetics of the
forests—those whose power the very Gods dreaded,—been seduced from
their wisdom by the nymphs of Heaven. They have gone utterly astray, and
very certainly I am beautiful as Menaka or Urvasi.”
And, now they turned into a green way beside the still pool where the
lotuses bloomed, and it was cool and dim with a deep shade of trees, for
they let down pillared stems to root again in earth and make a forest
temple that scarcely a ray might pierce. And within the shade was One
seated with folded hands and feet and behind his head a raying light
that shone like the midnight moon, and, lost in calm, he looked out into
the worlds.
And the man beside her fell on his knees and hid his face.
Not for me, O, not for me, least of all the disciples is it meet that I
should tell of this or of the similitude of the Blessed One—the very
wise, the passionless, the desireless Lord in the eyes of such as loved
him. Only this I know, that the woman stood amazed, forgetting her
beauty, forgetting herself, forgetting all in the Three Worlds but only
that One. And the rock crystal that was her heart melted within her and
flowed away in a river of tears: nor could she stay her feet, but
slowly, very slowly, she approached and before his feet she fell and
laid her face on the earth.
Now after awhile the Exalted One commanded her to rise and be seated,
and he incited and gladdened her with high discourse so that she could
no longer fear but only love in hearing these great words with ears that
drank them as the parched earth yearns for the rains. And if it be asked
how a woman of evil life should thus be honoured, should thus harken
with love and understanding, I tell this thing.
Many lives ago was there a deep forest where beasts and birds dwelt and
nourished their young in peace, but one day a wind blew and brought on
its wings a great fire. And none had pity on the beasts and birds but
one pheasant, glorious of plumage, and this, caring nothing for her own
life, plunged into a stream of pure water, and flying upward shook the
drops from her feathers on the flames. Therefore Indra, King of the
Gods, seeing said:
“Foolish bird! and what can this do? You weary yourself in vain! This is
a deed for the great and not for a little bird!”
And she: “You are Indra, King of Heaven, and with a wish you could
quench this fire, yet do not. But as for me while it burns I have no
time for words.”
And again she flew against the fire, sprinkling water. And the Great God
blew with his breath, extinguishing the fire, but the pheasant had
perished. Now in that former life was the Lady Amra that bird, and
because the fruit of a high deed can never perish so, passing through
many lives, she attained at last to lie at the feet of the Blessed One.
Just and perfect is the Law.
So, seated, at his feet, she received the Heart of Wisdom and accepted
the first noble Truth, the Truth of suffering. And when the Exalted One
judged that she could receive no more that day, he dismissed her, and
she bowed at his feet and said this:
“O, may the Lord in deep compassion do me the honour of eating at my
house to-morrow.”
And all assembled thought this could not be, but the Blessed One gave by
silence his consent, and circling reverently about him three times she
departed glad of heart, and the people made way for one so honoured.
Now the nobles of Vaisali had come out to meet the World-Honoured and
they were on the road, and Amra in the dancing joy of her heart drove up
against them, axle to axle, and they said angrily.
“How is it, Amra, that you, being such a one, drive up against us?”
And she cried aloud.
“Noble persons, I have bidden the Exalted One for tomorrow’s meal, and
he comes—he comes!”
And they halted amazed, and said:
“Sell us the honour of his company for great weights of gold.”
And she, glowing with joy.
“Noble persons, were you to give me Vaisali and all its subject
territories yet would I not give up this honourable meal.”
And the angry nobles cast up their hands, crying.
“We are outdone by this mango-girl! We are out-reached by this
mango-girl.”
And in anger they proceeded to the garden and went in before the Lord
where he sat surrounded with calm, and they said:
“May the Exalted One do us the honour of taking his meal together with
his disciples at one house to-morrow?”
But he replied:
“Noble persons, I have promised to eat with the Lady Amra.”
And again they threw up their hands exclaiming:
“We are outdone by this mango-girl. Great shame to us is this!”
And the Lord Buddha robed himself early in the morning and took his
begging bowl and his disciples followed, and he went to the Street of
Flowers, and Amra set sweet milk-rice and cakes before the Lord and his
followers and she herself attended upon them in great humility and they
ate the food they had not thought to eat, and when it was eaten, she sat
lowly by his side and folding her hands, said:
“Holy One, I present this house to the Order. Accept it, if it be your
will.”
And the Blessed One accepted the gift, seeing the heart that made it,
and after inciting and gladdening her with high discourse, he rose and
went his way.
And in merciful deeds and right living this lady grew, and the Heart of
Wisdom strengthened in her, and in this very life she became a perfected
saint—a great Arhat—and entered the Nirvana—the Peace. For, as the
lotus flowers do not grow on dry land but spring from black and watery
mud, so even by the strength of her passion and sin and the deeps of
experience she reached the heights. And she it was who made The Psalm of
Old Age, and smiled in its making.
“Glossy and black as the down of the bee my curls once clustered.
They, with the waste of years, are liker to hemp or to bark-cloth,
Such and not otherwise, runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Lovely the lines of my ears as the delicate work of the goldsmith.
They, with the waste of years, are seamed with wrinkles and pendent.
Such and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Full and lovely in rounding rose of old the small breasts of me.
They, with the waste of the years, droop sunken as skins without water.
So and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Such hath this body been. Now age-weary, weak and unsightly,
Home of manifold ills: old house whence the mortar is dropping
So and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.”[4]
-----
[4] Translated by C. F. Rhys Davids.
-----
And inasmuch as the Sister thus discerned impermanance in all phenomena,
knowing the world we see is but the creation of our senses, she, making
clear her insight, attained, leaving behind her all fear and grief. For
who shall measure the bounds and deeps and height and length of that
wisdom that is one with Love?
Hear also the story of the very wise and glad and gay Lady Visakha—that
pillar of the Order, who abiding in the world as a great lady of riches
yet gave her heart to wisdom and the Law of the Perfect One, for open is
the way to all.
She was daughter to a great man, Balamitra, and was a young maiden in
her father’s house, when a Brahman commissioned by the Treasurer Migara
to choose a wife for his son came that way, and when he arrived he saw
Visakha and other girls going into the wood in search of amusement, and
he watched them idly.
Now the other girls were frivolous, running, skipping, whirling about
and singing, but Visakha walked quietly with them, observing all and
saying little. And when they came to the tank the others carelessly
stripped themselves and began to play in the clear water. But Visakha
lifted her clothes by degrees as she entered and by degrees lowered them
as she came out, careful and modest in her conduct. And, after this,
food was distributed, and the other girls ate hurriedly and greedily and
then gave the remnants to their attendants. But Visakha gave food first
to those who served her, and then ate temperately herself.
And the Brahman, still watching, saw that as the girls returned there
was water across the path and the others took off their shoes and waded,
but Visakha remained shod, and when they came to a wood she kept her
sunshade up though the others had lowered theirs.
And there the Brahman came up with her, in much astonishment and
questioned her, and seeing him to be a holy and dignified person she
replied with respectful courtesy. And thus he said:
“Dear girl, whose daughter are you?”
“Sir, I am the daughter of Balamitra.”
“Dear girl, be not angry if I question you.”
“While those girls were skipping, dancing and twirling, with other
unseemly manners, you walked quietly; why, dear girl?”
“Because, great sir, all girls are their parents’ merchandise. If in
leaping and twirling I were to injure myself, I must be kept by my
parents while I live, for none would woo me.”
“Good, dear girl. I understand. Now, in entering the water your
companions stripped themselves but you went clothed and modest. And
why?”
“O uncle, maidens must be shame-faced. It is not well for them to be
seen unclothed.”
“Dear girl, there was none to see.”
“Uncle, you saw.”
“Good, dear girl. And again, the others neglected their attendants, but
you fed yours first. And why?”
“For this reason, uncle; we have easy days and feastful; they, hard work
always.”
“Good, dear girl. And why in wading through the water did you keep your
shoes on?”
“Because in water one cannot see where one plants one’s feet. I would
not cut mine!”
“And in the wood, dear girl, you kept your sunshade open. Why? For then
there was shade from the trees?”
“But also, uncle, the droppings of birds, the malice of the monkeys
letting fall unpleasant fragments, the falling of leaves and twigs. In
the open this seldom happens; in a wood often.”
So full of delight at her good sense, the Brahman went to her parents,
and asked her in marriage for the son of Migara. And he said:
“This girl will make a noble wife and a great lady, for she is full of
thought for others and wise with the very wisdom of the Law. Give her to
the son of Migara.”
And it was granted and they sent her to her husband in the city of
Savatthi. Now Visakha was one who followed the Enlightened One with all
her wise heart, but it was not so with Migara, her husband’s father, nor
yet with his household. But she gratified their eyes for they demanded
the Five Beauties in a daughter of the House, and these five she richly
possessed namely, beauty of hair, beauty of flesh, beauty of bone,
beauty of skin, and beauty of youth.
And beauty of hair is when the hair resembles a peacock’s tail, falling
to the end of the tunic where it curls upward. Beauty of flesh, when the
lips resemble a bright red gourd. Beauty of bone, when the teeth gleam
between the rosy lips like cut mother-of-pearl, with even division.
Beauty of skin, when without the application of any cosmetic it is
smooth as a lotus-wreath and white as Kanikara flowers. Beauty of youth
is the endurance of the gaiety and freshness of youth after many
child-births. All these had Visakha, and yet another, for her voice was
sweeter than music, like the silver sounding of a little gong. And on
parting her father presented her with a magnificent jewel adornment
known as the Great Creeper Parure, and a part of it consisted of a
peacock with five hundred feathers of red gold in each wing, the beak of
coral, the eyes of jewels and likewise the neck and tail-feathers. And
on Visakha’s head it resembled a peacock perched on a height, and it
gave forth music and appeared to be real.
But when she was established in her new home she found that Migara, her
father-in-law, was a follower of the naked ascetics, and they and he
cast scorn on the Perfect One, and this disturbed her much, and the
ascetics said to Migara:
“O householder, you have introduced into your family an arrant
misfortune breeder, a disciple of the monk Gotama. Expel her instantly.”
“And that is not easy!” thought Migara, “for she comes of a great
family,—But I will take measures.”
So he sat down and began to eat sweet rice-milk from a golden bowl, and
Visakha stood before him, dutifully fanning him. And a holy mendicant
entered with his begging bowl for alms, but Migara made as though he did
not see him, and ate on, keeping his head down.
“Pass on, reverend sir!” said Visakha with courtesy. “My father is
eating stale food—it would not be agreeable to you.”
And when she said this, Migara leaped to his feet and cried:
“Take away this food and drive the girl from the house. To think the
slut should accuse _Me_ of eating stale food, and at a time of
festival!”
“Father!” said Visakha, with composed serenity. “I shall not easily
leave the house. For I am no harlot picked up at some river bathing
place, but a great lady. And my father foresaw such a case, and when I
left commanded eight householders of this town to investigate any charge
brought against me. Summon them now.”
And Migara agreed joyfully, knowing what they must adjudge to such
insolence.
Then they came—eight grave and wise men, and the story was told. And
when it was heard:
“Dear girl,” said the eldest householder, “is it as he says?”
“That is not as _I_ say! For when my father-in-law ignored the monk I
said ‘He is eating stale fare.’ And I meant this—He is uselessly
consuming the merit acquired in a former life instead of making fresh.
Now, what fault was that?”
“None, dear girl. Our daughter speaks justly. Why are you angry with
her, sir?”
“Sirs, granted that was no fault,—But when she came to us her mother
gave her ten admonitions of a hidden meaning, and I dislike them. First:
‘The indoor fire is not to be taken out of doors.’ Now you know it is
the friendly custom to send fire to our neighbours.”
“Is it as he says, dear girl?”
“Good sirs, this is the meaning: ‘If you notice any fault in any of your
new family, never tell it outside the house. For there is no worse fire
than this.’ Was this a fault in me?”
And Migara was ashamed and said:
“Sirs, I grant this. But she was also instructed thus: ‘Outdoor fire
must not be brought indoors.’ It is the custom to accept fire if ours
should go out, and therefore this was an unseemly instruction.”
And seated in a row and consulting, the householders appointed their
eldest to answer.
“Is it as he says, dear girl?”
“No, good sirs. The meaning is—‘If any outside the house speak ill of
any within, never repeat it within doors. For there is no fire like the
tongue.”
“Well and good, dear girl. And the rest?”
And she repeated.
“I was instructed. ‘Give to him who gives and also to him who does not
give,’ and this means ‘Be liberal to needy relatives and friends whether
they can repay you or no.’ And again: ‘Sit happily.’ And this
means—‘When you see your father-in-law or his wife or your husband, you
must rise and stand before them.’ ‘Eat happily.’ This means—‘They must
be served by you before you eat yourself.’ ‘Wait upon the fire.’ This
signifies, ‘These three must be looked upon as beautiful as a flame of
fire or a royal serpent.’ ‘Reverence the household divinities.’ This
means that these three are your divinities indeed. ‘Sleep happily.’ This
means ‘You must not lie down to sleep till you have done all possible
services for them.’ All these rules, good sirs, I have kept. Now am I in
fault?”
And Migara sat with downcast eyes and the eight said to him:
“Treasurer, is there any other sin in our daughter for she is clear of
any wrong in all this.”
And he said:
“No. None.” But Visakha then arose in just anger.
“Good sirs,” she said, “It would not have been fitting that I should be
dismissed, yet now I am found guiltless I will go. It is a good time.”
And she ordered her many carriages and slaves to be made ready. But
Migara implored her to remain with them, half in fear and half in shame.
And when she refused he redoubled his entreaties, and asked her
forgiveness earnestly. And she replied:
“Good sir, what there is to pardon I pardon cheerfully. But I am
daughter to a family which follows the Law of the Exalted One. If I can
be allowed to attend upon the Assembly, then I will stay. Not
otherwise.”
And he replied:
“Dear girl, wait on your Assembly as you please.”
And the end of the matter was that Migara went with Visakha to hear the
World-Honoured, doubtful and unwilling, and it appeared to Migara, as it
did always to all, that the eyes of the Buddha were fixed steadfastly on
him and his proclamation of the Law addressed to him, and to him only.
And Migara heard and the words reached his innermost being and he became
established in the truth and acquired an immovable faith in the Three
Refuges—the Law, the Lord, and the Assembly. And he said:
“Truly it was for my advantage, truly it was for my good that my
daughter-in-law came to my house,” and when he returned, he touched her
breast with his hand, saying:
“Henceforth you are as my mother,” thus giving her the position of
honour. And he caused to be made for her an ornament known as the Highly
Polished Parure, and gave it to her under the eyes of the Buddha.
And she continued to give alms and to do many deeds of merit, and as the
crescent moon rounds in the sky she became great in sons and daughters,
ten of each. She lived to be an hundred and twenty years old, and not
one grey hair was seen upon her head, insomuch that when she walked to
the monastery with her children and their children, people asked:
“Which is the great Visakha?”
And they said: “That great lady who walks so lightly,” and the others
replied:
“May she walk further! Our lady looks well when she walks.”
And those who saw her stand, sit, or lie, would say:
“I hope she may do each a little longer. Our lady looks well in all she
does.”
So that it could not be charged against her that there was any posture
in which she did not look well.
And great and magnificent were her charities to all who needed. And even
the great Creeper Parure she gave for the needy, and redeemed it with a
King’s ransom, and she attended upon the sick, healing them with wise
medicaments, and she built a monastery and it is easy to rehearse what
she did not do that was good, but impossible to rehearse all her
innumerable nobilities of deed and thought.
And it was of her the One who is Awakened said:
“Just, monks, as a skilful garland-maker if he obtain a heap of flowers
will go on making beautiful garlands without end, even so does the mind
of Visakha incline to do all manner of noble deeds weaving them into
loveliness.”
And this is the history of that great, generous and happy lady, the
daughter of the Law.