Buddhist Women at the Time of The Buddha

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. Ñanamoli)

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, brahman, 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, brahman, 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 Brahman (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 nonreturner, 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 nonreturning. 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 ka