Therīgāthā (Psalms of the Sisters)

That’s what my body is really like, without those things it can’t go on. This being so, on what could the mind be fixed?

It’s like when you saw a mural made by painting yellow orpiment on a wall, and your vision was deceived by that— the perception ‘human’ is pointless.

Like an illusion cast before you, or a golden tree in a dream, you chase what is hollow, blind one, like a painted doll among the people.

Like a ball in a socket, with a pupil in the middle, and tears, and mucus comes from there as well, different eye-parts are lumped together.”

Having plucked it out, the fair-eyed lady was undismayed, unchained in mind. “Come now, take this eye,” she said, and gave it to the man right then.

And right then he lost his lust, and asked for her forgiveness: “May you be well, O chaste and holy lady; such a thing will not happen again.

Attacking a person such as this is like holding on to a blazing fire, or grabbing a deadly viper! May you be well, please forgive me.”

When that nun was released she went to the presence of the excellent Buddha. Seeing the one with excellent marks of merit, her eye became just as it was before.

In Pāṭaliputta, the cream of the world, the city named for a flower, there were two nuns from the Sakyan clan, both of them ladies of quality.

One was named Isidāsī, the second Bodhī. They both were accomplished in ethics, lovers of meditation and chanting, learned, crushing corruptions.

They wandered for alms and had their meal. When they had washed their bowls, they sat happily in a private place and started a conversation.

“You’re so lovely, Mistress Isidāsī, your youth has not yet faded. What problem did you see that made you dedicate your life to renunciation?”

Being pressed like this in private, Isidāsī, skilled in teaching Dhamma, voiced the following words. “Bodhī, hear how I went forth.

In the fine town of Ujjenī, my father was a financier, a good and moral man. I was his only daughter, dear, beloved, and cherished.

Then some suitors came for me from the top family of Sāketa. They were sent by a financier abounding in wealth, to whom my father then gave me as daughter-in-law.

Come morning and come evening, I bowed with my head to the feet of my father and mother-in-law, just as I had been told.

Whenever I saw my husband’s sisters, his brothers, his servants, or even he, my one and only, I nervously gave them a seat.

Whatever they wanted—food and drink, treats, or whatever was in the cupboard— I brought out and offered to them, ensuring each got what was fitting.

Having risen bright and early, I approached the main house, washed my hands and feet, and went to my husband with cupped palms.

Taking a comb, adornments, eyeshadow, and a mirror, I myself did the makeup for my husband, as if I were his beautician.

I myself cooked the rice; I myself washed the pots. I looked after my husband like a mother her only child.

Thus I showed my devotion to him, a loyal, virtuous, and humble servant, getting up early, and working tirelessly: yet still my husband did me wrong.

He said to his mother and father: ‘I’ll take my leave and go, I can’t stand to live together with Isidāsī staying in the same house.’

‘Son, don’t speak like this! Isidāsī is astute and competent, she gets up early and works tirelessly, son, why doesn’t she please you?’

‘She hasn’t done anything to hurt me, but I just can’t stand to live with her. As far as I’m concerned, she’s just detestable. I’ve had enough, I’ll take my leave and go.’

When they heard his words, my father-in-law and mother-in-law asked me: ‘What did you do wrong? Boldly tell how it occurred.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong, I haven’t hurt him, or said anything bad. What can I possibly do, when my husband finds me so hateful?’

They led me back to my father’s home, distraught, overcome with suffering, and said: ‘By caring for our son, we’ve lost her, so lovely and lucky!’

Next my dad gave me to the household of a second wealthy family-man. For this he got half the bride-price of that which the financier paid.

In his house I also lived a month, before he too wanted me gone; though I served him like a slave, virtuous and doing no wrong.

My father then spoke to a beggar for alms, a tamer of others and of himself: ‘Be my son-in-law; set aside your tonsure-cloth and pot.’

He stayed a fortnight before he said to my dad: ‘Give me back my tonsure-cloth, my pot and my mug— I’ll wander begging again.’

So then my mum and my dad and my whole group of relatives said: ‘What has not been done for you here? Quickly, tell us what we can do for you!’

When they spoke to him like this he said, ‘If I can make do for myself, that is enough. I can’t stand to live together with Isidāsī staying in the same house.’

Released, he left. But I sat all alone contemplating: ‘Having taken my leave, I’ll go, either to die or to go forth.’

But then Mistress Jinadattā, learned and virtuous, who had memorized the monastic law, came resorting to my dad’s house for alms.

When I saw her, I rose from my seat and prepared it for her. When she had taken her seat, I honored her feet and offered her a meal,

satiating her with food and drink, treats, or whatever was in the cupboard. Then I said: ‘Ma’am, I wish to go forth!’

But my dad said to me: ‘Child, practice Dhamma right here then! With food and drink satisfy ascetics and the twice-born.’

Then I said to my dad, crying, my cupped palms raised to him: ‘I’ve done bad things in the past; I shall wear that bad deed away.’

And my dad said to me: ‘May you attain awakening, the highest state, and may you find the extinguishment that was realized by the best of men!’

I bowed down to my mother and father, and my whole group of relatives; and then, seven days after going forth, I realized the three knowledges.

I know my last seven lives; I shall relate to you the deeds of which this life is the fruit and result: focus your whole mind on that.

In the city of Erakacca I was a goldsmith with lots of money. Drunk on the pride of youth, I had sex with someone else’s wife.

Having passed away from there, I burned in hell for a long time. Rising up from there I was conceived in a monkey’s womb.

When I was only seven days old, I was castrated by the monkey chief. This was the fruit of that deed, because of adultery with another’s wife.

Having passed away from there, passing away in Sindhava grove, I was conceived in the womb of a lame, one-eyed she-goat.

I carried children on my back for twelve years, and all the while I was castrated, worm-eaten, and tail-less, because of adultery with another’s wife.

Having passed away from there, I was reborn in a cow owned by a cattle merchant. A red calf, castrated, for twelve months

I drew a big plow. I shouldered a cart, blind, tail-less, feeble, because of adultery with another’s wife.

Having passed away from there, I was born of a slave in the street, with neither male nor female parts, because of adultery with another’s wife.

I died at thirty years of age, and was reborn as a girl in a carter’s family. We were poor, of little wealth, greatly oppressed by creditors.

Because of the massive interest we owed, I was dragged away screaming, taken by force from the family home by a caravan leader.

When I was sixteen years old, seeing I was a girl of marriageable age, his son confined me as his wife— Giridāsa was his name.

He also had another wife, a virtuous and well-known lady of quality, loyal to her husband; yet I stirred up resentment in her.

As the fruit of that deed, they abandoned me and left, though I served them like a slave. Now I’ve made an end to this as well.”

In Mantāvatī city, Sumedhā, the daughter of King Koñca’s chief queen, was converted by those who practice the Buddha’s teaching.

She was virtuous, a brilliant speaker, learned, and trained in the Buddha’s instructions. She went up to her mother and father and said: “Pay heed, both of you!

I delight in extinguishment! No state of life is eternal, not even that of the gods; what then of sensual pleasures, so hollow, offering little gratification and much distress.

Sensual pleasures are bitter as the venom of a snake, yet fools are infatuated by them. Sent to hell for a very long time, they are beaten and tortured.

Those who grow in wickedness ever lament in the underworld <j>due to their own bad deeds. They’re fools, unrestrained in body, mind, and speech.

Those witless, senseless fools, trapped by the origin of suffering, are ignorant, not understanding the noble truths when they are being taught.

Most people, mum, ignorant of the truths taught by the excellent Buddha, look forward to a state of life, longing for rebirth among the gods.

Yet even rebirth among the gods in an impermanent state of life is not eternal. But fools are not scared of being reborn time and again.

Four lower realms and two other realms may be gained somehow or other. But for those who end up in a lower realm, there is no way to go forth in the hells.

May you both grant me permission to go forth in the dispensation of him of the ten powers. Living at ease, I shall apply myself to giving up rebirth and death.

Why look forward to a new state of life in this useless, insubstantial body? Grant me permission, I shall go forth to make an end of craving for a new life.

A Buddha has arisen, the time has come, the unlucky moment has passed. As long as I live I’ll never betray my ethical precepts or my chaste path.”

Then Sumedhā said to her parents: “So long as I remain a layperson, I’ll refuse to eat any food, until I’ve fallen under the sway of death.”

Upset, her mother burst into tears, while her father, though grieved, tried his best to persuade her as she lay collapsed upstairs in the longhouse.

“Get up child, why do you grieve so? You’re already betrothed to be married! King Anīkaratta the handsome is in Vāraṇavatī: he is your betrothed.

You shall be the chief queen, wife of King Anīkaratta. Ethical precepts, the chaste path— going forth is hard to do, my child.

As a royal there is command, wealth, authority, and the happiness of possessions. Enjoy sensual pleasures while you’re still young! Let your wedding take place, my child!”

Then Sumedhā said to him: “Let this not come to pass! Existence is hollow! I shall either go forth or die, but I shall never marry.

Why cling to this rotting body so foul, stinking of fluids, a horrifying water-bag carcass, always oozing, full of filth?

Knowing it like I do, what’s the point? A carcass is vile, smeared with flesh and blood, food for birds and swarms of worms— why have we been given it?

Before long the body, bereft of consciousness, is carried out to the charnel ground, to be discarded like an old log by relatives in disgust.

When they’ve discarded it in the charnel ground, to be eaten by others, your own parents bathe themselves, disgusted; what then of people at large?

They’re attached to this hollow carcass, this mass of sinews and bone; this rotting body full of saliva, tears, feces, and pus.

If anyone were to dissect it, turning it inside out, the unbearable stench would disgust even their own mother.

Rationally examining the aggregates, elements, and sense fields as conditioned, rooted in birth, suffering— why would I wish for marriage?

Let three hundred sharp swords fall on my body everyday! Even if the slaughter lasted a hundred years it’d be worth it if it led to the end of suffering.

One who understands the Teacher’s words would put up with this slaughter: ‘Long for you is transmigration being killed time and time again.’

Among gods and humans, in the realm of animals or that of titans, among the ghosts or in the hells, endless killings are seen.

The hells are full of killing, for the corrupt who have fallen to the underworld. Even among the gods there is no shelter, for no happiness excels extinguishment.

Those who are committed to the dispensation of him of the ten powers attain extinguishment. Living at ease, they apply themselves to giving up rebirth and death.

On this very day, dad, I shall renounce: what’s to enjoy in hollow riches? I’m disillusioned with sensual pleasures, they’re like vomit, made like a palm stump.”

As she spoke thus to her father, Anīkaratta, to whom she was betrothed, approached from Vāraṇavatī at the time appointed for the marriage.

Then Sumedhā took up a knife, and cut off her hair, so black, thick, and soft. Shutting herself in the longhouse, she entered the first absorption.

And as she entered it there, Anīkaratta arrived at the city. Then in the longhouse, Sumedhā well developed the perception of impermanence.

As she investigated in meditation, Anīkaratta quickly climbed the stairs. His limbs adorned with gems <j>and honey-yellow gold, he begged Sumedhā with cupped palms:

“As a royal there is command, wealth, authority, and the happiness of possessions. Enjoy sensual pleasures while you’re still young! Sensual pleasures are hard to find in the world!

I’ve handed royalty to you— enjoy riches, give gifts! Don’t be sad; your parents are upset.”

Sumedhā, having no use for sensual pleasures, and having done away with delusion, <j>spoke right back: “Do not take pleasure in sensuality! See the danger in sensual pleasures!

Mandhātā, king of four continents, foremost in enjoying sensual pleasures, died unsated, his desires unfulfilled.

Were the seven jewels to rain from the sky all over the ten directions, there would be no sating of sensual pleasures: people die insatiable.

Like a butcher’s knife and chopping board, sensual pleasures are like a cobra’s head. They burn like a fire-brand, they resemble a skeleton.

Sensual pleasures are impermanent and unstable, they’re full of suffering, a terrible poison; like a hot iron ball, the root of gloom, their fruit is pain.

Sensual pleasures are like fruits of a tree, like scraps of meat, painful, they trick you like a dream; sensual pleasures are like borrowed goods.

Sensual pleasures are like swords and spears; a disease, a boil, gloom and trouble. Like a pit of glowing coals, the root of gloom, fear and slaughter.