The Courtesan Āmrapālī Sees the Buddha

Buddhacarita, Chapter Twenty-Two: The Courtesan Āmrapālī Sees the Buddha

The World-Honored One, having now completed his wide-ranging work of teaching and conversion, felt the thought of final nirvāṇa begin to arise in him; and he set out from Rājagṛha toward the town of Pāṭaliputra.

Arriving there, he settled at the shrine of Pāṭali, in that town — itself a border settlement dependent on the kingdom of Magadha.

The lord of that town was a brahmin of wide learning, versed in scripture, who read the auspicious and inauspicious signs of the land, serving as the country's own official diviner.

The king of Magadha had sent an envoy with orders to this diviner, commanding him to raise a fortified city there, in preparation against powerful neighboring states.

The World-Honored One declared of that place that it was guarded and protected by the gods themselves, and that a city built there would remain secure forever, never falling into ruin or danger.

The diviner, filled with joy at this, made offerings to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the saṅgha together; and the Buddha, leaving through the gate of that town, made his way toward the bank of the Ganges.

The diviner, in his deep reverence for the Buddha, named that very gate "Gautama's Gate"; and the people who dwelt along the Ganges all came out to greet the World-Honored One, making every kind of offering and preparing boats to carry him across.

The World-Honored One, seeing that there were so many boats offered that accepting only one would go against the wishes of the rest, used his own spiritual power instead to make himself and his whole assembly vanish from this shore and appear at once upon the far shore.

Riding, as it were, the very boat of wisdom, he carries sentient beings across on a vast scale — and it was through the power of this same virtue that he crossed the river now without relying on any boat at all.

The people dwelling along the Ganges cried out together in wonder, and all agreed to name that very ford "Gautama's Ford."

The city gate called "Gautama's Gate," and the ford called "Gautama's Ford" — these very names have been passed down in the world, remembered and repeated across the generations ever since.

The Tathāgata continued on his way, arriving at the village of Koṭigrāma, where he taught the Dharma and converted many there, and then went on further to the village of Nādikā.

The people there had suffered many deaths from plague, and their kinsmen all came to ask him: "Where have our relatives who died of this plague now been reborn?"

The Buddha, knowing well the workings of karmic retribution, answered every one of their questions in full, according to what they asked.

He then went on further to Vaiśālī, and settled there in the Āmra grove.

Āmrapālī, learning that the Buddha had come to her own grove, came out with her whole retinue of attendant women, in dignified and orderly procession, to receive him.

Mastering well her own senses and faculties, she wore only plain, light garments, having set aside every fine ornament, and had bathed herself simply with fragrant water and flowers.

Like a chaste and virtuous woman of the world, pure and unadorned as she goes to make offering to the gods, her form was dignified and her countenance wondrously fine, like the very form of a heavenly maiden.

The Buddha, seeing this woman approach from a distance, said to the assembly of monks: "This woman is exceedingly beautiful, capable of ensnaring the heart of any practitioner on the path — you must all hold to right mindfulness, and use wisdom to steady your own hearts against her.

Better to be caught in the jaws of a raging tiger, or beneath the sharp blade of a madman, than to give rise to a heart of craving and desire in the presence of a woman.

A woman's every unguarded gesture — whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, even down to a mere painted image of her form — displays some seductive charm; how could one fail to guard oneself against something that plunders a person's own good heart in this way?

Even her weeping, her laughter, her delight, her anger, the careless slump of her shoulders, her hair falling loose or her topknot tilted askew — even these alone are enough to throw a person's heart into confusion.

How much more so, then, when she deliberately adorns her own appearance, displaying every wondrous grace and charm, using such adornment to conceal what is in truth an unlovely form, and thereby deceiving and beguiling the foolish?

Confused and deluded, they conceive of it as something virtuous and fine, never perceiving the hideous impurity actually there — one ought instead to contemplate it as impermanent and suffering, impure, and without self or anything belonging to a self.

Seeing its true nature clearly, and thereby extinguishing every thought of craving and desire — for even a heavenly maiden herself, rightly examined as she truly is, brings no true delight at all.

How much less, then, could mere human desire possibly hold any person's heart captive?

You ought to take up the bow of diligent effort, and the sharp arrow of wisdom, and, clad in the heavy armor of right mindfulness, wage a decisive battle against the five desires.

Better to have a burning iron spike driven straight through both one's own eyes, than to gaze upon a woman's beauty with a heart full of craving and desire.

Craving and desire cloud the heart, dazzled and bewildered by a woman's beauty; and should one's thoughts remain thus disordered at the moment of death, one is certain to fall into one of the three evil destinies — fearing that very suffering of the evil destinies, do not let yourselves be deceived by women.

The sense-faculty is not, in itself, bound to its object, nor is the object bound to the faculty — it is only the thought of craving and desire arising between them that binds the faculty to the object at all.

It is like two plow-oxen yoked together beneath the same harness and collar: the oxen themselves are not, by nature, bound to one another — and the faculty and its object are exactly the same.

And so you must master your own minds, and never let them fall into careless self-indulgence."

Having taught the monks this teaching, in its various parts, the Buddha then received Āmrapālī, who gradually approached and came before the World-Honored One.

Seeing the Buddha seated beneath a tree in meditative absorption, quietly deep in thought, she thought to herself: may the Buddha, in his great compassion, graciously accept this grove of mine as an offering.

Composing her own heart and gathering in her outward bearing, she set aside every trace of her former seductive manner; with a reverent form and a heart of true sincerity, she bowed her head and touched her lips to his feet in homage.

The World-Honored One bid her be seated, and taught her the Dharma according to what her heart required: "Your heart is already pure and still, and this shows clearly through your own outward and excellent bearing; to be in the fullness of youth, rich in wealth, complete in both virtue and beauty, and yet still able to have faith and delight in the true Dharma — this is a rare thing indeed, even in this world.

For a man of long-cultivated wisdom to delight in the Dharma is no great wonder; but for a woman, whose feelings and resolve tend toward weakness, whose wisdom often runs shallow while her craving and desire run deep, to be able to delight in the true Dharma as you do — this, too, is an exceedingly rare thing.

A person born into this world ought to take the Dharma alone as their own true source of delight — for wealth and beauty are no lasting treasure; only the true Dharma is a genuine treasure.

The strong and healthy are broken down by illness; the young and vigorous are worn away by old age; life itself is beset by death on every side — and yet the practice of the Dharma cannot be touched by any of these things. What one loves is never left unparted from; what one does not love still forces itself close regardless; what one seeks does not follow one's own wishes — only the Dharma follows the heart exactly as one wishes it to. To depend on something outside oneself is itself a great suffering; to hold true sovereignty within oneself is itself true joy.

A woman's whole existence depends entirely on others, and she must besides bear the pains of carrying another's child within her own body — and so you ought to reflect on this, and grow weary of and renounce the very state of being a woman."

Āmrapālī, hearing this teaching, felt her heart fill with joy; her firm wisdom grew ever more radiant, able now to cut off craving and desire entirely, and she came at once to feel a genuine weariness with her own womanhood, no longer tainted by attachment to the objects of the senses.

Though she felt shame at her own unlovely condition, the power of the Dharma moved her heart, and she bowed her head and said to the Buddha: "I have already been graciously accepted by you, the Honored One — I beg you, out of compassion, to accept as well this clear and simple offering of mine, that my own wish might be fulfilled."

The Buddha, knowing the sincerity of her heart, and seeing besides the benefit it would bring to sentient beings everywhere, silently accepted her request. She, filled with joy at this, found her own sight and hearing grow only more radiant still, and, having paid him homage, returned to her own home.