Subhā of Jīvaka’s Mango Grove

Going to the lovely mango grove
of Jīvaka, the nun Subhā
was held up by a rascal.
Subhā said this to him:

“What harm have I done to you,
that you stand in my way?
Sir, it’s not proper that a man
should touch a woman gone forth.

This training was taught by the Holy One,
it is a serious matter in my teacher’s instructions.
I am pure and rid of blemishes,
so why do you stand in my way?

One whose mind is sullied against one unsullied;
one who is lustful against one free of lust;
unblemished, my mind is freed in every respect,
so why do you stand in my way?”

“You’re young and flawless—
what will going-forth do for you?
Throw away the ocher robe,
come and play in the blossom grove.

Everywhere, the scent of pollen wafts sweet,
born of the flowering woods.
The start of spring is a happy time—
come and play in the blossom grove.

And trees crested with flowers
cry out, as it were, in the breeze.
But what kind of fun will you have
if you plunge into the woods all alone?

Frequented by packs of predators,
and she-elephants aroused by rutting bulls;
you wish to go without a friend
to the deserted, awe-inspiring forest.

Like a shining doll of gold,
like a nymph wandering in a park of colorful vines,
your matchless beauty will shine
in lovely clothes of exquisite muslin.

I’ll be under your sway,
if we are to stay in the forest.
I love no creature more than you,
O pixie with such bashful eyes.

Were you to take up my invitation—
‘Come, be happy, and live in a house’—
you’ll stay in a longhouse sheltered from wind;
let the ladies look to your needs.

Dressed in exquisite muslin,
put on your garlands and your cosmetics.
I’ll make all sorts of adornments for you,
of gold and gems and pearls.

Climb onto a costly bed,
its coverlet so clean and nice,
with a new woolen mattress,
so fragrant, sprinkled with sandalwood.

As a blue lily risen from the water
remains untouched by men,
so too, O chaste and holy lady,
your limbs grow old unshared.”

“This carcass is full of carrion, it swells
the charnel ground, for its nature is to fall apart.
What do you think is so essential in it
that you stare at me so crazily?”

“Your eyes are like those of a doe,
or a pixie in the mountains;
seeing them,
my sensual desire grows all the more.

Set in your flawless face of golden sheen,
your eyes compare to a blue lily’s bud;
seeing them,
my sensual excitement grows all the more.

Though you may wander far, I’ll still think of you,
with your lashes so long, and your vision so clear.
I love no eyes more than yours,
O pixie with such bashful eyes.”

“You’re setting out on the wrong road!
You’re looking to take the moon for your toy!
You’re trying to leap over Mount Meru!
You, who are hunting a child of the Buddha!

For in this world with all its gods,
there will be no more lust anywhere in me.
I don’t even know what kind it could be,
it’s been smashed root and all by the path.

Cast out like sparks from fiery coals,
it’s worth no more than a bowl of poison.
I don’t even see what kind it could be,
it’s been smashed root and all by the path.

Well may you try to seduce the type of lady
who has not reflected on these things,
or who has never attended the Teacher:
but this is a lady who knows—now you’re in trouble!

No matter if I am abused or praised,
or feel pleasure or pain: I stay mindful.
Knowing that conditions are ugly,
my mind clings to nothing.

I am a disciple of the Holy One,
riding in the carriage of the eightfold path.
The dart pulled out, free of defilements,
I’m happy to have reached an empty place.

I’ve seen brightly painted
dolls and wooden puppets,
tied to sticks and strings,
and made to dance in many ways.

But when the sticks and strings are taken off—
loosed, disassembled, dismantled,
irrecoverable, stripped to parts—
on what could the mind be fixed?

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 see a mural on a wall,
painted with orpiment,
and your vision gets confused,
falsely perceiving that it is a person.

Though it’s as worthless as a magic trick,
or a golden tree seen in a dream,
you blindly chase what is hollow,
like a puppet show among the people.

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

The pretty lady ripped out her eye.
With no attachment in her mind at all, she said:
“Come now, take this eye,”
and gave it to the man right then.

And at that moment 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.


The Book of the Thirties is finished.