ထေရဂါထာပါဠိ

with such understanding, unaffected, steady in ethics, and devoted to serenity of mind: that is who the wise praise.”

“Whoever has no respect for their spiritual companions is as far from the true teaching as the earth is from the sky.

Those whose conscience and prudence are always rightly established, thrive in the spiritual life; for them, there are no future lives.

When a mendicant who is haughty and fickle wears rags from the rubbish-heap, that doesn’t make them shine: they’re like a monkey in a lion skin.

But if they not restless or fickle, alert, with senses restrained, then, wearing rags from the rubbish-heap, they shine like a lion in a mountain cave.”

“These many gods powerful and glorious, all 10,000 of them, belong to the host of the Divinity.

They stand with cupped palms honoring Sāriputta, the General of the Dhamma, the hero, the serene great meditator:

‘Homage to you, O thoroughbred! Homage to you, supreme among men! We don’t understand the basis of your absorption.

The profound domain of the Buddhas is truly amazing. We don’t understand, though we’ve gathered here to split hairs.’

When he saw the host of gods paying homage to Sāriputta— who is truly worthy of homage— Kappina smiled.”

“As far as the range of the Buddha extends, apart from the great sage himself, I am distinguished in austerities, no equal to me is found.

I’ve served the Teacher and fulfilled the Buddha’s instructions. The heavy burden is laid down, now there’ll be no more future lives.”

“Like a lotus flower to which water will not stick, Gotama the immeasurable is unstained by robes, lodgings, or food. He inclines to renunciation, and has escaped the three states of existence.

The great sage’s neck is mindfulness meditation; faith is his hands, and wisdom his head. Having great knowledge, he always wanders, quenched.” The Book of the Forties is finished.

Verses of the Senior Monks 19.1 The Book of the Fifties Chapter One Tālapuṭa Oh, when will I stay in a mountain cave, alone, with no companion, discerning all states of existence as impermanent? This hope of mine, <j>when will it be?

Oh, when will I stay happily in the forest, a sage wearing a torn robe, dressed in ocher, unselfish, with no need for hope, with greed, hate, and delusion destroyed?

Oh, when will I stay alone in the wood, fearless, discerning this body as impermanent, a nest of death and disease, harried by death and old age; when will it be?

Oh, when will I live, <j>having grasped the sharp sword of wisdom and cut the creeper of craving <j>that tangles around everything, the mother of fear, the bringer of suffering? When will it be?

Oh, when will I, seated on the lion’s throne, swiftly grasp the sword of the seers, forged by wisdom, of awesome might, and swiftly break Māra and his army? <j>When will it be?

Oh, when will I be seen in the assemblies with those who are virtuous, unaffected, <j>respecting the Dhamma, seeing things as they are, with faculties subdued? When will it be?

Oh, when will I focus on my heart’s goal <j>in the Mountainfold, free of oppression by laziness, hunger, thirst, wind, heat, bugs, and reptiles? When will it be?

Oh, when will I, serene and mindful, understand the four truths, that were realized by the great seer, and are so very hard to see? <j>When will it be?

Oh, when will I, devoted to serenity, see with understanding the infinite sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, and ideas as burning? <j>When will it be?

Oh, when will I not be distraught because of criticism, nor elated because of praise? When will it be?

Oh, when will I discern the aggregates and the infinite varieties of phenomena, those interior and exterior, as no more than wood, grass, and creepers? <j>When will it be?

Oh, when will the monsoon clouds in season freshly wet me in my robe in the forest, walking the path trodden by the seers? When will it be?

Oh, when will I rise up, <j>intent on attaining freedom from death, hearing, in the mountain cave, the cry of the crested peacock in the forest? When will it be?

Oh, when will I cross by psychic power unobstructed the Ganges, Yamunā, and Sarasvatī; and that place where one is thrown in the abyss, the horrifying Mare’s Mouth? When will it be?

Oh, when will I be devoted to absorption, shunning all the signs of beauty, splitting apart desire for sensual stimulation, like an elephant that wanders free of ties? <j>When will it be?

Oh, when will I realize the teaching of the great seer and be content, like a pauper in debt harassed by creditors, who finds a hidden treasure? When will it be?

For many years you begged me, “Enough of living in a house for you!” Why do you not urge me on, mind, now that I’ve gone forth as an ascetic?

Didn’t you entice me, mind: “In the Mountainfold, the birds with colorful wings, greeting the thunder, Mahinda’s voice, will delight you as you meditate in the forest?”

In my family circle, friends, loved ones, and relatives; and in the world, sports and play, <j>and sensual pleasures; all these I gave up when I entered this life: and even then you’re not content with me, mind!

This is mine alone, it doesn’t belong to others; when it is time to don your armor, why lament? Observing that all this is unstable, I went forth, seeking the state free of death.

He whose words are well-composed, <j>supreme among people, great physician, <j>guide for those fit to train, said: “The mind fidgets like a monkey, so it’s very hard to control if you are not free of lust.”

Sensual pleasures are diverse, sweet, delightful; an ignorant ordinary person is bound to them. Seeking to be reborn again, they wish for suffering; led on by their mind, they’re banished to hell.

“Staying in the grove resounding with cries of peacocks and herons, <j>and adorned by leopards and tigers, abandon concern for the body, without fail!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Develop the absorptions and spiritual faculties, the powers, awakening factors, and immersion; realize the three knowledges <j>in the teaching of the Buddha!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Develop the eightfold path <j>to realize freedom from death emancipating, its objective being <j>the end of all suffering, and cleansing all defilements!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Reflect rationally on the aggregates as suffering, and abandon that from which suffering arises; make an end of suffering in this very life!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Rationally discern that impermanence is suffering, that emptiness is non-self, and that gloom is death. Uproot the wandering mind!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Bald, unsightly, accursed, seek alms amongst families, bowl in hand. Devote yourself to the word of the Teacher, <j>the great seer!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Wander among the street markets well-restrained, mentally unchained to families and sensual pleasures, like the full moon on a bright night!” So you used to urge me, mind.

“Be a wilderness-dweller and an alms-eater, one who lives in charnel grounds, a rag-robe wearer, one who never lies down, <j>always delighting in ascetic practices.” So you used to urge me, mind.

Mind, when you urge me to <j>the impermanent and unstable, you’re acting like someone who plants trees, then, when they’re about to fruit, wishes to cut down the very same trees.

Incorporeal mind, far-traveler, lone-wanderer: I won’t do your bidding any more. Sensual pleasures are suffering, painful, <j>and very dangerous; I’ll wander with my mind <j>focused only on extinguishment.

I didn’t go forth due to bad luck or shamelessness, or due to a whim or banishment, nor for the sake of a livelihood; it was because I agreed <j>to the promise you made, mind.

“Having few wishes, abandoning disparagement, the settling of suffering: <j>these are praised by true persons.” So you used to urge me, mind, but now you keep on with your old habits!

Craving, ignorance, the loved and unloved, pretty sights, pleasant feelings, and the delightful kinds of sensual stimulation: I’ve vomited them up, I can’t swallow them back.

I’ve done your bidding everywhere, mind! For many births, I’ve done nothing to upset you. Yet the creation in myself <j>is because of your ingratitude— for a long time I’ve transmigrated <j>in the suffering you’ve made.

Only you, mind, make a brahmin; you make an aristocrat or a royal seer. Sometimes we become peasants or menials; and life as a god is also on account of you.

You alone make us titans; because of you we’re born in hell. Then sometimes we become animals, and life as a ghost is also on account of you.

Come what may, you won’t betray me again, dazzling me with your ever-changing display! You play with me like I’m mad— but how have I ever failed you, mind?

In the past my mind wandered how it wished, where it liked, as it pleased. Now I’ll carefully guide it, as a trainer with a hook guides a rutting elephant.

The teacher willed that this world appear to me as impermanent, unstable, insubstantial. Mind, let me leap into the victor’s teaching, carry me over the great flood, so hard to pass.

Things have changed, mind! Nothing could make me return to your control! I’ve gone forth in the teaching of the great seer, those like me don’t come to ruin.

Mountains, oceans, rivers, the earth; the four quarters, the intermediate directions, <j>below and in the sky; the three realms of existence <j>are all impermanent and harried— where can you go to find happiness, mind?

Mind, what will you do to someone <j>who has made the ultimate commitment? Nothing could make me a follower <j>under your control, mind; I’d never touch a bellows <j>with a mouth open at each end; curse this mortal frame flowing with nine streams!

You’ve ascended the mountain peak, <j>full of nature’s beauty, frequented by boars and antelopes, a grove sprinkled with fresh water in the monsoon; and there you’ll be happy in your cave-home.

Peacocks with beautiful necks and crests, colorful tail-feathers and wings, crying out at the resounding thunder: they’ll delight you as you meditate in the forest.

When the heavens have rained, <j>and the grass is four inches high, and the grove is full of flowers like a cloud, between the mountains, like the fork of a tree, I’ll lie; it will be as soft as cotton-buds.

I’ll act rather as a master does: let whatever I get be enough for me. And that’s why I’ll make you as supple as a tireless worker makes a cat-skin bag.

I’ll act rather as a master does: let whatever I get be enough for me. I’ll control you with my energy, as a skilled trainer controls an elephant with a hook.

Now that you’re well-tamed and reliable, I can use you, <j>like a trainer uses a straight-running horse, to practice the path of grace, cultivated by those who take care of their minds.

I shall strongly fasten you to a meditation subject, as an elephant is tied to a post with firm rope. You’ll be well-guarded by me, <j>well-developed by mindfulness, and unattached to rebirth in all states of existence.

With wisdom you’ll cut short <j>the one following the wrong path, curb them by meditation, <j>and settle them on the right path. Having seen arising and passing away <j>with respect to the cause of suffering, you’ll be an heir to the greatest teacher.

Under the sway of the four distortions, mind, you dragged me around like a bull in a pit; but now you won’t associate <j>with the great sage of compassion, the cutter of fetters and bonds?

Like a deer roaming free in the colorful forest, I’ll ascend the lovely mountain <j>wreathed in monsoon clouds, and rejoice to be on that hill, free of folk— there is no doubt you’ll perish, mind.

The men and women who live <j>under your will and command, whatever pleasure they experience, they are ignorant and fall under Māra’s control; loving life, they’re your disciples, mind.

Verses of the Senior Monks 20.1 The Book of the Sixties Chapter One Mahāmoggallāna “Living in the wilderness, eating only almsfood, happy with the scraps in our bowls, let us tear apart the army of death, while remaining serene within. Living in the wilderness, eating only almsfood, happy with the scraps in our bowls, let us crush the army of death, as an elephant a hut of reeds. Living at the foot of a tree, persistent, happy with the scraps in our bowls, let us tear apart the army of death, while remaining serene within. Living at the foot of a tree, persistent, happy with the scraps in our bowls, let us crush the army of death, as an elephant a hut of reeds.” “You hut, made of a chain of bones, sewn together with flesh and sinew; curse you mortal frame, you stink, you cherish the parts of others! You sack of dung swathed in skin! You demoness with horns on your chest! O body, you have nine streams that are flowing all the time. With its nine streams, your body stinks, full of dung. A monk seeking purity would avoid it like excrement. If they knew you like I do, they’d keep far away, like a cesspit in the monsoon.” “So it is, great hero! As you say, ascetic! But some founder here like an old bull stuck in a bog.” “Whoever might think of making the sky yellow, or some other color, would only trouble themselves. This mind is like the sky: serene inside itself. Evil-minded one, don’t attack me, you’ll end up like a moth in a mass of fire.” “See this fancy puppet, a body built of sores, diseased, obsessed over, in which nothing lasts at all. See this fancy figure, with its gems and earrings; it is bones swathed in skin, made pretty by its clothes. Rouged feet and powdered face may be enough to beguile a fool, but not a seeker of the far shore. Hair in eight braids and eyeshadow may be enough to beguile a fool, but not a seeker of the far shore. A rotting body all adorned like a freshly painted makeup box may be enough to beguile a fool, but not a seeker of the far shore. The hunter laid his snare, but the deer didn’t spring the trap. I’ve eaten the bait and now I go, leaving the trapper to lament. The hunter’s snare is broken, but the deer didn’t spring the trap. I’ve eaten the bait and now I go, leaving the deer-hunter to grieve.” “Then there was terror! Then they had goosebumps! When Sāriputta, <j>endowed with many fine qualities, became quenched. Oh! Conditions are impermanent, their nature is to rise and fall; having arisen, they cease; their settling is such bliss.” “Those who see the five aggregates as other, not as self, penetrate a subtle thing, like a hair-tip with an arrow. Those who see conditions as alien, not as self, pierce a fine thing, like a hair-tip with an arrow.” “Like they’re struck by a sword, like their head was on fire, a mendicant should wander mindful, to give up sensual desire. Like they’re struck by a sword, like their head was on fire, a mendicant should wander mindful, to give up desire for rebirth.” “Urged by the developed one, who bore his final body, I shook the stilt longhouse of Migāra’s mother with my big toe.” “Not by being slack, or with little strength may this be realized—extinguishment, the release from all ties.” “This young monk, this best of men, bears his final body, having vanquished Māra and his legions.” “Lightning flashes down on the cleft of Vebhāra and Paṇḍava. But in the mountain cleft he is absorbed in jhāna— the son of the Buddha, inimitable and unaffected.” “Calm and still, the sage in his remote lodging, the heir to the best of Buddhas, is honored even by the Divinity. Calm and still, the sage in his remote lodging, is heir to the best of Buddhas: Brahmin, you should honor Kassapa! Even if someone were to be born again and again a hundred times in the human realm, and always as a brahmin, a student accomplished in the Vedas; and if he were to become a reciter, a master of the three Vedas: honoring such a person isn’t worth a sixteenth of that. One who attains the eight liberations forwards and backwards before breakfast, and then goes on almsround— don’t attack such a mendicant! Don’t ruin yourself, brahmin! Let your heart have trust in the perfected one, the unaffected; quickly venerate him with cupped palms: don’t let your head explode!” “If you prioritize transmigration, you don’t see the true teaching. You’re following a twisted path, a bad path that will lead you down. Like a worm smeared with dung, he is besotted with conditions. Consumed by gain and honor, Poṭṭhila goes on, hollow.” “See Sāriputta coming! It is good to see him; he is freed in both ways, serene inside himself; free of thorns, with yoking ended, master of the three knowledges, <j>conqueror of death; worthy of offerings, a supreme field of merit for the people.” “These many gods, powerful and glorious, all 10,000 of them, are priests of Divinity. They stand with cupped palms honoring Moggallāna: ‘Homage to you, O thoroughbred! Homage to you, supreme among men! Since your defilements are ended, you, good fellow, are worthy of teacher’s offerings.’ Venerated by the lordly god, he has arisen, the master of death. He is unsmeared by conditions, as a lotus-flower by water.” “The mendicant by whom the galaxy with the age of the Divinity are known in an hour— that master of psychic ability sees the gods at the time they pass away and are reborn.” “Sāriputta is full of wisdom, ethics, and peace. Even a mendicant who has crossed over might at best equal him. But in a moment I can create the likenesses of ten million times 100,000 people! I’m skilled in transformations; I’m a master of psychic powers. A member of the Moggallāna clan, <j>attained to perfection and mastery in immersion and knowledge, <j>wise in the teachings of the unattached, with serene faculties, has burst his bonds like an elephant bursts a vine. I’ve served the Teacher and fulfilled the Buddha’s instructions. The heavy burden is laid down, the leash to existence is eradicated. I’ve attained the goal for the sake of which I went forth from the lay life to homelessness— the ending of all fetters.” “What kind of hell was that, where Dūsī was roasted after attacking the disciple Vidhura along with the brahmin Kakusandha? There were 100 iron spikes, each one uniquely painful. That’s the kind of hell where Dūsī was roasted after attacking the disciple Vidhura along with the brahmin Kakusandha. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. There are mansions that last an eon standing in the middle of a lake. Sapphire-colored, brilliant, they sparkle and shine. Dancing there are nymphs shining in all different colors. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. I’m the one who, urged by the Buddha, shook the stilt longhouse of Migāra’s mother with his big toe as the Saṅgha of mendicants watched. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. I’m the one who shook the Palace of Victory with his big toe owing to psychic power, inspiring deities to awe. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. I’m the one who asked Sakka in the Palace of Victory: ‘Respectable sir, I hope you recall the one who is freed through the ending of craving?’ And I’m the one to whom Sakka admitted the truth when asked. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. I’m the one who asked the Divinity in the Hall of Clear Right before the assembly: ‘Respectable sir, do you still have the same view that you had in the past? Or do you see the radiance surpassing the realm of divinity?’ And I’m the one to whom the Divinity admitted the truth when asked. ‘Good fellow, I don’t have that view that I had in the past. I see the radiance surpassing the realm of divinity. So how could I say today that I am permanent and eternal?’ Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. I’m the one who touched the peak of Mount Neru using the power of meditative liberation. I’ve visited the forests of the people who dwell in the land east of Videha. Dark One, if you attack a mendicant who directly knows this, a disciple of the Buddha, you’ll fall into suffering. Though a fire doesn’t think, ‘I’ll burn the fool!’ Still the fool who attacks the fire gets burnt. In the same way, Māra, in attacking the Realized One, you’ll only burn yourself, like a fool touching the flames. Māra’s done a bad thing in attacking the Realized One. Wicked One, do you imagine that your wickedness won’t bear fruit? Your deeds heap up wickedness that will last a long time, terminator! Give up on the Buddha, Māra! And hold no hope for the mendicants!” That is how, in the Bhesekaḷā grove, the mendicant warned Māra. That spirit, downcast, disappeared right there. That is how these verses were recited by the senior venerable Mahāmoggallāna. The Book of the Sixties is finished. Verses of the Senior Monks 21.1 The Great Book Chapter One Vaṅgīsa “Now that I’ve renounced the lay life for homelessness, I’m overrun by the rude thoughts of the Dark One.

Even if a thousand warrior chiefs and great archers, well trained, with strong bows, were to completely surround me; I would never flee.

And even if women come, many more than that, they won’t bother me, for I stand firm in the teaching.

I heard with my own ears from the Buddha, Kinsman of the Sun, about the path going to extinguishment; that’s what delights my mind.

Wicked One, if you come near me as I meditate like this, I’ll make sure that you, Death, won’t even see the path I take.”

“Giving up desire and discontent, along with all thought of domestic life, they wouldn’t get snarled in anything; unsnarled, free of snarls: that’s a real mendicant.

Whatever here is included in form— on earth, in the sky, or in planet’s deep— wears out, it is all impermanent: the self-examined live having comprehended this.

People are bound to their attachments, to impingement of the seen and heard, <j>and to what is thought. Unstirred, dispel desire for these things; for one called ‘a sage’ does not cling to them.

Trapped in the sixty wrong views, <j>full of their own opinions, ordinary people are fixed in wrong principles. But that mendicant wouldn’t join a sect, still less would they utter lewd speech.

Proficient, long serene, free of deceit, alert, without envy, the sage has reached the state of peace; quenched, he awaits his time.”

“Give up conceit, Gotama! Completely abandon the different kinds of conceit! Besotted with the different kinds of conceit, you’ve had regrets for a long time.

Smeared by smears and slain by conceit, people fall into hell. When people slain by conceit are reborn in hell, they grieve for a long time.

But a mendicant who practices rightly, a path-victor, never grieves. They enjoy happiness and a good reputation, and they rightly call him a ‘Seer of Truth’.

So being not hard-hearted, but energetic, with hindrances given up, pure; and having completely given up conceit, the one who makes an end with knowledge <j>is assuaged.”

“I’ve got a burning desire for pleasure; my mind is on fire! Please, out of compassion, Gotama, tell me how to quench the flames.”

“Your mind is on fire because of a perversion of perception. Turn away from the sign that’s attractive, provoking lust.

With your mind unified and serene, meditate on the ugly aspects of the body. With mindfulness immersed in the body, be full of disillusionment.

Meditate on the signless, give up the tendency to conceit; and when you comprehend conceit, you will live at peace.”

“Speak only those words that do not hurt yourself nor harm others; such speech is truly well spoken.

Speak only pleasing words, words gladly welcomed. Pleasing words are those that bring nothing bad to others.

Truth itself is undying speech: this is an ancient teaching. Good people say the teaching and meaning are grounded in truth.

The words spoken by the Buddha for finding the sanctuary, extinguishment, for making an end of suffering: this really is the best kind of speech.”

“Deep in wisdom, intelligent, expert in the path and what is not the path; Sāriputta, so greatly wise, teaches Dhamma to the mendicants.

He teaches in brief, or he speaks at length. His call, like a myna bird, overflows with inspiration.

While he teaches the mendicants listen to his sweet voice, sounding attractive, clear and graceful. They listen joyfully, their hearts elated.”

“Today, on the fifteenth day sabbath, five hundred monks have gathered together <j>to purify their precepts. These untroubled sages <j>have cut off their fetters and bonds, they will not be reborn again.

Just as a wheel-rolling monarch surrounded by ministers travels all around this land that’s girt by sea.

So disciples with the three knowledges, conquerors of death, revere the winner of the battle, the unsurpassed caravan leader.

All are sons of the Blessed One— there is no rubbish here. I bow to the Kinsman of the Sun, destroyer of the dart of craving.”

“Over a thousand mendicants revere the Holy One as he teaches the immaculate Dhamma, extinguishment, fearing nothing from any quarter.

They listen to the immaculate Dhamma taught by the fully awakened Buddha; the Buddha shines at the fore of the mendicant Saṅgha.

Blessed One, your name is ‘Giant’, seventh of the seers. You are like a great cloud that rains on your disciples.

I’ve left my day’s meditation, out of desire to see the Teacher. Great hero, your disciple Vaṅgīsa bows at your feet.”

“Having overcome Māra’s wrong path, you wander with hard-heartedness dissolved. See him, the liberator from bonds, dissecting the unattached section by section.

You have explained in many ways the path to cross the flood. The Seers of Truth stand unfaltering in the freedom from death explained by you.

As the bringer of light who has pierced the truth, you’ve seen what lies beyond all planes. When you saw and realized this for yourself, you taught it first to the group of five.

When the Dhamma has been so well taught, how could those who know it be negligent? That’s why, being diligent, we should always train respectfully in the Buddha’s teaching.”

“The senior monk awakened after the Buddha, Koṇḍañña, is keenly energetic. He regularly gains the blissful meditations of seclusion.

Whatever can be attained by a disciple who does the Teacher’s bidding, he has attained it all, through diligently training himself.

With great power and the three knowledges, expert in encompassing the minds of others, Koṇḍañña, the heir to the Buddha, bows at the Teacher’s feet.”

“As the sage, who has gone beyond suffering, sits upon the mountain slope, he is revered by disciples with the three knowledges, conquerors of death.

Moggallāna, of great psychic power, encompasses with his mind, scrutinizing their minds, liberated, free of attachments.

That is how those endowed <j>with many fine qualities revere Gotama, the sage gone beyond suffering, perfect in every respect.”

“Like the moon on a cloudless night, like the shining immaculate sun, so too Aṅgīrasa, O great sage, your glory outshines the entire world.”

“We used to wander, drunk on poetry, from village to village, town to town. Then we saw the Buddha, who has gone beyond all things.

He, the sage gone beyond suffering, taught me the Dhamma. When we heard the Dhamma, <j>we became confident— faith arose in us.

Hearing him speak of the aggregates, the sense-fields, and the elements, I understood; and then I went forth to homelessness.

It is for the benefit of many that the Realized Ones arise— the men and women who follow their instructions.

It is truly for their benefit that the sage realized awakening— for the monks and for the nuns who see that they’ve reached certainty.

The Clear-eyed One, the Buddha, the Kinsman of the Sun, has well taught the four noble truths out of sympathy for living creatures.

Suffering, suffering’s origin, suffering’s transcendence, and the noble eightfold path that leads to the stilling of suffering.

As these things were taught, so I have seen them. I’ve realized my heart’s goal, and fulfilled the Buddha’s instructions.

It was so welcome for me to be in the presence of the Buddha. Of the well-explained teachings, I arrived at the best.

I’ve realized the perfection of direct knowledge; my clairaudience is purified; I am master of three knowledges, <j>attained in psychic power, I’m expert at reading the minds of others.”

“I ask the Teacher unrivaled in wisdom, who has cut off all doubts in this very life: a monk has died at Āḷavī’s premier shrine, who was well-known, famous, and quenched.

Nigrodhakappa was his name; it was given to that brahmin by you, Blessed One. He wandered in your honor, yearning for freedom, energetic, a resolute Seer of Truth.

O Sakyan, All-seer, we all wish to know about that disciple. Our ears are eager to hear, for you are the most excellent teacher.

Cut off our doubt, declare this to us; your wisdom is vast, tell us of his quenching! All-seer, speak among us, like the thousand-eyed Sakka <j>in the midst of the gods!

Whatever ties there are, or paths to delusion, or things on the side of unknowing, <j>or that are bases of doubt vanish on reaching a Realized One, for his eye is the best of all people’s.

If no man were ever to disperse corruptions, like the wind dispersing the stormclouds, darkness would shroud the whole world; not even brilliant men would shine.

The attentive are bringers of light; my hero, that is what I think of you. We’ve come for your discernment and knowledge: here in this assembly, declare to us about Kappāyana.

Swiftly send forth your sweet, sweet voice, like a goose stretching its neck, gently honking, lucid-flowing, with lovely tone: alert, we all listen to you.

You have entirely abandoned birth and death; curbed and pure, I urge you, speak the Dhamma! For ordinary people <j>have no wish-granter, but Realized Ones <j>have a comprehensibility-granter.

Your answer is definitive, and we will adopt it, for you have perfect understanding. We raise our cupped palms one last time, one of unrivaled wisdom, <j>don’t deliberately confuse us.

Knowing the teaching of the noble ones <j>from top to bottom, one of unrivaled energy, <j>don’t deliberately confuse us. Like a man baking in the summer sun <j>would long for water, I long for your voice, so let the sound rain forth.

Surely Kappāyana did not <j>lead the spiritual life in vain? Did he realize quenching, or did he still have a residue? Let us hear what kind of liberation he had!” “He cut off craving for name and form right here,”

said the Buddha, “the river of darkness that had long lain within him. He has entirely crossed over birth and death.” So declared the Blessed One, the leader of the five.

“Now that I have heard your words, seventh of seers, I am confident. My question, it seems, was not in vain, the brahmin did not deceive me.

As he said, so he did— he was a disciple of the Buddha. He cut the net of death the deceiver, so extended and strong.

Blessed One, Kappāyana saw the starting point of grasping. He has indeed gone far beyond Death’s dominion so hard to pass.

God of gods, best of men, I bow to you, and to your son, who followed your example, a great hero; a giant, bosom son of a giant.” That is how these verses were recited by the senior venerable Vaṅgīsa. The Great Book is Finished The Verses of the Senior Monks are finished.