經律異相 31.21

In the past, in the kingdom of Vaiśālī, an āmra tree grew in the royal park. Its branches and leaves were lush and luxuriant; moreover, it was bright and colourful, and its fragrant sweetness was extraordinary. The king prized and treasured it exceedingly. Unless one were of high noble status in the palace, one could not eat of it. At that time, there was a brahmacārin whose household was abundantly wealthy, unmatched throughout the kingdom, and who was intelligent, erudite, and of extraordinary talent and wisdom. The king employed him as a senior minister. After inviting him to a feast and setting it out, he gave him one āmra fruit. Seeing that the āmra was fragrant and sweet beyond compare, the brahmacārin then asked: “Could a small cutting beneath this āmra tree perhaps be begged [from you]?” The king said: “If you, sir, wish to have one, I will give you a cutting.” The brahmacārin planted it. He watered it morning and evening, its boughs and branches became lush and fine, and after three years it bore fruit. Its lustre, colour, and size were just like those of the royal household’s. The brahmacārin was overjoyed and thought to himself: “My wealth and property are immeasurable, not inferior to the king's; only this āmra was lacking. Now that I have obtained it, I am inferior in nothing.” Thereupon he took one and ate it, but it was exceedingly bitter and astringent. He then withdrew and reflected: “This must simply be because the soil lacks richness.” Thereupon he took milk and gave it to one cow to drink, proceeding in order up to one hundred cows, and boiled it into ghee. He poured it over [the roots] day after day until the following year, whereupon the fruit indeed became sweet and delicious. However, on the side of the tree there grew a knot-like burl as large as a fist. As days and months passed it grew larger, and fearing it would hinder the fruit, he was just about to chop it away, but then feared it would harm the tree. While he was hesitating and undecided, a branch grew from the burl, straight, well-proportioned, and fine, rising high above the tree's crown, seven zhang from the ground. At the tip, branches grew in the shape of an upturned parasol, with flowers and leaves more luxuriant and fine than those of the original tree. He immediately built a scaffold and climbed up to look at it, and saw that within the upturned parasol there was actually a pool of water, both clear and fragrant, with many bright, fresh flowers. Parting the flowers to look beneath them, there was a baby girl in the pool of water. The brahmacārin took her in his arms, returned home, and raised her, naming her the Āmrapālī Maiden. When she reached the age of fifteen, her appearance was upright and beautiful, unmatched under heaven, and her renown was heard in distant realms. Seven kings came together at the same time to the brahmacārin's dwelling, seeking to marry the Āmrapālī Maiden and make her their queen. The brahmacārin did not know to whom he should give her. In his garden he erected a high tower and placed the Āmrapālī Maiden upon it. He said to the kings: “This maiden was not born of me, but naturally emerged from atop the āmra tree. Now, seven kings seek her together; if I were to give her to one, the six would surely be angered. I do not dare to begrudge her to you. The maiden is now on the tower in the garden; you kings need only deliberate among yourselves, and whoever should obtain her may take her; it is not for me to determine.” The seven kings contended together in turmoil without reaching a resolution. That night, King Bimbisāra entered through a hidden water-channel, mounted the tower, and spent the night with her. When he was about to leave the next morning, the Āmrapālī Maiden said: “The Great King has deigned to lower his august majesty to consort with me. If there should be a child, it will be the king's offspring; to whom shall it be entrusted?” The king said: “If it is a boy, return him to me; if it is a girl, return her to you.” The king then took the gold signet ring from his hand and entrusted it to the Āmrapālī Maiden, saying: “Take this as a token of trust.” He went out and told his ministers: “I have already won the Āmrapālī Maiden and spent a night together with her.” The soldiers of Bimbisāra all hailed “Ten thousand years!”, saying: “Our king has already won the Āmrapālī Maiden.” When the six kings heard this, they each returned home. The Āmrapālī Maiden gave birth to a baby boy. When he was first born, he held in his hands a bag of acupuncture needles and medicines. The brahmacārin said: “This is the son of a king, yet he holds medical implements; he must be a king of physicians.” He was named Jīvaka. (Sūtras such as the Nirvāṇa Sūtra all call him Jīvaka; the Sutra on Requesting the Monk Panthaka calls him Jīvaka.) When he reached eight years of age, he was clever, and his learning and scriptural studies surpassed those of his peers. When he played with the neighbouring children, his mind was often contemptuous of them. The children scolded him, saying: “Son of no father, born of a wanton woman, how dare you slight us?” Jīvaka was taken aback, fell silent, and did not reply. He then returned and asked his mother, saying: “I look upon all the boys as not equal to me, yet on the contrary they scold me, saying I am a son without a father. Where is my father now?” His mother said: “Your father is King Bimbisāra.” Jīvaka said: “King Bimbisāra is in Rājagṛha, five hundred li from here. By what cause did he father me?” She then held up this ring to him. He went to Rājagṛha, went straight into the palace gate, and came before the king. He paid homage to the king, knelt upright, and said: “I am the prince born of the Āmrapālī Maiden. Only now, at eight years of age, do I know that I am the Great King’s offspring. Therefore, reverently bearing the signet ring as a token of trust, I have come from afar to return to my home.” When the king saw the mark of the seal, he recalled his former oath and knew that he was his son. Moved with sorrow and affection, he made him the crown prince. Two years passed, and it happened that King Ajātaśatru was born. Jīvaka thereupon addressed the king, saying: “When I was first born, I held in my hand a bag of needles and medicines; I ought to be a king of physicians. Although you have made me crown prince, it is not what I desire. The king’s legitimate son has now been born; he should inherit the noble succession. I wish to go and study the art of medicine.” The king immediately granted his request and ordered the state’s foremost masters of medicine to teach him everything. However, Jīvaka only played around and never received their instruction. The masters reprimanded him, saying: “The art of medicine is lowly and vulgar, and truly not what the supreme majesty of a prince should study. Yet the Great King’s command cannot be disobeyed or set aside. Since receiving the royal order, days and months have accumulated, yet you, Prince, have not initially received even half a word. If the king asks us, how shall we answer?” Jīvaka said: “I was born with the proof of medicine in my hand; therefore I addressed the Great King, renouncing honour and wealth to seek the study of medicine. How could I be negligent? It is simply because the traditions of the masters contain nothing worthy of study.” Thereupon he took up the materia medica, acupuncture formulas, pulse diagnosis, and various classics, and thoroughly questioned and challenged the masters. The masters could not answer. Instead, they bowed to him and said: “The Prince is divine and sagely, beyond our reach. We beg the Prince to explain the doubtful meanings handed down through generations.” He then explained the meanings, and the physicians rejoiced, bowed, and put them into practice. Jīvaka then went about delivering and curing people, and whatever he treated was immediately healed, so that his fame spread to distant kingdoms. Returning to the palace gate, he met a boy carrying firewood and could see his five viscera clearly and in minute detail. Jīvaka thought to himself: “The Classic of Materia Medica says that there is a tree of the King of Medicines that illuminates the internal organs from the outside. In this boy's firewood there must be a tree of the King of Medicines.” He immediately asked: “How much can this be sold for?” The boy said: “Ten coins.” He paid the price of ten coins. When the boy put down the firewood and set it on the ground, all was dark and he could no longer see into his belly. Jīvaka reflected: “I do not know which piece within the bundle is the wood of the King of Medicines.” He then untied the two bundles, gathered them piece by piece, and placed them against the boy's belly, but none of them illuminated anything. Having gone through the two bundles of firewood in this way, the very last small twig illuminated the interior of his belly. Jīvaka was overjoyed, knowing that this small twig was certainly the King of Medicines. He returned all the firewood to the boy, who departed joyfully. At that time, a daughter of a gṛhapati family in the kingdom, fifteen years of age, suddenly suffered a headache and died on the verge of her wedding day. When Jīvaka heard of it, he went to her home and asked: “What illness did the girl usually have that led to her untimely death?” The father said:

The daughter suffered slightly from a headache, which worsened day by day; [one] morning it flared up and proved fatal. Jīvaka illuminated the girl’s head with the king of medicines, seeing that there were sharp parasites, breeding into several hundreds, large and small, which had bored into and devoured the brain; because the brain was consumed, she had died. He then used a golden scalpel to slit open her head, extracted all the parasites, sealed them into a jar, and smeared three kinds of divine ointment on the wound. One kind repaired the injuries between the bones where the parasites had eaten; one kind generated brain matter; and one kind treated the external incision from the blade. He addressed the girl’s father, saying, ‘Keep her properly quiet and take strict care not to startle her. In seven days she will recover. When that day arrives, I shall return.’

As soon as Jīvaka had departed, the girl’s mother began weeping anew, saying, ‘My child has died a second time! How could anyone whose head has been cut open and whose brain has been chiseled out ever come back to life?’

The father stopped her, saying, ‘From his birth Jīvaka has held acupuncture needles and medicine; he cast aside noble status to travel about practicing as a physician, solely to protect and heal human lives for the sake of all. How could this divine king of physicians be lying? He admonished you, saying, “Take strict care not to startle her,” yet now you weep and wail instead to agitate her! Do you wish to ensure that this child will never live again?’

Upon hearing this, the mother ceased weeping, tended her, and watched over her. Quiet was kept for seven days. The girl then let out a breath and awoke, as if waking from sleep, saying, ‘Now I have no headache at all, and my entire body is at ease. Who looked after me to make me like this?’

The father said, ‘You were previously dead. The king of physicians, Jīvaka, came specifically to look after you. He opened your head and removed the parasites so that you were brought back to life.’ He then opened the jar, took out the parasites, and showed them to her. Seeing them, the girl was all the more terrified, feeling deeply fortunate, and said, ‘Jīvaka is truly divine! How can such grace be repaid?’

Presently Jīvaka arrived. The girl rejoiced greatly; going out the gate, she welcomed him, paid homage, knelt, and said, ‘I wish to be your maidservant for the rest of my life to repay your kindness in giving me new life.’

Jīvaka said, ‘I am a physician who travels all about treating illnesses, having no fixed dwelling. What use would I have for a maidservant? If you truly wish to repay my kindness, give me five hundred ounces of gold. I will not use it for myself; I must thank my master for his kindness. Although my master had nothing to teach me, I once served as his disciple; now that I have obtained your gold, I shall give it to him.’

The girl then offered five hundred ounces of gold. Jīvaka accepted it and gave it to his master. Thereupon he informed the king that he wished to return temporarily to visit his mother. Arriving in the kingdom of Vaiśālī, [he heard of] a son of a householder (gṛhapati) who was fond of learning and made a wooden horse over seven cubits high. While practicing vaulting onto it, he at first managed to mount the horse, but subsequently lost his footing, fell to the ground, and died. Hearing of this, Jīvaka went and illuminated him with the king of medicines, seeing once more that his liver had twisted backwards and the flow of qi was blocked and obstructed, which is why he had died. Again, using a golden scalpel, he opened the abdomen and reached in with his hand to adjust and treat it. Having returned the liver to face forward, he smeared it with three kinds of divine ointment: one repaired the places tended by his hand, one smoothed and unblocked the respiration, and one governed the closing of the incision. He instructed the father, saying, ‘Take strict care not to startle him; in three days he will recover.’

The father received the instruction and nursed him in stillness and quiet until three days had passed. The boy then let out a breath and awoke, just as if waking from sleep, immediately getting up and sitting. Soon Jīvaka arrived. The boy came out to welcome him, bowed, and said, ‘I wish to be your slave for the rest of my life, serving you to repay the kindness of being restored to life.’

Jīvaka said, ‘I am a physician who travels all about treating illnesses; the households of the sick compete to run errands for me, so what use would I have for a slave? My mother raised me with bitter toil, yet I have not provided for her. If you wish to thank me, give me five hundred ounces of gold to repay my mother’s kindness.’ Taking the gold, he presented it to Āmrapālī, and returned to the kingdom of Rājagṛha.

Having revived these two people, Jīvaka’s fame spread throughout the world so that there was none who had not heard of him.

Furthermore, to the south there was a great kingdom eight thousand li from Rājagṛha; Bimbisāra and all the small kingdoms were vassal states to it. Its king had been ill for many years without recovering; he constantly suffered from fury and glared about, putting people to death. If anyone raised their eyes to look at him, he had them killed; if they lowered their heads and did not look up, he also had them killed. If he sent someone on an errand and they walked slowly, he had them killed; if they ran quickly, he also had them killed. The attendants at his side did not know where to put hands or feet. Whenever physicians compounded medicine, he invariably suspected it was poisonous and had them killed as well. Those he had killed beforehand—ministers, palace women, and the ranks of physicians—were beyond count. The illness worsened daily, its virulent vapor attacking his heart; agitated, swollen, and short of breath, it was like fire burning his body. Hearing Jīvaka’s name, he immediately issued a decree ordering King Bimbisāra to summon Jīvaka.

When Jīvaka heard that this king killed many physicians, young and old were terrified. Bimbisāra also pitied his youth and feared he would be killed. Yet if he wished not to send him, he feared punitive attack. Father and son looked upon each other, sorrowing day and night. They then took Jīvaka and together went to question the Buddha. The Buddha told Jīvaka, ‘In a past life you made a vow with me that together we should rescue and protect the illnesses of the people of the world. I treat internal illnesses, and you treat external illnesses. Now that I have attained buddhahood, by virtue of that original vow you were born before me. This king’s illness is grave, and he has sent from afar to welcome you; how could you not go? Go quickly to attend him; promptly employ skillful means to ensure the illness is definitely cured. He will not kill you.’

Jīvaka then, supported by the Buddha’s spiritual power, went to the king’s place. He examined the pulse and illuminated him with the king of medicines. In the king’s five viscera and hundred vessels, the blood and qi were seething and turbulent, and all was visible: it was the poison of a scorpion that pervaded his body.

Jīvaka addressed the king, ‘Your Majesty’s illness can be treated; if treated, recovery is guaranteed. However, I must see the queen mother to consult and compound the medicine. If I do not see the queen mother, the medicine will never succeed.’

When the king heard these words, he did not understand the reason. In his heart he wished greatly to rage; yet suffering from his bodily affliction, and having long heard of Jīvaka’s fame—which is why he had welcomed him from afar—he hoped there would certainly be benefit, and seeing that he was a young boy, he knew there was no treacherous deceit, so he endured it and listened. He immediately sent a maidservant and a palace eunuch to lead him in to see the queen mother.

Jīvaka addressed the queen mother, ‘The king’s illness can be treated; I must now compound the medicine. Its formula must be disclosed secretly and cannot be made public. I request that your attendants be dismissed.’

The queen mother then dismissed the maidservant and eunuch. Jīvaka then asked the queen mother, ‘Just now when examining the king’s illness, I saw that the blood and vessels within the king’s body were entirely the venom of a snake and scorpion, resembling nothing human. Whose child is the king truly? Let the queen mother tell me the truth, and I will be able to treat him. If you do not tell me, I shall not know what to treat.’

The queen mother said, ‘Long ago, when resting during the day in the Hall of Golden Pillars, something suddenly came and stroked me. In a daze, I dreamed of having relations with it. Suddenly I awoke and saw a huge scorpion over thirty feet long leaving from atop me, and immediately I felt I was pregnant. The king is truly the child of this scorpion. Out of shame, this has never passed my lips. How wondrously divine that you, child, have detected it now! If the illness can be treated—’

"I wish to entrust the King's life to you, boy. In treating him now, what medicine should be used?" Jīvaka said, "There is only clarified butter (ghṛta)." The Queen Mother said, "Hush, boy! Take care not to speak of it! This King dreads smelling the scent of clarified butter, and he also dreads hearing its name. Formerly and recently, several hundreds and thousands of people have died simply on account of their mouths speaking of clarified butter. If you speak of this now, he will certainly kill you! To have the King drink this—he will never swallow it. Please use some other medicine." Jīvaka said, "Clarified butter treats venomous illnesses; that he dreads clarified butter is precisely [a symptom of] this. If the King's illness were slight or due to some other poison, there would be other medicines that could cure it. But the scorpion venom is already severe, and it has already pervaded his entire body. Unless it is clarified butter, it can never be dispelled. Now I shall boil and refine it, transforming it so that it becomes like water." He then went out to see the King and said, "Just now I entered to see the Queen Mother, and I have already presented the prescription. Now I must compound it, and in fifteen days it will be ready. Now I have five requests. If the King grants them to me, your illness can be immediately cured; if you do not grant them, your illness cannot be cured." The King asked what matters all five requests were. Jīvaka said, "First, I wish to obtain from the King's storage chests new garments that have never touched a body, for me to wear. Second, I wish to be allowed to enter and leave the palace gates alone without being stopped or questioned. Third, I wish to be allowed daily to enter alone to see the Queen Mother and the Chief Queen, also without being stopped or questioned. Fourth, when the King drinks the medicine, I wish that you swallow it all in a single tilt, not stopping midway. Fifth, I wish to obtain the King's eight-thousand-li white elephant for me to ride." Hearing this, the King was enraged and said, "Child, how dare you seek these five wishes? Come, explain them! If you cannot explain them, I will beat you to death right now!" Jīvaka said, "In compounding medicine, one ought to be pure and clean, observing the precepts. But I have been traveling for many days, and my garments are all soiled with dust and dirt; hence I wish to obtain the King's clothes to wear in order to compound the medicine. Furthermore, of the various physicians the King previously employed, you suspected them all, not placing trust or reliance in any; and you executed them without taking their medicine. The ministers, great and small, all say that the King will kill me as well. But the King's illness is already critical, and I fear outsiders may conceive rebellious designs. If I am allowed to go out and come in by myself without being stopped or questioned, then outsiders, great and small, will all know that the King trusts me without suspicion, will certainly take my medicine, and that the illness will certainly be cured; thus they will not dare to conceive treasonous intentions. Furthermore, it is said that previously very many people were killed; your subjects, great and small, each cherish fear and dread, none wishing for the King's well-being, and there is none who can be trusted. Now, as I compound the medicine together [with others], I fear that in a moment when my gaze is turned, they might drop poison into the medicine; if I failed to notice, the consequences would be grave. Reflecting upon this, among those under heaven who can be trusted, whose affection is boundless, there are only one's mother and wife. Hence I wish to enter to see the Queen Mother and compound the medicine together with her. It must be boiled for fifteen days before it is ready; hence I wish to be able to enter daily to watch over the decoction's regulation. Furthermore, medicines have precise measures, and their vital energies and flavors ought to be continuous; if one pauses in between, the vital energies will not remain connected. Furthermore, on the Southern Mountains there is a divine, wondrous medicinal herb, four thousand li away from here. When the King takes the medicine, it will be proper to obtain this herb at once and take it again; therefore, I wish to ride this elephant to go there and gather it, leaving in the morning and returning in the evening, so that the medicine's flavors may connect with each other." The King's heart was greatly mollified, and he granted them all. Thereupon, Jīvaka boiled and refined the clarified butter; after fifteen days it was completed, transformed so as to look like clear water. In all, he obtained five sheng. Then, together with the Queen Mother and the Chief Queen, he came forward to present the medicine, stating that it could be taken. He also requested that the white elephant be harnessed and placed before the hall. The King immediately granted it. Seeing that the medicine was just like clear water, the King finished it in a single drink. Jīvaka then mounted the elephant and went straight on his way back to his native country. Having traveled three thousand li, being young and weak, he could not endure the high speed; dizzy and utterly exhausted, he lay down to rest in the mountains. Past midday, the King belched, bringing forth the scent of clarified butter. Enraged, he said, "The little boy dared to strike me with clarified butter! No wonder the little boy sought my white elephant—he simply wished to use it to flee in rebellion!" The King had a champion named Wu, whose divine foot-speed enabled him to travel [swiftly]. The King immediately ordered him: "Pursue and capture the little boy, bring him back, and I will beat him to death before my very eyes!" Wu ran and caught up with him, saying, "Why did you give the King clarified butter while claiming it was medicine? The King has ordered me to pursue and summon you back. Quickly follow me back, confess, apologize, and surrender yourself, in the hope of saving your life! If you still wish to flee, I will certainly kill you now, and you will never escape!" Jīvaka thought to himself: "Though I used an expedient to obtain this white elephant, I still have not escaped. Now I must devise another expedient; how could I follow him back?" He then said to Wu, "Since morning I have not eaten; when I return, I will certainly die. Could you perhaps grant me a brief moment here in the mountains to eat some fruit and drink some water, so that I may meet my death on a full stomach?" Seeing that Jīvaka was a young boy who feared death and whose words were plaintive and sorrowful, Wu took pity and granted it, saying, "Eat quickly and then we must go; you may not linger long." Jīvaka then took a pear and ate half of it; having placed poison under his fingernail, he divided the remaining half, leaving [the poison on] it, and set it on the ground. He also took a cup of water, drank half first, applied the poison from beneath his nail into the remaining water, and set it on the ground as well. He then sighed, saying, "This water and this pear are truly heavenly medicines, pure, fragrant, and delicious! Whoever eats or drinks them will have peace in their body, all hundred illnesses will be cured, and their vigor will be doubled. It is a pity that they are not below the capital city, where the common people could partake of them together; instead, they are deep in the mountains where people do not know of them." He then went further into the mountains searching for other fruits. Wu's nature was gluttonous and he could not restrain himself regarding food and drink. Moreover, having heard Jīvaka praise them as divine medicine and having seen that Jīvaka had already eaten and drunk from them, he assumed there was definitely no poison. He then ate the remaining pear and drank the remaining water. Immediately he suffered diarrhea, which flowed like pouring water. He collapsed to the ground and lay there; whenever he tried to rise, he grew dizzy and fell, unable to move any longer. Jīvaka went to him and said, "When the King took my medicine, his illness was sure to be cured. However, before the medicine's power had taken effect and the residual poison had not yet been fully dispelled, had I gone now, he would certainly have killed me. You knew nothing, and merely wished to seize me to fulfill your mission; hence I caused you to fall ill. The illness itself will bring no harm; take care not to move about, and in three days you will recover. If you persist in rising to pursue me, you will certainly die without doubt." He then mounted the elephant and departed. Passing by, he spoke to the head of a hamlet, saying, "This is an envoy of the great king. He has suddenly fallen ill. Go quickly with a stretcher to carry him, bring him home, and take good care of him. Make his bed thick with mats and supply him with rice porridge; take care not to let him die! If you let him die, the King will destroy your state!" Having spoken, he departed at once and returned to his native country. The hamlet head received the command, went to welcome and fetch him, and nursed him. After three days the poison abated; having recovered, [Wu] returned. Seeing the King, he kowtowed and confessed, saying, "I was truly foolish, disobeying and failing the King's command."

trusted Jīvaka's words regarding food and drink. The rest [of the court, however, had eaten] fruit and water, and, stricken by the medicine, suffered from diarrhea for three days; only now were they somewhat relieved, knowing that they had been on the verge of death. During the three days before Wu returned, the king's illness had already subsided. He regretted having dispatched Wu. Seeing Wu return, he was both joyous and sorrowful, saying, 'It is fortunate that you did not immediately bring the lad back! In my fury, I surely would have beaten him to death. Having received his favor, I now survive; yet had I killed him instead, such perverse wickedness would have been beyond measure!' Those who had previously been wrongfully put to death were all reburied with great honor, their households had their statuses restored, and they were bestowed money and goods. Longing to see Jīvaka to repay his kindness, he immediately dispatched an envoy to welcome him back. Although Jīvaka knew that the king's illness had subsided, he still harbored dread and did not wish to go again. The Buddha said to Jīvaka, 'In past lives you already made a great vow to accomplish merit; how can you stop midway? You ought to go once more. You have already cured his external illness; I too shall cure his internal illness.' Jīvaka then departed with the envoy. The king was exceedingly joyful to see Jīvaka. Drawing him close to sit beside him, he grasped his arm and said, 'Relying upon the benevolence of the Humane One, I have now been given back my life! How can I repay you? I shall divide the realm to share half with you; the palace handmaidens and the treasures of the storehouses shall all be divided in half.' Jīvaka said, 'I was originally a crown prince; though indeed of a minor realm, it too had its people and was fully equipped with rare treasures. Because I took no pleasure in ruling a state, I sought to become a physician to travel about curing illnesses. What use would I have for land, handmaidens, or treasures? I have no need for any of them. Previously, Your Majesty granted my five wishes, and your external illness was cured; if now you grant me one more wish, your internal illness will also be removed.' The king said, 'I shall heed only the Humane One's teachings. Please ask it.' Jīvaka said, 'I wish that Your Majesty would invite the Buddha and receive the clear Dharma from him.' He then expounded on the Buddha's virtues for the king. Hearing this, the king was overjoyed and said, 'Now I wish to dispatch Minister Wu with a white elephant to welcome the Buddha; can he be brought here or not?' Jīvaka said, 'There is no need for a white elephant. The Buddha knows thoughts from afar. Simply observe the fast, be pure and clean, prepare all the offerings, burn incense, pay reverence from afar, and kneel long to invite the Buddha; the Buddha will surely come of his own accord.' The king did as he said. The Buddha came together with one thousand two hundred and fifty monks. When the meal was finished, he expounded the sūtras for the king. The king was immediately enlightened, gave rise to the mind set on unsurpassed awakening, and young and old throughout the whole kingdom observed the five precepts. When Āmrapālī was born, there were already wondrous portents. As she grew, she was intelligent and studied under her father; widely knowledgeable in the scriptures, the Way, astronomy, calendars, and various arts, she surpassed her father. In addition, she was skilled in music, with a voice like Brahmā. Daughters from the families of gṛhapatis and brahmacārins, totaling five hundred persons, all went to study under her and took her as their great master. Āmrapālī regularly led her five hundred disciples in lecturing on scriptures and arts, or they would disport together in gardens and pools and play music. The people of the state did not understand the reason for this, and so gave rise to slander, calling her a courtesan, and the five hundred disciples were all termed 'the band of courtesans.' When Āmrapālī was born, two other girls were born at the same time in the state: the first was named Sumanā, and the second Padmā. Sumanā was born in the house of a gṛhapati who frequently pressed sumana flowers to make fragrant ointment. Beside the stone used to press the ointment, a nodular knot suddenly formed, as large as a pellet and as long as a rolled hand. The stone then burst open, and within the knot of stone, gleaming like firefly light, [something] shot out and fell to the ground; after three days, a sumana plant sprouted, and after another three days it blossomed into a flower. Inside was a little girl. The gṛhapati took her and raised her, naming her Sumanā. When she grew up, her talents, discernment, and wisdom were second only to Āmrapālī's. As for Padmā, in the bathing pond of a brahmacārin's household, a blue lotus grew, growing daily until it was as large as a five-sheng jar. When the blossom opened, inside was seen a little girl. The brahmacārin raised her, naming her Padmā. When she grew up, her talent, wisdom, and understanding were equal to Sumanā's. When the kings of various realms heard that these two maidens possessed peerless beauty, they vied with one another to seek them in marriage. The two maidens said, 'We were not born from a womb, but came forth from within plants and flowers, different from ordinary mortals. Why should we follow worldly customs and marry?' Hearing that Āmrapālī was intelligent without peer in the world and had been born of the same nature as they, both took leave of their parents and went to serve Āmrapālī, requesting to become her disciples. Their bright wisdom and broad understanding both surpassed the five hundred persons. At that time, the Buddha arrived in the realm of Vaiśālī. Āmrapālī led her disciples out of the city to welcome and pay reverence to the Buddha, kneeling and saying, 'May the Buddha take a meal tomorrow in my grove.' The Buddha accepted in silence. The king came out of the palace to welcome him, and likewise invited him to eat at the palace the next day. The Buddha said, 'Āmrapālī invited me first; Your Majesty is second to her.' The king said, 'As sovereign of the state, I invite the Buddha with the utmost sincerity and surely hope for your compassionate assent. Āmrapālī is merely a courtesan who daily leads five hundred disciples in improper conduct; why should the Buddha cast me aside and accept her invitation?' The Buddha said, 'This woman is not a courtesan. In past lives she possesses great merit, having already made offerings to three hundred million buddhas. Long ago, she was also constantly sisters together with Sumanā and Padmā. Āmrapālī was the eldest, Sumanā was the next, and Padmā was the youngest. Born into a great clan, they were richly endowed with wealth and treasures. Guiding one another as sisters, together they made offerings to five hundred bhikṣuṇīs, providing food, drink, and making garments, supplying whatever was lacking for the duration of their lives. The three vowed, "May we in future lives encounter a buddha, be spontaneously transformed into birth, not come from a womb, and be far removed from filth and defilement!" Now, according to their original vow, they have taken birth and encountered me. In the past, although they made offerings to five hundred bhikṣuṇīs, because they were born into nobility and wealth, their words were haughty and unrestrained. Once, teasing the nuns, they said, "You practitioners have held your grief for so long; you must surely wish to marry. It is only because you are constrained by our offerings that you cannot indulge your passions!" Therefore, they now suffer the remnants of this bad karma: though they lecture on scriptures and the Way, they are falsely slandered as courtesans. The five hundred disciples at that time joined forces with one mind, and in this life have again come to follow them. Jīvaka was at that time a young boy of a poor family; seeing the offerings of Āmrapālī and the others, his mind was filled with admiration and joy, but he had no wealth. Thus, he constantly swept and cleaned for the bhikṣuṇīs, and having done so, he would always think, "May I be able to remove the illnesses of the people of the world!" Āmrapālī pitied his poverty, and moreover, noting his diligence, she always called him her son. Whenever those bhikṣuṇīs fell ill, they would always dispatch Jīvaka to fetch a physician and compound broths and medicines. They all said, "May you in a future life obtain this merit together with us!" Those treated by the physicians Jīvaka fetched were all healed. He then made a vow: "May I in my future life become a great king of physicians, constantly curing the illnesses of the four great elements in all human bodies, healing all wherever I go!" When the king heard the Buddha's words, he repented of his error and postponed his date to a later day. The next day, the Buddha went with the monks to Āmrapālī's grove and expounded in detail the merit of their original vows. Hearing the sūtra, the three maidens were all enlightened

and along with the five hundred disciples, all attained the way of arhatship (from the Sūtra of Āmrapālī).