’y think they will le’ me travel with you?’ Matanga anxiously asked. ‘Oi’ll walk far behoind and not cross nobody’s shadow¹ nor touch no food Oi’m not supposted to.’ She glanced up from having tried to keep her eyes downcast, as was expected of the lower menials, and for a moment looked directly at Ananda’s face, meeting his gaze.

‘Once again, friend,’ Ananda began, ‘for those who follow the Way of the Buddha, concerns of caste and rank are put aside. For lay disciples, when they are in their own homes, they will observe the customs and duties of their position in society – like King Pasenadi and Queen Mallika of Kosala – but when they are visiting a monastery, or in the company of nuns or monks, they conduct themselves as humble lay-devotees, upasika and upasaka², and will respectfully converse with and share the food of all other disciples, whether nobles or farmers or candalas like you.’

‘Is ’at true?!’ Matanga was amazed – firstly that Ananda had called her ‘friend’ but even more at this strange philosophy. ‘If the teaching of this Buddha can bring about such a change in people, such a diff’rent way of bein’, I definitely wan’ ter meet ’im. So does this mean Oi can come with you? With all of you, Oi mean.’ Matanga’s face flushed a little at having let it slip that she mostly wanted just to be close to Ananda but, her complexion having been sun-darkened by so much work in the outdoors and from rough living generally, it was hardly discernible; besides, Ananda was used to being attractive to people as he was so genial and easy to get along with, he was also a handsome man although by now well into his middle years.

‘Yes, I think you can come with us,’ Ananda reassured her. ‘There are about sixty monks in our group but there are also a few laywomen and laymen walking with us to help with any needs along the way³. You should be able to join with them but I will check with the other members of the Sangha, just so that people will know who you are and out of politeness to the group.’

‘Thank you! Thank you!’ Matanga stopped trying to look at the ground and smiled up at Ananda, her eyes locking onto his. ‘You are truly the koindest person Oi’ve ever met – thank you again! Oi’ll just go and collect moy bundle and Oi’ll find you all at the forest, and Oi’ll ’ope that no one objects to me comin’ along.’

---

To her great relief there were no complaints about the idea of her joining the troupe of lay disciples and she soon got into the rhythm of the road. They left the village, which sat between the River Gomati and the River Sarayu⁴, after the Sangha had walked through it for alms in the early morning. She was glad to be on the road again, and in this utterly different mode – now there was little if any fear of attack by wild animals or bandits or by men who wanted to take advantage of her, all of these having been a daily concern during her travels. It was blissful, to be passing through forests and fields, to feel secure for once, and to have such noble company.

She tried to get as close to Ananda as she could, whenever it seemed appropriate, but since he was one of the Great Elders he was often near the front of the group, with Sariputta and Moggallana.

Krishna, with the other couple of Kitagiri monks who had opted to travel to Savatthi – rather than to disrobe or stay on as holdouts at Kitagiri⁵ – was usually at the very back of the assembly. So, again, whenever they stopped or whenever there was a time of conversation as they walked, and it seemed allowable, she would chat with him⁶. The darkness of his skin had a natural effect of putting her at ease as often candalas and low caste folks were as dark, or nearly so, as him.

During one such time of conversation, after they had all forded the Sarayu River and were drying out the robes and gear that got sodden during the crossing, Krishna sat down close to the group of lay followers so she asked him, ‘’Ow come you and the other Kitagiri monks are always walkin’ at the back?’

‘We’re in the doghouse,’ Krishna gave her a smile, ‘we’re the badly behaved ones and we broke a lot of the rules while we were there. So we’re on probation for a bit⁷, which means we become like the most junior for a while, until we can be reinstated – do you know what that means?’

‘Oi may be a country girl but Oi’m not completely ignorant. It means you get back to where you was afore.’

‘Quite right,’ Krishna smiled at her warmly. ‘I liked a lot of the way we lived in Kitagiri but I now see we took it too far sometimes and we sank into ways of acting that were harmful. There were a few really bad seeds and they seemed to spread their rot to the whole bag of us. I still felt comfy with the basic attitude we had but it all went too far – what I like to call “life affirmation” became “selfish indulgence”. You start out with what feels like having some innocent fun but then it drifts; somehow you keep making excuses to yourself and you end up losing the Path altogether. So, I recognized that, and I’m off to meet the Master, hopefully to rehabilitate myself, and to get onto the proper Path once more. You know what “rehabilitate” means?’

‘Same as t’other word,’ Matanga snipped, with half a smile on her young face too.

‘So,’ a tad chastened for his patronizing manner, Krishna changed the subject, ‘are you originally from round here, and have you really got no family in the world? You said your mother died not long ago. What about her family or your father’s?’

‘Oi’m from nearby, ’round ‘ere,’ Matanga began, ‘but the family said it was me bringing trouble on the rest of ’em. See, was my birthdate, that was what was wrong, ’ccordin’ to them. The family was strugglin’ and they blamed me as the cause of the blight. Moy ma protected me and spoke up, wouldn’t let my dad and the aunts and uncles harass me, but soon as she was gone – “Out you go!” Oi was chased away like a goat that’s had⁸ all the bad luck of the village tied to it, driven out into the wilds. Oi’ve been on moy own since then.’

Krishna was impressed at how well Matanga had fared, considering how young she was and how badly the family had treated her.

‘What about you?’ Matanga asked, ‘Where you come from? You’re very dark but you speak wi’ a posh accent – tha’s odd.’

Krishna was about to launch into his whole family history but decided to keep it simple. ‘I’m from Ujjeni originally, way to the south-west of here. I’m very dark but my parents were rich merchants and fair-skinned. I had a proper education before I left the household life, I can even read and write⁹, believe it or not.’

Matanga was impressed by this, never before having known anyone who was literate.

‘Oi never knew anyone who could read, ’cept maybe some of the priests who did ritu’ls in the village. Do you ever get mistaken for low caste, loike me?’

‘Like I said, in the Sangha, caste is not an issue but before I joined the Buddha’s Order it happened a lot when I was on the road; people wouldn’t believe I was from the merchant caste. Actually both my sisters married up and were queens of Vamsa.’

‘Now y’re pullin’ moy leg! Queens? What, both of ’em?’

‘Yes, they both married King Udena but they didn’t recognize each other; they got separated when they were young and… it’s a long story¹⁰.’

‘Oi like to be taken for a different caste sometimes – not a matanga for a change – and sometimes Oi’ve tried it on, y’know pretended to be a worker or a merchant girl when Oi’ve come to a new place. But somehow people know. Even though Oi can smarten up if Oi’ve got moy ’ands on a newish sari, an’ ’ad a good wash ’n’ bin out of the sun for a whoile. Oi can look quoite toidy. They always know though; some’ow they figure it ou’ quick and then – what a beatin’ y’ get! Oi was bruised all over an’ moy ears was ringin’ fer a week one time Oi troid it on. Thought Oi ’ad some broken bones. Oi shouldn’t ’ave dun it; Oi i’n’t a very convincin’ liar.’

‘Is that why you go by the name Matanga?’

‘Aye, that’s roight. Keeps it simple, ’n’ reminds me to be honest and ’umble, which is the best protection – don’ y’ reckon?’

---

The journey to Savatthi had been a delight for Krishna; to feel the open spaces of the hills and the rich life of the forests, with their many animals and bird calls, to have the company of quiet and friendly monks after the raucous friends he had been with in Kitagiri, was all deeply refreshing. He had not left the environs of Kitagiri since he had arrived, fifteen years before, so the contrast of the wild places, the smells of strange flowers, the changing landscapes all had a liberating effect.

They were now close to the Jetavana; just one or two more days and they’d be there, where he would hopefully be able to work out his period of probation and formal ostracism, and perhaps be able to have a private conversation with the Buddha:– Since he was so friendly with Ananda now, perhaps he could pull some strings and arrange it.

Matanga had been well-received into the group of lay disciples. Her caste was no issue and her natural kindness and humble manner endeared her to everyone. She was very hopeful that she would find some sort of place helping the community of Jetavana and perhaps be able to listen to the words of the Buddha himself too. In the meantime, as she was accepted more and more fully into the community of lay supporters, she was able to get closer to Ananda and she managed, by the end of the journey, to be spending time in his company every day.

Ananda’s conduct was beyond reproach, he was known as a Non-returner¹¹ (one level below full enlightenment and therefore incapable of lustful conduct), and before his ordination as a bhikkhu he had never married or been a womanizer.

He was born on the same day as the Buddha and he had already reached the age of thirty-seven Rains before taking on robes¹². He was thus not criticized for spending so much time in the company of Matanga, who had indeed ‘tidied up’ well, but a few of the monks and lay-folk took it that she was over-attached to the Great Elder and tutted at the way she would look at him sometimes with big mooncalf eyes.

Ananda was not oblivious to her attentions – she was just one of the dozen layfolk travelling with them and she seemed to spend hours talking with him every day – but he felt the contact was essentially harmless and she seemed to have a great natural appreciation for the Dharma teachings as well as his company.

When they arrived at the Jetavana the first order of business was to pay respects to the Master and to report to him the events that had unfolded in Kitagiri. He received this news with a grave expression on his face, tinged somehow with a wry smile beneath it, as if bemused by the capacity of people to get lost in their own versions of reality.

On hearing how many of the monks had refused to accept admonishments, had argued and prevaricated, and had snubbed the proceedings, denying the validity of the properly performed Sangha legal procedure, he laid down a new weighty rule, to encourage honesty, respectfulness and trainability. Of the forty or so monks residing at Kitagiri about thirty had left the area and disrobed, either returning to family life or taking up other forms of wandering monkhood. Three had come to the Jetavana to ask for rehabilitation, while the remaining six had decided to ignore the Act of Banishment and had stayed with Assaji and Punabbasuka, as diehards determined to justify their unskilful ways.

Once all this was completed and the Sangha had dispersed, to her surprise, Ananda called Matanga forward from the back of the hall, where she had been sitting with the other lay people, to join him before the Buddha.

‘Venerable Master,’ Ananda indicated Matanga sitting politely beside him, ‘this lay-woman has something she would like to ask of you. She travelled with us from the region of Northern Kasi and has proven herself to be interested in the teachings and to be of much practical help along the way.’

Ananda was then a little taken aback when, rather than Matanga simply saying that she would like to be helpful to the community of Jetavana and to live close by, she blurted out, ‘Master! Please ’elp me and let me live close to Ananda, so that Oi may see ’im and be the one to look after ’im. Oi love Ananda, Master, please let me be with ’im.’

It seemed that along the road from Kasi, she had picked up a substantial portion of Krishna’s views about the compatibility of romantic love and monastic life. He had mentioned one day how he had fathered a child, while he was still a novice, and that though his partner was (supposedly) a kinnari, he felt that there would be nothing wrong with a romantic partnership of this kind between a monk and a lay-woman, especially with such a pure-hearted monk as Ananda – the rebukes from the Great Elders who had come to Kitagiri had sobered him a bit but he still, in his heart, held fast to his notions that to fulfil desire was happiness. This small encouragement from Krishna had informed a lot of her heady eagerness to draw close to Ananda, in the hope that her love would be reciprocated.

The Buddha looked into Matanga’s face for a long time before he responded, his eyes filled with compassion and a warm regard. ‘Matanga, your heart is full of love but I discern that you do not understand your own feelings. As I perceive it, it is not Ananda the person that you love but rather his kindness, which is vast, universal and unconfined, non-personal.’ He paused. ‘And you love what his kindness brings forth from within you – is that not so?’ The Master’s gentle gaze seemed to reach into the very core of her being and to fill it with light.

‘Please take to heart the kindness that he has demonstrated towards you and, if you are able, extend that same kindness towards all beings, near and far, both great and small. Can you do that?’

In Matanga’s heart it was as though something that had been sitting just out of place shifted and fell into perfect alignment. An inner brightness blossomed and grew, and she knew that the perspective of the Master was absolutely correct. It was like hearing a completely new song¹³ that was somehow intimately familiar at the same time. She thought, ‘Oi never saw that before but Oi knew it all along,’ but she was lost for words. With tears in her eyes she started bowing, as she had learnt to on the journey, over and over again.

‘Three is enough, Matanga¹⁴,’ both the Master and Ananda were smiling, ‘We are happy to give you permission to help the Sangha here at the Jetavana, as I perceive that is also your wish.’ The Master paused again, then said, ‘Even though you are a matanga by caste as well as by name, I declare to you that you will be a model, a shining example to those born to the nobility. You are of low caste by birth but brahmins and warrior-nobles will be able to learn lessons from you. If you follow the path of the Dharma, as you now recognize it, you will outshine the royal glory of queens upon their thrones.’

He lingered again, allowing his words to sink in.

‘Ananda, please introduce her to Khujjuttara. She can find her a place to stay nearby and show her this monastery and the town.’

---

‘’Xac’ly what’re we doin’ ’ere?’ enquired Gambiya of the group generally but of Muñca in particular. ‘I’m glad you sprung us from the dungeons – that were a neat move – but ’ow do we carry on the search?’

Muñca began, ‘Well, I brought you all here because it was the easiest destination for me, being home territory, but of course it’s up to you all.’ He looked around the group to see if any one of them wished to suggest a plan of action. A breath passed in silence. Bee and Muñca then both spoke at the same moment. After a spell of, ‘Please, what do you propose?’ ‘No, you,’ ‘No, please,’ Muñca said, ‘Miss Paduma, I insist – what is your idea? You have been much closer to all this than I have; you know Miss Jambu, Maggot, the mother, and you know the child.’

‘I reckon,’ Bee began, ‘Since we did not pick up any leads from the Human Realm, and the kumbhandas in the Underworld were convincingly clear that it had nothing to do with them, we should make a search as best we can of these other realms, especially since we are now here. Perhaps one of the gandharvas, yakkhas or nagas took her. It might be revenge for the amatagandha plot we foiled, and the individual nagas or yakkhas or whoever that got punished, maybe their families have a grudge, and kidnapping Tam is a way to get back at Maggot and thereby the rest of us – maybe we are walking into a trap but if some beings are holding her in this realm I don’t care. We can walk into their ambush and deal with it there and then; I’m not afraid.’

Gumbiya glowed a little with pride at this courageous speech by his partner and grunted, ‘I agree!’

‘I was going to make the same proposal, as it happens,’ said Muñca. ‘Lady Ninka, you I believe are the most skilled tracker in this group, how do you feel about this idea?’

Ninka, who was as keen to help as any of the others, was also delighted to be able to spend more time with Ant. ‘Yes, I agree as well. Rhamba and Salassa know the Gandharva Realm, as do you. Gumbiya is at home in the Yakkha Realm. We have a dear friend in Queen Samuddaja, of the Naga Realm, and I feel we have already tested the Kumbhanda Realm, where we have few friends and would now be considered fugitives, so I concur that that one has been dealt with already.’

The decision was thus made and, whilst the conversation unfolded, the kinnaris began to fully appreciate the sounds and forms of the land they were now in – an unfamiliar upper realm they had never experienced before.

The air was filled with music, tones and harmonies both exquisite and fully natural. Whispering harps like a breeze in the grass; soft chords on vinas¹⁵ and reedy pipes blown in eerie cadences as if a dance made into sound; endless interchanging melodies, woven in harmony that passed beyond hearing, into the depths and into the heights¹⁶.

Colours of shimmering hue bent the air, curving it into forms that threaded around and amid the dancers – apsaras like Rhamba and Salassa – whom they realized had been drifting and whirling by even as they clustered and had their urgent discussion. They were in some kind of forest glade, the trees vast and strange in appearance, not of any species the kinnari knew, their trunks laced with gold and silver sheens. At the edge of their vision they spied a mansion or a palace of some kind, this also seeming to be covered in silver, or built of it, with rippling banners flying from the turrets and pinnacles¹⁷.

Ant, steadily but inexorably distracted from the conversation, managed to summarize her wonderment at the Gandharva Realm. ‘This is impressive. Awesome. Wonderful!’ And that was all she could manage.

Muñca then took the lead, ‘We know many of the beings of this realm and can easily visit them to seek information but, since a number of you are visitors from an, ahem, lower realm, and therefore foreign in the eyes of custom and law, we should seek out King Dhatarattha first and ask his permission to search the realm and make enquiries of his subjects. It’s the way things are done and can’t be avoided.’

‘We have to see the King!’ Bee was aghast, ‘how long is that going to take to arrange? We’re in a hurry here!’

---

Matanga had become well used to adapting to new places quickly. The elder lady Khujjuttara had taken her easily under her wing and it was plain she knew everyone and was admired and respected by all. The fact that she had once been a slave, as Krishna had recounted, mattered not a whit here. This all meant that Matanga found her feet swiftly at the Jetavana and, within a Moon or two, was fully involved in helping out with food and fuel and repairs, and was able to sit in on teachings at the hall very often.

On the full moon nights in particular, many of the citizens of Savatthi and the local villages gathered at the assembly hall, the sala¹⁸, of the Jetavana in order to recite the teachings together, meditate, and listen to the Dharma discourses of the Master or other Elders. During this day, the full moon having arrived, Khujjuttara came round and reminded Matanga, ‘Don’t you go promising to do any jobs this evening, young miss. It’s the Observance Day and the Master will be sure to offer a teachin’. In fact, come to think of it, let’s you and me go early so that we can get a good place to sit. My eyes are still sharp but these old ears are getting worn out so, even though the Master’s voice is so clear¹⁹, it’s handy to sit as close as possible.’ Matanga readily agreed and moved to finish up the repair work she had been doing, fixing up the little shelter they had found her situated not far outside the monastery gates.

The sala was mostly empty when they arrived, just a few monks were there arranging lanterns and candles and tidying up the Dharma seat for the talk they were expecting.

The two women took their places on a mat near the front as, when there was a large crowd of lay devotees, the Dharma seat would be placed in the middle of the hall and the Sangha would sit beside and behind the Buddha; the lay people would then fill the space in front of him.

Khujjuttara had given Matanga her first instruction in meditation and she seemed to take to it like a duck to water, even though she had never had any kind of guidance on this aspect of spiritual life in the past. They sat quietly and the hall slowly filled around them as the rising clarion of the cicadas mounted in the forest, the daylight rapidly dimmed and the fat golden moon laid its first beams along the sala floor.

Later in the evening, when the moon was higher and had shrunk and turned to ice, the Master ascended the Dharma seat and began to speak.

‘Four asankheyyas and one hundred thousand kalpas ago²⁰, I made the vow to be a Bodhisattva at the feet of the Buddha Dipankara. I was a brahmin called Sumedha at that time and I dwelt in the city of Amaravati. Since that day, so long ago, in all the various lives that have been experienced, the Bodhisattva never consciously told a lie.

‘They who forsake the truth and tell deliberate lies, even though they might sit in the sacred enclosure of the Bodhi Tree, cannot realize Buddhahood. A Bodhisattva and a Buddha, all Arahants too, have to speak the truth. In certain cases a Bodhisattva may deliberately take life, take what is not given, engage in sexual misconduct and consume intoxicating drink or drugs, but they cannot tell a deliberate lie – for any speech or action based upon deception violates the reality of things²¹.’

He let the words hover in the stillness and cast his gaze for a moment around the sala. ‘When giving the novice Rahula, my own son, his preliminary instruction in Dharma, I picked up a water-dipper with just a little water left in it and asked him, “Do you see this little water left in the dipper?”

‘“Yes, Venerable sir,” he replied.

‘“Even so little is the spiritual virtue of those who are not ashamed to tell a deliberate lie²².”

‘Then I threw away the water that was left and I asked, “Do you see that little water that was thrown away?”

‘“Yes, Venerable Sir,” he replied.

‘“Even so, Rahula, those who are not ashamed to tell a deliberate lie have thrown away their spiritual virtue.”

‘Then I turned the dipper upside down and asked, “Do you see this dipper turned upside down?”

‘“Yes, Venerable Sir,” he replied.

‘“Even so, those who are not ashamed to tell a deliberate lie have turned their spiritual virtues upside down.”

‘Then I turned the dipper right way up again and asked, “Rahula, do you see this hollow empty water vessel?”

‘“Yes, Venerable Sir,” he replied.

‘Even so, hollow and empty are the spiritual virtues of those who are not ashamed to tell a deliberate lie.’

‘This is the advice I gave to the novice Rahula, out of compassion and desiring his welfare. For the same reasons, for all those gathered this evening on this full moon Observance Day, I offer this same advice to you.

‘Lastly, although I have spoken so far of lies in the realm of speech, more insidious and often completely unnoticed, are the underlying tendencies, the anusaya²³, whereby the mind can lie to itself. The mind can be influenced by²⁴: sense-desire; aversion and grudge; opinions and views; skeptical doubt; the conceit of identity; craving for continued existence and defined being; and, lastly, ignorance, not seeing reality clearly. These seven are consummate liars, causing the mind to not see and know the truth of the way things are, and to thereby create suffering and disharmony for the individual and other beings. Be aware of the deception that these seven are able to cause as they can be subtle, insidious, yet deeply harmful.’

The Master paused again and it was clear that this was the completion of the teaching. Matanga’s heart was singing – she had relished every word, it all being so much in accord with her own intuitions about honesty and humility.

‘Oi’ve got a long way t’ go but this is won’erful.’ And when the assembly all said ‘Sadhu!’²⁵ three times, with a single voice, she heard herself almost roaring it:– Yes! This is it, yes!

Krishna, meanwhile, was in amongst the large community of bhikkhus, in the shadows between two lanterns. He too was deeply moved by this exhortation but tears were flowing with remorse at just how much lying he seemed to have been doing to himself. ‘I’ve got a long way to go,’ he thought as well, ‘a long long way, but what else is there to do?’

Notes & References