ujika had moved to a small village, called Katara¹, to the south of Savatthi, on the occasion of her marriage. She had been very happy about this for, even though she was leaving her family home, this village of her husband was even closer to the Jetavana than the city of Savatthi. It was a fine little place to raise their growing family and it meant that she could easily visit the Jetavana every day, even with her three little boys and her expanded belly.

One of her delights was, in the hour before dawn, to rise before the rest of the family, sometimes with her third boy on her hip, and go to the village Assembly Hall to tidy it up and to prepare for possible visitors. Katara was of modest size but, because so many folk would come from far and wide to visit the Jetavana, and would need a place to find and purchase offerings to take to the Master and the Sangha, they were quite prosperous there. The Hall was a finely built shelter where the village council would meet but – and more importantly for Pujika – it was also the place where Elders from the Sangha, (usually the monks rather than the nuns since the monastery of the female community was close to the walls of Savatthi²) would sometimes come to sit and receive alms.

Katara was only three or four bow-shots from the gates of the Jetavana so, when any of the agèd or infirm Sangha members wanted to go on the alms-round, or if there was a special occasion in the village such as a marriage or a baby blessing, they would use the Hall of Assembly as a place to gather. On very rare and wonderful days the Master would take this shorter route and come to Katara village himself and stop a while at the Hall.

Pujika had made it her daily custom³ to sweep the Hall as the light came back into the world, to shake out the mats and set them straight, and to fill the jugs with fresh water. The place was close to her home and the garland workshop, and it would put her heart at ease to know that, should any of the Sangha, on their early morning alms-round, need to stop and rest, the place was always ready. She would customarily bring some flowers to deck the seats and shrine as votive offerings, often draping these around the neck of her snoozing child as she made her way there. On the special days when an event was planned, if they knew the Elders were going to receive an offering there or if the nuns or monks were going to perform a blessing, she would be extra diligent and make abundant flower offerings, to add to those of other devotees.

As time had gone by images had appeared in her mind of celestial beings, wreathed in flowers and smiling at her, most often one bright round face clad all in the reds of the kanavera.

What had begun as a joke to herself that, ‘In my next life I’d like to be kinnari’ was transformed into a powerful feeling of, ‘I know her! She’s my real belovèd! I want to be with her!’ She was married to a good man named Khumbha, after his pot belly, who had given her these three fine children – soon to be four – but she could not say that her heart sang in his company. He was a good garlandier. He knew his trade but he had little faith in the Master, or at least a lack of interest in things beyond food, the family and his business, and he would hit the palm-toddy⁴ regularly too. With each additional child his consumption of this liquor had seemed to increase.

She loved her children, as any mother would and should, but somehow she felt that she didn’t really know them, at least not in the way she seemed to know and long for this ruddy being that she experienced in these momentary flashes. She sometimes thought that these visions were a complete delusion, that she was merely caught up in a fantasy on account of the unsatisfactory nature of the world, just as the Master had spoken of so frequently. But then… then… these were so clear! These intuitions had a wholly different tone to other everyday longings, like waiting for the green rice to come in the Rainy season⁵, to make sweet desserts, or the wait for certain blossoms to open up to make a special offering of some kind. This longing, this connection, was of a whole other order – as if her ordinary life was like the greys and sepias of the hour before dawn and her imagined life with this red-clad kinnari was like the full bright array of the colours of broad day.

All this had led her to make the resolution, whenever she made a flower offering or swept the Hall and prepared the seats, that she would declare, ‘May this offering assist me in being reborn with my belovèd.’ The folk from the village and the nuns and monks who came to the Hall, or whom she met in the Jetavana, were impressed by such a devoted wife, as they took it, ‘She’s a veritable Sita⁶, so devoted to her husband! Although so busy and hard-working, still she thinks only of him.’

‘You should be called Pati-pujika – ‘Husband-honourer’ – not just Pujika!’

‘If only they knew,’ she reflected, however she never corrected them and sometimes she even affirmed their misunderstanding, saying, ‘Yes! I love him very much,’ to account for her blushes. She didn’t like to be deceitful but somehow, despite the dishonesty, it seemed to be worth it. At first she had conflicted thoughts, doubting whether she was being really fair, or kind, or if it made her a bad mother but, in each moment when making such offerings nothing could quell her heart’s desire: ‘May I be reborn with my belovèd!’

---

Devadatta had not yet departed from the Jetavana and his scheming to bring down the Buddha was not over, by any means. As the New Moon day approached, following the trial and execution of his confrères, Devadatta made his way among as many of the monks and novices as he could manage. Despite usually having a powerful presence that no one could ignore he was able, somehow, to draw himself in⁷ and move through the community with great subtlety, like a shadow. Customarily the rumour of his tread rode ahead of him – people knew that he was arriving – but he, at this time, traversed the forest and appeared in the different groups of the monks’ dwellings like a soft, hardly perceptible drift of air.

As he came upon each separate section of the Sangha he told them, ‘Friends, I went to the Blessed One⁸ and requested that he institute five reforms that I and my close advisors had compiled. He refused. I and my associates now undertake to live by these five standards. Let anyone among you who agrees, who is in favour of these five reforms, take a voting ticket.’ These tickets had been made from sections of dry ola leaf⁹. Devadatta carried a bagful with him.

Again and again Devadatta endeavoured to use his powers of persuasion on the various assemblies dwelling in the environs of the Jetavana – there were the monks who were expert reciters¹⁰ of the teachings, ones who sat together in meditation, ones who were experts in the discipline; then there were ones who gathered on account of a shared language, a group from Uttarakuru, another from Vamsa, a few from Kamboja in the east, as well as from Sunaparanta; there were many Magadhans and Kosalans, as one would expect, and a large group of Vajjians, from Vesali. Of all these monks it was only those from the Vajjian Confederacy¹¹ that gave him any attention at all, the rest turned away as one, uninterested or wary of Devadatta’s by now egregious reputation.

The Vajjians were a young crowd and had all gone forth together, more than a hundred of them¹², and so far had had little instruction or introduction to the discipline. They listened to Devadatta and it all made good sense. They believed, ‘This is the Dharma, this is the teaching, perfectly explained by this great Elder.’ So, taking the voting tickets, they naïvely sided with Devadatta. This group, along with his pair of older cronies and Surama, were the only ones who chose to go with him. He had now caused a schism in the Sangha.

Once he was convinced that he had made as much impact as he could, he addressed all his adherents, old and new, ‘Come friends, let us go to Gayasisa.’

---

News of this plan spread rapidly as Devadatta had made a point of them all setting out for the south-east on the Uposatha Day of the Full Moon, before the recitation of the patimokkha had been held¹³. This was a deliberate affront to the Master and the rest of the monastic community as all Sangha members were required to take part in the recitation of the Rule on the New and Full Moon days, unless prevented by fire, flood or sickness, or other extreme circumstances. The schism having been deliberately made by Devadatta, he was now underscoring this by making a public display of the division.

Some time after, when Sariputta and Maha-Moggallana were discussing the issue with the Master, he spoke very directly to them both, ‘Sariputta, Moggallana, do you feel the same compassion for those young bhikkhus that I do? Go and see if you can help them, before they come to ruin.’

They needed no persuasion and set off for Gayasisa at once.

On their departure, this having been so sudden and not widely discussed, one young bhikkhu, who was sitting near the Buddha the day after they had departed, burst into tears. The Master asked him, ‘Why are you weeping, bhikkhu?’

‘How could I not weep, Venerable Sir?’ He sobbed, ‘the great disciples Sariputta and Moggallana, having gone to Devadatta, will be won over by his teaching too.’

The Buddha smiled, ‘It is impossible, friend, it cannot happen that Sariputta and Maha-Moggallana will go over to Devadatta’s side. Rather, they will teach the young bhikkhus who have gone with the schismatic and will help them to see the path that leads to the truth, to enlightenment.’

The Master’s clear and quiet, utter confidence that this would be the case brought reassurance to the anxious monk. He knew the Master’s words were to be trusted, not just because of optimistic thinking, or believing an authority figure, but with the wordless ending of a doubt that comes with intuitive insight. As when one puts on a shoe that fits, the knowledge of that fitting is there before one thinks, ‘It’s a good fit,’ so the veracity of the Buddha’s words was known in his young heart.

---

At Gayasisa, some Moons later¹⁴, Devadatta was sitting expounding his version of the Dharma to a large assembly. It was a moonlit night and, to his surprise, he saw Sariputta and Maha-Moggallana emerging from the shadows and appear in a bright patch between the shadows at the edge of the forest glade where his community had gathered.

He was so excited by this unexpected visitation that he halted his talk and declared, ‘Look! The Dharma is so well taught and explicated by me that even the monk Gotama’s chief disciples have come over to my teaching!’ His eyes were aflame and he lifted his arms in welcome.

The words had hardly left his mouth before Katamoraka moved up close beside him and said, ‘Venerable Sir! Do not trust these two! They are up to no good. They would not come here unless they had some evil design in mind!’

‘Nonsense,’ Devadatta dismissed him with a gesture, ‘they are welcome since they have come over to my teaching.’

He called out to the two great friends, ‘Come, noble ones, Sariputta, please sit beside me.’ He indicated the space next to him as he shifted over on the broad Dharma seat¹⁵. Sariputta declined the invitation and modestly sat on a mat close to Devadatta’s feet; his companion Moggallana did likewise.

Devadatta then carried on with his discourse but, after a while, mimicking his erstwhile teacher the Buddha, he looked down at Sariputta and said, ‘Friend, the Sangha is still alert although it is far into the night, please allow a talk on the Dharma to occur to you. My back is paining me, so I will stretch it.’

Sariputta consented. Devadatta climbed down from the seat and went to the place in the forest where he had his sleeping mat. He had eschewed the use of buildings, as part of his five standards, so all these monks lived out under the trees. He spread his robes down on the mat and stretched out in the lion’s posture¹⁶, on his right side, but he fell asleep unmindfully and was soon deeply lost in slumber.

Back in the glade where the Sangha was gathered, the moon was high in the sky as Sariputta addressed the group. He used all his intuitive powers to discern the interests and needs of his listeners and – being a master of eloquent and analytical speech¹⁷ – most of the crowd remained attentive and drank in all he had to say, after Sariputta had stepped down from the seat, Moggallana followed him and gave a talk as well.

While Sariputta was from a refined brahmin family, and was golden-skinned and of gentle countenance, his close friend was swart, big-eyed and of imposing mien. He was from a brahmin family too, and from the same village of Nalanda, but their appearances could not have been much more different.

When Sariputta had been speaking the whole group of younger monks had realized the path to Stream-entry; by the time that Moggallana had finished his teaching every last one of them had reached the full fruition of that stage¹⁸. They were all beyond doubt, destined to enlightenment and independent of others with respect to their insight.

Sariputta discerned this comprehensive change in the community and, looking to Maha-Moggallana, with his vast psychic powers, to double-check on this, his friend confirmed this state of realization of the assembly with a silent nod. Sariputta then rose and faced the group saying, ‘Bhikkhus, we are going back to the Blessèd One. Whoever upholds the teaching of the Master, let them come with us.’ Thus the two Elders rose up and began to lead the large group of Vajjian bhikkhus on the long walk back to Savatthi.

During the talks being given by Sariputta and Moggallana the two close disciples of Devadatta that remained nearby – Katamoraka-tissaka and Khandadevi-putta – had dozed off, leaning against a rock at the edge of the area. They were both snoring gently through all of this. Surama, meanwhile had made himself scarce, slinking away as soon as he discerned that the noble pair were arriving. He knew that Maha-Moggallana would detect his true nature very easily.

When Katamoraka and Khandadevi-putta awoke, as rosy-fingered dawn was tinting the sky, they quickly divined that all the new recruits had vanished, along with the visiting Elders. Katamoraka raced to Devadatta’s bower and roused him, as he was still fast asleep. ‘Wake up! Wake up Venerable Sir! I told you not to trust them! Those two had indeed come here with evil on their minds. All the new monks have been led away by them – the whole lot!’

Then and there, even though he was just awake, Devadatta was so shamed and enraged, apoplectic, that hot blood burst from his mouth.

---

When the party had completed their journey from Gayasisa, which was a vigorous walk of about twenty days¹⁹, the Master greeted them all warmly. He insisted that they had not left the Order by siding with Devadatta in this first ever schism in the Sangha, and that, after confessing the offence, and that offence having been acknowledged, they should be considered as members of the community in good standing, like everyone else.

‘So, Sariputta, how did Devadatta act when he saw the two of you?’ the Buddha enquired.

Sariputta recounted the scene as it had happened, then described how Devadatta had said, aping the expression used so often by the Master himself, ‘Sariputta, my back is paining me, I will go and stretch it. The assembly is wide awake, please let a Dharma teaching occur to you.’

As he recalled an incident from the ancient past, the Master’s countenance took on a soft, compassionate expression. ‘Once, bhikkhus,’ he began, ‘there were some elephants living near a big pond in the forest. The adult elephants would wade into the water, pull up lotus stalks with their trunks, then would carefully rinse the roots of them so that they were free of mud and pebbles, then they would eat them.

‘Some young calves, baby elephants, not knowing better, also waded into the pond and, similarly plucked up lotus plants. Instead of washing them clean, however, they chewed them up, mud and pebbles and all, so they incurred deadly suffering and died on account of that. So too, bhikkhus, Devadatta will die miserably through imitating me.

‘Devadatta is overcome, his mind so obsessed with gain, fame and honour, and he is badly influenced by his ongoing evil wishes and the friends that echo those with him. He will inevitably go to the states of woe²⁰, to hell, for the duration of the aeon, on account of these evil wishes, evil friends and through stopping halfway with the mere worldly distinction of supernormal powers. Indeed now, owing to his various heinous acts, these powers have now been lost to him.’ It was a sobering statement. The Master left it at that for all to ponder.

---

Pujika was getting close to the end of her confinement. She was very used to it by now as this was the fourth time in five years that she had gone through the process.

She was delighted to hear that a group of nuns had been invited to receive their meal offering at the Hall of Assembly that day; moreover it was rumoured that the great Arahant Elders Uppalavanna and Khema²¹ would be leading them. She went out early in the morning, before dawn, despite her heavy condition, and covered the votive shrine with fragrant garlands of that season’s flowers. She shook out the mats and surrounded the seats, especially the first two, with strings of marigolds and her favourite kanaveras. As ever she intoned, as she made these offerings, ‘May this act of devotion be a cause for me being reborn with my belovèd.’

Day was dawning, as it did swiftly in those regions. Pujika waited just long enough to see the colours of her garlands in the full light of day since, when one worked by lamplight or candles or in the silver of moon or starlight, one never saw the real shades the flowers had and how they mixed together. In the morning brightness she assessed how it all looked and made a few rearrangements.

A few of the other villagers and regulars from the Jetavana had arrived by now. Pujika had intended to hurry back to her home and to bring some food offerings as well. She sat for a moment as she greeted the others.

‘Jes’ getting my breath back before I go.’

‘You don’t look well,’ one of the women observed, ‘you alright dear? You’re close to poppin’ there. Take care.’

Pujika did head home but was sweating in the late Hot Season, early Rains weather. She didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see and make offerings to the enlightened nuns who were due that day so she forced herself to return to the Hall in time for the presentation of the meal offering. When she got there the place was crowded but, as she climbed the steps, the people parted a little to let her find a good spot. She leant against a pillar, glad to have the prop, as she was still sweating. The villagers nearby kept glancing her way.

‘You alright, dear? You look ’orrid. Shouldn’t you go ’ome?’

‘In a bit… I want to be here,’ she answered, a little weakly but brooking no discussion.

She joined the other lay folk in determining the Refuges and Precepts and was focusing as best she could through the Dharma talk that the Theri Khema gave. Uppalavanna seemed to notice her; she caught her eye once or twice and a look of interest, concern, mixed with a wry serenity, etched her expression. Pujika wondered for a moment, ‘Why’s she looking at me like that? Like she knows something I don’t. Still,’ as she closed her eyes again, ‘she’s known for having powers like Moggallana so she prob’ly knows mos’ things about everyone.’ She listened to the teaching with all the focus she could, sweat now having drenched her clothing, she stayed this way until the whole event was over.

‘Here,’ a close by friendly voice said, ‘let’s help you down.’ They descended the few steps from the Hall to the dusty path. ‘I’m gon’ ter get you home girl – y’r’ close to y’r time, ’ave you got help there?’

Pujika was grateful for the arm to lean on, she reassured her, ‘Yes, two of my sisters are here from the city, or they’ll be here soon.’ She smiled, genuinely pleased to have had the help. ‘Thank you! I don’t reckon I would have been good to do that on my own. This one is tougher than my others.’

‘What number’s this one then, three?!’

‘Four,’ Pujika gave a half-smile, ‘they seem to keep springin’ up each year, like the annuals.’

She was glad to be home.

---

The sun was setting and her sisters had not come. Her contractions were strong and she felt it could be any moment that her next child would be born. Her husband had, as he put it, ‘Jes’ gone to the toddy-shop for a nip.’ Each birth had been slightly easier and quicker than the one before but she had a feeling this one would be different. Her one-year-old was sleeping in the baby hammock, her three and four year-olds were by her bed, unusually quiet, watching their mother’s face in her travails.

‘Here it comes!’ she cried, ‘you two had better be ready, you’re the only help I’ve got today.’ She was trying to be encouraging through the sweat and tears. In her mind, over and over, she dedicated this birth to her now single-pointed aim, ‘May whatever good comes from this birth be dedicated to me being reborn with my belovèd.’

She reached the end of the sentence for the umpteenth time and, on the word ‘belovèd’, the fourth boy was born and Pujika breathed her last.

---

She opened her eyes, immediately knowing ‘I’m not in Katara… I’m… where? What…?’ She looked down at her body and saw filmy threads had settled upon her, silken ribbons of flower-petals covered the length of her frame. She was by a lotus pond and there was music in the air, and a loud rhythmic beat, she could feel the throb of drumming.

‘I’m back, I didn’t go to the realm of my belovèd with the kinnaris after all. I know this place, I think, but I’m tired. Rest, just for a bit.’ She closed her eyes again.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep but the sun had moved higher in the sky as if it was now late morning, perhaps the afternoon. She felt well rested and decided to risk standing, then realizing she could float on the air, she drifted, like a strand of spider-web on a breeze, towards the music and the pulse of activity in the near distance.

As she approached she could see hundreds of devas gathered²². Half were high up in the scented air, dancing, dodging through the branches of the jewel-flowered trees, picking and tossing the blossoms down. These were being caught by the other female devata who were then decking a princely figure, who was plainly the centre of things, from head to toe with the flowers.

‘Ninka!’ A familiar voice rang in her ears, piercing through the rhythms and melodies that were so intense here. ‘Ninka! You’re back!’ It was that vermillion clad kinnari from her dreams, her visions; was it her belovèd? The voice said, ‘It’s you! It’s really you.’ The red-robed figure raced towards her.

The newly-arisen one could not fix on a name for this bright, rushing being but it was her. ‘She called me “Ninka”’ – she whispered, knowing the sound of it somehow, and her heart was flooded with joy. She turned to move towards the kanavera-coloured presence now beaming at her when, behind her, the voice of the flower-bedecked deva prince boomed, ‘Ninka my dear – we haven’t seen you since morning²³. Where have you been!?’

END OF PART II

Notes & References