A brief history of the teachings in Sri Lanka given by Nina van Gorkom

[renaldo]

A brief history of the teachings in Sri Lanka up until and including the time of Buddhghosa is given by Nina van Gorkom in the first chapter of Pilgramage in Sri Lanka.

I became interested in the history of Sri Lanka and started to read the “Mahāvaṁsa”, an old chronicle, compiled at the end of the fifth or the beginning of the sixth century A.D.

After the third Council, which was held in India during the reign of King Asoka (250 B.C.), missionaries were sent out to different countries 2. The arahat Mahinda, King Asoka’s son, was sent to Sri Lanka together with four other monks, a samanera (novice) and a lay-disciple. They went to Mahintale where they met the Singhalese King Devānaṁpiya Tissa while he was hunting deer. The King laid aside his bow and after Mahinda had tested him on his readiness to hear the Dhamma he preached to him the “Lesser Discourse on the Simile of the Elephant’s Foot Print” (Middle Length Sayings I, no 27). This sutta describes the life of a bhikkhu who abstains from ill deeds through body, speech and mind, who “guards the six doors” through mindfulness, develops jhāna (absorption-concentration) and finally attains arahatship.

The following day Mahinda and the other monks went to Anurādhapura where the King presented Mahinda with the royal park. This place became the “Mahā Vihāra” (Great Monastery), a famous center of Buddhism. The monastery of Cetiyapabbata and many other monasteries were established as well.

Mahinda had brought the “Tipiṭaka” and the commentaries to Sri Lanka and these were translated into Singhalese. Many Singhalese wanted to lead the “homeless life” and were ordained monks. Women wished to become bhikkhunīs, nuns, and bhikkhunī Saṅghamittā, Mahinda’s sister, came to Sri Lanka in order to ordain bhikkhunīs. She brought the sapling of the Bodhi tree from India to Sri Lanka. During the reign of King Devānaṁpiya Tissa the “Thūpārāma Dāgaba”, the oldest stupa in Sri Lanka, was also constructed and in this stupa the relic of the Buddha’s right collarbone was enshrined.

The Buddhist teachings declined in India, but they were preserved in Sri Lanka. However, when one studies the history of Sri Lanka one sees how difficult it must have been to preserve them. Invading kings and also local kings who did not support the Sangha threatened the survival of the teachings.

After an invasion by Tamils, King Duṭṭhagāmaṇī (about 150 B.C.) restored the position of the Sangha and started to build the “Ruvanvelisāya”, the great and famous stupa of Anurādhapura, which contains relics of the Buddha and which is together with the Bodhi Tree the center of worship in Anurādhapura up to today.

Not only wars, also famines have threatened the survival of the teachings which were not yet committed to writing. Many people died during those famines and the arahats who survived on roots and fruits continued to recite the teachings with heroic fortitude. When they had no more strength to sit up, they continued reciting while lying down.

Wars, famines and also the introduction of wrong beliefs and wrong practice made it difficult to preserve the teachings. Finally, in 89 B.C., the teachings were committed to writing. Five hundred monks undertook this great enterprise in the cave of Aluvihāra (Alulena) which we visited during our pilgrimage.

Several centuries later (410 A.D.) Buddhaghosa Thera came from India to Sri Lanka. Here he composed his famous “Path of Purification” (Visuddhimagga). He edited all the commentarial material he found in Sri Lanka and translated these commentaries from Singhalese into Pāli. The commentaries to the Vinaya, to most of the Suttanta and to the Abhidhamma were translated and edited by Buddhaghosa. The “Atthasālinī” (Expositor) is the commentary to the first book of the Abhidhamma, the Dhammasaṅgaṇi.

Sri Lanka, where the Tipiṭaka and the commentaries were preserved, is an inspiring country to visit in order to recollect the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha. The fact that numerous arahats lived in this country proves that the Dhamma was truly practised in daily life.

How fortunate are we that these teachings have been fully preserved until today?

R

[RobertK]

I have been working on these chapters for my book Renaldo:

Mahinda turned and walked out through the carved teak gate into the morning light.

It was the uposatha day of the month Jettha. The full moon hung low in the western sky, pale against the brightening blue, and the air smelled of jasmine and woodsmoke and the red earth of Vedisagiri. Mahinda looked at the moon. Then he looked south, toward Tambapanni, toward the island he had never seen, toward the mountain where a king would be hunting on this day, and the mountain was very far away.

The four theras stood behind him. Sumana stood beside him. Bhanduka stood apart, white clothed, his hands at his sides.

They were seven.

The Missakapabbata rose from the plain eight miles east of Anuradhapura, a sudden eruption of grey granite and green scrub from the flat farmland, its peak sharp against the sky. It was not a large mountain. But here, on the central plain, where the land was flat and the horizon was a line of palm trees, it seemed the highest thing for miles, and from its peak, the Silakuta, the rooftops of Anuradhapura were visible to the west and the smoke of cooking fires.

At the top, a flat clearing of grey rock, the Ambatthala, shaded by a single mango tree whose branches spread wide enough to shelter twenty men.

Mahinda sat beneath the mango tree. He adjusted his robe and placed his bowl beside him on the warm stone.

The air was different here. Thicker, wetter, carrying scents he did not know: a sweetness that was not jasmine, a green rot that was not the Ganges, a mineral tang from the granite beneath him.

The other theras sat behind him, Ittiya, Uttiya, Sambala, Bhaddasala. Sumana sat at the end. The scents of the mountain reached him on the wind, jasmine and crushed stone and wild honey, and he sat with them. Bhanduka sat apart, white clothed, cross legged, his hands on his knees.

Seven men on a mountaintop, waiting.

Below them, the plain was alive. The sound of drums came from Anuradhapura, faint, rhythmic, the beat of a water festival. It was a day of national celebration. Mahinda could hear it in the drums and in the distant shouts and in the horns that sounded at intervals from the city, the thin brass note carrying across the flat land and the paddy fields and the palm groves and up the slope of the mountain to where seven men sat beneath a mango tree and waited for a king.

No one in this country had seen a bhikkhu. The word samana had reached this country in Asoka’s message. The sight of one had not. The kasava robe was the colour of dried earth, not the colour of a doctrine. These people knew the names of their own gods, the local devas of the mountain and the river and the forest, and they knew the Brahmanical gods that the traders brought from across the strait. They did not know the name of the Sambuddha. They did not know the word nibbana, the going out of the fire.

Mahinda heard the hunting party before he saw it.

The sound of forty thousand men moving through scrubland is not a single sound. It is a collection of sounds: the rustle of bodies through undergrowth, the crack of branches, the low murmur of voices, the occasional shout of a beater driving game toward the king, the thud of bare feet on packed earth, the clatter of spears against wooden shields. The sound spread across the base of the mountain like water spreading across a flat stone.

He could see movement through the trees below the Ambatthala. Flashes of colour: the red and yellow of court dress, the glint of metal, the brown of skin.

Then the stag.

It came up the slope without haste, broad-backed, its head lifted toward the clearing. It stopped twenty paces below the rim and stood there, antlers branching above its head, browsing the shoots of a thorn bush, unhurried, unalarmed. It did not look like an animal being driven. It looked like an animal that had come to a place it knew.

It was the deva in the form of a stag, though the king did not know this.

A moment later, the king came.

He came up the path with a bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right, his chest bare and slick with sweat, his legs scratched by thorns. He was older than Mahinda had expected. Near forty, perhaps. Lean, dark skinned. He wore a white cloth wrapped at the waist and bound between the legs in the fashion of the island, and his hair was tied at the crown with a cord of gold thread, and his feet were bare, and he carried no sword.

He saw the stag. He stopped at the lip of the clearing.

He did not raise the bow. The animal stood in the open with its back to him, browsing, paying him no attention, and the king watched it for the length of three breaths and lowered his hand. To shoot a creature that did not flee was not a thing a king did. He plucked the bowstring instead, a sharp note, like a small bell, and the stag startled and ran, not in the direction it had come, but inward, deeper into the clearing, toward the mango tree at the centre.

The king followed.

The stag ran toward Mahinda. And when it came near the place where Mahinda sat, it vanished.

[RobertK]

The king came over the lip of the clearing and saw Mahinda and stopped.
The stop was sudden, total, the body locking the way a deer locks when it catches the scent of a leopard. The king stood with the bow lowered and his mouth open and his eyes wide. He looked at Mahinda. The others in the small group were there, in the dappled shade at the edges of the clearing, but his eye did not leave the figure under the tree. His mind could not place what he was seeing: the shaved head, the ochre robe, the brown skin, the stillness, the bowl, the eyes.
He was afraid. The fear was in the whites of his eyes and in the tendons of his forearm and in his breathing, which had stopped. In a country where men wore their hair long and dressed in white cotton and worshipped the gods of the mountain and the river, a being in yellow-brown sitting cross legged under a mango tree on the highest point of the sacred mountain was not a man. He was a yakkha. A spirit. A being from the other side of the world that the stories warned about.
“Come, Tissa,” Mahinda said.
The king flinched. To be called by name, by the bare first name, by a stranger on a mountaintop, was confirmation. No man knew the king’s name without being told, and no man addressed a consecrated king with the bare first name alone. The being under the tree was not a man.
Mahinda waited. He did not move. He sat with his palms on his knees and his gaze on the king’s face.
“Samanas are we, O great king,” Mahinda said. “Disciples of the King of Truth. From compassion toward thee are we come hither from Jambudipa.”
The word samana had reached the king in Asoka’s message. The sight of one had not. Mahinda saw the change in his face, the loosening of the jaw, the slight drop of the shoulders, the bow lowering. The king was remembering. The envoys from Jambudipa, the gifts, the message the king had carried in his memory since: Embrace the doctrine of the Sambuddha. Samanas. The word fitted.
“You are from Asoka,” the king said.
It was not a question. Mahinda did not correct it. He was from Asoka and he was not from Asoka. He was from the Sangha, from Moggaliputta Tissa and the thousand theras of the Third Council, from his mother’s house at Vedisagiri, from his father’s remorse, from the doctrine the Sambuddha had spoken two centuries ago, carried across the continent by the monks to the rock where Mahinda now sat.
“We are from Jambudipa,” Mahinda said again.
The king laid the bow and the arrow on the stone. He approached the mango tree, and Mahinda watched him come, watched the bare feet on the warm rock, watched the gold thread at the crown catch the light, watched the fear leave his face and something else replace it, something that was not yet trust but was the possibility of trust.
Devanampiya sat down. He sat on the bare rock, cross legged, the way Mahinda sat.
Behind Mahinda, the four theras became visible. They had been sitting in the shade of the scrub at the edge of the clearing, their robes blending with the dappled light, and now they moved forward, a quiet unfolding, and Sumana rose from behind a boulder where he had been sitting, and Bhanduka stood up from the grass at the edge of the path, and the king looked at them and then looked at Mahinda.
“When did these come?”
“They came with me.”
The king looked at the ochre robes, six of them, and at Bhanduka’s white cloth. He looked at their shaved heads and their polished bowls. He studied their stillness: hands in laps, eyes steady, bodies unhurried.
“Are there others like you in Jambudipa?”
“Jambudipa is filled with the kasava,” Mahinda said. “Great is the number of arahants there, possessed of the three knowledges, of the higher powers. They are disciples of the Sambuddha.”
“By what way are you come?”
“Neither by land nor by water.”
The king looked at him, and Mahinda held his gaze.
Devanampiya Tissa accepted it. He sat on the warm stone with his bow beside him and his arrow beside him and the gold thread in his hair and the sweat drying on his chest, and he waited.

[RobertK]

skipped one chapter and now:

Anula
Anula had not been at the mountain. She had heard the teaching that had turned the king and the forty thousand toward the three refuges only through the report of the women who had heard their husbands speak of it.
On the morning of the following day the king sent for her. She came with five hundred women into the pavilion that had been raised inside the palace grounds, hung with white cloth and strewn with white flowers, and Mahinda was there. He sat on the ground, on a cloth the king had ordered spread for him after asking about the rule of seats. The four theras sat behind him on cloth of the same kind, and Sumana sat at the end. Mahinda taught the Petavatthu and the Vimanavatthu and the Sacca-samyutta, the suttas of beings who had died and become hungry ghosts, of beings who had died and become devas, of the four truths the Sambuddha had spoken at Isipatana, and the truths landed. She attained the first fruit that day, and so did the women who had come with her.

She did not announce it. She bowed and left with the five hundred women, walked back through the palace corridors to the women’s quarters, and lay down on her mat for the customary midday rest. The rest was different from the rest of any day of her life before, because the way the world bore against her had changed.

That afternoon Mahinda and the four theras and Sumana went from the palace to the royal pleasure-garden south of the city. The king followed with flowers. He asked whether the garden was suitable for ascetics. Mahinda said it was. Then the king asked whether an arama could be accepted by the Sangha, and Mahinda answered that it could, citing the bamboo grove that Bimbisara had given to the Sambuddha at Rajagaha in the Blessed One’s own lifetime. The king gave the park to the Sangha, and poured water onto Mahinda’s hand.
Through the afternoon and the night Anula waited. She had not yet seen the park. She wanted to go.

On the following morning she went with five hundred women: the wives of the ministers and the officers and the provincial chiefs who kept their families at the capital, the daughters old enough to walk from the palace to the park, the grandmothers who had served in the women’s quarters for decades and who came because Anula came. They walked in the early morning along the road that ran south from the palace toward the park, past the great tank with the dam where the lamps had been placed for the festival, past the rice paddies where the white herons stood in the green water.

Walking a pace behind Anula on the right was Padumavati, senior of the women’s quarters since Mutasiva’s last year. She was sixty-six. She had been the first to rise when the message came that the women might attend the new theras at the park.
The park had become an arama the previous afternoon. Anula had been here before, for the festivals, for the pleasure walks that the king’s mother had made a tradition in the hot season, and the park had been a park, shade trees and flower beds.. Today the smell was different. Not the sweet rot of fallen mangoes and the heavy scent of frangipani, but something plainer, the smell of rice cooked without spice and of cotton dried in the sun and of bodies that had been washed in cold water without oil.
Mahinda was sitting under a tree at the centre of the park, his sitting cloth spread on the earth beneath the tree. The four theras sat behind him. The samanera Sumana sat at the end. They were still.

Anula knelt before Mahinda and placed her hands together at her forehead and bowed, and the five hundred women knelt behind her and bowed, and the sound of five hundred women’s knees on the bare earth of the Mahameghavana was a sound like rain on packed ground, soft, widespread.
Mahinda taught. He spoke of impermanence, of suffering, of the arising and the ceasing. Anula listened as the five hundred women behind her listened.
Once during the teaching, Anula heard a small intake of breath behind her. The sound came from her right, from the place where Padumavati knelt. She did not turn.
She knew the moment it came.
She had attained the second fruit.
She raised her head. Mahinda was looking at her. His face had not changed. His hands had not moved. But something in the quality of his attention had shifted, the shift of a teacher whose student has understood.

“We wish to receive pabbajja,” she said to the king.
Devanampiya Tissa looked at her. Then he looked at Mahinda.
“Bestow the pabbajja on them,” the king said.
Beyond the clearing, the park opened onto the plain, and through the tamarind trees Anula could see the great tank catching the midday light, the water silver against the red earth of the dam, and beyond the dam the rice paddies running flat and green toward the horizon where the scrub jungle began. A white heron rose from the shallows of the tank and crossed the sky above the park in a long, slow arc.

Mahinda’s answer was quiet.
“It is not permitted to us to bestow the pabbajja on women, great king. But in Pataliputta there lives a bhikkhuni, my younger sister, known by the name Sanghamitta. She is ripe in experience. She shall come here bringing with her the southern branch of the great Bodhi tree of the king of samanas, and bringing also bhikkhunis renowned for holiness. To this end, send a message to the king my father. When this theri is here, she will confer the pabbajja upon these women.”

Sanghamitta. Anula knew only that the woman was Mahinda’s sister, the emperor’s daughter, a bhikkhuni who lived in the city at the centre of the empire.

[renaldo]

Amazing!! I love your descriptions of King Devanampiya Tissa and the arahant Mahinda and how they met.

The story of Anula is also so beautiful.

For those that do not know, these are passages from Robert’s [possibly… and hopefully] upcoming book…

@RobertK

Giridasa was the youngest of the amaccas in the court, and one of the most efficient, the one who had prevented the famine when the canal project collapsed, the one the palace trusted to finish things. He had no particular feeling for the Sangha, or for any religious institution. This was, for the purpose of this errand, a qualification. Asoka had appointed him personally, had read his reports with the satisfaction of an emperor who recognises his own thoroughness in a subordinate.

R

[RobertK]

Thanks Renaldo. I have been working at home since the Iran war and have spent a lot of time on the book. And your input on the Minister gave me some needed confidence to carry on. At the moment I am adding a scene with Anula to give her character depth and assist with the world building ‘picture’ of Lanka at the time.

[renaldo]

@RobertK

I have been working at home since the Iran war and have spent a lot of time on the book.

It’s good to hear that you have been able to find some more time to work on it. The book is really turning out great. I am happy that you decided to share some of it here with us. Please keep sharing it here! If I can read about half the book before it is released, that would be great.

R

[renaldo]

@renaldo

A brief history of the teachings in Sri Lanka up until and including the time of Buddhghosa is given by Nina van Gorkom in the first chapter of Pilgramage in Sri Lanka.

Nina again mentions the arahant Mahinda and King Devanampiya Tissa in a book called Sri Lanka Revisited, the follow up to Pilgramage in Sri Lanka.

Both books are quite short and well worth reading. Chapter VIII is where she talks more about Mahinda and King Devanampiya Tissa. The chapter is very short, so I will post the whole chapter here in 2 parts.

Part I:

Chapter 8

The Buddha’s Excellent Qualities

We visited the sacred places of Sri Lanka in order to recollect the excellent qualities of the Buddha and of the arahats. When we were in Anurådhapura we often walked around in the area of the “Mahå-vihåra”, the Great Monastery, where in olden times

many arahats had been dwelling. We paid respect at the different stupas and old monuments and in that area we had under the trees Dhamma discussions with the group of foreign monks we were traveling with. We thought of the arahats who had lived in that place; they had developed satipaììhåna until all lobha, dosa and moha were eradicated.

Do we understand what it means to be without clinging to the self? Do we understand what the qualities of alobha, non-attachment, adosa, non-aversion or kindness, and amoha or paññå really are? The development of satipaììhåna will condition such qualities, it will lead to the eradication of all unwholesomeness. The Buddha himself was endowed with wisdom and virtue of the highest degree. When we pay respect to the Buddha we recite the words: “vijjå caraùa-sampanno”, endowed with wisdom and virtue. Do we know the meaning of these words? Why do we show reverence in front of a Buddha statue, at the places where his relics have been enshrined or at the

Bodhi-tree? We pay respect to all his excellent qualities: to his wisdom, his compassion and his purity. If we do not recollect his excellent qualities while showing reverence, our action is not very beneficial.

If one hardly knows whether the citta at this moment is kusala citta or akusala citta can one truly appreciate the Buddha’s excellent qualities? During this journey we came to have a little more understanding of the many moments of akusala citta which arise and we saw how deeply rooted our selfishness is. We noticed how rare the moments are of genuine generosity without selfish motives and how rare true consideration for other people is. When we begin to understand the difference between kusala and akusala, not in a theoretical way, but in daily life, we appreciate more the value of right understanding of nåma and rúpa. Right understanding of visible object or of seeing which occurs now, of all realities that appear now, leads to the end of defilements. The Buddha taught the development of right understanding for fortyfive years, out of compassion, he taught for our welfare and happiness. The words we use to honour the Buddha: vijjå-caraùa-sampanno, can become more meaningful when we begin to understand what these qualities are.

Besides the sacred places in Anurådhapura we also visited other memorable places outside this city. We went to Mahintale, the place where the arahat Mahinda, who had come from India, met the Singhalese King Devanampiya Tissa (250 B.C.) and preached to him the “Lesser Discourse on the Elephant’s Footprint” (Middle Length Sayings I, no 27). The King presented Mahinda with the Royal Park in Anurådhapura and this place became the Mahå-vihåra, the center of Buddhism in Sri Lanka.

Buddhaghosa, the autor of the “Visuddhimagga” and the compiler of most of the commentaries to the Tipiìaka, resided in the Mahå-vihåra. We visited the Thuparama, the oldest stupa in Sri Lanka, where the relic of the Buddha’s right collarbone had been enshrined. Near the Thuparama is the cremation place of bhikkhuní Sangamitta, Mahinda’s sister, who brought a sapling of the Bodhi-tree to Sri Lanka. After her arrival the order of bhikkhunís was founded in Sri Lanka. We payed respect at the

Ruvanvelisaya, the great stupa which was constructed during the reign of King Duììhagåmaùí (150 B.C.), where relics of the Buddha had been enshrined. While we walked around the stupa we discussed satipaììhåna. When the rain poured down in the afternoon we sat in a small temple near the stupa for Dhamma discussions. We payed respect at the Bodhi-tree several times and we noticed that the new sprout we saw two years ago was still growing bigger. To us this was a sign that the teachings are still being preserved in Sri Lanka.

One morning the group of foreign monks was going for a long walk from the Abbhayagiri Vihåra to the Thuparama. Jonothan, the Australian layman who looked after the monks during this journey and who had organised the walk, two Thai friends and I came along as well. The Abbhayagiri, our starting point, was built about 89

B.C. This monastery dissented from the monks of the Mahåvihåra. Since in all old stupas relics have been enshrined we payed respect there, by walking around the stupa three times while reciting the Påli words which express honour to the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha. From the Abbhayagiri we walked to a famous old Buddha statue, the Samådhi statue, and from there we went to the “Twin Pond” of Abbhayagiri which had been built for the use of the monks. We then proceeded to “Naka Vihåra”, now an old ruin, where once a fingernail relic of the Buddha had been enshrined. After that we followed the monks along the fields and we saw on our left side in the midst of marshy grounds the “Pathama Cetiya”, the first place where the arahat Mahinda had stayed after his arrival in Mahintale. We ended our walk in Thuparama."

R

[renaldo]

Part II:

Sri Lanka is the country where the teachings have been preserved after Buddhism
declined in India and therefore it is not surprising that relics of the Buddha have been
enshrined in stupas of this country. We had an opportunity to visit the stupa where
the relic of the Buddha’s forehead-bone had been enshrined, the stupa of Seruwawila
which is not far from Trincomali, on the East coast. Seruwawila is said to be one of
the sixteen places in Sri Lanka the Buddha visited himself. He came three times to Sri
Lanka and visited Seruwawila during his third visit. He predicted that in this place his
forehead-bone relic would be enshrined.

We went to Seruwawila in a van, together with the group of monks. An elderly
Singhalese monk received us in Seruwawila and he gave an account of the history of
the relic in Singhalese which was translated into English. Mahå-Kassapa had in India
given the relic to Mahå-Nanda, an enlightened monk. Mahå-Nanda brought the relic
to Sri Lanka where it was kept in Tissåråma, the first monastery in Sri Lanka, which
was founded by King Devanampiya Tissa and later on developed into the Mahåvihåra. King Kåkavanna Tissa, King Duììhagåmaùí’s father, had the stupa constructed in Seruwawila where the relic was transferred. The relic chamber was
securely built into the stupa and covered by masonry, and the stupa was covered by
another one, the outer stupa, so that the relic could never be taken away. Later on the
place of this stupa became unknown for several centuries and it was inaccessible
because of the jungle around it. In 1923 it was rediscovered and restored. A vihåra
was built and a road constructed so that it could become once again a place of
worship. We payed respect in walking around the stupa three times and then we sat
down near the stupa for a Dhamma discussion.

When we were in Kandy we payed respect to the Buddha’s Tooth relic in the
“Dawada Maligawa”, the Temple of the Sacred Tooth. When we pay respect to the
relics of the Buddha, kusala cittas may arise, but also akusala cittas are bound to
arise. We may have attachment to the idea that there is something left of the Buddha.
Some people have aversion towards the idea of a relic. One of my friends had
aversion each time when she was inside the Tooth Temple. Paying respect to the
Buddha’s relics is only meaningful if we recollect his excellent qualities. The relics
can remind us directly of his excellent qualities because they are what remained of
his body, the body of a Buddha endowed with thirtytwo bodily characteristics each
one of which was conditioned by kamma. In the “Lakkhaùasutta” (Dígha Nikåya,
Dialogues of the Buddha III, no. 30) it is explained that the Buddha, during his lives
as a Bodhisatta, accumulated manifold virtues and that these conditioned the special
bodily features that are the characteristics of a Buddha. We read about his immeasurable generosity, his perfect síla and his boundless loving kindness and compassion
towards all living beings. He had no selfish purposes in mind, he always thought of
the welfare of others. After all our discussions about selfishness the impact of this
sutta that points out the Buddha’s utmost selflessness is much greater and it can serve
as a reminder to us to be less self-seeking. I shall quote parts of this sutta without
going into the details of the bodily characteristics conditioned by his excellent
qualities which are mentioned after each section of this sutta:

“… Whereas in whatsoever former birth, former state of becoming, former
sojourning, monks, the Tathågata, then being human, took on mighty enterprise in all
good things, took on unfaltering enterprise in seemly course of deed and word and
thought:— in dispensing gifts, in virtuous undertakings, in keeping of festivals, in
filial duties to mother and father, in pious duties to recluse and brahmin, in honour of the head of the house and in other such things of lofty merit… (145)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth, former state of becoming, former sojourning,
monks, the Tathågata, then being human, lived for the weal of the great multitudes,
dispeller of dread and of panic, purveyor of just protection and wardenship and giver
of supplies… (148)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, putting
away the taking of life, refrained therefrom and laying the scourge and sword aside,
dwelt gentle and compassionate, merciful and friendly to all living creatures… (149)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, became
popular to the people by the four bases of popularity, to wit, by giving, by kindly
speech, by sagacious conduct and by impartiality… (152)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, became
one who spoke to the multitude on their good, on righteousness, explaining to the
multitude, became a bearer of welfare and happiness to living creatures, a celebrant
of righteousness… (154)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, drew near
and questioned recluse or brahmin, saying: What, sir, is good? What is bad? What is
right, what is wrong? What ought I to do, or not to do? What when I have done it will
long be for my unhappiness… or for my happiness?.. (157)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, lived
without wrath, full of serenity, and even when much had been said, feel not foul of
anyone, was neither angry, nor malign, nor enraged, manifesting neither anger nor
hate nor melancholy, but was a giver of fine and soft coverlets, and cloaks, and fine
linen, fine cotton, fine silken, fine woollen stuffs… (159)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, reunited
long-lost with long-bereaved relatives, friends and comrades, reunited mother with
child and child with mother, father with child and child with father, brother with
brother, brother with sister and sister with brother, making them as one, causing them
to rejoice… (161)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, grew
desirous for the good of the many, for their welfare, their comfort, their safety,
considering how they might increase in confidence, in morality, in education, in
charity, in righteousness and in wisdom, might increase in money and corn, in land,
in animals twofooted and fourfooted, in wife and children, in servants and slaves, in
kinsfolk and friends and connections… (164)

… Whereas in whatsoever former birth… the Tathågata, then being human, put away
abusive speech, what he heard here not repeating elsewhere, to raise a quarrel against
people here; and what he heard elsewhere not repeating here, to raise a quarrel
against people there:-- thus becoming a binder together of those who are divided, or fostering those who are friends, a peacemaker, lover of concord, impassioned for
peace, a speaker of words that make for peace…” (171, 172)

This sutta encourages us to develop satipaììhåna with a sincere inclination. All kinds
of kusala such as generosity, síla, mettå, should be developed along with satipaììhana.
Right understanding of nåma and rúpa will lead to being less self-seeking and being
more intent on the happiness of others. This was an important lesson we learnt during
this journey. We can now reflect on the Buddha’s excellent qualities with more
respect and with more gratitude. He accumulated all kinds of virtues and attained
Buddhahood out of compassion for us. Out of compassion he taught us satipaììhåna
so that defilements can be eradicated. He taught us satipaììhåna for our welfare and
happiness.

Namo tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammå Sambudhassa–

Homage to the Lord, the Perfected One, the Fully Enlightened One.

R