And so, having gazed upon those women
Who wander in the Gardens of Nandana,
Nanda tethered to a post of restraint
The fickle and unruly mind.
Not relishing the taste of freedom from care,
Sapless as a wilting lotus,
He went through the motions of dharma-practice,
Having installed the apsarases in his heart.
Thus did one whose sense-power had been restless,
Whose senses had grazed on the pasture of his wife,
Come, by the very power of sense-objects,
To have his sense-power reined in.
Adept in the practices of love,
Confused about the practices of a beggar,
Set firm by the best of practice guides,
He did the devout practice of abstinence.
And ardent love,
Like water and fire in tandem,
Smothered him and burned him dry.
Though naturally good-looking,
He became extremely ugly,
Both from agonizing about the apsarases
And from protracted restraint.
Even when mention was made of his wife,
He who had been so devoted to his wife
Stood by, seemingly bereft of passion;
He neither bristled nor quavered.
Knowing him to be adamant,
Turned away from passion for his wife,
Ānanda, having come that way,
Said to Nanda with affection:
"Ah! This is a beginning that befits
An educated and well-born man --
Since you are holding back the power of your senses
And, abiding in yourself, you are set on restraint!
In one entangled in desires,
In a man of passion, a sensualist,
That this consciousness has arisen --
This is by no small cause!
A mild illness is warded off
With little effort;
A serious illness is cured with serious efforts,
Or else it is not.
An illness of the mind is hard to remove,
And yours was a powerful one.
If you are rid of it,
You are in every way steadfast.
Good is hard for an ignoble man to do,
Meekness is hard for an arrogant man,
Giving is hard for a greedy man,
And devout abstinence is hard for a man of passion.
But I have one doubt
Concerning this steadfastness of yours in restraint.
I would like assurance on this matter,
If you think fit to tell me.
Should not be taken amiss:
However harsh it is, so long as its intention is pure,
A good man will not retain it as harsh.
For there is disagreeable good advice, which is kind,
And agreeable bad advice, which is not kind;
But agreeable good advice is hard to come by --
Like sweet and salutary medicine.
Trust, acting in the other's interest,
Sharing of joy and sorrow,
And tolerance, as well as affection:
Such, between good men, is the conduct of a friend.
So now I am going to speak to you
Out of affection, with no wish to hurt.
For my intention is to speak of that better way for you
In regard to which I ought not to be indifferent.
For apsarases as wages,
So they say, you are practising dharma.
Is that so? Is it true?
Such a thing would be a joke!
If this really is true,
I will tell you a medicine for it;
Or if it is the impertinence of chatterers,
I shall expose that dust."
Then -- though it was tenderly done --
Nanda was stricken in his heart.
After reflecting, he drew in a long breath,
And his face inclined slightly downward.
And so, knowing the signs
That betrayed the set of Nanda's mind,
Ānanda spoke words
Which were disagreeable but sweet in consequence:
"From the look on your face I know
Your motive in practising dharma.
And knowing that, there arises in me towards you
Laughter and at the same time pity.
Just as, for the purpose of sitting,
Somebody might carry around on his shoulder a heavy rock;
That is how you also, for the purpose of sensuality,
Are labouring to bear restraint.
Just as, in its desire to charge,
A wild ram draws back,
So, for the sake of non-abstinence,
Is this devout abstinence of yours!
Just as merchants buy merchandise
Moved by a desire to make profit,
That is how you are practising dharma,
As if it were a tradable commodity, not for peace.
Just as, with a particular crop in view,
A ploughman scatters seed,
That is how, because of being desperate for an object,
You have renounced objects.
Again, just as a man might want to be ill
In his craving for a pleasurable remedy,
That is how you are seeking out suffering
In your thirst for an object.
Just as a man sees honey
And fails to notice a precipice,
That is how you are seeing the apsarases
And not seeing the fall that will come in the end.
Blazing with a fire of desire in your heart,
You carry out observances with your body:
What is this devout abstinence of yours,
Who does not practise abstinence with his mind?
Again, since in spiralling through saṁsāra
You have gained celestial nymphs and left them
A hundred times over,
Why this yearning of yours for those women?
A fire is not satisfied by dry brushwood,
Nor the salty ocean by water,
Nor a man of thirst by his desires.
Desires, therefore, do not make for satisfaction.
Without satisfaction, whence peace?
Without peace, whence ease?
Without ease, whence joy?
Without joy, whence enjoyment?
Therefore if you want enjoyment,
Let your mind be directed within.
Tranquil and impeccable is enjoyment of the inner self
And there is no enjoyment to equal it.
In it, you have no need of musical instruments,
Or women, or ornaments;
On your own, wherever you are,
You can indulge in that enjoyment.
The mind suffers mightily
As long as thirst persists.
Eradicate that thirst; for suffering
Co-exists with thirst, or does not exist.
In prosperity or in adversity,
By day or by night,
For the man who thirsts after desires,
Peace is not possible.
The pursuit of desires is full of suffering,
The attainment is not where satisfaction lies,
The separation is inevitably sorrowful --
And separation is the celestial constant.
Even having done action that is hard to do,
And reached a heaven that is hard to reach,
A man comes right back to the world of men,
As if to his own house after a spell away.
When his residual good runs out
Finds himself among the animals or in the world of the departed,
Or else he goes to hell.
Having enjoyed in heaven
The utmost sensual objects,
He falls back, beset by suffering:
What has that enjoyment done for him?
Through tender love for living creatures
Śibi gave his own flesh to a hawk.
He fell back from heaven,
Even after doing such a difficult deed.
Having attained half of Indra's throne
As a veritable earth-lord of the old school,
Māndhātṛ when his time with the gods elapsed
Came back down again.
Though he ruled the gods,
Nahuṣa fell to earth;
He turned into a snake, so they say,
And even today has not wriggled free.
Likewise King Ilivila
Being perfect in kingly conduct,
Went to heaven and fell back down,
Becoming, so they say, a turtle in the ocean.
Bhūri-dyumna and Yayāti
And other excellent kings,
Having bought heaven by their actions,
Gave it up again, after that karma ran out --
Whereas the asuras, who had been gods in heaven
When the suras robbed them of their rank,
Went bemoaning their lost glory
Down to their Pātāla lair.
But why such citing of royal seers,
Or of asuras, suras, and the like?
Mighty Indras have fallen in their hundreds!
Even the most exalted position is not secure.
Again, Indra's luminous sidekick,
He of the three strides, lit up Indra's court,
And yet when his karma waned
He fell to earth from the apsarases' midst, screaming.
"Oh, the grove of Citra-ratha! Oh, the pond!
Oh, the heavenly Ganges! Oh, my beloved!" --
Thus lament the distressed denizens of heaven
As they fall to earth.
For intense already is the pain that arises
In those facing death in this world
And how much worse is it for the pleasure-addicts
When they finally fall from heaven?
Their clothes gather dust,
Their glorious garlands wither,
Sweat appears on their limbs,
And in their sitting there is no enjoyment.
These are the first signs
Of the imminent fall from heaven of sky-dwellers,
Like the unwelcome but sure signs
Of the approaching death of those subject to dying.
Of the pleasure that arises
From enjoyment of desires in heaven
And the pain of falling,
The pain, assuredly, is greater.
Knowing heaven, therefore,
To be ill-fated, precarious,
Unreliable, unsatisfactory, and transitory,
Resolve to get off the merry-go-round.
For though he attained a peak experience
Of bodiless being, Sage Udraka,
At the expiration of his karma,
Will fall from that state into the womb of an animal.
Through seven years of loving kindness,
He went from here to Brahma's world,
But Sunetra span around again
And came back to live in a womb.
Since heaven-dwellers, even when all-powerful,
Are subject to decay,
What wise man would aspire
To a decadent sojourn in heaven?
For just as a bird tied to a string,
Though it has flown far, comes back again;
So too do people return who are tied to the string of ignorance,
However far they have travelled.
Just as a man temporarily released from prison on bail
Enjoys home comforts and then,
when his time is up, must go back to prison,
So having got to heaven, as if on bail,
through restrictive practices beginning with meditation,
Is one eventually dragged
-- after enjoying those objects which were one's karmic reward --
back down to earth.
Just as fish in a pond who have swum into a net, unwarily,
Do not know the misfortune that results from capture
but contentedly move around in the water,
So meditators in heaven (who are really of this world of men),
thinking they have achieved their end,
Assume their own position to be favourable, secure, settled --
as they whirl around again.
see this world to be shot through with the calamities of birth, sickness, and death
And -- whether in heaven, among men, in hell, or among animals or the departed --
to be reeling through saṁsāra.
For the sake of that fearless refuge,
for that sorrowless nectar of immortality which is benign, and beyond death and decay,
Devoutly practice abstinence, and abandon your fancy for a precarious heaven.
The 11th canto in the epic poem Handsome Nanda, titled "Negation of Heaven."